Dawn was approaching on the Imperial world of Waxion. The horizon glistened with sickly crimson light, as though radiating from a sea of blood.
Valia did not want to die. She was only seventeen old while average lifespan of a human being according to what she had read was ninety. It was unfair, so unfair. Then she realised: this was war, nothing was fair.
Born of the war-torn planet Cadia, Valia had no memory of her parents, though the report mentioned that they were heroically killed fighting the daemonic forces of Chaos. For all she knew, they might have been shot by commissars for running away or committed suicide to be spared from what horror the universe threw at. Whatever the reason, she became an orphan at the age of five. At the age of sixteen, she was given too options: she could remain in the orphanage where the food stank and people bullied her to get her stinky food or she could join the army where the food did not stink too badly, and the people bullying her would risk standing at the wrong side of a firing line. At that point, she naively picked the latter.
Big mistake! And now she regretted it more than ever.
During her short service, she was forced to fight against the Orks on Daiji V, an experience both good and bad. Good in that she made a lot of friends during the journey, some of them making hilarious jokes. Bad in that all of her friends got mercilessly hacked to pieces by the Greenskins.
And just when Valia thought it was over, the last of the aliens on Daiji V purged, she was immediately sent to the next planet, Waxion, which also happened to be filled with maniac hostiles. This time, though, her enemy was the Forces of Chaos.
Adding to her horror, she was alone in the city; her entire squad was cut down in an earlier ambush. She only survived because she knew when to run. Perhaps the urge to run was in the blood after all.
Valia moved through the ruins sluggishly. If the terrain were not unforgiving enough, her boots being too large and her socks ridden with holes added to the misery of her feet. Unfortunately, being second-priority meant everything she had was standard issue for the bulk of the army which, unsurprisingly, consisted of men who were not only bigger but also more resilient that her. As much as she wanted to take those off, walking barefooted in an area filled with broken glass, shrapnels and Emperor-knows-what wasn't such a good idea.
As Valia made her way through the rubble, she heard rasping voices nearby. Turning around, she saw two figures heading towards her. Both were dressed in purple khaki, their bodies tattooed with twisted images that unsettled the mind. They had already spotted her, so hiding now would be pointless. One of them let out a howl.
Valia switched herself to firing position as per training, shouldered her lasgun and pulled the trigger. The first two shots went wide. The cultists did not bother lowering their heads. The third shot slammed home, punching one off his feet. The other Chaos human was upon her, a jagged knife bearing. Valia shot him in the eye at point-blank range.
More silhouettes were coming. They neither looked nor sounded happy. Deciding the best course of action would be to retreat (as it always had been), Valia straightened up and sprinted from her position. The stupid standard issue boots were a real annoyance, and she could not take two steps without almost losing her balance. At length, she fell down. A sharp pain running through her body indicated her ankle was strayed. She could not walk anymore. She was sitting duck now.
Not going down without a fight, Valia opened fire on full auto, killing one, two, three more cultists who had only T-shirt to protect themselves. A fourth, the last of them, got her and managed to pin her down by the face. The Chaos human removed Valia's helmet, revealing her dirty wheat-blond hair. Her blue eyes were teary.
"You look nice, sister," he said, licking his lips with an unnaturally long tongue. If his pinkish skin did not spill the beans, then the icon on his shoulder did: the man was a follower of Slaanesh, the God of Pleasure. "Prettier than the others we've killed so far. We are going to have some fun, aren't we? Now, where to I start?"
Valia screamed, and the cultist relished in that. She twitched and struggled, but the man was stronger as it took a considerable amount of strength to be able to share the same bed with a daemonette without losing one's testicle. Now Valia wanted to die badly. Whatever fate awaited her at the hand of his sadistic pervert was bound to be worse. The cultist ran his hand at the part between her legs. The sensation was overwhelming: pain, embarrassment, despair and dark ecstasy altogether. Valia sweated heavily as he did so, nearly pissing herself for the first time in five weeks.
Then, as if a miracle had happened, it stopped. Valia finally caught her breath; any more of that and she would bite her tongue to death. As she came to sense, she saw that the miracle had indeed happened after all. The cultist fell dead, his face staring blankly at the sky even though he was prone, and Valia found herself looking at a giant. He was two and a half meters tall, his body-build and muscularly features uncannily resembling the Greenskins she faced on Daiji V. He wore a sleeveless shirt rather than flak armour and a necklace made from teeth taken from Orks and Tyranids around his neck. Valia saw a vicious-looking knife on his back and a melt-pistol at the side.
A soldier from Catachan.
"You are OK, girl?" he asked caringly. The man had the accent of someone who did not speak Low Gothic often.
"I think I am fine," replied Valia in relief. "Would have been a lot worse if you hadn't shown up. I believe I owe you my thanks, though don't expect me to repay that. I'm not good at keeping promises."
A las shot zipped through the air, heralding the arrival of yet more cultists of Chaos. Valia attempted to get up but failed miserably, her broken ankles failing to respond just when she needed most. Before she realised what occurred next, the Catachan had carried her on his shoulder as a man would carry an ammo box. Valia had no time to protest as the Catachan sped up like a bull and went straight into the valley under heavy fire.
Cultists surrounded them. With one free hand, the Catachan grabbed his knife in deft movements. He chopped off three heads with a single swipe. Valia watched with awe as her comrade fought to defend them both. She still had her lasgun, but it was impossible to fire from where she was, on the shoulder of someone else. Still, more cultists appeared, replenishing their losses faster than an Ork could eat his tasty Squig. There were so many of them. Despite the death world fighter's inhuman prowess, he was in no position to win at this rate.
