No, I'm not dead.


Moist Frying

Muani II had a reputation on Arala as an exotic, jungle paradise. A get away from the grind of daily life and somewhere to head up to, and enjoy the strange lands and beaches. For us, we found this holiday destination to be different to the advertisements found in fliers and billboards.

Our welcoming committee consisted of a thick cloud of flies and mosquitos, latching onto any open skin they could cling to. Waving did little to keep them at bay. The heat was oppressive and humid with muggy moisture sticking our clothing to skin. As we marched off the large gangplanks we got a glimpse of the City of Port Hop. This spaceport was diiferent to Shamal or Mantle, unlike the towering forms of steel, which held the ship in place. Port Hop's port was nothing more than some flat fields of rockrete with some support beams to catch the ship as it landed.

We were rounded up for organisation and roll call. Looking around was an assault to the senses. I was accustomed to seeing the endless sands of yellow and tan. Now it was green vegetation and brown dirt. I think it was green and brown, buzzing flies and mosquitos got in the way.

It felt strange to sit down on moist ground, the feeling of water soaking my uniform and touching my backside was one that I hadn't felt since I fell in the river at Alfada. Looking around I wasn't the only one. Some men and women were playing in the puddles. In Shamal we got a wet rag for a bath. We stayed like that as a few more regiments were offloaded along with cargo and equipment. The disgruntled voice of Lance caught my ear.

"Fucking hell." I turned to my left to see my best mate with a smoke in his mouth and trying to light a match. Looking around him to find the remnants of failed attempts at getting a light. The packet within his shirt was already stained in moisture. When he got his lho lit I took out one of my own smokes and lit it using his. We took a collective drag as gazed out onto the settlement in the valley.

It was a strange sight to look down upon. Some of it looked modern with metal and brick buildings, paved roads, plantations and even a train line heading into the jungle. There was a stone church on a hill, some autocarriages moving around and electric lamps. Just past the city was a airbase, several hangers and a runway. The further out from the centre of Port Hop the less civilised it appeared. Metal and stone turned to wooden huts with muddy roads, on which there were carts drawn by four legged beasts. The roofs of the buildings were made from leaves and supported by scraps of metal and other salvaged pieces.

The area was littered with trenches dug into the mud, entrenched anti-air guns and lascannon towers looked skyward. None of them would have a chance of defence against space threats. Even the capital of Shamal had macrocannons around the port. The macrocannons on the docked ship were the only real threat towards an orbital threat.

Even though Arala and Muani II were backwater planets on the border of the Imperium, we didn't worry about such external threats. Arala's history wasn't clean, there were battles against heretical gangs in the wildness, groups of mutants and even occasional pirate incursions. But Arala was still very isolated from danger. Now the Tau were only a moon away.

I was brought out of my thoughts with a deafening screech of sirens from the erected loud hailers. We didn't know what they meant but we all knew nothing good. Following the pointed fingers towards the sky I found the source of the panic. They were fast, sleek in their design with no smoke trails. They had groups of smaller ones surrounding bigger aircraft and weren't Imperial in origin. Some of the smaller ones broke off, descending directly towards the spaceport.

"SCATTER!" The order was not needed. We were already running from the rockrete into the jungle and mud. Men piled out of their vehicles as many of us ditched heavier gear and backpacks in the name of self-preservation.

The sound of lascannons, flak towers and screams filled the damp air. Coming from both the batteries of the voidship and the ground-to-air defences. The engines of the enemy fliers became louder and louder. The noise was cutting into my ears. I ran for the jungle. Never looking back. Joining the orchestra of gunfire came rapid hissing noises. I kept running until I slipped on the wet rockrete. I did what I had been told in an air raid or artillery bombardment. Lie face down with hands on your head, in this case hat.

