Marsh Silas I: An Inquisition

Upon hearing the report of a xenos in their sector, it was not long before regimental command arrived at Bloody Platoon’s location. The Valkyrie landed barely half an hour after Barlocke issued the communique. Colonel Isaev, accompanied by Captain Giles, 1st Lieutenant Eastoft, and several other staff officers, came marching down a Valkyrie ramp.

Watching the angry commander stomp across the field made Marsh Silas feel somewhat intimidated. Isaev was a decent officer, a fierce fighter, and exemplary Cadian, but there was no real love between him and the men. Line Guardsmen did not see him often and when they did it was either for ceremonial purposes or far more grim circumstances.

Marsh tried to find strength in his comrades. Barlocke was standing on his right with Carstensen while Hyram was to his left. Young Galo, still wrapped in the blanket and wearing the platoon leader’s helmet, stood in front of him. Babcock and Drummer Boy were behind Marsh Silas as was most of the platoon who weren’t on sentry duty. Honeycutt was away with the wounded who took refuge in their little campsite on the field.

Barlocke strode out to meet the Colonel, then Carstensen stepped closer to Marsh Silas. She was scowling and her eyes were narrowed.

“How long has the regiment been seconded to the Ordo Hereticus?” she asked.

“Two standard months by my count, Junior Commissar,” he replied, wary of her proximity. Her emerald-oceanic glare pierced his violet gaze.

“I’ve not met a single Inquisitor like him during any of my deployments,” she said gruffly.

“You are not alone in that regard, ma’am, we’ve all said as much o’er time.”

Carstensen stepped closer, scrutinizing him. Marsh Silas’s first instinct was to recoil as if he was being confronted by a snarling hound. The more he looked at her the more he found the comparison true. However, he retained his composure.

“It does not appear there’s anything wrong with you nor is there anything that makes you stand out. Yet the Inquisitor and you are close. Pray tell, what does he see in you?”

“I’d have to be as wise as a priest to answer that, ma’am,” Marsh said. Carstensen did not smile but she made an amused, ‘pah!’ noise that Marsh Chose to interpret as a laugh. She faced forward and her arms fell by her sides. Both watched as Colonel Isaev burst into a tirade of indignant, incredulous shouting. Cursing and spitting, he made grand proclamations against all xenos. It was as if the presence of this lone alien personally affronted him.

Marsh Silas could not help but concur as the thought crossed his mind. Cadia was as holy as a Shrine World to him and whether it was a xenos, traitor, or foul heretic, his ire for them grew tenfold when they touched his homeworld.

Carstensen shifted on her feet. Marsh noticed her black coattails sifting back and forth. The air between them did not feel settled. Were there still words to share? None came to mind and he felt even more ill at ease beside her. All these days, he crossed bayonets with heretics in some of the most dangerous environments a Shock Trooper could expect: close quarters urban warfare. Earlier that day, he took two bullets for the God-Emperor and the Imperium, and it was the calm Junior Commissar who was striking fear into him.

“Ma’am?” he said, just to break the silence. “I never thanked you for saving me on the first day you arrived.”

“There is no need for thanks, Staff Sergeant Cross,” she replied swiftly. “A dead soldier and a useless soldier might have much in common. Would you agree?”

“I would indeed, actually,” Marsh said, laughing a little.

“Do I amuse you?”

“No, ma’am. I jus’…” He glanced at her. Carstensen’s sideways gaze was even worse than looking her straight in the eyes. “…apologies, ma’am.”

Her eyes shifted forward. She inhaled, rose on the tips of her toes for a moment, and then shrank back down. Then, her eyes glanced back.

“You were cautioned by the platoon leader against rash action. But you showed courage and daring even in the defiance of a direct order. Hyram has not sought punishment and I am in agreement. Ultimately, such brave acts are expected by the Emperor and the Astra Militarum. I shall recommend you for decorations.”

“Really? I mean, thank you, ma’am,” Marsh said, trying not to sound too shocked. “I am not worthy o’ such an honor.”

“You are very modest,” Carstensen said quietly as she looked back at the Inquisitor and the Colonel. Marsh shrugged, running his hand up and down the strap of his M36.

