Student Eshu Orun had spent his day swinging a Stick. He was good at that, ever since he was little. The Drill abbots had called it a blessing, but he didn't see anything special in it. It wasn't anything complicated like calibrating ballistics or solving advanced trigonometrics. He simply swung the Stick at a dummy. It was simple, relaxing, mind numbing. Slash, remise, change stance. Slash, remise, change stance.
"I refuse."
The 'stick' stopped in the air. Eshu lowered his training cane and turned to listen.
"I refuse." The voice repeated.
"You dare?" Another voice, indignant. Shouting followed. Eshu tried to block it out, tried to get back to doing what he knew best. He failed.
"I've found a better solution that improves everyone's morale," The first voice continued, "Wasn't that the point of the trial?" He knew that voice. He never heard it speak in such an earnest manner.
"The point was your compliance! Your compliance to follow the rules! To learn the value of necessary sacrifices!"
Eshu couldn't get back to swinging. Slowly he put the training equipment down and followed the voices in the hall. They were in an isolated wing of the Schola, a place where Eshu liked to come on his off hours, in order to practice. Perhaps that is why they were this loud. Eshu stopped around the corner and looked at the two figures. Master Leontas, a towering mass of anger and righteousness. And Shango.
"All due respect sir," said Shango, clearly not showing enough of it, "A sacrifice only becomes necessary when there is no other option. I have managed to restore the students grades and performance without resorting to-"
A slap. The Abbot glared with rage. Shango froze. "You have 36 hours to rectify your error, student. Dismissed." Leontas proclaimed and took his leave without looking back.
Eshu waited until the Abbot left the hallway when hurried to Shango's side: "By the Holy Throne, what is wrong with you?"
"Oh, hey Mister standard haircut." Shango joked while rubbing his cheek. "Got through with your trial?"
"Nevermind that! What did you do?" Whispered Eshu, loudly enough to let his anger be heard.
Shango put on a smile: "Just interpreted the assignment in a creative way, you know me."
"This is our trial of compliance! You can't just 'interpret' it! This is something we have to do if we're to be Commissars!"
Shango's smile withered away and he looked into the distance. "I don't know about you, Eshu," he finally said, running his hand through his cornrows, "If this is what it takes to be a Commissar, I think I'd rather stay a student."
—
Eshu moved through the confines of the Gargant, bent under the weight of his thoughts. He still didn't fight on the frontlines, instead carrying las packs and supplies to different fire points in the structure. They needed more and more of those. After the betrayal, the orks have stopped the assault for a few days, perhaps fearful that they'll just be fired again without the opportunity of a proper fight. Since then however, the attacks only increased in amplitude and frequency. Now they barely had a free moment. It seemed that at this point the orks had something of a wager going on. Whoever between their different factions took the Gargant and slaughtered the guardsmen first, would win, at least that's what Farid had theorised. Eshu moved through the chest of the beast, ducking every time a shell impacted the scrap plating.
A large boom sounded when he approached one of the cannons. Orkish but not currently used by orks.
"Load another one! Aim at the left tank!" Lieutenant Mirza's voice. Eshu hurried up and turned the corner, towards the outside battlements. A small group of drop troopers were huddled next to a big Ork cannon, which was pointing downward. It was, or at least was supposed to be a large artillery piece, simple in design. A big barrel, extending into the air, a loading chamber at the back and a command post to aim it, attached to the side.
"No, not that one! The red one with a face instead of a turret!" The lieutenant yelled while looking into the reticle gun. Eshu saw Chalci behind it, pushing a shell the size of her torso, into the loading breech all by herself. Not for the first time Eshu couldn't be helped but be impressed by her strength and stature. With a grunt she pulled it up and into the cannon then slammed the breach close.
"Cannon loaded!" she yelled, wiping the sweat off her brow. Then she jumped to the side and started helping move the large weapon.
"Adjust by two degrees… yes like that just a bit more," Mirza continued to command, "Fire!"
