Snippet #1924831

Regias raises a rueful eyebrow at the contemplative Telemachus. "For the Emperor."

Later that evening, after parting ways with his fellow officer, Regias sat above the encampment in his sentinel. His cigar hung limply in his grasp, the embers having gone out some time ago. Soon the real war would start. In his mind war was the rumble of a dozen tank engines as they rolled over the enemy. War was the thump of artillery and las cannons, the smell of burning flesh and motor oil. Working with infantry would change everything. He trusted Clayton to work out a dependable strategy, but would Briggs let him?

Merrick, a shameless gossip, had informed him that the entire 234th had been Navy until recently. What could they possibly know about planet warfare? That might explain the trenches, but Regias turned his mind away from the regimental commanders and turned his body over, pushing his blanket away. It was a good cool night, and possibly the last one spent in peace. The answers to all his questions would be waiting for him in the morning. The orks would be waiting as well.