Chapter 83: The Might of the Imperium
"Guardsmen make do." - Janice Vadiik, Veteran of the Imperial Guard
Yang sprinted through the halls of the Ascendant Dawn, barreling towards Gamma's barracks. She had ten minutes before the Aquila lander arrived to take her to the Joint Inquisitorial Command meeting. There was not a second to waste.
Years before, she would have taken her time, extracted some petty pleasure from letting the brass stew, making them wait. If she were just herself - her old self, a huntress - she wouldn't bother making a good impression on a room full of stuffy, half-metal windbags that could put Professor Port to shame with their endless droning.
But she wasn't her old self, and she represented more than just Weiss - she represented the 111th, a Regiment that had been her home. A regiment that had paid for its veterancy in blood and steel. A regiment whose sacrifices demanded respect.
And there was no time to delay - both Weiss and the main force of Uriel's Expeditionary fleet were on their way, their arrival estimated to be anywhere from a week to a handful of hours. Fucking Warp travel.
Almost two hundred regiments would be represented at the meeting, nearly three million soldiers commanded by a panel of five lieutenant generals. There was no one available with a higher rank - they were preoccupied with Cadia, most likely.
She dashed past a window, where the full might of the Inquisitorial Task Force was on display. Her jaw dropped. Yang thought Uriel's mobilization was an awesome display of the Inquisition's power, but this was an order of magnitude more staggering. Realizing she had stopped to stare, she resumed her sprint, mind and feet racing in equal measure. When she could get away with it, she pumped aura into her legs.
Three million men, women, and whatever skitarii were had amassed in orbit around Gartenwald. That was three times the size of every army in the Great War combined. At their strongest.
Will it even be enough?
She hoped for an easy landing. She hoped Maion wasn't lying to them. Even though she felt Pyrrha would never be complicit in such a lie, she couldn't be sure. Not anymore. Emperor protect me.
Josephus will be there. Does he really know anything about Ruby? What if he doesn't?
What if he does?
Later, later, later. Right now, she needed one more member of her Regiment as her personal bodyguard. The other would be Commissar Neuhoff.
I bet Longinus is fuming. It might be bad form to include someone who wasn't her regimental commander, but Yang played politics like a drunken ursa babysits. No, there was one person she needed at her side.
"Caolin!" She cried, throwing open the bulkhead to Gamma's barracks. Only a handful of Woadians and Gartenwalders milled about, still recovering after the day's exercise. "Where the fuck is Caolin?" Yang demanded.
"I uh… showers!" Lorl managed, pointing down to the communal bathrooms.
"Thanks!" Yang said, forgetting she wasn't supposed to thank people anymore. She darted off before spinning on her heel and poking her head through the bulkhead. "Get our dress greens ready! We need them ASAP!"
"Wh-" Asgeg started.
"Just do it!" Yang said, already down the hall. Throwing open the doors to the bathrooms, the familiar roar of almost two hundred showerheads greeted her, along with the deafening chatter of three different languages, booming laughter, and the discreet sighs of those enjoying the limited privacy offered by the forest of cramped plastic-sheet stalls.
Banging her fist on the bulkhead, she poured aura into her throat.
"Caolin!" She roared. "Corporal Caolin Roriksson, Gamma Platoon, Squad F!"
Now the only sound was the droning storm of shower-water.
"Yang?" He asked, poking his head above his stall. He was about halfway back, in the center of the room.
"Whoever's in a stall next to him, get the fuck out!" Yang bellowed, nearly tripping over her work-out shorts in her effort to strip them off. A couple of Woadians - and Lana - dashed out of their stalls, towels clutched tight.
Tossing her bra and panties into the communal laundry basket, Yang accepted a bar of soap from someone in Harja platoon, secured a dry towel, and slipped into a stall next to Caolin.
"Yang?" Caolin hissed. "What the fuck is your problem?"
Yang waited for the usual hum of noise to continue before answering. "Commissar Neuhoff wants us in front of the Joint Command inside of ten minutes. Eight now, probably."
"What the fuck?" Caolin demanded.
"Exactly," Yang said, frantically scrubbing herself. "Thank the Golden Throne you were already showering. Can't go to the big brass meeting wearing five hours of PT."
"Emperor, Yang. Why the short notice?" He asked. "Why do you care so much?"
"Because," Yang said, lowering her voice and peeling back the curtain that separated them.
