Fighting With Faith- Twenty-Ninth Entry

It seemed even Lent Broxton’s cheerful tune of an old ode from his hamlet back on his planet couldn’t lift the spirits of the soldiers of Bel Company. Hastily completed a standard Imperial year and a half of military training, they had gained nothing to prepare them for the loss.

It was obvious from the grim faces of everyone that they had all done their fair share of mourning for the loss. Most of the company members had been discharged from the care of the medicae officials and only three members remain in critical condition in the “butcher tent”, the Guard slang, as screams of agony could be constantly heard coming from within.

“Shut it will you?” an irritated Marcum Gret, one of the four scouts of the company, snapped. He threw the blade on a rock he was using to sharpen onto the dusty floor, kicking up a small wisp of sand. From his crouching position, he glanced up to Lent’s intimidating figure of six feet of bulk and glared at him.

“You got a problem with a little whistling of mine, Gret?” Lent retorted, voice sounding menacing and hinting what everyone could guess.

“Yeah, I do have a problem. But it’s not the whistling; it’s you.” Marcum answered, just as he leapt onto his feet and executed a swift punch to Lent’s jaw.

Starut, not far off in the dark recesses of the tent, sniggered. His giggling soon filled the area as Lent recovered from the initial shock and muttered an incoherent string of curses and sent a bone-crunching kick to Marcum’s shin, which Marcum nimbly parried with his knee.

Brawl between a heavy supporter and a scout? Interesting…Starut thought gleefully as he instantaneously set his lasgun which he was polishing down onto his bed and scrambled nearer to the centre of the tent, eyes growing wide with excitement as punches, kicks and curses become louder and more aggressive.

“Ben…Ben…BEN!” Stratile bellowed crossly over the escalating commotion occurring across the tent into Benlian’s snoozing silhouette as he hammered a ration bottle onto Benlian’s back.

“Huh? What?” Benlian groggily replied as he turned over to face Stratile. From the sight of his face, Stratile could tell Benlian hadn’t gotten over the loss.

Stratile remained silent, keeping his understanding gaze fixed on Benlian. Benlian cocked his head to his right, obviously hearing something. He grunted as he heaved his body up sluggishly to his feet and squinted towards the other side of the tent.

“WHAT THE HELL YOU CHABAS THINK YOU’RE DOING!” Benlian hollered towards the fighting duo as he sprinted towards the scene, face livid and outraged.

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It seemed as if both Lent and Marcum had been fending off a whole wave of Orks. They were had bruised on their faces, legs and arms. Lent had a bleeding nose and fractured wrist. Marcum wasn’t any better with a broken nose and a badly bruised knee.

Benlian stood between the sitting figures of both of them, brandishing a baton and glaring down at them. He had to break up the fight the old way.

After fifteen minutes of discussion, occasionally bordering on an argument, it had been concluded that this fight was sparked off from over stretched tension, stress and unchecked emotions.

“Damn it, I’m out of here.” Benlian muttered peevishly as he threw the baton down onto the ground and strode out of the tent, into the cool night air.


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It was nothing like in the tents as it was outside. It was calm, cool and quiet. An occasional chorus of laughter or rattling of pots and pans emanated from the open gaps of the tents.

It seemed everyone had forgotten what just took place a month ago.

Dinner at the mass hall just concluded about an hour ago and now most of the soldiers were in their tents, polishing their boots and lasguns, sharpening their bayonets and other standard military equipment maintenance procedures.

Benlian kept on walking, pass crude looking yet effective barricades erected along the main road where convoys of equipment, reinforcements and food supplies constantly rumble past in the day, and pass sentry posts, occasionally giving a slight nod or a friendly wave to a familiar face.

Far off to his left, down the ridge, was the massive hulk of the abandoned warehouse, now home to foul festering creatures. Benlian thought he saw huddled figures in robes at the roof of the warehouse, but decided not to look any further. He had lost his friend to them and soon, he knew, the time would come for him and Bel Company to avenge their loss.

