Bright street lamps, lit up windows, and the red and white lights of passing vehicles streamed by Marsh Silas. His roaring motorbike swept down the road, reducing those who walked on the street or the boardwalk adjacent to the sea to blurs. Wind bit at his cheeks and small raindrops felt sharper than needles. But none of it bothered him as he listened to Lauraine’s delighted laughter behind him.

  She clung to him so tightly she bundled the lapels of his coat in her hands and she pressed her cheek into his back. Every so often, she would lift her head to gaze at the street as they breezed along. Eventually, she ducked back down and buried her face into his back, laughing all the while.

  “I’m so terrified!” she tittered.

  “But so electrified, are you not?” Marsh called over his shoulder without looking from the road.

  “Quite so! My heart is racing! I’ve never gone so fast before! Why, I don’t know what to do with myself!”

  “Stand up!”

  “Stand!? Are you mad, Knight-Lieutenant!?” she shrieked. Marsh Silas threw his head back with laughter. He could hear his own chortling ringing in his ears from so many years ago. That fabled night when he tore through Kasr Sonnen with Inquisitor Barlocke on a motorbike was so fresh in his mind it could have happened yesterday. The whistling wind, falling snowflakes, shocked onlookers, and their screaming voices carrying over the rumbling engine.

  Banking a corner, he drove onto the street which led to the soldier’s hall Lauraine worked at—the Holdout. Marsh smirked over his shoulder while Lauraine tapped him repeatedly to keep his eyes on the street.

  “We should all take a little time to act madly!” Marsh declared. “Otherwise, shall we entertain excitement?”

  “Do you know how many traffic laws you must have broken, sir!?”

  “Not enough!” he cried. “Come now, it’s your last chance! Do you wish to stand, or will you idle behind me in timidness!? Where’s that brave lass who fought at Drasquez Tower?”

  He heard a scoff behind him. Lauraine clamped her hands on Marsh’s shoulders and shakily rose. Unable to help himself, Marsh looked back. The auxiliary stood straight up, her violet eyes big and round with joy. Her brown hair flowed and her toothy smile practically split her face. She was submerged and immersed in the moment; that presence caused her to glow with a golden happiness Marsh had not seen in anyone for some time.

  It was almost a shame when he braked beside the curb outside the hall. He disengaged the engine, propped up the stand, and gently leaned it until it was stable. Lauraine climbed off, still trembling. She rubbed her arms and stamped her feet.

  “By the Emperor, I’m so cold!”

  “That’s the rush of adrenaline leaving you,” Marsh Silas said as he set his overnight bag down on the sidewalk. He opened a tube tied to it and withdrew a canvas cover which he draped over the bike. Lauraine helped him tie it down. She was still shaking when she stepped on the pavement. “My goodness Miss Lauraine, you shook less after combat.” The Lieutenant put an arm around her and ran his hand up and down her arm. She giggled shyly as he did.

  Marsh picked up his bag and together they pushed through the door. The hall was surprisingly vacant. All the wait staff were located in the back and their conversation drifted out. Lho-stick smoke permeated the air. But the stove fires were dampened and the tables were all empty. Only the innkeeper remained out front, slouched over the bar top as he snored.

  “Most of our routine patrons are at Fort Carmine for the ceremony,” Lauraine explained as they crossed the floor. “During large affairs like that, we rarely receive guests. They make for slow and quiet shifts. Why is it that you want to spend your night here, sir?”

  “Slow and quiet sounds very nice,” Marsh replied. “And please desist with these, ‘sirs,’ I am just plain Marsh Silas.”

  “Impossible, sir, you’re Knight-Lieutenant Cross, Hero of the Imperium and Savior of Kasr Sonnen. To call you anything else would be an insult.”

  “Here is a man unaffected by such slights,” Marsh boasted. “Just treat me like you would a friend.”

  “Very well Marsh Silas, only if you dispense with ‘miss.’ I am not a lordly lady, now am I?” she said, adopting an aristocratic tone and pressing her hand to her chest. They paused in front of the keeper and Marsh drew his coin purse.

  “My good man, how much will I have to pay for a night here?” The keeper just snored loudly. Marsh leaned down. “I say, rouse yourself comrade, I wish to pay for a room.”

  Another snore. Lauraine rolled her eyes, lifted the bar flap, and slid the ledger away from the keeper. She picked up the quill and eyed him slyly.

  “Name, rank, and regiment, please.”

  “Silas Cross, Knight-Lieutenant, 10th Kasrkin.”

  “Duration of stay?”

  “One night.”

  “Will you require laundry services?”

  “I might,” Marsh answered, leaning on the bar top. Lauraine nodded authoritatively and jotted down the information in the ledger. Her hand moved swiftly across the page and when she finished she tapped the quill resolutely against it.

