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The following is some "crappy" fanfic I wrote to justify my IG army. That is, an army of angel and ghost Guardsmen. I use the Legion of the Damned and SM rules to represent them, but felt their flavor was significantly different enough to warrant some enjoyable stuff. As such, I'm making a collection of short stories in the format of a compendium being compiled by an Inquisitorial Journalist interviewing various members of the Imperial Armed Forces.

Here's the first section with a preface/forward and the first interview. If there are grammar or consistency issues or anything of the sort, please tell me. Most of my writing was done past 3 a.m. on nights I couldn't sleep, so I have doubts about the quality of this work but it's WIP so I'll fix things as I see them. C&C both appreciated and desired!

Additionally, I formatted this into "paperback" format when I wrote it, but Dakkadakka doesn't give me much in the way of useful formatting tools. I'll attach the .rtf file if you guys would like to view it in its true (and much more readable) format.

PREFACE

An excerpt from the audio logs of Inquisitorial Journalist T. D. Paxton.

“It is a very simple, well-known, and ancient fact; soldiers die. Day by day, year by year, and now throughout the millennium, the death of the soldier has become an integral part of the human condition. Men volunteer or are drafted, they are trained, they fight for what they believe is right, and then some day after, inevitably their lives will be snuffed. Some are lost one by one, and others fall alltogether in a single instant.

“Long ago it may have been singular heroes slain in battle whose names were passed down in reverence for ages. Perhaps it then became heroic squads given posthumous awards, medals given to families for their selfless sacrifice. Soon enough it would be regiments only remembered in textbooks, then armies listed as negative numbers in volumes of statistics. Now, entire planets and systems are wiped of their populations, regiments of millions raised and razed each day.

“Who remembers them?

“As humans in this the 40th millennium, we are taught one way or another from birth that we are forever being watched over and cared for by the power of the Almighty and that he will embrace us in our final moment. The Emperor loves us. In the end, the Emperor will remember us.

“This is, perhaps, the ultimate comfort of the Imperial Guard. One does not don the uniform of a Guardsman with the expectation to survive to a ripe old age, retire with honors, and settle down to start a family. Though it is a hope well clung-to and a romantic fantasy, it is utterly a hollow dream for most. Though the words are often uttered in parting or desperation, the commonly known casualty statistics take any and all power from the phrase “The Emperor Protects.”

No, subconsciously the Guardsmen do not truly look to the Emperor for protection. And why should they? So they may merely live today to die tomorrow? This begs a question: Why, then, should they put so much faith and reverence into this entity when they know they could come face to face with Death at any given moment? I propose a simple answer.

“They wish to be remembered.

“If one takes a moment to consider the vast nature of the human Imperium, it becomes obvious that it is impossible for anyone, even the Mechanicus, Ecchlisiarchy, or Administrarum to keep a record of every single individual soul who has fought in the Emperor's name, no matter how ordinary or heroic. Some may beleaguer this statement as heresy and indicate how much reverence is given to the ordinary soldiers who fell to hold Vraks, Armageddon, or Cadia, but how much more prolific could any battle be than these? Would Vraks have been remembered if it had been seized in three years rather than eighteen? Would we sing songs of Armageddon had the charismatic Yarrick died at Hades Hive?

One must wonder, how many worlds have been swept away and forgotten in the numerous Tyranid and Ork incursions? There is little hope that as a single Guardsman your name will ever be mentioned amidst those of Olanius Pious or Lord Solar Macharius. What little hope you do have can logically only be placed in the Emperor. Who else has the power and will to remember every man who has served in his name?

“The Emperor remembers.”

SECTION 1: THE POOR GUARDSMAN'S LEGION OF THE DAMNED

One complete audio log of Inquisitorial Journalist T. D. Paxton.

