“Hey, Lauraine’s back!”

  Marsh Silas spun around as the barracks erupted into a cheer. Lauraine pushed through the entrance as she manhandled a cart filled with white parcels. A bullet graze from the Port Ollan Raid left her with a bandage on her right cheek. But she looked quite smart in her dress uniform and upon the ovation, flashed everyone a flustered smile.

  The Kasrkin of Bloody Platoon and Gabler’s 3rd Platoon gathered around the cart. All kinds of smells radiated from the boxes, all tied up with twine. Scents of sweet pastries mingled with the aroma of savory meats and freshly baked rolls. When some of the men attempted to open them, Lauraine made a great show of fighting them off. Bouts of laughter reverberated throughout the crowd.

  “Where did you scamper off to?” Staff Sergeant Werner asked as she brought the cart to the center of the barracks. Marsh Silas walked around and put his hand on her back.

  “Hyram and I have news to share and we decided to celebrate in our own way. I asked if she would arrange for a delivery of fine food from the soldier’s hall she works at. Although, I hadn’t asked her to drag it all the way here. Throne, lass, could ye not ask a few hands for aid?”

  “Well, it was asked of me,” Lauraine replied bashfully. “I did not want to trouble anyone.”

  “Very well, very well. Alright, Bloody Platoon, help her set the tables and no snacking!”

  “You too, 3rd Platoon,” Gabler ordered as well.

  The men eagerly created a buffet by pushing the tables together and organizing the food groups. One table was devoted to the appetizers, an assortment of buns and biscuits with various spreads. Entrées of roasted game birds, grilled Grox flanks, and fish harvested from the Torium Sea were placed on the second. Desserts of frosted cakes and chocolates shared a third table with amasec bottles.

  Marsh Silas stood next to Lauraine as the Kasrkin placed glasses, utensils, and plates along a smaller table they pushed over.

  “Thank you for this. It will have the greatest effect on the spirit of my dear friends,” he said to her.

  “Thank me not, sir. Tis a great pleasure to be in the company of such fine folks,” said Lauraine, graciously. “It gives me great cheer that you treat your troops fondly.”

  “I like to make sure they’re well-fed,” Marsh Silas told her. “We never were forced to eat corpse-starch, thank the Emperor, but we all remember what it was like to grow up on hardtack, Grox jerky, and reconstituted vegetables. These warriors deserve better.” With a kind-hearted smile, he placed one of his heavy, rough hands on her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. “I am happier still that you are able to join us.”

  Lauraine blushed a little and smiled. “Not least of all for my dear friend Seathan,” Marsh teased, “for he is in a sour mood this day. He might appear bookish, but the man’s a devil in combat. Sometimes, even more so outside of it.” Lauraine chuckled but quickly covered her mouth when her breath whistled through the gap of her front teeth.

  There was little time to laugh. The door at the end of the barracks burst open and Hyram stomped in. All his new medals jingled and swayed on his breast above his ribbon rack. His head was down, his fists curled up, and his shoulders hunched. Bloody Platoon and Gabler’s men quieted themselves and assembled in the center of the barracks.

  Marsh Silas took Lauraine by the elbow and led her back several paces as Hyram stormed by. “Watch this,” he whispered.

  Hyram stopped in the center of the Kasrkin and placed his hands on his hips. “Today is a momentous day and not just for the news I have to deliver. My wife Isabella and my son Sydney are here to visit. Other than my brother Marsh Silas, for the rest of you, this is the first meeting you’ll be having with my family since I first brought them to Cadia.”

  “Whose fault is that?” snickered Walmsley Major. Hyram whirled around and pointed at the platoon sergeant with the flat of his hand.

  “Shut the fuck up!” snapped Hyram, earning a ripple of laughter. But his threatening gaze silenced them. “There might be food and drink here but I am telling you fools this is a Militarum operation. The day must be orchestrated exactly as we plan our missions. My wife and son will enter, you will issue a greeting, she will introduce herself to some of the old hands, then I will make my announcement, and we shall all partake in this bountiful feast—thank you, Lauraine.”