  “That will be twenty Thrones, please,” she said. “I’ve discounted five, but only because you’re so—”

  “Handsome?”

  “I was going to say heroic,” Lauraine said. She shrugged and nodded her head from side to the side. “Handsome might be a little too much. Lieutenant Gabler is right, the permanence of your frown does not aid you.”

  Marsh Silas laughed. He signed his name in the last box on the list and then dropped the coins in her hand. Lauraine deposited them in the lockbox underneath the bar top. When she locked it up once more, she stood up with a breath and tilted her head to the side. “Well, I thank you for the lovely evening, Marsh Silas. It was an honor to stand alongside you at the ceremony but, Emperor forgive me, the motorbike ride was my favorite part.”

  “Mine too,” Marsh admitted. “Goodnight, Lauraine.”

  “Sleep well,” she replied and turned to enter the back rooms. Marsh leaned across the bar.

  “Wait. Where are you going?”

  “To the servant’s quarters. It’s where my things are.”

  “That won’t do. Stand fast.” Marsh turned the ledger around and started filling out the next box. Lauraine hurried back and when the Lieutenant finished, she spun the booklet around to check. Slowly, she looked up.

  “I can’t afford a room upstairs.”

  “Yes, you can,” Marsh said, opening his coin purse. “Thirty Thrones. Deposit them with haste.” When Lauraine attempted to protest, he held up his hand, snatched her own, and placed the coins into her palm. Acquiescing with a flustered sigh, the red-faced auxiliary hurriedly placed the payment in the lockbox. When she rose, she huffed and her demeanor shifted to shyness as she distributed the keys.

  “I’ve never stayed in one of those rooms. I’ve only cleaned them.”

  Marsh took her hand from across the bar, led her back to the flap, and took her to the bottom of the stairs. He coiled his arm around hers and took the first step.

  “Tonight, you need not clean nor toil. That medal on your chest says so.”

  They walked up the stairs together. Amber lamps glowed across the wooden paneling which covered the reinforced concrete walls. Similarly paneled blast doors lined the sides of the corridor and green carpeting ran the entire length. It appeared more like a Cadian noble manse rather than a simple soldier’s hall.

  They walked slowly down the hall, examining the metal placards next to each door to find their room numbers. Their destinations were at the end and across from one another. Marsh Silas placed his bag against his door and joined Lauraine by her own room. Her hands were clasped in front of her with the key clenched between them. She was swaying on her feet and her eyes averted Marsh’s.

  Drawing breath, she whispered something to herself and finally looked up. “Silas, I wish to thank you. Not just for this splendid evening, but for always treating me well. Often, I have felt as though I have glided unseen through this hall and down the streets. But you treated me as you would any soldier. Without your encouragement, I doubt I would have been able to act as I had at Drasquez Tower. I pray to the Emperor that one day I might display the same courage as you and join the ranks of the Shock Troops and then the Kasrkin.”

  Marsh Silas smiled softly and placed a hand on Lauraine’s shoulder. He squeezed it tenderly and leaned in. She shrank somewhat, unable to meet his eyes again.

  “I felt the same way about my wife,” Marsh Silas said. “Lilias just had a way of inspiring me and everyone around her. Sometimes, a fight grew difficult. Often we were tired and afraid. But cast once glance at her? Your heart would soar with determination. It was through her acts I realized that we are not made brave by the acts of others. We all have the capacity to be brave. Within ourselves is a reservoir of courage. Like any basin, it might be drained, but it can be refilled again. That is what Carstensen did for me, she merely helped me rediscover my courage. But it was all within me to begin with and so it is with you. The power to overcome fear, anger, doubt, those base emotions which so collude our vision—we all have that power.”

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  His hand fell away and he smiled that same crooked smile of his. “So you see, I did very little. I merely followed Lilias’s example.”

  “Your wife had a power of her own if she aided so many in that way. She did so much.”

  “Much more than I,” he said, nodding slowly. “Much more. She was going to revitalize this entire Imperium and every Commissar and officer in it. Lilias would have ushered in a new era of professionalism and humanitarianism among the Astra Militarum’s officer corps. Alas, even if she sleeps eternally beneath Cadia’s waves and her spirit now marches with the Emperor’s Celestial Army, her ideals burn brightly. Her legacy lives on, not just within that Schola, but with every life she has touched. We serve as her torchbearers.”

  Lauraine slid her key into the pocket of her jacket. With both hands, she clutched Marsh’s and held it up. Her smile was so warm and reassuring at that moment. A man could have gotten lost in the affability and invitation of those sparkling violet eyes.

  “I would have given anything to meet her, Silas,” she said. “If just to thank her for what she has done for every soul on Cadia and what she continues to do for the Imperium even after her death.”

