Chapter 21


Cadians possessed an entire glossary of nicknames of varying affections for countless aspects of their lives and duties. One of those prime facets was marching. Before all else, even before learning how to field-strip an M36 Kantrael Pattern Lasgun, Whiteshields learned how to march like proper Imperial Guardsmen. For a youth, eager to begin their training, it was often treated as a mundanity they had to suffer to get to the exciting parts. But learning how to march in a column, to keep time to a cadence, to walk in-step with up to thousands of men brought about a discipline one found lacking in many tithed regiments. Those men and women walked out of order, held their weapons every which way, and generally didn't cover much ground. On a clear day and level ground, Cadians could march forty kilometers! For them, it was a matter of pride.

Of course, that didn't exclude the concept from soldier titles. Men called it 'sleepwalking,' on account that they learned to sleep as they marched. By no means a true slumber, it was a kind of daze or trance in which they could move without thinking. Many found some respite in it after a hard day's marching or returning to base after a bad battle. 'Tramping,' was more popular, though. No one could quite trace the term back to its origination. Legend was returning Shock Troopers who served on Hive Worlds or Civilized Worlds with higher than usual poverty levels were filled with highly mobile vagrants. These pitiful excuses for Imperial subjects dodged services to the Emperor or employment by utilizing various modes of transports to travel around. When they couldn't sneak aboard a train, shuttle, or convoy, they took to their own two feet to travel. Even though they found the idea of Imperial citizens avoiding service just as insulting as those born Cadian-born louts unfit for service who huddled on shores and fished to survive, they liked the name.

Another related term was 'root-step,' or, 'root-stepping.' This defined a particular style of marching on the part of Cadian Interior Guardsmen, Shock Troops, and Kasrkin. Years of practice meant Cadian infantry could move fast, even on a march. Members from tithed regiments observed Cadians on a quick-marched sort of swung their legs ever so slightly to the side as they moved down a road. It was, in fact, an illusion caused by the rapid movement of so many legs in so many ranks of men. Still, the phrase caught on and Cadians sometimes exaggerated their gait to make it look like they were truly swinging their legs.

Then, there were the 'solemn steps.' This was a slow, dignified way of marching, not meant to cover ground but to add a sacred element to a column. Cadian troops only moved in such a fashion during Grand Reviews held in Kasrs or in huge field commands. Usually, a high-ranking Cadian military figure was present, such as the commander of a particular sector. Senior Adeptus Ministorum figures and their retinues were also present, which was always a great honor for the troops passing in review. In rare circumstances, the Governors Primus and Secundus would be present or even the Lord Commander of the Segmentum Obscurus. But this only occurred under very extraordinary circumstances. Other, more grim scenarios merited the march, such as when a regimental commander fell. If this regiment was still serving on Cadia, his or her troops would convey their body back to the Kasr of their birth to be entombed and to bask in everlasting glory.

Whatever the occasions, it turned a simple formation into a true procession. Every single soldier dressed in his wargear and donned whatever seals or medals were appropriate to wear on his armor. From the lowest trooper to the regimental commander, Enginseers to Quartermaster-Sergeants, formed up. Every vehicle at the disposal of the regiment was also added to the column. Even the wounded were in attendance, although they were usually carried in vehicles, out of sight of the viewers. Only the menials and servitors would be absent, they not having shared in the glory of the regiment.

The 1333rd Cadian Regiment proudly marched through the barbican of Kasr Sonnen's southeastern approach. Bloody Platoon was right behind the Regimental Command Platoon. Regiments demanded huge command staffs, including Veterans who accompanied the commander to battle. But there were many non-combat personnel who ensured the unit was supplied and informed. As such, they were much larger than the Company Command Squads and the smaller Platoon Command Squads.

Marsh Silas looked over his shoulder at Tattersall and Rowley. First Squad, who suffered some casualties during the great battle, essentially adopted the two Whiteshields. But Sergeant Holmwood needed the numbers and was more than happy to take them. While the pair, and their erstwhile Sergeant Clivvy, still had a few years ahead of them before they became true Shock Troopers, they had proven themselves to the veterans of Bloody Platoon.

"Listen up you two," he said over the thunderous thudding of thousands of boots on the bridge. "Eyes front. I don't care how handsome or fair the onlookers are, you will look straight ahead. Do not break step, do not stumble. Just march and you'll be fine."

"Yes, Staff Sergeant!" Rowley said confidently.

