It's a Dog's Life

Fortune’s Favored
Imperial Carrack Class Troop Transport
Crew: 3000 Naval personnel
400 Naval Armsmen
8,000 Savlar 66th Chem-Dogs
Status: Currently Awaiting Assignment


The Fortune’s Favored was, by all accounts, a flying prison. Its sole purpose was to ferry its dangerous cargo from warzone to warzone. Armed naval security officers stood guard at every major junction at the fore of the ship. Aft was largely given over to the Savlar 66th Chem-Dogs and their cells. Murderers, thieves and anarchists from the prisons of Savlar, sent out into the galaxy’s worst toxic nightmares to fight and die for the Emperor.
“Attention Savlar 66th. Armed patrols will be coming through your decks. You know the routine. Strip down to skivvies, move to the back of your cell, and remain still. Any sudden movement will be met with lethal force. When cell inspections have finished, and the security teams have left your section, you are free to move around again. Until then, remain still.”
A chorus of moans and curses rose up from the aft of the ship as the blue warning lights flickered on in each cell. Sergeant Seravin Corr tossed his handful of cards onto the small folding table, stood and sighed as he pulled off his undershirt and tossed it over by the front of the cell.
“You know the drill. Sooner they’re done, the sooner we can get back to our game.”
His squad groaned loudly as they deposited their cards on the table before standing and peeling off their grimy clothing and added it to the pile started by Corr.
“We ain’t been off this can for weeks. Where in da hell we ‘sposed to get anything…” grunted Callahan as he sauntered toward the back of the cell.
“You forget Cally. There’s a whole army of navy boys to steal from here.” Briggs called from her cell across the room. She ignored the leering gazes of the men across from her as she peeled off her clothing and moved to the back of her cell. A deep laugh made eyes turn to the cell next to Corr’s. A large meaty frame leaned against the bars and arms like tree trunks stuck through, gesturing while the man talked.
“Whole army o’ navy.” Mason, the heavy gunner chuckled. “I hate myself for likin’ that one.”
“We all hate you Mason, now get back against the wall!” Corr shouted.
“Yup, yup. Sure thing, boss.” The muscular arms disappeared within their cell once more. Corr rubbed his temple.
“Idiots… I’m surrounded by idiots…”


