The Evening Star Rises: Story of the Hesperan Legion

[Stormthroe]

Captain Marcus stood at the edge of the crumbled, crater-pocked stairway leading up to the great Basilica of the Emperor, looking out over the battlefield that they'd fought so hard to obtain. Komarl had once been a benevolent world before attempting to secede from the Imperium, filled with diligent workers who piously did their work before the rebellion.

Below him stood the platoon of Mordian Iron Guard that he commanded as a captain, their usually pristine uniforms mired by the dust, sweat, and grime of vigorous combat. Only 65 of the original 80 remained below in the Plaza of the Saints that rolled out from the bottom of the staircase, surrounding approximately 150 or so citizens of this district that they'd found hiding in the various ruins that surrounded the plaza during the final push to retake the city.

"Sir, broadcast from command," spoke Sergeant Vrayne, nervous as he approached with the vox operator, both of their battle-streaked faces in a panic. The sergeant held the vox-phone in his hand, offering it to the captain tentatively.

Captain Marcus took the vox, nodding to the sergeant who promptly saluted and turned back to the plaza, striding to the bottom of the stairs to await whatever command came over.

The radio hissed with static before the voice of the general, commander of the entire Komarl campaign, came through. The Imperial March rang out proudly in the background as the general's announcement began to play.

"To all members of the Mordian 56th. Komarl is ours; the rebellion has been crushed," the general paused a moment, and around the city, a roar of cheers from other units whose commanders had allowed their men to listen rang out. Captain Marcus did not flinch.

"However," continued the general, "The Iron Guard's work upon this world has not yet been completed. For its crime of failing the God-Emperor, Komarl is sentenced to a tithe of ten-one-hundredths Summary Execution of its general population. The Emperor will find His own among the dead."

With that the vox clicked off. Captain Marcus stood for a moment, Sergeant Vrayne approaching him.

"Sir?" questioned the platoon sergeant, noting his commander's unease.

Captain Marcus raised a hand to stop the man from approaching, a dour look upon his face. He took a moment to straighten his uniform, turning away a moment as he stroked his chin and removed his cap. Alexander Marcus sighed, replacing his cap after a moment and turning grimly to his platoon sergeant.

"Sergeant Vrayne," announced the captain, knowing his own duty to the Emperor. "Have Squad Asmodeus form a firing line at the base of the stairs. Squads Borellius, Copertus, and the remains of Dogmastus will form a perimeter around the Plaza of Saints."

The sergeant hesitated a moment, then realized the weight of the command. With a solemn salute, the man began to form the soldiers under Captain Marcus' command into the formations he'd ordered. The citizenry of the plaza became anxious; children screamed, people began to shout and shift like a herd who had smelled a predator on the breeze.

Despite the fact his stomach was quaking with the command he was about to make, Captain Marcus approached the leader of Asmodeus squad with cool, nearly robotic discipline. Like one of the crumbled statues of the Emperor that the rebels had torn down about the plaza, Alexander's face was as stone. Raising his hand the firing line his sergeant had raised lifted their lasguns in unison, their rigidly practiced rifle drill making the movement clean, smooth, and unified. The crowd jumped back, and a woman screamed as she realized what was about to happen.

Captain Marcus looked at her; a young girl, barely of age at best, dressed in the grey clothing of an industrial worker. Her eyes were a piercing blue, her hair a raven black that hung to the waist. Were she not filthy from the weeks of conflict, she'd have been beautiful. Her wail stopped short as she met Captain Marcus's gaze. Tears were streaming down her face, carving trenches in the grime of warfare on her face. She swallowed, and slowly shook her head as she sobbed. She mouthed the word 'please' clearly, begging Alexander to simply turn and leave.

Captain Marcus closed his eyes, turning away from her a moment as he uttered a small prayer.

"May the Emperor grant you mercy, and forgive me for my hesitation."

Alexander's hand fell just as the sound of gunfire erupted a few streets away.


A sudden jolt in the Aquila class Lander Winged Defiance shook Colonel Marcus from his slumber as the shuttlecraft descended through the cloud cover of Imperial World Hesperus. The shuttle rocked a moment, the machine-spirit who assisted the pilot taking an uncomfortably long moment to compensate for the turbulence. A moment later, the vox-com in the passenger cabin fizzled to life, the sound of the pilot's voice metallic and broken up by occasional static.

"Sir, we have descended into the planet's atmosphere. We will be arriving at Imperial Outpost Raros in two standard hours," spoke the pilot. Colonel Marcus was ready to reply when the unseen speaker continued, "You've received a message, Colonel. Patching it through."

Colonel Marcus waited tight-lipped as the holo-comm on the arm of his command throne began to glow, casting small beams of blue-white light in all directions for a moment, before focusing down with a hiss to form the shape of a man not too far in age from himself. The small hologram fizzled, disappearing from sight for a moment as the light burst into static before returning. The man in the hologram wore an aide's uniform; clearly one of the men who served Hespurus's planetary governor.

