The sky was a patchwork of tracer fire and smoke-trails left by projectiles and aircraft, and not much could be heard above the shriek of missiles, and the throbbing sound of thousands of small-arms firing in the distance.

"What a bloody mess…" a voice growled. Captain Jarl turned from the window of the watch tower and snapped to attention: self-conscious of the tea-stain on his green/ochre fatigues. With his free hand, he tugged at the lapels of his long yellow trench coat in a vain attempt to cover it up. The man he saluted to was Colonel Vasques: a massive, well-built officer, popular with the men because he had worked his way from the ranks and understood their particular needs. This was important in any regiment, let alone a Light-Infantry one where men were the backbone of their forces. The only vehicles employed by the Spirian 3rd were fast-attack Sentinel walkers (two-legged machines with a one-man cab and light weaponry), Hydra anti-air batteries (quad-gunned aircraft-killers) and Basilisk heavy artillery pieces (capable of firing heavy Earthshaker rounds across an entire battlefield). The Spirian 3rd were specially trained in both defence and assault tactics, and came from Spiria: a planet where pollution and a one-hundred year civil war (in which chemical and biological weapons were commonly employed) had turned the seas poisonous and the skies crimson. Many of their current officers were picked because of their experience in the uprising. Jarl himself had not seen action during the war, but had been a corporal in the governor's personal Bodyguard-Company, thus ensuring him an Officer's rank in the guard. The stalemate had finally been shattered with the arrival of nine full regiments of Imperial Guard, who turned the rebels back and stormed the enemy capital city. In return, the Governor of Spira was expected to raise three Light Infantry regiments, one Heavy Infantry regiment and two Armoured hosts. Captain Jarl was stationed with the Spirian 3rd, in charge of 9th company.

He was utterly miserable there. Most of the Spirian 3rd were middle-come-upper class men who had a fairly average education and life before the army, but he was a high-born (the eldest child from a Guilder's family as it happened) and this showed on him: he was slightly overweight, and had a posh, clipped accent (as opposed to the low drawl the majority of his soldiers spoke with). When his family had offered him up to the guard, he had secretly hoped he'd get attached to an armoured or even artillery unit. Above all, he had prayed, not the infantry. He commanded minimal respect from his company and the only person under him who idolised him was his second: a young techpriest named Quall.

"Captain?" the Colonel barked, snapping him out of his daydream-like state and into attention once more.

"Sorry sir!" he mumbled "Just fatigue, it won't happen again!"

"See that it doesn't!" his superior snarled. He was loving the fact that he could boss-around a high-born, Jarl realised. "As you were."

"What are you doing here, with respect?" he sighed, relaxing and running a hand through his short, dark-brown hair.

"Just doing my rounds" he said, and then "which reminds me: when was the last time you inspected your company, Captain?"

Jarl shuddered, closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed: "three days ago sir…"

"That was when we began the construction of our defences, correct?"

"Yes sir: which I have been observing day and night…from up here."

"It is an officer's duty to lead his men by example. What will 9th company be like on the battlefield if their Captain cannot even go down and watch them dig?"

"I protest, sir! I simply-" Jarl began, desperately.

"Don't you dare tell me you have been too busy. Too busy doing what?"

"I-"

"Shut up and get down there, Captain."

"Yes sir…"

"Anyone would think you were scared of your men" the Colonel laughed as he left the room. Jarl crumpled into a chair; head in hands. This watch tower had, miraculously, still been standing when they had arrived. It was part of the remains of a fort built here by the original colonists on this world. It was made of square, grey blocks of stone, with a square room at the top, and a rounded base. He had claimed it as his own because it had fascinated him: like quaint bits of machinery from broken servitors had when he was a child. He had once intended to build his own servitor from them, but had grown out of his habit. Now this tower had grabbed his attention in the same way and he had made his home in the upper room. The other officers had all claimed parts of the manor house which made up the centre of their compound, or the wine cellar (which it was rumoured still held wine). However; though all the rest of its defences had crumbled and become buried by the mud, this single tower stood, like some kind of monument to the God-Emperor of Mankind.

It made him smile to think about it, but he was strange like that.

A sudden whirring of servos announced the arrival of his aide-de-camp.

"Quall" he acknowledged, without looking up.

"Good evening sir!" the techpriest said. His voice had a whirring, static-like quality.

"Have we received our orders?" Jarl asked, standing and smoothing the creases in his uniform.

"Indeed we have, sir. I have them here."

The yellow-hooded man extended his right arm; an augemic implant, which possessed a wrist-mounted atmospheric scanner. In his palm he held a sealed envelope. Jarl took it and tore it open. Scanning its contents, he cursed.

"Problem, sir?" the robotic soldier asked, turning to the stove and shoving a little more wood on the flames.

"We're to hold this position for another two days, until we are reinforced by a Heavy-Infantry regiment called the 'Perenos Sirens'. Then companies 8 through to 15 are to march out with them into that bloody bastard shitstorm out there."

"I see why you are upset, sir. It does not seem a wise tactical decision to send over half the Spirian 3rd into an attack when we cannot be sure our current location is even secure."

"Not just that! It means the 9th will be taking part in the fighting." Jarl began to feel frustration building inside him at his companion's blank expression. For a techpriest, he was fairly understanding of human emotions, but he didn't interpret fear in the same way humans do. To him, fear was seeing your comrades fall around you or being unarmed in the face of a foe. He could not understand being afraid of events to come.

"We're going to die out there! This communiqué also notes that the Spirian 2nd and the rest of our forces out there are in full retreat. They've routed us! They probably have Armour, and air support!"

"Sir! I am certain that either way: you will find glory in battle!"

"That's what I'm afraid of." he muttered, slapping dust from the top of his cap and fastening his coat tightly about himself.

"Where are we going?" asked Quall

"An inspection. Bring the shotgun, please."