Ashes

by Martin Allen

  “Why are the probes malfunctioning?” Asked General Hostilius, his voice edged with frustration.

  “It would appear from the diagnostics that at least two of the probes were damaged by a precision shot to the processors. The third probe is at least for now, despite minor damage proceeding on target.” Investigator Celeris intoned, her earlier enthusiasm somewhat waned. “The impact will be somewhat lessened with the reduced payload, but this in itself is not an insurmountable problem. The payload is essentially self-sustaining and will replenish and expand on its own. The period before it becomes critical will be increased due to the less than ideal start point, but we did not need criticality for this is a weapon of fear and demoralisation. We still have the third and forth horsemen to unleash. We would not want for the rebels to escape the horrors to be found in these weapons. I abhor unfinished business.”

  General Hostilius shuddered. The sheer dreadfulness of a biological weapon severely stabbed his soul and the thought of yet more weapons designed not to win the battle but prolong the agony did not sit well with his training as a soldier. He was, however, trained to follow orders and as such, he could do little to end this encounter.

  The prisoners, now freed from the weight of caring for their elderly and with the children now effective as hostages, worked upon the task set to them. They erected the wire fences and sandbags with startling efficiency despite the harangued expressions on their faces. Their movements, although tired, were efficient and they worked in such a way as to stay out of the way of the Black Guard.

  The prisoners were not the only people attempting to limit their exposure to the Black Guard. The Imperial Guardsmen, almost to a man, could not bring themselves to look at the heavily armoured men that had propagated such slaughter. They maintained a distance and adopted positions as far out of the way as possible. Lieutenant Gratius, who would normally have taken steps to halt such dereliction of duty, seemed drained and diminished. The lack of discipline was endemic amongst all the squads, not just his and no-one seemed willing to do anything about it. The only discipline was found within the Black Guard itself and surprisingly the prisoners, who worked without complaint or much rest. It could not have escaped their realisation that the complex they were working to complete would become their tomb once it was completed. Their serenity served only to shame the squad even further. Halberdier Amatius chose to spend ever more time on the roofs to avoid the accusatory glare he could feel coming from where he knew Mya to be. The previously clear air filled with cloying dust from the constant construction below, seemed to reflect the unclean taint on the squad itself for its complicity with the killings. The dust would cling and no amount of washing in the poor facilities available would remove it, much as any amount of self-pardoning did not wash away the blood.

  “Why did they do it?” asked Balbus of Aquilinius one day.

  “The old would not be able to work as hard and so were a liability. They could kill them and still keep the children under control. It showed that they were serious and that any attempt to rise up would be met with instant reprisals directed not against those who rose up but those they would seek to save by doing so. It was to remove all hope so that they would be subdued like cattle.” His eyes stared at the ground in shame that he could actually comprehend such atrocities as though they were simple acts of economics.

  Balbus stared incredulously. How could the Empire simply use lives in such a manner? It was one thing to execute those accused of a crime, but as far as he knew the elderly had been sent here to be tried and processed. They had been pawns in a deadly game of chess for the beliefs of the Empire. The teachings of Sol Invictus were nothing if not completely clear on the rule of law, for that was where the unerring unbending aspect of the divine was contained. If there was no divine justice, then there was no Sol Invictus.

