Bravo company moved out at daybreak. A squad was left behind to dispose of the collected excess equipment. A few miles out, once the bivouac was no longer in sight but a mere memory, he heard an explosion behind them. The Guardsmen didn’t react. He heard one of them groan over not eating something he was forced to abandon. They trudged along at a quick pace. Waino’s feet started to ache again but he didn’t think about it. His mind was too preoccupied thinking about last night. He did see a woman, that he had no doubt. He had heard a voice, that he had no doubt. The problem was that he didn’t know what to do about it. No one would believe him. While his mind was preoccupied, he felt a sting on the back of his neck. He reached back, feeling a slimy bump.

“Don’t freak out babycom, you got a leech on you,” a trooper behind him said.

It was Rodriguez, the one he had suggested to shave. Noticeably, he was clean shaven.

“Don’t worry I got it!” another guardsman said.

Waino felt a spray on the back of his neck.

Then he felt spray coming in from the sides. Two more troopers had joined in. They all wielded small green spray cans, spraying him from head to toe.

“It’s ok babycom, you’re safe now,” Rodriguez assured.

“Thanks,” Waino said.

“Gotta watch where you go. Leeches on this hellhole like to jump down from the trees,” he said, gesturing to the dense foliage above them.

Sunlight only came through in thin beams, like water pouring through an opening in a dam, no matter the size.

“How many times have you all been out here?” Waino asked.

“It’s our first time out in this sector but the dangers of the jungle are uniform. Our previous patrols took us in the opposite direction,” Rodriguez answered.

“Did you ever find anything?”

“Nothing the colonel wanted. We found some campsites that were mined. Lost a few good men trying to get into them, only to find they were abandoned. It was a waste of time. Yesterday was our first firefight. I hope we find them. I want payback.”

“The Imperium always gets its vengeance.”

Rodriguez smiled at him.

“I like the sound of that.”

He smiled back. Waino wanted to feel good for inspiring a trooper but he couldn’t. After yesterday’s performance, or lack thereof, he felt like a fraud of a commissar. He felt like a child playing dress-up.

They continued on at a quick pace. The further they journeyed, the more troubles Waino had. The number of insects biting or bumping into him increased. In addition to leeches, there were large wasps and mosquitos. The troopers nearby kept spraying him at periodic intervals. He was grateful but also annoyed. He felt like a child trekking through the woods with overprotective parents. The jungle was unchanging. The canopy remained consistently thick. The mud felt like an adhesive to the soles of their boots no matter where they stepped. The only thing that increased was the humidity. Waino zoned out during the march.

He focused on simply putting one foot in front of the other. The night arrived. They bivouacked in another spot after some troopers had cleared some high grass. Waino forced himself to sit along the perimeter once more with 1st platoon. The Guardsmen nearby him sounded irritable. Rations had been cut in half after leaving so much food behind. It was ironic. They had moved quicker but by doing so, the Guardsmen became more hungry, thus wanting to eat more. Verro sat next to him, having finished a conversation with one of his men. He turned to Waino, noticing that the cadet seemed distant.

“You need to get your head in the game,” Verro bluntly said.

Waino snorted.

“Yeah. I will. Don’t worry.”

They said nothing for a moment. Verro sighed.

“Everyone freezes at first. Everyone.”

Verro patted him on the shoulder, stood up, then left to check the rest of the perimeter. Waino remained where he was. He didn’t see the woman that night. He never heard any voices in his head besides his own.

They moved at daybreak like clockwork. The day repeated itself. Waino felt the same as yesterday. The comforting words from Verro didn’t make him feel better. They continued on. Waino marched like normal. The trip through the jungle felt like it was never ending when the convoy of men stopped. He saw Verro touch his comm-bead, nod his head, and began to move forward while the rest of his men stayed put. Waino rushed to catch up to him.

“Are we finally-”

“Yeah we’re here,” Verro said.

They moved ahead of the line, eventually reaching the front. There was a break in the jungle. The trees stopped appearing ahead of them, as if an invisible wall was planted in the ground, stopping nature from continuing forward. Captain Carnell and the other officers were at the edge of the treeline, staring ahead, crouched together. Waino peered past them to see what held their mouths agape.

