Chapter 4: Lobster Recruitment
Only after seeing the neat rows of military boots did Dos finally crawl out from beneath the tank with a sigh of relief. "That was terrifying! Thank Emperor, it was reinforcements from another regiment. And those engineers, they didn't even tell me they were abandoning this Leman Russ?"
Ignoring the newcomers' surprised looks, Dos calmly gave the two friendly Astartes an Aquila salute: four fingers together, thumb extended, palm facing inward, thumbs hooked together to resemble a soaring eagle.
The two Space Marines nodded in acknowledgment and continued serving as the unit's vanguard.
Dos glanced over the unit's equipment; it was far superior to Krieg's standard issue.
When he made eye contact with their commanding officer, he was surprised to discover that everyone in the unit possessed distinctive purple eyes. These were Cadian Shock Troops! And with two Astartes from the Salamanders Chapter accompanying them, this was definitely no ordinary mission.
Dos felt a twinge of envy toward these Cadians. Their rigorous training from birth and rigorous military training made them the elite of the Astra Militarum.
Even Krieg soldiers, hardened warriors selected through hellish trials, could only be considered slightly above average when compared to Cadians.
Within the Astra Militarum, there existed an unwritten rule: the more unusual the regiment's name, the more formidable its fighters. Designations like "Planetary Guard Regiment" immediately suggested unremarkable troops.
Without such prefixes, units like the Death Korps and the Shock Troops spoke for themselves.
The night remained quiet. Dos maintained a careful distance from the Astartes, close enough to benefit from their protection, far enough to avoid becoming a primary target if things went sideways.
He naturally followed the column back to the new base of the Krieg 946th Siege Regiment.
He'd finally learned an important lesson: to survive, you had to be shameless when necessary.
However, today's incident also made Dos realize a serious problem: the Kriegers didn't seem to actually approve of him as their commissar. That was going to be problematic.
This is a tough issue... Dos stopped his hand midway to flipping the table in frustration and collapsed onto his camp bed, pondering how to solve this predicament. As he contemplated the problem, drowsiness from the forced march overtook him, and he drifted off to sleep.
When he woke, the sun was no longer visible through the tent flap. It must have been past noon.
Krieg soldiers, shaped by their harsh origins, remained aloof and indifferent toward non-Kriegers. No one could truly understand what they were thinking behind those masks. In desperate attempts to curry favor with them, many Commissars assigned to Krieg regiments had donned the same gas masks in solidarity.
However, the effect resembled a dog trying to infiltrate a wolf pack, an unconvincing imitation at best.
Rather than fostering camaraderie, the claustrophobic suffocation caused by wearing the masks had driven some Krieg Commissars to develop actual phobias.
After a meager breakfast of water and two protein bars, Dos conceived what he considered a brilliant idea: Engage in meaningful interactions with the soldiers.
With this plan in mind, he reluctantly retrieved a bottle of fine liquor from a Garden World, a prize his instructor had lost to him in a bet back at the academy.
Dos made his way to the forward trenches carrying the bottle. Several sappers were reinforcing the loose earth with wooden planking to strengthen the trench walls. Several sentries stood at attention, lasguns at the ready, watching the enemy positions with unwavering focus like silent statues.
Dos crouched low, spread his arms for balance, and slid down into the trench through an unreinforced section of loose soil. He dusted himself off and greeted the engineers cheerfully. "Good morning, Fellas."
Unsurprisingly, no one paid him the slightest attention.
Dos pursed his lips and peered over the trench lip, scanning for his target. Soon, thanks to his extensive survival instincts, he spotted a convenient victim: a cultist dressed in tattered camouflage lay prone in a large bomb crater, observing Dos's position and the Krieg lines with keen interest.
You fool. You didn't even bring proper equipment. If we don't take you down, who will we target?
Dos shook the bottle and pointed it toward the heretic. "If any of you kills that heretic, this bottle of genuine Garden World liquor is yours."
The moment Dos finished speaking, the sentry on watch visibly froze, his eyes filling with what Dos interpreted as shock and disbelief. The sappers reinforcing the trenches also began trembling with excitement...or so Dos assumed at the time.
The sentries vaulted over the trench parapet in perfect unison. The sappers inside the trench used their entrenching tools to frantically dig handholds and scramble out.
Less than thirty seconds later, Dos heard a distant scream cut short. Soon after, one of the engineers returned holding his shovel, the blade splattered with fresh blood and other substances best left unidentified.
Dos generously handed over the promised prize. The sapper accepted the bottle in stunned silence, his bewilderment evident even through the gas mask's lenses. After staring at the bottle for an extended moment, the sapper walked away from the trench with his prize clutched carefully in both hands.
"Hmm, is he not going to share it with his companions?"
After a brief pause, Dos decided to follow. After all, alcohol was technically contraband, and it wouldn't do if the sapper got caught by other commissars or the Military Police. Better to keep an eye on the situation.
And so Dos trailed him all the way to the regimental infirmary.
Dos chuckled to himself. "Smart kid. Not many people around here, decent spot to hide and have a quiet drink." But caution compelled him to step inside anyway.
Then he looked up and saw the bottle of liquor sitting on the cabinet where medical alcohol was stored, and the sapper standing nearby with his head tilted to one side, regarding Dos with those same clear, uncomprehending eyes...
Dos "...."
He only learned later that the engineers had been shocked by their own failure in vigilance, the commissar had spotted enemy observers before they had, and more than once!
The engineer in question had simply been cross-checking the alcohol concentration listed on the ingredient label against standard medical supply specifications.
Dos glanced between the fine liquor now sitting among the medical supplies and the sapper with his head still tilted quizzically to the side.
"I'm numb to this..."
[End of Chapter]
Additional Lore Entry 1:
The Cadians, also known as the Shock Troops, hailed from the fortress world of Cadia. Despite the destruction of their homeworld during the Thirteenth Black Crusade, they continue to fight tirelessly throughout the galaxy, upholding the immortal legacy of their lost world.
"Cadia stands!"
Additional Lore Entry 2:
After the Wrath of Jürten, the nuclear holocaust that scoured Krieg's surface, the planet's survivors, regardless of their original allegiance, shifted their battlefield underground. This merciless subterranean meat grinder devoured generations of Kriegers for five hundred years, until the loyalists finally emerged victorious. But this marked only the beginning of their eternal atonement...
"To live is a disgrace. Only in death does duty end."