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Whatever the reason you ended up heading the call to arms for were, you all are summoned to the newly created barracks of the Serenus 1st. The ugly barracks are built in the middle of a torched ground where once stood a remarkable forest. Everything you can see is burned earth, plassteel and concrete. It is a visible reminder that all your lives are about to change greatly...
The basic training is harsher than any of you expected - or even feared. You are drilled on your weapons in morning hours you did not even know existed, force marched until each and any of you collapsed - twice - got basic infantry tactics hammered into your heads after you have awakened from your exhaustion-induced phase-out-three-minute-sleep, got to eat ration bars that look a lot like a compressed form of the food paste that is fed to the domestic animals Serenus is known for in 'canteens' that look like bunkers. At the evenings you are again force marched to your limits just to end your march in a gym where one hour of harsh P.E. awaits, followed by more shooting training in the middle of the night before you may retire for a refreshing four hour sleep...
For those of you who get additional, specialty training (Medics, NCOs, Operators) things are just plain worse. Where others go to eat their 'meals' in the canteens you are hushed into education rooms, where you get your special skills hammered in while eating ration bars and emperor helps you if you crumble into your training equipment - which is next to impossible to not do. Beside getting yelled at like hell, those who dare to crumble even once are in for special treatment in the night hours for repetitive training - so your average sleep time a day drops to two hours.
What feels like a year is in fact a week and a full lifetime of pain later – in fact one and a half month – the basic training finally ends with a full week 'field training' were you are opposed to other squads of the regiments in repetitive scenarios of 'attack', 'hold the line', 'conquer' and 'fighting withdrawal'.
That done, everyone gets a chance to say goodbye to his friends and family - within 48 hours - and then you all are shipped to a small convoy waiting in the orbit in windowless landers.
On board of the transporters you are herded into overfilled compartments were one squad of ten shares three beds – which turns out to be irrelevant as your basic trainings continues on board of the ship with three shifts, so only three of you are able to rest at any time anyway. It is here that you met with any auxiliary troops like Enginseers, Commisars, Ogryns, Psykers and Storm Troopers for the first time.
The first ones are nothing really new to you (but a little more weird and mechanical than those you know from Serenus) while you immediately learn to hate the second group as they tend to shout at you even more than your instructors and the rumors about those being the guys that perform public executions for fun reaching your ears quickly doesn’t make things better. The Ogryns are disturbing to look at but are also kind of cute due to their dumbness and general child-like attitudes. Where Ogryns are weird to look at, the Psykers are weird to be around although they mostly look human. They just do not feel right and you were told in classes that they are in a real risk to suffer spontaneous death while leaving some kind of portal to another dimension which will then spawn numerous enemies. The Storm Troopers seem all to look down at you lousy guardsmen and their better equipment is the target of many jealousy – the relations between you and them are stressed at the best times and near to open blows in the worst.
Ren finally slumps onto the bunk, the first one, anyone, he was drained, he was dead on his feet. But even a few hours of sleep helped to dampen the feeling of approaching death his his body and mind
"Finally..." he breaths and flops down
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Leni actually seems relaxed compared to the rest of the squad - having worked 48 hour shifts in the hospital before and having previous experience for the medical lessons has kept her in good spirits - only the physical training has her on the edge of exhaustion, probably even more so than the rest of the squad.
She is heard way before entering their part of the ship:
"Alright I'm getting a bunk right now. If anyone is in the way move now or do a damn good impression of a fluffy pillow"
With that she stumbles inside and into any of the bunks - exercising the most important skill of a guardsman: sleep whenever you get the chance.
In the corner stands a hunched mountain of muscle. It is slumped not because it's asleep (which the thunderous snores suggest) but because it's shoulders brush the ceiling whenever it breathes.
