A groan redirected Auguste's thoughts. He looked at the makeshift path the Imperial Army had carved through the snow. While Okhost VI might be near-featureless, His army group was leaving behind plenty of markers. The snow had been trampled flat by thousands of cloth-wrapped boots. Unnecessary items littered the roadside and were lightly dusted by falling snow. As each frigid day passed, Auguste noted that what counted as 'unnecessary' changed.

At first, men tossed aside their autoguns and ammo. Next came their now empty packs. After nearly two weeks of enduring cold, enemy raids and the recent desertion by Him, Auguste found loot and treasures from the cities left along the winding boot-trod path. Men were only keeping what was truly valuable in the wastes of Okhost: food, clothing and anything that could burn.

The groan came to his ears once more. Peering through the frosty haze, Auguste saw a few toppled bodies, but they had already been well picked over. Some were naked, their forms a particularly pale color, giving them the appearance of marble statues, complete with open, sightless eyes. A bundled up figure on the road moaned and tried to rise. Snow fell from him in torrents.

He licked his lips, and instantly regretted it. The saliva froze as soon as it experienced winter's chill and burnt his tender skin. Picking his way through the debris-laden path, Auguste approached the figure. The stranger's greatcoat was shabby, and he had lost his
helmet. His boots were in fine shape and Auguste eyed his synthwool gloves with covetous intent. As he neared the rising figure, Auguste reached a hand out and braced it under the man's arm.

"Let me help you, friend," he croaked, unused to using his voice.

The man stiffened and turned. His face was weather-beaten, his moustache was laced with frost and from his nostrils miniature icicles dangled. His eyes widened and he shrugged off Auguste. "Vulture!" the trooper gasped.

He wished he was a vulture. A vulture could fly in and pick the best morsels. He was more akin to a lone wolf, picking off the weak of a herd. Never mind that it was his own kind he preyed upon. He was no murderer, however. Not yet. He stepped back and raised his hands.

Several wedding bands glittered on his fingers, and several strips of cloth, nominally used as bandages, were wrapped about his palms. "I am unarmed," said Auguste, "and only came to help." Not entirely true. He came to see how far gone the man was. Judging by the ice forming on his face, he didn't have long.

The man sneered. He took a few steps past Auguste and nearly fell. Before assistance could be offered, he flailed his hands around and trudged another step. His greatcoat was ratty, and bore scorch marks. He may be unarmed, but not long ago the man had seen some fighting.

Just beneath his eye, Auguste noticed the tell-tale black marks of cordite and fatigue.

To the east, the way from which the Imperial Army had retreated, a crackling burst of lasfire echoed. The cold wind had a way of carrying sounds. There was no telling how far away, or how close the firefight was.

Auguste peered down the path, but the barren landscape revealed nothing. He doubted he would be able to see the battle anyway.

"Someone is still putting up a fight," he said as the lasfire continued to crackle methodically.

The stumbling trooper looked over his shoulder. "The Old Hundred. Bravest of the Brave. They fight on as the Emperor would wish." The man wrapped his coat tighter about his body and gazed in the direction of the sound. "I should be with them."

Auguste cautiously approached his victim. He smiled lightly and jerked his head. "Then walk that way."

"I'm wounded. They said my lascarbine and ammo was better off with the able." A wry smile came to the man's face. "I agreed and gave them my rations and lighter as well."

Auguste frowned at the news.

The man laughed instantly. "The vulture will get little from me. Pick over the others."

"I have, and today's pickings have been slim, friend. You have nothing? Not even a tiny morsel?" A suspicion came over Auguste. "You stumble like a wounded man, but where is your wound? Where is the blood?"

The man grunted and shook his head. "The cold has sealed me." He opened his coat, revealing the uniform of the Geno Five-Two Chiliad, raised on Terra herself; and on his left breast a blackened hole. Blood, dried and rust-red, spattered the yellow of his once imperious waist-length cloak, but nothing fresh leaked.

"You will not live long." Auguste tucked his hands into his coat and glanced at the dim sun.

