Endwar Part 2

                                            Chapter IV
                                        Sleeping with Heretics

                          'You will not need eyes where you're going.'

                                                             -Khornate saying

'BY THE BLASTED Eye! WHY!?! Tell me!
I want to know WHY!'
My finger is on the trigger as I aim my lascarbine to Nadia's chest.

                                           *

The Guardsman smiles at me when we assemble the Lascannon.
'You're Kasr Holn, aren't you?'
'Yes, yes I am. How did you know?'
'You got that look about you that says 'Don't bother me or else I cut your balls off with a serrated knife. '
'Oh. I never thought it was that obvious.'
We turn towards the gathering storm.
'It won't be long now.' he says. 'Get ready.'
'How will I know when to shoot?'
'Oh, trust me, you'll know.' Guardsman winks at me. 'When things go south, you won't need an order to fire.'
'Which ones should I shoot first?'
'Easy. See that trench there? That's our last line of defense. Take out anything that goes over it.'
'Will they break through?'
'Sure. It's only a matter of time now.'

I like him, even though I don't know his name.
'They got me good this time. I'm all used up… 'The wound is bad. He won't make it.
'Go, get the Doc. Go, run kid!'
'Plasma burns. There's not much I can do. Even if I'd gotten here in time, there would've been nothing I could've done for him, except pray. Sorry kid.'
'Why did he asked me to leave his side, then?'
'Guess he didn't want to see him die'

I see him lying there, in a body bag, head and neck exposed to the howling winds. No friends have come to see him. The trooper had no comrades left alive, I suppose.
He stays there on the cold ground, waiting for his turn to be thrown inside the truck by the crewmen, over the bodies of the fallen.
I kiss his unshaven, cold cheek. After that, I double-check around, no one's watching.
I remove one of his dog-tags and tuck it under my vest.

'The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Imperium.'
A priest, behind me watches the procession.
'Do not weep for him, child. Your father died for Cadia. That in itself is the greatest honour a man can achieve in this lifetime. '
'He wasn't my father.'

                                      *

Why are these memories coming back now? Why can't I hold them back? I need to concentrate. Focus, Larsa. Focus. Look, there's the sights of your rifle now. My vision is no longer blurred.
There's your loader, standing there, wearing the same uniform she had on the night she ran away, only this time, she wears the marks of heresy. Clever girl.

'Did you killed many men wearing that uniform?'
All the other heretics are now dead, except for her. She is the only one alive. Why?
'I did what I had to do to survive.'
'You are the trash of the Galaxy.'
'We will win, Larsa. There's no doubt about it. The only choice you have left is to join us.'
Loosing my patience. I feel the rage overpowering me.
'WHY, DAMN YOU ?! WHY!!!'I roar at her.
'Larsi, you have to understand! There was nothing I could've done. It was either them or death!'
'I WOULD'VE CHOSEN DEATH!'
'You don't know how it was like OUT THERE! You HAVE NO IDEA! What gives you the right to judge me?! You would've done the same in my situation!'
'You killed those men back at the Fortress! You carved blasphemies on their chests!'
Tears are rolling down her cheeks.
'They would've killed me if I didn't do that! Please, you have to let me go! Please!'
'Oh, no. NO! You're not getting away THIS time. You WIILL burn, I promise you that. You will burn for what you did to those people!'
Her big beautiful eyes stare at me with such vigor that it makes my stomach turn.
'I would've preferred to find you as a corpse. Not like this. Not like this!…'
'Larsi…'
I feel my own tears rolling down and I hate myself for showing weakness.
'No! I don't want to hear another word!'
'Larsi, I'm pregnant…'
My world is turning upside down. Swirling, spinning, I feel faint.
' I didn't know what else to do. I have nowhere to go…I'm sorry. I'm SO SORRY!'
Her sobbing shakes the Flak armour and I see the marks of heresy one more time before the crack of lasfire brings me down. We both fall to our knees.
But Nadia's forehead bears the distinct hole of a las bolt going straight through.
And mine bears only sweat and sand. As darkness engulfs me, I see Laus leaning over me and saying some words I cannot hear anymore.
                                         
                                   
                                      Chapter V
                                     Soul Harvest




              
               'Always doing what you're told. Isn't it tiring?'

