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Insomnia I blame.
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‘Enough provost, know your place and shut your face.’
The man finally shut up, perhaps understanding that a bullet to his face was a lot closer than he thought. His colleagues also kept quiet, instead they intently stared at their boots or checked their weapons, better that than facing the wrath of a commissar.
After fifteen excruciating minutes of awkward silence the Centaur slid to a halt, the driver politely informing the commissar that they had arrived at her destination. With a nod of thanks she jumped out, grabbed her kitbag and walked off, a sigh of relief going through the remaining occupants of the transport as she was out of earshot.
The commissar walked over to the small camp consisting of three large tents and a small prefab blockhouse. It didn’t seem like a whole lot, a simple sign was hammered into the ground at the edge of a mud trampled square. It read “Thornz Ladz” in crude brushstrokes. Assuming that the officer in charge would be found in the blockhouse she carefully navigated the muddy square, noting a most obnoxious smell coming from the tents.
Inside the dark blockhouse she found the man in charge, rather dispassionately reading a document of sorts. She cleared her throat. The man looked up in surprise yet didn’t snap to attention or even rise from his seat in apology. Unshaven and unkempt came to the fore as she studied him for a moment. The scraggy beginnings of a beard were visible on his chin, cheeks and upper lip. His uniform was creased and stained, it had seen better days as well. He regarded her with some interest, his grey eyes half-hidden behind his dark hair, studying her as she was studying him. Didn’t the Cadians have a high set of standards regarding their personal hygiene in the field? Or did it have something to do with the unit he was leading now? By contrast she was a polar opposite, a neatly pressed uniform, unblemished by dirt or stains safe for her boots, she didn’t have to worry about shaving and her long brown hair was neatly pinned up and under her peaked cap. The only thing marring her perfect image were the scars, the most prominent one running across her left cheek, a pink line a permanent reminder of how costly glory could be. The rest were hidden under her uniform, scattered across her chest and abdomen.
‘How can I be of service commissar?’
The commissar searched her coat and fished out a neatly folded order sheet, handing it to the lieutenant. He accepted it with an arched eyebrow, reading the transfer orders written there. He gave the commissar a questioning look.
‘You’ve been transferred to my unit? No way, joking right?’
When he saw that the commissar didn’t reply he let out an annoyed sigh and crumpled the orders, flinging it into a corner of the room. ‘Well, it could be worse I guess. Welcome to the squad commissar Hauser, make yourself at home and I hope you don’t have a high standard of living ‘cause this is all we have.’ He swept his arms round the small ill-lit room, which had nothing but a cot at each side with a curtain for privacy, a dingy desk that the man was sitting behind, two chairs, several battered footlockers stacked against the wall and a broken glow globe dangling overhead. In summary, it was a rundown hole that had seen better days half a millennium ago.
‘Could be a lot worse but this will do.’ The commissar tried to sound as optimistic as possible but deep inside she was disappointed and yet not wholly surprised. At least the man in charge seemed like a decent man, maybe a little rough around the edges, but still a decent enough man. She dumped her kitbag by the cot that seemed the cleanest and unused, sitting down in the chair in front of the desk. Maybe some light conversation to get to know the man a bit better?
‘For a moment I feared that you were one of those feral ones. One of those men who enjoy the new company so much that they become one of their own.’
The commissar tried to make it sound light but the lieutenant’s eyes narrowed at the remark and he leaned forward, leaning on the desk with his elbows, his hands folded under his chin.
‘Would that really a problem if I were a feral? Why are you here commissar? Your order sheet was pretty vague on that part.’
‘An.. assessment of your performance in the field for an unspecified span of time as ordered by command.’
The lieutenant leaned back in his chair and let out a laugh to which the commissar replied with a sharp look that could kill and a low voice to match.
‘Anything you wish to say or share lieutenant Thorn?’
He cleared his throat but the amused look was still there.
‘My guess is that you have pissed off the wrong people as well then, once again welcome aboard commissar, enjoy your miserable stay.’