"If we can face down those rotten heretics and traitors, I think we can handle a lil' marchin', Staff Sergeant," Tattersall boasted.

"That kinda chest-thumping will get ya tossed to the Commissars like a bone to hounds," Marsh scolded. "Eyes front, sharpish, and at least pretend to look like Shock Troopers. That goes for all you footsore, bellyaching, malcontents!"

Bloody Platoon laughed in relief just as they passed through the opposite gatehouse. Suddenly, the air filled with the roars and cheering of thousands of citizens. Cadians lined the roads as the jagged patterns of automated road barriers were lowered. The pattern of defenses turned the locks and angular paths of interlocking firing positions into a broad boulevard to allow the regiment to pass through. From every window, bunker, redoubt, pillbox, men and women leaned out to wave and cheer the Shock Troops. Crowds gathered on either side, applauding and jumping for joy. Many troopers on duty stood at attention and saluted. Preachers bellowed blessings and waved their hands at the passing men.

All the soldiers of the 1333rd marched the solemn steps, their gait deliberate and proud. Each footfall was perfect and created a loud, crunchy thud as their leather soles landed on the pavement. Even though the cacophony of exultant cheering was enough to mask the rumbling engines of the Chimera APCs behind the infantry, it was not enough to deafen the sound of their booted feet.

Marsh Silas found himself almost unable to obey his own orders. To his right was Carstensen, already in a new crimson coat and bearing a new cap signifying her new station. Her orange locks were loose beneath her hat. Instead of wearing his low-peaked cap like some of the other officers, Hyram opted to wear his helmet instead. Even out of the corner of Marsh's eye, he looked every inch the soldier. How he longed to take a look back at the platoon to see how magnificent they were! But he kept his eyes forward and did not smile. Many faces closed in, shouting all manner of praise and blessings upon him and his comrades. His heart swelled with pride to be a part of it all.

This march continued along many streets and reinforced suburbs. Whenever they passed by the command post of a sub-garrison, the order, 'eyes right!' or, 'eyes left!' was issued. At once, every man in the regiment looked upon the senior officer who stood on a balcony, on top of a vehicle, or on the edge of the road. Every gaze these experienced, battle-tested Interior Guard officers gave them was affectionate and admiring. Even the junior officers who had not joined the Shock Troops were able to overlook their envy and raised their fists.

Every meter was marked by euphoric crowds and respectful soldiery. People locked arms and jumped for joy. Gray-haired veterans, common and noble alike, waved banners and flags from the regiments they used to be a part of. Some only possessed scraps of the battle-worn standard they once carried, but they waved it still. Some Imperial Navy men from Battlefleet Cadia, on shore leave or some other detail, stopped to throw some brotherly jeers their way. But these warriors still bowed and saluted, tokens of respect from one branch to another.

It took an hour for the column to wind its way through Kasr Sonnen's streets to the central garrison. This bastion was a massive, fortified base. The compound was ten square kilometers of reinforced rockcrete and ferrocrete. Rows of electrified fences, razor wire, tank traps, barbed wire entanglements surrounded the high curtain wall of the perimeter. Studded along the wall were bunkers, pillboxes, casemates containing Battle Cannons, and spires bristling with heavy weapons. Tarantula Sentry Guns, fixed Earthshaker Cannons, and Sabre Gun Platforms were posted along the ramparts along with emplacements of Autocannons, Heavy Bolters, Lascannons, and mortars. Unlike the networks of intricate and complicated defense patterns of the Kasr, the center fortress was a more straightforward encampment. It was made up of multiple baileys, creating a base divided into squares and rectangles. To step into one was to enter a place removed from the rest of the Kasr—a city within a city—but just as heavily defended.

Along the entire length of the wall was a line of Guardsmen, mere shadows against the afternoon sun. When the 1333rd Cadian Regiment approached the gatehouse, these defenders snapped to attention and saluted. Marsh Silas, Bloody Platoon, and the other Shock Troops passed through the first bailey. On either side were rows upon rows of Leman Russ Main Battle Ranks, Chimera APCs, Hellhounds, and various other war machines. Lines of Guardsmen, ten ranks deep, were in front of them. With a machine-like snap, their heels clicked and their hands snapped up to their brows in salute. All the flag-bearers across their regiment, from the honored Master Color Sergeant who carried the Regimental Colors to the men who carried the platoon standards, were divided in even numbers on either side of the road. As the 1333rd passed, they lowered their colors. When the commanding officer lowered his sword, an Earthshaker Cannon atop the ramparts fired a single shell into the air. The shot's report carried on for a few moments.

