Thanks to the sophistication of the imperial machine spirit, Cholon's internal vox cut through the noise of a dozen shrieking traitors clambering over his armoured body. He heard the plan for an assault and cursed himself for hurling his rifle moments prior. 

The next curses to come out of his mouth had less to do with the many, many enemies still hacking and stabbing at his ceramite exterior. Remembering that his rifle (and by literal attachment, the grenade launcher) had been hurled into the hoard not a minute earlier. He originally planned to dig it out from the corpses and offal after this assault was repelled. But now he had to go digging through heretics for his own weapon. 

It was a tall order to lift himself from the pile of bodies, even the servos in his knee joints whinned gently with the effort of standing. The crack and subsequent volley of organized lasfire helped. He could see bodies twist and faces contort as short range las fire heated through meagre clothing and soft flesh. 

It was a start. Some of the bolder guardsman took shots at the cretins crawling on the Chogorian's back and legs. Some of those las rounds scored his armour but none came close to damaging anything. It gave him some extra breathing room at least. Enough to unhook a frag grenade from his belt and toss it somewhere into the rear of the hoard to detonate indiscriminately, and to draw his sidearm and begin carving a bloody new path towards where he last threw his weapon. He only hoped the spirit of the weapon would forgive him for discarding it in such a lowly manner. He would have need of its ability again soon. 

"As long as we get to leave this trench, I don't care if we run into the eye itself." Speaking his first words to his squad since this assault had begun.