Seraphs of the Emperor’s Judgment

Chapter 166: Clearing the Field

Miller found the vox-operator lying in a crater not far from him. The Undead Pest was rolling toward them, its main gun continuously laying down suppressing fire on the rear of the enemy lines.

"Are you alright?"

Miller stepped forward and heard the man's reply.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I can't move. I'm in a bit of trouble."

The young soldier pointed to his foot. A wicked-looking coil of razor wire had snared his ankle, and blood was steadily soaking through his trouser leg.

"I'll figure out a way to get you out. Cover me!"

Miller drew his lasgun, pressed it into the vox-operator's hands, and then bent over the trapped foot.

He drew his sidearm and fired at point-blank range, snapping the wire that entangled the vox-operator's ankle—he could think of no better way to free him.

"Apologies, this is going to hurt a bit."

The soldier bit his lip and nodded.Miller then grasped the remnants of the wire and forcefully pried them apart.

The wire was incredibly stiff, and it took considerable effort to wrench the vox-operator's foot free. The relatively brutal process elicited a scream of pain from the young man.

"I don't think you'll be able to walk. Lean on me, I'll carry you."

He draped the vox-operator's arm over his shoulder and began to drag him forward.

"Wait, we left our company standard back there!"

The vox-operator pointed at the folded, mud-splattered flag lying on the ground.

Miller obediently bent forward, allowing the vox-operator to lean down and retrieve the company standard.

"We're moving. Take it easy, lad."

They stumbled back to their starting position, where the men were still hunkered down behind the craters and ruins he had indicated earlier, firing at any enemy that dared show its face.

Yarrick stood among them, one hand casually resting behind his back, paying utterly no mind to the bullets whizzing past him.

His other hand, however, held a bolt pistol leveled directly at Miller.

"I couldn't just leave our company standard behind..."

Miller panted heavily.

"We couldn't bear the shame of losing our colors."

The medic simultaneously took the vox-operator from Miller's shoulder and propped him against a sandbag.

"Just as I thought. You came back."

Yarrick said with a grim smile.

"Then why are you pointing a gun at me?"

Miller shrugged, gesturing at the weapon in the Commissar's hand.

"Just to ensure I hadn't misjudged you."

The Commissar gave a short whistle and holstered the weapon.

"So, were you wrong?"

"No, which is precisely why I haven't shot you."

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted. The Colonel broadcasted across the vox network, demanding they increase the pace of the assault and absolutely breach the enemy anti-aircraft positions within half an hour.

Thus, the soldiers sprang back into motion.

It took considerable effort for Miller and his platoon to reach the rear of the previously enemy-held flak positions. The fortifications the greenskins had constructed now provided them with excellent cover.

They were no longer operating shielded by the Macharius tanks, so direct-fire weapons were no longer their primary concern. The only things giving them headaches now were two heavy machine gun bunkers, and, of course, the elevated firing positions in the fortifications towering above them.

Fortunately, the attention of the greenskins within those bunkers seemed to be entirely fixated on the Macharius tanks.

He ordered his men to bound from cover to cover until they reached the flank of their designated objective.

The Undead Pest had moved on, scything down the greenskins brave enough to charge it like a harvester through wheat, while effectively severing enemy reinforcements from reaching the sector.

They sheltered inside a battered bunker, wholly ignoring the pulverized, bloody remains of its previous defenders decorating the interior, and observed the enemy artillery positions as best they could.

The battle was currently focused on two main fronts: one centered around the Undead Pest, and the other involving the rest of the regiment assaulting the defensive lines they had previously breached.

"Looks like they're bogged down at the beachhead, leaving us stuck here with nothing to do."

Miller peered through the bunker's observation slit, then glanced at the entrance opposite them and shook his head.

"No, we've been handed a golden opportunity. The moment those flak guns and anti-air rokkits are neutralized, the Navy fighters can swoop in, obliterate the void shield generators, and this entire war will be over."

His men stared at Miller, caked in grime and dried blood.

Yarrick didn't require their consensus. He merely analyzed the situation, and then everyone silently nodded their agreement.

Miller ordered the vox-operator and medic to remain inside the bunker. He then instructed the surviving members of his heavy weapons squad to take up positions on the bunker's roof. The remaining men were divided into two assault teams, with Yarrick taking command of the second.

A minute later, he waited until Yarrick's team had successfully reached the opposite side of the trench before ordering the anti-armor squad to fire.

The team launched a frag rocket directly into the bunker stationed at the far end of the self-propelled anti-aircraft battery line. Whether it killed everyone inside wasn't an issue worth considering, so long as it suppressed them long enough.

"Now!"

Miller roared, leading his team in a mad sprint across the open ground before the enemy bunker.

The remaining man-portable rockets continuously poured fire into the fortification.

However, the bunker held firm. Bullets tore through the air, whipping toward them and cutting down several unlucky souls. Fortunately, there were no mortars joining the barrage.

Miller first dove behind a low wall, then scrambled into the trench running behind the bunker, dropping a short, squat greenskin with his sidearm in the process.