“Rather than the sweeping generalizations and religio-philosophical discussion of the preface, these documents and logs will attempt be quite specific and concrete, at least as much as the topic can be. It is the opinion of the author that what little hope of remembrance a Guardsman may have (as discussed in the preface) is only kept alive by the modern mythologies, stories and rumors that develop through the scuttlebutt of the ranks. Tales abound of the heroes of yore; the cold courage of Poul Marlin or Sly Marbo, the traditionalist tale of Ollanius Pius, and even the myraid ghost stories can simultaneously steel a man and send a chill down his spine.

“It is the ghost story more than anything that reminds the Guardsman that there is something more than just a historian that will remember him. Every ghost story has its origin in truth, exaggerated as it may be. Some are oral traditions tied to particular regiments, while others are vague enough to be shared far and wide by all manner of army groups. Some share a few similarities but most can be described as 'isolated cases' of supernatural activity. The importance of these stories lies in the fact that it makes it obvious to the poor souls on the frontline that there IS some higher power that will give them remembrance, even and especially in death.

“In recent times, however, there has been a new 'development' in the paranormal rumors amongst the forces of the Guard. The Administrarum and Inquisition have noticed an alarming number of reports sharing too many commonalities to be merely coincidental; many of said reports came from systems and battles too far apart for any word-of-mouth rumors to have spread within a decade, much less the few months or days that some were filed within.

“I have been assigned the task of collecting and compiling as much information as possible on this phenomenon which some of the Guard and Inquisition have come to name the “Lost and Forgotten” or the “Emperor's Wing.” An acquaintance of mine, while pondering the implications of such a force, remarked that this could quickly become the Guardsman's Legion of the Damned. I personally feel I have no business discussing what it may become in the future-that is for the clairvoyant to observe-but indeed I must agree that it does have a nice ring to it.”

*
*
*

INTERVIEW EXCERPT 1: Lieutenant Torgen Decker, 80-year Veteran of the 110th Cadian Shock Troops and 121st “Eldar Killers”

The following is a transcription of my interview with Lieutenant Decker, as narrative rather than dialogue to encompass the entirety of the conversation. For being the first truly worthwhile interview I had made, the Lieutenant's seems to have become, in my mind, the “quintessential account.” While many other reports filed only reflected bits and pieces, the Lieutenant’s experiences seem to be the most realized and carry every element common to any other account.

I regret not having set up a more formal interview with the Lieutenant, but due to time constraints on my part and his insisting that he not be taken away from his platoon for more than the day it took to get him to the station I was docked at, I was only able to speak with him for an hour or so. It was not my first time speaking with a member of the Imperial Guard, but I had never met a Guardsman who had been quite so weathered.

From the clunky bionic right eye and large claw scars raking across his face to the missing finger and burns on his hands, the man could have been a poster model for the Cadian “Veterans and Proud” propaganda movement. Coupled with the fact that Guardsmen rarely received or accepted juvenat treatments, by rights he looked like he should have been dead or retired decades prior.

Upon arriving in one of the station's classier cafés at the time I'd scheduled for our interview, I found him standing by a small table next to a port window which provided a lovely view of a turbulent nebula. His stance seemed not quite at attention but most certainly not at ease. I'm sure his battered armor didn't help him relax either, but it was listed in his dossier that even when on shore leave he conducted his platoon in physical training every few days and wore his armor whenever possible for the sake of leading by example.

When I greeted him, extended my hand to shake his, and motioned for him to sit, I was struck by his rather well-mannered precision; he looked me directly in the eye the entire time, never turning his gaze down to take my hand nor needing to stabilize himself with a hand on the chair while he sat. His motions were fluid, crisp, and efficient to an extreme. We exchanged the basic pleasantries just as a waiter came to take our orders. I hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but I suppose it says something that I could only order my beverage in High Gothic and the Lieutenant simply ordered plain recaf, the cheapest drink on the menu.

