They came as a swarm of ants over the ridge. Iron Warriors, Black Legionnaires, and Band of Dusk combatants charged at the Cadian line, reckless but no less determined to break through. Their war cries, demented howls and deep, based roars, reverberated across the plateau. Determined fusillades of lasbolts and heavy bolter bursts cut down rank after rank, but on and on the enemy came. Heretics took cover behind the bodies of their comrades, Iron Warriors relentlessly pushed forward with shields, and the dreaded Black Legionnaires deftly moved by bounds—one cadre providing covering fire, another advancing to a crater or formation of rocks.
Coming down the road was a convoy of black and silver Predators, Rhinos, and repurposed Astra Militarum vehicles. Heavy autocannon shells ripped over their heads followed by heavy stubber sweeps. Turrets swiveled, gunners reloaded. Heretic Astartes marched beside or alongside the vehicles, using them as cover. Skirmishers raced ahead, peppering the line with lasrifles and autoguns.
Marsh Silas poked his nose over the sandbag redoubt of the crumbling checkpoint. The lead Predator tank rolled relentlessly towards them. Even as the gunner fired its pintle-mounted stubber at him, the rounds striking the pavement and earth of the railroad embankment, he did not falter. For beside him, Carstensen knelt her red locks bare, and fired her bolt pistol at the encroaching skirmishers. Each shot found its mark, breaking an enemy apart, severing a limb, tearing open a stomach. Splotches of dirt splattered her coat and face as hostile rounds drew nearer. She ducked down, ejected her magazine, and reloaded. The fire grew hotter and heavier, yet she boldly rose to return it in kind.
As a long stubber burst targeted them, Marsh grabbed Carstensen and dragged her down. Slugs thudded against the sandbags and then passed over their heads. Marsh Silas rose back up; the lead tank rumbled over some clots of earth and rocks on the road. He looked across the road at the next redoubt where Yoxall was anxiously watching. The platoon leader hastily pointed down and the demolition expert twisted the charging handle of his control unit.
A column of earth and shattered pavement sprung from beneath the treads of the tank. The Predator rumbled through the cloud, its bow and undercarriage mangled. Shambling on, it veered erratically and rolled halfway down the road embankment, finally neutralized. Behind it, a Rhino APC swerved to avoid it but was struck by a krak missile from Knaggs and Fletcher. Secondary explosions ripped through it and the vehicle, now aflame, slid down the opposite embankment. Behind it, the rest of the convoy decreased speed to thread through the gap only to be bombarded by krak grenades from Bloody Platoon’s grenadiers and rockets from Hyram’s weapons platoon. Those that attempted to leave the road and travel across open ground stuck mines and more explosive charges.
The armored force eliminated, Marsh thought the infantry would retreat. Yet, they only escalated their attack. Heretics ran up the embankment where Guardsmen from the 1333rd, 95th, and 217th came to bayonet blows with them. Some of those poor Shock Troopers did not even have the benefit of sandbags, they merely laid on the tracks or the reverse embankment. Marsh watched soldiers slink back, giving meters of ground to the enemy to avoid their swords and bayonets. He looked to his own men and saw their eyes widen. Some took longer to rise and fire. Others did not shoot at all.
“Hold it together, Bloody Platoon!” he called. “Keep it together, stand your ground! Stand, stand! Lilias!?” The Commissar jumped up, stood at her full height, and held her glowing power fist in the air.
“Men of Bloody Platoon, soldiers of the Imperium! Stand with me in this fine hour! Give them your cold steel, give unto them your wrath! You are the few who defend the many, all rests upon you!” One by one, Shock Troopers stood back up, pressed their M36 stocks firmly into their shoulders, and unleashed volleys of lasbolts. “That’s it, men! Stand firm and bravely! That’s your style!” Ranks upon ranks of the enemy fell. Hyram’s section transitioned their fire, suppressing the center where the enemy flowed around the wreckage in droves.
“That’s what I want to see!” came the officer’s voice. “Give me more! Stack’em up, stack’em very high!”
Marsh ducked back down and grabbed Drummer Boy’s harness. The voxman had removed his helmet and held the handset to his ear.
“Where the fuck is our air support!?”
“There’s none available, sir! Every Marauder bomber and Valkyrie is tied up to our west engaging the main force! They can’t spare anything!”
“You’re telling me they cannot send but one fucking Valkyrie!”