Less than three hours later the armsmen finished their routine security sweep, returned to their half of the ship and the warning lights went dead. Corr sighed, running a hand over his shaved skull and bent to pick up his shirt.
“Deal a new hand Cally.”
“Figures, I had great cards too.” He muttered as he sat and started shuffling.
“Course you did. You cheat.” Stakely hissed through broken, yellowed teeth as he plopped himself down into his seat.
A clanging at the bars of the cell interrupted the conversation and drew their attention. Two armsmen and a commissar stood there.
“You. Sergeant. Come with me.” The commissar hissed. The way he said Corr’s rank sounded like he was spitting poison.
Stakely flashed a noxious grin.
“You’re in trouble, Sarge.” He said. Corr glared at him sidelong and kicked his chair out from under him. There was a satisfying crack as the man’s jaw connected with the card table before he hit the floor in a whimpering mess. The commissar eyed him briefly before turning away as the armsmen opened the cell.
“This way.” The commissar repeated as he walked down the corridor.
“Help Stakely find his teeth Cally, I’ll be back.” Corr said as he stepped out of the cell and followed the commissar, flanked by the two armsmen, the barrels of their shotcannons aimed at his back, encouraging continued compliance.
After long minutes of silence, the small group arrived at a blast door. Corr shivered. He was all too familiar with interrogation chambers. The door hissed opened and the commissar eyed Corr from under his cap.
“Sit.” He ordered. Corr swallowed the fear building in his throat, and moved forward to sit in the chair on the far end of the table. He hadn’t done anything wrong. At least, not recently. The mere touch of the cold metal chair sent chills down his spine, his mind instantly dredging up the interrogation chamber after his little...
“Sergeant Seravin Corr.”
Corr blinked, drawn from his little reverie by the commissar’s stern voice. It took him entirely too long to realize he hadn’t been strapped down. The commissar looked up from a dataslate, staring at Corr with cold, unblinking eyes.
“Born on Heidrun. Orphaned at age three, parents killed in action. Attended the Schola Progenium at age four. Quickly overcame your classmates and graduated with honors. Murdered your fellow graduates in cold blood the morning after graduation. Sentenced to life on Savlar for your crime. Quickly snatched up by the Chem-Dogs for your Progena training.” The commissar set the dataslate on the table.
“That’s me.” Corr said, hoping his show of bravado hid his nervousness.
“What did you specialize in at the Schola, Sergeant?”
“I was to be a storm trooper. My skills laid heavily in force-multiplied deconstruction.”
“You mean demolitions?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” The commissar’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“I have a mission. One that requires the level of skill that, let’s face it, is largely absent from anything Savlar can dredge up.”
“Stop, your flattery is going to make me blush.” Corr said. He saw the commissar twitch, but through sheer force of will, the commissar maintained his composure. He leaned forward and steepled his gloved fingers. His head turned ever so slightly to the side and one of the two armsmen stepped forward and cracked the butt of his shotcannon into the side of Corr’s head. He reeled but managed to remain both in his seat and conscious.
“Look, filth. I don’t like you. If I had my way I would render you and your entire regiment into so much fine paste against the bulkhead. But you serve a purpose for the Imperium and for that you are spared from your deserved fate.” Corr rubbed at his throbbing head, feeling his own sticky blood running down his temple.
“So order me already. Ain’t like I can refuse you, can I, Sir.” Corr hissed through clenched teeth. The commissar leaned back, and appeared to smirk for almost a full second.
“There’s trouble on a backwater planet known as Strontius Prime, the local rabble has incited a minor rebellion. It’s perfect for you lot. Air is toxic, mostly swampland across the main continent, you’ll feel right at home with all that scum.”
Corr smirked and pointed at the datapad.
“There any intel on that?” he asked. The commissar paused, taken somewhat by surprise by Corr’s question, before handing him the datapad.
“What’s my target?” he asked as he skimmed the planetary information.
“What we believe to be the rebel base of power, the governor’s mansion. It fell early on in the rebellion and seems a likely place to house the rebel leaders.
“Why not bomb it? Why send in us mud-sloggers?” he asked.
“They have surrounded the mansion with anti-air. The risk to the pilots is simply too great.”
“But the risk to me-”
“-Is perfectly acceptable.”
Corr sat in silence for a moment before sliding the slate back across the table.
“I’ll need a team.” The commissar looked skeptical. “It’ll improve chances for completing the mission.” The commissar thought on it for a moment, before nodding.
“You may take your current squad, but that is all. No further assistance, no equipment beyond your typical gear.” Corr’s jaw fell open.
“How do you expect me to blow up a mansion without an explosive?!” he asked, jabbing a finger at the dataslate. “You read the intel, that place is massive!”
“I have no doubt you’ll figure it out.” The commissar said as he stood. He nodded at the guards to took up position behind Corr. “Return him to his cell.” He ordered. “Select your team and discuss a plan, you have until we drop out of warp.” Corr was quickly grabbed by the arms and lifted bodily from his seat as the commissar quickly made his exit. Corr snarled and pulled his arms free and stepped into the corridor.
“Wait! What about the rest of the 66th?” he called. The commissar stopped and peered back over his shoulder.
“They will be providing the distraction for your insurgency. Don’t let their deaths be a complete waste.” The armsmen moved to grab Corr again, and he sighed.
“I can walk. I know the way.” He hissed. “Frakkin’ fools…” He shrugged his arms free and muttered under his breath all the way back to the hold.

