Guardsman Crassius

by Adrian Johnson

The biting wind grew colder by the minute. Guardsman Crassius cursed under his breath. Damn this planet, he thought. The only planet in the galaxy where it is coldest at noon. He had been posted sentry a mile out from the main camp, and his orders were to sound an alarm if the Chaos forces they were fighting showed themselves. He looked around. All he saw was snow. Hills of snow, rising up out of broken chunks of glacier. Everything was such a pure white, he thought, he'd be able to spot a Chaos Space Marine a mile off. He had heard many stories about the forces of Chaos. Most were legends told around campfires during his youth. Stories of evil warriors who worshipped malign gods were told to put troublesome children to bed. He never suspected at that age he would one day be fighting the curs.

"Crassius! Any activity?" Blared the comnet earpiece. Crassius jumped, startled by the sudden announcement.

"None, unless you count the tons of snow piling up around me. When the hell does my shift finish?" He shouted through his mouthpiece. He was hungry, tired, and cold. The first thing he would do when his shift was over was to head over to the mess. At least there it was warm. The indifferent voice of the Headquarters officer was all that replied.

"You got one hour, then we'll be sending a Chimera out to get you, ok? HQ out." Thus ended the brief parley between Crassius and the Imperial camp. Another hour, thought Crassius. He couldn't take another ten minutes, let alone a whole hour! The wind was picking up, hurling more snow and hail at him and around him. It was as if the very elements were conspiring to make him as miserable as possible. He fiddled with his lasrifle. Power levels were nominal. Had a good fifty shots before he would have to replace the pack. He studied it's design. It was like every other rifle in his regiment. It was completely black bar the metallic barrel and Imperial Eagle on the side.

The Imperial Eagle. The two-headed bird of myth. It was said by the chaplains that the Emperor himself manifests a portion of his spirit in ever lasgun. Crassius certainly hoped this was the case, as he knew inside his heart that he was outmatched by every other alien warrior he had faced before. Curiously enough, he had never fought against the Orks, although he had heard tales of them. They seemed rather comical, if it was not for their unnerving brutality. He was glad he had never faced them.

Crassius leant back into his small foxhole. It was dug vertically into the ground, and it only protruded a metre above the ground. A wall surrounded him. On the outside it looked to be of ice, but on the inside it was a thin layer of adamantium. Large windows, or holes rather, spanned the entire length of the wall, bar four supports keeping the roof up. It was perfectly camoflauged. Indeed, he wondered how the Chimera would ever find him. Perhaps there was a hidden singnaling beacon on the roof. Maybe the Chimera just drove around endlessly until it found him. He didn't care how, really, just that he was found.

An hour passed. An hour of monotany and boredom. Didn't anything happen on this damn planet he thought. And why did they need to use human sentries? Surely a servitor could do a far better job of keeping an eye out for unpleasant visitors. His earpiece blared out a message.

"Attention all guardsmen on sentry duty...."

Suddenly, a surge of static overcame the message.

"...Chimeras have been..."

Yet more static. What was going on?

"...SHIT! We're..."

This didn't sound good. Crassius grew nervous.

"Damn bastards everywhere! Get back to..."

Other voices came through the comnet; voices of other nervous sentries.

"What the hell is going on... HQ, where are the Chimeras?... HQ, what is going on?... Bloody hell will someone tell me why my Chimera hasn't come?..."

Crassius himself added.