Memoirs of a Guardsman
I can't believe I'm doing this.
Hello to you, who probably found this journal in a carbonised hab block, or, if I'm lucky, in some random box after I die.
How to start, how to start... I guess I should present myself.
I am Anvaro Trak, former soldier of the 31st Harakonian Regiment of the Imperial Guard.
My fate, and the fate of my entire regiment, is considered as lost. But the truth is far more impossible – and, in the eyes of the rest of the Imperial population, probably more heretical than anything they've ever heard about.
But first, let me start over to the beginning, when my regiment was sent onto Draetheus IV onto Segmentum Obscurus to respond to the disappearance of two regiments in the sector.
For the first time in years, we received an honest briefing from General Orkont. We were dropping in feet first into unknown territory, facing an unknown foe. Long-range scan denied the possibility of a Tyrannid infestation, which came to a relief for our veterans, who battled the abominations on Nikea VI and came back with knowledge of the adversary, and utter fear of the threat they posed to the Imperium.
The planet reminded me of Kalabesh Secundus, a planet akin to Catachan, with for difference the absence of any dangerous lifeform on the planet. A true paradise, which was probably terraformed, just like many of these planets so precious we were undeserving to disturb their innocence.
The vegetation was rich, and nature was taking its rights upon this jewel of a planet.
Most of us were taking great care of our grav-chutes or las-carbines, checking our helmets and our carapace armors for any cracks or dent. We had no idea what had taken the other regiments, but Orkont was no fool, and us neither. Whatever had made our collegues go silent was waiting patiently for us to arrive, and we would surprise the threat by our agility on the battlefield. Everyone in the regiment knew how to drop from a Valkyrie, activite the grav-chute and engage targets as soon as they hit the ground in an organized fashion.
After a week of scanning of the planet, Commissar Lirko informed us of the nature of the threat; Eldars. We didn't show our reaction in front of him, of course, but most of us were gakking scared. We knew that this treacherous race could sacrifice billions of us for but a handful of them, without any hesitation. We had no priests on board, but those who lead the confessions when we halted onto a planet often told us of how the Eldar embodied everything of cowardice. The squad he was motivating was wiped out by a squad of Howling Banshees, and he owed his survival only to his mighty chainsword and the support of a Stormtrooper squad.
We were not ready for a fight against the Exodites. But what could we do? We had our orders, and so we loaded up in the Valkyries by dawn, chomping on cigars or checking equipment one last time.
In my life, I always felt a feeling of apprehension before dropping down. But now, it was more than just that. I felt like I would never leave this planet. Taking a look around me, I saw the same expression on the faces of my squadmates. We knew we would probably all die down there, but we still kept going. Not for Orkont, not for Lirko. For the God-Emperor of Man, for the Imperium, but most of all, for Harakon and our families there.