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Here's some random Guard fic if anyone is interested. I'm working on the second draft of the next bit and it should be up by the weekend or early next week, as long as swtor dosen't distract me too much. I hope you enjoy and be vocal with any comments or criticism you have! It means alot





"Six forty-seventh!" the amplified voice of Captain Maithonis reverberated off the massive loading docks, "Fall in!" Captain Maithonis and his Regimental Staff stood on a raised platform which overlooked the entire shipping and receiving dock of Mid-Sector, Hive Feylintis. At his command, a crescendo of over fifteen thousand Shock Troops of the Cadian 647th Infantry Regiment raced down the ramps of their troop carrier ships. The troopers were clad in snow-pattern fatigues and matching flak armour and their slung lasguns had been re-patterned to match with their environment.

The Regiment began to form up: first with the individual squads centering on their proper platoon standards, next the platoons rallied around their respected company standards, and finally the companies centering in front of the platform where the Regimental Staff waited. The deep blue and blood red of the six forty-seven's Regimental Standard, blew too and fro in the light snow storm. Its border of embroidered gold shone valiantly in the murky outside light, a gilded beacon flying proud in Hive Feylintis' stark whites and greys.

Below, in the orchestrated chaos of bodies, the Commissars were on the prowl. An eight month transit through the warp could turn the most precise parade-drilled unit, into a lazy, slobbering mass of dead weight, who's only purpose would be to act as meat shield. The Commissar's vicious barks of, "Any trooper caught jackin' around will be flogged!" or, slightly more motivating, "Any C.O. or N.C.O. found slacking in their duties will be flogged and subject to be shot!" Unfortunately for the sergeant of Third Platoon, B Company, one of the Commissar's had just called him out for the latter.

Sergeant Decimint froze as he heard the snarl of one of the political officers, "You! Get to attention! Now!"

Decimint assumed the position of attention, arms pinned to the sides, back straight, chest out, eyes forward. Junior Commissar Orson's rat-like face entered his vision. Frakking great, thought Sergeant Decimint as he mentally rolled his eyes.

The Junior Commissar stopped in front of Decimint, looking him up and down in disgust, as he read the sergeant's name tape with his beady black eyes.

"What rank do you hold, Decimint?" snapped Junior Commissar Orson. Decimint felt a spray of saliva splash onto his face.

"Platoon Sergeant, First Grade, sir!" answered Decimint, this time mentally sighing.

The Junior Commissar scrunched his rat-face into a mocking sneer, "Then, explain to me why you were the last man out of your transport? Here I was thinking you Cadians led from the front." More spit glistened as it landed on the sergeant's face.

Decimint ignored the saliva freezing onto his cheeks, "To ensure all of my men had disembarked and would be accounted for, sir."

"Leaders, lead, their men, sergeant," spat Orson, clearly ignoring Decimint's response, "Are you telling me that you are incapable of ensuring your orders are followed to the tee?" He sneered triumphantly as he looked Decimint up and down again. His grin widened, showing off teeth as white as the falling snow, "Perhaps," the ratty grin stretching further, "you don't deserve those pins."

"Excuse me, Junior Commissar," a new voice had joined the conversation, rumbling like thunder of a distant storm, "Is everything alright here?"

Decimint nearly broke his bearing as he watched Orson's eyes widen in terror. The Junior Commissar quickly about-faced and froze as he met the soul searing gaze of Senior Commissar Amaranth Nortuen.

"Sergeant Decimint was last out of his troop ship, Senior-sir!" Orson nearly stuttered through the response. The dead grey organic eye and the piercing, ice-blue bionic eye of the Senior Commissar always freaked the piss out of him. He heard rumors that the bionic eye could predict the actions of those it observed. And now, Orson had its full attention.

"Well, this is not good news," Nortuen cast his gaze over to the still sergeant, "Is that how your predecessor taught you to lead?"

"No sir, it is not," Decimint remained impassive, though his body had relaxed by ten-fold.

"Leaders failing to lead should be disciplined Orson, that much you are correct," Nortuen quickly removed his peaked Commissariate cap and gently brushed off the snow flakes that had collected on its bill. He placed the cap back, covering his horrendously scarred head as he continued, "However, you are still new to our regiment and you clearly have not read Sergeant Decimint's personnel file." Nortuen looked the Junior up and down, while Decimint did his very best to keep his bearing.