They didn't have long until the deathly night arrived. He had found no wood or promethium to burn and only a small tin of food. There were some scraps of cloth he could burn at night, but such wouldn't last long and he was loathe to cast to the fire that which he could later wear. "How about helping a soldier out? Give me what you have."

"Soldier?" The man spat, but nothing came out. "The Five-Two fights the pursuers as we speak! The Imperial Army wades through the filth of the galaxy, defending human men, women and children!"

"And their loot," Auguste added.

"You are no soldier. You and yours. You think I've not seen your type before? Like ghosts you wander the field of battle. Clad in the uniform of a friend, but you bring death as surely as any bullet." He stumbled a few more steps, following the trail left in the wake of
the army's retreat. "Coward," he muttered.

He would agree with almost everything the trooper had said, save one. "I'm no coward." He fell in alongside the old fool. "I marched with Him, fought for Him, killed for Him. I was there at Marshad. I was there at Nurth. I was--"

"Where are you now?" the man roared. His pale eyes flickered with life.

Auguste replied smoothly, "Where is He?"

"Saving Mankind." The man staggered on. He walked in silence, his pace ragged and uneven.

"If you are no coward, why are you here, vulture?"

The matter was an easy one, in Auguste's mind. "He left me. The signal is clear, each man for himself. I am far less a criminal than He is." Auguste kept an easy pace alongside the wounded man. "I pick over the dead. He left the living behind to die, my friend." He put himself on a higher moral plane than your usual looter. He hadn't killed a fellow Imperial.

Not directly, at least. No worse than Him. Auguste took what he needed from those who no longer needed anything, or were close enough to death that the removal of their belongings changed their fate very little, while vastly improving his own.

"You justify your actions, vulture." The man glared at him.

"I prove my actions. I could kill you now. I could slit your throat or use the pistol in my belt to put an end to you," Auguste said, "but instead I march alongside you, my friend."

A grunt left the trooper. "Waiting for me to die."

Is anyone reading this?

I need to know if I should keep posting.

>>8633322
Keep it up, please

>>8633322

Keep writing, I like it so far.

It's cool to read about soldiers in the shit, instead of GLORIOUS VICTORY.

>>8633322
Yep. Keep posting!

"Or live." He was no coward! He had stood proudly in the firing line time and again. The idea that one of His favored pets from Terra could cast doubt on Auguste was grating. He was a survivor, who had simply woken up to the fact that Humanity's master was no God, but like him, just a man: a man with faults and weaknesses and a streak of cowardice. He had left his beloved army behind in the grip of Okhost's winter. Auguste still marched with it. In a sense.

"I will make it clear to you, my friend. So long as you walk, I will walk with you. Come night, we will find shelter together, and together we will make a fire."

He raised his hand. "Ah, but if you fall. Just once, then I will mark you as dead and take what the dead
don't need." He extended his hand. "Agreed?"

The trooper tilted his head. He glanced up a moment, as if in contemplation. His gloved hand grasped Auguste's. It was as cold as the snow they slogged through. "Agreed," he said. "If I fall, you can feast. If I do not, then you will march where I march. You will follow." He released his grip and tottered to the side of the path. He bent over, and rooted through the snow. An autogun was plucked forth and he used it as a brace.

A smile flashed across his pale features. "Do you have spare ammo, vulture?"

He had in fact only one round in his pistol and nothing more. "None, my friend. What do you need with a rifle anyways?"

He looked around and wandered over to a clump of snow-coated bodies. He expertly began to search them for ammunition.

"I gave up my arms to my comrades, but if you are true to your word, then we are soldiers again. I am no invalid and you, vulture, are no scavenger."

He palmed a few items from the snow. "Soldiers carry arms."

"I'm not a soldier anymore," Auguste replied.

They spent a few minutes procuring the ammo for their weapons. Auguste surrendered what he saw as unnecessary weight to the Terran. If he wanted to walk about wounded with a hefty autogun and its accouterments, then let him.

They moved at a sluggish pace as the sun crept along the horizon, shielded by low-hanging clouds. The sound of gunfire ceased.

"I hope we won," the trooper muttered, staring to the east with narrowed eyes, before staggering westward.

