(Pinned down on Tarsis Ultra, guardsmen slug it out against tyranid assault around the capital city of Erebus - Soon, the fabled Death Korps arrive to supplement your trench, perhaps in time to save the city)

Explosions ring out all around the trench as artillery crews rush shells into their breeches and dial in the last set of coordinates they could make out, as the air is filled with a sea of red bursts of lasgun fire, the snap of each shot a white noise blended into the background of this sensory overload cocktail

A platoon of Kriegers rush in, trenchcoats dirty as ever as they rapidly supplement the trenchline - They take up positions directly on the edge of the trench, ready to charge over should the whistle blow

An explosion rocks a section of the trench, throwing dirt high into the sky as the tyranid munition claims it's targets - From the sickly dark maroon smoke comes an injured Krieger, hobbling on their leg, holding their shrapnel ridden arm close to themselves

They mutter to themselves as they hobble towards you, quietly

"It... hurts..."

They look at you before speaking

"...I... Request medical aid."