“Every time I get through they tell me it’s tied up or Isaev gets on the network and tells them we need no support!” snapped Drummer Boy. “I’ve tried to get tank support but the coastal MSR is backed up in traffic jams! I don’t even know if Tindall and his Chimeras made it through!”
“Bloody hell, it’d be quicker if we just bloody built a bloody gunship!” shouted Walmsley Major as he loaded a belt in his heavy stubber. Holding the grip with one hand and the belt in the other, the platoon sergeant stood up and raked encroaching attackers with long bursts.
Marsh Silas knew he could coordinate no longer. He picked up his M36, the banner attached to the bayonet swirling, and returned fire. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Drummer Boy, Walmsley Major, and Carstensen, they poured it on. The heretics swept forward like a great wave upon a shore. Bodies piled up at the bottom of the embankment. Traitor Marines stomped over corpses and wounded men alike, crushing them under their heavy footfalls. Clouds of grenades flew between both sides.
Suddenly, multi-lasers tore over the heads of the Cadians. Marsh Silas looked back. The 1333rd’s surviving Chimera complement wound down the road. Master Sergeant Tindall exposed himself in the turret of the lead vehicle and pounded away with the pintle-mounted storm bolter. Behind him, the other APCs left the road and rolled behind the tracks, creating a wall of rapid-fire laser fire. Tindall parked his own Chimera at the checkpoint and decimated the heretics coming up the main road.
It was enough. Those Heretic Astartes and their mortal followers not cut down in the counterattack retreated back to Sandeera Ridge. Many were shot in the back as they fled. When the last figure disappeared over the crest, the shooting stopped. All was suddenly quiet, save for the groan of wounded Guardsmen.
Marsh Silas waited another ten minutes before he stood up. He waved at Tindall, and the grizzled NCO nodded in return. Standing in the center of the checkpoint, got his headcount, and observed his position. Much of the sandbags were quite disheveled and the ground was disturbed by an earlier artillery barrage. All his Guardsmen were filthy and exhausted.
“Ammo check,” ordered Marsh Silas.
“Low,” his platoon sergeant responded. “Everything’s low. Water, rations, medicine…”
“All my guns are on their last belts,” reported Walmsley Minor. “Knaggs only has a couple of missiles left, Olhouser has more illumination and smoke rounds than high explosives.”
“Those were my last mines and explosives,” added Yoxall. “I have nothing left.”
Marsh Silas drew an uneasy breath and planted his hands on his hips. He paced back and forth between the sections of his checkpoint. Walmsley Major and Carstensen stood nearby, the former anxious, the latter calm. Many nervous eyes looked up at the Lieutenant. But his gaze went to Carstensen, who smiled and offered a reassuring nod. Marsh inhaled again, calmer this time, and stopped pacing.
“We made it this far, I’ll be damned if we cannot hold again. If we can take that kind of attack, we can take another,” he said confidently. The men appeared more at ease then. “Gather up weapons and ammunition as best you can, repair your positions, and dig in.”
As he turned sharply, he winced. The adrenaline had faded, leaving him cold. But the wounds upon his back, left by Ghent’s lash, burned terribly. Carstensen noticed and strode over to him. “I’m alright,” he said through his teeth.
“You never got a chance to treat those again. Honeycutt, take the Lieutenant to the aid station.”
“There is no aid station, ma’am. It’s just me and my field chirurgeons.” Before Carstensen issued another order, the medic took Marsh by the arm anyway. “I’ve got him, no worries, ma’am.” Honeycutt led Marsh Silas over to Tindall’s Chimera, now parked on the right side of the road with its bow facing the east. The ramp was down and he sat Marsh there. Together, they removed his armor, coat, and shirt. Marsh laid down on his stomach, the plating of the Chimera’s ramp cool on his chest, and thankfully, the air was warm and gentle on his exposed back.
He listened as Honeycutt rummaged through his kit. “These are very nasty. If I had more time before…well, before, these would not be so grievous. Fortunately, I’ve got some soothing salves. It’s about the only item I have in proper stock.”
“What of stimms? Bandages? Field sutures? Pain nullifiers? Pressure dressings?”
“I have a few rolls of bandages, some sutures, and some medicine, but that’s it. I had no time to resupply and our own supply unit has yet to arrive. No doubt, Isaev’s doing to make us appear all the braver.”
“Fighting without supply is stupidity, not bravery,” growled Marsh.
