The silent world I woke up to starts to fade. Sounds become more and more prominent. I can hear others, just like me, whispering by in their crazy, hyperspeed chase of their targets. The krak grenade bent his ceramite chestplate and turned his bones into pieces no bigger than the krak fragments themselves, the glorious Aquila turned into unrecognizable piles of scrap; that’s when I fell. My vision turns milky from all the painkillers pouring from the damaged armour. The medicae system failed to deliver these much needed fluids to the dying warrior that was grasping for breath under the once bright yellow ceramite. Bolter rounds roar, missiles hiss by and the ground shakes as the assault tanks march onto the Iron Warriors’ fortified citadel; I can still see the sky turning bright with incandescent falling Drop Pods, while our Chapter pushes forward. Then suddenly, an armoured foot of a Fists terminator lands next to me, soil cracking and collapsing under his weight. I hear an earth shattering boom, and I see his right hand, still squeezing the autocannon’s trigger, falling to the ground; he follows shortly. His yellow armour turned black from the exploded missile, though I can still see the hole in his helmet that sent another warrior into our Emperor’s care.

The sounds around me start to fade out again; I feel heavy, and I feel useless. I lay there on the cracked, dusty soil of Tallarn, while every towering Astartes of the Imperial Fists passes by…

----

I reawake as a running brother – Ruhr – picks me up while giving chase to a retreating Warrior’s squad. They finally corner the squad into a fortified section of the citadel. Taking cover from the roaring fire coming from an imposingly decorated room, the Fists smash their backs to the wall. One of them reloads; his clip ran dry, and he’s down to his last; he takes it from the hip belt and smashes it against his helmet to clear the dust that settled. With a swift move, he pushes it into the bolter, and while doing so he randomly touches me; I feel alive again, and I feel the ire flowing through. I am destined to take the lives of the Emperor’s enemies, and I will not stop until I see my duty done.

We push in, the sudden silence giving away the Warrior’s reload time. Seven Imperial Fists stand now in assault formation, their gauntlets sparking, their fingers frozen on the triggers – have they ever been so wrong in their assaults? From behind beaten by fire black and yellow shields, a heavy flamers duo lights their armour. There’s not enough to damage their Mark VI armours, but previously sustained damage and long exposures will destroy the joints and exposed areas. Autosenses are the first ones to fail, and blinded by flames their shots are anything but concentrated fire. That’s when a lost bullet finds its way through flames and cracks Ruhr’s visor. Could this really be? A third Fist dead today while I am by his side, silently and eagerly awaiting to deliver our Emperor’s justice. I feel the flames heating my metal casing. I pray there won’t be a misfire, that I will leave another day and see the Emperor’s will done. He is the one filling my mind in the heavy hour of battle, and He will protect.

----

I hear the heavy stone floors trembling under the foot of dozens of servitors and weapon trolleys. Mechanical, piston-powered extensible arms collect the weapons spread on the floor, while apothecaries teem around, collecting the seeds of each fallen battle-brother. It has been a long day on the field, and I made it through. I can lay here, the servitors know I am alive, and I will soon have their attention.

----

Ammo crates topped by shiny bolter cartridges lay around the Armoury, along promethium cans and Krak grenade belts. A distant sound of metal boots clanging on Tribune’s metal floor grows nearer; a sounds of fully armoured Astartes marching towards the armory before a planetfall. A new battle in the name of the Emperor is only half a klick long walkway and a huge triple-lane blast door away. A loud hiss of steam and seconds later the door lays flat on the floor; the 33rd Assault took less than usual to traverse the hall that connects the bow of the ship to the boarding docks. That’s when I realize there will be no planetfall, no new world to explore. The battleship has been boarded by a rogue force of warriors; dim lights, sparks and steam, bolter flashes and flamer light won’t allow me to properly identify their colours and heraldry. Who in their right minds would board a ship as big as the Tribune, a ship second only to our Fortress Monastery?!

The storming Fists take cover inside the ammo hangar and reload, while a shielded rearguard provides cover. Sergeant Juron picks me up, and I hear the familiar sound of full clips sliding into bolters. As one, the Sergeant and I rise. One shot, and my life has nearly ended. Less than a second to live after leaving the bolter’s barrel, time in which I will make sure the Emperor’s wrath is delivered and my destiny fulfilled. An entire life of silence, which ended with a boom…

I am just another bullet