"Hey!" Caolin protested, covering himself.
"Nothing we haven't seen before," Yang said. She lowered her voice even further. "The Lady Inquisitor's on her way back. We're deploying soon. Probably within the week."
"Oh," Caolin said, still shielding himself as he stared into the drain.
"That's what I said," Yang said. "I need you with me."
"Why me?" He asked.
"Come on," Yang asked, rolling her eyes. "You really think I'd grab anyone else? I barely trust Neuhoff, and I think I've seen Lyrasson like five times. Plus, if there are any lady generals, I need you to keep them on their toes."
Caolin grinned reluctantly. "Alright. If you say so, Yang."
"'Atta boy." She slapped his ass, earning a sudden yelp. "Now hurry up! Asgeg's got your greens ready to go. I'll catch up in a moment."
"Fucking Throne, Yang, you're lucky I don't go to the Commissar about sexual harassment." Caolin joked. He collected his towel, throwing it over his shoulder.
"You can if feel like you need to," Yang answered. "Although I'd be more worried about Lana."
"Yeah," Caolin said, rubbing the back of his neck, his face flushing red. "I… don't have the heart to turn her down outright."
"She's a big girl Caolin," Yang said, returning to her own stall. "She can handle it." As she lathered herself, she realized Caolin was still standing outside. "You okay?" She asked, pulling back her curtain.
"Yeah," He said. "We're in for it now, aren't we?"
"That we are," Yang admitted, pulling her hair out of the way of the water. "I know what you're thinking. And I need you to stop. Ros… isn't coming back. You're gonna do fine. Promise."
Caolin smiled. He looked like Weiss when he smiled. "If you say so," he said. His eyes never wavered from hers. "You've changed."
"You haven't," Yang deflected. "Now scram. Neuhoff will have our heads if we're late."
He obeyed, jogging back to the barracks. A few female Rangers watched him go, enviously eyeing the red handprint he wore. A small blade of envy slipped between Yang's ribs as well. A different kind.
Being one of them would be so... easy. Freeing. But she'd tried doing the easy things on Remnant. And look where it got me.
Now that she had her sights set on Amat, the year-long dry spell she'd unwittingly entered since her arrival in the Imperium made itself known, made itself agonizing. It ached, a primal, needful longing that pulsed within her. A hunger in her core that demanded satisfaction. Furtive solo sessions in the bathroom stalls wouldn't cut it anymore.
She bit her tongue until the needing subsided. It took awhile. Huffing at the lost time, she scrubbed sweat off the mass of scars on her stomach. Of all the times to worry about sex.
Later, later, later.
Once Yang and Caolin had dried themselves and dressed in their fanciest greens - with the conspicuous addition of a few medals they'd picked up over the year - they met Commissar Neuhoff at the hanger. They were two minutes late. He paced about the hull in front of a brilliant red-black Aquila lander, similarly stately in his appearance.
Yang fixed her beret, lining it up so that it wouldn't touch the wet ends of her hair. It still felt weird to wear it, but that wouldn't stop her. Caolin - at Mael's silent insistment - wore traditional Woadian war paint, an intricate knot that complemented his tattoos. With the scar that stretched from forehead to chin, he almost looked like a veteran hardass.
"Finally!" Neuhoff barked, gesturing towards the lander.
"Not my fault you caught us at the end of PT," Yang replied, hustling up the ramp. "How do we look?"
"Presentable enough, I suppose," He said, eyeing Caolin's war paint as the Corporal passed him. "Was that necessary?"
"About as necessary as that sash, sir," Caolin replied, nodding at the vibrant crimson silk Neuhoff proudly displayed across his chest. "We'll be wearing it whenever we go into battle. Important that everyone knows what it looks like."
"Fair," Neuhoff grunted, fixing his hair for what must have been the fifth time.
The lander's ramp lifted, hissing steam as the hydraulics sealed it into place. This is clearly a general's personal limo, Yang mused as she inspected the cabin. Where most landers were crammed with as many descent harnesses as they could fit, this one was full of black leather couches, hologram displays, and cogitators.
There was even a minibar.
Neuhoff cracked it open the instant the door slammed shut, retrieving a bottle of whiskey from within. It was more than three hundred years old.
"Small drink?" He asked them.
"No thanks," Yang said.
"I'll… pass," Caolin said, though he clearly wanted some. Probably feared it was some sort of test.