“The old man is trying to restore his reputation, though he does not realize it will suffer all the more if we all die.” Marsh sucked air through his teeth as the medic’s fingers pressed the foul-smelling salve into his wounds. Such a sensation burned for a time, then settled.
“You need to stay off your back and keep clean. A tall order out here, I know, but that’s all I can do.” Honeycutt started applying bandages to Marsh’s back, but the platoon leader pushed himself up.
“Save the supplies for those who will need them most,” he said as he carefully donned his layers once again.
“As you wish, sir. You’ve got some new, mighty scars, there.”
“Scars over scars, what do I care?” asked Marsh as he put on his coat. He left it open and sat down on the ramp. He nodded, Honeycutt squeezed his shoulder, and departed with his kit. Marsh opened his own kit bag and produced his pipe. He thought of smoking, but instead held it between his lips.
Feet trudged up. Carstensen stood over Marsh momentarily, then sat beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder and in turn, he pressed his cheek to her scalp. They stayed that way for some time, looking to the south. The Dagger Mountains loomed and the MSR dipped as it ran towards the coast.
“You can almost glimpse the sea from here,” murmured Carstensen. “Army’s Meadow feels like a dream, as of late.”
“My heart longs for home. All this success feels as though it has turned to ash.” Marsh raised his head. “I am weighed upon by what we’ve done.”
“There has been no time to mourn,” said Carstensen. “It was out of our hands, in the end. Once, I may have accepted that and carried on. Now, it does not sit well. Knowing, too, their Commissars did not protect them from their commanders, blackens our duty.”
Carstensen turned slightly, her face hardened but hopeful. “We ensured Afdin and his comrades would not be erased from memory as traitors. We will ensure his ideas of speech and service will be honored within our hall. But he thought no longer of himself; he looked to the future. Never again must we allow it to happen. This is our mission, Silas, and I know I will achieve it by ensuring every Commissar and officer who comes to the schola we are to build learns they are just as obliged to serve the Guardsmen under their command as they are to their superior officers.”
She smiled softly. “It has been my dream for so many months. Never has my life beheld a greater purpose than seeing these men through alive and securing the foundation of the new institute. I feel complete, even if the fighting is not done. My life’s work, so far, is finished.”
“It will take time for our vision to foster, Lilias. Generations. And Isaev may not let the schola be built.”
“Isaev be damned. He will fail, though it pains me to know our platoon will suffer from his pettiness. He inflicts on us the unjust punishment Osniah belabored our Altridge friends with. Yet, we must carry on, no matter the hardships. Change does not occur swiftly or without trial, Silas. It is worth pursuing because of those challenges. Barlocke would have liked to see the Imperium become anew in a day’s time, such was the spirit of his haughty but undeniably earnest idealism. It will all take time. How much, who can say? You yourself said you were to start here, making small differences, and you have.”
Marsh Silas looked into Carstensen’s sparkling, aquamarine eyes. She smiled softly. “Clivvy, Rowley, Tattersall, the Whiteshield integration program, the schola, and most of all, getting these men through alive.”
“I did not do it alone.” Marsh Silas wove his fingers around Carstensen’s. “You and Hyram were beside me, and I will not take away the credit due to these men. For it was not just me or you who created their survival, but each and every one of them. The sacrifices of those we lost, the toil of those who have survived.” He kissed her hand. “My, what men, what valor.”
“We will pass that courage and brotherhood on to many, many more, Silas. We will create a new army, new leaders, new soldiers. It is your dream, and mine also, and we will make it true, together, all of us.”
As wind ruffled Marsh’s blonde locks and toyed with Carstensen crimson hair, they shared a kiss in the slowly receding sunlight. Clouds came with breeze, creating intermittent bastions of darkness across the plains. Orange light dazzled and disappeared only to reappear moments later, illuminating Cadia in its warm glow.
“It’ll be all the more adventurous to better this empire with these ruffians, won’t it?” Marsh said. He smiled at the olive drab helmets poking out of the roadside ditches and sandbag redoubts around the road.
“Oh, and father of course,” Carstensen said and motioned to Hyram, who was walking towards them. “Where would we be without him?”
“Less eyesore from all his books, that’s for sure,” Marsh said and the two laughed quietly. He nodded slowly. He hoped Hyram would join the conversation, but his colleague wore an expression of concern.
“Silas, Lilias, there’s a convoy coming up the road. Cargo-8 trucks.”