“Weren’t about valor, really. I jus’ couldn’t see that fella howling out his last there. Doing nothing was just…impossible, I’pose.”

Without seeing all her features, it was difficult to read her expression. But eventually, her pursed lips softened and the corner of her mouth turned upwards ever so slightly.

“Your honesty is appreciated,” she said in an even tone. “All the same, I shall speak to Lieutenant Hyram. Even if you were not, the act was brave, and merits distinction.”

“Aye, as you’ll have it, ma’am.”

Isaev, now rubbing his forehead, was pacing. Giles appeared amused while Eastoft remained stern-faced as usual. When he finished walking, Isaev turned to Barlocke and waved his hand dismissively. The Inquisitor gestured towards Bloody Platoon and Isaev stormed over. Everyone stood at attention, clicking their heels together, raising their chins, and saluting. Even Galo snapped his hand up to his brow. Giles noticed the child first and returned the gesture. When Eastoft did not, he elbowed her and the adjutant saluted without a betrayal of emotion. Isaev saluted and lowered his arm. Everyone dropped theirs together and waited for him to speak. But the Colonel just stared at the lad, confused.

“Who is this?” he asked, looking at Hyram and pointing at the child.

“I’m Galo!”

“Remember to say, ‘sir,’ like you did earlier,” Hyram whispered hastily, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Sir!”

“This is the son of one of the refugees in Army’s Meadow. We found him up in the pillbox, the same place where we encountered the xenos, sir,” the Lieutenant explained.

“And 1st Platoon failed to kill or capture the alien?” Isaev growled.

“It was upon my order they did not pursue it further, sir,” Barlocke intervened. “We are dealing with an Aeldari Ranger. They will not be seized or eliminated without putting up a stiff fight. This is their ground and night will be approaching soon.”

Isaev grunted and turned to face him. He assumed a stately posture that most senior officers chose when speaking to someone of similar or higher rank.

“Inquisitor, I understand the hunting and seizure of xenos does not align with the imperatives of the Ordo Hereticus. However, I believe this Ranger presents a clear indication of an incoming alien warhost. While infrequent, their raids are quick, decisive, destructive, and distracting. If one is about to occur, I would rather snuff out its source of reconnaissance.”

“Sir, if I may,” Captain Giles began, stepping between the pair. “If the Ranger has been in the area, perhaps they have taken notice of heretical activity. It may serve us well to capture this xenos and interrogate them.”

Barlocke cupped his chin while the intelligence officer and regimental CO spoke. Eventually, a knowledgeable little smile spread across his pale face. When he noticed Marsh had seen it, he raised his chin and looked at him slyly.

What do you think? The chill crept up his back quickly, like an insect scuttling across the floor of a barracks. Shifting his weight and rolling his shoulders to rid himself of the sensation, he nodded his head to the side. Dealing with the heretics left on Kasr Fortis was a priority, he thought. But he recalled their conversation months ago on the cliff at Army’s Meadow. Information was key to a successful operation and to each man of Bloody Platoon coming back to base alive. If the Ranger possessed any knowledge, then it could only aid them in the end. As well, it did not seem right letting an enemy of the Imperium slip away so easily. As he came to this conclusion, Barlocke slowly grinned.

“Colonel, I approve of this action. But if we are to capture this Ranger, we’re going to outthink them. I don’t know how many Aeldari you’ve had the displeasure of meeting, but they’re not so easily outsmarted. Rangers are very clever and more wily than the whole bunch, I daresay. Ensnaring them in a trap of our own making will be difficult.”

“Do we have any boons in our favor?”

Barlocke knelt in front of Galo, who shyly pulled his blanket up over his face. He backed up against Hyram’s legs and shook a little bit. The Lieutenant squeezed the boy’s shoulder reassuringly. Instead of forcing the blanket off or speaking, Barlocke waited until Galo exposed his own face.

“When the bad people came, they took all my friends and me to the big house. But when they tried to take us away, I ran off. It was cold and dark and scary out. But the xenos found me and brought me to that house up there. She told me not to go out in the daytime.”

“Were you the xenos’ prisoner? Did they harm you?” Hyram asked. Galo looked up at the platoon leader and shook his head quickly.