By now, the entire Third Platoon stood at attention watching the scene play out before them.

Nortuen strode past a reddening Orson and stood before Decimint.

"Sergeant First Grade Ranis Decimint," just hearing his name and rank from the Senior Commissar's voice filled Decimint with uncontainable pride. "Joined the Cadian Six Forty-Seventh in 995.M41 as a common trooper," Nortuen smiled and winked at him before finishing, "A regular footslogger."

Nortuen glanced back at the at the sullen Orson before continuing, "As a trooper, Decimint displayed qualities of a leader and was quickly promoted to Corporal and made N.C.O. of Third Platoon, Company B." Nobody knew how Nortuen memorized every single trooper's personal history. Decimint heard it had to do with the Senior's bionic eye.

"When the Despoiler fell upon Cadia, Corporal Decimint kept his platoon under control when Sergeant Proeau was killed, during a vicious World Eater assault." Nortuen paused and smirked at Orson, "Have you ever met the Traitor Legions on the field of battle, Junior?"

Orson still fixed him with that frozen glare.

"Of course you haven't," Senior Commissar Nortuen stated, "When Sergeant Proeau fell, Decimint did exactly what was expected of him. He took charge and made the order to fall back, which brought the World Eaters into the jaws of our heavy bolter teams." Nortuen brought his attention back to Decimint. Third Platoon listened intently.

"You even went back and retrieved the bodies of those slain in the assault," smiled Nortuen, proudly.

"Sir, you taught me to: 'Never leave a man behind, regardless of who they are.'"

"You see Orson," the Senior slowly brought his gaze back to the immobile Junior Commissar, "If you had read the sergeant's personnel file, you would've known why he was last out." The conversation should have ended any further debate right there with Nortuen's statement.

But it didn't. Orson felt his pride wounded and it betrayed him.

"But.." he began.

Nortuen had been anticipating his slip up.

"I suggest you square yourself away before you decide to go spouting off, telling others how to perform their duties," Nortuen's voice an angry growl. "Sergeant Decimint was doing what any leader with a fraking idea of command would do!"

Third Platoon flinched. You knew it was bad when the Senior swore. Life-threatening bad.

Nortuen continued, "To ensure all his men had disembarked the transport and none were AWOL, he was showing initiative! If Sergeant Decimint took accountability and found there to be troopers missing? not only would those men be shot, the sergeant would find himself in a bigger pile of gak than Armageddon!"

Third Platoon cringed yet again and Orson had gone as white as his teeth.

"Now that you have wasted Sergeant Decimint and Third Platoon's time, I present two options with which to redeem yourself. First: you can shake the good sergeant's hand and give him an appropriate apology," Orson looked like he was going to be sick. "Second: as head disciplinarian of the six forty-seven, I can have you flogged in front of the entire regiment by Commissar DeMarco for failing in your duty as a Commissar, to know every trooper in the six forty-seven."

Junior Commissar Orson wanted to cry. He just wanted to curl up in the foetal position and bawl his eyes out. He couldn't. The thought of apologizing to a fragging footslogger, even if it had rank, made Orson's skin crawl. He prided himself on being strict and Nortuen had used it against him. Anger began to well up inside his gut. He would prefer to be flogged over touching a disgusting hand of a footslogger. Even if it had rank.

Orson realized that he had no other option, if he took the flogging his career as a Commissar would surely be over. That bastard Nortuen was forcing him to either swallow his pride, or loose twenty two years of training. He realized then, that the decision had already been made by Nortuen's play.

He took a deep breath and hesitantly stepped up to Sergeant Decimint. "Sergeant, I would like to apologize for my actions," the words slipping through his clenched teeth, "I was wrong to accuse you as a...a slacker and Senior Commissar Nortuen has...enlightened me." Orson slowly brought up his hand.

In a flash, Sergeant Decimint held Orson's hand in a vice grip. Orson nearly cried out in revulsion.

"Apology accepted, Junior Commissar," the Sergeant's grip nearly shattered Orson's hand.

"Now then," breathed Nortuen, a fatherly smile on his lips, "Return to your duties, Orson, and be mindful of them. Dismissed."

The Junior Commissar made a hasty salute before sulking down the line, defeated. Nortuen eyed him until he was out of sight, before turning back to Decimint and his platoon.