Honestly I didn't expect much from this man in the way of worthwhile information. Not to say he didn't look worth writing about; on the contrary, I am sure I could have written a bestselling compendium with the stories this man could tell. As far as I had been led to believe, however, he was in the end just another soldier who thought he'd seen a ghost. I had chosen to track him down because his rank and veterancy gave him some measure of credibility and made him easier to locate.

I was intrigued, then, at his deep reaction when I brought the topic of his supernatural experience up; with a deep breath he exhaled as he leaned back in his chair, his human eye seeming to focus upon infinity as if he was dredging up some ancient memory. After a few rather long moments he sat up straighter and fished into the pocket of his fatigues, withdrawing a package of cigars and a lighter before lighting one for himself and offering one to me. I declined the cigar but accepted the light for one of my own personal lho sticks. When we had both expelled a respectable cloud of smoke, he tapped the cigar on the table's ashtray and began to speak in earnest.

“You know... I never said much to anyone about them. I mean, the first times I saw them, I was just another footslogger, who would have really believed me? All it would have got me was a-”

“I'm sorry, did you say 'the first times?' Meaning more than one?” I'd been fiddling with my recorder which, of course, had chosen that particular moment to act up. I had almost missed his comment, and felt I had to cut him off to make sure I'd heard correctly. He cocked an eyebrow as if surprised I'd not known, and then squinted in what seemed like suspicion.

“I owe the lives of myself and several of my men thrice over to those Angels,” he confirmed with a nod. “And every time I've been tracked down afterward and 'questioned' by one Inquisitor or another all over again. You... weren't given their reports?”

I blinked, out of astonishment for one, but also to snap a picture with my ocular augmentations. I couldn't resist letting a slight smile slip through; I must admit I was quite excited, having had no solid leads from any of my prior assignments. The fact that this man had supposedly had multiple encounters was promising.

I reassured him that I was only very loosely connected to the Inquisition and was given little more than general direction on where to look for more material for my compendium. His long and stern gaze seemed to belie a well-practiced distrust (though with the Inquisitorial Insignia around my neck, I couldn't blame him) as he took a heavy draw and exhaled his smoke through my own, exposing my senses to the dirty, gritty, and meaty scent of the old-era styled cigar sans lho. It was not quite to my taste and, embarrassingly, I coughed in reflex.

“Lieutenant, look,” I said after we had both been handed our drinks and I had taken a refreshing draft of the warm, spiced, and saccharine liquid. “Why don't you start from the beginning. The very first time you saw any of these... Anomalies. Tell me everything you can about it, and this time I'll do my best to keep my mouth shut this time.” I smiled out of the corner of my mouth for good measure, hoping to put him into better spirits.

His laughter, deep-rooted and gravelly, was something between a chuckle, cough, and growl as he blew out another puff of earthy smoke. In tilting his head ever so slightly back to laugh, he exposed his neck and for the first time I saw that the scars on the left cheek (which were mostly hidden by stubble) went all the way down across his throat as well. Though he seemed to not notice it at this point, whatever had tried to rip his throat out most certainly nicked a few vocal cords in the process.

“A member of the Inquisition trying to keep his mouth shut? Hah! Perhaps you truly are different from the others, Journalist. A sense of humor and earnest curiosity to match? I have to respect that coming from a man in your position.”

This man had a knack for catching me off-guard. I had expected anything but laughter, but was glad for his ability to relax somewhat, if even for a moment. It was a good indication of mental stability, which means quite a lot in my line of business.

“Well, get comfortable Journalist. It's a hell of a story.” As he ended this statement, so too did he finish his jovial bout as with his recollection his face slowly molded itself into something resembling the somber two-thousand-yard stare I'd seen on all too many Guardsmen's faces before. “Before I start, there's one thing I need to make abundantly clear; these aren't some half-assed warp 'anomalies' we're talking about. These are the Emperor's avenging Angels through and through. There is no doubt in my mind about that...


