Chapter 23
In the warmth of one of the soldier's halls, Bloody Platoon made merry. Street lights shimmered through the blast windows, candles hung on the wall burned brightly, and the overhead bulbs glowed warmly. On either end of the small hall was a hearth and there was enough coal to keep them burning all night. Half of the platoon were lined up at the bar, guzzling Cadian Amasec over dishes of smoked Grox meat, steamed vegetables, and toasted brown bread. Others were at the tables playing card games while they smoked and drank. Instead of staking Thrones, the men bet high-quality lho-sticks, fresh tabac leaves, and pastries they 'liberated,' from the grand dining hall of the garrison. Nobody wanted to bet their wages seeing as everyone was promoted or breveted by at least one grade. On top of their new income, many enjoyed the monetary bonus which came with some of the medals. Many agreed that gambling over eatables and luxury items instead of money get the games civil.
Marsh Silas was sitting at the bar waiting for another bottle of Amasec. He felt warm, full, and happier than he had all evening, although he wasn't drunk just yet. His unlit ebony pipe dangled loosely from his lips as he waited. Turning from the bar, he surveyed his men with a satisfied smile. The Emperor was surely treating them well that night as there wasn't another soul in the tavern. Of course, he knew that with so many high-ranking officials from the Astra Militarum, Ecclisarchy, and Adeptus Administraum, security was increased tenfold across the entire Kasr. Almost anyone who wasn't on furlough was pulling double-watch; a number of those on leave were most likely impressed into one watch, too. Even though there were many empty chairs at the tables, the place seemed comfortable and full thanks to Bloody Platoon's vigor and noise.
Out of the many soldier's halls he'd visited over the years, this one was ranking among the best. It was just outside the garrison and well-fortified, making it a good position for defense. As well, there were many paintings on the walls depicting great Cadian battles. Some were of the Shock Troops staving off another enemy invasion, the proud troops cheering over the corpses of Eldar and Orks. Others showed scenes of Battlefleet Cadia storming through the stars and plowing through the ruins of a hostile fleet. Mounted on hooks were battered Cadian Pattern Helmets, half-destroyed M36 lasguns, or a piece of Flak Armor which once belonged to a hero. Below each one was a brass plaque with the name, rank, date of death, and heroic act of the trooper. Marsh Silas had yet to read any. All the table and wall-mounted candles were scented, radiating a sweet, almost pastry-like smell. The smoke congealed with that from so many lho-sticks and hung over their heads like a raincloud. Rather than choking the air, it made it all the sweeter.
Marsh Silas turned around completely and leaned back against the bar. Sitting at the table near the window, Hyram and Carstensen chatted over their meals. The former was downing his fifth of Amasec and was positively chatty. As for the Commissar, she was pacing herself well but she seemed pleased with the conversation. On the other side of the double-doors was another blast window and the two Whiteshields sat together. Derryhouse and Hitch, both of whom served in the Special Weapons Squad and wielded Plasma Guns, were with them. Even though everyone was relaxing, Hitch was examining an optical reflex scope and giving a lesson to the pair of young ones. Derryhouse was trying to make his friend stop so Rowley and Tattersall could enjoy their meals.
Adjacent to them, Babcock was sketching his design for the platoon standard. Sergeants Holmwood, Motteshead, Honeycutt, Walmsley Major, all newly promoted to Staff Sergeant, Walmsley Minor, who finally reached the rank of Sergeant, and Technical Sergeant Stainthorpe were all pressing in around him. Everyone was holding a cup of Amasec and their buzzing conversation was a myriad of constructive criticism, outright disapproval, joyful reciprocation, and well-meant suggestions. Despite the barrage of so many opinions, Babcock jotted everything down next to his various drawings.
Everyone was laughing and chattering, their moods lifted the moment they left the garrison. Marsh Silas was more glad to be out of that place than he realized. All his life he imagined the splendor and grandeur of such a ceremony. But to follow it up with a party filled with gloating, nosy nobles nearlys spoiled it. He didn't realize just how stifling that haughty air was. No, the soldier ceremonies they held before were much better and this was the way Bloody Platoon knew how to celebrate. This world of theirs was familiar and warm.
