++ Duty ends only when the Emperor wills it ++

It can’t have happened! It was the largest Naval and Guard force the system had ever seen and the Orks had chopped it into little pieces, barbequed it and shat it out. They had pulled the Imperial forces apart with contemptuous ease.

The Lord-Commander Wagstaffe himself had said that victory was assured. The best Guard and PDF regiments in the system had been sent to wipe the green skinned horde from the face of Winchester. The whole system had prayed to the God-Emperor himself! Had he turned from them in their hour of need because they weren’t worthy? Were they being punished for their sins?

These thoughts and millions of others raced through the minds of the citizens of Elsimate, Finn and Karenza amongst them. The shock of the defeat shook them to the very core. The riots that broke out made the original rioting look like a child’s party.

Adeptus Arbites and the Bobbies flooded onto the streets. No longer did they fire non-lethal rounds. It was during the largest riot yet that the Lord-Commander declared Martial Law. No more than twenty-four hours had passed since the defeat and the system was already tearing itself apart.

Seventy-two hours after the defeat Finn and Karenza were sat in front of the pict. The trouble on the streets meant that Finn had been unable to get to work, even though House Packard had sent guards to escort their workers. The night thus far had been spent arguing.

‘Terra! I can’t get to work Karenza. It’s too dangerous! And if it’s too dangerous for me, it’s too dangerous for you to go shopping!’

‘I can’t feed the children!’ she snapped back, her teeth bared and her hands literally curling into claws.

‘I TOLD you! The House is going to be doing a food drop in the next couple of days! The riots are practically over anyway! I’m just as fugging scared as ..’ his voice died away as the bell rang.

‘WHAT!’ the messenger boy standing in front of the door stepped back, flinching from the blow he thought was going to land as the door was ripped savagely open.

‘M ..m .. message from the Lord-Governor himself mista! For all men aged sixteen to sixty and any wimmin without kids or expecting of the same age.’

Finn stared at the message wafer in amazement. Why on earth is the Lord-Governor writing to me?

He grabbed the wafer and paid the boy a shilling for his trouble. Slowly closing the door, he heard the door bell ring on his next-door neighbour’s door.

‘Who was it?’

‘Messenger boy, with a message from the Lord-Governor himself.’ His hands trembled as he ripped open the thin envelope.

‘Read it then love!

‘Finn Mikel Singeorge, Elsimate, Deliverance, Hab Number Two Five Four Three Two One One, Floor Two fifteen, Cell Nintey Nine B.

In the name of the Glorious Emperor of Mankind and B Order of the Lord-Governor of the Elsimate System. Notice of Selective Service System.

You are hereby Ordered to report for Armed Forces Physical Examination by the Imperial Guard’s Holy Physicians for service in the Superior Forces of the Golden Throne.

You shall present yourself for Armed Forces Examination to the by reporting at: Civitas Precinct Two thousand and one, Imperial Way.

Within seventy two hours of this notice being delivered by Civitas Messenger.

Failure to report within the time allotted will result in a verdict of Guilty of Cowardice in the Face of the Enemy and you shall be shot.

The Emperor Protects.’

He dropped onto the setee, his legs suddenly too weak to allow him to remain standing.

‘What does that mean? Selective Service System love?’

‘Fugging hell. Fugg, fugg, fugg! I’ve got to join the Guard! I’m thirty-seven this year! I can’t leave you and the girls!’ His stomach cramped and he ran into the bathroom, just in time to puke his guts up.

The best forces in the Elsimate system have been destroyed. I’m too old to go and fight man-eating creatures. I’m TOO OLD!

Karenza looked in through the door. Her face was pale and tears streaked down her cheeks.

‘The boys are at the door. They want to have a chat.’ She passed him a towel, and ran her hands through his hair. ‘I love you so much.’

He reached back but she was already gone.

When he walked into the lounge Kraiman and Silex were sat on the main sofa. They looked like he felt. Kraiman’s eyes were bloodshot and he kept scrubbing at them. Silex’s hair was stood up on end and

he kept plucking it.

Karenza was stood with their wives in the kitchen all of them were hugging as the muffled sound of crying drifted back in.

