Tranch warfare for a noble

Chapter 1: Welcome to Tranch

Georgio Belechus. Black haired, blue-eyed, tall, fit 28-years old man. Youngest of his line, following his father in glory of the Imperial Guard, hammer of the emperor. Or so he thought. But instead of being assigned into the role of an officer, he found himself getting loaded onto a ship, heading to a world he had never heard of. This had to be a mistake, he was no mere recruit! He was of noble blood, and that alone made him better than any of the mud-huggers around him. And now he has to do some work-out with them?! No way. "Excuse me sergeant... I am Geo-" The sergeant cut him short: "I know damn well who you are, private Georgio! You will do the exercises just like everyone else! Stop your dilly-dallying and give me twenty push-ups!" Georgio frowned: "But sir, I am of noble origins and-" "NO BUTS PRIVATE! MAKE IT THIRTY PUSH UPS!" Georgio did not expect that, and he decided his best option was to follow the orders for now. But he had one question he would not tolerate left unanswered: "Sir? where are we going?" Sergeant stared at him, with a look that could be described only as amused: "You lazy bastard will be transferred to Calixis-sector, to a planet called Tranch. Great place to get whatever got into that thick skull to use!" This would be a long warp-travel...

Two weeks later, the ship finally exited the immaterium. Georgio had been trained the basics and the job of a loader: Mortars, artillery, heavy weapons... Skills Georgio found useless for an officer. They really were making him start from the bottom like the rabble. Vox-casters roared to life: "ATTENTION. ALL PERSONNEL ASSIGNED TO TRANCH. PROCEED TO THE DOCKING BAY. PREPARE FOR ROUGHLY AVERAGE GRAVITY. MAY THE EMPEROR BE WITH YOU." Doesn't sound too good. Georgio was stuffed in a shuttle that had seats for 50 soldiers... And had 67 already stuffed in. Great. Landing was surprisingly comfortable, as Georgio expected anti-air fire or engine failure, or any other disastrous event. On the landing pad, recruits were assigned to form new squads. Georgio was an exception. "Georgio, your new partner is waiting for you in barrack 21. Get moving!" as Georgio found the place, he saw a man standing next to the door smoking a lho-stick. The man looked old (for a guardsman) and had a heavily modified set of flak armor. The man also had a dirty stubble of a beard. Last, but not least, his right arm was much better muscled than his left one. The man noticed Georgio and took took a last inhale of lho-stick´s bitter smoke before asking: "You the new guy? Recruit assigned here?" Georgio was not sure what to think of this man, but chose to tell the truth: "Yeah. And you are..?" "Jericus. Heavy weapons team. You have been assigned as my new loader. I´ll teach you the ropes don´t worry." "I already got the training..." "Oh, no you didn't get nearly enough. Welcome to Tranch, rookie."

Chapter 2: To survive assignment on Tranch

Jericus led Georgio to their post, a firing position dug into ground just out of the camp. Georgio realized he had missed the most important piece of information considering his survival: "What are we fighting here? Orks? Eldar?" "You dimwit don't even know that this sector is one of the most peaceful one in the entire segmentum obsucrus? There is almost no Eldar activity, and only couple of worlds have any kind of ork infestation on them." "Then what-" "The Pale Throng. I was here from the beginning. And I can say, I'd rather fight an ork WAAAGH! for a year than spend a week here. But, you know... Orders are orders." "Pale Throng? Never heard of it. So... What are they?" "Mutants. Witches. Monstrosities that say they are the next step of evolution, that humans are weak and blind to the future." Georgio felt confused: Imperial guard stamping out some backwater rebellion? "That seems ridiculous... Wouldn't the PDF troops be enough for something like this?" "the PDF was destroyed. Killed, every last one of them. We had a hard time too. And we are still needed to reclaim this planet." Jericus lit another lho-stick and opened a weapon cache. Georgio was stunned by what he saw: "What in the Emperor's name is THAT?" "This? Due to Calixis sectors' available weaponry giving adeptus administratum a chance to save a few coins, we have been appointed a Volg VI Heavy Stubber, commonly known as the crank cannon, and to those familiar with it, Big Six. Entirely hand-powered mechanism, cheapness and easy manufacturing makes this weapon both unreliable and easy to repair, not to speak of availability for spare parts. Clip size of 100 standard heavy stubber rounds, low rate of fire and cheaper system make this weapon inferior to heavy stubber in all areas except equal stopping power. Questions?" "Am I supposed to use this piece of crap?" Jericus stared at Georgio, dumbfounded. After a moment he regained his wits: "I suggest you start to appreciate this weapon. It is what will keep you alive during this assignment. And your job is to change its clips whenever it fires a tracer round which is the last round in a clip, and keep the weapon operational." Georgio knew he was going to hate this job.

