'Brace!' A dull thump resounded in the cold night, the
surroundings illuminated in a short bright flash. Both the gunner and the loader
wore chem inhalers and tinted visors. The gunner adjusted the mortar and gave a
nod to his loader, whom dropped a fresh shell into the barrel. All around the
mortar position men advanced. They to wore the bulky chem inhalers, breathing
heavily as they charged forward. Commissars ran to and fro, dispensing shots to
men who refused to attack or tried to run. It didn't matter though, all would
die, for that was the destiny of a Savlar Chem Dog.
The Savlar Chem Dogs, a notorious regiment made up of criminals, murderers and
other scum of the Imperium. The small civilized world of Chosin had fallen to
corruption from within and in the span of mere months the entire planet had
turned traitor. The campaign was predicted to be bloody and a true meat grinder.
Expendable companies were lined up and in front was the XXXVth Savlar Chem Dogs,
a light infantry regiment tasked with the capture of the suburbs of the main
capitol.
Sartak readjusted the calibrations and nodded to his loader. 'Brace!' He shouted
as he dropped a round into the barrel. A second later a dull thump erupted as
the mortar shell flew upwards, the barrel belching a gout of flame and sparks.
From the sky a roar was heard as lightning erupted, temporarily illuminating the
field in front of the mortar position. Sartak adjusted the mortar and aimed for
an advancing mob of mutants. He nodded to his loader and turned away. 'Brace!'
The barrel spat out the round and it dropped neatly in the midst of the mutants.
Sartak nodded in grim satisfaction as he saw in the light of the explosion
mutants erupting every where. He adjusted his aim further towards the enemy, on
a ruined building. 'We can hold this line.' Sartak said to his loader with a
smile behind the inhaler.
A commissar jumped into the emplacement, his face concealed by a metal
rebreather mask formed into a grinning skull. 'The enemy has breached our line!
Drop your aim by 20 and fire for effect!' That meant dropping shells on our own
men. Sartak grimly realised. He dropped his aim and nodded to his loader.
Denying the direct order of a commissar was a death sentence, besides he had
done if before. As his loader dropped one round after the other into the barrel,
with just enough time for the rounds to leave, Sartak pulled out his pistol and
snapped of shots at the advancing mutants.
For three minutes the mortar boomed almost non-stop, spitting death from above
like a divine rain. Then it stopped... 'Rounds complete!' His loader shouted as
he grabbed for his own lasgun and started snapping of shots at the mutants.
Sartak remained calm, using each flash of lightning to seek out a new target.
But as the lightning illuminated the battlefield again, the mutants were upon
them. Sartak grabbed for the weapon closest in reach, a simple entrenching tool,
standard issue for all guardsmen. He swung it round, landing a blow on a mutant
with a sickening crunch, snapping the head into an awkward position. His second
swing crashed into a mutant’s ribs, his third slashed open a throat, his
fourth caved in a skull, but as he swung up for the fifth blow he received a
blow to the head. A flurry of stabs, slashes and impacts rained on his body,
death overtaking him as a blessing.
Morning light shone thinly through the thick grey clouds, the raining had
finally stopped. The battle field was nothing more then a charnel house, with
dead mutants and Savlar everywhere. Mutants were busy looting corpses and taking
trophies. The Savlar had lost, but in their final death throes they had
inflicted severe casualties to their foes.
On top of the improvised mortar position was Sartak, his head impaled on the top
of his shovel, planted in the earth as a trophy.
