[40k] - Last Man Standing

[Honsou]

This is actually a story I started a while back, and posted as well. However, since this is a new and refined version (which I hope to finish this time), I thought it would be a good idea to post it in a new thread fit for purpose- rather than necroing and old one.

In any case, the idea for this started as a quick "battle scene" type story, which then developed a fair bit from there. I am actually pretty certain where I am going with this, so I think we're looking at 4, maybe 5, segments.

Enjoy.

==================

Last Man Standing



Part One

What was left of the company, some 70 men or so, were arrayed silently in serried ranks on the field. A few paces forward, back turned to the troops, stood Commissar Rehnten, staring incredulously at the dataslate bearing their orders. With a heavy sigh, he looked up from the pad and out into the rolling mist that lay heavy across the plains. Slowly and with deliberate effort, he turned to address his troops.

"Men! Hear your orders, and obey!" The commissar's voice was heavy as he forced himself to maintain the facade of believing in their orders which was a hard task, for he had long since lost his faith in the commanders of this campaign. "Orders from Headquarters are as follows: the 3rd Battalion will stand-to across the ridge and hold the line, while the regiment advances to the rear."

A snigger went down the line of men at the phrasing of the order, but Rehnten did not look up to stop them. The poor fools didn't know. Without a pause, he continued. "You will not retreat, you will stand at guard. Hold the line for 48 hours. That is all." The commissar looked up, "It is signed by General van Kemtel."

Silence and grim faces greeted him as he looked at the company before him. Finally, they understood: their orders were a death sentence. Rehnten looked over the men, into the eyes of each and every one. There was fear there, and anger, yes. But also determination, a certain resignation. He took a deep breath, slowly drawing out the moment to let the news sink in. "Feldwebel!"

A man immediately stepped forward, brought into action by years of drill. A grizzled veteran, at least by the standards of what remained of the regiment, the Company Sergeant Major was a baby-faced young man, no more than a few years senior to the men he now had to lead. Thank the Emperor for strict drill-training.

Commissar Rehnten looked into the man's eyes, and instinctively reached out to clasp his shoulder with a firm hand. "Feldwebel Klemp... Hannes." The man seemed surprised to hear the commissar use his first name. "There's not much to do, have the men dig what trenches they can, redistribute the ammunition, you know what needs to be done."

The feldwebel saluted and was about to say something when Rehnten cut across him. "And Feldwebel? No Aid-Station." A horrified look of pain and realization crept onto Klemp's face. "S-sir?"

Rehnten just shook his head. "I'm sorry."



Part Two

Commissar Ulrich Rehnten rammed the field-issue spade in his hand into the rocky ground with all the force he could muster, grunting with effort as it broke the ground open at his feet. With a tremendous heave, he angled the spade forward to scoop the earthen rubble out of the foxhole he had spent this last hour digging.

With the sweat pearling on his forehead and his shoulders aching from the effort, the Commissar was glad of the distraction presented by the clatter of hooves pounding across the fields behind their line. Handing his spade to the man next to him in the line, Rehnten clambered up the side of the trench, hauling himself upright just as a horse came galloping into sight out of the mist.

Recognizing the gaudy, gold braid encrusted, sky-blue uniform of the rider, Rehnten groaned. "Himmelblau..." With obvious reluctance, the Commissar straightened himself up and made a half-hearted attempt to brush the dirt off himself as the rider approached. Very little good ever came from a visit by a staff officer.

"Ah. Commissar... Junior grade... Rehnten, is it?" The words were well chosen, the accent polished and the tone condescending. This staff officer, more at home behind a desk quoting regulations than on the battlefield, knew full well that his junior rank in the commissariat prevented him from exercising his authority outside of the unit he was assigned to.

Ulrich Rehnten was not a man given to wild fantasies, but on this occasion he fervently wished that he could lash out at this gaudy buffoon, this pathetic excuse of a toy soldier. Instead, he forced himself to straighten up, and quiet reply to the implied question: "Junior Commissar Ulrich Rehnten, 3rd Battalion."