Massgrave; 993 ME39; Recruit Torgen Decker, 121st Cadian “Eldar Killers”
Transcription of Audio of Lt. Decker's Interview

“I know I look it, but I'll say it anyways; I've been fighting with the Guard for a long time. Our juve' treatments for officers are nothing like what you I-Boys get. I'll probably live for 120 years with what I have to work with, and so far I've spent 80 of them on the front lines. By the Emperor, I'm a Cadian and I'll spend however many I have left in the same place; standing shoulder to shoulder with to my men.

“Going back to the first time with these Angels, though, that's... That's literally going back to the beginning. Before I was a true Guardsman even! Technically speaking, I hadn't been initiated into my regiment as a replacement yet, so my rank still read “Witeshield” rather than “Private.” The company I was raised with had completed training and we were en route to join the 110th when we were re-routed to provide support to a regiment having issues on a nearby planet, the Cadian 121st “Eldar Killers.”

“Since we hadn't reached our assigned regiments, we were thrown in squad by squad wherever we were needed without any consideration for chain of command. The Eldar Killers weren't exactly living up to their name; with the apparently organized aggression the Dark Eldar were exhibiting, things fell apart rapidly after our arrival. Within days of being redeployed to the 121st's aid as replacements, our communications were cut off to both the fleet and the rest of our ground forces thanks to Dark Eldar raids on our CP's and what was left of the planetary HQ.

“The massed defenses and pitched battles we fought at first devolved into skirmishes and then guerilla warfare, eventually leaving me with a handful of men-what was left of our company-fighting tooth and nail to survive. We did everything we could to avoid the Dark Eldar mop-up patrols, spending weeks slogging through marsh and forests, ducking for cover and hiding anywhere and everywhere when the Scourges and Hellions came searching for us.

“They were toying with us though; every time we were spotted we'd fight as we ran, but as soon as they injured or captured one of us they'd vanish as quickly as they came. The only thing that gave us hope and kept us going was the night sky. When the sun went down we could look to the heavens and see the darkness alight, our fleet giving all it had to the enemy in orbit. One of the other recruits had spent time doing basic training in preparation for transferring to the Navy after he'd served a full campaign on the ground, and he narrated for us as we stared longingly at the flashes and blossoms. Silently we cheered inside with every mass of streaks or sharp flashes of light, Imperial missile waves or cannon fire followed by purple-blue mini-novas of Dark Eldar ships dematerializing in the void of space.

“By the Emperor, our hopes and tenacity paid off, though. A month after we'd made groundfall, we were making our way through a thick forest when lo and behold, there sat a Valkyrie drop ship, crashed into a clearing! The same poor kid who'd wanted to captain a ship some day had some experience with Valkyrie repairs and simulation training; not only could he jury-rig the ship, he could fly it as well.

“It wasn't long before those damned Scourges found out what was going on, though, and I've never since heard a racket quite like the howl they let out. It was something like both a screech and a yowl and it seemed to echo through the trees as the others far off picked it up too. We couldn't see much past the tree line-the sun was about to set and dusk is a hellish time to fight-but they were there, darting from tree to tree to make us jump at their shadows.

“We only snapped to when our new pilot started yelling “Put these on! Put these on!” and shoved pairs of low-light goggles from the equipment locker into our hands. Once we got them on, he rushed us all into the Valkyrie's one open door and we piled in, huddled around the door-gun heavy bolter. It seemed like hours that we tried to hold them off, our six lasguns and heavy bolter blazing as the pilot did his best to get the rest of the Valkyrie's systems on line, dropping Scourge after Scourge as they shot forth from the treeline about a hundred yards out. In hindsight most of the action couldn't have taken more than a few minutes, but it sure as hell didn't feel like it.

“By rights we lasted longer than we should have, holed up in that doorway. Before things went to hell, some of the veterans of the 121st showed us a trick, a particular spot you could shoot on the Scourges' wings and they'd drop like a rock, incapacitated and writhing in pain. That and the small slit we had reduced our firing point to was what allowed us to fend off the first waves, most likely the ones who'd been chasing us for the last week. Bad timing is what got the rest of our little squad killed, though.