  Hyram marched around the circle of soldiers. “I do not ask, I order you to maintain the same disciplined behavior you bear in our ceremonies. You are to be civil and courteous. Which means no foul language, no crass jokes, no smoking—” He swiped a lho-stick from Drummer Boy’s lips. “—No drunkenness, no gambling, no brawling, and no ridiculous games involving knives. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  Hyram glanced at his wrist-chrono, tugged on the leather collar of his green dress tunic, and tapped his foot. Eventually, he hurried over to Marsh Silas and leaned in.

  “How do I look?”

  “Ugly but the uniform does wonders.”

  “You’re insufferable.”

  Marsh Silas adjusted his friend’s tunic, straightened out the waistline, and then fixed the askew medals across his chest. When he finished, he smoothed out some of Hyram’s errant locks and got rid of the pomade residue left on his fingers. Finally fixing the man’s sword belt, Marsh grabbed Hyram by his shoulders and gave him a firm shake.

  “All will be well, brother.”

  There was a knock on the door. Hyram’s head snapped towards it like a hound’s and he hurried over. Marsh Silas and Lauraine watched him go, the former smiling.

  “He is certainly keen to make an impression,” Lauraine whispered. “He must love his wife dearly.”

  “It is a kind of love, though not in the way you mean it,” Marsh whispered. “He honors her and respects her, but the warmth I indulged with my Lilias was different. Not all men earn the rewards they dream of nor realize the desires of their hearts. Some of us are dealt bad hands, some get nothing, others may get a punishment instead, others still will get something entirely different than they imagined. Hyram sought a lover but was given a wife.”

  The door opened and Hyram swept to the side with a courteous bow. A short, dainty woman strolled in. Isabella Hyram had a slim face, a soft smile, beautiful, glowing brown eyes, and warm brown hair parted down the middle. Voluminous curls were piled in the back while ringlets lined the sides. She wore a pink chemisette with golden trimming underneath a pale blue corset. Her embroidered skirt matched her corset and white petticoats complemented the hue. Lace sleeves ran up to her elbow and a golden necklace with an Adeptus Ministorum I-shaped icon hanging on it.

  Beyond her emerged a boy, not quite of his teenage years. Shyly, Sydney Hyram clung to his mother’s skirt and gazed into the barracks. Freckles covered his cheeks and his hair maintained a dusty mixture of brown and blonde. But he was neat and well-dressed in his own khaki tunic and dark trousers.

  “Hello, darling Isabella,” greeted Hyram as he embraced her. They kissed one another deeply before he crouched and held out his arms. “Syd! Come here, Syd!” The boy immediately forgot his shyness and with a delighted chortle ran into his father’s arms. Hyram roared, stood up, and spun his son around. “There he is!” he exclaimed.

  When he finished, he put his other arm around Isabella and led her towards Bloody Platoon. Marsh Silas walked out with his arms extended. Isabella picked up her skirt and hurried towards him.

  “Brother Silas!” she squealed.

  “Sister Isabella,” Marsh replied and hugged her. Isabella kissed him on both cheeks and then she rested her hands on his chest.

  “You look so well, Silas. It is very good to see you. Even after making a home out of our own, you do not visit enough!”

  “Well, the work never ends and somebody has to look out for your fool husband.”

  “On that, we are quite agreed.”

  Marsh laughed and then tousled Sydney’s hair.

  “Hey there lad, I’m happy you came all this way.”

  “I am glad to see you again, sir.”

  “Sir!? What happened to ‘uncle,’ eh? Come here, boy.” Marsh took him from Hyram’s arms and gave him a hearty hug and a shake. After setting him down, he stepped back in front of the Kasrkin. Hyram did as well and smiled eagerly.

  “My dear wife, I know I have written you many times over and spoken endlessly about these fellows. I could go on and on to describe their virtues, valor, and courage. But I would only be repeating myself. So, without wasting further time, I introduce you to my brothers and sisters of the Bloody Platoon.”

