Chapter Text
Easy Now, Soldier
Griff Tommelson stood behind a makeshift barricade surveying the desolate battlefield before him. He had one hand on his hip and the other was holding a pair of binoculars up to his face. He scanned back and forth with great care before lowering the binoculars and turning to the man standing next to him, “There still appears to be no sign of enemy movement, sir.”
His captain gave a curt nod, “Sergeant Tommelson, you will take your squad out into the field to look for any of our men who may still be alive.”
Griff saluted sharply and turned to walk back down into the trenches. Gathering up his men and briefing them on the task at hand never took long, so it was only a matter of minutes before they were walking out onto the battlefield. It had been at least a day since they had witnessed any fighting and almost a week since he and his men had seen any action. They hadn’t so much as spotted an enemy within 1000 yards of their lines. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought about the men who had died fighting a battle that should have never been theirs to fight. The insectoid-like creatures with their massive talons tore the ranks of the Imperial Guard apart like paper. The artillery was the only reason anyone had survived past the first day. Tommelson felt gingerly at the bandage wrapped around his upper arm. One the second or third day, the creatures launched a particularly fierce attack and even the constant bombardment couldn’t hold them back. He and his men had poured nearly a dozen rounds into one of the creatures before it fell. Not before it took out nearly a quarter of his squad and melted a chunk of his arm off with a spray of acid, however. This had always been a job for the Space Marines.
This was only his second battle as Sergeant Tommelson, and he was eager to continue proving himself. He briskly lined his men up with two paces between each and with guns drawn and ready they began advancing across the field. The stench of the battlefield washed over them as soon as they had climbed out of the trenches, but it steadily grew worse the closer they walked. The bodies had laid out here for days, baking in the hot sun; Tommelson seriously doubted that anyone would have survived that long, but an order was an order.
He and his men picked their way slowly through the field, carefully nudging bodies that looked like they could still be alive. He never thought of himself as having a weak stomach, but he did make a point of avoiding the sickbay and kept his eyes averted when the dead were carried past on stretchers. But here, the dead were everywhere. Their bodies were broken and bloated laying in grass stiff with blood. Sometimes he wasn’t sure he was looking at human remains until he got far, far too close. And then he had to swallow down his revulsion and try to clear his mind. He had to keep up a bold front for his soldiers. He would die before admitting that the sight of the dead turned his stomach a little.
So he pressed on trying to keep a reasonable but not suspicious distance between himself and the rest of the squad. After nearly an hour of careful searching, Tommelson was ready to say that there were no survivors. Up ahead there was a cluster of small boulders and nearly a dozen thickets of scraggly trees. If anyone had made it through the fighting, their best chance of survival was in those little patches of shade. He made a quick gesture and called, “By twos!” His men began pairing off and heading towards the thickets. He himself paused and took this time to radio back to his captain the news that there was no news. So far.
Not fifteen minutes later, their search was interrupted by the sight of 4-5 massive figures moving across the battlefield. Tommelson quickly recognized them as space marines, but his men were mostly awe-struck, and just stared as the armored figures made their way past. But a few of his men got the courage up to call out questions.. The first three ignored them, but one did finally stop. His helm was off and tucked under one arm and the markings on his white armor indicated he was a captain of the Luna Wolves. His sandy hair and lightly freckled face made him stand out from other space marines that Griff had seen. He was treating members of the guard with the same dignity and respect that he gave to his fellow captains, and Griff felt a smile cross his face for a moment. A welcome respite from the looming nausea he had been fighting all morning.
Out of habit, he glanced over his shoulder and realized that the cluster of boulders had not been searched yet. Holstering his gun, he trotted over. Laying next to the boulder almost hidden by the tall grass were three bodies. Well, he assumed there were three but it was hard to tell. One of the corpses was missing a lower half and the other was a mangled mess of bone and sinew. The third body, however, looked relatively untouched. He was laying on his side, pressed up against the boulder. Thinking he might have found a survivor, Tommelson put his boot on the man’s shoulder and pushed the body over with his foot and immediately regretted it. This man wasn’t lying on his side to avoid the burning sun. He had rolled onto his side as his final act in life, trying to hold his guts in. As the body fell sideways, Griff saw that the man had been split open from neck to navel putting his internal organs on full display. In his desperation to hold himself together, the man must have managed to get his fingers hooked around some of his innards because as one of his arms flopped down, it pulled out a bloody line of intestines.
