Disclaimer- I don't own Warhammer 40k or any works therein.
"Madness is rare in individuals, but in groups, parties, nations and ages it is the rule."- Friedrich Nietzsche
Surris was a quiet world; Jericus used to work in one of the many manufactorums dotting its surface, but that all changed when the Orks came. Many had thought the Emperor had forsaken them, and in the face of the horde few would disagree. Then the Imperial Guard appeared like a sledgehammer and crushed the Orks beneath their sheer numbers and tenacity. The war had gone on for over a six months and was one of the most successful campaigns in the name of the Imperium ever undertaken; at least that is what the pict-casts would have everyone believe.
Being an upstanding Imperial citizen Jericus along with many others of his home-world were given the honor of being recruited into the Imperial Guard to replenish those who had given their lives to protect them from the enemies of the Emperor, though after having his home and family taken from him by the very artillery which was supposed to save them Jericus was not particularly happy with his fate.
He remembers going through a few tests, filling out a questionnaire to determine mental make-up, then a physical. Next thing he knows he's lined up with hundreds of other Surris citizens, most of them he recognizes from the Glanis assembly lines. They stood before the 82nd Infantry Death Korps of Krieg. Strange looking men and women dressed in gray great coats, and gasmasks.
A few of them in pairs of two—one with a data-slate and the other evaluating the candidates—began to mill through the lines asking questions of those assembled, Jericus could overhear only snatches of what was being asked, but at the end of it there were two responses the grim guardsmen asking the questions would give to the other carrying the slate 'pass' or 'inadequate'. Those comments were met with dumbstruck silence seeing as none of the assembled Surrins really knew what the grim looking guardsmen were trying to accomplish.
Eventually a pair made it to him; he stood up straight, as he had been instructed, though he couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine, it wasn't from the cold, being born on what amounts to an ice world will leave you quite resistant to the elements. No it was the mask the guardsman was wearing, it had some sort of scarred and pitted skull motif over it, and it seemed as though one was staring into an abyss instead of eyes, the rictus of death.
"Name," the guardsman asked.
"Jericus Quint," he replied.
"Former occupation," he further questioned.
"Line worker, Manufactorum Glanis,"
He couldn't tell for sure because of the mask, still it felt as though the man before him, or parody of a man, was staring into his very soul. It certainly felt as though he was looking into his eyes, though Jericus could hardly know for sure. There was a long pregnant silence between them; Jericus didn't even dare to breathe. Finally the guardsman broke it, but Jericus really rather he hadn't because what he said would change the humble line-worker's life forever.
"Pass," his gaze hadn't left Jericus' own, and he felt a shiver run down his spine again as the other guardsman beside the one who had passed him jotted something down on the slate. It was official; Jericus Quint had been conscripted into the 82nd Death Korps of Krieg. After they were all done with the questioning those who had been deemed 'inadequate' were allowed to leave. Then the Guardsman overseeing the whole affair—an officer—spoke to the few hundred conscripts left.
"My designation is Watchmaster B-52, you have all been evaluated and deemed acceptable to be trained and assimilated into the 82nd Infantry, Death Korps of Krieg. In a few moments you will be shipped out to our temporary training grounds on planet. That will be your home for the next three months of your wretched lives. There you will learn how to be Korpsmen," they left soon after. Transported to the outskirts of the city to their new home, they all shivered in the open-backed trucks used to shuttle them to the training grounds.
They were largely used to the frigid conditions of their home-world, but none had proper clothing, most of them having lost everything they had when they became refugees. Jericus numbly thought that they were lucky a keck wasn't upon them; otherwise they'd have been shredded to the bone in the open-backed trucks.
Once they got to the training grounds every man and woman was ushered into one of the converted warehouse buildings to be processed. There measurements were taken; they were stripped, cleaned, de-loused, shaved, and then finally given basic fatigues. From there they were led to the barracks where a nondescript korpsman went down the lines assigning each of them a bunk, finally they were allowed to go to sleep, told to be ready for the next day, up and early.
That first night no one talked, matter-of-fact, none of them had really more than mumbled since they had been picked up by the trucks and transported to the training grounds, packed together like cattle. In retrospect Jericus believes that had any of them known what was going to happen then no-one would have shut-up about it.
Even if he had been fully willing to give over his life to serve in the Imperial Guard he was sure it wouldn't have prepared him for the Korps; He didn't think any of them really were. The first day of training was like nothing Jericus had expected or had heard about of what life in the guard would be like. Watchmaster B-52 was assigned to their training and never once seemed to yell or scream; instead he always spoke in the same unnerving even tone, raising his voice as needed, never angry. Like the artificial voice of the magos that occasionally visited Glanis for production reviews, no emotion had ever entered his tone—other than, maybe guilt—and that was far more frightening than the angry shouting sergeant Jericus had pictured, it gave the Watchmaster an unhinged feel.
"You have all been given the honor to die in the service of the Emperor. A fate undeserved by this wretched lot; but I will make every attempt to form you all into unquestioning servants of his divine Imperium." His voice was muffled by the skulled facemask connected by a rubber hose to some kind of filtration unit, "I will not hide the facts from you. At some point, most likely in the near future you are all expected to die and to do so willingly in his service. Your sole purpose will be to kill his enemies and do whatever he may command of you. We have a saying in the 82nd… here is the test to tell if your mission is complete: if you're alive, it isn't."