I held my eyes shut. Explosions followed and I could feel rubble peppering my body. It burned. Through my damp clothing it burned. Even as I felt the hot metal scold my arms and hands I kept them clamped around my head. The whining of the jets moved away. I opened my eyes to the destruction they left. They had strafed the rockrete strips, small craters littered the ground amongst wounded and dead guardsmen. Further up a Leman Russ had been targeted. Bany of it was left and it was leaking its burning fuel. I didn't notice I was automatically dragging a burning guardsman from the fuel spill.

I ignored the rumble of further bombs going off. Some of them targeting other parts of strip, while some hit the docked voidship. I rolled the burning man in a puddle, using my helmet to bail water onto the fire engulfing his leg. When he stopped screaming I pulled him away from me as I searched for more wounded.

The air raid left as soon as it had come. Imperial fighters had taken to the skies, pursuing the tau aircraft out of sight. We had only been here for a few hours and we had already taken casualties. Wounded were gathered up onto trucks as we were readied to parade into Port Hop.

Our slouch hats did their best to stop the thick downpour of warm rain when we marched through the thick jungle leaving the spaceport behind us. It first felt like nails hitting our dry skin and was almost alien to me. The humidity was choking, gathering in the recesses of our skin and under our heavy gear. I felt like every step I took was entering another puddle of my own sweat with warm water pooling at the bottom of my boots. It made me feel like I was going through a sauna but with my uniform clinging to me like a wet rag. We went right through port Hop. No one was there to cheer us on. Many of the buildings had been abandoned with only a few citizens on the streets. The only noticeable group were firefighters trying to put out the blaze from a one of the tau bombs. It wasn't like the bombs we were used to, it looked like a small blue sun and would explode in a white flash.

The further we marched the road became less paved. The cracked and crumbled asphalt gave way to mud, rocks and roots, which overwhelmed the road. Lance and I helped Liam along. He had been issued an artificial leg which was just a metal rod strapped to the stump and while not being too bad was certainly not meant for the natural environment. It certainly made going over the jagged ground harsh.

After an hour of marching on the rough terrain, metal gates connected to massive stone walls came into view. I turned to my mates, they too were relieved to be seeing civilization behind the waterfalls of sweat and vapour.

The gates opened to the column. Entering it looked like it was a lumber mill converted to be an Imperial Guard base. Large machines with circular saws were parked alongside tanks and artillery pieces. Guardsmen went about their daily activities, wearing an olive green uniform with flak armour painted various shades of green. We were still wearing our mix of tans which made us stand out against the mud and plants like a commissar in a yellow desert.

The most standout group in the mill were several large muscular guardsmen. Wearing blood red bandanas with flak jackets over singlets or beefy bare chests. They looked to be practicing with large knives about the same length as my forearm. They turned to us with savage grins and whispers which invoked dark chuckles. One of them stood up, cupped his hands over his strong jaw and greeted us.

"Hey fresh meat, a man's small intestine is 6 metres long, kroot don't bother using it to make sausages!" We all returned the glare, not intimidated by his taunts. His surrounding comrades laughed heartedly before being silence before an approaching figure. I guessed he was an officer, wearing a green beret and several tattoos over his thick yet ageing muscles. His greying number one indicated he was older, perhaps in his fifties. A long straight sword hung off his belt. We were assembled into a courtyard where we hurried up and waited in the rain. The Ground was concrete at least.

"Bit wet for my tastes mate." I looked to Lance who was again holding a soaked lho-stick pack in his dripping hands, failing to light it with a match under his humid fingers. While he did walk a bit strange he was at least back on his feet. Also he could sit without a cushion.

"This mud's going to make fighting a bloody pain in the ass. That's not counting the trees, we won't be able to see shit." Brodie chimed in, he was also back into service and had recovered from his wounds. As well as he could trying to hold the metal flamer in the wet weather. A voice broke through the idleness.

"ALL RIGHT DESERT RATS SHUT UP AND LISTEN UP!" We turned to see the officer I saw earlier standing atop a metal shed. Overseeing us with hard squinting eyes and a raspy voice of a long time smoker. Despite this he managed to yell over the sound of the thick rain.

