Out of the Pan...

Third in line, sometimes second, that was where he liked to walk in the squad order. When it was really bad, backs to the wall, seemingly endless numbers of Orks to the fore he would step out in front, but luckily this wasn't one of those times and he nervously toyed with the activation stud of his chainsword while he waited for the Captain's orders. He glanced over at Fozaker, the zealot was busy muttering prayers and fingering his Aquila, he looked the other way to see his squad-mates. Doc had the kid sitting on an overturned food crate, he was giving him some sodium tabs to keep Emil from puking anymore. "That's the trouble with ya young welps, all ya mama's milk curdles in ya belly when the fight gets rough."

Doc tried not to laugh at Krabich's jibe, but he could see the grin on the usually dour medic, impossibly Emil's face seemed to sour even more. "If ya was anymore green, I'd think you was one of them Ork runts." The young Fusilier stood quickly before swaying a little and being grabbed by Doc. "Eh, ya know Krabich don't mean it kid. Sit, drink some water." Emil glared at the two older men before complying, he grudgingly took the offered canteen of water from the medic.

He shifted his attentions to the barely audible conversation between the Captain and the Pioneer squad leader. He didn't like the way things had turned out, he had nose for staying alive, his record read like a list of the Ork's greatest hits, through it all he'd stayed in one piece. He wasn't heroic, he wasn't pious, even now he could remember the beatings his gran had given him when he would skip sermons, or steal from the offering box in the local chapel, but despite having a knack for getting himself into scrapes he was even better at coming out of the other side intact. He was handy with a chainsword and he hated the Orks, that combo had earned him a prestigious position in the Fusiliers, standard bearer, there were young men who looked at him with awe when he stood the line with them, unflinching, his pennant flapping in the breeze.

He knew the truth of it though, chance, not a man in this building, not a man in the Fusiliers was a master of his own fate, nor were they as the Ministorum insisted, instruments in the Emperor's divine plan for humanity. He'd seen too many of his comrades cut down unexpectedly, men who were more able soldiers than himself had died in ugly horrible ways inches from him and he'd walked away. No God-Emperor would allow that, the truth was too terrifying for most and so they accepted that all of this suffering and death must be preordained, every action and consequence had purpose. "Grox-shit."

"Krabich!" He looked up startled, they were all looking at him, the Captain stared at him in a way that only a man who'd clawed his way through the hell of this war and still held true faith could. "Care to explain exactly why you think the plan is grox-shit?" He was caught flatfooted, he hadn't realized he'd said that last bit out loud, he hadn't realized the Captain had started a field-briefing while his thoughts had wandered. "Uh... sorry sah, I meant to keep that gem to me self, guess it slipped out."

Captain Zitzkazan scowled at him, then grimmaced, before chuckilng, "You are right, the plan is grox-shit. Unfortunately it is all we have to go on. We have been blessed thus far to suffer no casualties against the seemingly endless numbers of Ork runts, but now we have reached the end of these hab-blocks and once the Tauroxes navigate the roadblocks we will have to move at speed over open ground towards the last known location of Sergeant Valrak's Sentinel." He nodded, "Guess it's like my gran used to say, out of the pan and into the fire."

Close Quarters

He locked his wrists and leaned forward, the motor of his chainsword whined as the whirring teeth bit deeper into the tiny xenos flinging bits of rancid gore and viscera across his storm coat. Another fiendish runt chose that moment to launch its attack, it lunged through the spray of its alien comrade and swung a heavy metal rod. With a short sidestep Fozaker dodged the clumsy strike and twisted his wrists causing his still revving chainsword to buck free of the now dead Ork runtling and crash down on the overextended new attacker. The second xenos died as messily as the first and Fozaker gave silent thanks to the Emperor for letting him slay the filth that sullied his world.

"Ya enjoy the killin' too much cyclops." Fozaker grunted as he looked back over his shoulder at the Fusilier who had addressed him, Krabich, the man was a blasphemer and worse but his words struck a cord deep in Fozaker, his wrath wasn't just because he hated the alien as all good Imperial citizens should, there was a need for revenge and pleasure he took from ending the xenos as violently as he could. "I only do my duty, and am blessed by Him on Earth for the effort." It was Krabich who made a disgruntled noise this time, "Ungh, save it for the Ministorum Fozaker." The pair heard a shout from the other room, it was the kid, Emil.

