Dropped into the Hellstorm
A Guardswomans Memoir
By Meradet ver Melliur
The First Drop
0845 hours, 9.163.672.M38
What is the most agonizing part of combat? Some may say it's the noise, the deafening orchestra of shouted orders, screams of the wounded and chorus of guns of every caliber and lens focus. Others may say it's the aftermath, where the exhausted survivors must process their experience, as they must sort their dead from the wounded, before the latter die and the former begin spread sickness among the living. In my opinion, the worst part is the wait before it all. Especially if you are a drop-trooper on your first combat jump. While I could only observe my platoon, I would hazard to guess that our experience was shared across the whole regiment as we flew to our jump zones. The platoon was seated in to rows, backs against the walls of our assigned Air Mules. Think a Marauder bomber if it were configured to carry cargo, and modified further to pack a platoons worth of anxious young men and woman, their officers and all the gear they have to carry, and some heavy weapons in their own drop-canisters.
It was an uncomfortable seating arrangement, because save for the heavy weaponry, each guardsman had to carry all his or her gear. The grav-chute in particular I hated sitting with, because it forced us into an uncomfortable seating position for the whole three-hour trip. Everything else, my lasrifle, hand las, charge packs, two frags, a krak, a det-charge, a smoker, ration cans, entrenching tool, bayonet, survival knife, extra socks and undergarments, a land mine, two cartons of tabac sticks, gas mask, sugar, powdered recaff, canteen, cacao bars, compass, flotation device and a copy of the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer. Most of this had to be carried in webbing or a pack that had to be worn mostly over the chest until I could shrug off my grav-chute. That annoyance at least helped to distract from anxiety of waiting. The cargo bay of the Air Mule was loud from the sound of its engines and the winds, making light conversation almost impossible. It might not have happened even if it could be done, because everyone trying to steel themselves our first engagement. We had all flown before. We had all jumped before, even with full gear. We knew how to do this. The difference is that now was the first time the 1st Keldoran Spire-Hoppers would do so in a true life or death operation.
Everyone coped in his or her own ways. I tried shifting myself in a fruitless attempt to find a seated position that was at least bearable. My squad mate Raken to my left read through his Uplifting Primer. He had already read the whole thing, but he could not bring anything else but the guard's best source of toilet paper. Leryn I think tried to hum songs, but the noise of the Air Mule drowned it out for everyone but her. Ilsken I noticed was mouthing prayers to Saint Drebus and the Emperor. Our platoon lead, Lieutenant Sylwin seemed completely un-phased by the tension in the room. She merely looked across her platoon and occasionally glanced at her chrono, as if impatient to start the jump. Each of us were finding ways to pass the time, until the time came for us to prove ourselves worthy of the years we had trained for this day.
Eventually we were shocked from our revere by the sound of explosions. That could only have been flak cannons that had noticed our approach. We had presumed that preliminary strikes by the Aeronatica had disabled such defenses. It was only later that I learned that they were in fact successful in eliminating the majority of enemy anti-air emplacements. But having no knowledge of this at the time, my only assumption was that they had failed, and that we could now face our end before we had even touched the ground. Some flak booms were more distant, but other sounded dangerously close to striking our Mule, causing it to shake and weave as the pilots adjusted to the threat. It felt like an eternity, but the yellow light over the closed cargo ramp finally flashed, signaling that the drop zone was closing in two minutes. Sylwin immediately stood up and shouted in her deep voice:
"STAND UP! FINAL CHECKS! 60 SECONDS!"
We could just hear her over all the noise, and we all immediately stood, having to hoist ourselves up by grabbing on to the railing above us. We proceeded to intone final activation hymns to our main weapons and to the grav-chute of the person in before us in the line. Then the callback started with Corporal Vexon, an attaché from our companies heavy weapons platoon with "56 OKAY!" It went down the line, me eventually calling out "32 OKAY!" Until finally Sylwin boomed "1 OKAY" just as the ramp started lowering. It was as if the light of the saints graced us as daylight entered the enclosed bay. Once my sight adjusted I could see the great number of Air Mules that followed us, and the explosions from the flak. I saw one in the distance that started to lose height, likely from being struck in an engine. Assuming the platoon it carried had all been killed, they would jump early and make their way to the rest of the regiment as best they could. Even as we waited the occasional burst would nearly miss our Mule, and we clung to the rails for dear life so we were not tossed from our feet.
