Lieutenant Losser surveyed what he had to work with. Four squads of infantry (now that he’d combined the remnants of the other two with the mostly-intact squads), a trio of Sentinel walkers (all armed with Autocannon, why had they done that?), his personal retinue: four men, including a medic and a plasma gun with a Chimera carrier. And the prize piece, an attached Hellhound assault tank from the 45th.
This looked bad. Really bad. Losser thought that it might be the end of his platoon.
Five minutes ago, Losser, after informing Major Tolash of his platoon’s breakthrough, had received orders to take out the enemy strongpoint, one which had been stopping troopships from travelling further east along the rivermouth with their cannon. Losser had made a request for air support, which had been denied by Major Tolash. He had made a request for ground support, which had been denied by Major Tolash. He had made a request for artillery support, which had been denied by Major Tolash. Apparently, all of the requested assets were tied up in exploiting the breach which *Losser’s platoon* had made. And now they were expected to finish the job unsupported.
*******************************************************************************
Gogan Losser had been inducted into the Imperial Army as a young man of only eighteen summers. His wealthy parents had bought him the commission of Captain as a coming-of-age present. Over the next six years, Losser had made decisions which had saved many of his men (particularly at the Battle of Pym Falls), but had incurred the anger of his superiors. One superior in particular. He had been demoted to the rank of Lieutenant, and the surviving men of his company had been reorganised into his platoon’s squads, as a punishment for recklessly supporting an insubordinate commander. As if they cared. They were still alive.
From the victory at Pym, they had been shipped to a number of different planets, and every time had come out on top, despite being in the spearhead of almost every attack made by their regiment. Losser knew that his commanding officer, Major Tolash, had ensured that this would be the case for the rest of Losser’s career, as a punishment for the one time that Losser had proven to Tolash that tactics were preferable to numbers, back at New Suffolck.
Losser’s men called him Loser, but Losser had always known this would happen; with a name like that, he couldn’t have thought that his men would call him anything else. What he had never expected was that his men would call him this affectionately. His regard for his men’s lives was something that had not gone unnoticed amongst the rank-and-file. Losser’s Losers was a platoon name they used with pride.
*******************************************************************************
The enemy strongpoint was exactly that: a fortified position which would be incredibly difficult to take out. Backing onto a natural river mouth which spanned at least four miles, it was unassailable from the north. As for the other three directions, well, Losser hoped things would be different.
He arranged Third squad (and attached First’s plasma trooper, for a grand total of two plasmas) and one of the Sentinels, on the right flank. Their job would be to loop round and get close, before laying their guns down on the main tower, hopefully drawing some fire away from the main attack. The other two Sentinels would advance through the water, as deep as they could wade, and try to put fire on the other side. They would be supported by Losser’s amphibious Chimera. In the unlikely event that they encountered no resistance, this group was to hunker down and bombard the tower for as long as they could.
The final group was lead by Losser himself. The remainder of his forces were to follow the Hellhound in, taking cover where they could find it, and assault the central towers when possible.
*******************************************************************************
The attack began as planned, with Third and the Sentinel getting close and behind a wall, and beginning their barrage before being detected. Unfortunately, their autocannon and plasma fire was not strong enough to penetrate the adamantine walls of the fortress. Regardless, these units continued shooting from enfilade, aiming for the small arrow slits in the walls.
The swimming Chimera did not fare so well, being too slow in the water to avoid a direct hit from an autocannon, but the pair of Sentinels were quick enough to avoid the same fate. They reached the northwestern corner of the walls, and fired continually at the main tower, albeit with little effect. Their actions did, however, succeed in drawing some small-arms fire away from the main attack.
Losser, along with First, Second and Fourth, moved in behind the Hellhound, which was proceeding at a snail’s pace. “Forty-fifth, move that tank forwards, we’re bottling up here!” voxed Losser. “Okay,” came the reply “fast and moving to the ri-“
The Hellhound’s rear disappeared in a blast of smoke, along with three men from First. The brisk wind blew the smoke away in short order to reveal a disabled tank and two dead men. The third man climbed slowly from the beach back to his squad, clearly shaken, but miraculously unharmed, considering the amount of small-arms fire directed at him.
“Armen,” voxed Losser to the First squad leader, “Get a couple of guys in that tank and make the gunners to do their job. Send a team left and secure that old barracks. Everyone else take cover, and wait for my shout.”
“Armen? Armen?”
A couple of seconds later, Losser received a reply. “Sergeant Armen is dead, Corporal Bouter here, orders received.” The remaining men of First squad began to move, but the fire from the tower was punishing. One of the men who had been sent into the damaged tank was hit in the leg, and the spray of blood from the wound told Losser that it was a wound which would be fatal. Losser and his squad sent a spray of fire towards the tower, then slapped his medic’s backside to get him moving. Of the three men sent to take the barracks, only one made it to the door, and was unable to get through the wooden barricade. He did not neglect his duty however, and kept firing upon the tower.
The troopers who made it to the Hellhound clearly motivated the gunner, or took over operation of it’s main weapon, as the flaming cannon quickly engulfed the right side of the tower. The medic crawled his way through the tank’s ruined rear door. As he did so, another cannon shot hit the Hellhound and set it ablaze.
Losser had used this time to take Second and Fourth squad around the right side of the immobilised ‘Hound and into the building proper. The soldiers huddled in the doorway with him, Losser drew his monomolecular blade and said “They’re done now. We’re inside!”
Before he could make another move though, his Vox-bead chimed.
“Lieutenant Losser, you are to stand down,” came Major Tolash’s voice, pleasure dripping from ever syllable. “Reinforcements are almost there.”
“No no no! Negative!” shouted Losser, “We’ve got Blackness! It’s ours!” But in the background, Losser could hear the insectile buzz of jump packs.
“If you do not stand down, the incoming Ultramarines will treat you as hostile. I say again, Loser, if you do not stand down, you and your men will not survive,” There was a disgusting relish to Tolash’s tone.
*******************************************************************************
Outside the smashed fortress, Losser and his remaining men sat quietly, drinking from their canteens, and watching the Ultramarines execute the last remaining defenders of Blackness Fortress.
Eventually, one of the Astartes approached Losser.
“You and your men fought well today,” he said in a voice which sounded like gravel.
“I hate you,” replied Losser, and turned away.
*******************************************************************************
Losser was roused from his sleep by the tapping of a hand from one of his remaining men- one of the ones he had not failed. “There’s somebody who wants to see you, lieutenant,”
Losser followed the man – a trooper by the name of Staffel – through the darkness, until he came to a campfire. Sitting there was another Astartes, this one in armour of muted grey.
“Hello, Gogan,” it said in velvety tones, “It has come to our attention that you are . . . dissatisfied . . . with our current situation. Perhaps we can help each other out . . . “