History

History is written by the victor. Looking around this forlorn shell of a building, there aren’t many people who you could call victors. Maybe losers, but we all are here. So it looks like I’ll have to take the mantle. I’ve lost track of the date. Don’t even ask me. I’ve forgotten since… whenever…

Where was I, oh yeah. My name is Lieutenant Vero Dragion. Assigned to Red Squadron of the 6th Varonian Armoured, Bravo Company. My home is the venerable Lucky Bastard. Been in the damn tin can for twelve campaigns now. No idea how long that’d be. Years roll on unchecked now. Just like the sodding enemy. Sometimes I wish they would just shut up and die somewhere away from where I am. Anywhere. I don’t are if it is Ryza or Cadia or some other god forsaken dirtball.

This aforementioned dirtball is called St Tyrian Reach. A lovely little city world they said. Doesn’t even deserve a name. All I can see is toppling towers, rubble and ruined habs. Its about time we went home. I could see my family again. Maybe even stay a while. But that’s not going to happen. Not while we’re here. Not while we’re at war…

The rain spattered down on the tarmac road leading to the city gates. The puddles rippling as each drop hit the surface of the small ponds forming in each crater hole. The road began to rumble, lumps of dirt rolling away from the source. A great shadow fell on the crater hole as a company of Leman Russ tanks moved up the road, the crack sections of tarmac buckling under the 70 tonne weight of a fully loaded Leman Russ Battle Tank. The First tank in the line threw itself on it’s brakes, bringing it to a halt as the rest of company formed around it, spreading out to form 100 metre intervals like a well oiled machine.

‘All halt, we wait here for the first volley from the 21st,’ voxed the Company commander Higory Falix.
‘Affirmative sir, bringing us to a halt,’ replied Vero Dragion, leader of Red Squadron. A flurry of replies followed him as all tanks came to a halt, their wet brakes squealing a little under the strain of halting such a mass of metal. Vero lifted his head a little to peer out of the periscope. The sights were clear, even with the torrential down pour from the heavens. Didn’t mean he could see anything much further than a few hundred metres.
‘Switch to infrared,’ he sub-vocalised into his throat mike, the screen in front of his eyes flicking to a grey format, white lines denoting the crosshairs of his sights. He swung the sights left and right, his seat following the movements the sights were making. As he swung it from side to side, he zoomed in, hoping to spot the supposed armour divisions that were holding the line against them. A white blob appeared on the scopes, the image sharpening as the image focussed. There…

An enemy AT90 stood perched on a distant hill, well within range of the Lucky Bastard’s main cannon, yet out of range for the heretics to fire upon them. He marked the target, the turret of the battle tank automatically swinging round to face the enemy vehicle.
‘Load AT!’ shouted Vero.
‘Aye sir!’ called up the Bastard’s loader Treillan, slamming a 270mm sabot shell into the breach. ‘Loaded!’

The gun sights stayed locked for 30 seconds on the tank, waiting for the first shell from the artillery to land. Vero gritted he teeth and popped the hatch as the first scream of a bombardment round came down.
‘Fire!!’ cried Vero, the tank rocking on it’s suspension as the high powered round exploded from the barrel. The shot’s sabot casing fell away instantly, the super powerful AT round tore through the air towards the enemy AT90, slamming into the side of the traitorous tank, tearing it asunder in a plume of fire and shrapnel. The rest of the company’s tanks began firing, the solid thud of rounds being fired made Vero smile. He ducked back into the turret, sealing the hatch and peering once more into the periscope. He swung the sights around, spotting another of the AT90’s driving up towards the formation through a wrecked building, using the walls for cover.

‘All units move up! Lets take these fethers on!’ voxed Falix.
‘Sir!’ came the multitude of replies.
‘Gerry! Lets go! Forward to combat speed!’ Vero told his driver. The tank lurched forward, the tracks digging into the mud and propelling the tank into battle. Treillan hammered another shell into the breach as the turret swung around to face the AT90 as the gunner adjusted for range.
‘Fire!’
The tank rocked again as the round speared towards the enemy armour, slamming into the wall and bringing it on top of the AT90, the enemy tank barely scathed by the shell.
‘Sir! Enemy tank to the left side! Bearing reverse 22 degrees!!’ called up the tank’s left sponson gunner, Prane. ‘Lighting it up now!’
Heavy bolter tracer rounds spewed out the left side of the Leman Russ, sparking off the front of another AT90. The tank that had been behind the wall drove out forwards from the mass of rubble, the turret grinding to face the Lucky Bastard. The Varonian tank never gave it a chance to fire again, a third AT shell erupted out of the cannon and hit the gap between the hull and the turret, ripping it open and cooking off the ammunition, blowing apart the inferior tank with little trouble. The vehicle to the left however was a little faster, unloading a round into the side of the Russ. The High Explosive shell hammered into the side of the Imperial made tank, only succeeding in blackening the already matte black paint even more.

Vero span his sights to face the offending tank, locking it and letting the turret spin to face it. The AT90 got another shot off, this one hitting the turret. The armour held once more, no more than a small dent on the inside. The impact dazed the crew, Vero’s ears ringing as he attempted to give another order, just succeeding to spout a load of gibberish.
‘Sir, what did you say?’ asked his gunner Kirel.
‘Fire! I said Fire!’ Vero shouted.
‘Got it sir!’
The AT round launched once more into the tank, hitting the engine and igniting the fuel, setting the tank ablaze. One of the hatches popped open and a crewman stumbled out on fire head to toe. He fell to the floor screaming, Prane snuffing out his life with a burst of fire from his sponson gun. Vero span his sights to face forward once more, the turret following suit as they crashed through the wall of a building, ripping the bricks apart like they were made of only sand. The dust cleared as they pushed forwards, the dozer blade cutting through the debris like it wasn’t even there. Suddenly, the din of firing weapons was gone, just the rumbling of engines as they propelled the armour formation onwards towards the city. The vox crackled as Falix congratulated the company.
‘Well done men! Lets push on up and get a foothold by nightfall!’
The tanks rumbled onwards towards the city as the clouds cleared, leaving behind the wreckage of a battalion…

You know, I think the tin can’s name fits it. Some day she shall fail me. One day. But the day has finished, the infantry have caught up, we have the beach head we need. Maybe I should get some sleep. Throne knows we all need it. This hell-hole won’t give in to us. We shan’t give in either…