Kor'La, the story of the Carcathan Marine Corps

[Gunny O'Grady]

Interrogation Chamber of Inquisitor Nicolai Emyrich, 1st and 2nd Actions
Location: Unknown
Date: Unknown

“You know what they call us? Kor’La – means Air Warriors. You see Niko – you mind if I call you Niko? – my boys don’t mind that so much. Used to be the Carcathan Marine Corps… now we’re the Carcathan Kor’La. Tomato, Tomahto, right?”

The chamber smells like the sweat of two men. A lone steel table sits in a small black room; the Inquisitor, in his chair, hooded and ram-rod straight. The Captain leans back with his legs crossed. He doesn’t seem to mind the pistol on the table.

“Semantics do not justify Heresy, Captain Geriod.”

“No they do not, Niko. They most certainly do not. But History – History might.”

A big row of white teeth flashes across the Captain’s face.

“You and I have a little bit of history,” he continues, “Did you know that? We’ve been on the same planet two times before, in fact. First time was when you saved us from the bugs on that backwater training planet. Those men you evac’d at Fort Coda? – I was one of them.”

He tries to see some eyes underneath the Inquisitor’s deep hood, to no avail. He goes on.

“I was only a lieutenant then – but you didn’t really notice a thing. You were just there for the artifact. The bugs were just an inconvenience. Tyranids, you called them…”

The Captain takes a long pause. His face twitches, almost imperceptibly, as if an old, bad memory took a moment to subside.

“I recall, Captain.” The Inquisitor says. He reflects briefly. “You wear my patience thin. Perhaps I’ll just leave you to my men. Good eve, Captain.”

The Inquisitor turns to leave the small black room.

“If you value your life, Niko, you’ll sit your bum back down.”

“Do you mean to threaten me?”

“Surely you must remember the second time we met? It was in my hometown. Of course you didn’t save anybody that day. You just wanted the next artifact. We were out of food and munitions. We were ragged and hopeless and hanging on. We were under siege from Heretic forces for ten years with not an emperor-damned word from the Imperium!”

The Captain slams his open hand on the table.

“But you didn’t give two big loads about Carcatha! Our occupation was just another inconvenience to you. You didn’t see me that day, but I saw you and your little entourage. You showed up, you took what you wanted, and you left.”

Silently, from his position by the door, the Inquisitor pulls back his hood. Horrible warp scars and chaotic tattoos climb up his face, the legacy of his indoctrination on the Black Ships. Two eyes made of ice fix on the Captain.

He says simply, “You. Understand. Nothing.”

“I guess it took the Greater Good rescuing us – converting us – for Carcatha to get on your radar.”

“Give me one good reason not to kill you, Captain Geriod.”

“Haven’t you been paying attention, Niko? History. I’ve got one with the Tau, too. Didn’t I tell you all this already? Didn’t I tell you what they call me? Kor’Vre. Means Hero. And you better believe they’re gonna’ come for me."

The Captain stands.

“And you might even kill me before they get here. Doesn’t matter. Because my men and the tall-thin-blue boys will make sure it’s the last miserable thing you ever do.”

[Gunny O'Grady]

“Make no mistake, gentlemen, there are things that go bump in the night. There are monsters at the edges of our room, at the edges of our bed-posts, at the edges of our minds. The citizens of the Imperium can cower from us and condemn us by day but by night they can sleep soundly because we stand watch. The Inquisition watches. Ever watches. Ever watches.”
-Inquisitor Nicolai Emyrich, Recording of unknown address

Fort Coda Training Base, CMC Code 8A
Location: Almanac VII, live-fire training tundra XV
Date: 760.M41

“You will squat-thrust till you throw up all over your pretty-polished boots, boys!”

So began another day of calisthenics at Fort Coda. The men had a saying about Fort Coda – about the legendary Drill Instructors there, about the desolate wasteland surrounding the training base, and about the caliber of Carcathan Marine it produced. There are only two kinds of people who understand Coda graduates – Coda Graduates, and the poor buggers who have to fight them.

It was a school for training the elite forces of the Carcathan 3rd Light Infantry Regiment. The Drill Instructors had a motto, too. Gunnery Sergeant Brick reiterated it as the Platoon did squat thrusts into eternity.
“Training relies on two things! Clean boots, and physical exercise. And seeing as how Trombley here just threw up all over his boots,” Brick gestured to the Lance Corporal who had done just that, “it seems we are going to have to focus on the physical exercise!”

The battery of cardio and strength training continued through the morning, and by late morning the men filed into the dining facilities for breakfast. The surly-looking mess-hall staff served something unusual today.

“Hot Cakes and Grox-Sausage?” one Private Beecher said as he sat down with a tray almost overflowing with syrup.

“They must be up to something.” Someone else commented with a mouth full of food.

Near them at the table, Sergeants Cathal and Hollander gave each other a knowing glance and ate an appropriate amount of calories.

Classes continued as per the norm for a bleak day at Fort Coda. That day’s lesson consisted of a refresher course on tracking foot-mobiles over long distances through sparse terrain. It wasn’t difficult, but tedious enough to cause a few marines to nod off.

At just around the time the men usually prepared for bed, they were summoned to the parade ground. Somewhere, a trumpet blared.

“Everybody up and out!” Brick yelped. “And I mean right now!” His tone gripped the men in a way that told them the Sergeant was not to be trifled with.

In the dark, the men stood in a tired formation.

“Attention! Officer on the Deck!”

Flood lights snapped on with a sudden whir of dusty generators and the flash-pulse of suddenly ignited glow-lights.

“Meet your new Platoon Officer, Lieutenant Donncha Geriod!”

After the flare had faded from their eyes, they beheld the solidly built, crisply dressed man standing in front of them. He wore a black beret jauntily to one side of his head. His sleeves were rolled high and his arms were crossed behind his back.

“Greetings, Marines.”

Nothing but silence and the night responded. Geriod continued anyway.

“Grab some NVGs from the instructors. We depart from the front gate in 10 minutes. Wear whatever you see fit for a distance run. The animals are nasty out there. Don’t forget to bring a knife.”