Late that evening, after going through weapon procedures, Georgio was exhausted. "May I rest now, sir?" "For a while, yes." Georgio started to dig through his sack and found his sleeping bag. He curdled up in it, and started to get sleepy... "Are you sleeping there?!" "I'm trying-" "DON'T!" Is this guy crazy or something? Georgio was about to ignore him, but Jericus pulled him on his feet, and started another lecture: "This is Tranch, and you will act like it! Lesson one: Pale Throng WAS destroyed, but its remnants still roam here. Enemy is everywhere! Lesson two: Their forces are terrifying, mainly due to their ruthlessness and powers the monstrosities wield! They vary in shape and kind, and many of them are so quiet, that your heartbeat is loud in comparison! Sleeping is calling for your death! To survive, you MUST be ready at all times: You have to check for enemies even if you had a dozen scouts go before you! You must sleep only when absolutely necessary, and even then, confirm safety, and sleep lightly!" At that point, Georgio finally understood this assignment was not just a bother: It was going to be his own private hell.

Chapter 3: Trench on Tranch

Couple of days later, filled with lectures, complaints and suffering, the newfound heavy weapons team got its' first orders: They had to dig into positions around a decommissioned chimera as the tech-priest tried to reawaken it's machine spirit. Twelve long hours of digging later, there was a square-shaped trench, housing four heavy weapon teams and two squads of conscripts. Tech priest checked the vehicle and found it in need of extensive repairs, not to speak of the necessary rites to ease the machine spirit's pain. It would take four days as his tools and parts would force him to improvise wherever he could. Georgio sat in the trench, almost unable to stay awake. "It's for your own good, rookie. The sooner you learn to live with little sleep, the better." Jericus had begun to show some sympathy for Georgio. Which Georgio took as an outrage: Noble getting sympathy from mud-hugger? "Get lost. And take your damn "cranky" with you. I'm tired of your bullshit." "Fine! I'm just trying to help you survive, idiot." Georgio was too tired to argue.

"INCOMING! FIFTY TARGETS, THREE HUNDRED METERS SOUTHEAST!" What a glorious wakeup for Georgio. He jumped to his position as Jerichus prepared the crank cannon. The mutants closed in fast, and Jerichus opened fire. The closest mutants fell in moments, and about twenty followed before they retreated. "Hell, that was easy." Georgio felt great: The crapcannon worked beautifully for once. He reloaded it and went back to sitting. "Don't be so sure... The mutants are resourceful." "Don't Jinx it." That night, three conscripts died and two went missing. Jericus seemed mostly annoyed by this. There was another assault on the next day. The mutants got into range of their weapons and took out four more conscripts before retreating. Jericus started to get worried: We are dying here way too fast. They will redouble their efforts if these recruits don't get their shit together." "At least they get to sleep." Jericus rolled his eyes and mumbled something about "thankless noble fools".

Chapter 4: Infiltration

Two days have passed. Twelve conscripts have been dragged off. Filthy Witch-kin and their disguises. Jericus was sure they would all die in the next assault. At least the remaining conscripts were learning. So was Georgio, though he was way too slow. "Check the barrels again. I'll finish up modifying your armor." "Is that necessary? You know how the 'Uplifter' requires us to keep our equipment in prime, STANDARD condition?" "Shut your mouth for once. We are going to die if nothing short of a miracle happens. I'm making your armor more comfortable to die in." Georgio looked at Jericus in his normal, idiotic way. He still did not get it. "Did my sleeping bag have to die for that? I preferred to sleep in it. You know what sleeping is?" Jericus was fed up, but decided to ignore the fool for once. "There. All done." He went to his place as the gunner to wait for threats. Georgio, damn spoiled brat... Jericus wanted this to be over with. But the tech-priest still needed time to get the chimera moving, just a few hours now. He was not going to die on this rock. Georgio, just as usual, took a comfortable position. War was hell, but these mutants were a piece of cake. He opened his ration pack, and was about to bite the tasteless bar, but then stopped. He thought he saw something move. As he looked around, all was normal. He went back to eating, but now saw it: Reflection of movement on his ration pack's shiny surface. Then his world was shrunk to contain only his shoulder and pain. He screamed.

Jericus fumbled for his pistol while turning, seeing the witch-kin tearing at Georgios shoulder using its impossibly huge mouth filled wit filed teeth. He managed to get his gun out, and blasted the mutant with a beam of laser. Whatever people say about the "flashlight", it is more than capable of killing a human, especially with limited or no armour. The laspistol burned a hole through the filthy creature's head and into Giorgio's shoulder, both of which fell to the ground motionless. Another set of filed teeth dug into Jericus's pistol arm.

Georgio regained consciousness just soon enough to see Jericus get dragged away screaming. The pain was unbearable, and his arm wouldn't move. He saw the assault beginning. He saw the remaining conscripts open fire, and heard heavy weapon teams climb onto the chimera, to gain advantage. The fight was short, and the perfectly timed ignition of chimera's engine got all guard survivors do the classical decision for defeating the enemy: Retreat and regroup. Georgio was left there, in middle of the cheering mutants. He was about to lose consciousness again. "well, well, well. Look at what we have here." Someone said in a cold tone.

Chapter 5: Blessing or curse?

Commissar Grenn. About 1.8 meters tall, wide-shouldered man with an artificial eye, both arms and one leg replaced with bionics. His other eye was filled with bone fragments, but that had to wait: He had work to do.

"Vanus! Is the heavy flamer still jammed?!" He shouted.

"No more, Commissar! Fully operational!", the guardsman answered.

"Good, now give it to me!"

"... WHAT?!"

"You heard me dimwit! Just give the damned thing to me!" After strapping the flamer fuel tank to his back, Commissar Grenn turned to the squad's sergeant:

"Keep the men alive and provide covering fire!", he ordered.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!" The sergeant bellowed.

"I'm taking the fight to the enemy!", commissar answered. Then he charged.

Grenn was famous, both within Calixian Guard and comissariat, for he was the craziest one still alive. He had done many a suicidal charge alone simply to later emerge from the chaos wounded but alive. He was thought to be either blessed by the Emperor to survive, or cursed to suffer. He did not care.

A short list of his deeds explain how (un?)lucky he is: He has survived: Charging an Ork nob under heavy fire and shoving a grenade into its mouth, losing his arm in the process. Losing the other arm in a rockslide, having to cut it off himself to escape. Charging an enemy bunker to get explosives in, while friendly artillery was still pounding the area: Lost his leg to a shell. Being attacked by a swarm of Rippers: Those that got close he had to tear from his flesh and bash to death. Gained many scars during the process, and three teeth and parts of his tongue as he saved time by grabbing one Ripper with his teeth and biting it to death (causing many stories to pop up of him killing a tyranid with his teeth (with size of said 'nid growing every time the story is told)). Losing his eye to eldar shuriken weapons, and now the other eye to bone shrapnel from the unlucky guardsman next to him.

And now he charged a horde of mutants with a poor-quality heavy flamer. He saw the insanity of this himself, but unlike most commissars, he wanted to save and inspire men instead of making them scared by executions. What better tool for his goal than showing true courage?

He managed to reach the mutant firing line with only minor wounds and proceeded to cleanse and purify the abominations. As he was finishing up the last group, the fuel tank exploded on his back, sending him flying on fire. He landed hard and couldn't move to extinguish the flames. He was saved by the squad he was attached to, while medic tried to get him fixed up.

"Don't worry. Grenn wouldn't die if you chopped his head off.", The sergeant said laughing.

"Commissar Grenn!", He proclaimed.

"Sure, sure. Let's get you patched up, friend."

Chapter 6: Meeting

Georgio woke up chained on a table, with his standard issue guardsman uniform having been replaced with only some cheap pants. Not that he could complain- the wound seemed to be infected, and removing clothing from that would be agony. He looked around himself to see where he was: The room looked like a filthy, primitive medicae station. The table he was chained to seemed to be made entirely of plasteel, and felt cold on his back. At least it eased the pain... Even if only a little. Georgio then heard steps approaching.

