"Throw your soldiers into positions whence there is no escape, and they will prefer death to flight." –The Art of War
We were brought to the forward positions via chimera the vehicles jostling us, but as I looked around me the masked faces of my comrades conveyed no sign of discomfort. Or at least no one complained. S-1050 was to my left as always; it seemed a habit of ours to sit or stand in numerical order as we did during training even though there was no reason to do so anymore outside of drills.
The inner troop compartment was cramped and we were packed in like cordwood. Then an abrupt stop and the ramp slammed down. The watchmaster was yelling orders to disembark; we jogged down and out of the chimera at a brisk pace following orders automatically as we went along. Eventually we arrived where the lines had been drawn. The makeshift wall of sandbags and scrap metal made up what was in essence our trench wall complete with autocanon, heavy bolter, and heavy stubber emplacements.
PDF and Arbites already manned these as well as lined the wall. Our watchmaster was conferring with an Arbitrator sergeant who seemed to be in command of this particular section of the wall. Our platoon along with much of the 82nd Death Korps was reinforcing this sector with a few companies from the 121st Hoarfell for good measure.
"Alright Korpsmen our duty is to hold this line and prepare for whatever the enemy throws at us. For the Emperor," Watchmaster B-52 stated. Afterward we took up positions along the wall. S-1050 stepped up on the firing step at the same time I did. As a matter of fact all along the defensive line every korpsmen stepped up at the same time. To an outsider it must have looked like clockwork soldiers it was so well synchronized, a true testament to our training, maybe the cruel nicknames the other regiments threw at us were somewhat true.
Looking across the large expanse that made up no-mans-land I spotted the rebel line. It mirrored our own in its ramshackle appearance and extended just as far in either direction. The shear size of the open space which was our battleground amazed me. It stretched for at least a few miles in either direction to the left or right, and at least a quarter of a mile between the two lines. It was like some kind of scar in the unending cityscape. I had heard of hive worlds and the monolithic status of their cities but this was something else and to think that this was one of the lower levels.
As a matter of fact if one looked up you could see the buildings all around stretching upward into oblivion which was mostly blocked out by the expansive crisscross of skyways.
"It is quite a sight," said S-1050 absentmindedly from my left, her head shifting from side to side as she peered cautiously over the walls lip into no-mans-land.
"Yes, it is." I replied back bringing my gaze back down to the scarred mass that was no-mans-land. A hellish obstacle course of razor-wire, craters, and what looked like mud but what was more probably some kind of waste from the upper-levels. Here and there were outlines of scrap-metal where shacks must have once stood before they were dismantled to create both our barrier and the enemies.
It reminded me of the training courses set up by the Korps on Surris for us, only… less cruel and dangerous.
My observations and musings were broken by S-1050's soft voice, "This trooper thinks it saw movement." She said with solid conviction. I peered across the expanse and willed my eyes to look harder. Surely enough I spotted it, a few heads peering over the wall on the far side. Then all hell broke loose from the enemy lines as they opened up with autogun fire, heavy-stubbers, and mortar fire. Then a garbled battle cry as the rebel forces leapt over their wall and began their assault.
"Fire on my order and not a moment before," B-52 yelled at the top of his lungs over the din. Up and down the line Korpsmen got into firing positions. We ignored the weapons-fire going by our heads as a few of the PDF around us took cover. That was what the enemy was counting on, for us to flinch; At least the men of the Hoarfell and Aribites nearby did not display the same hesitation. Men taking cover could not fire back. The respective sergeants and even commissar Veris were shouting at those who were taking cover to get into firing positions and take aim.
Soon the rebels had crossed the halfway point of no-mans-land some brandishing clubs and crude swords in their hands in preparation for close combat. They were a mix of what passed for regular men in some kind of uniform adapted from the garb of sewage workers and blatant mutants. The latter of the two were the ones who mostly wielded the melee weapons. I could see apprehension on some of their faces even from this distance. Others had unholy rage plastered to their features.
Then as they crossed the invisible threshold the order was given, "Fire!" the watchmaster yelled and we opened up. The sharp whine cracks of lasguns filled the air; the one-shot action of the Lucius pattern lasguns of the Death Korps being drowned out by the full-auto chatter of the PDF and Hoarfell, and heavy weapons up and down the line. But our shots were connecting consistently putting down rebels in single hits with exceptional accuracy. The Korps did not believe in waste.
I watched almost detached from my body as I pulled the trigger in synchronization with my breathing. Breath out, shoot, breath out, shoot… the mantra was beaten into us when we learned how to handle our lasguns. Rebels were shot to pieces, literally by the deadly crossfire. Limbs blown away from bodies and faces incinerated; there was little blood as any wound was cauterized by the intense heat of the lasbolts; but the carnage was still immense. Then they hit the razor-wire and many got tangled up screaming as the wire bit into their flesh. These unlucky rebels were used by their brethren as living bridges to get over the wire safely.
Now they were close enough that the concentrated fire of our forces was simply obliterating them, none of our shots missing at this range. Then a break as the middle of their line began a defensive retreat which quickly became a mad dash back to their own lines the entire force faltering. There was a cheer as PDF troopers ceased firing at the sight of the retreat. All of us in the Korps kept firing into the retreating rebels backs cutting them down as they ran; even the Hoarfell and Arbites did the same.
