Beneath the Iron

I. Vincere est Vivere

An infernal scream split the air of the battlefield, the wailing of a damned soul heralding the condemnation of more. Amidst the press of bodies, against the shield digging into her back, Helva's adrenaline surged. The formation shifted, pushing her a rank forward as the first row broke contact and moved backwards, allowing the next to advance to face their enemy. She was almost to the front and through all the fear, she was eager to meet the barbarians' crumbling offensive. Her cheeks would have been red without the protective heat of her helm and frost blossomed across her armor. The Winter Forest was colder than much of the Imperium, high in the mountains, standing as the last stronghold of the Fosii. Helva knew nothing of them other than their reputation as fearsome warriors.

To be a warrior, hounding for glory and fighting alone, was selfish. To be a soldier was selfless, putting one's own success beneath that of the legion and the Imperium. If there was one thing the Divine Princes rewarded, it was such altruism.

Divine fire soared above, arcing towards the home fortress of their foe. There was no cheering from Helva's side. Everyone focused on the moment, wholly occupied with the task in front of them. The legion afforded no celebrations until after they secured victory. The soldier waited for the whistle to come again. The moment it did, Helva stepped so that the man in front of her could retreat. Then she surged forward, slamming her shield into her enemy hard enough to stun. She didn't wait for a reaction. The moment there was a foe in range, seeking to batter her defenses low, her sword darted into deep, powerful thrusts that punched through armor. There was no time for thoughts of how the strong their foe was or how many there were.

There was barely a need for thought at all. She acted on reflexes and conditioning that translated to an action far faster than a conscious effort ever could.

It was a sprint of a fight, given she only had one minute at the front. Hot blood splashed onto her sword-hand and her shield as she stabbed and slashed with an expertise most barbarians would not have expected given her youth. She fought with the cold, efficient ruthlessness that marked Imperial soldiers until that split second when she heard the whistle. She stepped to the side and rapidly retreated, protected by the next soldier. Once she hit the back of the formations, she sucked in a huge breath and bounced on the balls of her feet, preparing to advance again as the legion ground away at the enemy's ragged lines.

"Feeling good, Helva?" Taurus asked from her right side. She knew he was grinning behind his mask-like helm's visor, by the sound of his voice if not sight. Only the members of a contubernium used each other's cognomen, not that Helva attached herself strongly to any particular name of the three she bore. Still, names formed expressions of the bonds that built the entire legion.

"Feeling good," Helva confirmed with a smile, shaking the blood off her sword.

The Fourth Legion of Divine Prince Michael advanced at a steady pace, their foes breaking against the unmistakable black shields that signified an Imperial force. A deafening crack finally accompanied the booming impacts of artillery as the section of wall under assault gave way in a cascade that crushed the enemies closest to it.

Helva knew there was a defense regrouping when she heard her centurion boom, "Wedge!" Immediately, she adjusted her positioning within the century. They pivoted and moved like a well-oiled machine, driving deep into the enemy ranks. The moment it was her turn to be on the outside of the wedge, she surged to it without hesitation. She could almost taste the fear of the enemy in the air. Even inexperienced as a soldier, she had cut enough throats to know exactly what was happening: they were about to break.

A moment later, she felt the pressure on her shield give as the warrior trying to kill her broke contact, aiming to flee. She dropped to one knee and slashed to sever his hamstring. He fell, crippled. Her next motion was a stab to his heart through his back.