A trooper pulled on a cord and the cannon shook. Eshu heard a distant explosion and the troopers cheered. "Scratch one Looted Wagon!" Touted Chalci. Eshu risked a glance over through an opening in the scrap bits and saw a smoking carcass of a former Imperial battle tank, now a repurposed Ork machine equipped with a gun clearly destined for a stationary role, burning far in the distant scrap fields. They have changed quite a bit since Eshu lost his arm. Green bodies of Orks littered the foxholes and metal hills, alongside the corpses of their crude machines. The grays and greens gave way to pitch black once near the gargant. Though the great machine itself was unharmed, the surrounding hundred meters were flattened, metal and dirt fused in a bizarre fashion. The reminder of the Angels' wrath.
Eshu approached the troopers, who started loading another shell. He gave away water flasks and took the empty ones to refill.
"Hey Hero!" Mirza called out, far too loudly: "You saw that? Pretty good shot right?"
Eshu ignored the nickname: "Yeah, I'm surprised you're managing to operate this thing!" He had to repeat the statement twice before Mirza managed to hear him. Honestly Eshu was surprised Mirza could hear him at all. He was the first Elysian to man the cannons after the Colonel authorised their use.
"It's actually pretty easy, you just have to dumb down your brain and pray every time you fire!" Mirza answered, looking for new targets.
"And he can do the first part just fine, it's the praying bit that's difficult these days." Said Chalci, who gulped down an entire flask of water in one go. Eshu understood the sentiment. The Angels betrayed us. Tried to kill us. Abandoned us. A horrid thought, but one that only grew in the past weeks of the siege. Eshu knew he wasn't the only one to think of it.
"I'm surprised you're all so cheerful." He admitted, shoving another shell into the cannon.
"Men feel better when they laugh in the face of death." She finished loading the shell and moved to help with the cannon. "If you ask me, I think everyone knows that there's no cavalry that's going to arrive. So we might as well laugh."
There was a morbid sense of realism to her words. Eshu heard that the rest of the Guard was bogged down, pushed back by the green tide of the xenos. Most regiments were routed or destroyed and the General had either left the planet or disappeared. The navy was no help either, apparently having to pull back and regroup because of even more orks arriving to the system. No one was coming to save them. They smile for their last stand, Eshu realized. Many would consider it easier to just give up. Throw down their weapons or go ask the local Commissar for the Emperor's peace. Not the 36th. Perhaps it was idealism, but more likely it was spite. They wanted to prove to the Angels that they weren't worthless. A silly thought. The Space Marines left this solar system weeks ago. In either case, strangely, morale didn't falter, so much as it gave way to a particularly stubborn mindset in the regiment. Lucky, considering the state that Eshu's mentor found himself in.
"The Colonel still believes." Eshu noted, helping to move the cannon.
Chalci chuckled: "We can be sucked into the Warp itself without Gellar fields and Mum will still try to find some way to get us out. That's just who she is."
"You think she'll find a way?" Asked Eshu, more curious about Chalci's own fatalism than an actual possibility to live through this.
"I doubt it. We got close to death on more than one occasion but something like this…" She clicked her tongue, then stopped talking as Mirza commanded to fire again, aiming at a former Steel Legion tank now painted blue this time. A miss. Mirza cursed and commanded to load another shell. "Well, I don't remember getting abandoned by the Space Marines." Chalci continued getting out another shell. They were running low on those. The gargant had held enough munitions to keep the cannons fed, but apparently a week of continuous usage wasn't something the Big Mek had planned for. Honestly Eshu was simply glad that the cannons didn't explode on touch.
"On the other hand," Chalci grunted, "Well remember what I said about fake smiles?"
"Yes?"
"I can never tell if Mum has a real smile or not. She always seems so genuine, but I know she's hiding behind it."
"Maybe," Eshu said, thinking, "maybe a smile can be truthful and false. Just because people hide some of their feelings doesn't mean that the ones you see are false."
Chalci cocked her head: "Huh. Never thought about it like that. In any case, I just look at her grin and somehow I tend to almost believe that we'll make it."
Almost. But not quite. They finished loading the third shell and Mirza aimed again. They never got the chance to fire. An explosion blinded Eshu momentarily and threw him back. The cannon creaked, metal squirming, bending. Did their shell detonate prematurely? No. Eshu was still alive and he was the closest to it. He blinked looking around. He could see an impact crater just below the gun. The Orks got lucky with one of their shots. Or rather, Eshu got particularly unlucky. That seems to be happening more often these days.
