Andrei Milovitch had been drafted into the Imperial Guard at the tender age of 17. Too young perhaps, but the Empire is built on the backs of the Imperial Guard, and He will always need more men to carry out His wars.
From the perspective of any rational person, His wars would appear a tremendous waste of recourses, hundreds of thousands of men dying for some objective like a city, that could have been captured at a lesser cost had the Officers employed different tactics. But no, doctrines were doctrines, and frontal assault was the name of the game, 'cause no one in the 41st millennium learns any thing from past experiences. That is a privilege only for the Inquisitors and other higher servants of the Emperor. Non approved learning is heresy, and heresy is punishable by death. "Poor fuckers like us just die," Galitch told Milovitch once, "die for the Emperor. Man, fuck him! The Emperor isn't a damn god, he's a devil." Galitch was drawn and quartered in front of the entire regiment for that one. A fresh-faced repo had overheard the remark and blabbed to the Commissar. Asshole repo even got himself a promotion. Galitch was a Corporal, an NCO and a veteran soldier, a real professional, but that didn't matter to the Commissar. The Commissar just tortured him to death. Even Orks don't do that. They just kill you. Yes, Milovitch watched as his friend was disemboweled on a stage, a spectacle for all to see, and winced as he heard his friend's agonized screams. Pitiful, like a hurt child crying for his mother. Galitch had survived battles with Orks on the moon of Fentas Prime, boarding actions and the brutal assault on the citadel Yvokee, witch cost the lives Three-Hundred- Thousand men, only to die at the hands of a Commissar in the service of the Emperor. Poor fucker.