"Suit yourselves," Neuhoff said, finding a tumbler and pouring himself a modest serving. "Lubrication. Settles the nerves, relaxes the fibers," he said with a small smile. "One of my Commissariat instructors was quite fond. In moderation of course."
"I've changed my mind," Caolin said.
Commissar Neuhoff supplied him a similarly modest drink. "I know you can handle more Roriksson, but this will keep you loose enough," he said. Passing it to Caolin he raised the glass. "To our success."
Caolin raised his glass and downed it, grimacing. "To our success," he agreed.
"You alright, Commissar?" Yang asked, watching him finish his drink.
"I'm quite fine, First Sergeant," he replied easily. "Don't worry yourself on my account."
"Alright," Yang said. "I might need your help in there. You have more experience with officer types than I do."
Caolin blinked. "Then what's the Inquisitor?" He asked.
"She's... different," Yang answered, internally wincing over her minor error. I have to be more careful.
"The drill abbots always said that eccentricity is required to be an Inquisitor," Neuhoff allowed, collecting the tumblers and returning them to their place. "I didn't fit the bill."
"Guess that's fair," Caolin said. "Once you see the Lady, you'll understand."
"I've heard of what she's done," Neuhoff said simply.
The lander departed the hanger, their pilot silent, the familiar pull of gravity almost wholly absent. Yang could barely tell when they'd lifted off. "Are all Aquila landers like this?" She asked. It's almost like gliding.
"Most," Neuhoff said. "Are you ready to speak as an Inquisitor?" He asked.
'No," Yang answered. "But I'll do my damndest."
Caolin grinned.
The meeting room was beyond Yang's lofty expectations. A single hologram projector dominated the center of the room, a massive black slab of wiring and projectors attended by a hunched yet hulking servitor. It displayed a titanic projection of White Horses - the reason for its unusual name immediately apparent. Splashed across a hemisphere was a bright splotch of terrain that looked like a charging herd of horses, violent streaks of white against night-black earth and mountain ranges.
A flurry of orderlies, comms officers, tech priests, and munitorum drones clattered about, ferrying reports to their superiors. Besides the honor guard that had relieved the Rangers of their weapons at the door, they barely paid attention to them.
Seated in a circle around the projection of White Horses were the generals, accompanied by the bulky, distended and red-robed figure of a high-ranking member of the mechanicus. Most of the generals wore a bevy of augmentations and starchy, broad uniforms laden with medals.
Unlike those worn by the upper staff in Vale's army, Yang suspected that many of these medals were earned in blood. The evidence was in their faces, lined with age and ancient battle scars that would have made Jorvis look cuddly.
As Yang approached, she caught fragments of their heated debate. 'Cadia', 'wild grox chase', and 'sideshow' were chief among them. Silent and brooding, the Magos occasionally chirped in binary, his words spilling out in high gothic on a large dataslate held aloft by a host of mechadendrites.
Yang couldn't read High Gothic. She saw familiar words, but the whole of it was unreadable.
Only when she reached the table did they grow silent.
"First Sergeant," one said, standing up slowly. One of the older men present, he looked strangely familiar to Yang. Wearing a tall fur cap and a snow-white moustache that hung down to the end of chin, he looked like an elderly Atlesian huntsman - the three-fingered bionic arm completed the image. His uniform was a bright scarlet and filigreed with gold thread, his chest and shoulders covered in a similarly golden cuirass. "Welcome," he said eventually. "As I understand it, you represent the Lady Inquisitor."
"You are correct," Yang said, projecting her voice as best she could, hoping to display nothing but confidence and surety. It would have been easier if they couldn't drown all of Remnant's armies in a tide of men and firepower. "I am First Sergeant Yang Xiao Long, and these are my aides, Corporal Caolin Roriksson, and Commissar Eric Neuhoff. Atten-tion!" She called. Snapping their heels together, they saluted the generals. A few of them even returned the gesture.
"I am Lieutenant General Vyhlashenko of the Vostroyan Firstborn," the mustachioed general said. "I represent eighteen regiments of my kinsman, and twenty-six others of various origins in the Segmentum Obscurus."
Another stood. A shorter man with a heavyset build and broad epaulets, the combined weight of medals on his chest likely outweighed by the metallic half of his face - smooth chrome skin that tapered into blocky, angular antenna that jutted out from beneath a simple beret. "I am Lieutenant General Oranthus, commander of ten armored regiments, six logistical regiments, and eight hunter-killer regiments. All the pride of Tennhera Prime."