"Fix bayonets!" Watchmaster B-52 yelled. We all did so without pause in meticulously practiced synchronization. The PDF around us looked bewildered.
"What the warp are you doing? They're retreating," complained a sergeant of the PDF to Watchmaster B-52.
He replied appropriately, "Their attack has failed and they are in disarray. It's now or never, we can take their line."
"That's madness there's no way I'm sending my men out to die." The PDF sergeant yelled back jabbing a finger into the watchmaster's chest.
The sergeant didn't even see B-52 un-holster his laspistol. The loud crack reverberated though the air as the PDF sergeant was shot in the head.
"I'm taking command. Now fix bayonets troopers!" the watchmaster bellowed. They followed the order, the fear of the Emperor now sewn in each of them. Commissar Veris appeared at our watchmaster's side. "Well done Watchmaster B-52. There is no room for cowardice in times of battle. Now give the order," Veris said as she drew her power-sword and laspistol.
"Charge troopers, for the Emperor!" Watchmaster B-52 yells as he jumped over the wall Commissar Veris in tow. We all followed us in the Death Korps without hesitation the other Imperial Guard regiments with us followed by the PDF and Arbites. I was in the center of the line with the rest of the Korps following B-52 and the commissar across the bleak expanse, dead corpses of rebels allowing our forces to navigate the razor-wire without getting slowed in its deadly tangles. The massive assault was a spectacle indeed as the combined mass of the Imperial Guard regiments, PDF, and Arbites charged the rebels line.
I was breathing heavy, adrenaline spiking my system and propelling me forward, it was nerves mostly, we were going at a brisk pace sure, but despite them running from us I couldn't help the feeling that I was going to get picked in the head and never even notice. I banished these pessimistic thoughts and continued on, trying only to think about the situation in a disciplined way, just one foot in front of the other, once we reached their line it would be close in fighting, what I was good at.
The rebels themselves were only about halfway back to their lines and we were gaining ground quickly. When we were about halfway across no-mans-land the rebels had finally made it to their own line clambering over their wall and getting into position to fire on us. Their heavy-stubbers opened fire moments later as did they with their autoguns.
But our sheer numbers would carry us through the torrent of fire. Most of which was less accurate than our own due to the fact that the rebel's for the most part used autoguns which were less stable than the standard lasgun and thus not as accurate, plus we all benefited from flak-armor, unlike the rebels in their thrown-together uniforms. As a result less of our men were hit and those that were had a better chance of living through the experience, finally we were able to get within grenade throwing distance.
Allowing my lasgun to fall to my side the sling keeping it on my person I took a grenade from my belt pulling the pin and hurling it in an arc to land on the other side of the enemy wall as did many other Imperials along our line. We were rewarded with a cacophony of booms as the grenades went off followed by screams and the sound or rather lack-thereof of the enemies heavy-stubbers as they fell silent.
Then it was back to charging the line, my feet carried me where I needed to be of their own accord. As I approached the wall set up by the rebels one popped up from behind it. Half his face was missing—most likely due to the shrapnel of the grenades—but it was still contorted in what could only be pure rage.
I was already kneeling down and getting a bead on him as he raised his weapon. Breath out, shoot, the lasbolt slammed into what was left of his face and sent him sprawling back behind the wall and out of sight. Then it was over the wall, holding our lasguns one handed many of us mounted the wall up and down the line. The first of us up began to help others over, getting our troops on the other side as fast as possible. The rebels were scoring hits on us as we poured over their barricade but there were too many of us, we outnumbered them four to one I'd hazard a quick guess.
I saw a familiar mask as I helped S-1050 up over the wall she muttered a quick thanks and I finally jumped down the other side next to her. The rest of our forces were fairing well enough and it was time to press the advantage seeing as we were beginning to take the enemy line. The fighting quickly devolved into close combat as the two forces met. Mutants were hurling themselves at us with their clubs made from rusted pipes and jagged swords fashioned from scrap metal.
I skewered one on my bayonet as he charged his sword missing my masked face by inches as I kept him distanced on the end of my lasgun. S-1050 put a lasbolt through his deformed head and he went slack.
"Thanks." I said wrenching my bayonet from his pallid flesh blood squirting out from the opening. S-1050 nodded barely noticing me, and then proceeded to jam her bayonet into the back of a rebel currently engaged with another of our comrades.
Taking aim at the mass of bodies engaged in close combat I began to take shots carefully trusting in the skills the korps had trained into me, and the endless hours of practice. I took out two more rebels before my power-pack finally ran out of a charge. My lasgun giving a low whine as it failed to discharge another shot, I quickly replaced the depleted power-pack with a fresh one and resumed firing. The fighting was really getting bad, up and down the enemy line Imperials engaged in close combat with the enemy. Rifle butts meeting faces, bayonets gutting men, and even a few chainswords shrieking as they tore through flesh with ease.
As a matter of fact I could see commissar Veris taking on three rebels at once. Shooting the first two through with her laspistol then impaling the last on the end of her power-sword. The man screamed as the weapon—still thoroughly inside his stomach—was pulled downward and sliced his lower regions neatly in-half. Blood and entrails pooling down at his feet before he crumpled; for my part I took out a man sneaking up behind Veris with a lasbolt to the back. If the commissar noticed she paid it no heed as she continued to dominate in the melee. I could even hear her raucous laughter over the din of combat as she cut a swath through the enemy.
