Duvall swept aside the canvas flap of the command post and entered, his boots striking the floor in sharp, urgent beats.
In the second-floor briefing room, the maps still lay spread across the long table. Colonel Nathan Fox was bent over them, inspecting something. At the sound of footsteps, he looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
"Duvall? Did you forget something?"
"No." Duvall stepped to the table and braced both hands upon its edge. The movement sent a stab of pain through the wound in his back, but he ignored it. "Colonel Nathan Fox, I have a theory. About the enemy's plan."
Nathan straightened. "Speak."
Duvall drew a deep breath, then swiftly laid out the connection between the cult rites in the underground passages, the geothermal heating core, and the vast numbers of expendable cultists being sent to die. He spoke quickly, but every word was clear.
"...The enemy knows the tunnels are interconnected, yet they have not used them to launch an assault. Instead, they have squandered masses of inferior cultists in sluggish frontal attacks."
"I have reason to believe they are using their followers' blood for sacrifice while deceiving us. Combined with the Warp ritual being conducted in secret underground and the energy released by detonating the geothermal heating core, they intend to tear open the veil between reality and the Warp..."
"If they succeed, countless people will die, and the armies of the Blood God will descend upon reality."
To resist a daemonic host with a mere one hundred and sixty thousand Astra Militarum soldiers was utter madness. When that hour came, no one on this world would escape—not even Duvall. If he wished to live, he had to prevent the catastrophe at all costs.
Silence fell over the briefing room.
Colonel Nathan Fox's face remained expressionless, but thought churned behind his deep-set eyes. After several seconds of silence, he went to the map and pressed a finger against the mark denoting Heras City.
"The geothermal core is indeed three hundred metres beneath the northern district of the city," he said quietly. "It is guarded by a substantial garrison, but those defences were designed to repel attacks from the surface."
He raised his eyes to Duvall. "The underground tunnels? Can you be certain that fork leads to the core?"
"I cannot." Duvall shook his head. "But I fear that this is what they are planning."
Nathan fell silent again. He walked to the window and looked out at the falling snow. A freezing wind poured through a hole in the roof, stirring his grey hair.
"I will report this intelligence to High Command immediately," he finally said. "At the same time, I will dispatch scouts to investigate the fork you described. But everything else will require time—the decisions of our superiors, the redeployment of personnel. None of that can be accomplished at once."
He turned to Duvall. "Return and rest. Your injuries have not healed, and we may need you to guide us before long. Recover your strength and prepare for action."
Duvall opened his mouth, intending to say something, but in the end merely nodded. Nathan was right. All he could do now was wait.
He saluted, then turned and left the briefing room.
As he descended the stairs, the pain in his back became sharper. Duvall gritted his teeth and stepped down the iron stairway one tread at a time. Reaching the ground floor, he was about to lift the canvas flap when he heard voices outside.
It was Evan's voice.
"...I only wanted to ask whether the Commissar was here. I have something to report..."
"The Commissar is in a meeting. If you have something to say, tell me first." The sentry's voice carried an edge of impatience.
Duvall lifted the flap and stepped outside. Evan stood in the snow, his cheeks red with cold, both hands buried in the sleeves of his oversized greatcoat and rubbing together ceaselessly. When he saw Duvall emerge, the boy's eyes lit up.
"Sir! You are out!"
"Come with me," Duvall said.
Evan hesitated for a moment, then hurried after him. The two made their way back along the snow-covered road, their boots leaving a trail of footprints of uneven depth.
Duvall said nothing. He was thinking.
Sixth Company had been almost entirely annihilated. Stroud Hammer and Anderson Walker remained unconscious, grievously wounded. Now that he was a full Commissar, convention dictated that he should assume Leonard Hoffman's former post and become Commissar to the entire 101st Ashen Watchers Regiment.
But he was not yet familiar with the regiment.