                                            - Ephur Kronewitz the Apostate


                                           *



The man is tall and muscular. He wears an armour filled with spikes. Skulls dangle from chains strapped to his shoulders. On his face, multiple cuts following ritualistic patterns. He hands me an axe.
His blue eyes glow in the fire's light.
'Serve Him.'he growls towards me. 'Time has come.'
In his other hand, another axe.

                                        *


Like in a dream, I hear Laus' voice. Talking, preaching. He sounds like a totally different man. He addresses me. Me. Of all people. Why, Laus? Why me?

'There are many truths. Others have put their faith in a singularity that no longer serves its purpose. If that decaying corpse you believe in, would care about you, why, you wouldn't be here in the first place. Look around. Plenty of civilisations have crumble and died under your boot. Plenty more follow suit. But where was once life, life always blooms once again. There are no inequalities in what we offer. Death is the same to everyone. Therefore the real answer lies in action. Action to prevail against the minds that want you dead! Action to help you cross the eons that separate man from paleo-ape, robot from the tiniest cog and a fully grown organic body from the very first living cell. This is what has been left for us. To walk across the stars as free men. To give birth to free men, not slaves. Only that which feels right, can be good for you. Everything else is noise.'

'You speak well for a dead man...'

'Ah, she awakes! Come, everyone, let us meet our new addition to our small and faithful band!'

When she woke up, she saw the truth. All the others were gone, only she and I remained.
'Laus? What are you doing? Where are you taking me?'
'Hush now, my love.
There is no point in sacrificing your life for a dead cause.We have some people here that want to meet you.'
I was carrying her across the field, dead bodies everywhere. The fortress walls were lined with warriors, all bearing the sigil of loyalty. All saluting me. Larsa was coming to her senses, in my arms. Where you always should've been.
'Laus? Who are these men? Are you… are you taking me INSIDE ?'
'No. I'm taking you OUTSIDE. Outside of a lie that cannot endure. Outside a decaying carcass of half-spoken truths and inane mystics. You will see the truth, Larsa. For the first time in your life, you will know the truth.'
'Holy God-Emperor! You're one of them! You're a heretic!'
'That's an Imperial term. I prefer 'REBEL'. Desperate times spawn special types of people. Right? Don't look at me with such hate. I hate to shoot her. She has served her purpose. Why else would I have kept such a useless thing like her alive? I had to drag you away from that place, Larsi. There were corrupting your young mind. And I  know you. I 've seen your rage. You are FULL of potential. '
'This isn't true… This isn't happening.'
'Oh, but it is. I has happen centuries ago. It will happen for centuries to come.'
The warriors chant as I ascend. We float through the warm breeze of the evening. I watch the desert stretching out for miles. So pure, so unscathed! This is such a fine place to spawn a new rebellion!