Hearing a battle yell to my left I turned just in time to deflect a bayonet thrust meant for my gut. The korps training saving my life, the surprised look on the rebels face dissolved as I bashed the butt of my lasgun into his mouth taking out a few teeth. He rounded quickly snarling at me with his broken and bloodied mouth as I drove my bayonet through his throat turning the snarl into a gurgling gasp of surprise. No flinching, no hesitation just performing my duty as I was trained to.
To my left, as always, S-1050 was firing at a rebel who seemed intent to cleave her in two with a chainsword; he had already taken two lasbolts to his chest. He was almost upon her when I turned and lent my own fire to hers. Our combined efforts bursting his chest open in an explosion of burnt gore. He dropped not two feet in front of us and that was when I was tackled from behind as a rather big rebel blindsided me. We ended up in the mud next to the man S-1050 and I just killed, he was on top of me.
He was huge at least two heads taller than me and probably twice as wide all bulging muscles and sinew. He thrust his knife downward intending to skewer me through the chest. My reflexes barely saved me as I caught his two forearms, the blade inches above my chest. My arms were shaking as he used his superior strength and position against me. Then the force was abruptly stopped and I heard him scream in rage. S-1050 had stabbed him in the back with her bayonet but he was still moving, rounding on her in a second.
He was so fast that the lasgun was still stuck in his back S-1050 having lost her grip due to his quick movement. He gripped her around the throat, intent on choking the life from her, but she pulled her combat knife from its sheath intent on jamming it into his jugular but his right bicep seemed to get in the way and the knife instead jammed itself up to the hilt in solid muscle.
He bellowed in rage but kept on choking her. My lasgun had been knocked away and I grabbed at the trench-axe hanging from my belt, feeling its solid foot-and-a-half adamantium construction in my hand I scrabbled to my feet. I swung at the back of his legs, the monomolecular axe head easily slicing through the tendons and muscle, effectively hamstringing the behemoth; he fell to his knees, releasing S-1050 who gasped for breath. Still miraculously able to think the mammoth rebel turned on his knees to me with surprising speed and I got a good look at him for the first time.
He was a brute of a man with strangely sharp features and it looked as though his teeth were filed to points, his face contorted in unholy rage as he screamed for my death.
"You will not win this war Imperial. We have been oppressed for too long, and we will rise" The rebel roared defiantly.
My hand was shaking, and I didn't even think to respond, the look on his face said it all, my lack of action seemed to confuse him though right before he screamed at me again drawing his fist back to take a swing with the blade he still held. Finally snapping out of it I swung my trench-axe driving the opposite spiked end of its head into his temple, and his cries were effectively stopped as his brain jumbled its connection to his body, which still engaged in fitful spasms.
When he finally stopped twitching I wrenched the spike from his head, his corpse fell forward the hole in its head leaking blood. S-1050's lasgun still sticking out of his back; I wrenched it out with my free hand and walked over to where S-1050 had just begun to stand.
I handed her the lasgun, "Thanks, if you hadn't stuck him this trooper would be dead." I said with gratitude.
"It should be this trooper thanking you, if it weren't for your intervention this trooper would be dead," she said gesturing to the trench-axe in my left hand.
"We're even then." I replied and then I noticed it. The din of combat starting to come to a close as all around us the rebels were completely losing the will to fight. The smarter of them retreating into the mazes of buildings further into their territory and those still fighting being shot and cut down by the still numerous Imperial forces.
Nearby was a thumping sound as metal met flesh and bone. S-1050 and I turned to see a young PDF trooper bashing his helmet into the skull of a still twitching rebel. One of his comrades who seemed to be a veteran came up behind the boy and pulled the boy off of the dead man. The boy stopped his shoulders slumping and his hands going limp, letting go of his helmet. The vet hauled him up to his feet by his shoulders then bent down and retrieved the boy's bloody helmet and lasgun putting the helmet back atop the boy's head and then shoving the lasgun into his chest. The boy grasped the lasgun with halfhearted purpose and followed the veteran to who knows where.
I looked back to S-1050 and we shared a long stare. Soon we were noticed and we were approached by commissar Veris. Quickly we both snapped to attention and saluted the commissar smartly.
"At ease troopers," she said in her authoritative voice. "I saw your little performance. That man was touched by the warp if I ever did see it. Both of you did an admirable job of taking the rebel down. That was some excellent CQC troopers. Then again I don't know what else I should expect from a Korpsman."
"Ma'am these troopers are honored that you would think so highly of them." I said without a pause. Commissar Veris grinned, "Wish we had a thousand more like you two Korpsman. Say what are your designations? Figure I should at least know the name of the trooper who saved my life, and his comrade." she stated with a little bit of mirth entering her tone. It was a bit of a surprise to me that the commissar had even noticed that I had shot the rebel sneaking up on her.
"This trooper's designation is S-1049-82; my comrade is S-1050-82." I stated plainly.
"Ah, replacements from Surris, huh, that makes your actions even more impressive. Well, keep up the good work troopers; I hope to see you well in the future. Also, mark my words; I will repay you for watching my back S-1049. It's always good to have a favor from your commissar, eh?" With that she walked away to wherever else she felt she was needed.
