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Last few weeks ive been a little under the weather and found myself housebound and because of this i decided i had the time to bring one of the characters from my ig to life. So this is what i've got so far on the subject of Sergeant Cato Dharker recently promoted to 1ic charlie squad of the 322nd Sanctus Rifles. Comments and criticism welcome.

Incoming

Sgt. Cato Dharker had come a long way since those days in PDF, back when he was crawling through the mud and the wet, clinging onto his old autogun and dodging fire from the disenchanted. Now he was in the Imperial Guard, soaking wet in a captured trench holding tightly to his standard issue lasgun.
The trench was roughly two hundred metres from the city that the twelfth army group were trying to capture. The feeble ditch was secured by Special Forces two days earlier and the 322nd Sanctus Rifles had found themselves as its new garrison.

The army group had been briefed on the plan many times; a battleship in orbit, the solace, would fire a laser battery at the gargantuan wall at the edge of the city to create an entry point, allowing the infantry vanguard (the 322nd) to create a beachhead. Dozer tracks from the Skippian 12th armoured would then clear the rubble from the breach point so that Leman Russes from the Skippian 12th armoured, Sanctus 51st armoured and Jobian 2nd armoured (over 150 tanks in total) and infantry from the Skippian 1st dragoons, Sanctus 100th heavy infantry, Tressed 3rd lighters, Papet 59th colonials and Imperial navy commandos from the solace. The first of these infantry units would relieve the 322nd (probably the Papet 59th although that wasn’t clear at this stage) and take over the command post at the beachhead whilst the other infantry and armour units would begin the assault on the city proper. Once relieved the 322nd would make their way back out of the city and get extracted en masse by flyers from the Imperial Navy and Cielon 31st airborne before being taken to Fort Farcry, roughly 20km away, to recuperate.
This whole operation was being watched by artillery from the Jobian 9th that were available to be called to fire by any of the infantry and armour in the field. The 9th was the only regiment in the twelfth army group that had never fired any weapons in anger so they were looking forward to this.

This was the first time Cato had found himself in a trench, he hated it and it was cold, wet and far too close to the enemy for comfort. It was also the first time since he had been promoted to sergeant that he was in command of a full infantry squad. He hated that as well. He’d always seen himself as the follower rather than a leader and been more than a little bit shocked when the lieutenant had presented him his stripes.
“2 minutes to zero time” he said into his microbead, on Charlie squad’s private frequency, so that only his squad-mates could hear him. Then he switched channels to the tactical command net (TCN: the frequency for officers to discus strategic decisions and developments during a battle), as a squad commander he had clearance to use the frequency but had been advised not to talk unless it was absolutely necessary. Which is guard slang for ‘just don’t talk’. The vox operator was sitting on the firing step just a metre away from the sergeant; the locality of his advanced equipment boosted the strength of Cato’s microbead, allowing him to speak on these obscure channels to officers that were on the other side of the battlefield.
“Infantry vanguard in position” said a voice that he recognised but could not put a name too.
“Confirmed. One minute to zero time” came a voice swimming with static, which probably meant that it was further away.
“Artillery is in position and ready to fire” said a voice that must have been the commander of the 9th.
“Thank you colonel, front line assets are already aware of your position” That was a new voice that was extremely clear, its bearer must have been incredibly close.
“My apologies General, I’m sure you appreciate our eagerness to fire.”
With that Cato turned his squad and said “gentlemen we’ve got a general in the field; no one cocks up today” There were a few mumbled affirmatives but no one seemed to care, which was slightly disconcerting. After that he switched back to the TCN.
“30 seconds to zero time; stand by for flash” one of the voices said. Cato took a cursory glance around him to make sure all his men were awake, alive and ready to jump out the trench. Satisfied, he picked his lasgun off of the sling on his shoulder and held it by the pistol grip alone, leaving his left hand free to help him clamber out of the trench.
“Flash!”

