The Leopards infiltrate the Emir of Al-Madins camp, hoping to eliminate the artillery that is to wreak havoc on the Princes Third Corps. It ends unexpectedly, with repercussions Roger did not expect in the slightest. In the aftermath, Edmund meets with diplomats of the army expecting to crush him, who deliver an interesting request. But Roger faces a new challenge, even if his mission is a success...
It was coming down in sheets. Visibility was a joke, only broken by the flash of lighting, and even then you could only barely hear it over the downpour hitting one's helmet. And of course, he had to be on duty tonight. He pulled the lighter out of his pocket and flicked it open and closed a few times, trying to get his mind off the shit he was in. At least the poncho was waterproof.
"Fuck it," he grumbled as he decided to not bother with a lho stick.
Would probably get washed out anyway. Cigs never lasted on a good day, let alone a bad one. Where was his goddamn relief? He heard the sloshing and sucking of muddy water, and his spirits heightened a bit as two figures moved towards him. Man and a woman, the former shorter than the latter. They were both in PDF armor and as the two approached he called out.
"Tell me you're my replacement."
"Huh?" the woman said.
He deflated a bit at the answer.
"Dammit. This weather sucks."
"Yeah," the man said.
There was an awkward silence as the three looked at each other.
"Uh, you guys got a problem or something?"
"Shells," the woman said.
"What about- oh shit, you're the guys they sent to look them over, right?"
The two looked at each other, possibly in annoyance that he didn't know instantly, before the man nodded. Or he thought he nodded, he couldn't see.
"Got it. They're all on the trucks still. We got a couple other sentries around here. Unfortunately we had to pull from the locals. Don't speak in big words, don't make jokes, and thank the Emperor that it's raining. These shitbirds don't bathe, and when it's hot, holy hell."
"Thanks," the woman said, tossing him a small object that he caught.
It was a foodbar, and his favorite flavor no less.
"Thanks guys. Be careful!"
'Will do," the man said.
Tearing open the wrapping, he took a bite and smiled. Maybe tonight wouldn't be bad for much longer.
XXXXXX
"Your species interpretation of stealth is quite different from ours," Kallen said with little interest.
"I apologize we can't be near invisible and whisper quiet. We have artillery and billions of bodies, we don't need to be stealthy, just beat things down and win."
"Which makes the fact that the mantle of rulers of the galaxy was taken by humanity all the more egregious Roger," Moire added.
The seven Eldar were close together, watching from a safe distance, their helmets and masks adorned, half to shield the face, the other in the fact that their technology was so advanced that they could see through the near blinding rain.
"We all can't be lithe and reed thin," Helene growled over the net.
The Eldar had given her one of their communication devices, similar to the one Roger had. They had only given it to him out of respect to command, but given the situation, the Cadian was briefly allowed to use the device. Kallen snorted, Moire turning to him in confusion.
"What is she speaking of?" she whispered to him alone.
"There was an incident where she believed I was attracted to her. I corrected the notion."
She continued to look at him before he relented.
"I may have stated that she was a bit too… large for my tastes."
"You did not."
"I did."
"Does Roger know?"
"He was there."
"You are lucky. I would have let her have you."
"I am not interested in humans, my apologies."
"For humans, the Cadians are a very hardy bunch. I think she could-"
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
"Roger, we were in conversation, apologies."
"Great. Well, since they think we're shell inspectors, we're going to look around and scope the place. Hopefully we only have to use a few of these detonators and won't have to drag you into this."
"Understood."
"I am surprised that neither Steryn nor Anya are here."
"They are observing the main force of this army. Hopefully their information will be useful."
They watched the two in the distance, moving between the massive artillery pieces, the larger ones the siege guns that Helene spoke of.
"Do you think we should involve ourselves on Roger's behalf?" Moire asked.
"I have thought of it. But he has asked us to refrain from such, so I shall respect his wishes, foolish and unbelievable as they are."
"I do pray that this will help."
"As do I."
Kallen could feel a slight sense of grief from his Avenger comrade, and felt a surprising amount of warmth. Maybe it was that another Eldar felt concern about Roger, or maybe it was a show of care that stirred something in his heart. The two had been courteous before, but Kallen was starting to feel something more than a familial bond of warriors. Did he love her? He might have once. When he was amongst the Corsairs, a female as intelligent and professional as her would have driven him wild. And even the fact that she preferred hair dark as his, something he found rather unattractive, was not a negative in his eyes. What was she like, when the mask was off back on Ducaish? Was she similar? Was she wildly different? Ducaish's Masks was infamously thin, giving its warriors memories of their civilian lives, occasional breaks of the traumas of combat after the blades were hung up, but would she remember him? Would they have any connection to the Craftworld that they had on the field of battle? His thoughts were broken by movement near the first guard the pair had encountered.