Soon after Watchmaster B-52 came up to us, and again we stood at attention, he saluted back and allowed us to be at ease.
"Designations," he ordered briskly.
We did not hesitate, "S-1049," I stated.
"S-1050," was stated from off to my left.
"Well it's good to see that not all of you were wasted in that meager charge." The watchmaster seemed to mull this over.
"Excuse this trooper's ignorance Watchmaster, it doesn't understand." S-1050 spoke up.
"Exactly as it sounds trooper, your platoon as I remember it under my command was platoon number 12-82 correct?" We nodded accordingly, "yes well as of the conclusion of this small skirmish you two are the only ones I have found intact and able to go on. If I'm lucky the quartermasters will be able to salvage more of you. As it is because of your fortuitous survival you've both been selected by me to undergo further training and eventually specialize. If you survive for it that is." B-52 paused for a moment, letting the new information sink in.
"Congratulations you've both been chosen to accompany grenadiers, an honor undeserved by you wretches. Consider it another part of your training; of course this training is even more likely to result in your deaths. Report to a quartermaster immediately, you'll need a bit of an upgrade to your combat-kits, one is sure to be collecting equipment from our fallen." He handed us each a requisition form for our new equipment as well as forms containing our transfer to Watchmaster B-63.
"Afterwards report to Watchmaster B-63 he'll be your new CO; most likely found toward the eastern end of the line. I've trained you as well as I can, hopefully you wretches will continue to be useful in the service of the Emperor," with that said he saluted us, we saluted him and then Watchmaster B-52 walked down the line to where our forces were already clearing out the bodies to set up our new defenses. The battle seemed to be over as far as we could tell.
S-1050 and I exchanged a look; the saying among the Korps was that if you became a grenadier you've lived too long. Then we looked around, including us there weren't many Death Korps troopers left, at least out of the platoon we were apart of.
"These troopers should get on this." I said solemnly. S-1050 nodded slowly and we began our search for a quartermaster. I picked up my fallen lasgun from the mud as we walked by brushing off the thick brown substance. I was fairly certain it would stink terribly if it wasn't for my gasmask.
Eventually we found a quartermaster easily spotted due to the servitors around him carrying the equipment he was salvaging from the fallen as well as spare equipment for the Death Korps. We approached him and he regarded us as we stopped before his crouched form. He was bent over one of our own, the man still breathing despite missing most of his stomach and chest. Quartermasters were also the medics in the Death Korps. As such it was his job to assess if this wounded korpsman was 'salvageable' he looked away from us and back to the wounded trooper coldly assessing the mans wounds.
"Stretcher over here! I've got a priority yellow." He yelled over to a nearby group of stretcher bearers. It seemed the wounded man would live to fight another day. If the quartermaster had even suspected that the man would not make it he would have said the last rites and shot him on the spot to save resources.
"Right, well then, what do you two need?" He asked all business. We both presented him with our requisition forms and he nodded then gestured for a servitor to come forward.
One of the amalgamations of flesh and steel awkwardly came forward stopping next to the quartermaster and presenting him with the wheeled wagon it dragged behind it. The wagon was piled high with spare uniforms, armor, weapons, and various other pieces of equipment most likely salvaged recently from the dead.
He rummaged through the neatly organized piles and pulled out two identical steel facemasks resembling metallic skulls. These were the traditional motifs worn over a Death Korps grenadier's gasmask to differentiate them from regular korpsmen. S-1050 and I accepted them, fastening the straps around our heads over our masks and using the built-in hooks to attach the metal mask to our gasmasks so they would stay in place.
Next came the carapace armor; S-1050 and I moved our filtration units around to our backs to accommodate the extra armor.
"Sorry, we're a little short on hellguns at the moment, and being you two aren't really full-fledged grenadiers yet you're not really rated to use them. Don't worry; standard issue Lucius is more accurate anyway, and with almost the same stopping power." He said the last part with a little chuckle.
He saluted us, "The Emperor spreads his divine light." He said with reverence.
We saluted back and replied together. "To protect us from darkness," and then he was off again performing the vital task of salvaging men and equipment. Then a thought came through my head, but S-1050 voiced it before I could.
"Wait do you know where these troopers can find Watchmaster B-63?" She yelled after the retreating quartermaster. He turned toward us and pointed to his left, our right, down the line toward the numerous guardsmen now milling about waiting for orders and setting up positions.
"The grenadiers were further down the line eastward. B-63's group anyway; you just have to look for the skull masks and hellguns you won't miss them." And then like that he was back to doing his duty.
We stood there for a moment taking the situation in. I broke the silence, "These troopers should get going. They'll make a better impression if they're punctual." My voice held no sarcasm I was completely serious.
"Right then, let's go." S-1050 responded in the same tone. Then we headed to the east, down the line walking through the crowd of Imperials, a good amount were fellow Korpsmen. Mostly our comrades kept together the PDF, Hoarfell, and Arbites all giving them space. In turn those same comrades gave S-1050 and I space. Not out to wariness like the other Imperials did for them, but out of respect.
Grenadiers were considered the special ops and shock troops of the Korps and given due respect; yet also reviled, considered cowards for not dying when they should have. Even though we weren't full grenadiers yet we were looked upon as such because of the new battle-gear.
