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It had been exactly a week, three days, five hours, and approximately 45 minutes since you and your squad had been assigned to this platoon defending this section of the trench line and hadn’t seen much trouble from the offensive Tau front. While the other Guardsman were at ease and enjoying the peace, you and the other Kriegsman toiled about in frustration. You were all taught that your lives were the Emperor’s to use, that your bodies were smeared in your ancestors’ sins and dying in the name of the Emperor was the only way to atone. So, it greatly displeased your squad that you were unable to fight and serve the Emperor. Even your squad leader, who had fought and survived six battles, started bugging the Sergeant to be reassigned.
On this day, you stood watch no man’s land, daring something, anything, to pop up for you to shoot. “Kriegsman 2520…” called out a Kriegsman comrade. “Ja, comrade!” You answer back, coming down from the pillbox to meet him. “You see anything up there?” He asked as you came down, slightly hopeful. He was a literal clone like you and sported the same dark gasmask, grey helmet and trench coat, lasgun slung behind his shoulder and the standard issued breathing operative (I don’t know what it’s called but it’s the thing that lets them breathe fresh air) strapped to his chest.
“Nien, by now I think the Xeno have either withdrawn or are planning something, it has been more then 11 days since the last charge as far as I heard.” You inquired, thinking it only logical. “By the Goft Emperor, I hope it is the latter.” Your comrade retorted stubbornly as he turned. “Calm yourself… The Emperor always provides.” You said as he started to walk off, knowing how he feels about being sinful and not being able to atone for it.
You decided to go get yourself a ration pack for the next few days, having finished your earlier one a day prior. As you made your way through the trenches to the Rations Station, you pondered what the Xeno were up to. You hypothesized that after so much fighting, the blue skins wouldn’t just stop advancing after all they sacrificed, believing it to be even too foolish for them, so you claimed they were planning something, but then you asked what were they possible planning for so long.
You continued to ponder as you arrived at the station and entered the line for a ration. As you waited, you thought of a few possible tactics they could be planning that were taking them so long. Possibly an aerial attack? Or rallying of immense amounts of troops? Perhaps they were digging tunnels underground? You finally broke out of thought once your turn came up in line.
A standard Imperial Guardsman stood at the station, out of armor, sporting a green sleeveless undershirt and light-tannish trousers and a clipboard in hand. “Let me guess, you here for a snack, Krieger?” He sneered. “Nien, I was going to ask if I could get another 3-day food pack (I don’t know the name of it but from what I remember it’s this small pack, kind of like a Caprison pack, but practically eating the contents of the pack makes you last for multiple days without food, from what I remember it was developed in Krieg, but idk), I had finished my last one and I wish to acquire it early for later.” You explained calmly, you didn’t understand why, but this specific Guardsman always seemed unfriendly to your kind.
“Yeah, about that… I am going to decline it because you fail to give valid reasoning. Sorry, now run along and go die or whatever…” He annoyedly said and quickly got ready to ask for next in line. “I did give a valid reason, I am picking it up early for the sake of not being a nuisance later on, we have enough rations to last, and I am giving a reasonable explanation for my request.” You cut him off and stayed rooted to your spot. “Are you deaf? I said denied.” He retorted back angrily.
“But for what reason? My request is simple, explanation clear and it’s asked at a reasonable time when we’ve received another load of rations from the Imperium not long ago and everyone has had time to eat. So, please answer why.” You asked insistently. “Because we’re running low on the 3-day food-pack (I don’t know the name, like I explained above), so shoo!” He said as he made a shooing motion with his hands, signaling you away like some animal.
“You do realize I have been looking at your clipboard for the past few minutes and have read your whole list and how much there is in storage. There are currently 138 3-day food-packs (again don’t know the name) in storage according to it, which is considerably higher than ‘low.’” You return matter-of-factly, showing that you clearly know he is doing this because of his hatred. “You gasmask wearing motherfu-“ He starts but then gets cut off with a palm connecting with his face and pushes him backwards.
His partner in the assignment, wearing similar attire to him, had come from behind him and entered in between you, “Sorry for the trouble, comrade. Here is your ration, however if you come back, I won’t have any chance of helpin’ you out. So, don’t make it a reoccurrin’ thing, alright?” He explained calmly, handing you your requested ration. “Thank you, comrade.” You respond back and finally exit out of the station; glad you received a ration instead of getting one by force.
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Approximately 6 hours and 44 minutes and 25 seconds later, the sky had turned into a dark, calming sky it is now 21:56:12 in the day. You had gone back to staying on watch in the pillbox as this was your task till next week. All was dubiously peaceful, or at least dubious for you and your fellow Kriegsman, like something was brewing on the horizon that you couldn’t prove with mere words.