It was a magnificent display of the Astra Militarum's power and the might of Cadian troops. To see it massed together was a sight of true grandeur that nearly brought tears to the eyes of Marsh Silas.

Finally, they came to the center bailey in which the garrison commander's headquarters was located. Such a place was heavily fortified, with the double armor-plated gates, interlocking fields of fire, automated turrets, and barracks buildings that could transition into bunkers. Along the walls, blast shields were removed, creating open spaces along the five tiers of reinforced rockcrete walkways and catwalks.

The Regiment finally came to a stop and formed up in the center of the bailey. All the vehicles present, mostly Chimeras, also formed up adjacent to the companies. Waiting for them was the garrison commander and the sector commander; Marsh Silas was too far down the chain of command to know their names. Both were superbly dressed in khaki dress fatigues, finely polished black leather boots, and trim low-peaked caps with golden Aquilas on the front. While the garrison commander wore an open emerald coat with golden trimming, the sector commander wore a similar coat that was white with black and red trimming. Each had six rows of golden and silver medals across the left side of their chests.

Colonel Isaev parted from his staff, walked up to both men, and saluted. They returned it and they shook his hand. A conversation took place which no one could hear. All Marsh Silas could hear was the flag snapping on the pole next to the headquarters. No one moved or spoke. Not even a cough or the clear of a throat could be heard; Marsh Silas chalked it up to Cadian discipline.

Finally, Isaev saluted them again, spun around on his heel, and walked towards the regiment. At the same time, his personal Voxman walked out to meet him. Taking the amplifier from his Master-Vox unit, he raised it to his lips.

"Men of the 1333rd Cadian Regiment!" he boomed. "This night, at 1800 hours, there shall be a ceremony of honor in which you shall receive not only decorations for your actions in the Battle of the Hills, but also from your entire career as Cadian soldiers, as afforded you by the Review of Decorations. This is not only an honor bestowed by Cadian High Command, but by the will of the Emperor of Mankind. Make your prayers unto Him humble and grateful."

"Sir, yes sir!" cried the entire regiment, their voices carrying for some distance.

"You shall report to the bailey at 1730 hours in full dress uniform. Failure to do so will result in the revocation of your right to the Review of Decorations and any awards authorized for your part in the Battle of the Hills. All personnel, upon my command, shall report to barracks kindly afforded us by General Battye, officer commanding of Kasr Sonnen's garrison. 1333rd Cadian Regiment...fall out!"

And so began a familiar, mundane procedure. Immediately after departing the bailey, Marsh Silas and his comrades were assailed by a Captain-Commissar and his staff. They reviewed the regiment unit by unit, right down to the platoon level, and corroborated. Registered as, 'Regimental Furlough, Under Arms,' notifying the local command that the entire regiment was present and could rise in defense of the Kasr, they were passed off to the individual Medicae inspection.

Each Guardsmen was individually scanned and surveyed for any signs of disease, as was every single piece of wargear he carried right down to his extra pair of socks. Even Marsh's kit bag, the boxy haversack he carried with him, was opened and overturned on a steel table. A spool of spare thread for uniform repairs, extra charge packs, two grooming kits, a bonus Medkit, a third pair of socks, a second set of brown leather gloves, a palm mirror, his extra dog tags, orange tinted goggles, and much, much more. Thankfully, they could only confiscate infected items and by the grace of the Emperor, nobody was carrying any kind of camp illness. Still, everything was sprayed and scrubbed.

Then there was the physical evaluation, which proceeded normally. Under normal circumstances, the troops would deposit their wargear in the temporary barracks they were assigned to and proceed to the community wash station. Instead, now down to just their uniform, they were summoned to another chamber for an Inquisitorial Inquiry Designate Minoris. Such hearings always followed encounters with the foul Archenemy and men feared them almost as much as they feared their foes.

Marsh Silas was brought into a room adjacent to the Medicae and delousing center. Inside, holy incense was burning. Wrought iron stands propped up Ministorum tomes and were tethered with purity seals. Larger golden plaques depicting the Aquila were above both entrances to the room. Normally, there was a priest, an Inquisitor or an appropriate Inquisitorial agent, and several of their security staff. Those Stormtroopers tended to be dark, foreboding sorts when compared to the gallant Kasrkin.