  The entire platoon and Gabler’s men snapped to attention and bowed.

  “Welcome, madam!”

  Isabella smiled, touched Hyram’s cheek, and then drifted among the Kasrkin. All of them stood back up, relaxed their postures, and gave her their undivided attention. Silently, she inspected all of the assembled troopers and personnel, traveling slowly up and down the aisle created by the two bodies of soldiers.

  “You are Walmsley Major,” she said to Bloody Platoon’s sergeant. “I recognize you from the picts and descriptions. And you’re his twin, Walmsley Minor. Oh yes, I know you, you’re Drummer Boy. Aren’t you adorable? Ah, this must be young Rowley.This is Clivvy, you’re Tattersall. Just a few years ago, you three were Whiteshields. Now look at you! Arnold Yoxall, hello, Honeycutt, you’re not as mean-looking as everyone says, Wulff, you’re much taller than you are in the picts. Oh, and you must be Lieutenant Gabler. Marsh Silas speaks quite favorably about you.”

  “Does he?”

  “Indeed. I admire your bravery, Lieutenant. You must come visit Kasr Sonnen during your next furlough and stay with us! Oh, and you must be Jacinto.”

  “H-h-hello, m-madam.”

  “You need not be afraid, child. Hyram has assured me of your faith and loyalty.”

  “Tis not fear, ma’am,” said Fremantle. “The young man has an affliction of speech. On the battlefield, he has proven his bravery many times over.”

  “And you are quite obviously the taciturn Fremantle. Good tidings, young sir.”

  Marsh Silas watched Isabella, Sydney, and Hyram talk and speak to nearly every single person in the platoons. Everyone smiled and greeted his family warmly. Even the new hands in the platoon were pleasantly surprised to hear their names. She was so graceful as she clung to Hyram’s arm, shook hands, and touched cheeks. Sydney, although quiet, was gentlemanly, his small hand disappearing in the clutches of the adults and bowing his head respectfully.

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  His smile faded and his gaze fell for a time. Marsh Silas walked away from the Hyram family to the edge of the crowd. A glimmer grew in his violet eyes. Drawing a shaky breath, he forced himself to look up. Many portraits of fallen comrades and scenes from the platoon’s history lined the walls. Across from him was one of Carstensen, clad in her proud Commissariat garb. Her power fist coursed with writing blue energy and her ocean gaze was brave.

  It became impossible to look away. Standing beside a column, he pressed his shoulder against, then the side of his head. He smiled a little, it grew a little wider, and steadily fell. An exhausted breath passed between his lips and he ran his hand through his air. He gave her one last look before turning back around. Hyram had assumed the center of the formation and kept one hand over his heart.

  “Many of you might be wondering why I called for this occasion. I assure you, it is not just because our last decorations ceremony was a short one without the typical banquet. Those affairs are not our style. But, I wished to inform you that myself and Marsh Silas have worked tirelessly for many, many months to bring about some recognition for our previous regiment, the 1333rd and the place we once called home: Army’s Meadow.”

  He paused. The expressions of so many veterans grew wistful and misty. A host of memories flashed through their eyes. Images of sandy dunes, a winding road, an aging rockcrete bridge, a cliff overlooking the basin, and an endless sea of golden flowers. “We have long departed from that place where so much of our history truly began, from the fateful, wet day we captured it to the day we held it against all odds. To commemorate our lineage, our efforts for that final battle, and to honor those who came to our relief, we have successfully petitioned Cadian High Command to draft a new decoration: the Order of the Meadow.”