‘What the fug are we supposed to do!’ Kraiman’s lower lip trembled as he read through the

message he held in his hands, ‘Zara’s pregnant mate. Three months, we weren’t going to tell anyone. I’m not even going to see my baby!’ He bit back a sob and sank back into the sofa.

‘What the fug can we do Peur? If we don’t report in seventy-two hours we’re dead. At least if we report to the precinct we have a chance of not passing the damn medical. ‘Silex pulled at his hair again, making himself look as though he’d touched a live wire.

‘Can we fudge the results?’

‘Are you fugging MAD!’ Finn strode over to the sofa and grabbed Silex’s face, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

‘If they even think we’re trying to fail deliberately, or faking some sort of illness, they are going to take us out into the street and put a bullet through our heads. There and then! They’re calling up women and kids! Don’t you understand just how desperate they are!’

He plonked himself down between them and grabbed a bottle of beer from the low table in front of them. Karenza, Emperor bless you. It’s these little touches that I love so much!

‘We go together. We get as many of the others together and we report at the same time. If we go in a big group we’re less likely to get attacked by the rioters. Hopefully we’ll get stuck into the same

unit.’

They agreed to meet two hours later and quickly made their way through the hab. Every corridor, every cell was the same. Men and women, pale with shock stood talking in whispers to their neighbours whilst confused children asked why mummy and daddy were crying. The word spread quickly.

Three hours later and the goodbyes had been said. Finn gave Karenza a final squeeze and gently prised the kid’s arms from his legs.

‘Now listen Princesses. Mummy’s going to need you to be good. I need you to be good. The Emperor’s going to be watching over you all. He’s going to be so busy that you can’t distract him by being naughty okay? Say your prayers every night and I’ll say mine. I will always love you.’

Kira clung to his leg with every bit of strength she had.

'Don't go! Don't go! I'm missing you already! Don't leave us!' she screamed and wailed as he tried to prise her off.

Tears ran freely down his face as he knelt in front of her. She flung her arms around his neck wailing.

Ragan saw an opening and joined them.

'Daddy hug! Please don't leave us daddy, we love you so much. Who's going to look after us?' Her eyes, so full of trust pleaded with him to stay.

'I have to go princesses. The Emperor needs my help to get rid of some bad aliens who are hurting people. I'll be back as soon as I can. Nothing can hurt me.'

Karenza bit back a sob as she hugged the two girls from behind. As soon as she them in her grip he tried to stand. Standing up was the hardest thing in his life. Every fibre of his very being screamed as he turned and walked into the road. Due to martial law there was no traffic to be seen. Slowly he walked away, scrubbing at the tears running down his face.

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The noise that followed was heartbreaking. As gently as he could he prised their fingers away as they screamed out their fear and sadness. He had never been away from them. Never. Not one night had he failed to return home to them and now they faced the prospect of losing their daddy forever and not having him around when they would need him the most.

That was what truly hurt the most. He was supposed to protect them until they were old enough to leave home. He wasn't supposed to go off and leave them helpless in their time of greatest need. He knew that there was little chance of him coming home, and that if he and the others failed to hold the Orks at Winchester there would be no home to come back to anyway.

Like most good citizens of the empire Singeorge had never had cause to go to a Civitas Enforcer Precinct. He passed them by but then they had just been a part of the background. Now he was looking directly at one and his legs were feeling decidedly wobbly.

The rioting had even reached here and there were scorch marks on the front of the building. They served only to emphasise the martial nature of the PRECINT.

The number 0197 was stencilled in large two-metre tall letter above the two armoured doors that protected the main entrance.

Either side of the door ball-mounted flamers covered the approach and between the tops of the doors and the bottom of the letters a long firing slit ran for 4 metres, the noses of heavy stubbers and heavy bolters sticking out.

What sort of kark-head would even think about, let alone try, attacking such a place? The most powerful weapon that citizens were allowed on-planet was a bolt-action hunting rifle. Certainly nothing powerful enough to penetrate the foot-thick armour plating that covered the building.

He realised he could smell promethium and saw a small puddle of the stuff directly in front of the doors. Just above the was a line of four open-mouthed aquila grotesques. Looking closer he realised that they were gargoyles and that the promethium was dripping from one of them.

They're covering the dead space between the firing slit and the flamers. That realisation made his stomach churn even more. He’d never had to think tactically in his life, never seen someone die, never been fired at by the Enforcers. In two days he’d broken a lot of personal records and it wasn’t something that he was very happy about.

