Dropped into the Hellstorm. A Guardswomans Memoir (Warhammer 40k)

[ShyPerson]

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.

 

[ShyPerson]

Chapter 1: The Founder

Spoiler: Authors Notes

This chapter is largely about establishing context for the regiment. Next one will introduce the author.

The man responsible for introducing the concept of drop-troops to Keldor needs no introduction if you are from the same world. For the sake of those not native to Keldor, Asterion ver Malkair was a scion of the noble house Malkair from Hive Pelargatan. Born in 601. M38 as a younger son not expecting to inherit much, and therefore pursued a career in Pelargatans Protectors, the PDF of his native hive. After graduating from the Academy of Martial Excellence in hive Ouartaegus in 619. M38 on is families patronage he bought a commission to a lieutenancy to an infantry regiment. His unit took part in some bushfire conflicts, clearing raiders in the wastelands; pacified Pelargatans underhive during an uprising and took part in suppressing a series of vicious food riots during the Four Years Shortage.

Where his notoriety would begin to rise was after he was selected for an officer's billet for a regiment formed for the imperial tithe. After twenty years of service he had risen to the rank of Major and was assigned to the 729th Infantry Regiment as a Lt. Colonel in 634. M38. His regiment was ferried to battle orks in Sub-Sector Akkala, where his star would begin to rise. After Kommandos assassinated his regiments command, he took command and was able to keep his forces from routing in the face of the enemy. He would be promoted to Colonel and commander of the regiment for his actions. Further engagements with Drukhari raiders and forces of Arch traitors would see promotion to higher command, up to the position of General. Word eventually made it back to Keldor, where he gained acclaim as hero of the Imperium for his skillful command, fame that his previously ambivalent family was quite eager to attach themselves to.

Countless tales have been published in print and pict-captures of his exploits, yet the event that matters most to me is one those self-styled biographical tales will barely mention. The first time that he encountered drop-troops occurred when he led a salient in an offensive to retake a manufactorum complex during the relief of forgeworld Amatus-Gamma. According to my old trainers the Elysian 472nd were dropped ahead of the push to cause havoc behind the orks lines and to secure or sabotage vital infrastructure. Asterion is said by surviving members of the 472nd to have been impressed by this operation. In spite of casualties the regiment suffered it had accomplished most of its objectives, enabling the offensive to proceed ahead of schedule. Then Lieutenant General Asterion would keep the regiment under his disposal for the remainder of his time in service, having become fascinated by its doctrine and deployment method.

What must be noted, for those not from Keldor, is that the grav-chute is not viewed as a device with military application on Keldor. While it is manufactured, it exists as a leisure device. What can be said to truly unite most of the youth of the hives upper strata is the activity of Spire-Hopping. Like the name suggests, participants seek to leap off the highest portion of the hive that they have access to, a few legendary cases even doing it from the spires. Some take it further and attempt to drop through the hive itself in a race to reach the underhive, to then proceed to partake in hunts. It must have been a surreal thing for Asterion to observe a regiment of the Guard employing grav-chutes on masse.

The 472nd would remain under Asterions command until his retirement in 658. M38, when it disbanded due to its ranks being depleted below combat effectiveness, with only a few hundred still standing. The old general would return to his homeworld with most of these castoffs, promising employment and security to the veteran Elysians barrack families now that the Munitorium did no want them. Those I have asked said that it was for the sake of their spouses and children that they took their old generals offer, away from the constant uncertainty of the whims of Segmentum Command that any other route might have lead. And for the promise of rendering a meaningful service with the skills and experience they had gained away from the combat that the Old Breed had grown weary of. The service in being to do their best to prepare the brats of a hiveworlds upper strata to do the same things they had retired from.

While introducing the prospect of using leisure device for combat may be easier than introducing tanks to Attilian's, it was by no means an easy process. Asterion had a cadre of loyal veterans who could form the drill and instruction staff for a theoretical regiment, inherited estates to use as training grounds and renown to leverage for his project. It would regardless take a great deal of effort to convince the military establishment of the use of such a unit. After nearly a of persuasion and gaining the approval from the Planetary Governor, alongside his appointment as Supreme Martial of Keldor, the time finally came that the Academy for Combat Drop-Trooper Training was inaugurated and the efforts to gather enlistments for my worlds first drop regiment were started in 668. M38.

