The water slowly permeates through the walls and the ceiling as the acid rain falls upon the earthen covered entrenchment. This is the seventh month since the four hundred and fiftieth Cadian Shock Troop regiment has held the front line at the siege of Tardoff on the planet Epsilon 4. Epsilon 4 is a frozen hell hole on the edge of the Sabbot rim planets.
In the winter months it snows white and black because of the high concentration of ash in the atmosphere from the planets industrial complexes. The smog and poor air quality has only gotten worse since the war spread here as well. In the spring and summer the icy sludge melts down into a giant half frozen radioactive swamp. It is during this time that the black and sooty snow precipitation turns to an acid rain that can chew straight through reactive tank armor in the right conditions.
If the planet itself was not bad enough then the industrial city of Tardoff would look like a stain on the sheets of society, however here it is a diamond in the rough. It is a city completely underground with the only things you can see above the ground are the towering smoke stacks coming from the factories below.
Just inside the entrenchment there is a man no more than 28 years old sitting on a makeshift bench, staring dazedly at his reflection in a puddle of oily water. He rubs his right hand along his jawline inspecting his five o'clock shadow and making a mental note to shave later.
Two men come in through the entrance of the enclosed entrenchment, they see the man sitting down, and they quickly snap to attention and pop a salute. "Commissar, Sir" they say in almost perfect unison.
The man is startled for just a second but quickly composed himself. He stands up, goes to attention and returns the salute and in a gruff voice replies "Carry on."
The two men drop their salute and continue on down the entrenchment to an open space where old ammo crates are used as tables, here they sat down and one of them pulled out a deck of cards. He watched them for a moment, studying them to try and identify who they are. Aside from the fact that they are both corporals in platoon 3, with their helmets and re-breather masks on that covered the rest of their eyes and face it was a lost cause trying to identify them.
As he gets ready to exit the entrenchment he pulls his own re-breather mask out of its leather pouch on his back left side. There it sat beside his spyglass and canteen. As he pulls it on over his face he wonders if anyone ever had difficulty identifying him under the mask. This thought quickly dispersed from his thoughts because he was the only one out here currently dressed all in black, for he was a Commissar of the Imperial Guard and a loyal servant to the God Emperor of mankind.
Commissar Levernicus Grey, however he usually just went buy Commissar, Grey, or a combination of the two. He stands at about 5 feet 11 inches, he has broad shoulders, his skin is usually a very dark shade of tan, however it has become much paler since the arrival on this planet. His hair is buzzed back more for practicality than style preference. He has hazel colored eyes and thick bushy eyebrows. His nose is bent ever so slightly to the left from when it got broken and never fully healed correctly.
Before he steps out he puts on his weatherproof storm cloak to protect him from the acidic rain which is currently at a slight drizzle. Not enough to do any real damage but just enough to be annoying.
As he steps out of the enclosed safe proximity of the entrenchment he pulls his bolt pistol from its holster and flips the safety off before proceeding any further, while there is no immediate fighting in the surrounding areas the entire planet is considered an active war zone.
He walks down the entrenchment that is dug solidly 7 feet into the ground with heavy weapons teams spared out every 10 yards in the fox holes along the dugout wall. Some of the emplacements are above ground while others are less exposed with only the muzzle of the heavy weapon sticking out.
He continues walking until he stops at the seventh emplacement, one of the more exposed ones. The position was manned by two men, a spotter and a gunner, the spotter also reloads the heavy weapon when necessary.
The spotter was peering through his spy glass combing the landscape for anything stupid enough to poke its head out. Meanwhile his partner, the gunner, was putting a protective tarp up to avoid damage to their equipment. They both turned to Commissar Grey and gave him a nod with a quick "Sir" and then continued with their work.
While Grey could not identify most people with their mask and re-breather on, these two were a little different. The one with the spyglass is Private First Class Harthorn Griffon, a short man with a slim build. He is also known as "The Howling Griffon" after his gunner got killed by a grenade that blew him straight to hell.
Outraged, Griffon took the heavy weapon and spun it back around and single-handedly repelled an advancing force of cultist extremists. The incident left a blast mark on his helmet that made him identifiable wherever he goes. Ever since then he has remained a good soldier but is well known for his surmise conspiracy theories and general paranoia.
The other one is Private First Class Garrison Hackett. He is one of the newer recruits to have entered the ranks of the four hundred and fiftieth. No more than 19 years old he is able to handle a heavy weapon better than some of the most seasoned veterans in the Imperial Guard. Aside from that he has stuck to Griffon like glue, and not just because he is his partner on the heavy weapon team. He has an unquenchable thirst for stories to hear about what happens all over the galaxy. He is like an inquisitor trying to extort information from a heretic, and Griffon is always delighted to tell him one. Whether or not all of Pvt. Griffon's stories are true is left to each individual's imagination.
Aside from his overly curious mind he is an epitome of a Cadian Shock Trooper and loyal Imperial Guardsman: loyal, efficient, and eager to prove his worth.
"Sir, come over here and take a look at this, I think you might want to check it out," said Pvt. Griffon sounding a little frantic. "Some-thin don't feel quite right"
"This better not be any more of your damn drivel you're spouting like the last time you told me you saw trouble." Said Commissar Grey, all the while trying not to inveigh the man.
Commissar Grey is a firm believer that the key to keeping order and loyalty among the troops he is in charge of is by doing his best to be a trusted friend to the unit as a whole. However, being a Commissar means he is more than capable of dealing stringent punishment when the need arises. Getting ill-tempered with a solder that has stared out into empty space for a long time is bound to think he has seen something, so he goes over to take a look.
Commissar Grey took out his own spy glass and raises it to the eye lenses on his re-breather mask and looks in the direction that Pvt. Griffon had just moments before.
In the distance he sees a group of people dressed in blue robes with yellow and gold accents to give the figures a very vibrant look to them. Those colors they are wearing can only mean they are a scouting party intrinsic with the local cultist resistance force that has thrown this planet into civil unrest. He turns to private Hackett who is already uncovering his Heavy Bolter from the protective tarp. Grey gives him a hand signal across his throat telling him to take them out.
Pvt. Hackett acknowledges and in three well controlled bursts of fire from the heavy weapon the cultist scouts went down.
Gray couldn't see it but he knew that the private had a grin on his face that would put an Ork to shame as he sat there still looking at his handy work.
But not even 30 seconds after the last dead cultist body hit the ground the entire enemy entrenchment adjacent to their own lit up like fireworks on All Emperors Day. The Commissar and two privates have mere seconds to take cover from the punishing barrage. The Commissar looks at the two men knowing that they are as lassitude as he is, however it is his job to inspire the men to do great things in the Emperor's name.
He stands on the brink of the entrenchment and in a roaring voice calling out to all nearby troops saying, "Rise up men of the Guard! Get off of your bellies and stand tall and proud against the servants of the damned. For this city must not fall, if it does it means the destruction of this planet and the eventual destruction of this system. The Emperor is watching you this day, do not disappoint him!"
|Hey all, this is my first ever attempt at writing an actual "story" for the 40k universe and my first ever story I am uploading. This started as a short story for school so some of the words in this story are SAT prep words . As I continue writing more I will tone down the vocabulary. Please review and give feed back, even ideas. I have a general idea of how I want to take this story but it is subject to change. I hope you enjoyed it.|