Calth's pulse was racing as he marched, by the emperor they were going up against the Damned followers of chaos. He knew little about the Ruinous powers, and he knew even less about the forces on this planet. Calth knew they were depraved and wanted him, along with his brothers and sisters in the regiment, dead and used to please whatever passes for their god. When calth was young his mother, and when he had been bad, had been told stories on how the Daemon legions Khorne of would steal him up if he kept misbehaving. Calth chuckled slightly as the Lieutenant called a halt.
	Slowly Calth took a knee to rest. He this was the real deal, but he couldn't help but recall the ruck marching during basic training. All the yelling of the drill instructors, the smoking when one of the squad messed up. He couldn't help but smile as he recalled his first smoking. It had been the second week of training and his  Senior drill instructor Sergeant Müller, had caught trainee Kara Keller with a unstrapped helmet during inspection. The squad was forced to do high knees four an hour and a five kilometer run, on top of everything else they had to do that day. Calth never really hated anyone like he hated senior drill instructor Müller, but as much as he hated him, Clath couldn't help but be thankful to him. Thanks to him, the march they just made felt like a moderate game of sport rather than a grueling military march. Sure he was tired but he knew he could still fight if need be.
	As they rested Calth couldn't help but worry about the platoon. While every guardsmen in the regiment was combat treatment certified, Calth was the platoon medic. His job was to ensure his platoon would be taken care of in the event of casualties, while going through medical studies again during basic training, He was told by his instructor something that had profoundly effected him. He would be the last person some of the other guardsmen will every see or speak to before going to the emperors side. For months he struggled with that pressure as he worked through the medical classes, He saw via Recording just how gruesome many of the common place injuries in combat were. Artillery wounds, Melee wounds, Plasma burns, Las wounds not even to mention the more exotic Xenos and Damned Chaos warp craft. He would have to treat men and women who he trained with, more so he would have to give them their last rights. Throne knew he was willing to fight and die for the Emperor, Having to hear the screams and cries of his Regiment was a whole different ordeal. The only thing that kept him sane was the fact the wounded and dying needed him to be strong, he just hoped when the time came and cries for medic arose, that he would have the courage to be the medic they needed.