Chapter 18

Upon hearing the report of a xeno on their sector, it was not long before regimental command arrived at Bloody Platoon's position. The Valkyrie landed hardly half-an-hour after Barlocke reported their discovery to Colonel Isaev. When the ramp lowered, the Colonel, accompanied by regimental intelligence officers Captain Giles and his adjutant Lieutenant Eastoft. While the latter two remained a brisk, professional gaite, Isaev was storming towards the Inquisitor.

Watching him approach, Marsh Silas felt somewhat intimidated. Although Isaev was a decent regimental commander, a fierce fighter, and exemplar Cadian, he was detached from the common core of the troops. Line Guardsmen did not see him often and when they did, it was often in grim circumstances; either an officer made a grave error or the enemy was beginning to make an advance.

Clearing his throat nervously, Marsh Silas looked over at Hyram. The Lieutenant was standing behind little Galo, who was still wearing the platoon leader's helmet. It was far too large and he had to tip it back so it would not cover his eyes. He was still holding the chocolate bar, or what the Shock Troopers called their sweet ration, in both hands.

Between the pair and the platoon sergeant was Junior Commissar Carstensen. She was standing very rigidly and continued to wear a scowl. When Barlocke stepped forward to meet Colonel Isaev, she folded her arms across her chest and looked at Marsh Silas.

"How long has the regiment been seconded to the Ordo Hereticus?" she asked.

"A little over a standard month by my count, Junior Commissar," Marsh replied, leveling his violet gaze with her emerald-ocean glare.

"I've not met one Inquisitor during any of my deployments like him," she said gruffly.

"Yes, Commissar, we've all said the same in our own way."

Junior Commissar Carstensen eyed Marsh Silas warily and stepped closer. She looked him up and down inquisitively. His first instinct was to recoil slightly, as he would if being confronted by a snarling hound. However, he managed to remain stiff and straight as if he was being inspected when Bloody Platoon formed ranks.

Eventually, she straightened up a little and fixed her cap.

"It does not appear there's anything wrong with you, nor is there anything that makes you stand out. What does he see in you?"

Marsh Silas just shrugged.

"I'd have to be as wise as a priest to tell you that, ma'am."

Carstensen did not smile but she made a sort of, 'pah!' sound that seemed like a short laugh to Marsh Silas's ears. She faced forward again and let her arms fall to her sides. Both watched as Colonel Isaev burst into a tirade of indignant, incredulous shouting. Cursing and spitting, he made grand proclamations against all xenos. It seemed as if the presence of the lone xeno was a personal affront to him.

As the thought crossed his mind, Marsh Silas could not help but nod his head to the side and concur. Cadia was nearly as holy as a Shrine World to him and whether it was a xeno, heretic, or foul foe of Chaos, his ire for them grew tenfold when they touched about his homeworld.

Noticing the coattails of Carstensens black Commissar leathers coming closer, he turned slightly. She was nearly shoulder to shoulder with him, but did not meet his gaze.

Immediately, he grew nervous and looked forward again. For a moment, he closed his eyes, shook his head, and hoped she did not notice. For two weeks, he crossed bayonets with heretics in some of the most dangerous combat a Shock Trooper could find himself in: urban close quarters warfare. Just earlier, he took two bullets for the God-Emperor and the Imperium, and it was a calm Junior Commissar that was striking fear into him.

She leaned her head towards him. "I know your platoon leader cautioned you against rash action. But, you showed courage and daring. The Emperor expects such things out of all of us, especially those of the Astra Militarum. I shall speak to him and recommend you are decorated for your action."

"Thank you, ma'am," Marsh said slowly. "I'm not worthy of such an honor."

"You are modest."

"I just couldn't stand seein' that man howling out there, bleeding out all alone." Marsh thought for a moment, then looked at the Junior Commissar. "It was impossible not to do somethin', I suppose."

Carstensen looked at him from the corner of her eye. Without seeing her full gaze, it was impossible to read her expression. But eventually, her pursed lips softened and the corner of her mouth turned upwards every so slightly.

"I appreciate your honesty," she said in an even tone. "All the same, I shall speak to Lieutenant Hyram. Brave men should be decorated."

"Aye, ma'am," was all Marsh Silas said.