The cannon started tipping towards the edge. The lucky shot ripped apart the metal bars which attached it to the Gargant. And Mirza was still on top of it dazed. He was thrown forward, off his aiming position and was clinging desperately to the giant sized barrel. Eshu dashed. He grabbed hold of the deformed piece of metal with his hand, trying desperately to prevent it from falling. Foolish, as if a single invalid could stop an avalanche. He grunted, putting his feet against the railings, his body protesting against the pressure. He couldn't stop it, he realized, his muscles aching. With a creak the barrel started sliding. He couldn't-
It stopped. How? Eshu risked a glance. The entire guard squad was besides him, each trying to do what he did, pushing against the inevitable. Chalci was the first amongst them. He could see her muscles ripple under the ragged uniform, convulsing with pain. One day she would stop fighting. One day she would join her comrades in the golden halls of heroes past. One day she would draw her last breath.
Today was not that day.
With a feral cry, Chalci pulled. Incredibly, miraculously, the cannon actually stopped its momentum, accentuated by gravity. Mirza started moving, trying to balance himself on top of the barrel. They could only delay the inevitable by a few seconds. But those seconds were priceless. With a leap, The Lieutenant jumped over and landed in the safety of the Gargant. Eshu and the troopers let go and the cannon slid to the edge. It fell, hitting the ground below, a few seconds later. He slumped back on the metal floor, trying to catch his breath.
"I think…" Mirza said, panting, "I should start carrying a grav-chute at all times."
Chalci walked over to him and tapped him lightly on the head: "You should start by saying thanks to the cadet."
"I… didn't… do anything." Eshu said in between breaths. If anything Chalci did most of the lifting. How strong was that woman?
"You were the first to react," she parried, looking back at him, "if you didn't act, this idiot would be splattered on the ground."
Eshu didn't argue further. He just laid back, trying to catch his breath. He heard Mirza contacting command, to relay the loss of the cannon. Then he heard another explosion from below. He groaned and got up to his feet. Today was not going to get easier.
—
The world had ceased being logical. Its structure was supposed to be simple in concept, but difficult to master, a panoply of tautologies and falsehoods. A star either burned or collapsed. A reactor either worked or experienced a meltdown. A machine spirit either obeyed or did not. Kantuari was either a tech-priest or… what?
"They're breaking down the gates!"
He existed, he supposed, though a part of him desperately wished that he did not. Once upon a time his existence was simple. Enarch Kantuari was a cog. Enarch Kantuari was not emotional. A tautology. A falsehood. Simple in concept, difficult to understand. But now?
"Move the sentinels to the elevator now!"
Could a cog contradict the mandate imposed by the engineer? Could a cog still function after it was thrown away? Could Kantuari still cry after he cut away his emotions? He could not answer, not because the answers were difficult but because they were illogical. A equaled B and C but C did not equal B. Illogical.
"Kantuari we need to move!"
With difficulty he looked up. Sergeant Boiko- no, Lieutenant Boiko. Illogical. Boiko was calling him by name. Why would you give a name to a cog? She was in her sentinel. Chatterbox. A good machine spirit. Simple, rustic, loyal. How he wished he could be like it, simply serving, simply doing his duty. But the Omnissiah had cursed him with the gift of knowledge.
"Kanti, the lift!"
Right. He tried remembering where he was. The Belly of the beast. He was near the elevator that they used to move things to the upper levels of the Gargant. Lethargically, he moved towards it trying to process his thoughts.
He could identify three breaches in his worldview. The first were the Angels. Creatures that Kantuari revered not only for their impressive augments, mechanical and organic, but for the fact that they never stopped improving, trying to become closer to the machine. They failed. That was illogical. He could've reconciled with a simple betrayal. Wasting a full regiment of Imperial guard was horrific on a personal scale but Kantuari knew that they were disposable. Perhaps he would have accepted that, on the grand scale of things, one that cogs weren't privy to, the 36th had to be sacrificed.
But they failed even at that. The infallible Angels of death failed at killing a single regiment. Yes Kantuari activated xenos force field, but it failed after withstanding the initial salvo.
He moved up to the elevator, leaning on his ax as if it was a walking stick. The large platform was chock full of troopers and sentinels, all screaming, shooting, dying. They needed to go up… why? He forgot. Oh well. He interfaced with the machine spirit, speaking the necessary prayers to make it move. It cringed in agony but began moving, cogs and pulleys working despite the pain. So why couldn't he?