The Cadian that was assigned to assist you was drunk off his rear, idiotic like all the rest whom you saw relaxing in the trench. The silence of the trench was not a reprieve to you, a mere malfunction in the machinery of war. You checked your chronometer again. 21:58:03.
Then, you noticed that air suddenly grew heavy, ionized by a shift in energy you couldn't see but could feel in the rattling of your rebreather’s intake valve.
Then, when you looked out towards no man’s land, the horizon vanished to your eyes.
Then you watched as if about five blue lights arched over the no-man's land. Then, they hit the support pillars of the forward pillboxes and the trenches fronts. There was no scream of incoming shells, only the thrum-crack of superheated air expanding.
"CONTACT!" a voice screamed from down the line, followed immediately by the shouts of people suddenly screaming orders and shouts of war.
You watched without flinching as the pillbox beside you disintegrated in a spray of ferro-crete dust, quickly shouldering your lasgun. As you looked out again, through the green tint of your lenses, you saw them: the XV8 Crisis Suits, descending on plumes of white fire, and the shimmering outlines of Stealth Suits emerging from the gloom. "The Emperor provides," you whispered into your mask. The time for repentance is near.
The Sergeant's whistle blew—a shrill, desperate sound that meant the line was to be defended at all costs. The regular Guardsmen were scrambling back, their morale breaking under the precision of the Xeno fire and some turning and doing their best to hold the line.
You quickly look over at the Heavy Stubber in your pillbox and quickly rush over. The Cadian who had been slumped in the corner was no longer drunk; he was catatonic, staring at the stump of his arm where a pulse round had cauterized the limb instantly, blood practically fountaining out of the stub. You stepped over him without a second glance. To a Krieger, a broken tool is simply an obstacle to be cleared.
The pillbox groaned, dust raining from the reinforced ceiling as the Tau drew closer. You reached for the Heavy Stubber mounted on the swivel pintle. It was a massive, blocky weapon, its twin barrels cold and hungry. "Kriegsman 2520, engaging," you stated into the squad vox, though you didn't wait for an acknowledgment as you slammed your palms against the spade grips and kicked the ammo crate closer with your heel.
The first Tau Fire Warriors were emerging from the treeline, their white-and-ochre armor ghost-like in the strobing light of the explosions. They moved with a fluid grace that disgusted you. These Xenos do not deserve the air that fills their lungs.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The weapon kicked back into your chest with a rhythmic, bone-jarring force. You didn't fire in bursts like the manuals suggested; you held the trigger, sweeping the heavy explosive bolts in a deadly arc across the muddy flats of no-man's land. A Fire Warrior was caught mid-stride in your barrage, a .75 caliber bolt detonating inside his chest piece and turning his high-tech armor into a spray of blue-tinted shrapnel. You saw a Crisis Suit hover briefly, its fusion blaster glowing. You shifted your aim, the heavy rounds clanging off its energy shields, forcing the pilot to bank away and give your comrades a precious few seconds to regroup.
The heat began to rise from the barrels, shimmering in the cool night air. The smell of spent promethium and burnt ozone filled your mask, more intoxicating than any ration.
The belt was feeding fast—too fast. The clatter of the empty casings hitting the ferro-crete floor sounded like rain on a tin roof. You saw a fresh wave of Kroot mercenaries leaping over the first line of spiked wire, their predatory shrieks audible even over the roar of battle.
You pivoted the gun to meet them, thumbing the trigger— Click.
The mechanical snap of an empty chamber echoed in the cramped space. You reached down, hand searching for the next ammo tin, but your fingers met only the cold, corrugated metal of the floor. You looked down. The crate was empty. The reserve belt was gone.
Beyond the slit of the pillbox, the blue lights of the Tau were getting closer. The "peace" you had hated was gone, replaced by the beautiful, violent clarity of your final purpose. You quickly grabbed your lasgun and took aim firing until you spend all the ammo in it trying to kill any Tau forces you have firepower for. When your mag finishes you load another and start firing again. Then your second magazine finishes, you turn to leave. You quickly rushed out, trying to find anything to hold back the Tau longer.
Then you saw it… a half-opened chest from the Adeptus Mechanicus filled with standard Imperium explosives. You pulled out the satchel of Melta-charges and Frag grenades, heavy and cold, and began to loop the straps around your torso, cinching them tight against your greatcoat.
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*Coming soon, still writing in my free time.*