The man atop the horse nodded slowly, almost dismissively. "Very well, you have your orders... make sure that you follow them to the letter. Do not fail." Looking around at the men digging trenches, all well within earshot, he continued: "They don't look like they will stand." The doubt and disgust in his voice were evident, and Rehnten once again had to force himself to swallow a trite retort. "They will do their duty."

The staff officer looked down at the Commissar, making no pretense to hide his feelings as he looked him up and down. His eyes lingered on the worn greatcoat and the Imperial Eagle roughly sown onto the wide lapels. "See that they do." Without further words, the man pulled the reigns about tightly and rode off along the line at a gallop. Watching as the rider disappeared out of sight, Rehnten spat out a single word: "Idiot."

As the Commissar turned his attention back to the task at hand, a sound in the distance caught his attention. He paused for a second, before recognizing the all too familiar whistle. As he half-jumped and half-ran into the cover of the nearest foxhole, he roared out at the top of his lungs: "Artillery! Incoming fire! Incoming!"

The first shell landed a few feet away from where the Commissar had been standing, the force of the explosion tearing up the ground and sending a cloud of earthen debris into the air. The smoke did not have time to clear before more shells came whistling from the skies, rocking the ground all around the company's positions and engulfing the whole area in a haze of smoke, debris and flames.

The minutes passed slowly, and all the while the shells rained from the sky in a deadly symphony of noise and terror. To the men huddled in their trenches and foxholes, the ground seemed to tremble as if about to split open, as though the shells would break open the very planet itself. Each shell was like the striking of a gong, a long whining whistle, a ominous thud and then the earth-shaking roar of an explosion. A whistle, a thud, an explosion; ever onward.

Commissar Rehnten lay in his foxhole, gloved hands clenched into fists as he counted the seconds in his head so that he would not lose track of time. Time ticked by, and slowly, ever so slowly, the bombardment lightened. Though the shells fell with no less force, they did not fall so thickly, or so fast. Poking his head up above the lip of the ground, he tried to get his bearings.

The whistle of an incoming shell forced him to duck back into cover, recoiling just in time to see Feldwebel Klemp sliding into the foxhole. The Commissar nodded a quick greeting to the sergeant, immediately moving on. "We need to get hold of the situation. Have Unterfeldwebel Ehrhardt..."

Klemp interrupted Rehnten, shaking his head slightly as he spoke. "Keim and Ehrhardt had just started a new foxhole near me..." He trailed off, both men knew what he meant, nothing else needed to be said. After a moment of quiet, the sergeant continued: "On the way over I saw Mohr, Kübler and Gebhart as well." The Commissar grimaced as another shell came to earth nearby.

As the roaring echo subsided, Rehnten looked up at his sergeant, seeing his own grim determination reflected on the young feldwebel's features. "Head up the line, I'll head down. Have the men keep digging... but tell them to keep their heads down!" Klemp nodded and made to get going, when the Commissar grabbed his arm. "And make sure our flanks link up with the rest of the battalion!"

Without waiting for a reply, he took a deep breath and threw himself up over the lip of the foxhole, running like a man possessed in the general direction of the nearest trench. As he ran, ducked over almost double, he looked around, looking for the rest of his men.

[Anne Marie]

An embittered Commissar is the first I've ever read. With the way the words "No Aid-station" were given, it seems to have struck more dread into the men than hearing the original orders. This has also been the first time I've ever read of a horse appearing in 40K; I know they're present but never used when someone can bring in a Mechanicus vehicle. Thank you for putting in something different.

You really flesh out the story with the descriptions of the barrage around the foxholes and Rehnten losing his men left, right and center.

I've never heard the word 'feldwebel' before. Does it come from somewhere or did you come up with the rank?

[Honsou]

Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it so far. As to the term "Feldwebel" is a german(ic) rank, roughly translated to "Sergeant", usually in the upper tiers of that rank. For reference, here's a wiki article.

[Brannick]

He took a deep breath, slowly drawing out the moment to let the news sink in. "Feldwebel!"

Missing an 'a' above.

There is a small booboo in Part 2, but for the life of me I cannot now find it despite looking three times!

I share much the same sentiment as Anne Marie. The story is very easy to read, having a good flow about it, nice descriptions that are not overly complex whilst introducing us to an intriguing lead character. Not much to grumble about at all. Time to provide some meat for the bones!