He heard the glass bottle being set down on the counter. Marsh turned around to see two bottles instead of the one he ordered.
"You sure you won't take no Thrones for it?"
"Nonsense. Heroes eat, drink, and sleep for free," said the keeper. She was tall, broad of chest, and was missing her right eye. Instead of a bionic, the socket was an amalgamation of brown and beige tissue. Her uniform indicated she was an auxiliary, more than likely a battle-tested Shock Trooper who managed to return after a long career throughout various sectors of the Imperium. No longer in the regiments herself, at any time she could be called up for service in the event the Kasr was attacked.
She leaned on the counter and put one hand under her chin. "It's not often I see an officer in here, let alone a Commissar." Marsh followed her gaze back to Hyram and Carstensen at the window. The keeper chuckled and shook her head. "Sure, they was in camp with us and fought the tough ones with us. But they never spent no time with us when we was on furlough. If they're in here with you, that means they're right special."
"You couldn't be more right, ma'am," Marsh Silas said to her as peeled away from the bar and walked back over to his two friends. As he sat down, Hyram pointed at the pict of his son.
"And Sydney—that's my son, here—he's such a smart lad! He took up his letters with no issue, was on his feet just after a solar year, and was speaking his first words not too long after that." He put down the pict, took a swig from his glass, sighed loudly, and picked the pict back up. "So Sydney—my son—is studying with a Sister Famulous hailing from the Order of the Ever-Sun!"
He paused to finish the contents of his glass. While Marsh Silas worked to get the cork out of the bottle, he continued." My family has been judged worthy enough to for such a teacher and Sydney—my son, you see—gets on with her very well." Marsh looked sideways at Carstensen, who looked at him and flashed a wry, amused smile. Her elbow on the table and hand on her cheek, she looked back at their commanding officer and listened politely. "My wife, not so much, but that's another story. Anyways, the Sister sends me messages every so often about Sydney—my little son right here—and tells me about all the progress he's making. He'll be far more intelligent than his father, that's quite certain."
Hyram noticed Marsh finally uncorking the bottle, swiped it from his grasp, took a swig from it, burped, and then filled his glass all the way to the rim. He took a big sip, sighed loudly, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His face was quite red at this point. "And...what was I talking about?" he blinked like a man just waking up from a full night's rest. That's when he noticed the pict of his sun on the table. Picking it up, he giggled and held it up. "Right, I was telling you about Sydney! See, that's my son here," he said, pointing at the pict again. Then, he looked at it himself and giggled. "What a handsome lad! He'll be far more fetching than his father!"
"What about his mother?" Carstensen asked sardonically and cast a glance at Marsh Silas again from the corner of her eye. The platoon sergeant smirked a little. Under the table he reached over and wrapped his fingers around her left hand, resting on her thigh. She acknowledged his grasp with a little squeeze but Marsh could see the corners of her mouth twitch upwards a little more.
"His mother!?" Hyram exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table. All the glasses rattled and the two bottles trembled. "A gem, I tell you, a gem, not to be outdone by any woman!" He dug into the breast pocket of his tunic and yanked out another pict. This was of his wife on their wedding day in her white goan, veiled, and with a large Ministorum golden cross. Planting his elbow on the table, Hyram held it up and pointed at the image. "See? I didn't pick her myself you see, my parents did, and our courtship was supervised by a Sister from the Order Fam...Fum...Famously...you know the one." Marsh nodded politely while Carstensen began gazing out the window, suppressing her smile. "She was very happy on the day we wed. I was not." Hyram blinked a little, his smile disappearing for an instant.
"Pour me a drink, Lieutenant," Marsh said.
"Indeed, I shall!" Hyram exclaimed, who then began giggling as he filled the cup halfway. "You don't give me orders, I give you orders. I ought to write you up for in-substantiation, Sergeant..."
"Insubordination I think you mean, sir," Marsh said as he lifted his glass up.
"You don't teach me words, I teach you words," Hyram laughed, then pointed at the image again. "Isabella doesn't like the Sister, though. She wants to teach Sydney herself. She knows her words, too. And she can sing! You should hear in the cathedral!"