Second was his own heresy. Weeks spent within this monstrosity, operating its machinery, interfacing with its spirit. It should've driven him mad. Well he was probably going mad but not because of that. No, he actually started to get good at operating Orkish technology. He didn't know how, Ork instruments were the antithesis of logic, working despite themselves. For instance the elevator that they were in didn't have a counterweight. And yet it moved up. So illogical. But as they were assaulted more and more, Kantuari had found that he could work with the machinery. That was the maddening part. A Tech-priest wasn't supposed to interact with xenos weaponry just as he couldn't modify the age old designs. It was the first warning in the Commandments: alien mechanism is a perversion of the true path. He might've convinced himself that he was still erring near the path but activating a device as complex and as esoteric as a force field? That was too much, far too much.
The lift careened and stopped abruptly. Kantuari lost his balance and nearly fell but used his axe to find his footing. The other troopers, occupied with shooting, weren't so lucky. As the platform grinded to a halt a few fell screaming. Boiko shouted in desperation. Why? They weren't that high up… oh. The great door that was guarding them from the outside was getting torn asunder. Orks were starting to jump in from different breaches. Why didn't Kantuari notice them?
Another disturbance. Kantuari looked to the side and saw Boiko and her Chatterbox jumping down from the p- from the platform? But, but, she would… The Chatterbox landed on the ground and placed itself between the troopers and the ever growing number of Orks. Kantuari watched, slowly, trying to process. Then he jolted running to the control. He slammed the interface asking- no ordering it to stop. He remembered, at least in small part, why he didn't notice the orks. Because acknowledging their presence would mean acknowledging that Samusenko's sacrifice was in vain.
The platform stopped, then started moving slowly downwards. Too slow. Kantuari turned back and saw the Sentinel being hit by gunfire. She would be safe from any small arms fire- wait. A group of Orks carrying crude rocket launchers made its way across the hall. They were on the left side, closer to Kantuari than to Boiko but started aiming at her. The world froze in front of his oculars. They would kill her. Just like…
Enarch Kantuari was far from being one with the machine. Yes the fact that 52% of his body was now metal and chrome meant that he had passed the halfway point, the so-called 'Crux Mechanicus'. But that was done mostly to optimize his daily labors. His eyesight, weak and failing as it was, had been mostly replaced. His arms, necessitating both surgical precision and strength, augmented. His mind, requiring focus and purity of purpose, modified. But most of his brain was still human. That was a conscious decision. Many tech priests often modified the amygdala, stifling their emotional behavior or, in extreme cases, removing it all together. They claimed that it allowed them to make unbiased decisions, untainted by personal sentiment. Enarch never did it. That had cost him his ascension to the higher ranks.
Perhaps that was why he screamed and jumped down. He landed on the metal floor, legs, still mostly organic, flared in pain. He tuned it out. Every logical circuit in his brain protested at this action, Boiko wasn't important, the machine was replaceable. He tuned it out. His rage however, his overwhelming rage at the greenskins? That he did not tune out.
They killed her.
He was upon the orks before they could fire off their rockets. He grabbed his power axe with two hands and swung it down. The venerable weapon of the cult was a holy symbol, a sign of reverence towards the blessed machine, signifying the importance of each and every cog. It was also a weapon. Activating the disruptor field mid swing, the ax buzzed and brute forced its way through the first ork, cutting through both steel and flesh like butter. In the hands of an experienced duelist, the Omnissiah ax would be a terrifying thing. Kantuari swung it around like a wrench. He pulled it back, then swung the ax in a low swipe, cutting one and wounding another xenos, who tried to scramble and get away. Kantuari didn't let them. He launched himself forward using the spike at the end of the haft to impale the ork in the chest. The xenos coughed strange black blood, but Kantuari didn't stop until the entire axe head was on the other side of the greenskin.
They killed her!
Kantuari felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. He left himself open to attack and one of the orks used its rocket launcher as a club. Kantuari spun, going for another swipe, dissecting the corpse of the ork he had stabbed in the process. The Ork tried jumping back. Instead he screamed in pain, as Kantuari's mechadendrites stabbed his foot, pinning him to the ground. Half a second later, the ax split the xenos in two. Kantuari's logic programs had barely enough time to register a complaint about the improper use of the mechanical tendrils, as a fifth ork managed to gain enough distance between them and aim the crude anti tank device at the tech priest. Kantuari stopped and looked at the xenos. Then, slowly he started walking towards the creature. For some reason, it started trembling, eyes bulging, sweat running down its face. Kantuari didn't care, he simply kept on walking.