  Over time the construction of the wire fences was completed thus giving the perimeter some form of permanence and enabled the squad to further focus on introspection. This was not an opportune time for they could see the prospect of that which would soon come to pass. When the complex would be complete so then would the use of all the prisoners. For other squads the prospect of yet more slaughter did not sit well, but for Calidius they had formed an attachment with Mya and relished not the prospect of watching her mown down or cast into the flames of the Inquisition as fate may decree. Thankfully, she was too young to merit the attentions of the Black Guard. The screams of those women who had managed to catch the eye of the heavy troopers echoed around the camp at night with no sign of stopping. Several women had attempted to escape, as a way of terminating their own lives in horror at their treatment. This had not worked; the attractive were merely retrieved and handed round the barracks. The end that the women desired was evidenced by the crude nooses that were found around their necks in the morning, they had been self-fashioned from the very rags they wore. Lieutenant Gratius wondered how long it would be before the Black Guard ordered the women to be maintained nude so that no more could escape their clutches. Either that or they would be strung up restrained so as not to be able to defend themselves or end their own suffering. They would also be available for use whether they were conscious or not. Lieutenant Gratius suffered noticeably on nights when the screaming was particularity bad. He started out unable to sleep and finished unable to wake from the visions that tormented him as a result of the screaming. The squad also suffered similarly, Balbus started crying himself to sleep. For one who had been so attached to the idea of being a citizen he had been a gentle soul at heart and had not truly understood that which would purchase his goal. The pain and suffering that would be paid by others in his stead was beyond that which he had contemplated. It was inconceivable that he would be able to continue on to the inevitable conclusion of this mission. Lieutenant Gratius realised that this mission would be a death sentence for many of his men who would crack under the pressure of committing or being party to such acts as they would be called upon to do, for it was painfully clear that there was no relief and no hand-over of the prisoners. Even if there were, would he or his men be able to simply walk away knowing what was to be done. Was not what was being done the same or similar to that which these prisoners were accused of being linked to in the bodies of their old religions? Was not this exactly what was supposed to be avoided by such an act?

  Sergeant Curtius lay in his poorly sheltered bunk listening to Balbus sobbing again. The dreams were getting worse, not just for Balbus. The rest of the men were now frequently waking with a start as though the final days were upon them. Several of the other squads had seen members simply walk away from their posts and blow their own brains out. Calidius had for some reason escaped this. It was probably because they were much less controlled and found small outlets for their emotions, such as placing a gentle hand on Balbus to stop the crying, when possible. Such small measures of mercy, even within their own number made a small yet important difference.

  As days passed the size of the project became apparent, there were large basements, heat shielded made out to look like showers, but no shower could get hot enough to require heat shielding of that measure. There was no disguising the gas pipes aimed into the chamber and the mechanised sweeping systems installed within it. The complex seemed completely taken up with chambers of this type but there was precious little within the build of living quarters making the purpose of the complex all too clear. There was to be no detention of prisoners. The temporary constructs would not hold for an established camp and no new accommodation was being built. The inference was clear, there was to be no-one living in the camp and the dead were to be disposed of a quickly and efficiently as possible.

  The malnourished prisoners soon started falling at the wayside of the construction project and due to the segregation of the prisoners and the guards the squad was unable to revert to the behaviour that had so sustained the prisoners during the march. The pain of such inactivity held them apart from each other and the camaraderie that had sustained t
hem thus far began to falter. Had but there been some way of extricating themselves from the vicinity of the horror they were witnessing then they may have coped better but as it was they had to stand by idly. The unholy combination of the dying constructing the method of their own execution was of tortuous irony to the squads. Gaunt eyes stared in pain at events beyond the control of the ordinary soldiery as numbness settled to replace pain.

  “Oh god, not another one.” Mumbled Corporal Triarius as he saw another girl being dragged into a nearby tent from the lines transporting raw materials to the main construction area.

  The revolution on Aulus’ planet had started as a result of the planetary governor insisting on the right of Prima Nocta, a practice that was slowly taken up by his personal guard and hangers-on. A large number of children had been born with a small number of distinct characteristics, indicating a small range of genetic source material. He had been studying in school when his sister had been taken and the revolution started. At some point in every atrocity, a small act will spark a much larger one like a snowflake triggering an avalanche. The flash of the image of his sister’s broken and naked body speared into his brain as the girl screamed again.

  “Leave it,” Sergeant Curtius warned quietly having overheard the twinge in Aulus’ voice but Aulus started forward anyway shrugging clear of Sergeant Curtius’ restraining hand.