It was odd because S-1050 and I were mere regular Korpsmen ourselves. To be shown such respect for what seemed like dumb luck at having survived when the rest of our platoon did not was strange. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised, survival was how one ascended in the Korps.
Eventually we came toward what we could guess was who we were looking for. The grenadiers had been in some of the thickest fighting and it showed, their carapace armor damaged, scuffed, burnt, and dented in places, there were about five of them including Watchmaster B-63. We found Watchmaster B-63 by the rank insignia patched on his greatcoat. He turned to regard us and we stopped several feet from him giving crisp salutes. He gave a slightly sloppy one in return and put us at ease, unusual for an officer in the Korps, at least in our experience so far. We handed him our orders and awaited his response as he looked over the small square forms of paper.
"Seems B-52 is sending me his scraps now. Well no worries, as long as you're both willing to die for the Emperor I don't mind the extra bodies. Designations," his tone was mostly serious, maybe a slight hint of something in there, but I couldn't be sure.
We answered quickly, "S-1049, Watchmaster," I stated in an even tone.
"S-1050, Watchmaster" was said from my left with the same sternness.
B-63 stared at each of us trying to find fault and weakness no doubt, once he seemed satisfied he spoke again. "Right, well I hope you two haven't been tired out by that little skirmish ten minutes ago. Because as grenadiers it's our job to take death to the enemy and it just so happens that we've received new orders. Oh, and in the future don't salute me, at least not in an active warzone, don't want me head to be blown off by a sniper do ya?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer, but after a moment he must have decided that none was good enough. "We are to advance into the area ahead to act as a vanguard for the upcoming push into the rest of the city. We'll likely run into elements of the rebels that have not fled far like cowards." He gestured toward the ramshackle looking city beyond, the buildings stretched up for miles and the streets were littered with rubble.
"Any questions?" No one utters a word as is to be expected, "Right then let's move out korpsmen form up, spread apart, be vigilant. And let our enemies be vigilant as well for death is on their heels now."
With those inspirational words we were off trudging past the multitude of our comrades both korpsmen and other Imperials and eventually into the beginning of the city. It was like static in the air and we all seemed to know that the real fighting would begin soon.
…
"War's one of those things, don't you think, where everyone always thinks they're in the right have you noticed that? Nobody ever says we're the bad guys, we're going to beat shit out of the good guys." – Caryl Churchill.
I can't really say what it was that I was expecting but it wasn't what happened. All I'd ever seen of the massive battles the Imperial Guard fought daily in other parts of the galaxy was through vids. As one can imagine those do not accurately show the truth behind the real thing. Surris was my first eye-opener to that fake reality, but then I was just an observer, now I was a participant.
One moment Cain and I were celebrating with the rest of our squad as the rebels retreat and the next thing we know we're being ordered to go after them. We were quite a ways down the line from the blanks but rumor was (I found out later) that they started the counterattack when one of their watchmasters shot a PDF sergeant in the head.
Racing across no-mans-land was something of a rush. Heart pounding, palms sweaty, iron grip on my lasgun, my entire body clenching seemingly getting itself ready to be shot. When we got to the other side I thought it would turn out for us like it did for the rebels. Being decimated by firepower, but as luck would have it that did not happen. We seemed to have the advantage in numbers. People seemed to be dropping around us every second, but I tuned it out, the rush kept me from dropping down and just giving up.
When Cain helped me up over the wall I was greeted by the sight of sheer chaos. Men gutting each other with bayonets, mutants savagely attacking our comrades, biting, and clawing, one made a dive at me with its club I shot it, and then when it fell to the ground thrashing I stuck it with my bayonet so many times I lost count, only stopping when it stopped moving.
From there it was the exhilarating flash of combat; I was sure I'd die on more than one occasion. When you have to bash another human's skull in with the butt of your lasgun, even if they're trying to stab you… it's just not something you feel particularly proud of afterward.
During it all I was vaguely aware of my squad around me, fighting with me, but in the heat of the moment it's usually just you and the guy who's trying to kill you. At least that's how it was for me, and I can't help it, but I liked it, the fighting that is, on some primal level, even though it was in reality much harsher than I had imagined.
It just seemed so at odds with what the Imperium put out there on the newscasts and all the posters, and the vids. Heroes never seemed to have to do the terrible things we were doing. I wonder did they ever feel bad for the man they just left choking on his own blood when they killed him. I know its borderline heretical and these rebels were traitors, but they all just look so human… aside from the mutants they're all the same as me. And most of them where just as scared as I was, and there were even a few who looked like they weren't even out of their teenage years.
I suppose that in the heat of those moments as I was shooting, stabbing, clubbing, or otherwise doing anything in order to kill these people, these thoughts that plague me didn't matter. Is it wrong to say that I found the killing utterly justified when I was doing it and it was my life or theirs? I can't really say for sure, after all it's not mine to question why, right? Plus there was that feeling of excitement, the rush.
The battle couldn't have taken more than a dozen or so minutes once we got into the enemies lines before we won and the remnants of the rebel forces retreated. With the battle over I looked around and spotted Cain who at least seemed better off than I was. He was puking up what was his lunch. I walked over to him but he waved me off, "Just the smell is all." He insisted between spurts of semi-digested paste.
Looking away I noticed Garvel on his back his lower half mostly… gone. Entrails loose and not where they should be, what looked like shards of pulverized bone, and all the blood; his skin was ghostly pale. I don't know how… but he was still breathing as I walked over and knelt next to him.
