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Chapter 42
Reports of Black Legionnaires, the Silvered Maw, and the Band of Dusk moving to the southwest were circulating throughout local regiments. Pursuing forces were trying to catch up, but raiding parties, infiltrators, and stragglers were being discovered all over the area. The 1333rd was placed in a blocking position along the northern MSR to the west of the Dagger Mountains. Unlike the hemmed in plains to the east or the ridgebacks further to the south, it was still very open country with little in the means of natural defense. Nonetheless, they entrenched along the route. Few supplies reached them but their mechanized support consisting of the Chimeras which survived the previous onslaughts arrived.
The regiment did the best they could with what they had. Roadside ditches were turned into trenchworks, earth was mounded in front of heavy weapons positions, and observation posts were obscured with field cotton and what few sticks they could find. Bloody Platoon was ordered to dig in at a railroad crossing on one of the branch lines. It ran further to the south a short way before veering westward once more, paralleling the route they arrived on before. A checkpoint was established on the crossing itself, though it was nothing more than a sandbag position on either side. One was occupied by a Heavy Bolter team and the other was a post for a few patrolling sentries. The rest of the platoon was withdrawn along the southern road.
One evening, just a few days after the storming of Camp Kitley, Marsh Silas found himself sitting on the ramp of Master Sergeant Tindall's APC. Shirtless in the sun, he clutched the guitarran in his hands. The synthetic wood was very smooth and the strap which laced end to end was lined with soft hide. He had not received many lessons with the instrument, yet he plucked the strings every so often just to see what noise they made. Remembering the tunes Afdin played on long, lonely nights made him too sad to earnestly try.
He winced as Honeycutt inspected the wounds on his back. The medic's fingers pressed and prodded. Every few moments, he applied a foul-smelling salve and pushed it deep into the wounds before spreading it out. Such a sensation burned for a time.
"Don'tcha have anythin' else?" Marsh muttered.
"I didn't have much of a chance to gather medical supplies," Honeycutt grumbled. "I've barely got anything out here. We've had to pool and scrounge what we have; naught but some bandages, pressure dressings, some stims, and a few nullifiers."
"Throne, what'll happen if we get hit?" Marsh wondered aloud. He hissed through his teeth as Honeycutt pressed into another of the lashes again. "Go easy, man."
"The trick is to not get yourself shot and if you do, don't bellyache. Right, that's about all I can do for now," Honeycutt said as he started to wrap bandages around Marsh's midsection. "Stay off your back for a few more days and do your best to stay clean. They'll heal well, but you'll have plenty of new scars."
"Scars over scars, what do I care?" Honeycutt just grunted vaguely at this as he fastened the bandages. He collected his kit and stood beside Marsh Silas on the ramp. The latter looked up at his tired friend, still holding the guitarran. After a few moments of regarding the instrument, the medic smiled faintly, squeezed Marsh on the shoulder, and departed.
Marsh Silas set it aside and donned his olive drab undershirt. He put on his tunic, absentmindedly doing up the buttons. He fixed his collar and adjusted the sleeves. Every movement was automatic and mechanical. His violet eyes stared off across the plains without registering anything in particular. The platoon sergeant did not want to look east; smoke could still be seen drifting into the air. Post-battle decontamination squads and auxiliaries were still burning the bodies.
"Staff Sergeant Cross." Marsh turned around as Warden-Colonel von Bracken approached him. He went to salute but the senior officer held up his hand. "At ease, at ease. I have come to merely ascertain your condition."
"In fighting shape, sir, that's about all I can say," Marsh Silas replied. Von Bracken nodded as his gaze shifted to the guitarran resting on the ramp. He picked it up, turned it in his hands, and inspected it.
"What strange contraptions these are," he murmured. "Do you know how to play it?"
"The man who owned it prior did."
"Ah, so it's a trophy and nothing more?"
Marsh Silas's hands squeezed into fists by his side. Everything he wanted to say rested right on his tongue. But he inhaled deeply and let his hands flatten on his hips.
"Just a small picking, sir, hardly loot." Von Bracken regarded him curiously, his black mustache rising with his smile. Carefully, he handed it back.
"You need not pretend you had malice in your heart for those outlanders. I know you counted them as friends. A sad affair, but a necessary one."
Marsh ran his hands over the strings, pressing his fingertips against the strong cords. Shaking his head, he bit his bottom lip and looked back up.
