Early morning. More speeches. Unnecessary. 415633-983223-17-Zhatka knew already that it was his duty to fight and die in the Emperor's name. That was his lot. That was [i]their[/i] lot, and somehow they didn't know better yet. Weakness.

Moreover, their company had not been issued proper vestments. All others dressed in black and white camouflage. Fewer than half of C Company shared this outfitting. 415633-983223-17-Zhatka had not been asked to redress. He found he did not wish to. Weakness, failure to integrate? Strength, preserving expected standards? Uncertain. Individuality, either way, that ought to be intolerable. He could not see any other survivors from his regiment. No rebreathers were present. Foolishness. An intolerable atmosphere left no room for glory in death.

Perhaps leniency was the merit of veterancy. He ought to have died on Vernum. He would likely die elsewhere anyway. Death alongside strangers was hardly acceptable. But it would have to do. As benefits of the Company's laxity, he retained his melta gun and bayonet. They would serve well in taking the Imperium's enemies with him.

Dismissal from ordered lines. New orders: meeting forty five minutes, not eight hours. Time to address needs, and to ensure proper form. Not much longer.

...time, perhaps, to sneak a chapter of reading in. The words he had halted at previously came to mind unbidden. [i]"You are as beautiful and pungent as the corpse of a burning heretic," Krieg Unit 69-42 Model 0 announced to his lover, who stood up slightly straighter at the compliment to her smell.[/i] He could reserve his energy, briefly. For the assessment. That would make sense, yes. With that decided, he marched to his quarters, keeping his own shoulders as straight as he could. He would need sustenance too, naturally.