“Kill. Fight. Die. That is your duty. That is your purpose. You are a beacon of hope in this brave new world. Kill. Fight. Die. That is your duty. That is your purpose. Give your all and receive no rest until the day you die. That is your duty. That is your purpose.”
- Trooper’s Little Blue Book, Chapter one ; To Live and Let Die
Waking up was one hell of a thing. It really was. You’re ripped from the warm embrace of sleep to the bleak and shining lights of the world. And to the sergeants’ screaming. That was probably the reason why waking up was one hell of a thing. Having a grown ass man screaming at the top of his lungs to get up was a bit jarring for most. And boy was it jarring to the freshly graduated Troopers. Each man and woman had only four things in common with the people beside them. All they had was six months of training, armor that barely fit, itchy fatigues and a gun that was just one peg up from a peashooter.
And that stark realization hit Hugo Marce like a ton of bricks. He was going to die here, wasn’t he? Probably if the sergeant’s screaming and the blaring red sirens were anything to go by. But so was life. Hugo could only drown out the screaming as he followed the instructions. Pants, shirt, socks, boots, rifle, bag, go time. It was go time. And after a rather hasty time getting dressed Hugo tapped back into the instructions being bellowed by possibly the second scariest man he’d ever met.
“WE HAVE AWAKENED CONTACT ON THE WALL. GET YOUR FUCKING BOOTS ON YOU COCKSUCKERS. AND HIGH LORDS HELP ME IF YOU DO NOT GET INTO FORMATION RECRUIT.”
“Awakened… Well fuck me sideways with a shovel.” Was the only thing Hugo could think as he and the fellow Troopers were lined up and marched out through the rain to a Dragonfly. Dragonflies were these colossal things capable of holding a whole company of Troopers and flying into hell itself to deliver them to their destination. Each was armed to the teeth, with all non-troop-carrying space being occupied with a number of heavy weapons meant to support ground troops.
And they were off. Going above the midwall and beyond, past the towering arcologies of the midzone and into the industrial core of Lilt. Mines, factories, farms, pastures, and all manner of support infrastructure. And beyond it towered The Wall. A hundred meters high and forty meters thick, composed completely of adamantium. That’s what the instructors said so Hugo had no reason to question that. It had always been a facet for the people of Lilt. An indisputable fact.
The Wall would protect them from the Lusus Naturae that crawled in the Lost lands. The Wall would protect them from the Awakened, which sought to lobotomize humanity in service of their Techno-Prophets. The Wall would protect them from the First Borne swarms. The Wall would protect them from the Vagabond which sought to kill and rape and pillage. The Wall would protect them from the murderous Automata who wished to enslave them once more. The Wall would always be able to protect them.
And there it was. Towering above the border stations. And it was… Smoking… And on fire… The High Lords above it was really under attack. It was under attack. The entire thought shook Hugo to his core, in his seventeen years of life he’d never even wanted to think about such a thing. But Hugo was snapped out of it when the Dragonfly touched down with a heavy THUNK. Which made most of the Troopers stumble.
“GET OFF YOUR ASSES TROOPERS. GO GO GO. GET OUT OF MY FUCKING TRANSPORT OR I SWEAR TO THE HIGH LORDS ABOVE THAT I WILL SHOVE MY BOOT SO FAR UP YOUR ASS THAT IT’LL REPLACE YOUR FUCKING TEETH. GO GO GO. FOLLOW THE YELLOW LIGHTS. YELLOW LIKE THE COLOR OF THE PISS RUNNING DOWN YOUR LEGS YOU FUCKERS. GO GO GO. AND BEFORE ONE OF YOU FUCKS ASKS. STRIPPERS ARE NOT A BUSINESS EXPENSE WHILE WE ARE HERE. GO GO GO.”
