Private Freiderich

      Freiderich strolled past the mess hall, the place alive with music and many soldiers swilling beer as they belted out the lines of an ancient tune, “Der Kupferschmied”, a popular drinking song back on his homeworld. How he missed it. Despite its fearsome reputation among rogue traders and other merchant travelers of the Imperium, Svartalfheim had a unique charm that only a native Alfheimer could truly love. Oak and pine forests as old as mankind itself covered the world in dense foilage, and the winters were 6 months long, and only at their fiercest during the first month of the year. Alfheimers had long since learned never to be on the roads at night, as raiders from God Emperor knew where swooped down when the Blutmond was at its most crimson, their wild hunters taking you off in those dreary hours to serve as slaves to their dark perversions forevermore in their twisted fairie realm.

   This world, Gamma-Beta 16.3, known to the natives as Ghibli, is a desert world full of sand and hot, sun scorched hours where a man wished to shed his uniform, as the heat could get so maddening. Ghibli was to Private Freiderich a hell. It had to be, as hot as it was. Nights were different of course, being a desert world, temperatures dropped to something most Alfheimers found downright comfortable, and one of the few things that reminded them of home. The 201st Landwehr Regiment of the Svartalfheim PDF was never meant to fight away from its homeworld. But times had changed, and Lord Guilliman needed men to staunch the bloodstained holes in the Imperial frontlines, with the great gash of the Maledictum stretching across the Imperium’s center like a ghastly wound. Ghibli was in the center of that line. It was by sheer accident that the 201st, and indeed the 345th Freikorps ended up here. An Administratum mistake, as they were originally meant to go to reinforce a Valhallan regiment on a forested snow planet further up the Imperial battle line. Kyzyl would have been similar to their homeworld. But a mis-worded order turned the two Navy ships carrying the regiments to this benighted world, where their wool uniforms merely made the heat even deadlier. To add further to this hell, an Ork Waaagh crash landed on the far side of the planet and was colliding with elements of the Chaos warband already on Ghibli, while nightly raids from both enemies whittled down the numbers of Nova Cadians and Tallarn already stationed here.

       Freiderich trudged along past the mess hall to his post at the edge of the camp. His Landwehr uniform patched from long months of campaigning. Supply lines to this sector were thinly stretched and the ship with fresh uniforms was two months late. Probably lost in the warp for all he knew. Johann was ready to be relieved, the thin trooper looked as if he’d lost even more weight than was healthy fighting Orks in the desert. His glasses were fogged from the sandy grit that blew in the night wind. For all their lack of “training” and “discipline” according to the haughtier elements of the Friekorps, these men had learned a lot soldiering on alongside the “regulars” as they called them. Even Lord Commissar Linovsky was impressed by their resolve, having fought alongside them frequently since planetfall was made.
 
          “You should get a drink at the cantina, they sound like they’re having a good time in there.” Freiderich encouraged his squadmate. Johann didn’t move. He sat there atop the sandbags staring at the horizon. His lasgun held in his lap. Freiderich paused, this wasn’t like his old comrade. A stiff crosswind blew up from the east and Johann tumbled over into the sand. A gaping bullet wound in his forehead. Instinctively, Freiderich crouched behind the sandbags, “ALARM!!” He shouted, immediately men clambered from their tents and poured out of the mess hall. Commissars and Officers belted orders and squads took up their posts along the barricade at the camp’s edge. Bugle calls rang out and drums beat to quarters. Long months in the desert had molded the relatively poorly trained Landwehr into as iron willed a force as the regular Friekorps was. Shopkeeper and huntsman alike forged into soldiers of the “Gott Kaiser”.
     
