Lincoln, commander of the 53rd Infantry Division, led the remaining half-regiment or so to a town two kilometers south of the battlefield.
They were all exhausted, filthy, and covered in dust.
Though they had fought fiercely for half an hour and broken through the surging enemy horde, their positions had fallen, their troops had been shattered, and the terrible casualties were enough to make anyone weep.
The roar of the battlefield left their ears ringing. Lincoln knew he was not the only one unable to calm down or stop his hands from trembling.
Two other scattered companies from the nearby 34th Division positions had also retreated here, along with some twenty artillerymen from the 6th Regiment who had been forced to abandon their gun positions and flee. Lincoln brought them all under his command. He had personally watched the 34th Division's positions be swallowed by the Ork tide, and he knew that this newly formed division had most likely been wiped from the rolls.
Because of the terrain, they had almost no chance of retreating.
This war was simply too desperate. The enemy had crushed their defenses with overwhelming numerical and firepower superiority.
And with rear-area transportation destroyed, they had little ammunition left. By the end, the soldiers could only charge in for hand-to-hand combat.
The result needed no explanation...
All Lincoln could do now was have his officers make sure the dazed soldiers had weapons, even if it was only a bayonet or a broken rifle.
Through his binoculars, Lincoln saw a fan-shaped formation of armored vehicles crossing the stream from the west, their rolling tracks kicking up earth behind them.
It was the full strength of the 3rd Armored Division, advancing from its assembly position in the Suen Basin.
He wondered why they seemed to be holding back.