“Could this be our resupply?”
“Might just be troops passing through to the western theater. Our vox-hails have failed.”
“I’ll form a detachment to stop them and check their authorization,” said Silas as he stood. But Carstensen took his arm.
“Silas, stay here with your gun. Rest, and allow me to handle this.” She put on her hat, secured it, and winked at Marsh before she marched back up to the crossing. She collected Walmsley Major, Drummer Boy, and Yoxall as she waved down the truck. A Cadian Interior Guardsmen, riding on the side-rail, hopped from the truck and took out his papers.
Hyram leaned against the side of the Chimera while Marsh Silas buttoned his coat. The Lieutenant-Precept watched Carstensen for a time, then lit a lho-stick and took a long drag. Marsh stood up, plucked it from his lips, puffed, and hacked. It was an acrid blend. Hyram hastily took it back.
“We’re exposed out here,” said Hyram. “I’m out of autocannon shells, my mortars have enough ammunition for just one more fight. One of my gun teams only has half a belt of heavy bolter ammunition. Giles still isn’t back, so I’m nominally in command of 1st Company. Every platoon is in want of ammunition, water, food, medical supplies, and reinforcements. The whole regiment is below half-strength.”
“I know, Seathan. We just need to get the men out of here and overcome Isaev’s injustices.”
“Tall orders. It will be quite the trial. Emperor knows, it has been quite the journey already.”
There were shouts from the checkpoint. Marsh and Hyram turned. The driver who had climbed down from the truck held something metal in his hand. Carstensen slammed him into the truck, pinned his arm, and twisted the device out of it. Walmsley Major, Yoxall, and Drummer Boy hunched and leveled their weapons towards the front of the vehicle.
“What on the Throneworld…” Hyram started jogging towards the checkpoint. Marsh ducked to pick up his M36 and just as he followed, there was a terrific barrage of gunfire. The sides of the Cargo-8’s behind the first truck opened and heretics, many clad in Cadian uniforms, jumped out, brandishing swords and auto-weapons. Bloody Platoon immediately opened fire on them.
Marsh sprinted towards the checkpoint. Carstensen shoved the man away, backed up, and fired her bolt pistol. Hyram, Walmsley Major, Yoxall, and Drummer Boy fired on the cab, decimating the engine and killing the driver. But as they reloaded, a second man emerged in the turret mounted on the right side of the cab. He racked the heavy stubber and trained it down at the four scattering Guardsmen.
Just as Marsh paused to line up a shot, Carstensen raced around the front. She dragged Drummer Boy out of the way, shoved Yoxall aside, then dove into Hyram, who in turn knocked Walmsley Major out of the way. As she did, she and the enemy gunner fired simultaneously. The heretic fell inside the truck and Carstensen landed on her side. She did not move.
Marsh Silas stumbled, stopped, and stared. It seemed as if he stood for a lifetime. There was silence as Bloody Platoon rose from their position and attacked the enemy survivors as they attempted to retreat. Others gathered around Carstensen and cries for medic rang out. In a blur, Marsh closed the distance and broke into the huddle of troopers around her. Carstensen was on her back, her teeth gritted, her hat gone. Blood ran from her abdomen.
“Oh Emperor, no!” Marsh hollered as he squeezed in between them. “Medic!” he yelled. “Medic up! Honeycutt!?”
“Cut it, cut it,” Hyram ordered. Yoxall sliced the bottom of Carstensnen’s tunic away and then part of the layer underneath. Dark blood seeped from several holes. Streams of it stained her tunic and trousers.
“Honeycutt!? Where the fuck are you!?” Marsh Silas yelled. “Jameson, please!” The medic appeared moments later and started going through his kit.
“Gut shot below the chestplate. How many holes are there?”
“Three, four, I can’t see there’s so much blood!”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Walmsley Major, what happened?”
“That Guardsmen was crying—”
“Does anybody have any powder? Where are the field sutures?”
“—he pulled a detonator out of his pocket—”
“Drummer Boy, get on the network and call for medevac.”
“But there are no birds available!”
“Silas…”
“I told you don’t have enough of anything.”
“They’ve had days to resupply us what the fuck is going on!?”
“Shit, shit, shit.”
“She’s still bleeding!”
“Listen…”
“Army’s Meadow has the closest medicae.”
“But it already has more casualties than it can handle from Kasr Sonnen!”
