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"Did you hear? We're finally getting reinforced!"
"No shit, who by?"
"Well get this -" He leaned in conspiratorially. "It's the cogheads."
She raised an eyebrow. "The Adeptus Mechanicus are coming here? What for?"
"Not a clue! Must be a bunker hidden somewhere on this shithole filled with some rusty nuts and bolts, eh?"
"Must be. Maybe they can take some scrap from the xenos." She shook her head.
The Mechanicus reinforcements arrived with little fanfare, their ships landing in sequence and dropping off squads of tall, robed troops moving in eerie unison, their brass limbs gripping long elegant rifles.
He leaned over and muttered, "I thought the cogs wore red robes."
"Me too."
"Then why are these ones in black?"
"Don't know. The armor's red, I guess."
"Weird."
"Yeah." The captain shot them a look and both stood straight at attention as the Mechanicus soldiers marched by.
The black clad snipers were incredibly effective in the jungle terrain, setting traps, ambushing the Eldar snipers from unlikely positions, executing silent night time raids. The guard could only look on as the tables of this war turned in their favor. However one night -
"Look out, in the tree -" His warning was cut short by the needle sticking straight through his throat. He collapsed to the ground, writhing.
She turned and started firing blindly to where he had pointed. A slim figure fell bleeding from it's perch. She had no time to mourn her comrade as another shape fell upon her, shrieking in an alien tongue and stabbing with a short blade. She grabbed hold of the slender but ferociously strong wrists trying to force the blade through her chest, but was unable to stop the blade from inching closer -
A pair of green glowing oculars appeared from above and with a crack the xenos went limp.
"Thank you." Her memory failed her. All the metal men looked identical to her eyes.
"This unit's designation is Fifty-One. Thanks are unnecessary, Un-augmented One, but not unappreciated." The voice from the vox grill was somehow melodic despite the static tinge.
The metal hand, the palm wrapped in surprisingly soft leather, gripped hers and pulled her to her feet.
In the dim light she saw that the soldier's other hand held the splintered remains of one of those long, elegant rifles she had seen before. He must have used that to bludgeon the Eldar.
Her gaze was noticed. "This one mourns the loss of this machine spirit, it has served faithfully for 892 planetary cycles. We shall process this later. The Imperative retains priority."
The black robed figure removed its pack and reverently stowed the remains of the rifle inside, a low buzz emanating from its vox grill.
She cast about for a weapon. They two survivors would not make it through this hell with her alone armed. Her friend's autogun lay next to his corpse, smeared with mud and blood. Avoiding his blank gaze, she picked it up and brought it to the kneeling figure.
"Here, it's nothing fancy, but it'll serve."
"Confirmed." The green tinted oculars seemed to study the weapon, the brass hands testing the weight, quickly and methodically checking the magazine, the ejection port, the sighting. "It shall serve, by the Omnissiah's grace."
It was daybreak by the time the pair made it to the target location - some sort of ruin to the guardsman's eyes. Tall pillars of arching stone rose from the ground like the ribs of some giant. In the center of the clearing was a plinth upon which rested a shining red gem, as large as her fist it seemed from this distance.
They approached the plinth in silence. Both knew this must be the target.
"Stop there Mon-keigh, you know not what you do." The piercing voice cried from the other end of the clearing. There stood a tall figure in a high, curved helmet topped with a plume, robes bright red and shining in the sun. The figure was clutching his side, and blood was dribbling between his fingers.
The ranger moved with dangerous precision, raising the autogun and firing in the same movement. The rounds stopped short of reaching the Eldar, held in place by an unseen force.
She fired on full auto - it was a damn witch! They were dead.
However Fifty-One was sprinting full tilt at the Eldar, knife held backhand in that leather grip. Distracted by her fire the witch did not see the ranger approaching until Fifty-One was on top of him, knife stabbing over and over into the wound, staining that already red robe darker.
The witch did not go quietly, reduced to bashing at the mechanical soldier with his staff. Psychic waves tore at Fifty-One's robes and metal augments, disconnected tubes flailing and spraying fluid and steam as the knife drew more blood.
She threw down her rifle, then sprinted to the plinth and stowed the gem in her rucksack. As she turned to look at Fifty-One, she felt a splinter of pain drive through her spine.
Her legs gave out and she dropped to her knees. Fifty-One stood from the dead witch and fired the autogun at the source of her pain, the Eldar warrior falling back, helmet punched full of holes.
Fifty-One approached, green oculars and metal face impassive.
"Your legs no longer function." It was not a question.
"No." She answered anyway.
"Confirm artifact retrieval?"
"Yes. Please, don't leave me here like this. Don't let me die like him."
"This one cannot carry you and return the objective to the target destination. The result would be failure of the Imperative via un-function of this unit and yourself."
"Bring me my gun at least, I'll take out as many as I can, God-Emperor willing, and - and I'll leave a bullet for myself."
The oculars stared at her, considering. Fifty-One returned with the autogun, chambering a round, but removing the magazine and stowing it in ammo compartment at their back before handing it to her.
Fifty-One pulled the rucksack out of her hands, then standing intoned, "There is a low probability of Aeldari passing this position until your life functions have ceased. This one will make use of your ammunition. Rest easy knowing that you have served the Omnissiah in a way that few of the laity ever will. Goodbye."
"Damn you. Damn you!" She pointed the gun at the retreating figure, the sights swaying back and forth as her vision swam. Her arms weakening, she planted the butt of the rifle in the ground, leaning her forehead on the end of the muzzle brake.
Fifty-One heard the report of the rifle in the distance. The road ahead was long, and her ammunition would not go to waste.
But by the grace of the Omnissiah, the path remained clear. When the ranger arrived back at camp, artifact in tow, 2 magazines remained.