Alexander was awoken by some shouting going on outside the bunks. Just then, a recruit ran in.
"We found one!"
"One what?" Asked Alexander
"A psyker! The Commissar's going to execute him. Come on!" He said all of this with an excited smile on his face, as if he were going to enjoy it.
Everyone in the room quickly scrambled into their uniforms and ran out the door, down the hallway to watch the event. The hall was crowded with the recruits, all shoving each other and craning their necks to watch the Commissar holding a young boy, probably no older than16 with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes, by his collar. He looked terrified.
Augustus waved his hand and the room fell quiet except for the whimpers of the boy. Alexander was tempted to keep talking.
"Today, like a weed in a beautiful garden, we have found a psyker in a group of guardsmen!" There were hisses and jeers again, but they quickly died down. "And with weeds, what do we do?" The guardsmen responded with a frenzied cry of "Kill!" He threw the kid onto the ground, drew his pistol, and fired 3 times into his head. There were more cheers and yells of triumph, as if a war criminal had just been executed, but Alexander had looked into the boy's mind before he died and only saw fear. He didn't even know he was a psyker until today when he was picked on and accidentally created a shield to block a punch. I can't let anyone know, then. Not until they're ready.
The ship suddenly shook. Everyone was slightly prepared for this; only a few fell down this time.
Augustus turned back to address the soldiers. "We're out of the Warp and only a few minutes from Arcadia. Get your gear and report to your assigned shuttle!"
The guardsmen turned back to their quarters, suddenly nervous, if not scared, for what was to come. But Alexander wasn't. Fear was only a response to the uncertain, and there was no doubt they were marching to their deaths.

It was an endless ride, full of shaking and discomfort as their shuttle of 100 guardsmen broke through the planet's atmosphere. A few of the men got sick, and the smell in turn made more sick. By the time they had passed through the atmosphere, most people were retching except for a few, one of them sitting next to Alexander.
He turned to the guardsman. He looked 14 years old and had a steely look of determination on his face. "You scared?"
The boy shook his head. "No. I worked in the lasgun factory before this. I think my odds of surviving actually increased by being drafted. At least I can die moving around instead of having to die at a machine or something."
"Cyrus."
He shook his hand. "Alexander."

They just sat there for a few minutes, looking out the window and trying to ignore the smell before Cyrus broke the silence. "So, the question then is, are you scared?"

"Let's just say this isn't my first time being drafted against my will."

"You've fought in the Imperial Guard before?"

"Not exactly. It's a long story, too long to tell before battle."

The intercoms crackled to life, and the pilot announced that they were 100 meters above the planet's surface. The ship began to slow down as the thrusters engaged, until the ship landed shaking everyone around once again.

"Tell you what, Cyrus. If we survive this, I'll tell you my story."

Cyrus gripped his lasgun and switched off the safety, smiling. "It's a deal."

The doors opened, and the recruits ran out into the open, waving their lasguns and screaming praise for the Emperor. They were in the middle of a wide open dessert, but with some rocks and gravel instead of full blown sand dunes. A few hundred guardsmen were digging trenches as fast as they could with wild looks of fear in their eyes. To Alexander, there seemed to be no apparent threat, until he saw Orks for the first time.
They did not appear like individuals, but rather a single mass of green, writhing and yelling and making a hellish noise. They had wicked-looking axes and swords, with guns looking like they would fall apart any minute. In the middle of the mass stood a huge mech suit, probably 3 stories tall. Alexander could now see why they were so afraid.
They were half a mile away, and closing fast.
Augustus was yelling at the soldiers to get into the trench, so he sprinted as fast as he could. The Orks opened fire, creating a deafening roar across the battlefield. A few of the shoota shells whizzed over Alexander's head and struck the ground where he had been standing a few moments before, tearing apart a few soldiers behind him in a torrent of blood and body parts. He dove into the trench, narrowly avoiding the next volley from the Orks. Behind him, Alexander could already see 2, 3 hundred dead guardsmen who didn't make it into the trench in time, but there were a million more, lasguns ready, trembling fingers on the trigger, just waiting for the command. And they got it.