  Marsh Silas raised his head up and his lips pressed into a tight line. Something within him gave way. A barrier, a pillar, whatever it was, and tears threatened to fall. But he swallowed hard to fight the feeling away. He knew if he attempted to speak he would not be able to restrain himself. So, he just nodded.

  Lauraine’s eyes flashed with understanding. With one last squeeze, she let go of his hand. But then, she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed Marsh on the cheek. “Goodnight, Silas, and thank you.”

  She opened the door with the key and entered. Marsh caught her wrist and Lauraine stepped back out.

  “It is I who must thank you,” he said stiffly. “For I have had a difficult night. Much has been realized and were it not for your companionship I believe I might have slipped into a state that I would have been forced to claw my way out of. Heroes are not just the stuff of battles and conquests. They may also be small acts of kindness—an open hand, an attentive ear, pleasant company. Thank you, Lauraine.”

  Marsh kissed her on the cheek. A small breath escaped her lips. Her face was bright red when he withdrew.

  “Silas, if you wish,” she said quietly, looking at the floor, “I will stay with you. Watch o’er you, so you may sleep soundly.”

  “There is something else you might help me with,” Marsh whispered. Lauraine grew attentive and drew closer. Marsh looked down the hall to make sure no one was there. “You will continue your work in logistics, yes? You saw the heretics were attempting to erase supply manifests. Access regional manifests and compile a catalog of stolen communications equipment, specifically short-range jammers. Anything that can disrupt Vox-arrays, picters, micro-beads; find them, make a separate list, and deliver it to me.”

  “It will be done, Silas,” she said back. Marsh cupped her cheek.

  “Thank you, lass. Now, get some rest.”

  Lauraine disappeared into her room and Marsh finally went to his own. He turned on the lights and locked the door behind him. There was a closet to the left, a private bathroom to the right, and a bed by the windows overlooking the streets. Marsh dropped his bag on the desk opposite from the foot of the bed and approached the windows. Below, servitors collected trash and refuse along the kasr streets. Sentries patrolled the roads—their bayonets gleamed in the light of the street lamps.

  Marsh Silas took off his coat and hung it on the bedpost. He started to unbutton his tunic when he felt a pulling sensation along his back. Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath. When he opened them again, he saw a familiar face behind him in the reflection. He turned around and Barlocke’s fragment appeared in the chair of the desk.

  The ghost leaned back, crossed his legs, and folded his hands in his lap. His coal-colored eyes were fixed on Marsh Silas in a curious but undelighted gaze.

  “Do not play with the girl’s heart,” he said. “You know she is fond of you.”

  “Why do you think I rejected her offer?” Marsh said sternly. He removed his tunic and placed it on the chest at the foot of the bed. “I did not mean to mislead her, I just…” Marsh squeezed his eyes shut and sat on the edge of the bed. He ran his hands over his face.

  “Did you want to accept?”

  “No,” Marsh replied swiftly. “I am not ready for that. Any of that.”

  “It has been two years, Silvanus,” Barlocke said. “Have you not healed enough?”

  “Can one heal from such a wound?” Marsh shook his head. “I think not. But I meant what I said. I do not know what I would have done without her. I might have changed my mind and shot Haight down in the middle of that party. I know not how I’ll kill that bastard but I swear to the Emperor, the Primarchs, and all the Saints I will slaughter him.”

  Barlocke’s visage stood up and paced across the room. His hands remained folded behind his back and his head was lowered in concentration.

  “It does add up. Haight’s information has been uniformly bad and what has been viable has only pitted us against the other regiment. His Marked Men have routinely eluded our searches and ambushed our forces. I am beginning to consider that the accidental firing of the missile which damaged Drasquez Tower, just as you discovered important intelligence, reveals that he may have had a hand in it. He tried to cover up what they were searching for and take you out in the process.”

  “He has taken it upon himself to caution me against rash actions under the guise of friendship. Haight is just afraid I will uncover his ploys.”

  “I think the same. It all adds up, but we cannot act against him until there is substantial proof in our possession,” Barlocke said. “Even if your inner circle would believe you, their vouching may not be enough to spare you from a firing squad.”

  “I did not spare him just for that,” Marsh Silas said coldly. “The other spy is still at large. They have been using us to act against one another. Romilly has upset the balance and our foes have shown themselves to be reactionary. What they have created is more brittle than they think. I believe I might use Haight to reveal the other and take both spies at once. Or, we might use them to destroy each other.”

  Barlocke stopped pacing and gazed at Marsh Silas, surprised. The Inquisitor’s apparition suddenly smiled.

  “You frighten me when you start to think,” he said. Marsh Silas ignored the comment.

  “I do not know how yet. But once Romilly delivers new intelligence from his hideaway and if Lauraine can deliver information about stolen equipment, I can develop a strategy as to how to get these spies to reveal one another and destroy these Traitor Guard regiments.”