The next general did not stand. Younger than the others, his eyes were narrow and folded, a dyed-red mohawk standing out vibrantly against his otherwise standard guard uniform with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Where others were adorned with medals, he mostly wore ribbons. An aged yet fierce chemical burn covered the entirety of his right arm.
"I am Lieutenant General Jak," he rumbled. His voice was light and airy, barely above a harsh whisper. "I represent the majority of the manpower here. I have holds full of Chem-Dogs, conscripts, penal regiments, and hive-scum. Fifty-six regiments in total. They are not the best, but they will... serve." He came down on the final word with sudden weight.
"Lieutenant General Campbell," another man announced proudly, standing tall. Bald, clean-shaven, and unmarred, he struck Yang as a determined man, the dark circles under his deep-set eyes evidenced a restless dedication. A long, curved lho pipe smoked gently on his section of the table. "My mechanized Rollanders fought alongside you on Uriel. I bring eighteen infantry regiments to bear, as well as six mechanized regiments and four artillery regiments. Mostly Rollanders. Let me be the first to say it's a joy to fight alongside you again."
"Thank you, General," Yang said. I have at least one ally here.
"I am Lieutenant General Kavri," the final general said, her voice completely monotone. Unlike the others, she wore no uniform or medals, instead clad in a simple black cloak and a steel mask with a single crying eye. Her voice and mask were a discomforting blend of Amat and the Harlequins. Yang suppressed a shiver.
"My forces are composed of eight regiments of Maccabian Janissaries. At the behest of my peers, I have also assumed command of fourteen heavy infantry regiments, six light infantry regiments, and two siege regiments, hivers all."
"The final member of our impromptu council is Magos Jakob Yethusala," Oranthus said, "the current commander of Uriel's available skitarii."
The Magos burbled something. Yang gently elbowed Commissar Neuhoff, who translated the dark green text that scrawled across his screen.
"He says the Woadians accounted themselves well on his master's forges," Neuhoff whispered. "Kept collateral damage low."
Caolin chuffed quietly, but said nothing.
"On the Lady Highest's bidding," Yang said, the new title sitting ill on her lips, "I thank you all for being here."
"We are glad to answer the call," General Campbell said, though Jak shifted in his seat.
"You'll have to do more than thank us," the mohawked man said, leaning forward. "I think I speak for all of us when I request a formal explanation of why we have been summoned. If the Lady Highest has been pursuing Josephus the Corruptor so doggedly, why has she called us now?"
Yang bristled. She knew that he wouldn't dare take that tone if the Lady Inquisitor were here. Part of her wanted to deck him for just his tone. An old part. A younger Yang. She pushed down the rush of fury - Weiss trusted her to do this. Not playing nice had consequences now.
The other generals were silent. Even Campbell did not shout down his comrade. Questions were on their faces. Only Kavri - inscrutable behind her iron mask - was unreadable. Yang didn't need Weiss' talents to know that this was a bad start.
"The Inquisition has asked you all here to retrieve a powerful artifact," Yang explained, watching their reactions carefully. "One that could tip the balance of the 13th Black Crusade. Perhaps even the fate of the Imperium - an STC. Completely intact. Within Josephus' reach."
Silence.
Yang couldn't resist twisting the knife. "Though if you still have complaints, I'd be happy to bring them to the Lady Highest." She regretted the words as soon as she'd said them. Jak grew pale. Caolin suppressed a snort of laughter with heroic effort.
"That… won't be necessary, First Sergeant. My apologies," Jak said, eyes boring into the table. Lingering anger. Don't push him. By the Throne, play nice, Yang! She took a deep breath, let the revelation seep through the Generals. They're here because of Weiss. That's where the real power is. It is not you. It is their fear.
Put yourself in their place.
"It's alright. The Lady Highest predicted some resistance," Yang lied. Weiss had been light on details. "This is… irregular, after all."
"It comes at a time that is less than fortuitous," General Oranthus acknowledged. "But this intel regarding the STC is accurate?"
"I was the one who retrieved it," Yang replied, back straightening. She realized she was clenching her hands behind her back. "I know it's accurate."
"The Lady Highest holds a great deal of trust in you First Sergeant," Kavri said, the simple statement of fact.
"I'm her Representative," Yang said.