"Davie, you and the others stand by. Roger and Helene seem to be making good progress."
"Aye. We're moving into those trees. I already feel my bollocks getting wet."
Davie was on the standard human comms net, and given the advanced nature of the Eldar, it was relatively easy to switch between the two.
"Kallen, we've gotten to the center of the artillery camp, looks lightly defended, but the ammo is spread all over the damn place. We only got about eight of your charges, but I think we can take care of it ourselves. Just get ready in case something stupid happens. I have a bad feeling it will."
"Understood Roger."
He thought for a moment and attempted to contact either of the Rangers, but other than confirmations that they were on the move and undetected, nothing. He was about to make a comment about female Rangers to Moire when Roger broke the silence.
"Holy Shit."
XXXXXX
He was staring at a massive… pile, was the only word to describe it. Shells, laspacks, other objects, just dumped and covered in a tarp. He looked to Helene, whose eyes were nearly out of her sockets.
"What the fuck are these idiots doing?"
"Is this not standard procedure?"
"Fuck no it isn't! What brain-dead, chest slapping mongo-"
"Put a detonator in it. We'll put a few in those trucks, and one or two on those Medusas. You think it'll be a big enough boom to hurt?"
"With all these shells, if it's a standard arty regiment, they'll be praying if there's anything left within a forty meter radius."
He slapped her wet shoulder.
"What I want to hear."
He motioned to the siege guns nearby and moved towards the trucks. A small crowd of men, who reminded him of the citizenry of Al-Madin, were moving slowly back and forth from the trucks. He realized they were all carrying artillery rounds.
"Move you fleas!" a larger one was bellowing out, swinging a whip, the crack of it as loud as the thunder.
Roger moved quietly around them, seeing a line of trucks on the sinkhole that was once a dirt road.
He placed a detonator on every couple of trucks, hoping to not be noticed. Avoiding the group again, he found Helene milling about, watching the gaggle of men from a distance that made them look like silhouettes.
"Morons," she hissed.
"What?"
"Having them load like that is goddamn dangerous."
"Yeah. Well, we're hoping for sloppy, right?"
"Yeah. Well at least the rounds will all fizz out when they trucks go up."
"When you said earlier that they can explode, I was kind of hoping for-"
"Common misunderstanding. They'll explode, but it won't be a detonation. You need the fuses for that. And they'd have to be really fucking stupid for that, and I kind of doubt it."
"Maybe we should have hit the fuses. Should I call Moire or the others to blow up the guns? Maybe that'll help."
"Nah, even the smallest mistakes can mess up an entire regiment. Believe me."
"Yeah. Well, let's get out of here. I don't want to see that slave driver get one of those poor bastards impaled on a round."
Helene stopped and looked at him.
"Impaled?"
"Yeah, the rounds are pointy ended."
Even through the rain, he could see her go pale and start to sweat.
"What?"
"They all are. Look-"
They walked to a nearby truck, Roger throwing the flap at the rear up, shining a light into the stacks of rounds. He looked back to her, realizing she looked sick.
"Fuckfuckfuck fuck FUCK! We need to get out of here, now!"
"What's wrong?"
"These sand munching fucktards have all the shells armed! They have fuses in them!"
"So we're looking at an explosion that I thought would happen?"
"If even half those trucks are like that, we're looking at… massive, hundred foot deep crater levels of boom."
Even from a feudal world perspective, the import of her statement didn't give him long to take a second guess. They started speed walking away, or at least as fast as they could in the mud.
"Kallen, get everyone the hell out of here."
"Is something wrong?"
"Yeah, we're sitting on enough munitions to knock a mountain down, get moving."
"I do not know where Anya or Steryn are."
"Get them out of here! Now!"
"I will inform Davie and the rest."
The next few minutes felt like hours, the two throwing caution to the wind to get away.
They were nearly at the outer defenses when a familiar voice filled his ear.
"Roger, are you and the Cadian alright?"
"Yes, Anya, thank you."
"Why are you moving so quickly?"