"Sir, I might just be a humble sergeant, but I beg thee listen. Those men, the 45th, it was all a mistake and—"
"Stop, stop," von Bracken said, holding up his hand. His gaze became steely. "You have to speak very carefully now. Your own actions nearly got you killed and I do not wish to feel forced to follow Colonel Isaev's previous course of action."
"But sir, it was an injustice," Marsh hissed, looking around. "I had evidence."
"That evidence went up in flames and if you press your inquiry further you might meet an altogether similar end."
"The 45th were honorable men and women undeserving of that fate. I won't have them enter the annals o' our history as traitors. Those people were my friends."
Von Bracken's expression grew softer. The Kasrkin exhaled heavily, placed his hands on his hips, and walked to the side of the road. Sundown was still a few hours away but already the sky was turning orange. Brilliant rays illuminated the plains, turning the grass to gold. Mountains were outlined, becoming dark masses on the horizon. Joining the Warden-Colonel by the roadside, Marsh followed his gaze towards the Dagger Mountains. It was indeed beautiful but he longed to see the yellow flowers of Army's Meadow and the ocean surf; it'd been too long since he'd been back.
"I admire your dedication to the people you call your comrades in arms. It reminds me of the brotherhood I enjoyed before the Kasrkin. To trade one for another—no easy task. I merely mean I understand the difficulty of parting from comrades," von Bracken finally said. "They bring much light into our lives, they do. Their spirits are so bright that when they depart, or when we must part ways, a little of that light is extinguished. Tis a very sad affair."
"Then you understand how difficult it was for me to draw my sword against my companions."
"Cross, understand me now. We must commit many heinous and incredulous acts if the Imperium is to survive. Sometimes, the truth becomes a victim in such affair. Sometimes, some good must die in order to prevent a greater darkness from spreading. The 45th, whether they were traitors or not—"
"They were not, sir."
"Be quiet!" von Bracken issued sternly. "Lest you get yourself put in front of a firing squad again. The death of the 45th has provided an example to the outlanders who increasingly find themselves billeted to Cadia, whether they were innocent or not; I care not. And you, lad, need to start thinking bigger. You're a decorated Guardsman with Kasrkin Honors. You're a valuable Militarum asset."
"That must be why you saved my life, sir," Marsh said, his tone stony. Von Bracken huffed and smirked. and you can't throw your life away on fool's errands."
"I'm always on the prowl for Guardsmen who have fulfilled their honors," the Kasrkin said with a slick smile, but it swiftly faded. "Which is why, if you ever want to join the elite guard, you must be willing to let go of friends and desist with running on foolish endeavors."
"Sometimes what's foolish to one man is wise to another," Marsh said quietly. "Truth and honor are never foolish, sir."
Von Bracken looked at him with an intrigued smile. Laughing a little, he shook his head and ran his hand through his dark hair. Tapping Marsh Silas on his shoulder, he walked by him. A small convoy—a mixture of Trojan Support Vehicles and Cargo-8 supply transports—drove by at the same time, briefly obscuring him view. When they passed, the Warden-Colonel was standing next to Tindall's Chimera.
"Oh, Staff Sergeant, you should know I've extended an offer to Veteran Guardsmen in local regiments; if allowed, they are welcome to return to Kasr Sonnen to train Whiteshields and as well as provide instructors for rebuilding units. In case you and your friends would all like a change of scenery."
Von Bracken bounced his eyebrows, smiled, and walked away. His entourage was waiting for him alongside a Salamander Command Vehicle parked down the road. He climbed in with his troops and drove southwards. Marsh Silas watched until the Salamander was nothing more than dust cloud in the distance.
"What did he want, my love? Did he tell you about the invitation to Kasr Sonnen?"
Carstensen walked up beside Marsh Silas. Her fingers laced with his and they stayed in the middle of the road. For a time, the latter was silent, merely gazing off into the distance. Lowering his eyes, he released a dissatisfied breath.
"Do you feel the weight of what we've had to go an' do?" he asked. Carstensen took a moment to think, gazing down the road.
"It was out of our hands. 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 and the Emperor wishes of us."
Carstensen turned slightly, her face hardened but hopeful. "Afdin asked of you to restore the regiment's name and ensure such an affair, if in your hands, never occurs again. I make this my mission also, but also to ensure every Commissar who comes after me will learn that they are just as obliged to serve the Guardsmen under their command as they are their superior officers. There is much to do, is there not?"
"But how am I ever going to uphold Afdin's wishes?" he asked. "The man and his regiment have a stain on their name and they'll be struck from every book. What's a sergeant's word against that of his high command? No one will listen. I am further bound by duty and command; I feel as though there is naught I can do. How small a man is when he is dwarfed by such challenges."