  He held up his hands as the gasps and whispers rose. “As well, it honors those who uphold the ideals and virtues we fight for, instill, and spread. Each and every man in Bloody Platoon is entitled to this award and it is extended to Lieutenant Gabler and her men, who fought on that day to save us. But today is not the day to administer this award. Rather, I have asked Warden-Colonel von Bracken to permit us one week’s furlough in Kasr Sonnen so we may conduct a private ceremony at the Lilias J. Carstensen Center of Officership and Commissariat Excellence. I will be visiting our commander again later today, but for now, we shall dine heartily and celebrate the issuance of this award. Now, all of you take a glass and—”

  The barracks door opened with a bang. Everyone turned around sharply. Marsh Silas’s eyes widened. Von Bracken walked in with a mammoth grin. To his left was Major Katerina Manco, the associate of Major Haight that Marsh Silas met some months ago. On his other side was Major Haight himself!

  “Knight-Lieutenant, well done!” von Bracken exclaimed. He clapped him on the shoulder and shook his hand before Marsh had a chance to salute. “I should have known a rabble-rouser like you would have conjured up a scheme to catch the spy.”

  “I…sir, I’m not sure—”

  “Major Haight told me everything about your idea to feed misinformation to that dastardly Osniah to make him expose his forces. A triple-agent, serving us and both Traitor Regiments! Those Marked Men certainly clashed with those Minnath traitors or whatever they’re called. Their battle was large enough that nearby forward observers rained fire missions down on the renegades all that night! It was good you brought Major Haight in on it as well, his recording of your actions and Osniah’s transmissions.”

  “Yes, congratulations on your stratagem, Knight-Lieutenant.” Manco took Marsh’s limp hand and shook it vigorously. “What a credit you are to the uniform, my man.” This she said with a clever smile and a smug tone.

  But Marsh Silas’s gaze lingered on Haight. The Securitas officer did not meet his eyes. Instead, he pulled his peaked cap low over his brow and stared at the floor. Von Bracken put his arm around the Major and jostled him.

  “Haight has become an indispensable asset here at regimental command. Once we crush this traitor business, I plan to make him a more permanent liaison. Isn’t that right, lad?”

  “Yes, sir.” Haight finally met Marsh’s eyes. “It would be my honor to continue working with you all.”

  “I’ll put my word on that,” von Bracken said. Marsh’s hands balled into fists so tightly they shook. Hyram and Gabler approached on either side of them, wide-eyed and incredulous. Other Kasrkin approached, jaws agape.

  Von Bracken then clapped Manco on the back. “Haight has also informed me he has received reliable reports and assistance in his recent affairs from Major Manco. I’m always scouting for new talent to bring into the regiment, isn’t that right, Cross?”

  “To become a Kasrkin would truly be a dream, sir,” Manco said.

  “Apologies, sir. Where is Osniah now?”

  “In the cells, where he belongs,” von Bracken answered dismissively as he stepped further into the room. “Hyram? I’ve approved your furlough; your platoon will be shipping out in one hour. Unfortunately, Gabler, I can’t spare you. I need your men in garrison while other platoons run other missions.” He suddenly looked around, as if suddenly aware of all the men in their dress uniforms. “Oh, well, I did not mean to crash your little party or whatever this is. I just thought you would like to hear it from me. Well done, Cross, I knew I was right to bring you and your troopers into this regiment.”

  Von Bracken departed with Major Manco at his side. She looked up at him with keen interest, speaking quickly, her eyes fluttering excitedly. The Warden-Colonel’s boisterous laughter rose like a storm, echoing through the halls adjacent to the barracks. Manco’s titters followed swiftly until their footsteps eventually faded.

  But Haight lingered. He shuffled his feet and wrung his hands together. When he managed to raise his head and meet a glaring, seething Marsh’s gaze, his eyes glimmered underneath his cap. With a heavy breath, he shook his head and held out an imploring hand.

  “Silas, I…” His voice became choked and his head twitched sharply. The outstretched hand clenched as if he were pained. Unleashing a heavy breath through his clenched teeth, Haight spun on his heel and departed swiftly.

  Marsh Silas whirled around, his violet eyes aglow. He did not know where he was storming or what he was going to do. But he paused when he caught Carstensen’s portrait in the corner of his eye. Her stoic stare was enough. The platoon leader drew breath and faced his comrades.