Suddenly, there was a bright flash next to the table. Everyone looked over to see Valens standing there with his image-capturer. The regimental pict-capturer had mingled with Bloody Platoon all evening. He was becoming a rather common sight among the men and everyone was quite used to him now. It seemed like spent less time with Regimental Headquarters than he did with the troopers. When the comrades rallied at the end of the ball, he was among them, and when they departed with Captain Giles' blessing, Valens came with them.
There was another flash which blinded the trio fro a moment. Lowering his equipment, Valens revealed himself to be blushing and in good spirits.
"Smile for this one, now," he ordered. Hyram merely turned, offering a big, toothy, drunken grin whilst still pointing at the pict of his wife. Carstensen lowered her other arm onto the table and leaned a bit more forward to be properly seen. Marsh turned in his seat so he was facing Valens, but didn't let go of Cartsensen's hand or his drink. Grinning, he raised his glass towards the young soldier. "Now, say: for the Emperor!"
"For the Emperor," the three friends chimed in various modes of enthusiasm. He snapped the pict and, chuckling, Marsh Silas looked back at Carstensen. Her deadpan tone was something he quite enjoyed. But there was another flash as Valens snapped another pict. Snickering, he totered towards another group of drinking troopers.
Hyram jammed the picts of his wife and son into his breast pocket and stood up shakily.
"Excuse me for now," he burped, "I have to go find somethin' to piss in..."
"Very good, sir," Marsh said. As Hyram began staggering away, the platoon sergeant waved to catch Drummer Boy's attention. The newly promoted Technical Sergeant Fourth Class was enjoying a cup of Amasec with the other Voxmen and the Field Chirurgeons saw him and hurried over. "Go with the Lieutenant and make sure he doesn't piss in someone's cup or drowns in the head or some damn fool thing."
Drummer Boy hurried after the platoon leader. As Marsh Silas continued drinking, Carstensen stood up and went to the other side of the table. Sliding into Hyram's chair, she folded her arms across the edge and gazed at Marsh. Her expression was nearly crestfallen. Confused, Marsh could only look back with his cup half-raised to his lips. His eyes darted around, trying to figure out what the Commissar seemed so concerned about.
"I'm sorry for how your family treated you this night," she finally said. "They were cruel."
"Don't be, not like you had anything to do with'em." Marsh set his cup down and began to trace the rim with his finger. "They've always been that way. Made life hard on me and my mother."
"Surely, your father must have defended you both."
"He was our shield but he was not always present. My mother was demobilized but he had risen to command his own regiment, the 2,566th Mechanized." Marsh looked out the window. It was snowing heavily outside and the jagged, interlocking streets and barricades were blanketed with a sheet of white. Guardsmen on patrol duty wore heavy overcoats and cloaks and each carried an accumulation of snowflakes on their shoulders. Curfew was a ways off and many lights were still on, illuminating the swirling trails as they descended from Cadia's cloudy nighttime sky.
He sighed and rested his chin on his hand. Such nights reminded him of his home in Kasr Polaris, waiting for his mother to return from the factorum and for his father's next furlough. "My family is of low nobility and my father's parents coveted a higher station. Although their careers were over, his was taking off rather well. By merit and achievement, he had risen from a lowly platoon leader to a regimental commander in a matter of years."
Marsh Silas couldn't help but laugh. "It reminds me of Hyram. That man has the makings of a great leader so long as I can keep him away from the drink." Carstensen's smile was quick but affectionate. He knew she agreed with him. "A marriage to a woman of matching or even higher nobility would have accelerated our family's rise. Instead, he married his regimental sergeant major. My mother Faye. They had met some years before on an off-world assignment and served together for a very long time."
"And your grandparents disapproved because your mother hailed from a lower caste." Carstensen folded her hands together. "I can understand, although I do not agree. A soldier who rises by merit alone and not just by their station alone is just as loyal, faithful, and brave a subject. I can think of many nobles who would be honored by such a match."
Marsh Silas smiled and looked down at his cup.
"Would your father and mother approve of me? An enlisted man?" he asked teasingly, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction before it became too sad to bear.
Carstensen blinked, chuckled, and looked out the window.
"Neither still live so they will have no say. But, I can imagine father having a few words to share. Mother, less so. Although, those caretakers of mine would've opposed it in every way and I'm sure the family of my betrothed would take grave insult." From the corner of her eye, she glanced at Marsh Silas and smirked. "I could live with that."