Hill 937 was not a hill. It was a small mountain. It stood about 700 meters tall; looking like a giant pimple growing out of Banshee’s crust. Hill 937 was rugged uninviting wilderness blanketed with dense thickets of bamboo and tall grass. Fingers chaotically rose up it, looking like cracks in rockrete.

“Anything gunny?” Carnell whispered.

The gunnery sergeant next to Carnell lowered his magnoculars. He was an older man with a large scar on his left cheek and gray hair.

“I don’t like it sir. Something’s off,” he said.

“What’s happening?” Waino whispered.

“Trying to decide what to do,” Thayer answered.

“Intel was trash. The picts didn’t show this thing being so huge,” Bracer complained.

“Data slate is all wrong,” Captain Knight noted, giving it to Carnell.

Carnell glanced at it. Waino looked over his shoulder. It was true, the contour lines were all wrong, making 937 look a lot smaller than it was.

“Report it in,” Carnell ordered.

A trooper began to make a report into the vox-caster.

“There’s no movement,” the gunny reported, once again looking through the magnoculars.

“That means we missed them. Whelp boys we tried,” Bracer said. “Time to go back.”

“Shut up Bracer,” Verro snapped.

Waino looked back at 937. It’d be difficult to traverse. The ground was uneven, there was no cover, and….there was a woman. He instinctively stood up. It was only for a moment, but he saw her and her bright white dress flutter before disappearing into the tall grass. She disappeared as quickly as she arrived. He raised his lasgun.

“They’re there. They’re definitely up there,” he declared. “We have to go. We have to flush them out.”

The Guardsmen looked at him in disbelief.

“That’s not your call. Our job was to scout the place and head back. We’re here, we don’t see anything.” Verro said.

“ Do you want to be known as cowards that turned back from a fight? That’s what we’ll be if we turn back now,” Waino insisted.

The officers exchanged looks. Waino could tell his words meant nothing coming from him. Carnell looked at Waino while the vox was handed to him. He listened to the message while keeping his eyes on Waino.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we don’t have enough Guardsmen for a ‘hill’ of that size. We’d

need at least another company. If the enemy is there we’d be drastically outnumbered,” Bracer argued.

Something wrenched in Waino’s stomach, as if a snake coiled inside of it. A literal gut feeling. They couldn’t wait. They couldn’t come back later. The enemy wouldn’t wait for them to come back with more Guardsmen. It had to be here and now.

“Colonel agrees,” Carnell said, putting the vox down. “He wants us to secure 937 and thoroughly search it. We have our orders so that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Bet you that Commissar-General is forcing us to be so aggressive,” Knight remarked.

The officers looked at Waino as if he would confirm.

“The Commissar-General came here to ensure the Banshee campaign is run effectively,” Waino said as a non-answer.

“This is just reckless,” Thayer grumbled.

“It’s what we wanted right?” Verro asked.

“That was back before we needed more men,” Bracer said to himself.

Captain Carnell put the data slate down between them. He pointed at the map display.

“1st platoon will move up from the west. Second will move in from the east. Third will attack from the north. Each platoon will task three fireteams to stay here in the treeline as a reserve force.”

The officers nodded. Carnell grinned at them, removing something that had been flung over his back. Only now did Waino realize it was a chainsword. He eagerly gripped its handle.

“Alright Vanquishers, let’s get it on.”

It didn’t take them long to move into position. While moving, Waino kept eye contact with 937, expecting to see movement. There was none. The snake in his cut curled up more and more. Waino couldn’t tell if he was excited or afraid. He wanted combat. He needed that chance to prove himself, to prove he could do this. Yet he also wanted to turn around and trek back to base where it was safe. He was pulled in two directions. He took deep breaths. The Guardsmen checked their guns, waiting for the signal to move up.

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“You stick next to me,” Verro said in Waino’s ear. “If it all goes to shit, don’t be afraid to go back.”

Waino’s grip on his lasgun became tighter. He was mad.

“Don’t ever suggest to a commissar to retreat from battle,” Waino said.

“You’re not a full commissar yet,” Verro replied.

“And I never will be if I run away.”

Verro grunted. He pushed up his black spectacles. 1st platoon became completely quiet. The jungle was completely silent as if it was waiting in anticipation as well. Verro put his hand on his comm-bead.