  “Walmsley Major, get the platoon ready to move. Gabler, Hyram, with me. Lauraine, you too.”

  “Me, sir?”

  “So I do not thrash anyone on the way to Osniah’s cell.”

  ***

  Fort Carmine’s dungeons were perpetually moist and dank. The ventilation systems were not ancient or decrepit, just basic and built for the benefit of the jailers. Prisoners sweltered in the rockcrete chambers and the smell of their own refuse permeated the interior. Moans rose and fell like the dying of the wind. Inane, indecipherable muttering filtered from some cells. Occasionally, a terrified shriek from an insane inmate or the pained cries of a victim brought to the interrogation rooms broke out. Sometimes, a visitor to the dungeons could hear a heretical captive bash their head against the walls—an act of agency to escape the torture of their Imperial captors.

  Marsh, Hyram, Lauraine, and Gabler stood outside of the reinforced glass chamber Osniah resided in. The disgraced Major sat on a cot suspended from the wall with a coarse pillow and canvas sheet for a blanket. All he was afforded was a tin bucket, rusted and stained from years of overuse.

  The platoon leader closed the door behind him. Osniah, wispy and disheveled, looked up slowly. A bitter smile formed, followed by a venomous snicker.

  “So, you finally got what you wanted, Cross,” he said glumly. “It is not enough to strip me of my rank and my titles, now your work puts me in a cell and you have come to accost me.”

  “You have placed yourself here by your own accord, traitor,” replied Marsh sternly. “Did you think you could dupe us for so long?”

  “For a time, I did,” Osniah sighed, leaning back against the wall. His uniform was ruined; the jailers had torn every Imperial icon and vestige from his person.

  Marsh Silas leaned against the wall, ignoring the damp stone on his green tunic. He folded his arms across his chest and stared down at his adversary. Osniah gazed back, his bleak eyes disinterested and aloof. “There was a time where I would not have dared to entertain compliance with the Archenemy. But you have made it so.”

  “You dare blame me for your treason?”

  “I was once a commander of men yet with no wars to fight. Altridge was a world undisturbed and peaceful. It had never known strife and it never will, frankly. There, I was a man of status and privilege. A university director, if you can believe that. My students adored me, my faculty obeyed me. My military rank in the planetary defense force meant little and that was fine. But the tithe changed all that. I assumed my duty with the greatest vigor I believed expected of my station. I was prepared to do it all.”

  Osniah’s hands clenched on his lap. “Not all of us are born on a Fortress World and afforded the command of men raised from birth to become warriors. I went to war with shopkeepers, teachers, artisans, and laborers whose military training lasted a few months. None had ever fired a shot in anger. What was I to do with them in a battle?”

  “Be the leader they needed you to be,” glowered Marsh. “You cast the 45th into the maelstrom again and again without care, without supply, without hope. It fell to Afdin and I to help them, to show them how to be warriors, to give those poor fellows something greater to fight for. A future in which their efforts would pave the way for an Imperium without war, and, failing that, the right to go home. They earned that after they charged with us that day.”

  “They charged without me.”

  “Embarrassed, were you? Those shopkeepers, teachers, artisans, and laborers were not only better soldiers but ultimately braver than you.”

  “I am the victim!”

  “Dare not cast yourself in such a light. You coveted glory. A leader cannot covet! A leader enhances and inspires those around him. He gives his warriors purpose. Those Altridge men and women, suffering in those trenches, they looked to Afdin to that. He was their leader, their hope. What was his repayment for his duty? You had me kill him!”

  Marsh Silas towered over Osniah and clutched his collar. “I killed my friend because of you. My men sullied themselves in the blood of comrades because of you. Good people died because of you. I have no regrets for illuminating you to the Inquisition for deceit and incompetence. How you escaped with your life eludes me. Aye, perhaps my acts did usher you towards treason, but it was you yourself who made the choice. I did not make it for you.”

  He let him go so fast that Osniah’s head smacked the rockcrete behind him. The prisoner rubbed the back of his head and glared up.