“It’s leagues away!”
“I need light, I need more light!”
“Calm down!” Carstensen yelled. Everyone’s eyes snapped to her. She lifted her head off the pavement. Her blue-green eyes were alight with energy. Sweat coated her face, her red locks clung to her temples, and her breathing grew labored. “Everyone take two breaths and be…be calm. Drummer Boy, call for available assets. Walmsley Major, get a team and search the truck. Yoxall, fetch me water please, I’m dreadfully thirsty. Silas, assist Honeycutt with whatever he needs, whether that’s a pair of strong hands or dabbing his brow if he gets too hot.”
She winced as she lowered her head back down and released a gasp as Honeycutt continued inspecting the wounds. “Hyram, listen. The rider, he was Cadian, he was alone, he was sobbing. He said something about the 45th, Summanus, that he’d be saved, he was not making sense.”
“Alright, that’s enough for now,” Hyram said. Walmsley Major and his group of Shock Troopers came running by. Each one slowed next to their wounded Commissar, their faces aghast and pale. But one cold look from her spurred them on and they ran out into the countryside. “Drummer Boy, with me, give them space to work.”
“Net call, net call: all stations, this is Primus One-Six-Rho. Requesting medevac for critical casualty at coordinates…”
Marsh tried to steady his breathing as he clasped Carstensen’s hand and watched Honeycutt treat the wound. Honeycutt showed her the syringe for pain nullifiers and the Commissar nodded calmly. He injected her and within moments she appeared more relaxed.
“I’m not going to extract the bullets, they’re too deep and too close to the aorta. Hand me those field sutures. There are too many holes, I can’t patch them all,” the medic said. “I was not able to get any abdominal pressure dressings and the bandages won’t be enough. She needs to get into surgery soon. Drummer Boy?”
“All our air assets are still tied up in the north pursuing the heretics!” Drummer Boy despaired, tears running down his cheeks. “I can’t get anything!”
“We’re not waiting,” Marsh said, and went to stand up. Carstensen didn’t let go of his hand and kept him on his knees. “Hyram, we need to go!”
“Copy.” The squeezed the micro-bead link around his neck. “Tindall, get your Chimera running, we’ve got a casualty to evacuate to Army’s Meadow.” As soon as he finished the call, he cupped his hands around his mouth. “I need a litter!”
“There are no litters, we left Kasr Sonnen too quickly,” Honeycutt said. Hyram swore under his breath and thought quickly.
“Someone get me a blanket or a sheet, big as you can find!”
Calls repeating the order resounded down the lines. Men appeared from their positions, running between the tents and fighting holes. Tindall and his crew made one more inspection of their Chimera before the engine revved to life. One of his men stood behind it and motioned for the vehicle to follow. Slowly, the Chimera turned and reversed to the checkpoint.
“Lilias, talk to me, keep talking to me,” Marsh implored, squeezing her hand. Her blood was all over his fingers and palms. Carstensen trembled a little and breathed as steadily as she could. Her face was pointed skywards but her eyes remained on Marsh Silas.
“Get my chestplate off, I feel as though I can’t breathe. The power fist too, it’s so heavy.”
Marsh sat her up as gently as he could. Even though the medication was active, any movement she made resulted in a shudder, a hiss through her teeth, or a labored groan. Hyram came over and assisted, as well as Yoxall who ran up with water. Together, they removed her arms and armor and Carstensen gave a sigh of relief after taking a drink.
“By the Throne! Sir, there are explosives in the cargo hold!” Walmsley Major called. Yoxall didn’t wait for the order to inspect. He ordered everyone out of the truck. Minutes later, he emerged.
“They’re armed but they’re activated by a remote detonator. There’s enough explosives in there to kill us all. Where’s the detonator?” Carstensen motioned to the pavement beside the driver’s side door. The Breacher examined the device. “This is it. If he triggered it—”
Marsh Silas suddenly smiled and squeezed her hand again.
“Lilias, once again you have saved us all. The Commissar grinned proudly and nodded.
“Then I am happy,” she said tiredly.
But more gunfire ripped through the air. The line became a wall of fire as the heretics charged back over Sandeera Ridge.
“No time for a an ordnance disposal team. Someone get in that thing and drive it away from the line! Tindall, one minute until departure!”