"Good Morning Colonel," spoke the projection, fizzling in and out once more, "Welcome to Hespurus. I am Scriptor Delanen, adviser of Planetary Governor Paizus. I have been assigned as the liaison between Our Lord Governor and the newfound Hesperan Legion."

Alexander waited a moment for the static to clear, grimacing for a moment as the Winged Defiance was tossed once more in the turbulence. Looking out of the nearest viewport, Alexander saw the first signs of Hesperus' surface; mountains, wreathed in white cloud cover. No wonder they were meeting such turbulence. He returned his gaze to the small projection of the scriptor.

"A pleasure, Scriptor. Though I do not see why Governor Paizus did not greet me himself," spoke Alexander. The old general sat up higher in his chair, his back sore from sitting for so long during the long trip from orbit to the surface. The cleanly pressed collar of his uniform stood rigid against his neck, and his already broad shoulders were accentuated by the sharp edges of the Mordian Officer's coat. Five bright medals hung over his right breast proclaiming his accomplishments, polished to perfection, and on his chest just over his heart sat the Imperial Aquila in bright embroidery.

"Apologies, Colonel. Governor Paizus has been extremely busy with the effort of the Founding as you might imagine." The Scriptor paused a moment, as if listening to someone off-screen before nodding and speaking back to Alexander, "I am to provide you with an update on your regiment, Colonel. Would you like me to brief you in-flight, or shall I await your arrival at the Outpost?"

Alexander stroked his goatee a moment, before gesturing for Delanen to continue with a flick of the wrist, "Please, Scriptor."

Delanen waited a moment, evidently clearing his throat off the vox-mic before speaking. "Very well, Colonel," he began, "It has been six Terran months since recruitment began upon Hesperus, and since then, we have had a remarkable turnout. Three regiments have been recruited, and yours was the first to begin training. Since Indoctrination two months ago, your regiment has performed well compared to the standards set by the Tactica Imperium. As it stands, you have approximately 1000 men as a standing force, though most of your equipment is secondhand from Cadia and your homeworld of Mordian."

The Scriptor was going to continue, before Alexander cut in, "How have the men been doing adapting to their soldiers' lives?" Alexander was all for success in training, but there was much more to being a soldier than shooting a lasgun and physical training scores.

Clearly annoyed at the interruption, the Scriptor cleared his throat and answered Colonel Marcus's question.

"Most are adapting smoothly, Colonel. Hesperus breeds hearty soldiers; we may not have the discipline of the Iron Guard, but our world has answered the call with the Emperor's Strength." The Scriptor's proud tone caused Alexander to smile faintly, "The men seem to be doing well overall, embracing it. We've had some tension between ourselves and the off-world attaches serving as our training officers, but nothing has been reported yet as to it being a problem."

Colonel Marcus stroked his goatee a moment, pondering the intrigues he'd see when he first met the men of the First Hesperan. He was a bit curious how their animosity might be met and what would help break down those boundaries. He smiled to himself; this was going to be very interesting.

The rest of the Scriptor's report was all that could be expected; word of the performance scores, any men who stood out, and the disciplinary actions that Alexander would have to take as soon as he arrived. Essentially, Alexander's infantry regiment was the first founded on Hesperan, and while the Outpost was supplied to house the other two regiments, the Second Armored Hesperan Legion and the Third Hesperan Legion, neither had finished enough training or recruitment to be garrisoned.

The Scriptor had also informed Alexander of the various advisers assigned to his staff; his second in command the Commissar-captain Horatius of the Death Korps, an Ecclesiarchal Priest by the name of Godwynn, and there was even word of a Primaris Psyker joining them in the coming days. It seemed that every branch of the Imperium's heirarchy had wanted a piece of the Founding, as to prevent any one from outshining the other like the children politicians could sometimes be.

Alexander rose, striding to the observation bubble atop the Winged Defiance as the shuttle came into view of Imperial Outpost Raros. The outer wall rose out of the landscape like the mountains they'd past earlier, its duracrete bulk rising 20 meters from the ground. As he passed, he could make out the flash of rifles on the firing range, and pulled out a data slate from the compartment to compare his map to the aerial view as he tracked down the barracks and mess hall where many of the soldiers would be gathering since it was rapidly approaching second-meal.

"Take us down, lieutenant," he spoke, pressing the vox-com to speak from the observation bubble of the shuttle.

"Its time I met the troops."

 

[Naruto667]

At a firing range a man in his 20ies knelt aiming down the sights of his lasgun his results were mixed some of his shots had hit and others had missed by abit but that was to be expected since the man hadn't used the gun before so it would take some time to get used to how the lasgun worked, ignoring the fact that it was getting close to second meal Malgus carried on shooting at the targets downrange for a few more minutes before he decided that getting some food was a good idea, and so while holding the gun on his lap he then looked for a switch,trigger or something so that his gun wouldn't go off by accident, which failed after a few moments of checking after finding nothing-or rather it was there but his inexperience with the lasgun was showing-

