Is…..is he going to come back??? Finally a truly intriguing lore drop!
A single buzzing lumen cast a sickly light across the dank, enviro-sealed shelter. Imperial Guardsmen reclined on creaking benches and dog-eared bunks, glad to be free of their respirators for a few brief moments. Some were busy cleaning their lasguns, others bandaging burns and shaking detritus from boots.
A youthful soldier piped up from a dark corner.
‘How many greenskins do you reckon we fragged last patrol, Sergeant Kryven?’
A muscular, broad-shouldered woman turned toward the speaker. She flicked a strand of lank and greasy hair from bloodshot eyes ringed with shadows.
‘How in Throne’s name am I supposed to tell that, Garron?’ she growled, pulling off a glove and shaking a bit of stone free. ‘Can’t see worth a damn out there for all the smoke and fire. Whose bright idea was it to set the jungle aflame? As if this planet weren’t toxic enough.’
She kicked a discarded canteen, sending it skittering beneath the benches.
‘The bastards got Murren and Tyghe, though.’ Kryven spat, slumping back against the wall. ‘How many have we lost now? How many replacements have we had? The Purgation Corps have only riled the Orks up. We’re being pared to the bone here, and still they come.’
The artillery had started again – salvoes from Hive Death Mire’s walls crashing down to the south. The walls of the shelter shook under the barrage, showering the soldiers with dust.
‘This is nothing,’ said a grizzled old trooper, pausing to take a swig from his canteen. ‘I’ve seen this planet heaving with xenos. I’ve seen their gargants march on the Mannheim Gap and the Euemendies dammed by their corpses. I’ve killed more Orks than you’ve taken breaths.’
The veteran swilled a mouthful of cold recaf before continuing.
‘You’re right though, sergeant. High command isn’t what it used to be. Things haven’t been the same since Kurov. Or Yarrick, for that matter. They were real leaders.’
‘You’d know, Corporal Marton,’ Garron replied, chuckling, ‘You’re probably old enough to have seen the Commissar himself in action!’
‘Too damned right,’ the older soldier replied, fixing the youngster with a stern glare. ‘I was at Hades, boy. A fresh recruit I was then, when the Beast came to try his luck a second time.’
‘What was he like, the old man?’ Kryven enquired, leaning forward again.
‘A brutal, unforgiving bastard,’ Garron replied, ‘but one a soldier would die for. Not like the snot-nosed rabble calling the shots now.’
The veteran sighed heavily, staring at the far wall with misty-eyed reverence.
‘Should have seen how the Orks feared him. Never seen a greenskin waver so. First into the breach, last out of the flame – that was Commissar Yarrick’s way.’
‘My father told me how he slew Warboss Ulughard at the gates of Hive Hades,’ Kryven said, her own fatigue momentarily forgotten.
‘I heard he fought the Beast to a standstill on Golgotha!’ said Garron.
‘And now he’s dead,’’ Kryven replied, grimacing. ‘And we’re left with the likes of General Locke.’
Marton smirked, clutching the aquila pendant fastened around his neck.
‘So folks say,’ he said. ‘Some fools say Ghazghkull’s a goner, too. Until I see their corpses, I’ll not believe either claim.’
Garron scoffed. ‘Come off it, Marton. The Bell of Lost Souls has tolled for Sebastian Yarrick.’
Before the elder soldier could offer a response, the shelter shook again, louder this time. More mortar was shaken loose from the low ceiling. Shouts and the plaintive sound of trench whistles could be heard above. The lumen glow turned from sickly yellow to deep red.
‘Damn it!’ Kryven bellowed, grabbing for her lasgun. ‘Does the Ork never sleep?’
Kryven reached for the shelter’s latch. The rest of the squad scrambled to secure their respirators and shoulder rifles before following her out into the sweltering night.
Officers stood atop the fortified walls, bellowing orders to scrambling soldiers. Ork bullets cracked overhead and spiralling rokkits screamed down to blast clustered infantry from their feet. The screams of the wounded and dying were thankfully drowned out by the crack of las fire and the bassy battle-cries of charging Orks.
As Marton clambered to his firing position, he cast a glance up at the smoke-clogged skies of Armageddon, watching flares and tracer rounds dance and fall through poisoned skies.
How we could use the Old Man’s fire now.
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