The Ogryn had just been attached to this regiment a few days so and it was still skittish around the "lit'tl uns". He had trained just as hard as the other guardsmen here, but on a scale unlike anything human. Instead of lifting weights he lifted small vehicles. Instead of duck and cover and maneuvering training he was put through gauntlets of mostly simulated enemy fire. Instead of eating standard rations, he swallowed small livestock whole.
Leni's yelling does little to disturb it, but the monster's caretaker, Notch, does stir enough to mutter a few choice curses in her general direction.
The only beds left are right next to the snoring Ogryn. Everyone seems to have taken whatever bed was farthest from him. Notch sleeps at his feet, just in case something wakes him too quickly and he pushes his head through the deck playing of the floor above. Here sleeping is not unlike sleeping a few clicks from the Emperor's finest artillery when they really get zealous. The floor rumbles a bit with every breath and the beds are threatening to come lose from the bolts that hold them in place.
"Well, I for one think that went about as well as could be expected!" Malchior chirps, dropping his rucksack by the bed designated for him and calling dibs on the top bunk.
Ashora scowls and shoves her own bag under the bedframe. "Malchior, I love you like blood, but I'll kill you if you don't lose the cheerleader schtick. I feel like death warmed over." Slumping onto the bed, she pulls her marksman's lanyard out from under her shirt and smiles at it. "Still, now that we're out on the other end of that hell, we get to find out what's out there. It's a big galaxy!" Hanging the lanyard on the bedpost, she eagerly embraces the first good sleep she's gotten in weeks.
'fix stares at the beds for a moment, it seemed a long time since she had last slept in a bed. The sleep pods of the mechanicus were designed to accomodate her... enhancements, these beds were not.
After a few moments of contemplation and analsys 'fix decided that the easiest method to sleep in these beds whas to lie face down upon them, leaving the mechadendrites tethered to her spine free to do as they wished.
Meanwhile her personal servitor, identified by a metal VI symbol upon its forehead stood guard by her bed in silence, eyes unblinking.
While Celephix is still trying to dicern the best method to sleep for her in a normal bed, the shouting of Cpt. Jutr - the deathworld CO of the 4th Batallion you are part of - eliminates any thoughts of sleep of anyone within 100 cubic meters. "Don't you dare to rest like some little girls! Specialists: Extra training session in 20 minutes in room beta-4! Everyone else: with me on the double! We will have a nice refreshing walk through the ship before bedtime. Full equipment run in 5 minutes. Get your asses up ladies!"
The harsh training cycle starts mere moments after you finally found your assigned quarters ... possibly saving some of you from the rumours about bed-sharing guardswomen in your squad...
"Well, sleep shall come later - should we survive unto next we meet, my moniker is Celephix, or merely 'fix, as in fix this now." She inclines her head in a slight nod towards her cabin-mates and departs the room.
He slowly gets up, and gets back into gear. This was not going as he had hoped
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Leni gets back up in slow motion, cursing as she does
"Goddamnsonoffamothaf****withashitstickcandleuphisswiningpoola$#@!*$"
She grabs her tools which have scattered around the bunk and and slowly, trying to remember where room beta-4 is while letting her mouth run wild.
"Hi Fix. Sounds like a name for a mutt. Can you fix that screaming a~+&*&~ with the training fetish?"
Grabbing the last of her tools she walks over to the sleeping Notch and kicks him awake. "Yo sleepyhead the captain ain't gonna take the snorring of your big guy as an excuse for not showing up at his party."
With that she stretches and walks outside, still only having a half a plan where she's going. As an afterthought she pokes her head back into the door.
"The name's Leni by the way. I'm in charge for fixing anything that you guys leak that does not involve machine oil. They call it medic around here."
"My name is Ren'Shaw, most just call me ren... i drive... and fix moving things. Now lets get going... before i "drive" something else..." he follows
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The monster wakes. He lumbers to his feet, barely. He is hunched over, almost bending at the waist. His every step makes the deck plates groan. He is already in his "armor" which is piecemeal at best.
