Chapter 16: Death and Responsibility
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“...”
The others exchanged grave looks.
Contact with Chaos. Severe mutation. And next, contact with the forces of other empires.
Given the Imperium’s fanatical nature, what fate awaited the Shattered Sword was self-evident.
“Lead the way!”
Arthur rose to his feet.
The Imperium itself might not be worth saving, but its soldiers and civilians certainly were.
*Scratch, scratch, scratch—*
The nib moved across the paper with a faint whisper.
In a clean and orderly little cabin, the commissar sat with a pen in hand, bent over his work beneath the light of a promethium lamp removed from the wall of the passageway.
After Arthur and the others had completed their purge of the heretics and led the tottering vessel out of the warp, the commissar had finally been able to seal off the compartments with the help of the guardsmen and devote what little energy he had left to writing the report for the operation.
The commissar’s role was not merely to safeguard the morale of every regiment. He was also the Departmento Munitorum’s watcher within their ranks.
Every operation undertaken by the Astra Militarum would ultimately be submitted to the Departmento Munitorum for deliberation after the commissar had written a detailed report. The quality of that report would determine the regiment’s future.
“...I only hope the Departmento Munitorum will overlook my absence this time, considering that I’ve served for nearly three hundred years.”
After carefully checking the names of the star systems in the report and confirming that nothing had been omitted or misstated, the commissar neatly copied the draft onto official stationery. Then he drew a solid piece of sealing wax from the powder-stained folds of his coat.
*Snap—*
He broke off a piece of the wax, lifted the cover of the promethium lamp, and held the wax spoon into the blazing white heart of the flame.
The pallid light fell across the commissar’s face, emphasizing its deep furrows and revealing the white at his temples.
Once, he could fight on the front lines for seven consecutive days without changing expression, then spray spittle across the faces of Departmento Munitorum officials while filing his reports, all to secure better supplies for his regiment. But now...
The commissar turned his eyes away from the flame.
A shrill buzzing gnawed at his cerebral cortex, while the sound of the promethium heating the wax cracked like thunder.
Had the drugs not continued stimulating his nerves, he was certain he would have lost consciousness.
He withdrew the spoon and poured the molten wax over the report’s seal. Then he pressed the signet ring into it. Raising a hand, the commissar rubbed the bridge of his nose, leaving a black smear of ink across his brow.
A voice kept reminding him from somewhere within his mind.
You are very old now.
It was a sorrowful fact, but one he could no longer deny.
I am finally old.
His face, still not wholly covered by metal, looked somewhat dazed. The commissar let out a long breath, relieved as though he had finally been able to set something down, and signed his name at the mouth of the envelope.
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Alex Kane.
He spread the remaining sealing wax over his name, then rose with the letter in hand. Clearly, he had made some sort of decision.
He had served the Imperium for more than two hundred years and endured countless partings. Now, he did not wish to endure another.
When he opened the door, Colonel Kovek of the Shattered Sword was already waiting.
“Commissar Alex.”
The colonel offered him a lit cigarette.
“Thank you.”
Alex took it and set the filter between his teeth.
“How many are left?” he asked indistinctly.
“One hundred and sixty-nine.”
Colonel Kovek exhaled a stream of smoke.
“That includes you and me, as well as the Ogryn.”
“One hundred and sixty-nine.”
Repeating the number, Alex leaned heavily against the cold wall.
“How many are still alive?”
“Two thousand six hundred. Not one more, not one less.”
There was an unreadable expression on Colonel Kovek’s face.
“Thanks be to the Emperor’s angels, our raid went exceptionally well. We suffered practically no casualties.”
“Heh. I’d rather they had died on the battlefield.”
Alex drew deeply on his cigarette.
“Yes. It would have been better if they had died.”
The colonel raised his head and blinked.
“If they had all died, like those Savlar Chem-Dogs on the lower deck, I imagine the Departmento Munitorum wouldn’t need to verify the beneficiary families one by one. And we wouldn’t have to face what awaits us now—a victory won for the Imperium once again, rewarded only with a conclusion utterly devoid of glory—”
“That girl on the ocean world of Tyd...”
The colonel lowered his head and said quietly, “Jack was very fond of her.”
“This is the report for the operation.”
Alex handed the envelope to the colonel.
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The commissar, normally so stern, paid no attention to the colonel’s treasonous words.
“Take it to the Departmento Munitorum in the Maelstrom. I hear they’re very efficient there.”
The colonel reached out and pressed the letter back against Alex’s chest.
“Kovek?” Alex asked.
“You go.”
The colonel tossed his cigarette butt onto the floor.
“I’m staying here with them.”
The colonel’s grip was powerful. After a brief struggle, Alex clearly realized that his strength was failing him.
“Heh. Fine. Very well.”
Alex’s hand began to tremble. He instinctively wanted to clench it into a fist, but feared damaging the report. He tucked the report inside his coat first, then finally curled his fingers tight and cursed in exasperation.
“You say this every time. From Armageddon, to Cadia, to the Maelstrom, to Watch Fortress—you say this every time, and every time you leave me behind.”
It was difficult to imagine that a commissar renowned for his austerity could wear such an expression.
“I’m three hundred years old, child. Can’t you let an old man who should have been buried long ago fulfill his final wish? I should never have undergone that damned rejuvenation surgery just for the pension. My grandson has already died of old age.”
“I want a death. I need a death, do you understand? Even if I die in the void, I don’t want to abandon another group of people and slink back alone in disgrace.”
“...I don’t trust those bureaucrats.”
Watching Alex throw a tantrum like a little old man in an ordinary household quarreling over some family dispute, the colonel was at a loss.
“I grew up hearing about your deeds. My father served in a regiment you once commanded. I have no choice but to trust you.”
“Again. After three centuries, it’s always the same. You people can’t even be bothered to change your excuse...”
At that answer, Alex wore an expression of weary inevitability, as though he had endured this conversation countless times before.
“...”
Kovek did not reply. He simply stared at him with stubborn resolve.
“Fine, very well! I agree. This is the last time.”
Caught between dying alongside the soldiers once and for all, or helping them settle their affairs, Alex wrestled with the choice for a brief moment before once again being forced to surrender the death he had long dreamed of.
If they did not trust him, whom else could they trust?
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