The final seconds to the green light felt like minutes. When it flashed, Sylwin barely waited until the attending airman finished calling out "Go!" to start running down the ramp with First Sergeant Rawell barely following. Once they were out of sight, both lines moved up as the airmen shouted go. I was sixteenth in line, with Raken in front. Then my moment came. As soon as Raken leapt of the ramp came my turn. Like I had trained two years and practiced afterwards for. Like I had done for leisure in my adolescence from the heights of Hive Ouartaegus, I leapt from the ramp and entrusted myself to gravity. Like every other time I had jumped, the wind drowned out every other noise, save the flak bursts around me. It is a sensation unlike any other to float in the sky, free from a weight save the forces of the universe. I watched the approaching ground bellow, looking for the features we had been forced to memorize from picts and maps to find my platoons companies landing area. Once I spotted the small plateau, barely visible from the height, I maneuvered myself to drift until I was sure that it was directly under me, and counted down to my chute activation. Our Elysian jump instructors always insisted on timing as a key during a drop. To early they say, and you may become an obstacle to those following you, and might exhaust the chute charge early. Activate it too late and it wont have enough time to slow your decent to a manageable speed, or have time to use the thrusters to adjust your landing to safe ground. Once I estimated the optimal deployment and started noticing the exhaust of the control thrusters the bulky peace of gear that was the bane of my existence for the last three hours became my most precious possession.
Once the grav-chutes spirit was roused it began its telltale vibrations indicating that my fall would begin to slow. The pressure from below began to abide, and I started to position myself upright and take hold of the pulleys for the steering thrusters. As the ground neared I sought to angle my approach over an empty space, so as to not collide with anyone already grounded. My attention was wholly devoted to my landfall, as the ground grew closer and closer. In the final few dozen feet, I braced my legs for landing. When I struck the ground it was gentle, having time my chutes activation just right. Though it's full weight would make me fall on my rear from it and the weight of al my gear. I immediately worked the straps to remove the cursed thing, and when it finally snapped of, I took a moment to look above.
It was a magnificent sight, thousands of us descending to do combat in the name of the Emperor and his saints. It would be a sight the pict-catchers would kill to take, and such images would no doubt inspire many back home to rush to the drop-trooper school. "Melliur!" I heard and snapped my head to where the shout came from. It was my sergeant, Caloun. "No time to admire the view! It's for real this time remember!" he barked. I immediately recalled the urgency of my situation. This was no longer training. The enemy could have reached us at any moment, having likely deduced where we landed. "Yes sergeant" I replied and swung my pack over my shoulders. As Caloun watched for the squad members that followed me I unstrapped my lasrifle from my webbing and looked it over as I moved t. No damage and the charge pack were still loaded, and it hummed correctly when I switched firing mode on.
Once the squad was gathered we moved to stand by with our platoon. Our grav-chutes were to be left behind to not slow us down, and would be collected by the last arrivals, for later recovery or destruction on the prospect of capture. Once the platoon was gathered into an area away from the plateau in a hidden camp we removed as much of our kit as we could. Anything not relevant for combat activity save our canteens and a ration can were placed in piles, one for each squad to be watched by a few squads designated to watch the camp. Speed was of vital import, and any weight shed would mean one would last longer, for a long day was expected ahead. Once that was done the company moved for the days objective. The nearby town of Elukias was our target, and having survived survived the jump we were eager for our first combat.
Authors Foreword
That day is one immortalized in the annals of Keldoran history. But even more so it marks a transition for those who lived to the days end. It was the first action of not only the regiment, but also the first drop troops tithed by its home world. It is a day that none who were there will ever forget, a number that will only dwindle as time presses on. It also overshadows much the service of the 1st Keldoran Spire-Hoppers. The story of my regiment goes beyond the victories the home world learns about, but also encompasses the lives of each member.
Truth be told, what finally convinced me to write this text was not merely as sense of obligation reveal the experience of myself and those I knew, but fury at one subject in particular. When I saw Dellanda Maximes "Flight of the Keldoran 1st" I walked out at the first intermission. Nothing in that farce of a play resembled anything I saw in my time as one of the first Spire-Hoppers. Besides butchering the course of events worst than an ork attempting fine cuisine, the characters are little more than distorted caricatures of the people fought and bleed with. I would never claim Annarska Sylwin was the most pleasant individual, yet she was never a brute who killed out of jealousy. Being her subordinate should lend credence to my words.
My goal is to give the truth of Keldorans first drop trooper regiment, as only someone who has lived through its service can give. All that that you will read is the truth as best as I can transcribe it. You will our heights and our lows. From the regiments foundation to its disbandment. I dedicate this work to the Emperor and his saints. And to everyone who stood beside through our years under arms. This memoir is made possible thanks to my friend Raken, who's studious note taking thought his service was invaluable to recalling events that had faded from my memory. And to the input of my drill instructor Roslyn Meier, who is responsible for pounding into my head the skills I needed to survive, and for giving insight to the regiments origin and the man who formed it: General Asterion ver Malkair.