They were in. They advanced along the trench network snaking through the flak positions, occasionally ducking into dugouts to avoid the incoming fire pouring out from the wider battlefield.

Miller signaled his fire teams forward to their next positions.

The others, bearing the company colors and the long-range vox-caster, charged ahead. Bringing up the rear were the "trench sweepers," men tasked with using bayonets to confirm every downed xenos was truly dead, and tossing grenades into any alcove that might conceal an ambush.

They seemed to approach this particular duty with boundless enthusiasm.

Finally, Miller reached the bunker from earlier. Taking a deep breath, he plunged straight into the circular pillbox ringed with sandbags.

There were two enemies inside. One had been reduced to an upper torso by the frag rocket. The other still clung to life, a sidearm clutched in its trembling hand as it prepared for a final, desperate stand.

Without a moment's hesitation, Miller put three consecutive las-blasts through its head.

"Bunker clear!"

Just then, the cacophony of weapons fire and shouting erupted from the opposite side of the trench line. The soldiers led by Yarrick were carving a bloody path forward.

During their advance, Yarrick even found the time to execute a soldier who had dropped his weapon and attempted to flee.

They advanced until they were a mere five paces from the enemy flak guns.

"It's a bit too quiet. Something isn't right."

Yarrick surveyed their surroundings for a moment, confirming there were no mobile greenskins in sight.

"Regardless, those flak guns and rokkits must be completely neutralized. One squad per gun, but stay sharp."

However, exactly as anticipated, the moment Yarrick attempted to move from cover toward the shattered restraints of the trench, they were met with a withering hail of fire.

"Those bastards were waiting for us."

Yarrick needed a way through this wall of lead. He crawled forward at an agonizing pace, only returning fire when absolutely necessary.

"Sons of bitches, the enemies up top have spotted us."

He keyed his vox.

"Miller! We're pinned down by heavy fire! Immediate reinforcements required, I repeat, immediate reinforcements required!"

Through his earpiece, however, he could clearly hear the sounds of combat erupting on Miller's end as well.

"They're swarming up the trenches!"

Yarrick hesitated for a split second before making a decisive call.

"We push forward! We can break through their firing line!"

Every man surged to his feet and broke into a mad sprint, while greenskin firepower poured down from above, continuously cutting down the charging soldiers.

Yarrick hurled a grenade toward the enemy positions. It sailed over the wrecked anti-aircraft guns, flying straight into the teeth of the enemy barrage.

"By the Golden Throne, that was useless!"

The grenade detonated harmlessly in an empty space. The enemy fire redoubled in intensity, forcing them back behind a section of sandbag wall.

Yarrick had no idea how long their cover would old. They fired a few blind shots toward the gun slits currently unleashing hell upon them. When a soldier beside him raised his head for a second attempt at returning fire, he caught a round directly to the skull, dead before his body hit the dirt.

"We're done for! We're dead! Dammit, we're trapped!"

The soldiers' morale began to fracture. Yarrick hesitated for a moment, then began to level his pistol at the man muttering in despair.

Suddenly, the concussive shockwave of a massive explosion rocked the earth.

And the firing ceased.

Yarrick cautiously poked his head out, only to be met with an unbelievable spectacle.

The enemy positions had been transformed into a sprawling vista of burning ruins; the kilometers-long artillery emplacements were entirely engulfed in a sea of fire.

Munitions cooked off in the inferno, exploding with a deafening cacophony of snaps and pops.

Within the thick smoke, he spotted a banner—a silver-grey standard—and more than two dozen towering figures advancing with measured, purposeful strides.

"Astral Knights—?"

Yarrick froze in awe. For behind the Astartes, even more towering silhouettes emerged from the gun-smoke.

Constructed of cold, unyielding iron, they advanced in perfect, rhythmic lockstep. Shoulder-mounted lascannons and arm-mounted autocannons systematically engaged the surviving xenos, blasting them into gory chunks and sweeping every inch of the earth with a hailstorm of devastating firepower.

In the distance, Yarrick heard the faint, muffled sound of cheering.

Just then, Miller arrived at Yarrick's side. His blood-soaked hands gripped the standard pole, ensuring the company colors flew proudly in the wind.

"Just received word. The Astartes have destroyed the void shield generators. We are to evacuate within half an hour and leave this place for the Navy to finish off."

"Copy that. All personnel, commence immediate withdrawal."

Yarrick instantly began organizing the soldiers for retreat. At the same time, the armored battalion ceased their forward assault and wheeled about to return to their staging area. The Undead Pest had halted a short distance away, as if patiently awaiting their return.

"Beautifully fought, wasn't it?"

Lucian leaned against the cupola of the turret, smoking a lho-stick, a blood-stained bandage wrapped tightly around his forehead.

"My thanks."

Yarrick offered a faint smile. Grabbing the handrails welded to the hull, he scrambled up the side of the tank with practiced ease.

"Magnificent machine. I hope I'll have the opportunity to command one of these someday."