The sergeant yelled more and ushered the Troopers out clade by clade. Hugo was in the last clade out, him and nineteen scared, fresh Troopers . He followed the lights best he could, they were so bright. His eyes burned. His eyes burned. His eyes burned until he blinked three times and continued to run for his life across the muddy landing zone and up the stairs onto The Wall proper. It was raining. Hard. Killing most of Hugo’s hopes for visibility in the oncoming engagement.
Though that was a pipe dream. Everyone knew that the Awakened were just as deadly in melee as they were at range. And up they went. Flight after flight of stairs. A hundred meters going straight up in ten minutes. It wasn’t a bad time. But they should’ve been faster. And when they finally reached the top level all the Troopers were stopped by their clade’s sergeants.
“Listen up Troopers. I’ll say this just once because you should already know this. You will go out four clades at a time and take up defensive positions. You are to call your shots and you are to stay together. Clear?”
The sergeant was no longer yelling. Which was more concerning than when he was, to Hugo at least. The sergeant was always yelling… It hurt his ears and made his head fuzzy. He’d gotten used to it eventually over boot and advanced training. But it still got to him sometimes. But the calmness in the sergeant’s voice got him more. This was serious, wasn’t it? But before Hugo could ponder that more the Troopers all sounded off.
“SIR YES SIR.” They shouted in response. Eight hundred men, women, boys, and girls all shouting in unison. Only to be followed by the sergeant smiling. An honest to Emperor, face splitting smile. It sent a shiver down Hugo’s spine. Not that he could say anything about that. To be a coward is to be worse than anything.
“TERRA INVICTA TROOPERS!” He bellowed out. An ancient saying from when all the peoples of Terra were united under the Final Empire. And the Troopers shouted back. “TERRA INVICTA.”
And Hugo was sent forth into the fray. The rain and the mud. The sound of heavy weapons fire and plasma weapons. To be First Sent was to be honored. To be First Sent was to be the first into the fray and to glory. And to Hugo, to be First Sent was to be dead. He couldn’t say that either. Dissidence was a sin. So, the High Lords decreed centuries before. It was something everyone grumbled of, but never said close to anyone with any power.
Hugo was once again ripped out of his thoughts by the Trooper next of him being vaporized. Her name was Sally, and she was eighteen, the oldest sibling of eight, and she was now dead from a stray plasma bolt. A shame. Hugo wasn’t able to ponder it as his training took over. It always did in these types of situations. And thank the High Lords for that.
Hugo raised his rifle and pulled the trigger on reflex alone. Eight-millimeter rounds flew errantly from him, and multiple other Troopers. Most of them missed, but a few slammed into the nearby Sentinels, the Awakened basic foot soldiers. And a few went down. Blue blood and sparks flew from their lifeless bodies. But that’s when they opened back up. Plasma rifles hissing in response.
Burning flesh. It was a terrible, horrid smell. And it was overwhelming Hugo as he continued to fire. The other Troopers fell. Each missing vast swathes of their bodies. But he continued to fire. More Sentinels fell, but even more Troopers followed. He was running out of ammo too. Shit. High lords please. He didn’t want to die here.
Hugo felt a tug, and he was pulled down and to the left. Behind some metal crates that were being used as makeshift barricades. Thank the High Lords for that small mercy. They had good, hard cover. But Hugo doubted they could withstand much plasma fire. It was better than nothing, and it would do for now.
“TROOPER. YOU GOOD?” Someone yelled, it was the sergeant, snapping Hugo out of his battle trance. Only for him to realize that it was just him the sergeant, and his empty rifle. High Lords help him what was the sergeant’s name? Roseri! It was Roseri! Gunnery Sergeant Roseri. Sergeant Roseri was tough, but fair. And his own laser rifle was laying down the law. Pushing the squad of sentinels back.
“Yes sir!” Hugo squeaked back, earning a small nod from Sergeant Roseri. He didn’t mean to squeak but it was hard not to after that. Sergeant Roseri’s eyes were impossibly hard and a bright purple. Burning, literally, they were blazing with light. He must’ve been one of the Blessed. High Lords be praised for that. He still had to reload so he did...