Several days later…
The hanger of the Fortune’s Favored was a network of walled in narrows, designed to funnel the Chem-Dogs to drop ships and allow the armsmen on the pathways above to maintain control and authority. Weapons wouldn’t be unlocked until the troops were safely on the ground and pointed at the enemy.
Hundreds of soldiers all talking about their deployment, taunting an unknown enemy, threatening the guards, etc.; the noise was nearly deafening. So much so that it was unnoticed when Corr’s team was pulled aside and lead under armed escort down a separate corridor. The emerged at boarding ramp of a Valkyrie. The commissar stood at the foot of the ramp, hands clasped behind his back.
“Reporting as ordered.” Corr said. He didn’t salute, and the commissar didn’t seem to care. He looked over the team with a practiced eye and then produced a datapad and scanned it momentarily.
“When I call your name, step forward.” he said. “Briggs, Risha. Corporal.” Briggs stepped forward, managing to look both bored and annoyed at the same time. “Sentenced to Savlar for insubordination, assaulting a commanding officer and theft. Step into the Valkyrie.” Briggs ascended the ramp and disappeared into the ship without a word.
“Stakely, Dekko. Guardsman.” Stakely shuffled forward a step, clearly more interested in whatever he was digging out of his ear than in anything the commissar had to say. “Sentenced to Savlar for looting and the violent murder of a civilian. Board the ship.”
“Sure sure.” Stakely said with a non-committal shrug. “Stayin’ safe was boring anyway.”
“Mason, Clyde. Guardsman. Sentenced to Savlar for murder and kidnapping.” Mason frowned.
“There’s an explanation for tha-”
“Shut up and board the Valkyrie, trooper.” The commissar said. Mason sighed and climbed the ramp without another word.
“Callahan, Wren. Guardsman.” Callahan stepped forward and smiled broadly.
“Call me Cally, sir.” The commissar looked at Callahan, sneered and then returned his eyes to his pad.
“Sentenced to Savlar for murder, assaulting a commanding officer and theft.”
“Uh, ya forgot selling stolen goods and attempting to bribe a commanding officer.” Callahan added, leaning forward to peer at the commissar’s datapad. The commissar took a step back and jerked his head in the direction of the gunship.
“Just. Board. The ship.” He hissed. Callahan shrugged and hustled aboard the Valkyrie as the commissar turned his attention to Corr.
“Four days, Sergeant. By then the rest of the force will reach the palace. If it is not rubble by then, the rest of the 66th will be thrown at it, wave after wave, until it is.” He said.
“Right, no pressure.” Corr muttered, stepping past the commissar and climbing the boarding ramp. “Keep the porch light on. We’ll be back before you know it.”
“I assure you, I am positively a quiver.” The commissar muttered as the ramp shut.

The Valkyrie dropped low, screaming over the gnarled husks that Strontius Prime called trees. Corr sat back in his seat, eyes shut, head bobbing side to side as the Valkyrie searched for viable drop site to offload its cargo of dangerous scum.
“I hate you, Sarge! Volunteering me for this frakkin’ suicide mission!” Stakely hissed as he adjusted the straps on his rebreather and took a few testing breaths. Corr smirked and opened his eye a crack to stare at the man.
“Volunteered? You must be mistaken. I ordered you.” He said. Stakely respond with a sneer and an obscene gesture that only someone from his homeworld would be offended by. Corr ignored it.
“So tell me again, why the hell are we here?” Callahan said. He leaned forward, snorted and spat a gobbet of yellow phlegm on the floor grate.
“Weren’t you listening? This mud ball has a little traitor problem. We’re being sent in to burn the house down so the roaches can’t have it.” Briggs said calmly. Stakely flashed his broken smile.
“Ooh, I do like a little bonfire.” He said. “Maybe this won’t be so bad.”
Briggs shook her head and pulled her goggles over her eyes.
Suddenly the lights in the cabin turned a dirty yellow in color.
“Masks on kids. Strontius has air worse than Stakely’s breath.” Corr said as he pulled all the straps tight on his mask. The four thick hoses ran over his shoulders on both sides and he shrugged his shoulders to get them to settle in a somewhat more comfortable position. Stale air pumped in and he took a couple of deep breaths to test the rig.
“Man! Dig that fresh air!” Mason called through the vox bead.
“God-Emperor, I hate you...” Briggs mumbled.
“Everyone got their breathers on?” Corr called. A short chorus of affirmatives met his question as the Valkyrie shuddered violently as it suddenly dropped in speed and banked hard.
“This is your captain speaking. We’ve found a nice piece of swamp-adjacent real estate to drop you in. Tuck and roll folks.” The pilot called over their vox feed. The boarding ramp hissed open and dust and fetid air flooded in as the Valkyrie slowed to hover over the swamp. There was a loud grating noise as the sealed crate containing most of their gear slid down the ramp and splashed into the swamp.
“Move it!” Corr slapped his restraint release and sprinted down the ramp. He leapt off the edge of the ramp and dropped twenty feet into muddy water and quickly disappeared beneath its surface. Briggs and Mason quickly followed, but Stakely stopped and peered over the edge.
“Ah man. I got a bad feeling about this.” he muttered. Callahan clapped a hand onto his back.
“Choice is this or Savlar, man.” he said before stepping off the edge. Stakely swore under his breath before he banged his hand hard against the bulkhead and jumped off the ramp as it began to close.


