Join Date: May 2010
Location: Folkestone Kent UK
The Barranian 213th Regiment moved closer to their goal. More fearful of the words coming from their Commissars mouth and his harsh penalties for perceived cowardice and weakness then anything the rebels of Skelton Prime could throw at them.
Trooper Gar Saneck sighted the commander of this particular group of rebels in his las-rifles sights and fired, he smiled as he saw the head explode in a puff of blood and matter.
The body swayed for a moment then in a comical way still moved a few steps, like the proverbial headless chicken then fall forward into the muck and slime that weeks of battle had turned the battlefield into.
The Skelton rebellion had been going on for over three years now. The ruling elite not only breaking their loyalties to the Imperium and the Emperor which, in itself demanded a high price to pay but they then proceeded to execute all the Imperial Staff and representatives in what was now called the week of a thousand kills.
The Arbites had responded to a citywide riot in the capital of Rufforth, which, as was expected by these fierce upholders of the Emperors laws and justice, they quelled ruthlessly and effectively.
What the Emperors Justice did not expect was the outlying towns and villages to rise up in rebellion. Even as the head of the senates’ speaker fell to the ground, the second wave swarmed in.
Despite their harsh training and their famed discipline, even the Arbites could not hope to stand against such vast numbers of baying men and women. The worst crime that Saneck had heard of and one that had made him feel sick to his stomach was a group of female Arbites had tried to herd the children out of harms way.
The children, all twelve of them detonated explosives hidden on them that not only killed them but also destroyed the section house. Skelton Prime had fallen spectacually from grace.
The Astropathic Choir had sent out an emergency SOS and by the time the Imperial forces had responded all out rebellion was in force. The renegades had killed the priests and any who had sought to stop what they saw as a righteous war against the tyranny of the Emperor.
This had also made them ripe for other less savoury elements to take notice of their struggle and renegade forces of traitor guard began to arrive to bolster the forces of the rebels.
That was three years ago and a war of attrition had now set in. The Barranian 213th alongside the Voxala 29th Armoured Corps and the Yusial Airborne division had warred alongside each other, their goal the same, to retake a world of the Emperor no matter what the cost.
All of them were the Emperors Hammers and they would teach these heretics a lesson they would never forget, no matter how long they had to fight to do it.
Saneck got up as his Sergeant told them to hold; his once pristine dark green uniform was now the colour of thick undrinkable caffeine. His face didn’t look much better, mud, blood, sweat had made his twenty-nine years look more like thirty-nine.
“Ok Lads” he chomped on the end of his half smoked and very soggy cigar “Set up camp here” The Sergeant moved to where Saneck was lowering his rifle “”Good Shot Dead-eye, the Commissar was impressed with that one”
Saneck inclined his head a little in acknowledgement “Thanks Sarge”
His Sergeant cast an eye over him “Gar, when we have the camp set up for the love of the Emperor get a shower”
Saneck smirked and went to join his comrades.
Sergeant Osara Nelsen chuckled a little. He was the man that the men and women in his squad looked too in all matters. He left the tending of their souls to the priest and the Commissar, the breaking down and rebuilding of his squad, their lives, morale training and everything else that came with it was in his hands.
Unlike other regiments they had fought along the Barranian did not clean their uniforms. The Green was pristine when first worn, but by the end of their first combat zone it was never as pristine and it was superstious thing.
Commissar Ahab Jakera, himself an expert on ancient battles had remarked that they reminded him of some old Britanni regiment from the old Terra who, in battle left the muck and dust on their uniforms as it was considered a sign of bad luck to clean it off.
Osara turned and regarded the battlefield, the bodies of the dead rebels mingling with the dead of his own regiment. This was what his forty years as a soldier had brought him. A cold detachment and inevitability that this was all he and his troops would ever be.
They would never see the twin sun sunrises of their home world again, when you took the Emperors coin you knew you were kissing your home goodbye forever. He had never lied to his troop, it never did any good for they would learn the inevitability of this long endless war soon enough.
All he could do was be as honest with them as he could and told them to thank the Emperor each night for living through the day and pray each morning that they would see the next night’s prayers.
He was a realist and pragmatic man but there was something distasteful in the air of this blighted world. He did not know what it was or even where it came from but he knew that it was coming.
All he could do was boost his troops morale, praise them for a job well done today, and get them rested and ready for the next day.