To the west the Imperial Army marched, racing for the safety of Ivanov Fortress, the designated rally point.

Auguste doubted the trooper would make it to nightfall, let alone the fortress.

He was wrong.

f5f5f5f5f5f5f5f5

we read OP's messege, and it was good. let the effing of fives sound out through the land.

The sun moved across the sky, and the grayed-out-light started to darken and give way to night. The winter weather intensified with each passing moment of daylight. Despite the cold, the trooper stumbled along the path. They passed an abandoned transport.

All the pack-animals the army had were long ago eaten, and Auguste imagined that men had been used in their stead to haul what the few functioning transports could not. There were some supplies
left within, as well as stolen jewelry, a few paintings (their frames missing) and other luxuries that would have fetched quite a price on a trade-world, but in Okhost couldn't be eaten or burned, and so were worthless.

The locally-built transport incorporated wood, but
after a few half-hearted tries, Auguste was unable to strip anything away and consign them to flames later on.

The Terran walked without speaking to Auguste. At times he would grumble, but he did not falter in his forward momentum. His autogun, doubling as a cane, gave his tracks an odd, three-legged appearance. His pace was agonizingly slow, but as the sun sank it picked up.

Like a bird, Auguste flitted from corpse to corpse, from debris pile to debris pile. His bejeweled fingers dug through the litter of the army, but there was nothing to be had.

What's this? I hear fatguys slapping F5!

very nice OP
I'm fascinated by the potential here.

f5'ing

Keep 'em comin'!

No food, and worse, no promethium and precious little cloth to burn. The sky was getting darker, and worry seeped into his bones as well as the increasing cold.

He looked at the trooper. The man had no interest in scavenging. With ammo and rifle secured, he had what he wanted. He marched awkwardly, but continually.

"We need shelter. A fire. You could help, you know?" Auguste said to the back of the Terran.

The trooper did not turn, but said, "The deal was you would follow, so long as I did not fall. I am not falling." He shouldered his gun, teetered a moment, and fell into a rhythmic march. His tracks were less curious without the cane.

very good, somewhat similar to the style of Whales in Space

"You'll break open your wound! Or trip." Auguste jogged after him.

"Not that I should care. Your fall means my gain." He stared at him as he fell alongside. Frost coated the man's face like a layer of wax. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead and his boots crunched in the
hard-packed snow.

"You'll tire." He looked towards the setting sun. It had sunk low enough that it acted as a beacon. To the west, the sun; to the east, darkness and bitter cold.

"I feel stronger. You give me purpose again, vulture."

He strode ahead. "If not for you, I would turn and fight with the Five-Two."

He smiled, and his crusty, yellow teeth flashed a horrid smile. "Maybe, if you are lucky, come night I will fall and you will have your reward."

Auguste wrapped his arms tightly about himself. He shook his head. "Crazy. All you Earthers are. You live and die for Him. He who left you behind."

"He who waits for his army to return." He tilted his head. "If you manage to make it to the rally point where will you go?"

"Back to my unit, what's left of it," Auguste answered instantly. Where else would he go?

He wasn't running away from battle, he was running to Ivanov and eventually, home. Where spring and summer were warm and winter wasn't a death-sentence.

The Terran nodded. "And when you are back at base, then what?" He smiled. "Desert?"

Auguste frowned and shook his head. He said he wasn't a soldier, but he didn't mean it like that.

"No. I told you, I'm no coward. Just like your master, I am trying to survive. He did it by fleeing. I do it by taking what is not needed from the dead."

Auguste sighed. "Not that it matters. I believe other vultures have picked over this path too well. The sun
sets."

He glanced towards the fading orb. "And we have nothing to start a decent fire with."

The trooper nodded. "Then we march." He plodded through the snow.

"We'll freeze! You must help me find kindling. We can't survive the night."

The trooper paused. His eyes had taken on a pale appearance, much like his skin. "Then we
march," he repeated himself.

"I have a round in me, and I march. You can do the same, vulture. That is the deal." He strode away.

