Hope renewed

[Brother Decian]

Marcus ducked back down behind the trench wall, fumbling with his lasqun. He muttered a hasty prayer to the emperor under his breath while trying to jam a fresh clip into the battered weapon. Finally it slotted home, and he rose, aiming it over the lip of the sodden trench.

 

He hadn't signed up for this!

"See new places, meet new people, and defend the Imperium!". He cursed the day that he listened to that commisar. He had come to the local tavern with a band of guard, signing up fresh, and somewhat drunk, recruits for the 58th Jarmandus regiment. Enchanted by his tales of bravery, Marcus had left his life as a farmer on an agriworld for a life in the armed forces.

 

Some life.

 

"Rotten food, strict officers and lousy uniform!", he yelled at the approaching orks,"I've had enough of it and this damned trench!". He dropped the first two with a burst of full-auto fire from his rusty lasgun. Then it jammed. He was about to run out of the trench when the orks exploded, fountains of gore and smoke obscuring what caused it. Marcus paused, unsure whether this was something worse, or his salvation. The smoke thinned, shadowed figures looming out of the smoke.

 

Marcus raised his lasgun again, praying it would work this time. He lowered it almost straight away as he saw the hulking forms of power armoured troops, the fearsome adeptus astartes. They were wearing armour of black and silver, their shoulder-guards displaying the word "Aegis". The lead warrior raised his bolter and pointed it in Marcus's direction. The guardsmen yelped and dropped to the trench-floor. He hurd a wet thud and raised his head out of the mud, feeling something moist and heavy fall on his back. Craning his head over his shoulder he saw the corpse of an ork stormboy, which had been about to skewer him on a vicious knife.

 

He pushed the corpse off him, groaning with the effort, and crawled away from it, somewhat dazed. He felt a huge hand gripping his shoulder and was hauled to his feet.

"Where is your commanding officer?", the lead space marine thundered at him, the words bellowing through a tinny vox.

The stunned guardsman merely pointed in the direction of the commisarial mess-hall, situated well behind the front lines.

The giant paused, clearly ordering his squad through his helmet com. Two marines detached from the squad, both drawing flamers. The rest followed the sergeant to the mess-hall, blasting orks into oblivion with volleys of bolter fire, leaving a trail of blackened and ruptured corpses in their wake.

 

Marcus kicked a nearby ork head over the lip of the trench with a grunt of satisfaction.

He cheered. After all, he was still alive.