21/04/2010 in Warhammer 40K
Yevenov shuffled through the mud. He was nearly blind in the pre-dawn gloom. The sky was just starting to lighten from midnight black to the ruddy grey that promised a light drizzle for the foreseeable future.
He was exhausted to the point that he occasionally fell asleep while the column of troopers slogged their way through the murk to their next fighting position. Despite the uncomfortable helmet, the sling of his lasgun cutting into his shoulder, his cold wet feet, and all the other minor annoyances that are a standard part of the infantryman’s life, he still managed to doze off while keeping his feet moving, one after the other. Sometimes he would bump into the man in front of him.
Even when he wasn’t sleepwalking, his eyes would cross with fatigue, leading him to stumble on the uneven ground or bump up against another trooper with the clack and clatter of equipment. He wasn’t the only one, and occasionally the sergeant leading the column would turn and swear quietly at them to keep the noise down and pay attention.