For a moment his mother stood there quietly staring at him. Facing her in uncomfortable silence, Larn realised how hard it was for her to speak at all now she knew she would be losing him tomorrow. It lent their every word a deeper meaning, making even the most simple of conversations difficult while with every instant there was the threat that a single ill-chosen word might release the painful tide of grief welling up inside her.
“You took your boots off?” she said at last, retreating to the commonplace in search of safety.
“Yes, Ma. I left them just inside the hallway.”
“Good,” she said. “You’d better clean them tonight, so as to be ready for tomorrow…” At that word his mother paused, her voice on the edge of breaking, her teeth biting her lower lip and her eyelids closed as though warding off a distant sensation of pain. Then, half turning away so he could no longer see her eyes, she spoke again.
“But anyway, you can do that later,” she said. “For now, you’d better go down to the cellar. Your Pa’s already down there and he said he wanted to see you when you got back from the fields.”
Turning further away from him now, she moved over to the stove and lifted the lid off one of the pans to drop a handful of kuedin seeds into it. Ever the dutiful son, Larn turned away. Towards the cellar and his father.
The cellar steps creaked noisily as Larn made his way down them. Despite the noise, at first his father did not seem to notice his approach. Lost in concentration, he sat bent over his workbench at the far end of the cellar, a whetstone in his hand as he sharpened his wool-shears. For a moment, watching his father unawares as he worked, Larn felt almost like a ghost — as though he had passed from his family’s world already and they could no longer see or hear him. Then, finding the thought of it gave him a shiver, he spoke at last and broke the silence.
“You wanted to see me, Pa?”
Starting at the sound of his voice, his father laid the shears and the whetstone down before turning to look towards his son and smile.
“You startled me, Arv,” he said. “Zell’s oath, but you can walk quiet when you’ve a mind to. So, did you manage to fix the pump?”
“Sorry, Pa.” Larn said. “I tried replacing the starter and every other thing I could think of, but none of it worked.”
“You tried your best, son,” his father said. “That’s all that matters. Besides, the machine spirits in that pump are so old and ornery the damned thing never worked right half the time anyway I’ll have to see if I can get a mechanician to come out from Ferrasville to give it a good look-over next week. In the meantime, the rain’s been pretty good so we shouldn’t have a problem. But anyway, there was something else I wanted to see you about. Why don’t you grab yourself a stool so the two of us men can talk?”
Pulling an extra stool from beneath the workbench, his father gestured for him to sit down. Then, waiting until he saw his son had made himself comfortable, he began once more.
“I don’t suppose I ever told you too much about your great-grandfather before, did I?” he said.
“I know he was an off-worlder, Pa.” Larn said, earnestly. “And I know his name was Augustus, same as my middle name is.”
“True enough,” his father replied. “It was a tradition on your great-grandfather’s world to pass on a family name to the first-born son in every generation. Course, he was long dead by the time you were born. Mind you, he died even before I was born. But he was a good man, and so we did it to honour him all the same. A good man should always be honoured, they say, no matter how long he’s been dead.”
For a moment, his face grave and thoughtful, his father fell silent. Then, as though he had made some decision, he raised his face up to look his son clearly in the eye and spoke again.
“As I say, your great-grandfather was dead long before I could have known him, Arvie. But when I was seventeen and just about to come of age my father called me down into this cellar and told me the tale of him — just like I’m about to tell you now. You see, my father had decided that before I became a man it was important I knew where I came from. And I’m glad he did, cause what he told me then has stood me in good stead ever since. Just like I’m hoping that what I’m going to tell you now will stand you in good stead likewise. Course, with what’s happened in the last few days — and where you’re bound for — I’ve got extra reasons for telling it to you. Reasons that, Emperor love him, my own father never had to face. But that’s the way of things: each generation has its own sorrows, and has to make the best of them they can. That’s all as may be, though. Guess I should just stop dancing around it and come out and say what it is I have to say.”
