After creating the next few platoons for my army of Imperial Guard that I lovingly named the Marines, I thought of a backstory that loosely relates to their constant struggle for survival on their backwater death world of Pacifius Prime. The story takes places within the confines of Guadalcanal, just one of the many islands to dot the planet. Guadalcanal is most famous for the jungles and the inhabitants of the jungle. Regular patrols go into its depths to hunt the ghouls of the jungle, and some never come back....
The Bloodied Path: By Samuel Baxter
“Barusk, take point.” I grunted.
Barusk spat in his unbidden tongue that could only have hailed from his wild region, but abided nonetheless, rushing out ahead of the fifty-three strong so-called ‘Fiends’.
We were apart of the 7th Marine attachment that had been sent into the bowels of the island hell simply named ‘Guadalcanal’ which in the Old Tongue translated into ‘Fire River’. It was a small island that was barely a hundred kilometres long, but yet it was one of the most precious bases for the Marines of Pacifius Prime to have; for this base was half a mining facility that exported tonnes of the precious Admantium metal as well as multitudes of hides, meats and other pickings from the wild population that fed the mainland.
I had grown up in these sprawling tropical wastelands all of his life, but something about this twisted jungle just didn’t feel ‘right’. Only the strong could survive the hell of the islands of Pacifius Prime, but Guadalcanal was different. It was the only island I had served in on this planet where I couldn’t find my way. It seemed to fight him at every step, alienating him and morphing around him. I saw ghosts in every blade of grass and even the corpses I did stumble across seemed to grasp him and gasp for escape from this island.
The heat got to me and seared my skin, and yet the flesh crawled pallidly and cold, riddled with the bullet-hole bites of the mosquitoes and the crabs. The insects and the bugs of this jungle seemed to get everywhere and whatever they touched became infected. This jungle veiled hidden traps that could rip a man cleanly in half and the trees themselves seemed to strangle the sun, the wind like a furnace that was forever heating up. I seemed to have an empty stomach and my lips were parched and split, my throat dry, yet water hung in the air and storms constantly raged within the confines.
I had lost nearly twenty men to this sick of sin island, without seeing a single enemy, and it frustrated me. I had fought in Peleliu where the children of Chaos fought bitterly hand-to-hand, or sometimes tooth or claw or tentacle. But the Marines through their armoured transports won a hard fought victory and the Cultists were left to the depths of the island.
But in Guadalcanal, I had seen a man fall once, and as soon as the man did he was ripped apart nearly instantly by the sickly small ghouls simply known as ‘creatures’. He had been stripped clean of his flesh before he even had time to register what was going on. I had seen a man swim through the waves and suddenly went under, the water turning red. I had seen a man being sliced unknowingly by razor leaves, screaming as he tripped over and landed in his final resting bed of thorns. This was the worst two weeks of my life, but we were soon to be over.
We were on the trail home, barely two days out from the base of Guadal. This was a trail trekked by many men during their designated patrols of this island, and the other three hundred and fifty of the garrison troops were waiting there. After this trek they could tag-team the next lot of unlucky fellows who have to wade through the haunted jungle, and supposedly fight of ‘Chaos’ who resided here.
Or maybe we were fighting the jungle itself, for something had to taint these trees and ground in order for it to be so wild and deadly to man.
There was a snap to my left, in the dense undergrowth the jungle shrouded.
There was a feeling in my gut, something wasn’t right. The feeling was always there, it had been there since we began this Emperor-forsaken patrol.
We were being watched.
Shadows in the undergrowth, writhing and twisting around like campfire smoke ritualistically. But something had changed. Something was closing in, fast and it wasn’t going to stop.
My gut feeling was there when we were on the island of Peleliu, where a cultist had sights on us I could feel the back of my head itching as if something was fussing with my hair. I ordered them down just as the bullet cast my head, nearly smashing into my bare hair.
I had that same feeling right now, and I was going to trust it no matter what.
“Weapons primed.” I ordered outright and took the lead from Barusk, hearing the salute of a few dozen clicks of reassurance.