When he looked forward again, Colonel Isaev was rubbing his forehead. Captain Giles appeared amused, while Eastoft was stern-faced as usual. After a few moments, the regimental commander said something and waved his hand dismissively. Barlocke turned halfway and waved Marsh Silas over.

Along with Carstensen, Hyram, and Galo, he approached. When the Inquisitor stepped aside, the three lined up, clicked their heels together, and saluted. Galo was still in front of Hyram and after taking a moment to look up at the trio, raised his hand in salute as well. Immediately, Isaev, Giles, and Eastoft looked down at the lad. Giles let out a hearty laugh and snapped a salute. When Eastoft did not, he cleared his throat and quickly bumped her with the elbow of his lowered arm. Without a betrayal of emotion, the adjutant saluted.

Isaev saluted and lowered his arm; everyone followed suit. But the senior officer continued to stare. Eventually, he raised his gaze to meet Marsh Silas's and pointed at Galo.

"Who is this?"

"I'm Galo!"

"Say, 'sir,'" Hyram whispered quickly, placing his hands on the lad's shoulders.

"Sir!" the boy chimed.

Clearing his throat, Marsh Silas explained who the boy's mother was and how they found him in the old pillbox at the top of the bluff overlooking the now-demolished village. It was during their discovery the xeno stepped into their makeshift camp.

"And Bloody Platoon failed to kill or capture the xeno?" Isaev growled.

"It was upon my order not to pursue, sir. We are dealing with an Aeldari Ranger; for all we know, the ravine he darted into is filled with traps. If he was wise enough to do that, then they must know the area."

"Inquisitor Barlocke, I understand it is not of the Ordo Hereticus' directive to hunt xenos. However, I believe this Ranger presents a clear indication of an incoming Aeldari warhost. While infrequent, their raids are quick, decisive, and destructive. If one is about to occur, I would rather snuff out its source of reconnaissance before calling reinforcements to deal with the threat."

"Sir, if I may," Captain Giles began, stepping forward, "if the Ranger has been in the area, perhaps they have also noticed the heretics' activities.

Barlocke cupped his chin, bowed his head, and tapped his foot. Eventually, he turned his head and glanced at Marsh Silas.

What do you think?

The chill crept his back, quickly, like an insect scuttling across the dirt floor of the barracks. Shifting his weight and rolling his shoulders to rid himself of the sensation, he nodded his head to the side.

Dealing with the heretics was a priority, Marsh Silas thought. But he recalled their conversation weeks ago atop the cliff at Army's Meadow. Information was key to a successful operation as well as keeping Bloody Platoon alive. If the Ranger possessed any knowledge, then it could only help them in the end. As well, it did not seem right letting an enemy of the Imperium slip away so easily.

Barlocke grinned.

"Colonel, I approve of this action. But if we are to capture this Ranger, we're going to have to outhink him. I don't know how many Aeldari you've ever had the displeasure of meeting, but they're not so easily outsmarted. And Rangers are quite clever. Getting him will be very difficult."

"Her," Galo suddenly said.

In unison, everyone's gaze fell on the boy.

"Don't speak out of turn, it's rude," Hyram whispered hastily.

"What do you mean, 'her,' lad?" Marsh asked, kneeling in front of him. Carstensen did the same, leaning closer.

"Do you speak of the Ranger?"

"Yes," Galo said slowly. He leaned back against Hyram's legs, then reached up and grabbed the tail of his overcoat. "Am I in trouble?"

Marsh Silas looked over his shoulder. Barlocke was standing right behind him and the Junior Commissar, bent over with his hands on his knees. To his right was Colonel Isaev, and to his left were Giles and Eastoft. Everyone appeared inquisitive.

Turning around, he looked up at Hyram apprehensively. His platoon leader raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and nodded towards the lad. Marsh looked down at Galo and manage to smile kindly.

"No, lad, you're not. How do ya know the Ranger's a her?"

"She found me. When the bad people came to my home, they took all the other kiddies and were taking us away. They were really, really scary. My mama called them true enemies of the Imperium. When they weren't looking, I ran off and hid. But I got lost out here. Then, she found me and brought me here. She gave me food, a bed, and a blanket too. She told me not to go outside all that much during the daytime, but it got so cold I had to make a fire sometimes. She taught me how to make one." He looked down at his feet and kicked at a pebble.