So Malgus did the sensible thing and handed his weapon to a instructor who then stowed it away while the man himself headed off to the mess hall intending on getting some food before he headed back to the firing range and improve his skills in accuracy..however he only got halfway to the mess hall when he heard and then saw a transport coming in to land at the landing pad, which interested a few other men and women some of them hurriedly moved to form something of a welcoming committee even if they weren't anybody important or high ranking, standing in the centre of the front rank Malgus about about roughly 20 soldiers stood waiting for transport doors to open before they stood to attention and saluted

"Welcome to Imperial Outpost Raros; the home of the Hesperan Legion sir" the group called out in unison not releasing their salute until they were told otherwise..or was there some time limit until they could let their arm? Malgus and the others had no idea so it would be up to the new arrival to tell them when they could relax

 

[Pureblood-Sin]

The small training dummy swayed slightly in the gentle breeze, in the centre of the chest glowed a small light. Errol knew that it meant one thing; that this dummy had a holo-cam. The principle of this exercise was a simple one; not only was the holo-cam there to try and detect the scout-sniper, it was also there to ensure that he would also land the shot from an alternate angle. As a Sniper, one was expected to be able to take a shot from any angle; for purposes of ensuring that the enemy is confused, making them easier to be dispatched by closer Guard units. Swaddled within his camo-cloak, Errol moved very slowly, his footsteps being sure enough not cause any twigs to snap. Give the position of the light meant that the camera was facing the direction he wasn't meant to be. The silent Guardsman moved around the dummy, determined to succeed in this exercise, as he had done so several times in the past. Tempted to reminisce on his pre-Guard hunts, Errol swiftly purged the thoughts from his mind; Emperor knows he didn't need them. Soon enough, he had found himself in the position he desired; to the left of the dummy, out of the holo-cam's periphery. He then took aim, sighting the head within his scope; with a squeeze of the trigger, it vanished in a puff of smoke. A voice then manifested within his vox-bead.

Good job Private Bacharin, return to base ASAP. He then squelched his bead three times, to signify that he got the message.

Finding his way back to outpost Raros, Errol swiftly returned his long-las back to the quartermaster before returning back to the barracks; yet before got the chance to wash and change his clothes and abandon his camo-cloak, he saw a gaggle of 20 fellow Guardsmen gathered around a shuttle. Curiosity aroused, he remembered that today was the day the Hesperans' commanding Officer was arriving today. Yet before he had the chance to ready himself, the Officer had arrived. In his somewhat mucky state, he gave a salute; watching as another Hesperan prostrated himself before the new arrival. Sighing inwardly, Errol kept to his position; waiting for what may come next.

 

[Tristar]

The first Hesperan Legion was but a fledgling in juxtaposition with the Shock troops of Cadia, or the Death Korp of Krieg regiments that he had honor serving in- but that was why he was here in the first place. It was not the healthy who required the doctor, neither was it the faithful who warranted an execution. He had arrived a few weeks ago to make sure the base was running at maximum efficiency in anticipation of the commanding officer's arrival- it had been filled with several long sleepless nights of running over the logistics with the local junior officers and the management of the regiment's one thousand men- small numbers compared to what the 5th would have been able to field out on any good day.

Neither their drill formations or collective accuracy on the firing range was anything to be impressed by, but they still had several more weeks to brush up the finer details of soldiering on before their posting orders arrived- he truly hated warp-travel, knowing the full extent of risks involved with it. It was not unheard of of entire Imperial Regiments disappearing as soon as they initiated their warp-drives. Horatius had tried to rush their training as quick as he could without missing out any major components of their know-hows. Specialists would see themselves with very high expectations in classes, with those who failed their exams reassigned to a rifle squad. They had no time for those who couldn't be relied on to give their 100 percent in a classroom environment, much less a warzone.

He checked his chronometer from hard, unyielding seat of his office- t'was nearly time for his arrival. Horatius exhaled softly, pocketing the device as he donned the regulator unit and peaked cap, a memorabilia from his days with the Krieg. They had the gusto that this Imperial Regiment needed desperately, and the zealotry that would put any other regiment to shame, even the Adeptus Astartes though that could be argued on another day. He stood up and checked himself in the mirror, making sure that every part of himself was what a Commissar should be and to give a good first impression. His kind were not always liked and for good reason.

The trip from the commanding view of the fortress to ground level with the rest of the troops was a short and uneventful trip- his eyes tracked the shuttle as it flew across the snow-white skies, burning fuel as it combated the turbulence. Sure to wreck havoc on the enemy assaulting this fortress as well. He was not one to deny whatever natural advantage the Emperor had blessed them with, even if it was a minor inconvenience for them. The path to the landing pad from the marching grounds would take him pass the mess halls, where even from a distance he could see a gaggle of guardsmen gathering around, barely in formation to greet their Commander. Something flared up in him, and his pace increased.

Something gave him away at the last second, whether it was the sounds of his crisp march or the emanating energy from him but the guardsmen at the rear most formation saw him approaching clearly. Suddenly the gaggle automatically formed into a neat single line, and beads of sweat were appearing where they had not. The half-assed salutes, did not anger him as much as the pure casualness of the men. He let his presence be known from the rear, the regulator unit's rasps were all that was heard from the ranks. "You will salute once more. Together, saaaaaalute!" At once hands snapped up in unison, some trembling, some naturally. His voice was not raised- these men had learned to not argue with his voice, the memory of his previous punishment on second platoon still fresh in their memories.