Fozaker pushed his way past a half collapsed doorway to find Emil straddling a thrashing, biting, kicking runtling, it spat curses in the crude Ork tongue and bucked under the weight of the young Fusilier. "Slay the xenos!" Emil shouted as he tried to strangle the green creature in his grasp, Fozaker moved forward and kicked the thing in its head with his steel capped boot, the familiar sound of bone breaking under force filled the small space within the hab unit. Fozaker delivered another hard kick and then another, followed by a series of stomps that left the creature's head a greasy ruin of flesh and gore. Emil vomited as he gazed down on the results of Fozaker's wrath, "By the throne..." the young man gasped as he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

"Seems like quite the party ya two are havin'." Krabich commented as he moved to help Emil up from the expanding pool of xenos blood. Fozaker took the moment to again state his devotion to the Imperial creed "We but do the Emperor's will." The three men stood uneasily for a moment, the high of combat ebbing as the fatigue of action set into their muscles and the immediate danger of the small Orks seemed to be over. "Everybody in one piece?" Krabich asked as he shifted his gaze between the two other Fusiliers.

Fozaker reached into his coat and grasped the only token he had left of his life before the war, a simple Aquila, made of steel and rubbed smooth by a nervous hand. The man rubbed his thumb against its cool flat surface, it reminded him of the still pond behind the old mining town he'd grown up in. The place he'd met his wife, where the local priest had anointed his daughter in the light of the Emperor; all of it gone now. He tucked the pendant back in his coat and he tightened his grip on what represented his life now, the hard leather wrapped handle of his chainsword. As Fozaker looked up at his comrades who seemed to gaze at him expectantly. "I am well, for Him on Earth guides my hand."

Past Hab 19

He pressed his hand against the bulkhead on his his left and clutched the handlebar on the bench to his right, it didn't help, another jarring bump rattled his spine and made his teeth knock together. He looked with awe at Captain Zitzkazan, the man barely moved as poked his head out of the gunners turret. The burly man next to him stank of Promethium and wheezed through a respirator mask that concealed his expression, as far as Emil was concerned every man in the transport hold of the Taurox was a grizzled veteran compared to himself. He was only in the command squad because the Captain liked him and he had scored so high on the Mechanicus lay-skill test. His thoughts were interrupted by a particularly hard jolt to the vehicle he was riding in, the flamer trooper next to him elbowed the adjutant back into his seat. "Stahp lockin' ya legs teat-sucka! Ya bouncing more danna a wounded yearling." The man's harsh words came out with a metallic hollowness afforded by the protective mask.

"Oi, leave Good-luck alone. Ya know the welp is Throne-blessed." Emil bristled at the nickname, all the other men of the command squad called him Good-luck, Doc meant to defend the young Fusilier from the pioneer's harsh words but it irked him, however Fozaker was the worst when it came to treating Emil like a god luck charm, the bastard was always rubbing the back of Emil's head with one hand and clutching his Aquilla pendant in the other while mumbling the Emperor's prayer. Even in the back of the Taurox Fozaker was gripping the hilt of a chainsword and rubbing a thin spot into his pendant. "We walk in his light, the Emperor's divinity a beacon of our holy purpose." Krabich snorted, "Ha, ya need a beacon ta see ya cyclops bastard!" Emil had gotten used to Krabich but the man was the closest thing to a heretic that he'd ever met, it was all the more surprising that he was the company's pennant bearer. Fozaker lowered his voice but his lips were still moving in barely heard devotion.

Everyone was tense, they had already been through an ambush and now they all felt like canned fish packed into one Taurox. The Captain had taken over the role of gunner and they had left the other crewman behind with the damaged Taurox to effect a field repair. The pioneers were an odd lot, it didn't sit well with Emil to be so close to men that everyone knew were the most likely to die. Experts in the use of flamers and demolition work they suffered a much higher attrition rate than the average Fusilier, every one of them volunteered for the duty which made Emil more uneasy around them. Death was likely for any of them, but it was a forgone conclusion for the men of the pioneer units. All the men in the back of the Taurox lurched as the vehicle came to a stop.

