Only a child, from a womb of a machine, harvested from tanks like waking from sleep. Born with me from the first breath that I take: "Know their mistakes." That's how the life of a soldier in Black Korps begins.
Subsector Salem. A minor and often overlooked sector under the Dark Eye's galaxy widening Military rule. Few military regiments were contributed by the five planets making up the sector. Instead, they provided the metals necessary to manufacture weapons and armour from its many mining operations. That came to an end when the leaders of the planets declared themselves independent from the Dark Eye.
Violent rebellious battles broke out across the five worlds as the rebels mercilessly purged any loyalist forces that remained in the system. The last remnant of Dark Eye rule to fall was a military unit commanded by Captian Verona Hartjen. Before she was bombed and her crew slaughtered, the captain managed to send out a distress signal. A warning that these traitors had floundered High law and were challenging Hope's vision of all of mankind united under one banner.
The Dark Eye's answer; six military regiments were redirected towards the Salem subsector, two of which originated from the subsector and were eager to retake their homeworlds from the vile traitors. The remaining four regiments were as follows; one Wyke drop troops regiment, one Red firstborn regiment, one Fire desert raider regiment and the last one was a regiment from one of the most feared and lethal forces available within the lesser military forces.
Us. The Black Korps of Idize.
Battle was first joined in space, where the outgunned and inexperienced rebel fleet was obliterated, with few losses for the loyalists. Orbital bombardments followed that reduced hundreds of cities to rubble and sent the rebels scurrying for cover within the most heavily fortified cities available. A gruelling year-long campaign followed as the loyalists eradicated one rebel stronghold after another. Counter-attacks were attempted by the rebels, but their soldiers were ill-equipped and poorly motivated, not to mention lacking a coordinated system of command. Easy pickings for the battle-hardened troopers and raiders, who combined their forces to perform hit and run attacks coupled with aerial strafing runs to break the back of the rebels.
The regiments then simply smashed apart whatever was left with their firepower and great tanks. But as these four regiments swept away attacking enemy forces, that still left the task of cracking open the rebels' heavily fortified cities and bastions. A task the Black Korps took on with vigour. Within nine months, for out of five planets were liberated from rebel control and returned to the fold, leaving only the Capital planet still standing firm against them.
Resistance was fierce, as the rebels fought tooth and nail to hold the line against the onslaught. Tens of thousands of men died in the opening days, the loyalists sometimes forced to climb over their dead to reach the enemy. Nevertheless, the rebels were steadily forced back, inch by bloody inch, as their guns ran out of ammo and their guns got worn down. Eventually, the rebels found themselves besieged within the capital city, the birthplace of the rebellion. Some would call it ironic that this would be where it was finally crushed. But even as death and defeat stared them in the face, the rebels dug in and awaited the attack with grim determination. Traitors were never shown mercy in the Dark Eye's rule. They knew that they were dead men already, so the least they could do was sell their lives dearly.
The siege had now been dragging on for three weeks, with the loyalists' artillery relentlessly hammering away at the walls. The troopers and raiders were more than happy to starve the rebels out. The victory was already theirs, the rebels were just too stubborn to see it, they reasoned. Besides, urban warfare was something they both abhorred, both preferring lightning warfare on open ground. But the Black Korps were adamantly against it. They wanted to storm the enemies' positions right away, in true Black Korps fashion. They were backed up by the regiments who were eager to finally deposit the usurper and crush the rebellion once and for all.
In the end, we won, and a full-scale assault was planned. The attack was to take place the next day, and so the word was quickly spread across the frontline to have their gear ready. As night fell across the battlefield, the soldiers enjoyed their meals with great gusto, knowing that for some this might be their last meal. Nevertheless, spirits were high in the camps, as many celebrated the fast-approaching end to this gruelling campaign. Cheers and songs echoed throughout the night sky as soldiers gathered around large campfires.
Such things would have normally been considered madness in a siege, but the rebels had stopped firing back with their artillery over a week ago. Either their guns had been destroyed or they had simply run out of ammunition. Either way, it meant it was safe to make fires. But even as preemptive celebrations were thrown, there was still one regiment who refused to partake; the Black Korps. These emotionless soldiers maintained their vigilance and were even double checking and even triple-checking their gear. War was all they existed for, the battlefield was their second home. Joy and celebration had no place in their ranks.
Currently, a squad of shoppers had made their little fire and was just enjoying each other's company as they joked and laughed together.
"I'm telling you, I can't wait for this war to end." One of them, a short fellow with the thickest beard one can imagine growing on his chin said before he took a swig from his mug.
"Aye, I know the feeling, Gus. It'll be good to finally kick that traitorous bastard's ass off of his throne." A second, middle-aged man, added thoughtfully.
"In that case, I call dibs on the first kick." A third, much younger man, suddenly piped up, eliciting laughs from his comrades. But amid their laughter, the one called Gus suddenly elbowed the one next to him. Once he had his attention, he pointed to something moving past their little group. That something turned out to be a Black Korps infantryman, carrying a bowl of food. Without even acknowledging the ten men squad he just walked past, he took a seat next to a tank, nearly hidden in the dark shadows of the night.