THEY KILLED HER!
The Ork pressed the trigger. The rocket went haywire and missed Kantuari by an inch. He raised the axe and slammed it down on the xenos. He kept on slashing up and down, up and down. In retrospect the death of Lieutenant Natia Samusenko, could've been easily avoided. Up and down, up and down. In retrospect, he could've modified the Sentinel's model to be more protective of the driver, no matter how heretical that might've been. Up and down, up and down. In retrospect, he should never have cared so much about a simple guardswoman. Up and down, up and-
"Kantuari!"
Enarch turned away from the puddle of broken bones, muscles and sinew. Boiko was still alive. The platform had been lowered back and the troopers, safe, were getting back on. Boiko and her Chatterbox were standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by burned remains of ork bodies. Well she wasn't the only one. Kantuari looked around. Perhaps the world didn't change. Perhaps the cog simply started to rage. Whatever. Enarch look at Boiko andh. Despite everything that had happened they were still standing. Kantuari hurried back to the platform. No matter how illogical he or the world became, this he would protect.
—
Hartmann was dying. He should've been dead already. They all were dying in a way, at least one foot in a grave. If not for the Colonel he would've had peace. Hartmann's head throbbed terribly and this thought didn't help. He stumbled and reached for the bottle on the floor. Empty. He groaned, cursing his headache and got up.
He could not recall the last time he got himself drunk. Well that was a lie. He couldn't recall the last time he got himself drunk while on duty. Mainly because he never did that. I should be shot at the very least, he dimly thought to himself trying to walk out of his quarters. Intoxication while on the line of duty. Five decades of service and now he caved in? It's not my fault. It's- who's? The Astartes? No, heretical, apocryphal, the thought itself hurt more than the headache. The Colonel? That thought, though not heretical, hurt even more. But… What else could he do? His training, his service, his entire being was devoted to the cause. The Imperial guard died standing, fighting to their last the enemies of man. They were expendable. Hartmann never made any delusions about that. But being told directly by demigods that their duty was done… How does one react to that? Deep inside, Hartmann knew that the Space Marines were fallible, perhaps better than anyone. Being blessed with the geneseed of one of the Emperor's own sons did not give omniscience, just a superhuman mind capable of solving most complex equations in a fraction of a second. But they were angels still. Angels of death, the God Emperor's spear pointed at the heart of his foes. One did not simply contradict them, not without sufficient authority from a higher body. Yet this was what Farrah did. Without thinking, she used the weapons of the enemy against the Astartes. Was that not treason? No, she only used a shield to protect the regiment, she did her duty. Her duty is to the Emperor first, to her men second. But was she not doing both by holding the line? She went against the angels' decree, only heretics do that. Unless the Space Marines are traitors themselves, it happened before. Are you accusing the Emperor's Angels of Heresy, Commissar?
Hartmann groaned, remembering why he started drinking in the first place. He was coming apart. He could deal with one or two moral issues, but this? The only way out of this mess would be by either shooting himself, shooting the Space Marines or shooting the Colonel. So instead he decided to drink and forget. Did that make him a coward? Him, the commissar who had dueled with Aeldari raiders in his youth and bested a Chaos apostate back in the day?
Hartmann stumbled out of his quarters. His room was less an actual room and more a corner of a maintenance corridor that no one was using. As private as it could get around here. Still at least no one saw his disgrace. Eshu did. He stopped and cursed himself. He sent the Cadet to get that bottle of Araks, he would put two and two together. The sudden shame made him more aware of his surroundings. Screams. Shouts in the distance. Were the orks launching another assault? No, more likely they never ended it and just kept throwing bodies at the Gargant.
Hartmann grunted and started searching for his chainsword and bolt pistol. Both were in the vicinity of his bed, though his head throbbed in protest when he bent down to grab them. He would've never shown such weakness during his youth. What a poor example he was. In fact he hadn't had time to talk much to his protege during these last few weeks. Perhaps that was for the best.