"My name is Colonel Butch Shepherd of the 85th regiment of the Catachan Jungle Fighters. Now I'm looking around and I'm seeing the faces of men and women who have witnessed a lot of shit. I'm seeing people who have seen what many people should never see. I know you all have done stuff so that your loved ones back home don't have to. You're certainly not fresh to war or death. But that doesn't really matter out here." We've heard a few things about the Catachans from the papers and letters, mostly on being great jungle fighters. His determined snarl turned into a grim smile and a slow nod in acknowledgement.

"You may have fought in the desert, but that's the desert. You generally know where the enemy is because it's flatter then an orks brain. You stick close to the tanks and they'll support you. You use artillery liberally and your lasgun is your best friend. The jungle's a different beast entirely, and you'll learn that fast." He gestured to the towering trees around us, just visible above the walls of civilisation.

"Sure the desert's a bad place to live but out here it ain't just the sun and dehydration trying to get you. Giant bugs that wriggle under your skin and into your beds at night. Diseases that make you feel like you're shitting out your guts. Creatures that would love to dine on your entrails. The enemy out here is the least of your worries. There're no whore houses where you're going. But I know the jungle will fuck you all to compensate." He darkly chuckled again, showing several of his teeth replaced with metal. He looked around, pointing at George Looker.

"You there, you have a knife?" Looker was startled by the sudden question, scrambling for his bayonet under the scrutiny of everyone around him.

"Yes sir, right here." He presented his bayonet into the air, Shepherd exhaled as his grin widened.

"That's not a knife boy." Shepherd reached behind his back and presented a large blade, the type bushman and farmers use but even bigger.

"This, is a knife. Catachan fang, 20 Terran Inches of razor sharp steel. Honed to such an edge that with enough force you should split a tree open with only this and a rock. IF YOU CANNOT KILL WITH THIS! YOU ARE THE REASON!" He proudly showed it off. Rain poured down the blade that showed no signs of rust or wear.

"This brings me to my first lesson for the jungle, look after your knife. It will carve your way through the foliage, it will help you climb, it will cut bandages and if necessary infected skin, it will save your life. On my home of Catachan, I grew up with a knife at my side. Because I knew I wouldn't have made it to five without it. Keep it sharp, keep it dry. Kroot love fighting up close with their chomping beaks and blades. Keep the rust off it, and it will save you." He placed the knife back into its sheath before raising his voice once again.

"Next thing I've heard that you lot can hide when you need to. The enemy can only kill you if they know you are there. That flak armour doesn't stop pulse rifle rounds, so stay hidden. I've seen glory boys think they know everything stomping around in their shiny carapace armour and get killed before they even knew the enemy saw them. Assume the enemy is always close, for that reason don't light a fire, don't light lho-sticks, only carry what you need. NEVER SHIT ALONE! Fifteen metres is all that is needed to be next to impossible to see. You go to take a shit, you already become a target. Take someone with you if you do. Stick together." Well, that explains why many of the guardsmen I've spotted look like their holding it in. I don't imagine the toilets are going to be very fine.

"Speaking of shitting, too much of it can kill you which is what will happen if you don't follow this next rule. If you are not 100% certain that it won't kill you, DON'T EAT IT! Sure you may see the native Muanian's picking berries and fruits off the trees and snacking on them, but they're immune to the toxins. Even then some of the stuff they know well to stay away from. Also the water from streams must be filtered, boiled and even then have some purifiers added. Stick to your rations or approved food. The Muani natives know best." Bully beef in the hot desert of Shamal, bully beef in the steaming jungle of Muani. Three years of bully beef and counting. Surely not all the fruit around here is poisonous.

