Septima, Guardswoman

SEPTIMA, GUARDSWOMAN

The rain beat heavily on the soldiers of the 92nd Mad-Jumpers. They stood in full parade-ground gear, nonetheless, their Commissar and Officer shouting orders. Today was the first real day of the Ophidian Crusade, and this mixed-sex regiment was expected to perform to full expectation.

For Guardswoman Septima, it was just another day of miserable hell. She could feel the crush of men around her, in their battle-fatigues, deliberately crowding her. She was shorter than they, and scrawnier. She was the smallest and weakest of the women integrated into the regiment, and also the most feminine. Which meant she was the Runt. A name they never let her forget.

"Don't mess up, Runt. We'll be going into real combat soon." whispered Kent. A man with a razor-blade smile and a scar above where his right eyebrow used to be, Kent had grown up in the Hiver gangs, and was the regiments CQC expert. Also their biggest bully and a gakwipe of colossal proportions.
Septima simply nodded, too afraid to speak. She feared him more than the Commissars, sometimes. "The Mad-Jumpers are a regiment with a reputation for uncompromising ruthlessness in the face of the enemy, and as Drop-troopers you are each of you expected to carry your weight in munitions and supplies. On this world, we have the advantage of planet side bases already, as evidenced by the fact you walked off those shuttles behind you." The Colonel barked, his briefing droning on as the rain spattered down around them.
"Any of you who do not perform to expected levels in the coming campaign will be summarily disciplined, at the discretion of our regimental commissars." Septima gulped, feeling her nerves acting up again. She didn’t want to fail. She didn't want to be disciplined. Or worse, executed. She'd been disciplined too many times as it was. She couldn’t bare it if she failed them." He means you, Runt." Kent smirked. She gritted her teeth. Just rain off of her fatigues. All of it. Just rain.  Even the tears.

"This is the Target. Our enemy, the Traitors, have secured a Leviathan Command Fortress, and are directing their offensive against our front here and here-" The colonel pointed to points on a map, but to Septima it meant only one thing. They were going to hump from a large number of shuttles, in-atmosphere, onto a mobile city made of guns. It didn't sound fun at all.

She focused hard, imagining herself detached from her body, an external observer controlling events through strings. That way she didn’t have to think too much about her size, her frailty, how she was going to fuck up today.  "We'll need volunteers for the first wave, to set up beacons for the next. Naturally this will be the most dangerous. I know you gaks don’t have it in you, but any voluntary volunteers?" He sneered at them.

"I'll do it sir." A voice piped up. Everyone turned in surprise. Even Septima seemed surprised, because the voice was hers.
"You?  Ru- I mean, Guardswoman Septima? Are you sure?" Even the Colonel doubted her. It almost broke her, but instead, magically, her resolve hardened. "Absolutely. I will set the Beacons." her voice barely even wavered. One of the other Guardswomen, June or something, shot her a sympathetic look.

"Good. The raid is tomorrow. Make sure your packs are secure." Dawn came, and Septima found herself shivering as she sat in the modified Dropship. Not a fancy Thunderhawk, just a simple long Marauder which she and the other unlucky "volunteers" would have to jump out of. No grav-chutes, either. Just regular canvas parachutes. The enemy had some kind of inertial dampening field to stop grav-dropped troops landing on their Leviathan. They apparently had never considered anyone would try it the old-fashioned way.

But then again, that was what the masses of AA were for. She gulped, shuddering. She was completely and utterly petrified. Sweat was running down her, and she was shaking, white as a sheet. To say she was the model of the brave, stoic guardsperson would be laughable and outrageous. If she could have traded places with anyone, even her own mother, just to not be here, she would have. The knowledge shamed her, even as she retched, emptying her bowels again.

"For gak's sake,  Runt. Why the feth did you volunteer in the first place?" Septima couldn't say for sure. Maybe it was some mad impulse. The Emperor forcing her to her duty when she would not do it herself. But a part of her felt that maybe she had done it, for once, of her own free-will.
Kent came along the shuttle-bay. That gakwipe had ended up on this crate, too. "Alright everyone, we're almost there. When the light goes Green, Jump, or I'll fething well push you." His knife-like smile gleamed. "That goes for you too, Runt." He spat- quite literally, spat- at her as he said this. Even before battle his contempt couldn't have been more obvious.