@ Anne Marie - c'mon, I can't believe you asked Honsou about 'feldwebel' - we both come from Imperial-Literature, the home of The Darkest Angel!

[Honsou]

Ah, good catch there! I've fixed that one. If you find that "booboo" in part 2, let me know

[Honsou]

Well chaps, here's part three... I had a little trouble with it, but hopefully it'll bridge the story nicely to where it needs to go. I hope you enjoy


Part Three

"Hold the line! Hold fast!" commissar Rehnten bellowed the words at the top of his lungs, roughly grabbing a man by the arm and pushing him forward to the parapet. His voice straining against the din of battle, Rehnten tried to make himself heard. "The enemy is that way, soldier. Hold fast, fire! Fire!"

The battle raged all around them, and the men of the company were crumbling. Maybe they had hoped the shelling would ease up as the long night came to an end, or that the enemy would not come. It was not to be so, and with the coming of dawn their foe had thrown their forces forward in a merciless attack.

The young commissar looked out across the open ground across which the enemy had come. It was littered with dead bodies, and the fog still lay heavy on the ground. He watched as, once again, the enemy surged forward toward them. He swallowed once nervously, willing away the fear that threatened to sweep his feet out from under him. Finding his voice, he bellowed out the words; as much for himself as for the benefit of his men: "Have no fear! No fear! Hold the line!"

"Keep firing! Hold fast!" Just barely holding his own fear in check, Rehnten ran along the line, calling out to his men as he went, exhorting them to stand fast. He knew that the company must not break, and it fell to him to hold them. He just wished the damned shelling would stop!

A scream of pure agony brought him to a sudden standstill. Looking down the trench, it did not take the commissar long to discover the source of the scream. There, barely recognizable, lay the men who had manned the company's heavy stubber, torn up by a shell landing in the trench. Gulping, Rehnten grabbed the two nearest soldiers. "You and you. On the stubber. Now!" The men paled as they saw their comrades, but the commissar shoved them forward. "Now! Go!"

Hefting his Laspistol in his hand, Rehnten jumped up to the parapet, firing blindly at the enemy as they advanced. Again and again he discharged his weapon, but they kept coming. The energy cell had almost been depleted, but the enemy kept coming and as they came closer the fire got heavier. As he reloaded his weapon, the commissar watched in horror as the man next to him was hit, his head exploding in a gruesome spray of blood.

Even as he watched, he staggered back, blinding pain searing down his left side. He was hit. By the God-Emperor, he was hit. The breath was knocked out of his lungs as he collapsed against the rear wall of the trench. So this was it, this was the end. Looking down, Ulrich Rehnten could see the tear in his blood soaked uniform and almost sighed in relief; it was not fatal.

"Up you get, Commissar. The floor is no place to spend a battle." Hearing the words, Commissar Rehnten looked up to see the wide, smiling, face of Major Dien. The major offered his hand, pulling him to his feet with a single motion. He patted Rehnten on the back, and handed him his laspistol. "You're fine, Commissar. Just fine. Keep them together!"

Just as quickly as he had come, the major was gone again, running up along the line toward the next company, calling out encouragement as he went. Rehnten stood still, almost bewildered, for a few moments as he watched Dien disappear along the line. Finding his courage restored, the commissar tightened his grip on the weapon in his hand and jumped up to the parapet once again as the battle raged on.

Major Dien was an astounding man. Energetic even in his advancing years, he was a true soldier's soldier; a natural born battle-leader. As wave after wave of enemy attacks came rolling in against the positions of his battalion, he seemed to be everywhere at once. Running from squad to squad, company to company, he held them together; kept them fighting.

As the day wore on, Commissar Rehnten saw Dien several more times, running along the lines, dodging the heavy incoming fire as he went. He inspired a strange confidence in men and officers alike, and Rehnten was grateful to serve under such a man; but even Dien could not change the reality of their situation.

Ulrich Rehnten looked around the trench he had been fighting in. The enemy was falling back, but he knew they would be back all too soon.

[Nomad]

I really like this piece, it has a very Western Front WW1 feel to it and I have been doing alot of research lately into that particular mess, the Anzacs in France/Belgium being my focus. Thus this piece grabbed me.