“1st platoon in position.”

A moment passed. Verro nodded.

“1st platoon moving out.”

He gestured forward.

“Go!”

1st platoon sprinted from the treeline. The distance between the treeline and the base of 937 was only a few meters but it felt like running a marathon. Waino found himself running at a full sprint, huffing with his lasgun in hand. He ran abreast with Verro. Some of the troopers ran past them, reaching the base of 937 and began to move up the incline, guns raised. Their speed slowed down as their feet struggled to find a footing. If they went too fast, they would be finding themselves falling back and rolling down. The squads furthest ahead stopped, taking cover behind trees. Verro and Waino soon joined them as the rest of the platoon stepped foot on 937. The burst of activity ceased. They waited, expecting to start firing. Nothing. Verro and Waino positioned themselves behind a tree, looking ahead. A few squads were a dozen paces in front.

“Delta and Alpha squads, move forward. With caution,” he ordered into his comm-bead.

The squad leaders of each respective squad affirmed. They crept forward, slowly climbing upwards. The rest of the platoon followed. They scanned the trees, straining their eyes to find any trace of movement.

“Maybe there’s nothing up here after all,” Waino heard behind him.

Waino glanced back, seeing Rogers grinning. Jenkins was beside him, shaking his head.

“Why would you say that? You just jinxed it.”

“Nah I bet you they all ran with their-”

Someone ahead screamed. The jungle exploded in a flurry of action. The ground erupted. Hatches opened out of the ground, right next to the forward squads. Las-fire zipped out of them, slamming into their chests, heads and limbs. Bodies flew back, as if struck by hammers. They slammed into trees or flew down the incline. In addition to the las-fire came swinging blades. The enemy swung out with large crusted blades with serrated edges, hacking off the legs of the troopers unfortunate to be close enough. They screamed and fell to the ground, only to be quickly silenced by either being shot or having the blades finish them off.

A hatch opened up behind Waino, mere meters away from him. A group of men emerged from the hole, armed with lasguns and autoguns. They were stripped to the waist, their bodies covered in purple and pink swirls of paint. They wore white masks depicting unnaturally large grins. Chaos cultists in the flesh. Time slowed for Waino. One of the men looked at Waino, his eyes wild through the white mask. He aimed his autogun at him. He fired. Before Waino’s life was ended by a round to the chest, something crashed into his side.

Waino was knocked off his feet, crashing on his side, the air knocked out of him. Verro was atop of him. He started shooting his lasgun on full auto, still on top of Waino. The masked man’s face knocked back as las-shots hit his face, killing him on impact. Verro rolled off Waino, continuing to fire. 1st platoon, caught in the middle of two firing, shot in both directions, each trooper firing on full auto. With the enemy so close, there was no time to pick their shots. Many went prone, while others ran to take cover behind trees, trying to take cover from at least one side of the enemy’s ambush.

“You had to say something!” Jenkins roared.

“My bad!” Rogers yelled.

Verro shouted orders to the nearby squad leaders who relayed orders to their men. Guardsmen moved.

The fire from the enemy was unceasing. Waino froze. He breathed heavily. His limbs felt like lead. The snake in his stomach coiled even tighter. It was happening again. The fear was overcoming him. That’s when he noticed something next to his head. A metal hatch that had been disguised with mud, leaves, and sticks was mere inches from his face. It opened.

A masked man emerged, directly in front of him; face to face. The surprise from being so close made them both immobile. It was do or die. Waino’s body finally decided to act. It wasn’t a conscious decision. The schola training kicked in. Still on his stomach, Waino aimed his lasgun at the man’s face. He pulled the trigger. Las-shots flew out of the barrel. The masked man’s face became decimated as shots hit him at point blank range.

He quickly fell but Waino kept firing. The man wasn’t the only one to emerge from the hatch. There were three more men behind him, expecting to join the fight but they found themselves in a storm of las-shots. Lasers smashed into their chests and arms. One died instantly from a headshot. One got hit three times in the chest. The last was hit in the shoulder, twisting to the side and leaning against the side of the hole. Waino turned to his gun, aiming it at the man but when he pulled the trigger, nothing came out. He ran out of energy in the power pack. The man groaned.