Stepping out from the rest, Horatius then did something the rest of them had not seen before- he took off the regulator unit publicly, revealing a stern face with wispy, silver hair. His eyes were cold and unforgiving, azure blue. "Colonel Markus, sir." he said softly, snapping to attention before extending a hand to him. "Commissar-Captain Horatius. We have long awaited your arrival in the regiment. You will find that we have done our utmost best to maintain the standards of the regiments from your homeworld, though admittedly these men still need more training before their postings...the orders are yet to arrive as of yet."

 

[Slamdingo]

It was the tradition of Kazrkin commandos that new inductees into the unit were pulled from among Whiteshields. A "Whiteshield" was a term in the Guard for those who had not yet seen combat - or more specifically, those who had not yet gotten their first kill. In some units it was as simple as having been part of direct contact with the enemies of the God-Emperor, yet for others it was necessary that a Guardsman prove that they had personally gotten a kill. A Whiteshield stood out from a regular Guardsman by the white stripe on their helmets and the blank unit crest they bore until earning the right to carry the crest of their own proper unit - the appearance of which earned them the signature name. And on Hespurus, they were as common as flies on a corpse. In more established units, they'd often be found in support positions. As he'd walked the firing line, Lieutenant Jouran Kresh could still remember when he was a young and healthy Whiteshield serving as a member of a las-cannon crew.

But this regiment was far different since it was only just now being founded had meant that they lacked the luxury of more experienced Guardsmen to hold the main line in combat. So while there were many officers of higher rank, those more appropriate to be in a headquarters tent on a regimental level, they'd all either had other duties, or conveniently buggered off when it came time to hand these boys and girls las-rifles and let them free on the range. While having come to understand why well enough as he walked the range, flagged three times with a loaded weapon and on more times than he cared to count handed a weapon with the query of where on would find the safety, it still annoyed Jouran that he had found himself placed as a de-facto weapons instructor. Reconnaissance and demolitions were well enough but once they'd looked at his performance record, suddenly they'd wanted Jouran on the range. He'd have rather been doing toe-to-toe with Tyranid than put up with this lot. Half of them were lucky to point the weapon the right way on the first attempt.

"Emperor's graces upon this lot." He scowled, chomping irritably on his as yet unlit cigar, "These boys and girl are going to be what finally kills me."

It was after he'd retrieved his lighter from a pouch on his belt that he'd noticed his chronometer while lighting his cigar. It was approaching second meal and it wouldn't be long now before stomachs started growling. Whiteshields began the process of bonding as fellow soldiers on a fairly simply common ground - they all marched on their stomachs. Of course he could have easily have kept them on the firing mounds, regaling them about the times when he'd been waist-deep in muck and gore, miles from anything passably friendly, and days past his most recent full meal. But that wouldn't have done anything except made Jouran wish new orders were awaiting to return to his old unit come the end of the day, and between he and the other instructors ragging on them, hunger, and the PT they'd been run through that morning their performance would have started to suffer more than anything. So with a few barked orders, instructors had moved the recruits to fall out, turn in their weapons, and head for chow.

But in their absence, Jouran found himself taking up one of the turned in rifles and some magazines. He looked over it. Old. Beat up. Clearly Cadian in origin from the worn marks of manufacture on it. It'd probably been pried from a long line of cold hands before arriving at this point. Something felt off about the magazine well as he fitted a magazine in place. Then after he'd shouldered the rifle, he could tell the sights were off. And not "off" as in mis-aligned or improperly adjusted. To be curt, Jouran thought, they were simply shit. From stock to barrel the entire weapon looked as it had been used as everything from a rifle to a blunt instrument. It took a quarter of the magazine before he'd gotten it sighted properly for the range and after that the rest of the magazine had been spent relaxing himself with the repetition under the excuse of being sure he'd properly adjusted the weapon. And by the time that had finally finished, it was just in time to notice a rough-riding shuttle coming in. Not three weeks ago that wouldn't have been an uncommon sight but by now they'd gotten all the equipment they needed - which was to say all the equipment they could scrounge up and requisition.

But this craft, on its own up in the pale sky, and on this particular day stood out. Not exclusively because of how singular it was. But something itched at the back of Jouran's mind about . . . "Oh frak me sideways. Of course its today."

The rifle was rather unceremoniously left on the quarter master's desk before Jouran took off at a jog in the direction of the landing pad. His pace and distance meant that he arrived well before the messy tacti-blob of Whiteshields who had opted to make themselves a welcoming party, and only just after the Commissar so rightly feared by those aforementioned recruits. That meant he was saved from both needing to bark at them himself and from being barked at like some common dog by a man who wore his regulator as if he believed heresy to be an airborne agent. Jouran picked a spot just slightly off to the side of the formation. Close enough that if the Commissar or Colonel didn't deem fit to personally command the gaggle to continue about their day that somebody else wouldn't be far off. Yet far enough away from the epicenter of everything that aside from the armor and his comparatively sun-bleached Cadian-pattern fatigues that he wouldn't draw many more eyes than the recruits.