"There's a lot of bad things that may be happening soon."
"Very well. I am observing the workers in the middle of the artillery camp. I must say they are getting sloppy."
"Yeah, that's what happens when you force peasants to do dirty work they don't understand."
"The one in the middle is quite the brute."
"Yeah, I saw him."
"He is… oh dear."
Roger swallowed.
"What?"
"One of the rounds they were unloading just fell. There goes another. That one looks like it might fall on top of it."
"Emperor protects."
"That one is about to land on its top-"
XXXXXX
Edmund was thankful for the tent he had bought so many campaigns ago. The rain was still coming down, but at least he was dry. The banneret knights had left a few minutes earlier, seeing the places he chose as a battlefield, and the strategy he was going to take. It wasn't a great plan, but it was the best of a bad lot. Duck stood over the table, his mind running over the information for the tenth time at least.
"It isn't going to change."
"I was hoping it would."
"It won't. The Kriegers will at least get some trenches in time. What do your reports say?"
"We have more lasguns, but they have more bodies to throw at us. Best case scenario is we empty our laspacks into meat shields, then the real hell begins. You'd pray that our swordsmanship is better than theirs, but I give them half an hour before we're tired and at the verge of breaking when they send the horses in and hammer us like the force of the Emperor. We break, we run, we get slaughtered."
"Optimistic. Good thing I brought shields."
In the supply train that followed them, a variety of trucks, Chimeras, and old fashioned horse and carts, Edmund had brought equipment for the up close melee fight he thought would happen. They wouldn't arm all the men with lasguns, and holding the line was central to his strategy. Some would argue he took valuable supply space doing so, he believed he was cautious.
"Well, we're going to be deep in shit now, Duck. I have a feeling we'll be fine though. We got a chance now."
"We should have stayed at the Cathedral."
"I'm not turning a holy place into a siege area. Besides, we'll catch them off balance this way."
"And the Captal?"
Edmund smiled.
"He knows what's asked of him."
"The troops noticed. Questions about missing knights and a few outriders."
"Well, we'll keep our secrets. I somewhat doubt we're going to have deserters."
"If only Roger takes out that artillery."
Edmund poured a red wine into two goblets, handing one to Duck.
"He will."
"Quite certain, you are."
"The man has gone above and beyond the call of duty."
"To him," Duck offered, the two goblets clanking together.
"Aye."
He swirled the drink a few times before looking back at his old friend.
"Did you read over the papers I sent about him?"
"I did. And I agree."
"I've already sent the message through the astropaths. Will take a few days, especially if the Warp is as miserable as usual."
"Hopefully we live long enough to see it bear fruit. And him as well."
"I wonder how he'll react."
"You know how yeomen are. Can go either way."
Edmund laughed and slapped Ducks shoulder. He motioned to the tent's opening, walking out with the spymaster in tow. They looked out at the horizon, seeing lights and fires in the distance. Out there lay an army, one larger and angrier than his. Men who had sat and watched his Guardsmen burn their homes and farms, do the unspeakable to their women, and Emperor knows what other affronts. The victims of his attacks, given basic weapons and armor, in their tens of thousands, not caring what they had or where they went, as long as they could avenge their pain. It would be a hell of a fight.
"How are you, Sir Hawkwood?"
"Fine, Your Highness."
"How's the chest?" Duck asked.
"Hurts a bit. Will avoid the Sororitas for a while longer, I think."
The three politely laughed. Hawkwood had been the unfortunate protector of Edmund during a particularly heated conversation between the Prince and Palatine Jessamine. Yes, his intervention had been timely, but was it worth a shattered ribcage? To Jessamine's credit, she did apologize while he recovered in the Hospitallers care. He had reached for his sword when she first walked in, but it never hurt to be cautious.
"What do we do now?"
"Wait for this fucking rain to stop. I trust the men are in good spirits?"
"The men are dry, for the most part. Clothing wise of course. Spirits and that damned cider. And my regiment is the worst."
Western Islanders were infamous for their rebelliousness and their reliance on drink for nearly everything.
"It isn't your regiment Duck it's-"
"Gilbert Clare's. Pricks, that family. Father always hated them. Always tried to lord the fact they were the first nobles on the Islands. Doesn't matter for anything now. The D'Uxfords have been Justicars for three decades, and either myself or my brother will inherit the title when the vote for the next one comes up in Parliament."