Isenhour arrived with the blanket and several other Guardsmen. They laid it out beside Carstensen and flattened it out. Hyram arranged the men on either side of her and they all took a hold of her. “On my go: one, two, three, lift.” Everyone grunted with exertion and Carstensen hissed as they transitioned her to the blanket. Then, they gripped the sides and ends of it. “Once more: one, two, three, lift.”
The team labored up the ramp of Tindall’s APC. Honeycutt, Isenhour, Walmsley Minor, Drummer Boy, and several other Guardsmen commanded by Sergeant Wulff, piled in with Marsh Silas. Hyram knelt beside her briefly, squeezed her hand, and kissed her forehead. “I have to stay here, Lilias. I’ll see you back at Army’s Meadow. Goodbye, sister.”
“Yes, sir,” she said heavily. Then, her brow raised, her gaze softened, and she smiled. “Should I call you brother, or father?” Hyram laughed and hugged Carstensen suddenly. She gripped him tightly and they whispered into each other’s ears. He parted from her, tears in his eyes, spared a parting glance for Marsh Silas, and exited the APC. He drummed his fist against the side and the ramp was raised. The Guardsmen were now in a dark world illuminated only by a red interior light.
Soon, the Chimera was grinding down the road. Marsh Silas continued to hold Carstensen’s hands in both of his. Honeycutt knelt beside her, doing his best to secure the bandages on her stomach. Each layer was quickly bled through, sopped with dark blood. Others assisted, either by handing him tools or keeping pressure on the wounds. All the blood shimmered in the dull aura of the lamp. Drummer Boy monitored the Vox-net, issuing Hyram’s override commands to clear traffic on the road ahead. The firing ports were closed and the engine was incredibly loud. Tindall drove at extreme speed, slowing only to navigate the traffic coming up th MSR.
“Lilias, the pain, are you bearing it?” asked Marsh.
“It is not too much. I’m as comfortable as I can be,” she murmured. “Disgraceful to have so much blood shed upon my uniform; only if it were the enemy’s blood.”
The Chimera drove over something that rocked the whole vehicle. Guardsmen were bumped and jostled on their feet. Honeycutt dropped the scissors he was using to cut bandages. Hands hastily groped for them. Carstensen groaned loudly. Marsh Silas got off his knees and sat down, bringing her upper body into his lap. She rested her head on his thigh and pressed her face into his stomach for a few moments, breathing heavily.
“It’ll be alright,” soothed Marsh. “We’ll be home soon, darling. Right quick, you’ll see.”
Carstensen grew paler. The color was draining from her face. Yet her eyes, the most courageous he’d ever seen, continued to burn brightly. Every so often she’d squeeze his hand with her own. With her other, she unbuttoned the top of her tunic, reached inside, and drew the silver Aquila she wore. For a little while, she stared at it whilst running her bare thumb over the surface. A single tear ran from each eye and she eventually pressed it to her bosom.
“How much farther?” she asked. The question was passed to Tindall through an interior hatch.
“Making headway, ma’am,” was the commander’s reply. Not long after, there was another bump. It was heavy like the first one, unseating almost everyone. Carstensen did not gasp, merely released a startled, labored, ‘ah!’ Marsh held her close.
“Throne, damn ye!” he called to the crew. “Must you hit every single hole in the road!?”
“They’re doing their best, Silas,” Carstensen said and breathed steadily. Her eyelids blinked heavily. “Sergeant Honeycutt, time?”
The medic glanced at Marsh Silas, confused, and then lowered his sleeve to check his wrist-chrono.
“1735 hours, ma’am.” But Carstensen looked directly at him, her brow furrowed and jaw set.
“Jameson, how much time?”
The medic’s stare was grim and remorseful. Biting his lip, then inhaling sharply, he shook his head and finally looked down at the floor panel of the Chimera.
“Not long.” Marsh trembled and looked between them. Tears ran down his cheeks. Some fell right onto Carstensen’s face, creating little breaks in the sheen of sweat which coated her skin.
“We’re on the coastal road,” Tindall remarked through the hatch.
“Can you see Army’s Meadow?”
“Not yet.”
Marsh cursed under his breath and quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Desperately, he searched the faces of his comrades. Drummer Boy was keeled over but still had his handset pressed to his ear. Wulff looked on stoically while Walmsley Minor did his best to withhold his emotions. Honeycutt wore the same bleak and gloomy expression he possessed whenever he finished treating casualties in first aid stations. Isenhour leaned forward, his hands clasped around a small silver Aquila he pressed to his lips.