Again, as though wrestling inwardly for the right words, his father paused. As he waited for him to begin, Larn found himself suddenly thinking how old his father looked. Gazing at him as though for the first time he became aware of the lines and creases across his father’s face, the slightly rounded slump of his shoulders, the spreading fingers of grey in his once black and lustrous hair. Signs of aging he would have sworn had not been there a week previously. It was almost as though his father had aged a decade in the last few days.
“Your great-grandfather was in the Imperial Guard,” his father said at last. “Just like you’re going to be.” Then, seeing his son about to blurt out a string of questions, he held his hand up to gesture silence. “You can ask whatever you want later, Arvie. For now, it’s better if you just let me tell it to you like my father told me. Believe me, once you’ve heard it you’ll know why it is I said I thought you should hear it.”
Hanging on every word in the quiet stillness of the cellar, Larn heard his father tell his tale.
“Your great-grandfather was a Guardsman,” his father said again. “Course, he didn’t start out to be one. No one does. To begin with he was just another farmer’s son like you or me, born on a world called Arcadus V. A world not unlike this one, he would later say. A peaceful place, with lots of good land for farming and plenty of room for a man to raise a family. And if things had followed their natural course, that’s just what your great-grandfather would have done. He would have found a wife, raised babies, farmed the land, same as generations of his kin on Arcadus V had done before him. And in time he would have died and been buried there, his flesh returning to the fertile earth while his soul went to join his Emperor in paradise. That’s what your great-grandfather thought his future held for him when he came of age at seventeen. Then he heard the news he’d been conscripted into the Guard and everything changed.
“Now, seventeen or not, your great-grandfather was no fool. He knew what being conscripted meant. He knew there was a heavy burden that goes with being a Guardsman — a burden worse than the threat of danger or the fear of dying alone and in pain under some cold and distant sun. A burden of loss. The kind of loss that comes when a man knows he is leaving his home forever. It’s a burden every Guardsman carries. The burden of knowing that no matter how long he lives he will never see his friends, his family, or even his homeworld again. A Guardsman never returns, Arvie. The best he can hope for, if he survives long enough and serves his Emperor well, is to be allowed to retire and settle a new world somewhere, out among the stars. And knowing this — knowing he was leaving his world and his people for good — your great-grandfather’s heart was heavy as he said farewell to his family and made ready to report for muster.
“Though it may have felt like his heart was breaking then, your great-grandfather was a good and pious man. Wise beyond his years, he knew mankind is not alone in the darkness. He knew the Emperor is always with us. Same as he knew that nothing happens in all the wide galaxy without the Emperor willing it to be so. And if the Emperor had willed that he must leave his family and his homeworld and never see them again, then your great-grandfather knew it must serve some greater purpose. He understood what the preachers mean when they tell us it isn’t the place of Man to know the ways of the Emperor. He knew it was his duty to follow the course laid out for him, no matter that
he didn’t understand why that course had been set. And so trusting his life to the Emperor’s kindness and grace, your great-grandfather left his homeworld to go find his destiny among the stars.
“Now, the years that followed then were hard ones. Although he would never speak of it much afterwards, in his time as a Guardsman your great-grandfather saw more than his fair share of wonders and horrors. He saw worlds where billions of people lived right on top of each other like insects in giant towers, never able to breathe clean air or see the sun. He saw worlds that lay gripped all year long in perpetual winter, and dry desert worlds that never saw a flake of snow nor felt a drop of rain. He saw the blessed warriors of the holy Astartes — god-like giants in human form, he called them — and great walking machines so big this entire farmhouse would fit inside one of their footprints. He saw terrors by the score, in the shape of all manner of twisted xenos and things even ten times worse.
“Though he faced a thousand and more dangers, though he was at times wounded and seemed close to death, still his faith in the Emperor never faltered. Five years become ten. Ten became fifteen. Fifteen became twenty. And still your great-grandfather followed his orders without thought of complaint, never once asking when he would be released from service. Until at last, nearly thirty years after he’d first been conscripted, he was posted to Jumael IV.