One other factor distinguishes Spire-Hoppers from other Keldor regiments besides deployment method. Like most hive armies, Keldorian regiments are organized like a hives population in miniature. Most enlisted and NCOs come from the lower level populations, including the underhive, service being a more secure employment then manufactorum labor or the consistent danger of underhive life. Much of the officer corps comes from the higher levels, at the lowest from affluent mid-level families, who gain their billets from purchased commissions. Exceptions exist for both classes, but the Spire-Hoppers are even more exceptional by the fact that most of its membership is enlisted from the upper levels. While the lower level populations vastly eclipse upper level populations of a hive, the combined upper population numbers on worlds hosting at least four hives are sufficient to form at least a few single regiment without draining the population.

The recruitment campaign targeted to the mid and upper level youth ran on many of the subjects used since Terran antiquity draws the young and foolish into war. Slogans reciting the virtues of duty, glory and exiting adventure were circulated through vids, transmissions and motivational posters. Whilst their elders were unsurprisingly nonplused about using a youth's toy to enter combat, their children in the spirit of youth across mankind's domain were only further motivated to enlist for the endeavor. Of course a regiment also needs officers, from sergeants to colonel, which was solved through a less overt recruiting campaign conducted amidst the planets PDF and military academies. Prospective non-commission officers were scouted out from the PDF regiments. Men and women who either joined because of interest in the concept or who saw an opportunity to advance a stalling career. Many of our first sergeants were those who had the service time and experience for the promotion who, regardless, would not receive them where they were posted due to politics or shortages of available posts. Commissioned officers were recruited in much the way, with the junior most ranks being picked out from cadets and recent graduates of the officer academies seeking to jumpstart their careers.

For all the reasons for enlistment those of the first founding may give for swearing in the new regiment, from naked opportunism to sincere faith in what the Martial was doing, makes my own motives for enlisting look rather underwhelming in comparison.

 

[ShyPerson]

Chapter 2: Enlistment



My full name is Merudet Ilya Astrakhon Decamus Lumoyestra ver Melliur. The only part you need to know is my dynastic surname, ver Melliur, denoting my heritage from the Melliur dynasty of Ouartaegus's spire nobility. To ones born of less affluent means, my choice to enlist might seem absurd when my familial conections could easily gain me entry to an officers academy, and later a commission. To understand why I did not take the obvious route, you need to understand that advancement was not my priority.

The ver Melliur dynasty sits shy two levels of Ouartaegus's spire peaks, meaning that while I do not stand amidst highest echelons of the spire nobility, I was still born with a nursing servitor by my side as the fourth daughter of Meradelia ver Melliur. I never wanted for food or safety in my childhood. To the masses of the lower hives who toil daily for scraps of starch and handfuls of recycled water, or middle hivers who's status is precarious at its most secure, it must sound like paradise. What those who covet such security fail to understand is that this security comes with significant expectations and obligations in return. A potential heir is expected to lean a great deal of things related to the dynasties affairs, whilst those without that expectation are understood to benefit the family by undertaking a respectable career, such as under the governing apparatus, an officers commission or through a politically advantageous marriage. Any member of my mother's household can attest that I was suitable for none of these eventualities.

I was the image of a troublesome child. An embarrassment for my family, and a nightmare for my caretakers. Whilst I took well the usual luxuries afforded to dwellers of the spires, the responsibilities and obligations were of little interest to me. Most subjects my tutors attempted to instill often bored me, but I did learn my letters and numbers along with the basics of history and faith through much stubbornness on their part. Through whatever social events I was brought on, my first inclination was to seek an opportunity to escape and partake in some mischief. My co-conspirators were the servants I could bribe or threaten for aid and the troublemakers of other houses who shared in my interests. Our antics ranged from loitering away from the event, spiking the food and drink for a feasts with intoxicants and my favorite activity, spire hopping.

Save for an interest in target shooting, little of my behavior would recommend me as suitable for a respectable Guard regiment. I grew up constantly hearing of the deeds General Asterion as he worked his way to the position of Supreme Marshal. At my seventeenth year my mother presented me with an ultimatum: shape up and chose a direction, or she would foist me off in a political marriage. Strange as it may look, marriage was the least attractive option between being shipped to an ecclesiarchal seminary or an officer's academy, for reasons I would not truly understand until years latter. That event also happened to coincide with the first enlistment drives for the first batch of prospective Spire-Hoppers.