“This is spot six one alpha, speaking on all channels, recommend you boys and girls keep your heads down, the beams incomin-”

Commissar Zachary Belt was half a kilometre down the trench from Cato and he wasn’t happy either. The orbital laser had missed its mark by what couldn’t have been more than a few feet and, rather than obliterating the wall, it had simply crumpled the top half, leaving a vertical expanse of over 100 metres. It wouldn’t force an abort of the operation, but it would allow the defenders time to organise a more solid defence behind the location that they now new the breach would be. Jobian artillery had already started firing at the remainder of the wall to try and leave it in a condition that the vanguard could climb through rather than walk which was the original plan. Commissar Belt didn’t like climbing.
The sheer amount off energy impacting the wall had caused a small earthquake, dislodging whole sections of trench line, burying whole platoons.
“This is not an abort!” he shouted in a voice that was feeble compared to the sound of a world being struck by the hammer of the gods.
“We will move at the general’s order and we will take the breach!” There must only have been about twenty men in earshot but he had decided that he had to say something. A quiet Commissar is no use to the guard after all.

When Cato opened his eyes he was staring at the sky. It took him a moment to realise that he was also lying on his back, covered in dust and his legs were half buried by what used to be the side of trench. He kicked his legs out and then went on to move every joint in his body just to make sure nothing was broken. He recovered his lasgun quite close to where he had fallen, half buried with the barrel sticking up into the air, and attempted to clean out the dust by blowing down the barrel. Although against protocol, it seemed to do the trick. Then he found the squad corpsman, walking casually as if he were simply looking to get some breakfast.
“Report” Cato said as he saw him.
“Its gonna take more than an Imperial battleship to stop Charlie squad, sergeant” the boy replied with a smile. The corpsman was the youngest person in the squad and he carried a lot of responsibility for someone of his rank, Cato forgave the flippancy without comment.

16 views and no comments? Even if you just have a quick look leave a quick comment. But anyway heres the next bit:




Vanguard

Sergeant Dharker was running as fast as he could, Charlie squad all around him, keeping pace. It had been 30 minutes since the failure of the laser strike. Thirty minutes of that over-eager Jobian Colonel shelling the warp out of the intended breach point. And then finally the General had broadcasted to the vanguard on all channels to ‘scale the breach and clear a beachhead, for the Emperor!’
So now two thousand men and women of the 322nd Rifles were covering ground at a sprint as they made for the breach. Thirty minutes of rather indiscriminate shelling had birthed the breach to be about 100 metres wide so the infantry were spoiled for choice on where to start climbing.
Dharker had his lasgun slung over his back; even if he did have a target he wouldn’t be able to shoot at it whilst running like this. As he met the overly steep staircase that was the breach he charged up the piled rock, crawling rather than climbing, and moving as quickly as he could.
Just metres from the crest of the rubble colossus he slid his lasgun down over his shoulder and joined the first few men at the top.
They had stopped and were waiting for some unknown order. Dharker Looked around checking his squad was there, sure enough he saw them all, no need for a sound off.

It’s the waiting that destroys soldiers, bullets may rend his flesh and blades may carve away his body but it’s waiting for that order to kick the hornet’s nest that truly kills a soldier.
-Ruminations on the art of war – Inquisitor Eoghan Elts

Fight or flight. Dharkers body was getting ready to enter the battle zone. He rejoiced in that painfully pleasant buzz in his skull as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. His hands were shaking and he was starting to panic. His whole body was shaking and he was scared. He was breathing heavily and he could feel sweat running into his eyebrows, despite the cold. He wasn’t going to fail today.

“Check your weapons!” Commissar Belt shouted as he reached the top, walking calmly and precisely as he crossed the rubble with measured steps. He looked around; there were about ten squads already at the top, the rest still making their way up.
‘First officer to the top’ had been the brief. But there was no officer at the top and there were well over one hundred men waiting to move. Commissars are not officers, but they have a similar authority to one. Belt didn’t waste much time making a decision.
“There’s a lot of men down there that think they can take you!” he called, all of the commotion around him quitted and his was the only voice heard. “Can they?” He said quietly, but loud enough to be heard. By way of answer there was a shout, they weren’t shouting anything in particular, they just shouted as loud as they could. Even the female soldiers were giving there all in the testosterone fuelled cry.
Belt raised his sabre to the sky and gave his own unintelligible howl that hurt his throat. The riflemen of the 322nd around him run at the edge, off of their perch at the very top and continued their run down the rubbles side and into the enemies iron sights.

