You Plague Pigs

Jeremiah's personal helmet was equipped with an advanced identification system. On the transparent display before his eyes appeared Space Marines clad in putrid green power armor, wrapped from head to toe in poisonous clouds and plague flies.

"It's the fucking Death Guard! The rebel Astartes are here!"

"Anyone who can still move, prepare to fire!"

Jeremiah shouted at the top of his lungs. There was little point in doing so, since his fully sealed helmet had a built-in communications system that could transmit even a whisper to everyone's earpiece.

But he wanted to do it anyway, because he wanted everyone to know that the rebels had finally lost their nerve.

Everyone knew that whichever side could no longer bear the pressure would deploy its precious Space Marines as the decisive hammer to end this war of attrition.

"All personnel, stay alert for fallen battle-brothers around you."

"Once you notice any abnormal changes, I authorize you to kill them immediately!"

"Once they fall, whoever rises again will no longer be the person we knew. The vile ghosts of the Warp will have occupied their bodies, spreading death and plague to even more people."

This former rogue trader had never been a particularly kind man. What truly decent person could thrive so smoothly in interstellar trade?

When that old friend of his had started doing sit-ups in front of him, Jeremiah had not hesitated in the slightest before using his meltagun to physically calm him down for good.

"They aren't falling sick or dying from diseases we understand."

"That's a plague from the Warp, a curse from filthy dark gods. Fuck them!"

Jeremiah's wartime mobilization was highly effective. The Solar Auxilia on the battlefield were all resolute men conditioned with ideological imprints. After their initial panic and confusion, they quickly began dealing