The Captain swung down into the troop compartment, "Pioneers, disembark. Sweep that ruin to the right of the road." The pioneer at the back hatch rotated the the handle before hopping out with his lasgun tight to his shoulder, the five other men of his squad quickly followed suit alternating between flamer armed Fusiliers and those carrying lasguns. "We can not advance up this road any further, the Orks have blocked the road with barricades. This turns into an infantry operation until we can determine if the road has been mined or not." The Captain was addressing the command squad but his close-net vox was open and his words echoed through the Taurox's vox-amp. "Fozaker, you are the first out, follow close behind the pioneers, we need to find a way forward if we are going to rescue Valrak." The veteran nodded and quickly exited the rear hatch followed by Doc and then Krabich.

Emil stood to move with his squad when he felt the Captain's metallic grip on his shoulder, the Captain reached to his collar and deactivated his vox-bead "Emil, Valrak's vox-feed has gone silent, as far as I know he may well be dead already. The men don't need to know, but don't get yourself killed trying to recover a body." The young Fusilier nodded, "Aye sah." The Captain released his grip on his adjutant and drew his tactica map from his coat, "We just passed Hab 15, the plaza that Valrak is in is past Hab 19." The space between the two looked so small on the map but they had four more blocks of Ork infested ruins to cover on foot before they would even know if this was a rescue or a recovery operation. The Captain tucked his map away and shouted back to the Taurox driver, "Hold this position and maintain vox contact with the rear elements, you will have to be our lifeline to the rest of the force. There is so much distortion and interference on the vox-net. Keep buttoned up, don't want you to get shot in the head like me." The driver chuckled nervously, "Aye sah, we ain't all adamantine on the inside."

Captain Zitzkazan thumbed his vox-bead back on and urged his adjutant out of the transport. Emil hopped down and crunched into the loose gravel that was scattered across the road surface, he drew his laspistol and made his way towards the rest of his squad, the Captain following close on his heels. Smoke, something more, burning flesh, the smell filled his nose, and he stifled a cough as he crossed the threshold of the ruined hab. The pioneers had their weapons trained through holes in the interior wall. The flamer operator closest to the hole shouted, "Little green shites!" With a burp-hiss the pioneer at the breech squirted a torrent of liquid flame into the darkness beyond the breech. Krabich looked back at the Captain and Emil, "Xenos, the tiny ones. Whole herd of ankle bitin' skags. Pioneers roasted the first batch, habs full of um." The Captain un-clipped his sword from his belt, "Pioneers, lead the way." The pioneer squad leader smiled, his face lit by the guttering flames still licking at the next room, "Aye sah, we always do."

On the Edge...

The steady ringing of his steps echoed through the corridor. The metal grating under his boots seemed to shudder and bounce with each stride. He leveled his plasma pistol, it shook for a split second before a blinding burst of energy spat from the muzzle. With a near deafening pop the plasma bolt impacted the nearest Ork in the face, alien gore spattered him, steaming drops landing on his own face. There was another xenos right behind the slain one and it lunged for him. The brute seized the arm which held  his pistol. The creature's grip tightened and it brought its choppa to bear, with great force it cleaved into his flesh, the bones of his arm shattering with the impact. He howled in pain and brought his power sword round, the tip sliding between the Ork's armor plates and finding purchase in the creature's vitals. The xeno dropped its weapons and grabbed him by the collar of his storm coat. It shook him... it called to him... its voice a distant echo despite how close it was... "Captain..." He could smell its alien stink, could feel the searing pain in his butchered arm... "CAPTAIN!"

His eye shot open, he was looking into the face of his adjutant. "Throne bless Captain, I thought we'd lost ya sah!" The pain in his arm was gone, he looked down at the gleaming metal of his bionic replacement. "Ya took a round in the eye, we thought ya been killed. Him on Earth, you're a tough bastard sah." He coughed hard and clutched at his adjutant, "Help me up..." leaning hard on the Fusilier he stood to his full height. Around him his men had arranged themselves into a perfect defense of an intersection just outside of the town they were pushing into... what was it... his head swam. "Easy sah. Doc dosed yah good. A lesser man would still be out." His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, when had he drawn it? "Come on sah, let's get ya to a better piece of cova." He flexed the hand of his bionic limb, "No, over there. Get me to that hab unit."