With little choice, Auguste followed. He saw his breath flow in steamy contrails into the darkening sky. He fixed his eyes on the trooper's back. Momentarily, he thought of drawing his pistol and ending it there. He could burn whatever he found. His hand strayed to his belt, but he clenched his fist, ignoring the pain that it caused him. He was no coward. He had been tempted to murder, but had not crossed that line. He wouldn't!

The sun was soon gone and darkness spilled across the land. The endless plain of white became an ocean of black. No stars could be seen above and the moon's silvery rays barely penetrated the clouds. Auguste followed in the footsteps of the trooper. He felt warmth spreading up his legs and worry etched into his mind. He had heard of men, moments before succumbing to the cold, speaking of a relaxing warmth. He prayed what he felt was just the burning of his muscles from keeping up an ever-quickening pace.

The soldier in front of him marched steadily, his limp gone, replaced by a purposeful stride. Perhaps, just as a man felt warmth before winter claimed him, the Terran felt renewed strength before his frozen wound brought him down.

I can't decide if I want Auguste to find renewed faith in the emperor, or if I am hoping this vet is actually leading him to some foul chaos BAD END

>>8633890

.ooh damn, tough choice.

Sorry for the delays. 4chan wouldn't let me post properly.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The steps became harder to take. The warmth had not left his legs, but rather had filled his hips and chest. He could no longer feel his toes, or his fingers.

Auguste wiggled them within the confines of his coat, hoping to get back some sensation. When the wind howled across the steppes, he shuddered, and even the sinister warmth inside his body would flee, replaced by deathly cold.

He breathed harder and tried to pick up the pace. Cursing, he stomped along the path, glancing up at times to see the implacable trooper a few paces ahead. The man was impossible!

Colder still and the night was young. The wind whistled fiercely and the chill that had consumed his fingers and toes grasped his legs. He couldn't feel them, and only dumbly did he walk. His breathing was labored.

He was freezing to death! The bastard was marching them to their doom. He should have burnt the transport, or searched the numerous piles and mounds of snow they passed, rather than walking in the dark when Okhost's revenge was at its peak.

den he eated shit

>>8633937
gb2/b/

His body shook. It was not shivers. Shivering was something that he had ceased to do weeks ago. The cold was too strong for even that natural action. No, this shuddering was different. His body was giving out.

Panic seized him. Warmth! Fire! Heat! He needed these things, but there was nothing. Auguste leaned back, stared into the night sky and sighed. He was going to be another marker on the path. He fell backwards.

A gloved hand grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. He felt a violent jerk and was pulled close to the frigid troopers body.

The man whispered, "Are you a coward?"

He shook his head. "You damn fool, we will freeze! We should have found shelter. I should have--"

The soldier shook him violently. "Should have what?"

Auguste's thoughts were muddled. He wanted to lie down, to let the last bit of unnatural warmth secure his body and let death come. He had seen it before, men lying down as if to sleep in a blanket of snow. He slumped, but the damned Terran hauled him upright.

A slap struck his cheek and he blinked as pain momentarily flared.

"Should have surrendered to the natives. Deserted. Killed you."

The voice in his ear was fierce. "But you didn't, vulture. Something within you stopped it."

He walked and dragged Auguste with him, as if hauling a petulant child. "Marshad."

Unwilling, Auguste tottered behind the soldier. Why the man would bring up the glorious battle of 512.M30 was beyond him.

"What?" he managed.

The Terran whirled. In the faded, obscured, moonlight, his features glowed and his lips peeled back. "You said you were there. Were you?"

"Yes," he wheezed. The snow beckoned him. All he had to do was lie down and shut his eyes, but the thrice-damned Terran wouldn't let him be.

"Where were you?" When Auguste didn't instantly answer the man shouted, "Where?"

His memories came to him. Marshad. It was cold that day too. August had been placed on the left under the command of Villanueva. They had faced down rebels then as well. "The left. I was on the left."

The man wrapped an arm around him, denying him the embrace of snow and death. The soldier's weapon remained propped against his shoulder and he nodded.

"Then you remember. You were alone. He was gone. He had left you."