"Medicae!" I screamed grasping Garvel's searching hand. I heard booted feet coming toward us through the mud, looking up I was greeted by something I didn't want to see at the moment.
A masked face staring down critically at Garvel's injuries, he made the sign of the Aquila and began muttering something which was obscured by his mask. Before I knew it he was drawing his laspistol and aiming it at Garvel whose face was now etched with terror. I made a grab at the pistol, "What the keck are you doing!" I yelled concern for a squad-mate lacing my words.
The korpsman gave me a blank look, the same one they all give when they seem not to understand the actions of those who are not blanks themselves.
"This man's injuries are inoperable with our medical supplies. It would be cruel to let him suffer further and a waste of our supplies in the attempt to save him." With surprising tenderness he pulled the laspistol from my hands. I was so taken aback by what he said that I stood by while he again placed the laspistol flush against Garvel's forehead.
Then I heard him speak the same words he had before. Only this time I actually heard them… they were the litanies meant for those who were about to die and those about to carry out the Emperor's mercy, recited perfectly as they were meant to be.
"Emperor, give me strength to carry out the deed, and Brother, grant me forgiveness for what I am about to do. The end will be swift, and the Eternal gates swing wide for you. Your duty is done, and now I must do mine." He paused for a moment before finishing. "Sweet God-Emperor, forgive your servant his sins, and remember he is just a man." After he finished the rites he squeezed the trigger of the laspistol. A loud whine crack stirred me from my stupor and I regained control of my limbs as I watched him begin to take Garvel's equipment. I was a little riled by the act; he was looting the dead and worse the dead man was someone who I had come to consider a friend.
"He shall be left his uniform but I must take the rest of the equipment. We need to conserve resources and it would be a waste to leave equipment with a dead man when it could save another guardsman's life." The korpsman paused in his actions allowing two servitors behind him to take the equipment from him and put it in carts. "Your friend was a hero; we should all strive to be as brave as he was." He finished by taking out what looked like a pick and chipping off a fragment of one of Garvel's exposed bones.
Then he did something unexpected as he began to leave. The blank put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed; it was a decidedly comforting feeling, or at least I think that was the intent. As he left my attention was drawn away from Garvel's corpse by the sound of smacking flesh and breaking bone. I turned to see a young boy far off a little ways distant, PDF, I reckoned by the uniform; he was beating the still twitching corpse of a rebel with his helmet. The rebels face was unrecognizable and it was obvious that he was no longer a threat. Still the boy probably no more than 16 kept at it until an older veteran came to his side and stopped him.
In the end they walked away together. Where to I have no idea but there it was… the simple insanity of it all. That young boy put in a situation he shouldn't be in, and this was all supposed to be the Emperor's will? Sometimes I wonder if the benevolent Emperor I was taught about really is still alive on Terra. Or is that some tale they tell us to keep us going during dark times such as these.
"Oh boy, some fight huh?" Cain said wiping some bile from his lip breaking me from my morbid thoughts. Then his eye's fell to Garvel's body, "Damn, real shame that."
"One of the blanks shot him… he was suffering." I said stoically. Cain actually nodded with what seemed to be approval or at least understanding, though he looked ready to puke again.
"For the first time I think a blank did the humane thing. Better a quick death than a slow one right?" Cain let the question hang in the air for a moment drawing out like a terrible stench.
It was the right thing to do. I really had to ask myself how screwed-up everything really is if that conclusion can possibly be right. Too bad I couldn't get an answer that day. For the rest of the day or at least what passed for a day inside a hive city we were tasked with collecting the dead and disposing of the corpse's; burn the rebels in one pile burn our own in another. Then we began to reinforce our new position so we had a semi-safe zone before we headed off into the rest of the city to sweep out the remaining enemy forces.
Sergeant Grime directed what was left of our squad. Luckily the only casualty of our squad was Garvel… that didn't make it any better though. While Sergeant Grime and I were moving a corpse (some big rebel who had a hole in his head, it was practically cleaved in-two really) he decided to give me some words of wisdom. "Try not to think about Garvel so much. It'll eat away at you if you do." He paused as we heaved the big rebel onto the top of a pile yet to be set ablaze, "You've got to be all there so you can help the rest of us who are still alive, and otherwise you're a liability."
He walked past me putting his hand on my shoulder as he passed by, "I know we all don't usually see eye to lens with the blanks. Warp, I've had a little over a decade to know. But, what that blank did was the proper thing and I'd expect you do the same for me… deal."
"Sure, whatever you say sarg," I muttered in response. He clapped me on the shoulder again and waved for me to follow.
"Good, then lets burn the rest of these rebel bastards… they're starting to stink."
I followed soon after a slight smirk on my face despite the grim circumstances. Hours must have passed by in what seemed like minutes. It's strange you wouldn't think piling up bodies to burn would be relaxing. But, I have to say that maybe it was just the repetition of the same actions that kept me at ease.
After the stress of the actual battle and bleak questions that followed it was good to do something that would take my mind off of it; which again I have no idea how that worked, but as I was hauling the corpses of young boys onto that pyre of burning bodies I became aware that I didn't really care.
They were trying to kill me just a few hours ago and now they couldn't hurt me. I think it was around the point when Cain came over waving some kind of ration in my face that I came out of my trance. Grime left a while ago on some type of official business and I was taking a short break.
