The trench shook with the rhythm of Imperial artillery behind them, each volley hammering into the enemy lines ahead. Dirt rained from above as smoke coiled in the chill morning air. Captain Theodora Harrowmont stood atop the duckboards, unflinching beneath her adorned pith helmet, saber drawn and boots polished.

"Fix bayonets. And remember-" she began, voice cutting clear through the thunder, raising the power-saber in the air. "-our ancestors crossed worse distances wearing less brass. You are Praetorians. You will not embarrass them. Show them no mercy as they will not show you any. These traitors will face the Emperor's justice!"

The words had barely left her lips when a shrieking shell from the enemy’s guns tore into the trench. Men scattered, dirt flew, and a plume of smoke engulfed the left flank of the line.

She did not flinch. With measured steps, she walked through the haze, coat immaculate. One trooper sat stunned in the mud, dazed but alive. Theodora seized his arm and hoisted him up and pushing him back to the line to refill the ranks.

"Fix your uniform soldier. You're not dead. Your fight is not over until you lie dead in the ground or I say you are done."

She held out his helmet to him, waiting for him to recover.

"Do you copy that, soldier?