I'm interested.
Guardsman: Sergeant Victor Casteau
I'd like the Emperor's Wrath [Duty onto Death doesn't sound like what I have in mind for my Sergeant...]
Gear: Flak armour, Lasgun, Laspistol*, one frag grenade,
Handful of Flash-bang Grenades?, Well worn copy of the Imperial... uh... Bible? My lack of fluff knowledge is currently embarrassing.
* As if a
survivor would rely on anything other than a Las-weapon!
EDIT: Bio is here! Pshaw! 50 to 100 words...
Sgt Victor Casteau and his platoon were ordered to infiltrate an Imperial official's compound, as the official was suspected of worshiping a false god. Something about a bird deity, flying wild and care free? The details weren't important, the point is that the wrong people were convinced he wasn't putting his full faith in the Emperor.
Under cover of darkness, a handful of squads slipped over the walls, dispatching sentries as necessary. As the squads quietly slunk through the maze of buildings within the compound, Casteau noticed strange lights and a notable feeling of "otherness" coming from the main chapel on the Eastern side of the compound. Knowing that the main door would be strongly reinforced, and was likely to be heavily guarded, Casteau ordered his squad to climb up a nearby building, so that they could use their ropes to shimmy from the roof top to the chapel's roof.
Once on top of the chapel, Casteau and his squadmates peered through the stained glass to the debauched scene below. Standing in a larger circle were 6 Renegade Marines, and the Imperial official. Within that larger ring, was a smaller ring of thirteen children, bound and laying upon a central altar. Each Marine held a pulsing red dagger in each hand, held aloft and ready to plunge into a pair of victims. The official held a single dagger overhead, rapidly pulsing blue. The group appeared to be in the midst of some kind of ritual.
Casteau had his vox operator contact his Commander, and orders were issued to stop the ritual. Casteau was advised that upon completion of his mission, he was to extract with all haste. Any information he could provide to the chain of command would be of use.
Casteau knew that the squad's lasguns would be next to useless when attacking the Marines. Even with the element of surprise and an advantageous firing postion, he doubted that his squad would take out more than one of the traitors in their initial salvo, which might allow them to complete their ritual. Worse, it could initiate an exchange of fire that the Guardsmen would surely lose. Dead, Casteau's men would fail their mission, and it would be unlikely that the rest of the platoon could breach the gate before the ritual came to it's deadly close.
Casteau was forced to play a hunch. He guessed that the knives were an integral part of the ritual. If the captives weren't slain by the knives, perhaps the ritual would fail. Casteau motioned his men close, and informed them of his plan.
"Credits to ballfries, I bet those knives need to take lives for... whatever it is... to go off. I'm going to set a Krak grenade on the glass over there. When it goes off, we'll each lob a fragger into the hole. From there, we'll spread out and fire a few lasbolts through the other windows. With luck, the traitors will fall into battle drill, and forget about their dark designs for a couple of seconds so the fraggers can do their job."
Pause.
"We're going to kill the captives, before they do. It's ugly, but those kids're better off dead by holy fire and shrapnel, than to have their souls stolen by whatever these bastards are up to."
With grim faces, eight of his nine squadmates nodded their heads yes, all except their newest member. Johnson's eyes spread wide, and he started to protest. "But Sarge, they's just kiddies. I can't drop a fragger on 'em! There's gotta be another way, we gotta save them!"
"Those are your orders, Private. Ya gotta do what ya gotta do." Casteau felt for Johnson, this was his first tour and he was being put through the grinder.
Weren't we all? Casteau's mind observed viciously.
"I...I... I won't do it Sarge. They're kids. What you're doing is monstrous... you can't..." Johnson trailed off, looking to his squadmates. He found no support.
"Ok Johnson," Casteau soothed, "You're out on this one. Just stand back and stay out of the way." Casteau steered Johnson away from their viewpoint, and towards the rope leading back to the other building. "Stay over here, and try to block it out. It'll all be over soon."
Casteau returned to the rest, noting that the ritual below seemed to be gaining in intensity. The other troopers looked questioningly at Casteau, and he spread his hands in a, "I'll handle it" gesture. He knew that discussing Johnson's unwillingness to follow orders at this point would waste time, and quite possibly be meaningless in about 15 seconds, as he was apt to be suffering from traumatic bolter injuries. Casteau planted his Krak. With the charge set, the squad backed away to avoid the blast, and pulled the pins to their frag grenades.
With an ear splitting boom, a stained glass portrait of the Emperor laying waste to a xenos army shattered inwards, along with a quarter of the wall. Frag grenades began pouring into the opening. Bellows of anger rose into the night air, as knives were dropped, and bolters were unslung from holsters. His squad spread out as ordered, and began firing through the windows...