The platoon sergeant smiled and took another sip from his drink. "Sald-Grati is always far from my mind. It is home no more. Cadia is, although I shall never be Cadian."
Marsh Silas looked up immediately, shocked and confused.
"Don't say such things!" he said, reaching across the table and grasping her hand. Carstensen shook her head, patted the top of his hand, then slid it off for there were many eyes in the room.
"Tis true. A Commissar's duty to learn and take up the customs of the regiment they are assigned to. Their language, songs, and culture; to blend that culture with the discipline of the Astra Militarum as a whole. To become a Commissar not just of the Officio Prefectus but of that regiment also. There is much to be learned still and I am perfectly eager and willing. But my blood is not of this world, my eyes will never turn violet, my hair that shade of yellow, and I will never bear Cadian sons or daughters."
She looked at Marsh Silas who was maintaining his rather perplexed expression. Carstensen's eyes fell to the table. "It is the expectation for the population to reproduce to ensure Cadia shall have generations of soldiers for millennia to come. Even the Commissars must obey this order. I have...tried. Other officers, naturally, never enlisted men or...anyone I possessed any feelings for." Abruptly, she looked back out the window and shrugged dismissively. "I was given leave for fertility treatment. None of the Medicae's medicine worked and I was declared barren." She took her cup of Amasec from across the table and drank it all. Sighing, she set it down and leaned back in her chair. "It was my duty in life, given to me by the Emperor and the Officio Prefectus, to become Cadian. No matter what success I shall achieve,
Carstensen did not sound or appear downtrodden. But there was an element of disappointment in her voice, easily missed by anyone not so intimately acquainted with her. Marsh Silas leaned back, looking at his love for a very long time. Many times, he opened his mouth to speak but everything he thought of saying did not seem to offer any amount of comfort or reassurance. Eventually, he stood up and walked to the other side of the table. There were two chairs on either side and he slid into the one in between Carstensen and the window. Turning halfway, he smiled at her.
"You know, I ain't a very good Cadian. Sure, my eyes be violet and my hair is the color tundra grass and my family's name goes far back. But, that ain't what makes someone Cadian. We're tough, battle-ready, brave, and disciplined. But look at me! Brave? I'm afraid quite often. Disciplined?" He nodded at the rowdy, carousing men of Bloody Platoon, half in their cups and regaling each other with vulgar jokes. "If I wasn't set here talkin' to ya, I'd be with those fellers right now."
"I'm glad my presence can keep at least one Guardsmen in check," Carstensen joked dryly.
"Ah, those men love and respect you, Lilias. You're honest, fair, and you truly inspire us on the field. Sometimes a little too well." He looked out the window, enjoying the falling snow again. "Being Cadian ain't about your family's blood or where you're frome. It ain't even about constantly em..emboldening..."
"Embodying?"
"...embodying all them values. I'm trying, we all are, but man has his limits, I suppose. It's about overcoming those limits, it's about striving to uphold them even if you succeed or fail. We're soldiers and so long as you damn well devote the strengths the God-Emperor gave you to soldiering, well, you're a Cadian to us."
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and brought her in a little closer. "You've earned every right to be called a Cadian."
"I agree!"
Hyram drunkenly slammed his hand on the table, making both Commissar and platoon sergeant jump in their seats. "Here, here!" He swiped the open Amasec bottle and took a swig from it. Some of it dribbled down his neck and stained the collar of his tunic. Sighing loudly and burping, he set it down hard on the table and pointed at Carstensen. "It's time we swore you in as Cadian folk!" He wheeled around. "Keeper, parchment and quill at once if you please! Bloody Platoon, this night Carstensen becomes well an' truly Cadian!"
A cheer rippled through the bar. Carstensen quickly looked back at Marsh Silas, who eagerly jumped to his feet, grabbed her hand, and dragged her to the center of the establishment. Everyone finished their drinks and began to gather around. The keeper, amused, handed over the materials and Hyram laid them out on the bar top. He began to scribble something on the parchment.
"What's that there, sir?" Honeycutt asked, not quite as drunk as the others. Snickering, Hyram leaned into the medic's face.