“She found me a blanket and a bed. She showed me out to make a fire, and even taught me how to make traps to catch critters.” He rubbed his arms a little and looked down. “She’s a nice lady. Am I in trouble?”

Everyone glanced at one another, unsure of what to say. The boy knew what a xenos was and should have attempted to flee from it. Abhor the xenos one of the Imperial Creeds core tenets. From Isaev’s disgusted gaze and Carstensen’s hard stare, Marsh could only imagine what punishments they thought befitting of a Cadian child who spoke kindly of the alien. But Marsh Silas could not bring himself to feel the same. Poor Galo would have died if it weren’t for that thing and it was not as if he had much choice in the matter. This wasn’t his fault.

“No lad, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Marsh assured him, kneeling beside the boy. “But we do have to talk to this xenos and she clearly don’t wanna talk to us. Can you help us?”

“Are you gonna hurt her?” Galo whispered.

“No, we are not,” Barlocke said.

“Well, she was using that place to store some things and there’s another hiding spot past that place with all the trees. Sometimes, we’d go there if there were too many bad people in the village. If she’s not at one place, she’ll be at the other.”

“By the Emperor, the Ranger may very well be there at this moment,” Eastoft said. “We should advance on the area immediately.”

“We don’t know if the Ranger went there for sure. Even if she is, she’ll be alert and ready for a search party. I don't want to waste our time pursuing this alien across the planet. If we are to move, it is with the greatest chance of success.

***

Barlocke and Giles’s plan involved acting, stealth, and a fair amount of intervention from the Emperor. When they confirmed some of the Ranger’s equipment was still in the pillbox, they left the pack inside in order to draw her back. A squadron of Valkyries evacuated the wounded and even 2nd Platoon from 1st Company to make it appear as if they were vacating the immediate area. In actuality, they were transported north to 2nd Company’s area of operations and proceeded on foot to a high ridge designated as No. 875. It provided an excellent overwatch position of the ravine and would block one of the Ranger’s possible escape routes. Giles volunteered to command this attachment, taking Bullard and Derryhouse with him. Meanwhile, troopers from 2nd Company were diverted to make a great showing of patrols to the northwest to make it seem as if they were conducting sweeps. This would discourage her from attempting to flee up the coast.

Lieutenant Eastoft remained with Bloody Platoon to make up some of the numbers. They hunkered down in the rubble of the village near the hill and waited for the Ranger’s arrival. Orders forbidding smoking and the lighting of fires were given, much to the troops’ discouragement. The men were even prohibited from eating. Digging in among the rubble, they let the falling snow blanket their backs as they maintained a visual on the hill.

Marsh Silas, Barlocke, Hyram, Carstensen, and Eastoft crouched under a slab of rockcrete housing that was balanced on the foundation. It was just high enough to let them sit under it comfortably. Although Isaev had wished it otherwise, Galo remained with them as well. He refused to part from Hyram and Marsh.

They huddled around Barlocke as he observed an aerial display of the area. “From what Galo told us I estimate the secondary position to be at least four hundred meters on the opposite side of the ravine. Whoever comes into contact will raise the alarm and all units will penetrate this AO. Considering we don’t need anyone with Heavy Weapons, we have plenty of bodies.”

“All I’m wondering about is why we couldn’t eat,” Marsh complained.

“Staff Sergeant!” Carstensen snapped. “Mind how you—”

“Oh, that’s quite alright, Junior Commissar,” Barlocke said. “Silas and I are dear friends and we speak as such. It is not impertinent. And you, my erstwhile companion, would be wise to be wary as the Aeldari have keen senses beyond the likes of yours.”

“What rubbish, the Eldar—”

“Tut, tut. Aeldari. You should know their proper titles, not just the crude Low Gothic drawl.”

“—whatever they’re called, they’re filthy, disgusting xenos. Ain’t no alien got a better sense o’ smell than me.”

“Therein lies another inherent flaw in your little black book,” Barlocke said wistfully. “Whoever the fools were who penned it either outright lied to you or failed to consult the Ordo Xenos regarding the aliens you are likely to encounter. I assure you, an Aeldari can smell you long before you smell it. We must remain a distance away and cover the distance fast if we are to capture her. We must outwit her and that is a challenge among challenges, my friend.”

