"Flying is simple. You just throw yourself at the ground and miss."- ?

This is my first combat jump… that's all I think of as I stand in the Valkyrie, my grav-chute prepped and ready. My bright red uniform complete with full helmet—currently with its polarized ballistic faceplate down—made me doubt myself. It felt like I was a bright red screaming target. And according to my drill sergeant in basic that's exactly what I was supposed to be. Being in the somewhat cramped space of the valkyrie with about a dozen or so other troopers didn't help with my doubts; especially since the veterans had been hazing the next recruits.

When Surris' sons and daughters where called upon by the guard my name was drawn and so I was conscripted into the 145th Randon Drop Troopers, 'Splats' for short. Specializing in hard-hitting airborne assault tactics, our drill sergeant made it clear that the color of the uniform represented the blood spilt by previous generations of drop troopers. The veterans say our uniforms are red so that if we go splat the color will match the blood and guts.

Suffice it to say none of this did anything to stop my stomach from trying to dig its way out of my body where it sat. To think that on Surris I was a daughter to a high-ranking Manufactorum superintendant. Strange how the war made everyone equals; I was drafted and sent to fight along with even the lowliest of line workers. I was supposed to inherit my father's position; with no sons and my mother dead—Emperor rest her soul—he had been grooming me for it.

Then came the orks, the guard, and the conscription; and now here I am waiting to step out of the Valkyrie 'Twisted Grox' and fall into what seemed a bottomless abyss of tangled skyways and buildings to assault a manufacturing plant and be the distraction for a bunch of ground-pounders whose job it was to blow it up. How could my life have come to this?

My name is Raltia Lupa and this is going to be my first 'hot jump' as the veterans say. The pilot thumps the metal door to the cockpit three times… the signal to our sergeant that we're about five minutes from our drop point. Of course this calls for Sergeant Aenid Joss to make an inspirational speech to all twelve of us. I have to admit the blood colored armor looks imposing on her, ballistic faceplate up, her striking features marred by a single scar down the left side of her face starting from her temple, down across her cheek, and ending at her jaw-line. Even with the scar she looked good… no wonder the male veterans were so 'inspired' by her.

She abruptly cut off my thoughts as she began to speak. "Alright boys and girls, in about four minutes the doors are gonna open and we are gonna make the leap of faith." She paused for a moment looking in my direction where I and the other rookies were. "This is for you new people. You remember your training; you'll make it… maybe. Don't worry, the boys, and I'll look out for ya down there." She paused and flipped her faceplate down its shiny polarized visage completing the look.

Abruptly she thrust her left fist into the air, "gory, gory." Her proclamation reverberates through the small space.

"Helluva way to die!" The veterans answer back thunderously. A pre-battle tradition, rookies aren't aloud to participate in it until after their first combat drop. The three rookies, me included all fidget and seem reluctant around these vets.

The flyboy gives five taps on the metal door and the Twisted Grox opens up as we make our final approach. We all stand making final preparations to our specially made skeleton lasguns, checking our grav-chutes, and firmly securing our spike-hatchets.

"Feet first boy and girls; see you splats on the ground!" And then Sergeant Joss is gone having hurled herself from the now hovering valkyrie. We rookies have been strategically placed in-front of the rest of the vets so as to discourage any second thoughts. Even if we had any they'd still push us out, as their jeers and frighteningly cheery comments remind us. I feel my guts clench as I near the open portal, the footfalls of my boots and those of the others thunderous against the metal floor.

Time seems to slow down as I finally step out of the Twisted Grox and then I'm falling… all while thinking that this is my first drop. Gory, gory right? The cityscape surrounding us is a blur as we plummet toward the objective. I think I can see the Sergeant; she seems nothing more than a speck of red. I find myself in awe; this hive city is so big! I thought the manufactorums on Surris were big, but city 34 makes them seem like ants in comparison.

My training tells me that I only have about ten seconds of fall time before I have to deploy the chute. I can hear the other rookies breathing heavy through my vox link, the vets are a mixture between shouts of exuberance and almost maniacal laughter. Three more seconds according to my internal count, it feels like an eternity. Two, my hand is reflexively reaching for the deployment mechanism. One, I hit the switch and I suddenly feel like I'm floating instead of plummeting to my death. The ground is only seconds away and I can see the sergeant already on the ground along with other Randon troops from our squad setting up an offensive pattern. The manufacturing plant is only about fifty yards away and the rebels have already noticed us and begun to shoot.

