I have decided to keep this journal upon reaching the decision to leave my home planet and my father’s medical practice to embark in the glorious service of the Imperial Guard and the Emperor of Mankind Himself.

My name is Myraer Olen, 25 standard years old and a newly qualified surgeon. I was born in the township of Plough Bridge on the 3rd continent of the planet of Three Arbour, an agriworld in Segmentum Obscurus.

Last week when I was attending an emergency call from one of the outlying farms (a thresher-servitor malfunctioned and lacerated a worker’s arm) and while I was doing the rounds after sewing the man back together, the farm manager mentioned that word had come through that Three Arbour was to raise men at arms to join the Imperial Guard. This would be the first regimental raising our otherwise sleepy world had ever seen and many of the workers were keen to join up.

Of course, I rushed home as soon as I was able to tell my father, full of thoughts of adventure amongst the stars, comradeship in the face of the Emperors enemies and the victories won in his name. He would have none of it and forbade me from going to see the recruiters, stating my duty of care to the people of Plough Bridge, the dangers I would be exposed to if I went and how he would be unable to cope on his own if I left.

But I would have none of it, having been infected by the atmosphere that seemed to be sweeping the whole town (and, I was later to learn, the whole planet). The next day I set about settling my affairs; selling or giving away those items I would not be able to or did not want to take with me. I said goodbye to friends and family (although my father resolutely refused any attempt at communication). I contacted the recruitment office at the regional capital and registered my intent to join the Imperial Guard and arranged transport with other like minded men from Plough Bridge.

Two days later, an the very beginning of morning, I loaded my bags onto the back of a grain hauler and clambered aboard along with about 20 others, some with nothing more than the shirts on their backs, others sitting astride great piles of luggage. I slotted neatly between the two; a small bag of medical supplies, a larger bag of medical instruments, scanners and the like, and a carry-bag filled with clothes and other personal effects. We exchanged pleasantries (Plough Bridge being a relatively small town, all the men were known to me to some extent) and settled down for the journey to Bowwaggon.

I write this now as we head down the main grain haulage route into Bowwaggon. The traffic is immense, with hundreds of haulers and other vehicles all packed with men (and I note a handful of women). We shout across to each other as the trucks pass one another. The mood is light, exuberant even. Everyone is young and smiling. Even after two nights sleeping rough and two days of riding out in the open I can’t help but be energised by the atmosphere.

It is about two hours since my first entry. We have reached the outskirts of Bowwaggon and we are greeted by a magnificent sight; the whole town seems alive with festivity – bunting hangs from every building and flags flutter with every breeze. There must be over five thousand people here from all over the region looking to join the guard (and when the population is less than ninety thousand all told, that is a lot of people!). Many of the farmers come from towns with only a handful of people and look around awed by the sights. I myself an only slightly less overwhelmed, having studied in the capital with its population of almost seventy thousand.

I will gather my belongings now and head with the others to the building where they are processing applications.

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There are so many people waiting to be processed that the line stretches right through the town! I’m standing in the queue now and have almost made it to the processing centre. Queuing for anything else this long would have had people very angry but there is still a magnificent party atmosphere. Several people up and down the line have instruments with them and are playing for our entertainment. Food and drink is shared, as well as purchased from the many shop owners along the route (who must be doing the best trade in their lives!).

From speaking to some of the people around me I understand that not everyone has pre-registered like I have, but their zeal and enthusiasm cannot be doubted!

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I am now an Imperial Guardsman! Well… almost anyway. The strange thing was they didn’t even look at my registration documents. They just took my name and place of origin. They also took my bags and belongings to be shipped back home, telling me that I would not need them (though they permitted me to retain a small bag of personal items). I kept the most important of the medical equipment and regrettably bade goodbye to many of the other items I had planned to take with me.

Even so, stiff upper lip! I could not possibly have carted all that stuff around the galaxy with me anyway!

I just feel sorry for those people who came with mountains of luggage!

Anyway, just need to find my transport and I will be off to the marshalling grounds (that is where people are saying we are going).

On transport. Too bumpy to write much. Going to try to sleep.

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Morning now. Hurt lots. Very tired. Still driving. Almost to coast. Think we are getting ferry to main continent.