Extricating themselves from the thick mud proved to be more difficult than Corr would’ve liked. The brackish crud nearly swallowed their gear.
“We missing anything?” Corr asked as he wiped mud from his breather.
“Think I’m missin’ a canister of promethium.” Mason said as he hoisted his heavy flamer from the case and dug muck out of the igniter with a finger. The sealed case proved to be not so sealed when it’s dropped onto a rock hidden beneath the brackish waves. Briggs sat on the shore, grumbling and cleaning her sniper rifle like a mad woman.
“Aren’t those things rated for air drop?” she hissed as she peered through her scope before cleaning the lenses for a third time. Stakely slung his lasgun over one shoulder and looked around.
“Which way we supposed to go? This all looks the same?” he said, gesturing at the swampland. Corr stood and tucked his laspistol into his holster as he moved to stand next to Stakely.
“Intel says it should be two days trek to the north.” Corr said, gesturing to an unremarkable stretch of swampland. Once we reach the palace, we’ll need to sneak past the defenses and locate the munitions depot. Gotta be somethin’ there that’ll bring the house down.”
“I love it when the plans all fall into place.” Callahan said as he adjusted his breather straps.
“Briggs. You memorize the map like I asked?” Corr said, looking over his shoulder at the woman.
“Nah, too much work. I lifted it before we deployed.” She said, fishing a hand into her thigh pocket. After a moment she pulled out a folded up map and handed it over before returning to cleaning her rifle.
“Atta girl.” Corr said, taking the map and unfolding it to peer at it. “Now look. We’re here.” He said, jabbing his finger onto the map. He slowly dragged it across it, stopping at the top of the map. “And here’s the objective. Now here, right in the middle is an old settlement. We should be able to rest there. We can probably make it there in just under eight hours.”
“What if it’s not friendly.” Mason asked. Corr smirked and pat his laspistol.
“The settlement should be abandoned. But if it’s not, we’ll have to make it that way. Pack your things. We have a long hike. And I’d like to find some shelter before we need to change tanks.”


“I don’t think we can empty this one out, Sarge.” Mason whispered. Corr was inclined to agree. The settlement was overrun. The Stronius PDF had set up a substantial outpost in the settlement, and been so good as to man it quite heavily. Troops were busy setting up tents, sealing up the old buildings and pumping clean air into the few that were already in stable condition. A hastily built guard tower stood near the center of town and a small team of scouts peered out over the landscape with a poorly trained eye.
“I count at least ninety…” Corr muttered.
“Getting about the same count here.” Briggs voxed.
“Love to know what the plan is now, Sarge.” Stakely hissed.
“It’s the same plan. We rest here, move on at day break.” Corr said, rolling his eyes.
“Uhh… seems a bit crowded, don’t ya think?” Callahan voxed.
“Maybe we should’ve made reservations at a nice inn instead?” Mason snorted, barely able to finish his own joke.
“Mason… I hate you…” Briggs said.
“Cut the chatter and regroup. I have a plan.” Corr cut in.
“He’s got a plan. I’m just… filled with renewed optimism…” Stakely said.


