[Imperial Guard 07] - Cadian Blood

by Aaron Dembski-Bowden - (ebook by Undead)

  Jevrian raised his eyebrow for the second time in the same hour. This was about the most expressive he’d been since Cadia had been invaded, and even when the skies of Home had burned, all he’d said in reaction was to mutter “Going to be a busy week.”

  But then, learning one of your own regiment was in the Cadian officer-only version of the Imperial Infantryman’s Uplifting Primer was definitely not small news.

  “Just a few footnotes,” Taan said again. “Lockwood transcribed Thade’s speech at Kasr Vallock, citing the captain as the embodiment of the values of Cadian officerhood.”

  Jevrian was silent. He remembered that speech, that moment, as the shells howled all around and Thade committed the 88th to the field in open battle to… well, Jevrian hated to think about it. But it was hard to forget. That damned Titan. Throne, that had taken some killing.

  “I bet Thade is furious about that.” Jevrian knew Thade well, and besides, the captain’s loathing of his men making a big deal out of his medal was well-established.

  “Rax is functioning again. That’ll cheer him up.”

  “Sure, but he’d never give his permission to be quoted.”

  “Lockwood’s a colonel. He didn’t need permission. And you know how much the old man loves Thade. He fought this commissar business tooth and nail.”

  Jevrian’s gaze met Taan’s. Word spread around camp fast, but apparently it hadn’t reached the Kasrkin squad yet. “What commissar business?”

  “Ah,” said Taan. “That.”

  CHAPTER VI

  First Blood

  Reclamation Headquarters, outside Solthane

  Commissar Tionenji was waiting for Thade.

  As the captain left the inquisitor’s gunship, the commissar stood at the bottom of the gang-ramp leading from the vessel’s small internal hangar, his hands loosely clasped behind his back, and his black leather stormcoat flapping in the breeze kicked up by a Valkyrie taking off a short distance away.

  He made the sign of the aquila as Thade neared, which the captain returned in kind. Thade hid his expression of annoyance. He’d been hoping to check in on Rax, but that was going to have to wait… again.

  This is what people see when they look at Commissar Adjatay Tionenji: a tall man, his dark skin showing his heritage stretching back to one of the Imperium’s countless jungle worlds. He was broad-shouldered, but his frame was slender, sculpted and kept that way by the rigours of constant exercise. His hair was also dark, scraped back from his unkind features and scented with expensive pomade, all under a standard red-trimmed black commissar’s cap. His ankle-length jacket was left unbuttoned, revealing his black uniform and a weapon belt with a holstered plasma pistol and a sheathed chainsword — this last forged into an unusually thin, curved shape.

  Thade took all of this in before he even made the sign of the aquila, but none of these observations were the first things he noticed. The very first thought that crossed Thade’s mind was the instinctive and natural reaction bred into him from birth and through decades of training.

  He’s not Cadian.

  He grinned at the lord general’s implied insult, appointing an off-worlder to the 88th. He lowered his hands as he finished the Imperial salute.

  “Why do you smile, warden-captain?”

  Thade wasn’t much for lying. “Because your eyes aren’t violet.”

  “Should they be?” Tionenji’s voice was soft and measured, but Thade could already discern the edge of strength that would no doubt show in full when the commissar shouted in battle. It was a mellifluous voice, his tone gentle and honeyed with only a hint of accusation at the captain’s words.

  “It’s a tradition from my home world,” Thade said, certain the commissar knew that anyway. “Shock regiments regard it as a point of honour to have Cadian-born commissars appointed to them.”

  “Your world is a world of war, and such planets breed many orphans.” Tionenji referred to the commissarial custom of selecting its recruits from children who’d lost both parents in battle. He was still as rigid as if he stood on the parade ground. “I imagine Cadia provides many candidates for the Schola Progenium, yes?”

  Thade nodded, trying to make up his mind on how to judge the man. “Your accent is Rukhian.”

  Finally Tionenji smiled — a toothy grin that flashed across his handsome features and vanished so fast Thade wasn’t sure he’d even seen it. “Not quite, captain. My birth world was Garadesh, and that shares a similar culture with Rukh. Good guess, though. Why did you say Rukhian?”