The pair moved as quickly as they could to a half caved in hab, the door frame still intact despite the fallen roof. He leaned hard against the outer wall as his adjutant moved to sweep the room with his laspistol. "Emil, be careful..." the young Fusilier smiled, "Aye sah." A tense few moments passed after the Fusilier crossed the building's threshold, "All clear!" He staggered into the ruined hab, he located his adjutant in the gloom. "Saltzkhost..." the young Fusilier looked at the officer, "Aye sah. This is the outskirts of the place at least. We were rollin in good, then the lead Taurox took a hit. Guess that not all the Orks took the bait of the uvva attack." He clipped his sword back to his belt and felt inside his coat for the tactica map, his adjutant stepped over with a pen-lamp. "Here, we made it to the first rally point jus past this junction." It wasn't far. "Where's the armor Emil?" His adjutant drew a circle on the map with his finger. "The Lieutenant said he'd 'av betta vantage from that low rise till we secured the road in. Think he's nervous about getting his girl banged up." Despite his injury he laughed, it was well known that the Lieutenant thought of his tank as equal parts weapon, shrine, and mistress. "I trust his judgement on the matter. We need to get reorganized. What do we have going in?" His adjutant pulled a dataslate from a waist pouch, "The pioneer squad is fine, but twas their Taurox that got hit, it's still runnin least. Our squad is good to go, Doc, Krabich and Fozaker are held up on the other side of the road with our Taurox. We were waiting to hear from Tactica Command, or for ya to come to. So... what's the plan sah?"

He pulled his sleeve up to look at his wrist chronometer. "Too long... we're already behind schedule. We need to push on to the next rally point." The details of the operation jumbled in his head, something was missing. "Valrak! Where's Sargent Valrak with that damn Sentinel?!" His adjutant looked down and hesitated before he answered, "He uh... he's chasin the greens sah. Spotted something on the way in, don't ya remember? That's how ya got hit sah, stood up in the turret to try an spot what Valrak 'ad seen. Then the Orks opened up on us, hit the lead Taurox with a missile an ya got a stubber round in ya bionic eye." Another fusilier ducked into the caved in hab with the pair, he had a portable vox unit slung around his shoulder. "Sah! Lieutenant Drabzch boosted 'is vox, 'es got Valrak on the line." He smiled as he stretched his hand out for the vox handset, then brought it to his ear, the line fizzled with static before a garbled voice pierced the distortion. "BLASTED GREENIES!" It was Sargent Valrak, "Repeat Sargent." there was another tense moment of silence before the Sentinel pilot replied. "Aye sah... got a bit of a situation 'ere... damned lurking xenos popped a rokkit on me. I'm stuck 'ard in plaza or sumfink. I was givin chase when the bastards sprang a trap... I need 'elp..."

The Captain stood and returned the vox handset to the Fusilier, "We have to move now, secure that plaza before the Orks can knock out Valrak. Emil, rally the men and get them loaded up, we may have to force through another ambush before we reach that plaza. We may have to move ahead of our armor support. The first rally point will act as our fallback point if this whole thing goes tits up." The two Fusiliers saluted before trotting off to complete their orders, Captain Zitzkazan reached up and felt at his bionic eye for the first time since he was hit, he felt a well scored cut in the metal of his eye's outer casing. He closed his remaining natural eye and gave silent thanks to the Emperor.

Uniforms and Insignia of the Usamlijan First Fusilier Cohort

Every fighting force on Jornath maintains it's own distinct uniforms and insignia. The significance of any particular element varies greatly between these units but all take pride in them, none more so than the Fusiliers of Usamlijan. The uniforms worn by the Fusiliers has changed with time, and the meaning behind some of the older traditions have been lost to the inexorable march of ages.

The current uniform for the Usamlijan First Fusilier Cohort consists of simple ocher fatigues, a tunic and trousers, as well as a beret for most field duty and daily duties, although there are instances of other headgear for ceremonial duties and specialist roles within the Cohort. The significance of ocher for Fusilier Cohorts from Usamlijan is disputed by historians, some cite that the color appears in a number of ancient tapestries that date from the time of the early founding of Usamlijan's early fighting forces; also quite likely is the use of the color by many Munitorium supplied fighting units early in Jornath's history following Reunification. This uniform is supplemented with a heavy all-weather coat with a large collar, Fusilier storm-coats are uniformly a dark grey meant to conceal and wear well under extended use. Also standard issue are the heavy plasteel capped boots complimented with puttees, able to keep out moisture and support the long marches common for Fusiliers.