Having said this, the structure is a little awkward in places with sentences being compounded where they don't need to be and the paragraph structure being disjointed.

The commissar's voice was heavy as he forced himself to maintain the facade of believing in their orders, which was a hard task, for he had long since lost his faith in the commanders of this campaign.

- comma missing.

phrasing of the order^ but Rehnten did not look up to stop them.

- never use a comma before a conjunction. You have done so many times, particularly in pt3, I will let you find and correct them if you desire. Just as a hint: and, but and or are the primary offenders.

Finally, they understood; their orders were a death sentence.

- a semi-colon is more appropriate in this instance. I would actually use a full stop and seperate the two clauses.

The feldwebel saluted and was about to say something when Rehnten cut across him. "And Feldwebel? No Aid-Station." A horrified look of pain and realization crept onto Klemp's face. "S-sir?"

The man atop the horse nodded slowly, almost dismissively. "Very well, you have your orders... make sure that you follow them to the letter. Do not fail." Looking around at the men digging trenches, all well within earshot, he continued: "They don't look like they will stand." The doubt and disgust in his voice were evident, and Rehnten once again had to force himself to swallow a trite retort. "They will do their duty."

The staff officer looked down at the Commissar, making no pretense to hide his feelings as he looked him up and down. His eyes lingered on the worn greatcoat and the Imperial Eagle roughly sown onto the wide lapels. "See that they do." Without further words, the man pulled the reigns about tightly and rode off along the line at a gallop. Watching as the rider disappeared out of sight, Rehnten spat out a single word: "Idiot."

- You should really not have both speakers in the same paragraph in these instances...

The first shell landed a few feet away from where the Commissar had been standing, the force of the explosion tearing up the ground and sending a cloud of earthen debris into the air. The smoke did not have time to clear before more shells came whistling from the skies, rocking the ground all around the company's positions and engulfing the whole area in a haze of smoke, debris and flames.

The minutes passed slowly, and all the while the shells rained from the sky in a deadly symphony of noise and terror. To the men huddled in their trenches and foxholes, the ground seemed to tremble as if about to split open, as though the shells would break open the very planet itself. Each shell was like the striking of a gong, a long whining whistle, a ominous thud and then the earth-shaking roar of an explosion. A whistle, a thud, an explosion; ever onward.

These passages can be combined to from a paragraph:
The first shell landed a few feet away from where the Commissar had been standing, the force of the explosion tearing up the ground and sending a cloud of earthen debris into the air. The smoke did not have time to clear before more shells came whistling from the skies, rocking the ground all around the company's positions and engulfing the whole area in a haze of smoke, debris and flames. The minutes passed slowly, and all the while the shells rained from the sky in a deadly symphony of noise and terror. To the men huddled in their trenches and foxholes, the ground seemed to tremble as if about to split open, as though the shells would break open the very planet itself. Each shell was like the striking of a gong, a long whining whistle, a ominous thud and then the earth-shaking roar of an explosion. A whistle, a thud, an explosion; ever onward.

Likewise:-
Commissar Rehnten lay in his foxhole, gloved hands clenched into fists as he counted the seconds in his head so that he would not lose track of time. Time ticked by, and slowly, ever so slowly, the bombardment lightened. Though the shells fell with no less force, they did not fall so thickly, or so fast. Poking his head up above the lip of the ground, he tried to get his bearings. >The whistle of an incoming shell forced him to duck back into cover, recoiling just in time to see Feldwebel Klemp sliding into the foxhole. The Commissar nodded a quick greeting to the sergeant, immediately moving on. "We need to get hold of the situation. Have Unterfeldwebel Ehrhardt..."

Ulrich Rehnten was not a man given to wild fantasies^ but, on this occasion, he fervently wished that he could lash out at this gaudy buffoon, this pathetic excuse of a toy soldier. Instead, he forced himself to straighten up^ and quietly reply to the implied question: "Junior Commissar Ulrich Rehnten, 3rd Battalion."

Although there are a few other blips, overall it is well writeen and engaging and it is now 2:30 am and I couldn't be bothered pointing them all out right now. I will get to it soon though...