  Aulus walked forward not with any speed but in a calm and resolute manner, he held himself tall and proud, the hopeless matt to his eyes finally gone. Pride filled his soul as he finally fulfilled what he thought he should have done all those years ago as his sister lay on the bed screaming at every touch meant to comfort her, when his mother brushed her arm she would flinch and recoil. It had taken days to clear all the blood from her face. He reached the entrance to the tent as Sergeant Curtius reached Lieutenant Gratius.

  “Sir, we have a problem Corporal Triarius has snapped, he’s going for a Black Guard.” Sergeant Curtius yelled.

  “It’s too late, I read his file, we can’t help him. Anything we do will implicate us as well,” Lieutenant Gratius sighed knowing that that was the only way that Aulus would find peace. In avenging this anonymous woman, even at the cost of his own life, there would be transference to salve the guilt that had flowed so freely. Death would be his only release, vindicated and triumphant in a much belated attempt to right the wrong of his inaction.

  Aulus opened the flap of the tent and lunged for the semi-naked figure of the Black Guard seeking to unleash his bestial needs on the innocent within. The tent collapsed as the Guard struck the centre tent pole and fell writhing under a whirlwind attack from Aulus. Aulus no longer constrained by the teachings of his training was using all the tricks that he could muster to remain in control of the fight. His teeth, knees and elbows were all well placed to keep any semblance of rational thought from the Guard’s brain or air from his lungs. While this tactic was initially successful, it was only a matter of time before the Guard’s superior weight would begin to turn the tide. Still the position of his trousers around his ankles did provide a major balance advantage for Aulus, which was why he had taken his time getting to the tent, as well as to avoid the attentions of the rest of the Black Guard.

  The collapse of the tent had unfortunately negated this part of Aulus’ plan and the attentions of the Black Guard were firmly fixed upon the writhing figures within the flapping canvas. Cries of “she’s a spirited one” and other such raucous ribaldry reached the ears of Calidius Squad, but it was not long before the extra figure was visible in the melee and six Black Guardsmen ran to the aid of their compatriot. Still fixated on the rapist Aulus struggled not to free himself but merely to reach the object of his ire. His eyes remained fixed as the first punch struck him in the gut knocking the air from his lungs. The fire in his eyes did not die with the lack of oxygen and the intensity flared with the second and third impact. His legs crumpled as his ability to stand deserted him, but this did not stop the breathing as kick after kick rained into his body. As no scream exited his tortured frame, the attending guards started using rifle butts to vent their frustrations on his bruised and tortured frame.

  As one man Calidius Squad turned away from the scene of their friend being slowly beaten, the shame of doing nothing in the face of their friend’s pain a dagger in each of their hearts. They trudged back to their adopted posts as the screams started, for howsoever strong a man’s spirit is there is always a point where his body overturns the resolve. For Aulus the vicious attacks had broken his resolve not to scream, not when the steel toecaps targeted his face, nor his kneecaps but when the attentions were turned to his genitalia he broke. The Black Guard sensing weakness focussed their attentions on the area that had yielded such satisfying results. When they reached a state of boredom with simple bludgeoning, they broke out their service knives and proceeded to remove the skin from the already prone and screaming figure. Such vileness was the end for when the screaming gave way to exhausted sobs in order to resume their entertainment the knives sought deeper flesh to exact their tortuous price. Holding the dead flesh aloft the laughter bore the shame to the squad despite having no line of sight.

  Exhausted by the depredations he had endured Aulus felt naught but the pain and humiliation but could not bring himself to care. He had failed, failed to protect when he had finally made the right decision and the knowledge tore at him far more deeply than those tears and cuts that the Black Guard had inflicted. He despaired in his final moments that all had been for naught; he had betrayed that which he had hope to preserve and been complicit in all he had promised to stop. As the darkness swelled to engulf him he finally sensed peace, not from within but without. A peace that encompassed everything he could hope to envision or experience. A peace that reached out to him and explained exactly what had occurred and why. Had he been asked in his final moments Aulus would have been unable to verbalise this feeling but he would have known its truth. As this light of comfort took him, he heard the words: “A snowflake can start an avalanche, as one act of compassion can change the world.”

