This one and Optimus Prime crushed me as a child.
2nd option is a fan made Warhammer 40k movie (linked above). The scene at the end where a soldier recounts the death of his girl. Spends the whole movie talking about how she is the most beautiful girl in the galaxy (everybody know), and she dies in an Ork invasion. Below is an excerpt from the book, bolded section important one.
Context: After the Battle of Helsreach, Reclusiarch Grimaldus of the Black Templars finds himself being hailed as a hero and paraded through the streets of the battered city. He moves to speak with a few of the command Cadre who had given so much in the city's defense, stopping by a Steel Legionnaire who had saved his life.
'Hello, sir,' another of the Legionnaires says. I glance behind Ryken, to a man several places down the line. My targeting reticule locks on him - onto his grinning face. He is unscarred, and despite his youth, has laugh lines at the corner of his eyes.
So. He's not dead, either.
This does not surprise me. Some men are born with luck in their blood.
I nod to him, and he walks over, seemingly as bored with the proceedings as I am. The orator is declaring how I 'smote the blaspheming aliens as they dared defile the temple's inner sanctum.' His words border on a sermon. He would have made a fine ecclesiarch, or a preacher in the Imperial Guard.
The ochre-clad soldier offers his hand for me to shake. I humor him by doing the same.
'Hello, hero,' he grins up at me.
'Greetings, Andrej.'
'I like your armor. It is much nicer now. Did you repaint it yourself, or is that the duty of slaves?'
I cannot tell if this is a joke or not.
'Myself.'
'Good! Good. Perhaps you should salute me now, though, yes?' He taps his epaulettes, where a captain's badges now show, freshly issued and polished silver.
'I am not beholden to a Guard captain,' I tell him. 'But congratulations.'
'Yes, I know, I know. But I must be offering many thanks for you keeping your word and telling my captain of my deeds.'
'An oath is an oath.' I have no idea what to say to the little man. 'Your friend. Your love. Did you find her?'
I am no judge of human emotion, but I see his smile turn fragile and false. 'Yes,' he says. 'I did find her.'
I think of the last time I saw the little storm trooper, standing over the dockmaster's bloody corpse, bayoneting an alien in the throat, only moments before the basilica fell.
I find myself curiously glad that he is alive, but expressing that notion is not something I can easily forge into words. He has no such difficulty.
'I am glad you made it,' he uses my own unspoken words. 'I heard you were very injured, yes?'
'Not enough to kill me.'
But so close. I quickly grew bored of the Apothecaries on board the Crusader telling me that it was a miracle I clawed my way from the rubble.
He laughs, but there is little joy in it. His eyes are like glass since he mentioned finding his friend.
'You are a very literal man, Reclusiarch. Some of us were in lazy moods that day. I waited for the digging crews, yes, I admit it. I did not have Adeptus Astartes armor to push the rocks off myself and get back to fighting the very next day.'
'The reports I have heard indicated no one else survived the fall of the basilica,' I tell him.
He laughs. 'Yes, that would make for a wonderful story, no? The last black knight, the only survivor of the greatest battle in Helsreach. I apologize for surviving and breaking the flow of your legend, Reclusiarch. I promise most faithfully that I and the six or seven others will be very quiet and let you have all the thunder.'
He has made a joke. I recognize it, and try to think of something humorous with which to reply. Nothing surfaces in my mind.
'Were you not injured at all?'
He shrugs. 'I had a headache. But then it went away.'
This makes me smile.
'Did you meet the fat priest?' he asks. 'Did you know him?'
'I confess, I do not recall anyone by that name or description.'
'He was a good man. You would have liked him. Very brave. He did not die in the battle. He was with the civilians. But he died two weeks after, from a problem with his heart. Ayah, that is unfair, I think. To live through the end and die at the new beginning? Not so fair, I am thinking.'
There is a twisted poetry to that.
I would like to speak words that comfort him. I would like to tell him that I admire his courage, and that his world will survive this war. I want to speak with the ease Artarion would have done, and thank this soldier for standing with us when so many others ran. He honored us all in that moment, as did the dying dockmaster, the prioress, and every other soul that faded from life on the night only I survived.
But I say nothing.