Instead of finding them, he found just one man. His complexion was dark tan and his hair was nearly black. The hair on the sides of his head was nearly sheared down to stubble but the hair on the top remained thick and swept back. Black stubble was growing thickly on his chin and thinly on his jaw. His eyes bore the color of amber with little shards of jade green in them. Instead of an Inquisitorial jacket, he wore a black tactical top and olive drab trousers.

It took Marsh Silas a moment to recognize this man as the agent who accompanied Romolo so many solar months ago. As the Lord Inquisitor pinned the Inquisitorial Token to his tunic, the attendant remained silent, studious, and dismissive.

"You..." the platoon sergeant uttered.

"Sit down," replied the agent. Marsh tentatively took his seat at the steel table. He folded his hands and waited. All the agent did was register some information in his Dataslate.

"Pardon me, sir, but—"

"I'm not a sir and there isn't a need to be formal," the agent grumbled hastily. "My name is Throne Agent Orzman, in service of the Ordo Hereticus and currently serving in joint-capacity with Cadia's Internal Guard." He finally looked up. "Headaches?"

"None."

"At any time during or after the engagement with the enemy, did you begin to hear whispers in your ears or within your mind?"

"None at all," Marsh answered immediately, although he could not help but think of his dear friend Barlocke's fragment, now a piece of him. Orzman nodded and added this information.

"Have you felt any animosity towards priests, holy seals, or vestiges of the Master of Mankind?"

"No. I thank Him for seeing me through those terrible days," Marsh replied honestly. "I always will." Orzman smiled and tilted his head to the side for a moment. Then, he began logging more data into his device.

"Many say that." He sighed a little and rested his chin on his hand. "What are your feelings towards the things you witnessed during the battle, the enemy in particular?"

Marsh's brow furrowed and his lips formed a kind of snarl.

"Hatred. Anger. They killed many a good man that day and that wretched Smith killed one of the Emperor's blood! I have no pity, no remorse for slaying that, that, thing or his lackeys. If I should meet any of their ilk on the field of battle once more, and I expect that I will, I will pray for the Emperor to use me as His instrument of revenge."

Orzman added this as well and then shut down his Dataslate. He slid it away from him and sat back in his chair. After regarding Marsh Silas for a moment, he folded his arms across his chest and crossed his legs.

"Yes, I knew all this already," he said. "I read all of Inquisitor Barlocke's reports and he mentioned your ever-bright and zealous faith in the Emperor. Such loyalty is not so easily broken, besmirched, or corrupted. And any loyal subject with his wits about him can take but one glance and know you bear no taint." He sneered then. "Besides, any lesser traitorous wretch would screech at being in such a blessed place filled with the iconography of the Emperor."

Marsh Silas didn't know how to respond. He did not like this agent nor did he trust him by any means. Orzman seemed to mirror his feelings; his gaze was fixed in a permanent, scrutinizing glare. He seemed to tilt his head backwards at all times, just enough to raise his nose in a posh manner.

After holding his pose for some time, Orzman's arms slid from his chest. One rested on the back of his chair. He reached forward with the other, gripped the edge of the table, and began tapping it with his forefinger. "What Barlocke ever saw in you I do not know. You're an uneducated, illiterate, small-minded oaf who refused not only an honor but a gift from the Emperor."

"My refusal to become an Acolyte?" Marsh Silas murmured. Orzman sneered.

"Some had to fight for such an opportunity. Many not only fought but they suffered from things you couldn't imagine even in your worst nightmares. The struggle to even become an Acolyte required more than what it takes to become a soldier."

Marsh Silas blinked, then sat back and folded his arms across his chest.

"And I suppose you think that gives you the right to whine about like a sniveling little baby, too?"

Although he appeared cool, on the inside he was wondering if this agent would just decide there and then to label him as a traitor and have him executed. It seemed like something an impetuous servant of the Inquisition would do when insulted. Instead, Orzman leaned forward quickly and pointed across the table.

"It was thrown at your feet and you cast it aside as if it was nothing! Why!?"

"I'm a soldier." He shrugged a little and smiled. "You don't give up your comrades like that."

Orzman scoffed, stood up, turned, and waved his hand dismissively. He began walking towards the door.

"I knew this was a waste of time. Go, enjoy your little awards ceremony."

"Wait!" Marsh Silas jumped to his feet. "Does Barlocke live? Did he get away?"

Orzman had just opened the door. He closed it gently and looked over his shoulder.

"One last question, Senior Staff Sergeant Cross. Are you a traitor?"