Talking quietly amongst themselves his group joined the long queue. Enforcers with canids whistling and straining at their leashes walked up and down the line ensuring that everyone behaved themselves. As if the weapons burn marks and blood stains aren't enough!

Kraiman and Silex were lost in their own thoughts which suited him fine. Images of his screaming children and his wife stole across his minds-eye and he felt himself welling up.

Cry here and they'll bloody well laugh at you!

The line moved slowly. Damned slowly. There must have been at least five hundred in the queue before them, and his group numbered at over one hundred.

'Fifteen karking minutes! Every fifteen minutes they let ten of us in! I can't be arsed to even work out how long that's going to take!’

Kraiman was fuming. It was a muggy day and he was a sweaty person at the best of times. Now his armpits were stained with sweat and beads ran down his face into his beard.

Finn sighed and tried to relax his clenched fists.

‘Calm down mate. There’s no point losing your rag and getting a bullet in your head is there! I know you’re scared and pissed off. Some am I! Let’s just get through this as best we can.

Now, I have a plan. We’re all communications experts in some form or other yes? We’re not techpriests or enginseers, but we know our way around vox-casters and the way that they’re designed. So, we’ll try and avoid the infantry and anything else frontline and try to get into one of the Signals Regiments. Hopefully we’ll have a better way of surviving. So, calm the fug down, get some

patter set in your mind so that you convince them to let you join the signals and just think about getting back to our families in one piece.’

Hours later and they were finally in the main hall of the precinct. To their left and right were the processing cages and, for the especially dangerous, cells. After the rioting they were packed with citizens, most of whom had some form of injury. Directly in front; and taking up the middle third of the hall was a raised reception desk with ten enforcer personnel and their cogitators. To either side of the desk was a huge armoured door that led through to the holding cells and interrogation rooms on one side, and the enforcer's offices and barracks on the other.

'You there! Stop gawking like a bloody grockel and come and sign in.' the enforcer was looking decidedly harried. Great dark shadows ringed his eyes and a large cup of kaf was held in a slightly shaking hand. On the desk was an empty packet of stim pills.

'Name, address, occupation'

Singeorge watched as the man typed the details in to the cogitator. He was neither a fast, skilled or indeed even accurate typist. Finally he entered that correctly and passed Singeorge a wafer.

'Take that and go through the door on the right. You are assigned to Sergeant Veet for processing.'

Sergeant Veet was a grizzled veteran in PDF infantry urban camouflage combats. Tall, his head was completely bald whilst his face was unshaven. Like the Enforcers at the front he was clearly tired and at the end of his tether.

‘Card please citizen.’ He resignedly took the wafer and quickly skimmed it.

‘I see you work in a Manufactorum. A technical man eh? Can you drive?’

Singeorge nodded, too nervous to speak up.

‘Great. We’ve more than enough fodder for the infantry. If you’re technical and can drive you’ll do great as a driver in the Sixth Mechanised.’ He started to tap details into a cogitator.

‘Sir,’ Singeorge cleared his suddenly dry throat, ‘sir. I was hoping I could get into a signals position of some sort. I’m a communications expert.’

‘I was hoping to get laid by a nubile twenty-year-old virgin this morning. That didn’t happen. We’re not recruiting signals, we have enough. It’s either infantry or mechanised driver. Tell you what, I’m in a generous mood. You choose.’

He leaned back in his chair and placed both his feet onto the table in front. There was a dull clank as his left leg hit it. Singeorge looked closer and realised that he could see metal showing through the gap between trousers and boots.

‘Mechanised is fine sir. Thank you. What will I be driving?’

‘Chimeras of course! You weren’t hoping for a third line position driving supplies were you?’ Veet barked out a bitter laugh, ‘We’re scraping the barrel man! You are the last, best hope. Now, take this and piss off.’

Singeorge numbly reached out and took yet another wafer. This one was Pink. He turned and shambled out into the corridor. A shadow to his right made him turn and he saw Kraiman and Silex coming towards him.

‘Well, what did you get Finn?’ Kraiman was also clutching a pink wafer and his face was slack, tears glistening in his eyes.

