“Knight-Lieutenant, I understand your emotions are high right now and you would like to correct this slight, but I ask you to calm down,” Major Rosenfeld counseled. Marsh Silas, standing on the other side of the dormant hololithic projector, felt his grip tighten on the metallic edge. He glanced at Hyram who, with an expectant expression, urged him to mind his temper. So Marsh took a breath before looking up, knowing a scowl towards his commanding officer would spell further trouble.

  “Sir, our findings are very unsettling. The convoy we ambushed had in-depth plans, maps, copies of communiques from Interior Guard and Shock Trooper regiments we have been working with, and supply rosters. Captain Hyram, Major Haight, and Warrant Officer Romilly agree with me that the traitors occupying the safehouse where they were being held belong to the same outfit as the ones we ambushed.”

  “I personally worked with your regimental logisticians to correlate the recovered materials with the manifests Bloody Platoon found,” Haight said. “Everything we found at the facility was on the manifest.”

  “Based on this evidence, we can firmly state there’s a concentrated enemy effort on Cadia Secundus,” Hyram said. “It also confirms there is someone within our ranks acquiring and feeding them information. If they’re seeking supplies and taking intelligence officers captive, we can assume they are trying to prepare for a larger operation.”

  “You seem quite assured this is the case, Knight-Captain,” Rosenfeld said.

  “Sir, if I were conducting asymmetric warfare on an entrenched, well-armed, and larger foe on their own turf, this is how I would wage my campaign,” Hyram answered resolutely. “Seize supplies, take prisoners, interrogate them for information, and launch ambushes to bleed the enemy of numbers. This is classic Militarum strategy.”

  A snort from the other side of the projector caught everyone’s attention. Major Bristol paced with his arms folded across his chest, chuckled and shook his head. He ambled slowly towards Marsh and Hyram. When he finished snickering, he stood right in the latter’s face.

  “That’s how you’d do it, eh?” he started. “Well, if you’re so convinced we’ve got a rat in the house, you could very well be the one leaking all this intelligence.”

  Marsh’s violet eyes lit up. He slammed his fist against the edge of the projector.

  “Look here, sir! I—”

  “Police that, Knight-Lieutenant!” Rosenfeld snapped. But the company commander pointed an accusatory finger at Bristol. “I won’t allow you to propagate such derogatory drivel against my executive officer. Captain Hyram has proven his faith and loyalty many times over. His record will not be called into question, am I understood?”

  “Relax, Cadians,” Bristol said, holding up his hands. “It was merely a jest.”

  “Mind your jests, Jakal,” Marsh seethed quietly. “You’re far from your pack.” But Bristol only grinned at Marsh Silas and leaned towards him.

  “You ever fought a Jakal? I guarantee it’s a fight you won’t forget, for it will be your last one,” Bristol confidently whispered back. “So, why don’t you fall back for now?”

  “Gentlemen, if we can allow cooler heads to prevail,” Major Haight said, stepping in between the two. The stout Navy officer put an arm around Marsh Silas and pulled him away while Bristol returned to his side of the roundtable projector.

  Marsh fixed the collar of his tunic and nodded at Haight, who backed off. He gauged the chamber. Servo-skulls recording the session drifted over their heads. Scribes, menials, and other Adeptus Administratum staff busied themselves with cogitators, Vox-casters, Augur-Arrays, and other terminals which lined the room. A huge, two-dimensional map of Cadia Secundus, one of the three primary landmasses on the planet, remained fixed on a screen. Machines whirred and beeped, fingers pounded on keyboards, and morale statements boomed over the intercom.

  On the other side of the projector was Rosenfeld, a mustachioed and bookish looking fellow despite his strong physique. The grizzled-looking Company Commissar, Faeber was beside him as well as raven-haired First Sergeant Kaufer, a strict but fair woman, and Gunnery Sergeant Lowe, a large, bearded, affable fellow. Then there were the Astropaths, Merriweather and Aralyn. Although every other company in the regiment was only assigned one Astropath, the twin sisters were apparently allowed to work together as a ‘psychic duet.’ Both had blood-red hair, pale skin, white eyes, and wore purple robes. Aralyn died a few of her locks blue to differentiate herself from her sister.

  All the platoon leaders were present; Ryer, Hollins, Pletcher, and Marsh’s friend 1st Lieutenant Gabler. She was in command of 3rd Platoon and was very reliable during an operation. She had brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and a dark green bionic eyepiece over her left eye. Also present was the weapons platoon commander, Prince Osgood. A handsome Lieutenant-Prefect who had a sharp violet gaze and cropped auburn hair, he was the son of General Osgood, a famed commander during the Battle of Eagle Gate and the Crusade of Thunder. The noble House of Osgood was a well-known and respected name. Marsh considered him a decent officer and the record proved as much, but his judgmental gaze and arrogant, raised chin aggravated him.