With those inspirational words said every man and woman around Jericus including him was issued a mask, a uniform, and a number; once they were all dressed up so eerily similar that even their very families would be hard-pressed to tell them apart Watchmaster B-52 addressed the crowd again. "The number you have been given is now who you are. Forget your names for the person you once were is no more from this point forward; if you are to serve the Emperor then you have no need for a name. If addressed you will respond with 'this trooper' or your designated number; you will not under any circumstance refer to yourself as 'I' that is a privilege granted only to officers and N.C.O's. Any that do will be disciplined immediately and if any of you break this rule multiple times the onsite Watchmaster is within their rights to execute you." He scanned the tight block of men and women in-front of him for a moment as if taking in the uniformity of how they all looked in their new masks and uniforms, "Also none of you are to take off your mask and uniform with the exception of when you eat your meals and when you must groom and clean yourself. We train for hazardous environments, you will be required to live in those uniforms, possibly for weeks on end."
With those motivating words they began their training and on that day Jericus became Korpsman S-1049-82-Echo or S-1049 for short. Jericus learned quickly that Watchmaster B-52 wasn't in any way joking, or just trying to scare them. Several people either refused to accept the loss of their names, or simply slipped up and kept referring to themselves in the first person… they were all shot after their third transgression. From then on no one had an issue with keeping to his or her number, or referring to himself or herself as 'this trooper'.
Their first taste of Death Korps training came in the form of a ten mile run in full gear. Some fell behind and were 'motivated to catch up'; Jericus was one of those lagging behind the main group. After the man in dead last was shot everyone found the motivation to keep up and stay together. Jericus wanted to kill the men at the front who were setting the pace. "It is a Korpsman's duty to endure for the Emperor. You will all face many hardships and through them you must stand," Watchmaster B-52 stated as he ran alongside them. "If we must run to certain death for our comrades to get the chance for a killing blow then we do so gladly." Jericus kept wondering how he seemed to never get tired; he kept pace with them, which is impressive because Surris has a higher gravity than most worlds. By all logic the Watchmaster should have gotten tired long before any of the conscripts did, and the fact that he didn't was frightening.
By the end of it Jericus' legs felt like jelly and he—along with most of the others—was breathing raggedly. The mask made drawing air into their lungs difficult, and he felt so light-headed that he was sure he was moments from passing out. The Watchmaster didn't even look fazed by the run, it didn't help that the air was thin and very cold.
After the run they were lined up again this time in proper numerical order. As can be imagined it was utter chaos as each tried to figure out where to go. No one wanted to be in the wrong place as it was becoming all too clear what the punishment may entail. The process was made harder by the fact that they all practically looked the same, only the small designation numbers stenciled on their uniforms to distinguish each other. Once everyone was lined up and Watchmaster B-52 was satisfied the gathering stood in silence waiting for what would come next.
"It is a Korpsman's duty to stand before the Emperors enemies and to die in his service. You must never flinch; you will not flinch even in the face of your own end. Embrace the fact that you will die for it will be your redemption in his eyes. To die in service as a Korpsman is to be a hero. And you will all be heroes." He let that fact—and it was most certainly a fact in Jericus' mind—sink in for a moment. "To be a Korpsman is to owe the Emperor a great debt and that debt must be repaid."
At first they all balked at the idea (at least on the inside). But no one questioned it; the former civilians just silently listened and waited for whatever they would have to do next intent on following blindly, or else be killed. At the end of that first day they were taught their prayer. Watchmaster B-52 made them recite it several times that day and at the beginning of every day throughout the rest of their training. He would start and they would answer back, together, synchronized, that was important. They had to answer together, if they didn't there was some kind of reprimand issued (usually push-ups, or jumping jacks) and the process would start over.
Standing on the training grounds for a long time on that first day Jericus was relieved when finally they got it right.
"Look to your battle gear and it will protect you." Watchmaster B-52 would start.
"We guard it with our lives." They would thunder back.
"Your armour is your soul, and your soul's dedication it's armour."
"The soul of a warrior is the protector of humanity."
"Honour the craft of death."
"Only the Emperor is higher in our devotion."
"Honour the battle gear of the dead."
"We ask only to serve."
That first day had been far from the hardest but it certainly set the precedent for what was to come. After their continued training for several more hours the conscripts were allowed to eat in the mess. Each and every one of them took their masks off as they entered the mess hall. Then they lined up to get their share of slop, and it was indeed slop. They all sat together in their own groups never mingling with the other Death Korps troopers around them, the ones who were not from Surris. It was strange they were the only ones with their masks off. The full-fledged korpsmen around them all kept their masks on their faces.
Unlike the newly conscripted Surrins they hardly talked to each other, almost as if they weren't aware of those around them. And they ate their meals by smuggling their food under their masks or drinking it through feeding tubes attached to them. One of the Surrins own tried to talk to one of them and the korpsman just stared at him until he went away. Jericus watched with both interest and unease; these parodies of human life are what they wanted him to become.
The next few days weren't welcome for everyone; sleeping in the mask was uncomfortable—when Watchmaster B-52 said they were to wear their uniforms at all times other than mess and performing personal hygiene he was serious—most felt as if they couldn't breathe. And the constant physical training was something that most of them weren't used to; throw in the droning speeches of B-52 on the subject of death and redemption and it was almost unbearable.
The only respite from all this was that they could be themselves in the mess-hall; they could be human again, have a face, if only for a precious few moments. On the fifth day they were once again lined up in numerical order outside in the training area as had become the norm. From there they were given the objective to complete an obstacle course. Through the hellish maze of barbwire and muddy pits the Surrin trainees finally came to the end. They were then split into two separate groups facing each other from across a small expanse of frigid muddy ground, exhausted, breathing heavily, and sweating profusely even with the cool temperature.
"A korpsman must be able to deal with any threat to the Imperium. Even if that threat is from within," B-52 spoke clearly to them. Then he told them to fight, one group against the other. No one wanted to incur his wrath so the instructions were carried out and they began to brawl. Jericus took on a man two heads taller than himself, S-993 if he was able to remember correctly. Managing to blindside him and drive him to the ground where he hammered him mercilessly with well directed fists.
