Post by Geneva on Feb 20, 2013 19:04:44 GMT
This is technically sort of a repost as I posted this story on the Other Games Workshop board about a year ago. I thought I'd put it here for posterity's sake though. I'll be adding other original pieces later as soon as I have time enough to myself to get down to writing them.
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A very short story about two Guardsmen waiting for battle. I wrote this on the spurr of the moment and there's no action in it whatsoever. It's certainly nothing of a masterpiece or the like but give it a read and tell me what you think anyway.
Cheers.
"Tell me, boy. Are you afraid to die?"
William looked up at the grizzled sergeant from the muddied trench of the frontline. Raindrops pattered softly against the surface his helmet and aside from the dreary crackle of the downpour broken by the occasional cough of a fellow soldier, all was silent.
"Sir?," he managed.
"Death, boy." replied the sergeant, his jaded eyes never once leaving the broken and twisted battlefield that sprawled out before them, "Death. The end. Your last breath."
"If I die, I die for the Emperor, sir." William repeated, straight from the Uplifting Primer.
The sergeant sighed wearily. "That's what they all say. Every one of them."
Silence once more. Just the constant patter of rain like an ever present orchestra of tiny percussionists accompanying them into the night. A definite change from the trumpets and trombones that blasted in glorious celebration as they had left their homeworld at the dawn of their campaign. A welcome interval between the roar of gunfire and the screams of the fallen. Rain. Just simple falling rain.
William smiled for the first time in three days. For some reason the thought of a raindrop falling from the clouded sky and traveling down to meet the awaiting earth comforted him. It was a feeling he couldn't quite describe. Even to himself.
"You keep thinking that." mused the sergeant.
William up looked at the old man again. His face was worn and weathered and his eyes were dark from many sleepless nights. It was the only time the sergeant had looked directly at him all evening.
"Pardon, sir?"
"Whatever you're thinking of," the sergeant spoke softly, "Keep on thinking about it. It's good for you."
"Uh... Thank you, sir."
The sergeant nodded sagely and looked back to the war torn waste.
William wiped the droplets from the barrel of his rifle and re-adjusted the stock under his arm. His knees ached from the crouching and his flak vest hung awkwardly from his shoulders. A re-issue. It was a size too big for him. William wondered about the soldier who had worn it before him. He wondered what his name was. What had happened to him. Whether he was still alive.
Patter. Patter. Patter.
On and on went the falling rain. He tried counting the droplets as they splashed against his helmet but quickly gave up.
He looked at the sergeant again. The man never seemed to blink. His eyes remained fixed on the far off horizon. His face frozen. His head bare with neither helmet nor hat. If the cold or falling rain bothered him he gave no sign. Crouched perfectly still and looking onwards.
It scared William for some reason. Again, he had no idea why he felt as such. It was different to the fear of death or the fear of the enemy lying in wait in the trenches far yonder. It was a colder, more bitter fear. A lonely fear, too.
"Sir?" he piped.
"Yes, soldier?" The sergeant stony expression remained motionless as he spoke.
"What will you do when all of this is over?"
It was a strange question to ask, he felt, but the only one that came to mind.
"Boy. When this is over, and if I'm not dead, I'll help myself to a bottle of wine and cry myself to sleep again. Then I'll wake up the following morning, pack and prepare to be shipped off to another godforsaken battlefield just like this."
Patter. Patter. Patter.
William didn't say anything. What could he say?
"Not what you were expecting, was it?" continued the sergeant after some time. "Not the kind of morale boosting oratory you hear the Commissars spout in the mess halls back home, is it?"
"No, sir." muttered William weakly.
The sergeant sighed. His eyes closed and for a moment William thought he was about to break into tears. When eyes did open, after a second that seemed to last a short lifetime, they were steeled and sharp.
"Ready your rifle, boy."
William's rifle was ready. "Why should-"
From the flank to their left a bugle played breaking the long kept calm of the falling raindrops and across the trenchs the rustle of soldiers readying themselves for combat could be heard.
"I hope you die today, boy." said the sergeant as he checked his weapon one last time, "And I pray to the Emperor you never live long enough to find out why."
