Charlene had begun the day with her daily prayer, the one she had been using ever since she'd first hid inside a trash can to avoid the smog gnats as a twelve year old. It was a prayer that had served her well over the years, one that had never failed her yet. There were variations of it, but it always sounded something like this:

"Oh, Emprah, [i]please[/i] don't let me die today! T'morrow would be so much better!"

As the orks let out a thunderous "WAAAAAAAAGH!" in front of her, Charlene briefly pondered if the Emperor had decided not to listen to her prayer that morning.

The whole battlefield was a cacophony of violence. Lasguns were being fired desperately. Heavy Bolter rounds hammered into the ork ranks - well, they were less ranks so much as a [i]wild mob[/i] - from their mounts on the armored vehicles behind the Imperial infantry. Grenades were being thrown; stikkbombz were thrown back; and big, ugly critters who were all mouth and no brain pounded the ground with their feet as they raced at the guardsmen. Some had bombs strapped to their backs. The rubble and rock on the ground bounced as the ork horde charged forward. Explosions were everywhere. Screams were everywhere. People were dying.

Frankly, Charlene was pretty sure she was going to have to help the Emperor help her.

Charlene fired wildly at the throng of orks, missing spectacularly. She panicked, then fired some more, missing again. Her lasfire smacked walls, rocks, a broken down car, a braindead pigeon that was watching the battlefield curiously, but not a single ork. Charlene's hands shook. They were [i]still coming.[/i]

"Dammit, Charlie!" snapped the soldier next to her, her squadmate: Biff. "Who taught you how to shoot?!" the man demanded in a confused, angry voice.

"NOBODY!" screamed Charlie in answer, equally confused and angry.

The girl started firing, turning her head away and closing her eyes. She fired on pure, blind instinct. It was the stupidest thing Biff had ever seen. He actually had to stop shooting a moment to gape at the absolute buffoonery happening beside him.

That's when her shots finally landed on something: one of the squigs.

The squig took a hit to the leg, which sent it spiraling to the side. It ran into one of the orks, who was in the midst of throwing a pair of stikkbombz. The explosives flew out from his hand and landed next to a bomb carrying squig charging alongside a couple of orks on warbuggies, all bearing right down on Charlie's position. Then the stikkbombz exploded.

The explosion knocked Charlie off her light feet. When she pulled herself back up, her squadmate was staring at her, and the orks that had been about to murder the [i]Hell[/i] out of her were giblets.

Biff stared at Charlie incredulously. Charlene, in turn, reached into one of her hidden pockets in her vest and pulled out a flask of amasec.

"Praise the Emprah?" the little imp said cheerily before taking a swig.

[hr]

It was Charlene's only significant contribution to the battle, truth be told. She'd spent most of the rest of it hiding and missing shots and... well, otherwise being awful at her job. She also didn't die, which was something she was supposed to do, probably. It felt good not to be dead.

Still, apparently Charlie was getting medals. Sure, most of them were just for participation, but she was getting medals along with everyone else. Her regiment wasn't exactly complete, and neither was the 88th Cadian Mechanized Infantry (which her regiment wound up being meatshields for). But Private Charlene McDinny was alive, so she decided circumstances were pretty good, all things considered.

Unfortunately, the parade had turned out to be [i]incredibly[/i] boring. Some old guy in fancy-looking clothes was prattling on about heroes and heatstroke and commendation. Charlie distinctly remembered being told he was a 'General Municipal' or something? General Munitions? Maybe he was the quartermaster's boss?

As General-Whatever Dough Van Gogh continued to talk, Charlie started to get... bored. There'd been a man that had talked before him, and another before him, and she wanted to skip the talking and get to the fun part of the parade. The little gremlin began to slouch. Then she yawned.

"Charlie!" whispered Biff harshly. He nudged her sharply in the stomach with his elbow.

"Oi! Piss off!" Charlie answered, nudging him back with about a tenth of the force.

"No! What are you [i]doing?[/i]" Biff demanded. "You don't- don't yawn while the Rupert's giving his speech, you [i]twit![/i]"

"Oh, go suck on the Commissar's pistol, twat!" Charlie whispered back, annoyed. "When's the old guy gonna shut up so we can party?"

"What- [i]what[/i]?" Biff asked. The other guardsmen in formation next to Charlie were starting to stare at the both of them.

Charlie didn't get a chance to explain because it was at that moment that the Commissar started looking in their direction. Charlie stiffened up like a board just a second before he did, grinning like she'd just passed gas. The Commissar narrowed his eyes, but thankfully looked past the pair.

"What party?" Biff asked in frustration and confusion.

Charlene's heart sank.

[hr]

There was, indeed, no party or free food after the whole event. But Private McDinny was an optimist at heart, and she knew how to make the best of things.

The young woman was taking stock of her various bits of loot. There were the medals, firstly. They seemed pretty useless, but she figured someone would want to buy them. She'd nicked another guy's messkit, and she really only needed one, so that was as good of loot as any. The scamp had also scrounged up some obscura and some lho-sticks, both of which she figured she could trade for more amasec and maybe a new helmet... or just more credits. Credits were always good, after all. And she'd found some dingy jewelry and electronic-looking bits while looting after the last battle, and she'd snatched from screws and a big knife from one of the blown up orks. Surely she'd be able to buy [i]something[/i] with that junk. And there were the fake cred sticks, and...

Eventually, Charlene finished inspecting all her stuff. It was good stuff, it was. She wanted to get more stuff, which usually meant finding what wasn't nailed down and claiming it as "acquisitions," but she was tired and hungry and worn out from all the standing around doing nothing. The young soldier concealed her stash again (mostly on her person, which was a feat that betrayed both organization and barbarism to be quite frank), then sat down on her cot and opened a ration pack.

As she ate, Charlene thought about the war finally being over. That was a good thing. She didn't know what that meant, but it probably meant she could stop being a soldier. Maybe she could find a nice planet without a smog-filled sky to call home, then beat up some posh lady and steal her clothes and pretend to be her. That would be nice.

Charlene was about to drink from her bottle of amasec when she realized it was empty. She cussed aloud. Why'd her amasec supplier have to go and get shot in the head during the fighting, anyway?

With a heavy, weary sigh, the ne'er-do-well dragged herself off her cot and stalked off to go find a new supplier.