She decided not to rise to the bait, though it had been the truth. Fighting a war was supposed to be all about shooting the enemy, not the snivelling politics in the background. But that’s what caused her downfall. A bright young commissar with the inspiring decorations and the option of serving with any regiment she could think of. There was one problem; she just happened to ask the wrong questions and that meant a one way trip to the auxiliaries.
She said it many times before but she did it again: ‘s**t.’
The lieutenant sighed and apologized.
‘We’re all stuck here so you might as well make the best of it while you can. Depending on what you did you might be here for a long time.’
A wise guy. The commissar remembered reading the man’s file, he was found guilty of ignoring orders and making his own, for the best of his own men. He was stripped of his company and the then major became the lieutenant he is today. His company was wiped out under the command of a less creative commander mere days later. Maybe he was thinking about that as well, a sad look on his face for a moment.
The lieutenant seemed to remember something and called out ‘Sergeant Killer!’ A few moments later a large shape moved into the doorway, blocking out all the light. The commissar turned in her seat, seeing a large Ogryn standing there at attention, eye front, massive arms at his side. The right side of his head was a dull metallic dome, a shining red lens replacing the eye there.
‘Sergeant, have the lads fall in, we have a new commanding addition to the unit and she wishes to inspect the unit.’
‘Sar!’
The Ogryn gave a sharp salute with his massive right hand, smartly turning on his heel and strode out of the room again, bellowing several short guttural orders. Something that sounded like a stampede erupted outside as the ground shook and trembled.
The lieutenant got up, adjusted his cap and stuck his sword in the scabbard at his side. ‘Come now commissar, let’s not keep them waiting.’
Despite his dishevelled look the lieutenant managed to look commanding enough, he still held his head high and a straight posture. She followed him outside, seven large brutes standing at attention in front of the blockhouse, a vile smell slowly wafting from them.
‘Unit gath’red and ready as ordered sar!’
The lieutenant gave their leader a sharp salute and ordered him to fall in with his men.
‘These are my boys.’ He said it with pride and affection, truly he was going feral then if he called those his boys? ‘Six tough and mean Ogryn led by an equally tough and mean Bonehead.’ He motioned to their leader.
‘These are shock troops, heavyweights who excel at what they do.’ One of the Ogryns couldn´t help himself at the remark, letting out a slow chuckle. ‘And they enjoy what they do, a lot. Isn’t that right Boomer?’
‘Yus sar!’ the Ogryn boomed with pride.
The lieutenant walked down the line, introducing each one personally to the commissar, each one taking pride in being acknowledged, giving the commissar a salute, not always with the right hand but the thought mattered above all, when they heard their name. ‘Killer, Bruce, Steve, Klaus, Basher and Boomer.’
The lieutenant gave a short textbook introduction on the basic Ogryn and his kit only to be interrupted by a Trojan that pulled up at the end of the square, its driver giving the lieutenant a cheery wave.
‘Slop and Shop is here, sergeant you know the drill. Make sure all weapons are checked and that every belly is filled.’
‘Yus sar!’
Their leader gave a sharp salute to the lieutenant, stepped in front of the squad and bellowed several orders in a loud barking voice. Almost as soon as he stopped the Ogryn broke rank and ran for the tents as quickly as they could, returning with large pans and their massive Ripper guns.
The lieutenant chuckled as they lined up in a queue and patiently waited for the driver to fill each pan with a thick gruel. ‘They eat a lot but do a lot in return for that. At the same time the shop is set up and all weapons are checked by a senior adept. He can bless weapons as well, so if you feel the need to have it checked here’s your chance.’
He motioned the commissar to come along, nodding a greeting to the driver.
‘Good day lieutenant. And commissar.’ The adept studied her for a moment before turning back to the business at hand. ‘Standard check up for today was it not?’
‘Aye, but let the commissar go first.’
The adept held out his hand, not bothering to look up. The lieutenant shot the commissar a look along with an encouraging jerk of the head. After a moment the commissar reluctantly unsheathed her sword, putting it in the hand of the adept. Something clicked and whirred as the adept started to study it. The fine brass basket surrounding the hilt, the laser-sharpened blade, the finely crafted power field generator. It was a work of art and something that had served her well in the past.
‘Fine blade commissar, I’d reckon the power pack will last you another decade.’