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At last we have stopped moving! Spent 10 minutes stretching to remove the aches and kinks from the long journey. It took us the best part of a day and a half to get to the coast. Many of the farm hands have never seen the sea. Some tried to go and swim in it but were chased back by the guardsmen manning the port, as well as a very scary looking man in a black trench coat (which is not suitable for the weather at all – he must be boiling!) who shouted a lot.

I hope we are being served lunch soon as I am quite hungry having not been provided with much food during the journey (a ration bar and a canteen of water was provided to each man, nothing more substantive could be consumed while we were moving.

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Still waiting at port. Most of the men including myself have been trying to find shelter from the sun (which is shining with its normal glorious summer blaze) but have been corralled back into our staging area (unfortunately bereft of shade and even the cooling breeze from the sea) by the guardsmen and the man in the black coat. Many people are starting to dislike him.

Still no food. Only have a small amount of water in my canteen which I am sharing with a rather large farm hand who drank all of his the night before and now seems to be suffering from heat stroke.

Spirits are defiantly starting to lower, though we are still buoyed by one or two people who retained their instruments and play them for us, though this is getting more infrequent as the water runs out.


Still nothing happening. I have taken charge of the men in my detail and arranged for them to collect together anyone suffering from the heat. I am also trying to gather together and ration the water. Many people agree to do so, but there are a handful who refuse. I am just about to go and speak to someone regarding our situation as it is intolerable.

Shaking like a leaf – I can’t believe he threatened to shoot me: He even put his gun to my head!

Damn that bastard in black! May the Throne’s Light never shine upon him!

I raised my concerns about the men to one of the guardsmen who took me to see his commander. I explain our situation and suggest that it would be prudent to fetch food and water for those waiting. At this point the man in black appears and demands to know what is going on. I explain again that we need water and food.

He shakes his head and tells me that there is none. I tell him that men are falling ill because of the heat and dehydration and he simply tells me to return to the staging area.

By now I am vexed. Never before have I met a man so mean as to deny those supposedly in his care their basic requirements. I make the mistake of telling him as much.

Instantly his pistol is in his had and pointed at me. He asks if I have any idea who he is or what he represents. I of course have no clue and inform him that since we had not had the pleasure of being introduced, of course I had no idea who he was or who he represented. However, based on his treatment of the brave souls of those willing to give up everything they have ever known to serve the Emperor, I had no wish to know him.

I have to say that I did not know what came over me to say such a thing to a man pointing a gun at my head and by the reactions of those in the room I could tell I had perhaps made the last mistake of my life. Absolute silence reigned for a moment before the man replied, obviously holding back his great fury with immense effort.

“I am Commissar Letts, the ultimate arbiter and dispenser of discipline and as far as you are concerned, I am the vengeful wrath of the Emperor himself.”

I bite back my desire to make an ill-advised retort, noticing just how large the barrel of the pistol point at my head is.

“Return to the marshalling yard immediately. Step out of line again and I will execute you; a power well within my remit I assure you.”

We have been here over 12 hours now and I appear to have become one of the de facto leaders of this group of almost 1,000 men (and incidentally the only doctor). Several farm and store managers and the like have stepped forward to take charge of the men, and defer to me regards the treatment of those unfortunates who have fallen ill, as well as issues regarding general health and wellbeing.

We see the man in the black coat – “Commissar Letts” walking around the compound occasionally. Many of the men stare at him in either fear or hatred… some with a mix of the two. Word of my encounter with him spread like wildfire, which I guess helped to elevate me somewhat in the eyes of everyone here.

Our “council” have been quite successful in maintaining order, organising entertainments and distractions for the men and so on.

I hope the ferry arrives soon even so. The soldiers manning the port managed to get us some food and water (I suspect from their own supplies) but it was nowhere near enough. It was rationed out to those most in need.

I shall go and thank them once I have done another round of my patients.

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The ferry has finally arrived!

We have organised the men to embark those most affected by the sun and lack of water and take them to the ship’s infirmary.

The shipmaster estimates it will take almost an hour for everyone to get aboard even with the ship simultaneously being unloaded of various cargoes and passengers and I have asked him to see about provisioning everyone. Thankfully the ferry company has provided us with food and drink as well as passage. I feel the crew will be very popular with everyone by the time the trip is over!