                                          *

The poweraxe is in my hand. Its vibrating pulse synchronized with my beating heart.
Such fury! Through my blooshot eyes, I look around.
They're all dead. The heretics, the Whiteshields. My squad...
Faces I once knew before, now mean nothing to me. All that matters is that blood is spilled. For what is blood if not for shedding?
I scream out my anger to the skies.
Vengeance. Hate. They all make perfect sense now. Nadia was a traitor. She had to die.
Vander was not truthful. He had to die as well. Etzin and the others? Well, somebody has to be caught in the crossfire.
The man in the bloodied suit of armour is standing next to me. He holds out a hand, a gigantic hand with which he lowers my own hand, turned unnaturally muscular now.
My own right hand. With this hand, I've killed them.
I've slay them all. Friends and enemies.
'Who are you?' I ask him, with a voice that gurgles weird inside my throat.
'Byrun.' he answers, with a similar growl to my own. ' My axe likes you. '
'It does?'
'Can't you tell?'
I look at the weapon in my hand. It feeds of my anger. It renders me futile without it.
I cannot seem to be able to let it slip my hand.
'It is over now, Larsa. You've past the test.'
Laus comes out from the shadows and he leads me inside. The bunker smells like burned flesh and burned incense. There are shadows here, whose features reveal them to be monsters. They are keeping an eye on the procession. Candles sit everywhere, on the vision slit, on the boltergun, even on the bodies. They give the dark hall a strange hellish light.
I try not to look the pile of skulls being displayed in the middle of the room.
The floor shines wet with blood.  
From the crowd of strangers, an elderly woman comes forth.
'Not what you'd expect to see at this sort of gathering, eh my child?'
She smiles like a perfectly good grandmother.
'This may come as a shock to you but we believe in the Emperor. '
Lies. I've heard lies all day. One would not make a difference.
'Yes, I know you don't believe me. You have no reason to. But hear our story well before you place judgement! We are part of a community who serves Him, as they've always did for millennia. But when Abbadon came, his forces cut our Kasr in half. We were left stranded in a sea of chaos.
We have been fighting chaos for generations. It was our livelihood. Our way of life. Just like you, we lived and breathe to fight heretics.
Our society is build around chaos. We have lived next to the enemy for so long, that he has become our neighbour. We know him better than we know ourselves. We had to be vigilant, or else they would come at night and take our lives. We knew where we stood with them and they, in turn, knew what to expect from us.
'No mercy. There is no mercy towards the traitor, the mutant, the heretic.'
'Aye, child. That is true. We kill them, they kill us. It is at it has always been. There is no room for prisoners. But look around you now. Do we look like their prisoners?'
I can't give my honest opinion. What comes out of my mouth sounds like propaganda picts:
'There is no time for misplaced pity.'
'Aye, no time for pity. True as well. But isn't confusing to you that we found shelter to our neighbours when the Imperium came for us? They didn't came to rescue us, take us back.
No,they came with fire and plasma, to eradicate us. As if we were nothing more to them but worms. Some of us stayed behind, they've yelled out their faith in front of flamers.
Inquisitorial henchmen do not care what the target yells out. They've heard all before.
They did not spare a soul, nor woman, nor child. All were put to the flame.'
'This is the Imperium, Larsa. The thing you swore to protect is the corrupt down to its essence.'
It soon became apparent that no one was coming to our rescue so we dug deeper, to survive. Imagine the feeling, if you can. Being sealed off from our own Kasr, never to be able to see our loved ones again. We truly thought ourselves to be damned, lost to His benevolence forever, but it was your father who showed us the way. He gave us purpose, he taught to have hope in the midst of the destruction. He was never a man of cloth, as I'm sure you know, but by the Emperor, he had power in his voice!
Your father gave us the means to be strong, to stay true to our faith, to continue to worship and to live by His word, even trapped behind enemy lines as we were.
We listened. One day, he was gone, just as he showed up.
The next day, we built him this shrine. I'm not sure what your father is to you, but for us he was salvation in the darkest hour! We kept our vows because of him, we stayed true to His divine will, never strayed far from His gaze.
We became Renegades among Renegades. We were traitors of traitors, fighting a covert-war, deep inside our enemies' ranks.
Some folks at home might call this 'Sleeping with the enemy'. But to us it was the only reasonable, viable solution. We know how people at home saw us. By now, we had to be nothing more than traitors to them. We were no better to them than the real heretics.
To think that this happen because some old scribe fell asleep at his desk and misplaced some names on a map…'

Laus is coming to the stand. I back away, feeling the sickness engulfing me. He gets angry.
'Ah,come now! Does this not convince you?! You're fighting for the wrong side, Larsi! Always have been, hope to the Gods you'll change your mind...Before it's too late.'
'Or else what? You'll kill me as you killed Nadia?'
'Please, that was necessary. She would've been executed by the Imperials anyway. You know that. It was a mercy.'
'Spare me your lies! Shoot me now! I do not want to live anymore!'
'Larsi, look into your heart. Tell me if it's really THIS what you want!'
He goes inside my head. Piece by piece, he relights the fires of hidden memory. Things I thought lost, now are coming back. In full life.

                                              *

I'm back at the night where it all happen. Where my doubts were born in front of a screaming crowd of hungry innocents.

Above all, the voices of the Interior Guard yelling from megaphones:

'You are violating sanctioned law! Disperse immediately! We will use force!'