"Were you her prisoner? Did she harm you?" Hram asked, keeling over a little to try and look at Galo.

"No, sir. She was kind to me. She taught me how to set traps for little animals and even let me shoot her gun once."

"Was there any place else she took you?" Captain Giles asked.

"Sometimes, when the bad people came into this town, she would take me to the other side of that place with all the trees. It leads to a rocky beach and there's an old house there. We'd stay there until the bad people went away."

"By the Emperor, the Ranger might still be there," Eastoft said. "We should advance on the area immediately."

"We don't know if the Ranger went there. Even if she is, she'll be alert and ready for a search party. I don't want to waste our time pushing the men and scouring the countryside looking for one Ranger. If we are to move, it is with the greatest chance of success," Barlocke said firmly.

###

It was Captain Giles who came up with the plan.

To deceive the Aeldari Ranger into thinking the regiment was not going to waste their time on a search, they were going to transport First Company back to Army's Meadow by Valkyrie. First Company was going to stay out in the field for another day of operations, as their objectives were complete while Second and Third Company were still completing their own. But, their departure would be the perfect cover while all able-bodied members of Bloody Platoon melted into the countryside. Captain Giles and Lieutenant Eastoft volunteered to join the platoon and replace a few of the wounded men.

One kilometer to the north was a high ridge designated No. 875. It ran west to east for nearly three kilometers. Steep, rocky, and pocketed with crags, it was cleared by Second Company earlier in the day. Bloody Platoon would feign a rendezvous and but encamp on the northern side until nightfall. Knowing it was possible the Aeldari Ranger may have returned to the original camp site, Inquisitor Barlocke decided it would be best to raid both sites at once. Captain Giles and Lieutenant Eastoft would take Second and Third Squads, while Hyram took First Squad and the Special Weapons Squad.

When asked, Galo told him he saw no other Rangers but her. Barlocke, however, was unconvinced. Knowing Rangers to operate in squads upwards of eight, he did not want to risk an ambush. As a precaution, he would establish a rally point and fall back position with both Heavy Weapons Squads in case either of the raiding parties was hit. Bullard and his spotter, Derryhouse, would also establish an overwatch position on a rise overlooking the entire area of operations. From their vantage point, they would be able to monitor Bloody Platoon's movements as well as any potential exfiltration points the hostile Ranger might use. The Inquisitor was adamant about limiting the risk to the platoon.

Even though he was wounded and Giles, Hyram, and Barlocke wished for him to evacuate, Marsh Silas decided to stay. He would accompany Lieutenant Hyram's party. As well, Galo refused to part with Hyram and Marsh Silas. Although the regimental command staff possessed major reservations of a civilian child remaining with an operational unit, Barlocke had the final word and allowed the young lad to stay.

After the grueling hike and a laborious scaling of the ridge, Bloody Platoon encamped on the opposite side. Bullard and Derryhouse took first watch to allow most of the other men to rest. As night drew near, it grew colder and windier. To escape the elements, men burrowed into the ridge; tents were pitched between rocks and foxholes were dug into the few bare patches of soil. Lamp packs within the tents illuminated the occupants, numbering two, three, and even four. Most lay down their bedrolls and tried to sleep. Others took the time to eat rations or quickly brew recaf with tiny campfires. Those entrenched in the holes wrapped blankets around themselves or pitched their tents so they covered their positions.

Under a rock overhang, the officers and sergeants huddled together by Marsh's glowing lamp pack. Young Galo was with them too, curled up between the platoon sergeant and Hyram under a Militarum blanket. Spread over the ground was a map of the area. Placed on the left lower corner of the map was a compass. Using a measuring ruler, Giles plotted routes and drew lines with a field-grade quill.

"We're here," he said, circling the ridge. "The secondary position on the beach I estimate to be...here," he marked his assumption with a quill blot. "We know the pillbox is here," he marked the position with another filled circle diagonally from the town, which was crossed off with a large red X. Using the measuring ruler, he connected the two points. Turning the ruler against the first point, he angled it downwards by roughly three hundred-thirty degrees and drew a line towards their current position, but stopped about halfway. From the pillbox marking, he made another line going upwards by about thirty degrees until the two lines intersected at the halfway point. "Inquisitor, this is the best location to deploy the rally point, about five hundred meters from the objectives. Bullard and Derryhouse reconnoitered the ground themselves during our march and they assured me you'll have a clear line of sight and excellent field of fire if necessary."

