By Victoria Hayward
Throne, but it was a bad crop.
Drill-Sergeant Hekite sucked on her lho-stick and watched the rabble below in the training hall. The four of them were oblivious to her presence, and from her initial observations appeared to be variously incompetent, uncooperative or insane. Or all three.
Hekite shifted a little from her vantage point behind a plasma conduit. This was what you got when you woke up from a bad batch of rotgut after an exceptionally bad hand of darktown whist. The other officers had dodged the dregs, not that there was anything good. This planet was a mess all right. When Commissar Dukane told them they’d be given convicts to work with she’d have sworn it was a joke, except Dukane had all the humour of a mortuary roster.
Hekite exhaled a long plume of smoke. She was ten feet up and tucked out of sight but the rejects still should have noticed it. Unobservant. From what she’d seen of the warzone here, that’d be enough to get you killed.
She stubbed out her smoke on a passing servo-skull, and vaulted down behind them. "Point your weapon at the enemy!" she roared as her boots hit the ground.
After a startled flurry of motion, three out of the four had their guns trained on the target at the end of the hall.
The last was facing Hekite herself. She barked out a laugh. "This lad’s the only one with any sense," she gestured at the baffled looking ogryn. "Stand down, Grunk." She clasped her hands behind her back and walked down the short row. “I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that you’re to receive the finest training in the Imperium: that of the Moebian 53rd. This is a high point in your rank little lives, I’ve no doubt." She paused next to the psyker. “Something stinks around here. You?”
“No," the psyker replied flatly.
Hekite grunted. "Not a chatty witch. Good."
She stepped down the line. ‘What’s this? What were you? No. Don’t tell me,” She looked the man up and down and interrupted him before he could reply. "Desk officer by the look of your hands." She smirked. "Frontline experience of requisitions, I’m sure."
"Ma’am. I am a professional, ma’am," the soldier grunted. “Veteran of the Moebian 100th Steepleguard. Twenty years in the trenches at Corasis.”
Hekite leaned in close so her lips were almost touching his ear. "If you were a professional, you wouldn’t be here, would you? Anyhow…" She turned. "The bad news. The bad news is that you’re going to have to meet my standards, and I am the closest the glorious master of mankind ever got to perfection. You lot are what happened when his foreman wasn’t looking."
"Blasphemy!" the final convict cried out. She glowered, her frown creasing the aquila tattooed across her forehead and holy scripts incised on her cheeks. "I will not bear to hear the use of the Holy God-Emperor’s name in vain! You drag us into heresy," she snarled.
"Hey, Shouty,’ the Ogryn boomed. "Hush up while loud boss is talking."
Hekite grinned. ‘He’s my favourite already.’ ‘But,’ she added, gesturing at the ogryn’s weapon. "My jewel, you are holding that upside down."
The zealot uttered a disdainful sigh. Without turning her head, Hekite hooked out a leg and tripped her to the deck with a thud. "Forsooth, now thy penance is done," Hekate said. "Get up. Now I want to see how you hold your weapons."
She folded her arms and watched. The veteran wasn’t bad, not that she’d admit it. But the rest… “If you fire it like that, the recoil’s going to take your arm off. You. Even the God-Emperor himself won’t be able to stop that blowing up. Grunk, light of my life. You appear to have achieved the impossible and jammed a ripper gun."
The ogryn beamed. “Thanks, boss.”
Hekite nodded and clapped her hands. "Lasguns next. The bread and butter upon which the humble guardsman feasts. You,’ she pointed at the veteran. ‘Eject and reload that pack fast as you can."
He did so crisply, without his eyes ever leaving hers. “Ma’am.”
"Acceptable", she paused. "In your old regiment perhaps, not here. Repeat it. Faster. You," she jerked her chin at the psyker. "Show me."
To her credit, the psyker made the reload without fumbling. Hekite couldn’t decide if that was a good thing. It wasn’t as though you could trust a psyker. "Not bad."
The psyker glanced up, a glimmer of something in her eyes.
"If you were a grox with a bag on its bloody head, that is." Hekite spat. “You want Rinda Karnak to walk away with your guts, you’re making it damned easy. You,” she gestured.
The reject clenched the great aquila pendant at her neck, and glowered.
"Pick that gun up and pretend that target’s a heretic. It just said the Emperor smells like wet rations and can’t tell his arse from his elbow.”
The zealot levelled her gun, and squeezing the trigger, ran screaming towards the target.
Ten seconds later the burst of las-energy stopped, and the zealot dropped the sparking, exhausted weapon from her hands.
Hekite sauntered over to the target. The series of hanging metal shields that had been ranged into the shape of a poxwalker dripped and pooled molten silver onto the deck.
“Now, does anyone know the reason her gun’s karked it?" Hekite said, leaning forward and examining the silver strings of superheated metal.
"Power failure, ma’am," the veteran said.
Hekite turned to glare at him. ”That’s right. You may have gone at that target like a feral ambull, but you did not ensure your power pack was properly inserted. Do you know how you tell if it is? Anyone? Not you.” She pointed at the veteran. “Come on. It’s a sound you should hear from your weapon. It’s something you do all the time.”
The psyker glowered. "Whine."
"Exactly. You’ll hear a click when the pack is engaged and a whine to indicate charge. If you do, you know you’re not going to be draining your gun like our fanatical friend here. It’s upon you to ensure that you understand your weapons,’ she said. "In the 53rd, we say ‘The God-Emperor Protects, the Guard Prevails.’ Him on Terra does his best, but he’s up to his eyeballs. That means you must do the damned work. Do you understand? Only so much I can teach you, although Throne knows I’m trying my best.”
The psyker snorted. “Why should we believe that? You’re just a bully."
"Yes. But I’m a bully who wants you alive."
The zealot shook her head. "I doubt that."
Hekate pushed a fresh lho-stick between her lips. "Oh really. Well here’s a little treat for you sceptics. It’s my arse on the line too. If you lot don’t shape up well enough, there’s a chance I’ll find myself out in the field too.” She exhaled a plume of smoke into the veteran’s face. “Thought you’d like that. Now something to wipe your smirk off. Plasma weapons next. You’re buddying with the ogryn.”
Check out the latest Vox Intercept https://youtu.be/LUdfgAbvMys
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