"While the wildlife can be edible. Assume every insect, reptile and animal on this planet will try to kill you. I've heard that Arala had its fair share of poisonous creatures but out here you'll be dealing with more than you will poke a stick at. So here is my advice. DON'T FUCK WITH IT! Most of the small creatures will only attack you if it thinks it's cornered or threatened. If you leave it alone, it should leave you alone. Check your boots before you put them on. Check your blanket before getting out of bed. And don't stick your hand where you can't see. But that'll only get you so far. I'll let the natives fill in the specifics, they know more about this place than I do. But what was my key point?" He gestured to the crowd of gathered guardsmen who responded in one barely unified voice.

"Don't fuck with it." He nodded and retracted his hands.

"Good, you all can hear. Lastly while you're bleeding, itchy, sore, possibly missing some fingers and crapping out your guts with every inch of movement being pain. The enemy's having to do that too. Seriously, while the kroot seem to be doing fine the Tau are having a fucking terrible go. Ork Fever appears to have take its toll on their bodies and the moisture fucks with their fancy tech. You're having it bad, but they're as well." I had a slight idea of what the tau looked like but I was still new to them. The only description I had was from the term 'slit heads' or 'cunt heads'.

"Mark my words you weakling rats, the only way of surviving the jungle is to make it your friend. It'll be like jumping in a pool. Exempt the pools on fire, filled with biting ants and the only ladder out is covered in nails. But you'll get used to it. Me and my boys will train you as best we can and the Muani natives will too. Now strip your clothes off and drop them into the drums." First order of buisness was taking off all our soaked clothing and dumping it into large barrels filled with green dye. Our flak armour was handed over to be painted green and we were guided to our living quarters. One of the warehouses which was converted to a dorm with rows on rows of bunks for several thousand guardsmen. The other half of the AIF guardsmen had different sleeping quarters out in the rain. The hanging logs from the roof were a bit concerning but it was kind of dry. There were not enough towels so for a good while we were standing around soaked in our underpants. The women's soaked bras were giving a nice view but many of them don't have anything to show at all. Boots and other clothing were hung out to dry. Female quarters were split by a curtain, which didn't do much to deter peeping toms. We were given a hot meal, which consisted of exotic fruit and what appeared to be roasted grox meat. It wasn't corpse starch or bully beef at least. After rinsing our hands in the rain we went to bed with tired legs and aching joints. The rain never stopped that night but with my heavy eyes I was fast asleep.

Next day we were woken at an early hour, the rain not ceasing. We were given our new olive green uniforms, now matching the other guardsmen. We had to hold them near the fires so they would dry. The humidity wouldn't let them naturally. I haven't been dry since landing. Dyed clothing was left on clotheslines as we went with spare shorts and pullovers. We were taken to a training course outside the lumber mill. It was like the ones back at basic training. Nets, monkey bars, ropes, climbing ladders and logs to jump over. Mud to crawl through and dummies to charge with a bayonet. Platoons took turns training while they went to different tents for education. The Catachans and instructors put an emphasis on close combat and aggression.

There was a mud pit, knee deep. Two opponents stood at either side. An instructor tossed a training knife in the middle. First person to get stabbed in the body, neck or head with the training knife loses. We can however grab the blade as long as the blade doesn't move in our grasp. I jumped into the pit and Lance got in on the other side. The Catachan overseeing us readied the knife.

"321go." without a pause he chucked the dummy knife in the middle. With a brief stand off we both dived for the wooden blade.

Lance was the first to trip and slide, knocking me off my feet. As I fell face first into the mud I continued for the knife. Upon grabbing the handle I turned to find Lance sliding towards me, he had something in his hand.

Without warning he ditched a ball of mud at my face. As I wiped it off he dived on top of me. I went for the stab, he grabbed the blade and kept it in his grasp. Ripping it from my hands he started pressing down on me. That's when I kneed him in the buttocks. The one he got shot in.

"FUCKING SHIT!" He screamed as he rolled off me. That's when I took the knife and stuck it straight into in his chest.

"Good job rats, now get to the next course." The Catachan ordered, we climbed out of the mud pit and after scrapping off some of the excess mud ran to the climbing wall.