“Well, if this Ranger’s so wily,” Marsh pressed, “what’s to say she won’t just up and run somewhere else, hide in some crag or somethin’ for the night and wait ‘til we’re gone?”

“It is common for every civilization in this galaxy to think themselves exceptional to all others, Silvanus. You’ve clearly exemplified that tonight,” he added in a smug tone. Marsh just waved him off as he stared at darkening skies. “The Aeldari are no exception and their arrogance knows no bounds. When they look at us, they hold our cunning in contempt and consider our intellect inferior. I wager this one is no different and we’ll use her superiority against her. She will be unmade by a crude and simple trick.”

“Now that I can abide,” Marsh said, grinning confidently.

“I doubt we have much to fear,” Carstensen added. “This Aeldari is not much of a marksman. All of her shots were wounding blows and flesh ones at that. A poor shot works to our advantage.”

“An Aeldari never misses,” Barlocke said from under his hat.

“Lower your voices,” Hyram hissed. All eyes turned to Galo, wrapped in Marsh’s blanket and laying against the Lieutenant’s chestplate. He stirred, whimpered a little, and then rolled over. It happened a few more times and he tightened himself into a smaller ball. Hyram shook his head sorrowfully. “Poor boy,” he whispered. “Being out here, far away from his mother…”

“It should serve him well in the days ahead,” Marsh said, nibbling on the end of his pipe to pass the time. “One day, he’ll be sent to a rock in the Caducades Sea without even a scrap o’ clothing. The Month of Making will decide whether he becomes a soldier or not. If he’s made it this far in hostile territory, he’ll make it out there. Not like some o’ the lads I knew.”

“You and these men did the same around his age? Remarkable.”

“Aye. Anyone who has been through it won’t ever forget it, I’ll tell you that, sir,” Marsh said coldly.

He did not like thinking about it all that much himself. The sweet memory soured quickly. Finding his pipe bothersome, he put it away and drew his laspistol. Ensuring the safety was off, he ejected the sli-shaped charge pack and blew on it to make sure no dust accumulated on it. He had used a few packs for it the other day and could feel the empty ones in the dump pouch on his cartridge belt. If there’d been a chance to light a fire, he would have tossed one in.

It was getting bitterly cold. Although the snowfall was light, it was steady. All the piles of rubble where the houses once stood were dusted in white. Here and there, he could make out a man covering himself with a blanket. M36 barrels poked out from underneath. Snow was covering their backs and now they looked like a part of the landscape.

“The Ranger taught him to trap and make a basic fire. I don’t see why a xenos would bother teaching a human anything about survival,” Hyram pondered.

“Why did she bother to care for the boy at all, that’s what I want to know,” Carstensen said sternly. She was sitting next to Marsh Silas examining her power fist. Although it bore no damage despite its use, it certainly bore the stains left by her enemies. She took a cloth dampened with a cleaning solution and scrubbed away some of the dark streaks on it. After she finished, she flexed the fingers to ensure the joints were not stiff.

“I’m sure once we bag this dirty, drooling xenos, we’ll find out,” Marsh spat. He looked over at Hyram; even in the weak gray light, he could see the mild expression on the platoon commander’s face. He leaned over and changed his tone. “Your lad…Sydney, was it?”

“Yes.”

“He looked about Galo’s age. Maybe a little older.”

“I couldn’t imagine him being out here,” Hyram said quietly.

“Thankfully, you ain’t gotta.”

“That’s just it, Staff Sergeant. You don’t have a son. But one day you will and when you see the children of others you will always be reminded of your own. It won’t matter if your child is far away or right beside you. They will always be on your mind.”

“If Staff Sergeant Cross has been doing his Cadian duty,” Carstensen butted in, “then I am sure he has many children who will one day rise as Guardsmen.” She looked over at him, searchingly. “Wouldn’t you want that for your children?”

It was enough to remind Marsh Silas about Kasr Sonnen. The confrontation between himself and Barlocke, the Inquisitor’s biting, probing criticism. That Interior Guardsmen, too, with her bouncy curls and charming smile, who stared at him with such scathing judgment. How she gazed at him in confusion as he struggled. All he saw were little faces looking back at him, wondering who their father was and why he was not there with them. Even if he relished his own Cadian upbringing in the training fortresses, he knew it was a far better experience for he had a home to return to at night. Others lived in those halls without a father’s smile or a mother’s embrace. Choice? Did he have the right to take away his child’s choice?