"My Rollanders saw her fight," General Campbell said, grinning as he took a pull from his pipe. "And from what they said, I'd say you're looking at the spearpoint of the entire Task Force. But we're not here to dissect the First Sergeant, nor her words. There's an STC at risk. And we all received the threat assessment." He tapped a button mounted to his gauntlet. On the projection of White Horses, red lights flared across it. Swallowed it.
"This is merely an estimation," Jak reminded them. "Though it is a certainty that Josephus is there. I… wasn't aware of the stakes. This is a mighty task before us." Murmurs of agreement crossed the table.
"How many Skitarii can Uriel bring to bear?" General Oranthus asked the Magos.
Yethusala made more noises in binary, and a line of text scrawled across its screen. The number was clear enough - nearly a million.
Jak muttered a curse and slumped in his chair, muttering a curse under his breath. He shook his head, running his hand down his stupid mohawk. "It's not enough," he said. "Not nearly enough."
"That sounds like defeatism," General Campbell said carefully.
"Any orbital landing against fortified position carries the risk of ten percent casualties. At the very least," Jak protested. "It is often as much as thirty. Given the kind of numbers we're expecting the heretics to have, we can't afford to lose five percent, let alone ten."
"Too true," Oranthus said. "Please don't mistake practicality for cowardice," he added with a sideways glance at Yang. "This is indeed a daunting task."
"One we must undergo no matter the risk," Vyhlashenko interjected, quiet for some time now. He stroked his moustache. "What kind of foes should we expect to face?" He asked Yang. "I understood you've fought Josephus' legions extensively."
"Well…" she paused, gathering her words. Caelus caught her attention, eyes burning with words. "I believe Corporal Roriksson can answer your question."
He stepped forwards, resolute. "I… We fought his forces on Jala Prime, Ranshu, and Uriel," Caolin said, his voice trembling slightly. "Fallen guardsmen, traitor marines, and... daemons." His words sent furious whispers amongst the assembled staff. "Horrendous machines too. But even more dangerous is his ability to…" He struggled for a moment. "Captivate people. On Ranshu, entire cities fought for him. Died for him. Men, women, children. The youngest body found was... six. Six years Imperial standard."
"Thank you, Corporal," Yang said, impressed. Caolin's words strengthened as he went on, his convictions emerging with every syllable. Thank the Emperor I brought him along. "Corporal Roriksson is right. The heretics that follow Josephus… theyare utterly devoted to him. They're dedicated, organized, well trained." Briefly, her mind whorled with a storm of grey sand and red lasbolts. An ambush. The melted stump of Rhain's neck.
"And you mentioned... daemons?" Oranthus whispered. Even with the mechanical flange his voice bore, Yang heard his fear. She didn't blame him.
"It's true," she said. "I fought both them and his traitor marines. They're beatable."
Lieutenant General Jak erupted into laughter that was eventually seized by a coughing fit. Retrieving a rebreather of some sort from his belt, he took a deep breath from it and returned it to its place. "You?" He asked, incredulous.
"Yes sir," Yang said, annoyed. She didn't deny it seemed ludicrous.
"If I may, sir," Commissar Neuhoff said, stepping forward, hands held behind his back. "The First Sergeant speaks the truth. A traitor marine helm adornes the 111th's standard. Along with the banner that belongs to daemonkillers."
"Hm," Vyhlashenko said, brow furrowed. His mechanical digits rapped on the desk. White Horses rotated before him, slowly, inevitably. It called to them all. Duty, faith, sacrifice, all bound to this ball of black sand and frozen rock. "Is there any chance Mars can assist us?" He asked the Magos.
There was a pause before the Magos' response. Eventually, a quiet warble brought forth a single line of text. Yang didn't need to know High Gothic to know what it amounted to - 'Unknown'.
"That is unacceptable," Jak said, standing, his face drawn in restrained fury. "This has the potential to become a second front for the 13th Black Crusade - an unprecedented development, I should add. And Mars' response is 'unknown'? To an STC no less?"
"What could possibly be of greater value to them?" Kavri asked, the words sliding past her mask.
Once more, Yethusala took a moment before composing a response. It came in hesitant chirps, each muttering gasp of binary carrying an angry, indignant tone.
Yang elbowed Neuhoff. He did not translate at first, as his jaw had fallen slack. "Commissar?" She insisted softly. "Sir?"
Neuhoff blinked. "An entire company of Iron Hands is en route to White Horses."
"Iron Hands?" Yang asked. "One company?" Then she realized. Space Marines.
