Marsh Silas II: Bloody Platoon

Chapter 40

The earth trembled underneath their feet. At first, it was subtle—a gentle rhythm which could have been mistaken for a distant train treading the tracks. But then it grew stronger and then there was a kind of thunder. In the distance, there were stamping hooves and snorting horses.

Marsh Silas followed Isenhour into a rut overgrown with tundra cotton and riddled with rocks. They flattened out as the ground reverberated. Lying on his back, Marsh felt the vibrations in the ground travel through his entire body. It sounded like a tracked vehicle was rumbling towards him. Staring upwards, the sky appearing dull green thanks to his goggles, he waited and waited, praying to the Emperor the outriders had not seen them. Just when the noise grew its most chaotic, the huge animals leaped over the ditch. Each of the mounts hardly broke its stride, landing on the other side and galloping into the night.

Exhaling, Marsh waited until the beat of their hooves disappeared. Rolling onto his stomach, he found Isenhour gazing back at him. "Let's go," said the OSR Scout Sergeant. They kept low as they trekked to the north. Marsh Silas felt naked without his chestplate and M36. He kept looking around, wary of further cavalry patrols. At the very least, without the weight, he was not as fatigued. But it felt like his heart was in his throat again. He tried to think about Afdin. All he wanted to do was find his friend. He glanced at his wrist-chrono; they still had a few hours of night left and they were passing Sandeera Ridge. Bodies covered both slopes; Marsh had to avert his eyes.

"Won't be long now," whispered Isenhour.

"Thank you for coming along."

"Well, it was right you came to me. I'm a far better scout than you are," Isenhour said coldly. "And if it's known I let you go seek them alone, Carstensen would put a bullet in me. Have you figured out how we're to do this? I believe they're loyal, but what then? How will we avoid bloodshed between our regiments? We cannot let them run, Isaev will shoot us. If not, the Attilans might catch us yet and I ain't sure that's a fight we can win."

"No Imperial blood is to be shed. If this truly is a mutiny, I can be a messenger between Afdin and Osniah. If I can convince him to recant this declaration of treason, and get those men what they need, they'll rearm themselves and return to service. Then, we shall all be spared."

"You want to save everyone, do ye?" Isenhour asked after taking an anxious breath. He laughed a little. "It doesn't always work out that way, noble as it is."

"It's not about being noble or not, it's about what's right."

"Even if that means disobeying orders?"

"Even then."

"You've changed from the man atop that knoll overlooking the Iron Warriors. We've gotten plenty of poor orders during this ruddy siege. Commanders without any sense of how to break the lines, seeking glory rather than victory. I've always just thought to slip by unseen. But you defended your platoon, protested against Isaev, and made victory out of these dolts' bad decisions. If you can do that, then I can aid in this effort." He looked over his shoulder. "If you can change, so can I."

They came around Sandeera Ridge, giving it a wide berth. Less than a kilometer away was FOB Kitley. All the lights in the camp seemed to be on and the flickering, orange haze behind the prefabricated walls indicated there were campfires burning. There were several gates, each of them closed and guarded by two sentry towers. Searchlights scanned the ground around the perimeter. Silhouettes drifted along the tops of the bulwarks. The field before it was littered with dead Guardsmen and heretics.

Having paused behind an outcropping of rocks to take stock of the camp, Marsh and Isenhour gauged the surroundings. "No pickets," Isenhour said, "but how're we getting in there without getting shot? Can't get through the front, we do not know how twitchy their trigger are."