In formation Deek stood as erectly as he could. His gaunt figure cutting an odd impression in the line of guardsmen he was now standing with. He was listening with the most strain and focus that he had ever in his life. He was waiting for 2 sentences. “62nd Cladd” and “Colonisation privileges”. Surely they must, surely with all this fighting they cant be expecting to reenforce the 62nd. That could take months maybe even years for the ships to arrive through the void, and its not that i wouldn't enjoy the respite but then it would be right back in the fight again. He willed the words to come. But then the speech was finished. That was it. Was it over that quickly? Surely he must have missed something. That was it, he must have just lost concentration when the General-Militant said what was to become of the Cladd Liberators. After all the Liberation was won, then what? 

A bright and spangled Lance corporal was making his way down the line of guardsmen at attention. With a sack filled with letters. Pushing a letter into the hands of each guardsman as he went, right up until he got to Deek. Deek held out his hand to receive the letter. “Excuse me, but i missed the part where it was said what the 62nd was to do.” The Corporal gave a conspiratorial look. “Orders are to march to the Departmento Munitorum.” Deeks hands were beginning to quiver as he opened the white envelope, in it a small medal trickled out into his palm, along with a certificate. It was a campaign medal… slowly it began to dawn on him. He didn't want it to dawn on him. He didn't want to understand. But a tiny monkey part of his brain was reporting that it did understand, and it was ringing its little bell. “You only get campaign medals if its not your only campaign” that was what it was saying. He wrestled with it, but soon it was all but dawned on him and he physically slumped. Just then the warm hand of Rich slapped him on the back. “What do you make of it mate eh? A real medal! Our very first! And not the last Emperor be willing” "Hisss…" The word yes narrowly escaped Deeks lips slowly and with a considerable amount of venom. “We all have to follow the path the Emperor has lain before us, we just have to focus on WINNING.” he said. “We fight to live and live to fight.”

Rich was more focussed with what was on his own mind, -and that vision for Rich was him and his heavy bolter, mounted atop a mound of dead enemies, perhaps even being promoted to command squad fire support team. He knew he just had to keep Deek on side. For he knew that he was rough around the edges but it was hard to find a squadmate more attentive and devoted to the Emperor. This direction to the Munitorum could only mean something special was in store for the remnants of the 62nd, who would rise again like a revenant, they would resurge, reenforce and rearm, they would adapt, evolve and overcome. Rich had a good feeling about this. Like something famous was in the making.

The remaining 3 members of their squad filed out. They were all sharing a pack of lhos to commemorate the parade in their mind, what was surely to be a high moment in their lives. Rich and Deek followed suit. Rich hefted the weight of “Lucks second”, he wasn't going to hand THAT into an armourer if he could help it. The nightmare scenario is that he never gets issued it again, being spotted by some specialist git, and this weapon was venerable, over the many months of fighting it had kept them all alive and was worth its weight in throne gelt. So Him and Deek would provide all the maintenance and special attention that she needed, guarding her like a secret relic. And a relic she was, a relic of the battle for Vernum City.

As the group neared the Munitorum building and its habs it was nearing midday. They had a look at where they would be billeted. The large hab halls each with a stretcher bunk and accompanying footlocker, they were pleased to see such luxuries, in stark contrast to the mud holes they’d slept in at the front. Every regiment was setting out a space to relax and the 62nd were no exception. After a little visual inspection of the uniforms it was found that the 62nd, smaller in number, had set out for themselves a section of rockcrete by the side of one of the buildings. There Rich set down “Lucks second” along with the mound of other equipment men had salvaged and picked from the front. There was a small fire and several guardsmen were making starch stew. First by breaking up starch crackers into powder in a mess-tin, adding water and pepper then positioning the mess tin as close to the fire as you dared, the resultant slop was if not flavorsome, at least hot and hearty. Some men had managed to scrounge some spices or actively foraged for plants on the long march back. Rich and Deek immediately put their mess kits together to join their comrades, Deek had managed to pull out a clump of dander-weed on the way, which gave a very weak taste of sage. After their feast was cooked they joined the huddle of troopers and half scooped half gulped their meal. Afterwords Rich dug into his backpack and removed a very familiar item. Spinning the scrumball in his hands, its oval shape easily recognised. “Anyone up for a game before or after we get blind drunk?”