"Yes, yes. I will have the prisoner talk as soon as he wakes up. The wound was nasty and got infected, so I can't say if he will awaken today, tomorrow, or next week. He might never wake up."

The voice was calm, and seemed to belong to a man. Georgio tried to listen, but a wave of pain washed over him, making his vision blur.

"What do you think? Will he bend under torture?"

Another voice. Georgio was not sure of the source's gender, though.

"He will. One way or the other."

Georgio decided to attempt to escape, as being tortured was not on his to-do-list. He managed to squirm one arm away, after which the rest was easy. Just as he tried to stand up, another wave of pain made him feel dizzy. He tried to get support from the table but instead pulled a box of surgical tools down with him, causing noise and getting multitudes of cuts in the process. He heard people running closer. He quickly stood up, holding a scalpel as a weapon.

Then the mutants rushed into the room: One of them small with his left eye as big as Georgio's fist and the other having four arms. They stared at Georgio for a moment before charging him.

Georgio slashed wildly with the scalpel, but did not manage to cause lethal damage to these abominations. He was pushed to the ground, and stabbed with a needle. He lost consciousness mere moments later.

Georgio woke up again strapped to a chair. It seemed to be torture time. In the far end of the small, dark room, he could barely see a person. He still felt the effects of the drug.

"Whooo.... Aare youuu?"

He couldn't even speak properly, not to say anything about his inability to think straight.

"I am Breca. Assigned here for your interrogation."

Georgio squinted and realized the person before him was a woman, although a mutated one: Her knees seemed to bend in the wrong way.

"Pleese... Don't hurt mee..."

He started to feel his mouth. At least he could speak relatively normally.

"I need you to tell any and all information regarding the plans of the guard in the near future. If you prove helpful, there will be no need for pain."

"Emperor spare me... I cannot tell anything. I wasn't told anything!"

"But are you not a Noble? You seem to be of... "Pure" breed, and are not such men put to command?"

The way she said pure seemed to be forced: Like she disagreed with the whole concept of either nobles or the perfection of human form! How could such a lowly thing speak in such manner!

"Cursed mutant... Acting all high and mighty now that I cannot move?!"

"I see. Well, what else to expect from ancestors of evolution... It seems pain is the language we will need to try next."

Georgio never before had felt this helpless.

Chapter 7: Return of lost guardsman

Jericus wandered in the rubble of a collapsed hive-spire. He had managed to shoot the witch-kin before getting killed. He had lost feeling in his arm, though. And the amount of blood he lost was certainly bad for his survival. The vital fluid was slowly flowing to his fingertips, and from there to ground.

Another drop fell.

He was looking for anything to staunch the bleeding. His uniform was needed, he did not want to freeze to death. His bandolier was needed to carry ammunition: He was already low, and almost every clip on his belt had only a few shots left. His humble laspistol seemed to start acting up, as he could not perform the simplest maintenance. It was reliable, but the way he had to treat the poor thing... Tech-priests would be horrified of the machine's pain.

And another drop.

He felt dizzy. He had felt dizzy for a few hours: Must have been the blood loss. The wound was most likely infected, too. The dizziness slowed him down. But stopping to rest would be certain death.

More blood fell from his fingertip.

He decided to take the risk of having a rest. He fell on his arse, but couldn't feel the pain. He thought he heard something. He couldn't move to shoot the threat. He knew stopping was a bad idea. He managed to utter a short prayer before fainting.

Jericus was transported to the closest guard base by the squad who had run into him: They knew him, and they were certain he would survive. Jericus was too stubborn to simply bleed to death. The medic there managed to staunch the bleeding and disinfect the wound. Jericus still lived. He would keep on fighting for the Imperium of man. And he would keep holding the line.

Chapter 8: Intervention

Georgio screamed. This... Breca, was it?.. Sure knew her way with improvised torturing tools. At least he thought that having glass shards inserted into the victim's back was not standard torture method. Nor did he think having molten wax (taken from the purity seal put onto his helmet) poured into the wound on his shoulder. Or having his hair tied to a metal bar and lifted so that he could barely stand on his toes. He was pretty certain his skin would tear before he could hang without that little support.

"Let me down, let me down! Please!"

"Why would I? You still haven't answered the question: Tell me how your camp is defended, locations of your heavy weapons, mine fields and command center, and you can go."

