Chapter 15: The Glory of the Empire Deceives You
"Us?" Mongot could hardly believe it.
"Indeed! You! Gifted with talent, filled with ambition, burning with passion! It is thanks to generations of devoted people like you that the Empire stands unmoved amid the onslaught of aliens! To the citizens of the Empire, you are the rising sun of the east, bringing them hope!"
"The Empire has slumbered in darkness for too long. A ten-thousand-year deadlock must be broken. The Empire has always been the Empire! Therefore..." Dos raised his left hand high. "Rise and forge a new destiny with me! Let us start by stamping out heresy!"
Mongot's heart swirled with pride, worship, and yearning. At last, a single thought took shape: he would revive his house. He would restore the Empire's glory.
"We shall unite for the Empire!"
"Good." Dos nodded. "Go speak with your comrades. I believe more than one of them shares our convictions."
The sun sinking beyond the horizon cast ripples of orange light, dyeing the pale blue sky and white clouds into wine-red and gold. In the last rays falling upon the earth, three black silhouettes swayed and stretched, yet stood unbowed.
Mongot gazed at Dos's back and saw that small figure swell in the starlight until it loomed like a titan that could prop up the heavens. His heart filled with awe; he gave a silent aquiline salute and soon departed.
...
Dos rubbed his aching legs and sighed. "The young are so gullible... Ah, no, I mean so full of spirit. Maybe I should keep at this."
He glanced skyward nervously. "Surely I won't be struck by lightning. Righttt?"
Even at night, the Upper Hive bustled. Sky-piercing spires radiated light that rivaled day, forming a stark contrast with the lifeless Underhive.
As the greatest nobles in the entire Hive City, the Whites naturally kept up appearances. Perpetual illumination was taken for granted. A single ornament could equal a peasant's lifetime labor. Nothing less was expected of an old aristocratic line; every decoration evoked the classical beauty of the 2k pastoral era, understated yet refined.
At the banquet, Mongot White rose from his high-backed chair, set down knife and fork, and solemnly announced he had something important to declare. Lord White, Mongot's father, reluctantly laid aside his own cutlery to hear what his dear son would stir up next.
"Father, I have decided: from this day on, I shall devote myself to reviving our house. Our ancestors earned nobility through struggle. I, too, can strengthen the family through my own efforts!"
The young White had everything: clever, capable, and blessed with his father's good looks. He was a natural winner. Marrying into any great family would present no difficulty.
Yet he had kept shouting about serving the Empire and throwing himself into the Astra Militarum. Common folk might not know, but how could Lord White? Even the one-in-ten-thousand Astra Militarum were mere cannon fodder in the void of space.
So Lord White's blood had cooled, and he became like every other aristocrat. Now that his son had finally seen reason and would settle down to inherit the family estate, how could a father not be moved?
"Good, good, good! Ha-Ha-HA," Lord White repeated the word thrice. "The future of the family is yours!"
Similar scenes played out in noble houses everywhere. Many young ones felt they had grown up. Many parents believed their children had matured.
...
Dos returned to his own lines at midnight, then waited until morning to stride openly past Commander Blackmoor. Blackmoor was baffled, but Dos paid him no mind. After returning the horse to 0361, he slept until the afternoon. When he woke on his camp bed, a pair of fervent eyes stared straight at him, giving him the uncomfortable feeling of being undressed.
Resisting the urge to punch Mongot, Dos rose. "How many came?" he asked, straightening his greatcoat.
"About three hundred, not counting attendants," Mongot answered.
Dos was stunned. "About? Three hundred?! Did you summon every hive in the vicinity?"
"Exactly."
"Excellent. Come, let's fetch guns and armor." Dos nodded.
Half an hour later, Dos surveyed the three hundred-odd young nobles assembled before him, their faces turned upward like supplicants awaiting benediction. He let the silence stretch, then broke it like thunder.
"I am Dos, Commissar of the Krieg Regiment - but I am nothing without you!" His voice rang across the assembly ground. "You stand here not as children of privilege, but as the Empire's salvation! You have abandoned soft beds and softer lies to grasp cold steel and hard truth!"
He paced before them, eyes blazing. "They say we are expendable. They say we are meat for the grinder. And they are RIGHT!" A pause. "But what they fail to understand is that we CHOOSE this! We are the few who see the abyss and march toward it singing! We are the ones who know that mankind's survival is bought with blood and sacrifice!"
His fist slammed against his breastplate. "You have trained since childhood not for glory - glory is for the dead! You trained for DUTY! For the only truth that matters: that between us and the darkness stands nothing but our will, our weapons, and our faith!"
"The Emperor does not promise us victory - He promises us PURPOSE! And what greater purpose exists than to be the blade that holds back oblivion? You are not soldiers - you are MANKIND'S DEFIANCE MADE FLESH!"