They all knew that B-52 would expect nothing less; chivalry was thrown out the window as even the women found the men not pulling any punches and in return they didn't either; Jericus got kneed in the groin multiple times.
After what felt like an eternity B-52 called a stop to the brawl and the exhausted trainees were once again lined up. "It has come to my attention that certain actions of this group will endanger its training. As of now there will be no socialization during mess, you are to consume your food and nothing more. As per usual those found in violation will be disciplined."
They all stared in silence not one of them questioning the new order of things; even though he all knew this would drive him further from what he thought of as his humanity Jericus hadn't uttered a word of protest, no one else had either. It was only the end of the first week and they were already starting to become what the 82nd wanted. At the beginning of the second week the trainees were issued lasguns, no98 Lucius pattern standard of the Korps. As they were given these instruments of death they all took them reverently if out of fear or respect Jericus had never bothered to question.
"These lasguns are your primary defense against all of the Emperor's enemies. They are to be maintained and cared for with the utmost efficiency: for when you are no more and your soul is with him they will be given to those who take your place. The korps does not believe in waste. Now we shall begin basic operation and cleaning followed by close combat techniques." Watchmaster B-52 stated loud for all to hear.
Soon after they were taught to clean their lasguns while reciting the proper litanies and practiced until all could strip, clean, and reassemble the weapons in less than five minutes, this took about two days. The barracks were silent save for the clicking and clacking as the former manufactory workers disassembled, cleaned, and reassembled their weapons. Jericus found a good deal of peace while doing this particular practice—he thinks a lot of the others did too—mainly because it reminded him of the assembly line and felt routine, even normal. Surprisingly the Watchmaster was very pleased with their progress in this, apparently it was beyond expectations for new recruits to learn how to strip and clean their weapons as fast and as proficiently as they had.
Again Jericus likes to think that everyone did so well because it was something that made them feel normal. After all most of the trainees were manufactorum line-workers before the invasion and their recruitment. With that in mind the ability to assemble an object was second nature to most of them by this time in their lives; all they needed was instruction and they could get it done quickly enough.
The litanies became mantras and they all repeated them together.
"Be still spirits, I do what I must, Forgive the intrusion, And give me your trust." As they strip their lasguns.
"Let my hand wipe the Grime from your perfect form, May you purify with your bolts of light." As they clean their lasguns. And, "Spirits of the machine, accept my pleas, and walk amidst the gun, and fire it true." As the lasguns are reassembled.
From there they got their first taste of close combat training about a day later, specifically bayonet drills, Death Korps style; the brawl just days prior was apparently just a 'team building' exercise. The real CQC training began when the Watchmaster summoned a number of Death Korps regulars, and had them lined up in-front of the trainees. They were all dressed the same as any other Korpsman, in full gear with their own lasguns shouldered at their sides.
"Fix bayonets," ordered the Watchmaster. Everyone complied, it was a lesson well learned on the first day; follow your orders, or there would be consequences. The regulars across from the trainees fixed the utilitarian knives to their weapons in perfect synchronized order, each doing so seemingly at the same time. Most of the trainees fumbled a little bit but all eventually had their bayonets attached securely in a fairly timely manner. Forty-two centimeters of mono-treated sword-bayonet now tipped off their weapons.
B-52 approached one of the trainees. "Korpsman S-1110 give me your weapon," he ordered. S-1110 complied and handed his lasgun over to the Watchmaster, an involuntary and understandable flinch emanated from him. After all he could have done something wrong and may be about to be reprimanded for it.
To his relief Watchmaster B-52 calmly walked away the lasgun held in his hands as though he knew it more intimately than any of them had known past lovers. "You will all learn first how to block an oncoming thrust. I shall show you an example and then each of you is to form lines and block your fellow korpsmen as they charge you. To be successful you must give no quarter, for you will be shown none."
B-52 then motioned for one of the regular's in-front of him to begin. The korpsman charged him full on and as he neared the Watchmaster his charging thrust was deflected to the side as B-52 executed a perfect swipe with the end of his own commandeered lasgun. After the korpsman recovered he gave a crisp salute to B-52 and was dismissed going back to where he was previously standing. The Watchmaster walked back to S-1110 and gave him back his lasgun.
The trainees were then ordered to form up in-front of the korpsmen summoned to act as their partners. Fully intending to block the oncoming charge Jericus nodded to the korpsman to let him know that he was ready, and without hesitation the korpsman charged, bayonet poised to go right through Jericus. As he was about to strike Jericus executed the maneuver Watchmaster B-52 had demonstrated and successfully deflected the deadly blade. However, the force the korpsman had put into the charge had taken him by surprise; he had no doubt that had he not blocked it he would have been skewered.
Jericus had his thoughts proven true as he heard a startled scream from his left. Soon all eyes fell upon the stunned form of one of their own impaled on the end of a korpsman's bayonet. Her expression of pain was lost behind the mask she wore and she clutched at the lasgun attached to the bayonet, which had been run through her chest. The korpsman methodically angled the blade upward, and then pulled it from his victim without so much as flinching, there was a barely audible schlick sound as it came free of flesh. The woman dropped to her knees holding her wound, and then she fell fully to the ground curling in on herself, whilst desperately clutching her sternum.
Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing to look at the spectacle, one of their own lying on the ground whimpering, crimson leaking out from her wound darkening the unforgiving dirt of the training ground.
Watchmaster B-52 calmly walked over to her crumpled form his foot falls loud and making a crumping sound as he strode across the permafrost, drawing his laspistol when he finally reached her. He put a lasbolt through her head and turned to address the rest of the trainees who were stunned to inaction. "Failure is not tolerated in the Korps. I expect none of you to hesitate under any circumstances; remember the enemy can come from within as well as without, let this be a lesson to you all; do not hesitate, for your enemies most certainly won't."