“’Course this world didn’t mean much to him then. Not at first. By then he’d seen dozens of different planets, and at first sight Jumael didn’t seem to have anything much to recommend it more than most. His regiment had just finished a long campaign, and they had been sent to Jumael to rest up and recuperate for a month before being shipped out to war once more. By then your great-grandfather didn’t have too many wars left in him. Oh, he tried to put a brave face on it, never complaining. But he was getting old, and the wounds he’d sustained in thirty years of battles were starting to take their toll. Worst of all was his lungs — they’d never healed right after he breathed a mouthful of poison gas on a world called Torpus III, yet still he didn’t waver in his duty. He had given his life over to the service of the Emperor, and he was content that it was at the Emperor’s will whether he lived or died.
“Then one day, as the time grew closer when they would be leaving Jumael, news came among the regiment of something extraordinary. Emperor’s Day was coming, and with it the thirtieth anniversary of the founding of their regiment. As an act of celebration it was decreed that lots would be drawn from among all the men, and whichever man won would be released from service and allowed to remain behind when the regiment left Jumael. A lottery that, for one man among thousands, might well mean the difference between life and death. As the day of the lottery came upon them there was a sudden outbreak of piety among the men, as each man in the regiment prayed fervently to the Emperor to be the one to be chosen. All except your great-grandfather. For though he prayed to the Emperor every morning and night, it was never his way to ask for anything for himself.”
“And so great-grandfather won the lottery?” Larn asked, breathless with excitement and no longer able to keep his peace. “He won it, and that’s how he came to live on Jumael?”
“No, Arvie,” his father smiled benignly. “Another man won. A man from the same squad as your great-grandfather, who’d fought by his side through thirty years of campaigning. Though that man could’ve just taken his ticket and walked away, he didn’t. Instead, he looked at your great-grandfather with his worn-out face and half-healed lungs and handed him the ticket. You see, he’d decided your great-grandfather needed to be released from service more than he did. And that’s how your great-grandfather came to settle on Jumael IV, through the kindness and self-sacrifice of a comrade. Though in the years to come, your great-grandfather would always say there was more to it than that. He would say sometimes the hand of the Emperor can be seen in the smallest of things, and that it was the Emperor who had decided to work through this man to save his life. In the end it was a miracle of sorts. A quiet miracle, perhaps, but a miracle all the same.”
With that, his father fell silent again. Looking at him Larn could see the first beginnings of tears shining wetly in his eyes. Then, at length, his father spoke once more, his every word heavy with barely suppressed emotion.
“You see now why I thought you should hear the tale, Arvie?” he said. “Tomorrow, just like your great-grandfather before you, you’re going to have to leave your home and your kin behind, never to return. And, knowing full well you may have some hard years ahead of you, before you left I wanted you to hear the tale of your great-grandfather and how he survived. I wanted you to be able to take that tale with you. So that no matter how dark, even hopeless, things might seem to you at times, you’d know the Emperor was always with you. Trust to the Emperor, Arvie. Sometimes it’s all that we can do. Trust to the Emperor, and everything will be all right.”
No longer able to keep the tears from flowing, his father turned away so his son could not see his eyes. While his father cried into the shadows Larn sat there with him as long uncomfortable moments passed, struggling to find the right words to soothe his grief. Until finally, deciding it was better to say something than nothing at all, he spoke and broke the silence.
“I’ll remember that, Pa,” he said, the words coming with faltering slowness from him as he tried to choose the best way of saying it. “I’ll remember every word of it. Like you said, I’ll take it with me and I’ll think of it whenever things get bad. And I promise you: I’ll do what you said. I’ll trust to the Emperor, just like you said. I promise it, Pa. And something else. I promise, you don’t have to worry about me doing my best when I go to war. No matter what happens, I’ll always do my duty.”
