When Duvall emerged from Commissar Leonard's room, there was now a bolt pistol in the holster at his waist. He had taken the data-slate with him as well.
Curiously, he unlocked the slate with his biometrics. It contained only an audio recording and an electronic writ.
"Let this recording stand as proof... I, Leonard, Commissar of the 101st Ashen Watchers Regiment, hereby confer the full authority of a Commissar upon Probationary Commissar Duvall Edmond, in accordance with wartime statutes..."
A battlefield promotion... Duvall came to a halt and looked back towards the door that had closed behind him.
Through the crack beneath it, the light of the kerosene lamp had already gone out, and darkness had reclaimed the room. Duvall could feel the life-force belonging to Commissar Leonard ebbing swiftly away, like the final glimmer of a guttering candle in the wind.
Commissar Leonard had little time left. As Leonard's adjutant, Duvall might well succeed the old Commissar directly.
Though a full Commissar had the authority to elevate a probationary Commissar to full rank, it still required official certification from the Commissariat of the Departmento Munitorum. Otherwise, one could all too easily be branded a traitor.
Yet the administrative efficiency of the Imperial Commissariat was notoriously abysmal. On a front-line battlefield such as this, when an old Commissar fell, there was no time to wait months—or even years—for headquarters to assign a replacement. Succession on the spot was the most reasonable course.
Once the campaign was over, the Commissariat would dispatch investigators to subject this battlefield promotion to severe scrutiny.
What a nuisance. Duvall sighed, lingered no longer, and turned to proceed down the corridor.
His footsteps echoed through the empty hall as Duvall considered his next move.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door at the corridor's end and returned to the general ward. As he began looking for a way out, his gaze caught the sign at the other end of the hallway: "General Critical Care Ward."
Stroud and Anderson should be in there. Duvall changed direction and headed for critical care, intending to see how the two of them were faring.
Unlike the critical ward reserved for senior officers, the rooms here were larger, each crammed with more than a dozen beds. They were just as unnaturally quiet.
Most of the wounded were too weak even to make a sound. Only laboured breathing and the occasional faint groan drifted through the air.
He stepped aside for two medics hurrying past with an empty stretcher, then continued down the corridor. At last, the green markers denoting Stroud and Anderson appeared in his vision beside the door of a room on the right ahead.
Fortunately, both their conditions had changed from "Near Death" to "Grievously Wounded."
Duvall sat upon a bench outside. He did not go in and disturb them. They needed time to recover, and he needed time to put his thoughts in order.
But as he looked towards Anderson's bed, a line of small golden text slowly emerged above the bearded officer's head.
[Potential Elite: Heavy]
Duvall paused. He had not seen this marker above Anderson before. Was it because of his loyalty? Anderson's loyalty now stood at ninety percent; perhaps it had reached some threshold.
He did not hesitate for long. A prompt appeared in his vision.
[Consume 100 Emperor's Wrath to bind your soul to Anderson Walker?]
Duvall selected "Yes."
A new skill tree unfolded before his eyes. Unlike Stroud's [Shadow Branch], Anderson possessed the [Bastion Branch].
[We are the shield wall that cannot be broken, and the warhammer that nothing can withstand.]
[Initial Skill: Strength]
[While equipped with heavy weapons, movement speed suffers no reduction and recoil penalties are greatly reduced. Melee attacks gain the effects of "Knockback" and "Crush," dealing additional physical damage to lightly armoured targets. Physical strength is further enhanced, granting minor immunity to small-calibre solid rounds.]
Duvall studied the descriptions and nodded. Anderson's inhuman strength was about to become even more absurd.
He rose to his feet and gave the firmly shut ward door one final look.
Let them rest well. Now he needed to meet Colonel Nathan Fox, commanding officer of the 101st Ashen Watchers Regiment.
By the time he left the medical building, the snow outside had grown heavier.
Goose-feather flakes whirled wildly beneath the leaden sky, and a thick white layer had already gathered across the ground. The frigid wind cut across his cheeks like blades. Duvall pulled the collar of his grey greatcoat tighter, but the cold still wormed through its seams, stabbing at the unhealed wound on his back.
"Wonder when I will finally get to wear a Commissar's black greatcoat," Duvall muttered. Otherwise, he always felt there was still something missing between himself and a true Commissar.
The front-line positions lay along the western outskirts of Heras City. Once the city's industrial and warehouse district, the area had now been remade into an Astra Militarum defensive line.
Shattered concrete barricades, sandbag redoubts, and layers upon layers of hastily erected razorwire stretched out into the distance, appearing and vanishing amid the snowstorm.
Duvall advanced through the accumulated snow. Along the way, he saw soldiers keeping watch behind broken emplacements, the muzzles of lasguns extending through gaps and aimed towards the snow-covered plain beyond.
Farther away, explosions occasionally flared along the horizon. Dull artillery thunder drifted on the wind, intermittent and distant. Duvall guessed that some Astra Militarum regiment assigned to the offensive was locked in battle.
He continued deeper into the defensive line. The command post had been set up in a half-collapsed warehouse. A shell had torn away part of its roof, allowing the bitter wind to pour through the breach, but its heavy walls still afforded basic protection. Two guards stood at the entrance, clad in the grey uniforms of the Ashen Watchers, their cheeks reddened by the cold.
"Identification." The guard on the left stopped Duvall from proceeding, his voice blurred by wind and snow.
Duvall patted the bolt pistol at his waist. "Former Probationary Commissar, now full Commissar, Duvall Edmond. I need to see Colonel Nathan."
The guard looked over his face in surprise. "Congratulations, Duvall... sir. The Colonel is on the second floor."
Duvall nodded and pushed through the heavy canvas door-flap.
The warehouse interior was scarcely warmer than the world outside due to the damaged walls, though at least it kept out most of the direct wind and snow.
The ground floor was piled high with supplies. Several non-commissioned officers stood around a heater, rubbing their hands together. In one corner sat an old communications apparatus, and a vox-operator wearing headphones spoke quietly into its receiver.
Duvall climbed the iron stairs to the second floor. Temporary partitions divided the space into several sections. The largest room stood open, containing a long table covered in maps and surrounded by several officers.
He saw Colonel Nathan Fox at once.
Nathan was a tall, lean man in his early forties, with hollow cheeks, deep-set eyes, and close-cropped grey hair. He wore a standard Astra Militarum officer's uniform beneath a badly worn flak vest, with a pistol and combat knife at his waist.
He was currently bent over a paper map, marking something upon it with red and blue pencils, his brow tightly furrowed.
"Colonel." Duvall halted at the doorway and rendered a salute.
Colonel Nathan raised his head. His gaze rested upon Duvall's face for a moment before falling to the bolt pistol at his waist. A complicated emotion flickered in those deep-set eyes. "Congratulations, Duvall. It seems that old bastard Leonard approved of you."
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