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Darren, you had one job! At least this way he didn't get killed (yet, at least) or shoved into the toilet hole.

It's also nice for the group to actually see Yorke isn't a traitor.

Maybe Cat could use the example to teach Mouse some rudimentary maths after his reading lessons.

To be honest I'm often so immersed in the story that I don't even notice. I'm too busy reading to bother much with the counting. I don't even have an excuse. Maybe I'm just a lazy reader who enjoys a good story enough to implicitly trust that the author knows what he's talking about when it really matters.
Why nit-pick a gift horse in the narrative?
You're doing sterling work, honestly.

Interlude: What I did on my Hollies-Days: Diary of a Commissar: On Leave III

[ Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke ] [ Valse - 728.M41] *

The next time I opened my eyes, it was natural daylight that met them. Blinking, I was able to gradually focus on the nearest surroundings. Without thinking, I lifted up a hand to clear my vision.
"Don't, please." I was fuzzily aware of a figure by the bed. The lady medic? I lowered my arm, and tried to apologise, perplexed when I discovered I couldn't. I was unsure why, my senses all strangely suspended, cushioned.
"You have an auto respirator fitted, we have to leave it in a little while longer. We'll get it out soon." she spoke calmly with a reassuring tone, and put her hand on my wrist gently.
Tensing my face slightly, I could feel the restrictive piping running into my nose. As my senses returned slowly, I became aware of a burning in the back of my throat from the rest of it. My mouth was dry and foul, taking up a share of my attention. I made a hand gesture, my eyebrows raised politely as I could manage. 
The blurry medic shook her head, "Not until the ventilator is out; you'd choke. I'm sorry."
I nodded carefully, then motioned to my eye, curious why she had stopped me from touching it.
"Your nose is broken; you have two impressive shiners and a fractured eye socket." her tone was professional but sympathetic.
Hah. No wonder my head was full of fog.

Beside me, the medic yawned, trying to conceal it, and failed.
Trying my best non-verbal signing, I signalled, you okay?
She smiled tiredly, and sat down in the seat beside the bed, whilst patting my arm gently, "I'm just tired. Putting you back together has been a long one."
That hadn't yet occurred to me. I motioned, so nap. I won't tell anybody.
She chuckled, "You can't tell anybody!"
Grinning, I nodded. I regretted it shortly after, as pain spiked through my skull, sending me cross-eyed.
The medic had closed her own eyes, "I suppose five minutes can't hurt. I can hardly do my best if I'm half-awake.”
“Mhm.” I managed. I half-watched her through the haze as she drifted off. Her breathing relaxed, and I was glad to see her at rest.
Feeling safe, I let sleep claim me too, there was little to worry about in this room. It was an uncommon feeling, but a good one, despite the circumstances.

Waking again, I found the chair beside me empty, the young medic was instead silently checking the drip feed. She winked and put a finger to her lips.
I was about to enquire about the varying states of the rest of me, but my new companion straightened up suddenly, “You have a visitor." she said cheerfully.
A shadow drew across my vision and then I was gazing up into Gaskell's battered, solemn face. It was the first thing I'd truly seen in focus since waking, not entirely unwelcome but somewhat alarming. He was in uniform, the crisp colours vividly lit by the sunlight. It also illuminated how dog-tired he was; even for Gaskell he looked rough.
Gaskell read my expression, "Yeah I know, not a patch on young Bridget here." he chuckled.
Unable to reply, I watched him blearily. 
"You can't speak yet, huh?" he motioned to his nose with one hand, "Good. Gives me chance to bust your balls for once without you jawing back at me. And you can put that down before I snap it off." he said sternly, pointing at my obscene hand gesture.
I lowered it petulantly and listened. 

"You're lucky we found you, Cat! What in the Emperor's sainted boot-caps were you thinking? Walking back to bed with a stab wound, a collapsed lung? You can't just sleep those off, you fething maniac!"
I grinned at him, my split lower lip stinging sharply. 
"No, no you don't. All four of you need your heads examined. You can't just go around playing hero when you're off-duty. If it were up to me we'd fething leave you all here." he scowled. 
I held up my fingers, and cocked my head, [b]four?[/b]
He ignored me, "As it is, you idiots bought us all some more time off. So there's that." 
I blinked confusedly, he winked, the formal facade of bollocking me over. I felt the tug of sleep calling me back, softly.

He stepped away smartly, Bridget had returned with a male colleague. They sat me up carefully but efficiently, and after a short explanation, they removed the auto ventilator tubing. The passage of the tubes burned my throat and sinuses further, but the freedom more than made up for the brief discomfort.
Gasping, I found a small cup of water in my hand, and a basin was offered. Still unable to speak, I nodded my thanks and put my thumb up weakly before rinsing and spitting, “Tank y'." I managed, embarrassed at my articulation.
"With manners like that, you can come back." teased the second medic.
"Ah don't. He's a sweetie." scolded Bridget.
Out of the corner of my eye I could just about see Gaskell, and knew he was listening and storing it up for later.

The medics departed, leaving me with a further small cup of water and warning to take it slow.
Gaskell returned and sat in a chair beside the bed, “Hello sweetie." I couldn't see his grin, but knew it was there.
“Mmh.” the pull of sleep was still tugging me down, much firmer this time.
"Woah there." jumping up, his hand firmly caught my shoulder as I started to slide back, and lowered me gently, his other hand catching the drink.
"S'rry." I murmured, fighting the inevitable drop off.
"Rest up, Cat. I'll come back tomorrow." he put the cup down quietly on a nearby surface, "You better be your smart-arse self when I come back. I can't do this huggy gak." he muttered, his charming way of saying he'd been worried.
I closed my eyes, “Thass Coms’r Sm'rt 'rs." I heard his snort as I drifted off.



[ Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke ] [ Valse - 728.M41] *

“Someone’s popular.” Bridget winked at me as she finished checking my chest drain.
I looked at her in confusion, half asleep.
The medic smiled, “There’s a young lady here to see you.” She helped me sit up in bed with a trained efficiency tempered by an understanding of exactly what hurt and where.

Beside me, Gatchi took a seat and waited politely for me to wake up a little.
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. "How did you know I was here?" I mumbled.
Smiling, she was lit by the sun that broke into the room, giving her a warm glow that was strangely fitting. Her spiced perfume was a gentle but welcome contrast to the disinfectant smell that permeated the hospital. Gatchi laughed, "The world didn't stop because you got attacked, you know. Your lads are still coming into our bar. They're quite vocal after a few."
"Oh, Emperor wept." I could only imagine.
She leaned her elbows on the bed next to me, "I assume this is your reason for not coming back to see me. I'll give it a nine out of ten for commitment to the excuse."
I blinked tiredly, "M'sorry there. Didn't really think you wanted me to visit after all that I got up to." I had assumed that bridge burned and the ground long cleared.
Gatchi furrowed her brow, smiling, "You are the only person I know of that could turn what I did into your own transgression."
“Well-ingrained Commissariat guilt and manners." I smiled.

She gave a shark-like grin, "I remember your manners."
I winked tirely, "I could still find you a complaint form."
She shook her head, and reached out gently, holding her hand against my cheek, "You're daft. I liked them."
Closing my eyes at the warmth, I murmured, “Be a while before I can get up to anything, polite or rude, from the sounds of it. