"In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war."

The Guardsman's tale, a Warhammer 40k fanfiction

"Oi! Idiot! We don't use rifles that way in the Imperial Guard!" The sergeant groaned. The 32nd Legion had just been posted to Rargavia, and so far it seemed that his unit was the most dysfunctional group of Guardsmen in the Imperium. Hell, even he couldn't remember his real name. The troops themselves were either mentally imbalanced or just plain stupid. At least this world was peaceful...

SIX YEARS LATER

"The remnants of your pathetic forces have either joined us or perished Sergeant. Your motley crew of Guardsmen are nothing before the servants of KHORNE!

The twelve surviving Guardsmen jeered and mocked the priest of KHORNE, firing a volley from their lascannons at the man. These twelve men had survived literally everything that the servants of Chaos had thrown at them, even when the cultists started wearing the skins of their fallen brothers in an attempt to unnerve them. Sarge and his unit were the only survivors from the ongoing war attrition that was taking place on this hellhole of a world.

"Sir, we have hostiles incoming, again."

"You know what to do boys! FOR THE IMPERIUM! BURN THE HERETICS!" screamed Sarge. The daemons and cultists surged towards the ruined compound that was home to the twelve soldiers. As they reached firing range, the Guardsmen fired their lascannons, burning the flesh off the bones of the abominations from the Warp. The battle-hardened troops fired again and again, blasting through the skulls of the cultists this time.

"Hold fire!" the order rang out through the old barracks. The Guardsmen ceased fire and raised their bayonets, hacking and slashing at the monsters baying for their blood, purple viscera splattering out of the wounds inflicted by the brutal blades. As the sun rose, the pattern that had repeated itself over and over and over continued. At the rising of the sun, the Chaos beings retreated to their fortress, and the Guardsmen returned to their ruined barracks.

"Roll Call!" The grizzled old sergeant viewed his troops. Despite that they had fought the most horrendous battle in any of their careers, they still had faith in the God-Emperor and the Imperium of Man.

"Sound off!"

"Alasdair Mac Colla, present an' accounted fer, sergeant Hobson, sah!'

"Leonid Rogozov is ready."

"Larry Thorne here"

"Clifford Wolfridge is ready to crush some skulls"

"Desmond Doss present"

Sergeant Frederick Hobson took a deep breath, and started talking.

"Men, we have fought on this godforsaken rock for the past six years, and during that time, we have weathered everything the forces of Chaos have thrown at us, from sorcery to daemons to corrupt Marines! AND WE HAVEN'T BEEN BROKEN! NOR SHALL WE SUBMIT! We are all that stands between them and the systems behind us. If they continue to attack us, we shall continue to drive them back, even until we stand at the very gates of Death, we shall use the last strength in our bones to drive them back! Dismissed!" Hobson stood back, as the men gave a ragged cheer and dispersed to sleep. Hobson wandered off to find Al.

SOME TIME LATER...

"SCREAM LITTLE MEN, SCREAM!