The military men all stared at him in curiosity, some even in trepidation, but the soldier never so much as glanced their way as he neatly placed his firearm right next to him within easy reach should the need arise. The sudden silence that had descended upon the group was swiftly broken by the sergeant as he called out to the lone soldier.
"Hey lad, you shouldn't sit by yourself over there. Why don't you join us at our fire?" many in the squad sent him looks of disbelief. Was he seriously inviting a Black Korps soldier to eat with them? It was common knowledge among the regiment that you stayed as far away as possible from those suicidal killing machines. Still wearing my traditional helmet and gasmask, I stared at the group before I wordlessly hoisted the firearm over my shoulder and walked over to them. Some shuffling around later, and a spot had been cleared in their circle for the soldier, which I quickly occupied.
Still, silence remained over the group as the squadmates eyed each other dubiously while eyeing their newest companion inquisitively. I remained quiet through the whole thing, did not even remove my mask, he just silently observed the squad before him. Something a bit unnerving for a few of them. Eventually, a light chuckle slipped out of the sergeant.
"You know, lad, I think it would be a hell of a lot easier for you to eat without that bloody mask on at all time. Don't you think, eh?" he questioned humorously with a grin on his face, yet still, I said nothing in return. Though at least I did seem to take the sergeant's words to heart as I slowly removed his mask and helmet. What they found underneath chocked them to their cores, for the soldier had the face of a young black-haired boy, and I mean young. The oldest one in their squad was twenty-five, but this kid seemed even younger.
"How old are you, son?" the sergeant asked softly. The soldier turned his grey eyes, devoid of all manner of emotions, towards the sergeant.
"16," I answered monotonously, receiving a fair share of looks of disbelief. A fact he found strange.
"By the Light! That young!" the middle-aged man from before burst out in surprise before his tone got a bit darker. "Does it even exist an age limit on how old a child must be before he can join the army?"
A nonchalant shrug of his shoulders was all the answer that he received from the soldier, who then proceeded to eat his ration. While the rest of the squad seemed content to just drop the matter and continue as if he did not exist, the sergeant still pressed on.
"What's you name, son?" he questioned jovially, trying to appear friendly. Not that it seemed to affect the soldier in the slightest.
"769355-637566-Unit," I answered, sounding more like a machine listing off the amount of ammunition we had left. I had no name but numbers like others homunculi, I was just another number. Made for war. Made for death. Then again, no one in the Black Korps had ever cared about my name, I was just referred to as 'trooper' or 'soldier', just like everyone else. The sergeant scrunched up his face at the name.
"Kalen, it is then." He finally decided before stretching out a hand for 'Keled' to shake. "Name's Keating."
I just stared at the offered hand in incomprehension, clearly having never experienced that form of greeting. Getting the message, Keating withdrew his hand a little awkwardly but still pressed on.
"The first campaign you've taken part in, I guess?" he asked casually, to which I merely nodded his head.
"If I remember correctly, all of you Black Korps regiments are from Idize, right?" he asked, but never even waited for an answer before he continued. "I and my fellows are from Hydra V, the one farthest out in the subsector. Our regiment was heading off to Hope knows where when we got word that our homeworlds had revolted. So we turned around and headed back with all haste to retake what is ours." There was a hint of sadness in his tone, but also a bit of pride and anger, none of which I picked up on or understood. Emotions had always been a foreign concept to me.
"But after tomorrow, this will be all over, and peace will be returned to the sector." Keating continued with a dream-like tone in his voice as he stared far away, into the dark horizon. "When the battle is over, why don't you seek me out? I'll give you a tour of our capital. Or at least what's left of it."
A shake of the head was the answer he got. "Unlikely. When the rebels have been neutralized, we will be departing." I answered. A frown marred Keating's face as he leaned closer towards me.
"How do you know that?" he questioned. I stared back at him with dull and lifeless eyes, eyes of someone who expected death at any second and accepted it, just like the others of the Black Korps.
"That's the way of the Black Korps. When one war is won, we depart to the next one, only stopping to resupply and replace our losses." I replied, still as monotonous as ever. A sigh slipped out of Keating's mouth.
"That sounds like a hard life. Always moving from one war to the next." He remarked, to
which I did nothing more than a shrug.
"It's the Black Korps lives." Was all I said on the matter before I stood back up. "Permission to leave, sir?"
"Permission granted," Keating said tiredly. I gave a crisp military salute before walking away, my gun slung over my shoulder.
Keating's squad members as others thought of us Black Korps us suicidal emotionless machines, which is quite accurate.
Idize, covered by a dark cloud of winter, a nuclear wasteland of a planet, where the stars don't shine, my home. The planet tainted by a centuries-old shame of rebellion. This what drives us. The shame. Seeking atonement for the sins that we didn't commit but inherited.
'Find redemption through a planet's dying lungs, that witness to the fire that blotted out the sun.'
'Through the purge of the traitors could it is undone. What they had done.'
'There is no glory or greatness, found here. No tales of valiance and courage over fear. The fate of the deserving warzone fodder. Those born with sin, live without honour.'