He walked away from the body and back to where he was viewing the practices. The body was left out among them as they all continued to train; only a few more of the trainees were fatally wounded during the practice. Most of them made it through the brutal lesson; those that would not hesitate. Jericus guessed that it was another method to the madness; the 82nd did not want those who would die on the battlefield because of their own reluctance to fight, so they would die on the training grounds.
From bayonet drills they moved into hand-to-hand, B-52 saw fit to have them face experts from the 82nd in one-on-one sparring after only a few brief demonstrations.
"Combat is a cruel teacher, many things you will only have the time to learn once. Everything else is learned from experience, and on the battlefield experience often means pain and the death of those around you. The Korps needs you to endure to keep serving the Emperor, for our wretched souls to be forgiven," spoke B-52 sagely.
Jericus was one of the first to go, up against a korpsman by the number of K-556, the korpsman was dressed in well kept, but battle scarred wargear, the most prominent feature being a diagonal scratch on his skull-mask running from left eye to right cheek. His stance and the way he carried himself suggested he knew exactly what he was doing and that he could easily kill any of the trainees about to spar with him if he so desired. There was quite a bit of nervous fidgeting at the prospect of fighting against this man.
Jericus' fight didn't last long which disappointed him greatly, mainly because he was fairly decent at boxing, best at the after club run by workers of the manufactorum. He threw a few punches to open up the fight, K-556 ducked under the second attempt and he jammed his knuckles into Jericus' unguarded solar plexus, knocking the wind from him. Refusing to kneel over to gasp for air probably saved Jericus from a knee to the face, instead he tried to stomp on the veteran's knees with his heavy Korps issue boots, breath returning in heaving fits. The veteran actually seemed a bit surprised… then again he was wearing a mask so how the keck could Jericus have really known. After Jericus missed his knees he tried to follow with an upper-cut, really throwing his hips into the blow, not that it made a difference.
It was at this time that K-556 decided to end the fight as he caught the upper-cut easily, twisted Jericus around into an arm-bar, and finally swept his legs out from under him bringing him down onto his stomach. Then he placed his knee on the shoulder and pulled Jericus' arm back, he could feel it ready to pop from the socket… muscles, bones, and tendons were screaming in protest and Jericus was still slightly gasping for breath along with new grunts of pain.
"Stop, trooper S-1049 is unable to continue and in a real combat-situation would most likely be dead at this moment," B-52 called out, seeing fit to grant a little mercy.
His shoulder would be sore for a few days following that first hand-to-hand session. He studied K-556 intently as the man fought the others, looking for how he could improve. Jericus figured that if he was stuck in the 82nd then he might as well learn all he could so that he could survive whatever might be in his future.
The man—if you could call him a man—moved with brutal efficiency, it was graceful in the way that his moves were lightning fast, yet straightforward and simple. Something effective that could be taught easily to new recruits, and make them deadly in a short amount of time, relatively speaking.
CQC training was surprisingly something Jericus would look forward to learning. Because not only he was fairly good at it, but also in an odd way it was something he could use to express himself. He found that it was particularly useful to express his anger with the Korps in a constructive way. During CQC Jericus could relieve the anger and loss felt for his family by trying his damndest to beat his sparing partner into pulp.
Plus he was trying to fight effectively in his own way, making adjustments to the Korps CQC techniques where he thought he could get away with it. Anything to make sure he wasn't some cookie-cutter version of everyone else; too bad Watchmaster B-52 was such a perceptive bastard. To say the least he didn't approve, but he didn't force the issue, which was surprising. Jericus liked to think it was because he was always improving.
During mess Jericus still had not gotten used to the sudden shift from the friendly conversations of days past to the sounds of sporks clinking against trays, and the slurp made by feeding tubes. Worse still the trainees all seemingly ignored one another as they had been ordered; again the training was taking something from them. Later that night as Jericus lay awake in his bunk mask still on—seeming to become a part of his face more and more by the passing of each day—he heard the sound of rustling sheets. It came from the left and he turned his head to see the masked face of one of his comrades looking at him.
"Why are they doing this to us?" she asked with more dread in her voice than he had heard from any when the Orks had descended upon their world. For a moment he was speechless, the question was one he had been trying to answer ever since he had been given the 'honor' of being conscripted into the 82nd. Continuing to stare at the blank lenses of her mask through his own an answer formed upon his lips. "I don't know."
"Fenria Ishta," she said back her voice just barely a whisper almost as if she was afraid the mere mention would take the words away with it.
"What?" he questioned back.
"That's my name… was my name. I need someone to remember it for me… will you?" She paused for a moment, "Please, I don't just want to be some number, I don't want to just be S-1050."
"Jericus Quint," he turned his head toward the ceiling for a moment then back to her. She nodded once and the duo didn't need to speak any further because they both had an understanding. They would remember each others name because deep down both knew that by the end of this only S-1049 and S-1050 would remain. And if they could not keep their own names then they would keep each others.
Jericus slept a little more soundly that night. However, it was not to last as morning flew toward him with utmost speed and purpose. As per usual they were awoken by the watchmaster's loud but monotone voice. After morning inspection they were again off to training, lined up in numerical order as had become the norm. They began with live fire training crawling face down in freezing mud as lasfire and hard-rounds whirred by overhead. For some it was too much, maybe it was the claustrophobia of the masks combined with the mud which, seemed to get into everything.
Those that had lost it stood up only to be put down by the continuous stream of weapons fire. They were left where they fell, and all the while the Watchmaster B-52 was droning on. "You must become accustomed to death. For on the battlefield it will be the only constant companion you will have. You fight for those who have fallen and in the hope that you may join them at the Emperor's side."