He knew the 101st was a light infantry regiment, skilled in reconnaissance and guerrilla warfare. He knew Sixth Company had once numbered more than a hundred soldiers and now had only eleven left. But he knew nothing of the specific circumstances surrounding the captains of the other nineteen companies.
Their temperaments, for instance. That was important for a Commissar.
And he did seem to be missing something. He glanced at the boy walking beside him. Yes. He needed an adjutant.
The boy grew uneasy beneath his gaze and instinctively tugged at his oversized sleeve. "Sir, is there something on my face?"
Duvall did not answer. He continued to assess Evan from head to toe.
Fourteen, perhaps fifteen. Not tall, leanly built but reasonably sturdy, with bright eyes. Quick-witted, brave enough to throw a melta grenade in the face of certain death, and willing to obey orders.
Good material.
"Evan," Duvall said.
"Yes, sir."
"I am a full Commissar now," Duvall said. "By custom, I require an adjutant to handle documents, relay orders, and acquaint me with the condition of the regiment."
Evan blinked, apparently not understanding what Duvall meant.
"Would you be my adjutant?" Duvall asked bluntly.
The boy froze. Snowflakes settled in his golden hair and slowly melted, becoming tiny droplets that slid down his cheeks. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Several seconds passed before he asked softly, "An adjutant... what does one do?"
"You follow me," Duvall said. "Where I go, you go. What I order you to do, you do. Help me remember names, unit structures, and supply inventories. When necessary, you will be my will made manifest."
Evan lowered his head and stared at the tips of his boots. In the snow, his footprints were a size smaller than Duvall's.
"Sir." At last, he raised his head and met Duvall's eyes. "If I agree... does that mean I will never return to Falak IV?"
Duvall was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"Once Astra Militarum soldiers leave their home world, they do not return unless they are discharged or die," he said evenly. "If you become my adjutant, you will leave with the 101st Ashen Watchers Regiment. You will go to other worlds and fight other wars. You may never see home again for the rest of your life."
Evan lowered his head again. This time, he remained silent far longer.
"Then..." When he looked up again, his voice was quiet but firm. "Can I bring my sister?"
This time, Duvall was the one taken aback.
"I could entrust your sister to the care of the local planetary authorities..." He trailed off before finishing. Of course. Evan had a sister. Perhaps he should find someone else instead...
"My sister is useful," Evan said.
"Oh?"
"Ever since she was little, my sister has been especially sensitive to certain things." Evan spoke faster, as though afraid of being interrupted. "She can sense changes in the weather. She knows in advance when something bad is going to happen. She was the first to sense this cold disaster. Our family believed her and stored food ahead of time, which is why we had enough to help others..."
He paused, his voice dropping. "At the granary, too. She screamed beforehand, did she not? She sensed the danger."
Duvall narrowed his eyes.
Foreknowledge? A psyker?
He remembered the little girl curled up in the corner. He remembered the scream that had suddenly erupted from her.
"Does anyone else know about your sister's ability?" Duvall asked.
Evan shook his head. "My parents were afraid that if anyone found out, they would burn her as a witch. They forbade us from telling anyone." He looked at Duvall. "I trust you, sir. I do not think an officer willing to risk his life to save people can be a bad man."
Duvall smiled, though only faintly.
"You are too naive," he said. "Being willing to risk my life to save my own men and helping conceal an unsanctioned psyker who may pose a danger are two entirely different matters."
Evan's face paled.
"But I accept your condition," Duvall continued. "I will help you keep this secret. Your sister may remain by your side, but officially, she is an orphan I rescued from the battlefield, taken in by the regiment because she has nowhere else to go. Do you understand?"
Evan nodded forcefully, light gleaming in his eyes.
"Thank you, sir!"
"Do not thank me yet." Duvall turned and continued forward. "Being my adjutant will not be easy. You have much to learn, and greater dangers to face. There is still time to change your mind."
The boy hurried after him, his boots crunching urgently through the snow.
"I will not change my mind."
Duvall did not look back.
"Report to my barracks tomorrow morning."
"Yes, sir!"
Comments (0)
Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register