“It feels so good!” he said, clutching his shoulder.

The wound had cauterized upon impact. He raised a las-pistol but las-shots cracked behind Waino. The man was struck dozens of times in the body, falling over dead. Two troopers walked past Waino.

“Hell yeah babycom!” Jenkins said.

“That’s how we do it!” Rogers added.

Waino stood up, reloading his gun. His body was responding to him at last. He looked around. There were dozens of holes that had revealed their positions all over. Guardsmen fired downwards at them. The chaos at the beginning of the ambush had dissipated. The Vanquishers were organized now, mounting a coordinated defense. Verro was in the middle of the action, pointing and shouting.

Waino joined Verro, crouching down next to him.

“We gotta push!” Waino shouted over the din of las-fire.

Waino’s schola training gave him a good understanding of the tactical situation. While the Vanquishers were no longer surprised, they were still pinned down from two sides. If they didn’t move, they were finished.

“I know!” Verro exclaimed.

“Let me take some of the men up the incline,” Waino suggested.

Verro raised an eyebrow at him. A sergeant nearby laughed.

“Babycom grew his balls,” he said.

“You aren’t leading anyone,” Verro said. “Sergeant, take three fireteams and push up! I’ll lead everyone else down. I guess take babycom with you.”

“Yes sir.”

Waino and the sergeant ran uphill while Verro shouted and ran downhill. The sergeant yelled into his comm-bead. Troopers stood up or ran out of cover, converging on them. Adrenaline rushed through Waino’s veins. He felt invincible. The sergeant and he took cover behind a tree. The first line of holes that had opened up were still firing down at them. Las-shots cracked through the air. Stray shots hit the tree they hid behind, causing splinters to fly. The troopers that joined them hid behind nearby trees or laid on the ground. They blind fired back, forcing the enemy to cease firing for a moment.

“Frag them!” the sergeant ordered. “Everyone else, provide covering fire!”

The sergeant ran ahead, taking a grenade out. Four troopers followed him. Waino stayed behind. He had no grenades. He aimed his lasgun. There were half a dozen firing holes ahead of them, situated abreast like they were a trench line. Guardsmen corpses laid next to them. They were the ones that first opened fire and destroyed the forward squads.

Waino aimed his lasgun, firing single shots. While the troopers around him fired on full auto, he took his time. Some of the cultists refused to duck. They were fearless, firing at charging troopers despite the las-shots landing inches from their faces. The charging group got within throwing range. One of the troopers primed a grenade but was cut down. He dropped the grenade. It rolled down the hill, bouncing along the way. It detonated next to a group of unsuspecting troopers that were providing covering fire. Their bodies flew high in the air. Some died immediately while others yelled in pain, their limbs having separated from their bodies.

Blood spurted out of them, making the green grass turn red. The charging group stopped their advance, taking cover in a dip in the ground, keeping their heads against the mud. The cultists above them began to throw grenades of their own. They clinked their way down before exploding, causing mud, rocks, and wood to fly; some of them embedding themselves into Guardsmen like shrapnel. The cultists threw them liberally. Dozens of them came down. The explosions were deafening. Waino’s head rang and his aim was disrupted. They wouldn’t succeed this way.

A group of troopers were with him, including Jenkins and Rogers who had joined them when the sergeant gave his order via comm-bead. Waino pointed at them and another trooper who’s name eluded him at the moment.

“You three come with me!” Waino ordered. “We’re flanking!”

They nodded. The rest of the Guardsmen stayed in place, firing up the hill. Grenades constantly exploded before them, preventing them from moving ahead. Waino and his group ran far to the right, circling around. It was tough work. The ground was more uneven the route they went, having to climb over rocks and push through tall grass.

“How many grenades do you all have?” Waino asked as they moved.

“Together? At least a dozen,” Jenkins asked, climbing up a ridge.

“Good. We’re throwing them all together,” Waino said.

They had reached their flanking position. The sounds of exploding grenades unceasing. It was like they were in the midst of an artillery barrage. They stood behind a tree. The holes were lined up ahead of them. From their vantage point, they noticed the cultists had crates full of grenades next to them. As soon as one was thrown, they reached in to grab another. It was perfect.

“We get close and throw everything we have. It’ll shatter them. Got it?” Waino said.

“I like this plan,” Rogers said.

“I got this babycom!” the trooper Waino didn’t know said, rushing forward.

They followed after him. Unfortunately for them, one of the cultists turned his head, seeing them approach. They were over a dozen meters away. Waino cursed. He stopped and fired, shooting the cultist in the throat. Unfortunately, he still managed to fire his weapon. Most of the las-shots hit the ground but one got lucky. A shot went straight into the leading trooper’s face. He flipped back, landing face down, dead. Rogers and Jenkins leaped to the side, taking cover behind a tree respectively. They fired back but they were outgunned. At least five lasguns returned fire, pinning them down.

Waino got down onto his belly, lasers flying over him. He cursed. Rogers and Jenkins were shouting but Waino couldn’t tell what they were saying. He stayed still for a moment, thinking. This flank had to work. It just had to. What he needed to do was reckless without a doubt but it was the only thing he could think of. He rose and sprinted ahead into the torrent of las-fire.

Shots whizzed by him, hitting the trees and mud around him. Mud splattered onto his uniform. It was a miracle he didn’t get killed the moment he got up. He made it to the downed trooper. He crouched down, removing the belt of grenades from the corpse. A shot missed his face by mere inches. Rogers and Jenkins called to him. He pulled the pin of one and chucked the belt. As he did so, a shot grazed him in the left arm. He spun before falling into the dirt. The grenades detonated in the nearest hole. It started a chain reaction. It ignited the crate of grenades, causing a massive explosion. The cultists in the hole had their bodies blown to smithereens.

The explosion made the ground shake. From the hole rose a tower of black smoke. It was so shocking that it momentarily stopped the fighting as every man turned his head towards the source. It gave the Vanquishers an opening. The sergeant that had been pinned down rose and chucked a grenade of his own, blowing up another hole. Others did the same. The Vanquishers then charged the defensive line. They reached the holes, cutting down the survivors in a storm of lasers. Others leapt down into them, shoving their lasguns into the faces of the cultists before blowing their heads away.

Waino laid on the ground, breathing hard. His arm stung. He put a hand to it but quickly pulled it away. He winced. It felt like touching a burn. Rogers and Jenkins stood over him, looking down.

“Babycom that was amazing!” Rogers exclaimed.

“I’ll go get the medic,” Jenkins said, running off.

Waino panted.

“Help me up,” he said.

Rogers helped him sit upright. The Vanquishers had taken the defensive line. Down the hill, Verro and the others had captured the holes that had been behind them. The fighting had ceased for now. A medic addressed Waino’s wound, wrapping his arm up. It felt cool on his arm, being coated in a cooling gel made to address las-wounds. Verro soon joined Waino, noticing the wound on his arm while the other Vanquishers continued forward up the hill.

“My men tell me you did something amazing,” Verro said.

“Only what was needed,” Waino replied.

Verro nodded.

“Don’t get cocky. You got lucky.”

“Right.”

Waino was jumpy, almost hopping in place. He couldn’t seem to stay still.

“You’re still on that adrenaline high,” Verro noted. “It affects your judgment. Control it.”

Verro went ahead. Waino stood still for a moment, taking in the scene around him. There were so many bodies. He stopped bouncing. For the first time he smelled the air. It smelled of iron. Men groaned in pain all around them. Many were wounded. At least fifteen Guardsmen were dead from what he could count. The excitement he felt died down. He vomited. He wiped his mouth with his sleeves. Waino walked to the defensive line he helped break. The cultist bodies were crumpled in them. A trooper stood over one hole, urinating on their bodies. Now that there was a break in the fighting, Waino truly looked at the enemy they were facing. Yes, they were Chaos cultists, but for which vile daemon god? He stepped into one of the holes, removing a cultist’s mask. What he saw shocked him.

The man had a smile on his face, like he died in ecstasy. It was unnaturally wide, going from ear to ear, forcing his skin back. He removed the mask from another one. The same face. They all died in pleasure. He remembered the lectures at his scholam, the countless hours learning about the daemons and their vile worshippers.

“Damn Slanesshi scum,” the trooper with him said, zipping up his pants.

In the distance, Waino heard the sounds of las-fire. All of Bravo Company was in combat.