In the further adventures of Codan submitted by Matt a.k.a. Six-Deucer, our protagonist finds himself with plenty of time on his hands while passing the time in his "house". Grab a cup of joe and enjoy this week's "Saturday Fluff". I sketched up my own rendering of Codan to accompany this story- enjoy!
Chapter 1 "Waiting"
"Codan was nervous, and nothing made Codan nervous, well...almost nothing. Two years in the worst hell-hole of a penitentiary on the eastern fringe had changed the man who had not so long ago been a much-decorated Commissar of the Imperial Guard. The prison menu had definitely changed him. Once he had been the model of a war hero, slabs of muscle maintained through rigorous training, aristocratic genetics, and consumption of vast quantities of protein. A machine of a soldier for the emperor. Now he looked at his frame with contempt, the sinewy limbs dirty and ragged. Disgusted by his line of thought, he looked out through his cell's only window to something that would cheer him up.
One hundred and forty seven. The first week was not even past and already one hundred and forty seven cowards had chosen immediate summary execution over service in the Penal Legion of Dimmamar. About average, but entertaining none-the-less. The current fool that the ministorum officials were dragging up the stairs to the execution terrace didn't even look upset about his impending death. These pathetic local criminals were so spineless as to make a man sick. Where is the grit and guts? At least with the Penal Legion you had a chance. Were these bastards really this frightened by picking up a lasgun and aiming it at an ork? Honestly, there were worse things in the universe than orks. For the last forty eight years, Dimmamar had routed all of it's Penal Legion volunteers to the war waged by the Valhallan 222nd against whatever the name of the local Waaagh was. From the little Codan had overheard, the war was going slowly. That is how the Imperial Guard most often fought. Slowly. Victory was almost always certain though, eventually. After the butcher got his bill.
Codan lost his train of thought as the prisoner was fitted into the wall restraints. Just once I wish they would use a flamer, that would get the scum's attention and boost volunteer rates into the penal legion. But damn these ministorum priests and their insistence on proper procedure. It was always the same thing, a bolter round to the head. On rare occasions when one of the more severe minded guardsmen, usually the one with the obnoxious comb-over, would feel like taking out some aggression, he would "miss" the shot, and aim for the side of a throat. Could take almost a minute for the unfortunate soul to expire. Such entertainment was few and far between however. It wasn't really the violence that Codan craved, though he did like to see a fool suffer. It was the simple change of pace. For two years EVERYTHING had been exactly according to schedule. The morning, afternoon, and evening bell devotions. The rat-forsaken rations, even the prisoner executions occurred in annoyingly predictable intervals.
Today would be different though. By chance, he had overheard a guard he nicknamed "shirt-tails", because his uniform was always in ragged display. While patrolling down the wing, Shirt-tails had been talking with another guard about the arrival of a unit of foreign Imperial Guardsman. Shirt-tails seemed to think the foreigners were here to conscript penal volunteers on some type of special operation. They must have pull with someone very high up in Segmentum Command, to conscript legionnaires already committed. That was why Codan was nervous. He had been waiting over two years with child-like eagerness for a chance to put a lasgun in his hands and prove himself against a green tide, not a flicker of worry the whole time. But this strange unit had him itchy. With pull like that, could be good, could be bad. With luck, there was a rebellion somewhere nearby, and a quick strike was needed to put down the fools. Killing people was even easier than killing orks, and Codan liked his chances against some backwater rebel militia. With enough ears, perhaps he could impress whoever was commanding him, and have a shot at winning his freedom.
Shouldn't be too difficult, before that terrible day, back when Codan had been a Commissar attached to the Valhallan 18th Tundra Wolves Regiment, he had impressed many a company commander. Even impressed them with the barrel of a bolter round in the back of the head, when they had balked at charging a fortified position of orks. He knew what it took to be a commander of the guard, and he knew what would get him noticed. Codan flexed his hand in anticipation of crushing some rebel guardsman's throat, he lacked his old strength, but he was still very strong. The hum of a lasgun firing in the background, and the death cry of a prisoner executed down below didn't even distract his thoughts."