There's shouting and screams all around as the orks and guardsmen exchange fire. We're about fifty metres from the orks, charging full speed towards them, men slipping and floundering in the snow, the greenskins encountering similar difficulties. I start firing with my laspistol again, dismayed to see the flashes of energy striking targets but not having too much effect against the tough aliens. They continue roaring their guttural cries as they close, a wave of sound accompanied by the crack of shells and zip of lasguns. A change in the wind wafts their stench over me, and I gasp for breath, hauling myself through the folds of snow. It's a mixture of death and unwashed bodies, utterly foul.
As we close the gap, I can see the greenskins are armed with a variety of crude-looking guns and hefty close combat weapons. Blazes of muzzle flare punctuate the ork mass, and the silvery light glitters off blades lovingly honed to cleave through flesh and bone with a single stroke. I pick out one to engage, pulling my knife from my belt when I'm twenty metres from the greenskin. It's dressed in black mainly, bits of ragged fur stitched onto a kind of jerkin, white checks painted onto metal pads on its broad shoulder and a roughly beaten breastplate which is gouged and dented from previous fighting. I notice with dismay the two human heads dangling from its belt, meat hooks plunged through their lifeless eyes to hold them on. The alien seems to read my thoughts, its red eyes glaring back at me as we
close. Everyone and everything else is forgotten as I focus all my attention on the ork, noting the bulge of muscles under its furs, the ragged scar stretching from its wide chin across its fanged mouth and over its left cheek, passing its pug nose. Its skin is dark green and leathery looking, pocked with scars and warts, obviously impervious to the biting cold that would kill a man. It opens its mouth and bellows something, revealing a jawful of yellowing tusks - tusks that can rip through muscles and crush bones with one bite.
At five metres it levels a bulky pistol and fires, but the shots are way off, screaming past my head at least half a metre to my left. In its right hand is a blade like a butcher's cleaver, its head easily a metre long. It pulls back the cleaver and swings at my chest but I dodge to my left, feet slipping in the snow as the blade arcs past. I take a lunge with my knife but the ork easily bats it away with a strong arm, chopping down wifh the cleaver at the same time. Once more I wriggle sideways, though not quite quick enough, the crude chopper slicing a strip from the left sleeve of my coat. Cold air swirls onto my arm, causing my flesh to prickle all over with the chill, but that goes unnoticed as I bring my pistol up to its face. It ducks to avoid the shot, straight onto my waiting knife, which I jab upwards, plunging die tip into its throat, twisting wifh all my strengfh as dark blood, almost black and very thick, gushes into the white snow and over my legs.
I step back and another ork leaps at me, two serrated knives glittering in the cold light. The las-bolt from my pistol takes it squarely in the left eye, smashing out the back of its head, flinging the creature down into the snow.
Poal's fending off another ork with his hook, slashing at its guts with the point, jumping back as it punches back with knuckle-dusters fitted with a couple of short blades. I reverse my knife and plunge it backhanded into the ork's neck, feeling it deflected off the thick bones of its spine, tearing a gash up into the base of its skull. The ork backhands me, knocking me to my knees, and turns around snarling, blood spraying from the open wound. It kicks out, scattering snow, a metal toe-capped boot connecting with my thigh, almost snapping the bone. Poal's hook flashes up, slashing into the ork's mouth and ripping out its cheek. Spitting blood and teeth, the greenskin rounds on Poal, but his next swipe smashes into the ork's nose,
the point ramming up its nostril, lacerating its face and plunging into the brain. The ork twitches spasmodically as it crumples to the ground, but neither of us spares it a second glance as we check on how the fight is going. Most of die orks are falling back towards the other trench, taken off guard by the counter-attack. The few that fight on are hopelessly outnumbered and quickly overwhelmed. Hundreds of greenskin corpses, and more humans, lie twisted and ragged, the snow churned up and red with blood. Severed limbs and decapitated bodies are piled waist high in places where the fighting was most fierce.
'Caught out by a pretty simple trick/ Poal says as I describe the fight with the first ork, the two of us collapsed in the trench with the others. 'I thought the orks were smarter than to be caught out with a straightforward feint/
'Oldest trick in the bloody book/ chips in Poliwicz, cleaning his bayonet in die snow.
"Yeah, the simplest of tricks...' I murmur to myself, an unsettling thought beginning to form in my mind. I look around for the Colonel and see him not much further along the trench, talking to Greaves and Ekul. I push my way through the tired guardsmen, turning a deaf ear to the groans and moans of the wounded as I barge them aside.
'Sir!' I call to the Colonel as he's about to walk away.
Yes, Kage?' he asks sharply, turning on his heel.
'I think we've been tricked, sir/ I tell him quickly, glancing back over my shoulder to see what die orks are doing.
Tricked?' Greaves says from behind die Colonel, disbelief written all over his face. 'What do you mean?'
This attack is a feint, a diversion/ I explain hurriedly, waving my hands around trying to convey the sudden sense of urgency that fills me. 'It makes sense, now I mink about it. They crossed die plains with die support of the main army and then split off/
What nonsense is this?' Greaves demands. 'Get back to your place/
'Wait a moment, colonel/ Ekul says, stepping up beside the Colonel, looking intendy at me. 'A diversion for what, Kage?'
This isn't the main ork army, it's a diversionary attack sent to fool us and keep us occupied while die main force goes around
us/ the words spill out quickly, my mind racing with the implications of the situation.
'You could be right/ the Colonel says with a nod. This army bears little resemblance to the one in the reports. I thought it might just be a vanguard/
'Where else can they go?' asks Greaves disdainfully. 'Ekul says no man's ever survived die other passes in diis region/
'No man, sir/ Ekul agrees, 'but the lieutenant may have a point. We are not fighting men. It is possible the orks could forge another route towards Epsilon Station, circumnavigating this valley altogedier/
4Vhat can we do about it? Our orders are to hold diis pass/ Greaves says s-tubbornly. 'And Kage is probably wrong/
'It is still a distinct possibility/ die Colonel replies, eyes narrowed as he tiiinks. You and your regiment will continue to hold diis pass. The loss of my force does not greatly affect that. We must get to Epsilon Station and warn them/
My hopes rise at the tiiought of going back to Epsilon. Much easier to survive a siege than an open battle. And we'll be inside, out of this forsaken cold and snow.
'My few mounted men can travel much quicker/ Ekul points out, dashing my hopes to die ground. And we know the terrain better/
'Wouldn't it be better if you and your scouts went looking for the main force?' I suggest, thinking quickly, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.
They're coming again!' a warden shouts from back down the line.
^We go now!' die Colonel says emphatically. 'Pack what provisions you can, Kage, and muster the men here/
Five minutes later and the surviving Last Chancers are gathered with me, stowing what we can onto a couple of the ploughfoot sleds. The wind's picked up again, tossing the snow around us, and over its keening can be heard the rattle of autocannons and snap of lasguns as Greaves's soldiers try to hold off the orks as tiiey pour from the forward trench. The Colonel appears through the snow.