“After we'd downed at least a score of the bastards around the clearing, they stopped coming and everything went quiet. We kept scanning the tree lines, but a minute went by, then two, then five. It was just when we had seemingly started to breath again that the gunner on the bolter-who'd happened to be our flamer handler previously-tensed up and pointed straight out across the field and at a particularly large tree where, once we all sighted it, a single figure shot straight up into the air and over our view. Too late, the boy on the bolter laid on the trigger and after the gun spat a short burst, our luck ran out with two sounds.

“One click from the bolter's empty chamber, followed by one thud on the roof.

“Before we even realized what happened, something reached out from above the door and yanked the poor kid on the bolter out of the ship, ripping the door wide open in the process. With a yell, we saw the gunner flung from high up in the air, flamer and all flying out past the wing and landing painfully hard in the open field. From the sides of the filed came a screech and black wave of the bird-Eldar, going straight at him like he was carrion. I wanted to thank the Emperor that his screams went silent quickly enough, but I'm not so sure it wasn't because one of the bastards took his throat out while he still was alive.

“Either way, we all panicked. I and two of the others started firing madly into the crowd. I couldn't see the other three next to me, but I could hear one start screaming his head off and another one shoot something inside. Before I had time to look back, some huge feathery xeno swung down from on top of the wing and plowed right into us, knocking us flat on our asses. The thing let out another howl like we'd heard before and grabbed me and the kid next to me by the scruff of our necks, and next thing we knew we were flying through the air back into the field, just like our unfortunate door gunner.

“I'll be damned if that wasn't some of the hardest ground I'd ever fell on. The medicae later found out I'd broken 3 ribs, both shins, my jaw, and my right forearm in that fall. I knew I was done for. Just breathing hurt more than any pain I'd ever felt, and it was all I could do to roll over to face my death, body broken and blood streaming out of my mouth. What I saw was nothing like I could have ever dreamed, though.

“They tell me the thing that pulled us out the Valk was called a Solarite, some sort of Scourge leader the Dark Eldar considered to be genetically perfect. Heh... Some perfection that turned out to be. Right as I turned over, I saw the last two of the living riflemen from the do
orway in the claws of the bastard as slowly he flew straight up with them. I closed my eyes, not wanting to watch, but when I suddenly heard the roaring of thunder, I found them wide open again.

“The skies had become thick with clouds from no-where, black clouds with blue lightning flickering within. The rest of the Scourges halted their shredding of the door gunner and all looked up with me, staring at what was quickly becoming the eye of a storm centered on the Solarite. He'd stopped flying and was hovering a few yards off the ground, both of the soldiers still thrashing in his hands. With a great crack of thunder, something stuck him-lightning was my assumption-and he went down head first to the ground.

“After the dust cleared, I couldn't make any sense of what I what the hell I was seeing. At first, it looked like their was another Scourge standing over him, but my eyes slowly focused on the details; the figure was clad in armor, not the sleek and stylized plates that the Xenos preferred, but ancient looking, shimmering black and red powered armor that looked like something out of a history book I'd read in training. Its wings were not the tattered feathers or leathery appendages the Scourges sported, but were something angelic and terrifying at the same time as the black feathers glinted, looking gilded with gold.

“When my eyes tracked down, I saw it was crouching on the body of the Solarite, one foot planted firmly into its torso right next to a sword, a sword covered in flame and plunged straight through the Solarite's chest. It stood still as a statue, and I was sure I was slipping away and hallucinating in my final moments. Any doubt I had was stripped when the rest of the Scourges caught sight of him and shot straight up in swarm, screeching their feathery heads off before loosing a volley of splintershot at the figure over their leader.