“Good lad. The Sentinels and Judges have pretty much decimated this section I’m afraid.” A bolt of plasma arced above them. Causing the crate to sizzle and bubble despite being solid steel. Hugo felt small in his flak armor and helmet. “Now what I’m going to do is toss a grenade and you’re going to run like hell back to the entrance. I’ll be right behind you. Got it?” He left no room for answer and pulled a frag grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and held on tight. “On three- One... Two... Three!” And the frag was tossed, with Hugo being shoved forwards.
He ran like hell to the entrance; it only took about four seconds. Hugo knew this because that’s how long a standard frag’s fuse was. And the moment he cleared the door a massive explosion sounded off behind him. But there was no time. He had to warn them- But there wasn’t anyone left… But he’d only been out for about fifteen seconds! They couldn’t be dead. They couldn’t.
“TROOPER. Snap out of it boy. Everyone who survived is probably a level below. You. Are. Fine.” Sergeant Roseri’s wiry hands wrapped around Hugo’s shoulders, causing the boy to squeak in terror. Only to whip around and see the sergeant in almost perfect condition. Save for a few obvious burn marks on his armor. But that was what armor was for right? But that didn’t stop tears from welling up in Hugo’s eyes.
“Y-yes sir.” He managed to get out before Sergeant Roseri practically drug him down the stairs and into the lower level. And High Lords above was that a welcomed sight for the weary boy and his slightly crispy servant.
“Headcount! Kill count!” Sergeant Roseri bellowed. Not having seen any of his fellow NCOs, their officers, and their dust damned commissar. He was probably the highest-ranking individual on this particular kilometer long segment. Well fuck. Well fuck indeed.
Thirty-eight Troopers sounded off one after the other. Each sounding more resigned than the last. That put them at forty Troopers in total where there should’ve been ten to twenty times that. And there were no other NCOs, officers, or even commissars. It was a dust damned miracle that the Troopers here hadn’t routed and just left. They’d all be hunted down and shot, but a quick execution was better than boiling from the inside out from plasma fire.
And as for the kill count. It was a sorry thing. They’d managed to take down twenty sentinels in total. And that was counting the Troopers who were puddles of blood on The Wall’s upper deck. Adding that with the two Hugo downed, and the five he had managed to down with that grenade. They’d killed a single clade of Awakened with some change at the cost of eighteen clades of their own. If there were any officers remaining the commissars would’ve shot them. But there weren’t any of those either.
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“Someone radio in a strafing run A S A P. Those Awakened cunts have gotten their pound of flesh and then some. We ‘oughtta let our flyboys remind them of why WE control the Final City and not them.” Sergeant Roseri laughed hollowly. It wasn’t worth it, but he couldn’t lose face now. He was a sergeant. He held the fucking line. And so, he would not break. Not here.
The air support was radioed in, and not even a minute later the distinctive buzz of a dragonfly overtook them all. And then came the thunder of guns. Howitzers and auto cannons probably shredded any Awakened that weren’t pulled back. Fuckers were fanatic, but not suicidal so they hadn’t even tried to take this segment of The Wall.
Clever bastards Awakened were. Even if most of them were lobotomized citizens of the Final Empire…. Their former aristocratic masters controlled them with ease. That fact creeped Hugo out during basic to no small degree. And the few seconds of carnage he did see made it worse. He could see their sunken and hollow faces. Their grayed and dead skin. And their eyes. Those glowing blue eyes stared right into his very soul.
Other cadets in basic joked that Hugo looked like one of them. With his dark skin and crystalline blue eyes, he almost did. But alas, he wasn’t a spy. He was just from Lyre. The once great, but now destroyed Final City that had allied with Lilt until its downfall fifteen years back. Hugo’s parents were evacuated thankfully. But they were almost shoved off in favor of more military hardware. They weren’t. But others weren’t so lucky.
