Trooper Lars took a final sip of recaff and resealed his mask. The mustard coloured fog began to roll in again. The governor had used everything at his disposal to remove the orks, it had cost the lives all of those taken captive by the orks, yet they still clung on. Damn orks, thought Lars, they were pretty much wiped out now with the arrival of the Eldar and the Iron hands. He shuddered when he thought of the Iron hands little more than machines, he had only seen one once, and that was enough for a lifetime.
He warmed up his hands over the fire in the oil barrel, his fellow squad members were similarly huddled around the fire. They had drawn the short straw of garrison duty in one of the outposts in the ruins of the former capital. Those damn Iron hands had burnt the place to the ground to wipe out the orks.
He took out his brush and cleaned out the dust from his firing mechanism. There was always dust, it fell like snow across the city, and then when it rained it turned the ground to grey mud. It was a nightmare for the tanks and for the guns. They constantly had breakdowns and jams. More thanks to the saviours and the governor.
The capital, it was cold, it was grey and it was damn infested with orks. It was good to be in the PDF… Emperor bless this frakking wasteland.