And of course he quickly snapped out a salute. Not wanting to seem out of place, after all.

 

[Stormthroe]

The Winged Defiance had touched down with a heavy slam, the hydraulic compensators in the landing gear bouncing with the weight of the heavily armored vehicle as it came to rest on one of the three landing platforms. The locks keeping the passenger bay raised clunked off, and in a rush of fresh air, began to lower out of the belly of the shuttle.

Colonel Marcus stood at the rearmost part of the platform as it lowered, his hands folded neatly behind his back at parade rest, the dark blue of his Mordian officer's coat wrinkle free and neatly pressed along his frame. He had been prepared to depart as soon as he'd seen the small gathering of troops that were awaiting him out the viewport, and had taken the last moments of solitude to himself in preparation for his duties.

The passenger bay hadn't fully touched before Alexander stepped from it, his neatly polished boots clunking against the steel of the landing pad as he descended the ramp to where some troops had gathered to both gawk at and greet him.

'Undisciplined curs, aren't they?' thought Alexander, but before he could correct them on their improper etiquette, another voice cut through the rabble and silenced the 20 or so members of the Hesperan Legion as they fell into formation. The same raspy, somewhat metallic voice gave the order to salute, and in near-unison drill the guardsmen below raised their hands as commanded and did not move a muscle.

A tall man wearing the uniform of a commissar strode out from the rest, his face obscured by the menacing regulator unit of the Death Korps. In silence, the man clicked his heels to attention and removed the regulator unit to reveal a gaunt face with piercing azure eyes. Silver, wiry hair framed the grim look upon the man's face as he reached out and introduced himself as Commissar-Captain Horatius; Alexander's second in command of the Hesperan Legion.

"A pleasure Commissar-Captain," spoke Colonel Marcus, reaching out with his own hand to take the Commissar's own. It was good to see that the Death Korps took of their masks; there were rumors about the damned soldiers of Krieg, and it was a reassurance to see most of them were unfounded. Looking around coolly at the soldiers whose arms were evidently getting tired, Alexander smiled at the corner of his lips.

"Thank you for your efforts. However, Mordian, May the Emperor Bless Her, doesn't have the luxury of the resources that Hesperus does. A moment, if you will Commissar-Captain," Alexander smiled. He shook the Commissar's hand firmly once more in the greeting and spoke to the assembled men.

"As you were!," he bellowed, saluting the formation in return. He looked about; the troops seemed to be relieved, but unsure of what to do. He left that decision to the Commissar.

Returning his gaze to Horatius, Alexander picked up where he left off. "I'm sure they will do well when the Emperor calls them, Commissar Captain. And we shall begin training them for success immediately. Perhaps you'd be willing to show me the grounds if you haven't any duties to attend to first?"

Realizing a majority of the troops had not dispersed, Alexander looked away from the Commissar for a moment to scan the ranks, his eyes resting on the Cadian uniform at the end, its shoulder emblazoned with the symbol for lieutenant. Alexander smiled, remembering his days beginning his career as an officer.

"Lieutenant!" he barked, "Get these men to second meal! We haven't the time to stand around!"

Alexander turned back to Horatius, gesturing for the commissar to lead.

"Shall we?"

 

[Necris]

Sweat beaded on his pale skin soaking the White vest he was wearing his hair was similarly soaked as he worked through his fifth circuit of the base pushing himself to complete the circuit faster than the last, it was ritual for him prior to second meal to run six circuits. He'd paused to watch the new commander arrive, hanging back from the small crowd that had gathered he was not dressed to receive officers, he'd watched as the cammisaar greeted the Colonel before heading off and considered completing his circuits but he'd waited too long and his muscles were starting to cramp.

Frowning he sighed and headed for the mess hall running his hand through his soaked cropped hair he flicked the sweat away and went into the hall, it was filled with bodies already eating and drinking, other men from the squads, he took up a tray taking a selection of the gruel like food and some bread before heading off and sitting alone on a seperated table, he found it difficult as a void born he was different to the natives but he was also a Corpseman the field medics who extracted the injured and dying passing them off to the medical support staff, they weren't in place yet, the chief surgical officers wasn't due for another two weeks, his adjucant was inexperienced and she was swamped in the paperwork needed to run a field hospital, supply requests, field rotas, training sessions it was all too much for her, one of the reasons he had so much free time to run around the base was her inability to manage times to allow ther Corpseman to join the regular soldiers in drill. He dipped the stale bread into the food chewing off a bite as he looked over the rest of the mess hall.

 

[Tristar]

"Perhaps the Hesperan Legion may have an abundance of resources, but they do lack the Mordian Guards' impeccable discipline." said Horatius, the jibe aimed towards the guardsmen behind him. Some of them fidgeted under the sheer pressure of power and one flinched visibly- had Horatius more time he would have personally have him punished for his slight. Instead, he turned around to face his lieutenant. "Jouran. Progress report on the men's performance on the range, and your personal recommendation on what is to be done with them by this evening." Whether or not that was how Lieutenant Jouran wished to spend his afternoon typing up a similar progress report was out of the question; he had to learn to work with paperwork, and if it didn't go along with him then too bad.