"Fire!" the commissar yelled, and a wall of red hurtled towards the Orks. Alexander noticed, however, that it was doing absolutely nothing. Orks were taking scores of shots to go down, and 5 more would just take each one's place, each one more invigorated by the sound of battle. Plus, these recruits were so inexperienced that their trembling hands caused most of their shots to miss. Some had tried to run away but were immediately shot in the back by Augustus's las pistol. Since there was no going back, Alexander turned back to the battle at hand. Come on, there's got to be a weak point. To hell with it, I'll just aim for the head. He aimed down the sights and fired one round into an approaching Ork's head. The bolt made a small hole but it otherwise looked unfazed. He fired again. A little brain started oozing out of its head and it started to weave a bit more. One more shot! Alexander fired directly into the hole in the Ork's skull, and its brain fried. It tumbled to the ground in a heap, but more and more swarmed behind him. Time to go to work. He repeated the process over and over: three times to the head, again and again. Ork after Ork fell, but there were still too many. And just when things couldn't get any worse, the Commissar decided to make sure they did.

"Everyone, fix bayonets and charge!" The majority shakily took their bayonet out of their pocket and locked it into position. Even after a few minutes, Alexander could see that some guardsmen's' hands were calmer, their motions more relaxed and fluid. In the course of 5 minutes they were becoming soldiers. Both trembling and calm alike leapt out of the trenches and rushed the endless green mass. It was in that moment that Alexander found Cyrus a few meters away from him, and they locked eyes for a moment. Alexander shook his head and motioned to stay in the trench. He nodded and began firing again from the trench. Those who ran back were being shot by the Commissar, and getting out of the trench was suicide anyway, so it seemed like a good idea. Alexander turned back to the Orks and saw the carnage unfold. The guardsmen were literally being crushed. They were being stepped on, stabbed, shot, and just plain mutilated. The Orks seemed to relish the moment, still shouting for joy as they plowed through the ranks of soldiers. Around him,, Alexander saw that only a few hundred soldiers remained in the trenches; the smart ones. They were still firing round after round into the Ork ranks, praying that the Commissar wouldn't notice them. But of course he did. He first went up to Alexander, las pistol drawn, screaming at him to get out of the trench and be a real man. He had had enough by then. He just sent hundreds of thousands of men to their deaths, and he believes that sending a few more will change anything? Either that, or he enjoys us dying. I'm not going to let him get the pleasure of watching me bowled over.

"Are you insane!?" Alexander shouted to Augustus. "This isn't doing anything at all! You're just giving the Orks something to play with!"

The Commissar's face turned purple. "You will go out there right now and fight for your Emperor! Are you a man?"

"If a man is defined as someone who stupidly waves his toy gun around and runs at something three times his size, then no, I'm not! I'm not going out there!"

"You will fight or die!" Augustus drew his gun, but before he could squeeze the trigger, a shoota slug disintegrated his head, and his body went flying back. Well, at least I don't have to deal with him anymore. Looking around, he noticed that the Imperial line was being destroyed. The 10 thousand men or so that had stayed in the trenches were now in close combat with the Orks, blindly stabbing with their bayonets and yelling with fear and desperation. Alexander noticed Cyrus and a few other guardsmen repeatedly stabbing an Ork in the chest. They finally opened its stomach, and it fell, still moving but unable to do any more damage. He ran over to help them stab the next Ork.

"Cyrus," Alexander said, running over and bringing his bayonet into an Ork's leg. "Where are the other officers?"

"All dead!" Another Ork came, and he fired a few rounds into its skull. Its dead body almost crushed a few guardsmen on the way down. "What do we do?"

He looked around. These men were still fighting, and a few were running away. Most of them still thought that the officers were alive, because most were staying. Either that, or they were trying to prove their manhood. Respectable, but they were getting slaughtered. Only a thousand remained. I guess, having the most experience here, I'm in charge. Alexander turned to Cyrus. "I'll assume command for now. Run to the shuttlecraft and get in. I'll be right behind." Cyrus nodded and began to run as fast as he could. "Everyone, fall back!" he yelled. "Get to the shuttlecraft! The Commissar is dead! Retreat!"

Everyone must have been waiting for the word, because every surviving guardsmen turned and began to run like maniacs. A few stayed behind, firing blindly into the crowd of Orks. Then, after their guns overheated, they dropped them and began to follow their comrades. Volleys of shoota slugs tore through the ranks, and hundreds more of guardsmen fell. Alexander felt a pain in his leg and fell to the ground. He looked and saw his right leg was completely gone. Hoping that no one would notice in the mayhem, he concentrated and recreated his leg. He stood up and noticed that Cyrus had been staring at him, a look of interest, not the expected terror, on his face. Alexander ran to him. "Let's go and I promised I would explain later!"

"You better keep it!"

Together, they ran for the last shuttle, barely squeezing through the closing doors. As it lifted off, suddenly hundreds of feet above the planet's surface, Alexander noticed the entire battlefield covered in red. It was the blood of all of the million dead guardsmen. Only a few hundred remained probably. Alexander couldn't help it. He buried his head in his arms and began to weep.