From the bedside of
251259123 L/Cpl Hull, J,
B Coy, Cadian 2/24,
c/o Agratha Minor CCS A/657
Firstly, don’t worry – I’m okay. Secondly, I’m dictating this to the medicos: I’m afraid my arms aren’t much use for anything right now…but I’ll get to that shortly.
Emperor be praised, Sol, it’s been brutal. Honestly, I can’t tell you most of what happened, and you won’t believe the rest of it, but here’s the bare bones…
It was glorious at first. We knew the big push was coming, and we stood to receive it: a line of Cadian Green, shoulder-to-shoulder with the Death Korps to our left, those frou-frou Praetorians beyond them, and our own 4th Armoured to our right. In His wisdom, the Emperor had even sent us a baneblade, there with the 4th. Think of it, Sol: a baneblade! I tell, you, they’re beautiful machines. Zarathustra, her name was.
|The Baneblade 'Zarathustra' is surprisingly well camouflaged on the right of this pict.|
The orks came on strong. We knew they would of course, and we were ready. Just as they started to close in on us though, the most perfect thing happened: the sky rained fire. Our artillery – blessed by the His guidance – tore vast holes in the greenskin lines…and then our gunline spoke. And it spoke loud, Sol: it fair roared. Machine and ork alike were blasted asunder by this onslaught, and barely anything seemed to survive, but survive it did, and before we knew it the ‘kans’ in the front of their lines, that’d been blown to pieces, were replaced instead by the dread form of a stompa.
Huge it was – and bearing right down on us, and as if this wasn’t bad enough, that’s when they started firing back. I mean, they’d been firing all along, of course, but at this point their shots started to hit home. I don’t even know what it was that ripped into our platoon – it seemed to come from nowhere – but suddenly, we were shredded. Half the lads, gone, just like that, and I was the only one left from my section.
Terrifying it was, Sol, but Commissar Brandt was there behind the line with the Lieutenant, and he soon got us going again.
Can you believe it? With the wounded and dying now all around us, we actually went forward! I joined in with those lads left from Shifty’s section at first and we just…advanced. What with me having the platoon’s only remaining melta, Shifty was keen that I did something useful with it, so he slapped me on the back and sent me off towards the stompa.
As always, Sol, the training kicked in. I got off a crack at it, but I don’t know if it did any good. What I do know is that all of a sudden, I wasn’t alone against it: Sgt Windridge's veteran boys fast-roped down, and boy, did they put some hurt on that great lumbering tin can! Before long, I’m pleased to say that the guns of the 4th Armoured had finished it off: it didn’t half go out with a bang!
|Warboss Gorblud, prominent, top-right, leads his boyz forward. NB: L/Cpl Hull is just outside the right-hand frame of this pict.|
I realised something had to be done, Sol, and it didn’t take no Commissar to make me realise it this time, either. I went for him.
He was only twenty-or-so yards away, but by the time I reached him his bodyguard of filthy great nobs had been shredded, and only he was left. Huge, he was, and about to commit even more carnage in his feckless assault, but you know what they say about “The bigger they are,” right?
I got him. The melta did its thing, Sol: I killed an ork warlord. Me.
That’s why they’re letting me take up the medico’s time here, Sol: it appears I’m now some kind of hero – a “Hero of the Imperium,” they’re calling me now, and I think that at least one of the nurses has already taken a bit of a shine to me.
I don’t really know quite what happened after that bit with the Gorblud fella, if I’m honest. I know that they surged forwards again: I somehow got wounded – quite badly, I guess – and the next thing I know I’m in this sick bay, miles behind the lines.
No-one will tell me exactly what’s happened (they’re taking it easy on me, because I’ve lost one-and-a-half arms and I’m dosed up to the eyeballs on happy juice) but I get the feeling it’s pretty bad. I can tell the staff here are feigning happiness when they come in, and I’ve started to realise that after two days (apparently) of being here I haven’t seen a single soul from B Company.
Still, good ol’ Drax was in charge, right? – So it can’t be too bad, right?
I’ll be in touch soon, Sol,
Take care, little brother.
I'm terribly slow at writing fluff, and Real Life (TM) has sucker-punched me in the last two weeks, but please allow me to draw your attention again to these marvellous contributions from my co-conspirators in the camps of Col. Gravis and Col. Winterbourne respectively:
- Gravis (part 1; plenty more thereafter: link here)
- Winterbourne (part 1; more to follow: link here).
More will follow,