Lurking betrayal

The sergeant overlooked the gathering of the squad, counting the heads of the assault marines. Most were there, on top of a ruined watchpost, erected by the damnable xenos - and thank the Emperor's Light, the squad made short work of the greenskins as they've rampaged through the ork's ramshackle "fort".
Now, the were to picked up and relocated to a different site, to the main theatre of war.

Sergeant Ivus Borral blinked at the autosenses in his helmet, watching the augmented reality icons blip above his squadmates heads, feeding him information on their status, health and powerarmor performance. He kicked a fleshy, green corpse with his boot, and behind the grill of his helmet his lips pouted as he noticed the last Astartes land on the ferrocrite platform.

"Decimus..." He practically hissed at the lagging behind Assault Marine and gripped the worn-down handle of his powersword as he strode to the late squad member. The others from squad Razorfang snorted, knowing Decimus would once again get punished - both for stalling their progress and ignoring subordination.

"Sergeant Borral!" The other marine greeted and held up a huge, leathery and bloody object in his hand that the sergeant only a moment later recognized as an ork head. Looking at the edge of Decimus's armor, Borall noticed two similair grisly fetishes fastened to the assault marine's jump-pack intakes.
Not to mention that the marine was covered head to toe in blood, and the armor rusty and unkept despite Borral's previous orders to report to the Chapter's Master of Sanctity. Borral was tired of Decimus and the latters lonesome ventures into killing despite given orders.

Walking up to the proudly grinning Astartes, Borral's voice rose up significantly, untill he was face to face with Decimus.
"Where... is... your... helmet, DOG!?"

The hostility wiped the grin from Decimus' face and the ork head plopped to the ground. "What're you trying to become, a warpin' Warboss?" veteran Turik spoke behind Decimus's back, loud enough for him to hear the sarcasm in his voice. The assault marine fumbled around his belt, and, sensing the rage from the sergeant, dropped to one knee, holding the helmet - clean and clearly unused - up to Borall.

The sergeant critically looked it over.

"Do you realize, that this is a part of the holy armor that is to be used in conjunction with the rest of it? That the blessed machine spirites were tuned so that via this artefact you remain the part of the squad, getting orders?" Borral inquired, noting how Decimus averted his gaze.

"Yes, sergeant".

"Do you realize, that this helmet was worn by your brother, who had fought in the name of the Emperor and found his death in it, as should you in the honor of his name, his spirit residing within it?"

The kneeling marine's jaw clenched. "Death, as I should. Oh right."

"Yes, sergeant.

"Where are you seals of purity, strength and machine placation?"

Suddenly, the smile formed on Decimus's face and Borral found himself not liking the grin of the bloodied marine. He didn't like the way his subordinate's eyes suddenly steeled, as if he was laughing internally at him. With a slight smirk, Decimus answered.

"They were lost, in battle."

"And this?" Borall pointed to the disembodied ork heads.

"Trophies."

Then, the assault marine's face met the ceramite and steel of the sergeants boot. There was a crunch of bone and a splat of blood, that didn't much to ruin the already spattered with rusting bodily liquids, armor. Decimus lurched back, holding an arm to his broken nose and scratched face, but managed to remain on the knee.

"Fifty lashes for seal loss, fifty for helmet, sixty for being late to rendezvous, and yes..." He lowered his helmet-covered face to Decimus, who glared at him. "Trophies are prohibited. Forty more."

The other marine remained silent as his brothers dismantled the ork heads from the jump-pack.

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decided to color it up