In front of us, desperate people holding out their hands. They're asking for our support. Behind our riot-shields and our rifles, we shake in fear of shooting these people.
Please, don't make us do this! Please, don't make us do this! I hear the same whisper going down the line. No Whiteshield wants civilian blood on their hands tonight.
In front of me, a woman with grey hair is crying out to me, telling me to help her.
I feel my hands quiver on the lasgun and I try to keep the muzzle pointed up. I don't want her to feel confident enough to charge me. I just wish she could run away.
I wish I could run away.
'Return to your hab-blocks immediately! We WILL open fire!'
'Why? There's nothing left for us! We have nothing left! How are we suppose to survive?' the woman in front of me yells.
She is not indignant, she is not defiant. She is desperate.
Then, we hear the Interior Guard Lieutenant telling us to shoulder our rifles. He sounds convinced of what he has to do next. We, Whiteshields hope he looses conviction, at least give them time to walk away. Don't give us the order. Not THAT order. I close my eyes so I don't have to see.
'22nd! Aim! Ready! FIRE!'
One thousand lasrifles fire as one. As one, the hundreds of refugees crumble. It's not like firing on the training range. Mass hysteria turns the crowd into a huge animal, screaming through hundreds of mouths, threatening to engulf us with his huge breath, crying through thousands of eyes. Those eyes. The eyes of the refugees going down are the most difficult part to forget. Hundreds of pairs of their eyes remain imprinted in my brain. I see the horror, the terror, the helplessness roaring raw inside them and I feel weak. I feel helpless. I feel useless… I want to drop my Lasgun and cry like the little girl that I am.
But I do not drop my rifle, because my Commissar will shoot me. I do not shed a tear, because I am a soldier in the Cadian Youth Army. We all turn right and march off.
Like in training school. This IS our training school.

'Listen up, I'm going to say this once: whichever one of you little shits, thinks they can take me on, come on! I'm waiting.'
If all of you think I'm guilty of the crimes of a man I didn't even knew, come forward. I'll give you a piece of my faith right NOW!'

Eyes so much like my own, but wiser.


'He called us criminals. Even I feel bad now and I don't have a conscience!'
'Zip it, Rutgari!'
'It's Olson.'
'What?'
'Rutgari looked a lot like me. He died at Treviana pass. Remember?'
'Throne, I'm getting old before my time!'
'I'll say!'
'He was a decent guy, Rutgari. Yeah, an all around good recruit. He died honorably too. Bolter round to the chest, spread his spine all over the tank's floor and guts were hanging outside of his…'
'Enough! We all remember how he died. You're just as ugly and stupid as he was!'
'Yeah, but I'm one step closer to getting my number! Closer than he'll ever be, anyway…'
'Poor Rutgari. Never made it to Guardsman status….'
'Yeah, let us cry a mountain of tears for all those dumb bastards that died!'
'That any way to talk about our heroes?'

It's been five years now, since I scoured the fields looking for her and she still won't leave me alone. My breasts have developed and I find them to be quite the nuisance as they make the uniform feel tighter and they press against my Flak armour.
We've all grown. Tall and strong, good Cadian stock. But now, the rooms which once felt so spacious now seem barely able to contain us.
'This isn't a Barracks room anymore. Feels like a containment cell.'
'It is a containment cell'
'Didn't you hear? We're being shipped off!'
'Offworld? To where?'
'No, off the Sector!'

                                             CHAPTER V
                                       Harvest of Skulls

'And with the mighty axe of Khorne, we cut open the world for them.'

                                                                             -a Khorne Berserker



You are here by sentenced to remain in the Whiteshields indefinitely.

What does that mean?
It means that you'll be 'new-bread' all your remaining life. Well, that is… until someone else says otherwise. But I wouldn't hold my breath.

Cries of the Unborn

Cadet Larsa no. 111305 stationed at Alphus Prima, designated holding bunker.

Was Cadia hit by the plague zombies in EoT?
Yes Kasr Vazan vas infected and "sealed forever."

After rigorous examination, we have concluded that Cadet Larsa is in good health, the wounds on her body are healing well, and she will be able to return to her duties as soon as the pregnancy is terminated.

There are no ringing bells, no last minute rescues in the real world.
There is only suffering, the cries of a little girl in the dark, and the harsh laughter of heretics.  

I'm not going out there alone. You are coming with me.

Vander got sent on a Penal Colony for reeducation.
Nadia was shot.

'I'm not going back'
'Have you eaten something? Here, I brought you some packs.'
'I'm sorry, Lars. It was either them or the firing squad.'
'That girl right there is pretty sharp.'
'For a Cadian!'
We used the Marauder's dead body to bypass the heretic Sector.
There we saw most of the people reaching out and touching his hands and legs, crying for the 'Fallen Hero'. It puzzled us just how much respect and devotion lies on the other side.

