Standing over the wooden table in the small and dark bunker command room and looking over useless maps, Colonel Cole was aware of the current severity the Cadian 8th presented apon his miniscule Warband. Those blasted Black Legion Marines, all full of themselves, had thrown him and his tiny Traitor Warband of the Lost and Damned straight into a bloody ditched mud plain in order to surprise flank the Loyalist defences... yet the Loyalist bastards weren't defending. Instead a whole bloody regiment, the infamous Cadian 8th regiment, were marching straight into his bloody, three hundred man Warband.
Grumbling, Cole shivered as the dug in bunker shook from the Chaos Marine's artillery. “Dumb Marine Bastards, don't know how to fight a damned war...” Cole thought aloud. “...Just stand around looking big while we're torn to shreds eating dirt.”
“Shoulda stayed in the Guard Capt'n!”
Cole's deformed Comms man/thing, Lar 'Shit' Kre, cackled from the shadows of the bunker. “I'm a Colonel, Shit. Now Shut up.” Shit's cackling stopped short as Cole booted him in the head, smacking his head against the Comm pack. “Aw, Shit!” A slumbering trooper, who had been resting his head on the Vox leaped up. “Shit! You're bloods on me 'ead!” Shit cackled menacingly as the startled trooper pounded his fists into the already deformed Radio man's head. “Shut up!” Suddendly the trooper dropped to the ground holding a bloody broken face as Cole punched him in the nose and booted Shit into silence. “Shut up! Both of you!” Turning back towards the map covered table, Cole once again tried to concentrate. Damn! Apart from the ceaceless noise of a Friendly Artiller bombardment on his exact position there was now an annoying, moaning and bleeding Trooper, curled up on the floor in his tiny Command Room. Cole unclipped his Auto-pistol. The dark room flashed, followed by the boom of an Auto-pistol and a slumping body.
“I should have stayed in the Guard. They've got Commissars for this kind of thing. Bloody hell its hot in here. Ah, finally. Our allies have had enough with shelling us.”
Flinging aside a map, the Colonel smoothed back his hair and opening the dug-out bunker door, stepped outside into the trenches. A fierce wind roared around the Colonel, beckoning him furthur outside. Cole's uniform was that of the Cadian fatigue dress although it was completely black and dotted by the occasional red denotion of rank and the Chaos undivided symbol. The Colonel was quite tall, almost 2 meters, but his head drooped lazily and he had a habit of hunching his back, so Cole lost his natural authority of height. An orange, redish tint glared off his pale white face from the burning, bloody trenches. It was a soft face, skinny, shaven and not intended for battle, with droopy eyelids above dark, sunken eyes and a constant apathetic appearence.
All the while, the colonel smoothed back his, slick jet black hair with a skinny pale hand and strolled through the trenches observing the overturned earth works and the mangled bodies of his men littering the mud. He had made the decision to stay in the Trenches, there was no point in attacking a Regiment. Not to mention that his feeble three hundred man warband had just been almost completely destroyed by Friendly-fire. Producing a small pair of Binoculars from his tunic, Cole scanned the barren rocky plains in front of his trench, searching for the dreaded Cadian 8th.
An outline of Tanks appeared on the horizon. Imperial Tanks. He quickly counted the lumbering machines, sixty seven and increasing. With a sigh Cole dropped the binoculars and smoothed back his hair. “About time.”
Alle's Klar? Herr Kommissar