Marsh Silas IIS: Squad Stories

Chapter 6

The Taurox Prime rocked back and forth as it passed over a hole in the road. Drummer Boy and everyone else riding in the passenger compartment were jostled around. Above their heads, the intermittent mesh nets strung from side to side swayed around. The cans of ammunition, rations, water, and medical supplies the nets held rattled. Rucksacks and haversacks, hung on hooks mounted on the hull, swung back and forth.

Although the interior did not have many viewports, the brilliant morning sunlight was filling up the Taurox. Drummer Boy watched the particles of dust swirling around the heads of his compatriots. He sat diagonally from Marsh Silas, who was riding in the passenger seat. This Taurox Prime fulfilled a command role and was thus outfitted with an Augur Array suite, signal boosters, and even a small orbital relay. Drummer Boy's station in the vehicle allowed him to monitor the sensors while Marsh, sitting with his elbow on the center console, had access to the communications terminal. He held the handset connected to it up to his ear underneath his helmet. Above the console, 1st Lieutenant Namgung, who not only served as the vehicle commander but the platoon leader for their Taurox Prime complement, was standing up in the hatch. Womack, the driver, was idly talking to Marsh Silas.

Walmsley Major was sitting across from Drummer Boy. His head was tilted back and his eyes were shut, but his hands remained fixed to his Hot-Shot Volley Gun. Beside him was Commissar Fremantle who was busily logging the preliminary after-action report. The man, though he had an edge, was quite efficient. Honeycutt was next and he was sifting through the contents of his first aid kit. He groaned and lifted his hands in aggravation.

"Missing something?" the Voxman asked the medic.

"I lost my scissors. Blast, I must have left them when I was treating that gash in Hawthrone's leg."

Major Haight certainly delivered his intelligence. He linked the traitors who captured him to another heretical outpost in the countryside. Their early-morning raid wiped out the platoon-sized garrison, recovered a cache of Imperial weapons, and demolished the cave system they occupied. The only casualty was Hawthorne, who was wounded by a heavy caliber round between the plates of his leg armor.

Drummer Boy dug into the satchel on the right side of his belt and pulled out his own first aid kit. He rummaged until he found his own pair and handed them over. "I can get a new pair when we get back to the FOB," Honeycutt insisted.

"I'd rather you have them and not need'em instead of not having them when you need a pair." Honeycutt pursed his lips momentarily, then snatched them from his fingers.

"When did you get so bloody smart, boyo?"

Drummer Boy smirked and leaned back. He dug into one of his pouches and procured a packet of lho-sticks. He put one to his lips and searched for his lighter, patting himself all over. A flicker to his right caught his eye. Jacinto reached over with his forefinger which balanced a small flame. The white-haired, pale-skinned psyker nodded eagerly and smiled. Drummer Boy leaned forward and gingerly pressed the end to the flame. Smoke drifted up, he inhaled, and the end glowed orange.

"Thanks, fella," he said. Jacinto beamed happily and snapped his fingers, causing the flame to vanish.

"M-m-my p-pleasure," he stuttered. Commissar Fremantle looked up, his purple eyes burning with indignation.

"Psyker, cease your tricks. Your powers are only tolerated in combat." Jacinto shrank at this, dropping his head so his long, thick locks covered his face. He suddenly looked very small in his khaki duster coat and Carapace chestpiece. Fremantle huffed and returned to his duties. "Remember your place, creature."

Cornelius, the platoon preacher beside the Commissar, put one of his heavy hands on Fremantle's shoulder. He was a tall, large fellow with a dark complexion like the Commissar's. He had a lined, squarish, wise-looking face, black stubble that was turning gray along the chin, and flat hair. His outfit was very modest: a set of khaki shield-robes.