Horacio was in the midst of another hymn when he started to be aware of the... response coming towards them, squinting to see the running uniforms and odd vehicle or two... or three... yes, it was quite clear that something would be happening. Either this was a set of over-enthusiastic reinforcements or the potentially fatal alternative of enemies. 

He stopped walking, and his arms paused mid-wave. Even his hymn was cut off at "Empero-". The Confessor bit his lip, and lifted his shotgun, not quite aiming but merely keeping it ready. 

"[b]STOP![/b]" the man roared, giving a blast into the sky. "In the name of the Emperor, stop! Nobody fire!" he yelled to the running guardsmen, but only one or two did, and most of them resumed their approach. Perhaps they didn't hear him? He considered. He'd hate to have the civil war start so early. For now he only hoped that he would have to arouse people and make them lynch anyone who even looked funny on suspicion of corruption; harsh but necessary. This however, an incoming civil war was something he'd prefer to avoid. However, it would seem that these men would not be intimidated either. They had lasguns, a lot of them. Some of the reserve personnel had an autogun here or there but nevertheless fearsome weapons, particularly en-masse. However, that is exactly where the Confessor and his mob had the advantage. They had a rag-tag of gang weapons that would probably backfire on you every other shot, but there were a lot of them and the flak-gear was despite the propaganda, not going to protect you from all that would come. Not to mention, it didn't protect the face, arms, legs, throat, and a whole lot of squishy bits ripe for shooting. 

It was when a las-bolt pierced the skull of a boy beating a drum and injuring the man behind him that Horacio really snapped out of the naive and simplistic trance of an attempt at pacifism, and he stared at the milky brown eyes of the fallen youngling he held in his arms. He was dead, dead and cooling by the moment. The men around him were falling one by one, and las-bolts were making the flickering of the rosarius when it protected him from their searing flight. He looked up as he dropped the corpse and lifted up his power maul to point at the enemies. "Charge." he said, not screaming but snarling mildly with a spray of white spittle. It took a moment for what he said to sink in, but everyone seemed to understand even if they didn't hear. The scream of anger and righteous fury was taken up. The young, the prime and the elderly all looked forward and ran, shooting and swinging their weapons. Many blades whooshed in the air while one man was beating a hammer on his flak-vest with a distinctive "dong-dong-dong." "Kill them! Anyone who won't drop their weapon doesn't deserve mercy! Rip them and trample them into the rockcrete!" He screamed, as he ran forward with the mob, hoping that the Sororita was doing well too. 

Horacio's age helped him here, it gave an excuse to not be at the front and receiver the heavy stubber fire that opened up, and neither would he be at the front of the melee when the mob finally came into close combat distance of the PDF. A grenade exploded, and some of the militia men flew in a red spray cross the whole street, a flamer started to vaporise a few men before the offending soldier's backpack was hit and exploded with promethium gushing on friend and foe alike. 

...And then the lines closed, at least partially. The PDF couldn't decide whether it would use the affixed bayonets to try and take the charge or if they should move back so the heavy weapons could thin the crowd some more. One man running away was impaled on an imrpomptu spear and lifted up for the traitors to survey, while a few men forming two ranks with a small bayonet wall got suddenly blown away by a militiaman carrying a rapid-fire shotgun. With the initial shock dying down it turned into a grueling fight were tooth and nail would come in handy, like the ancient trench battles on terra. There were screams of triumph and agony, men were stepped over so the next combatant could continue the previous one's legacy. Grenades and improvised explosives were being tossed overhead to hit the clumps of people waiting to join the fight, or simply let off as a dying "present." Many tried to shoot over the head or between the shoulder of a comrade, though there were quite a few cases of friendly fire because of this. Worse yet was when some of the vehicles of the PDF had their weapons high enough to fire over the heads of their allies, although in one such case the lines of the PDF got pushed to far back, and as the vehicle was about to drive backwards the gunner had a massive hook go through his stomach, and he was pulled right off. It was swiftly surrounded and the driver ripped out by people lusting for revenge.