"A very special and important document to ward off any of those relic nobles who would disapprove..." Nobody quite understood what he meant and a serious of confused nods and shrugs passed through the platoon.
When he finished writing, he whirled around and approached Commissar Carstensen. He cleared his throat, making himself burp again. Swaying back and forth, he narrowed his squinting eyes at the parchment. "...I, Lieutenant-Praecept Sean Randolph Hyram of the Astra Militarum's 1,333rd Cadian Shock Troops Regiment, in clear and present state of mind, hold on a moment..." Hyram stopped reading, grabbed someone's drink, swallowed it, and tossed the glass at Drummer Boy. The Voxman barely caught it. "...hereby declare that Commissar Lilias Juventas Carstensen, henceforth, is my daughter by adoption!"
"Excuse me?" Carstensen asked, bemused.
Everyone broke into excited laughter and raucous hoots. Marsh Silas joined them, clapping Carstensen on the back. Hyram slammed the document back on the table and signed his name.
"By her selflessness and braveries on the field of battle, by her dedication to the Emperor-God, and her years of meritorious service to Cadia, she has earned her right to be considered a Cadian. Commissar, if ye but sign your name the deed will be done. Mars Seelus, sign as the witness please and thank ya."
Marsh Silas was over at the bar before Carstensen. Taking the quill, he smirked at his commanding officer.
"In High Gothic, sir?"
"Whatever it is you fancy," Hyram said, bowing so low he nearly knocked his head against the bar top. Marsh Silas looked at the document; Hyram's drunken handwriting was barely legible even to a semi-literate Guardsmen like him. Seeing a squiggly line at the bottom upon which the Lieutenant signed his name, Marsh Silas made a straighter line underneath it and wrote down his own name and rank.
Turning around, he held the quill out to her. Bloody Platoon, separated into two packs on either side of the space in between Marsh and the Commissar, eagerly looked at her. Carstensen warily looked between the two groups of Guardsmen and then at Marsh Silas and Hyram. The platoon sergeant smiled softly and continued to hold out the quill. Hyram, too drunk to stand on his own, was supporting himself by leaning against the bar. He still managed to smile and blink at her, though.
Eventually, Carstensen's smile spread and she marched proudly towards the bar. Graciously bowing, she accepted the quill from Marsh Silas and wrote her name on a new line next to Hyram's. With the final scratch of the quill, she set it down and turned around. Bloody Platoon cheered louder than it ever had before and everyone congratulated her. Hyram threw his arm around her shoulders and jostled her. "What a glorious night! My little Sydney—that's my son, you know—has gained a sister! And my wife didn't have to do a thing! Just wait til I tell her! Come on now men, let's swear her in!"
Everyone pressed in, piling their hands on her shoulders. The mass of men stank of salty food, bitter alcohol, and sweaty armpits. "Take it away, Smarsh Silas!"
"Who do we serve!?"
"The Emperor!" the men roared into one another's faces.
"What is the Astra Militarum!?"
"The Emperor's Hammer!"
"What is duty!?"
"Life!"
"What is the Imperium!?"
"Everything!"
"What is glory!?"
"Death!"
"What is death!?"
"Redemption!"
"Who are we!?"
"Cadians!"
"I said, who are we!?"
"Ca-di-ans!"
Even Carstensen joined in the final whoop. Hyram broke up the noise.
"Let's give three cheers for my new daughter!"
"Hip-hip, hurray, hurray, hurray!" they all cried, throwing their arms into the air with each cheer. Then, they broke into another series of drunken whistling, hooting, and hollering. Marsh Silas, standing right beside Carstensen, raised his arm.
"Let's hear three more for Carstensen the Cadian!"
At that, he bent low, wrapped his arms around her legs, and stood as tall as he could. Carstensen reached down and held Marsh Silas by the back of his collar to steady herself. After that initial shock, she soon began to smile as the platoon sergeant made a small circle within the mass.
"Hip-hip hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!" they all roared in delight. Everyone reached up to touch her coat and grasp her hand as if she was a Living Saint. All the while, they cheered, "Carstensen the Cadian! Carstensen the Cadian! Carstensen the Cadian!"
