Chapter Text
Fighting against impossible odds and watching my own allies die... it was nothing new to me, but as I stare out at the green hoard quickly approaching our position, I remember now that I’ll never be used to it. Looking away, I see my trench dug in the ground of this planet filled with corpses. Never was much of a dreamer, so I was surprised to see myself back here, the day I watched my regiment die. I look around the trench filled with dead, examining each body and recognizing each one. Nosh, Krill, Ik... I could go on, instead? I close my eyes...
And open them to see the hull of a transport shuttle.
A soft groan leaves me as I lean my head back against the cold metal of the supply transport, my hand brushes against my graying beard and then through my mutually colored hair. While I haven’t been keeping good track, I’ve got to be around fiftyish years old now. Looking around the cramped munition storage filled with anti-armor projectiles and lasguns, I wonder where the throne we were even going. Of course, there wasn’t a briefing, yeah plenty of questioning and interrogating over the carnage that was my latest battle, but nothing that tells me what my fate will be now. The shake of my head chases those thoughts off, even after all these years I still have such heretical thinking.
‘No’ I tell myself, ‘ Just tired’
The shuddering of the shuttle jolts me out of my head as it slows to a stop, the loading ramp opens to the bright light of an Imperial Space Station launch bay. Dead-eyed servitors grab the carts of weaponry and munitions with their large mechanical claws and wheel them away around me.
Taking my que, I gather the only items I brung with me, a plasma pistol and a deactivated curved power sword. Typically, it would take serious connections for a commissar alone to get their hands on gear like this. That’s why it isn’t mine, technically. commissar Bith was one of the better ones, certainly elite, I honestly respected the man. But the large caliber bullet that flew to his face, didn’t.
Speaking of which, a commissar stood at the end of the ramp to greet me. He wore the standard black great coat with a red inside along with a golden lining and the black peaked officer cap. Judging by his age of around 20-or-so and the fact that he’s personally there to greet me, he must be a junior one. He spots me and stands straighter, clearing his throat.
“Sergeant Blitz Cilan” The junior commissar says, “You are to attend a briefing from Commissar-Captain Ishmar”
“A commissar-captain?” That sentence could fill a man with pride or dread. Me? A little bit of both, “Why? What’s my new regiment?”
Instead of answering, the commissar-to-be simply turns and starts marching off further down the hangar, offering a single word of elaboration: “Follow”
Well, it's some direction.
We walk deep into the hangar, cold, uninviting metal covers the floors, walls, and ceiling with snaking tubes and pipes running along it all. Little to no shuttles are docked back here, even servitors are few around these parts. The junior commissar stops, folding his hands behind his back. I catch up to him and look ahead.
Had to make a confused double take.
A group of ten guardsmen all clearly from different regiments and home worlds wait in front of an Aquila Lander transport shuttle. An aged Vostroyan with his red coat, fur hat, and respirator sits on a crate at the far right. His left arm had been replaced with a mechanical one and his chest is decorated with three medals as he ignores a guy with metalic armor and a helmet reminiscent of Skitarii Vanguard ones, Indigan I think they were called, mouthing off to him about some latest achievement.
Looking past them, a Kriegsman practices prayers from a holy book. The Krieger doesn’t wear a gas mask which was a rare sight, but he still wears the identifiable blue coat and black helmet of the Death Korps. I’m able to see another further back away from the group, him dawning a gas mask unlike the other, he has a Long-las strapped to his back as he stares at the praying one, he seems bugged by the holy man.
He’s not the only observer, a young lad nearing the age of adulthood also watches the group but in a curious way, red tinted binoculars hang loosely off his neck. His uniform is hardly identifiable from other standard regiments mimicking good’ol Cadian ones so I can’t assume what home world he’s from.
More towards the middle of the odd gathering is a big man who is dressed in Armageddon garbs, like Krieg’s except a different, yellow-colored coat and slightly different gas mask. He grins wildly as he shows off a necklace of Ork teeth to a Tallarn lady. Missing an eye and in desert garbs, she listens half-interested as the Armageddion laughs loudly about a story he’s telling. Something tells me he was an Ork Hunter, just a hunch.
A loud crackle and pop causes me to jolt. I turn to see a vox communicator being dialed by a Minervan in a torn gray uniform and a cracked wide lensed gas mask. He adjusts something and it seems to calm whatever cranky machine spirit that was in that equipment.
Finally, another Cadian-akin regiment guardsman, serious-looking one who carried a glowing blue plasma gun, discusses with, who I guess is, Commissar-Captain Ishmar on the ramp of the Aquila Lander. He looks past the commissar’s head and spots me, notifying Ishmar by pointing me out.
