[center][h2]THE IRON HEARTED[/h2][/center]
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"For Mordia! For the Emperor! FOR THE IMPERIUM!" She had punctuated every shout of hers with a squeeze of the trigger. Another shot fired, another rocket whizzing off where it would dully impact and then loudly explode. The men and women of the Mordian 246th surged, bayonets fixed, the air in front of them filled with hundreds of snapped-off lasgun shots, the air thick with the lethal discharge, hissing and fizzing with energy. One could almost taste it, or was that perhaps the copper in one's mouth? It was hard to tell; everything was fire and fury.

When it was done, when the momentum of the charge had failed and they had fallen in their droves, with even the refined uniforms of Mordia punched through and broken, she had been left almost alone. The banner- the banner they had sworn to never let fall, lay ruined and tattered on the ground, scorched and destroyed, the shaft shattered and splintered. Her entire command squad had died in the fighting, medic's chest carved out by a brute's choppa, her veterans impaled, disembowelled, shot to shreds. How she had survived she did not know, but she stood there, hand covered in blood but blade unmarred.

Other squads had crashed by her, the ground earned with double-breasted blood churned up by soldiers from a dozen different worlds, each with their own bayonets strapped to their guns. Walking back through the killing fields, she had banged on the side of a parked chimera, the crew hatch having opened up with a surprised face poking out.

"Captain Di Fieroccu requesting the usage of your vox." She had said in a flat tone.

"... Certainly," had come the baffled reply, and she had hauled herself into the APC, the vox-channels crackling as she picked up the mouthpiece. 

"This is Captain Di Fieroccu." [i]Kssh.[/i] "Reporting near total loss of the Mordian 246th 5th company. Number of survivors unknown, but minimal. We are unable to reform into an effective fighting force, please advise, over." [i]Kssh.[/i]

A pause on the vox channel, filled with pops and crackles. Poor signal here it seemed. "Requesting identification number Captain Di Fieroccu, over." Came the response.

"Three-Niner-Alpha-Tango-Fiver-Zero-Zulu-Romeo-Eight-Six, over." She removed her hand from the radio and waited for the man on the over end to verify her identity.

"Are you declaring fifth company effectively destroyed, captain, over?" Wh... What sort of question was that? She had just said exactly that. Bloody administrators, holding pens in space and never seeing a fight themselves.

"That would be correct. As I said, please advise on the next course of action, over." She didn't let her annoyance seep into her voice. She was better than that.

A long pause, and then the man would finally get back to her. "We are receiving reports that the beachhead is being secured now. The regimental objective has been completed. Return to the reserves. Over and out."

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Arlena had a significant number of medals pinned to her breast. It was only natural- she had served for so long in comparison to many here that it would have been [b]more[/b] of a surprise for her to not have so many medals. Still, as an administrator pinned four more to her chest, she had to admit that it was getting a little ridiculous. To start with, her jacket was getting far too heavy to practically wear, and secondly, what good were these medals when her regimental standard snapped not behind her? When her fellow soldiers were slowly burnt and processed into piles of ash? She had survived another campaign, another planet, and now she found herself, not for the first time, wondering what step was next for her to take.

Apparently not settling down, was the answer to that. No, she would be moving on to the next planet then, more violence and killing. A new group of Mordians to whip into good order and march with, to learn their names and their old gangs. Her face showed no change as she thought on it. Yes, it would be good to see new faces. With the medals given out, she would about face, holding her sabre up and against her arm, and begin to march, one arm swaying back and forth in perfect parade form. Normally, she would be followed by her men, but there [b]were[/b] no men. The Mordian 246th Fifth Regiment- all 300 of them, were dead or badly wounded enough to be laid up in hospital. She thought it a joke when she had realised that she was the only one standing in the parade ground, but no. It seemed the Emperor had blessed her, for although she had taken shots to her armour, none had been severe enough to merit her a longer stay in a medical facility.

So it was that she would march back in forlorn silence, the cold barely noticeable in her weather-inured bones. Officers received nicer accommodation than the rank and file, so once she had reported her weapons to the quartermaster (unlike the common lasgun, her boltpistol and sabre needed to be accounted for,) she would find her room neat, warm, comfortable and most of all, with her personal effects already placed in a box on her bed. How accommodating.

Picking out a few items, she would empty the box out carefully and arrange the few objects inside around her room. It was actually quite pleasant, when one got down to it. A metal framed three-quarters bed, sturdy and clean storage facilities, a desk and chair and even an en-suite toilet (even officers had a shower bloc however.) Slowly taking off most of her armoured garments, she would pick up a bottle of fine double-distilled amasec, the kind that was far too expensive for a normal trooper, and pour out half a glass's worth, standing stiffly before the small window she had and staring out at the rockrete structure next to the one she was currently standing in. The fine liquor burned its way down her throat as she thought and pondered, allowing the time to slowly slip away.