  “The way you elongate your vowels. We fought with the Rukh 9th seven years ago.”

  “The Battle of Tyresius,” Tionenji said immediately.

  “You’ve done your research.” Thade wasn’t remotely surprised.

  “I am a commissar,” Tionenji replied simply. Thade seemed to muse on something for a moment, then offered his left hand — his human hand - for the commissar to shake. He hoped the Garadeshi wouldn’t miss the significance of the act.

  “Welcome to the Cadian 88th.”

  The commissar hesitated just as the captain had, but accepted the awkward left-handed shake.

  “It will be a pleasure to serve the Emperor alongside you, warden-captain.” Thade forced a smile. Tionenji caught the expression. “I am given to understand Cadians are grudging and untrusting with their welcomes, and you are not adept at hiding your discomfort. I am correct, yes?”

  Thade chuckled despite himself. “Commissar, may we just establish one thing at the beginning of our association?”

  “Name it. I shall give your wishes all due consideration.”

  “Don’t call me ‘warden-captain’.”

  “Your own rank offends you?”

  “Something like that.” Thade sought a quick change of subject. “Have you been briefed regarding our… unusual assignment?”

  “I have.” Again, Thade wasn’t surprised at the honey-voiced answer.

  “Have you served with this new ordo before?”

  “I have not.” Tionenji and Thade talked as they walked back to the Cadian encampment, a small city of black and grey tents. “The Inquisition’s new division is something of a mystery to me. I am aware of their mandate to hunt and destroy the plague-slain, and seek the source of the Curse of Unbelief that has ravaged so much of our glorious sector in recent years.”

  The two officers neared the Cadian base now, falling under the idle shadow of the massive bulk lander that formed the centrepiece of the camp. “That’s more or less my understanding,” Thade replied. “Inquisitor Caius wants to make a sweep of the reliquaries in Solthane and seek the source of Kathur’s outbreak.”

  “Then so it shall be.” Tionenji nodded. That matched his briefings as well. Now he looked around the near-deserted camp, at the vista of silent tents and the occasional wandering servitor. “By the Holy Throne, your camp is as silent as the city itself. Are all Shock outposts so quiet?”

  Thade thought it was interesting that the commissar hadn’t even served with Cadians before. Tionenji wasn’t out of his twenties, and it was usually common for veteran commissars to be appointed to the Cadian Shock over younger officers. Again he found himself wondering at the lord general’s reasoning behind the dark-skinned man’s appointment.

  “It’s almost midnight, commissar.”

  “The men sleep?”

  Thade laughed, the sound unnaturally loud in the empty camp. As if on cue, the sounds of distant engines roared.

  “No. They train.”

  The massed might of the Cadian 88th eclipsed Thade’s mere three hundred men. Over a thousand soldiers were packed into a hundred and fifty Chimeras and Sentinels, driving up a muddy storm as they manoeuvred across the grasslands the regiment had set aside for daily training. Thade’s three hundred men joined Major Crayce’s three hundred and Colonel Lockwood’s four hundred for the midnight exercise.

  Thade and Tionenji watched from a gentle rise that might generously be called a hill. Enginseer Osiron and Seth Roscr
ain were also present, both men’s non-standard duties removing them from the need to train now. The hfffff-hsssss of Osiron’s breathing was audible over the sound of the revving engines as dozens of Chimera transports powered alongside each other in a series of various formations, moving positions with ease and maintaining equal distance with each other at all times. The tech-priest listened to the roar of the engines, hearing only the voices of an angelic chorus. He was alert to every nuance in the symphony, every engine that whined too hard when its driver hesitated at a gear change, every cry of brakes that needed a touch more maintenance.

  Seth leaned on his black staff, his eyes bloodshot and his lips cut where he’d bitten them during his earlier visions.

