On board the Emperor's dagger
It had been a few weeks since he first met his squad and they were well within the middle of "basic training" as the instructors called it. In essence they were geared up and prepared for extensive training once they reached the local mustering point, a moon called Kheive, where they would receive further development and finally know what service they were going to preform. Normally each world would provide it's own regiments, with many worlds specializing in one aspect of warfare. This method produced a large number of specialized formations that were intentionally handicapped to avoid giving imperial guard commanders too much power.
Jeffrey didn't know why that was nor did he know why the process was different now, and didn't particularly care either, since whatever the reason was it wouldn't change the reality he found himself in. And what a reality it was, he thought to himself as he hunched over, panting after another grueling bout of physical training. PT, as the instructors called it, mostly consisted of push ups, sit ups, crunches, and weight training as well as running through designated corridors. The Emperor's dagger was an old vessel, several thousand years old, and had once been a ship of the line according to the crew before it was stripped of much of its weapons and armor and turned into a sort of mobile "training hub" for picking up new recruits and depositing them to their likely swift deaths.
PT was far from the only mandatory activity, they were also given lessons on hand to hand combat, painful less at that. They were also taken to makeshift ranges where they were each introduced to the lasgun. The lasguns they used were specifically the "Mars" pattern though what meant was lost to Jeffrey and likely the others as well. The recoil, to be more accurate, the lack thereof, surprised him since he could see that some claimed that lasguns had recoil. Perhaps other patterns did, or maybe those that spread that rumor were lying, in the end it didn't matter. The sheer speed of the beam made aiming easy, and the nobs on the side of the rifle made it possible it adjust the strength of the beam. Stronger beams wore out the barrel faster and burned through the charge packs, the charge packs were solar powered and thus could be charged in a variety of conditions.
When not busy with PT and getting used to their equipment such as the aforementioned lasguns as well as frag grenades and flak armor, there were few options to waste time. Other than sleeping, there were some books, most of which were either blatant propaganda of little value or were religious documents which Jeffrey had little interest in. His aversion to the imperial cult had little to do with its theology or historical claims, which he had neither the knowledge or will to prove or disprove, but instead had mostly to do with the conduct of its adherents. He was disgusted by the blatant hypocrisy of the so called "faithful" who seemed to selectively apply scriptures to themselves but instead harshly judged others. He was smart enough to keep this objection to himself and pay lip service to the cult when needed.
His only options to pass the time involved spending time in the company of the other recruits. Whether it was watching old video recordings or listening to vox dramas and playing games, he was forced to interact with the others. He spent the vast majority of this with his squad, rationalizing that if he any hope of survival, it would be deepening his bonds with his squadmates. He found Ifa the easiest to get along with, he found the countryman to be humble and honest, two traits there were quite rare in the upper nobility of his homeworld. Ladislo he found to be a bit annoying but he did respect the devout man for unlike so he had seen before, Ladislo was at least consistent with what he espoused to believe. He would even help to encourage others, offering kind words and an ear to listen to the grievances of others. Ivo Tobias, was much the opposite in that regard, for would often cut jokes at the expense of others, which had gotten the whole squad in trouble when Ivo insulted the wrong guy and a fight broke out that eventually engulfed not only both squads but several others as well.
The resulting disciplinary actions from the instructors mellowed Ivo out a bit, but much of his attitude remained. Jeffrey was under the impression that Ivo's betrayal at the hands of his former gang had more of an effect than he let on, Jeffrey was no therapist however and kept that thought to himself. After the a long round of PT the group decided to cool down with a card game, a supposedly ancient tradition of playing cards and earning points based one's ability to wagger how successfully they can maneuver their hand of cards against their opponents. He had heard that it was called "clubs trump" but what that name meant was unknown.
"So, what do you think we are going to be assigned?" Ifa said, choosing to break the ice as the cards were passed out and the squad each made their predictions.
"I don't know, infantry maybe?" Jeffrey replied, he was too tired to think of anything else.
"I hope not, I have had my fill of running around. Besides, I don't want to ruin these pristine boots" Ifa half joked, the nature of their drab, rundown, fatigues and gear was often the butt of jokes.
"Does it matter, we are all frakked anyway" spat Ivo. Both Ifa and Jeffrey groaned, both having likely grown tired of the constant reminders of their imminent mortality.
"Would it kill you to be more upbeat?" Ifa quipped back.
"I agree, you discount yourself and the Emperor with such pessimism. Surely whatever we are assigned we will do it well" Ladislo commented. Ivo only laughes as a response as the four continued on to play the game in relative silence, the four of them likely too tired to think much. The game was interrupted by an announcement over the intercom, apparently they were about to find out what their as they had reach their destination and were to prepare for landing onto the moon Kheive.
Jeffrey had mixed emotions as they prepared to descend, on one hand it would be nice to find out what they were going to actually do, but on the other he was nervous about it as well. He prayed earnestly for the first time in years that they would be given a cushy job behind the frontlines. Over the past few days he heard increasingly worrying reports and rumors of the Orks they were going to be facing most likely. He had heard the Ork Warboss Krug was stronger than a hundred men, he could tear a sentinel in half and even rip turrets off of hulls. It was also said that his Nobs, or lieutenants as far the greenskins were concerned, were fearsome in their own right. Surely, Jeffrey thought, the mighty Astartes would deal with such a foe or so he hoped as he thd thoughts of ever returning seemed more and more remote.