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After the last of my patients drifted off to sleep or returned to the rest of the men I wandered up to the top deck to get some air. The crisp sea breeze refreshed me instantly. I settled into one of the unoccupied deck chairs and lay back, looking up at the broad swathe of stars, wondering which of them I would end up visiting, loosing myself in fights of fantasy, imagining victory parades, worlds rejoicing our arrival as we swept down from the sky to save them, the lamentations of enemy warlords as we smashed their forces and carefully laid plans.

A form settled down into the chair besides me. In the half darkness I could only make out a vague shape. We sat companionably in silence for some time, looking up at the stars.

“Thank you for looking after my brother” said the shape in a low, feminine voice.

I admit that I smiled, even though the person with me would not be able to see it. “It was no problem. If all goes well I hope to be looking after everyone for quite some time to come!”

The woman chuckled. “I hope so.”

We sat there together for the rest of the night. It was most wonderful.

I woke up this morning to find the woman gone. I still have no idea who it was and am in two minds as to whether to try and find out who it was. After all, I treated her brother, so it should not be too hard to see if any of my patients have a sister with us. But I am worried that if I do that I would break the magic of the evening. I suppose if it is meant to be, it is meant to be. Besides which I know nothing about her other than the few words we shared and an evening of companionship.

My reflection is relatively short lived (perhaps mercifully) as I went to check on the few men who remain under my care, all of whom were fit enough to be discharged. I have updated their notes on my medical data pad and I am now going to go and find some breakfast.

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Breakfasted with some of the men from my home region in the forward restaurant this morning. Spirits seem to have returned to their previous high. I have realised that my “position” in society has somewhat isolated me from the very excellent people that I live amongst. And while I do not think I can break into their circles immediately, or even totally, I really wish to make some true friends here.

Have just been told there is some kind of meeting taking place on the deck. Must dash.

The meeting has just ended. Our progress across the straights and how recruitment was going overall were discussed. Apparently this was the third trip our ship and its crew had made, transporting close to 4,000 potential guardsmen to the main continent. With the 4,000 or so recruits I had seen back in Bowwaggon that meant that close to 8,000 people from my region alone were attempting to join the guard. That is almost every male aged between 18 and 30 (the recruitment range listed on the official posters)!

I have no doubt that many will be unsuccessful and so will return home. Although with such a healthy populace (thanks no doubt to our good food, outdoor lifestyle and plenty of sunshine) I just hope that I make the grade. Whilst no slouch in the physical department, I can’t compete with a planet full of farm workers who are out working from dawn to dusk.

With this sobering thought I decide that I must now endeavour with extra dedication in everything I do in order to be found worthy.

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“Land Ahoy!” I believe is the nautical expression. We should soon be making landfall on the main continent. Must gather my things together and fall in with the men (already we are trying to organise ourselves with military mindset). Myself and other medically trained men (one woman; a midwife, two female nurses, a male nurse, and several normal men who helped in looking after the “wounded” from the port) have been assigned our own specialist “unit” apart from the rest of the men, who have been grouped together into “centuries” of 100 men, each of which then contains 5 platoons of 20 men.

Although rather rough and ready, I believe we shall make a sterling sight upon our arrival.

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Marched off the TAS Bountiful Harvest with waves from her crew and captain. Large numbers of townsfolk stopped to watch us as we entered the town, many waving small flags and streamers. Very jolly. Just awaiting trucks which will take on to our next destination.

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There are trucks spreading down the road in both directions as far as the eye can see! I’ve never seen so many vehicles before!

I just hope they are more comfortable than they were before. I will try and get a pict and add it into the journal latter.

Just been called to mount up.

Words fail to describe the scene that unfolded itself as we crossed the vast plane which would serve as our proving ground. Thousands of tents and rude prefab buildings littered the ground in ordered lines and squares. Huge parade grounds had been levelled and cut upon which thousands of men and women stood to attention, or were engaged in various exercises. The otherwise verbose members of my “unit” remained utterly silent, mouths agape at the spectacle.