“Now, I'd seen what those splinter rifles could do. I'd seen whole squads shredded in a trice when faced just a few of the beasts. Skin gets ripped apart like paper, and the poison's effect after... But when those needles bore down on their target he whipped himself around, his wings flashing in the moonlight. I could see the needles smash head on into the wings, but instead of piercing them like our lasguns had done to the Scourges', they shattered and pulverized themselves on this thing's wings.

“Standing stock straight with his sword blazing in his left hand and in his right hand some esoteric rifle whose pattern I couldn't place, it finally struck me: this figure was Man. He was not some new xeno breed, any sort of warp evil, nor even one of the fabled Space Marines. No, this soul was human. Clean, pure, and burning alight with the Emperor's fury. And when I saw with my own eyes that fury focused into such destructive form, I knew this was no ordinary man, but an avenging Angel come to do His will in my darkest hour.

“During my training on Cadia, we'd had many a lecture on the different fighting forces of the Imperium so we'd be better acquainted with their Modus Operandi in case we needed to fight alongside them some day. We'd watched, captivated, as the picts showed Space Marines slicing their ways through heretics and xenos alike in all manner of close combat. But that night, laying on the grass in that forest clearing, I was in awe of the melee in which the Scourges met their end. Within seconds of the Angel shoving his powerful wings down and launching into the fray, the dark mass of the Scourges was set ablaze with the flash of flames and what seemed like exotic las-fire emanating from the angel's rifle weapon.

“One by one, and some by twos, the Scourge bodies fell like their leader, littering the ground around the shredded remains of our door gunner until, at last, the Angel slid the final xeno off his sword and let him tumble through the air and onto the pile. As I painfully managed to prop myself up on my side, the Angel descended and touched his feet lightly to the ground with his back to me only a few yards away. He stood, awesome before the results of his work, before reaching into a pouch on the side of his hip and withdrawing something. I heard a click and he threw the object to the ground, setting the grass at his feet into an inferno as the flame he'd created made its way to the ground soaked with promethium from the gunner's flamer fuel tank. The Scourges had been thorough in their shredding.

“With the pile of Scourges now burning in the Emperor's holy flame, the Angel finally turned and walked to me. When he crouched before me, I finally saw his helmet from the front, but there was no face to see; in his golden visor I saw only myself. I saw a scared young boy wearing a white-striped helmet too large for him, gripping a gun too heavy to lift and in too much shock to do anything useful. But when he placed his hand upon my shoulder, I felt... Pride. Something that set my eyes open wider, and there I now saw something different. Now, I realized I saw a boy who had done his duty, just as well as any other Guardsman had. He'd held the line, he'd never held back, but more than that he'd kept the faith. Not only faith in the Emperor, but faith in himself.

“I don't mean to sound like I'm bragging about my first taste of action. But it was that realization that kept me going. I knew that I had 'it' in me. I could keep going and keep fighting. I had seen hell, and now, though I would rather not, I knew I had the strength to do it all over again if I had to. I said before the Angels saved my life. Well, they didn't just stop me from being killed, no, they allowed me to keep living when I could have simply let it end right there in that field.

“Anyways, as this epiphany was running its course, I heard the Valkyrie's door slam open again and the voice of my comrade, the pilot, calling to see if anyone was alive. I looked away from the
Angel back at the Valk and shouted his name as best I could with my lungs on fire, hoping he could at least drag me back and we could get the hell off the Emperor-forsaken planet while we were alive. When I turned back, the Angel was simply gone. I'd heard nothing and felt nothing, he was just no longer there. I looked up and saw nothing but the twinkling stars, no clouds, no lightning.

