Marsh Silas II: Bloody Platoon

Chapter 39

Even though the majority of fighting over the past six months occurred in the valley, Kasr Sonnen was still in disrepair. Many of the Bastion towers were marked with holes, entire complexes were reduced to ruins, piles of rubble covered the streets, and soldier halls were naught but hollows. Despite the smoke and debris, there was still a grandeur to the kasr. Huge recruiting posters displaying Cadian heroes looked all the more inspiring when riddled with bullet holes. Frayed banners still waved. Soldiers were posted throughout the ruins, even embedding themselves among the fallen buildings. Leman Russ tanks stood among the piles like islands. Songs of prayer played over the kasr-wide intercom system, processions weaved between the destruction, and soldiers gathered by the fires to sing.

It took all day for the convoy to reach its billet. Paths had to be cleared by servitors and engineers. Along the way, Interior Guardsmen, Shock Troopers, Whiteshields, auxiliaries, and so many ordinary citizens appeared to cheer the returning soldierly. There were whistles, shouts, songs, and a great deal of flag-waving. Many troopers posted to the kasr's defense during the long siege jumped onto the Chimeras to give the beleaguered Guardsmen water, lho-sticks, and rations.

Marsh Silas still heard all the aggrandizement and jubilation ringing his ears when they reached their quarters. Unable to get to one of the kasr garrisons due to blocked roads, the 1333rd Regiment was finally bivouacked in the grand cathedral—the very same one he visited during their short furlough nearly two solar years ago with Barlocke and again with Carstensen after their first night abed together. Even though the adamantium plates which covered the rockcrete were scorched and many of the armaglass windows were shattered, the cathedral was still a place of great beauty. Torches illuminated alluring frescoes in warm, orange light and the golden metalworking of Aquila figurines glowed grandly.

Guardsmen filled the pews. Wounded men were allowed to lay down, resting their heads on the shoulders or laps of their friends. Others clustered together on the floor, wrapped in cloaks and blankets. Honeycutt changed the dressings on Marsh's legs and gave him a shot of nullifiers. It was the first time he had one in a long time and the medic had to scrounge for it. To feel no pain, just fatigue, was a great luxury. He was even able to walk, albeit stiffly and slowly. After making his rounds, he wanted to find someplace to sit down. But more outfits from the battlefield were arriving and bedding down in the cathedral as well.

Unwilling to take a seat from an enlisted man, he found a column behind the last pew on the right side of the cathedral. Most of Bloody Platoon and the remains of the 1333rd were on this side, anyway. Leaning against it, he looked over the heads of his comrades. Sisters Madriga sang from the shrine at the front of the cathedral. Their voices were not majestic or powerful; instead, they maintained a steady, beautiful chime. There was a great calm to it, gentle and caressing in its tone. It was almost like listening to a lullaby. Resting his head against the stone, Marsh thought he could fall asleep. But his smile widened as he felt an arm wrap around him.

"Before we departed, Chaplain Anato told me that a funeral procession for Captain Galen will be held in Kasr Sonnen after the battle ends. I told him there would be no better place to end then at this very place."

"What better place than within the house we wish to be wed? Would you want to wait for them to repair the damage?" Marsh whispered to her.

"And forgo golden sunlight filtering through the holes in the roof? I think not." Carstensen nuzzled him. "That is a reward that will go unmatched, but this? Here we stand in a house of the Emperor, protected and shielded by His love and soothed by His singers. It comes close."

Marsh put his arm around her as well. Torchlight blooming above them illuminated Carstensen's face. It made her orange hair glow despite how dirty and shaggy it was. Her eyes, usually a sparkling miasma of aquamarine, were dark from the low light.