The adept sprinkled some oils onto the blade and murmured something under his breath, handing the now stained sword back to her. She gave the lieutenant a look but he simply shrugged as he presented the man his own sword, which had definitely seen better times.
‘Chipped blade, questionable power supply, the hilt needs refitted and the point seems to be dull.’
The adept handed it back without any further action. ‘Next!’
By now the Ogryn all held a pot of steaming gruel, neatly cuing up in front of the adept, slurping from their food noisily as they waited. The driver of the Trojan waved the commissar over, holding up a polishing rag.
‘Blessing my a**,’ she accepted the rag and cleaned the blade, wiping off the fluids that were used for the questionable blessing. She studied the blade for a moment, glad to see that it was clean and perfect again.
The driver chuckled. ‘I know ma’am, but it isn’t all that bad. Worse is yet to come.’
He held up a battered mess tin. In it was something disgusting. She looked at him questioning.
‘That’s the slop. Dinner is served, enjoy.’
She reluctantly accepted the tin, heading back for the blockhouse. This was turning bad with every passing minute. She resisted the urge to check her watch, guessing that less than half an hour had passed since she had arrived. Sitting down on the bunk she tried some of the slop, spitting it out again. Disgusting! Staring at the ceiling she waited for the lieutenant to return, who did after several minutes, a steaming tin of his own in his hands that he ate from without any complaint. He sat down behind the desk again.
‘It takes time, but hopefully you will see that they are not vile monsters, but like us true servants of the creed and loyal beyond whatever is thrown against them.’ He sighed and tossed his cap aside, propping his feet up on his desk. ‘Yes they may seem like big unwashed brutes, yes they are crude weapons for the large gears of war churning overhead, but they are humans as well.’
‘Abhumans,’ the commissar quietly corrected. She gave the slop another try. No, still disgusting.
‘Humans. Abhumans. Whatever, if a priest blesses them and gives them a sermon then they are normal to me. They are family and don’t you ever dare say otherwise, status as hangman or not.’
The commissar sighed, he was getting awfully defensive again, he probably had this sort of talk before, launching into his speech without much prompting. She held up a hand and interrupted him.
‘Yes, I understand. You’ve served long enough with them to understand and feel for them, is that why you declined a promotion and transfer back to your old unit twice now?’
‘Yes, I’ve seen how the lads have been treated and I don’t want them to be treated like that again. They deserve better.’ He let out a sigh. ‘And I don’t have an old unit anymore, they are all dead. I like it here, they are my unit now and this suits me just fine.’
‘Even if that means accepting suicidal missions?’
‘Yes. Though I know that they can survive those with the right man at the helm.’
‘Do I detect hubris there lieutenant?’
‘It’s only hubris if I lose and when I lose I die, so nobody will be able to call me on that.’
The commissar smiled at that mindset, there was something about that way of thinking. Trying to steer into friendlier waters she held up her spoon, letting the gruel drop back into her mess tin.
‘You eat this every day?’ He nodded as he continued to eat. ‘Is this all you ever eat?’ Again he nodded, finishing his tin.
‘We’re a low priority unit, so we get the leftovers. Slop and Shop sometimes manages to sneak in some choice items, but most of the time we have to make do.’ He pulled at his jacket for emphasis. ‘Think I enjoy walking around in rags or have a beard? No I don’t, but seeing as I am at the a*****e in no need of a wiping in this regiment I have to make do with whatever they have for me, which is not a whole lot. The slop is bad but after a while you’ll get used to it. Only thing we get in regular supply is ammo and slop. The two essentials for us to operate properly in the field. The rest is pilfered and redistributed elsewhere.’ He motioned for her still steaming tin. ‘Are you going to finish that?’
She shook her head and gave it to him, deciding to not tell him that she spat into it, twice. Somehow she got the impression that he wouldn’t care anyway.
‘Things are bad here, bad food and ammo are the only regular things around here. If you want something replaced good luck, no chance of getting that here. I’ve been trying for seven months now to get some decent body armour. Be glad, very glad that you have a shell.’