Dharker found himself running, sprinting down the mountainous rubble heap. Guardsmen were all around him, their faces and fatigues lit up by the las bolts hurtling through the air around them and the muzzle flash of their own weapons. Men were falling, getting hit or simply losing their grip on the rubble, they matched the speed of those still living as their carcasses collapsed, dived and spun down the mountainside.
He had never known a battle zone so random, so hopeless. They were running into the enemy guns and he had no cover. He kept running, jumping and dropping down to try and get to the bottom as soon as possible. He could see the enemy barricades and wanted to get to them to fight for that much needed cover, hand to hand if necessary. Even the madness of bayonet combat was better than waiting for someone to get lucky.
Every step he willed himself to survive, to somehow avoid the storm of ammunition that was so desperate to drop him like it had so many others.
He was so close to the bottom now. He was metres away from an overhang, the last few feet before terra firma.
The whole world around him slowed to a near stop as his feet traced their way across the last few steps of the mountain.
The right side of his head lit up in burning pain as a laser bolt kissed its way across his temple.
Instinctively he brought his right hand up to face.
Every step felt like he was wading through a river of treacle as the world refused to play at its normal speed.
He stumbled at the very edge of the overhang and released his weapon as he felt himself start to fall.
He fell for only three seconds for he was so close to the ground now.
He lived that fall as if it were hours.
He watched as his left arm came up to break his fall and heard rather than felt his wrist snap in horrifying clarity, as if it were the loudest sound he would ever here.
And then Cato Dharker saw nothing but darkness.

Will edit this reply with a comment once i've read it.
EDIT: Read the first part was great, had a good chaotic feel to it, could picture the artllery going of in the background and the noises of distant explosions. Also congrats on the editing, didnt pick up any obvious typos.

In regards to your anger, about views 90% of Dakka traffic is unregistered, the 16 who read your fiction might have all been unregistered. In general, one usually has to wait for 100 or so views before a comment, unless it is a friend. Also reading and commenting on other peoples fiction helps.... Hint Hint Points to link in signature.

Thanks for the comment and the tip. And i just read your story aswell and i must say you have a talent for wtiting that i envy.

First bit of action here.


