Part V: Enlistment
My dreams were dark, haunted by slavering daemons, fangs and spikes clawing for me… reaching for me…
I awoke with a start, and towering over me was the shadow of a hulking daemon. Spikes jutted from the thing’s head as it leaned over my bed, gripping my shoulder with its cold claws, and my heart lept into my mouth, terror silencing me.
“Relax, Captain. You’re safe.”
My eyes focused, and I realized that what my mind had painted as a bloodthirsty creature of the warp was actually a Space Marine. The heavy bulk of his Gravis armor and his Iron Halo marked him as the Captain of the Primaris Marines at the training camp on Rusov. Around me, medical devices hummed and beeped softly.
Catching my breath and sitting up, I corrected him, “‘Work Leader,’ if you please Sir. I am no Captain.”
“Commissar Lievanov told me you had accepted your commission…” He paused before continuing, “No mind. Perhaps you were unaware, Work Leader Usukov. All of the men formerly of your work crew, as well as the other human inhabitants of Camp H, have volunteered for the Guard.”
Images of my men in firing ranks, loosing volley after volley into the foul daemon horde, suddenly returned to me.
“All...of them?” I asked after a moment of silence.
“To a man.” the Captain replied. “These are your men, Vasili. They will follow you. They have followed you. Lead them.”
While I considered his words, he continued. “The survivors of Rusov have formed a new regiment, actually. The Rusovian 99th, the ‘Hammers of Man’. Their flag is the flag of the Worker’s Republic of Rusov.”
I nodded, replying, “It is fitting.” I thought of the eagle holding the worker’s hammer in its talons. Then I noticed the Captain’s armor. It had been painted from dull gray to a rich dark green, similar to what I had seen the Republican Guard wear during a past trip to the Rusovian capital. His shoulder pauldrons were a deep blood red, lined with brassy gold trim, similar to the colors of Rusov’s flag.
“Your armor…” I said, pausing.
“The Primaris trainees of Camp H have been mustered into a new Space Marine Chapter as well. We could think of no colors and heraldry more fitting than that of Rusov. If I have my choice, we will accompany the new regiment wherever they are deployed.”
My heart swelled with pride, and simultaneously sank in sorrow at the thought of my planet dying in a deluge of hellish blood.
I lifted my eyes to the Captain, firm in my resolve. “I will accept my commission, Sir. I will join my men, and lead them wherever they may go.”
It turned out that I would not lead them, per se. I was given the rank of Captain and put in command of a company of men, primarily consisting of the workers of Camp H. The regiment, however, was to be commanded by one Colonel Andrey Antonov.
Colonel (or Polkovnik, in our tongue) Antonov had been a career supply officer stationed in near orbit when the attack on Rusov had begun. His primary duties before the disaster had been to ensure that the newly raised units lifting off from the planet below were supplied with lasguns, greatcoats, canteens, and everything else an average guardsman might require. In this duty, I am sure he excelled. However, an experienced combat officer he was not. He had inherited the Hammers of Man solely by virtue of the fact that he was the highest ranking commissioned officer in-system when the warp had ripped open.
He took his new command very seriously, I will credit him with that. Coached and prodded by the Lord Commissar, he gave (what he thought were) stirring speeches to the new regiment about duty and honor, sacrifice and faithfulness to the Imperium. Looking into the eyes of my men, I could see that his words rang hollow. They would fight for the Imperium, yes. But their goal was a simpler one: revenge. To a man who had days before seen his family ripped apart by nightmarish creatures, duty and honor weren’t among his primary motivations.
Over the next few weeks, we trained on board the battle barge, being given a crash course in infantry procedures and tactics. Soon, we were told our destination.
“Gather ‘round, men!” bellowed Antonov, his gold braid and buttons glistening in the ship’s lights. “We’ve received orders for our first taste of action!!” He punctuated his last few words by pumping his fist in the air, clutching the sheets of flimsi that I assumed contained said orders. He seemed not to notice the sideways glances of some of the men; for many of us, whatever came next wouldn’t be our “first taste of action.” Our first taste had been nothing to celebrate. Our first taste had been bitter indeed.
“Dagob 4-H!” he continued, almost cheerfully. “We’ve been asked to link up with the Catachan 83rd, who have dropped out of telepath contact of late.”
“A certain… Colonel Trakken…” he said, peering down at the orders, “has dropped off the map in the lowlands of Dagob 4-H. We’re to ascertain his fate, bring him back to Segmentum Command, and continue our campaign from there.”
He flipped to another page. “There’s also a note here to investigate possible ‘tech heresy’, whatever that is, and to… counter any resistance with deadly force…”
Murmuring spread through the gathered soldiers. “Alright men!! Fall out!!”
I could tell the Rusovian guardsmen didn’t savor the thought of using “deadly force” against fellow humans. But, if these… ‘catty-shams’ resisted the commands of the Imperium of Man… they must be heretics. My qualms about the orders were of a different nature. It just so happens I had read about the 83rd, their infamous Colonel, and their swampy homeland in a back-page column of the Regimental Standard a few months back.
“Comrade Polkovnik, if I may,” I called as the men dispersed. Antonov turned, smiling at me and beckoning me over. “Excited about our new orders, Vasili?” he bellowed brightly.
“Not exactly, Sir.” I replied when we were out of earshot. The colonel frowned, and I continued. “Sir, Colonel Trakken’s 83rd are hardened veterans, experts at fighting in the exact type of terrain we’ll be engaging them in.”
“‘Engaging them?’” Antonov scoffed. “No, Vasili, we’re simply returning them to the fold!” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Word from Segmentum Command is, I’ll be given command of both regiments if I can succeed in bringing these… swamp people… and their vehicles back.”
“Sir… I must advise caution. I don’t expect these men to be… ‘returned’ without a fight.” I tried to keep my tone measured, but the colonel’s hubris was causing my blood to rise. “Not to mention sir, you said our orders were to find these men in the ‘lowlands?’”
He nodded.
“Sir… almost the entire surface of Dagob 4H is ‘lowlands’...it is a swamp plan-”
“You worry about nothing, Vasili!” he bellowed, cutting me off and clapping me on the back. “Now, gather your men and prepare for our drop. We will bring glory to Rusov and the Imperium!!”
As he walked away, all I could think about was the men that I was going to have to bury, for the glory of one man.
As he walked away, all I could think about was the men that I was going to have to bury, for the glory of one man.
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