Marsh's eyes widened and his jaw fell. The question was like receiving a blow to his gut. Anger swirled within him, indignant that even after this interrogation the question was leveled against him. Or was it a clever trick? To get a rise out of him so as to label him as an enemy of the Inquisition. Then, maybe this Orzman could get the satisfaction of putting a bolt-shell in his head without having to fill out any paperwork. No, he was not going to give into such a ploy.

Slowly, he sat back down, his hands curling into fists on the table.

"No."

When Orzman didn't speak, he looked back up. The Throne Agent was still looking at him over his shoulder.

"Yes you are, for the moment you refused Barlocke's gift, you betrayed him and all he ever taught you. Fool."

With that, he threw open the door and slammed it shut behind him. Marsh Silas, angry and confused, got up and left the interrogation room. He fell into the trickle of other Guardsmen heading to the delousing chamber and looked forward to the subsequent shower; the need to wash was all-consuming.

###

By the time the ceremony was starting, Marsh Silas was in a better mood. He was assembled with his entire platoon just inside the hall to their barracks, waiting to enter the central bailey. Everyone was dressed in freshly washed and detailed full dress uniforms. These were different from their usual outfits they wore for awards ceremonies at Army's Meadow. There, all a man needed to do was clean his khaki fatigues, don his medals, and look presentable. But for an official ceremony like this, they wore a finer variant.

Called the 'formal dress uniform,' it consisted of an olive drab uniform, a tunic with a black leather standing collar, a jacket, black gloves, and black boots. The jacket came down over the waist instead of being tucked in and was buttoned on the left side of the torso; there were seven buttons made of gold and each one bore a miniature depiction of the Astra Militarum's Imperialis icon, a winged skull. Trousers varied; Whiteshields bore a single white stripe up the entire length of their outer trousers, whereas enlisted men bore a khaki stripe, NCOs bore a red stripe, and officers had no stripe. All enlisted wore a black belt with a silver buckle which also carried the Imperialis. Officers' buckles were golden but had the same symbol. A golden Aquila was worn on the front of the coat under the belt by officers the rank of colonel and above. NCOs wore olive mantelets over the left shoulder while officers wore a long overcoat with red cuffs and interior lining which could be worn as a cloak. Others opted to wear a variant of similar color that was purely a cloak. All were required to wear their low-peaked caps consisting of khaki coloration and a black bill. Silver Aquilas were on the front of NCOs and enlisted men's caps while officers had golden Aquilas. Medals were situated on the left side of the breast with seven in a row.

This was the only uniform in which Cadians could also wear ribbon-only distinctions, decorations that lacked a clasp and ribbon, and special training badges. Ribbons were worn on the right side of the chest in rows of seven with the medallions underneath followed by training badges.

Marsh Silas's seventeen ribbons were aligned in two full rows and with a third row of three beneath it. He did not have the coveted Solar Off-World Service Ribbon which all Shock Troopers desired, for he had spent his career entirely on Cadia. But for his service to the Inquisition, he and the rest of Bloody Platoon were awarded a higher distinction: the Special Services Rendered to the Imperium Ribbon. It was a solid black ribbon with a bone-white two-barred cross in the center. Although not desired like other distinctions, it was a deep honor.

It was the first ribbon of the top row, followed by the Primus Service Ribbon, solid blue with one silver skull pin, the Secundus Service Ribbon, solid green with two bronze skull pins, the Tertius Service Ribbon, solid yellow with one golden skull pin, and the Kasr Service Ribbon, which was solid gray and had one bronze skull pin. Each ribbon represented a solar year's service or the completion of an operation in the designated area. Multiple awards were denoted by different metal pins just like their medals; one bronze pin equaled one subsequent award, a silver skull emphasized a total of six, a golden skull represented twelve total awards.

Then came the orange ribbon known as the Battle Ribbon, awarded for taking part in a larger battle. Three golden skull pins were on it. Following it was the Advancement Ribbon, divided into five columns; the center and outer columns were golden white the columns to the left and right of center were olive. Men received these ribbons with each promotion; Marsh Silas, having attained three discretionary ranks and making all of the Lance Corporal grades, wore a single golden skull pin on his ribbon.

Next came his Probitor and Youth Army ribbons. First, there was the highly prized Selected Kasrkin Recruit Ribbon awarded only to those believed to have the potential to one day become Kasrkin. It was a white ribbon with three, thin, vertical golden stripes in the center. Following it was his Probitor Honor Graduati Ribbon, which was also white but had only two golden stripes. Only those who were singled out for distinction among their cohort received it. Next was the Probitor Graduati Ribbon which all Cadians received upon transiting to the Shock Troops at the age of eighteen. Again, this ribbon was white but possessed just one golden stripe. Following it came the Selected Probitor Ribbon, which was awarded for two years of meritorious and noteworthy service. The white ribbon had only a glossy silver stripe in the center. Having received it twice, Marsh Silas wore one bronze skull on it.