  Osiron and Seth both made the sign of the aquila to the commissar and the captain as they approached. The commissar returned it earnestly, Thade did so with a nod of greeting. Seth’s gaze lingered on the captain for a long moment, then flicked to Tionenji. He couldn’t resist testing the new commissar. His unseen sense reached out, enveloping the dark-skinned man’s invisible aura, probing the outer edges of Tionenji’s thoughts.

  Tionenji shuddered despite Seth’s delicacy. Ah, not just another blunt, he thought, slipping into Guard slang for those without psychic talents. Seth withdrew his hidden sense, satisfied that the commissar would be extremely resistant to psychic manipulation.

  Seth shuddered, his talents still open to the warp, and in that moment he could hear it again: the voice from the monastery. Something (…beneath his feet… Something below…) crying out from a great, unknowable distance. He heard it each time he used his powers now, and feared the onset of warp taint in his mind. With a glance at the commissar, Seth sealed his mind off from the world, relying on his five natural senses.

  “Your drivers are skilled,” said Tionenji, watching the grasslands being chewed up into a morass of meaningless patterns. Hundreds of tank treads gouged across the muddy earth.

  The commissar pointed to ten transports spread out in a V-formation, which promptly screeched to swerving halts in unison, forming a tight circle of armour with their fronts facing inward and rears out. Ten gangways slammed down into the ravaged mud and a hundred men ran from the vehicles, taking up positions with rifles raised.

  “I know that formation,” Tionenji said.

  Thade smiled at the perfect deployment, recognising Taan leading the hundred men there. He flicked a glance at the commissar. “Is that so?”

  “That is the Steel Star.” Tionenji’s oak-brown eyes smiled even if his lips did not. “Worthless in an urban battlefield, but extremely difficult to perform as precisely as I see it being done here. One might think you were showing off, captain.”

  All three Cadians laughed, though only Thade’s was a natural sound. Seth’s laugh was a low, wet chuckle, Osiron’s a mechanical wheeze. Thade shook his head.

  “We call it Opening the Eye, but yes, it’s the same manoeuvre. And in all honesty, commissar, we don’t show off. Perfecting moves like this is one of the ways the 88th trains for formation deployment.” Thade inclined his head, gesturing across the field where ten Chimeras under Major Crayce’s command repeated the move in an orchestra of grinding gears and roaring engines. Osiron closed his eyes, listening intently to the music only he could hear, making silent notes about which Chimeras to check over once the training was complete.

  “Tonight is used for this deployment training, yes? No combat exercise?”

  “Not tonight. The colonel deemed this necessary instead.”

  “Ah, I see.” Tionenji nodded.

  “You do?”

  “I am not blind to your, forgive me, our regiment’s expertise. The monastery fight must have tasted foul to many of the men, yes? There was little opportunity for the rapid deployment and tactical insertion the 88th excels at. And the colonel decided to allow the men to… relieve some stress. Am I correct?”

  “You see clearly, commissar.”

  Tionenji nodded, already looking back to the field. “I try.”

  Thade looked at the jungle-worlder for a moment. Tionenji was making an open effort to connect with him and show his willingness to bond with the regiment, which was not what the captain had been expecting in a commissar appointed by the lord general.

  “I believe it’s time you met the men,” Thade said. He was acutely aware of Seth’s and Osiron’s eyes on his back as he spoke to the commissar. Tionenji turned to the Cadian, regarding his violet eyes under the silver winged medal.

  “I was going to wait until tomorrow morning for a formal presentation alongside the inquisitor’s briefing. What did you have in mind, captain?”

  Thade told him. Tionenji considered the ramifications for a moment, and eventually nodded.

  “I agree to this contest. But tell me, why is it to first blood?”

  “Cadian duels are always to first blood. If you strike true, first blood is all you need to make the kill. And if you don’t strike true, you’re not Cadian.”

  “Your people are very arrogant,” Tionenji said without any real judgement. It was merely an observation.

  “Cadian blood,” whispered Seth. “The fuel of the Imperium.”

  “We are the ones that die so all others might live,” said Osiron.

  “That is a boast the men and women of many worlds can make, enginseer,” retorted Tionenji.

  “Take one look where our home world is, commissar,” Thade said. “Now take note that the Imperium still stands. We have every right to be arrogant.”