"Laugh it out, Third Platoon," Nortuen sighed, humorlessly.

Sighs of relief and roars of laughter responded to his order. Some of the troopers were clutching their stomachs in pain as they nearly laughed themselves to death. One man actually fell into the snow, causing members of B Company's Fourth Platoon, to look over in confusion.

"Emperor bless your soul, Senior Commissar!" belted Imen Hawke, Second Squad's grenadier.

"Just doing my job, Trooper Hawke," Nortuen shouted over the heads of Third Platoon.

"With all due respect sir, the Junior's an ass," spat a laughing Decimint.

He suddenly felt the gaze-glare of the Senior Commissar as he realized he spoke out of turn.

"Saying, 'with all due respect,' can still earn you a face full of plasma, Sergeant," Nortuen patted an ancient, holstered plasma pistol hidden in his storm coat, "The term is not a void shield."

Decimint nodded apologetically, "Sorry sir, the Junior he's a...well, he's an..." Decimint was lost for words.

"An interesting man!" piped the ever enthusiastic, Grenadier Hawke.

"Yes, the Junior is and interesting man," agreed Decimint.

Nortuen smiled as warmly as a man could with half of an organic face, "He is of different blood. Like a newbown pup, he'll quickly learn how we Cadians do things." Third Platoon let out a round of cheers, while Nortuen tried to locate Grenadier Hawke.

"Hawke!" he called out as his search proved futile, "Keep thinking quick like that, and you'll have your own squad one day!"

A blast of laughter rose from the rear of the platoon.

"Not to sound like a mutinous heretic sir," Hawke shouted back, "But I've got my sights set on Regiment Commander!" There was more laughter as Nortuen felt an amused smile steal across his face.

Hawke continued with his master plan, "Then it will be Colonel Hawke the Fearless and the legendary Commissar Nortuen, dishing out all frakking hell upon the enemies of the Emperor!" Nortuen noticed he was apart of the laughing chorus of Third Platoon. "We'll fight side by side and be remembered in the Imperial Annals as heroes!"

Now troopers from both Second and Fourth Platoons began sniggering as they listened in on Grenadier Hawke's 'future career.' That was a joke all in itself.

"And I look forward to the day, when Colonel Hawke the Fearless plants our six forty-seven's standard, into the corpse of the Despoiler!" roared Nortuen.

By now those who had been listening, found tears pouring down their faces as they visioned the Senior Commissar's depiction of the clumsy Hawke slaying the Warmaster of Chaos. Nortuen allowed them fifteen more seconds of joy before he had to return to his role as Senior Commissar.

"Alright Sergeant. Shut them up," at Nortuen's command, Decimint went back to attention. Any hint of the previous hysterics gone.

"Yes sir, Senior Commissar!" barked the newly rejuvenated Decimint.

Nortuen marched off to inspect the rest of B Company, as the laughs were replaced with discipline and order. Happy moments were their own miracles within the Imperial Guard and now that miracle was gone, replaced by grim thoughts and a dark future.

In the southern polar region of Orobous II, lay the frozen Hive Feylintis. The stark landscape surrounding the hive was simply referred to as 'The Bleak,' while Feylintis had earned the nickname 'Stalagmite in the Waste' by haughty, reputable, northern merchants.

The cold was tolerated by the men of the 647th but were grateful to be out of the -40 blizzard. The snow had began to fall heavily by the time Captain Maithonis completed Regimental Roll. As Company Z passed over the threshold of Airorus Gate, its massive ceramite doors slid shut, sealing the Cadians within. Thick, humid, polluted air gagged the 647th as dirt, grime, and other carcinogens attacked the esophagus. As the noxious air assaulted their lungs, most decided that it would be better to freeze outside in the fresh arctic winds, than be warm and slowly poisoned. But that was all forgotten as hundreds of thousands of cheering Feylintians surged onto Transit W-734C.

The raving hivers praised the Cadians by waving flags, blowing kisses, and tossing all manner of objects to their passing liberators. Women were so ecstatic to see the Cadians, they showed this appreciation by stripping naked, pouncing on an unsuspecting trooper, and stuffing said trooper's face into their bosom. The older troopers simply smiled, gave a nod of appreciation, and continued marching. The younger Whiteshields however, who had never laid eyes on the female body, returned to their squads dazed, awestruck, and red-faced.