"Change does not occur swiftly, Silas. Barlocke would've have liked to see the Imperium become anew in the blink of an eye. It will all take time. How much, who can say? You yourself said you were starting here, making the small differences."
"Yes, and seven Whiteshields paid with their lives for my folly."
"What progress has ever been achieved without mistakes and setbacks?" Carstensen said, leading him over to the Chimera. "Ghent was right when he said a good man often punishes himself. What use I, then, to further heap upon him amercement? No, a Commissar must inspire in battle and motivate when encamped. They must be a teacher. I will be so for the Commissars and Guardsmen to come; so must you act the teacher, as Barlocke was to you. Let's start with this opportunity von Bracken has presented. You've wanted to make up for the loss of the Whiteshields, and this is the way to do it. Pass on your knowledge and the lessons you learned along the way. That is what you wish, is it not? It is mine, also."
They sat down together on the ramp, shoulder to shoulder. Marsh Silas was smiling now and he squeezed Carstensen's hand. "Maybe training up the young ones and helping the old ones back on their feet would do you a good spell," she suggested. "So once again you find your feet and get about to this great work you espouse. After all, it seems you have roped the rest of us into it as well."
As wind ruffled Marsh's blonde locks and toyed with Carstensen crimson hair, they shared a kiss in the slowly receding sunlight. Clouds were coming in with the 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 all 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 manning the checkpoint. The Captain stepped off the road to let a Chimera APC and a Cargo-8 pass by. "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. "Yes. I do not know how, but I will find a way to ensure Afdin's name will be preserved. I might not have been able to save him, but I will save others. Even if the truth is only ever known to us, that is how we'll honor him."
"If we keep him, so too will the Emperor."
More vehicles trundled down the road. After they passed, Hyram approached the Chimera. He was carrying his M36c in his left hand by the weapon's furniture and had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. When he was a few paces away, he gestured to the checkpoint with his thumb.
"Alright then, Marsh Silas, watch change; the checkpoint is yours."
"Aye, sir."
"Nay, let me, you rest for a time," Carstensen said, standing up and fastening her cartridge belt. She put on her hat, secured it, and winked at Marsh before marching up to the checkpoint. Drummer Boy, Yoxall, and the Walmsley brothers joined her. Guardsmen exchanged greetings as the previous watch went back to their original positions.
Marsh Silas shifted to his left side and leaned against his rucksack. Hyram took off his helmet and unslung his M36c before he sat down. Groaning, he laid back along the ramp and gazed up at the sky. He covered his eyes with his arm for a little while, then lit a lho-stick and started smoking. Instead of lighting his own pipe, Marsh just reached over and took a puff. He coughed a little and shook his head. His platoon leader angrily took it back and hastily puffed on it. Hiking one leg over the other and resting his hands behind his head, he looked back up.
"Are you well?"
"Everyone's all concerned about ol' Marsh Silas, ain't they?" the platoon sergeant chuckled. But his smile grew warmer. "Aye, my heart is heavy but like Miss Asiah used to say, there's hope yet."
Hyram grinned at this and nodded approvingly. Then, his brow knitted and he looked angrily up at the sky.
"You should have told me you and Isenhour were planning that nonsense."
"If we had brought more folks they would've tried to shoot more people. Besides, several blokes are less inconspicuous than two of'em."
"Aye, aye, yes indeed. At least you should have told me first."
"You wouldn't have let me go, sir."
"I beg to differ, man," Hyram took the lho-stick from his lips and released a thin cloud of smoke. More Cargo-8 trucks passed by, snatching the smoke from the air. Engines coughed and spat foul promethium smoke. "Lazy day, today."
"We earned it."
"We've had hard days and sad days. There'll be more once that scoundrel Summanus and host turn up once more. The fight down here nor the one in orbit is over yet. But it will all end soon. Then, we'll have new battles to fight."
A Cargo-8 halted at the checkpoint, its brakes squealing. Marsh Silas glanced up to see the driver leaning out the cab window as he talked to Carstensen. He laid back down and shut his eyes.
"What do you think the next great journey will be?" he asked after a few minutes.
"Only the Emperor knows."
There was a rattle of automatic fire. Marsh Silas and Hyram scrambled from the ramp and dove into the roadside ditch. Hastily, they collected their weapons. As the reports of M36's hung in the air, the pair brought their own weapons to bear at the lip of the ditch.
"Autopistol," Marsh Silas said.
"Close by. Misfire?"
"Medic! Meeeeeedic!" That was Yoxall's voice. "Medic up!"
