Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer 40k or any related properties.
A few short lines of an old soldier's memory. Inspired by "Camouflage" by Stan Ridgway.
The human girl scrambled to her feet and threw a single word at the departing back of the Space Marine like a pebble flung at the broadside of a tank.
"Camouflage!" The heavy footfalls stopped. Now that it had escaped the human's throat, the word hung oppressively on his massive shoulders like the armour he had left behind so long ago. Throne, his joins were sore. It had been long ago indeed…
Bullets had took the place of rain in the jungle. Cultists were dug in for a fight, and dug in deep. The human soldier, wounded and half-delirious, had been left behind by his squad. He just couldn't keep up, and perhaps they hadn't even noticed he was gone. The jungle had devoured too many guardsmen already. This man was just another casualty.
Still, he was a stubborn bastard and dug in himself. If he would die here, he would die like a guardsman. He was preparing his final prayers when the giant came.
Materializing like a specter from the Warp and moving more silently than it had any right to with armor that big, the jungle spit forth an Angel of Death in return for all the lives it took. The human soldier, though the newcomer's helmet was cold and glaring, felt friendly eyes behind the impassive lenses. Salvation had come, and came in power armour. Human and Astartes alike knew no fear. The fight had just begun.
The night was flipped on its head as the Marine soaked up bullets and shot his own back. The human added his own bloody melody to the carnage. The cultists had been cornered by the mutt they had once mocked. Even the environment itself fought the heretics when the hulking Astartes ripped a tree right out of the earth to beat back the enemy. It was a sight the human soldier had never seen before and never again would.
After the cultists' lives were drained but before their blood could dry, the Marine was swallowed by the forest from whence he came. The human soldier returned to his camp with his life, a tale, and a name.
"Camouflage."
The old Marine's voice sounded like he looked. Tired and worn, like steel that had seen a full life of use and knew it was his time to be replaced. Great Emperor, the creaks and groans his outdated bones uttered. With all they whispered and complained it was some miracle he had resisted Chaos thus far.
"That's a name I haven't heard in a millennia." His haggard words found their recipient a fresh and vernal soul; a spring growth still smelling sweet of her mother's milk. The youngling's voice was a child's mew, a naïve plea, a breath of wind. Undefiled by the horrible, violating truth of the universe. She, like humanity. So vulnerable. So temporary.
"My grandfather said you saved him, once. Now please…I need your help just one more time."
Throne, his joints were sore. But he hadn't forgotten his duty. For humanity…just one last time.