The Youth Army Ribbons were all different. The Heroic Youth Army Service Ribbon was awarded for acts of gallantry expected by a Whiteshield. This was often awarded in lieu of actual medals because a great deal of the Cadian nobility believed younger, eager Whiteshields in the Youth Army did not deserve medals just yet. It was true that it was rare to see a Whiteshield with any medals and Marsh Silas knew Rowley and Tattersall, who were going to be awarded Eagle Ordinary's, were very proud of the medal. Marsh had one bronze skull pin on the red ribbon. Next was the Honorable Youth Army Service Ribbon which was awarded for less acts of valor. It was a dark blue ribbon with red columns at each end. There were two bronze skulls on this ribbon and three on the Youth Army Service Ribbon which came after it. Whiteshields who served a solar year in a Youth Army unit received it; it was a lavender-colored ribbon with a white vertical stripe on either side of the center.

Finally, there was the Month of Making Ribbon and the Marksmanship Ribbon. The former was a pure turquoise ribbon awarded for surviving the fabled Month of Making all Cadian children endured. Marksmanship Ribbons came in first, second, and third class but Marsh Silas only had it in the first class variation. An annual marksmanship was held and anyone who scored forty-six or more shots out of fifty in total received it. It was a maroon ribbon with a wide golden column in the center. Anyone with a second or third class ribbon was often the butt of many jokes and the subject of countless insults. One silver skull and three bronze skulls were on it.

Beneath these ribbons was his single Medallion Crimson of amethyst, ruby, and gold, and the black, yellow, and white Triple Skull medal. After them came all five Ribbon Intrinsic's he and his comrades earned over the years. As for training badges, he had only one: the Hostile Environment Badge. All Cadians who completed training on the uninhabited world of Prosan earned it.

Marsh Silas felt nervous, excited, and proud to be among Bloody Platoon. Hyram looked splendid in his green uniform and Carstensen was positively radiant in her crimson outfit. Everyone was chattering quietly to one another, waiting for Commissar Ghent to send them along. But Marsh Silas didn't really notice any of it, he was far too attentive to Carstensen. Reaching down, he slipped his hand into her own and squeezed it. She squeezed back and looked at him. How affectionate her small smile was, so warm he thought it could melt ice and snow. What an honor, he thought, to be among such fine warriors.

Suddenly, the doors ahead of them were opened. Cold wind from the bailey flooded the tunnel. Ghent appeared, immaculate in his dress.

"It's time, Shock Troopers. Do your best not to embarrass yourselves in front of the nobility for you shall be dealing with me," he said in an unamused tone. "Fall out!"

Bloody Platoon marched out of the hall and into the bailey. Immediately, searchlights were turned on and nearly blinded them. None broke ranks or faltered in their step. There were great cheers and a massive applause from all those gathered in the compound. In the hours since their arrival, four sections of a massive amphitheater had been erected in the center. Each section was curved and bore dozens upon dozens of seats in long rows. They were many stories high, almost rising above the top of the curtain wall of the bailey. If each section was to be connected, it would have taken the shape of a great oval. Metal struts were on the back of each one with a great camouflage canopy over each. Lights were laced along the girders of the struts, illuminating the center between the sections. That center was shaped like an Imperial Cross.

Commissar Ghent led them into that center and the cheering exploded. In the center was a polished oak stage with a podium in the center. A Vox-amplifier was erected on the top and there was a golden Aquila emblem on the wood. Kasr Sonnen's garrison hosted many ceremonies and the men and women were quite adept at constructing and dismantling the amphitheater. It was an impressive sight.

Bloody Platoon marched to the center but stopped right at the edge of the stage. The rest of First Company filed through the same part. Second Company came through the entrance across from them. From the right came Third Company and the remaining troops came through the left. One by one, the companies formed up around the sage and filled the grounds within the amphitheater. Standing by the podium was Colonel Isaev along with the sector commander and the garrison commander General Battye.

The cheering and applauding ceased. Commissar Ghent marched up the steps and began pacing along the edge of the stage. It was customary for the Regimental Commissar in these instances to call upon the Cadian soldiers and for them to answer. It was tradition.