  The grassland plain was silent but for the murmurs of men placing bets. Tionenji allowed them this, knowing it would be good for morale and seeing no need to begin his tenure with unnecessary confrontation. If the lord general was right in his assessment, the newly-appointed commissar would be making enemies aplenty soon enough. Once the executions began.

  He liked Thade, he had to admit. The captain was honest, if not entirely open, and his record spoke of an accomplished officer, perhaps even a gifted one. Would he shoot Parmenion Thade dead without a second’s hesitation if the need arose? Absolutely. Would he regret the deed afterwards? Maybe. It would certainly not sit well with the men of the 88th. Tionenji scanned the crowd now, already committing faces to memory. Pale skin, bright eyes of blue or violet… A fey breed, these Cadians.

  Initially the gathering had been limited to Captain Thade’s three hundred men, but as the news had sped across the vox — “Thade’s fighting the new commissar!” — the entire regiment had parked up and formed into a wide ring around the captain and Tionenji. Men sat and kneeled on the ground, others stood behind, and still others stood atop their Chimeras, eager for a view of the action.

  Seth had gripped Thade’s wrist before the crowd had gathered.

  “I need to speak with you, sir.”

  “I won’t let him shoot you, Seth.” Thade found it easy to relate to his brothers in the regiment, but something about Seth always unnerved any who spoke with him. His ragged appearance, the psy-feeds buried into the back of his skull, the way he looked as if he was drowning in his own too-large jacket, the sucking of air through his teeth to avoid drooling; it was all something of a wretched picture, but that wasn’t the whole story. Seth’s power set him apart. In a culture centred so closely around the tenets of unity and brotherhood, those who stood alone were doomed to be forever distrusted.

  Seth had grinned at the captain’s reassurance. The effect was ugly, revealing several shattered teeth, lost when his powers had raged out of control and almost snapped his neck some months before.

  “I do not fear the new political officer, captain. I need to speak with you about the cards.”

  “Tomorrow, Seth.”

  “Parmenion.” Seth’s frail grip tightened on the captain’s bionic wrist. Thade quelled the rush of instinct that almost made him pull his bolt pistol.

  The use of his name unnerved him along with the grip and the sincerity in the sanctioned psyker’s voice. “What is it?”

  “Tomorrow i
s fine. But this is important. For you, certainly, but perhaps for the entire Reclamation. Please, speak with me tomorrow. The tarot cannot be ignored.”

  Thade nodded and pulled away. “Fine, Seth.” He hesitated before walking off. The tension between himself and the sanctioned psyker was something he was grudgingly hoping to wear down one day. He looked at Seth’s retreating back, hunched over as the smaller man leaned on his staff for support.

  The moment passed. Others came to steal Thade’s attention.

  Colonel Lockwood was next to speak with the captain. He rested a hand on Thade’s armoured shoulder, his weathered fingers covering the twin eights marked in white.

  “Don’t try to talk me out of this, sir,” Thade said. “We both know this is a good idea.”

  Lockwood’s scowl spoke volumes. His lined face was a route map of battles he’d been fighting for longer than Thade had been alive. Veterans, true veterans over fifty years of age, were rare in the Cadian Shock. Such was the fate of the Imperial Guard’s most often-tested regiment. No matter how good you are, the odds will always get you in the end.

  The colonel pulled him aside. “I’ll get him transferred. We’ll have a Cadian appointed before we leave for the next campaign. You have my word on that, son.”

  Thade glanced around to be sure none of the nearby soldiers could overhear. “Last time I checked, sir, men with violet eyes were trained damn hard not to complain about orders. We do what we do because we can and we must.”

  “It’s an insult. We all know it.”

  “It’s an order. The implied insult is meaningless to me.”

  “It’s not meaningless to the men, Parmenion. Not to the regiment.” The conversation halted as a cluster of soldiers approached to salute the colonel and wish Thade luck. The two officers nodded and waited until the men had moved away.

  “I know it’s not meaningless to them. That’s why I’m breaking him in like this. I’ll turn the insult into a blessing.”