“Yes, Junior Commissar. I am proud to father Cadia’s future soldiers,” Marsh finally said, doing his best to mask the dreary reluctance in his voice. Carstensen, satisfied, returned to her weapons. When Marsh looked at Hyram, the officer frowned and turned his attention back to Galo.

That was a wise answer, Silvanus.

If I was to answer any other way, he thought, she would have reported me to Ghent. A ripple of handsome laughter passed through his head like a gentle gust of warm wind. I thought Guardsmen found strength in their Commissars! Maybe in those regiments from backwater worlds, Marsh thought huffily. Experienced Shock Troopers like him feared them just as much as they admired them. Too many times, innocent men bore accusations of cowardice, desertion, or insubordination and were executed by Commissars. Upon this thought, Marsh felt quite bitter.

I sense a story behind such feelings.

“It ain’t one I’m telling tonight,” Marsh mumbled.

“What was that, Staff Sergeant?” Carstensen asked.

“Hm? Oh, I, er…”

Ask her where’s from. Marsh quickly cleared his throat and leaned forward. “If appropriate, I was wondering if I might ask you where you hail from, ma’am.” Carstensen looked back at him, some of her orange locks flowing along her collar. The platoon sergeant corrected his informal posture by sitting up straight. “It is just, you do not bear the eyes of my people. It is uncommon for a Commissar without Cadian blood to serve among us.”

The Junior Commissar regarded him with a mixture of irritated hesitation and mild confusion. Brushing some of her hair back, she returned to her maintenance.

“A place you have never heard of. Sald-Grati, a Pleasure World in Segmentum Ultima.”

“Begging your pardon,” Hyram said, “I would never have assumed an officer like yourself would come from such a place.”

“That was merely the place I was born. It was the Schola Progenium that made me.” She loaded a fresh magazine into her Bolt Pistol. “I never miss that planet, merry as it was.”

“The Officio Prefectus certainly picked your new home well,” Barlocke said, his tone mildly sarcastic.

“I volunteered for this post, Inquisitor. I have never regretted that decision.”

Barlocke grasped the top of his hat and lifted it from his face. The last shred of the gray light from the setting sun disappeared, leaving the ghost of Barlocke’s visage in Marsh’s eye. There it was; a satisfied smirk, narrowed, peering eyes, and an expression of infinite delight.

“How I enjoy the company of so many volunteers,” he murmured.

Conversation ended after that. Marsh Silas lowered himself so he was laying down with his helmeted head across the rockcrete behind him. It felt a little like being back in the training fortresses during ambush tactics. Cadians could commit to a battlefield just as much as they could lie in wait to pounce upon an unsuspecting foe. But there was no flash or daring about an ambush; it required preparation and patience. Men needed to be dug in, their wargear in reach, and they needed to wait hours upon hours until their target arrived.

It'd been sometime since Marsh was able to partake in such a mission. In a way, it felt rather exciting. What an adventure these past months had been. Even as snow covered his outstretched legs, his empty stomach rumbled, and his wounds ached, he felt like he was living. Operation after operation, year after year, a man could get lost in that kind toil. Everything that took place before, going from one kasr to another, crushing one more cult each time, seemed like monotony. But now, each day entailed something different and he felt new life in his chest. It was as if his heart beat quicker and his blood pumped faster.

Every day in the Guard was an adventure, Marsh Silas used to think. There was always a fight to be had or work to be done. In between, a man could pray to his Lord and pass time with his friends. Practicing those martial values that he so loved filled him with spirit also. But it was different with Barlocke. Each presented challenge provided him another opportunity to serve the Emperor and his people. An aspect of permanency followed in Barlocke’s wake; Marsh knew the heretics would never be able to grip the land like they had before. Unlike the kasr cults; one would be torn out like a weed and another would grow in its place. Nothing changed. But out here, they extinguished threat after threat. Truly, it was good work; real work. How could a man refuse to undertake the adventure which would truly serve the Imperium?

