Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 17: Such Warriors Can Surely Fight for Mankind

Alexei took a deep breath, pressing a hand to his chest.

When I get back, I'm submitting my retirement papers to the Munitorum.

Perhaps he was destined never to receive the glorious death he craved. Perhaps he would die shamefully, attached to a urine catheter in a medicae bed.

Alexei thought with grim pessimism. Just as he was about to go back to his room, get some sleep, and contemplate how to physically negotiate with the Munitorum, an untimely series of knocks echoed from the corridor outside.

It was the emergency muster signal unique to the "Broken Swords."

Before Alexei could react, Kovek had already opened the door.

"Lieutenant, what is it?"

"The Astartes lords are asking for you, sir," the Lieutenant reported. "Also, five minutes ago, the lord gave an order to assemble all available troopers in the central transit plaza."

A stone dropped in Alexei's stomach. The weariness in his mind vanished instantly, replaced by memories of Armageddon from over two centuries ago.

"Did the Astartes lord summon me specifically?" he pressed.

"The lord ordered us to assemble all available men of the regiment," the Lieutenant replied.

"Take us there."

Alexei turned back into the room. Thirty seconds later, he emerged, several more medals pinned to his greatcoat, his expression grim.

Gazing at the Iron Aquila and Winged Skull on the Commissar's chest, as well as the gleaming star-shaped medal, the Lieutenant subconsciously snapped to attention.

"Yes, Commissar!"

Alexei adjusted his uniform, carefully placing his commissarial cap on his head, and strode to catch up with the Lieutenant.

The soldiers who had already suffered physical mutations were beyond saving. But the remaining one hundred and sixty-nine—veterans who had survived such a battle—were a priceless asset to any Imperial Guard regiment. They were the hope for rebuilding the "Broken Swords." Alexei hoped to protect these men as best he could, even if their value before the Emperor was less than a ten-thousandth of a single Astartes.

His hurried demeanor seemed to infect the Lieutenant. He recalled the sudden muster, and he also remembered stories of other Imperial units that had mysteriously vanished after participating in certain wars.

The Lieutenant's pace faltered.

"Don't overthink it," Alexei said, gently patting the young officer's shoulder. "You are loyal warriors, tested by the God-Emperor Himself!"

"But we—" the Lieutenant started to say, then swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue. After a moment of internal conflict, he nodded. "We are all loyal warriors of the God-Emperor."

Alexei silently withdrew his hand and, alongside Kovek, quickened his pace towards the transit plaza.

CLANG—CLANG—CLANG—

"What is our duty?"

"To serve the Emperor's Will!"

As he hurried into the plaza with the Lieutenant, the first thing he heard was the resounding response of the soldiers.

"What is the Emperor's Will?"

In the central plaza, a space vast enough to hold an entire Cadian armored regiment, the towering knight in black armor posed the question. He walked slowly among the soldiers, passing by each man, like a great beast stalking through a forest, sniffing out the fear of the weak.

The Commissar looked out into the plaza. The soldiers had been divided into two groups of unequal size. Notably, in the larger group, the Guardsmen looked frail and utterly exhausted.

These men were arranged in twenty-six ranks, and their condition was dire.

Some had twisted limbs, their exposed skin showing clear signs of rot. Unnatural growths protruded from their wounds.

Others had facial skin that had almost completely fused together, turning an unhealthy, dark purple. Their mouths and eyes had been surgically, brutally cut open just to vaguely resemble a human face.

"To fight to the death," they all answered in unison.

The Commissar took a few steps closer, and a thick, foul stench washed over him. It wasn't a physical smell, but the soul's innate revulsion towards mutation.

"And why do we fight to the death?"

The knight paced slowly to the end of the ranks. Thirteen Sisters of the Sacred Rose were chanting litanies of the Imperial Creed. Among the soldiers, some of the more devout followers of the faith joined in, whispering the prayers along with the Sisters.

Cold, white lumen light shone down from the ceiling, yet it seemed to cast a golden halo upon the warriors.

"For the Emperor!"

The knight noticed the Commissar's arrival. He turned, gently steadying a soldier who was swaying from exhaustion. Once the man was standing firm again, the knight walked straight towards the Commissar.

"Can you fight for the Emperor?" the cold,肃穆 voice echoed across the plaza.

"WE CAN!" they all roared, their voices hoarse.

CLANG—CLANG—

"Commissar Alexei."

The towering figure blocked the light, casting a long shadow over him. The knight was now inches away. With every shift of his gaze, Alexei could glimpse the understated yet magnificent patterns beneath the grey robes, the bas-reliefs that would make any artist weep. But most striking of all were the crimson lights glowing from within the faceplate, a gaze that pinned him like that of a majestic dragon.

The knight posed the question.

"Do you believe they can fight for the Emperor?"

"..."

Alexei did not answer immediately. He was stunned.

He had thought he was coming to witness a brutal execution.

He looked around, at these young men he could barely recognize. These pitiful soldiers had been exposed to a fatal dose of the Warp. There was only one outcome for contact with a world filled with such profane power.

Mutation, followed by an agonizing death, with no hope of salvation for their souls.

They were doomed to die. They were an unstable element, the seeds of disaster, mutants tainted by the evil powers of the Warp—the most intolerable threat to the Imperium.

Once, on Armageddon, an entire regiment of the Astra Militarum from the other side of the continent had been cruelly abandoned. They were gathered together, but instead of medals of honor, they were met with spears of light descending from the heavens, sending them to the God-Emperor's side.

Alexei had thought he had made his peace with that day. In this universe, sometimes, a clean death was a mercy.

But—

Alexei met the gazes converging on him from all around, gazes from faces that were now bloody, mangled messes.

Even as blood overflowed from their eye sockets, their eyes remained wide open.

Even as their roars tore open their wounds, blood pooling at their feet, they did not fall.

They refused the supporting hands of their comrades, because in front of the Emperor's Angel, in front of their Commissar and their Colonel, any weakness was a form of corruption!

Could you look at such warriors and say they could not fight for the Emperor?

Who could say such warriors could not fight for the Emperor!

Alexei's face went blank with shock.

He now understood why the Emperor's Angel stood before him.

He now understood that his warriors would have a better end.

"They can, my Lord!" Alexei threw his head back. He raised his hands and, with solemn reverence, made the sign of the Aquila to the Emperor's Angel.

"They can!"