Sometimes, Horatius thought as he placed his peak cap back on and lead the Colonel off on the tour, you had to put up with more than blood and guts to rise in ranks though admittedly that was the easier of the three- it was the papers, numerous forms and sheets and leaflets to be perused and signed. Even Commissars hated the dreaded notion of a full invoice. They passed by the firing range, still fresh with the acrid smell of discharged weapons. A small building that acted as the quartermaster's office stood on the edge of the range, though Horatius had to wonder who had claim of the office. All he knew was that the Cadian was in charge of whoever wanted to shoot downrange.

"We've been trying to get the men used to firing a weapon and while most show acute affinity to discharging a lasgun, one has to wonder if it's the same under fire. Our weapons are also not in best of shape, if our weapons instructor's reports are to be trusted and I have no reason to doubt this. Come." he motioned the Colonel forward to the iconic shape of the base armory, a distance away. The walk was punctuated with a odd trooper walking towards the mess hall and snapping into a rigid salute at the sight of the Commissar first, then the Colonel. Each of their faces bore mixed feelings, some with outright fear of his presence and the others, hope? Hope that their commanding officer would be a great deal more merciful than he had been.

Inside the armory, they were alone amongst the many rifles stacked in their racks. The Commissar picked one up, noticing the incredible amount of rust, wear and tear on it, and the falling pieces. "Most of our weapons are seconds from the Cadians and the Iron Guards, though second hand here might as well mean dysfunctional and dangerous to our own men." he said quietly, handing over the weapon to Markus for further inspection. "Flak armor they have a-plenty, though some of them still have bullet holes in them. One has to wonder if the Departo Munitorium believes this regiment to be worth the effort of transporting all of us. I've had to increase standards for our specialist classes for the sake of the gear they'll be handling rather than skill. Already we've had several weapons accidentally misfiring in the soldier's faces. If perhaps we can requisition better wargear, though personally speaking I'm not sure if they'll provide on the account of two officers. "

 

[Necris]

He was almost through his meal when several more of the corpsemen came in collecting their meals they sat at the same table he occupied, they'd yet to be assigned their squads a job that Hissen the interim chief MO claimed was the responsibility of the CMO. One of them sat down grumbling and complaining, his hands and fingers were bandaged, another looked at him starting up a conversation.

"What happened to you?"

"My frakking las scalple blew up in my hand."

"How many is that now?"

"Well mine makes seven I know of, the equipment is old and knackered most of it is little more than scrap. We're going to kill someone sooner or later and we're becoming busier with all the weapons malfunctions."

He looked up placing his fork down.

"Half our men will ne walking wounded before we seven leave this place, let me have a look at the scalple I go make a complaint if Hissen won't."

The other men looked at him.

"After Hissen's job?"

"Like hell but someone needs to step up if she can't."

He took the scalple from Marrics looking over.

"The power cells casing is depleted its lucky it didn't take your hand off. Anyone else got faulty gear with them?"

The rest of the men started pulling out kit, bone saws that wouldn't run, several scalpels, a stimm kit that gave the wrong doses, he took a kit bag off Jerro and dumped it all in before standing and leaving, the walk from the mess hall to the armoury was a short one and he threw open the door with enough force to pull it off the hinges.

"Alder! Alder! Where are you, you useless prick!"

He looked around for the Munitorium official who checked in all the regiments equipment, he heard voices and stalked towards them freezing as the Colonel and the Commisaar came into view, snapping to attention he waited for them to acknowledge him all the while his eyes searched beyond them looking for the little clerk.

 

[Naruto667]

Well Malgus was expecting the man to yell at them for being tardy..rubbish anything in acknowledgement to their salute little did they know that somebody who would scare the living crap out of them spoke behind them in a cold raspy voice demanded that they saluted once more and Malgus obeyed the order remembering the poor souls from the second platoon and kept saluting until he and the group were finally allowed to stop..their arms burning from the strain of keeping the salute

Eventually they were told they were dismissed so they could head to the mess hall and get their second meal before most likely going back to training a few hours before darkness fell but even then training was likely to carry on throughout the night emperor knows if that was true or not.

"..."either way Malgus couldn't hang around the landing pad any longer and so once it was good to head off he did just that, once he got some food and managed to sit down on a free seat the man listened out to what was going on..but it seemed as though the men and women were talking about the second hand equipment they had to use and how it was basically dangerous or completely unusable to the users well Malgus wasn't completely sure about the situation and so he kept quiet unwilling to get himself into trouble because of comment he made.

