It’s always the smell that hits you first.  The creeping scent of decaying bodies and putrid flesh.  It’s as if the servants of the Death God welcome the obvious signs of their imminent invasion.  The Death Guard are anything but subtle.   The bastards probably can’t even hide their presence even if they wanted to, but maybe that’s their point.

Colonel Bertrand III, leader of the Cadian 512 took a long hard pull of his cigarette as he surveyed the map in front of him.  Though his command tent had half a dozen or so people in it he always felt like the only person in the universe when he was trying to concentrate.  His mental isolation only grew with his frustration as he tried to wrap his head around how an enemy he knew so well seemed to be able to pull new tricks on him.

It was night on the moon of Karatrax IV but there was still some light outside from the distant sun.  Just to be safe, the Astra Militarum had set up exterior lighting along their sector.  His unit had most recently fought against the Death Guard in the Konor campaign, fighting all around the Ultramar sector wherever they could.  Bertrand shuddered.

Konor, fucking Konor.  A planet once held as one of the crown jewels of Ultramar now lay a shattered planet.  The brass up top had declared victory but I doubt anyone on the ground felt anything except relief that it was over.  It’s almost impressive that the Death Guard are still on the offensive in other sectors so soon after their defeat but no matter where they turn up Cadia will hold.  Cadia will always hold.

Colonel!  A Guardsman approached the commander and gave a salute.  “Alpha patrol just came back, no sign of the enemy.”

The Colonel nodded, “Tell them to resupply and take their spot on the line.”  The guardsman saluted again and left.  “Something isn’t right.  We know they made planet fall in this quadrant.  But there hasn’t been any sign of them.”

“Could they have moved to a different one?”  Johnson, the company medic weighed in.  “And besides we don’t even know for certain if they’re here or not.  The reports we have are spotty at best.”

“They’re here.”  Bertrand flicked his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out.  “The only question is what they’re up to.”

“Is your certainty from your hatred of the foe, or from paranoia?”  Commissar Crow asked off to the side leaning on one of the support beams.

“Hatred of our foe gives us purpose Commissar Crow,” he turned to glare at the figure in a long black trench coat.  “Paranoia is what keeps us alive.”

“Sir!”  Another guardsman came into the command tent.  “Sir, we have trouble.”

“What is it?”

“We lost contact with Delta.”

***********

It took an hour in the chimeras to get to Delta’s last known location.  Once there Bertrand and the rest of his infantry platoon departed from the APCs and began to spread out.  Escort divisions began breaking off from the main group to investigate possible rallying points for the lost squads.  The terrain was muddy and offered sparsely little in the way of cover.  More importantly, there was no sign of Delta anywhere.

“Damnit,” Crow cursed. “We had four whole squads here…what could have happened?”

“Look.”  Johnson motioned to the land.  There were spent shell casings, the remains of frag grenades and all the markings of a battle everywhere, but no bodies.  “Clearly there was a fight here.  But why was there no call for help?  Shouldn’t calling for backup be the first thing they do?”

“Only if you have the time to do it.”  Bertrand knelt down and took a closer look at the overturned earth.  “Whatever happened here was amazingly violent and incredibly quick.  Whatever attacked Delta didn’t give them much time to respond.”  Something’s off. The Death Guard doesn’t take prisoners.  There should be bloated remains here considering all the signs.  How can the earth itself be this overturned if there aren’t even bodies to show for it?

The wind suddenly shifted and a look of introspection turned hard on the Colonel’s face.  “Tell the men to form a tight circle, right now.”

“Why, do you…” Just as Crow was about to finish, a guttural scream was heard in the distance and shapes began to burst from the ground, attacking the guardsmen.  Men screamed as hellish creatures wrapped in tattered guard uniforms pulled themselves from the mud with twisted grins on their face.  The zombies grabbed horrified infantrymen with sharp claws that were once fingers and attached the Cadians with rocks, rifle stocks or in some cases just their teeth.

Bertrand screamed, “Now!” The surprise assault caught the Cadians off balance, but they quickly regrouped and started forming a tight, regimented fire line and taking aim at their attackers, or the poor souls caught in their grasps.  “Weapons free, defend yourselves!”  They had found Delta, and Delta was coming to eat them alive.

“Colonel!”  One of the veterans grabbed Bertrand and escorted him towards the middle of the group where he could be defended.  In other regiments this might be seen as an inexcusable offense to a superior officer.  But the 512 was not an ordinary regiment.  They had fought more times than anyone would care to remember and only a few rules were absolute.  One of those was the chain of command must be protected at all costs.

The Veteran dropped the Colonel by the Commissioner and the rest of his command squad.  Crow was spitting orders and curses in equal measure.  “Pox walkers,” Crow spit into the ground.  “Damn cowards don’t have the balls to fight us themselves so they send their pets to do the dirty work.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Johnson remarked even as he applied emergency aid to one of the guardsman that was pulled from the front.  “Do we know where their masters are?”

