He remembered the shells hitting; he remembered the gouts of mud blasted into the air; he remembered the ork vehicles being thrown asunder by the bombardment. He was lying on wet, sticky ground. He reached out with his left arm, and stopped as it erupted into sickening agony. Compound fracture, he thought, trying to master the pain through mental clarity. He shifted his weight slightly and used his right hand instead. It encountered metal. Now, as he tried to focus, he could see faint chinks of dim light. He experienced an abrupt sense of enclosure. One of the ork vehicles? It must have landed over me, sheltering me from the worst of the bombardment.
It took several minutes to dig out enough of a hollow in the mud for him to slither under the upturned wreck's battered metal skin using just one arm, and nearly as long to pull himself through it. By the time he regained his feet he was light-headed from the exertion and pain.

Choke Point pg. 27