He had! But that was different, August thought. The Emperor had placed them on a hill with a promise to return, to save them when things would be at their darkest. And on that day He had done just that. When the rebels were swirling around their position, when Villanueva was waving his broken power sword, and it seemed the end of glory was upon them, He had come.

Auguste smiled at the memory of happier days, of defeat transformed into triumph.

"Ah, you remember. He came. I was there too, vulture. I stood in the center. Ranked up with the Emperor's finest. We smiled down upon you as you held the enemy at bay. Fighting for your lives, with faith in us and Him. Remember?"

need maor

f5f5f5f5f5f5f5f5f5

maaaaan this better not be noblebright end

...f5f5f5f5f5

He did. "The sun," he gasped, "the sun was rising, and your shadows cast upon the ground. You were all so tall."

"The Marshadi saw it too. They saw us and the Astartes and they fled. We had come and with us . . ." he trailed off.

"Him," Auguste finished. He remembered the sight of the golden armor and flaming sword. The Emperor advanced along the Alharm Heights as the Custodes carried the day. Impending defeat had become a glory like no other. The Emperor had saved them!

Auguste felt a wave of guilt. He had preyed on men who had been there on that auspicious day. He had, like a vulture, waited for the Terran to die. He shook his head.

"I am sorry. You are a better soldier than I."

He forced himself to keep walking, trying to fend off the desire to sleep forever. Auguste's head drooped and he stumbled.

"But, I will march with the Emperor's finest and die with him."

He would die. The night was upon them and the merciless grip of winter would crush them both. Not even fond memories of past battles or newfound faith in the Emperor would prevent that. Auguste sighed. It wasn't so bad. He would die a soldier.

"Look up."

Auguste felt the trooper from Earth release him. Still, he marched forward.

"Look up, soldier," the man said from behind him.

Wearily, Auguste looked up. Light! He could see a cluster of campfires and hear voices carrying on the crisp air. The Imperial Army! There was not much left of it, but there was enough. Enough for one more soldier. "We're saved!"

"You are," the Terran agreed.

Auguste turned to look at his savior. Soft light illuminated his pale form. Slowly, the trooper removed his coat and tossed it to Auguste.

"Take this," he said, "as a reminder. Remember. He has not left you. He is waiting for you. The days of Mankind's glory will end one day, but not today, soldier."

Catching the heavy cloth, Auguste nodded.

"Yes. You have reminded me. I almost forgot myself out there. Come, friend, to the warmth of the Imperial Army."

The man merely shook his head. "No. You will go. You will warm your bones and march again. I must go back. Back to the others." He turned around and walked away.

A gasp fled August's dry lips. He leapt back and clutched his chest. He had seen the wound on the trooper's chest, but now, without his coat on, he could see the grievous damage to his back. He could see splintered bones, a gaping hole, and far too much dried blood for any man to have lost and still live. He watched, mouth agape, as the figure trudged back into the featureless snow and darkness. Within moments he was gone.

From the darkness the trooper of the Geno Five-Two Chiliad called out, "Long live the Emperor!"

Blinking, Auguste stepped back. He walked towards the firelight and the comrades whom he had so nearly lost.

"Long live the Emperor," he whispered.

And thus did Auguste de Rivera of Cherbourg Trois live to fight another day.
########## SUPPRESSED FOR HERETICAL CONTENT BY ORDER OF THE INQUISITION
##########

A little disappoint by lack of grimdark end. But felt fuzzy nonetheless.

Bravo OP, bravo.

very nice

I've rarely read a story on /tg/ that involved very little happening (two dudes walking in the snow) yet still kep me very entertained.

You created just the right mix of pragmatism (auguste) and mysticism ( the Terran)

I applaud you OP

Welp, saw that coming. :[

Still, not bad at all, OP.

>>8634403

Nice ending! I was expecting something like this, to be honest, though my guess was that the guy in the coat would turn out to be Emperor after all, or at least the implication that he might have been.

Archived for future readers.

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/8633133/

Seriously, with writefags like OP, why can't Black Library get its shit together?

>>8634403

YES. I'm suitably entertained.

>>8634550

Hell, the Inferno! mag was suitably awesome for short stories.