A Monster in Hell: A 40K Story

Chapter-2

Waking up was not a pleasant affair. We were dragged out of our beds by an aide of our Sergeant, who was an extremely hot-tempered individual. The only good thing that came out of it was that we all saw that bastard Desmond being absolutely manhandled by him. 

The sun had not come up yet, bastard. 

We were taken to a colossal training field, so vast that the horizon was invisible. There were some hundred or so recruits in the squad so far, to be trained through hell for the next four months.

Then the Sergeant arrived.

She was a tall, muscular brunette, her face hardened by the horrors of war. Her attitude was stern, her movements were deliberate and precise, and her (goddamn!) breasts seemed to be popping out of her uniform. Her dark eyes glinted with a hint of malice that I found absolutely entertaining. 

Mine. All mine.

"All right..." The Sergeant spoke, "I am Sergeant Olga Zhukov, but simply Sergeant will do. You will all be trained to best serve the God-Empress. You will face Hell in these four months, but if I see so much as a single frown, you will be shot. Do not resist. Most importantly... I will not tolerate disrespect, insubordination or disorder in the ranks. I swear, death will be but a sweet reward compared to what will happen to you." She fixed us with a glare. If looks could kill, our heads would explode on the spot. "And if you even THINK about Heresy... I WILL call the Commissar.

"If you are injured during the course of your training, you will first complete the day's training and THEN visit the Medicae. Superintendent Hertz will be happy to assist. Or if the injuries are comparatively small you can approach his assistant Percy. But I would advise you all not to be whiny bitches enough to bother them with cuts and scratches." She glared again. "Better go only if the injuries are serious enough, like a fracture. And I do not care if your guts are on the other side of your ribcage, you WILL finish training before going to get treatment.

"And a few rules just in case: I will not hear any complaints unless they are actually serious. Recruit Desmond Ross, I am looking at you. None of that whiny shit. You tell me when your brain matter is hanging out of your skull, or you are dead, or your eyes are missing. Not before that."

"Wait, what?!" cried Desmond. "Bryant hit me! He---"

In a flash, the Sergeant had her pistol out. A shot was fired: Desmond let out a howl as he gripped his now-smoking  foot. There was a clean hole in the center. I wish I will be able to fire that precisely.

"What did I tell you," Olga's tone was calm, with a hint of steel in her voice. "You will finish your training before going to the infirmary. And if you cry about this, you will have several holes through your head. Is it clear?"

A pained Desmond nodded, crocodile tears leaking from his eyes. I felt no sympathy for him. I longed to turn him into a Daemonculaba or something. Perhaps I could offer him to Warsmith Honsou? Or Fabius Bile? Hmm... 

Olga turned back to the general audience.

"If anyone has any specific concerns about their food, they can take it to the cooks. If they burn you alive with oil, do not tell me. After all... I told you so. If anyone has GENUINE concern, like an allergy or a health concern... please. Medicae. Get a written note and THEN approach the cooks. They are not heartless, they will listen to genuine concerns.

"Several of my guards reported that you were complaining about sleeping naked. You have hormones, you have opportunities, I know that. Sleeping naked is part of the exercise. That will not change. You are welcome to fuck, as long as you do it in the rooms and NOT the corridors. I understand. Half of you will die as soon as your first battle, better not die virgins. However if I see it in the corridors, there WILL be a lot of things. Boys, you will have your dicks and balls cut off. Girls, you will have things impaled in your pussies. Do whatever the fuck you like, do NOT test my temper. And nothing after curfew."