Vandamier
The mechanisms in the door to the Administratum Offices whirred as it slid aside to admit the bulky figure of a man dressed in the fatigues of a Colonel. What worried the clerk though, was the man at his heels, the look on that man's face and, most specifically, the way his hand seem to be creeping along his belt of it's own accord to what looked suspiciously like the handle of a leathern whip. The clerk swallowed nervously and blinked a few times.
The pair stopped in front of his desk and the Colonel smiled. It was the sort of polite smile that suggested the following conversation could go one of two ways and that he really wouldn't want to find out what the second way was. Presumably it would involve the grim-faced Commissar at his shoulder and the presently coiled whip.
The clerk swallowed nervously again and tried not to stammer, 'H-How can I help you, Colonel, Commissar?'
As if he didn't know. Some idiot back wherever this Colonel and his unsmiling Commissar had come from had managed to fill-in or file his reports wrong and, somehow, this Colonel's unit had been declared wiped-out to the last man on Hiromen. Yesterday, the Colonel had very politely informed him that this wasn't the case. He had also pointed this out the day before, and the day before that. In fact, he had been regularly coming into the Administratum Offices for nearly a week and a half. Today was the first time that the Commissar had appeared alongside him and his narrowed eyes and twitching fingers were scaring the clerk as much as the man's fixed stare and utterly mirthless face.
The Colonel's smile was as fixed as his Commissar's stare, 'I was going to politely enquire as to whether a resolution has been achieved in which my men, waiting patiently in their barracks, have been declared not to be the lifeless corpses you would pretend them to be. However, I can guess from the somewhat concerned expression on your face, that that is unlikely to be the case. So I would like to introduce you to another paradoxical member of the Tantalid Primigenia, my Commissar.'
The Colonel paused and allowed the clerk to get a good look at the Commissar, in case he hadn't noticed him. It was just as well, because now the clerk could see the Commissar's other hand. It was resting on the reinforced grip of a shock maul. The Commissar's gloved index finger was gently tapping the grip about an inch away from the activation button.
'The Commissar here,' the Colonel continued genially, 'is a man interested in duty and its dereliction. You see, because the unit has been declared dead, the Commissar' who was now staring fixedly at a point somewhere just beyond the clerk's left ear, 'feels that someone, somewhere has failed in his, or her, duty. In short, he is concerned.'
The most worrying thing, to the clerk at least, was the friendliness in the Colonel's voice and that horrible fixed smile. He tried not to look back at the Commissar and muttered something that might have been an acknowledgement.
'In his concern the Commissar thought it best to… tag along, just to make sure that the Administratum isn't preventing my men from performing their duty. As I'm sure you understand,' the Colonel's smile broadened for a moment, 'Now, I'd advise you to pass this message along to your seniors; if the Primigenia are not reinstated for combat duty by tomorrow, the Commissar here is going to launch a full misconduct investigation, starting here, at this desk. Do you understand?'
The clerk nodded anxiously and swore to himself that he would far too ill to work tomorrow, he didn't care if Supervisor Udurg docked his pay, he wasn't going to be here when that Commissar came marching through the door again. He understood what Commissars did and this one didn't even seem to be carrying a pistol for summary executions, from the look on the man's face he'd be quite happy powering up that shock maul instead.
'Y-yes, Colonel. I'll pass it along, Sir.'
The Colonel nodded and both men turned and left. The clerk sank back into his chair, sweating.
'You do realise, Colonel, that I cannot simply march in there and demand a full misconduct investigation.'
Colonel Atreus and Commissar Gavelen were making their way back towards what Atreus generously referred to as the regimental barracks but was, in reality, a disused warehouse. The situation was far more dire than he let the snivelling Administratum clerk know. Having been declared dead, the Tantalid no longer existed in Imperial records and, therefore, were unable to requisition housing, vehicles, ammunition or even food supplies. For the last week and a half they had been living off the remaining ration packages from the Barrat Campaign and they were getting worryingly low.
Atreus removed his cap and wiped sweat from his brow, what he wouldn't give for even the slightest breeze in the air. At another time Vandamier would have been one of the best staging posts to be assigned to, with its blue skies, warmth and sparkling fountains that broke up the city-scape into shady parks and broad boulevards. Instead he was stuck in a disused warehouse that was all they had been able to find, sleeping in survival sacks stale from over-use and eating leftover rat-packs from the battlefields of Hiromen. They could very well find themselves starving to death before the Administratum realised their error and wouldn't that be ironic; a dead regiment starving to death for the crime of being alive. Casualties of a war already over.
'I know, I know,' he answered, 'but the threat of it might just get them off their arses and doing something useful.'
Commissar Gavelen nodded and they walked on, 'Still, you make a point, Colonel. I shall prepare a troop detail for the morning.'
Colonel Atreus smiled suddenly and said, 'You could always take Swythe along.'
Colonel Gavelen glanced at him, 'I thought you wanted to feed the men, not start a war?'
A man enjoying the sunshine from the comfort of an ornamental bench beside a fountain watched them pass. He had made it his job to review the regiments currently stationed on Vandamier and knew all of their signs and symbols but, strangely, he did not recognised the wyvern emblem on the shoulders of either of those men. He frowned and cleared his throat out of habit.
How curious.
He whistled for his aide who had chosen to lurk in the shade instead of enjoy the sunlight. The lad came rushing across, blinking furiously as his eyes tried to adjust.
'Those men,' the man said, gesturing at the pair, 'find which regiment they belong to.'
'Yes, sir,' the lad said and turned to hurry after them.
'Wait!' the man called, frowning, 'Do it discretely.'
'Oh,' the youth said, halting in his tracks, 'Yes, sir.'
The youth moved forward again, then stopped again, 'Now, sir?'
The man eyed him with only a touch of disbelief, 'Why, yes, Remmond, now.'
The youth darted after the pair as they rounded a corner, only slowing once he had them in sight once again. The man sat back against he bench and leant his head back so that the sun fell full upon his smooth face, reflective glare-lenses hiding his eyes.