Benlian soon arrived at his most favourite spot of the camp. It was a promontory, of which its tip was gradually sloping upwards, as if it was a curled finger which was pointing upwards to the sky. He would lean back onto the cool Rimble material of which the rock was made of and stare out into the sky, gazing and pondering.

This time, Benlian tried to match the constellations he was seeing here to the ones he used to see back home, which seemed like a lifetime away. Hopefully, he could mix and match some and pinpoint the exact location of his homeworld. That thought excited him and he immediately began on the task.

Benlian was so engrossed in his activity that he did not notice the approaching figure from his front.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice, suddenly intruded into Benlian’s thoughts. Benlian was startled. It sounded different. More delicate, more fragile, a touch of tenderness to it; as if the crude and rough way in which himself and his comrades communicated in were discarded, only to be replaced by a light and angelic tone.

Benlian lifted his head and looked ahead. It was a female, no older then Benlian, with a perfect posture and long straight black hair, or what Benlian thought was in the moon light, cascading down around her shoulders, ending in delicate curls above her chest. Her big and round eyes radiated innocence and a something in it made him gaze a moment longer.

She was slim and petite, and dressed in a white cloak. On her left side of her cloak, above her chest, was the Medicae insignia.

“Hi…” Benlian said uneasily. He was not only surprised by her looks, but also by the special aura which she seemed to exude effortlessly. This aura of hers made Benlian’s heart beat faster, and the somehow he couldn’t find the courage to say anything other then a simple “Hi”.

She seemed to float to where Benlian was and stood beside him.

“May I?” She inquired, gesturing at the empty space beside Benlian.

“Sure…” Benlian replied, eyes still fixed intently on this new stranger. Why the hell do I suddenly feel so timid? He thought grumpily to himself.

It seemed as if the laws of gravity was not acting upon her as she gracefully leaned forward and sat down next to Benlian.

An agonising moment of silence fell upon them. Benlian cursed to himself for not saying anything.

Wait, who is she? I don’t even know who she is. Benlian thought.

“So, what’s your name?” He asked.

“Jatherine.” She replied, flinging her hair elegantly around her neck as she turned her head to face Benlian. Benlian took in her refined features at a quick glance. Big, round eyes which seemed to stretch into endless depths, a sharp nose, smooth skin and beautifully crafted lips which Benlian thought all it needed was cosmetics to achieve the title of ‘perfection’.

His heart beat was raised even higher as she smiled, revealing an implacable set of white teeth. Benlian for a moment was mesmerised by the sight of her smiling face in the moon light, but ceased immediately, cursing at himself again for being so weak.

You barely know her you fool! What you taking yourself for?!

“What’s yours?” her angelic voice came into his mind, breaking his self-admonishment.

“Benlian. I serve in the Asat Guard division.” Benlian said as he reluctantly took his eyes off Jatherine to look up into the sky, where he spotted a luminescent object flying through it.

“I see…I serve in the Asat Medicae division, just finished my duty session.” She said.

Looking back at Jatherine now, Benlian couldn’t compare which was more captivating: Her, or the star asunder sky.

Silence was between them once more as they leaned back, taking in the view and peacefulness.

“Let me guess, this is your favourite spot in the camp too?” she asked meekly, smiling.

“Yes, you too I suppose?” Benlian replied.

“Have been coming here every time I end my sessions. Away from the operations, the screaming, the agony.” Jatherine conceded, at the same moment her eyes seemed to flash to memories, on the past months happenings.


Benlian could tell she was not recalling fond memories as Jatherine’s eyes seemd to become watery and a frown began to form on her forehead.

She gonna cry? Benlian asked himself.

Jatherine muttered something under her breath as she sat up and from the back, Benlian could tell she was sobbing.

Instinctively, Benlian joined her by her side and laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He fumbled around in his pockets for a tissue and handed her a piece.

“Thank you. I’m so sorry I broke down. I’ve seen so many deaths, so much blood, and so much pain. It’s as if the battlefield is being fought in the Medicae tents itself.” Jatherine said through gasps of breath as she sobbed.

“Yes, I understand…it is the same here for the Guard.” Benlian said, himself suddenly feeling sullen and sad.