Giles went on, marking an elevated position adjacent to the rally point. "Bullard and Derryhouse will establish their position here."

Barlocke tapped the map with his forefinger.

"It's important we ensure this Ranger cannot slip by us. It's important we stagger our lines and advance so that we can encircle both locations. It might be prudent to send some of the Heavy Weapons troopers with the squads to bolster our ranks further."

"We can spare some," Walmsley Major said, hunched beside Marsh Silas. "I'll keep Albert and Brownlow on a Heavy Bolter, and Olhouser and Synder with their mortar. That'll give us an extra eight men."

"Four to each time. Excellent," Barlocke said with an approving nod. He ran a hand through his brown hair which was so dark it appeared black in the dull yellow glow of the lamp pack. "If the Ranger is at the other location and we spring the tap on her, in all likelihood she will return to the opposite post."

"If Rangers are so wily," Marsh asked, "what's to say she just won't up and run somewhere up, hide in some crag for the night, and wait until we're gone?"

"It is common for every civilization in the galaxy to think themselves exceptional in comparison to all others, dear Silvanus," Barlocke said, refusing to take eyes from the map as he held his thumb on his chin. "The Aeldari are no exception and their arrogance knows no bounds. When they look at us, they hold our cunning in contempt and consider our intellect inferior. I wager this one is no different and we'll use her superiority against her. Tonight, we'll show this Ranger who is truly superior."

Hearing the subtle aggressiveness and the overt confidence in the Inquisitor's voice made everyone grin and nod their heads, including Marsh Silas. Barlocke eventually looked up. "If one of the parties comes across her and does not immediately capture her, try to flush her back towards the other. Communication is the key." He reached over and tapped Sergeant Holmwood on his breastplate. "And real Cadian grit."

That made the Cadians all smile proudly. Eventually, he nodded at Captain Giles. "That'll do. We all know our mission. Go prepare."

Captain Giles and Lieutenant Eastoft collected the map and went to their hole. Sergeants Holmwood, Mottershead, Queshire, Stainthorpe, and Walmsley Major went to brief their squads. Hyram, Carstensen, and Marsh remained to check their own wargear. Barlocke simply laid down on the platoon sergeant's unused bedroll and covered his face with his black, wide-brimmed Inquisitorial hat.

Keeping his lamp back lit, Marsh pulled his autopistol out of the holster belted to his breastplate webbing. Ejecting the magazine as well as the chambered round, breathed into the ejection point to clear it of any accumulated dust. Opening his weapon cleaning kit, he pulled out a small stick with a tiny steel brush on the end. Sliding it into the barrel, he moved it back and forth, removed it, slid it back in, and repeated the process. When he finished, he checked the sights and cleaned them as well. Testing the trigger by squeezing quickly but gently with his finger, he ensured it was not loose and his fingertip met the proper resistance. Pulling the slide back and forth was a smooth action. Finally, he inspected the magazine well and decided to clear it with the steel brush.

When he finished, he put the brush and the kit away. Ensuring the safety was positioned, he slid the magazine back into the well before tucking it back in his holster. Beside him, Hyram was performing the same act, albeit at a slower pace. But his hands moved with far more comfort and familiarity than when first arrived, adeptly pulled the slide, fingering the trigger, and holding it out to examine the sights.

As he finished, Honeycutt came by. Marsh hailed him and asked after the wounded men who were evacuated. He had not been able to see them before they left.

"The Ranger must be a poor marksman, for all her shots were wounding. Flesh wounds, all of them. It won't be long before they recover."

"Thank the Emperor," Marsh sighed, then nodded. As Honeycutt left, the junior officer finished preparing his weapon and caught Marsh's eye. He smiled shyly. The platoon sergeant nodded and smiled back. "At least we're dealing with a poor shot."

"Aeldari Rangers never miss," Barlocke said from under his hat.

"We'll see about that," Marsh huffed.

"Hopefully, we won't have to," Hyram murmured.

Between them, Galo shifted a little and let out a long breath. "Poor boy," Hyram said, "being out here, away from his mother."