Well..I hope we get some better quality equipment ones that doesn't look like it's been beaten to lumps..but regardless I'll use whatever equipment I have my hands on Malgus thought to himself as he carried on eating his meal

 

[Pureblood-Sin]

Sighing in relief as the newly arrived commander dismissed them, Errol took the chance to swiftly return to the barracks, purge himself of dirt and get into a more clean set of uniform and depositing his camo-cloak inside the locker. Striding into the fresher, the scout-sniper threw off his dirty clothes and promptly activated the device. Within seconds, sweet and precious water fell onto his skin; its cold embrace causing the dirt to fall away from his pallid skin. For Errol, it was a most welcome sensation; each little droplet seemed to ease the fatigue within his muscles. Soon enough, the water stopped of its own accord. This disappointed the young Guardsman somewhat; it meant that his session was over. Swiftly drying himself, he then put on his clean uniform.

Straightening the folds on it, Errol knew that he was ready. As if on cue, his stomach growled very loudly; good thing that it was the second meal of the day. Exiting the barracks, he felt the cool breeze of the Hesperan Legion's homeworld caress his face. It smelt fresh, completely unsullied by the mining Hives. Breathing deep, the Scout-Sniper drew in a deep breath and made his way to the food quarter, the better to sate the growling creature that was his stomach.

 

[Stormthroe]

Alexander strode just behind the commissar, belaying the normal etiquette of the senior leading in this situation due to his unfamiliarity with the Outpost's layout even despite his study of the map. He listened carefully, acknowledging the Commissar's words with small nods as they made their way to the armory.

Alexander focused upon the troops they passed; clearly, the Commissar's command had been hellish to have inspired such reactions in them. Some scrambled for cover, and not in the same way that lazy recruits did when the CO came around, but in true fear. Others stopped whatever their duties were to slap up rapid, straight salutes that while sloppy in the eyes of a Mordian, contained more effort and focus on perfection than even the tech-priests.

"By the Emperor, you've done a number on them Commissar Captain," he chuckled slightly, his time with the Catachan regiments coming out as he ensured the nearest Hesperan heard his jest. Very rarely would any Mordian cross the chain of command so lightly, but Alexander was unlike his peers in the Iron Guard. Discipline had its place, but morale called for humor from time to time; especially with regards to officers.

"There's a saying on Mordian; We work with what we're given, that tomorrow the Emperor will provide what is needed," replied Alexander as Horatius led him into the armory. After passing through the security scanners, he continued, listening to the commissar before taking the lasgun from him with complete control in a two-point, well-practiced handoff. With fluid grace from endless practice, Alexander cleared the weapon, throwing back the vent cover to see the charging core, before holding it up to the light to look down the "chamber" and inspect the electromagnetic coils that served to prepare the bolt before releasing it through the focusing barrel and releasing the shot.

"It speaks that even a poor tool can be used for its purpose, until the Emperor feels the worker has proven himself deserving of proper equipment. We will make do." Alexander slammed the weapon back into its safety state. The rifle was not in the roughest shape, but the commissar was right; before the regiment went to battle, they would require better quality gear. After a moment to emphasize his point, he continued, "I will see what we can requisition; Mordian has stockpiles reserved in case the citizenry must be mobilized to form militia in the event of attack. I will send word to my homeworld requesting rearmament once the Hesperan's prove themselves worthy of the tools of war."

Colonel Marcus handed the weapon back to the guardsmen behind the armory desk, nodding as the boy, no older than 18 standard years, saluted despite not wearing his cover. He was nervous, his eyes darting between the two officers; clearly, he was not used to such levels of brass in one room.

"Commissar-Captain," spoke up Alexander after a moment to ponder what next to do, "I feel that we can continue my walk-about another day. These men look promising, but I should much like to see them in action."

Alexander paused a moment, touching his well-groomed goatee in a thoughtful, stroking motion. After a moment's deliberation, he smiled slightly.

"I will give the men 45 minutes for second meal, then we will sound for these specialists you spoke of to form up near the forest that I believe lies to the..." Alexander tried to remember the map of the Outpost and its layout, "west. I wish to see them in action."

Alexander turned to face the young man standing watch in the armory, noting his rank and name; Private Corvis. 'Never would such a thing happen on Mordian,' he thought.

"Private Corvis," he barked, his tone much more commanding. The private jumped in response, stunned by the sudden command. "Gather a work party and have a dozen of the best maintained weapons, and a dozen stun batons sent to the same location."

The boy managed to stammer out a broken 'yes sir' before darting off, sure to warn some of his friends near the chow hall. Alexander ignored him, turning back to his second in command.

"Would you like to discuss my plan, Commissar-Captain?"

 

[Necris]

He waited for a few second before realising the Colonel and Commissar we're going to pay him any attention, giving the. A few seconds more he relaxed and turned from their direction instead working his way through the rows of equipment he found the medical suppliers and upturned them onto the floor, folding his legs under himself he started sifting through the implements tossing aside the useless and making a neat pile of working and in tact units, it wasn't promising he could replace maybe half the broken equipment he had, and salvage another quarter but there simply wasn't enough to go around.

"By the Emperor what are we supposed to use?"