My motivation for signing up was twofold: to escape the prospect of marriage, and spite. My mother always despised spire hopping and looked down on the enlisted, so joining looked to me as the ultimate insult to her sensibilities while simultaneously putting her outside her reach. The reach of the ver Melliurs could not hope to touch the Grand Marshals pet project. The choice of joining the Spire-Hoppers was made only because it would involve shooting and grave-chuting, two things I already enjoyed. I had no investment in the greater Imperium's cause. Naturally my mother had restricted my movement to our main mansion in the Tigarius Spire of hive Oaurtaegus, so some skullduggery to approach the recruiting office. It was accomplished thanks in part to my second sister Elba and fellow troublemakers who worked to smuggle me out of our estate.

I thought noting of it at the time, but my fate was truly sealed when I signed my name on the enlistment papers, and gave my oath of service to the Emperors cause. The processing began immediately, as I was handed the regiment's service dress and instructed to change. From now on the regiment issued every piece of dress down to the undergarments. The ensemble consisted of groxhide boots, green and tan trousers, shirt and jacket, completed by a cap. These were unadorned save for the schools emblem of a baurat* to mark us as the new intake. We were allowed only what personal items we could stuff into the regiment issued hand luggage, which for me meant a few beauty materials and letters from acquaintances. After this first step I was placed in a waiting room for a few hours with other enlistees' until we were marched to the air-tram* that would take us to Initiation.

On the flight over I was seated next to the man who whom these recollections would not have been possible. When I first met Raken on that air-tram I did not think much of him. He was a bookish youth who had his nose stuck into an obsolete edition of the Uplifting Primer. We exchanged little more than courtesy, and I learned that he was from a mid-hive merchant family and a former student of the Collegium.* When I asked why he sought to join he answered: "To be there to record history as it is formed. This regiment will be the first of its kind from Keldor and there is no better place to record its history then being part of it."

I was somewhat bewildered by his sentiment. Joining up for the purpose of writing history somewhat baffled me, is ironic considering what have done since. I said to him: "You signed up for research? You know that might not go far if you wash out." He looked as if to think over a response, then said, "Perhaps, but risk is inherent in all endeavors related to campaigning for the Emperors cause. Why did you join?" Obviously I was not going tell him I joined out of spite for my own family. "Because it sounded exciting." It was partially true, as the chance to use my marksmanship and grav-chuting skills in war did also attract me to the new unit. I suspect Raken did not wholly believe it, but our difference in status likely intimidated him from further questioning.

After a few hours our flight arrived to the ver Malkair's spire estate on hive Pelargartan, which Asterion had converted into a training compound to ensure his control over the project. After we disembarked we were led to a ballroom, lined with tables loaded with fine food and servitors walking about with drink trays. The hall was filled earlier arrivals of the day, and we were encouraged to mingle like we would at similar occasions. The divide between enlistees form differing levels was apparent, as spire nobility and mid-hivers largely grouped together with their own, being split further by birth-hive. I heard many comments disparaging the low-levelers present, that thinner blood would despoil the regiment and other deprecation. It was briefly after the arrival of the final enlistments of the day that our attention was called to a platform placed against the southern wall, where marching on to it, escorted by Elysians in full dress uniform came the none other than Asterion ver Malkair himself.

All previous talk was forgotten on the sight of our worlds greatest then living hero. Despite juve-nat treatment his age was visible through gray streaks in his hair. Likewise his augmetic eye was more apparent when seen in person then on the pict-recordings in spite of its close likeness to his original. His uniform and bearing was flawless as he spoke into the loudhailer placed on the podium. To the first enlistees that endured until the end, his pleasant timbre delivered an address committed to the Spire-Hoppers history.


Initiates, by your presence you honor not only yourselves, but also your families and birth-hives. What we are setting out to accomplish has never been done before in Keldorian military history: a force whose purpose is to drop behind the lines of xenos and heretic to sow disorder and havoc in the rear lines. You will be trained in the equipment and doctrines unique to this form of warfare. Veterans hardened by decades in the Emperors service will do their utmost to ready you for the same.

But take heed, for training for this duty will be relentless. For the next two years will push each and every one of you to your limits. The regiment you seek to be a part of can accept no weakness. You must be ready to give your all if wish to leave our world with the baurat emblem on your uniform.

Now gorge yourselves tonight, because the twelve weeks following the complete enrollment will be the toughest. Foot first, upon the Hellstrom!


Everyone in attendance raised their drinks and cheered in response. I did so as well, out of politeness if nothing else, though with at least a little genuine enthusiasm. After the event we were moved to the compounds barracks and assigned our bunks, men and women being segregated for this first stage of training. For the next week and a half as more enlistees were brought in discipline remained lax, like nothing more then a retreat in uniform, with balls similar to the first day ongoing through that time to introduce the newcomers. Most days did not have the Grand Marshal himself appearing as he had other duties to attend, and it was instead conducted by Dael Dootsheifen, Commander of the Elysians when the regiment disbanded, and now head of the combat drop school by Asterions appointment. Much is made by gossipmongers that allege their relationship go beyond the professional. I will state for the record that I do not know nor care to speculate on the subject. Dootsheifens appointment was because she was the most suitable for the position, and there ends my opinion on the subject.