      The acrid scent of discharged laser and burning flesh filled the air around Freiderich as all erupted into a furious firefight with an unseen foe. Somehow they had gotten close enough to the camp to pick off the sentries and were now within charge distance of the line. Freiderich put his deceased friend out of mind and focused on the horizon where bulky, armored shapes moved silently not more than a 1,000 yards distant. A ghastly warcry arose from the marines who sprinted towards the camp with astonishing speed. Freiderich opened fire with his squad close beside him, Sergeant Hecker calmly firing his laspistol at the Night Lords warriors hurtling towards him. “FUR DEN GOTTKAISER!” The cry rang down the line as men readied bayonets and continued to pour volleys into the night. Freiderich had a particular hatred for these traitor marines, for the Night Lords were still talked of in stories handed down through the generations on Svartalfhiem as the monsters who butchered the innocents of the Albrechtspire. The young private took careful aim at the their helmets trying desperately to knock them down like ninepins. Corporal Jungst stepped in beside him supercharging his plasma gun and unleashed a glowing green ball into the Night Lords, turning one of them into a glowing mass of slag. He smiled at Freiderich, his shako jauntily slouched to the side as usual. “Emperor’s balls man! You could’ve warned me you were gonna fire that thing!” Shouted Freiderich, his hair and ear felt scorched from the sudden heat displacement of the weapon. Jungst fell back to let his weapon cool while another trooper took his place in the firing line. The Night Lords still seemed as numerous as ever as the distance closed to 100 yards. Then, utter chaos. The armored tide of marines swarmed over the barricade as the Landwehr fought desperately to hold the line. Freiderich found himself bowled over by a behemoth in night blue armor, his helm a tabeleau of stretched faces with eyeholes staring eternally in abject horror of their last moments. Great crimson bat wings rose from the sides like a ferocious dragon and Freiderich instinctively looked away in terror, before steeling his resolve and turning back looking skyward as he lay in the blood soaked sand, but the warrior was gone, moved on further into the melee. Reeling from the blow, he began to pick himself up, a black clad figure strode into his view, calmly exploding a marine’s head in a ball of plasma. Commissar Linovsky looked down sternly at Friederich and shouted at him in his native Huzzarian, “Wstawaj chłopcze!  Po prostu tam usiądziesz?  Czy walczyć?”  After months of serving alongside Alfheimers, they still had no idea what he said, but by the God Emperor they knew what he meant. Friederich jumped up and with a shout shot point blank into the nearest marine, putting his eye out through his helmet. The marine calmly stood there, as another trooper ran up from behind, quickly swatted away like an insect. The marine tore off his helmet and revealed a hideous leather face with rows of razor blades for teeth. He smiled, an unearthly, inhuman, terrifyingly wide smile. His eyes mere pools of eternal darkness. Friederich was unable to move, and he didn’t know why.

       The marine reached out in a lightning move and grabbed this whelp of a soldier by the neck, hoisting him into the air. His rage at having lost the eye he sold his soul to get, an eye that saw hidden things, things of value to the warrior, already he could hear Tzeencth laughing in his skull, the Changer of Ways had not blessed him with an eye of foresight like he had hoped when he made the bargain. In rage he looked with his one good eye at the scrawny youth gasping for air in his mighty grip. “Did you really think you could kill me, little one?” He said in a quiet tone. Despite the noise of battle raging around them, Freiderich heard him clear as crystal. And he momentarily stopped struggling against the monster’s grip. If he was to die tonight, then by the Gottkaiser he was taking this filth with him. He fixed the monster with a steely death glare, that made even this ancient warrior of untold horrors pause, for a moment. A moment was all the private needed. With one quick thrust the marine found himself suddenly short of air as a bayonet stuck out through the back of his skull. His neck opened up and blood pouring down his gorget. In shock he looked back at Freiderich and then knew what was to come next. Freiderich smiled as his vision began to fade, the marine closing his grip tighter on the youth, and pulled the trigger. A lance of red energy shot forth through the marine’s skull and flames tore from his eye sockets as his grip suddenly loosened on Friederich and both fell to the ground. Then all went black.

      Friederich awoke in the medicae tent. His throat burned with pain and his vision slowly cleared. Sergeant Hecker stood over him along with Baron Hohenlohe, the colonel of the 201st. He tried to speak but those present bid him rest. Hohenlohe looked kindly down on the young private. He was a rather large man, with a round belly from years of swilling lager and a great mustache to match his jolly appearance, and his presence always seemed to fill whatever room he was standing in at the time. “Well done child, by your actions you saved the entire regiment from destruction last night. You slew their Captain in single combat! Well done my boy! For your valiant action, I shall award you this medal of commendation and promote you to the rank of Sergeant First Squad!” Hecker smiled at him, smoking his long pipe and clapped him gently on the shoulder, “As your new lieutenant, I expect you to be fully recovered and back in command of your squad within the week!” Friederich smiled as the two men left, his medal shining in the morning light, like the Emperor’s light chasing away the nightmares of mankind and holding at bay the long night beyond the pale.