Changing With The Times
"Zap Nickel! What the blazes do you think you're doing?! Stop playing with yourself and get back into formation! Double Time Soldier!" Bellowed out Terrence Zapankels Drill Sergeant.
"Sorry Sir!" Belted out Terrence. He didn't want to arouse the ire of the companies Drill Sergeant so early in their training. The last time someone did that, it wasn't pretty for the offender.
The Sergeant tanned his hide while making sure everyone suffered with him. Needless to say, payback was swift and merciless that night.
'Stupid Frakker. Rule one of the military. Don't frack with the Drill Sergeants. They're humorless arseholes on the best of days.' Passed though his mind when Terrence remembered the incident.
Then remembering his surroundings, he rushed back into the gap left in the formation, marveling at how fast and smooth he was able to do it.
These new suits of armor were something else.
'Is this what it feels like to be an Angel of the Emperor? And honest to god-emperor, Astartes?' He questioned in the sanctity of his own mind.
This 'CMC-400' was the stuff that dreams were made out of. It improved speed, strength, reflexes and had so many features that were not only intuitive to use, but never seemed to malfunction.
It also felt so smooth. Like it was a natural part of himself. The missing link that soldiers like him needed to fight the horrors of the galaxy with, without succumbing to them.
Terrence even remembered hearing some of the Guardsmen Veterans mention (or more accurately brag) how the 'Bolter Bitches' didn't have it this good in the powered armor department. Or at least they did before they were verbally flayed by another Vet who was somehow married to one of the Sisters of Battle.
'What was his name again? Something Aidens?' Something like that he concluded. How he managed that feat and was somehow making it work despite being beneath even the Underhive, was a mystery for the ages.
But back to his new suit, he loved how it made many of the issues normal soldiers dealt with, become trivial. And lets not forget the new gun that came with it.
He was not ashamed to admit that he giggled a little once he heard what it was capable of. The fact that everyone else in orientation did the same thing didn't detract from the situation. Even the Officers and Sergeants, humorless fracks that they were, seemed happy with the new kit available. Oh they denied it, but you could swear you saw Sergeant O'Neill grin. But then again, that might have been a trick of the light.
His new 'C-14 Impaler' got a heavy workout at the Armories range. Seeing it tear through light vehicle-grade armor was beautiful.
Seeing the same thing happen when they went outside and targeted some armor plating from nearly a kilometer away thanks to his armors auto-stabilizers and targeting cogitator, became a treasured memory.
But he knew the honeymoon period will soon be over. He heard about what lay beyond the walls of the Manufactorum compound. Mutant aberrations that needed concentrated firepower to put down and could tear men limb from limb.
'But what can't in this galaxy?' He complained, again not vocalizing it. He didn't need more shit from the Drill Sergeants.
Physical Training was almost over at this point and even with the armor doing the heavy lifting, he felt tired. Soon will come the scheduled maintenance with the Cogboy's (and girls) who will teach them just enough of the Proper Rites to keep the suits Machine-Spirit from fracking them over at the worst moment thanks to neglect. So he couldn't rest yet until that part of training was done.
'At least, these suits are easy to maintain as well as use. We have that much going for us.'
It was at times like this, that he thanked the god-emperor for blessing them with a Noble who was actually willing to pay for them to be properly protected. Practically no other noble would be willing to fork over the Thrones unless they already proved themselves after surviving multiple battles over the bodies of their fallen comrades.
Moving into Armory, he stepped into the (Dis-)Assembly Array and removed his suit. Thankfully his position enabled him to get to the bays first so that Terrence didn't have to wait in line like the others.
It was fascinating watching so much metal be put on and taken off his body so quickly. Luckily, it came with a synth-muscle bodyglove. Myomer he think it was called, but he couldn't be sure.
He didn't know if it originally came with the armor or not, but it
looked like the Tech-Priests took a standard issue void suit and modified it to go along with the armor to avoid pinching and chafing from an improper fit.
Might have been a golden age relic instead. He couldn't tell since they all looked the same to him
Still better than putting on the armor raw. He saw the results of early armor trials. Those 'volunteers' were torn up and had deep marks left in their bodies after emergency removal.
They said they fixed the issue and that putting it on without the synth-muscle bodyglove wouldn't cause damage to the wearer anymore, but he didn't trust it. All it would take was one mistake. One slip up and then he would become an honorary Tech-Priest because he involuntarily 'became one with the machine'.
Even if it came out of his paycheck, he preferred the safety and security that the bodyglove offered.
So moving on, he went out to the workshop where his groups Tech-Instructor was waiting.
Enginseer Zeera-049 was surprisingly young and Human looking. But anyone who thought that meant she was inexperienced would be sorely mistaken. She obsessively went over the designs of the CMC-400 and C-14 Impaler and managed to make a well-thought out program, in half the time the local Magos could, to let even lay-people maintain these advanced pieces of kit.
Even he could see her talents were wasted as an Enginseer. She might have been a bit of a bitch but she knew her stuff and was social enough to not constantly demean their intelligence. So that earned some points on her end.
"Alright Meat. Listen up! We are going to go over today, the Rights of Percussive Maintenance and how not to go too overboard when smacking the Xeno, the Witch and the (Tech-)Heretic with your Omnissiah-blessed artifacts. Anyone who messes up will be on Servitor duty and will have to recite the 300 Canticles of Proper Maintenance. Am I clear?" She belted out in a mixture of Low and High Gothic.
...
Did he also mention that she was a bitch? He thinks that bears repeating for posterity.
