Everyone quickly got out of the way of the armed group. Every now and again one of the arms-men rudely pushed aside anyone not paying attention and standing in the way. Conduct Price wouldn't use against his own men if it wasn't absolutely necessary, unless he wished to lose the respect of his men in the long run. Five minutes later they entered a richly decorated church nave, marked Situation Room with expertly crafted golden lettering. The centre was dominated by a charting table next to an electronic one. The rear walls were lined with stained glass windows. Each window depicted what seemed ancient characters which either build a ship, fought enemies or worshipped some heavily armored man with a Halo surrounding his head. In the centre of the rear wall a giant golden statue was embedded of the same man, but this time holding out a giant sword in front of him. Closer to the exit, rows of elevated seats were placed facing the centre tables. Where applicable, some sort of green-ish el

Picus. Another hell hole for men to fight and die in. Once a pristine agriworld, covered with trees of ripe fruits and great fields of grazing Grox and native livestock. Now a blasted wasteland in most areas. Its cities in ruin, its vast forests burning, the few pockets of those still brave enough to resist the Chaos occupation having the life choked out of them in ever shrinking territories. And this damned airfield is about the last place I wanted to die Captain Sorte thought to himself bitterly, as he clutched his Lasgun against his chest. Las bolts and solid slugs flashed and whizzed about in both directions for a while now, the occasional explosive retort of a tank or savage bark of a Heavy bolter breaking the din, but Captain Sorte knew the real assault was soon to come. And when it finally came upon them they wouldn't last long. In the past two months he saw his units numbers become fewer and fewer each day. Of his original 1000 men, barely 400 were still alive. Some of the

"Trojan 2-1, Trojan 2-1 this is Hawk 1, Callsign Duster. Come in." Slowly he approached the Vox and picked up the horn. "This is... This is Trojan 2-1. Aye. Captain Sorte of the 122nd Guard-P*F Infantry Battalion. Are you our Navy reinforcements?" The answer seemed obvious, but Sorte had to ask to settle his confused mind. "That's affirmative! You've got eight Shuttles with Marines inbound to your location. I suggest you clear an LZ for them to land. ETA three minutes." Thank the Emperor. "Roger that Duster, can you provide Close Air Support?" Please say yes. Sorte wasn't even completely sure he'd have the wafer thin defence he did have without some kind of heavy firepower. "You've got nine fighters and seventy strikers at your disposal Captain. We'll do what we can. Better tell your guys to get real small in their holes and mark your lines. We can't see friend from foe from up here." By the Throne! This keeps getting better! "Understood. Sorte out!" he threw down the mic, and lo

Beta Company, Southern Flank, The Creek Bed- "Manny, where the hell are you?" the young soldier grunted under his breath. His long-time friend and comrade-in-arms had sped off to the munitions dump for spare charge-packs and ammo-mags. Throne knows where he was now, almost everyone in his squad was running low. Whatever they had left wouldn't last long. The sarge had ordered everyone on single-shot. Full auto would only waste precious ammo. Manny should have been back by now. The soldier hoped he would be back soon or he would run dry, the heretics where showing none of the restraint or hesitation they had around the Terminal and command centre. He had three magazines left, and the enemy was barely dozens of metres away from him. He'd already been forced to watch the trench line in front of him fall, the men within physically torn apart by the frenzied barely-human horde of renegades. Masses of enemy soldiers came charging towards his position. The Soldier knew what would happen if t

The Third World War began on August fifteenth, 2030. It only lasted three days. It was a war that ended with twenty-thousand nuclear warheads and a burning Earth. With over one billion fatalities, the Third World War was labelled the largest global catastrophe since the extinction of the dinosaurs. Another hundred million more died soon after, victims of the swift and deadly killer that was radiation sickness. Worldwide infrastructure failed in less than a day-everything from microchips to national power grids were fried by the blasts. It was an atrocity of the highest order. The ultimate crime against humanity. But this story is not about that war. This story is about what happened next after the bombs had dropped. Before we knew it, the scarred remnants of the world were once again united against a common threat. The nuclear fallout we had created would soon wipe us all from existence. Functioning technology was scarce, so countries began to collaborate once more. Without any ot