All the while, Marsh Silas just couldn't take his eyes off her. He was beaming with pride. Maybe it was the Amasec, but for a brief moment, her eyes seemed to take on a violet hue.
When he finally set her back on his feet, Hyram put an arm around each of them.
"As Lilias is now my daughter, and I her brand new papa, I hereby approve this match! Silas and Lilias! Why, that goes rather well together, doesn't it!?"
"Sir—"
"Lieutenant!"
"Tut-tut, I'm father now."
"I'm not calling you that," Carstensen said flatly, making Bloody Platoon roar with laughter.
"The Emperor's blessings for one thousand years!"
Everyone laughed it off as a joke. Marsh Silas breathed a sigh of relief and put his arm around Hyram's neck.
"Come on, you've had enough Lieutenant. Time to sleep."
By the time Marsh Silas wrestled his commanding officer to the staircase, the man could hardly stand. Picking up the Lieutenant with both arms, he followed the keeper to Hyram's quarters. She opened the door and allowed them to enter a rather spacious room. It was an officer's suite, divided into a sitting room with comfortable chairs and tables, and a bedroom with an adjoining lavatory. First, they stopped in the bathroom so Hyram could vomit into the toilet. After cleaning his face, Marsh threw his friend on the bed and took off his boots, socks, tunic, and trousers so he was left only in his vest and braies.
He emptied every pocket and then handed the clothing to the keeper. "Can these be washed?"
"Absolutely. I'll show you to your quarters once you finish up here."
She closed the door behind her. Marsh went back to Hyram who was moaning on the mattress. The platoon sergeant first found a bucket from the lavatory and put it beside the bed. Then, he rolled the Lieutenant onto his left side facing the edge.
"You'll be alright, sir."
"I'm being tucked in by my platoon sergeant," Hyram mumbled against his pillow. "Just like how I used to tuck Sydney in. That's my—"
"Your son, yes, I know." Marsh patted his shoulder and then slid the picts of Sydney and Isabella into his hands. "You stay here with them now, I'll take care o' the platoon. I promise."
Hyram nodded and smiled at the images. Marsh Silas turned off every light except the one on the nightstand. Even though his friend was still awake, he felt the need to walk softly towards the door. Gently shutting it behind him, he turned to the keeper. She pointed to the door next to Hyram's.
"You'll be staying here. And the Commissar in the room besides yours." The keeper offered a knowing smile. "I hope you find that agreeable."
"Very much, ma'am, thank you."
The keeper departed while Marsh loitered in the hall. He was feeling very light in the head from all the commotion and the liquor. But it was a good sensation; he felt loose and comfortable in his boots. Upon seeing an icon of the Astra Militarum on a small stand in the hall, he happily made the sign of Aquila.
Just as he came down the stairs, some personnel from another regiment began filtering in. The men immediately began marching up to the bar. Meanwhile, the women immediately approached the troopers of Bloody Platoon. Unceremoniously, his friends began to leave in the arms of the women and filed past him up the stairs. Some of the female soldiers were in quite a jolly mood and others were very much impressed to be among the highly decorated troops of the 1333rd Regiment. Apparently, word was traveling quickly. Others were more placid and concerned with the duty ahead of them.
Marsh Silas saw Rowley and Tattersall stand up at their table. Both looked hesitant as they gazed at the crowd of older soldiers filling up the hall. Marsh Silas looked between them and other service members.
How many sons? How many daughters? How many, how many, young, courageous, Silvanus?
He immediately walked over to them.
"Come with me," he said, putting a hand on each of their backs.
"But—"
"No arguing," he said hastily, ushering them up the stairs. He brought them to an empty room which had beds for two. It was small, but furnished comfortably. "Now, you two have eaten and had your share to drink. It's time to get some rest."
"But Marsh Silas, the Drill Abbots and Commissars told us that one day—"
"I know what they told ya," he cut off Tattersall, raising one hand. "There's plenty o' time for that. It doesn't have to be tonight."
"Is it not our duty?" Rowley asked.
"Tis, tis, but not until I say so, understand?"
"Yes, Marsh Silas."
