My own breath was driving me crazy, as I was aimlessly tracking across the No Man's Land. Each step felt like lifting 20 pounds of weight, as the mud hardly wanted to release my boots, with each step I made. My glasses were broken, I toss them away, like I need them, the doctors corrected my sight shortly after I joined the Guard.
I never felt so tired in my life; I wasn't even sure why I was doing this or anything anymore. Certainly, I cannot turn back… certain and painful death waits me if I do, but if not then it is already after me by now. I wanted to pray, but after witnessing the horrors and betrayals of war for years, I began to realize that it won't do me any good at this point. It didn't do me any good back then either.
Taking a few more steps, I fell to my knees, wheezing, grasping for air, but all I could smell was the murky ponds of water, blood and the Emperor knows what the other stenches that lingered in the air. I clenched my jaw and fists, trying to hold back my tears, I closed my eyes to hold back my crying, but the moment I did, I shoot them open. That image was still there… I might never be able to sleep, or blink anymore… I was too afraid of seeing that again. I must have been a pathetic sight, one weeping guardsman, in the middle of No Man's Land, among the dead, alone.
I could care less, no one was alive around me to judge my actions anymore, even those who I am desperate to reach, have left me and my comrades to die. My officers fled as they left us to rot, ironic that they were the first to get themselves killed in the most horrid fashion. There was no one anymore to feel pity for me, or to judge my actions. All I have now are the dead around me… and the silence.
I didn't wipe my face, as my hands and uniform were too dirty. Continuing with my journey, I track through the mud, walking past the rotting corpses of heretics and guardsmen. So they didn't even bother to give these poor bastards a proper burial, letting them rot with the heretics… in way it is fitting, in sick, undeserving, twisted way. On my way, I spotted the ruined flag of Karpathia, my homeworld. Tattered, dirty and broken, just like her sons and daughters who died on this forsaken rock. The red was more like black now, the clean white has soaked up the murky water, painting it brown, and lastly the green… to be honest, it was to only color which was recognizable, though it was in no better condition than the two before.
The heraldry was torn out from the middle; the heretics must have vandalized it when we broke under their assault. Funny, of all the parts of the banner, they only took out the Aquila, which symbolized our connection with the Imperium. I should feel anger, anguish and sadness at the sight, but… nothing. The commissar would have already shot me for this, but… I felt nothing about it. They made us swore to this flag, once we left Karpathia, and on our way here, this banner represented our world and its resolve. Seeing it now, and looking at my dead comrades… I couldn't help but to notice the resemblance, this ruined flag has never represented the Karpathian 7th regiment so well during its relatively short existence, than now.
The hollowness grew inside my heart and souls; the longer I looked at the broken flag. Suddenly, I felt the urge to join my comrades in their rest. I had no commanders anymore; I had no home to begin with, so… why should I bother anymore? A year or two again I would have slapped myself silly for these thoughts, now however the thought of death have never felt so soothing before. Funny, it only took me this much, to make me accept death… oh well, better late than never, right?
I undone the strap of my pistol holster and took one last glance at the laspistol I was issued at the beginning of my service. It still had charge, even after I went through all those horrors; it still had enough shots to do some damage. I'll only need one shot, so I guess there is no need to contemplate much about it. Gripping the handle hard, I wanted to feel something before I do the deed. I know I was too afraid to close my eyes, but at least the sky was still open for me to gaze at. Looking up, all I saw was the vast blue emptiness, so… this will be my last memory?
So what do you think? This is my first attempt to try myself in the grim drakness of the WH 40K universe.
Just for heads up, and to give a shout out for all Hungarian readers/fans of WH 40K, I indeed took some inspiration from the history of our country, mostly our involvement in the WWI. Also, this takes place in an alternative timeline, I am aware of the current events of the recent fluff and what can I say? I am satisfied with some of the changes and less satisfied with the rest, but nothing much I can do about it, right?
The outlines of this story were concieved way before the events of the Gathering Storm series, so... yeah, you won't be finding much reference to them here. I still respect the authors and owners of Games Workshop, the franchise along with some of the names belong to them and Black Library, I only owe my OCs. All OC names, OC place names are the creation of my own, if any of them appear in other media or WH series, that is just the work of coinciendce.
Feel free to review or share your thoughts, and sorry for some of the grammar/spelling issues.
Until next time!