Notch rolls to his feet and scouls at his medic and then his Deathworlder CO, but he doesn't dare speak against the the orders.
I'm Notch everyone. This big guy is Thud'dr.
The giant smiles, a truly terrifying sight.
We'll be the ones you guys get to shout around. Don't worry. He's a gentle giant as long as you don't move too fast. Or look like an Ork. Or a Nid.
"Those guys dont fit in most vehicles. Will he be able to keep up? Or do we strap him to the hull?" he asks as they make their way to their destination
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He's pretty good at squeezing into places if you yell loud enough. Notch explains, If he doesn't fit, well, have you ever seen an APC ridden like a horse?
Thud'dr smiles again and chuckles which sounds just like a thing from your childhood nightmares, low and menacing.
"As long as the rider can shoot, Im fine with that" he gives a thumbs up to both Ogryn and handler
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The Ogryn returns the gesture, taking out a hanging light fixture in the process. He seems not to notice.
"Good job big fellah!" he slaps his arm, motioning for him to NOT return the gesture
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While you still are running through the metal-mazes of the ships, performing firing drills and attending specialist courses, a warning sound echoes through the ship and it translates into the warp with a 'Schlorp' and the whole world turns purple and tasting grown (green-brown) for a moment. If you were running you find yourself on the ground with a big bruise as your face, if you were shooting you have to clear a jamming now – both with an Instructor yelling at you to stop any action if a warp transit is imminent - and if you attended a class you find that warp transits are not as bad as everyone was telling you.
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Thud'dr's gun has been tearing apart targets for the last ten minutes. The cannon-sized shotgun would tear a normal man's arm off with every shot, but the Ogryn's frame keeps the thing in place as it spews grape-sized buckshot all over the range. When they transition the gun stops shooting. Everyone stops shooting. He hits his gun and the offending shell pop out. He shrugs and keeps on mowing down targets like grass.
Having not even gotten anywhere near the sleeping quarters before the Captain started yelling at everyone to stop attempting to perform one of a Guardsmans favourite pastimes (sleeping), Faye and her keep-to-themselves companion immediately turn on their heels, grunt their displeasure audibly and head to the NCO "Command" Training classes. Realising they still had their rucksacks with them and wanted to avoid getting chewed out for literally whatever reason, Faye quickly jogged into the quarters as the others were leaving, chucked her stuff by the nearest unoccupied bed (In this case one near the Ogryn), made sure nothing went funky and headed back off to the classrooms before getting chewed out anyways for being ever-so-slightly tardy but not before getting a quick word in:
"Names Faye, apparently one of those in charge of y'all. Now, 'much as I'd like to actually relax and not fall over from exhaustion, I enjoy not getting chewed out a whole lot more so, sadly, right-proper intro's will hafta' 'till after this round of training. Nice ta meet y'all, see ya's later." And jogged off.
And as they sat there trying to keep a modicum of interest, understanding and attentiveness on their faces while a CO lectured them on "Leading the Grunts", the brief respite from absolute boredom that was the flavor Brown as they jumped into the warp was a welcome one and she whispered as quietly to her companion as she could:
"Dunno what the others were all on about, warp transits ain't that bad..."
The rest of the month of warp travel resembles the basic training but now you train together with those external specialists and you have the feeling that everything is getting a little easier. In fact the schedule gets less hard as you approach your target, but no one is telling you this, so you may think that you finally get accustomed to the constant training and low sleep times.
Finally – with a 'Lorpsch' and the world turning blue and tasting rellow (red+yellow) - you transit back to normal space and suddenly you all feel nervousness creeping into your thoughts. You now that your first deployment into a hot warzone is only hours in the future now and no one seems to know what you are up against. A few nervous hours later your NCOs comes and tells you to pack up and head to the lander hangars within the hours. You will land on a recently conquered spaceport and then head out to the front to relief the guardsmen currently holding the lines against the greenskins forces trying their best to overrun them.