  Master of Ordnance Sobol, a Master Gunnery Sergeant, and 1st Lieutenant Rizzo, their Navy liaison, were also present. Black of hair and olive-skinned, Rizzo was an astute and hardworking fellow. Sobol put in just as much effort, but the bigger, older Cadian could be quite cranky. Bristol had made himself quite known and, naturally, Isenhour the company Scout Sergeant was present.

  Around him were gazes and expressions of varying interest and trust. All bore into him and the intensity created a great weight. But Marsh Silas closed his eyes and inhaled again. You faced Heretic Astartes, you can handle a room full of officers, Silvanus. Marsh smirked confidently.

  “Sir, myself and Knight-Captain Hyram have dealt with this kind of behavior before prior to the Siege of Kasr Sonnen. The enemy nipped at our heels to find our vulnerabilities while they gathered strength. By pursuing these enemies, we came across the sanctum of the Warpsmith Drusus and destroyed his cabal before the Iron Warrior host arrived. Had we not, the entire Sonnen region would have been subjected to assaults on two sides.”

  “I accept your experience and evidence regarding our current operations,” Rosenfeld assured him. “What is it that you would ask of me?”

  “That we should not be complacent. Uncover the spy, increase the tempo of our operations, and maintain a high level of aggression in the region. Raiding safehouses, recovering stolen supplies, gathering intelligence, and bleeding the enemy of his numbers shall keep them at bay. If the Emperor’s light shines upon us, we shall discover their base of operations and eliminate them.”

  “The strategy is sound,” Haight added. “As part of the Naval liaison team attached to the 10th Regiment, Warrant Officer Romilly assures me we can increase our reconnaissance in the area of operations.”

  Romilly was the Naval Intelligence officer that had been rescued alongside Haight. He was drafted into the regimental intelligence section to support the Navy personnel there. Since he assumed his duties, Marsh noted the skinny and somewhat jumpy fellow was indeed a diligent worker. He worked personally with Haight to create the briefing for their last mission and he fought it to be very competent.

  “Yes sir, we can connect with Astra Militarum as well as Navis Imperialis assets to step up patrols and deploy ground teams. Scout Sergeant Isenhour has also volunteered to take myself and elements from the OSR platoon on long-range reconnaissance patrols.”

  “We just need the go ahead, sir,” Isenhour said in his raspy tone.

  “You have it.”

  “We’ll also notify the patrol craft of local Navis Maritimum flotillas to monitor the shores,” Romilly added, logging notes in his data-slate. Haight pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I highly doubt these traitors are utilizing the waterways to facilitate their movements, nor would they be so foolish to wage any maritime operations,” he said dryly. But Romilly just smiled and shrugged.

  “It would do us well to be prudent, dear Major. Our foe is far more cunning than we initially gave him credit for. That is how we found ourselves in chains. If it is in my power, I shall assist our rescuers in any way possible.”

  “If I might be so bold,” said another voice, “I would like to remind the present gathering of one discrepancy in this whole affair.”

  Marsh Silas immediately gritted his teeth. Both hands tightened into fists and the veins of his exposed forearms bulged. His violet eyes once again burned. Walking around Rosenfeld was Major Osniah. Once the commander of the 45th Altridge Regiment, the investigation launched by Throne Agent Orzman and operatives of the local Ordo Militarum Inquisition saw him stripped of his titles. The case revealed gross misconduct on Osniah’s part. The regiment, while unforgiven for their mutiny, was ultimately exonerated of the greatest charges—treason and heresy—and their reputation was restored, with some choice censorship.

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  Osniah was demoted to the rank of major, fined heavily, and was forced to reclassify from an infantry officer’s role. Yet, much to the aggravation of the several hundred survivors of the 1333rd Regiment who had become Kasrkin in the 10th Regiment, Osniah secured a billet as the assistant to the regimental intelligence officer. Many protested this as any Militarum personnel within the Red Banner Regiment had to Kasrkin or Kasrkin-qualified. Marsh Silas even attempted to create a petition for his removal; although there were over three hundred signatures, the idea of a petition was outright rejected by Rosenfeld and laughed at by fellow officers such as Osgood, who had more influence within the company.