The beret is a traditional hat of the Northern settlements of Jornath, a rugged and practical garment meant to keep the wearer warm and not blow off in the gusting winds common in the higher elevations of the Northern mountains; so its use as the primary hat for Fusiliers is a practical extension of Usamlijan's culture. For the freshly inducted Fusilier the beret is worn unadorned although a number of hat badges are used for a variety of distinctions.

The most common hat badge is the Caput Mortem, it is awarded after a Fusilier has participated in multiple combat operations. Its use has nothing to do with rank, many freshly minted officers do not have the Caput Mortem, while a particularly veteran Fusilier may even be awarded the Caput Mortem Optima, a decoration most often given before a pensioned retirement. Also common among Fusiliers is the tradition of pierced ears. While not officially a sanctioned practice of the Fusilier Cohorts, it is a ancient practice of the nomadic Northern peoples to denote marital status.

Also extremely prevalent in the current environment of war against the Ork invaders is the Insigne Honoris. The cerulean gem centered in a silver ring is awarded to Fusiliers who have acted in a manner beyond that expected of their station, extreme acts of heroism or fearless bravery against a particularly tenacious foe. Often given as a posthumous decoration the, Insigne Honoris is worn with pride by those who have earned it and still live.

Specialists within the Usamlijan First Fusilier Cohort often were berets of different colors than their fellow Fusiliers. All manner of medical ranks wear white berets to denote their status as protectors of life as well as fighting men. Other colors include black for Funerary Detachments and dark crimson for Lay-adepts of the Mechanicus who serve within the Fusiliers, the latter is most commonly spotted among vehicle crews in the role of Driver or Engine Soother.

Reserved for members of the Ministorum in service to the Fusilier Cohorts is the Aquilla. This most holly badge is a sign to all those in the bearer's presence that their souls are in the able hands of a zealous and pious warden of the faithful. While personal use of the Aquilla in the form of a pendant or pilgrim's charm is officially encouraged, its use as an adornment on any piece of uniform is strictly forbidden among the Fusiliers by any outside of the Ministorum and punishable by flogging. Another restricted adornment is the spaulders worn by officers, while often simple in appearance their presence helps enlisted men to recognize their superiors quickly in the heat of battle.

Uniform code allows for Fusiliers of all ranks to wear a variety of facial hair at their discretion, although somewhat idiosyncratically it also requires all members to shave their heads completely. Popular styles for facial hair are usually centered around mustaches though small beards are common. Many Fusiliers choose to shave their faces smooth as it interferes far less with re-breathers and other close fitting equipment.

Although not standard issue many Fusiliers have acquired the tight-fitting face shields worn more commonly by Grenadiers. While the provenance of these devices may lead to disciplinary action, the Fusiliers who wear such items swear by their benefits. Possessing both limited air filtering capability and low light amplification, it is unsurprising that these face shields are so popular.

Like all banners carried by Cohorts from Usamlijan those of the First Usamlijan Fusilier Cohort feature ocher, heather grey, crimson and black. Also prominent is the slogan of "Prima" and the numeral "I" both of these are honors as well as denoting the the Cohort's number. Unsurprisingly the Cohorts listing as the First has led to a number of official and unofficial slogans, "First Among Equals" for example or the commonly used "Usamlijan's Vanguard". A notable honor present on the banners of the Usamlijan First Fusilier Cohort is the golden Aquilla, a specific award given by the Ministorum celebrating the defense of the Shrine of St. Bascilius during the early days of the War Against the Orks.

Operation Vengeful Deliverance

The Usamlijan Fusilier Cohort stretched along the coastal highway. It had been a few weeks since their forced march south to participate in the Central Theater operations around Mendorus Grove. The men had fought well, casualties had been around twenty percent, well within acceptable margins according to Tactica Command; no major loss of equipment assets either. As far as High Command was concerned the Usamlijan Fusiliers were in the best shape to carry out a highly important mission at the request of the Mechanicus Overseer of Prima Jama, Magos Logis Syntax.

