Hero of the Imperium, page 5
It was the noise that alerted me at first, a gradually swelling babble of voices from the corridors leading to our section of the ship. My pleasantly reflective mood, enhanced by Parjita’s amasec and a comfortable win over the regicide board, evaporated in an instant. I knew that sound all too well, and the clatter of boots on the deck behind me as a squad of provosts double-timed towards the disturbance with shock batons drawn was enough to confirm it. I picked up my pace to join them, falling in beside the section leader.
‘Sounds like a riot,’ I said. The blank-visored head nodded.
‘Quite right, sir.’
‘Any idea what sparked it?’ Not that it mattered. The simmering resentment among the Valhallans was almost cause enough on its own. Any excuse would have done. If he did have a clue, I never got to hear it; as we arrived at the door of the mess hall a ceramic cup bearing the regimental crest of the 296th shattered against his helmet.
‘Emperor’s blood!’ I ducked reflexively, taking cover behind the nearest piece of furniture to assess the situation while the provosts waded in ahead of me, striking out with their shock batons at any target that presented itself. The room was a heaving mass of angry men and women punching, kicking and flailing at one another, all semblance of discipline shot to hell. Several were down already, bleeding, screaming, being trampled on by the still active combatants, and the casualties were rising all the time.
The fiercest fighting was going on in the centre of the room, a small knot of brawlers clearly intent on actual murder unless someone intervened. Fine by me, that’s what the provosts were for. I hunkered down behind an overturned table, scanning the room as I voxed a situation report to Kasteen, and watched them battle their way forward. The two fighters at the centre of the mêlée seemed evenly matched to me; a shaven-headed man, muscled like a Catachan, who towered over a wiry young woman with short-cropped raven black hair. Whatever advantage he had in strength she could match in agility, striking hard and leaping back out of range, reducing most of his strikes to glancing blows, which is just as well, as a clean hit from those ham-like fists would likely have stove her ribcage in. As I watched he spun, launching a lethal roundhouse kick to her temple; she ducked just a fraction slow, and went sprawling as his foot grazed the top of her head, but twisted upright again with a knife from one of the tables in her hand. The blow came up towards his sternum, but he blocked it, opening up a livid red gash along his right arm.
It was about then that things really started to go wrong. The provosts had made it almost halfway to the brawl I was watching when the two sides finally realised they had an enemy in common. A young woman, blood pouring from a broken nose, was unceremoniously yanked away from the man whose groin she’d been aiming a kick at, and rounded on the provost attempting to restrain her. Her elbow strike bounced harmlessly off his torso armour, but her erstwhile opponent leapt to her defence, swinging a broken plate in a short, clinical arc which impacted precisely on the neck joint where helmet met flak; a bright crimson spurt of arterial blood sprayed the surrounding bystanders as the stricken provost dropped to his knees, trying to stem the bleeding.
‘Emperor’s bowels!’ I began to edge my way back towards the door, to wait for the reinforcements Kasteen had promised; if they hadn’t been before, the mob was in a killing mood now, and anyone who looked like a symbol of authority would become an obvious target. Even as I watched, both factions turned on the provosts in their midst, who disappeared under a swarm of bodies. The troopers barely seemed human any more. I’d seen tyranids move like that in response to a perceived threat, but this was even worse. Your average ‘nid swarm has purpose and intelligence behind everything it does, even though it’s hard to remember that when a tidal wave of chitin is bearing down on you with every intention of reducing you to mincemeat, but it was clear that there was no intelligence working here, just sheer brute bloodlust. Emperor damn it, I’ve seen Khornate cults with more self-restraint than those supposedly disciplined Guard troopers displayed in that mess hall.
At least while they were ripping the provosts apart they weren’t likely to notice me, so I made what progress I could towards the door, ready to take command of the reinforcements as soon as they arrived. And I would have made it too, if the squad leader hadn’t surfaced long enough to scream, ‘Commissar! Help!’
Oh great. Every pair of eyes in the room suddenly swung in my direction. I thought I could see my reflection in every pupil, tracking me like an auspex.