“Stop.”
The occupants cast their gazes upon Carstensen. The Commissar looked up at the roof of the APC. She was terribly pale, her eyes seemed to be sinking in, and she appeared to be utterly drained of energy. Even her eyes grew dimmer. “Stop the Chimera.”
“No, we’ll be there soon. We’ll be there in time t-t-to…fix you and…” As Marsh spoke, Carstensen shook her head from side to side.
“I want to see the ocean and the sky.”
“But my love, please, there’s still…there’s still a chance, Emperor willing. I don’t want you to go. Throne, first Afdin and now you…”
“It’ll be alright, Silas. I want some air.” But Marsh Silas could not consent. He cradled her close to his chest and did not hold back his tears. Honeycutt was the one who ordered Tindall to halt the vehicle. Although the commander protested at first, he acquiesced when the medic pressed him.
Steadily, the Chimera decelerated. The treads grounded slowly to a stop and soon the engine turned off. As the ramp lowered, the orange sunset flooded the troop compartment and blinded everyone inside. Cadian air immediately replaced the greasy, mechanical scent of the vehicle’s interior.
“One, two, three, lift.”
They carried her gently down the ramp. Tindall had parked on a high, wide bend on the coastal road running south. Army’s Meadow was still many kilometers away, nothing more than a vague, gray shape on the sea’s horizon. Marsh knew this spot, for it was the very same place he and Carstensen shared their first kiss.
Carstensen asked to be taken near the edge of the bluff. Below was a grade of jagged rocks leading to the ocean. The water was very calm, lapping the rocks at the bottom. Every so often a larger breaker landed and cast white spray and plumes through the air. Each one sparked in the sunlight, twinkling like gemstones.
They set her down so that her feet were to the south and her head to the north. Marsh Silas sat so that she was still held in his lap. His back was to the road. Isenhour placed her power fist beside her and her bolt pistol on top of it. All the other Guardsmen stood around her for a short time. Carstensen looked up at them calmly and smiled.
“Brothers, sisters. You have all done your duty. Thank you all for your efforts, comrades. Thank you for being not only the Guardsmen you are, but the people you are.”
No one could reply. Tears ran silently, hands covered eyes, and one by one they each whispered a parting word. They came, touching her hand, kissing her cheek, whispering in her ear, saluting, turning, and gathering by the Chimera. Carstensen raised her hand only a little, not in salute, but in a farewell wave. Once they were all away, she looked out at the sea for a long time. Marsh did not sob but his eyes glimmered. Clear, moist tracks cut through the dust on his cheeks. Blood coated his sleeves. One hand held the back of her head while the other remained latched to her hand.
She did not smile or speak, merely breathed steadily. Each breath became shallower and shallower. Carstensen looked up at the sky, craning her neck slowly, and finally her eyes—shades of grassy earth and crisp ocean blue—came to rest on Marsh Silas.
“Silas, to be buried in the Cadian tradition, do you feel it to be a good end?”
“My love, I…I accept it for what it is,” he answered, his tone uneven. “Would I wish it were different, I suppose so, for I have some fear of being disturbed when I am dust.”
“It is not so bad, methinks,” she said. “But it is unceremonious, no? I would like it to be another way. Not fire; to be fed to flames is fit only for the incineration of the tainted.” Carstensen pointed out at the sea. “Look yonder at that beauty we have glimpsed for many years. That is mother Cadia’s life. I am no longer of any world but this one. I belong with her. Please, send me away naught with fire nor place me underneath earth. Let me become one with Cadia’s blood. Please, give me to her waters.”
Marsh Silas sobbed then, though he wished he didn’t. He wanted to be as brave and calm as she was, as she always was. Eventually, he nodded and flashed her a smile.
“I will see it done.”
“Good, very good,” Carstensen said. She breathed deeply. “I am going soon. Make sure Drummer Boy changes the network codes before he sleeps tonight. He’s quite a diligent lad but he might be forgetful. Tell Isenhour I am sorry that I had to punish him; if it had been my choice I would have refused. He did not deserve it. Babcock needs to purchase a new case for the standard, the lid is feeble; remind him, will you? Seathan, oh my brother Seathan, he does not always wear his spectacles when he is performing administrative duties. Ensure that he does lest his eyes give up.”
The entire time, Marsh nodded and conceded. By the end, his face was torn and he was choking back sobs. Shaking his head and holding her close, he looked into her eyes.