Oh shit.
The Generals' response was difficult to read. Even the promise of a full Astartes company seemed didn't instill them with confidence.
"Praise the Emperor," Kavri said eventually.
"Is there any word on when they will arrive?" Oranthus asked.
Once more, 'unknown' scrawled across Yethusala's screen. Another paragraph of text followed, the Magos's binary hesitant and staccato.
"They've already departed for White Horses," Neuhoff whispered to Yang. She nodded, outwardly acknowledging the information while her mind raced. They already left? They're not rendezvousing with us? She knew a company of Space Marines could probably handle the assault on White Horses, but she wasn't sure a single battle barge could take down Josephus' fleet. There were like eight ships guarding Uriel. Who's to say how many he brought with him this time?
What flesh was left to Oranthus' face was turning green. He'd come to the same question.
"We can't wait for them," Yang said.
Kavri considered that, her mask turning slowly to take Yang's measure. Its polish caught the light, a blinding flash of deadly promise. For a moment, Yang thought she could see the general's eyes.
She wished she hadn't.
"No," the Maccabian general agreed. "We cannot wait. Yet we have no idea when the astartes will arrive. Unsure when Mars will send additional reinforcements."
"The sisters," Caolin mumbled to Yang.
"Oh yeah," she said. Coughing into her hand she addressed the generals. "There's also the Lady's order militant. The Thanatos Mission of the Order of the Sacred Rose. Fifty Sisters in total."
"Fair. But the fact that Mars won't send us reinforcements…" Oranthus muttered. "That sits ill with me."
"Us too," Campbell reassured him. "But it's beyond our control. We have to plan as if we are the only ones assaulting the planet."
"Is this acceptable to the Lady Highest?" Vyhlashenko asked Yang.
"She can't ask more of you," Yang replied, a weight lifting from her chest.
"Very well," Vyhlashenko said. "Well?" He asked his peers. "Thoughts?"
"We don't know where the Chariot is located on the planet," Oranthus said. "We have a rough idea of enemy troop compositions. But we have a relatively well-balanced force amassed here. If a little lacking in artillery…"
"Adaptability is a key," Kavri intoned. "Coordination paramount. It can be assumed the Lady Highest and her guard will spearhead a landing effort, but securing ground or completing an encirclement is our job."
"Speed is equally important," Jak interrupted. "If the Chariot really is here, every effort must be made to secure it as quickly as possible."
"At any cost," Vyhlashenko concurred.
Oranthus tapped a few buttons on his wrist, and an additional holographic window burst into existence besides White Horses. "Our combined forces," he said, scrolling through the regiments. "Let us begin."
Despite the rocky start, Yang was pleasantly surprised by the relative efficiency of the generals as they summarized their capabilities and debated the best paths forward for the most likely scenarios. After the war she'd witnessed on Remnant, she never thought 'efficient' would ever enter her vocabulary when discussing military brass, but it made sense the longer she thought about it. After almost a century of world peace, Remnant officer corps had become complacent, arrogant, and overly reliant on huntsman. When she drank alone after Ruby's death, she'd wondered why so many died needlessly. Stupidly. A mere year in the Imperium had given her an answer.
The assembled generals were not perfect, however. Vyhlashenko was surly. Held too much pride for his kinsmen. Oranthus was too conservative, cautioning patience at every opportunity. Jak was the opposite. Campbell put too much faith into Weiss' abilities. Kavri contributed little more than minor suggestions, a zealous nature leaving her little room to question or compromise. The Magos abstained entirely, his forces beholden to a superior that had yet to arrive.
As they continued their debate, Yang found her relevance evaporating - she knew practically nothing of strategic matters, a fact the generals knew instinctively. They were simply keeping her around so she could report their work to Weiss later.
Glancing over at Caolin, Yang saw that his eyelids were beginning to droop. She didn't blame him. I never imagined the business of waging war with a 'task force' of three million men to be boring, yet here we are. I rushed him out of the shower in order to make a good impression, but they barely noticed. In fact, I think they've practically forgotten we're here.
Caolin had done well, though. Stood up straight, said his piece. She was glad she brought him along. Being among Woadians again was refreshing after travelling with kasrkin and eldar for almost a month.
"Thanks for coming," she whispered to the Corporal as the generals debated which Regiments should follow Weiss' initial strike.
"Why did they need us again?" He asked, glancing at them out of the corner of his painted eye.
