Last Stand of the 85th

[tuebor]

The drums are ever-present, thudding in time to the heartbeat in my chest. I fear that isn't by accident. For days the drums have beat out their staccato rhythm, for what purpose I don't dare imagine. A reasonable opponent would have spent that time productively, probing our defenses or harassing our sentries. Last night eight of them crested the hill between our positions, just outside of heavy bolter range and began to cut themselves. They sliced the flesh from their own bones and died, screaming the name of their foul god. If it was intended to shake our resolve it failed, this may be our last campaign but it certainly isn't our first.

 

The drums begin beating faster now and my heart races accordingly. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. They're coming. We rush to our positions on the sandbag wall we'd hastily constructed. I am afraid, but not of dying. I will die today, of that I'm certain. I fear that I am inadequate to the task that He has given me this day. My sergeant hurries by, ensuring that we are all in position. He taps me on the shoulder as he passes, that brief moment of human contact reassuring me.

 

They beat faster, my heart thumping frantically with them. I can hear them screaming out prayers to their god. While I thankfully do not understand their language the meaning is clear. See me, watch as I kill and die. Their god demands this sacrifice, their lives without meaning. My god does not command that I shed blood, mine or theirs, for Him. He simply asks. And I do it freely. In protecting humanity The Master of Mankind has sacrificed more than I can imagine, my lifetime of service a poor recompense. In His infinite grace he accepts it anyway. It's more than any of us deserve.

 

With all my strength, With all my will, With every fiber of my soul, I pledge my soul and my Faith, To the Immortal Emperor, Shepherd of Humanity.

 

The drums beat at a frenzied pace, blood thudding in my ears. Guttural chants can be heard drifting over the hill. Not long now. I glance at the trooper next to me. He's performing a last minute inspection of his weapon's mechanism. Prudent. He recites the Litany of Cleanliness.

 

Let me hand wipe the grime from your perfect form, May you purify with your bolts of light.

 

I have always believed that He intended the lasgun to remind us of our holy duty as we fire it. Using His light to push back the dark. The drums are a cacophony of noise, the drummers worked into such a frenzy that all notion of rhythm lost.  Whether my heart had followed the beat or the beat had followed my heart I am at least free of that particular curse.  I can see them begin to crest the hill, carrying bloody icons of devotion and the corpse of our late Colonel.

 

No man died in His service that died in vain.

 

They are technically within lasgun range but we have so little ammunition that we wait for them to close in. Their chanting shakes the valley around us, the sound of thousands of voices screaming in unison. Suddenly it all stops. The long silence is unnerving. Their leader, a hideous beast of scars and metal comes to the fore. He surveys our line, face contorted in undisguised contempt.  He bellows, impossibly loud and begins the charge, the horde screaming and following in his wake.

 

I sight down my lasgun, settling on a bestial man covered in symbols that hurt to look at. His eyes wide he screams unintelligibly. I can only imagine that he believes that he is about to please his god, he may even be imagining what gifts he may bestow upon him. My finger tightens around the trigger.

 

God-Emperor, Guide the flight, Watch the target, Take the unworthy's life.

 

I pull the trigger and repay mine.