“Lilias, are you not afraid?” Marsh asked quietly.
“My love, I have never truly known fear. I have been ready for my death since I first donned this uniform. I have prepared to spend my life dearly for the Emperor, for the Imperium, for this platoon, for you,” she said, then after a pause, she sighed deeply. “But I always wondered what it would be like. Swiftly, my life extinguished, with no time to speak to anyone or whisper a prayer to my god? Slowly, in agony, roaring my last breath against some foul foe? Now that it’s here, calm, quiet, with that view I love to share with you, it is not such a bad thing.”
But two tears fell once more. Marsh took a cloth from his kit bag and dabbed them away. Carstensen chewed her bottom lip and released a labored, heavy breath. “I am sad, still, for I did not just wish to go just yet.” She squeezed the Aquila in her hand very tightly. “I wanted to see it. A new generation of officers, Militarum and Commissariat alike, ushering Guardsmen onward. Not behind them with the lash, but in front of this army, pistol in one hand, their other hand high in the air. Forward, ever forward. Lo, Silas, what a beautiful sight that would be.”
Her lips trembled, but then she smiled. “Yes, I am forlorn that I will be unable to go on another adventure with Bloody Platoon. How I would have wished to be wed to you in the cathedral and take your name. But I am not angry. I am sorry for any of it. For my dream was to bring about that change. That schola is the first step, Silas, a stone across a raging river, and I am content knowing it was placed. Our ideals will continue, my lessons will take root in generations to come. These men will survive, they will become leaders of men and harbingers of this new Imperium.”
Her smile grew. “Change will come. Good change. Yes, there was still so much to do. It makes me sad, but not hollow. I know I have played my part and done my duty. I can leave feeling the strength of resolve and warmth of this brotherhood. I weep merely because I want to be there with you when all comes to fruition.”
“Lilias, truly, you were sent to us all by the Emperor,” whispered Marsh Silas. “You are a true hero, not just for this day, but for all days. Leader, savior, defender. What we owe to you…” He drew a quivering breath and choked. “...what we owe to you is indescribable.”
“I need no priest nor chapel. Here, we are wed.”
“I shall know no other.”
“Heavens,” Carstensen chuckled. “I am afraid to hear you say that. You cannot linger in the past. You, these soldiers, you must carry on. Progress, forward unto life, that is what the Emperor envisioned.”
“You cannot ask me to forget you. You cannot expect me to give up my love for you.”
“I ask no such thing,” she assured him. “Do not love me as if I still draw breath. Love me, as you would a sweet memory. Like the rice your mother used to cook, or how the Whiteshields laughed at your lessons, or the many conversations Barlocke shared with you.”
With some difficulty, she removed the chain from around her neck. The silver Aquila glowed in the setting sun. She placed it around his neck so that it joined the same one she’d given him in Kasr Sonnen so many months before. Carstensen pressed it to his chest. “Love me as a memory, my dearest one.”
It became tremendously quiet. The air grew warmer as the sea winds abated. Below, the surf grew so calm it became still. Even the lapping waves grew muted. Carstensen looked back out to sea, gazing at the dark waters and fiery light cast by the sun. Far away was the peninsula which they had been away from for so long. “It would have been good…to see Army’s Meadow again…if just for the flowers. They really made that place…into a home.”
She spoke dreamily. Carstensen’s eyelids grew heavier. Turning back towards Marsh Silas, her lips moved. He leaned closer. Her left hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into it. “Let me touch my weapon,” she whispered.
He reached over and pulled the power fist closer. Marsh did not want to move too much, lest he disturb her. Then, he gently laid her right hand beside it so Carstensen could touch the thumb with her finger. Upon feeling it, Carstensen’s eyes fluttered a little and she nodded firmly. She gathered her breath. “God-Emperor. Imperium. Army. Cadia. Bloody Platoon. Kiss me, Silas.”
Marsh cradled the back of her head with his whole arm. He lifted her up and leaned down. Silas pressed his lips against Lilias’s—they were soft and cold. Just as they parted, their lips so close, she breathed into him. Her hand fell away from his cheek and came to rest on her chest.
Slowly, he lowered her. Lilias’s eyes were closed and her body was still. Marsh Silas stared at her, his vision growing salty and blurry.
“Lilias? Lilias?” His violet eyes grew. “Lilias.”