  Marsh Silas took off his boots and removed his undershirt. “There’s naught to do now but wait. Wait, and sleep. Bid me peace for now, dear friend, for I must rest.”

  Marsh Silas felt someone nuzzle against him. He pushed the sheets down. Carstensen’s crimson locks covered his bare chest. Her face was hidden by so many red locks. Smiling, he took this moment just to gaze at her. It was so rare to enjoy these moments of warmth, silence, and togetherness. He took them whenever he could, whether that was in their Kasr Sonnen chamber, at Army’s Meadow, or a field tent.

  But it soon became irresistible to let her slumber. Gently, he ran his hand down her muscular back. She inhaled as his hand came back up and his fingers brushed through her hair. Carstensen raised her head and parted her locks. Sleepy yet glittering aquamarine eyes opened. She crawled forward and planted a small kiss on his lips, then a deep one.

  Without a word, she wrapped herself in one of the sheets and slid out of bed. Marsh reached out and grasped her hand, unwilling to let her depart just yet. There was still an hour until the morning roll call, it would be a day of light duty. They could stay, wrapped up in one another—just a little longer.

  Carstensen got back on the bed, knelt, and lifted his face with her hands. She kissed him once more.

  “Be brave,” she whispered as she pulled away. Marsh attempted to catch her hand again but her fingers slid out of his. Keeping the sheet around her, she walked backwards without taking her eyes off him. “My love, be brave.”

  Marsh Silas smiled at her and rolled onto his back. A soldier with a black helm and a gas mask suddenly loomed over him. His gray coat swirled as he lunged towards Marsh. He grabbed the Lieutenant and nearly restrained him.

  “Wake up,” he snarled through his gas mask and pulled Marsh out of bed.

  Marsh Silas suffered a brief sensation of falling but soon found his feet on solid ground. Somehow, he was dressed in his old khaki uniform and his olive drab Flak Armor. It was so light in comparison to the Carapace Armor he had grown accustomed to. His Mk. 2 Hellgun, Hellpistol, Ripper Pistol, sword, knife, shotgun—all of them were gone.

  Where was he? This was just some barren, cratered, muddy field. Coils and layers of barbed wire were broken by artillery and trenches were floodbowls. Every direction he looked revealed the same, bleak landscape. Thunder rumbled, lightning struck and flashed, and rain fell lightly.

  He heard footsteps behind him. Marsh Silas turned around to see an impenetrable wall of darkness. It was as if so many shadows had grown into a towering, massed entity which blotted out the sun. But from the darkness emerged a single soldier—the same that had thrown him from bed. His lasgun was braced in front of him and the bayonet poised. The tube of his gas mask swayed back and forth with every step. Each breath was ragged and muffled by the mask. When lightning struck behind Marsh Silas, the glare flashed across the Guardsman’s eyepieces and made his bayonet gleam. Suddenly, another similarly dressed Guardsman appeared, then another, and another. An army translated from the darkness and marched by Marsh Silas, all hunched over as if on a hunt.

  When the first man finally passed by Marsh, they both turned to look at one another. Shouldering his lasgun, the Guardsman pulled an M36 off his back and tossed it at Marsh Silas. He caught it with both hands and automatically checked the charge pack. It was full. The other Guardsman pointed ahead. Where there had been nothing before was a great fortress with so many spires and bunkers.

  “Have you forgotten…” the Guardsman asked, “...what you’re fighting for?”

  Marsh Silas awoke to knocking on his door. He looked around. Morning sunlight poured through the windows on either side of the bed. His uniform remained scattered around the room and his bag was untouched. Barlocke’s ghost was gone as well.

  The knocking came again. Marsh gripped his face as his temples throbbed. Another dream of the Kriegsman, he thought, Barlocke’s fragment has been wandering once more. He threw the blanket off and pulled his pants on. Picking up his Ripper Pistol, he hurried to the door and checked the peep hole. Hyram was on the other side.

  Marsh opened the door, Hyram entered, and the former shut it behind him.

  “Are you alright? You seem agitated.”

  “A poor night’s rest,” Marsh muttered.

  “A shame, you could have used it.” Hyram held up a messenger’s tube. “Romilly came through for us and we have work to do.”

  Marsh opened the tube and unfurled the parchment within.

  Cross, I have spent some days out here observing the enemy. I have determined that the Marked Men are not the ones in possession of the Valkyries, but the other regiment is. It appears that they temporarily allied with one another for the attack on Drasquez Tower, but the alliance is over. Those Valkyries, despite being few in number, are a top priority and we have a lead on their location. Assemble yours and Gabler’s platoon and take them to the coordinates listed below this night. It is high time you met my field assets.

  Marsh Silas folded it up and looked at a smiling Hyram. “We shall deny them the sky, now.”