"Silas! Silas!" Drummer Boy screamed.
Everything was a blur. Marsh sprinted down the road towards thew checkpoint. Yoxall, Drummer Boy, and the Walmsley twins were huddled around a form on the pavement next to the truck. He pushed the pair aside. Carstensen was lying on her back, teeth gritted, hat off—blood running from her abdomen.
"Oh Emperor, no!" Marsh hollered as he squeezed in between them. "Medic!" he yelled. "Medic up! Honeycutt!?"
"Cut it away, cut it away," Hyram ordered. Yoxall sliced the bottom of Carstensnen's tunic away and then part of the layer underneath. Dark blood was seeping from several holes. Streams of it were beginning to stain her trousers and clothes.
"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!"
"Walmsley Minor, what happened?"
"I don't know, I don't—"
"Does anybody have any powder?"
"—the driver was crying—"
"Drummer Boy, get on the network and call for medevac."
"But there are no birds available!"
"Silas…"
"Are those enough field sutures?"
"I told you don't have enough of anything."
"They've had days to resupply us what the fuck is going on!?"
"Do you think a blocking unit merits a resupply in a warzone? Quit distracting me!"
"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 was lifting 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 was labored. "Everyone take two breaths and be…be calm. Drummer Boy, call for available assets. Walmsley Major, organize a search party and find the gunman, he can't be too far off. Walmsley Minor, get a team and search the truck. Yoxall, fetch me water please, I'm dreadfully thirsty suddenly. 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 gunman, 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. He reached for something in his pocket, I tried to stop him, and that's when he drew on me."
"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 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 Captain 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 reversed to the checkpoint.
"Should we take the Cargo-8?"
"The Chimera will be faster."
"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.
"I should have had my pistol already out," she said, then groaned from the pain. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at her wounds. "Blast. Blast," she seethed as she laid back down. "Get my chestplate off, I feel as though I can't breathe with it on. 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 Minor called. Yoxall didn't wait for the order to inspect. He ordered everyone out of the truck and climbed in. Minutes later, he emerged.
"They're armed but they're activated by a remote detonator."
"How much is in there?"
"Enough to kill us all. Did he drop anything?"
"There, there…" 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.
"Look, Lilias, see? Nothing stupid about it. You saved us all again."
The Commissar grinned proudly and nodded.
"Then I am happy," she said tiredly. "If only I'd gotten the bastard."
"Don't worry, ma'am, my brother will reduce him to pulp," Walmsley Minor assured her.
"No, he gets brought in alive," Hyram growled. "Drummer Boy, get a call out for an ordnance disposal team. 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 and squeezed her hand. "I have to stay here, Lilias. I'll see you back at Army's Meadow."
"Yes, sir," she said heavily. Then, her brow raised, her gaze softened, and she smiled. "Apologies, 'yes, father,' is what I meant. Take care."
Hyram laughed, gave a parting glance to Marsh, 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, sopping 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. If they were passing any other vehicles on the road, Marsh Silas could not tell.
"Lilias, the pain, are you bearing it?"
"It is not too much. I'm as comfortable as I can be," she murmured. "My brand-new dress uniform. Disgraceful to have so much blood shed upon it; only if 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.
"Shh, shh," Marsh found himself saying. "It'll be alright. We'll be home soon, darling. Right quick, you'll see."
Carstensen was getting 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 was doing 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 was leaning forward, his hands clasped around a small silver Aquila he pressed to his lips.
"Stop."
The occupants cast their gazes upon Carstensen. The Commissar was looking 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 an energy. Even her eyes were growing 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, now you. There is a curse upon us."
"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 Master Sergeant 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 Bloody Platoon marched this route many times on exercises and patrols. Not too far to the north was the village where they once saved a convoy of Basilisks from an ambush and endeavored to find the lost children. All the rubble was gone now and there was just flat earth.
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 through the air or white plumes. 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 removed his helmet and 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.
"You have all done your duty. Thank you all for your efforts, comrades."
No one could reply. Tears ran silently, hands covered eyes, and one by one they each whispered a parting word. They gave a salute and turned away, 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 breathe steadily. Each breath became shallower and shallower. Carstensen looked up at the sky, craning her neck slowly, and finally her green-blue eyes—shades of grassy earth and crisp ocean blue—came to rest on Marsh Silas.
"Silas, do you truly fear a burial in the Cadian tradition?"
"My love, I…I accept it for what it is," he answered, his tone uneven. "Would I wish it were different, I suppose so."
"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. 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 was 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…father…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, of all things, I am sad. So very sad."