I unslung my las-rifle in my hands and rolled my shoulders, loosening my machete from its holster. The rifle calmed my nerves as I scanned my surroundings, moving cautiously on the trail. The trail in fairness was barely a trail at all, more like a choked path of concrete that had still was somewhat recognisable. The tail goes that the first men to step on this island after the sundering walked this trail, carving the trail from the bone of the fallen beasts that attacked them to signal other comrades to follow their victory. The fifty, we Marines call the tale, and many know it well. The trail might have been built out of bone, but the Marines we stand today are being haunted by the trail, its malign hissing at us wherever we step.
We kept pacing onwards, casting wary eyes to the shades that glared at us through their eyes. They seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once, but this was the way of those blasted cultists of Guadalcanal.
Guadalcanal had two main enemies on the island; Orks who excelled in butcheries and ambushes, although they were never quiet. They were a rare sight indeed and were easily gunned down. The cultists on the other hand were a different kind altogether. Unlike those that populate the other jungles and the small habits of the forest, these ones are called the Yellow bellies and for good reason. They are almost always camouflaged within the undergrowth and are silent, for in some demented prayer they sacrifice their tongues to their alien and horrific Gods, who now laugh at us. They feel no pain on many accounts and they will not stop until you die. But the main reason they are called yellow bellies is that because of their prayer, their Gods have thrust upon their kind scaly hides that can withstand the harsh land that we tread upon. They are fearsome creatures of the jungle and not ones to be underestimated.
“Tight formation.” My skin crawled at the very thought of their presence, and I cast my eyes to the bloated, grotesque foliage that seemed to shine with glee at the very thought of slaughter. My men were tired, weary and above all, sapped of strength. I glanced back to see the tenacious Marines, some of the only Guardsmen that can rival the mighty Catachan jungle fighters. But judging by these men you could not tell. It looked like they had been eaten from the inside out; the meat all but disappeared, leaving their bones to poke out through the skin like worms trying to find their way out. Their clothes were ragged and ripped, stained with the constant fear that enveloped them. Their rifles were all but ready, most of them clogged up with mud and dirt. They had come to fight the jungle, but the jungle had won. We were the few survivors the jungle had released from its clutches, savouring our terror of it.
I swear I will never step a foot in this blasted scape of death and horror again.
The shadows started to constrict, I could feel that they were honing in on their prey. The others sensed it to, the smell of uncleanliness filling the air with its rotten stench. Death was closing in and fast. Unease spread throughout the troops, thought they were too tough to mention it. I knew though, despite the encroaching fear that would make a Space Marine flee in terror, these men would stand their ground and do their duty to the Emperor and Pacifius Prime.
I didn’t believe in the Emperor anymore, I had seen too much death and violence in my time, but now I prayed in jumbled words to him, my breathing becoming ragged. I believed you did your duty and you would find peace, because without us simple men doing their duty to the Emperor we would find ourselves caved in on all sides by the Chaos filth that threatened us every single day.
I heard a gurgle from behind.
I flipped around, my las-rifle finding the stock placed firmly into my shoulder and my finger on the trigger.
It had begun.
Cultists melted out of the jungle soundlessly with crude devices that made me shiver in terror and leaped upon the straggler Guardsmen. Trooper Tori’s head was split in half by a cleaver made of bone and went down screaming. I fumbled for my trigger as I bawled out orders as the nerve of the Marines began to be tested.
Las-fire boiled out as men stumbled at the surprise ambush, firing wildly into the undergrowth at both non-existent enemies and existent ones.
My hand flew up and the rifle roared with glee, a violet light erupting from its nozzle. It caught a Cultist in the shoulder, but the blasted worshipper stumbled and kept on going.
No, this can’t be happening. I set my rifle on full automatic and sprayed the fire everywhere; peppering the jungle alight and the Cultist finally went down.
Brother Ghost ripped out his knife and threw himself into the Cultists, being dragged into the Jungle screaming.
I pushed into the centre of the group, my rifle bitterly scorning the Cultists with every searing blast. Blood splashed onto the floor, becoming a river of death littered with the corpses of men and heretics alike.