[Honsou]

Hi guys, it has been a while coming, but I have completed the initial version of Part 4 (of 5). Part 5 will definitely be posted in the next day or two (already started work on it and I'm making good progress). In the meantime, I hope you enjoy part 4; any and all comments are of course welcomed

So without further ado:


Part 4

"How is that lung of yours treating you, Rehnten?" Major Dien's words were friendly, the smile on this face was genuine if drawn with exhaustion. The young commissar laughed quietly which he instantly regretted as the movement sent him into another coughing fit. His lung, his entire chest, was sore; although his wound was not fatal it certainly hurt. Rehnten wheezed a yes in reply, adding a quick nod for clarity.

The arrival of another man to the gathering group changed the topic abruptly. Dien gestured for everyone to close up, pausing for just a few seconds before speaking. "We've done well, we've held that ridge and damn all they've thrown at us...", although he spoke the words with truthful conviction, almost every man in the group knew the words that would have to come next.

"Sir, we've held this line for almost a day, shouldn't we consider falling back? My company alone has lost thirty-four men. I..." The interruption came from a young looking, clean-shaven, man who wore the uniform of an Ensign attached to the battalion as a staff officer. For just a moment, Commissar Rehnten couldn't help but remember the glittering buffoon from the day before; this man was different though, no privileged fool in gold braid, but a young man in training with hopes and dreams still ahead of him.

One of the men Rehnten did not recognize, a Feldwebel by his uniform, cut across the young man. His deeply accented voice was terse and betrayed a hint of anger; "Our orders were hold, not leave, so we must!" Looking the man up and down as he listened, Rehnten saw a combat veteran with more years of combat experience than any of the men in his own company; Rehnten could hear the struggle between stress, anger and the rigid regimental discipline in his voice. It can't have been easy for the man to take command of an entire company, and he was not the only one here forced into leadership.

For a moment it looked like others were going to add their comments, but Major Dien put a stop to it even before it begun: "We will buy the regiment every precious second of time that we can. We just have to make do, and we'll get through this. The regiment needs more time."

As if to reinforce the gravity of the situation, a shell dropped to earth with an almighty roar just a few hundred meters away. The distant rumble of artillery fire had never really stopped and Rehnten almost dropped to the ground at the sound of a shell exploding so close. In that moment he desperately missed his foxhole, even the blood-soaked trench; he hoped that his men were making the best of the pause in the fighting to improve what little cover they had.

The major, ever the calm combat leader, ignored the falling shell and pushed onward. "Rehnten's company is down to fifty-eight men, Halver has lost seventeen, and Krefeld", Dien nodded in the direction of the young ensign, "is down to just 29 men." The major paused again, almost as if for dramatic effect; he looked each and every one of the men gathered around him in the eye before he continued. "They've thrown everything our way and the line is weakening, we can't let it break. We need to keep them off balance, stop them from launching more frontal attacks," another pause followed, "we need to take a few squads and hit them."

A chorus of protest erupted, as everyone voiced their concerns simultaneously. Rehnten said nothing, he was struck silent in a mixture of surprise and fear. All around him he could hear the others loudly protesting that they had too few men, or too little ammo. Rehnten tried to collect his thoughts, remember the casualty reports and ammunition stockpiles he had tried to commit to memory before he had come to the meeting; he was saved the need to remember it all by Dien. "Listen! We can't hold the ridge as we are, and if they hit us again they might well break through; let's be honest about that. An entire battalion has been reduced to just a few hundred men, and we're up against an army! The best way to keep them off balance is to..."

"Sir! Sir!" It was the shouts that Rehnten heard first, followed by the sound of flat-out running. One of the troopers of the battalion came sprinting into sight, shouting out loudly as he went. "Sir! The enemy..." The soldier was out of breath and was panting heavily as he came to a halt in-front of Dien, "...the enemy is attacking again. Sir... Tanks, Tanks!" His voice was panicky, and the fear in his eyes was reflected on the faces of the officers around them. The battalion had precious few weapons that would stop armour. Major Dien did not hesitate even for a second; without acknowledging the soldier he spun back around and, with a wild gesture, bellowed out a single word: "Go!"