Captain Addison and his veteran A Company, led the way for the rest of the regiment. They were moving slower than a slug caught in a summer heat. The regiment was given an old megahotel in Habitation Wing W-734C as a temporary billet until they were sent to the lower hive, where the fighting was currently taking place. Their billet was only a kilometer from the Airorus Gate, but after an hour of fighting through the crowds, the Cadians hadn't even gone a quarter of the distance.

"Stand aside!" roared Captain Addison. This was unacceptable and his uncontrollable temper was at its boiling point. An enthusiastic woman, thinking Addison just needed female attention to let go of his pent up aggression, reached out for him to plant his face into her breasts. The end result was quite the opposite of her goal.

"Back, whore!" boomed Addison, as the back of his hand caught her jaw. Blood and a few teeth flew from her broken mouth.

"Pig!" the woman spat, splattering Addison's face with her blood. Addison marched on as civilians backed away from him and his company. The woman disappeared into the crowd.

From the side, Regiment Commander Captain Fredorik Maithonis had witnessed the whole event. He sighed submissively as he dismissed the thought of confronting the ill-tempered Addison.

"I'll do it for you," grumbled Commissar Punizir DeMarco, sensing his unease.

"Ah...no. No, Commissar, everything is fine," Maithonis warily replied.

DeMarco shrugged his heavy set shoulders and continued munching on a chocolate bar thrown from the cheering crowd. Garrison duty had worked its cruel way with DeMarco. He resembled a gluttonous hog, with his sagging belly, puffy cheeks, and flat nose. But those who had received lashes from Commissar Punizir 'The Flogger' DeMarco, would whisper in hushed voices of his inhuman strength. There were rumors that he was also a sadist and his only to feel pleasure, was to watch his whip strip away the skin off a trooper's backside.

The flabby Commissar tossed his chocolate wrapper on the ground and hoisted up his pants.

"Need to get these refitted," he moved his waist side to side as if he was dancing, "I'm 'fraid they'll fall down and my cock will knock into somebody."

Maithonis groaned, DeMarco always made conversations awkward. What made it sad was that he had no clue how much he was resented because of his awkwardness.

Maithonis decided to take a risk, "Can you keep the Command Squad together? I'm going to check on Addison." He had to get away from DeMarco.

"Sure," he shrugged. "Though I can shoot you for deserting your post." He met Maithonis' eyes before smiling defensively.
"It's a joke! This is why I miss Isenke, he knew how to frak around."

Anger flared in Maithonis' gut at DeMarco's comment of Colonel Isenke, the previous C.O. of the 647th. Although DeMarco had no idea he had just slapped Maithonis across the face, he took it for what it was as the red spreading over his cheeks indicated the impact of DeMarco's words.

"Thank you for that Commissar," Maithonis growled, annoyed. He quickly stepped out of the Regiment Command formation and set off to find Addison. The veteran Captain would appreciate that his C.O. was finally pissed off.

From the crowd, another chocolate bar landed at DeMarco's feet. He reached down, unwrapped the bar, and chomped carelessly away, wondering what had caused Maithonis to storm off.

"I'm sorry!" the man cried as tears ran down is stained, sooty face.

"I don't give a damn!"Addison screamed back. "We've told you and your people to move, I'm done with you fraking idiots ignoring us!"

A Company had finally come to a complete halt as an impenetrable mass of Feylintians refused to unblock the transit. Addison, the vein in his right temple pulsing like a strobe, had grabbed the 'ringleader' of the mob, and held the frail man by the neck.

The man peered into Addison's eyes with fear, "We...just wanted to...show...our appreciation..."

Addison had had enough of the cheering vermin. When the zealous mob had refused to move, he jumped out of formation, and went for the man he now held off the ground. The crowd gapped in horror as they watched the terrifying Captain scream in their prophet's face.

"If you were appreciative you wouldn't be trying to prevent us from doing our job!" Addison tightened his grip on the man's throat, getting a gag in response. "It's our job to fight! Do you think we give a frak about your damn appreciation? Do you think I give a frak about you? The only thing keeping me from ordering my men from blasting you fraking idiots is the Emperor!" He pressed the golden aquila necklace he wore around his neck into the ringleader's face. Yet again from the side, Captain Maithonis decided if he should intervene.

