Privates Nebelheim and Walker apparently, so the dogtags said. Both conscripted today, alongside Squad Four and Harald himself. While the human in him felt for the poor bastards, his cynical side reminded Harald that they had been issued full kit while his squad had been left in civvies. They had either been caught off-guard or were simply outmatched my Imperial regulars; either way, they had been well equipped to deal with the threat. As the other began to distribute the salvaged kit, Harald busied himself with the dead soldier's other equipment, taking an especially long bandoleer for himself; it even had a pair of old-fashioned grenades attached, probably circa 1910 at least. A sudden burst of static caught his attention and Varrot's report began to filter through; however before the scout could finish, one of the squad called out in surprise. Another reacted faster than Harald, taking cover by a tight alleyway.

The two Imperial shocktroopers paused in their advance, alerted by a shriek up ahead. One took a knee, leaning as close to the left hand wall as possible to minimise his profile while the other advanced, finger on the trigger. Within seconds a target presented itself; a small face poked around the corner, easily within range. Both men opened up with short, controlled bursts to force the Gallian back into cover; if the enemy had the exit covered, then advancing would only get them killed. With a brief flurry of hand signals and a nod of agreement, one soldier took off back to their squad at a sprint while the other lay prone to watch the alley.

[b]'Valk's blood! You alright Private?'[/b] Harald couldn't see any obvious injury from his position on the other side of the alleyway entrance and not for the first time regretted not knowing everyone's name yet. [i]Shit,[/i] he thought grimly. [i]We don't have the kit for a firefight.[/i] There wasn't much room to manoeuvre here and those soldiers could easily double back to flank them; at the same time the squad was split on either side of the alley entrance so retreat wasn't an immediate option. They needed a distraction. [b]'Varrot, I need fire on whoever comes out the other end of this alley. We'll smoke 'em out, then pull back and find a way around.'[/b] Carefully clipping his wireless back to his jacket, Harald glanced at his squad. Half were armed now, but only with rifles, no use in close quarters; until such time as they scrounged up some SMG ammo, his revolver was the handiest gun they had. Switching to hand signals, Harald mimed a grenade toss, followed by a rapid retreat back the way they came and gave silent thanks to the deceased soldiers for the use of their nades. After a few seconds silence, the sounds of running boots echoed back up the alley; judging his time carefully, the Sergeant pulled the cord from his archaic grenade and slung it full pelt around the corner. A shrill cuss was soon cut off the explosion and Harald darted around the corner, unloading all six rounds aimlessly. Not waiting around to see if any had connected, he grabbed his nearest squadmate and belted it back up the street.

Several streets away, a squad was holding out in a bus shelter. Where every other man and woman had their heads down, popping up only to fire, one man stood brazenly before the Imperials, flourishing a great curved sabre. [b]'Corporal, be a good chap and get someone on the second floor. And you, Bonns, do try and fire your weapon; there are targets to spare.'[/b] Meulemann's hearty laugh was as disheartening to his own men as they enemy; he had already been hit twice and had both times waved away medical support. The first Imperial assault on their position had left three shocktroopers dead by his blade, hence their more cautious approach this time round. But that caution was paying dividends; even if the Captain was still standing, five of his squad were down. Even Meulemann knew that their position was rapidly becoming untenable and that the Militia might soon have to abandon the town.