"Better he learns now. Before he goes on to be a Guardsman, he'll be sent to some rock in the Caducades Sea. If he's made it this far in hostile territory, he'll make it out there. Not like some of the lads I knew."

"You and these men did the same around his age."

"Aye," Marsh said coldly, shifting his gaze from the boy between them. "Anyone who's been through it won't ever forget it, I'll tell you that, sir."

"That Ranger taught him how to trap, shoot, and make a basic fire; why do you think she bothered with that?"

"Why did she bother to care for the boy at all, that's what I want to know," Carstensen said. She was sitting next to Marsh Silas examining her Power Fist. With a small straight tool, she fine-tuned some of the finger joints. She would turn it to the right, tightening one, then flex her fingers. If there was too much resistance or it was too loose, she continued to adjust them accordingly.

"I'm sure once we bag this dirty, drooling, fuckwit xeno, we'll find out," Marsh spat. He looked over at Hyram, who's mild expression was enough to show the platoon sergeant his commander disagreed. The Lieutenant was looking down at Galo and rested a hand on the back of the lad's head for a brief moment.

Marsh looked at the boy too. "Your lad...Sydney, was it?"

"Aye."

"He about Galo's age?"

"Aye," Hyram said quietly. "I couldn't imagine my boy being out here."

"Thankfully, you ain't gotta."

"That's the thing, Staff Sergeant. You don't have a son. But one day, you will, and when you see the children of others you will always be reminded of your own. It won't matter if your child is far away or beside you. They will always be on your mind."

"If the sergeant has been doing his duty as a Cadian," Carstensen butted in, "then I'm sure he has many children who will one day rise as Guardsmen too." She looked up at him then. "Wouldn't you want that for your children?"

It was enough to remind Marsh Silas of Bloody Platoon's two-day furlough in Kasr Sonnen. He remembered the confrontation between himself and Barlocke, and the Inquisitor's biting, probing criticism. What stood out more was the Interior Guardsman, the pretty woman who was beneath several other troopers before him, ready and expecting him to do the same. With his arms propping him up, staring down at her, he thought of what would happen if he went through with it like so many times before. Little faces looked back him, wondering who their father was and why he was not there as they suffered through training he found glorious. Even if he relished his own Cadian upbringing, would he want the same for his child? Recalling Barlocke's pity for the Emperor's most revered servants, he wondered if it was right to take away his own child's choice.

"Yes, Junior Commissar. I am proud to father Cadia's future soldiers," Marsh finally said, doing his best to mask the reluctance in his voice.

Carstensen, satisfied, returned to her work. When Marsh looked at Hyram, the officer frowned and looked back down at Galo.

That was a wise answer, Silvanus.

Marsh Silas shivered and furrowed his brow. If he was to answer any other way, he thought, she would have reported him to Commissar Ghent or Althaus.

A ripple of handsome laughter passed through him, like a gentle gust of warm wind washing against him.

I thought Guardsmen found strength in their Commissars and held those still in a training capacity in high regard.

Perhaps those in regiments from random, backwater worlds, Marsh thought huffily, but experienced Guardsmen like him feared them just as much as they admired them. Good men innocent of accusations ranging from cowardice to insubordination were executed by Commissars. Upon this thought, Marsh felt quite bitter.

For a short time, Barlocke's voice did not penetrate his mind any further. Thinking himself free of the voice, Marsh Silas patted down the remainder of his armour and webbing to ensure his weargear was secure. Just as he finished and began to lean back against the wall of the rock, Barlocke's voice returned.

I sense a story behind such feelings.

"It ain't one I'm tellin' tonight," Marsh mumbled.

"What was that, Staff Sergeant?" Carstensen asked.

"Hm? Oh, I, er..."

Ask her where she's from.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward a little. "I was wondering, if appropriate, I could ask you where you hail from."

The Junior Commissar looked up. A lock of her orange hair, fallen from her bun, was over her left eye. Brushing it away, she looked at him with a mixture of irritated hesitation and mild confusion. Eventually, she looked back at her Bolt Pistol and began cleaning it.

"A place you would have never heard of. Sald-Grati. It is a Pleasure World in Segmentum Ultima."

"Begging your pardon," Hyram said, "I would never have assumed an officer like yourself would come from such a place."