The frail man mumbled something as he reached for his neck.

"What did you say?" roared Addison, his eyes watching the man's hands like a predator.

The frail man managed to produce a silver aquila he too, wore around his neck, "The...Emperor...Emperor protects..." He smiled triumphantly.

Addison lost it.

He flung the man into the crowd and pounced on his fallen body. Maithonis caught the glint of Addison's knife as the Captain disappeared into the mess of bodies.

"gak!" he breathed, making his decision to intervene. He hoped it wouldn't be too late.

One of the veterans from A Company shouted out, "Things are gonna get good!" They began howling for blood.

As Maithonis surged forward, he felt the presence of another at his side. It was Signal Man Thourn, Addison's vox officer. Thourn gave Maithonis a curt nod as the two broke through the ring, created by the mob of Feylintians. Maithonis and Thourn hesitated for a moment as they took in the sight: Addison on top of the frail man, knife to his throat. The man had barely the strength to hold the knife at bay.

"Captain Addison!" the hesitation waring off, "Get off that civilian!"

"This man needs to be taught a lesson!" Addison had the kill-look in his eyes.

"We're here to aid them, not attack them!" Maithonis stepped closer.

"Please..." the man's voice a feeble whisper.

"Shut up!" screamed Addison.

"Cap? Come-on sir, we're just holding things up," said Signal Man Thourn as he dared to get closer to his enraged Captain. "I'm sure they get the point, sir."

"They shoulda listened to the whores I had to smack! They had plenty of chances!"

"These people have suffered long enough, Cap," pressed Thourn, "Please, listen to the Commander!" Maithonis closed in.

"What do these half-wits know of suffering?" Addison's voice dropped, his body relaxed, as memories of past battles flooded his mind. The faces of those dead men leered at him from the bowels of his dark memories. Noticing the change in Addison, Thourn and Maithonis exchanged quick nods and pulled Addison off the fallen man. He didn't fight back as he let his knife drop from his hand.

"They didn't see their friends die in front of them!" tears began to dribble down Addison's face as the memories of dead comrades plagued his mind. "They didn't have to witness good men thrown to the slaughter! They haven't been sent to the shitholes of war for the last twenty years!"

The frail man picked himself off the ground, denying aid from the crowd. Maithonis and Thourn supported Addison between them when the frail man spoke, ignoring the bleeding nick on his throat left from Addison's knife.

"When the heretics came, they burned our homes," the man's voice soft and full of sorrow,"I witnessed the souls in my hab block cast into a pit of fire, their screams unimaginable. Those who managed to avoid the pits, where strung up and flayed." The area around them had gone tomb silent. The frail man began to pace back and forth, as lost in his memories like Addison. "The children...they placed bets on how long it would take the screeching monsters to find them." Maithonis and Thourn were paralyzed, Addison was breathing heavily. "You would hear the children scream before the impact of their small bodies breaking on the ground." He met Addison's eyes bristling with pain. "When the heretics found us, they raped my wife and three daughters, while I was forced to watch," his eyes began to tear up as the horrible memory surfaced. "My...my son had sold us out. He brought the traitors to the hab we had taken refuge in," he gripped the silver aquila around his neck tightly, "After the heretics finished raping my family, my son cast his aquila to the ground and had a turn on his mother and sisters...he had to 'prove' his loyalty to them..."

The silence hung heavy in the air, threatening to crush the entire hive. Some of the Feylintians were crying at the man's story, most were silent, even A Company had hushed their shouts for violence. Maithonis was speechless. Thourn was pale. Addison had closed his eyes, he couldn't bear to see the pain in the man's eyes.

"I re-live that memory every time I go to sleep," the man now turned his eyes to Maithonis. "All of us," he spread his arms and gestured to the crowd, "We know what waits for you and your men in the lower hive." His gaze chilled Maithonis to the core. "We celebrated and blocked the way, to buy you a few moments of life. You will be slaughtered down there Commander. All of you, will be slaughtered."

With a wave of his hand, the frail man disappeared into the crowd, which began to disperse. Slowly, the cheering citizens had fled from Transit W-734C and abandoned their liberators. By the time a minute had passed, the 647th were the only sign of life in Mid-Sector, Hive Feylintis. A Company shifted nervously as Senior Commissar Nortuen pushed his way through the rank and file.