Officers of the Cohort gathered around the open rear of one of the few Chimera armored transports operated by the Fusiliers. The clutch of men were sheltered by the armored forms of several Taurox and the imposing bulk of 'Matrem Collidis' one of the few Leman Russ Tanks permanently attached to the cohort. Men of every rank traded stories and lho sticks while sipping recaff and stronger things from dented mugs and flasks. Master Fusilier Chebzch stooped as he exited the rear hold of the Chimera. "Listen up! Captain 'as new orders for yas!" Captain Brechiaz clasped a dossier in one hand and a mug of recaff in the other, "Thank you Master Fusilier. This one comes straight from the top gentlemen. We've got orders to break off a detachment of the Cohort and conduct a raid on the nearby village of Saltzkohst. I don't have much intel on the condition of the xenos forces there, but make no mistake the greens are in control in that region. We've been selected to rescue a very important Magos who has managed to hold out inside of Saltzkohst since it was overwhelmed by Orks landing on the coast. He's been able to stay in contact with the Mechanicus of Prima Jama, but apparently he can no longer hold out within the village." The gathered officers mumbled and shuffled at the revelation of the nature of the coming mission.

Master Fusilier Chebzch banged his adimantite bionic arm against a fuel drum, "Oi! Quiet down! Briefing ain't ova!" The captain nodded and placed the dossier he'd been holding on the top of a stack of ammo crates that acted as a briefing table. "The Cohort will be splitting into three groups. The largest of these will continue the march north. I'm sure you've all noticed the lack of section leaders present today, they all have their marching orders and I will leave it to the discretion of the officers present as to how much of this trickles down to the men." Another low grumble circulated among the gathered officers and sergeants. "As for the other two groups, the first Fusilier Section under my personal command will form task-force Vengeance. Our main task will be to engage the Orks on the northeastern edge of Saltzkohst, we believe this is the where the majority of xenos are clustered and will foster the most reaction to our attack. I intend to draw the Orks into the muddy flat ground and punish them with concentrated heavy weapons fire." Sergeant Grazn punched the Fusilier next to him in the arm and let out a whoop of excitement. "Aye Grazn, your boys will get to put those autocannons to use, but our attack is just a distraction so we can achieve our primary objective. The Reconnaissance Company under Lieutenant Drabzch, will form task-force Deliverance, and will act as a rapid spearhead assigned to push into Saltzkohst from the south. They will rendezvous with the Magos and extract him using the Taurox transports seconded for this mission."

The Captain surveyed the briefing noting the looks on the Fusiliers faces, he recognized the mix of zeal and trepidation that preceded a planned engagement. "All of you have fought well, not one of you here should fear anything that the coming battle holds for us, even if death awaits us in this undertaking we will be in good company among the brave heroes of Jornath."

Without Number...

I made it back to my old stomping ground to engage in what was a massive game of Warhammer 40,000. While the tittle isn't entirely true, it does capture the spirit of the engagement. The game saw the Jornath Fusiliers alongside their allies from the South and those avenging angels of the Adeptus Astartes battle a horde of Orks for the control of the central region of Jornath's major continent.

This was just the table on which my buddy Mark was organizing his "extra" Orks, both sides had fifteen minutes to deploy their forces. That was fairly easy for me with my relatively small band of Fusiliers. I only brought a 1000 points to the 5000 points per side battle.

I opted for a defensive style to my deployment, planning on doing my best to provide a refused flank against a daunting number of greenskins.

The other Imperial forces were compact and fast moving. My friend Nick was going to do what he could to eliminate high value ork targets with his tight armored spearhead and air assets, an aggressive and effective strategy as it would turn out.

The orks spread from edge to edge on the battlefield, they clearly had numbers on their side. Split between the kunningly brutal Aaron and brutally kunning Mark the orks were well led by their warbosses. The Imperial forces were going to be hard pressed to kill enough of them and be able to move into the objectives and secure victory.

The orks surged forward early and the Imperials did all they could to whittle down the horde, despite heavy losses among the ork boyz the majority of ork units fared well in the opening turns.

The Space Marines and Imperial Knight proved invaluable, led by their taciturn commander Chris (not me, my friend of the same name) their cunning urban camouflage allowed them sneak through the majority of incoming ork fire.

The battle featured lots of close firefights and assaults around the objectives, the game was a close run thing till the bottom of the third turn, surprisingly the attrition suffered by the orks began to take its toll. The seemingly numberless horde had been thinned to point where only the hard units remained. With two of the three objectives in Imperial hands and the majority of the day elapsed we called it a close Imperial victory.