Another few seconds and my feet hit the rockcrete, I feel the impact rush through my legs, and before I can recover my training has me reaching for my lasgun. I make my way to the sergeant, take position in the pattern, and make a squelch over the vox-line to signal my landing. Everyone is waiting for the order to go, not one will advance until everyone has landed. I hear the series of squelches as I wait the precious few seconds for the others to land. We're crouched low to avoid the worst of the enemies' fire; abandoned autocabs and rubble provide good cover.

There is a sickening sound to my right, a cross between and thump and a wet crack. I look over and see a crumpled red body on the ground, blood seeping in a vague outline around it.

"There goes one of the new bloods," was heard from my left.

"Shut it Flair! Get the tags. The rest of you advance and concentrate fire on their center." This voice was Sergeant Joss. Her voice seemed distant, even though I knew she couldn't be that far away. The vets around me began to advance, staying in the loose wedge shaped pattern we formed upon landing. I feel frozen to the ground my hands are shaking, the lasgun in them sounds like some cheap toy clattering around. I can't take my eyes off the body.

"Rookie! Get your shit in gear and advance with the formation!" The veterans admonishing remark is like a boot to my hindquarters. My head snaps around and I see that he is looking back at me pointedly. Even through his faceplate I can tell he is not pleased with my distraction. I nod dumbly and then quickly run to where I'm supposed to be in the pattern. Once there it's as simple as firing when the veterans do in the general direction of the enemy. After all we're just the distraction; we don't really have to kill anything.

"Lets send these rebels to the warp boys, ha,ha,ha"

Unfortunately all Randon born troopers seem to be psychotic; so I'm probably gonna have my first kill today whether I want it or not… or I could go the way of that other rook. I don't think I even got to know his name; they group us randomly with veterans from the regiment, so the friends I made aren't even in the same squad as me.

These thoughts fly through my head in seconds as my body works on pure instinct in the outside world. I fire my lasgun in bursts, just like the others on the line. Every once in a while I'll hear a staccato of sustained fire before the Sergeant reminds whoever is doing it to stop, rather loudly I might add.

I'm starting to be able to see the rebels now, their heads popping up from behind their fortifications every so often to gauge if they can kill one of us before we kill them. The autocabs and chunks of rubble are starting to get scarce and our assault is starting to slow down. I keep pleading for it to stop in my mind, if only so I can hopefully live through this. The vids are such a lie, there is no sense of glory in me, only fear that the next shot in a rebels autorifle is for me.

I see a head pop up from the cover of the rebel barricade and instantly adjust my aim to the bright blond hair standing out against the grey backdrop; I notice the face is surprisingly young and looks about as frightened as I feel. A burst of fire from my lasgun later and the rebels head seemingly pops like an overripe melon. There is a surprising amount of gore despite the lasbeams cauterizing effects. His body slumps forward, lifeless and falls in an undignified heap over the rebel line. I pause in my firing for a second… this is my first kill.

I feel a kind of guilt, even if the boy I just killed was a rebel; it doesn't change the fact that he was just a boy, probably younger than I am. It is not long before the vet from before notices my pause. "Rook start firing, Emperor damn you before I shove that lasgun up your arse!"

The gruff demand gets me back into action and I continue my part in the assault. We've gained quite a bit of ground now and the battle seems to be turning in our favor. The center of the rebel line seems to be imploding on itself because of our concentrated lasfire. Frightened rebels start to retreat further into the manufacturing plant proper; they're cut down, shot in the back as they run for the supposed safety of the doors.

Now our advance has stopped, we make due with the cover we have. Sergeant Joss holds up her arm, fist closed to signal the end of the advance.

"Alright, boys and girls can't get any closer. Once those charges go off you don't want to be near that building, unless you wanna be a red smear." She stated. Our section of the line stopped afterwards and the other squads followed soon after.

Now we where just pouring on the lasfire to keep the rebels at bay and keep them oriented in our direction; it's a good thing they don't seem to have mortars. The fighting continued on like this for a while. Trading volley's of fire as each side tried to take out the other. It wasn't long before the rebels seemed to notice that something was off, their attacks seeming to become even more spaced out and almost hesitant.

