Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 16: Death and Duty

"..."

The four of them exchanged grave looks.

Contact with Chaos. Severe mutation. And impending contact with other Imperial forces.

Given the Imperium's fanatical paranoia, the fate of the "Broken Swords" was self-evident.

"Lead the way!" Arthur declared, rising to his feet.

The Imperium itself might not be worth saving, but its soldiers and citizens were.

Scratch... scratch... scratch...

The soft sound of a pen nib gliding across paper.

In a small, clean, and tidy cabin, a Commissar hunched over a desk, writing by the light of a promethium lamp salvaged from a corridor wall.

Now that Arthur and his comrades had purged the heretics and guided the battered ship out of the Warp, the Commissar, after leading the Guardsmen in sealing off the compromised decks, could finally spend his few remaining scraps of energy on drafting the mission report.

The role of a Commissar was not just to be the guarantor of a regiment's morale, but also to be the eyes and ears of the Departmento Munitorum. Every action taken by the Astra Militarum was meticulously detailed in a Commissar's report and submitted to the Munitorum for judgment. The quality of that report often decided the very future of the regiment.

"...I can only hope the Munitorum will overlook my absence this time, for the sake of my nearly three hundred years of service."

After carefully checking the star-charts and confirming there were no errors in his report, the Commissar expertly transcribed his draft onto the formal parchment used for official submissions. Then, from a pocket in his powder-stained greatcoat, he produced a stick of solidified wax.

snap—

He broke the wax stick, lifted the lamp's glass chimney, and held the spoon in the white-hot heart of the flame. The pale light fell upon his face, carving deep lines into his features and illuminating the white strands at his temples.

In his youth, he could fight on the front lines for seven days without flinching, and then march into a Munitorum office and spit in an official's face to demand better supplies for his regiment. But now...

The Commissar looked away from the flame.

A piercing ring gnawed at his cerebral cortex. The sound of the promethium flame melting the wax was like a clap of thunder. If not for the combat stimms still coursing through his veins, he was certain he would have passed out.

He withdrew the spoon, poured the molten wax onto the report's seal, and pressed his signet ring into it. The Commissar raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose, his ink-stained fingers leaving a black smudge on his forehead.

A voice in his mind kept reminding him.

You are old.

It was a sad, undeniable fact.

I am finally old.

His face, the part not yet covered by augmetics, held a distant look. The Commissar let out a long sigh, as if a great weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. He signed his name at the bottom of the envelope.

Alexei Cain.

Pouring the remaining wax over his signature, Alexei picked up the letter and stood, his mind clearly made up. He had served the Imperium for over two hundred years and had endured countless farewells. He didn't want to go through another one.

He opened the door. Colonel Kovek of the "Broken Swords" was already waiting.

"Commissar Alexei." The Colonel offered him a lit lho-stick.

"Thank you." Alexei took it, placing it between his lips.

"How many?" he asked, his voice muffled.

"One hundred and sixty-nine," Colonel Kovek replied, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Counting you, me, and the Ogryns."

"One hundred and sixty-nine," Alexei repeated, slumping heavily against the cold bulkhead. "And how many... are still alive?"

"Two thousand, six hundred. No more, no less," the Colonel said, his expression unreadable. "Thanks to the Emperor's Angels, our assault was exceptionally successful. We took almost no casualties."

"Heh. I'd rather they had died on the battlefield," Alexei said, taking a deep drag from the lho-stick.

"Yes. It would have been better if they had died," the Colonel agreed, looking up and blinking. "If they had all died, like those Savlar Chem-Dogs on the lower decks, I suppose the Munitorum wouldn't have to bother verifying all the families for death benefits. And we wouldn't be in this position now—winning another victory for the Imperium, only to face such an inglorious end—"

"That girl on Tidan... a water-world," the Colonel said softly, his head bowed. "Jake really liked her."

"Here is the mission report," Alexei said, handing the envelope to the Colonel. For once, the stern Commissar ignored the Colonel's borderline heretical words. "Take it to the Munitorum office in the Maelstrom. I hear they're quite efficient there."

The Colonel pushed the letter back into Alexei's chest.

"Kovek?" Alexei asked.

"You go," the Colonel said, dropping the lho-stick to the deck. "I'll stay here with them."

The Colonel's grip was strong. After a brief struggle, Alexei felt his own strength failing him.

"Heh. Fine. Very well," Alexei's hands began to tremble. He subconsciously tried to clench his fists, then remembered the report. He stuffed it into the inner pocket of his greatcoat, then finally balled his hands into tight fists, his voice cracking with rage.

"You all say that, every time! From Armageddon, to Cadia, to the Maelstrom, to the Watch Fortresses! You all say the same thing, and every time, you leave me behind, all alone!"

It was hard to imagine such an expression on the face of a Commissar famous for his stoic demeanor.

"I am three hundred years old, boy! Can't you just let an old man who should have been in the ground long ago fulfill his final wish? I never should have gotten that damned rejuvenation treatment for the pension! My own grandson has died of old age by now!"

"I want a death! I need a death, do you understand? Even if I die in the void, I don't want to leave another group of men behind and crawl back in shame!"

"...I don't trust the bureaucrats," the Colonel said, looking at a loss as Alexei raged like a grumpy old man in a family dispute. "I grew up on stories of your deeds. My own father served in a regiment you led. You're the only one I can trust."

"There it is again. Three centuries, and it's always the same. You people don't even bother to change the words..." Hearing this reply, Alexei's face took on a look of grim resignation, as if he had had this exact conversation countless times before.

"..." Kovek said nothing, just stared at him stubbornly.

"Fine! Fine! I promise you. This is the last time," Alexei declared. Faced with the choice of dying here with his soldiers or seeing to their final affairs, after a brief, agonizing struggle, Alexei once again had to forsake the death he so desperately craved.

If they couldn't trust him, who else could they trust?

(End of Chapter)