"I don't know! I'm new! I didn't get to learn the positions properly!"

Breca was getting tired of this. Either this man was brave or he was a fool. These so called "pure" people were usually the latter. She decided to report of the situation to the Shroud Master, but was surprised as he was waiting right behind the door.

"Shroud Master! What a coincidence. I was just going to-"

"Tell me about this human's inability to cooperate? I already know."

She should have known. All the Shroud Masters were special: No matter how they had evolved from the normal human, they possessed great psychic powers.

"What should I do? I need your guidance, honored one."

"Sometimes, when the 'normals' fight against the natural flow of evolution, we must show the way. In this case, we cannot obtain information, but what about assistance? Safety? There are many ways a brother can help."

Georgio tried to listen in, but he couldn't make any sense of the little he did hear.

"Brother? What are you talking about, honored one?" Breca mumbled.

"I shall make him want to help us."

As the Shroud master walked towards Georgio, the latter felt a new kind of dread: He felt something scratching at the back of his skull, squirming within his mind.

"GET AWAY FROM ME, WITCH!", he roared.

The shroud master didn't care about Georgio's protests, but then was heard a loud whizzing noise.

"Artillery?" Breca said, trying to figure out the source of such voice.

"I do not think so", the shroud master answered. "The guard knows of our prisorners, not to speak of the lack of artillery around these parts..." The Shroud Master answered, right before the ordnance hit the base.

Around two kilometers to the north, the whirlwind let away two more salvos before the space marines saw their thunderhawk circling back.

"That warp storm spit us up far from our heading, captain. So why did we waste time to bombard some mutant base?" One of the marines wondered.

"The guard had a problematic situation, which I decided to fix. They can't decide what to do in hostage situations involving more than a hundered civilians, not to speak of 53 soldiers", the captain answered.

"Marines Malevolent, prepare for extraction!" He continued.

Chapter 9: Escape

Georgio survived with mere bruises, as did Shroud Master and Breca. He couldn't bear to move, though: The torture had ruined his back and hands, and getting up was too painful an ordeal for his current condition. The mutants stood up, and started whispering. He pulled the glass shards still embedded in his flesh, at least the ones his bound hands could reach.

"I won't die here... Not on this forsaken rock...", he muttered. By the time he was done pulling sharp objects from his back, the mutants were approaching.

"I am now releasing you, OK? Just... Take it easy and don't try anything funny", Breca said

Georgio couldn't understand what was going on, but decided this was his best bet to survive. Breca pulled him up and cut the ropes holding his hands. Georgio immediately sprinted in the opposite direction, ignoring the pain this caused.

"Was that a good idea, Honored One? This... Georgio may prove himself a threat later", Breca asked.

"We need every minute he can buy us to escape. Do not worry: He is still well within our reach."

Georgio finally found other REAL human beings. They seemed oddly familiar... Weren't these the recruits that left him on the field of battle?

"Help! I need help!", he shouted.

The recruits clearly recognized him, and seemed distraught. What was going on?

"You know the orders. Eradicate all potential hostiles", the commissar accompanying them said.

Georgio was faster to react than the recruits. He leaped into cover and screamed in panic, just before lasfire began.

"I'm a human! Don't shoot! I'm on your side!", he bellowed.

"Do not underestimate the witches that lead the masses, and do not worry about him: For the Emperor protects all those that stay faithful to him.

Georgio was no fool: That phrase had the same meaning as 'no matter is he enemy or not, kill him. Emperor chooses who is worthy of redemption'. Georgio's only choise was to run into the wilds, hopefully avoiding the lasfire. He ran with wild abandon, not caring of danger behind him nor slowing to avoid the risk of tripping: He had no time.

As he was about to lose the conscripts, he tripped on the rubble, as a bolter shell flew through the spot his head had occupied mere blink of an eye ago. Even the commissar was chasing him. He thought he was done for, but at that moment the entire squad fled in terror. The commissar shot couple of the cowards, but the rest still fled. As the commissar turned around, a woman charged at him. She swung her blade, disemboweling the commissar.

He looked down and managed to mutter a confused "What?" Before falling on his own innards.

Georgio tried to get his brain to work: Too much adrenaline in his system caused him a headache.

"Who are you?", he asked.

"I? I be Krella. The ol' lady wants ta' meetcha.