"Fresh paste courtesy of our illustrious cook D-562," he said holding the slop under my nose. I have to admit that at that moment that even that tasteless pink slop seemed appetizing.
"D-562? Why is he here? He's the mess sergeant for Emperors sake." I mumbled.
"Eh, you know those blanks, where one goes the others follow… they're like some sort of badass human form of shemlings when you think about it," Cain chuckled at his own joke. Unable to help myself I gave into the momentary light humor and laughed at the rather terrible analogy.
Taking the paste packet I slurped the contents taking in almost half of the ration in one go. The paste hit my stomach quickly and I hardly bothered to taste the stuff, barely letting it hit my tongue. After a second slurp I noticed… something.
"Hey there's something different about the paste today." I stated matter-of-factly.
"Thought you might pick up on that, turns out D-562 actually used those spices we unloaded." Cain paused taking in my expression, "I know I wouldn't believe it either. When I asked him about it he just said something about not letting us do our duty for the Emperor without good food. Weird, right; who'd have thought something like that would come from a blanks mouth." Cain said as he slurped some of his own paste. From the look on his face he was enjoying the new flavor of the usually at best bland paste.
"Yeah, maybe being in a warzone loosens them up a bit." I said with a slight chuckle. Cain stopped eating for a moment and gave my comment some actual thought for a few minutes.
"You think so?" He paused, "Great now I'm gonna be thinking about this all day."
"Eh, if you're really that interested you could always ask Sergeant Grime." I shrugged.
"Yeah that's not a bad idea Xavier. Not a bad idea at all." He said thoughtfully.
We were interrupted before Cain could give the idea any more thought by the very man Cain wanted to see. "Alright boys finish that up and get your gear we've got a new assignment." Grime stated matter-of-factly.
"What is it sarg?" I asked a tingle running through my spine.
"We pulled recon duty. We're going ahead of our main forces into the city to spot any enemy strong points; also we are to rendezvous with a Death Korps vanguard further in the city in the eastern-most sector. Now come on, the rest of the squad is waiting on us down the line." He walked past us and continued onward to where the rest of our comrades waited for us.
"Wait we're gonna be working with blanks?" Cain sputtered.
"Seeing as you've been working with them since this morning I thought you'd be used to them by now trooper," Grime sighed. Cain and I grabbed our lasguns and jogged after the retreating sergeant catching up to him quickly thereafter.
"Yeah right, I've been living with them for months and I'm still not used to them, and I'm sure I even knew some of them before the conscription." Cain muttered under his breath.
After a walk through the once tightly held enemy line now slowly being turned into our new forward operation base we came upon our comrades… at least those that were left Garvel was obviously not among us. I nodded in acknowledgement to Hack and Eli, as did Cain.
"Okay lads let us get this started and Emperor willing we'll all come through in the end. Now remember our main objective is to scout out the area, which means no shooting anything unless it shoots first. When we meet up with our friends in the Korps be polite and for Emperor's sake remember that if a fight springs up don't retreat unless I give the order. Blanks will shoot you down before you get two steps away from whatever we're fighting. Alright let's move out."
"Cheery," Hack muttered as we entered the edge of the city in a loose formation. The buildings on either side towered above us and stretched on forever, and the streets were littered with rubble and debris. What seemed to once be store fronts or hab complexes were now converted into run-down hovels and it was hard to imagine that people actually lived down here.
"Damn, I can almost understand why these people would rebel." Hack muttered.
"Yeah, that's all well and good Hack but don't go voicing that opinion around the blanks, at least not when I'm standing next to you." Replied Eli offhandedly.
"Keck you Eli!" Hack spat vehemently in reply as we continued our long walk down the seemingly deserted street.
"Quit it you two," Grime said tersely. "I think there might be something up ahead."
Grime motioned for us to spread out even farther apart and he motioned for me to approach the left-hand corner up ahead. I did so at a quick jog putting my back to the cracked and grimy wall when I got there. Grime and the others formed up behind me and Grime made another motion for me to look around the wall. Slowly I peered around the corner and found… nothing glaring back at me.
"I don't see anything," I reported back to the sergeant.
"Alright boys false alarm maybe I'm just old and paranoid. Better to be safe then sorry though." Grime sighed as he walked ahead around the corner. We all followed close behind before Grime motioned for us to once again spread out in a loose v-formation with him at the head.
For hours we crept through the broken streets coming upon nothing. Either the rebels had hidden well, or they were far off setting up new positions elsewhere. The emptiness of the city was disconcerting to say the least. Not hours before we had engaged in a huge assault against a good number of the enemy and now it was as if they up and vanished.
"This normal sarge? Cause this don't seem normal." Hack stuttered out nervously.
"Never know with rebel forces lad. They're a tricky lot; sometimes it's an all out assault other times they just disappear into the wood-work. That's why we're here; it's our job to find out what they're up to and report it back to command. Also, pray to the Emperor there's not some sort of chaos cult," Grime replied.
"So what do we tell them now? That there's no one home?" Cain asked incredulous.
"Nah, first we gotta meet up with the blanks. Then we make the call; speaking of which you be ready when I give the order Xavier," Grime stated motioning to the vox unit on my back just before the whine crack of lasfire sounded not too far away.