She simply closed her eyes, and let his spit dribble down her face, mixing with her vomit and sweat. She stank like hell, her hair matted. But none of that would matter in five minutes. The Shuttles rocked, as enemy AA fire burst around them. Shuttles exploded and screamed down past them, making a sound like a shrieking rocket as it did so. Septima shamed herself again, wetting herself in naked fear. She tried to calm herself, detaching herself.

God-Emperor, please. Get me out of here. Let me not shame myself or my squad any further. A voice, maybe just another product of her fear-induced hysteria, seemed to speak back.

[i]Have Faith, my Child.[/i]

She gradually began to relax. "Feth me, Runt! Pissing yourself as well? You are the worst soldier I've ever had to see." Kent laughed. Septima opened her eyes, and spat at him. "Last one to the surface is the real Runt." she shouted back at him. He looked surprised, as if he couldn't believe she would fight back like this.  He was about to retort, when the Light went Green.
"GO! GO! GO!" Screamed the Pilot over the roar of their engines. As one, they rose. The first few jumped, and were quickly shredded by autocannon fire.
Septima was next. Making the sign of the Aquila, she leapt...

Emptiness.  A shrieking void around her.  Even the sound of the enemy fire didnt register, though she shuddered as waves of pressure rocked her. The vista below was pure chaos, flashing tracers and screaming shuttles. Looking to her left and right, she saw more of her fellows falling with her. Some were vaporised or cut in half by fire, but the rest fell down.
Below was the enormous, gun-metal surface of the enemy Leviathan. She could see enemy traitor guardsmen moving around, like ants below. She pulled the cord, and her chute tugged her up, yanking her. Not nearly as gentle as a grav-chute, but she didn't care.  Enemy rounds flicked past her, like buzzing beetles. She felt eerily calm, safe. Like she was held in the Arms of the Emperor himself. A feeling like a kindly father enthused her. Her hair might have been matted with sweat, her uniform stained with piss and vomit, but none of that mattered. She was...unafraid.

She hit the deck with a crunching force, the sudden landing almost knocking the wind from her. Straight away she rolled free of her chute, dragging her lasgun clear as she had practiced so many times to do so. A dead body, one of her squadmates, landed but a foot away from her, slamming like so much meat. Ahead the enemy lay.
She grimly flicked off the safety on her lasgun. She had a Duty to perform.