He stepped out of the corridor, careful to not trip over the bits of scrap and piping. He was sick of this place. The misshapen pieces of scrap, the yellow paint, the familiar yet alien feeling of it all. You're starting to panic, he dimly noted, fighting down the feeling as he made his way across the confines of the titan.
His headache was subsiding by the time he reached the centre of the chest. His worry however, did not. The troopers were running around near the top of the big platform. What were the sentinels doing here? Hartmann frowned and started jogging towards Boiko's machine. Was that Kantuari? Was that his blood? He was leaning back against the sentinel, panting. Boiko was whispering something to him.
"Status report." Hartmann barked, cringing at the sound of his voice resonating in his poor head.
Boiko jumped and looked back, then saluted: "Oh C-Commissar! We've evacuated the Belly as ordered! Kantuari went a bit berserk though so-"
"Hold on," Hartmann interrupted, "evacuated?"
"Uhm yes. You haven't heard? The orks have been breaking through the main gate for days now, so the Colonel decided to abandon the lower decks and seal the upped parts of the Gargant."
Hartmann blinked in surprise. Sweet Emperor, how long was he out, drinking and shaming himself? If he was on the frontline instead of- He shook his head, nodded to the trooper and walked off feeling dizzy. What's done is done. He couldn't change that. But he could do better.
Slowly, he made his way to the top of the Gargant. He passed squad after squad, running to reinforce the lower decks, moving to the exterior parapets to stop another Ork jump team. He even met Eshu and the remnants of the 4th platoon. The Cadet seemed relieved to see him. If Hartmann was a better teacher he would've spent more time with him since his duel with the warboss. Another failure. Instead all he could do was salute the young man and send him on his way. Despite everything, his squad seemed cheerful, telling tall tales about how he stopped a cannon from falling with one arm. In a better world he could've risen to greatness. But this was the world they were given. And it was time to let go.
With heavy steps he entered the head of the Gargant. It was much the same the last time he'd seen it, during that night of woes. More dishevelled perhaps. Maps and plans were more dispersed. The recaf machine, silent and inoperable.
And of course, the Colonel. She was wounded, again, left shoulder this time. If she was in pain she didn't show it, instead busying herself with coordinating the troops to account for the loss of the Belly through the vox station.
"I need a full count on the Sentinels we still have. Yes I know we can't move them in the corridors, just give me a number. Yes I know that the Enginseer has been sent to the medbay, we don't need repairs right now-"
Hartmann slowly approached her. Even now, sleep deprived, tired, scarred, weighed down by responsibility, Farrah Zal still looked like the perfect image of a Regimental commander. Even now, when all hell's breaking loose, after weeks and weeks of mental hardship, she was still here, doing the best she could. That in itself was worth a medal. But he had a duty.
His hand reached towards his pistol. He wasn't going to take it out, but he had to be ready. Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him.
"Glad to see you're back amongst the living." Rudi scowled, not bothering with a salute. His hand was firmly on his own pistol.
"Major." Croaked Hartmann, locking eyes with him.
"So what were you going to ask? Another bottle of Araks?"
Hartmann gritted his teeth. He never liked the Major. He understood why such men were necessary to a regiment but Rudi always strutted the line between enforcing subordination and insubordination, perpetually on the fence separating the non commissioned officers and the high command. And the man was considering practically anyone that wasn't Elysian to be a traitor. That included Hartmann. Hartmann closed his eyes and tried getting a hand on his rising anger.
"I am going to talk to the Colonel," Hartmann muttered through his teeth, "are you going to stop me Major?"
"I'm not the one who was getting drunk on the line of duty, Commissar." The plain faced man snarled. "Maybe we should promote that kid instead? Seems to be doing your job just fine and he's not even shooting anyone to get the troopers moving."
Rage had started to replace intoxication. Hartman opened the clasp on his holster. "You have a very poor sense of humour, Major. You do realise that only a commissar can promote a cadet commissar?"
"Well, battlefield promotions are very in vogue these days."
Hartmann snorted: "Are you actually threatening me Major?"
"No he's just making a practical joke."
Both men turned to see Colonel Farrah Zal, headset on her neck, looking very tired. Those bags under her eyes told a story of a dozen sleepless nights, buried by countless days of stress.
And yet she smiled.