Lasbolts sizzling on ceramite.
Bolts blasting into stone, and flesh. Screams.
The last couple of tings, as grenades settle. More meaningless thwips of Lasbolts on ceramite. More screams as bolts tear limbs loose from torsos.
Pause, intake breath.
Detonation. Fire, smoke, shrapnel, death. Lives snuffed out in a blink.
The bark of Bolters stop for a heatbeat. Two. Three.
Casteau steals a glance through a bolter-blasted hole. He sees that there is nothing left of the captives but red gore and shards of bone.
A moment of regret for the lives lost. A twitch of a smile. Mission accomplished.
"Fall back!" Casteau bellowed. The traitors below began lobbing frags of their own up, but the bellows of rage were now replaced with curses and threats. Sprinting for the rope, Casteau noted that only three of his squadmates were still standing, one of which was Johnson, staring mouth agape. "Jump on the rope, NOW!" Casteau screamed, and Johnson's paralysis was broken. He leaped out and grabbed onto the rope, clinging for his life. The other two soldiers followed suit, and then Casteau leaped out as well. The traitor's grenades went off, and the stone securing the rope to the chapel came free, and the soldiers swung down to the opposite wall. Hard.
Hanging on the side of the building, the sounds of an assault on the front gate of the chapel were clear. With no clear way down, only the obvious choice was left. "I'm gonna drop. Each of you climb down as far as you can, and do the same." Casteau ordered.
Dropping and rolling, Casteau came up and helped the rest of his men down as best he could. Jeurgan was the last to drop, and he landed with a sickening crack. "Aaaagh! Help me up, I think it's broken," Jeurgan moaned.
Casteau steeled himself, and shook his head. "Sorry Jeurgan, we've got to get back with intel. The boys from Bravo will have to extract you, assuming they live through their assault." Jeurgan was a good soldier, he clenched his jaw and nodded his head yes. Jeurgan thought the odds were slim.
Casteau
knew the odds were next to nothing. Orders to extract as quickly as possible meant saturation bombing. No other way to ensure the traitorous marines couldn't escape. Jeurgan wasn't going to get to wait to see how the assault would turn out. Those boys were just holding the traitors in a known coordinate while artillery was being brought to bear. Being a survivor meant you learned awful truths about the Imperial Guard.
Casteau saluted Jeurgan by linking his thumbs and placing palms to chest, "The Emperor protects, Jeurgan." He then motioned for his squad to move out. The remnants sprinted for the nearest wall, climbing gear at the ready.
As the remnants reached the top of the outer wall Casteau heard the first of the nearly forty shells that would fall, screaming their bloody vengeance...
Casteau filed his report to his CO. He was ordered to inform the squad's commissar of Johnson's refusal to follow orders. Johnson's court martial took exactly as long as Casteau thought it would. The Commissar asked Johnson if he refused a direct order. Johnson had time to say, "Yes, but it..." before the Commissar kicked Johnson's knee backwards, dropping him to the ground. Bolt pistol came out, was cocked, and Johnson had time to shake his head no before it was torn from his shoulders with the familiar burst of a bolter round.
Casteau made a sour face. He had a feeling Johnson had consigned himself to death when he refused, but he'd seen his natural talent for soldiery and had hoped that he would merely be flogged unconscious.
Life and Death in the Guard, boys. Get in line! A grim smile twisted his mouth to one side. Another mission complete, and he was
still alive.
Casteau was space-born, so has never had much of a care for planetary allegiance. He hasn't seen his family in over a decade. He makes "friends" easily enough, though comrades in arms is a more apt term for those relationships. Whenever a Regiment he's been attached to has been depleted, he has comfortably folded into whatever new regiment he's assigned to.
Casteau's career is a string of survival-against-the-odds stories. He's completed nearly every mission he's been assigned, and has seen the lives of countless battle brothers end in gore, misery, and hopelessness. It's not that he's uncaring of the lives lost around him, but when everyone you know dies violently, you have to be able to shrug it off, you know? Otherwise it would crush you...
He has a strong belief in the Imperial Creed, though he isn't showy or pushy about it. He simply assumes that all right-minded Guardsmen
must believe in the Emperor's grace and divinity, so there's not much to talk about.
He possesses an unusual combination of adherence to authority, and ingenuity in completion of his missions. That alone could draw the attention of an Inquisitor. His willingness to make the "hard" choices, while being able to carry on in a fully functional way could draw that attention as well, but when you add in the knack of survival? That's an agent you don't have to replace every few months, and that's worth it's weight in gold.