The booming noise of an auto cannon filled the air. Explosive projectiles shredded the cultists like papers and mowed them down in droves. Valia and the Catachan turned towards the direction where the fire was coming from, the second floor of a relatively intact building that used to be the bakery. The sight of allied personnel in the area rekindled their hope. The Chaos humans clearly had had enough and were fleeing for their lives from the torrent of fire, leaving a score laid dead in their wake.
Valia dared think they would be safe at last when a Chaos Spawn barred in their way. The creature was a manifestation of the Warp, its abhorrent body pink like the rest of the cultists and covered in a thick layer of smudge. It had three outstretched arms, five legs, three tails, so many creepy eyes, and no symmetry whatsoever.
Where ordinary men would have been repelled by the sight of such thing rushing at them, the Catachan's response was nothing but professional. In swift movements, he discarded his knife and reached for his melta-pistol. He fired. The Spawn reeled back, squirming in pain and half its face and about two-thirds its eyes all but gone. Unfortunately, the melta-pistol required time to recharge, and the Chaos Spawn recovered much quicker than that. It pounced again, and the jungle fighter had only his arm to protect himself. Valia was about to screech when long-las shot exploded its shoulder and sent the creature off balance, missing its charge. Capitalising the distraction, the Catachan finished reloading and fired his melta weapon again. A massive smoking hole punched into its face, the abomination shuddered and died.
"Looks like we have an excellent marksman on our side," the Catachan remarked.
"Praise the Emperor," Valia added.
The two finally made it to the building where their allies were. Once they were in, the Catachan put Valia's on a coach and tended to her feet as meticulously as a father would. Her bare feet emitted a stench from the old socks, but he ignored that. Four men greeted them.
"Ah. It's good to see more of our men have survived the enemy onslaught," said the first. He was dressed in refined uniform, colourful if not a bit too gaudy for the battlefield. Valia could not resist her jealousy seeing someone whose uniform actually fit their body so perfectly like that. The Pickelhelm on top of his head was also well-crafted. He smelled nice, which added to the problem.
You did not get to have any of that being a guardsman. You were supposed to be the cheap meat that fed into the Imperium's war machine.
"Always glad to fight alongside good men and women of the Imperial Guards," he went on. "I am Lieutenant Luggana Leitdorf of the 11th Mordian Iron Guard, the "Silver Swan", by the way."
The Mordian Iron Guards were out of action for as long as half a century, spending that time to re-consolidate and reorganising themselves rather than fighting against the Emperor's foe. They came out from that period significantly reduced in strength but offering superior troops than previously. A brief look may give them the impression of an effigy, but Mordian soldiers were second to none in combat, and many a foe had paid the ultimate price for underestimating their competence.
"Thanks for the rescue," said the Catachan. "Well done, lads. The name here is Randy Nebular, but for Throne's sake, just call me Randy. I can't handle too much detail. I am a Master Sergeant."
"I am trooper Valia of the 256th Cadian Shock Troops," Valia chimed in. "Nice to meet you all."
"Grenadier R40592 at your service," introduced the second man grimly. Unlike the Mordian officer, he wore a plain grey uniform with a gasmask. He had magazine pelts hanging on his chest, so Valia guessed he was the heavy weapon operator. "Death Korp of Krieg. 26th Infantry Regiment. There is no greater honour than to die in the Emperor's name."
Valia had a decent respect for the guardsmen from the Death Korps of Krieg. They were renowned throughout the Imperium for their stubbornness in the face of insurmountable odds, never retreat and never look back.
"Trooper Mkeller," said the third with an obnoxious voice. Valia presumed he was the sniper earlier. Being outside squad structure and usually operating alone, these lone wolves developed a personality that was both anti-social and alienating. "3rd Tanith, or New Tanith as some like to call it."
The Tanith earned much of their name in the Sabbat World Crusade as masters of scout, marksmanship and infiltration. Valia was happy to have one of them here with her.
The last person in the room was an Ogryn, a hulking creature that towered even the Catachan. He gave everyone a dumb look, jumping his gaze sporadically from one to another.
"Come on now," encouraged Leitdorf. "Don't be shy. Tell us who you are and which division you came from."
"With respect, Herr Leitdorf," said R40592. "But I don't think he possesses the ability to speak Low Gothic anymore. Just look at him, he is…"
Before he could finish, the Ogryn whooped loudly. "Me iz Bragg Gutsman. Savlar Chem Dogz. Me iz 'ere teh smash those bad Chaos boyz to bits. Fer da Emprah!"
"Not too bad, isn't he?" asked Leitdorf. He sat down clasped his hands together to get others' attention. "Now. It seems we have known who we are fighting alongside. If anyone does not already know in advance who we are fighting against, I will gladly put a las shot through his head. Since I am the highest ranking person right here and right now, does anybody here object to my assuming leadership?"
Nobody answered.
"Good luck, Lieutenant," said the Tanith mockingly. "Please go ahead and show us the way to glorious victory."
"I understand how you feel, trooper," said Leitdorf evenly. He didn't seem to think it was a joke. Given he was from Mordia born and bred, that was highly the case. "But glorious victory can wait. Right now, our goal is survival. The enemy has numbers, and we don't. Until reinforcement arrives, we are on our own. I want this parameter secured and…"
Valia did not hear the rest of his blabbering. She was quick to sleep. The day had been long and weary. She was still young. The others let her be.
With more battles to come, Valia wondered how further she could survive in this hellish reality. For the very least, she would not have to tolerate these horrendous boots for long.
A/N: My first attempt at Imperial Guards. Tell me what you think. Hope you enjoy it.