The Inquisitor sent out a report which had most of us sent to Penal Battalions.
For reeducation. I was left the single member in my squad who wasn't officially punished. The fact alone got me chastised by the men and women of the Regiment.

That was because I had courage to go behind enemy lines, to retrieve a traitor.
The others were punished because they lied, trying to back me up didn't help them much.

After that, I was known as the Cursed One. Nobody wanted to be near me.
I even got the nickname 'One-Girl-Company' because there was nobody else willing to serve beside me.


Once a Prob, always a Prob.

You've undergone rigorous training and survived. Don't expect your laurels yet. You've got much dirt to dig out from under yourselves until those numbers reach your shoulder pads. Remember, you are recruits in Cadian Youth Armies and the entire world is watching.

Rows upon rows of battlements and gun-turrets emplacements.


Now, on this mission you'll receive the help of a team of Medicae recruits, sent here to assist you. Trust them as you would your officers. They will forever accompany you, from now on. As you graduate, so do they. So be nice to each other, your lives depend on it! They are your Regimental Docs! Don't be calling them sawbones before they actually do something to repair you. You have worked hard for this. You have earned this distinction with your blood, sweat and tears! Entire Regiments of cadets have been wiped out without ever receiving this luxury. Think of them as you welcome the sawbones into your ranks!

'Respect them as you respect me!'
'Why?'
'Because those snotty sonsofbitches are here to save your lives. I'm here to take them away from you.'





They were all here: from the parade-uniformed Mordians to the silently gruesome Death Korps of Krieg. Cadia is not just a fortress world, she is a training ground.
Hundreds upon hundreds of Imperial Guard Regiments are being landed here to show their support for the inhabitants' holy struggle.
Many come here to show their fresh recruits the first taste of battle against the Archenemy, many veterans receiving their laurels in this place. Cadia with her fire blasted surface and her war torn ash wastes, was dear to them.
It was an awful place to die, but her name was like a badge of honour for the fallen.
She was their Mother after all. Ever grain of sand, every pebble was holy , sanctified in the blood of martyrs.
'You stand right now on the bones of heroes! Every ridge you see has been contested and died for. Every ruined city, , every valley, every  beach, every corner has been fought for! Remember this above all, you fight to preserve this legacy.
You fight to preserve what your fathers and grandfathers kept intact at the cost of their lives! You are the price of all those sacrifices, a reward upon your ancestors' graves! You are that legacy!

You could make a statue talk rather than any of these young recruits.



Finreht Highlanders
Mordant 303rd Acid Dogs  


Jouran Dragoons     'Get off your horse, private!'



First Mission: report to Sector Gamma Nine Four, Kiranha Wasteland

they need a positive ID on the enemy's location. They know it's Chaos Marines, they haven't yet established which affiliation. You are expected to identify said Warband and report back to HQ with picts of their banners and officers. We have to map out all the Warbands present in the sector, before the general assault can commence. We need to know what to expect. Come back with picts, gentlemen. Or don't come back at all.

I've grown another set of eyes next to the ones I already have on my back.

When they come for me, I will be ready.






'This is Captain Utarch of the Mentor Legion. He will demonstrate to you the good sides and the bad sides of Astartes physiology.'
'Beg your pardon, sir.'
'Yes Oplum.'
'I wasn't aware that Space Marines had any bad sides in 'em!'
Utarch stepped forward. Immediately, the Whiteshields stepped backwards.
'That is true. We are Angels of Death. His wrath incarnate. You stand little chance against us in combat. We are nigh invulnerable. But our armour isn't. That is why I am here. I want to show you the most exposed parts of the MK. VI .
You'll probably be facing Heresy era suits, so aim for the joints. In those models, they were more exposed than they are now.'

'Lexa, you're the loud mouth of the Company! Why don't you step into the ring with Captain Utarch so we can learn a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat.'
'With all due respect, sir, this cadet wishes to be excused!'
'Why?'
'Because it's suicide.'



We were all sent on night duty. The entire Regiment. Reprimanded because of some stupid girl in the 2nd Company. Me.

Warp take me if I'm lying!