Commissar Ulrich Rehnten had never run so fast in his life; head down he made his mad dash. Even the excruciating wrenching within his chest and the burning agony that seared across his skin from his wound could not stop him from reaching his men as fast as he could. His men; had Rehnten's mind not been focused only on speed, his newfound attachment might have seemed strange. "Klemp! Klemp!" He called the name out again and again, a tide of fear and urgency threatened to overwhelm him. Oblivious to the shells falling thick all around him he ran on.

With an uncomfortable clatter Commissar Rehnten half-jumped and half fell into the foxhole, coming to a sudden stop against the rocky ground. He was greeted by the relieved looking face of Feldwebel Hannes Klemp. "They're coming again sir, listen...." The man let his voice trail off, and sure enough the rumbling sound of engines and the scrape of tank tracks could be heard reverberating through the air. Rehnten swallowed. Once, twice, and a third time, willing the fear to go away. "W...We've got to get our missile launcher, and make sure everyone has at least one grenade. Do it now."

As he jogged down the line, still out of breath from his earlier mad dash, the young Commissar fervently hoped that he could get his men through this next assault. They weren't ready for tanks, and even with the missile launcher they would be hard pressed to repel a determined attack: they had only one and they were low on ammo. Before all this had started, there had been reports of an enemy armoured division with renegade Leman Russ tanks; by the God-Emperor he hoped it would not be them. "Anyone but them..."

It was not to be long before the young commissar regretted his words. The rumble of tanks was almost upon them; Rehnten dodged an explosion by throwing himself into the company's main trench, just as half a dozen battle tanks broke through the haze and bore down on their positions. Suddenly the air was filled with explosions and gunfire. The tanks crept forward, followed by a swarm of infantry only have visible through the rolling smoke and the bright sparkle of las-fire; it looked as if the tanks would simply roll over their trench. They came ever onward, crushing the ground under their tracks, but all Rehnten could do was look at the bright flashes of their cannons and the infernal roaring of the explosions all around him.

Suddenly there was a bang, and one of the tanks disappeared into a cloud of black smoke, flames licking upward into the sky. The commissar saw it for only a split second, and then he was flying backwards through the air as the blastwave lifted him from his feet. The impact knocked the air out of his sore lungs when he smashed into the trench wall. With a conscious effort he struggled back to his feet, fighting the dizziness that threatened to bring him crashing back to the hard ground beneath his feet. Somewhere to his right, almost as if at a great distance, he was aware of screaming; he turned to see, and a little way down the trench he saw the mangled remains of a handful of his soldiers fallen to enemy fire. On the ground next to them lay the company's missile launcher, its muzzle still smoking from the last shot. Ignoring the ringing in his ears, Ulrich Rehnten cursed under his breath and began to run, still stumbling as his vision spun.

Hands numb, he fumbled with the clumsy weapon, raising it to his shoulder. With a conscious effort the commissar tried to stabilize his vision, and pulled the trigger. A loud hiss accompanied the projectile as it zipped past Rehnten's head, trailing a thin wisp of smoke as it streaked into the distance. "Damn! Damn!" A miss; Rehnten fell to his knees, scrambling around for another missile. He ignored the sounds of explosions, he played deaf to the screams of agony that seemed to be all around him; his whole world was the missile, and the enemy that had to be stopped. The missile rattled as he crammed it into the receiver, sliding the lock forward and hefting it back to his shoulder again.

"God-Emperor guide me!" The words were mumbled, barely more than a whisper that was lost in the mayhem around him. Rehnten almost fell as the heavy weight of a trooper crashed against him unexpectedly; the man was dead with a hole clear through his head. There was nothing the commissar could do so he pushed the man's body aside and stumbled to the parapet to look for another target. There it was, a grim silhouette against the sky as it came ever closer. Death by any other name, he thought to himself; he fired. Only too late did he see the familiar uniform of one of his own men, running toward the tank with grenade in hand. The missile found its mark just under the lip of the turret; for a second the commissar thought he had missed, but then an almighty explosion lifted the turret clear off the chassis as a series of explosions ripped through the hull. The guardsman was gone in an instant, his body obliterated, shredded by a hail of shrapnel.