Though she hated the restrictive carapace armour, she owed it her life several times. It was, like the rest of her uniform, still pristine and polished to a mirror sheen. One of the provost cadets had the honour of doing that for her. The lieutenant seemed to catch on her train of thought.
‘I said, be glad. This isn’t a picnic unit you’re part of. When the s**t starts flying you’ll be glad for that fine piece of ceramite covering your vitals.’
Slowly their conversation eased into small talk, as they delved into previous deployments, worlds they had visited, foes they had fought or certain events that stood out.
Several hours had passed and all was pitch black outside save for a fire near the tents. Some sort of conference was going on that required the lieutenants presence. He told the commissar to stay put.
She took off her cap, coat and armour, also slipping off her boots after some consideration, nobody would steal those, right? They were several sizes too small anyway for the regular infantryman. Half an hour ago the lieutenant had excused himself, saying that he had some business with the lads, nothing for her to worry about. Liar, it was something important, most likely concerning her. She curled up on the bed, pulling the blanket over her head. It didn’t smell that bad at the very least. At least not yet. Could things really get any worse? If that lieutenant was of any indication, then yes.
She tried making herself useful in his absence, going over the files in his desk, only to discover that he had almost no paperwork to do. He truly was on the edge of the regiment if nobody bothered with him and his unit. She did discover old orders, but those were very vague and generally said things like “go to sector X12-Y54 and secure area” or “recce sector X87-Y65”.
For a moment she wondered about what was going on outside and thought about reaching for her boots but decided against it, turning over and fitfully falling asleep.
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‘Your thoughts?’
‘She’s outside, not us. No family.’ The other Ogryn agreed to the last sentiment made by Boomer, giving their own grunts of agreement. ‘Us,’ he motioned around the assembly. ‘You,’ he motioned at the lieutenant. ‘Earn right. Once earned family, no else.’
The lieutenant sighed and nodded, understanding all too well how they felt about outsiders. You had to earn their respect before they would trust you. The Ogryn way of induction, a friendly brawl was out of the question of course, she was too frail for something like that. Not even he would dare brawl her, she could either be too brittle or a tough mother who could kill him with a casual flick of the wrist.
‘Tomorrow’s scrap?’ the lieutenant suggested. Boomer and Basher chuckled at the thought of that, another fight soon. Killer nodded in agreement and the others joined in. It was agreed, the commissar would have to prove herself in combat the next morning.
He dismissed his lads and quietly went back into the blockhouse, glancing at the sleeping form of the commissar for a moment. Shaking his head he took off his coat and tossed it over his chair, lying down without even bothering to take off his boots. She would learn, sooner or later. He reached round for his own blanket and turned over, falling asleep himself.
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‘We need to attack them!’
The lieutenant ignored her hissing order, motioning her to be silent with an irritated cutting motion of his hand. Even with Ogryn you don’t just charge in, not yet anyway. He taught that to his lads soon enough and they appreciated the lessons learned. Sometimes waiting meant a bigger scrap. And bigger was always better.
They had been sent into the wastelands three days ago. Their orders were to wreak havoc in their sector. No luck then, as twice before they returned with empty hands. But things might actually be looking up now.
A banner appeared over the ruins, proudly depicting a regimental number and a sun crossed by two swords. The lieutenant pulled his sword and pistol free with a smile. The Ogryn noticed, the eagerness to advance all too obvious in their body language. The lieutenant looked back once, giving a nod to Killer. He chopped his pitted sword forward as he clambered over the pile of rubble.
‘For the Emperor!’
‘Ogryn follow!’ His charges bellowed, a ragged staccato of fire erupting from them as they frantically pulled the triggers of their weapons again and again. Bewildered the commissar got to her feet and followed them, holding her own sabre ready. As she advanced she saw a heavy bolter being set up but the torrent of fire prevented the enemy from using it. Killer let out a seemingly wild bellow, pulling an oversized grenade from his webbing. The others followed suit, tearing the pins out with their teeth and lobbing the explosives at the enemy. A series of explosions ripped through the ruin as the Ogryn thundered on, the brutes hitting the enemy position with the force of a herd of stampeding grox. The lieutenant nimbly clambered over the ruined wall, joining them. Finally the commissar reached the wall, pausing for a moment to witness the carnage. Close combat always was a mess, she got her scars for a reason but the pure unbridled savagery of the Ogryn was something unlike she had ever seen before. She saw Boomer holding his weapon by the barrel in both hands, sweeping it round like a club as he barrelled into a gaggle of enemy troopers. Basher did credit to his name, beating an enemy sergeant into the ground with his gun before jumping up and down onto man until a mess of trampled gore remained.
