Let me tell you a story. Imagine a hive world under attack by Tau forces. The Imperial Navy did not make it in time due to warp distortion, surface-to-orbit defenses were suppressed by Tau task force, and the first wave of xeno dropships secured multiple beachheads on the surface. Yes, Imperial Guard was present on the planet bordering the Tau Empire, but some of them ended up surrounded and cut off by advancing Fire Warriors, some were scattered, wiped out, or turned traitor in what appeared to be a heresy planned in advance. By the end of third week, facing minimal and disorganized resistance, Hammerhead columns are converging on Capital Hive. And that’s where truth is becoming clearly different from alien propaganda.

In truth, this does not mean the fall of the world. What happends next? Once the higher-ups come to their senses and make a decision, you will be informed. Late in the night, you will hear a doorbell ringing. Behind the door you will see a drunken Arbites, even less sober lieutenant and a pair of soldiers. You will be handed a document, stating that you are recruited into PDF by the decree of Planetary Governor and should proceed immediately to the training camp or be shot on sight. You realize that you are outnumbered and comply, barely managing to grab some clothes before you are dragged from your hab-unit. No one bothers to lock the door as you leave. At the local lighter bay you will see a couple of old, battered shuttles. Inside you will see your neighbors – the ones you saw every day when you stood in line for a food dispenser.

You will be transported to the training camp in the Outer Wastelands. Actually, there will be no camp, and you will have to make it yourself. Problem is, the air-filters for the tents will be missing, and in toxic wastes this means you will have to sleep with your gas mask on, but that’s nothing you can’t get used to. Your training will be, for the lack of better word, brief. You will dig half a dozen trenches. Your marksmanship training will consist of a total of two lasgun batteries spent on the improvised targets across the firing range. You will hit an old scarecrow with a bayonet a few times. Ten times you will throw a replica of grenade from a trench. One time you will have to charge from your trench with the rest of recruits, firing your lasgun at the imaginary enemy. Then, you will do the same thing at night, with illumination shells fired in the air, barely knowing what you actually do. Some of the more promising shooters will get to fire a dozen rounds from autocannon so old and rusty it could only fire single shots, or the weapon immediately jammed. But you will not be one of them. Then, you will be herded to the founding fields, where you will meet recruits from another training camps – they will arrive in civilian autocarriages and trucks, forcibly requisitioned for military use and hastily painted grey. You will also meet your would-be sergeants and officers, former Imperial Guard survivors, and in their eyes you will see fear and pity as they look upon you. One of your squadmates was an underhive gangster, the one you would gladly see executed by Arbites not long ago, but now he’s the only one with some combat experience and you will bother him with thousands of questions, because deep down you will understand that you are not prepared to survive your first firefight.

You will be handed a rusty steel helmet two sizes bigger than necessary. Not the flak helmet you remembered from propaganda posters, but a steel helmet, not that different from the ones which could be used by feudal worlds. You will not get a flak vest – there was not enough of them to equip your unit. You will not have Militarum-issue combat boots, and will be dressed in some kind of snow boots, unwieldy and not even waterproof. Well, at least you are not dressed in Valhalla-pattern trench coat and fur hat, and there will be plenty of unlucky ones who are. On the last day of your founding, an old-looking, fat and tired general will arrive. He will give your commanding officer the regimental banner and declare that from now on all of you are 105th cannonfodder regiment or something like that, and that you should be proud. He will tell that the Emperor demands you to accomplish your duty, because the Imperial Guard, who had all the flak armor, tanks, artillery, trained soldiers and combat boots is now dead and you are the only ones left. The next morning you will be given antitank weapons. Very few handpicked squads will be given missile launchers. You will only get two old, heavy krak grenades. Former Administratum scribe right after you on the list will not even have a lasgun and will be armed with autogun instead. And he will not be the only one. Then you will drive to the frontline in your requisitioned civilian trucks. The truck column will be hit by Tau airstrike, you will see lots of burned vehicles and dead bodies, but at least once you disembark you will have an hour or two to entrench yourself before advancing xenos will reach your position. You will be given some cheap amasec to “boost morale”, and you will have to take turns sipping from the bottle because they forgot to give you water canteens.

And then, just a moment before first devastating barrage will land on your positions, you will finally realize just how hideously outgunned you are.

Later on, they will begin their attack, and you will stop tanks, hovercraft, heavy infantry, hyper-tech stealth teams and battlesuits with a lasgun and two krak grenades, and your scribe comrade – with an autogun. But that’s the story for another time.