  Chapter 13

  General Hostilius had come to accept that he was no longer in command, and was in a perverted way enjoying it. No longer were the inevitable deaths his fault. No cause could touch him now for he was irrevocably damned, for the Investigator would merely melt away leaving the accolades or the infamy solely to his supposed command. Corvus lay back in his bunk, now more relaxed than he had been for days, partially due to fiery spirit he had so vigorously imbibed. Such depredations were severely punished but as, at least on paper, he was the highest-ranking officer then he could allow himself a little licence. The relaxation and feeling of inebriated goodwill and ease with the world lasted all too small a time as he curled into a ball bemoaning his lot. The tears fell thick and fast as he shuddered with excruciating sobs of emotional agony. In times of need a man will find himself faced with a choice between making a decision or avoiding it, both may lead to the depths of despair. Corvus had chosen the latter and complicit in guilt was achieving a state of dark nirvana that can rarely be achieved. As this melancholia drew in as a set of macabre curtains on a Halloween night he heard a voice whisper in his ear,

  "Come General, this is no way for a commander to behave, although it does serve my purpose. Too long has the military had the whip hand over the Investigative forces by way of numbers alone. We shall bring the night crashing down upon thee to serve the Empire ever more diligently.

  Come; witness that which I have, with your help, wrought. The agony is a cacophony of sin, delicious with righteous vengeance that eats away that which is weak and unholy. I baptise the unclean in the filth of that which they and their ilk created in their darkness. That darkness which we protect the Empire from."

  The Investigator manhandled Corvus from his bunk with a strength that belied her size, the training to which she had been subjected assisting her in manipulating centres of balance and gravity. The stumbling form of the once proud General b
rought gasps of surprise from those in the command centre. Whilst the General could have enjoyed, in his more private quarters, a few beverages of the alcoholic variety he could scarcely seek to avoid repercussions here, in the very nerve centre of command. Although he was incapable of command he was technically the ranking officer and, Investigative prerogative aside, his orders were to be followed, even in his current state.

  "Make way for your ILLUSTRIOUS commander" mocked the Investigator chuckling, "He has come to witness that which he has wrought in the Holy name of Sol Invictus himself. No longer shall we round up the heathen for individual justice, but we shall corralle them and visit the wrath they so richly deserve upon them."

  The almost comatose and gently crying General was dumped unceremoniously into the seat of command, in which, until recently, he had served with great distinction. Displays around the bunker showed zoomed-in displays of rebelled and Imperial troops alike, pitched in battle with each other while other troops in Hazmat suits mowed down both sides indiscriminately if they came past a pre-set point. The bulky Hazmat uniforms made the perimeter troops seem inhuman and monstrous, less so however than their actions. The lack of expression held a grimace to the countenance of the silhouetted figures in the murk of the battlefield. As men spun and fell, pirouetted from their feet by the hail of lead from the rotating barrels of the heavy troopers’ guns, their expressions all held the same sharp scream of pain and betrayal. Each flash of eye contact the camera caught stabbed at the General as he ineffectually sought his service pistol for the second time in that campaign. He was however foiled by the icy grip of the Investigator who simultaneously held his head to face the screens so awash with human misery and agony. Had he the strength he would have turned away but the blurred strength he still possessed was unfocussed and he could do nought but toss and turn to little effect, his eyes never leaving the screen which they sought to escape. As she held his head purely stationary, the Investigator started laughing manically. Blood flowed in waterfalls in his mind as the accumulated miniscule doubts of his life coalesced into one raging torrent. All that was present in that moment of clarity was a small remnant of himself and rage, pulling at the chains that had been imposed throughout his life. The rage held only one target, that laughing demon who so plagued him with visions of horror and sacrifice to a God he felt he no longer knew. No longer was the God one of righteous anger, but one of childish malice, pulling at the lives of humanity like a child would pull at the wings of a fly. Pure torment was the only expression that fit this simple agony.