THE GUARDSMEN, THE BULWARK - WARHAMMER 40K

1.

          The world was a dead planet—at least it would be soon. There were countless corpses across the battlefield, on the streets, and in the alleys. It smelled of putrid waste and charred flesh before there was yet another burst of flames igniting the bodies on fire.
          Flamethrowers were being used to set the decomposing and contaminated corpses ablaze, although there was a mix of their own among the enemy's. But protocol dictated the purging of all potential infection.
          There would be no graves for their fallen comrades—no parade to honor their valiant courage; only the acknowledgement that they did their duty to the end. The red color of the fire reflected on her lens, and the muffled breathing through the gas mask she wore was the only indicator that she was alive.
          It had been quite some time since she stood still, watching the mountains of corpses being set ablaze. The sounds of burning, breaking, and snapping soothed her, until a guardsman approached her.
          The man didn't say a word, nor did she, but they simply understood that her shift must have been over. She gave the guardsman a nod before she was relieved of her duty, and with that, she started to make her way to the barracks, taking a final look at the pile of corpses before continuing.
          Her legs felt heavy, and her neck and shoulders were stiff, but she shrugged it off—she was alive. As she made it to her barrack, she went inside and found her bed neatly made. With a heavy sigh, she sat down on the comfort of the mattress. The feeling of dragging something heavy and being weighed down faded away slightly.
          She looked around the barrack; the beds were all made neatly and empty. There was no one else except for her. 'They are all dead,' she concluded. Until the door swung open and a guardsman in a dirty state entered.
          The guardsman wobbled inside until he sat on his bed. 'So, he lives,' she thought when she figured out who the guardsman was. It was him, the only guardsman in the company who would always return alive.
          She wasn't praising him for achieving such lengthy servitude where death was at every corner, but she was interested in how he had managed, even before she came along as a replacement.
          Her curious gaze was noticed and the guardsman stopped whatever he was doing to match her intent look. She had questions she wanted to ask, but she shrugged it off and looked away, the guardsman doing the same afterward.
          Instead, she focused on the lasgun on her lap. It was dirty and needed maintenance and repair. Neglecting it would be unwise—either she would be reprimanded by an officer, or it could malfunction and get her killed.
          However, supplies were scarce, and the tools required to tinker with and maintain the weapon were not available. It would be more reasonable to get a new lasgun instead. Then again, that would deprive the newly replaced guardsmen of their own among various things.
She thought back to where she could possibly obtain the right items before recalling a certain guardsman, specifically a quartermaster—221-542-609-Doc.