Officers, both commissioned and not had their own introduction to the school, as they had already suffered the PDF's military initiation trials, and would for a while have a separate curriculum from us enlisted. The first intake for the marshal's experiment I learned later numbered around 30,000, counting both enlisted and officers. The lax first week and a half I experienced exited to lull us into a false sense of security, as once our training truly began, the 30,000 would soon fall once the pressure began being applied. I was in for a rude awakening.



* The baurat is an animal native to Keldors moon Erinat, and resembles a terran bat. The species is the forested moons apex predator and is a popular pet among the nobility.

* A Collegium can be likened to a university in its function as a repository for information and its research. So long as its subjects remain approved by the Adepts Terra.

 

[ShyPerson]

Chapter 3: Induction


Once the first week and a half of intake was up, it would truly dawn on us what basic training truly entailed. My sister Elba, herself being a Captain of our worlds PDF had warned me in our communications to be wary of the schools laxness. I dismissed her warnings as her attempts to make me leave, and I always claimed I was ready for the Basic Induction to begin in my youthful bravado. The true test started one morning with a loud whistle at 0500, blown by our barracks drill instructor. The morning began with said instructor dressing us down for our slow rising, our poor stances and any other inadequacy that came to her mind. That woman, formerly First Sergeant Janek Hootsmeyer, would establish herself the bane of my existence for the next twelve weeks. She truly looked the part of a veteran, greying in hair, built like tank in human form and covered almost more by scar tissue then skin. Her presence was such that it felt as if she loomed over us, even though she was the shortest person in the room. A few days after this rude awakening I would have the joy of her personal attention.

While Hootsmeyer was dressing down someone over a stain on her uniform I whispered joke about her to the recruit next to me. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I was certain I was quiet enough to evade her notice. Evidently I was not, because she immediately stood in front of me. In a conversational tone she said: "Do you think you are a funny girl, Melliur?" If your drill instructor is speaking to you in a conversational tone, be weary. In my youthful wisdom I responded: "I am not a girl, Instructor!" Let it not be said that spire-nobility forgets due titles. "You are barely into your adulthood, Melliur. If you stay quiet and pay attention I might consider you a woman in years time." Just as she turned to address the rest of my barrack, my impetuousness got the better of me. I don't remember what I was going to say said, but I do remember that the first few syllables had barely left my mouth when Hootsmeyer turned back towards me and stuck her face mere inches from my own. "YOU WILL NOT SPEAK UNLESS YOU ARE SPOKEN TO! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!" she shouted.

The suddenness and volume of the act shocked me into silence. You must understand that while I was no stranger to being reprimanded, it had never been in such a direct manner. The tutors of my childhood and youth always had to step carefully when trying to discipline me, as my greater station made them fearful for their safety of my mother thought that they overstepped their bounds. My mother's attempts consisted mostly attempting to deny things that I desired, and to lecture me about my lineage, responsibilities and other assorted obligations that ran through one ear and out the other. Our trainers did not care that spire-families like mine could have their tongues for speaking to speaking to scions like myself in such a manner. In my shock I froze until Hootsmeyer prompted me to acknowledge her words. Naturally I was punished with twenty-five pushups.


That episode is but a prelude of what Induction entails. Our instructor spared no pity in pushing each recruit until they either broke or endured. Each morning saw us woken early through the 0500 Loud-hail if you were lucky, or earlier if your barracks instructor decided to test how well you functioned without sleep. You could find yourself roused after merely four hours of sleep if the instructor had given out a late punishment duty. The first weeks the priority was learning the formalities of guard life. How to address superiors, to salute properly and how to make oneself presentable were the main lessons. The art of looking respectable is of paramount importance a hives "polite society", but our instructors would catch the slightest crease and wrinkle, and dress the perpetrator down in front of their barrack buddies. This was also the first time many of us had to make our beds for the first time in our lives. If they were not made to our instructor's satisfaction, then you had to sleep without mattress, pillow or blanket for the night. The facial cosmetics* popular among those our station were prohibited school, and the early days saw several recruits forced to wash them off with water and rags, myself included.

