Marsh Silas IIS: Squad Stories

Chapter 11

Under a hazy, polluted, orange sky, Marsh Silas picked his way through the ruins of a great fortress. Thunder rumbled and tore across the sky. Streaks of lightning pierced the tumultuous, roiling black smoke columns, striking the barren, orange landscape. A light but steady rain fell, turning the destroyed countryside into mudflats. Thousands of shell craters and kilometers of dilapidated trenchworks filled with water. Hundreds of destroyed and rusted Leman Russ tanks, Centaur utility vehicles, Gorgon AATs, and countless self-propelled artillery pieces permeated the landscape. Some were half-sunk in the mud or had become submerged in the craters. Scattered between the wrecks, strewn in the fields, piled in trenches, caught in the layers of barbed wire, were thousands upon thousands of uniformed skeletons.

The destruction of the fortress itself was so complete, not even the metal bones remained. Every wall, bunker, and tower had collapsed. Naught was left by a great mountain of bricks surrounded by the dilapidated battlefield. Hades Breaching Drills, still half-buried in the spots they emerged from, stood lonely vigils among the blasted remains. No vestiges of the life that went on within its walls were evident. All the Imperial iconography was buried or destroyed as well as the traitor idols. There were only mounds of rockcrete bricks, metal pilings, and decomposing corpses.

Someone was waiting for him in the center of the ruin. Marsh Silas strode up to this figure and waited. This man wore a mud-splattered dark gray trench coat and a dented helmet. The ends of his jacket and his pant legs were in tatters. In one hand, he held a better Lucius-pattern lasgun and an Mk. 22c shotgun. A broken bayonet was affixed to the lasgun and the barrel was warped from overuse. The shotgun's stock was dented, broken, and hanging on by splinters. His breath, muffled by his gas mask, was calm and steady. He looked up to watch the lightning strikes as they fell.

"It is the light of the Emperor returning to this place," he said to Marsh Silas. "This heresy was close, too close, to one of His bastions. Gaze upon these remnants and recall the man you once called a friend. So close to you, so close to us all, having plotted and planned. You believe he has gone astray. To stray, one must be lost, to have drifted off the path. Amilios is not lost. He knows where he is going and what he must do for his dark god."

The soldier turned around. Lightning flashed and struck nearby. Thunder exploded right over their heads. In those instances of light, blank eyes stared through the tinted glass of his visor. "Do not forget what you are fighting for, Inquisitor."

Marsh Silas blinked, then looked down. His khaki uniform was gone, replaced by dark trousers, a black leather trench coat, and a silver cuirass. When he reached up, he felt long locks of hair flowing with the wind. He touched his face, finding not his square jaw but one more sharp and lithe.

"I am not—" He stopped. This voice did not belong to him.

Marsh Silas awoke. The light above him was stark and bright. Groaning, he lifted his right arm and shielded his eyes. When his eyes finally adjusted, he looked from side to side; the blank, white walls of Fort Carmine's medicae wing. He'd seen it plenty of times since he became a Kasrkin.

His left arm felt heavy. Marsh craned his neck forward and found it wrapped in a cast. At the end, he counted all five of his exposed fingers. A heavy breath of relief passed his lips and his head dropped onto the pillow. Smiling, he gazed at the ceiling and laughed a little.

"I am whole," he whispered. Placing his uninjured hand over his heart, he shut his eyes and drew breath. "My Emperor, I thank You for preserving my life once more. You have, as always, my everlasting loyalty and servitude, for granting me Your protection, and bequeathing me with courageous, valorous, and erstwhile companions who carry out Your will. I am undeserving of your Blessings."