That would suffice to say that comparing Hugo to the Awakened was not a good idea. And the very thought of it, and the carnage above was enough to nearly send him over the edge as he slowly made his way from behind the sergeant to a place that looked isolated enough. There he could cry and shiver and be pathetic alone. And in peace. Not like anyone would’ve payed him any mind if he did it in the open though. He was an outlier. Always too smart for his own good. And smaller than the rest by a good thirty centimeters.
It was a miserable life. But it was his. And the High Lords had decreed that every man woman and child should not take life in vain. They must struggle to reclaim what was once theirs. So, Hugo didn’t kill himself. It was, in his mind, a stupid reason. But it was his reason. That maybe, just maybe he could win a better life through service. A pipe dream that many shared with him.
But that was all put on hold for now. He was alone, cold, went, covered in gore, and crying behind some ammo crates. Curled up into a little ball while cradling his rifle. So, delectate. It was hard to believe that this wispy boy was a soldier. And a damn effective one at that. But that effectiveness was probably due to him being lucky, and unnoticed by the Sentinels. Both things he knew and cried over.
But his cries were drowned out by the heavy cannons raining hell above for an entire hour. And when the symphony of guns came to a chilling end all was quiet. Not a single soul said a word, Hugo didn’t cry, and no machines whirred with life like they normally would. A perfect silence. A perfect silence for a few perfectly peaceful moments. And then it was interrupted by Sergeant Roseri’s raspy voice.
He was standing on top of a crate now, tall and wiry, battle scarred and unafraid. Everything a sergeant should have been. But for a second he looked uncertain. Hugo caught it, just barely, but he doubted anyone else did. And then he spoke.
“Listen up Troopers. I will not lie… Today was not our proudest day. But we’re still here… Depsite it all we are still fucking here. And will not go quietly into the night. So, grab your guns. Affix your bayonets. And file in two by two. We might not be much. And our enemy is not weak. But get up. Today is a wonderful day to live forever. TERRA INVICTA!”
The Troopers responded in kind. A resounding cry of TERRA INVICTA overtook the room as the Troopers filed in. Hugo was last, being yanked back by sergeant Roseri and put in beside the veteran. And from there they marched out and into the rain to be presented with a grizzly sight.
Their section was scoured completely by the air support’s barrage. Leaving nothing alive, visibly at least. Sergeant Roseri called out some orders that Hugo drowned out, to be engrossed in the carnage. And then he tripped. The ground was slick with gore and rain, but as Hugo slipped, he felt something solid. After eating shit Hugo scrambled up and picked up the thing he slipped on.
It was a weathered and gunmetal gray. Boxy in form and warm to the touch. A plasma pistol seemed to have survived. Hugo healed it up closer to his face, pointing her warmest end away from him. As he got a closer look it was jerked away, causing Hugo to squeak in fright.
“Easy there Troopers . You were pointing the barrel at your face.” A gravelly voice warned. A gloved hand offered it back. Causing Hugo to mumble his thanks and look up. Damn the Lilt for being so tall. It wasn’t fair how they were a hundred and ninety centimeters on average! But this one was even bigger. Probably a whole two meters… maybe more.
Hugo looked up to see the typically sharp features of a Lilt and pale skin, along with their signature purple eyes. It was a man, an old man with hair the color of rust and covered in scars. Hugo instinctively took a step back to get a better look, and after wiping the burning tears and rain from his eyes Hugo could see the man better. He was in his forties, with deep and sunken purple eyes, hair the color of rust, and a crooked nose complete with a lopsided smile. Hugo looked down again.
“Th-thanks,” was all Hugo could muster for the moment. “Didn’t know where the barrel was-” Hugo looked up and the man was gone. So, he stood there in shock for a moment before he shoved the pistol into his bag. “Dust Damn… Sneaky.” Hugo said with a huff.
