The Faith of Preacher Justinian

The remnants of Company 4 of the 219th Arkady Light Rifles Regiment were suffering a withering barrage from the disintegrating shelter of a habitation tower. Artillery punished the upper floors while autocannon and heavy stubber rounds punctured the walls around the huddled troopers. Captain Ulyaruk crawled from squad to squad, checking ammo and gear. Sergeant Fedoruk had taken three shots to the chest trying to survey the company only minutes before, but the Captain needed a head count and some shred of an idea of his company's fighting strength. The firing outside waxed and waned, occasionally one of the company would return fire and the fullisade would crescendo, usually with a cry of another dead trooper.
"Lieutenant Twersky, how many fighting men have you got?"
The young lieutenant glanced around and shouted, "Last check was 15, maybe 16 if Trooper Podolski ever wakes up! Each man has at least one full clip, and maybe half a canteen!"
Ulyaruk nodded and crawled toward the stairs, but stopped when he was kicked by Lt. Twersky. "Don't bother going up there, Captain! You won't make it back!"
A line of 5 centimeter holes suddenly stitched its way across the wall above the lieutenant, the bullets embedding in the crumbling wall opposite. The building shook and the two officers covered their ears as a mortar or cannon round exploded somewhere on the floors above them. Dust rained out of the ceiling, plas-crete groaned and chunks of ceiling fell onto the cowering troopers. As the dust settled, the two men checked themselves for injuries and then glanced around the squads.
"Anyone hit?" Lt. Twersky shouted.
"Doesn't look like it, sir!" someone shouted back after a moment. Captain Ulyaruk crawled up to the younger officer and whispered, “We can’t stay here, son. We’re going to have to make an attempt to assault one of the buildings across the street or their artillery fire will grind us to powder. These rebel scum must not be permitted to move uncontested.”
As the lieutenant stared at his commanding officer with a mixture of horror and surprise, he saw a large man in red robes calmly walking down the ruined stairwell from the floor above. He was wiping the dust from his robes and carrying his massive chainsaw over his shoulder.
“Preacher Justinian! Get down! They’ll see you!” shouted Twersky.
“What is this? The Immortal Emperor’s finest soldiers cowering on the floor like dogs? Stand up and be proud warriors! The Emperor has shown me the way, we shall win this day!” Justinian walked around the floor, shaking the stunned troopers, and ignoring the rounds flying through the air. “Follow me, brave soldiers! We shall slay the enemy and bring the Emperor’s divine light back to this planet!” Preacher Justinian began singing a devotional hymn at the top of his lungs, as he walked down the stairs to the ground floor.
“Troopers! Follow the preacher! Do not disappoint our Beloved Emperor!” shouted Captain Ulyaruk as he crouched and ran for the stairs.
Two troopers immediately stood and were cut down, spraying the contents of their chest cavities over several others. Lieutenant Twersky drew his pistol and sword, crouched, and ran for the stairs shouting, “Only dead men can stay here!” He was satisfied to hear scrabbling and shuffling as his troopers ran for the stairs behind him.
Justinian was rousing the huddled troopers with song and striding purposefully through the mass of bodies and rubble, surrounded by a nimbus of fire. Bullets and las-fire were smacking into, and sometimes through, the preacher’s holy refractor field-generator. The effect would have been stupefying, if not for the sheer amount of enemy fire cutting through the air. Twersky crouched and made his way to the Captain who shouted, “By the Emperor, men, we will follow our faith wherever it leads! Incinerator specialists to the front!” The company was now more of a large platoon than anything resembling a company, but the men all cheered victory.
Preacher Justinian ignited the spark on miniaturized incinerator attached to the handle of his two-meter chainblade and revved the weapon’s engine. Satisfied that everything and everyone was ready, the priest threw himself through an open window and charged into the deadly street toward the nearest enemy-occupied building.
“GO! GO! GO!” shouted Captain Ulyaruk as he leapt after Justinian. Three troopers were cut down as they ran out of the building but the rest did not waver. They followed the fiery, holy man across the street, leaping piles of rotting dead, chunks of broken masonry, and blood-filled craters. Lieutenant Twersky was clipped by a las-blast, but he kept running, running to the dubious shelter of the rebel position. Preacher Justinian ran straight at a barricaded door with his chainsaw held high over his head. The blade smashed through the barricade, teeth whirring and tearing through wood and rock alike. Justinian’s momentum carried him past the entrance and into the dark interior of the former hab-block. Captain Ulyaruk dove through a hole in the building, as did several troopers. A grenade blew out a window on the second floor. Troopers dropped to the ground, cut down by the fire from the upper floors of the building and from the other rebel positions. Lieutenant Twersky had run across the street in three seconds and was only six seconds behind Preacher Justinian. The preacher had carved a path through the defenders, killing six of them before the lieutenant had crossed the threshold.
One of the specialists armed with an incinerator had survived the charge across the street and was purging the faithless mercilessly. The flames and gunfire lit the building with the fires of the Emperor’s wrath. This is the only mercy for those who would turn from His grace, thought Twersky. Screaming wordlessly, he charged through room after room and killed all who stood before him.
“Regroup! Regroup and assault the upper floors!” shouted Captain Ulyaruk as he tried to match the furious pace of Preacher Justinian.
“I bring the fiery vengeance of the Emperor to His enemies!” the mad preacher screamed before charging up the stairs. Justinian disgorged a torrent of flame from his incinerator unit and ran out of the Captain’s sight. “Follow him, trooper! Let none escape!” Ulyaruk ordered the incinerator-armed trooper. “Lieutenant! Secure this position while we cleanse the rest of the building!”
“Troopers, get some cover, watch for a counter-attack,” ordered Lt. Twersky. He checked his las-pistol clip and cleaned his saber. “Jorn and Gedorsk, search these bodies for clips.” Las-rifle fire and screams from the fighting upstairs were punctuated by the whoosh of the flame weapons. Flaming bodies began to land in the street and smolder, their screams cut short by the sudden stop. Enemy fire started to impact the walls of their new shelter, but none of it was heavy caliber weaponry. Nice change thought Twersky as he picked up a carbine and joined in firing on the rebels in the adjacent building.
Preacher Justinian came thundering down the stairs mere minutes after charging up them. “Lieutenant! Gather your men, we carry our victory onward!” shouted the priest. His robe was bloody and singed, torn and fouled, but the symbol of the Ecclesiarchy was clean. His armed were cut and scorched in places, he bled from at least two wounds in his torso, but still the man stood proud and strong. His refractor field sparked and glowed, despite a lack of incoming fire. The field lit the way for the preacher in the dark interior of the hab-block and all the troopers stared in astonishment, then kneeled for benediction. Preacher Justinian blessed each one in turn. Captain Ulyaruk and his squad joined the men on the ground floor.
“Lieutenant, situation?”
“Small arms fire only so far, sir.”
“The situation, my good captain, is that there are rebels who have betrayed the light of the Emperor and need to be shown the path to His grace!” and with that, the preacher kicked open a broken door and charged toward the next position.
“For the Emperor!” shouted the captain as he ran through the door, followed by his company.
The rebels never stood a chance.