 

[Naruto667]

As time went on and on Malgus kept on heard the recruits complain about the poor quality of equipment they were expected to use, although Malgus himself wasn't too happy himself, he was probably doing the wisest thing and just keeping quiet about it, after all if the las guns fired a shot then it wasn't worthless you might just have to make do or try to fix the problem themselves, looking around he could see that some of the men and women were ignoring the topic all together and we talking about other things like the fact that Hesperus has their first ever regiments on the planet, and then topics about where they might be sent to once they were ready for action.

"...."Looking around he couldn't see anybody that he recognised except for one person sitting opposite and slightly to the left whom he had ran into once or twice when Malgus was a hunter about a week or two before the governor announced the raising of the Hesperus's first legion

"Hey you're that hunter that I ran in the plains to the east I didn't know you joined up as well?"Malgus said looking at the fellow hunter infront of him, wearing his flak jacket that looked like it had taken a few hits

 

[Tristar]

Relieved to hear that his request had not been totally ignored, the Commissar took off his peaked cap and swept back his hair. "Yes."he said softly as he wore his cap back again. "Indeed we can. As far as the entire regiment is concerned, I can have them running weapon drills again to keep them entertained while the training exercise is on." Tapping a holocommunicator several times, he issued an order to a junior officer. Looking up from the glow of the screen, he then handed the slab to him, a map displayed brightly. "The west side of the forest is mountainous, with the highest elevation point being nearly a 300 meters above ground. We haven't had the time or manpower to spare to clear out the fauna, which would be another challenge for the specialists."

From what he remembered, Hesperan's local wildlife wasn't near as dangerous as the likes on Catachan- but it was still equally dangerous to the unaware. The common predator was what passed for a wolf that hunted in packs, which ironically was their Legion badge. "I'd also suggest sending Lieutenant Jouran in as a third party in secrecy to ramp up the exercise- see how well they respond to an unexpected factor. I can pull off 2 squads to act as border patrol, leaving them with no bigger than a 1000 by 1000 metre perimeter to allow for side flanks and other unorthodox methods if it ever comes across them."

Biting his lip, he pressed on. "These men aren't Catachans, but they've lived longer than us in these parts- mountains and uphill battles should be second nature to them. And if we lose them in training that'll set us back a few more weeks while we try to replace them. We'll need to pull off every last bit of security to ensure that none of them get hurt in the exercise, or at the very least, critically wounded. I'll have the border patrol given orders to stun any deserters and stop any random traveler from accidentally wandering into the grounds."

 

[Srota]

It was quiet in the chapel as he prayed, for he was all alone; a priest without his congregation, a shepherd without his flock. It was for this very reason that he had come here, seeking to offer up prayers to the God-Emperor in the relative peace and quiet of the chapel. It was for this reason that he allowed his voice to ring out strongly, echoing off the walls of the empty space while his cherub servitor flitted about, waving the censer to and fro, sending the soft scent of burning incense about the room. Truly this was a holy moment, peaceful, serene, devout. Godwynn knelt down, his ecclesiarchal robes pooling about his knees as he made the sign of the aquila and bowed his head.

"O Immortal Emperor: have mercy upon me, miserable unworthy that I am.
O Master of the Galaxy: protect Your sheep from the alien.
O Keeper of the Light: Guide my darkened path with Your radiance.

I am Your warrior and I am servant to Thee,
I stand free from blindness of heart.
Free from hypocrisy, vainglory and deceits,
But captive to hatred, malice and anger,
To the filth, the alien, the heretic.

By Thy agony and bloody sweat;
by Thy Golden Throne and Thy Death,
By Thy destruction and reemergence as the god of Men,
Keep and strengthen me, I who fights for Thee."

With that, his prayers had finished, and slowly, the echo of his prayer came to an end, bringing the room to silence once more. Godwynn allowed it to surround him, to envelop him, embrace him for what would likely be the last time for a long while. For it was time, time for him to leave, to do his holy duty and inspire those fighting alongside him to the greatest heights imaginable. It was a solemn duty, one the priest took seriously. Few of his ilk would not, but for him, it was more so, only in battle did he achieve the true oneness with the God-Emperor he sought through prayer. He allowed himself to smile as he rose to his feet and turned his back to the altar, the cherub moving around to the front of him, censer continuing to sway from side to side, as he walked towards the door and out towards the muster.

 

[Necris]

His inventory done he sighed and kicked half of it across the area he's been working in, pushing himself to his feet he stalked from the armoury his eyes searching he found him the arrogant bastard who was going to call himself their commanding officer, he took a deep calming breath and approached his long legs covering the distance easily he didn't bother to follow proper protocol when approaching an senior officer in waiting for them to acknowledge your presence instead speaking over the two as the conversed and walked.

"Colonel, Sir! I have something that needs bringing to you attention, it's been raised numerous times with command and Administration but we're having no luck securing reliable and up to date medical equipment, we've only got enough to equip maybe a third of the corpsemen in the field, and that would be without supplying the rear guard medics."

He paused, waiting for the fall out of his breach in procedure, he was going over perhaps a dozen heads approaching the Colonel directly, but he was from a well established world who supplied and supported hundreds of battalions of guard surely he had connections.