A slightly smaller Mess

"Aye, it has. The poor fuckers like us, the non purebloods, they're gettin sent in en-masse. Figure out where the line's weakest by where they do best. Then they're gonna send the big boys in to those bits"

"And we're holding you back, as of yet?"

"Fer now. Unless they try some counterattacks that need bluntin, I'm gettin saved for the breakthrough"

"The emperor protects." He says this with surprising surety.

"Aye, maybe he does." he shrugs "Hope for your lads sake eh?"

"How any man could march into that, i do not know."

"Aye. Dunno how they motivate em. Never been in the infantry meself."

"One does not meet many veterans of shock infantry. And those you do, are scary men."

"Aye. Fought against your death korps once. They were scary bastards."

"What i would do for a regiment of them here. We could have held this world for decades."

he chuckles
"Aye probably." he turns around and steps down from the pallisade
"So, you feelin any better lad? How ya holdin up?"

"I've had worse than a kicking in my time, I'll live."

he chuckles
"Come on, lets get ye some grub eh?"

"If you insist."

"Would ye rather starve lad? Musta been hours since you got food down ya"

"Not since before the assault. I ate lunch with my crew."

"ah..sorry bout that lad." he nods "I know the feeling of losing yer crew. 's hard."

"They were good men. Every man jack of them."

"Aye, don't doubt it"

He links his thumbs to make the aquilla, and mutters a quiet prayer

the other man lowers his gaze slightly as a sign of respect

After a few moments, he unhooks his thumbs. "Now that you mention it, Something to eat would be welcome."

he nods "Right this way lad" he heads back towards the dugout

He slips one of his hands between the buttons of his coat, to hold his ribs as he follows.

once inside, the man goes rifling through a bag beside one of the beds, before pulling out a ration pack and tossing it over. it's nothing great, but it is notably better than the ones he had in the imperial lines

After said meal is finished, the speed and silence of said, betraying how hungry he was. "Mmn, rather good."

he chuckles
"Aye, much as i don't like the company, bein in the professionals means we get better quality shite. That and the higher life expectancy aint bad"

"A tank is good enough for me."

"Aye, Tanks help" he chuckles

Laurence practically kicks down the door to the bunker, rushing as much as he is, he walks right past lyanna, waving off any questions she has and vaguely declaring "No talk now need to find canister." Then descending down further into the bunker

"Well, if one isn't fighting superheavies, that is."

lyanna shrugs this off

"Depends what tank you're in I spose eh?"

Some time later, he returns, with a plasteel cylinder, around the size of a battle cannon shell, over his shoulder. "Found it."

"Last i checked, we didn't have any Baneblades."

"Macharius' done me good enough so far."

"I wouldn't rely on it, if faced by any baneblade variant."

"Aye, gotta be good to take on a baneblade with em, but you've got more of a chance" he stubs out his cigar "still, 's possible"

"Taking out a baneblade on foot, is 'possible'. but i would not wish to try it."

Meanwhile, laurence makes his way back towards the front lines with the canister over his shoulder.

"I aint talkin in hypotheticals lad."

"Please, don't, I am deadly allergic to bullshit."

Walking down to the very centre of the line, he puts a foot on the firing step, and peers over, looking at the pile of corpses outside of the blackened and burned area of the flamethrower's effect.

he raises his eyebrow "that so?"

"It is indeed."

Laurence nods to himself, and shifts his grip on the canister to the handle welded to its base, he swings it back and forth a little, experimentally, judging it's weight, and draws one of his pistols from its holster with his left hand. Then, with no ceremony or flourish, he hurls the thing into the air. The canister tumbles through the air a considerable distance, clearing the twenty metre area of blackened earth, and then some. It lands among the dead, crushing the pelvis of a corpse with a grisly sound.

he reaches for a flask of water and takes a swig "So what's yer name lad?"

"Werner, and yours?"

Laurence pops his head over the parapet, for just long enough to level his pistol, and crack off a shot at the canister. The bullet pierces the plasteel, with a hollow ringing sound. But there is no explosion, no rapid expulsion of pressurised gas. But from the jagged hole, what appears to be a fine off-white powder, like flour, drifts out.

Arteras sighs, shaking his head. “If we hide here, our forces will be cut down one by one until it is just us left.”

"Erwin"

"A solid high gothic name. I wouldn't have thought so."

"That so?"

"I was expecting some unpronounceable gibberish."

"Why'dya think that? we're speakin the same language eh?"

"Frankly I am surprised at that as well."

"it's the universal human language eh?" he offers his drink to Werner

He takes the offered drink "apparently so."