Ghent paused in front of Bloody Platoon. He narrowed his eyes and seemed to stare right at Marsh Silas. The platoon sergeant puffed at his chest and raised his chin with pride. "Who do we serve!?" he called, his voice booming.

"The Emperor, sir!" over a thousand voices hollered.

"Who are we!?"

"Cadians, sir!"

"What is the Astra Militarum!?"

"The Emperor's Hammer!"

"What is your duty!?"

"To crush the foes of the Emperor!"

"What is duty!?"

"It is life!"

"What is the Imperium!?"

"Everything we hold dear!"

"What is glory!?"

"Death in the name of the Holy Emperor and the Imperium!"

Commissar Ghent whirled around and saluted the three ranking officers who returned. He proceeded to stand by Isaev's side while the sector commander leaned down to the Vox-amp.

"My lords and ladies of Cadia, officers and soldiers of the Astra Militarum, we are gathered here this night to celebrate the triumph of the 1333rd Regiment at the Battle of the Hills. These men and women are exemplars of those Cadian values instilled in us by our mothers, fathers, foremothers, and forefathers. Sacrifice, aggression, loyalty, piety, courage, skill in all facets of life and soldiering, all the lessons handed down to us since Saint Gerstahl fell in defense of the planet."

He folded a sheet of parchment, read it for a moment, and looked back up. Marsh Silas's eyes were on him, but beyond him he could see the great masses assembled in the stands. Even with keen eyesight, there were so many as to be an accumulated blur of military color. Above them, the bright white lights continued to glare. "We shall start, as is proper, with the First Platoon of the First Company. To the stage, report: Lieutenant-Pracept Sean Randolph Hyram, Commissar Lilias Juventas Carstensen, and Senior Staff Sergeant Sias Cross."

The moment was at hand! Marsh's heart seemed to seize up, his gut tightened, and his legs felt heavier than rockcrete. But he found himself on the stage, in between his friend and his lover. They stood at attention and faced the general. "For seizing the initiative and spearheading this great assault, engaging myriad foes, and their selfless and gallant leadership, you three are hereby awarded the Order of St. Gerstahl."

Isaev and General Battye came with the medals. This award came in the shape of the ancient crest of the fabled Imperial Army who fought with the Emperor, the predecessor to the Astra Militarum. A spread struck upwards from a circle, with the bottom of its shaft appearing on the underside. From the upper sides of the circle sprouted tall wings and thunderbolts from the bottom sides. Its ribbon consisted of a single black column in the center, flanked on either side by columns of blood red, followed by stripes of gray.

Such an award was granted for extreme services in defense of Cadia and the other Cadia Sector and as such was one of the highest honors created in their military. It was only superseded by the Order of Cadia, for acts of sacrifice or near-sacrifice. Isaev was one the one who pinned it on his chest. Applause followed and it lasted for some time.

The sector commander raised his hand. "For seizing the initiative, for his deft field maneuvering, destroying countless, larger bodies of enemy forces, and his supreme implementation of those tenets of the Tactica Imperialis, Lieutenant-Praecept Hyram is awarded the Macharian Cross.

What an honor! Marsh Silas swelled with pride for his friend and commanding officer. Hanging from a golden clasp, the curved ribbon was red with a black vertical stripe removed from each edge. The medal took the shape of a cross patteé with distinct trapezoidal sides with a center point. It was constructed of red gold with pure gold trimming. In the center was a golden sun with many rays and a laurel.

Applause, then silence. "For her daring action, her inspiration as noted by the soldiers under her command, and not only fulfilling but rising beyond the duties required to her as a Commissar of the Officio Prefectus, Commissar Carstensen shall be awarded the Order of Captain-Commissar Bachmeier."

Bachmeier was a fabled Commissar from the days of Gerstahl. When the leaders of two regiments fell at the same time in a battle with the Archenemy, he rallied both units and led them to victory. It cost him his life but gained him everlasting glory in the eyes of Cadia. Many Shock Troopers only accepted Commissars from their homeworld. But a man like Bachmeier, who hailed from some distant Civilized World, and Commissars like Carstensen, proved that anyone could become Cadian.

Marsh could see her eyes glimmer with tears of pride and joy. She too knew of the tale and she was aware of the lineage she was now a part of. Oh, how he wanted to take her in his arms at that very moment, to congratulate her not only as soldier to soldier, but one lover to another. The medal's ribbon was of pure crimson thread and the circular gold medal displayed the Commissariat's icon: a winged skull with the wings pointing downwards.