Marsh rolled onto his side to look at Barlocke, who sat behind Carstensen. His posture was erect but his head was down. Sitting cross-legged, he rested his hands on his knees. Was he praying? Marsh Silas reached over to get his attention. Barlocke looked up suddenly, his eyes flashing white for a moment.

“It’s time,” the Inquisitor said.

Bang! Marsh Silas jumped out of the rubble and looked at the hill. There was a flash of light emanating from within the pillbox. Barlocke stood up and leaped over the rubble. “She tripped the grenade trap. Follow me, Bloody Platoon!”

Drummer Boy quickly radioed the other units the target was in place. Marsh and Hyram left Galo with the Voxman and raced up the hill. All around them, Cadian Shock Troopers threw off their covers in clouds of snow and ran as fast as they could. Troopers scrambled up the slope and assembled in a semicircle around the pillbox. Marsh crouched next to Barlocke and raised his laspistol.

“Ranger! You are surrounded!” Barlocke called. “Come out with your hands in the air and you shall be treated fairly! Remain inside and we shall take you by storm. Resist and you shall meet the very end we bestowed onto those piles of burned corpses you’ve seen across the countryside.”

There was no response. Everybody trained their weapons on the open entrance. Barlocke shouldered his Bolter and held out his hands. He nodded at Marsh Silas to follow close behind. The platoon sergeant, several other men, and the Inquisitor approached the entrance. “We do not wish you to die this night, Ranger,” Barlocke said. “I speak to you without a weapon in hand. Surely, you can do the same.”

A metal object rolled out of the pillbox.

“Grenade!” Marsh screamed and dove into Barlocke. There was a blinding white-green flash and a tremendous release of plasma energy. Men were thrown off their feet and those who weren’t were blinded. Even though his back was to it, Marsh found his vision dazzled as he tried to get off the ground.

He turned to see the hooded figure dart out from the pillbox. Instead of drawing her sword, she kept it in its scabbard. When Monty Peck burst forward, his bayonet poised, she struck him across the face with the flat of the sword and then hit him on the side of the head with the pommel. Queshire and Cuyper ran at her from the sides but she deftly stepped away, ducked, spun, and swept them off their feet with the sheathed blade.

Groggy from the plasma grenade, Fleming tried to swing his Grenade Launcher like a club at her. The Ranger jumped at him, landed on his face with one foot, and sprang off him, forcing the grenadier into the dirt. She landed on the shoulders of Jupp, wrapped her legs around his head, and used her weight to drag him down. Rolling out from under him, she parried a bayonet thrust from Foster while elbowing Olhouser in the gut. Tripping the latter, she forced him into Jupp and sent them tumbling down the hill.

Letting her sheath hang from her belt, the Ranger drew her rifle. Her movements were swift and almost impossible to witness. A barrel strike floored Walmsley Minor, a buttstroke sent his older brother reeling, and a strike from the body of the weapon right into his face broke Holmwood’s nose. Marsh struggled to his feet and aimed his laspistol. Before he could squeeze the trigger, the Ranger knocked the weapon away from his hand, rotated around him and in the same instant wrapped her arm around his neck, and drew him into a chokehold.

Just when he thought he’d be used as a shield, Hyram tried to tackle her from the right. Swinging her rifle with one hand, she clobbered him on the side of the head. Turning again, she forced Marsh into the Lieutenant and they landed in a pile in front of the pillbox.

Just as Marsh turned, the Ranger jumped at Barlocke. He leveled out his Bolter to defend himself from the strike but she just landed on the side of the weapon. Using it as a springboard, she backflipped off it. Right before she landed, she thrust the stock of the weapon backwards to knock over Yoxall who’d been lining up to catch her.

Carstensen roared and charged with her activated power fist. Each swing left a trail of blue energy in the night. Bloody Platoon backed off, unwilling to risk a blow. The Ranger ducked, sidestepped, and pirouetted around each strike. But she gave ground and backed up towards the pillbox. She came to a sudden halt and Carstensen closed in to hit. The Aeldari flowed away at the last moment and the Junior Commissar’s fist smashed into the rockcrete wall. It embedded deeply and she was stuck.

“Fire, damn you!” Carstensen shouted at the few unblinded Guardsmen still on their feet. The Ranger was still next to her, right in their line of fire!