"I needed you, dummy," Yang said. "Tell you the truth, these people scare the shit out of me."
"Well you got their heads screwed on right," Caolin said, wearing a playful grin. "Put the fear of Our Lady into them." His smile faded. "You think there'll be any xenos?" He asked.
Yang's gut sank. "I don't know," she answered.
"I guess it doesn't matter," Caolin said, watching a host of blue dots spring up on the surface of White Horses - potential landing zones. "Killing Josephus should be good enough, right?" He shook his head. "They're scared too," he said under his breath.
"Who, them?" Yang asked, nodding at the generals. Caolin nodded.
"Oh yeah. You see their faces when the rust bucket mentioned the Iron Hands? Actual space marines. None of them want to fight the kind of battle that needs space marines, ya know?"
"Insightful," Yang said, stretching her arms. "Maybe I should put your name forward for some officer training. You'd make a decent general!"
Caolin turned as white as his hair. He opened his mouth to protest before seeing Yang's giant grin. "Damn it," he whispered, leaning back. "Don't tease me like that. All this shit..." He shook his head again. "It's over my head. I'm just an agriworld bumpkin."
"Oh come on," Yang insisted. "You work for the Inquisition, motherfucker. Don't give me that shit."
"Fair," Caolin admitted. "But this whole business," he said, nodding at White Horses. "I've got bad vibes. Generals do too. You can tell because they're not fighting too much."
Yang chuckled. "Good point." She leaned over to Neuhoff. "Commissar sir, I appreciate your support back there."
"Do not thank me, First Sergeant," Neuhoff said, not unkindly. "I merely did my duty as a member of the Commissariat." He looked ill.
"Are you okay, sir?" Caolin asked.
"I am well," Neuhoff said. "Better than I've ever been. Sometimes, I am simply overwhelmed by might of the Imperium."
Yang thought it was some stock Commissar phrase to be belted out at convenience, but then she realized what gnawed at him. Beside the list of regiments, a casualty estimate skyrocketed upwards. Thousands. Tens of thousands.
Hundreds of thousands.
When she returned the Ascendant Dawn, Yang felt fatigue steal itself upon her. Yet she didn't seek out friends from Gamma, nor even Amat. She missed him... even though she saw him nearly every day. She hadn't confessed to him yet. Thought it'd be good to mull over the best way to say it. If she were younger, she'd have called it cowardice. Now it wasn't so simple.
Leaving Caolin in the barracks, she changed back into her fatigues and headed to the Warp Observation Deck. From there, she could see the entire task force, a staggering collection of ships. Just an hour ago, she watched the generals decide their fate.
White Horses could barely sustain human life - its atmosphere was thin but breathable, and temperatures rarely reached well below freezing. There was no weather, no hint of life, not even a microbe. A still and silent wasteland of black sand and white rock largely forgotten by the Imperium. The gas giant it orbited was useless as well, a pale blue ball of gases the Munitorum didn't need. A forgotten corner of the Segmentum.
Most likely no accident, Yang realized. Reclining on a couch, she yawned and rubbed her eyes. All the PT she'd ordered was wearing on her as well. Sucks I missed the chance to wash my hair.
Curling up, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, fearing where her thoughts might lead her. When the barracks was totally still, she could still feel Ahriman's touch on her mind, feel the insects crawl under her skin, feel powerless, helpless, alone. He'd escaped the Harlequin's trap, but Yang doubted that trapping him was ever their true intention. She knew that even if that was their goal, Ahriman would have found a way to slip past.
Her tongue ran over her gums, the spot where a handful of molars used to sit. If I ate real food, it would have been a real bitch. As it was, she still chewed her guard rations with some difficulty, avoiding the left side of her mouth. She eventually drifted off to sleep, dreaming of delightful irrelevancies.
When she woke, she saw the Scythe of Morning emerge from a wound in reality.
A/N: Four chapters left until the end of Book 2! Also, RWBY V6 premiers in a few days. I'm divided on how the story's gone lately, but I'll still probably keep up, see how it goes.
Also, I bet that meeting went smoother than most of you were expecting. Originally it was slightly more of a shitshow, but it felt forced. I feel like Yang's matured enough during her tenure in the Guard to know not to cause too much trouble. Hopefully that makes sense.
Next time, Yang and Weiss have a reunion. The Kasrkin have a chat with their Lady.
I'll see you then!