"You know the rumors will-"
"They can kiss my ass, I have yellow and black blood, it doesn't matter who my mother is. She wasn't some peasant woman or whore. More standing in society. Though unlike peasants and whores she hasn't the decency to die so father and I won't have to deal with her for any longer."
Edmund shook his head and looked to the horizon again.
"Your father loved her. Still does."
"Emperor knows why."
"She was a very… unique, woman, if that's a good way to-"
Edmund blinked as a bright flash lit the horizon.
"What the fuck was that?"
Duck and Hawkwood looked at the camp, on the furthest right of it. A dull boom followed, little different from thunder.
"Fuck me, are we getting shelled?"
"I don't think so Your Highness, I think-"
The entire horizon turned yellow, followed moments an even louder noise thundered from the enemy camp. Throughout the Third Corps, men awoke, some trying to figure out what was going on, some readying themselves for enemy fire or battle.
"Tell the men to stand down. They're having a bad day, which means tomorrow is all the better for us!"
"Yes, Your Highness!" Hawkwood said, rushing to find the bannerets and inform them of the good news.
Edmund watched the mushroom cloud move to the sky, more flashes of yellow flickering around it. He turned to Duck, who seemed to understand but not believe what was happening.
"I think Roger did it, Duck."
"I think he has, Ed."
The goblets clinked again.
XXXXXX
At first, he couldn't believe he was alive. Anya had given him a quick warning, which though thankful for, he wished they had gained more ground. His heart seized up as he remembered her. He pushed himself off the ground, looking over to her. He shook her shoulder and got no response. He swallowed hard and shook her again. Her eyes flashed open and she gasped.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Good thing I pushed you down. Fucking hell!"
"Are your ears ok? I got pads in my helmet, so It wasn't too bad."
"I covered 'em. Thank the Emperor I did."
"Fucking idiots!"
"I know."
The rain kept coming down, fires giving off light from behind. He turned on the flashlight he had, trying to re-orient himself.
"Oh shit," he muttered.
Chunks of flesh and muscle were falling like the rain. Blood was coming down too.
"You think the detonators worked?"
"Possibly," Roger laughed.
He looked back to the flaming carnage behind them. He winced, thinking of the poor men who had vaporized, killed, or worst of all, maimed. He felt a sense of urgency, realizing that the entire army was coming their way to investigate. They had to move. They had to get away, to hide somewhere, get back to the Eldar and hide amongst them. They would-
His hand hurt. Really bad. Searing. Horribly painful. He blinked and looked down at his right hand. His index finger.
It was a bloody stump.
"Roger, what's-Throne!"
"Where did it go? How'd I goddamn lose it?"
"Roger, you're going pale. Shock. Calm down, it's not-"
'Hell, am I hit anywhere else! Goddamn it!"
"Here!"
She tore off a part of her muddy cloak and wrapped it around a few times. She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away from the former artillery site. He realized that he had not heard anything over the comms device and cleared his throat.
"Evac site, everyone, now!" he stammered, his voice shaky and almost foreign sounding to him.
"Understood!" Kallen barked. "No casualties, Rangers were nowhere near the blast. Entire army is now alert. Are you alright?"
"I lost a goddamn finger!"
"What?" Moire cut in.
"I lost a goddamn finger, tell Bob to get ready to help me! I've lost blood!"
He was already feelin off, woozy, his vision starting to go dark. Then pain started in his back. His shoulder, his legs, he felt pain and a type of wetness all over. Before he knew it, Helene was dragging him. The last thing he saw was Avenger and Scorpion armor before he lost consciousness.
XXXXXX
The next morning was cool and windy, but no rain. Edmund had found a perfect defensive position, and he was going to have it. A cut in the forest, made entirely for the main road between Al-Madin and the west, on a hill large enough for his entire Corps to look down on. No flanking easily. Damn, what a find! And then the good news was that there was a massive crater where the enemy artillery had been. He had not heard from Wessyng, but he believed he deserved a bit of quiet and rest.
"Damn fine day, isn't it Fitzwood!"
"Is it Your Highness? What was that light show last night all about?"
"Artillery wasn't as up to snuff as they hoped. What a shame!"
'Tragic, truly tragic Your Highness."
The two laughed as they rode their mounts through the mud, watching the Guardsman marching along with them. They seemed to be in decent spirits, but they had marched through worse. They didn't know they were outnumbered 3 to 1 at best, but it was a bit like training fighting dogs, they fought best when they were thrown into the shit and had to figure a way out.