He then realized that everyone was sorting through the bodies. Grim and thankless work it was. But Hugo joined in regardless, they needed a proper burial. They deserved that much. Even the High Lords thought as much. All who fell in the line of duty would be buried in Obsidian Necropolis in the Final City. So, it was decreed, and so it was done. They were the Troopers. The right arm of the High Lords. They held the shield and carried the spear. They carted the dead away.
The monotony of the work was only broken up by the occasional shout of Sergeant Roseri to buy them all drinks once they were back to base and cleared to leave. Hugo wanted a drink, he’d never been compelled to before, his mother was a drunk. A nasty and horrid one. But today he wanted one. The carnage here was so much worse than what mother did to him. Dust damn her for that though. Dust damn his entire family for letting her do as she wished to him. And for never lifting a finger to stop it.
“Dust damn them all,” Hugo spat as he kicked a Sentinel's ruined armor to the side. Only to be greeted by a horrid sight. Hugo’s hands shot to his mouth but that didn’t stop the vomit. It just made it flow between his fingers, intermixing with the blood and sweat. “Fuck. Just fuck.” And he meant that. It was Sally. Or what was left of her.
Her upper half was gone. Leaving a bubbling and steaming string of guts strewn away from a pair of legs. He knew it was Sally because she had a couple of charms on her boots. High Lords above. Hugo puked again and it rolled down and under his armor. Warm and sticky against his cold skin. The itchy fatigues did a terrible job at stopping it. And all Hugo could do was drag her legs back to the corpse rows.
There wasn’t much left of anyone that had been caught by the initial plasma salvo and then the barrage from the dragonfly. A lot of people would go unnamed. And to them the highest honor in death. They would be placed in the spires of the Obsidian Necropolis. Put in an eternal vigil and to guide the souls of the lost to their final resting place. So, it was decreed.
It made Hugo wonder as he dragged another body to the rows. Damn the lilt for being so tall. But he wondered if this was really what was in store for him. A miserable death on the wall. Or High Lords forbid a breach of The Wall. Or even a crusade to reclaim the Outer Wall. Hugo frowned at that last prospect. The crusades were just a way to free up space. Millions would die in vain trying to reclaim something that had been lost forty years ago to the initial assault of the First Born.
Hugo’s grim line of thought was once again cut short by the distinctive road of a Dragonfly’s engines. The Corpse Wagon. Or so it was nicknamed by the Troopers . It did mean that the work was over. They would handle the rest of the work. Hopefully. He wanted to get cleaned off and take a shower. Probably to cry some more as well. And drink, a lot of that. Even if mother was a filthy degenerate he didn’t have to be. He didn’t want to be. He couldn’t be.
The Corpse Wagons touched down onto The Wall and a fresh twenty Clades stepped out. They were different from Hugo’s though. They were Scions encased in Reaver Suits and with massive battery packs mounted to their backs. Each carried a hefty laser cannon. Capable of mowing down entire companies with ease, or to focus the power into massive blasts that would level buildings. If these, humanity’s best mortal soldiers, were here. Then those were not Corpse Wagons.
Hugo’s eyes widened and he almost screamed. But he was yanked back and through a heavy bulkhead and into The Wall. That didn't stop him from hyperventilating and crying. They were all going to die. All of them. A bigger assault was coming, and Hugo didn't know why. But the Vultures were here, and they brought death and destruction with them. And Hugo could only silently scream as he was quite literally dragged down a hundred meters of stairs and then thrown on the ground.
“Not a word Trooper. Not a single fucking word.” And then he heard it. Laserfire and screaming. “High Lords above.” Sergeant Roseri sighed and wiped the water from his feet, he then dragged Hugo up and handed him to the rust haired veteran from before.