Maithonis let go of Addison, "What the hell was that, Captain?" he barked.

Before Addison could reply, the rumble of Nortuen's voice answered for him.

"Incompetence."

Addsion and Thourn went to attention and Maithonis felt his muscles instantly react to the Commissar's presence. Nortuen noticed.

"I answer to you, Captain Maithonis, quit trying to go to attention whenever I show my face," Maithonis nodded slowly as Nortuen fixed his gaze on Addison." I shouldn't even be wasting words on you, Addison," Nortuen had his hand on his holstered plasma pistol.

He almost shot Addison right then and there. Military attacking citizens of the Imperium was death, to even think about it, was death. Nortuen had never encountered this issue and never would have guessed for a senior officer to commit this deed. He knew if he shot Addison that morale would plummet and the 647th was already splitting from the death of Colonel Isenke. Losing another senior officer would only widen the expanding rifts, but, to go unpunished would show that Maithonis was weaker than he already was. Suddenly, Nortuen realized that he had already solved his problem when he scolded Maithonis. He looked to the young Captain and tossed his dice.

"I am at an impasse, Maithonis," said Nortuen. Don't let me down.

Maithonis gave him a frightened stare before nodding slowly. His face darkened.

"Captain Addison," began Maithonis, "As Commander of the six forty-seventh," Nortuen had his fists clenched inside his storm coat. A Company gawked with anticipation and Thourn looked petrified. "I hereby strip you of your rank as Captain, effectively relieving you as commander of Company A." Nortuen hid his exhale of relief, I knew you weren't a waste. Addison glared at Maithonis, venomously, but remained silent. "However, you will be granted the rank of Private First Grade and reassigned to Company W." Idiot! Nortuen wanted to shout, but held his tongue. This was Maithonis' regiment.

"You arrogant..." Addison made a lunge for Maithonis but Thourn managed to hold him back.

"By your actions today, you have forgotten what it means to be an Imperial Guardsman, you will report immediately to Lieutenant Ormen, for your new orders."

Addison fixed Maithonis with the kill-look.

"Since Signal Man Thourn was the only man who assisted me, he will be promoted to Captain and given command of A Company."

Thourn's jaw dropped, "Sir, I-"

"That's an order, Thourn," snapped Maithonis. The vox officer nodded, solemnly.

"Get to it Addison, we've got a war to win."

The ex-captain tore the pins from his collar and stuffed them into Thorun's hands. He took one more glance at A Company before setting down the line to fall in with W Company.

"Assume your position, Thourn," growled Maithonis, "We've had enough delays." He nodded to Nortuen. Nortuen shook his head as he pulled the whistle from the interior of his coat. His face darkened and the whistle blew.

"Regiment at attention!" roared Nortunen.

"Six forty-seven!" ordered Captain Maithonis with dark confidence, "Forward! March!"

They now moved at parade-march, unhindered. Nortuen slipped in step next to Maithonis.

"I don't agree with his reassignment," growled Nortuen.

"I dont care, Senior Commissar," Maithonis turned his dark eyes to Nortuen. "He needs to re-learn what it means to be a Guardsman," he said quite matter of factly.

"You stripped him of rank and honour both, the men will talk," warned Nortuen.

"Addison's been a loose cannon since Kasr Alexandys, he's broken and unfit for command," Maithonis replied, annoyed. "And if the men speak of mutiny, I'll have them flogged or shot, dosen't matter," he said hungrily. "I saw the look you gave me and I'm done fraking around."

Nortuen raised an eyebrow in interest.

"Don't give me that gak," spat Maithonis. "I haven't been proving that I'm worthy of this command and it was breaking the regiment. I needed something to show the men they can't walk all over me."

"So you made Addison your scapegoat?"

"If that means I've established my authority," Maithonis turned away from the Commissar, "You know, as well as I do, that Addison is right where he belongs."

Nortuen knew he wouldn't be able to get through to Maithonis, so he took his leave, and became lost in thought. Maithonis had changed like night and day, white and black. Nortuen's gamble had backfired, he wasn't anticipating Maithonis to toss Addison to Company W. The young Captain realized he had power, real power, and no man was about to take that away from him. Nortuen said a quick prayer for Maithonis and Addison both. But mainly he prayed for the poor Whiteshields who were going to feel the unstable veteran's wrath.