"How soon will we be there?"
"Three miles to our chosen position, so only an hour or more. Then we'll-"
A rider charged towards them, moving in entirely the wrong direction.
"Your Highness," the man said.
"Guardsman."
"Our scouts ahead of the army. We ran into a few enemy riders. They wish to speak with you."
"Goddamn! Do they have the hill positi-"
"No sir, we were a few miles ahead of it. We relayed the news to you as quickly as possible."
"Good work. Did you say anything?"
"Only that it would be a few hours before you would arrive. They have diplomats waiting."
"Let the fuckers stew. I'll take my time. Sir Argenc! Get a few of my men-at-arms mounted up and tell them to follow me. The intimidating ones, not the nice, polite men. Get Duck and the Bishop. And yourself, if you want."
"Your Highness!"
A few hours later, Prince Edmund of Gasceaux, Robert D'Uxford, Lord of Clavham, Sir Tristan Argenc, and the Bishop of Chelmster, along with a healthy bodyguard, watched their opposites from the forces of Sal-Hadin.
"Prince Edmund," their leader said politely, bowing in the saddle. "I have heard much of your exploits. May I say, your command is-"
"Get to the point before I take that turban off your head and strangle you with it."
The diplomat started, shocked at being treated as such.
"I am Asad Al-Qari, diplomat of the great Emir Sal-Hadin, and I will not be treated such!"
"Fine. Honored to meet you, Asshat Al Curry. May I ask why you have taken time to speak to me?"
"Yes, Your Highness. We have suffered a grievous accident in our army. Our artillery is destroyed entirely, along with most of our lasgun stock. My noble lord wishes to fight still, but is open to terms that would make this battle… fairer."
Edmund looked at Duck, who nodded.
"Very well."
"No weapons such as rifles or lasguns. Melee or less advanced weaponry."
"And if we refuse?"
"It is your choice. Weapon wise, we are at a disadvantage."
"May I confer with my men?"
'Of course."
Duck, Argenc, and the Bishop pulled in alongside him.
"We should take him up on the offer."
"We have an advantage in firepower, we should use it," Duck whispered.
"If we take that hill, we will already have an advantage. If the Krieger's dig us in and pull out, we'll be beyond golden," Argenc added.
"The Emperor, blessed be He, has already stripped them of an advantage. They would like another one taken from us. But I think giving them the fight they want will be more than they bargained for. Especially with the Captal and his men."
"Hmm."
Edmund thought it over as the three continued to bicker. A fair, good old fashioned melee, or an easy thinning of the herd? The dice had already been cast, he was here, and he was unsure what to do. The three died down as Edmund thought more. He looked to one of the serjeants in his guard and blinked.
"You, serjeant."
"Your Highness?" he said, a bit surprised at being noticed.
"What do you think I should do?"
"Er-having the lasguns is good, but we have so many, and few laspacks. Besides, we're better swords and spear men than riflemen."
"You think we'd win if we acceded to their terms?"
The man sniffed.
"One of us is worth fifteen of them. And that's their trained ones, let alone the locals."
Edmund nodded.
"What's your name?"
"Ivo Felding, Your Highness."
"If we lose this next fight, I will blame you, Ivo."
"Very well Your Highness."
"I jest. I think you're quite right."
Despite Ducks protests, he rode back to the diplomat.
"We agree. No guns. Sword and steel."
The diplomat smiled.
"I am pleased to hear it."
"Anything else that harem lover wants."
The diplomat spluttered, but was interrupted by one of the ornate armored men at his side.
"Noble prince, I wish to ask you a question, if you please."
"I won't tell you any secrets."
"I wish to know if a man of yours is still alive."
Edmund raised an eyebrow and nodded.
"Roger Wessyng."
Duck sat up in the saddle, the Bishop crooking an eyebrow. Even Argenc was surprised.
"May I ask why?"
"He dueled me, won, and spared my life. I wish to know if he lives. Either I can repay the favor, or win my honor again."
"He lives. I will inform him that you do as well, Sir…"
"Sipahi Sayf Ulgan. We met outside the gates of Al-Madin."
"Very well. Now I would ask you and your retinue to leave. And tell your Emir he will regret agreeing to anything."
Ulgan grinned slightly and bowed. The diplomat, now red faced in outrage, was about to say something when Edmund reached dramatically for the Claw of Gasceuax. The frightened man held his tongue and rode off with his guards. Riding back to the three other men, Edmund spat on the ground.