I ducked under the blow of a crude bone club, swinging around and cracking the cultist in the head with the butt of the gun. I swung around and put it out of its misery with a crack of las-fire and roared to hold the line in tight formation. Men hastily pushed backwards against the heretic’s onslaught, barely keeping their footing under the pressure of the slaughter.
A cultist charged at me with a silent battle cry. I ducked under its precise blow and pushed with my weapon, sending it stumbling. I hit another few rounds into the Chaos lover until it went down.
I stood at the precipice of the formation that was slowly crumbling, and my rifle went dry. I was spattered with blood and blindly fumbled for more ammunition. No time I thought bitterly as I discarded my rifle and ripped out my machete.
“We stand for Pacifius Prime and become emboldened like the fifty that stood where we stood! Stand Marines and forever be remembered as true soldiers of the Imperium. Do not let your aim falter nor do not let your feet!” I roared above the cacophony of the orgy of battle. The screams of the dying, the hiss and growl of the las-fire, the clash of metal upon metal; these became one demented orchestra directed by the Chaos Gods themselves, relishing in our terror.
My arm went dead as I savagely ripped into the Cultist, who easily glided out of the way of my blow and its blade darted left and right as I barely had the chance to defend myself. I staggered away from my attacker and pain seared my shoulder.
I hit the ground screaming, and struggled to rise, the pain becoming a drum in my ears, blocking out all mental thought. I flung around my machete into the side of the Cultist, burying it in its belly in a spray of ichor and blood. It went down with a silent ecstasy in its eyes. My nose was smashed in and I grunted in pain, tears streaming down my eyes.
I stumbled back and hit the floor hard. This was it; this was my final resting spot, at the hands of some yellow-bellied Cultist filth. At least I died with courage, standing my ground. Relief flooded through me as the point slowly buried itself into my chest, almost relishing the taste of blood like it was the blades desert.
“Halt, this one is mine.” The blade disappeared from my chest and I was left wanting with my pain.
I staggered to my feet, biting my tongue in my pain as I cradled my shoulder. The wound was deep but hopefully it wasn’t mortal although the red life force was spilling into a deep ravine in my chest and my nose blood was joining it in its adventure.
I surveyed the scene. The Cultists had melted once again into the shadow of the jungle, but yet I could still feel their presence. There were only four of us left of our group, as one Cultist slowly tortured one, its eyes filled with horrific glee as the screaming of the man intensified as the Cultist slit open its intestines and relished in the glory of it. The others were mortally wounded and had soaked up the blood, sprawled across the trail as if they were corpses themselves. Blood soaked the trail as the cement of hell claimed its other victims, the blood flowing into a creek, bypassing the multitude of corpses that choked its flow. Although for every heretic there was at least three bold, defiant faces whom I once had called my brothers.
They stared up in awe of me as I eyed each and every one of them. “Get up yer’ lazy bastards. Who are we soldiers?” I gasped, the blood draining from my head. I swayed, but kept my feet planted on the floor. If I was going to die, I was going to die standing.
“Marines!” They coughed and gasped.
They slowly all stumbled to their feet, gripping empty las-guns or machetes. I gripped mine with white numb hands, the blood soaking through to make as if I pulled someone’s heart out of their body. I could taste the blood on my lips, but couldn’t tell if it was mine or someone else’s. My right shoulder was basically useless, but my left still held my machete upright barely.
“Show yourselves you bloodthirsty bastard, let’s see what we’ve been hunting for two weeks now!” I roared, but it was pitifully weak. My throat was getting dry and my vision was starting to fade, but I mentally slapped myself and tried to hold my ground.
“Ah Corporal Xavier of the Fiend Squadron!” Beamed two men. After awhile my vision staggered back to reality and I saw the man for whom he was.
No, he can’t be here I’m hallucinating.
I saw him die.
“Ah yes you did Corporal, but you left me screaming there on the thornbushes, a thousand daggers ripping into my skin as you and your few passed me by grimly, not even bothering to help me. You left me for dead sir, and what’s our motto? Never leave a man behind!” Its pale flesh contorted into a tortured smile. Its skin was deathly pale, and its eyes were filmed over with popped blood vessels. Its mouth was a rotten thing with missing teeth and its hair was straw white and on dead ends, although you could see it still had traces of golden yellow through its mix. Its clothes were ripped and tattered, sprayed with blood and torn to pieces, the flak armour barely rags hanging limply off the man, showing off the many piercing scars that adorned its chest and torso. Over where the right nipple was meant to be was an alien symbol, one that even by looking it cast the horror of a billion skulls adorned and shaped into a throne, each one laughing gleefully and chattering away. I shook the image out of my head.
