Broken Things

Remer groaned. Being thrown violently seemed to be the punishment of the day. "Vornas, I'm going to marry whoever designed Carapace plate," he mumbled. Unfortunately, he couldn't feel anything other than agony in his legs. Alive they might be, but not without something to show for it. His left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, and it screamed to him. Remer bit his tongue until he tasted blood on his lips and felt stinging tears welling up in his eyes.

Vornas looked a little less beaten. He sat up and fumbled through his pack. "Hold on there, saint, this'll help." Vornas grabbed a syringe that seemed comically tiny in his large hands, and jammed it into Remer's leg. Remer's eyes bulged as the sedative flooded his body, forcing his leg to go numb. "The pain will be dulled, but we've got to get you to a hospital. I'll try to set it, but no promises."

"Saint, eh?" said Remer, his speech slurred. "I could get used to that. Lenham Remer, Patron Saint of the Imperial Guard. Nice title, don't you think?"

"Remer, you stay awake, and I'll make you Saint of the whole Imperium. Now stay still." Vornas got to work setting his friend's leg. For all he knew, there was internal damage, but he could only focus on what he could see with his own eyes. "Just stay with me."

Remer gave him a thumbs up, his head swimming in the drugs. "No problem, Bor. Where's the boom? I thought the warheads would go off for sure."

"Consider yourself lucky then, hold still." Vornas continued to work. He needed Alek for this sort of thing. A crap shot but a better medic than Vornas would ever be. He looked around, trying to see where Merrick and the others had stopped.

Alek stayed back while Soras and Merrick moved in on the Ork bike. With his gun gone, there was little he could do without getting in the way. The other two would be able to deal with the Ork well enough. He hoped.

Merrick nodded to Kippler, and the trooper circled around the bike, keeping his distance. The Nob lay on the road, streaks of blood showing where he had hit the ground. But the xeno was still moving. Kippler didn't hesitate to start firing as the Ork leapt upright, axe in hand. Several shots dented the brute's armor, while the ones that struck flesh it seemed to ignore.

Kippler started to run. The Nob followed, swinging his axe after him. It was deceptively fast for something so big. Merrick opened up, firing his hellgun on full auto, desperately trying to put the Ork down. Kippler would be a dead man if he didn't. He shouted at the Nob to get its attention, punctuating his insults with volleys of shots. The Nob didn't stop.

The Ork was enormous, standing half again as tall as Merrick and three times as wide. To him, a hellgun would just be an annoyance. They needed something bigger, or a way to get a clearer shot on the bastard.

Kippler jumped aside from the Ork's lunging thrust, darting behind him and running back towards Merrick. There was about fifty meters between them. He was giving Merrick an opening.

Merrick thought quickly. He switched the gun's setting to single shot, and adjusted the power output to maximum. Regulations stipulated that overcharging was prohibited due to the wear and tear on the gun's workings. He didn't care much for regulations, and a fully charged shot might be the only thing that could bring the Ork down.

Kippler had closed to twenty meters. Merrick lined up his shot. The rampaging Ork's gaping mouth presented a nice target, but Merrick waited. The gun might only get one shot before frying itself, and he couldn't miss.

Fifteen meters, Merrick gripped the trigger. Fourteen, thirteen. He inhaled, anticipating. Ten meters. Kippler threw himself to the ground. The Ork raised its axe, bellowing. Merrick fired.

The orange beam burned so brightly he had to squint. The shot sheared the Nob's face in half horizontally, disintegrating the Ork's skull, leaving only an ash covered lower jaw behind as the remainder of the brute's body crashed into the pavement.

Merrick offered a hand to Kippler, righting himself. The two looked around. "Where's Alek?" asked Kippler. The boy was nowhere in sight. They turned to the truck crash. The trailer had overturned and halted against the barrier, while the truck itself had wrecked itself colliding with the wall of rubble.

Merrick realized what happened. "Hurst," he said, before he started running. Kippler was close behind.

Merrick sat in a small room, featureless save for the bare desk in front of him and the door at the other end. He had been taken here under guard the moment the response shuttle had touched down at Capital Spire. Merrick had barely a chance to see the medical teams rushing Hurst and Remer away before he had been escorted away at gunpoint. That was an hour ago.

This was frakking ridiculous, he thought. Why in hell was he being arrested, at a time like this? He had just done what any decent human being would do if there was a chance to save a friend. Decent humans were in short supply it seemed.

The door opened and Captain Uther entered, followed by Commissar Connor. Uther had a weary look on his face, much worse than he had the night before. He threw a stack of files onto the table before sitting down. Connor hovered in the corner, watching over the proceedings. The first thing out of Merrick's mouth was a demand to know what had happened to Hurst and Remer.

"Sergeant Hurst was rushed to the emergency ward the moment you touched down. He has suffered a severe spinal injury and a fractured jaw. Thankfully, there seems to be no internal bleeding, so he hasn't suffered any brain damage. However, if the surgeons cannot realign his spine, Wadden Hurst will need extensive augmetics work to stand again."

"And Remer?"

Captain Uther flipped over the pages of the report. "Private Lenham Remer was released from the infirmary with a broken leg and other minor injuries. He will recover in time. That's not why I'm here, though, Merrick. And I think you know the truth about my visit."

Merrick leaned back, scowling. "Enlighten me, Captain. Usually the AA reports are done in the briefing room, not a holding cell."

Commissar Connor spoke up. "You disobeyed direct orders from your immediate superior and fled an engagement in favor of personal matters."