“When the pilot made his way to me at a jog, he checked me over to see if I had any obvious holes he could patch, but seeing I was just beaten up he looked up for the first time and in his surprise let slip a “Whoa” when he saw the pyre of Sourges. He tried to get me on my feet, but with a pair of broken legs I was going nowhere fast. I guess it was a stroke of luck, or maybe fate or some gak like that, but when he lost his grip on my arm and I fell once more, I came face to face with a most peculiar object. Before I got thrown over my squadmate's shoulder I snatched it and kept a firm grip on it all the way to the copilot's seat of the Valkyrie. On the way in, I found why I only heard one shot from one of the other recruits when the Solarite had jumped us; he was now slumped against the equipment locker, his head split open by his own lasgun.

“We broke atmosphere soon after and managed to make it to an Imperial picket who escorted us back to the closest Navy ship carrying primarily Guardsmen. I barely managed to stay conscious through the trip, holding that object to my chest the entire time. When we landed the medicae knocked me out and I woke up in a cold sweat in the medical ward on the ship. I'd spent the better part of half a day in surgery getting my bones reset and had been dreaming of my month in action the whole time. The only thing that stopped me from screaming when I woke up was that I opened my eyes to the sight of that thing I'd taken with me from the planet.

(At this point, my recording device cut out once again, so I must return to a narrative transcript. Conveniently, this is about where his monologue ended anyways and it became an interview once more.)

...”From the planet.”

With a pair of clicks, the Lieutenant flicked open and lit his lighter, placing it on the table still lit as he stood up from his chair and crushed out his cigar.

“That right there,” he said, indicating the flickering flame, “is why I know I'm still sane after that day. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

He turned on his heel departed for the rear of the café, boots clicking on the ship's deck the whole way. I'm glad he did so rapidly, as I hate to imagine how uncouth my look of surprise must have been as I stared at the lighter, the implication of his last statement sinking in. I was wary of even touching the thing, and instead blinked hard to capture an image of it. In doing so, I was rewarded with a sharp pain from my ocular implant which subsided quickly enough. The picture was taken regardless, and I spent the small time I had on my own sending it to a friend who specialized in identifying such trinkets.

The Lieutenant returned just as the waiter was finishing taking my check. As the boy turned to take the Lieutenant's money, he was paid instead with a stern glare, as apparently the waiter forgot for a moment that Guardsmen are not required to pay for such basic amenities as recaf on a resupply station. Once he'd scurried off, the Lieutenant didn't bother to sit down. He simply downed the rest of his lukewarm recaf and after he set his cup back down he started rooting around in his pockets again, finally withdrawing a small data disk.

“I figured you might get some use out of this. Emperor knows it's not really doing me much good. Only reason I put it together was because the last Inquisitor I dealt with threatened to “purge” my regiment unless I could prove to him we weren't tainted by the Warp or something.” He set it on the table and slid it over to my side where it vanished into the sleeve of my robes. “The vids on that disk there seemed to satisfy him. I think you might enjoy what you see. I told you I owed those Angels my life thrice. Well, the first one you'll see will be the first one I did.”

He cracked another smile and extended a hand for me to shake in parting. “Good luck with your project,” he'd said. “I do hope it gets published. The Guard need all the hope we can get. Especially when there really shouldn't be any.”

With that he snatched up the lighter, flicked it closed, and turned sharply. He slipped it into his pocket before clicking off down the bay, back to his shuttle and to his men.

I never saw the Lieutenant after that. Though I made an attempt every so often, I always seemed to do so while he was in the thick of battle. He finally died at the rank of Colonel. At 112 years, he passed away of old age two days after leading his men to a glorious victory over a Chaos uprising near the Damocles Gulf.

This was truly a great read, and a very, very refresing take on the subject of the matter. Well done and consider me a fan

Hey, thanks man! I'm glad to get any manner of praise for my first fiction foray!

Oh I suppose it is worth mentioning that, while it shares many similarities, the topic of this fanfic is NOT the Legion of the Damned. No Space Marines here! I'll have to stick a picture up of one of my models to give an example of what these "Angels" are supposed to be. I'll get right on that!

Your welcome, prasie when its earned.
Yes, I noticed that, that was one of the things that made it so good.