  While he lacked the splendid outfit he wore in the past, Osniah was still an immaculate fellow. He wore a green, velvet uniform with golden shoulder boards and a black mantle. A few ribbons lined the left side of his chest; many of his decorations were revoked after the mishandling of his regiment. His dark hair had grayed somewhat and he wore a sad, pointed beard.

  Osniah set the jammer Bloody Platoon recovered from the ambush on top of the blank projector table. “This device was indeed stolen from the 10th’s armory. Yet, I question the correlation between these traitors with the ones you previously encountered. They appeared well-armed, well-trained, and were even equipped with Astra Militarum uniforms, unlike most of the previous ones. You even discovered they bore strange marks, which none of the bodies recovered from your previous missions were recorded as bearing. What’s say you, Knight-Lieutenant Cross?”

  Marsh Silas unclenched his fists and slowly looked at Hyram. His friend clandestinely raised his hand, cautioning him once more. Folding his hands behind his back, Marsh flexed his fingers.

  “We believe there might be two groups of Traitor Guardsmen operating in the AO.” Whispers, huffs, and snickers passed throughout the crowd of officers and other personnel. Marsh Silas squeezed his eyes shut momentarily but then raised his hand. “Our initial findings indicate the presence of another group, but not if they are cooperating with the first band we encountered.”

  “This seems outlandish,” Osgood said, sniffing dismissively. He examined a copy of the after-action report Marsh penned a few days earlier. “Some marks and differences of equipment hardly indicate a separation. These heretics and traitors, they’re all the same, you know?”

  “With all due respect, my Prince, I have fought the Archenemy many times now and I have witnessed their many forms. The plaguebearers who once dominated Kasr Fortis were quite distinct from the siege-oriented cultists in the Sonnen hinterland. My comrades and I fought against two different bands of Heretic Astartes; I assure you, the Iron Warriors and Black Legion possess many distinctions from one another, and it doesn't just come down to the color of their power armor.”

  Osgood tossed the report down on the projector and braced both hands against it.

  “Do not call me, ‘Prince,’ you upjumped rogue.”

  “What a paradox you occupy, Prince, seemingly rejecting your own nobility while finding offense at my own,” Marsh slyly retorted.

  “How dare you speak in such a tone to me, scoundrel?” Osgood snarled. Beside him, Lieutenant Gabler smiled amicably and elbowed him.

  “I daresay his tone sounds mighty similar to yours, Prince.” Osgood turned bright red at this and blustered, soliciting the laughter of the other platoon leaders. But Hyram clapped his hands and raised them into the air.

  “Lock that down,” he ordered. We cannot have a productive conversation if we are constantly bickering.” The chatter finally ceased and Osgood, cowed, merely pouted. “To bring about the matter at hand, yes, the evidence indicates another group is present. Major Haight, Warrant Officer Romilly, would you agree?”

  “Absolutely,” Romilly answered immediately. “During my captivity with the first group, I made out no such marks or discovered any indicators that tied them to this second band. Furthermore, Knight-Lieutenant Cross noted in his action-action report the ambushers all had unnaturally blue eyes. The men who took us captive had a more diverse palette of eye colors. A biological aspect such as this further qualifies this second group as a separate entity.”

  “I must agree, I suppose,” Haight said after a moment of contemplation, yet he did not sound as convicted. “It could be an elaborate ruse on the part of this band. They might be trying to appear as multiple cohorts to direct our efforts in multiple directions, thus drawing us thinner and thinner.”

  “Ultimately, we need more data,” Marsh Silas said. “Warrant Officer Romilly and the intelligence section will do their part. My platoon stands ready to act, all we need is a target.”

  Rosenfeld conferred with Osniah, who then activated the hololithic projector. He cycled through the holographic images until he reached the current area of operations. A yellow highlight appeared in the northwest quadrant which was a mountainous region.

  “According to preliminary reconnaissance reports, there appear to be armed, uniformed men in this area. No Astra Militarum units are operating in that zone but none of the nearby Interior Guard garrisons have been able to send troops to identify these unconfirmed persons. Considering these mountains were not far from your ambush point, this may be another cadre of the traitors who ambushed you two days ago.”

  “I also have a fresh lead,” Haight interjected, approaching the control panel on his side. He turned a few knobs and typed in a few keywords. Another yellow highlight appeared in the southeast quadrant near the ocean. “A supply depot suffered a raid early this morning. Those personnel who were not killed or able to evacuate by ship were captured. Estimates indicate there are at least twenty hostages. Considering these traitors have taken captives and are attempting to seize ammunition, fuel, and transport, I assume these are the ones you encountered when you liberated myself and Romilly.”