Jericus remembers the pliable earth making sucking noises as he crawled across the long expanse under barbed wire into, and out of craters and over hard unforgiving debris of rock. His body ached from the strenuous activity, but less so due to the repetition of his extreme exercises day after day. He remembers the man to his right muttering to himself.
"I shouldn't be here, this can't be happening, I can't do this." His voice quivered and became near hysterical as they neared the mid-point of the course. He kept repeating these phrases over and over again like a mantra.
Bright red lasfire and hard-rounds laced the air a mere foot-and-a-half over them and he was beginning to worry Jericus. To be honest he found it a surprise the man cracked this far into the training, by this point nobody referred to himself or herself in the first person, not out loud at least.
"Hey," Jericus shouted over the din of weapons fire. "Just calm down, these troopers are halfway there, you'll be fine." His response must have been lost to the man, drowned out by the noise. He stood up; S-1050 was to Jericus' left, she watched frozen like him as first their comrade's head seemingly evaporated in a curtain of red, then as the rest of him was taken apart one piece at a time… they got covered in what was left of him. It was only after that when Jericus realized that as soon as he had stood up that the Korpsmen manning the guns had converged weapon fire on him.
His burnt corpse dropped on-top of Jericus, right arm draped across his back, just as his father used to lay his arm across Jericus' shoulders when he was proud of him. He lay there frozen for a few moments, deaf to the world. He had seen the brutality of the orks and this man was not the first Jericus had seen die during training. It was just that he was so close and… all over the place, and on top of him, what was left of him anyway.
The scene gave Jericus pause, made everything around him mute, this is what will happen on the battlefield, this is what death looks like up-close, this or something much worse could—and most likely would—happen to him in the near future.
"S-1049! S-1049! Jericus!" S-1050's voice pulled him back from his stupor and he looked her way, "come on, these troopers can't stay here long, they have to keep going. To the end," her referencing to them in the third-person seemed second nature. Just like it was to Jericus himself by that point in time.
He nodded dumbly and started to crawl forward again, feeling his former comrades arm slide from his back as he went forward. S-1050, Fenria stayed with him the whole way… to the end.
Once they had finished it was time for practice at the range and then battle formations. They were all pushed until they could hit the target at least eight and a half out of ten times; the korps did not like waste. "Each shot missed is one that could have ended the life of one of the Emperor's enemies." Watchmaster B-52 droned on as he paced about behind them occasionally stopping to make sure they were each using proper form.
Fenria and Jericus were paired together as was everyone else, assigned to be each others battle buddy. They took turns practicing, while one of them shot at the target the other would verify accuracy. On his first practice Jericus had hit the target at 100 meters out about 70% of the time, Fenria hit the target 88% of the time. That first session was filled with dread for Jericus; it was already known that Watchmaster B-52 didn't like incompetence. He got off with minor scorn, Fenria got a bit of praise, which is if you could call a nod from Watchmaster B-52 while looking at the accuracy report Jericus had made praise.
Training for conditions of treason was something not easily forgotten as some revelation concerning the 82nd's training methods came into light. They were practicing proper bayonet thrust and attack techniques on dummy targets. Obviously treason conditions meant that these particular dummies were dressed up as their own.
"Remember the enemy comes from within as well as without," Watchmaster B-52 stated as they each thrust their bayonets into the dummies. It was becoming apparent to all that they were not to be comrades in arms; instead the korps merely wanted strangers who could work together without question and only mild concern for one another. That way if treachery did occur they would not hesitate to kill their own in the Emperors name.
Battle formations had them marching in full war gear, in perfect block shaped squares, footfalls resounding loudly. It was strangely rhythmic; oddly they all seemed to have a knack for marching in formation. Something else Watchmaster B-52 was pleased with.
Jericus has no real explanation for this one, he didn't think being a manufactorum line-worker is really good preparation for marching in formation, but he guessed it was because according to B-52 they were 'satisfactory'.
The mess hall was again quiet save for the clinking of eating utensils and slurping of tubes. More disturbing still was that some of the trainees did not take their masks off, instead following the customs of the regular korpsmen around them. Eating their meals through the attachable tubes or smuggling the food under their masks. Jericus was afraid to think that he himself was tempted to join them, hide his face, and become part of the crowd. They were already all strangers really. None of them had probably known each other before being conscripted, or at least Jericus didn't know anyone.
However, he managed to take his mask off, and felt naked as a result. It was becoming strange to have his face bare to the world, the cold air colder, the light brighter, almost too much for him. He noticed a few looks his way as well as toward the others who had taken off their own masks. It would have been expected of Watchmaster B-52 who had been spending his time hovering around them during mess making sure no one engaged in conversation, or even somewhat from the 82nd regulars. But, it was their own whose glares Jericus could practically feel through the all-obstructing masks. The feeling was disturbing to say the least, surely they understood wanting to keep ones identity in this tin-soldier factory.
That night Jericus again lay awake staring at the ceiling above him. "Why did they look at us like that? When we took our masks off," S-1050 asked her voice a quiet whisper to his left.
"I don't know. Makes it easier on them I guess, having the masks on." Jericus replied back his voice equally quiet, he was afraid to utter more words than he had to. He had begun to hardly notice the mask on his face the lenses no longer seemed to bother him as much. Their obstruction of his peripheral vision, which had at first caused discomfort, had begun to reassure him; his vision was narrowed to what lay in-front of him, making things comfortingly simple.
"Then should we leave them on?" She asked hesitantly turning toward him to face him once again. "During mess I mean?"
"Yeah, couldn't hurt right?"
"Right, couldn't hurt," she muttered.
