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I was just looking through my University documents and came across this bit of fan-fiction I prepared for a lesson on... fan fiction! Sadly it never saw the light of day nor did it form the basis of any longer submissions but I'm starting to think that I might continue with it - what does Dakka think?

The premise for this, if I recall correctly, was "What if Bruce Willis' character in Unbreakable was born into the Imperial Guard?"

[center]The Ambassador

The ever living
Must die alone in the night
So do good; Let them

I used to think that victory inevitably came with parades, screaming girls throwing themselves at my feet and as many dead animals as I could eat in my belly. You learn quickly that victory is relative.

I personally killed seven Kroot that day. I ripped a hounds jaws apart to save my superiors life before he was burned alive in front of me. Three good men live in my debt, somewhere, and nobody knows my name. I have too many dead friends to want any more, too much space between me and home. The two things that keep a Guardsman fighting are the promise of death and the dream of seeing home again.

Home changes in war, it's a constant flux like the ebbs of the warp. Camps move with every battle won or lost, fleets jump the warp, planets burn. Home is at the whim of some mad Warboss or a Space Marine chapter that bit off more than it can chew and decided to call on Guard artillery. Victory means you get to fight again, for something that matters to someone presumably. Victory means a step closer to home – my real home; like the first step across the deserts of Tallarn.

This camp has been home for the last while but I don't know why. I could tell you why but I don't know. All we've been told is that the Tau are doing something they shouldn't be. I hate fighting the fething Tau. I hate wandering around covered in laser-lights and watching their railguns shoot thick beams of light through our hulls. You can't hear lights firing, only the distant shriek of the missiles that follow.

And when they hit you in the eyes! Emperor knows that if there's a short little blue man in front of you when your sight returns, he's in for an absolute kicking. I hope enough transports got through to their lines to hurt them. Battles can end in minutes when you get Tau on the back foot. I've heard stories of Ogryn assaults literally finishing entire armies.

For me, victorious that day, seven Kroot.

The ride back to base was silent. The Chimera, remarkably, seems to be the same one I rode in on but the faces are all different and they don't look too happy to be alive. They will be later. The man next to me unlaced his boots and sat back, exhausted.

“Which platoon you from, friend?” he exhaled.

I told him and offered him a drink from my canteen. The man's face sank even further into the shadowy hull of the Chimera as he loosened the tie on his helmet. The stubble on his face reflected my own, it's been a long time out on exercise and when it comes to battle, fresh faced, wide eyed boys get left behind.

The man cut a commanding figure in the transport, not that anyone barely looked up from the floor or down from the roof of the hulls cold interior. He was large and muscular, almost twice my size it seemed, and his voice held an authoritative tone at all times, something that strikes a chord with most men of the Imperial Guard.

“I saw the last of the Riyadh boys die today. Apart from me. I'm all's left”

I was about to ask him what he meant when he went on;

“I've had enough of this, lad. Do you know how many battles they've put me through?”

Ten? Twenty maybe? He looked like a veteran of war. I went to hazard a guess when he cut me off.

“Two-hundred.”

“Two hundred!” I couldn't believe my ears. I'd have called him a liar if he didn't look like he could unscrew my head. Besides that, his voice carried a weight that could give any lunacy credence.

“They'll send me to two hundred more, too, because I can't prove it to them. I can't prove it to them because they just won't listen.”

“Listen to what?”

He ignored me and continued with a sigh.

“I'm sorry I spoke to you today. You're just a good soldier, waiting to die for the Emperor, but I had to do it. When they ask you about me, tell them I'm going back to Terra. I'm sorry to have caused you all this trouble, friend, but tell them I've gone to Terra to see the Emperor myself.”

His eyes shifted to meet mine as he spoke, then they closed and the man went to sleep. I was struck by his ability to sleep that soon after doing whatever any of us have to do to survive, and by the strong desire within me to see this man again.

That was the last time I was allowed to fight. I was to spend the rest of my life following that man.


The rumbling of the engine quietened as the Chimera came to a stop. There would be some time, depending on the order in which our transport arrived, before the doors were opened and we were sent through clearing. I used those minutes to study the face sleeping peacefully before me and wondering how he could believe he'd been in two hundred battles.

Two hundred! We all exaggerate war stories given an opportune moment during some rare moment of civility, but it's unheard of when speaking with other men of the Imperial Guard. It's uncouth at best and most often damned insulting. His last words, delivered with such gravitas, stuck with me. What could he mean?

My thoughts were cut short as the rear door to the transport opened and an administrative sergeant ushered us out. Nine of use filed out and lined up in the harsh sunlight for post-processing. The Imperial Guard fight in incredible numbers of men that have to be counted going in and coming out of battles like so many rounds of ammunition. It takes a while to get used to the strange ceremony of recording your filing details to a superior accompanied by a whiz-clicking tech-thrall.

“Men! Left to right, debrief!”

The Sergeant's words started the ceremony, and the machine-man, on its way.

“Cadian 17th 4567”
“Cadian 17th 2448”
“Cadian 13th 6430”
“Cadian 17th 1118”
“Cadian 17th 2132”
“Cadian 17th 3323”
“Cadian 8th 1703”

As I finished my call, the Sergeant's eye shifted to the dim interior of the Chimera, within which the large man was still sleeping.

“Hey”, he shouted, “Ogryn travel separate to the men!”

He approached the vehicle and banged at the hull with his fist, waking the man. He grabbed his helmet and approached in a very deliberate action, speaking grimly as he emerged into the light, taking up position directly in front of the Sergeant who had woken him up, a full head taller than he.

“Riyadh oh-one”

The tech-thrall buzzed a grinding noise, alerting the administrator as it produced a document from a recess in its chest. The officer took the note in and immediately ordered us to remain before he sent word to the Commissariat. I would have been as worried as the rest of the men had it not been for the strange authority with which the giant, now leaning against the Chimera, delivered his request to me. I have no idea who he wants me to relay his message to, or what it means, but I can't shake the feeling that he meant it.

Still, 200 battles?! The thought that anyone could have seen so much war filled me with pity.

Its good, I like the concept

Holy gak, this is amazing. The writing is so... fluid. I started reading and suddenly realized I had just finished it. It flowed so smoothly that I didn't notice.

I'm eag'r fer more.

More please.

I only went and re-visited The Ambassador. Original post edited somewhat and added to slightly (it was going nowhere if certain premises weren't expunged entirely - like nobody seeing 'the man' again or it being written in present text)

More to come daily for the next few days at the very least, possibly many more if I write myself into some sort of actual story by accident

Well I hope this does continue as I've waited a long time for more.