Commissar Ishmar was nearing his sixties; I could tell from his more aged face. His ornamental uniform is well polished, and his graying hair has been swept to the back. He walks down the shuttle ramp, eyeing me before sweeping his gaze across the room, the lad with the binoculars takes notice but nobody else does.
“Line up!” Commissar Ishmar says in the typical authoritative voice.
What little discussions happening halt, and everyone drops what they’re doing to line up in varying degrees of respect, I wind up at the end of the line-up next to binocular lad. The junior commissar walks to left of Ishmar as the man inspects each of us, clearing his throat.
“You may wonder why you all have been gathered here instead of joining your new regiment” Ishmar walks back and forth in front of us, “As I’m sure you are all aware of the standard protocol when one’s entire regiment is terminated”
The room is silent for a moment. No one addresses that statement. Ishmar even stands still to scrutinize most of us with a glare.
“Some of you know and some of you don’t know that you’ve been placed in the 15th Death Korps regiment” Great. The plasma gunner and the two Kriegers seem to have been aware of this. The others weren’t and the Armageddon Ork Hunter especially wasn’t.
“WOT!?” He says in a cockney accent, using a mix of standard low gothic and Orkish words, “Ya meanz I gotta fight with these sulkin’ gitz!?”
The Krieger with the holy book scoffs at him, “You dare insult us, brute?”
“Oi you bet I am!” The tough fella spits at the ground, “And wot are ya gonna do bout’ it? Read me te death? HA!”
“As if you could even comprehend what this holy scripture even says” The man snips back.
The Minervan with the vox on his back ignores their bickering and instead addresses Ishmar, stating in a dull, neutral voice, “But...”
“But we are aware that integrating you all would be wasted effort, so officially you are all serving in the frontlines against the greenskin scum alongside the Death Korps’ 15th regiment on the hive world Ballarkar, but unofficially...” He stops one last time, standing in the front of us all again, “You are a squad sent to bolster the defense of a listening post situated on the outskirts of the hive city, away from the main conflict to focus on sabotaging the Greenskin forces-”
“Wait wait wait...” While the rest of us are still processing this information, the Ork Hunter interrupts, “You sayin’ we’z gonna be krumpin- I mean killing Orks good and proper?”
“...Yes” The commissar-captain slowly replied, “The Enginseer located at the listening post has requested aid-”
“Oright, I 'eard nough, ya need some brains bashed in an’ need us te do it” Does this guy know he’s talking to a commissar? It’s a miracle this guy hasn’t been shot in the head yet for insubordination, “Let’s move it lads!”
“Stay. Right. There.” Ishmar looks like he’s ready to brawl him, it at least makes the Ork acting fella remain in his spot for a bit longer, “We are not done yet, Sergeant Blitz, step forth”
Resting my hand over the hilt of the un-powered power saber clipped to my belt, I walk forward. Muttering out a short “sir” as I glance at the line-up. Out of all of them the lad with his binoculars irked me the most. Something about those calm, bright blue eyes were strange in a way I couldn’t exactly explain. I opted to look back at the speaking commissar instead.
“You are to lead squad 905 and report back to us for the duration of your deployment, Nicarith Blarki the Twenty-First, step forth”
“The twentieth, actually-” The Indigan walks up, his smugness palpable.
Ishmar ignores him, “You will be the confidant to Sergeant Blitz, second-in-command and will take charge if it must come to it”
“Very well! Rest assured, I will not fail-”
“Now, enough time has come to pass” He continues on, the junior commissar starts passing multi-colored Krieg uniforms, I was handed a green one, “You will change into your new regimental clothing and enter the shuttle, where you will be taken to the outpost to eliminate the invading greenskins”
We quickly change out of our old uniforms into the Death Korps ones, except for the two Kriegsmen. After we do so the binocular boy raises a hand up. He was given a green coat as well. Ishmar looks at him before sighing, begrudgingly permitting him to speak.
“Sir, why are the coats... different colors?” The boy spoke in a soft voice, genuine confusion tinging it, “Is it supposed to correlate with our home worlds or?”
“Manufactorum technical difficulties, or the Mechanicus are testing new design schemes, whatever the reason is don’t concern you, guardsmen” the commissar moves on without further elaboration, “Start boarding, the supplies you’ll need are already stored on-board"
Despite clearly wanting to inquire further, the boy decides wisely that silence was the best option. Following the others, he boards the Aquila Lander. As I board, the commissar says one more thing before the ramp fully closes, “Oh yes, and do be warned that high levels of pollution have made the air quite difficult to breath in, I do suggest you put those gas masks on tight when you land”
Before I can even turn around the ramp clamps shut as it finishes lifting up. The audible sound of it sealing up can be heard from inside. Taking a seat between the boy with binoculars and Sicarith, I feel the shuttle begin to take off from the hangar.
Conversations pick up as I close my eyes, one prevailing thought passing through my mind.
‘This won’t end well...’