Silence pervaded the dark space between the two, well aside from some snoring and the constant sound of air being pulled through filters. That still didn't change the stillness of the barracks, which was palpable and unnerving to say the least. Looking to either side showed a mirror image of bodies stretching into what seemed infinite inky blackness, all of them clad in masks and uniform. S-1050 was the only welcome sight to Jericus, and even she still had her mask on, it was like looking at a mirror image of himself.
The only difference was he had a name to place on this particular reflection… Fenria Ishta, and she had a name to place on him… whatever it might be. Already his recollection of his former life and identity was becoming foggy. The days seemed like weeks and blended together to the point where time seemed to stretch into oblivion.
"Do you still remember?" S-1050 questioned finally breaking the pregnant silence; she put emphasis on the last word hoping to get the message through without divulging too much. Jericus knew right away what she meant of course… her name. It came into his head unbidden and he was content to know that though his name may be foggy now, he could remember hers clearly.
"Yeah, do you still remember?" He asked, turning to look at her, their abysmal gazes meeting from across the small divide. She nodded and then turned to try and get some sleep perhaps hoping she would wake up and this would all be some kind of far away dream. At that point Jericus sure as keck was hoping that was indeed the case. Unfortunately like the recollection of his name that hope was also becoming fleeting and far away.
XXX
"We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin."- Andre Berthiaume
Another week passed, now the conscripts of Echo Company all marched in perfect rigid formation. No one ever stumbled. Mess had become a visage of mechanical beings all eating with masks on. Watchmaster B-52 was beginning to approve of their behavior outside of training. S-1050 and S-1049 still held secret and brief conversations at night; possibly the only reason they continued to make it through the monotonous training and indoctrination.
Still there were signs of humanity left within all the conscripts; they all still had that in-built human desire to live which is why all still flinched during close combat practice and the live fire exercises. Naturally B-52 constantly reprimanded such behavior. "You must not flinch in the presence of the enemies of the Imperium. Any form of hesitation is a failure to yourself and the korpsman beside you. You will face many horrors but by the end of your training you will be able to stand before them without pause. Our enemies may run at the first sign of doubt but we will persevere."
The watchmaster's short 'pep-talks' were slowly starting to make more sense to the conscripts each passing day. They were starting to become right, he and the other korpsmen were starting to become something to aspire to be. They kept on training, each one of them pushing to become unflinching servants of the Emperor. It was something strange, horrifying, and awe-inspiring all at once; the fact that simple manufactorum workers were being transformed into something greater and at the same time lesser than what they once were.
They were starting to become korpsmen and B-52 started to treat them accordingly. The training became stricter if not necessarily harder. Whereas before they might have been able to get away with a bit of a slouch or look a little disheveled now they would be severely disciplined. Marches had to be perfect, close combat techniques flawless, and proficiency with a lasgun impeccable. As the days continued to pass fewer of them flinched, the reflex of their primitive flight instinct banished from their thoughts.
Human tendencies were decreasing considerably; they could run on as little rest as possible, eat almost nothing, and remain fit and willing to do their duty if need be. It was remarkable in a way and frightening in many others. These facts did little to comfort S-1049 in his sleepless nights which were growing fewer and farther in-between. S-1050 and he still spoke to each other when they got the chance and were sure no one was listening.
"What did you do before all of this?" She questioned one night her voice quiet as always the background noises of snores and muffled breathing almost covering it up. But in the past few weeks they had both become used to interpreting the others whispered questions and answers, their hearing having grown sharper.
"Probably same as you, this trooper worked in a manufactorum assembly line crew; it wasn't anything special like an overseer. The pay was enough to help its family. It had to send about half to them so that they could keep their hab. But that was worth it."
"What happened to them?" She questioned back even though they both seemed to know the answer. The war had taken something from just about everyone and left none unscathed whether it was emotional scars or literal ones.
"Their hab-block was one of the ones that the imperial guard had to level with artillery. As far as this trooper knows none of them made it." S-1049 said his voice even quieter than usual then turning to face her, "What about you? Where did you work?"
"This trooper was a floor worker as well. When the Orks first attacked it and all the other workers were trapped in the manufactorum. The techpreists did it on purpose to protect the equipment, we were lucky that they did, or we would all have been killed outside." S-1050 paused, "My mother and father were so happy that this trooper's sister and it had made it through the war safely. But when the conscription order came and this trooper's name was called they both cried so hard… I'd never seen my father cry before."
The silence stretched for a while, nothing but the two individuals digesting what the other said. Turning again to her Jericus chose to break it, "This trooper is sorry S-1050." he heard a small barely audible sniff.
"It's okay at least these troopers have each other though. This trooper is glad it met you S-1049," she whispered back.
"Yeah, same here S-1050," he replied. The silence resumed for a brief few moments before Fenria again broke it.
"Hey, S-1049." She spoke softly.
"Yeah,"
"You remember it right?" She finished.
"Yeah, what about you," he questioned back waiting for the answer he knew was coming but at the same time needed to hear none the less.
"Yes, always S-1049." She replied in that perpetually soft voice.
In the moments afterward Jericus had realized something which had eluded him before. He had never seen her face; despite her always being to the left of him in formation and them sitting next to each other in mess after they began to talk. He found himself trying to recall what it may have looked like, but he kept drawing a blank, just like with his name.
He began to wonder if she had seen his own face. However, that thought was soon tossed aside for the simple fact was that he was unsure whether he'd want her to see his face anymore. The mask has been in-place for so long now that it feels as though it is his face. And if he were to ever take it off then he feared for what may no longer be under it, that man may be all but unrecognizable to him.
Even when they had to groom themselves the washrooms had no mirrors so that none of them could get a proper look at their own features. Slowly but surely Jericus had begun to forget his own face as surely as many of the others have. He took small comfort that at least S-1050 still had his name for him as he did hers. With that knowledge in his head it was easier to accept the fate he was dealt because at least he knew that Fenria would never forget.