"Finally, we get to test in practise what they were drilling into us..." he notes as they make their way to the hanger
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Dunno if I'll ever get used to the flavour of warp transits. Sure this 'un was a bit sweeter on yer pallet than tha previous one but still! What if it makes me never want to taste again?! 'Nyways, least the lot of ya weren't sitting on your ass fighting off sleep during precious sleeping hours while some self-important Officer hammered "lmperial Leadership Skills" into yer braincase..."
"But, I hear ya 'Shaw and it'll finally be nice to breathe some air that ain't recycled for the God-Emperor Knows upteenth time and walk on actual ground and be free from the funky warp-dreams for a spell." she answers.
Sighting down the barrel of her disassembled and almost-fully-cleaned longlas, Ashora chats with Malchior and anyone else around about her excitement for finally getting to where they're going.
"If you think about it, we're actually really lucky! How many people even get to set foot off of the planet they were born on? One in a billion? I don't know, but I can't wait to get a good look at this new world! Does anyone know what it's name is?"
Leni is hanging back, enjoying the quite before the storm hits. Her assistant Aubray joined her at some point - you can't tell exactly when she just seemed to have popped up among the equipment, cleaning, sorting and organizing like a maniac. She has not yet returned any greeting just stared into your eyes awkwardly for a few moments before going back to whatever she was doing.
Leni seems to be in a good mood, smiling with her eyes closed.
Something like Jonathan the fourth and a half. Did you even listen to the old f!!@ before signing up? Yeah warp travel is quite the privilege we earn by selling our lives but I for one would've never left that backwater hellhole any other way. Gotta say the taste was quite interesting but otherwise not as thrilling as I always imagined. Lets hope the planet itself does better. Or whatever we're going to be shooting at.
"Greenskins: Orks is apparently what they're sending us in to kill. From what little we've been taught, they're stupid, strong and tough with junk that makes our stuff look like pieces've art but somehow works anyways. They can't shoot for shit so wanna get up close and personal-like to hack us ta bits. So, in our terms: shoot em ta shit and don't let 'em get up in your business. S'about all command deigned to tell us on them alongside some cursory stuff to do with the knife-ears, 'crons, 'nids n' Tau."
"Orks... walking mushrooms... if all goes well, we should, as just stated, shoot them to bits before they get to us."
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The Ogryn cocks his artillery-gauge shotgun. No other comment is needed.
"I'd say shoot the monster first that looks like it's giving orders. Or even better if it's like a commissar. Take away their reasons for not running the f+$$ away"
"Ork Tech is fascinating, I've heard rumours that it isn't really tech at all, but powered by latent psy-ability. Like an army of children who are playing a game, with pretend weapons"
Celephix' mask stares towards Faye, "Am I to understand you are our sergeant, do you need a run down of my capabilities, or do you prefer to learn as we go?"
The way down to the planet is quiet but nervous and you hear some whispered thank-prayers as the Lander finally touches solid ground without being shot at. The doors open immediately and lets in the roaring storm of hundreds of engines, the smell of burning promethium and gunpowder. Your first impression of this planet - you still don't know its name - will leave a bad taste in the mouth. Most of you immediately have to vomit as the foul air assails your lungs. A mix of aggressive chemicals, waste, smog and the smell of battle is too much for your Agri-Worlder lungs.
While you still struggle to breath you are shoved out of the Lander and onto awaiting transports - various vehicles that are clearly not fit for active duty anymore. Mostly chimeras with torn open hulls, blasted-off turrets and glazed armor plates, but also a lot of wheeled vehicles that may once have been civilian transports. Your own vehicle is missing at the moment. Maybe it is onboard the huge Lander that seems to be landing some clicks to the west at the moment?
The transports you - and others - have boarded are arranged into large conveys and then drives out of the spaceport on a monolithic highway - 100m above ground level, six wayed and in mostly good conditions. Here the vehicles pick up speed and carries you some clicks straight north into a small hive - still a gigantic, ugly monstrosity of a city for most of you.