“I saw you die trooper…”
“Ay, you did and you did nothing about it. But these men, they let me in. I shared soup with them; they showed me the true path sir. They showed me the true God, the God of Khorne!” His menacing laugh cackled grisly.
“And now, I shall take your head in his name so that you can see my ascension into the souls of the fury!”
“In the name of the Emperor, what have you done with Trooper Heinz?” I growled wearily. I was losing the battle for consciousness. Heinz was one of the most devout of our regiment at home, and one of the most pious I had ever read. He had three books that he carried with him all of the time, the Imperial Manual, the Commissariat manual and the holy script of the Emperor. He was devoted purely and wholly to the Emperor’s faith. And now he was the very thing he vowed to wage war against.
His screams from eight days ago pierced through my skull as I replayed his fall into the thorns as they enveloped him.
“Get out of my head!” I gritted.
“I am still the same Trooper, but now I see the light. And you shall spend eternity with my Lord, feasting on the blood of millions as they flow. Now die!” He cackled.
I raced forwards and roared, machete raised. “For the Emperor!”
He strode forwards teasingly and smashed the small of my back with his hellish machete. It writhed in pleasure at the touch of my blood as he turned around. I went sprawling into the dirt and there I found my salvation.
Shining in a holy light was a fallen krak grenade. It was encrusted in blood and mud from the battle, probably fallen from a soldier as they fell in the onslaught. It was my salvation.
“For the Emperor, for mankind. In his namesake, I fight and for the namesake of every man, woman and child in the universe, I pledge this creed. I am a Marine of Pacifius Prime, and so do solemnly swear to uphold my duty to tenaciously defend her against the seeds of corruption. Emperor guide my hand today so that I will stand sentinel in my ever vigilant watch over the islands that inhabit this world and guard it from the forces of Chaos and any who might try to destroy the Imperium of Man.” I prayed as I crawled towards my redemption.
I have never had a wife or any children, because I served the Emperor. I served him wholeheartedly and now I shall serve him with my sacrifice. To protect the men, women and children who still lived upon this world I give my life so that you might live another day.
I clutched onto it with bare hands and held onto it with a tight grip, behind my back.
“What are you going to do with that rock, bash me to death?” Goaded on Heinz, or the demon that inhabited his body.
“I swear to give myself in the duty of my service and only in death shall my duty over Pacifius Prime end. I swear to the Imperium of Man and Neve Yusuf’s honour that I might sacrifice myself so that the domain of Pacifius Prime might live on!”
“Just accept it. The Imperium has deserted you and left you to die on this hell hole of an island.”
I staggered to my feet, spitting out blood. Life was slowly ebbing out of me, and I struggled to keep balance. I staggered, but righted myself, breathing heavily ready to charge.
“Emperor, in your holy wisdom, guide me on my path to glory and protect me from the ward of evil!”
“The Emperor is the only evil. He is a million miles away, and yet you worship him. The Gods in their holy name reside here; this is their place of being! Worship them and you will find bounties of harvest and fruits to bear!”
He strolled to close the gap and I roared.
“Emperor, guide my hand against evil and corruption and let me purge it so that humanity will be free!”
I got within arms reach of him, laughing maniacally. I leapt on him, our heads touching so that I could smell his stinking traitorous breath.
“What are you doing?” Asked the turn cloak. He whipped me over and over and I screamed, but held on.
I grabbed his head and whispered to him, viewing the hellhole of this island for one final time, as the holy light of Terra shined down upon me. This was my salvation.
“The Emperor Condemns.” I whispered in his ear. His eyes went wide with almost fear in those red hellish eyes as he thrashed in my dead man grip.
I pulled the pin.
Hope you enjoyed reading it
Would appreciate any feedback!
1W OL 1D