We seemed to drive for a long time through the camp until it was all we could see in any direction. Eventually we stopped in front of a vast prefab, single storey building and joined the long lines of men and the occasional women slowly snaking their way towards it. Guardsmen in armoured jackets, holding rifles patrolled the lines, periodically checking people’s paperwork and ensuring that everyone was behaving. They were overseen by more men in black coats; I assume more commissars.

Upon entering the building, I, along with approximately 100 others were made to strip to our underwear (including one woman, who gave defiant stares at anyone who she noticed looked at her too hard) and endure being checked over for obvious signs of disease. Medics took our measurements, blood samples and so on before handing us large sacks to store our belongings in and a printed paper ticket.

One man, apparently not fulfilling some basic requirement of the test, was taken aside and was in the process of redressing in his civilian clothing as we marched out of the first room and into another larger one, joining long lines of people being issued uniforms and equipment.

One handed over ones ticket to the man at the first desk, who consulted it and handed you a pair of boots and returned your ticket. The next man would issue with uniform trousers, the next a shirt, the next a jacket, and so on and so on until one was positively weighed down with clothing and kit.

At last we staggered out into a large hall, were we were lined up and told to drop our kit. A man at the front of the hall waited until sufficient people had gathered in our section of the space and then began to instruct us in how to put on our uniforms (there were various types and we were told to put on a simple “Training Pattern” uniform of plain drab trousers with an off white T-shirt, black boots and a plain drab jacket. Once his instruction was completed and most people were dressed (although in some cases, only partially so) he then went about instructing us how to pack the remaining gear into the large “KTB’s” (I still have no idea what that actually means), which items to place where and how to fold the uniforms etc.

Eventually everyone was packed up and dressed to his (grudging) satisfaction and our section marched out into the bright sunshine, following a trooper who lead us to another waiting transport, which took us through the base to a section of tents surrounding a parade ground which was evidently to be our home.

Amid shouted orders we disembarked and were formed up on the parade ground along with other groups. All told there was roughly 500 men and women (with women making up approximately 5% of our strength) lined up in ragged lines.

Once we were settled, a group of five men came and stood in front of us. They were all older men, roughly 50 standard years and looked quite the picture of triumphant martial pride in their red and gold uniforms. The leader of the group addressed us, informing us of the honour for which we were being selected, the service we would provide the Emperor, and how he and his men would ensure only the best of us would be forged into a force worthy to join the Imperial Guard. About how the road would be long and hard, but that for those who possessed the fortitude, it would be its own greatest reward.

Needless to say, we were all suitably impressed with the task ahead, and were glad to have such hardened veterans to show us the way. At the end of the speech, we were all assigned in groups to the various tents surrounding the parade ground. Through luck or fate, many of the people in “Training Group TA 52” (our official designation) were those who had been with me back in Bowwaggon and later on the ferry. Even more luckily, the people of my own “special medical unit” were to be training and bunking with me, so at least I would be starting out with people I knew and had already formed a bond with.

I fear I must end this rather long winded entry here, as the light is fading and we ought to be getting some rest for our first day of training tomorrow.

I can’t believe how much I hurt. We have really been put through our paces today. Woken up at 5am by the camp’s speaker system for two hours of PT in the parade ground followed by a religious service and breakfast. Then an hour of instruction on the Guard. Then PT for a further 4 hours. A break for lunch and another religious service and another hour of instruction before yet more PT. Dinner and evening service was followed by several classes with the engineers on the basics of caring for our various equipment.

The only way I could have done more squatting today is if I had dysentery. I think my legs might drop off at some point in the night.

Some of the men came to see me before lights out wanting treatment for various sprains and injuries. I was flattered that they came to see me rather than go to one of the training camp infirmaries.

Must go and soothe my own aches and pains now before I go to sleep.

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Felt like death all morning. Started to push through the pain by lunch. Treated more men than last night before lights out. Going to sleep now.

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Has been some time since my last entry. Days are much the same – cycles of exercise, meals, religious services and instruction and theory.

Felt better today. Had a route march around the training camp in full kit. Many of the men are farm hands used to working out in the sun all day so took it all in their stride. I am pleased and proud to say that anyone who faltered was immediately helped by his fellows.

I have high hopes that our comradeship shall carry us through training and beyond. After all, what is the basis of the Imperium if not the human spirit?

I pen this in excellent spirits despite my physical exhaustion.