"This place stinks..." he gasps "Cant wait to finally get into a seat of a proper vehicle, not those silly simulators on the ship..."
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"Phix, right? Well, since we're about to head into an active combat zone how 'bout you surprise me? Hearing you tell me what you're made of never really compares to seeing one walk their talk and I do love me some surprises especially from one of y'all never can quite tell what y'all are hiding under them robes."
"By the Throne! When they said hellhole they fething meant that literally. Well, strap in guys, gals and assorted individuals, wont be long now..."
"Good thing we've got you, eh, Big Guy?" she motions to the Orgyn.
The Ogryn marches at a pace equal to the column, though he takes one step for every guardsmen's three. The air here burned and sweltered unlike the refreshingly frigid air of his home. It was miserable. Still, the tiny one who was assigned chief of this tribe seemed like she liked him, so he smiles back and gives that universal gesture of respect and good will: the thumbs up.
Celephix stares appraisingly at the Ogryn. "There is much argument among my colleagues as to the origin of the Ogryn, some argue they evolved naturally, in response to the danger of some hellworld. Some say they were modified by ancient technology, perhaps a prototype of what later became the Adeptus Astartes. Others still believe them the descendants of men corrupted by the influence of chaos. Regardless of the truth. I am glad you are on our side."
Celephix seems to like the sound of her own voice. She's awfully chatty for an Enginseer.
There is some back and forth between Notch and Thud'dr as the companion translates. Finally the reply is, MY WORLD COLD. HUGE. MORE BETTER. MARINES LIKE IT THERE. OGRYN LIKE IT THERE. YOU VISIT.
Lenis inside elbow snaps up to her nose as soon as the gag reflex is noted - shutting her off from the foul smell just in time to regain control. She rummages around her medkit with the other hand for a moment before pressing a clean cloth over her mouth to breath through until she gets used to the smell.
"You better watch where you give hat talk. Every single priest and commissar would have your head on a stick for comparing the Astartes with Orgryns."
Feeling her gorge rise as the sudden assault of a cocktail of horrid smells, Ashora nevertheless forces a grin onto her face. "Well, it's...not as nice as I'd hoped, but maybe when we get further out from the LZ the air will be cleaner? We can hope!"
Falling into line, she marches alongside the rest of the squad, peering hopefully every which way for something of interest--to no avail. "So, uh, greenskins. You said they're pretty dumb right Sarge? Shouldn't be too hard to finish them off and then head somewhere nicer, yeah? Couple of months?"
The larger part of the convoy continues on, while your vehicles leaves the highway and arrives at a large open place in the middle of the hive - about ten times the size of your barracks - where you are to embark.
The place is stuffed with guardsmen running around, equipment haulers, servitors performing repairs directed by red-clad Enginseers, emergency treatment tents where disturbing screaming echoes from and Munitorum Adepts walking around with meter-long parchments and data-slates. The place is surrounded by kilometer high towers on all sides and at least twenty streets of different size leaves the place in different directions and angles. Following the shouting of Cpt. Jutr leads you towards one of the towers. You meet up with four other squads of the fourth Battalion and then step into the tower. The doors shut close behind the last soldier and the room you thought to be a hallway, turns out to be an elevator and drops you into unknown depths. After mere moments it comes to a crushing halt that nearly sends you to the ground under the weight of your equipment. You leave the elevator into another enormous hall that looks like the wet dream of a munitorum scribe. The sides of the hall are filled with dozen meter high stacks of equipment boxes, some complete battletanks - seemingly freshly oiled and refitted waiting for action - heaps of ammunition boxes are ordered by type and size, confusing signs directs to places like 'Agt #567-92' or 'Xm18-24' and hundreds of munitorum scribes are walking around - most are closely followed by groups of guardsmen with lists in their hands and confused looks on their faces.