"Rudi, take over the vox for now. I really need a break and the situation is stabilising anyway."
Rudi grunted but went past Hartmann not offering a glance: "not trusting me with real important matters, ey?"
Farrah chuckled, "Logistics are always important, Major." Then she looked at Hartmann and grinned: "I'm glad you're feeling better, Heinz."
Heinz stuttered searching for words: "I… apologise for my behaviour."
"And I'm sorry I couldn't help you in time." That damned grin. Always warm and honest. How did she do that?
"Still," Hartmann insisted, "it's unbefitting for my office. I have dishonoured myself and the regiment gravely."
Farrah sighed and put a hand on his shoulder: "If you're that worried about it we can bring it up at the commissarial tribunal once we're back."
"The… tribunal?"
"Yes. The same one you wanted to bring me to for using xenos tech, remember?"
Holy Terra, she still thought that they could survive? How could she, of all people, be so blind? Hartmann stood in silence for a few moments.
"Farrah…"
The Colonel gestured to a free table. She sat on a chair, then jumped as if bitten by a snake. Hartmann was about to whip out his pistol, but she pulled a Regicide board, folded in two, from the seat.
"I was wondering where that went." Farrah chuckled, putting the board on the table and sitting down again. "Fancy a game?"
"Farrah."
She threw her hands up: "Alright, alright. No rest for the servants of the Emperor right?"
Hartmann sighed and put his hands on the table: "do you remember what you promised me before we left?"
"Refresh my mind."
Harmann gritted his teeth. "In case we're unable to hold the Gargant, we have to rig it with explosives and deny the enemy this strategic point."
Farrah stayed quiet. Her smile was gone, replaced by a melancholic expression.
"Look Farrah." Hartmann continued, "We have done our best here. Truly, a last stand worthy to be remembered in the Imperial hall of heroes. But you have to admit when a game is lost."
Farrah stayed silent.
"You know that help isn't coming. The rest of the Guard is either destroyed or routed. The navy is retreating. The Space Marines-"
Farrah shot him a glare.
"-Aren't… here… anymore." Hartmann continued, trying to stay diplomatic. "And we just sealed off our only way of escape."
The Colonel shook her head: "I'd never seal us in without a plan to escape. We still have all of our grav-chutes."
"And go where!?" Hartmann shouted, unable to keep his anger in check. "Into that green sea of xenos and death? We are surrounded, Farrah! I'm sorry to tell you this, but there is no situation here where you can save the 36th! The game is finished! A glorious show, but you have to accept this checkmate!"
Farrah stared at him, maintaining eye contact. Finally after a few tense moments, she breathed out and pulled something from her coat, tossing it to the table. A… detonator? Hartmann looked at it, then back at Farrah.
"I always wanted to see it, you know?" She put her head back, staring at the ceiling. "A perfect battle. One where I wouldn't lose a single Guardsman."
"That… admirable." Said Hartmann taking the detonator.
"You meant to say foolish. No, don't interrupt, I know it's nonsense. But I wanted to anyway."
Hartmann flicked open the detonator. So easy, he honestly didn't expect the colonel to have rigged the structure with explosives. "I don't think there's a single hero of the Imperium who can claim such a feat."
"Not very heroic of them."
"Farrah."
"Oh come on Heinz, I'm already a dead woman walking. Let me insult the saints in peace." She sighed and got out a Lho stick. "Got a light?"
"I thought you hated smoking?" Hartmann noted pulling out an old lighter he had confiscated eons ago. "You lost those sugar cubes you keep for yourself?"
"No they're still there" Muttered Farrah, moving her head towards the flame. "I just-" she coughed, "I reserved them for when I get everyone back safely." She let out a puff of smoke. "Don't think I deserve it now."
"Martyrs of the Imperiu-"
She flipped him off: "Oh shut it. Even if I wanted to be one, we're not martyrs. Just some poor fools that had trusted our betters. And I'm the biggest fool of them all, Heinz. A poor farmer girl that never grew up."
Hartmann didn't know how to respond to that. Oftentimes he felt that he profoundly misunderstood Farrah Zal, or rather didn't see the full picture. In a way that was true for every man, only the Emperor could see their life laid bare. That was probably for the best.