"My father was a Commissar before me and I was born while he was stationed there. When he was killed, I was drafted into the Schola Progenium." She reloaded the magazine into the weapon, resulting in an audible click. She holstered it. "I never miss that place, merry as it was."

"The Officio Prefectus certainly picked your new home well," Barlocke said sarcastically from under his hat.

"I volunteered for this post, Inquisitor, and I have never regretted my decision."

Barlocke grasped the top of his hat and lifted it from his face. In the lamp pack light, his dark eyes burned like coals. Eventually, his lips twisted into an amused smile.

"I've always enjoyed the company of volunteers," he said. His gaze shifted to Marsh Silas. "Time, young sergeant?"

Marsh turned his wrist and examined his wristwatch.

"Just about."

"Rally the men."

###

After scaling the ridge and reaching the opposite side, Bloody Platoon spread out into a line formation with five meter intervals between them. Stand orders were no lights, so their helmet and weapon attachments were. Even though it was the darkest period of the night, nobody wanted to risk moonlight breaking through the cloud barrier and glinting on their bayonets. As such, their barrels were bare. Some even doffed their helmets and stuffed them into their rucksacks so they didn't rustle so much. Instead, non-commissioned officers wore their soft covers and enlisted men donned their wool-knit caps. Most still wore their helmets, albeit they tightened the straps.

Although it took some time for Marsh's eyes to adjust to the darkness, he was eventually able to make out his comrades. Carstensen was on his left and Hyram was to his right. The Special Weapons Squad was on the left flank and First Squad was on the right.

The line moved at a deliberately slow pace. It was as if the sound of a kicked pebble or a booted foot crunching into a patch of gravel would carry across kilometers and alert the Ranger or any nearby heretics to their position.

Marsh Silas's breathing was shallow. His steps were cautious. He gripped his autopistol tightly.

They progress a hundred meters, then another, and another. Visualizing the marks Captain Giles made on the map, he could tell each time they reached another phase line.

Soon enough, he could see the bluff with the lonely pillbox at the top. Hyram, slightly ahead, raised a fist in the air, halting the line, and then flattened his arm out to the side. Everyone crouched down.

"Stainthrope, Holmwood, crescent formation," the platoon leader whispered over the micro-bead. Marsh Silas watched as First Squad moved forward until it made a forward arch. The Special Weapons Squad did the same, so both squads were effectively forward of the command squad, which remained in the center and anchored the squads together. By this formation, they would be able to easily encircle the pillbox. Hyram waved his hand forward. The march resumed.

Marsh's heart rate began to increase. He felt the mixture of dread and exhilaration that occurred prior to every operation. Breathing deeply, he moved past it as best he could.

Eventually, they were at the foot of the bluff. By the time Hyram halted them again, First Squad and the specialists were already flanking it. "Stainthorpe, close the gap. Everyone go prone and hold position on the crest."

Automatically, everyone dropped down. Wriggling on their bellies and pulling forward with their hands, they ascended the bluff. Clawing his way up, his face nearly in the dirt, Marsh was surprised when he finally reached the top. Stopping, he waited for the others to join him. Carstensen slithered up, then Hyram, and soon he could see the other shapes of his comrades. Hyram's voice crackled over the micro-bead link, "Marsh, Carstensen, Drummer Boy, Babcock, Walmsley's, move in."

Marsh felt the Junior Commissar tap his shoulder pauldron as she got up. He did the same. The figures of the others also stood up. Everyone approached the door with their weapons raised; nothing appeared to have been disturbed in their absence. Walmsley Major led his brother and Babock to the right side of the door, while Carstensen, Marsh, and Drummer Boy lined up on the other. Bracing for the breach, the platoon sergeant grasped the Junior Commissar's shoulder with one hand and readied his autopistol.

Walmsley Major nodded. Carstensen nodded. Marsh tapped her shoulder twice and she darted around the corner. Marsh, still holding her shoulder, was right behind her. In the instant the team flooded in, those with flashlight attachments turned them on. White beams lit the interior. No one was inside.

Carstensen waved her hand towards the crates in the back. The two Walmsley brothers approached carefully, checked behind them, and inside them. Both turned around and shook their heads.

"Shit," Marsh swore. "Drummer Boy, contact Captain Giles."

Drummer Boy crouched down with the handheld from his Vox-caster.

