Warhammer 40k by Tales from the Dark Millennium # Marc Gascoigne;Christian Dunn (eds)

Author:Tales from the Dark Millennium # Marc Gascoigne;Christian Dunn (eds)
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-06-01T13:43:50+00:00

Verina looked over shoulder to the remains of their former commander, mortally wounded by shell fragments the day before. ‘Why did you not just kill him back there Allyonna? It is not like you to be so precipitate.’

‘I don’t know, my lady. We’ve been watching those guns get closer for days and since the fleet stopped shelling we all know that we’re little more than a forlorn hope.

I suppose I wanted to strike back myself, and I do feel better for it.’

‘How so?’

‘At least I’ve shown them down there that we are not hiding behind our machine spirits and missiles.’

‘But to die like this?’

‘It is as good a death as any I can think of, and a better one than I’d feared.

Though I might think differently if I could actually feel the wound.’ The sergeant laughed coldly and picked up one of the empty analgesic shots with which Verina had dosed her shoulder. ‘Don’t let me shame myself before the company. Don’t let me turn,’ implored Fillonova at last, grasping at the Sister’s right arm.

Verina sensed that the Guardsmen around the camp were quiet and were, whilst seemingly absorbed in many menial tasks, clearly hanging on her exchange with Sergeant Fillonova. The 1st Company respected their colour sergeant and she was speaking as much for their benefit as for any other reason. But Verina knew enough about death to know that this woman was, at the last, content with her lot and her service to the Imperial Guard. Her final act was to give her troops confidence in the one who would replace her in command and, while Verina knew that she would not long outlive the young woman, she respected Fillonova enough not to disturb her passing with the truth.

‘You have given all that you can give in His name, and in His name I acknowledge that service. Allyonna Fillonova, I grant you honourable rest from your labour,’ said Verina and, intoning the Litany for the Righteous, she introduced the needle on her bracer into Sergeant Fillonova’s neck.

Death had visited the camp many times in the past week, but as the remains of the sergeant began to smoulder on her deathbed, it seemed to Verina that the surviving Guardsmen were, though obviously cowed, resolved as never before. This was not the fanatical bravery Verina had seen in the Cadian Kasrkins, from whose ranks Lord Matanlé habitually drew his stormtroopers. Neither was it the righteous zeal of her order’s warrior Sisters, whose battle prayers pierced the heavens. Nor was it the sure, centuries tested faith of the Emperor’s own sons, for whom every act was a devotion to the Light of Man. The simple dedication of the Hyrusians shamed her own unvoiced doubts even more, and she could not bear their gaze. Once the rites had been completed, she drew herself to her feet and walked towards the restored shrine, determined to make an end of the coward which she had become.

‘A moment if you please, good Sister.’

Looking round at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, Verina saw that the Dark Angel had woken.

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