If you take one more step towards that door, I told myself, you’re a dead man. They’d be on me in seconds. The only way to survive was to take them by surprise. So I stepped forward instead, as though I’d just entered the room.
‘You.’ I pointed at a random trooper. ‘Get a broom.’
Whatever they’d been expecting me to say or do, this definitely wasn’t it. The room hung suspended in confused anticipation, the silence stretching for an infinite second. No one moved.
‘That was not a request,’ I said, raising my voice a little, and taking another step forward. ‘This mess hall is an absolute disgrace. And no one is leaving until it’s been tidied up.’ My boot skidded in a slowly congealing pool of blood. ‘You, you, and you, go with him. Buckets and mops. Make sure you get enough to go round.’
Confusion and uncertainty began to spread, troopers flicking nervous glances at one other, as it gradually began to dawn on them that the situation had got well out of hand and that consequences had to be faced. The Guardsmen I’d pointed out, two of them women, began to edge nervously towards the door.
‘At the double!’ I barked suddenly, with my best parade-ground snap; the designated troopers scurried out, ingrained patterns of discipline reasserting themselves.
And that was enough. The thunderstorm crackle of violence dissipated from the room as though suddenly earthed.
After that it was easy; now that I’d asserted my authority the rest fell into line as meek as you please, and by the time Kasteen arrived with another squad of provosts in tow I’d already detailed a few more to escort the wounded and worse to the infirmary. A surprising number were able to walk, but there were still far too many stretcher cases for my liking.
‘You did well, I hear.’ Kasteen was at my elbow, her face pale as she surveyed the damage. I shrugged, knowing from long experience that credit snowballs all the faster the less you seem to want it.
‘Not well enough for some of these poor souls,’ I said.
‘Bravest thing I ever saw,’ I heard from behind me, as one of the injured provosts was helped away by a couple of his shipmates. ‘He just stood there and faced them down, the whole damn lot...’ His voice faded, adding another small increment to my heroic reputation, which I knew would be all round the ship by this time tomorrow.
‘There’ll have to be an investigation.’ Kasteen looked stunned, still not quite capable of taking in the full enormity of what had happened. ‘We need to know who started it, what happened...’
‘Who’s to blame?’ Broklaw cut in from the door. It was obvious from the direction of his gaze where he thought the responsibility should lie. Kasteen flushed.
‘I’ve no doubt we’ll discover the men responsible,’ she said, a faint but perceptible stress on the pronoun. Broklaw refused to rise to the bait.
‘We can all thank the Emperor we have an impartial adjudicator in the commissar here,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’m sure we can rely on him to sort it out.’
Thanks a lot, I thought. But he was right. And how I handled it was to determine the rest of my future with the regiment. Not to mention leaving me running for my life yet again, beginning a long and unwelcome association with the Emperor’s pet psychopaths3, and an encounter with the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met.
TWO
‘You get more with a kind word and an excruciator than with just a kind word.’
– Inquisitor Malden.
‘So what you’re trying to tell me,’ I said, turning the piece of crockery over in my hand, ‘is that three people are dead, fourteen still in the infirmary, and a perfectly serviceable mess hall reduced to kindling because your men didn’t like the plates they were served their meal on?’ Broklaw squirmed visibly on one of the chairs I’d had Jurgen bring into my office for the conference – I’d told him to fetch the most uncomfortable ones he could find, as every little bit helps when you’re trying to exert your authority – but the major’s discomfiture wasn’t due to just that alone. Kasteen was still visibly suppressing a smirk, which I was planning to wipe away in a moment.
‘Well, that may be overstating it a little...’ he began.
‘That’s precisely what happened,’ Kasteen cut in acidly. I hefted the plate. It was good quality porcelain, delicate but strong, and one of the few pieces remaining intact after the mess hall riot. The regimental crest of the 296th was prominent in the centre of it. I turned to the dataslate on my desk, and made a show of paging through the reports and witness statements I’d spent the past week collecting.