"Captain Giles, Captain Giles, do you read, over? Yes, sir, we've overtaken the position. No xenos, over...yes, sir. Out. Marsh Silas, they're just about to move in."

"Alright, let's regroup on the Lieutenant."

The team filtered out of the pillbox and huddled beside Hyram. Marsh informed him of the situation while Drummer Boy monitored communications. A minute later, Drummer Boy lowered the handheld from his ear.

"Sir, Captain Giles reports no sign of the xeno."

Hyram didn't speak for a few moments. Marsh was close enough that he could read the disappointed expression on the junior officer's face. But then, his features lit up.

"Holmwood, split your squad and open a gap in our line to the north," he ordered over the micro-bead.

"Sir!?" came the squad leader's disgruntled response.

"Trust me, Sergeant. See it's done." He looked up at the others. "Resume your original positions. Drummer Boy, stay by me. Lights off, that's an order." Everyone dispersed and slid down the crest. They were just low enough to be out of sight but could poke their nose over the top and gaze at the pillbox.

Marsh Silas, laying beside the platoon leader, rolled over so his mouth was right next to his ear.

"Sir, we're risking hostiles getting through our line if we open a gap."

"That's the point," the officer replied, "if the Ranger was there, she might come here to wait out the night. She does not know we know she has two hiding spots. If she comes here, then we can bag her!"

Marsh thought it over for a moment, letting the plan register in his mind.

"Yes, sir," he said, rather surprised. He got back down.

The air grew tense as the Lieutenant's orders passed down the line. Everyone was huddled up, trying to obscure their position as well as stay warm in the frightfully chilly wind. Nobody moved, nobody made a sound. Everyone was so excited and so bundled with nerves, they were hesitant to even breathe.

Rolling carefully onto his belly, Marsh rested his chin on the very crest of the bluff and stared at the pillbox. Carstensen, back on his left, and Hyram, still to his right, did the same. Just like him, neither could take their eyes away from the target.

Minutes ticked by. The wind howled; when it reached a lull, it was so quiet the crashing surf could be heard a few kilometers to the south.

Staring, Marsh waited and waited. He wanted to hear the sound of footsteps on frozen prairie scrub or heels slipping on a patch of gravel. Any sound, any sight, that would give away the position of this bothersome xeno wench. Yet, there was no such noise. All he could hear were the distant waves and the wind running over them. The ground was not disturbed and the pillbox remained a dark shape in the night.

A gust of wound ran over the bluff. Some of the higher, thicker tufts of yellow scrub grass swayed. The pressure from the wind was so great, some of the patches flattened out. It was such a peculiar sight that even Marsh Silas noticed it. Yet, when the breeze passed, one of the smaller, grassy patches did not rise back up. Strangely, it seemed to be pushed down by some unseen force.

Suddenly, a black booted foot appeared on top of it, followed by a leg; little by little, a figure was revealed, and then, to Marsh's amazed eyes, was the Ranger. She appeared from nothingness, not even from a shadow. For a moment, she was not there, and suddenly she was. No sound, no disturbance of ground, nothing denoted her presence. Even her rifle was hidden before her appearance.

Overcoming his amazement, he watched as the Ranger turned her head and moved towards the pillbox. Just as she entered, Hyram lifted his lasgun.

"Now!" cried.

"Stand like a fuckin' statue!" Marsh found himself yelling as he stood up, aiming his pistol.

The Ranger froze, half in, half out of the pillbox doorway. Light after light turned on, illuminating her long, white coat and hood. Her head did not turn.

Everyone closed in until Hyram lifted his hand. "Marsh Silas, Drummer Boy, Babcock, Yoxall, disarm her."

Warily, the four approached. Having never been this close to a xeno, Marsh fought his excitement and disgust towards the hooded creature. Keeping his autopistol raised, he prodded her back with the barrel.

"Drop your weapon and turn around. Slowly."

She began to turn, but did not release her rifle. Marsh grimaced and pressed the pistol harder, this time into her side. "I said drop it." Wordlessly, she refused. "Drummer Boy, take it."