Septima rapidly gunned down three snarling traitors as they came up, her shots tearing easily through their blood-matted fatigues. They were clearly former PDF, and despite having a Leviathan it seemed they weren’t really prepared to face a fully equipped Imperial Invasion. The chatter of autoguns and stubbers flicked around her, and the scattered sound of lasguns firing in response as more and more Mad-Jumpers made it down to the deck.
Seeing another squad mates disorientated and dizzy, she ran over to them, hauling them up.
"Get up you gak! We have work to do!" she screamed. Terrified and amazed, the soldier obeyed, quickly fumbling the catch off of his lasgun, and returning fire.
Septima ran along the deck, checking the fallen, helping up those not too badly wounded or dead. "Form a Line! Push them back to their hatches! Get the fethin' beacons clear!" One soldier screamed as he parachuted right past, overshooting off the side of the Leviathan, down into the huge crunching grind of its massive-treads below.  She didn't even blink, only pausing to re-shout her orders.
"What are you gakkin waiting for? Emperor's Day? Get up there!" Though Jumpers were dying all around her, she stood firm, shots whizzing too and fro. There was no cover, no retreat. Forwards or Death.
She quickly joined the fray, firing quick shots, aiming for the head and heart, sundering the enemy's puny flak armour with her powered lasbolts. "Come and have a go if you're hard enough, scum!" she screamed, her blood thundering.
A hatch opened in front of her, a head poking out. She ran up to it and kicked it hard, crushing the man's nose and dislocating his jaw. She emptied a clip into the compartment below, as they fell back, swearing and cursing. "We have an opening! Get those fething beacons set up!" The voice spoke to her again. "Ahead, my Child." She obeyed, jumping down into the dark belly of the metal beast.
Kent and his men reluctantly followed, too amazed to question her lead.
The corridors were narrow, the noise of the moving landship around them deafening. Septima was not distracted, moving ahead with purpose, snapping off shots. She knew, somehow, instinctively, where the enemy command-room was. They were going there, ahead of schedule and orders. She knew she could. She was safe. She would Know no Fear.
"Get back! Heavy stubber!" shouted Kent, falling behind cover with speed. Septima didn’t, simply moving her hands fast, firing her lasgun quicker than the eye could follow, killing the operators with two bolts, their rounds pinged around her, missing her miraculously.
"We don't have all day." she said simply. Kent nodded, and barked for the rest to follow. She kicked through a heavy hatch door, it swung on his hinges. The room was full of tech-servitors and staff, squabbling and working at consoles. She fell to the ground and shouted "OPEN FIRE"
The men behind her did so, filling the metal room with the screech and ping of las-bolts, and the smell of cooked meat. When she got up again, they were all dead. Traitors all, punished justly in His Name.  "Let's go. The Command Room is ahead."
"Hold it right there, Runt. This is way beyond our ord-" Septima flashed him a glance. Kent stared, for several long seconds, before looking away. "Stay, or Go on with me. It makes no difference."As one, they moved ahead.
The Command Room was filled with the elite of the Traitor PDF, their General gazing out on the battlefield proudly, his ritualistic scars cut deep. "Lord-General, the false emperor's guardsmen have landed on our craft." The Lord-General frowned. "Pesky fleas. But nonetheless, Stop all engines. Prepare to repel boarders." They nodded, and quickly swung the room into Action Stations. Throughout the huge craft, sirens began to blare, and traitorous man and beast alike reached for their weapons, awoke from their slumber, and began to pour throughout, ready for the fight.

But one squad pushed on ahead of all of them, whilst the 1st and 2nd waves of the Mad-Jumpers ran into heavier and heavier resistance. Septima led the way. They crouched in a shadowed corner, as the Lord-General's men ran past. They were close now. She motioned to them to have their grenades ready. She signalled- 2 door-guards, more beyond, unknown. They nodded, twisting the trigger- caps and lobbing their frags.

The Lord-General heard a clatter outside, and then a deafening boom. "Lord-General! They're outside!” His eyes bulged in panic. "Close the Blast Doors! Close the Blast Doors!" The Servitors scrambled to reply. Seeing her one Chance, what everything had been heading towards, Septima leapt across the corridor, every muscle straining, as she leapt into the gap...

The clouds broke that day, as the Leviathan's engines died, and it rumbled to a halt, to the amazement of the Imperial Army in front of it, and the Traitor Army around it. A signal came through. A lone Mad-jumper. Sergeant Kent.  "Command Room Secure. No survivors." Behind him was a mass of the enemies, but with the blast doors closed, they couldn’t get at him. He surveyed the battlefield, throwing aside his vox-bead and smoking las-gun. It was a magnificient sight. He had shot all the panels he could, but it seemed some of the gun-systems on the damn Leviathan were still working. He felt bad about that, but he'd done his job.

He looked with amazement again, back at the bloodied, carnage-strewn mess around the entryway. He wandered over to her, her crushed and bloodied torso, crushed in half, squeezing the life out of her. She'd held long enough for them to leap over her. "Why did you do it, Runt?" He asked, softly. "Why you, of all people?"
In that moment, he believed in the God-Emperor, truly, deeply, in a way he had never done before. He made the sign of the aquila, and closed her staring eyes. She seemed...at peace.
"To the Runt." He said, to no one in particular.

In years to come, this would be a battle-cry of the Mad-Jumpers. The Septima Squad became known for being the most reckless, most formidable of the regiment's insane drop-troopers. They even got their own motto- Fear Gives You Wings. They did not shun fear, or claim fearlessness, but embraced it. When, many decades later, Lord-General Kent was asked about her for the thousandth time, he simply nodded gravely.

"The Emperor's Finest are Superhumans, no Fear, all of the best training and weaponry. But I still would rather have a hundred like the Runt than a thousand such Astartes."

==THE END==