Seraphs of the Emperor’s Judgment

Chapter 165: Less Than Perfect Infantry-Armor Coordination

"Ready weapons, to the flanks!"

Yarrick bellowed, waving his pistol as the Macharius tank's flank was temporarily exposed to enemy fire.

Driven by his commands, the soldiers scrambled unsteadily toward their combat positions. Now, their small arms could be put to use.

The hiss of igniting heavy flamers echoed from the high ground. As the tanks advanced, the enemy defensive lines were transformed into a blazing inferno by the promethium.

In the process, casualties mounted with every step forward.

One soldier collapsed, a death rattle escaping his throat, while another writhed on the ground, clutching a shattered arm and screaming in agony.

The battlefield appeared as an absolute chaotic mess, with the cacophony of weapons fire erupting from all directions. Only the most astute commanders could discern the critical developments amidst the pandemonium.

Yarrick was precisely such a man. Amidst the chaotic front lines, he was the first to notice the enemy turning their backs on the Undead Pest and fleeing.

With every thunderous roar of the main gun, any enemy vehicles attempting to reinforce the lines were instantly reduced to smoldering piles of metallic slag. The enemy simply had no answer to the heavy armor.

Miller stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his men, continuously pouring las-fire into the enemy ranks.His weapon had grown uncomfortably hot in his hands.

He scored a direct hit on an enemy; the creature toppled over like a kicked lampstead.

A second later, another enemy was gunned down—this one significantly smaller than its kin, carrying a bulging sack.

Given the repulsive nature of the xenos infesting this battlefield, such slaughter provided a profound sense of vengeful gratification.

The soldiers were also fighting with visible enthusiasm.

"Enemy assault! Enemy assault!"

His Executive Officer suddenly screamed.

"Enemy anti-tank squads, nine o'clock!"

Miller snapped his head around and spotted a squad of Tankbustas, wielding massive explosive hammers, sprinting toward the Undead Pest under the cover of smoke.

They were clever, utilizing the soldiers' blind spots and taking care to avoid the arcs of the sponson-mounted flamers.

If they were permitted to close the distance, even the formidable armor of a Macharius heavy tank would be severely compromised.

"Confirm range."

Miller ordered, pointing at three soldiers. They nodded and leaned out from behind their cover to secure a better firing angle.

"Argh!"

One was immediately gunned down by enemy fire, causing the other two to flinch and retreat.

However, Yarrick suddenly materialized beside them, his bolt pistol leveled directly at them, serving as a powerful incentive to focus on the task at hand.

"They're roughly two hundred meters out and closing fast."

"Colonel Lucian! Colonel Lucian, do you read me? Do you read me?"

Yarrick roared into the vox, but received no reply.

It appeared he would have to solve this problem himself.

"Third Platoon, exterminate that green trash! Do not let them near the tank!"

The moment he gave the order, las-beams pierced the smoke-choked air, and heavy stubbers began to roar.

Three of the crouching Tankbustas were instantly gunned down.

But it wasn't enough; the survivors continued to close in on the war machine.

"Kill them! Kill them!"

Yarrick's voice grew hoarse. Losing a piece of super-heavy armor was no laughing matter—as the infantry assigned to screen it, they would undoubtedly face severe reprimands after the battle.

Subsequently, two more Tankbustas were riddled with holes, yet one, in its dying moments, managed to hurl a primed stikkbomb toward the Undead Pest.

Fortunately, it failed to land on the tank.

Unfortunately, it landed squarely amidst the tightly packed cluster of men trailing closely behind the tank.

BOOM—!

Following the deafening explosion, mangled body parts were violently launched into the air. The gunners in the tank's cupola momentarily ceased firing, leaving only a chorus of agonizing screams in the wake of the blast.

Then, the advance resumed.

On such a brutal battlefield, even mourning was a luxury. They could only keep their heads down and continue the charge forward.

After pushing forward a short distance, they closed in on the greenskin artillery positions, which also housed several captured anti-aircraft guns concealed within earthen emplacements.

Heavy machine gun bunkers flanked the trenches, while towering walls of sandbags ran the entire length of the trench line.

As if sensing the intrusion, the defensive laser array fired into the sky once more, the rapid heating of the atmosphere producing a sickening screech.

The greenskins manning the anti-aircraft guns spotted the incoming assault. Waving their arms frantically, they swung their quad-barreled cannons toward the approaching Macharius heavy tanks.

But before they could open fire, the Undead Pest struck first.

While the greenskins had indeed constructed substantial cover around their positions, nothing was truly safe from a heavy cannon.

One flak gun took a direct hit. The greenskins manning it were sent flying, shredded in mid-air like discarded rags.

The other gun fared no better; it was blown completely upside down, everything within the emplacement reduced to a smoldering pile of charred wreckage.

"Keep your heads down!"

The remaining anti-aircraft guns promptly returned fire. Munitions hailed down upon the Macharius heavy tanks within their firing arcs like a torrential downpour.

Waves of heat washed over the armor, the deafening detonations of the warheads drowning out all other sounds, accompanied, of course, by a blinding storm of ricocheting shrapnel.

In the face of this counterattack, the Undead Pest merely gunned its engines and continued its inexorable advance. Its frontal autocannons roared to life, reducing two more distant flak guns to scrap metal.

The infantry had now reached the lip of the trenches. This instance of infantry-armor coordination could hardly be called perfect; one could only say it kept the casualty figures from looking entirely egregious.

"Move, move, move!"

Miller roared, signaling his men forward. Meanwhile, the Undead Pest angled its hull, attempting to shield the infantry's path of advance while maintaining a line of sight on the anti-aircraft emplacements.

The soldiers rapidly dispersed into squad formations. Miller ordered the surviving heavy weapons teams to take position behind a towering pile of sandbags, while he led the remaining men into a crater for cover.

The squads dashed to their designated positions one by one. However, the Executive Officer, sprinting alongside the medic, took a bullet to the chest and collapsed.

Miller spared a single glance for his fallen comrade but didn't break stride—the fist-sized hole in the man's chest confirmed he was dead.

Fighting away from the tanks was a miserable affair. The ground was churned into a horrendous mess, the mixture of blood and dust creating a thick, clinging mud.

Miller threw himself behind a pile of smoking rubble and surveyed the situation.

Currently, Commissar Yarrick was the only member of the command squad still beside him. A quick headcount revealed the vox-operator was missing.

He glanced back in the direction the tanks had advanced.

Then, a burst of static crackled from his helmet's integrated micro-vox. The transmission was garbled and laced with pain.

It was the vox-operator's voice.

"Sir... I... I'm in trouble..."

"The greenskins got him.

"The rest of you, hold this position. I'm going after him."

Miller abandoned the cover and sprinted across the devastated terrain, the air thick with the sound of weapons fire pouring from the elevated bunkers.

To his right, the Fifth Company was fighting a desperate battle, struggling to systematically eliminate the enemies attempting to flank them, even as they were being slaughtered by the withering fire from the bunkers.