  “Well, Knight-Lieutenant Cross? Which mission will it be?” Rosenfeld asked. All eyes in the room were on Marsh Silas. He gazed back for a time, his violet eyes traveling around the projector. He scrutinized the two objectives.

  “Bloody Platoon will rescue the hostages and secure the supply depot,” Marsh Silas said. Osgood snorted and shook his head.

  “Saving little lost lambs again, Cross? Bodies, vehicles, and supplies can be replaced. This is Cadia, after all, isn’t it? Shadows lurking in the mountains—now that could spell true trouble. We don’t need you running off like you did to ambush that convoy with prisoners.”

  Marsh grimaced. He knew he had tentatively rejected orders to return to base to rescue those men. But he did not regret it and he was not going to allow Osgood to use it as a disparaging weapon against him, even in front of the gathering.

  “That may be, but I will not stand idly by while servants of the Emperor are cast aside. I will not indulge in the capacity of so many commanders and planners to ignore the human cost in an operation.”

  “Cross, you are Kasrkin,” Bristol said evenly. “You are meant to strike at the enemy where he is strongest and to turn the tides of battles. I understand it is hard to let some people die in such a sordid manner. But diverting our assets and time to rescue a few souls? It is not as strategically important.”

  “Preserving the lives of our comrades is not strategically sound?” Marsh asked him. “Every life we save is a soul that will continue to serve the Emperor and the Imperium. Even if the numbers are so low, even if it may not be strategic to you, even if you will not change, by the Emperor, I am trying my damndest to make some good of the Imperium while I draw breath. We protect all humanity, not just Cadia, and to do that, we must save lives.”

  Silence settled in the chamber. Osgood rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. Bristol scrunched his nose and glared, but did not persist. Rosenfeld finally leaned forward and nodded.

  “Very well. Cross, your platoon will retake the depot and rescue the hostages. Gabler, your platoon will conduct a combat patrol and discover those mystery soldiers.”

  “Yes, sir!” Gabler said loudly. She faced Marsh, smiled, and nodded.

  “You have your assignments. Set to them with haste and vigor. Dismissed!”

  Everyone turned and vacated the chamber. Hyram shook hands with Marsh and told him he would prepare transport for him. Marsh walked out of the TOC with Haight beside him. They stepped outside into warm afternoon air. High walls formed the perimeter of the base with Bastion Towers at each corner and bunkers along the walls. Barbed wire lined the top of the battlements. A motor pool filled with Taurox Primes on their right was alive with activity. Servitors and Enginseers busily repaired damage and loaded munitions. On the left side were rows of tents, one for each platoon. In front of the tents were a series of mortar pits established by Osgood’s weapons platoon.

  The mortarmen jumped into action upon receiving a fire mission from a nearby Interior Guard regiment. They adjusted their equipment, opened crates filled with shells, and started sliding them down the tubes. A rapid succession of whumpfs filled the air, casting brown dust from each tube. Around them, Kasrkin from other platoons wearing short-sleeved shirts or going shirtless entirely, sat on cans, boxes, and sandbags. Some played cards, others smoked, and others merely watched the mortarmen work.

  “Thanks for taking my mission, Silas,” Haight said. “I know not a lot of people in there like sparing men for a few hostages, so I appreciate how fervently you try to save lives.”

  “I do my best,” Marsh said, taking out his ebony pipe. “I know Rosenfeld more than likely gave the greenlight because he doesn’t want supplies and vehicles falling into the hands of our enemies. What a travesty for our Emperor, when officers value materials more than the lives of His warriors.”

  “It is a tragedy. Having been a captive, I wish someone had to rescue me sooner. I give thanks to Him for sending you to find me.” Haight stopped Marsh momentarily by putting his hand on his shoulder. “I think the Emperor needs soldiers such as you; those who are willing to fight for humane reasons. You really believe this will make a change for the Imperium?”

  “Every time we make a difference in the life of another, we create a better Imperium. If I can save one more, then save one more, and one more, we strengthen the bonds of brotherhood. Those bonds must become the veins and sinews of our Imperium if we are to change it.”

  “I understand. But Silas, you are a good man. Throne, I like you even if you’re a dirt-eating infantryman.” Marsh laughed at this. “Your altruism is inspiring. Yet it’s dangerous, it might get you killed in the coming days as we deal with these enemy bands. I just ask you to be wary, yes?”

  “A life extinguished to preserve the lives of others is a life well spent,” Marsh said with a confident grin. “All that matters is we save them and by the Emperor, we will.”