She shed two tears 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, teetering on a choked sob. "I did not wish to go just yet. There was so much I wanted to do, a great deal I wanted to see." She squeezed the Aquila in her hand very tightly. "Change will come to the Imperium. I wanted to be a part of it. To play a part in it, to reshape it with my own hand. Commissars and Guardsmen to be more than officers and soldiers, but to be brothers in arms. Bloody Platoon taught me that."
Her face grew so firm and courageous, as if she was standing in the front rank of a battle line. "I want 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, ushering them forward. Ever forward. Lo, Silas, what a beautiful sight that would be. How I so wish to see it, to be a part of it all."
But her lips trembled and eyes gaze squinted. "I truly do not wish to go just yet," she said. Marsh Silas again covered his eyes with the elbow of his sleeve. He cried and wheezed until he felt her hand upon his cheek. Staring down at her, beholding her tenderly melancholic smile, it was all too much. "Even though I am sad to go, even though I wish I had more time, I am confident you and these wonderful soldiers will carry on the good work. You will find the way to bring about these changes. What I wish is all in your hands. I am sorrowing, but I trust you to carry these wishes out. I weep merely because I want to be there with you when it happens."
"You were sent to me by the Emperor. I shall know no other."
"Heavens," Carstensen chuckled. "I am afraid to hear you say that. You cannot linger in the past. Soldiers 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 very calm and nearly 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 and her blinking was longer. Turning back towards Marsh Silas, her lips moved. He leaned closer. Her left hand cupped his cheek. "Place my hand upon my weapons," she whispered.
He reached over and gently placed it on the grip of her Bolt Pistol, but just so. Her fingers touch the firearm while her palm rested on the flat of her power fist. Upon feeling them, Carstensen's eyes fluttered a little and she nodded. "God-Emperor. Imperium. Cadia. The Thirteenth-Thirty-Third. 1st Company. 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 squeezed tightly. "Lilias."
Words: 6,531 | Pages: 16
Author's Note: This has been one of the most incredibly difficult chapters I have ever written since I first started posting my work in 2016. For the latter half of this chapter, I was crying as I wrote.
Carstensen was not a part of the initial cast of this story, she was an on-the-fly addition that paid off dividends as a developing character and a thematic asset. My decision for her to die was developed during Volume II and it has been calculated and reformed multiple times. Fridging, the killing of a character mainly for cheap shock value and providing basic motivation for protagonists, of the character was something I wanted to avoid and I performed months of research; reading online literary articles, watching informative videos, and consulting friends whose opinions on storytelling I respect and value. This was not a decision I made lightly and it was to the point that part of the delays in updates for this story have been this moment. Character death is something I treat very seriously and all important characters who perish do so for significant reasons in terms of their character, audience reaction, narrative and thematic reasons, etc. Without spoiling the rest of this Volume and further editions, below is a brief, partial list of the reasons I made this decision as well as some my actions to avoid fridging:
- Carstensen's death was not quick but it did not indulge in overly brutal or sadistic manner which often characterizes fridged characters
- Carstensen was not entirely at peace with death, as she expressed her desire to live to continue going on adventures and engaging in progressive, reformist changes
- Her death occuring just after Afdin's death was based on my desire to break up typical peaks-and-troughs character death points in a story; I wanted to deliver an unexpected double-gut punch for both Marsh Silas and the audience on a base level and on a deeper level, I want to explore what it is like for a character to mourn two people at the same time.
- A comment someone left a while back made the good point that a certain emotional state should have been explored in greater detail; however, it was my goal that in emotional state exploration, this was the one to be explored for some time, whilst the previous one, futility, was more about showing the dangerous path that leads to it and how one is saved from it.
- Rather than embarking ona basic revenge quest against a specific antagonist, a core aspect of fridging, Marsh's mission is more about learning to fulfill legacies and finding significance in death. Discovering how to continue people's ideals, creating their legacies, is going to be a more long-term, series-spanning theme rather than a singular arc. Finding great meaning in death is a core counter-action against fridging tropes.
- These characters will not be forgotten, similarly to important characters like Barlocke or smaller groups of people such as the Whiteshields of Volume II or the lost children of Volume I. Fridged characters are often forgotten about or never remembered in truly meaningful ways, so I plan make sure these deaths are felt long after.
These are the basics. Again, if you're more interested in learning about fridging and/or my approach to this beloved character's death, or you merely want to yell at me, PM your Discord username, I'll friend request you as soon as possible, and then we can talk on my server, Vox-Taps.
Thank you.