"Tell the men no guns, only swords, spears and shields."
"What of bows?" Argenc asked.
"Did he say anything about bows?"
"Well, I would think-"
"Fuck 'em, pardon, Your Grace. They should have specified. Let them regret it when the Gasc bolts and Avalonian arrows rain death before they even get within stabbing range."
"Your Highness."
"Now let's get to that hill and set up. When the Corps arrives, I want us ready."
Duck turned around angry at his friend.
"A good advantage-"
"They won't win anyway."
"We're outnumbered-"
"Not out skilled or outsmarted. Relax. If I'm wrong, you can spend the rest of your life telling everyone about it."
"I- what do you mean Ed?"
"When the battle begins, you ride back to the Cathedral. You can salvage a career with your skills, I can't. I'll die here, you get to live your life."
"I don't-"
"We'll discuss it tomorrow. For now, let's get to work. And do tell Roger when you get a hold of him about that Ulgan fellow."
"I remember that name from his report after the operation in Al-Madin."
"Wonder how that man beat such a knight, but he has a knack of proving me wrong."
"I shall, Your Highness."
"Piss off, Duck," he laughed.
XXXXXX
Corpses lay all around him. Friend and foe alike. The former were knights like him, others peasant men who despite their low birth, had fought like devils. He did not entirely share his fellow nobles' disdain for their lowers, having seen them fight hard as any knight with only sword and spear. Their enemies had been fools, dark armored and pale, their cone shaped helmets being easy targets for the bowmen. Their kind were renowned for their expertise with ranged weapons, but they had been bested by his bowmen and men at arms. He took pleasure in the embarrassment handed on the raiders, their smug arrogance dented. Of course, they had been help from elsewhere. He grabbed the crossbow bolt stuck in his torso, trying to pull it out. Near immortality was a fine thing to hear and say, but another to see its pitfalls. He tried pulling again, failing to move it. No sooner had he failed that he felt a presence in front of him. His helmet sat at his side, his sword next to it. But he knew that he had nothing to fear. Her mask was missing, she shook her head and frowned in disappointment at his injury. She pulled her hood down, red hair falling past her shoulders. She gently took the bolt and nodded at him. He took a breath and-
XXXXXX
Roger gasped as he sat up, grabbing at his abdomen. No hole or wrappings were there, but it felt beyond real. Like a memory he couldn't pinpoint, or some other strange deja vu moment. He groaned and swallowed, his mouth dry as sandpaper. He looked around, realizing he was in a tent. They didn't set up tents before the attack, did they? He heard the flap open and blinked as sunlight hit him.
"Hullo Roger!" Bob said happily. "Alive!"
"I am, Bob. Unfortunately. What the hell happened?"
"Hurt," he said.
"I know that, what got hurt, exactly?"
The flap opened again, revealing a face… he recognized. Twice.
"Roger!" Anya said, crouching in the small structure.
"Hi there. You were saying, Bob?"
He looked at the Ranger and nodded.
"I was there when you arrived back at camp. You have suffered shrapnel wounds. When the explosion happened, shards of metal were thrown into your back, along with a few other areas. Nothing life threatening, but you lost blood. A good amount of it."
"Explains why I feel terrible."
"Aye."
The two went quiet, as if they were about to deliver very bad news.
"My hand-"
He slowly raised his right hand, and found his index finger entirely wrapped up.
"You lost the top of your first finger. About…"
"Inch or so."
"Damn. Is it going to affect anything?"
"Here," Bob handed him the Wraithbone sword.
Roger sat up and gently grabbed it. It felt off, but he could grip it fine.
"Maybe I can ask the Techpriests for a mechanical finger. That'll be a conversation starter."
The old man scoffed and shook his head.
"Rest. Thank the others."
He jerked his head towards Rogers side, bringing attention to a empty blood bag that was connected to him only a short while before.
"Good thing we have dogtags with blood types, eh? Who do I have to thank?"
"Davie. And Evita."
"Really?"
"AB+. Easy."
"Ah, you told me that once. Anyone can give me blood."
"Aye. Rest."
Bob patted Rogers shoulder and moved out of the tent, looking at Anya who politely waved him off. The two were left alone, and he realized he didn't feel much pain at all, even on his now shortened finger.
"I thought this would hurt more."
"He is a very good healer."