A grim smile creped on Bertrand’s face, “Careful what you wish for.”  He gazed in the distance at a dark cloud creeping towards the lines.  “Call for backup, heavy armor.”  A veteran nearby started calling for support, giving coordinates and threat evaluations; all the while Bertrand never averted his gaze.  “Crow!”  The commissioner shot half a glance at Bertrand’s direction.  “Reorganize the bulk of our forces to face that cloud.  It’s where they’re hiding.”  The Commissioner nodded.  “Command squad with me!”

Pox walkers continued to assault the line even as guardsman were shifted to comply with the Colonel’s orders.  Row upon row of guardsmen were lined up to face the ever encroaching threat while dealing with any pox walker that got too close to the line.  They readied their rifles for whatever horror emerged from the cloud.

Just like Konor. 

“Organize for maximum fire power!  Once that cloud breaks be ready for anything!”  The Pox Walkers were thinning out but even as they were cut down by las fire they did not halt their advance.  Their numbers were gradually thinning but their advance was relentless.  The dead hurled themselves with reckless abandon as they crashed on the infantry lines, even as mass fire brought them down.  “Kill the walkers!  That cloud is going—”

Too late came the command as the black mass of flies erupted with a whirlwind of force and cognation that revealed seven figures.  Large, even by space marine standards, they gazed at the guards with bright red eyes.  Their armor, putrid and torn in a dozen places with each open point filled with bloated flesh and oozing puss.  Each Plague Marine looked as if they were a deathless corpse stuffed inside armor and reanimated using dark magic. No longer were they the proud space marines they once were.  Worst of all their bolters were already raised and aimed at the guard.

There was a moment, ever so brief, that felt as if time had stopped.  A fleeting sense of calm before the gates of hell came crashing down.  A moment when friends and comrades were all accounted for, all standing strong.  Then the moment was gone and the thunderous roar of bolter fire opened onto the guard.

Explosive rounds crashed into the guard with a level of precision that would be difficult in a firing range, let alone on an actual battlefield.   Even as they emptied their clips the Plague Marines advanced, never halting their pace even as las and plasma fire pinged their armor.

Bertrand pulled out his sword and held it aloft in a defining pose even as he fired shot after shot with his las pistol.  “Hold the line!” Guardsman continued their attack but were finding little purchase against the monsters lumbering forward.  As more and more guardsman fell to bolter fire, the Commissar took his place by the Colonel, a grim reminder to the men that if they wished to avoid the monster behind them, they would have to deal with the monsters in front.

“This isn’t going well.”  The commissar never broke his gaze upon the men even as he voiced his doubt to the commanding officer.  “Any ideas?”

Bertrand looked at his communications officer, “Any word?”

“None yet sir.”

“Then we hold.  All men hear me!  Focus fire on my target!”  Bertrand changed the color of his las shot to a bright red and his shot was followed by a chorus of las and plasma rounds which incinerated one of the plague marines and caused him to come crashing down.  In response the other plague marines took out grenades and lobbed them towards the guardsmen.

“Blight Grenades!”  The bombs exploded in a sickish green smoke that spread and obscured their vision.  “Move back!”  Bertrand shouted at his men to get clear of the gas.  A couple did not get out in time and grabbed their throats as the green smoke calmly enveloped them; they disappeared inside.

Bertrand cursed.  “Keep firing into the smoke!”

Shit, they’re close.

The Plague marines stopped firing as they entered the smoke.  Even as the guard continued to fire into it, their enemy did not return fire.  Then, just as there was a brief hope that they killed them, the plague marines emerged once again.  This time in a full sprint, bolters firing wildly into the crowd.

“Grenades!  Grenades now damnit!”  Crow was the first to throw a frag grenade which did little to stop their advance. However, it did bring to the commissar to the attention of the advancing plague marines. One raised his bolter to aim at the commissar when suddenly he exploded into a glorious mess.

That gave the Plague Marines reason to pause.  Both sides gave glance at the thunderous boom where the shell had come from.  The Guardsmen saw salvation.  The Plague Marines saw truth.  The battle was over.

An armored company rolled over the hillside firing their battle cannons at the plague marines charging forward on monstrous treads.  The guardsmen cheered as their relief had arrived, firing into the plague marines now being barraged by far superior fire power.  One by one they were blown away by the combined efforts of the tanks and the infantry with the exception of one.  Their champion pulled out two blight grenades and charged the front line.

“Bring him down!”  Bertrand ordered as the guard focused on this last remaining plague marine even as he ran at them with the intensity of a crazed daemon.

15 meters, breath.

Bertrand took a deep breath.  Even with the chaos and madness happening around him, he found his center.  Even as shells were exploding and the wounded screamed, he was calm.  He focused completely on his side arm, took a deep breath and fired a shot directly through the eye lenses of the abomination, ending his final charge once and for all.