By the blasted Eye, you take that back or by the Emperor, I'll shove these picks where the suns don't shine!


'Come on, map the enemy position, come back and then, tell us all about it.'
Sounds bloody simple, don't it?



Those words were once more in our ears, this time whispered by the ginger haired kid who obviously lost it, during the day. We would tolerate him too except it was Sergeant Chrome he was 'quoting' and we all got sick and tired of hearing that old geezer's rants. So we gagged and tied Ginger, after all , it will just be the same in the morning, he'd have to shut it like all the rest of us.
'There is no such thing as shell-shock! There is only cowardice and unwilling to be a part of the greatest army in the Galaxy!' Sarge was adamant about having Ginger shot.
Some took it to heart to save the poor lad, we wouldn't want him to get off easy.
He gets a quick death via Execution Squad while the rest of us are facing  plasmas and warp abominations. So we started betting on Ginger's death and how he'd go.
Drooling, ginger kept on reciting his personal hymn
'That is the way of the Guard. That is the way of the Guard. That is the way…'
'You'll make a great Commissar one day.' said Vander to him.




Inside

'What do you see?' one of the men dressed in black asks the one looking over the wall.
A short click and the first man freezes. The entire upper portion of his exposed body goes intensely tense. His lips move slowly, words barely coming out.
'It is the heretic.' he whispers back to his mates.
The ones clustered behind him twitch in unison. Weapons are raised, fingers curling behind triggers.  
'He has a gun to my head.' continues the marked one.
They know he's dead and so does he. They've seen what the other man did to others.
His voice is almost undistinguishable.
'Don't move.'
His face is full of blood. Bright red arterial blood. Not his.
The stormtrooper does as he's told.
'Release the girl.' said the berserker.  




                                                 II
                                             FINAL BATTLE


'Let me go. I need to see this. We've been fighting those bastards for months now. We should be allowed to see them crash and burn.'

As soon as the Chaos ship falters into the ocean, huge waves of shouting wash across the beach. Rescuers and rescued all cry out in unison. 'AVE IMPERATOR!'
We are weeping for these are the best moments in our soldier lives.
'It is true what they say. 'says the Navy crewman.
'There is no greater glory than to see your enemy crumble at your feet. '

They refused our help, all eyes were watching the skies as the battle unfolded.
When the enemy ship finally broke apart, they cheered.

'Why do I have the feeling we are prime bolt right now?'

It is not a war we can loose, as long as we can bare children. And our children's children will bear the same rifles as we did. With them, they will smite the foe, as we did. How can we ask for more than this?


We came here to die. Let's show these bastards how it's done!

The Heretic is a nice guy. He doesn't speak much.

And then there's another voice saying: I hate the Imperium, I hate the boundaries it enforces on human beings. Man cannot withstand this sort of oppression. He wasn't build to last under such tortures. The fear of constantly being watched, by an unseen enemy. That fear is being drilled into people by them. It is THEY who should be afraid! Not us!

I despise the Imperial value of life for there is none. They offer you nothing but death! For the chance to die horribly at the hands of aliens and pirates, you offer them your future and your children's future! NO MORE! This ends tonight!

We move through the gulley in complete vox silence. Only sound you can hear is the Sergeant's powersword humming up ahead. Reassuring sound for it tells us we  he's still leading.

'It looks like the 21st will be leaving its bones here. Stranded, alone on this dead rock. We'll be gone without a trace, by the time this message reaches its destination.
There will be nothing left of us for the rescue-crews to learn from. The conditions outside are getting worse. No banner, no pict-log.
No sign left to say we ever existed. Except, perhaps the mass-graves. If the wind-storms don't stop, they won't even find those.
Unmarked mass graves… Many Regiments have suffered a similar fate. I am ashamed now for feeling we were somewhat special. Ever since we got out from the Draksian Genocides, nothing could beat us, I thought.
And here we are. Each night we see the lights in the sky telling us the enemy has just received fresh reinforcements. Why don't they wipe us out, I can't say…
It won't be long now…'

All reliance is being placed on outdated junk. Out here, you learn that fast. I'm not saying this out of spite, but the best we can do here is flush the enemy positions with troops and pray to the Emperor they run out of ammo!

I've seen what the enemy has. Their tanks float on clouds while ours crawl in the dust. We are the snails and they are the bees.
By Terra, don't we have a lot of snails!

