Author Notes:
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This new GSS chapter though, I think it got something going for it. You know, Johnson being Johnson and all that jazz.
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The inviolable Sergeant Johnson peeks out from his foxhole, hands toting a Heavy Stubber he pried from the dead arms of the Echelon they cam
The inviolable Sergeant Johnson peeks out from his foxhole, hands toting a Heavy Stubber he pried from the dead arms of the Echelon they came to save. With a pull of the trigger and an ammo belt wrapped around his left arm to feed the beast, Johnson unleashes a barrage of .57 caliber projectiles that swiftly cut down a group of heretics behind a wrecked technical, their cover notwithstanding. After making sure that particular group of foes stays down permanently, Johnson then sweeps the muzzle of his Heavy Stubber horizontally, mowing down any cultist foolish or frenzied enough to remain visible in his line of fire. The man's muscles bulge and vibrate beneath his olive-drab fatigue as the Heavy Stubber recoils wildly in a one-handed hip-firing position. Yet, as a testament to his impressive upper body and arm strength, Johnson can comfortably hold the spitfire menace aloft and remain impressively accurate. A singular sweep alone has netted Johnson dozens of kills, an efficiency even the improved Kantrael Lasrifle would find hard to replicate.
While Johnson's skill and strength can account for most of the feat, the unsung hero here is the ammo type the Cadian 8th is using to keep their Heavy Stubber relevant against any foe. The ammo is, in fact, a 14.5x114 mm anti-materiel high-explosive incendiary/armor-piercing ammunition projectile, abbreviated as HEIAP. Although most Guards will just call it MP, multi-purpose, for sanity's sake. The lethal projectile does as it sounds, penetrating before exploding in a searing blast. An MP round may not be as powerful as a bolt round, but they're more easily fielded and more effective against the common enemy grunts.
Once Johnson has fired the last of his Heavy Stubber's ammo, the Sergeant carefully drops it on a thick piece of rubble, its barrel red hot from the earlier expenditure. Reaching behind his back, Johnson equips his usual Lasrifle before leaning down slightly to brace the weapon on the edge of his foxhole. Despite the heavy casualties Johnson has just inflicted with the Heavy Stubber, a fresh wave of sacrificial pawns once again emerges from who-knows-where. Worse, some of the enemy vehicles, scattered by their air support earlier, have now regrouped to once again assault their location. Much like the Echelon that they bailed out, 3rd Platoon is subjected to the same treatment of overwhelming suppressive fire dished out by the enemy motorized units.
"This is bullshit!" Someone in Johnson's Squad complains in a half-blown-up trench. The person can't even peek out without risking a permanent head injury from a stray slug or bullet fragmentation.
After managing out a few shots that take out the gunner of one of the technicals, thus slightly reducing the enemy suppression, Johnson finds himself on the receiving end of the spotlight. The Sergeant barely slips back down into his hole when numerous bullets and whatever lasers the cultists have are either slamming against the raised edge of the foxhole or are flying to somewhere above it. The feeling of being shot at with reckless abandon, the screams of metal slugs tearing through the air, the residue heat left behind by laser shots, and the odd scent let out by the constant warring... Yeah, this is just another Tuesday for a Frogger like Johnson.
With a bit of a smirk on his face, Johnson hypes his pinned-down subordinates.
"This is but a light shower in the rain!" Johnson then leans on his side, looking at the top of the building next to his Squad's position. "Toughen up and light them up, 3rd Platoon!"
As the near mindless horde of cultists and vehicles comes down on the avenue that's painted a dark red, they fail to acknowledge the threat that is just slightly above them. Scorpin's Special Weapons Squad has been garrisoning in this somewhat intact high ground for some time. They have only been active twice thus far, and each time involves the absolute destruction of a hostile vehicle. One would think that their presence would immediately be singled out and made a priority target. Yet, owing to how fast Johnson's Squad and the survivors from the Echelon have been at dispatching the cultists' attack waves, not a single report has reached the heretics' leaders that 3rd Platoon has an anti-vehicle Squad. Even then, Scorpin's Squad ain't the only thing Johnson has at his disposal.
When Scorpin leads her unit to assail the unsuspecting flank of the enemy assault, causing a great many explosions with their one Plasma Gun and multiple underbarrel grenade launchers, multiple Cadian 8th Armored Sentinels burst out from their hiding place. A couple of Sentinels rise into view from deep bomb craters, their autocannons start spitting hot leads into the cultists in disarray. Their large caliber projectiles do way more damage to both the biological bodies and the flimsy bolted-on vehicular armor plating than even a Heavy Bolter. Two more of these Armored Sentinels dash out from the ruins of collapsed buildings, making themselves towering above everything by standing atop their former hiding places. Thanks to their height advantage, these two Sentinels can single out the more stubborn threats like Taurox or Testudo APC before turning them into slags with their Lascannons. It isn't a surprise when these uncoordinated cultists soon scatter back the way they came from with the fear of the Emperor being seared into their souls. Yet another enemy attack is beaten back by the combined force of 3rd Platoon, the remnants of the Echelon, and the Hunter-Killer Sentinels unit.
Having seen this, one might think that 3rd Platoon must have had it easy, as these cultists seem too easy to defeat, or at least kept at bay... Perhaps it really is, but this is 3rd Platoon we're talking about. There ain't anything normal about them when they fought even Astartes to a tie, granted it was a skewed matchup. The point is, they are tough nut to crack and their morale and beliefs are always solid. The only downside is that they, like any other mortal units, have limits to their physical capability and the amount of supplies they can carry. By this point, they have beaten back a dozen assaults of varying scales from the heretics. Suffice to say, even their improved Lasrifles will run out of energy against a foe many times their numbers. And as heroic as 3rd Platoon may be, they are still susceptible to casualties like any other fighting force.