_____________________________________________________
A very short story about two Guardsmen waiting for battle. I wrote this on the spurr of the moment and there's no action in it whatsoever. It's certainly nothing of a masterpiece or the like but give it a read and tell me what you think anyway.
Cheers.
"Tell me, boy. Are you afraid to die?"
William looked up at the grizzled sergeant from the muddied trench of the frontline. Raindrops pattered softly against the surface his helmet and aside from the dreary crackle of the downpour broken by the occasional cough of a fellow soldier, all was silent.
"Sir?," he managed.
"Death, boy." replied the sergeant, his jaded eyes never once leaving the broken and twisted battlefield that sprawled out before them, "Death. The end. Your last breath."
"If I die, I die for the Emperor, sir." William repeated, straight from the Uplifting Primer.
The sergeant sighed wearily. "That's what they all say. Every one of them."
Silence once more. Just the constant patter of rain like an ever present orchestra of tiny percussionists accompanying them into the night. A definite change from the trumpets and trombones that blasted in glorious celebration as they had left their homeworld at the dawn of their campaign. A welcome interval between the roar of gunfire and the screams of the fallen. Rain. Just simple falling rain.
William smiled for the first time in three days. For some reason the thought of a raindrop falling from the clouded sky and traveling down to meet the awaiting earth comforted him. It was a feeling he couldn't quite describe. Even to himself.
"You keep thinking that." mused the sergeant.
William up looked at the old man again. His face was worn and weathered and his eyes were dark from many sleepless nights. It was the only time the sergeant had looked directly at him all evening.
"Pardon, sir?"
"Whatever you're thinking of," the sergeant spoke softly, "Keep on thinking about it. It's good for you."
"Uh... Thank you, sir."
The sergeant nodded sagely and looked back to the war torn waste.
William wiped the droplets from the barrel of his rifle and re-adjusted the stock under his arm. His knees ached from the crouching and his flak vest hung awkwardly from his shoulders. A re-issue. It was a size too big for him. William wondered about the soldier who had worn it before him. He wondered what his name was. What had happened to him. Whether he was still alive.
Patter. Patter. Patter.
On and on went the falling rain. He tried counting the droplets as they splashed against his helmet but quickly gave up.
He looked at the sergeant again. The man never seemed to blink. His eyes remained fixed on the far off horizon. His face frozen. His head bare with neither helmet nor hat. If the cold or falling rain bothered him he gave no sign. Crouched perfectly still and looking onwards.
It scared William for some reason. Again, he had no idea why he felt as such. It was different to the fear of death or the fear of the enemy lying in wait in the trenches far yonder. It was a colder, more bitter fear. A lonely fear, too.
"Sir?" he piped.
"Yes, soldier?" The sergeant stony expression remained motionless as he spoke.
"What will you do when all of this is over?"
It was a strange question to ask, he felt, but the only one that came to mind.
"Boy. When this is over, and if I'm not dead, I'll help myself to a bottle of wine and cry myself to sleep again. Then I'll wake up the following morning, pack and prepare to be shipped off to another godforsaken battlefield just like this."
Patter. Patter. Patter.
William didn't say anything. What could he say?
"Not what you were expecting, was it?" continued the sergeant after some time. "Not the kind of morale boosting oratory you hear the Commissars spout in the mess halls back home, is it?"
"No, sir." muttered William weakly.
The sergeant sighed. His eyes closed and for a moment William thought he was about to break into tears. When eyes did open, after a second that seemed to last a short lifetime, they were steeled and sharp.
"Ready your rifle, boy."
William's rifle was ready. "Why should-"
From the flank to their left a bugle played breaking the long kept calm of the falling raindrops and across the trenchs the rustle of soldiers readying themselves for combat could be heard.
"I hope you die today, boy." said the sergeant as he checked his weapon one last time, "And I pray to the Emperor you never live long enough to find out why."
Very cool. Reminds me of WWI battlefields. It could easily be the grim past of 1916 as opposed to the grim future of the 41st millennium. 