"Good. Now go to sleep. Lock this behind me." He slammed the door shut and went back downstairs. Most of the hall was empty save for the small contingent of males at the bar. Commissar Carstensen was back at their table, waiting patiently. Marsh took a seat across from her and she gazed at him curiously.
"The Whiteshields did not leave with partners for the evening. They have a duty to perform, Silas."
Marsh swiped a glass and filled it to the brim with Amasec.
"Leave'em be. They've been through too much as of late."
"And I thought you were attempting to be stronger with them. You know what coddling did."
"It ain't coddling, it's giving them a little time to be young," he said into the cup. He found he couldn't actually drink from it. "They're just so small."
Carstensen kept gazing at him.
"I noticed you did not take a woman either," she said. Marsh Silas felt hurt suddenly. He looked at her, his eyebrows rising and his violet eyes widening just a little. Carstensen, her chin in her hand, diverted her eyes to the window.
"Why would I do such a thing?" Marsh asked huffily.
"Duty."
"But you and I—"
"Love should not come before duty."
"If you really believed that, would you have been so brave to share your life with mine?" Marsh asked cheekily. Carstensen smirked a little bit. His own smile faded and he shrugged. "I'm trying to make a difference for those children, Lilias. Barlocke made one for me and I'm trying to make a little good. If I can do that, maybe one day, this won't be one of our duties."
Carstensen seemed to hesitate on what she was about to say. Eventually, she stood up and walked alongside him.
"Very well. But I am ready to do my duty."
"What? But—"
"Silas," she said firmly. "I am ready to do my duty for Cadia. I hope you are willing to do yours as well."
Utterly confused, Marsh Silas watched Carstensen walk to the stairs, putting her hand on the railing. Just before she was out of sight, she cast one glance over her shoulder. Marsh Silas stared for a few more moments, then his face became flush. Picking up the glass of Amasec in his trembling hand, he drank only a little and stood up. He felt the urge to adjust his collar and smooth on his tunic.
"Barlocke? Are you there?" he whispered so none of the other Guardsmen present would hear him.
Hm? Why, yes I am. Are you having a good night? Marsh Silas ran his fingers through his hair. "Indeed. Say, is there a way for you to...go to sleep or some such? Or just, go away for a little while? Maybe the rest of the night."
There was a little cluck as Barlocke's fragment seemed to click its tongue. It reverberated off the inside of his skull for a few moments.
Why? Immediately, Marsh Silas turned around and looked out the window to hide his aggravated expression. "What do you mean why? You're in my mind of course you know why!"
It's just a harmless question... "Well I'm not going to play your games because I know you know!" No, I don't! "Oh, please!" I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Look, just tell me first. "No!" Shh, you're going to make a scene. You look like a madman. "Shut up!" What if somebody saw you through the window! "Be quiet!" Fine, fine, fine, I'll go! By the Emperor, you're such a child.
Barlocke said no more and Marsh Silas composed himself and made his way to the stairs. Suddenly, his legs felt heavier than ferrocrete and he had to force up the stairs. He felt more nervous than when he stepped onto the stage during the ceremony. What a silly thing, he thought, the human heart was in all its perfections.
Trundling down the hall, he passed Hyram's room, then his own, and finally paused by Carstensen's closed door. He raised his hand to knock, but just before his knuckles grazed the wood paneling on the reinforced armored door, he paused. Marsh Silas took a deep breath and opened the door. Carstensen was standing there, still in her uniform. She turned around to face him, her blue-green eyes brighter than ever before.
Marsh Silas walked up to her and she closed the distance. Their arms slid around one another and they embraced tenderly even before the door swung shut. They parted just enough to share a kiss. Marsh Silas and Carstensen, holding hands, journeyed into the bedroom, leaving the door open. The platoon sergeant began to unbutton his tunic but Carstensen merely took off her own coat before taking his hand again. With his tunic open, she pulled him on top of her as they collapsed onto the bed. Immediately, her arms snaked around his neck and her fingers dug into his hair.
As he began to kiss her neck, Carstensen sighed sweetly. One hand slipped under his tunic and began to run up and down his back. Marsh Silas kept one of his hands on her cheek, his thumb running back and forth just under her eye.
"Should we turn off the light?" she breathed.
"No," he whispered, raising himself up so he could gaze into her eyes. "I want to see you."
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