Interspersed through our schedules were physical conditioning and formation and marching drill. The latter has no combat utility, but it's done to instill coherence and order necessary for a soldier. The PC was my least favorite part of induction, yet most necessary. Soldiering is, needless to say, physically demanding. There is a reason the Emperor blessed his Angels of Death with physicality greater than any man can gain from the most strenuous exercise. While I considered myself fit before enlisting, my stamina and strength fell well short of requirements. Runs around the estate perimeter, push ups, squats and other tedious yet necessary exercises were part of the mourning routine, save for the occasional days our activity was reduced to let the training burns settle. Latter in the day was often spent in a lecture hall, where we were instructed in command structure and regulations we were expected to know and obey once the regiment was formed. Our drill instructors would monitor us during these classes ensure no one was dozing of or distracting themselves.

Now the question that will inevitably be raised by this arrangement is "how did the instructors make this collection of privileged brats jump at their command?" At no point am I aware that any of our instructors resort to beatings or lashings to keep us in line. Such an act would have doomed the whole project. What they relied on to compel our obedience was humiliation, collective pressure and threatening to withdraw what little we did have during our induction. The removal of ones bedding was one of the lighter sentences. Often times the offender had to do extra pushups or something humiliating, such as wearing a paupers hat for twenty-four hours the day or scrubbing the barrack and lavatories. If the offender refused, then the entire barrack was barred from the mess hall until the assigned punishment was done. Even as the food served worsened to inure us to the guard average, every calorie was needed to endure the training inflicted. So even though no one loved what was served, the barrack could be counted on to either pressure the offender to do it, or even help out to gain access to the mess again.

I did not see Raken much during our time in induction, but I grew familiar with some of my barrack companions. Leryn hailed from hive Therun, being a member of the lower spire nobility. Like me her motivation for enlisting was to escape unfavorable circumstances imposed by her family. She was vague on the specifics, save that a prospective marriage did not agree with her tastes. When waiting or anxious she was prone fiddling with whatever small object she had on hand, though it never showed itself when she was given a task to do.

Another notable member of my barrack was Ilser. She was part of the group that enlisted with, but before then I had only known of her in passing. She unless prompted to speak she could be quiet for hours at a time, and possessed a cold demeanor to those around her. Rumor had it that she was a prolific tourist of the underhive, specifically for hunting of what dwells beyond the laws hold. Including humans, as pure in form as can be achieved in a hives filth. She did not speak much of her motivation, but suspect she saw the whole affair as providing new hunting opportunities, in new places and for new targets.

It was not until the fourth week that we were getting started on training related to combat. As we started to run obstacle courses and being taught how to crouch and crawl, we were given lasrifles to care for. Their first two weeks in our care went by with cold barrels, as we were taught only to how to service and handle them when marching, then followed by marksmanship training. Anyone who dropped theirs or failed to clean it satisfactorily had to sleep with it. It is indeed very uncomfortable to sleep with. Before then, servants always cared for the weapons I used for my hobby shooting. While tedious, such knowledge is vital for a guardsman to function beyond the reach of the Engineseers.

Naturally the whole affair was not to the liking of many. As the weeks went by, people left either on their own volition, or were removed by the instructors who deemed them unsuitable. Out of the company I arrived with, only Ilse and me would remain by the end of induction. Those who made it to the end simply learned to simply do as instructed and not complain (where the instructors might hear). The intensity of the induction had driven away about half of the initial enlistees, ensuring only those truly determined remained for the next leg of training. I endured in part out of spite, to prove my instructors wrong, as they often mocked me for being grown soft due to my high birth.

On our final day of induction we were awarded privates patch, marking our official initiation into the service life. That night we were served a great feast in the mess hall. This time with proper food, tasting all the better after twelve weeks of subsisting from the filling but bland output of the mess. We were also awarded a weeklong leave to decompress after our trials. In that time I had a visit from my sister Elba. She congratulated me on my success. I felt good to be acknowledged for a feat done on my own merit. While we talked over a walk around hve Pelagartans famous in-hive gardens she dispensed advice pertaining to my future service. "You wont always like your officers, but never show that disrespect openly". "Listen to your NCO's. I have relied on them many times to resolve issues about the enlisted". She also assured me that way our drill instructors acted towards us was only a performance, not that it reduced my animosity towards Hootsmeyer at the time. We also had to broach the subject of our household's reaction to my enlistment. It was something no one dared bring up if mother was in earshot; otherwise the assumption was that I would return soon, as spread by former PDF members of our household guard. It may not proper of a scion, but I felt a spiteful pride from the fact that everyone at home would have to eat those words.