‘According to this witness statement, the first punch was swung by a Corporal Bella Trebek. A member of the 296th prior to the amalgamation.’ I raised an inquisitive eyebrow in Kasteen’s direction. ‘Would the colonel care to comment?’
‘She was clearly provoked,’ Kasteen said, losing the smirk, which seemed to hover in the air for a moment before jumping across to Broklaw.
‘Just so.’ I nodded judiciously. ‘By a Sergeant Tobias Kelp. Who, it says here, threw his plate down declaring that he would be damned if he ate off some...’ I made a show of getting the quotation scrupulously correct. ‘”Mincing tart’s front parlour tea service.” Does that strike you as a reasonable comment, major?’
The smirk disappeared again.
‘Not particularly, no,’ he said, clearly wondering where this line of questioning was going. ‘But we still don’t know the full circumstances.’
‘I think the circumstances are perfectly clear,’ I said. ‘The former troopers of the 296th and the 301st have cordially detested one another since the regiments were amalgamated. Under the circumstances the use of the 296th’s regimental dinner service was bound to be regarded as an insult by the stupider elements of the former 301st.’ Broklaw flushed at that. Good, let him get angry. The only way to salvage the situation was to make radical changes, and that wouldn’t work unless I could get the senior officers to feel passionately that they were necessary.
‘Which begs another question,’ I went on smoothly. ‘Just who was stupid enough to order the use of the dinner service in the first place?’ I aimed my second-best intimidating commissarial glare at Kasteen for a fraction of a second, before snapping it round to nail the junior officer sitting at her right. ‘Lieutenant Sulla. That would be you, would it not?’
‘It was founding day!’ she retorted. That did take me by surprise. I didn’t often get people bouncing back from a number two glare, but I concealed it with the ease of long practice. ‘We always use the regimental ceramics on founding day. It’s one of our proudest traditions.’
‘It was.’ Broklaw broke in with sardonic amusement. ‘But unless you’ve got some traditional adhesive...’
Both women bristled. For a moment I thought I was going to have to put down a brawl in my own office.
‘Major,’ I said, reasserting my authority. ‘I’m sure the 301st had their own founding day traditions.’ That was a pretty safe bet, as practically every regiment celebrated the anniversary of its First Founding in some way. He began to nod, before my use of the past tense registered with him, and then an expression curiously close to apprehension flickered across his face. I leaned back in my chair, which, unlike theirs, I’d made sure was comfortably padded, and looked approving. It’s always good to keep people off-balance. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Such traditions are important. A vital part of the esprit de corps we all rely on to win the Emperor his victories.’ Kasteen and Broklaw nodded cautiously, almost together. Good. That was one thing at least they could agree on. But Sulla just flushed angrily.
‘Then perhaps you could explain that to Kelp and his knuckle-draggers,’ she said. I sighed, tolerantly, and placed my laspistol on the desk. The officers’ eyes widened slightly. Broklaw’s took on a wary expression, Kasteen’s one of barely suppressed alarm, and Sulla’s jaw dropped open.
‘Please don’t interrupt, lieutenant,’ I said mildly. ‘You can all have your say in a moment.’ There was a definite edge in the room now. I had no intention of shooting anyone, of course, but they weren’t going to like what I was about to say next and you can’t be too careful. I smiled, to show I was harmless, and they relaxed a fraction.
‘Nevertheless, you’ve just illustrated my point perfectly. While the two halves of this regiment still think of themselves as separate units, morale is never going to recover. That means you’re sod-all use to the Emperor, and a pain in the arse to me.’ I paused just long enough to let them assimilate what I’d just said. ‘Are we in agreement on that, at least?’ Kasteen nodded, meeting Broklaw’s eyes for the first time since the meeting began.
‘I think so,’ she said. ‘The question is, what do we do about it?’