"It was either that, or leave those bastards with three of my men and as many warheads," spat Merrick.

Connor continued, "Your actions cost the Artemians five soldiers, five soldiers that might still be alive now had you obeyed Captain Dalton's orders. Your indiscretion required Captain Dalton to redeploy the Kydoran elements to support your actions, further weakening their efforts to clear the Hab block. These charges are undeniable, Sergeant Major."

"So you would have me just let them drive off to Emperor knows where? Do you even know where the Frak they were going?"

"The driver was taken to interrogation," said Uther. "He didn't know anything, except that his group were under orders to reach their prescribed drop off points, heedless of any obstacles. He gave us the coordinates, and General Derim is organizing a task force."

"And where would that be?"

"Angel Forge," Uther said flatly.

That surprised Merrick. "Don't we still have men billeted there? How the frak were they getting in and out, and who were they sending the supplies to?"

"That is what we hope to find out tonight, Merrick," said Uther. "However, you will will not be assigned to this one."

"I figured. So what is the plan?"

"By the order of the Departmento Munitorium, Commissariat Branch, you are sentenced to two months confinement under guard. You are stripped of rank and insignia for this time, and until such time as the acting regimental Commissar sees fit to reinstate your commission."

"Why not just shoot me and be done with it?" snarled Merrick. "Isn't that what you are supposed to do?"

Connor swooped over the table like a raptor, staring daggers at Merrick. Her voice was dangerously soft, "As the regimental Commissar, it is my duty to inspire the soldiery and uphold morale. Under our circumstances, the execution of a veteran member is neither an effective use of manpower, nor is it the ideal motivation for the regiment. The 85th is at less than a third of its original strength, and I don't intend to have that number drop any lower. One idiotic misstep by you will not jeopardize this unit, do you understand me, Sergeant Major?"

Merrick said nothing, meeting Connor's glare with his own.

"Answer me, trooper," said Connor forcefully.

"Understood, Commissar," said Merrick, letting the anger he felt drip from his words. He turned to look at the haggard Uther. "What about the rest of the squad, Captain?"

"The Daredevils are to be pulled from active duty for the time being. You're no use to the regiment at half strength, so I've reassigned the squad to upper city patrol."

Uther heaved a great sigh, and clasped his hands together, "Merrick, this is the lightest sentence we can give you. We're too few to dispense executions, and I don't want to see you dead over this. It is for your own good and for the good of the 85th. I wish this hadn't happened, but there is little we can do about it now. You will be returned to duty in two months, by which time you will have your rank reinstated and you will return to active duty."

Merrick was silent, looking away from Connor and Uther. The Captain stood to leave. At the door, he turned, and quietly spoke, "I am sorry." The cell door slammed behind him.

Outside the Boss's cell, Remer, Vornas, Kippler and Alek waited. The door opened, and Captain Uther and Connor exited. The quartet nodded as the officers approached. Uther walked up to the troopers and looked to Kippler, "Private, follow me."

"Sir," said Kippler. Soras followed Uther down the cell block, rounding the corner out of sight. The remaining three were left with the Commissar. Remer whistled, leaning against the wall to stay off his bum leg.

"So...what's our fearless leader in for?" he joked. Excessive bravery in the face of madness? Field commendation for talking down our most romantic command couple? Or how about-"

Remer was cut short by a vicious punch to the face that broke his nose. Connor pressed her elbow into his throat, grinding him into the wall. Gasping for air and bleeding profusely from his mangled face, Remer saw a fury in the Commissar's eyes that she seemingly only reserved for the enemy.

"Next time, it will be your balls, Remer," she hissed, letting him drop. "I am not in the mood."

She looked to the other two. Alek and Vornas hurriedly snapped to attention, taking a sudden, intense interest in the adjacent wall. Remer struggled to stand coughing and cupping his bloody nose to stem the river of red.

"See to the infirmary for that, Private," snapped Connor as she stormed off briskly. Without turning she called back. "And if you don't, it's another four years latrine duty!"

Remer finally stumbled to his feet, still reeling and not quite sure what just happened.

Kippler followed Uther into the main tactical room. The servitor banks, officers and adjutants were still working round the clock, just as they had the day before. Soras was ushered into the Captain's office, poorly lit and distressingly cluttered. Uther closed the door behind him, cutting out the sound.

"Have a seat, soldier," said Uther, motioning to the chair. "I have the after action reports from your little "encounter" today. I thought you would want to go over them."

Soras didn't know what the captain expected him to see, but he did as he was asked and poured over the reports. He passed them over to Uther when he finished. "Everything seems to check out, Captain. But, if I may ask, why have me look over these reports?"

"Because, soldier, the duty of reviewing an AA report falls to the acting squad leader and his superior officer. I'm promoting you to Corporal, Kippler, effective immediately. With both your sergeant's out of sorts, I need someone to lead the grenadiers. You were the only obvious candidate."

Uther offered his hand, which Soras accepted. "Congratulations, corporal, don't let me down."

"Thank you sir," said Soras curtly. "I'll see to the squad then, if I have your leave."

"Please do so," said Uther. "I'll have a your rank pins delivered in the morning. Now if you will excuse me, I need to get back to the tactical room. We still need to get to the bottom of these convoy raids. It's going to be another long night."

"Sir," said Soras. The newly promoted corporal nodded smartly and left. Exiting tactical, Kippler awarded himself a small grin. He might have been put up for necessity, but the act was still an honour for him. His thoughts turned to Merrick and Hurst, partly out of concern, and partly to keep the rush of pride he felt from going to his head. He had large shoes to fill.