Then a slight hissing sound barely audible over the sounds of battle, followed by a much louder cacophony of roaring blasts as the melta-charges finally went off. The rebels recoiled with fright as the manufacturing plant behind them began to collapse. They seemed to forget all about us as most turned with stupefied expressions on their faces. I too watched on, more amazed that the enemy had literally turned around and was now ignoring us. It was then that I was yanked down by none other than Sergeant Joss herself.

"You wanna get smeared rook!" She snarled through clenched teeth. The meaning was lost on me, sure I was looking in the direction of the enemy and slightly out of cover, but the enemy wasn't paying attention to us. Suddenly a new earth shattering series of blasts which dwarfed that of the melta-charges was heard, and an unholy heat seemed to roll over the cover we had as the blastwave made its way outward from the source.

My body felt like it was being baked under the hot sun of some distant world on a particularly hellish summer day; I had never felt something so hot, Surris was frigid on a warm day. Oh well, at least I wasn't on fire, after the roar of the flames and explosion died down I gathered my senses. I looked to see Sergeant Joss peering cautiously over our cover, after a tentative moment I stood up slowly to join her, as did the others.

"What the keck was that." I whispered, my voice trembling. Sergeant Joss turned to me, the smooth visage of her ballistic plate obscuring any expression.

"That is what happens when you set a couple of melta-charges off in a manufacturing plant filled with munitions." She replied, amusement clearly evident in her voice. I looked at her and felt my head nodding dumbly, as if of its own volition. She chuckled slightly at my action, "rooks, you all act the same,"

Now the destruction before us held my full attention. The huge manufacturing plant was now a blown-out husk, the structures few remaining supports giving it the look of a giants skeleton. Dust seemingly saturated the air—no doubt the remains of the now decimated structure—I coughed a bit, the ballistic plate of my helmet did little to filter the air. Looking to either side of me was kind of creepy; the many guardsmen looked like ghosts in the dust filled air. The fact that we all had our polarized ballistic plates down made the scene even worse to look at.

Kinda reminded me of the guardsmen from the Hoarfell regiment calling the Death Korps blanks. You couldn't see our faces either… then again those I've met so far in the Randon 145th don't act like borderline servitors. No, they all seem a bit too unhinged to be like the blanks.

Anyway, the area was in seriously bad shape and at the moment everyone seems to be waiting for the order to move out. The tension from the silence is starting to eat away at my already thin resolve and it doesn't seem to be letting up. I can't help myself; Sergeant Joss is right next to me. What could be the harm in asking, right?

"Ma'am, what are we waiting for?" My question is straight forward and in a low tone, again barely above a whisper. I can't help it; it seems to be a nervous habit.

She doesn't even turn her head as she answers, "We're waiting for the team that set the charges. They are to rendezvous with us here… if they survived the blast that is. As it stands they have a timeframe of ten minutes, otherwise we have to leave them behind."

I nodded, even though I know she isn't looking at me or expects a response. I go back to looking at the husk of the building and the dust choked air seemingly swirling around it. There doesn't seem to be any life in the dying flames of the building and I have serious doubts that the team who set the charges made it out in time.

One thing was for sure the rebels who had been guarding the manufacturing plant were definitely not going to walk out of that. Listening closely I could pick up pained moans coming from the wreckage of the plant. And taking a more thorough look into the fogginess of the dust I could make out a body, one of the rebels no doubt. Seems I was wrong, one of them did seem to survive the blast. The man staggered around in a daze; the details were lost in the all obscuring dust, but I could make out that he was missing his right arm. He also seemed to be clutching a stomach wound.

He held up his arm toward something and before anyone said anything the sharp crack and flash of a lasgun broke through the scene. The lasbolt flew straight through the man's skull, punching out what was the back of his head. Then following the spectacle shapes began to appear in the haze. Sergeant Joss made a quick hand signal, the one meant to say 'aim, but don't shoot until I say so'. Everyone obeyed; it probably wasn't as organized as usual because of myself and the other rookies. Still, the approaching figures were all lined up in our sights, and ready to be put down at a moments notice.

"Halt!" Sergeant Joss yelled out, clear even with her faceplate down. The figures about a dozen of them or so all in a loose formation similar to us stopped. "State your rank and designation or we will open fire." Her voice carried clearly over the ambient sounds of the destruction in-front of us.

"Watchmaster B-63, 82nd Death Korps grenadiers, along with elements of Hoarfell 125th Rangers," the figure at the head of the formation answered back.