“Listen up. The inquisition is here. And everyone up there that wasn’t a Scion was a traitor. They had to go!” He didn’t sound convinced though. Damn. There were just seven of them now. The seven that actually stepped out and fought. Instead of running away. “Forget this entire ordeal, Troopers. It’s easier that way. Now all of you pile into the Dragonfly and let’s go home. You’re all in for some mandatory R’n’R. Now get fucking to it.”
Hugo wasn’t able to pile in, as the veteran slung Hugo over his shoulder and lumbered in. Setting the boy down in the troop bay and dropping a survival blanket on him. The Veteran sighed and pulled on over himself, closed his eyes, and pretended to sleep. High Lords above. This was not a good day. It was a terrible, no good, very bad day and he wanted it to end. He wanted it to end right the fuck now. But that’s not how days work. Because of fucking course. Sally was dead. And a lot of others were too.
But before Hugo could pout any longer Sergeant Roseri plopped down next to him. He drew a flask and took a long pull, passed it to Hugo who did the same, and Hugo passed it to the veteran who did the same. They passed the flask back and forth for the entire flight. Not saying a single word. There were no words to be said anymore. No more tears to cry. And no more regrets to be had. It was just them, the present, and a flask of whiskey. And that was okay.
And when they finally did touch down the trio stumbled to their feet, lazily saluted the officers standing by and walked right into the scariest man Hugo had ever met. Colonel Jerome Kilgore. A tall, mean, and ruthless veteran. And not a native Lilt either. He was a Northman. A Svar. Shorter than a Lilt but broader, and with radiant golden hair. The Colonel nodded and let them pass. He was a hard, but fair man, or so Hugo appraised in his inebriated state.
What followed was the survivors of Legio X, Equestris’ first and second company’s greatest and longest shower. The Colonel had thought it wise to not bump down the company’s hot water rations despite their losses for the day. And for that Hugo was grateful. He was able to clean the vomit and bits of Sally from his body and feel somewhat better about it. Somewhat. Sally was still dead, and he had cried like a bitch through it all. But that was life, and he had to keep on living.
Hugo stepped out of the showers and slipped on his off-duty clothing. A warm turtleneck, thick and woolen trousers, heavy boots, with clean undergarments and even thick socks. And it had finally stopped raining. Praise the High Lords for that small blessing in his steaming pile of shit day.
Hugo was then, and once again, grabbed and drug by Sergeant Roseri, who insisted he be called John of duty, to a transport. Their leave was immediately in effect. Another small blessing. And the group was ferried off to the Diaspolis arcology. A towering city of steel that went a kilometer into the sky. Space was limited on the ground, so the sky was the limit for the builders of Lilt. And they took that to heart. Building towering arcologies into the heavens.
Hugo was dead tired though, and it was a long ride to Diaspolis. So, he closed his eyes and leaned against John. Who was strangely comfortable. Or maybe that was the fatigue kicking in? Hugo didn’t know or care as he listened to the engine and the murmur of the Troopers around him. There were seven others. Not even half a Claude thanks to the Inquisition. But Hugo couldn’t bring himself to philosophize about the cruelty of that too deeply. Condemning the very bulwark that protected them to death over cowardice.
But maybe… Maybe if they held more of them would have lived… that was a bleak line of thought though. And not one Hugo wanted to dwell on. So, he listened harder to the engine. Trying to drown out the thoughts like he normally did. It was getting harder. He could still smell it too. The sickly sweetness of death and the burning ozone of plasma and the heavy gunpowder and the charred flesh all intermixed. It was horrid. And it would not leave him no matter how hard Hugo tried.
Hugo got no sleep. And he was okay with that, having a feeling that his dreams would not be pleasant in the slightest. But he could still ponder, as drunk and tired as he was. Was this really the life he had wanted? Was it really the escape he had craved? Was it worth all the pain? Should he just run? Dangerous thoughts. Traitorous thoughts. Horrid thoughts. Hugo banished them as they entered Diaspolis. Bloody bloody one helluva day.