Amaranth — Roleplayer Guild

Octavia had returned to her casual resting position on her bunk as the Catachan Sergeant made his appearance known. They were legendary, even amongst the regiments of renown in the Astra Militarum. He seemingly agreed with Phrike's sentiment that we might as well make the best of today because we may be dead by tomorrow. Well as true as that is, Octavia planned to die for the Emperor on Holy Terra and preferably taking as much of the hated enemy with her as possible. Only death can redeem the immortal soul. As quickly as he appeared, Sergeant Mason disappeared, but not before giving an ominous instruction to be ready for battle in two hours. Had they even left the gravity well of Redemption? Warp travel was inelegant and hard to ignore. There was no way... Then it hit her, not war, training. That is what the Catachan meant by trained to the same standards. 

Octavia sat up and rubbed her eyes. She grabbed her lascarbine and did a quick check of the vital systems and said a prayer of firing in her mind before setting the weapon down and making the sign of the aquila with her hands. Moving on, she grabbed her bayonet and checked the razor sharp blade and the mounting lug to make sure they would be adequate. Setting the knife down by the lascarbine on her locker she patted down her flak vest to make sure there were no holes or any kind of damage (not that she could have fixed any damage but it was a ritual she had long stuck to before battle.) After her armour was the helmet and sticking the helmet on top of her flak vest she instinctively reached for her rebreather and greatcoat before remembering she had neither. She pursed a lip in annoyance and then crawled back into bed. Two hours was more than enough time to catch some sleep before whatever training they had in store. 

Hearing heavy footfalls echoing across the hangar, Legionnaire Westerlund's eyes shot open and she propped herself up in the bunk with one scarred hand. Sure enough it was the Arbites and Sergeant Mason. Octavia quickly checked her boots to make sure they were secured and her jumpsuit to make certain it was zipped up before sliding out of bed and quickly putting on her flak vest and helmet. As the pair of men arrived at Eighth Squad's bunking area Octavia offered a crisp salute before shouldering her weapon and sticking the bayonet belt around her waist. 

The march between the two large rooms was labyrinthine at best. The only thing keeping Octavia certain of the path was her hiver's instinctive tunnel sense. Despite Armageddon being a world of near constant war and nuclear wastes, most of the populous lived in Hive Fortresses. Which were mostly the same as Hive Cities but with more angry Armageddonites and lots more firepower. The hangar they entered more closely resembled a battlefield than a training room, but perhaps that was the point. Suddenly it dawned on Octavia; this was a live fire training exercise! Sure enough a voxspeaker crackled to life and a tinny voice, full of command began to speak: 

“Legionnaires of the First Redemption Penal Legion, welcome to your first training session. Please load your weapons and check your armour. There is no way out, so I would strongly advise against any attempt at escape. There are near one hundred of you present here for the first round of many this day, by the end of it there will be far fewer. Live fire is active, and only one squad is returning to the hangar. You may engage when ready.” 

Well these recalcitrants weren't Orks but the scum of the Imperium would do well to hone Octavia's killer instincts back to their peak. Her eyes scanned the area for positions that might give them an advantage. A building for sure. Too bad all of the vehicles looked totaled, she figured she could still operate a chimera to deadly affect. The Legionnaire shook her head clear and checked her weapons again, this time snapping the bayonet in place and charging the lascarbine. Octavia hummed an old Armageddon warsong as a klaxon began to wail, signalling the beginning of the exercise. 

The veteran guardswoman pointed to a nearby building in an attempt to get the rest of the squad's attention. After a few precious moments she spotted another squad heading in the same direction of the building. Not willing to give up such a prime piece of killing ground Octavia took off in a low run towards the building. Reaching the ruined entrance in what must have been record time, she cautiously entered the stone building, weapon ready. Lucky for her, the heavily tattooed and shirtless legionnaire who had entered a moment before her shouted as he charged her, bayonet glinting in the dim light of the bunker. 

He thrust the blade high and wild and Octavia easily parried the untrained thrust with her own blade before countering with a stab to his gut. The man's warcry turned into a gurgle as he slumped down against the cold wall of the bunker. Peering out of the door he had come in from, the Legionnaire spotted the rest of his squad close and snapped her weapon up and cracked off two shots in rapid succession. The slick blood staining the barrel of the lasgun was boiled off instantly as the crimson beams superheated the air. The first shot hit its mark and caused a jumpsuited figure to faceplant into the dirt unceremoniously. The second missed however, but did succeed in causing the rest of the rival squad to scramble for cover. 

Legionnaire Westerlund ducked into the bunker to avoid the inevitable fusillade of panicked return fire. She deftly made her way to the other side of the room where she had first entered, carefully stepping over the dead man and cursing her inability to shout before frantically waving her own squad over to the bunker. If they could take this building and hold it, they had a good chance of being able to ride out the pitch of the battle and then clean out the survivors for an easy victory.
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