‘Good question.’ I passed a slate across the desk. She took it, and Broklaw leaned in to scan it over her shoulder as she read. ‘We can start by integrating the units at squad level. As of this morning, every squad will consist of roughly equal numbers of troopers from each of the former regiments.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Broklaw snapped, a fraction behind Kasteen’s far from ladylike exclamation. ‘The men won’t stand for it.’
‘Neither will my women.’ Kasteen nodded in agreement with him. So far so good. Making them feel they had common cause against me was the first step to getting them to co-operate properly.
‘They’re going to have to,’ I said. ‘This ship is en route to a potential warzone. We could be in combat within hours of our arrival, and when that happens they’ll have to rely on the trooper next to them, whoever it is. I don’t want my people getting killed because they don’t trust their own comrades. So they’re going to train together and work together until they start behaving like an Imperial Guard regiment instead of a bunch of pre-schola juvies. And then they’re going to fight the Emperor’s enemies together, and I expect them to win. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly, commissar.’ Kasteen’s jaw was tight. ‘I’ll start reviewing the SO&E.4’
‘Perhaps it would be best if you did so with the major’s help,’ I suggested. ‘Between you, you should be able to select fire-teams which at least have a reasonable chance of turning their lasguns on the enemy instead of one another.’
‘Of course.’ Broklaw nodded. ‘I’ll be pleased to help.’ The tone of his voice said otherwise, but at least the words were conciliatory. That was a start. But they really weren’t going to like what was coming next.
‘Which brings me on to the new regimental designation.’ I’d been expecting some outburst at this, but the trio of officers in front of me just stared in stupefied silence. I guess they were trying to convince themselves they hadn’t heard what I’d just said. ‘The current one just emphasises the divisions between what used to be the 301st and the 296th. We need a new one, ladies and gentleman, a single identity under which we can march into battle united and resolute as true servants of the Emperor.’ All good stirring stuff, and for a moment, I actually thought they were going to buy it without any further argument. But of course it was that daft mare Sulla who burst the bubble.
‘You can’t just abolish the 296th!’ she almost shouted. ‘Our battle honours go back centuries!’
‘If you count slapping down stroppy colonists as battles.’ Broklaw rose to the bait. ‘The 301st has fought orks, eldar, tyranids–’
‘Oh. Were there tyranids on Corania? I guess I was just too busy with my needlepoint to notice!’ Sulla’s voice rose another octave.
‘Shut up! Both of you!’ Kasteen’s voice was quiet, but firm, and stunned both her subordinates into silence. I nodded gratefully at her, forestalled from having to do the job myself, and pleasantly surprised. It was beginning to look as though she had the makings of an effective commander after all. ‘Let’s hear what the commissar has to say before we start inventing objections to it.’
‘Thank you, colonel,’ I said, before resuming. ‘What I propose is to treat the date of amalgamation as a new First Founding. I’ve had the ship’s astropath contact the Munitorium, and they’ve agreed in principle. There is currently no regiment designated the Valhallan 597th, so I’ve proposed adopting that as our new identity.’
‘Two-hundred-and-ninety-six plus three-hundred- and-one. I see.’ Kasteen nodded. ‘Very clever.’ Broklaw nodded too.
‘A very neat way of preserving the identities of the old regiments,’ he said. ‘But combined into something new.’
‘As was always the intention,’ I agreed.
‘But that’s outrageous!’ Sulla said. ‘You can’t just redesignate an entire regiment out of existence!’
‘The Commissariat gives its servants wide discretionary powers,’ I said mildly. ‘How we interpret them is a matter of judgment, and sometimes temperament. Not every commissar would have resisted the temptation to discourage further dissension in the ranks by decimation, for instance.’ Quite true, of course. There were damn few who’d go quite so far as to randomly execute one in ten of the troopers under their command to encourage the others, but they did exist, and if ever a regiment was so undisciplined that such a drastic measure might have been justified, it was this one, and they knew it. They were just lucky they’d got Cain the Hero instead of some gung-ho psychopath. I’ve met one or two in my time, and the best thing you can say for them is that they don’t tend to be around long, particularly once the shooting starts. I smiled to show I didn’t mean it.