The next few weeks were but a blur of training and mental conditioning as they were all fully molded into korpsmen. The last of the useless fat of their being scraped off of them as Watchmaster B-52 fulfilled his promises. They all owed a debt to the Emperor because they were Korpsmen and they were all glad and willing to fulfill it.
The twelfth week marked the end of their training and they were all given one day of leave before the troopers of the 82nd Death Korps of Krieg infantry, plus new conscripts were to be shipped off, never to see Surris again. It was surreal as Jericus and Fenria walked about the city which was still in the process of being rebuilt. However, some semblance of normalcy was starting to eek its way through the war ravaged buildings as the duo saw a few businesses open and a few entrepreneurs peddling their wares from street side stations. They were completely out of place with their greatcoats and the rest of what composed their uniforms, the masks as always were still on. None of the conscripts had taken them off even as they ventured forth back to their homes to say goodbye to loved ones, family, and friends if they had any left that is.
By the end of their twelve week training period the Surris conscripts were completely conditioned by the Korps to uphold their ideals and do as they were told without question. The process was painful as if gouging out ones own eye's on the mental and spiritual level, but an acceptable number of them had lived through the training and now were considered worthy of defending the world's of the Emperor.
S-1050 wanted to see her family before they had to leave. She had wanted Jericus to come along and meet them with her; he had gladly accepted the offer and had no qualms about accompanying her. Jericus couldn't think of a better way to spend his last day on his home world; after all he had no family to say goodbye to. As they walked through the streets they noticed other guardsmen on leave from different regiments. They were all new bloods like themselves given leave for their last day on their home world. They were not Death Korps though; instead they wore the flak armor of different guard regiments, each with different training and methodology. They had their faces bare to the world and it appeared that their training had taken nothing away from their personalities.
Fenria and Jericus were talking to each other about idle interests among other subjects when one of the other guardsmen stopped and walked up to them.
"Jericus is that you?" He asked peering into the lenses of Jericus' mask. At first he was a bit confused but then Fenria nudged him and his memory came back. Jericus… was his name. He nodded slowly as if unsure and then before he knew it he was trapped in a hug by the man across from him.
"Man I thought you were dead after the explosion during the evacuation. Hell I wouldn't have even known it was you if ya weren't talking to your friend." He paused looking as though he was contemplating something for a moment. "Hey what's with the mask anyway man?"
Jericus continued to stare at him blankly trying in vain to conjure up memories of this man who he had the nagging feeling he ought to remember. However, that was from his life before the training, the war, and the mask. He held Jericus at arms length for a moment as if trying to figure out if he actually was who he thought he was.
"You are Jericus Quint right?" he said taking a step back. Jericus nodded slowly and he still observed him with what seemed to be a slight amount of skepticism.
"It's me, Xavier, from the manufactorum, don't you remember? We worked on the same line. Hell we grew up together, best friends since five."
It took another moment but Jericus started to piece together the somewhat forgotten and shattered memories. "Xavier," he said although it sounded more like a question. Not to mention the name seemed foreign on his tongue. But that was more likely due to the fact that in the korps they all referred to each other by number. Xavier stood there for a moment before commenting, "Yeah, for Emperors sake I know guard training was tough but they really did a number on you man. By the way what regiment are you? I'm in the 121st Hoarfell myself."
Jericus processed the question for a moment before answering, "82nd Death Korps of Krieg." he replied evenly. This seemed to unnerve Xavier and his comrades which had gathered behind him.
"I heard about the Death Korps. They have a pretty rough rep; is it true that you guys are calling each other by numbers instead of your names?" he said.
"Yes, this trooper is S-1049-82, or S-1049 for short." Jericus replied.
"Yeah, so anyway who's your friend Jericus?" Xavier questioned, no doubt trying to alleviate the unease spreading about the area like a dark cloud.
"S-1050," she answered smoothly in the same even tone Jericus had previously. Xavier and the others behind him seemed to get uncomfortable for a moment before he spoke up again.
"Well, it's been great seeing you again Jericus you want to get a drink maybe? It's on me." He said the last part sounding almost tacked on for the sake of normalcy.
"That would be… good. However, these troopers are going to visit S-1050's family before they have to get back to the barracks and on the transport." he answered. Xavier seemed to be slightly relieved by this, though he tried not to let it show.
"Okay, well take care of yourself then man. Maybe we'll see each other again." He said before Fenria and Jericus departed from him and his group. As they walked away Jericus heard his friend whisper to those around him, "I knew Jericus since we were kids, and that wasn't the same guy I remember from our hab-block. What the hell does the Korps do to their recruits?"
The murmured responses were lost on him as he and Fenria continued on with her leading the way to her home, or at least the hab where her family had been assigned to live during the cleanup. Eventually the duo came upon a still fairly intact hab-block. Going down the winding halls and up the stairs of the hab-block was foreign. Jericus hadn't traversed halls such as these since before the invasion and liberation. Twelve weeks of training ground, mess, and barracks had again fogged up his memory of such a familiar sight.
Finally they came upon the proper hab number, the civilians outside gave them wary glances their masks probably appearing ominous or disturbing; or maybe some had bad feelings toward the Korps. After all they weren't the best received or liked of the regiments when the guard arrived to liberate Surris.
S-1050 went up to the entrance and gave three good knocks which echoed through the plasteel door. After a few moments a young girl opened the door; no older than about twelve she was understandably a little uneasy at seeing two masked figures standing in the doorway. Leaning down so that she was at eye level with the girl Fenria was the first to speak. "Sila it's me get mother and father."