"That was a dirty move mate." We were going side by side, every step taken was another ankle deep step into the muck.

"I have a bullet wound on me you can hit, still can feel it sometime." I responded, I may have gone a bit too far. I took that back when he jabbed me in the stomach, the pain from the healed wound flaring up once again. He chuckled as I stumbled after him.

"Thanks for reminding me." I tried to move with the pain, holding my stomach I eventually caught up with him. Halfway up a climbing wall made from plant vines.

Late in the day we were called to one of the warehouses where a woman greeted us. The badge on her shoulder said he was apart of the Offico Medicae. She was in her 40s, had eyes which I was too familiar with. Deep and haunted by nights without sleep and days fuelled by recaf and cigs.

"My name is Captain Weiss, but you can call me Captain Boots. Most boys and girls in the medical tents are not there due to the enemy. They are there because of this planets many gifts in the generous form of diseases and parasites that would love to get either into or under your skin. Sometimes they just go in through the mouth. A lot of the times they aren't so picky. Now you see the native going around in only a grass skirt. They are immune to most of what I'm about to tell you. Mark my words, and you might live long enough to see the enemy." She presented a sketch of a man which his skin around his neck had discoloured to a greenish hue.

"Green fever, Jungle fever, Ork fever, whatever you call it this is the most common and luckily the least deadly. It's carried by insects so you WILL get it as some point. It starts off small. You'll have a fever, feel tired and your joints will fucking hurt like hell. But that's normal for climbing through the jungle in this type of terrain and weather. Then you'll start to get headaches, dizziness, shaking chills and constant sweating. You'll definitely know you have it if you start to see green rashes in your armpits, neck, elbow, knee joints, feet and eventually green discolouration of the eyes. The good news is not many people reach the rash stage. The bad news is that if you reach the rash stage it means that you're probably facing worse symptoms. I'm talking coughing up your own fluids, your organs will stop working and you'll kick it soon enough. You'll be issued tablets to keep up your immunity but don't expect them to last. If you want some good news, know that the Tau is going through this shit too. They also don't seem to have a vaccine and from tau corpses the greenish rash seems to appear a lot more on them than us." She swapped out the slide for another one which presented a pair of hands with what looked to be white splotches growing out of palm, just bellow where the fingers connected.

"The next disease you might encounter is what we call three foot fungus. Because you're halfway to the grave if you don't treat it, the good thing is it's very preventable. Your socks, as soon as you stop walking, change them. Underwear, change it frequently and dry it out as much as you can. If you have to hold it above a fire, do. Three foot fungus starts as a rash, most commonly on the souls of your feet, armpits, groin and other recesses. We don't seem to have enough medication for three foot, for now just wash the area. If it stays there for two weeks, see a professional because it will need treatment. If untreated it will go onto look like this." While I had seen worse the next slide caused my toes to curl and fingers to tighten with uneasiness. She presented a picture of toes with mushrooms sprouting from under the nails. Forcing the nails up on fluffy spores and pushing out like spurring hangnails. I could hear the collective cringes from around the room. The mention of 'groin' I was reminded of the itch coming back tenfold. Now was not the time to itch with the topic in the air. The next slide was a picture of a sickly guardsmen presenting his armpit to show yellowish fungus implanted into the skin. She smiled as she reached behind her.

"Flesh eating fungus rips its way through your body faster than a kroot through a guardsman's face. Treatment starts out like this." She raised a spoon, which she stabbed into the table she was leaning on. Revealing the sharpened edge of the blade.

"And if that fails, ends with this." After leaving the sharpened spoon stuck in the wood she reached further behind her and raised a bone-saw. She went to another slide showing a large yellowish boil that had taken half a calf. Dangling like a balloon coming out of the skin.

