The terrible and furious reality of battle at close quarters allowed for none of the conditions enjoyed by those upon the training field. Rask fired the stubber until its barrel glowed and smoky steam leapt off it in hissing wisps.
Such volume of automatic fire would have wiped out an infantry platoon, yet none of the traitors were felled by it. Rask accomplished little save attracting the enemy’s own fire towards himself. Bolt-rounds crashed around his position. Blood splashed his face, hot and blinding, as the soldier fighting beside him was struck in the head. The man’s body was thrown back into the shallow trench, everything gone from the lower jaw up like an abused medicae cross section.

Of Honour and Iron