The banner of the 132nd Cadian Division crisply fluttered in the wind, the snapping sound echoing throughout the fields, joining with those of thousands of regimental banners. She doubted, however, that any other banner represented so few other men. She spared a glance backwards, looking at the six men and women that were left from the group she had left home with. Two regular guardsmen, Lexandro and Vinnie, each having survived by the grace of the Emperor and a healthy dose of common sense. The twins, Joanne and Jude, holding up their autocannon with aching muscles, ear mufflers tucked into pockets to keep up appearances. Rana, the closest the 'company' had to a sharpshooter, her modified tank-hunting lascannon propped against her shoulder, the size of it making the average lasgun look like a toy pistol. Lastly, Jacinto, looking dead on his feet, almost propped up against the wall slouched, his voxcaster now a detonated box somewhere among the bodies and mud they had trudged through.

She pulled her greatcoat closer with her free hand, and pressed a button on the side of her bionic eye, zooming in on the General Militant. Medals were being handed out, she saw, and a commissar was approaching her ruined company. She crisply saluted, the others following suit, and the commissar nodded, pulling a scroll of parchment from within his uniform. Behind him, a servitor plodded forward, the soulless husk shuffling forward, it's metal hands carrying a cardboard box, it's roof slightly crushed in. Unravelling the scroll, the Commissar read out in a sonorous tone the awards they were to receive. She had almost turned off by the time he had finally reached the actual commendations, the honorifics he had read out being longer than strictly necessary. 

"Every guardsman in the regiment shall receive one CIB for astounding bravery in the field of combat against the Orkoid menace,"
The group stood still as the servitor pinned the medals to their breasts, the new medals glinting and shimmering among the others earned through the long campaign.
"To Officer Carscallen, the MSA, for her selfless charge to take out an enemy bunker with her heavy flamer."
"To Guardsmen Joanne and Jude, the MKA, for eliminating one thousand enemies of the Emperor in their careers."
"To Guardsmen Lexandro, a further CIB for astounding bravery in the field of the Orkoid menace."
"To Guardsman Rana, a THA, for destroying four Ork," the commissar sighed, clearly not pleased at having to use the Ork word, "[i]Trukks[/i] during the final battle for Verdus Prime."
"That will be all. When the ceremonies finish you are all eligible for double alcohol rations. To claim them, use these tickets." The commissar handed out seven white tickets, each printed with the symbol of the Imperial Guard, the text underneath confirming what the man in front of them had said. Due to the depletion of your company, you will be merged with various other depleted companies. This shall commence tomorrow." He nodded, before moving on, the servitor shuffling along behind him.
She sighed, knowing that it would still be a few hours before they were dismissed.

[hr]
Carscallen looked on over the muddy fields and prefabricated buildings, the fires of cold guardsmen and women dotting the area. The company flag stood propped up against the wall, her flamer next to it. She fished in her pocket for a tissue, dabbing off before dropping it in the damp grass left over, a bottle of munitorm-issue vodka swinging from her hand. She took a swig and zipped up her fly, before turning back around and walking back towards her company, the slight sway of having a little too much to drink making her walk slightly skewed. She sat down on her log, and blinked twice, noticing that three of the soldiers had gone.
"Hey, where the hell are Rana and the twins? I left for like two fucking minutes!"
Jacinto bit into a sausage and nodded at the taste, before looking at her. "Gone to make some little Cadians. Also gone for more alcohol. We're running low."
Carscallen nodded, before watching as another company walked up to them. "Hey hey hey! The 132nd! Angel, I was just looking for you and your flamer!"
"Licintus, why exactly do you need a flamer, and are you a hundred percent sure you want a drunken Cadian operating a flamer?"
"We were just thinking. We've got one of those Ork hog things with the ridiculously thick skin. We're talking stupid thick. Our flamer barely scratches the skin of the damn thing. You wanna give us a hand? We've got plenty of booze left, promise."
"Fuck it Lic, you've convinced me. Tell the others to find the gouts of promethium, yeah Jac?"
"Sure, sure. Whatever Cap."
Angel stood up, ruffling the hair of Jacinto as she did so. "Don't be such a sore loser Jac. I'm sure you can find another chick out there drunk enough to fuck you silly before tomorrow." She winked at him, before getting up, pointing to Licintus as she did so. "Lic, pick up the fuel backpack. I'll take the flamer."