And at last, the man in front of Horacio fell right on him as his previous opponent managed to shoot his shotgun at him. Just as the man was getting the Confessor in his sights the holy man shot first with his bolt-pistol. Well, if it was his turn so be it. He stepped forward and it seemed he'd be dealing with an officer, who had a chainsword. Nasty weapon, and all the blood on it was expected. The locals that joined Horacio in battle would try to block it with their improvised weapon only to have it sliced through and then to be shredded by the thing. Well, the traitor would learn the meaning of "advantage" when he had to deal with a power maul. Holding his weapon two-handed Horacio blocked the first two identical downward strikes and ducked under the side-ways sweep, but growled indignantly when his hat was sliced in two, falling on the ground. Angrily he went for an under-hand strike from his weapon which the officer dodged, but his sword went in the power field and hit the maul's spike, breaking the thing. The chain fell to the ground and the motor spun uselessly, with the panicked officer looking around. The sweating bastard pulled a mono-knife from his boot and threw it. To the holy man's surprise, it went right past the rosarius defence and hit him just to the right of his neck, sticking out from his back. Screaming he went for another sweep with his maul, and this time splite the man into north and south. He kneeled as he felt the pain, praying to the God-Emperor that the corruption would not enter him through the wretched blade. He pulled it out, threw it back at the enemies (sadly only hitting someone with the handle) and tugging at his bolt-pistol to shoot. He kept on pulling the trigger even when the clip ended, for the comfort it gave. Long since another few men had taken up his spot in the fight, but he was nevertheless breathing fast and hard. 

Horacio stood, brushing himself off and standing with an arm clutching the wound. The fight was getting more complex with men going on roof-tops and balconies to shoot and while there was much melee still the thinning of numbers by the hundreds on both sides made shooting a lot easier, and things were slowly drifting to more traditional urban combat. Picking up his weapons along with a groaning man who had a bayonet in his stomach, Horacio ran to a make-shift barricade for cover and screamed "Medic!" until a man with foggy spectacles, a doctor's bag and a bloodied axe rushed over to him. "Drop the axe lad!" he said to the doctor who instinctively did, and went to treating the two casualties. As far as the Confessor could tell the faithful were winning. Many had dragged across corpses of dead PDF men to loot their flak-gear or at least helmet, while others just took a lasgun. The mob had acquired much firepower in the mere seventeen minutes of the engagement, while still retaining numerical superiority. In fact, as far as he could see the militia was now completely equipped with firearms, and this was being pronounced loud and clear. The zinging of lasbolts from the enemy was answered nearly tenfold, and any coward amongst the traitors trying to retreat was quickly pinned down on the streets and then killed. With his shoulder patched up, Horacio peeked over his barricade to survey the situation and ducked as a bullet hit just the tip of his cover. Horacio turned to look at the structure behind him on his side, and looked down at the men milling about at the bottom, ocassionally taking pot-shots or emptying their whole charges on fleeing enemies. They weren't high enough for the shooting between buildings, so they were waiting for vacancy to open up upstairs via one of the shooters dying. 

But the Confessor had other plans. He pointed with his thumb at the enemy building and then ran his thumb across his throat while motioning to the men who were at first confused. Eventually he mouthed "We'll storm them. Melee." and making a mock swing with a knife. The men seemed to comprehend, and Horacio with his fingers made a one.. two.. three. The shout resumed, and the men ran. Now they had lasguns which could shoot on automatic for quite a while, so that the enemy would be supressed while they charged. They made it to the structure of the enemies, and against some close quarters combat. The men fought with bayonets, while occassionally shooting to cover a charge or to hopefully get the other bastard without having to go for melee. They went up, floor by floor and eventually they cleared the structure. A salient! He looked to the other structures, some housing and some industry. It seemed that others were following his lead, and were also clearing out the other buildings. Sitting down against a wall the Confessor made the sign of the Aquila over his sweaty chest. It was almost over.