"Bob's always been good. Has a magic touch, I swear."
Roger went quiet, unsure what to really say. He tapped his fingers on his leg, and was about to lie down when she got down on her knees and grabbed him. She kissed him and wrapped her arms around his middle, pulling towards her. Her lips pulled off his as her head rested on his shoulder.
"I… tire of worrying about your well-being, Roger."
He recovered quickly, slowly wrapping his arms around her.
"I'm sorry that we humans are of a weaker disposition."
"It has less to do with the physical abilities of humanity, and more that you have no sense."
"The mission was completed, and we would have gotten away from the blast zone if the rebels hadn't relied on unskilled labor."
They let go of each other and he stared into those deep blue eyes she had.
"Remind me, if I survive all this, we'll never do anything involving artillery."
"I will notify mother of such."
"How is she, by the way?"
"I have not been in contact for a few days. I would know if something serious was occurring."
"What about her taking the rest of the Rangers?"
"As I have said, I do not know, and probably never will. I cannot demand anything of my fellow Outcasts, and especially my mother."
"Maybe our species would be as cordial with one another as we are if you all weren't so bloody secretive and cryptic."
"Then we would be little better than you clumsy humans."
Roger scoffed and laid his head back onto the impromptu pillow made out of the discarded uniform he used the night before. Local PDF make, knock off of the Cadian style. It felt more comfortable as a pillow than having to wear it. He saw his normal uniform laying nearby, the red and blue-
He blinked and looked at it again. He closed his eyes and slowly pulled up the blanket on top of him.
"Goddammit," he hissed, realizing he was naked again.
"What is wrong?"
"You or Bob could have told me that I was naked."
"It did not seem important."
"Who saw me?"
"Bob, Davie, Kallen, Evita, and myself."
"Oh. Grand."
"Bob and Evita tended to you, quite well may I add. She had trained with her orders medical units, from what I heard. Davie and Kallen observed in case they needed help. I also did so."
"Well, good to know I was in steady hands. Any comments from those last two?"
"Kallen said he's seen more impressive subjects, and Davie pointed out some of your scars and the stories behind them."
"When I feel good enough to move, I'll kill them."
"I ask you not to."
"Since you asked, I won't. We'll have to report in soon, the armies have to be close now."
Anya's face sank.
"You still wish to fight, even after all you have been through?"
"I'm a Guardsman. I live to die. Of all Xenos, you should know how important sacrifice and honor are."
"Honor does not entail certain death."
"But in this case it does."
"We've argued this before, and you won't change my mind."
"You are a stubborn bastard, Roger Wessyng," she said, a mix of sadness and frustration in her voice.
"It's what kept me alive this long."
She shook her head in disappointment as he laid back, looking at the top of the tent. A few minutes later, he gave up trying to go back to sleep and sat up. He looked at her, and using his newly created bad hand, pulled her into an embrace.
"We'll get through this. I know it."
"I wish I had your optimism."
"We'll work on it," he said, winking before he kissed her.
"Now, I'm gonna get dressed, try to remember how to walk, and figure out what to do next."
"I understand."
He reached over to his clothes and separated them before he stopped and looked at her.
"First off, privacy, second, there isn't enough space in this tent."
"I thought we both had nothing to hide."
"True, but it is getting a bit cramped."
"I… agree. I will wait for you outside."
"Thanks."
He pulled his underclothes on, not bothering with the armor but keeping the surcoat. He felt slight pain, parts of his back feeling like he was being pinched. But otherwise, all seemed fine. He crawled out of the tent, trying to put as little pressure on his hand as possible. Blinking as sunlight filtered in from the trees above, he looked back at Anya, sitting on a nearby log. She looked picturesque, perfect even. Noticing him, she stood and moved to his side.
"The rest of our unit is nearby, including the Wave Serpents."
"I see. Well, let's go and meet them, maybe they can catch me up on what I missed."
"Very well," she said with a bit of disappointment.
"I'm sure we'll get some more time alone before the next fight. Don't get too upset. Don't want others noticing."
"True. We have done well so far."
"We've been able to keep this all pretty well hidden, I will say. Maybe there is a bit of Eldar in me after all."
Anya laughed as they walked off, but Roger used humor to hide the dread that was gnawing into him. He had nearly been blown to pieces, had his back peppered by shrapnel, and lost a finger on his dominant hand. But compared to the battle ahead?
That was all fairly easy.