Recognition flashed in the girl's eyes at the sound of Fenria's voice and in an instant the girl had thrown herself around the woman embracing her with ardent affection. Fenria seemed to hesitate for a moment before returning the gesture in a tentative manner almost as if unsure if she was doing it properly, for the past months any close physical contact usually meant a CQC fight. Soon another figure appeared from around a corner further from within the hab.
"Sila who's at the door," Questioned the figure before she was met with the sight before her. The scene in-front of the woman must have seemed a bit macabre with Fenria hugging the little one while Jericus stood in the background both of them in full gear with their expressionless masks. Fenria gently pushed Sila away before she stood up to her full height once more, "Mother." She said quietly with a respectful nod of her head.
"Fenria?" The woman asked with what seemed to be some doubt in her voice as she looked over the masked figure. Fenria for her part seemed as lost as Jericus was when his friend had spoken his name and it took his hand on her shoulder for her to snap out of her own confusion. She nodded hesitantly to her mother who like Sila before her was embracing her in a heartbeat.
"We didn't think we'd see you again before you shipped off world. Your father has been worried about you, we all have." Her mother said in a quiet voice barely holding back tears. She then finally took notice of Jericus standing idle outside the door looking at him as if noticing his presence for the first time. Given the emotional reunion it very well might have been the first she had noticed him. "Who's your friend?" she questioned.
Fenria motioned to him, and then took his arm pulling his hesitant form forward "This is S-1049. He and I trained together and are now in the same unit." She stated in an all business tone. Her mother gave him an inquisitive look taking in his appearance perhaps trying to discern the man under the mask.
"Well he's welcome in," she turned to her daughter again. "How about we go sit down, I'll make some recaff while we wait for your father to get home from the market."
She gestured for the two to sit down on the couch which both did sitting down backs straight with the perfect posture required by the Korps. Sila sat down next to them and began to inspect their uniforms particularly the masks. "Why are you wearing that Fen? It kinda scares me." She spoke her words softly her voice similar to Fenria's own.
Fenria was quiet for a while not quite able to tell her little sister why she couldn't show her face. What could she tell her? That she didn't believe she had one anymore. Or worse that she didn't want one anymore. Jericus felt as though that was the point of the training; make sure they didn't have a face so that they were all just another number. By the end of it once they had accepted that it just made everything easier to deal with.
After a few more quiet moments Jericus spoke for her, "The guard requires that these troopers leave them on at all times." He stated matter-of-factly. Sila frowned a bit at that and quietly diverted her gaze to her twiddling thumbs. The next few moments were silent and before long Fenria's mother came walking out with four steaming mugs. She gave one to Fenria and Jericus keeping one for herself and handing Sila some other most likely sweeter alternative.
The two Death Korps trooper used the inbuilt drinking tubes on their masks to drink the steaming recaff. Fenria's mother stiffened as they did this, "Fenria, why don't you take that horrid mask off honey?"
"Mister S-1049 says that they can't." Sila responded quickly.
"Oh, and why not," her mother questioned.
"It's against regulations ma'am." Jericus responded back quickly but politely in his even voice.
Fenria's mother seemed surprised by the very idea and the next few hours were rather awkward and went by about as fast as it takes paint to dry. Soon enough though Fenria's father was home and as he walked in he paused for a moment to put down the bags he had been carrying. As he looked at the two he seemed perplexed by the presence of two masked guardsmen in his home.
"I see we have guests." He said in a surprised tone as he eyed them both.
"Serghar, its Fenria and this is her friend," Fenria's mother said to the further surprise of her husband. His eyebrows shot up for a moment as he studied Fenria for a moment as she stood up and walked over to him. For the first time that evening she was the first to initiate the embrace and her father for his part took a moment before returning it with a great amount of affection. After the two separated Jericus realized the time that had passed and had to inform his friend lest she forget and they'd both get disciplined for their carelessness should they be late.
"S-1050 these troopers have to be getting back," he spoke softly but perhaps a bit bluntly. Fenria realized the consequences and didn't dally.
"S-1049 is right; we have to be getting back. We're going to be boarding the transports to the main ship and we have to be there or else the Watchmaster will not be pleased." She stated. Her family all gave her odd looks their faces filled with sadness and grief at the thought that they were never going to see her again.
Her mother stepped forward, "May the Emperor protect you Fenria." She said as she took her daughter in one final embrace. Her Father and sister followed her example both giving their goodbyes. Fenria and Jericus headed for the door, she walked through first and as he turned to shut the door behind them he noticed the anguished look of her family as they looked past him at her. He understood what they were feeling and thinking in that moment. The girl that was walking out the door never to return wasn't the same little girl they had raised, or the same older sister of Sila.
Instead she was just a mask, a husk of her former self; however, that was the way it had to be. He didn't blame them for not understanding, but it was for the best because the things S-1050 would have to face would be terrible indeed. And to be able to stare back at those coming monstrosities she would have to become one herself.
As they went Jericus heard the patter of bare feet on rockcrete, and then a small hand clasping his own; the sensation was odd, and slightly startling. Turning he saw the tear stained face of Fenria's sister looking up at him; almost as though she could see through the depthless lenses and all obscuring material of the gasmask.
"You'll keep her safe? Right Mister S-1049," her eyes stopped him, her face so much like her mothers. Could this be a face similar to the one under S-1050's mask? However, the thought was fleeting as he knelt down to the girl's level. "This trooper will do it's utmost to keep your sister safe Sila Ishta."
The little one nodded once, just once. The tears still fell, but her face was stoic and as unreadable as the masks they wore. He stood up and she let go of his hand nodding up to him as she did so. Jericus nodded back before finally turning to see Fenria staring at the scene, hands to her sides slightly clenched. She was desperately trying to keep her composure. He nodded once to her, barely perceptible to the eye. She took the meaning and they both departed for the ships.