Marsh Silas IIS: Squad Stories

Chapter 23

Lauraine stared at the obelisk which stood in the center of the Fifth Row Barracks lobby. Her hand swept slowly across the marble face and the imprints of the names scratched against her fingertips. She lingered beside it, underneath those many laurels which wrapped around the pillar, and merely breathed in.

"Emperor above and within me," she whispered, eyes closed. "I ask of Thee to always keep these honored names with Ye. I shall keep them with me and in my humble, pitiful attempts, maintain the examples they have so bravely set." Her hand dropped, she took two steps back, and she clapped her hands three times. Then, she locked her thumbs together, creating the Sign of the Aquila over her chest. She held her hands there for some time, gazing upon those names and the blank spaces underneath them.

"I pray my name will be upon it one day."
Lauraine jumped. Leaning in the entrance to the corridor was Master Sergeant Walmsley, Marsh Silas's platoon sergeant. He was taller, slightly more so than the Knight-Lieutenant, and a bit more broad in his chest. His green utility fatigues were crisp and his black leather boots shone in the amber ceiling lamps. Dirty blonde, his hair was short save for a low, messy ridge in the center.

He walked beside her and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. "But I pray also it will be some great length of time before it is etched into this sacred marble." Walmsley Major affectionately tapped the obelisk and flashed a big, brotherly smile at her. "Marsh Silas ain't here just yet, he had to fetch a few folks. But he let me know you were a-coming, so I'll be your escort."

Walmsley Major led her down the hall, passing many dormitories, classrooms, and offices. A few enlisted men and the occasional Adeptus Administratum staffer wandered by. Lauraine, feeling small beside the immense Kasrkin, clutched a leather letter carrier close to her chest. "Worry not, you are in a place of honor, aye, but it is still a place of comrades. You will find the men of Bloody Platoon to be just as jovial as they are in the soldier's halls. You need not carry yourself as if you are on parade or as a mouse."

"Yes, sir."

He pushed open the doors and the pair walked in just as an amasec bottle smashed on the wall beside them. Shards of glass sprayed through the air and billowed onto the floor. Kasrkin hooted and hollered as they jumped off bunks, took long swigs from liquor bottles, and tossed the empty glasses at one another. Corporal Raskob, blindfolded, sat in front of one of the central columns. Balanced on his head was a round, juicy, dew fruit. Above it was a corkboard embedded with knives. Across from him, Corporal Hawthorne stuck his tongue out as he prepared to throw his own blade.

Some Kasrkin circled a communal table, slamming their playing cards on the surface. Corporal Tattersall cackled as he slammed down the winning hand. Crazy Stück roared and leaped across the table. The card game devolved into a tussle between all the players and the table was quickly thrown on its side. Friends constrained one another in headlocks, grapples, and pins.

Atop some of the bunks, the blankets were pulled tightly over the mattresses. Springs squeaked and squealed as pleasured moans rose from underneath. A rather vivacious Interior Guardsman, clad only in a loose tank top, leaned over Jacinto to talk to Walmsley Minor. The white-haired psyker's pale pallor was bright red and he squirmed as the woman leaned closer.

Wide-eyed, Laurain looked up at Walmsley Major. The platoon sergeant's violet eyes glowed incandescently. He reached into his pocket and blew on a whistle. Immediately, the raucous barracks grew still and silent. Blankets were thrown off, revealing half-dressed Kasrkin and women from the Interior Guard. Hastily, they extricated themselves from their partners and collected their clothing. Meanwhile, Bloody Platoon gathered up; they were unshaven, disheveled, drunken, dirty, and more than a few were missing their clothes.