Trooper Abec Carn was sweating. It was hot. The swamps always were. But this was something different. This was the first time, to his knowledge, that the Strontius PDF had been mustered for anything other than a simple parade. But the Governor had called them up to defend their home against an enemy massing at the fringe of their continent. Carn had seen the vids. They looked like barely leashed hounds, and it wasn’t too far of a stretch for Carn to imagine them frothing at the mouth. It made him nervous. He looked out at the swampland, doing his best not to think about the mindless beasts that were landing on his planet.
“Carn!”
Carn jumped up from where he was sitting, his train of thought broken by a shout. He looked around until his eyes found Beck. He took a deep breath and willed his heart rate to drop back to normal.
“S-sorry. I was… thinking.” He muttered. Beck shrugged and adjusted his breather.
“I’m going to make my patrol. Hold down the fort. Wake the other’s if you need anything.” Beck said as he plucked up his lasgun.
“Y-yeah. No problem.” Carn said with a wave as he watched Beck disappear into the night. Carn turned his attention back to the swamps that surrounded them. He could see the Lantern Flies as they fluttered lazily in the night air. He could hear the croak of the Tox-Frogs that wallowed in the mud hunting the Lantern Flies. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. His home was eerily beautiful at times. He heard the hab-tent rustle as someone opened the flap and stepped out into the night air. He twisted slightly and looked the man up and down as whoever it was adjusted their uniform.
“Quite a night, ain’t it?” the man said as he stepped over to Carn.
Carn sighed and smiled beneath his rebreather, returning his gaze to the landscape.
“Sure is.”
“Ya know this place well?”
Carn shrugged.
“Not really, I’m from a farm town up near the capital.”
“Farm boy huh? You lie. Yer too scrawny.”
“It’s the truth!” Carn said, suddenly feeling like his honor had been insulted. “My family has been farming Malta Nuts for three generations. I know Strontius plants like the back of my hand.”
“Oh yeah? Prove it.” The man said. He looked side to side and then pointed out to Carn’s left. “What’s that one over there?” Carn turned his head a bit and peered into the inky blackness.
“Which one?” he asked as the man loomed over him.


Jorin Beck was aching for a smoke. He needed his lho fix, but he wasn’t too keen on peeling off his mask for a few puffs of his narcotic of choice when the air would kill him faster. Maybe he could sneak one when he got back to the tent. Carn wouldn’t mind, and the others should be asleep.
He looked up, seeing the slender form of Carn still sitting where he’d left him a minute ago. Beck sighed and set his lasgun against a gnarled stump and arched backward.
“I’m back. Did I miss anything?”
Carn turned slowly and shook his head.
“Nah, nothin’.” He said before turning back towards the swamp.
“Figured. Cover for me, I’m gonna duck inside and have a smoke.”
Carn raised a hand and nodded his head without word. Beck ducked inside the small airlock and shut the tent door behind him as he waited for the airlock to cycle. A small light flashed green and he peeled off his breather and stuck a lho-stick between his lips as he opened the inner door.
Three heads turned towards him from where they were gathered in the middle of the tent and Beck stopped.
“Oh, you’re all up. D’ya mind if I smoke?” he asked. It took him several seconds to realize everyone was in their breathers.
“What’s… what’s going on?” Beck asked
“I think we’ve been made, Sarge.” One of them said.
“You think?” replied another.
Beck’s eyes widened. He dropped his lho-stick and reached for his lasgun only to find that it was still resting outside. Two arms wrapped around him from behind, one arm around his chest, the other tightly around his neck. He gasped and craned his neck to look over his shoulder.
“Carn!? What are you-” he managed to choke out.
“Carn’s sleeping. Just relax and soon all will be well. Promise.” Beck struggles weakened as his airway was constricted little by little until his world went black.