“I know you will, Arvie,” his father said at last as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “You’re the best son a man could have. And when you’re a Guardsman, I know you’ll make your Ma and me proud.”
CHAPTER TWO
12:07 hours Jumal IV Central Planetary Time
(Western Summer Adjustment)
Marching Practice — Conversations with Sergeant Ferres — A Meal Among Comrades
“Hup Two Three four. Hup two three four.” Sergeant Ferres yelled, keeping pace with the men of 3rd Platoon as they marched the dusty length of the parade ground. “You call that marching? I’ve seen more order and discipline in a pack of shithouse rats.”
Marching in time with the others, painfully aware of his own visibility, Larn found himself silently praying his feet kept in step. His place midway along the platoon’s left outer file put him out in plain view right under the sergeant’s eyes. The two months’ worth of basic training he had endured so far had left him with few illusions as to what happened to those who failed to live up to the sergeant’s exacting standards.
“Keep your feet up,” the sergeant screamed. “You’re not courting in the wheat fields with your cousins now, you inbreeds! You are soldiers of the Imperial Guard, Emperor help us. Put some vim into it.” Then, seeing the platoon was nearly at the far edge of the parade ground, Ferres yelled again, his voice strident and shrill with command. “Platoon. About face. And march.”
Turning smartly on his heel with the others, as they resumed marching Larn found himself feeling dog-tired and exhausted. So far today, like each of the sixty days before it, Ferres had had them running training exercises since dawn. Marching, weapons drill, kit inspection, hand-to-hand training, basic survival skills: every day was a never-ending series of challenges and tests. Larn felt he had learnt more in the last two months than he had in his entire life. Yet, no matter how much he and the rest of the platoon learned or how well you did, none of it seemed to satisfy their vengeful sergeant.
“Hup two three four. Keep in step, damn you,” the sergeant bellowed. “I’ll keep the whole damned lot of you drilling here for another two hours if that’s what it takes to make you keep to time!”
Larn did not doubt Ferres meant his threat. Over the last two months the sergeant had repeatedly show
n an inclination to hand out draconian punishments for even the most minor infractions. Having been on the receiving end of such punishments more than once already, Larn had learned to dread the sergeant and his idea of discipline.
“Company halt,” Sergeant Ferres yelled at last, hawkish eyes watching to see if any of the Guardsmen overran their mark. Then, apparently satisfied that every man had stopped the instant they heard his order, he yelled again, loudly elongating every syllable of the command. “Turn to the left!”
With a sudden clatter of clicking heels the company turned to face their sergeant. Seeing Ferres advance purposefully towards them, Larn did his best to keep his shoulders back and his spine ramrod straight, his eyes staring fixedly ahead as though gazing blindly into the middle distance. He knew enough of Sergeant Ferres’ ways by now to know that an inspection would follow immediately they had finished marching. Just as he knew Ferres would not be any kinder to the soldier who failed to pass muster now than he would to anyone whose marching did not meet his standards.
From the corner of his eye Larn saw Sergeant Ferres move to the end of the outer file of Guardsmen to begin his inspection. Moving slowly along the line to inspect each man in turn, the sergeant’s dark eyes darted swiftly up and down, scanning for any flaw in equipment, dress or manner. At times like these, no matter where in line he stood, it always felt to Larn as though it took the sergeant forever to reach him. A slow torturous eternity, spent waiting like the head of a nail to be struck by the hammer — all the time knowing that, no matter how well he had worked or what precautions he had taken, the hammer would fall regardless.
Abruptly, still three men away from Larn, the sergeant stopped to turn and face the fair-haired trooper standing in front of him. It was Trooper Leden — his favourite target. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick neck and big hands, Leden looked even more the farmboy than the rest of the men in the company. Even now, standing to attention under Ferres’ withering glare, Leden’s face was open and guileless, his mouth looking as though it could break into a warm and friendly smile at any moment.
[Imperial Guard 01] - Fifteen Hours Page 2