Barricades

Belt leapt at the barricade, his right foot smacked against its top propelling him upwards, over the bayonet that was thrust at his shin. As he dropped, his unfastened great coat flared in the wind, flying out like great wings of the Valkyrie, arriving to claim those wretched souls for the afterlife. Hitting the floor he bent both knees to absorb the impact. Wasting no time he jumped forwards running his sabre through the gut of the man to his immediate front. Then he spun, wrenching his blade out of the first in a shower of visceral gore. Now he faced the second. The boy with bayonet was still turning to combat the commissar; to bring his weapon to bear. Belt didn’t give him the chance. He brought up his blade and allowed the centrifuge of his spin to give it force, guiding it cleanly through the upper arm and into the boy’s midriff.
Belt felt knuckles impact on his cheek and suddenly his feet were unstable. The sabre was out of his hand, during the impact he had lost his grip. He turned to see the assailant. He was unarmed and missing his helmet. His fists were up like a brawler and he was looking Belt up and down, looking for weak point or incoming attacks. Belt brought up his right arm as if preparing a haymaker and sure enough, the man started bringing up his left to block, leaving his centre unprotected. Belt catapulted himself forward and brought his forehead into the brawler’s nose with enough force to leave him on his back. Somewhere during the combat kiss his Commissars cap had come loose and fallen to the mud. He finally noticed the rain. It pattered onto his hairless head and dripped into his brow and down his face. He wiped his face with the back of his glove and spat blood at the floor. He stepped towards the prone form of the brawler. His face was a bloody mess and there was a look of sorrow and failure etched on the remnants of his face. He knew he was dead and he knew the barricade was compromised.
The city was corrupted and the unclean cannot be suffered to live. That was why the army group was here. It meant no prisoners. Belt had no problem with killing, it barely registered anymore. But he would never be comfortable with executing a man that could not defend himself. As a Commissar he had done his fare share of that and it never sat well. He brought up his leg as if turning on parade, before bringing down sharply with a crunch, destroying the already ruined face. Fine combat boots stamping the man’s life out onto the dirt, which was fast becoming mud in the rain.
Then he saw the new man. Standing about ten feet from him. He wore no helmet. His face a mess of scar tissue. But this one was armed. An old combat shotgun held at the hip. The Commissar had his laspistol holstered at his hip, he didn’t use it in tandem with his sabre as he preferred to focus on using just a single weapon. He couldn’t reach for it with such a powerful short range weapon pointed at him.
The shotgunner fell to his knees, his nose and mouth started leaking blood. He rolled forward onto his face, revealing the emptiness that was the back of his head and brain matter decorating the top of his flak-jacket. A guardsman stepped over the corpse, casually holding his lasgun with affixed bayonet.
“You shouldn’t go off on your sir, your no one man-army” said Captain Wyrt in an eerily calm voice. Belt hadn’t recognized him through the grey and black urban camouflage paint. Not many guardsmen hadn’t taken to wearing it.
“I was doing fine” he replied masking the exertion he felt. “Besides, I didn’t go off on my own. I had an infantry escort but they seem to have gone now”. Wyrt was looking at him expressionless; he had a reputation for being cavalier and careless regarding human life. To gain his respect, being his new Commissar this is just what Belt had to, you needed to make him think you were just as careless.
“I think the stubber got them” Belt continued, making eye contact “two barricades back”. Wyrt half smiled and continued his stroll through the courtyard, several men behind him moving with the urgency you would expect from a battle zone.
“I want these pathetic fences defensible within the hour; make it happen” Wyrt called over the TCN and the NCO’s were suddenly animated as they tried to organise the men.

I was fine with the first section, I really enjoyed the second, but the third irritated me.

If I may give some advice, you don't seem to have a mastery of English. Redundancies clutter your text, which show you aren't comfortable with your diction. "The sabre was out of his hand, during the impact he had lost his grip." Either of those clauses would have sufficed, but both just break the flow of your writing.

When you use a word or punctuation wrong it is like forgetting to wear pants; it doesn't matter how good the rest of your outfit is, your audience won't look at anything but your junk. Be certain you use the correct "their," your semi-colons join independent clauses, you use apostrophes correctly, etc..

More important than anything else, you need to write concisely and positively. Don't use negatives when it would be faster to write the sentence positively. Don't use extra words.

Sgt. Cato Dharker had come a long way since those days in PDF, back when he was crawling through the mud and the wet, clinging onto his old autogun and dodging fire from the disenchanted.

could be

Sgt. Cato Dharker had come a long way since the PDF, crawling through the mud, clinging to his old autogun.

Now, about the third section. Your portrayal of the commissar is very confused. A commissar is there to insure morale and order in the ranks of regular infantry and officers, so why he is running through the enemy ranks alone? Why is he trying to impress an officer? He has the authority to shoot him if he doesn't obey orders. What could he gain from impressing him?

Most of your sentences stop making sense after you introduce Wyrt. It makes what you are trying to show us about the character impossible to decipher.

Thanks for the comment and the honesty. I can't argue with any of your pointsand i'll will certainly bear them in mind in the future.
Although with regards to the commisssar, he is trying to gain the guy's respect as he is new to the regiment and he feels that man who respects you is easier to manipulate and, being a political officer, he may soon need to manipulate him.
But can't justify him being on his ownto be honest.

i'll do some major reediting.

Do continue writing. I think your second section shows a lot of potential. Battle scenes are the hardest thing to write, and you pulled that off rather well. Fix your fundamentals and you'll be good to go.

Thanks a lot , i will continue only i'm no longer housebound so i don't have too much time now. I'll probably have some new material
up by the weekend.

Quiet enjoyed it.

The weekend ey? Well I'm subscribed, and waiting for the next part