‘I got the fugging Sixth Mechanised. Driver. I’m a bloody driver!’ Singeorge spat the sentences out through gritted teeth and fought down the urge to cry, scream, shout, ram his head against the wall.

‘We’re front line troops. Front fugging line! We’re practically grand-dads compared to the kids in the PDF and the Guard! What the fug was the point of us spending years in communications if they’re going to make us fugging front-line grunts!’ The last sentence roared out down the corridor.

‘Fug man, calm down. You’re not going to be on your own, I’m going to be a gunner. Have you seen what the wafer says?’ Kraiman waved his own wafer at him.

Singeorge looked down and slowly read the wafer, carefully pulling it out from the ball he had crushed it into and smoothing it out.

‘Says we’re to report for duty immediately. Apparently there’s going to be a load of transport laid on to take us there. I don’t feel ....’ his stomach churned and he barely managed to turn away from

Kraiman before he spewed the contents of his stomach out onto the floor.

Silex and Kraiman hurried forward and gently guided him away from the spreading puddle of puke. They went back into the foyer and out of the precinct, helping him walk to the collection point.

There were roughly a thousand men and women stood at the collection point. People-movers would drive up to the group and members of the PDF herd as many people as they could onto the movers and then the movers would drive off. Rarely did they drive off in the same direction and there

seemed to be little order to the proceedings.

Finally the friends were near the front of the group whose numbers didn’t seem to have gone down at all. As quickly as people were leaving, more were turning up. A people-mover pulled up, thick black exhaust belching from its pipes.

A PDF trooper raised a megaphone and blipped it a number of times to get the crowd’s attention.

‘Listen up! This is for the Sixth Mechanised. That’s the Sixth Mechanised! If you are NOT part of the Sixth Mechanised do NOT get on! If you do get on you will be considered to be absent without leave from your assigned regiment and shot. Sixth Mechanised only. Embark now!’

They moved through the crowd and stepped onto the mover. It was ancient. The seats had been slashed, graffiti was all over the place and there was the smell of urine.

‘Only the best for us now boys, bagsy the back seat.’ Silex elbowed his way through the slower members of the crowd, earning himself some sharp looks. Most though were still obviously too numb to be angered.

Sitting back on the bench seat at the rear Singeorge took the time to look at those joining them. As to be expected there was a real mix of people and ages. With the draft calling up everyone from the age of

sixteen, some of the faces were appallingly fresh. Many of the lads had barely finished entering puberty let alone started shaving properly.

At the other end of the spectrum were some of the older citizens of the city. Old men who were clearly going to be of any use in combat bar soaking up some of the bullets that were going to be fired in their direction.

Generally the younger the person was, the more excited rather than scared they appeared to be. It was clear that the young girls and boys firmly believed that the Emperor would guide them to victory and they would get a share in the victor’s spoils, maybe even finding their fortune at the same time. Death and maiming was something that would happen to other people. Young people don’t die. Old people die. He could see them looking around and thinking ‘old, you’re dead. Old, you’re dead. Fat, you’re dead.’ All the while they sat smugly in the knowledge that they were destined for both greatness and a long life.

The older a person was the more realistic their view. The older a person was the more they had to lose. Wives, husbands, children, grandchildren. All of those people were dependent upon them. If they died how the Throne were their loved ones going to survive? How would they cope? The older a person was, the greater understanding of what they truly faced.

How would they perform when the enemy fire started to pour in? Would they be able to advance into the enemy fire as those around them died? Would they even be able to pull the trigger when it came down to it? No-one on this bus would have ever killed another creature, let alone another sentient being – no matter how fearsome and evil – and none of them had a clue as to how easy or hard it would be to kill one.

Perversely death wasn’t something that scared Singeorge. Slow death and maiming was what scared him. He didn’t want to be another Veet. He didn’t want to see his limbs blown off and die screaming in a pool of his own blood, faeces and urine, and body parts. He didn’t want to die whilst wearing a coat of flames, feeling his flesh crisp, his eyes melt and run down his cheeks, his skin slough off like scales off a canid, his throat searing as his screams drew the fire down inside him. The youngsters weren’t thinking of that. If they thought of death at all it would be a quick one. A shot to the head, a quick flash in an explosion. They weren’t thinking about the pain to come. Emperor how he envied them!