Rehnten was shaking; he could not focus. All he could do was stare blindly at the place where the guardsman had been; he did not hear the cheers of his men, he did not see the shrapnel rip apart and entire group of enemy soldiers, he didn't even see the approach of Feldwebel Klemp. All he could do was fight to stay upright as his world spun and crashed down around him. A touch on his shoulder brought him back to reality. Klemp was standing over him, a reassuring look on his face as he gently pulled the missile launcher from his hands. Passing the weapon to the nearest soldier, Klemp reached down to the commissar again and pulled him to his feet, guiding him away from the parapet. Ulrich Rehnten felt defeated; slumped against the trench wall he fought back tears of frustration, tears of fear and failure. He sat there, minute after minute, oblivious to the battle that raged around him.

[Honsou]

Hello there chaps! I've actually managed to finish something... Last Man Standing has now, except for any edits, complete. So I hope you enjoy this fifth and final segment!

Part 5

Commissar Ulrich Rehnten stared out blankly at the ground in front of the trench he was in. His laspistol felt unnaturally heavy in his hand, his eyes were half-closed from exhaustion. His skin was clammy with sweat and his uniform stuck to him uncomfortably. Rehnten had long since lost track of time; they had been fighting for hour after hour without reprieve.

The smoke was still pouring from the burned out hulls of a Leman Russ platoon, drifting lazily across the open field. Hundreds of corpses, guardsman and renegade alike, were strewn everywhere. Weapons and spent ammo casings, shells and equipment dropped in the heat of battle, all lay scattered on the dusty ground.

As terrible as the devastation that stretched out before his eyes was, somehow Rehnten knew that the scene behind him was worse. He could not make himself turn. He stood there, minute after minute, staring off into the distance. At long last, with tremendous effort, he holstered his laspistol and turned to face the grim reality of the trenches.

The once dry ground had turned slick with blood, and crumpled bodies lay where they had fallen. Some looked peaceful, their faces painless and still; others stared blankly into the heavens, or had fallen face-first into the dirt. At the back wall of the trench, slumped in a sitting position, was the corpse of a man. Rehnten only knew him by the name printed on his uniform; the man's head was missing, his neck and shoulders were a gory mess. Just a few paces away lay another corpse riddled with large calibre bullet holes; another with a hole blow straight through his forehead; and another, and another, and another.

The commissar half fell and half jumped from the parapet into the trench, the ground making a sickening squelch sound under his feet. Although it was only a small jump, being down in the trench somehow made the whole ordeal worse; his stomach turned and he fought against the nausea. He could not see all the way down the trench, the blackened husk of a tank hung at an odd angle where it had become stuck. Fallen soldiers littered the ground around it, some had been slain by heavy weapons fire, but many had fallen in the bloody hand to hand fighting that had raged for over and hour before the enemy's assault had finally been repelled.

Here and there the shattered remains of his company wandered around; some seemed dazed and in shock, others were scavenging what weapons they could from the fallen. The glint of metal at his feet caught the commissar's eye. Looking down he body of one of the enemy who had stormed the trench, the broken blade of a bayonet still protruding strangely from the underside of his throat. Rehnten knelt beside him, and reached for the bolt pistol that was still firmly clasped in the fallen man's right hand. In the man's pocket he found a handful of spare magazines, which Rehnten shoved into his pocket. He was about to move on to the next body when he heard the sound of raised voices. Scavenging forgotten, the commissar clambered unsteadily out of the trench.

It did not take him long to find the source of the voices; a few hundred paces behind the line, Feldwebel Hannes Klemp was arguing loudly with another soldier. Rehnten breathed a sigh of relief, he had feared for Klemp's safety; it took the commissar a few moments to notice that the feldwebel had his weapon drawn and was brandishing it wildly. His own training kicking in, Rehten sped up his pace, wading in with the appearance of confidence he didn't really feel: "What is going on here?"