He looked down at the detonator, still primed but not activated. Just a press of a button. That's all it took. A single touch and the charges set around the gargant and the reactor would collapse on itself. A single touch and thousands of lives would be gone. A single touch and decades, no centuries, of proud service would be erased. He realised he was trembling.
He heard a whisper from the Colonel. "You don't have to press it now. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. We can still fight. For just a few more hours. We can still live."
She was looking at the ceiling again, head fully tilted back, but he didn't need to see her tears to know they were there.
"What… what would that accomplish?" He asked, voice rasp.
"I'd get to see another smile."
Hartmann stared dully at the detonator. Minutes passed. He… He knew he should press it but… He didn't.
A blip on the vox. Farrah opened her eyes and lifted her head. Not the inter regimental one. The external one. Farrah and Hartmann exchanged glances, then jumped up in unison and dashed to the control panel.
"Major?" Farrah asked, Lho thrown aside. "What is it?"
Rudi cursed and gave the headset to the Colonel: "Somewhere far, the Vox's barely picked it up. Other side of the planet maybe? Frak, where's that adjutant when he's needed?"
"There's no one on the other side of the planet." Noted Hartmann, letting Rudi pass aside as the Major hurried downstairs to find Adjutant Tusi. "Not unless our forces made another landing."
"Or it's not coming from the planet." Muttered Farrah, trying to adjust the system.
But that would only leave outer space. Hartmann thought. Communiques from the navy element would be closer, close to the planet's orbit, mesosphere usually. Not something that was barely on the edges of the system.
"Orks?" He asked pessimistically.
Farrah shook her head: "No. The signal looks imperial. Besides, why would ork ships be in this system and give off signals? They'd be either dashing here to get into the fight or fly uncontrollably on one of their asteroids. Ah Tusi, just in time."
She tossed the headset to the adjutant who was still yawning. That yawn was quickly turned into a gasp of shock as he saw the signal coming in.
"Just a moment..." The youth mumbled calibrating the device. "There! Got a read! It's uh, looks old?"
"Was that a question vox adjutant?" Hartmann barked, feeling his usual commissarial panache coming back in some small measure.
"Um- no- that is to say- yes? I mean it looks like an old identification code from a trader, I think. But at least two centuries old?"
"Not that old by Rogue trader standard." Mused Rudi. "Why are they hailing us?"
"Not us, Major. It's a general signal to any Imperial forces. Identification and requests for docking."
Hartmann frowned: "Haven't they heard that the system is under quarantine?"
"They might not know that," Farrah said, grabbing a speaker, "maybe they are traders from two centuries ago and got thrown forward in time by the warp."
"Wait, that can happen?" The Adjutant asked, suddenly pale.
"Yes and keep your eyes on the vox!" Hartmann barked. Warp travel was, by its nature, unpredictable. The Immaterium, that realm that no human eyes should see, was also the only way to cross the distances between the stars, too vast in the material plane. But time and space often changed directions and places in the Warp and tales of ships lost in the sea of souls for centuries and suddenly appearing with the crew not having aged a year were not unheard of.
"Get me through to them." Farrah commanded, her voice cold. Hartmann glanced at her. Any sign of weakness she had shown previously was now gone, replaced by fiery determination. Another try then.
A few tense moments passed.
A blip.
A light turned green.
"This is Colonel Farrah Zal of the 36th Elysian Drop Trooper regiment. To whom have I the honor of speaking?"
Silence.
"I speak as the last fighting Imperial unit on the planet. We are under assault by Orks and need immediate assistance."
Silence.
"As a merchant vessel you are under obligation to assist any Astra Militarum unit in need of interstellar transportation. I invoke such measures now as detailed by the articles 1987 and 1993 of the Minitorum Codex."
Silence.
"We are only two thousand strong. As airborne troops we could be transported by any planetary lander capable of vertical take off. Please, I implore you, help us!"
Silence.
"Listen you bastards! I don't know why you're here and I honestly don't care but this system is going to be overrun in a matter of weeks. So if you're here sightseeing, leave! If not, help us for the love of the Emperor!"
Silence.
"Fine. Just know this. We of the 36th regiment, were betrayed by our betters, the Space Marine chapter known as the Sons of Medusa. If you leave, at least let the wider Imperium know of how these Astartes treat their allies. If anyone even cares."
Silence.
Then, something answered.