I have found that the enemy's main tactic seem to be flushing our positions with bodies. Just how efficient is such a tactic I cannot say. The more of their dead blocking our line of sight, the more time my crews spend on the outside, cleaning the bunker.  – Tau commander

Ah, to die in the Imperial Guard means to be covered in glory!
Whoever said that clearly wasn't standing in front of a snarling Stormboy or a charging blood-mad Berserker.


I wish he'd be placed in front of a charging Ork, then we'll see if it's glory he's all covered up in.
Of course, these thoughts can get me shot. They sound rebellious.
They incite secession, revolution and worse of all, treason!

I've never strayed far from the Emperor's Word. I've said my prayers like anybody else. I'm not so sure now that this is what He intended for us.



I've been having nightmares.

I had to find a way to reach you!

And you choose infesting my head with ghastly visions? Hell of a way to say 'I'm sorry'.

You know what they do with the emergent psykers? If they see you as a potential threat, they ship you out to Terra where you'll be sent to slaughterhouses tailor made to fit your kind!

They shoot people for spending two days in chaosland. Can't risk infection.



All the other heretics are now dead, except for her.
'Larsi, you have to understand! There was nothing I could've done. It was either them or death!'




Chaos is not the answer. It destroys everything. I have seen braver men than me falter and submit to its promises. Yet in the end, it offers nothing except destruction and misery.


The trench is rampacked



'There is no middle ground anymore. You are either one of us or a traitor to all of us. Mankind has no patience with undecided weaklings. She lies at the brink of destruction and that leaves us no time for idle thoughts! There is only room for intent. '

Look at them. Without aim or purpose. It is only fitting we expunge these lost souls from existence.

The Priest shakes as his hands reach out for the Crozius.
'What? You want this?' the Berserker says.


Sector Gamma-Epsilon Tertius has been closed off. Something fell from the sky in the streets. There is talk of infection risks. The Chaos Fleet still hovers above; they make a great show about owning the skies so they bombard us with impunity. Reinforcements are nowhere in sight.


'I had to do it, Larsi. It was either them or me!'

'I did because I love you. Don't look at me like I'm a monster. Monsters can have feelings too, you know?'



BACK INSIDE THE Manufactorum again. Distant shadows on the wall show the bestial outlines of the aggressors. A cry of warning goes down the line.
'Here they come again! Get ready!'
Multiple scope lights gather on the same spot, the edges of the blown down southern wall. There are bodies lining the floor, like a carpet of green-muscle and yellow painted armour. Through that single spot they came ten times already.
Outside, there waits the swarm. Hundreds of them, toppling over each other to get first taste of battle. Crude metal parts of their improvised armor telling us which direction their charge is taking. Each time, they come roaring over the barricades, shouting at each other in their filthy xeno tongue.We each pick a target and with a steady hand, we each press the trigger. My target is a large one, a Captain of it's race, dwarfing the others in size and temperament. I wait until its yellow eyes are parallel with my iron sights.




fyceline reek is overpowering. It gets into our clothes, our boots. Some of us provide cover from fox-holes as the rest carry out cases filled with shells and ammo-belts.   is in everywhere we touch, emanating from the huge plasteel support beams we bypass on our way to the main loading bay.

'Who wants spare Kraks?'
'Emperor's Eyes! You stole those from 3rd Squad!'
'No, I didn't.'
'Yes, you did. You stole them! I saw you!'
'No, I didn't. I… accidentally FOUND them, alright?'
'Great. And what happens when they accidentally need them?'
'They… go search for other Krak grenades so we don't have to?'
'You have no soul.'
'Correction. I have TOO MUCH soul. That's why I do it. Now move your ass behind that truck before Vaughn sees us.'

'We take care of our own.'

                                                     




At first, it was the stillness. A cool void in the chamber, cooling my thoughts. Good.
I need this.
I need the silence just as any other man in this misbegotten Legion needs rest.
We all tire, man and Astartes alike. Sooner or later, we all have to sleep.

I need sleep more than others do. I need that place where my head feels empty, my mind feels clean. A place where the voices don't follow.
Only a kill brings me that peace. Thus the more I kill, the more I feel like myself again.
My old self.
They say I was once the cool minded one. The pragmatic strategist always on our Father's side. Quenching those genocidal thoughts of his, one day at a time.
If it was left for him, he'd burn the entire Universe down. Thrice fold, before he would yield. For we are not used to bend the knee. We are Hounds of War. And we have a god's legacy running through our veins. An angry god. A dissatisfied one.