"Now, would the entirety of the First Platoon and all those attached to that unit please assemble on the stage for the Review of Decorations." The soldiers obeyed and the sector commander began reading through a long, long list of awards. Staff officers were called on stage to administer the medals. Soon, everyone's chests were glittering with gold, silver, and bronze medals and colorful ribbons.

There were too many for Marsh Silas to keep an accurate accounting save for his own and a few of the others. For numerous acts of bravery across his career as a soldier, he was awarded two Cadian Crosses, one with laurels and the other with crossed swords, three Eagles Extraordinaire, two Cadian Gallantry Stars Second Class, a Distinguished Bravery Medal, a Conspicuous Bravery medal, two Medals of Imperial Defense, seven Vulnerati Medals for wounds prior to the battle, two Selected Shock Trooper Medals, six Combat Preparedness Medals, a Meritum Medal, and nine Operatio Servitum Medals. On top of that, for his actions from the days of the ambushes all the way up to the Battle of the Hills, he was awarded a Grand Cadian Cross, the Cadian Gallantry Star First Class, another Crimson Skull, another Winged Skull, an Eagle Ordinary, his eighth Vulnerati, and tenth Operatio Servitum Medal.

Valens, the regimental pict-capturer who accompanied Bloody Platoon throughout all those days, received the Order of St. Euphrati Keeler. She was one of the ancient Remembrancers and it was awarded to those men and women who took daring shots with picters during battle. To see the skinny Cadian honored made Marsh feel very glad and the young man was quite humbled. Both Walmsley brothers received the Order of St. Josamane, the leader of a Heavy Weapons company in the long-destroyed 5,286th Cadian Regiment that fought during the 4th Black Crusade. Shock Troopers, especially those who operated heavy weapons, were awarded the medal for brave and effective usage of their tools. All the squad leaders received Winged Skulls and Arnold Yoxall four Stars of Cadia, the highest Cadian award, more supreme than the Cadian Crosses or Gallantry Stars. He received them for various acts throughout those days, the most notable being the destruction of a bunker single handedly and for braving heavy fire to repair a detonation cord during one of their ambushes. These were but a few, as every member of Bloody Platoon received dozens of medals.

When the affair was over, the entire platoon was awarded another Ribbon Intrinsic and everyone received the white Religious Fervor Badge which could be worn on their Flak Armor. The sector commander, his voice just a little strained from calling out so many names and awards, cleared his throat. "And now it is my utmost honor to bestow on those men and women whose actions exceeded bravery and daring on the field of battle, actions made not for accolades, but of pure faith and loyalty to the Emperor, the Imperium, the Astra Militarum, and their comrades. Now, step forward, Senior Staff Sergeant Cross, Color Sergeant Babcock, Master Corporal Yoxall, Corporal Olhouser, Corporal Ledford, Lance Corporal First Class Foster, Lance Corporal Second Class Synder."

Marsh Silas and the other six men lined up in front of their platoon. The sector commander began reading their individual citations but the platoon sergeant, so nervous, excited, and focused, did not hear him speak. In this, the proudest moment of his life, he became deaf. He did not see the crowds nor hear them. All he could see were the faces of his comrades as they gazed back with sincere pride and brotherly affection. Even the two standing Whiteshields were looking on with beaming smiles. Hyram, with tears in his eyes, Carstensen, with the biggest and most beautiful smile she'd ever worn, and even Commissar Ghent, who without a smile or softening of his brow, looked upon Marsh Silas with immense satisfaction. How the young platoon sergeant wished to look up at the nighttime sky knowing the Emperor's light was shining down on him from those thousands of stars. If only his dear mother Faye and his father Dayton could be present, to see him now.

"...is hereby awarded the Obscurus Honorifica."

The clasp was a golden Aquila. There was golden trimming around the ribbon, two maroon columns on either side of the blood red column in the center. A skull with laurels was depicted on the golden medal. It was pinned to his chest before all the others and a single tear ran down both of Marsh Silas's cheeks.


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Author's Note: Many of the awards and some of the ranks listed in this chapter are non-canon and are meant to expand the lexicon of the Cadian military's heritage. However, there are some canon decorations in this list and any who are curious can cross-reference utilizing the Warhamer: 40,000 Wiki or Lexicanum. Anyone who is interested in the full list of non-canon decorations I have created is welcome to view on the community Discord thread I should be releasing sometime next week. Message me if you're interested in that.