Before you can look closer at anything, the Captain calls with the full power of his lungs:
NCOs, order your man to make room for follow ups and stand ready here. Gear check for all. I will go to the command post in the top of the hive where our orders will be issued. Move it."
After 20 hectic minutes of gear checking and searching for lost squad mates, Cpt. Jutr returns, a data slate in his hands, reading from it aloud.
"Lads, trench duty it is. Seems like the orks have found a way around the main lines, conquered a hive in the east and now try to cut off the supply lines which runs from the Spaceport through this shithole labeled 'crossroads' towards the front.
The Nunian 49th Pioneers have build basic defensive positions at the 'southern approach' to guard some smaller streets running from the conquered hive to this one. Two squads each will man those trenches.
Reports indicate small Ork forces attacking via those small routes from time to time to find weak spots in the frontline of our forces. It is vital that the frontline is held firmly intact until additional forces can be relocated and liberate the Ork-held hive or the orks may cut of the supply route.
Now get together in two-squad groups, then head to the quartermaster one after another and fetch some gear. Try to get long-range voxes, some snare-mines and two screamers per trench-group. And one entrenching tool and some backup ammo per person.
Everything at a ready in one hour from now. Move it."
Ren will walk around and see if he can maybe get some better armor for himself.
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"Well, the grunts that've been here before us have been 'ere for at least a year. So...who knows. If I'm hopeful, I'd say at least a few months. Realistically speaking? We're going to be here for a while. Get used to breathing in pollution. And yes, Dumb and Strong is the operative term for greenskins. Doesn't mean they won't kill you dead given the chance."
++++
"Alright, so, I went to speak with whoever'd be giving us our gear and they just gave me this create instead when they said 'They would do their best to give us what we require' annnnndd...I got a box 've Recaff. Lots've it. So....yeah. how'd you guys fare?"
A fat and rather young looking munitorum serv comes running behind Faye, calling her to stop.
*Heavy panting between every other word*
"Sa ... Sergeant. Your ... eh ... list has been mixed up. We ... do have ... some .. of the gear. You may need ... some help to ... carry all of ... it." With a phuuuu the heavy man drops to the ground gasping for air with a glowing red head.
Some minutes later Faye and her helpers returns with a heavy long range vox caster, a wooden crate with a 'DANGER! EXPLOSIVES INSIDE' label on it, a badly smelling bag full of foul uniforms, two boxes full of mines and a wild collection of entrenching tools.
Celephix examines the boxes with some interest, but there's is little that's too interesting there.
"Are the uniforms part of an unofficial work detail do you suppose?"
Thud'dr takes the brunt of the load and claims the largest of the entrenching tools for himself. His overwhelming strength makes easy work of carrying the supplies, though Notch points out that he'll probably drop them if a fight breaks out.
"Well would you look at that! Looks like the Munitorum can come through for us from time ta time! Might not have an abundance 'a clips but we do have a ton more grenades which should help a fair deal since the greenskins apparently like ta come at us in big 'ol clumps. An' if there ever is a lull, we could always recharge our packs using a fire or something like the field manual describes..."
"Otherwise...how bout we 'forget' that crate of smellly laundry that isn't ours someplace?"
"Gonna be a b~!$+ to fire them after that but better than nothing."
"Anyway looks like it's time to go shopping myself."
With that Leni walks off with Aubray in tow - going to anoy some very unfortunate munitorum clerk.
Items:
Tranq - Abundant -> automatic
Stimm - Average -> +10
Field Suture - Average -> +10
Modifiers:
1) Just arrived at the front (-10)
2) Scarce item + Multiple Regiments (+0)
3) Front at a violent impasse. (-10)
4) Front Active: 1-5 years (+20)
5) Green Recruit (+5)
Aaaaaand she spends the whole time shouting at the clerk without getting anything done except insulting him, his family and his cow.
Thid'dr puts on his big boy pants and preps his equipment for go time.