Shouldering his lasgun, the Voxman approached, she smacked Marsh's autopistol with the butt of her rifle. The impact traveled up his arm and pulsated in his wound. As he staggered and cried out, she whipped the weapon around and struck the Voxman just under his flak armor with the barrel. It was such a hard hit he keeled over. Following it up with a kick to his chest, the Ranger deflected Babock's outstretched hand before it could wrap around her throat. Then, she grabbed it, pulled him towards her, and let go. As he stumbled, his grip faltered and the colors nearly fell out. When he felt, the flag struck Yoxall, briefly masking his vision. The Ranger utilized this moment and hit him in the face with the butt of the rifle.

At this point, Marsh recovered. Dropping his autopistol, he lunged for her and ended up latching onto the rifle. Staring into the black face mask and gritting his teeth, he tried to tear it from her grasp. Behind him, he could hear others approaching while Hyram shouted, 'hold your fire!'

Just before the others closed in, Marsh thought he had the advantage. But the Ranger simply let go. The rifle flung towards Marsh Silas and hit him square in the face. Crying out, he fell backwards. He looked up just in time to see her running back towards the ravine.

Hyram appeared on his left.

"After the Ranger, quickly now!" he cried, waving his arm. Reaching down, he took Marsh Silas by his webbing and pulled him up. "Drummer Boy, tell Captain Giles to collapse towards us now! Come on now, men!"

Throwing up a cheer, Bloody Platoon found itself repeating its same action earlier that day. Bolting down the opposite side of the bluff, they could see the Ranger making for the ravine's trees.

Hyram pointed to the side. "Carstensen, specialists, flank ahead!"

"Come on, come on, move it, move it!" Carstensen yelled, taking the men and charging through the tree line.

This time, they were right behind the Ranger. When she ducked into the ravine, they were right behind her. It ran for at least one hundred fifty meters. At first, it was a dark tunnel and the beams of their flashlights shone in erratic patterns. Moments later, they could see similar lights flashing at the other end. A cry rang out from the rest of Bloody Platoon.

The Ranger kept on moving, searching for an alternative route. Monty Peck, behind Marsh Silas, began singing a tune often sung in the regiment. Bloody Platoon soon joined in:

"Eldar cower!

Eldar hide!

Eldar trick!

Eldar lie!

Eldar run!

The Eldar fall!

Down they go,

the Eldar are done!

Done, done, done!

Down, down, down!"

As both halves of Bloody Platoon drew closer to each other, trapping the Ranger between them, she paused for a brief moment. Then, she turned to go right. But bursting through the trees came Barlocke and the four other men he was with. She turned and attempted to go through the opposite side, but the Junior Commissar and her party came running out. Captain Giles and his men approached just as Marsh Silas did. Surrounded, the Ranger stopped.

Panting and laughing, the Guardsmen circled around her. Many attached their bayonets and hooked the blades under her neck. Others pointed them at her center. Some men just held the blades up, close to her face and neck; it was as if she was wearing a collar of steel.

Barlocke opened her coat and pulled an odd, pistol-sized weapon out. It had a stubby, angular barrel, a bulbous center with golden gems embedded in it, then a fairly standard grip and rear similar to an autopistol.

Catching his breath, Hyram pushed through some of the men, waving some of their weapons away. Turning, he pointed at Drummer Boy.

"Call for extraction," he ordered. He turned to the Ranger. "You are now a prisoner of the 1333rd Cadian Regiment. Surrender peacefully, or I'll have my Staff Sergeant pull a bullet in your skull."

Marsh could not help but grin. The Ranger stared at the pair for a few moments, then slowly raised her hands. She pulled the hood of her trench coat down, revealing a mane of white-blonde hair. Then, she removed the black face mask. Her face was narrow and pointed, and her features were smooth, fine, and soft. No blemishes marked her skin, save for a small, faded scar that ran from her left cheekbone which traveled beside her corresponding eye. Icy, light blue eyes glared into Hyram's, then Marsh Silas's.

"I accept," she said in a calm, smooth voice. Handing her mask to the Inquisitor, she put her wrists together and held her hands out. Marsh and Hyram exchanged a quick, hesitant glance before the former reached into his kit bag. Pulling out a short run of rope, he tied it tightly around her wrists. Bloody Platoon took a few paces backwards and took their blades away from her. Stepping around behind her, Marsh placed a hand on her back and shoved her forward. As Bloody Platoon began trundeling down the wooded ravine, they could hear the sound of Valkyries approaching.

Word Count: 6,639