Marsh Silas II: Bloody Platoon

Chapter 43

"Carstensen the Cadian..." the Commissar mused. "...I can still hear it ringing in my ears."

Marsh Silas, though his eyes were closed, smiled and wrapped his arm around Carstensen. He sat against the mound of pillows piled up in front of the headboard and she leaned back against his chest. Her skin was still hot to the touch and a sheen of sweat covered her shoulders. They had pulled the sheets up to her neck even though the room Wulff had given them was quite warm.

Below, the sounds of Bloody Platoon's merriment drifted through the floor. They sang many jaunty songs of soldiering, proud tunes depicting brotherhood, and bawdy ballads of women. Whenever they finished, there was a bout of raucous laughter so intense it shook the reinforced window panes. Then, there would be a great series of clinking sounds as they bashed their drinking glasses together and downed another round of amasec.

Carstensen laughed a little and pressed further into Marsh. "I'm glad we left the ceremony. Would we have stayed; I fear these good Guardsmen would not have had the celebrations they truly deserve. However many plaudits they heap upon us, no matter the accolades and promotions and bonuses, this is the Bloody Platoon."

There was a great cheer below as the men finished another song. They both laughed as their friends stamped their feet and slammed the tables. Even with so many pounding up the stairs with their partners for the night, the sounds of their gaiety were still enough to shake the entire building right to its foundations.

"We soldiers always find a way to make an affair our own. Though, 'twas a grand ceremony, was it not?"

The Commissar turned around in the sheets so she was lying on top of him. Smirking and giggling, she reached up and traced lines across his cheeks.

"It surely must have been, for here lies a Hero of the Imperium."

"I did not carry my achievements alone. Look at thee! For here lies Commissar—not Junior Commissar—but Commissar Lilias Juventas Carstensen. Sald-Grati born, officer of the Officio Prefectus. Warrior, leader, and an upholder of the Orders of St. Gerstahl and Captain-Commissar Bachmeier. Surely, I am in the presence of glory."

Carstensen's green-blue eyes sparkled thoughtfully. Lowering her hand to his chest, she pressed her cheek against it and was quiet for a time. Marsh ran his hand up and down her back, pausing over some of the scars. Still, his love did not speak. Wrapping his other arm around her, he nuzzled her closely and kissed the top of her head. She exhaled, her breath feeling quite cool as it washed over his skin.

"I am no longer from Sald-Grati," she said. "Ever since I left for the Schola Progenium, I have had no world. Once you attend there, no planet is your own. Not until you find yourself placed into a regiment and adopt their ways can a Commissar say they have a home once again."

Rolling off of Marsh, she sat shoulder to shoulder with him. Her tone was not melancholy but gentle in its curiosity and even in its reflection. "Too many Commissars forget that. They see themselves as the product of a Schola, a purveyor of rules and order. They are the Prefectus—the Commissariat incarnate. I say no, we are far more. We are men and women with beating hearts and blood in our veins just as any other Imperial subject. Noble, commoner, officer, soldier, we are all human."

Rolling her heads towards Marsh, she rested her chin on his shoulder. "Commissars walk away proud, too proud sometimes. We think we know what's best for all. How to stand, how to talk, how to eat. We order and demand. Silas, that is not what we must be. Remember what Barlocke used to say? We must become more. He was right, however strange the fellow was. All this time I have tried to set an example. I wanted to be courageous to inspire others to be brave. I wanted to stand when others ran so they might turn around to face the foe. I wanted to learn so that I could teach. A good teacher is one who never stops learning."