"Approach slowly." Sergeant Joss responded, very business-like. The figures began to come forward until finally they were visible through the haze. The Skulled masks were distinctive, there was no doubt that these were Death Korps; the few tattered olive green uniforms and scarves among them constituted the elements from the Hoarfell 125th and further confirmed their identity.

Sergeant Joss made another gesture and we all averted the muzzles of our lasguns from our fellow guardsmen. "Sorry B-63, can't be too cautious, you understand?" Sergeant Joss said with some hint of grim humor.

"Completely…" The Watchmaster paused for a moment. Luckily the sergeant caught on quickly.

"Sergeant Joss," she supplied.

The Watchmaster nodded, "I suppose we are to head south to join up with the main force then?"

"Those are my orders B-63." Joss replied without much enthusiasm.

"Very well then, lead on Sergeant Joss." The Watchmaster said with a slight gesture.

"Alright Watchmaster, just give us a minute if you would. New bloods, step forward!"

I had almost forgotten about this part, being a new blood I have to go and find my first kill, dip my hand in its blood, and put the print on my chest plate. Every Randon drop trooper has to do this; supposedly it's a long standing tradition. Our chest-plates even have a white circle on it big enough for the print to fit in; luckily it's really the action that matters more than finding your actual first kill. Still staring at the thick dust wall ahead of me I can't help but feel a little scared.

I fight it down and step forward, my hands shaking a little, looking to either side of me I can see that I was the only new blood left who had been assigned to Sergeant Joss' squad.

"You know what to do new blood," Sergeant Joss stated plainly.

"Sergeant, is this necessary? We're pressed for time here, enemy forces may very well be converging on our position as we speak," the Death Korps Watchmaster speaks up.

"As necessary as your lobotomy was blank," Sergeant Joss spits back, and then turning to me. "Well, get it done new blood."

I hesitate, and then I'm shoved forward by the vet that had been berating me the entire battle, finding my footing again I walk forward into the dust. The debris crunches softly under my feet, I can see the enemy line just ahead, the dust finally thinning out a bit. As I near the makeshift enemy line I finally see the bodies, most are crushed under fallen chunks of the manufactory.

I note that even when it was whole this manufactory would have easily fit inside the first sector of Manufactorum Glanis back on Surris… with plenty of room to spare. I shake off the errant thoughts, my mind is trying to distract me from my grisly task, and I can't wander for too long. Finally I come to the body I'm looking for, I don't really need this ones blood, any fallen enemy would do, but this is the boy I killed. I know because half his head is gone, but the strangely vibrant blonde hair still stands out, just as it did when I ended his life.

His body is small and judging from his size I could guess that he had to have been no more than fourteen standard years old. I kneel next to the body, lifting up my face-plate as I do; the vets said you have to look into the face of your first blood with your own face un-obscured as you take your reminder. They say it's so that the spirit of your first kill will look over you and keep you safe, I think it's crazy, but better safe then sorry, and I could use all the protection I can get... even if it's from a dead man.

I place my left hand into the giant wound that mars the young boys face, I really push it in despite my squeamishness, and to my horror it's like placing my hand into a bowl of stew. What remains of his gray matter squishing and squelching beneath my palm, and it's warm too. When my hand is liberally coated in his blood I pull it out.

Staring at it I could scarcely tell where the red of the blood stopped and the red of my uniform began, I guess the vets were right, the color is to make our deaths look less nasty. Finally with a wet smack I slap my hand onto the pure white circle on my chest plate, staining the virgin color with a dark red palm print. Then I take out the spray can given to me before we got on the Twisted Grox for the drop, I coated the white circle and bloody palm print with a generous amount of the spray.

It was supposed to stick to the blood and preserve it so that the trooper could never forget their first blooding. It must really work because Sergeant Joss' handprint still looks fresh as the day she put it on her chest-plate.

I stand up with a relieved sigh, this was actually the hardest part of the entire drop, at least to me it was. Giving one final glance at the boy I shudder and then put my face-plate back down. Finally I turn to make my way back to the rest of my squad, we still have to get out of here.

A/N: Okay, so hope you readers liked the chapter, I felt the action was serviceable. Kindly review if you have not already, and if you have I wouldn't say no to more ;). Thanks to all that have favorited and put this story on alert, and see you next week, or maybe midweek... depends.

300-709.