“Hold!” Marsh shouted, but it was too late. But just as they fired, the Ranger dropped a small object on the ground in front of her and Carstensen. A blue oval-shaped shield of energy appeared and the lasbolts fizzled against it. The Ranger disappeared around the side of the pillbox.

Marsh Silas hurried over to Carstensen to free her but she pushed him away with her free hand.

“Get after her!” she ordered.

“With me, troopers!” Barlocke cried, waving his hand. Those who were able to see and stand took off. Marsh did his best to keep pace even though the stims were wearing off. Activating the flashlight rail attachments, the platoon fanned out and illuminated the landscape. In the wisps of light, he saw her! Once again, she was trying to return to the ravine. Instead of going down the route she escaped on earlier in the day, she started to head further up into the dense thicket. But Captain Giles and his detachment came charging down the ridge.

The Ranger slowed, her hooded head swiveling around. She turned back towards the original path. Instead of entering the ravine, she jumped into the nearest tree and started running along the branches.

“We’re going to lose her!” Marsh yelled at the bottom of the ravine.

“Don’t give up so easily, Silas!” Barlocke said. “Hyram, contact the other units and tell them to light the wood on fire. We’ll burn her camouflage!”

Not long after the call went out, Marsh Silas could see gouts of fire emitting 2nd Company’s Flamers. The fire spread quickly and burning leaves fluttered downwards with the snow. Acrid smoke filled but the men pressed on, the beams of their lamp packs cutting through the haze. Barlocke and Marsh kept moving until the former put his hand up. “Tatum, set that tree alight,” he ordered.

The burst of fire billowed towards the tree. A purple orb appeared on the long, thickest branch. The Ranger appeared within and the fire deflected off the shield. But she did remain immobile. When the fire dissipated, she lobbed another device down at them. Marsh, Barlocke, and Tatum found themselves within another of the shields! Tatum was about to fire again when Barlocke forced the weapon down. “This shield blocks all incoming and outgoing fire! Do you wish to burn us alive!?”

Marsh touched the shield and gasped as his hand went right through. He would have stayed to marvel but Barlocke dragged him on. “She doesn’t have long! This thicket is teeming with Guardsmen and the fire will block the gaps.

Burned out trees started to fall, throwing up sparks, dirt, and snow. The Ranger raced between two falling trunks, found a group of Guardsmen barreling towards her, and ran back just as the trees collapsed. This brought her back into Bloody Platoon’s path. She turned and more of Giles’ men appeared. From the back of the wood came the angry shouts of 2nd Platoon and 2nd Company.

She kept running and the men grew delighted in the chase. So enthralled in the pursuit they began to sing:

“At the fateful hour,

the Eldar always cower!

Eldar always hide,

for they have no pride!

Eldar always trick,

or else they’ll be licked!

The Eldar are all but done,

so they must always run!

As the units converged on her under the burning canopy, the Ranger slowed down. She turned, turned, and turned searching for an escape. Her gait slowed to a stop. Panting and laughing, the Guardsmen of Bloody Platoon circled around. Rows of bayonets were poised a mere inch away from her torso while others leveled with her head. A number were slid under her hood and the sides of the blades were pressed against her throat. It was as if she wore a collar of sharpened steel.

Barlocke ventured through the crowd, pushing down M36 barrels as he did. When he stood in front of the Ranger, he pulled her hood down revealing a mane of ebony hair. Icy, light blue eyes glared at him, then at Marsh Silas, who was pointing his laspistol at her. Next, he removed the mask; her face was long, narrow, and pointed. All her features were smooth and fine.

“I beseech you to surrender,” Barlocke said. The Ranger eyed the men around her. Slowly, she held her hands out in front of her.

“I accept your request, Inquisitor,” she said in an elegant, flowing voice.

Hyram collected her rifle, sword, and pistol. Marsh Silas reached into his kit bag and retrieved a length of rope. He bound her wrists and made the knot very tight, hoping it’d squeeze her wrists uncomfortably. If it did, she did not express it. Stepping behind her, Marsh placed a hand on her back and shoved her forward. Bloody Platoon and their comrades exited the wooded ravine which was reduced to a wall of flame. Over the crackling flames, they listened to the sound of approaching Valkyries.