"Commissar! This man has forsaken his duty to the Emperor, he has tried to desert..." The anger in feldwebel Klemp's voice sounded almost out of control, his breathing was uneven and his eyes burned with a fury that the commissar had never before seen in them. Perhaps the man's fury was righteous, but Rehnten's heart sunk; his stomach turned again and for a moment he thought he would be sick. Trying to calm himself, the commissar slowly reached for his weapon, knowing that he must carry out his duty to the very end; if he did not then all of this would have been for nothing - he could not dishonor his men like that. Slowly he leveled his laspistol at the soldier's head. He did not know the man's name; he did not want to. Fighting to keep his voice from shaking, Ulrich Rehnten spoke the words he had been trained to say: "Your failure finds you guilty of betraying the emperor, in His name I condemn you." He pulled the trigger.

The trigger clicked, the pistol whined, but nothing happened. The commissar frowned, looking the weapon over; a red light glowed dimly near the release switch for the power cell. The charge was depleted. At first Rehnten felt relieved, he had been saved from his duty. A moment later, he swore under his breath and anger welled up inside him. Remembering the looted bolt-pistol, Rehnten waved away the weapon that Klemp offered him. His hand shaking, the commissar pulled out the pistol, aiming it at the soldier's head. Unsure whether he should say anything, he hesitated. Fighting the urge the look away, he pulled the trigger and watched in horror as the man collapsed, dead.

Commissar Rehnten felt sick, and this time he knew he could not hold it back. Mumbling something barely coherent about rallying the men, he sent Klemp running off. Dropping to his knees, the commissar fought his body for as long as he could before he expelled his stomach onto the dusty ground. He did not stop until there was nothing left. With his stomach settled, the commissar picked his bolt-pistol from the ground and made his way back toward the trench.

His company, what there was left of it, was waiting for the commissar's return. Klemp had gathered the men and had set them to work gathering ammunition and weapons from the fallen. Just seventeen men remained; the realization made his head spin. Unsure of what to do, the commissar set the men to work piling the bodies of the fallen into the trench. Each man was stripped of his equipment and then laid among his comrades. By the time the work was completed, the commissar and Klemp had siphoned the remaining fuel from the wrecked tanks the enemy had left behind.

While the men were pouring the fuel into the trench, making sure to soak the bodies of the fallen, a small group of men arrived. The commissar recognized one of the men as a sergeant in the next company on the line. The sergeant threw a salute as he approached.

"Sergeant, what are you doing here?" The question seemed redundant a moment later; the sergeant's face was strained with a look of pain. "Sir, this is what is left of my company. We thought we'd join up with you..." The sergeant looked around, taking in the sight of the battlefield; no doubt things weren't much better down the line. "Sir, the major is dead."

Major Dien was dead. The news floored the commissar; he didn't expect that the major would live through this hell any better than the rest of the men, but somehow being confronted with his loss was draining. Rehnten felt his resolve ebbing away; he did not know what to say, he did not know what to do. Suddenly he realized that no one would survive this, they were all dead men walking. "Who is the highest ranking officer still alive?"

The question was met with a blank stare from the sergeant; plainly he did not know the answer. "What about the other companies?" He asked question after question, desperate to figure out what he should do. He did not know what it was, but suddenly Rehnten knew what had to be done. Spinning on his heels he shouted out to Klemp: "Feldwebel, gather the men. It is time that we went on the attack."

The next half-hour felt like a dream to the commissar; perhaps it was a nightmare. Other men from nearby companies joined them, twenty more soldiers in all. Setting the fuel in the trench on fire, the commissar watched as the flames consumed the fallen of his company; he prayed that he had not failed them in life. Glancing out into the smoke, toward the enemy, he hoped that he would not fail the emperor in death.

The roar of the flames seemed all consuming; grim-faced men stared into them as if lost in their fury. Each man had to make his peace with the emperor their own way, and the commissar gave them that time. At long last everything was ready; he led the column of weary men past the trench onto open ground. Stopping, Commissar Rehten watched the men as the past him; these few were all that remained of an entire battalion. The thought mesmerized him, it paralyzed him. Even as the last man had marched on, Rehnten stood there rooted to the ground. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the roar of gunfire, that hideous sound of battle he had heard so much of lately.

Silence descended. Commissar Ulrich Rehnten looked back the way he had come, thought of everything he had been through. Somewhere that way, far away, was the regiment they had given their lives for. Grabbing his weapon tightly in his hand, Ulrich Rehnten smiled and spoke his last words: "Und endlich unendlich."

He charged.