  “Between heretics seeking aid and an Imperium that reviles me? There was no choice to make. The First of Minnath sought guidance. Through their heralds, I became their confidant.”

  “To avenge yourself against the Imperium?”

  “You think too small, Cross.” Osniah spat and looked up at the ceiling. A tiny bulb hung overhead. “I used to be important. When they sent me away to fight, all my real prestige was gone. My way of giving back to the Emperor by furnishing him with gifted intellectuals, stripped away. Who I was, what I did, that meant something. Suddenly, I was a speck beneath Cadian giants. I could do little. I meant nothing.”

  He lowered his gaze and stared venomously at Marsh Silas. “Then you heaped meaninglessness upon me. So yes, I sought revenge, but I wished to reclaim my relevance once more. The Emperor was done with me so I wished to discover a new patron. The First of Minnath wished to liberate their homeworld by pledging themselves to one of those wretched Dark Gods and I decided to join them. I was the key to their victory, giving them every shred of intelligence I could. I did all in my power because I was their most important asset.”

  “A pawn and a tool, nothing more.”

  “To the small-minded such as yourself.”

  “Is my mind so small if I tricked both you and Haight?”

  “I suppose not,” Osniah huffed. He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. “Haight. The bastard figured it out before I did. He knew you would bring your findings to von Bracken soon enough. Before you even returned from Port Ollan, he set his plan in motion. He made me the scapegoat to protect himself. No one believed me when I cast him as a traitor also. You can’t touch him now, can you, now that he is under von Bracken’s protection.”

  Marsh Silas grimaced and paced across the cell.

  “Von Bracken will undoubtedly believe that any attempt to cast him as the spy he is will be jealousy on my part. At best, I would receive a reprimand. At worst, punishment. Alas, I cannot touch him, damn his eyes. His own hands are bound, as a careless act will expose him.”

  “Haight will bide his time before he passes on further intelligence even as both the Minnath and the Marked Men compete for supplies as they survive in the hinterland. He is crafty. It was he who convinced the leader of the First of Minnath to change sides.”

  Marsh paused and looked up, shocked. Osniah nodded slowly. “After you destroyed the Minnath Traitors’ base of operations at the old airfield, their commander switched sides and joined the Marked Men. With your assassination of the executive officer, the Minnath have since treated me as a kind of mediator between a council of chieftains. They’re disorganized and seeking a new base of operations. Harassed by the Imperium and competing with the equally displaced Marked Men, desperation sets in.”

  “This enemy commander. Who are they? The officer we found mentioned their leader was a woman.”

  “I know not her name or appearance. She insisted on secrecy and we never communicated directly. The closest we ever came was during the brief alliance to eliminate the prisoner you and Gabler took. Haight delayed you, the commander planted a bomb on a Valkyrie to create a distraction, and I used my clearance to enter the dungeon and kill him. It was during that time he must have tempted her with a finer prospect and she abandoned the Minnath folk.”

  “Manco…” murmured Marsh Silas. He turned around, waited for the guard to open the door, and then walked out. When the door slammed behind him, he led his comrades away from the cell. “...you caught all that?”

  “Aye. Manco made herself scarce since that day of the Valkyrie accident,” said Gabler. “She’s close to Haight as well. Maybe she’s the one.”

  “Haight intercepted our report. He is a no-go thanks to his scheming,” added Hyram. “Manco is the only lead we have and through her we can prove there is still a spy afoot.”

  “Sir, you have no proof.” Lauraine stepped up to Marsh Silas. “With you and the men going away for the week, you cannot gather any either. Allow me to be your spy. I will tail her, discover her hideaways, and gather enough intelligence to implicate her.”

  “Outstanding, Lauraine. Gabler, I want your men guarding this cell. Double the shifts. We will not allow Haight to murder another prisoner. Hyram, myself, and Bloody Platoon will go to Kasr Sonnen, ride out our furlough, and return. Together, we shall remove Manco and Haight.”