When most of the heat dies down to some stray, sporadic shots, Johnson rushes out of his foxhole and back into the Echelon's command building. There, he comes to see the Echelon's commanding officer and a couple of his Squad members being cared for by the medics. It's not just them, of course, as there are also multiple alive but unconscious casualties of the Echelon they managed to recover on the field.
Johnson snaps a swift salute to the officer, who then gives him an acknowledging nod in return, before turning to his two injured subordinates.
"You boys good to go?"
The two injured Platoon members look at each other before nodding without much fanfare and heedless of the severity of their injury. One has a bloodied bandage wrapped around his head and even covers up his right eye. Despite the way his head is wrapped up, the guy ain't blind. The bandaging is only that extensive because they're needed to keep his head framework largely intact. This is all because of a frag tearing up a good chunk of the flesh on the side of his head. No less noticeable is the injury sustained by the other subordinate of Johnson, with one of his hands literally vaporized by a beam when he tried to toss out a hostile frag grenade. He succeeded in preventing the ultimate demise of the last fighting force of the Echelon, but it cost him a literal hand, thankfully not a leg as well.
Johnson nods, respecting their will to fight. The Sergeant then picks out a discarded Lasrifle by the doorway before tossing it to the guy with the bandaged head. "Your rifle, keep it on you next time around. Think you can still handle it?"
"Oh, I can and will make this one sing in the Emperor's name."
Johnson nods before turning to the valiant, yet now handicapped Guardsman of his unit. "And you, Surbella? Think you can man the Heavy Stubber outside?"
Surbella raises his remaining hand and gestures to the bandaged stump of his. "This but a flesh wound."
"Good." Johnson grins, gesturing his head outside where the battlefield is starting to reignite. "Surbella, you're on Stubber duty. Anders, keep him topped up with the belts in the crate outside this building. Now, move out, Guarsmen!"
"For the Emperor!"
Surbella and Anders vacate the clinic; their low, but starkly confident salute remains audible in the confines of the triage room. The Echelon's commanding officer looks at the departing backs of these Guardsmen in 3rd Platoon and can't help but compliment.
"You lot are surely something, to bravely continue the fight so energetically with such injuries. If only I were competent enough to raise men and women like your subordinates... Perhaps I wouldn't have cost the 8th so many lives today."
"With all due respect, sir. I highly doubt anyone else could have held this fragile line long enough for help to arrive with only this degree of casualties. As for us in 3rd Platoon, we take the saying of 'Only in death does duty end' quite seriously." Johnson replies plainly. "As long as we can still bring the hurt to the enemy, we'll do so regardless of pain and injury.
The officer smirks before hopping from the makeshift triage bed with some effort. "Hearing you say that, I feel ashamed that I was moping just moments earlier. Can't let the younguns outshine this man who's getting there in the ages now, can I?"
"In case I keel over midway, however." The officer adds. "The command of the Echelon remains in your hand. Now, care to show me a weapon, Sergeant Johnson?"
"I believe I have something suitable just for you, sir."
As the officer is shown a spare, albeit slightly battered Lasrifle with a couple of power packs, Johnson's Vox comes to life with a warning.
"Johnson, the Avengers couldn't stop that Regalia Dorn." Ein's voice, not the Rookie's, can be heard through the link. "None of their ordinances managed to score a direct hit. The Battle Tank is charging at you through one building after another, unimpeded. By the time that thing makes it into the open terrain, it will be right on top of your position. By then, it will be a danger close situation."
The link stops for a bit before crackling to life once more. "We'll support you the best we can from above, but the VTOLs are mostly emptied on physical ordinances. Direct attack is hampered by the enemy's incessant smoke screen, so for the most part, it will be a ground game. Unfortunately for you, that thing has a Castigator Gatling Cannon and sponson-mounted twin-linked Heavy Bolters. Any frontal infantry assault will be suicidal, and its twin Battle Cannons can take care of anything else you have on hand."
"So in other words, we're fucked sideways." Johnson chuckles.
"That's a crude way of saying it, but yes." Ein replies, presumably with a wry grin.
"What are the odds of the cultists failing to maintain the Dorn's sensor suite?" Johnson asks as he makes his way outside, making sure that the rest of the Platoon can hear their discussion.
"Won't be the first time that happens." Ein replies. "And I think we surely did enough damage already to scramble their Auspex."
Johnson crouches next to the Echelon officer, surveying the terrain around them and improvising a plan on the spot. "Ain't nothing else we can do but this then..."
The Sergeant then swiftly disseminated his bold, borderline audacious plan. It's legit insane enough that even the officer nearby can't help but laugh aloud due to its absurd requirements.
Weiss, who has been listening in, can't stop herself from commenting. "But Sergeant, that will be danger close to your location, like very danger close!"
"Battlefield 101, Rookie." Ein interjects with an audible smirk. "Since when does 3rd Platoon care about danger close?"
Johnson smirks, not saying anything else as he reorganizes the frontline just as the vibration of tank treads and heavy armor can be felt all over the battlefield. For a moment, the defense line's firepower output significantly increased, making sure to wipe out the remaining cultists near them. Then, all activities stop on the Cadian 8th's side, it's as if they suddenly abandon their position and retreat after running out of supplies, which by itself is a sound tactical decision in the face of a Regalia Dorn. By the time the Battle Tank barges into the decimated avenue that is filled with corpses and wreckages, not a single Cadian soul can be seen in the traitorous tank crew's smoke-filled scopes.
Now, where have 3rd Platoon and the rest disappeared to, one may wonder?