She decided to stick close to the lieutenant, noting that the Ogryn kept a good distance from him as he fought, so sticking close to him seemed like a good idea to avoid being hit by an overeager Ogryn lost in the fight. Somehow they seemed to respect their leader and did not invade his personal space as he strode to the enemy officer in charge, shouting a challenge. His opposite took on the challenge, raising his laspistol and shooting the lieutenant, who went down with a yelp. One of the Ogryn cried out in anger.
What a d**k!
And that lieutenant, what a fool!
The commissar silently charged forward, ignoring the wounded or possibly dead lieutenant for the moment, her sights set on the man who shot him. A shot whipped past her as she closed the distance between her and the enemy officer. Emperor and Omnissiah don’t fail me now, she told herself as she raised her sword, hacking through the barrel of the weapon in one clean cut. She reversed her move and hacked up, through the magazine and housing of the weapon. It fizzed and died. The officer let out a hiss and tried to go for his own sword, a large chain sword with black and white checkers along its length. ‘No fair fight for you!’ She shouted as she brought her sword up and hacked it into the collarbone of the man, biting some way into his torso before the power source of her sword died out. The man slumped to his knees, coughing blood and painfully looking up at the source of his demise. The commissar pressed her bolt pistol against his forehead and blasted his head away. With some effort she managed to pull her sword free, resorting to planting one foot on his chest and forcing the body away from her. There would be words with the tech adept later on the power cell of her sword. “Another decade” her a**.
She turned to help the lieutenant. ‘******** that hurt,’ he muttered as he slowly got up, helped to his feet by a blood splattered Boomer.
‘Ca’ful boss, you’sa a bleeder.’
That’s when the commissar saw what the lieutenant meant with them all being family. They all stood around him, genuine concern etched onto their big faces. If it wasn’t for Boomer breaking wind the scene would have been very touching.
‘Which one of you lugs took the medi-kit along?’
‘Oops sar?’
The lieutenant laughed, a genuine laugh of amusement until he bent over from pain. ‘Good one, okay Klaus, you always were the fastest runner, head back to camp and fetch me a medi-kit. We’ll catch up with you as soon as we can.’
Klaus saluted once with a gore smeared hand and was off. For such a large brute he could sure run like hell.
‘You did well commissar, I think you impressed the lads.’
With a wince he dabbed his fingers into his own wound, beckoning the commissar to come forward. ‘I might be a bit feral after all, sorry.’ He lifted her cap a tad and drew something on her forehead with his own blood. It felt like a crude Aquila. He drew what felt like a lightning bolt on her right cheek and two vertical lines below her scar. ‘There, done. You are one of our tribe now.’
Sergeant Killer leaned and inspected the handiwork of the lieutenant. After a moment he nodded and smiled. ‘You family now, not one of them wanbees.’
The lieutenant tore off a piece of his sleeve and jammed it into the wound. Judging from the tears streaming from his eyes it hurt a lot. ‘Good, let’s get back to camp before I bleed out. Commissar, could you wait here until relief shows up? Boomer and Basher will stay here and keep watch with you, just in case.’
Slowly the lieutenant and the others moved away, the brutes forming a protective ring around their leader.
The commissar walked over to the man she just killed, pulling his chain sword free. It was heavy but not unfamiliar to her. Before she got her sabre she lead charges and rearguards with one of those heavy swords of her own.
‘Takin’ trophy?’
The commissar nodded, not sure why but it seemed like a good idea. She whirled it around, forming a figure of eight. It felt familiar in her hands, it would do. She noticed the two Ogryn watching her. One of them gave an approving nod.
‘Good arm,’ he rumbled.
She nodded her thanks, feeling that things might not be as bad as she first thought them to be.
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