The Commissar's voice dropped to a growl that somehow carried to every ear. "When you face the xeno, the heretic, the daemon - remember this moment. Remember, you chose to stand. Remember that cowards die in their beds having lived for nothing. But WE - " he thrust his bolt pistol skyward, "—WE DIE ON OUR FEET HAVING LIVED FOR EVERYTHING!"
"FOR THE EMPEROR! FOR THE IMPERIUM OF MAN! INTO THE FIRE OF WAR! TILL THE ASHES OF GLORY!"
The three hundred voices that answered him shook the very ground, a roar of desperate faith and terrible conviction. These were no longer nobles' children. They were weapons, freshly forged and eager for the tempering that only war could provide.
...
0361 approached from the side.
"You called in these... reinforcements?" 0361 was speechless. "Less than half a company of irregulars?"
"Patience, my dear friend. You'll see." Dos answered under his breath, then resumed his speech.
"Behind me stand the Krieg, elite of the Astra Militarum! They will fight shoulder to shoulder with you!"
Behind me are the bodyguards hired to keep you greenhorns alive.
"Your task is to clear and hold a sector until Commander Blackmoor's PDF units deploy, then you withdraw."
Your job is to stay put and wait for someone else to do the fighting.
"After the battle, you will sweep the field, mop up remnants, and, above all, protect yourselves."
You can grab some easy medals to show the folks back home. Please don't worry about making me trouble.
One hand shot up. "Why can't we join the assault?"
Dos rolled his eyes inwardly but answered patiently, "I've seen more combat, Comrade. Assaults are dangerous. You need more seasoning, stay with us, and you shall too learn in no time to bear arms in the name of the Emperor."
The youth nodded.
"Then....move out!" Dos clapped his hands together.
Have fun, noobs. Dos hadn't lied. Six days earlier was still earlier, right?
"Tell the Engineers to leave a few enemies who can still hold a knife. These kids came all this way. Let them feel involved." Dos whispered to 0361.
____________
Extra: Death Korps Unit Profiles
(Like the earlier gear section, this chapter is pure background—you can skip it without eating into the main release, so relax.)
Guardsman
The blood and sinew of the Death Korps. The most basic trooper wears a greatcoat whose hem can be buttoned around the legs for mobility. Regimental Headquarters set coat color. Beneath it lie armor plates, puttees, and combat boots, topped by a Mark IX helmet with integrated rebreather and gas mask.
Standard armament is the Lucius-pattern 98 lasgun. They also carry shock grenades and frag grenades, while close combat relies on a 45 cm heavy serrated bayonet and an entrenching tool.
Ten soldiers form a squad, three of whom operate heavy weapons.
Engineer
They wear a stripped-down version of the standard uniform and better armor than Guardsmen. Their primary weapon is a shotgun, and they carry a frame packed with tools—heavy engineer shears, entrenching shovels, Krag grenades, and demolition meltas. They handle sapper work, demolition, and fortification.
Five Engineers make a squad. For them, digging trenches and bunkers is child's play, and in any Death Korps assault, they are indispensable.
Grenadier
Usually veterans, they sport heavy carapace armor and the XIV-pattern lasgun, better known as the Hellgun, plus frag grenades. Grenadiers lead attacks, storming enemy trenches and other perilous objectives.
Ten per squad, they are the solid core of the Death Korps, the spearhead that smashes any obstacle.
Death Rider
Trench cavalry mounted on ferocious bio-beasts. As the elite of Krieg's Death Rider companies, they scout and harry the foe or, when needed, maneuver alongside armored formations.
Their meltalances give them the firepower to confront even Astartes.
All are officer candidates. Should an officer fall and the situation turn dire, a new Commander is chosen from them by lot.
Watch Sergeant
Key non-commissioned officers within the Death Korps, they lead infantry squads. Every company Commander is assisted by a veteran Watch Sergeant who helps direct the men in every combat task.
Promoted from the ranks, they are usually Guardsmen who served a stint with the Grenadiers before returning to their original unit, bringing hard-won experience with them.
In exceptional cases, a Political Commissar or another Watch Sergeant may recommend an outstanding trooper, typically a battle-proven veteran who shows leadership potential.
In addition to the standard Guardsman kit, they carry a vox-set, allowing them to act as a command node in constant contact with superiors and neighboring units.
Quartermaster
In truth, the Quartermaster's duties in the Death Korps blur the lines. They recover the gear and identity tags of the fallen, treat the lightly wounded, and grant the "Emperor's Mercy" to the gravely injured.
Yet their main task remains managing the regiment's logistics.
Officer
Krieg Death Korps officers are chosen from the common soldiery on merit alone.
In the rigid hierarchy of Krieg's Death Korps, command squads display a 'C' for 'Command' on the right shoulder, while the Commander's armor bears the Imperial aquila to denote rank.
Their uniforms are sharply distinguished from those of the standard troopers.
[End of Chapter]