"Another common disease is jungle rot. I recommend you all eat every chance you get, jungle rot loves to stick itself into skin of people only made of bones. Even a cut as long as a coin can transform into a sore the size of a grenade within several days. The sharpened spoon is always hungry for more dead flesh." She placed the bone saw down with the rest of the wicked looking tools and continued her speech.

"When you have to do what happens after you eat, take a walk outside camp and do it. Hygiene is the one reason we haven't all collapsed from cholera. But do heed Colonel Shepherd's words and never do it alone. Cholera is a horrible way to go but so is a kroot's beak…Any questions?" Hands were raised but she ignored them with a quick cutoff.

"Good, get to bed." With the end of the presentation she turned to pack away her tools into her medic bag. As the platoon filed out I went up to her.

"Uh, excuse me captain." She ignored me as she went about packing away her pictures.

"Go away private. I've got corpses to attend to." She responded, I looked about to see my platoon out of eye and earshot. I got closer to her.

"No, I need a leg attached." She reluctantly turned and looked me over, she huffed and smiled as she went back to her packing.

"I don't know if you can count but I'm looking at you and you do not appear to be missing any." I looked around again to make sure no eavesdroppers were present. Especially any commissars or other officers.

"No, it's a friend of mine. He needs a new leg, a bionic one." She glared at me once again, her smile disappeared as she stepped closer to whisper.

"I haven't been supplied any bionic legs in weeks. If he wants he can have a look at the prosthetics but apart from that I…" That's when I showed her, the loose cybernetic leg still in the wrapping I had used to keep it out of sight. Her eyes widened at the sight as she reached in and turned it to see the wiring. Her harsh eyes raised to meet mine.

"Theft of a bionic is a shooting offence boy, and that's only if the Munitorum gets you. You're in for a world of pain if the cogs find out. I should march down to the commissar and notify them immediately." I fucked up, I tried to correct the situation but nothing left my mouth. My heart hammered as I ran through the ways I could turn this around. Every course of action would lead to a court martial and dishonourable death by firing squad or hanging. Cold sweat fell down my face as I felt my throat constrict itself. She whispered something else.

"How much?" The tightness of my throat subsided, I didn't understand what she meant.

"What?" She smiled, dropping the serious tone for a joking manner as she reached for the bionic leg.

"I'm not risking my own life to get an agreeing cogboy, an empty theatre and my time without some compensation. How much are you offering for the man to have this leg attached?" She inspected it, paying particular attention to the end where it would connect to the rest of the body. I didn't know any starting price but it had to be generous. We're scraping the bottom of the barrel of our pay books but I feel we could come to an agreement. The final number came to about four months worth of wages. She hesitated to shake my hand, looking over me to see if I was lying. Eventually she met my hand in a sweaty handshake, most sweat coming from me.

"Leave the leg with me. Bring him in tomorrow morning at five so we get him on a table. Should get him done before the day's field casualties roll in. If he's not there then he'll miss the boat. I want money upfront." She stated, rushing the whispered words out as she let go of my hand and took the leg under her arm.

"Will do." I agreed and stepped away from her, her smile disappeared as she waved me off.

"Good, now get out of here before someone comes." I dashed after my platoon, feeling good it was the end of the day and we would be going to our new quarters, I didn't have my expectations high. I caught up with the others, Liam was being supported by Lance on one side and Lance Corporal Hardwood on the other.

"Did she agree?" Liam asked with almost pleading desperation through the slight pain on the still sensitive nub with every step. When I nodded his face lit up with a cheerful laugh. It was a nice sight to see him smiling for once in a while. Lance joined him in smiling while Hardwood seemed confused on what was going on. I reached for another smoke.

"For a price, we'll have to ask for a charity one again." I took over from Hardwood, the lot of us hobbled to our quarters with the rain still saturating our uniforms.

Second day on this planet and I already know it's going to be worse than Shamal.

AN

It's been a while but I'm back for more writing. Hopefully I'll get more chapters up in the following months and not abandon it for six months again. Anyway, nice chat. Reviews appreciated.

All of you stay safe.