This was too much for Griff. He had been swallowing back his nausea all morning, but a dead man pulling out his own insides was unbearable. He staggered around to the far side of the boulders and steadied himself with a hand on the rocks, desperately trying to think of something else. He tried breathing slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth, but the putrid smell of rotten flesh behind him only made things worse. He switched to just breathing through his mouth, and for a few seconds that worked. But the smell of death and decay hung so thick in the air that even if he wasn’t smelling it, he felt like he was tasting it.
It was that thought that drove him over the edge. He gagged harshly and dropped to his knees. Hugging both arms to his stomach, he vomited into the grass. There hadn’t been much to eat in the past days, but his stomach still found something to bring up. He coughed and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and gain some composure. But as soon as he did, the image of the three dead men behind him floated across his vision. Immediately he gagged again, feeling the nausea roiling in his belly more strongly than before.
Griff wasn’t sure how long he spent there before he heard footsteps behind him. “I can’t have my men finding me like this,” he thought with a jolt of panic that did nothing to settle his stomach. He sat up quickly and tried to push himself off his knees, but his stomach betrayed him and he lurched forward once more. There wasn’t anything left in his belly to bring up, but the dry heaves still doubled him over and left him panting and shaking.
“Are you alright there, soldier?” a voice asked and Griff immediately recognized the rough timbre of a space marine, He groaned partially from embarrassment and partially from the discomfort in his belly, “Great. Just great. The last person I want to find me like this.”
Still trying to save face, he sat up and tried to turn to face the man behind him. But he moved too quickly and the world spun sickeningly around him. He began to list sideways and was quickly stopped by hands on his shoulders, “Easy now” the voice said, and Griff gave up any pretense of composure and let the hands guide him around until he was sitting with his back up against one of the rocks. Shading his eyes against the sun, Griff looked up. The space marine was kneeling next to him with his helm on the ground; it wasn’t the same one who had stopped to talk to his men earlier. This man had black hair and a serious but kind look on his face. Griff was trying to think of words to say, but his mouth felt drier than a desert. Plus his stomach was still in knots, and he was afraid that forcing himself to speak would force something else out of his mouth instead.
As these thoughts were drifting across his nausea-addled brain, he became aware of something tugging lightly at his waist. He looked down to see the space marine removing and uncapping his canteen. He held it out in front of Griff; it looked comically tiny in the massive, gauntleted hand.
“Here, rinse your mouth out first.”
Griff did as instructed and was relieved to find that with the horrible taste out of his mouth, his stomach didn’t feel so sour any more. He took a much smaller sip and let the coolness of the water wash away some of the burning in his throat.
He looked back up, “Thank you… sir” he said hoarsely
“You’re welcome, soldier.” The space marine put his hand back on Griff’s shoulder, “I’m Tarik Torgaddon of the Luna Wolves. And you are?” He introduced himself without mentioning his rank, Griff noted, but the markings on his armor indicated he was a captain. Griff cleared his throat but his voice was still rough and broken when he spoke,
“Sergeant Griff Tommelson of third company, sir.”
“It’s a pleasure. Though I wish we could have met under better circumstances.” Captain Torgaddon told him with a wry grin.
Griff managed a weak smile back but couldn’t muster the energy to respond further. His stomach was still gurgling unhappily, and Torgaddon’s words had just brought all his attention back to his current predicament. He rested one hand gingerly on his belly, hoping the gentle pressure would help to calm it, and took a few more sips from his canteen. He felt hot and cold all at once, and his hand was trembling badly enough to spill some water down the front of his uniform.
“Are you hurt?” Captain Torgaddon asked. Griff shook his head, “Just…unwell.” He felt his face redden with embarrassment, but Torgaddon just squeezed his shoulder gently; he had left his hand there and the firm weight of it was helping Griff ground himself. “Are those your men back there?” Captain Torgaddon gestured past the boulders towards the thickets of trees. Griff took another shaky sip of water and nodded.
“They seem like a fine squad. Well done,” Torgaddon said, flashing him another smile. They stayed there in silence for a minute or two longer before Tarik took his hand off Griff’s shoulder and held it out to him, “On your feet, Sergeant Tommelson.” Griff gratefully accepted the help. Once upright, his stomach lurched again, and he swayed for a moment, closing his eyes, willing the sick feeling in his belly to go away. Torgaddon put a hand on the back of his shoulder. Griff wasn’t a small man, but the space marine easily supported him one-handed until Griff was steady on his feet once more.
Griff nodded his thanks and then took a step backward and gave a sharp salute, “Thank you again, Captain Torgaddon.”
Torgaddon returned the salute with an easy smile, “Stay safe out there, Tommelson.” And with that he turned and headed back out into the field.