I feel the flaw gnawing away at my insides. The rage shivers to the surface. Once more, I need to get up. I need to get up and kill something. Someone. Anything.
Just give me back my peace of mind.



Classroom.
'What is the purpose of being?'
'To die knowing our task is done!!' we say in a chorus.
'And what is our task?'
'To serve the Emperor!'
'And how do we serve Him?'
The children repeat the words, with a blank look in their eyes.
'We burn the heretic. We kill the mutant. We purge the unclean.'
'And why do we do that?'
'Because it is better to die for the Emperor than to live for ourselves.'
'Very good! Class dismissed!'





                                       
This is it. The Big Counteroffensive is here. The thing we'll all been waiting for. Stand up, trooper. March on, trooper! No time to look back, no time for thoughts.

'Hey trooper! Need a hand?'
Before we can stop him, Laus goes next to it and shakes it vigorously with his own hand.
'Get back in line! You'll get us all into trouble!'

Desecrated burning remains of Leman Russes. VAUM! VAUM! VAUM! I fire shot after shot. The lascannon hisses as it unleashes its hate on the heretical machines.


And just how in the warp are we suppose to retaliate?


The cries for 'Emperor's Mercy' fill the hall. The first one who cries 'Mercy! Emperor's Mercy!' is put down immediately. We do it for his own sake. Whiteshields don't get medical treatment. In case of grievous wounds, the Cadet is swiftly granted the Emperor's Mercy, sometimes on request. Those who can still walk, will try to get back to Company's CP. This, however does not necessarily mean salvation.
If they manage to reach Imperial Outposts, they might be deemed beyond salvation on arrival by the Medicae helpers and will get shot on the spot. This is a mercy, for to survive with such wounds would be no life at all.
Some wounded seek help from the local population.
There is no time for the unrecoverable.









Children of Cadia!
We stand at a threshold in history. Never before have we fought against so many.  You are in the forefront of this fight. Give them no quarter as you received none during your training! Remember, these are the same men and women who shot at you!
You are that fist inside that mutant's eye you are that boot on that heretic's neck. Now go out there and make me proud! Just as I saw your parents grow into fine soldiers, by the God-Emperor's Will I shall see you grow into finer soldiers still!
Show the xenos they can't walk upon our worlds, show the heretics and the renegades they can't breath the same air as we do!
Give'em hell,  Cadets!
For Cadia! For our Emperor!


You heard the man. Go, go, go, go,go,go!


She saw this in the veterans sneer, in his attitude towards outlanders, nobody wanted friends on the front.
In Regiments where life was measured by the hour, no one has time to forge friendships.
We slaughtered them all and we filled the ground with their guts. Then, Sergeant makes us crawl on their innards, said it had to get us used to the taste of heresy so we don't get any special ideas.

The poster-boy Lieutenant took a deep breath for the effect to sink in.

After that, I was known as the Cursed One. Nobody wanted to be near me.
I even got the nickname 'One-Girl-Company' because there was nobody else willing to serve beside me.


Once a Prob, always a Prob.

You've undergone rigorous training and survived. Don't expect your laurels yet. You've got much dirt to dig out from under yourselves until those numbers reach your shoulder pads. Remember, you are recruits in Cadian Youth Armies and the entire world is watching.




'You have gentle eyes' I say to him.
I don't know how much I can last...

                                           *   

There are no ringing bells, no last minute rescues in the real world.
There is only suffering and the cries of a little girl in the dark followed by the harsh laughter of her torturers.
Blood is filling her mouth but she can still speak.
'Gun- Babies, they call us, Father. Probs, cadets, meat-sticks,you know, those kind of things. All sorts of nicknames. But tell each one of them that they have to start prob-training all over again and watch as they blow their fucking brains out. Who'd want to go through that same ordeal twice, huh?'
The man carrying her doesn't say a thing. The girl's shattered body feels lighter now.
She can barely speak before death takes her away:
'To this we say 'Who's the Gun- baby now?...'

A father is carrying his daughter to an unmarked grave.