"Hmm, looks like we found them." I muttered amusedly.
"Yeah, looks like it. We are in the right location according to the maps." Grime replied.
"Plus who else but the blanks could actually find a fight in this ghost town," Eli added.
"Move out," Grime took off at a quick jog and the rest of us followed. We were fast approaching the sounds of fighting and they were only getting louder and fiercer with each step we took.
Soon enough we came upon the source of the fighting. Blanks fighting against a few dozen rebels, both sides were firing at each other from across an open street. The burnt husks of wrecked auto-cabs littered the road providing cover for both sides. The rebels didn't notice our arrival and were pre-occupied with the blanks; leaving their left flank exposed to us. Sergeant Grime gave a few swift hand signs, we all took up positions behind nearby auto-cab husks Cain was with me, and Hack was with Grime. Grime motioned for Eli to go farther back to provide sniper support with his long-las.
Once we were all in place Grime gave the silent order and we all opened fire. The rebels—surprised by the sudden attack—turned to engage us. A few of them stood up to try and seek better cover from the new threat of our weapons. In the process they were shot down by the blanks for their trouble. I watched as one pirouetted after taking a shot to the side of his face. Miraculously he was still alive and screaming as he went down.
I was firing my lasgun in short bursts and racking up quite a few hits myself. Under the combined fire of both our fire-team and the blanks the rebels were decimated in mere moments. When the last of them fell to the ground the blanks moved in to secure the rebels former position and round up any stragglers.
There were a few groans coming from where the rebels lay on the rockcrete. The blanks finished these men with bayonets to the chest or neck. The rebels tried in vain to ward the deadly blades away from them but were ultimately powerless. Add in the fact that the blanks were unflinchingly ruthless and it was over in a fleeting few moments. By this time Grime had ordered us to fall in on him to link up with the blanks.
"Emperor, why stick 'em. Why didn't they just shoot them?" Cain whispered from my left side.
"Simple… the korps does not believe in waste." This was stated by what I guessed was the commanding officer of these blanks.
An errant groan was heard from behind them and the lead blank turned.
"Damn rebels. They're like roaches." He seemed to sneer through his mask, "S-1049 please take care of it." I instantly recognized the designation, Jericus.
"Yes sir." Stated Jericus from the lead blanks right. I watched my attention grabbed as my old friend now dressed in a slightly different uniform turned and walked calmly toward the figure of the last rebel trying to make a feeble escape crawling across the street. Jericus walked toward the crawling man and gave him a swift kick in the side pushing him onto his back. The man issued a tortured gasp of pain as Jericus had agitated his severely burnt side with the kick.
"N-no p-please," the man begged putting his bloodied hands up feebly in defense. From the sound of his voice and the look of his youthful face I'd say he was barely out of his teenage years. But Jericus, if he cared at all, didn't show it. He didn't even utter a sound as he drove the end of his bayonet through the young mans sternum. The young rebel issued forth a gurgle as he looked down at the long knife in his body.
As he reached for it with shaking hands, a horrified look on his features, Jericus twisted his lasgun thus twisting the bayonet and ensuring the man would die. As he pulled the bayonet from the soon to be dead youth the teenager issued another pained noise, something between a gasp and a gurgle. Then the youth's body finally went limp as the life left his still shocked face.
With his task done Jericus walked calmly back to his squad and resumed his previous place. He gave me a look… I think I couldn't really tell. The metal skull motif fashioned to his gasmask further alienated him from a human.
"Watchmaster B-63 I believe we have business to discuss." Sergeant Grime stated pulling me from my staring contest with Jericus and toward the conversation about to occur.
"Yes, now that the enemy has been dealt with it will be nice to know what you and your scouting party have discovered." Watchmaster B-63 said briskly.
"Not much I'm afraid the rebels don't seem to be on the western side of this block at all. I'd say the bulk of their forces have retreated farther north into the industrial sector of this level." Grime paused for a moment, "How 'bout you? Obviously you've encountered some resistance."
"Yes… and not only in this area. We've had several skirmishes on our way here. But, I agree with your assessment. I believe the bulk of their forces have retreated farther north." B-63 paused as if considering something, "I believe we should continue our pursuit of the rebel forces. Provide command with as much information as we can."
"Agreed, I'll have my vox operator relay the news to command. Maybe see if we can get support from the Randon. Their aerial drop troops will come in handy if we run into a force too big for us to take on our own." Grime responded quickly.
"Proper thinking sergeant," B-63 gave a curt nod of approval. Sergeant Grime had me vox in the news and information to command before we moved on. With that our combined forces began to move northward toward the industrial sector and toward thousands of rebel troopers. I'm sure I wasn't the only one in the squad whose stomach froze at the thought. Sergeant Grime had that stoic resolve as always, forged from years on the frontlines. The blanks as usual just didn't seem to care… including Jericus.
A/N: Aye I know first person again, sorry to those of you who may not like the perspective, but I felt it might be good to really get the characters perspectives on their first actual taste of combat. Hope the action didn't disappoint, there'll be quite a bit more in the coming chapters as well.
Please kindly R&R ladies and gentlemen, give me your feedback, it gives me something to strive for, yes? A special thanks to ArdanTheWolf, TheImperious, drSpliff, and BIBOTOT for the reviews, see you next week.
300-709.