"Almost" A Warhammer 40K Short

Flick on the safety, flick off the juice, then you can pull the power pack loose.
Pop out the bolt, unhook the grip, put pressure on the barrel and out it will slip.
Remove the coils, and scour them clean, then wipe the auspex till you've made it gleam.
Oil the rails, turn the screws, then run your fingers over the grooves.
Only after you've scrubbed every piece, part, and grain.
Can you throw your hands in reverse, and put it together again.

The old rhyme went through my head, the way it always did when I took apart a weapon. My grandfather taught it to me and my sister when we were still years shy of becoming white shields, and our brains were soft enough that it just got lodged in there. It didn't matter where I was, or what was going on, the old man's voice was always ringing in my ears.

"You were born with a skull, boy. The wings you've got to earn."

As I moved from my rifle to my sidearm, an old autopistol that I'd kept in my duffel for years, I thought back to those days. Looking up at the towering emplacements and the sweeping battlements, the ugly, brutish hard points, and thinking how strong they looked; just like the old man's hands whenever they taught me one of his tricks. They were old and scarred, but they looked like they'd stand forever.

It wasn't until I grew up that I realized just how frail they actually were.

It didn't scare me, finding that out. It lit my fire, as he said. Meant I was going to have to do more, be more. So I ran further, pushed up faster, swung harder, and shot straighter. Most important, when somebody knocked me down, I got up, and I got up quick. On the ground is no place to be when you're in a fight, and when you were born on Cadia you were always in a fight.

Even if you couldn't see it at that precise moment.

"That feeling you get when you look at the stars? That's because something's watching you back."

I had a shot, and I took it. Notations for marksmanship, exceeded expectations on physical trials, and I managed to make it past the psych battery. I made my first jump with a grav chute, even though I nearly pissed myself. After the fifth, I couldn't imagine being anywhere else. When the time for trials came around, I was on the line with everyone else who wanted the right to call themselves Kasrkin.

I wanted it more than anyone else there. Wanting something don't mean you get it, though, and that's a bitter bite to take.

I didn't wash out. According to my official jacket I got stamped with something called Tempus Deinde. My high gothic is shit, but the designation mostly meant I was right on the line. All it would have taken was one person getting sick, getting slapped with insubordination, or missing a step, and I would have had their place. I got sent back to my unit with a salute, and a well done from the commissar who ran the selection process. It was the only praise he'd given me, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do with it.

"172, When The Sky Comes Looking For You"

I'd earned a short leave to put myself back together, and I spent most of it drinking a cocktail primarily used in the motor pool for lubing tank treads. I didn't have some kind of epiphany that made me realize my true purpose. I didn't hear any dark whispers coming out of the void. I just drank till I puked, slept until I couldn't anymore, then picked myself up and got back on the firing line.

There was still work to do.

I got promoted, then promoted again. Not because I was the best there was, or because I had some special insight, but because I knew how to show my troops how to do something. Sometimes I only had to show them once, and sometimes I had to go through it half a dozen times, but they always got it in the end.

When part of my regiment got sent off-world to offer airborne support to a world that had been hit by a rock, we were all too happy for the chance to fly. Even after an engine malfunction that led to a crash landing where we found ourselves in hostile territory surrounded by hordes of greenskins, we still had a job to do. Our V-birds made it in one piece, as did most of our jump gear, and we were good to go. I made a dozen air assaults on that posting, every one of them past speed freaks juiced out of their minds on going fast, with my team following along behind like raptors on the hunt. I picked up two commendations, and a dozen scars, and the horde's charge to fill the world broke. There were still orks, there would probably always be orks now, but we'd helped hammer them back underground for the time being.

I was in the med center when the message came about the assault on Cadia. All able-bodied troopers were being recalled. I tried to go with, and the captain told me if I could get out of the cot and walk to the bird under my own power that I was free to ride with them to the fight. I made it to my feet, and out into the plaza. I had one step to go before my legs gave out, and I crumpled. I don't remember being carried back into the center, but by the time I was coherent again I was told my unit had left. The medic patted my shoulder, and smiled at me. She told me Cadia had stood for centuries before I'd been born, and whatever came out of the Eye this time would break just like all the times before.

I wish she'd been right. Holy throne do I wish that.

I didn't believe it when I heard. Despite the red chaos washing over the sky, and the reports of madness throughout our area, I couldn't believe it. Every bastion I'd ever walked, and every wall that had stood sentinel was gone. Guns that had fired for centuries, that had turned back black crusades that would have smashed any other world, had fallen silent. The gates of hell had been kicked open from the inside, and the darkness that had been held in check was spilling across the stars like overturned ink, seeping into every corner it could reach.

If I'd been a grenadier, I would have been on the planet when it broke. If I'd been a little faster, I would have dodged the wound I'd taken. If I'd been a little slower, it would have killed me. If I'd been a little tougher, I'd have been there. Almost. The word echoed in my head like the crack of a bolt pistol. Almost, almost, almost.

The light was fading... but it wasn't gone yet.

I checked my magazine, and holstered my sidearm. I slapped the power pack back into my rifle, and slung it over my shoulder. Transport was leaving in half an hour, and I had a berth to fill. The enemy thought their victory was within their grasp. They almost had it.

I had one more lesson to teach them. Almost wasn't good enough.

Hope You Enjoyed!

So, for the past week and change I've been working on that little art project above. The jacket is something I had hanging in my closet for a while, but with a friend helping me locate the proper symbols, a little bit of time wielding an X-acto knife to cut out the stencils, and a can of Tulip Color Shot spray paint meant for fabric, and I think it turned out pretty well.

I wanted to offer a little more than just a couple pics of my end result, though, so I thought I'd dip my toe into the grimdark and see what folks thought. Did you enjoy this little tale? If so, is it the kind of thing you'd like to see me do more often?

And for those who aren't big fans of Warhammer 40k, or don't know exactly where to get started with the lore and setting, I highly recommend checking out the YouTube channel Baldermort's Guide to Warhammer. Lots of engaging fiction, a lovely voice, and fun to keep on in the background!

Lastly, A Vox in The Void has made an audio version of this story! So give it a listen, and subscribe to the channel if you haven't done so yet.

  

Like, Follow, and Stay in Touch!

That's all for this week's Moon Pope Monday!

Again, for more of my work, check out my Vocal archive, and stop by the YouTube channel Dungeon Keeper Radio. Or if you'd prefer to read some of my books, like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife or my latest short story collection The Rejects, then head over to My Amazon Author Page!

To stay on top of all my latest releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, and now Pinterest as well! To support my work, consider Buying Me a Ko-Fi, or heading to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a regular, monthly patron. That one helps ensure you get more Improved Initiative, and it means you'll get my regular, monthly giveaways as a bonus!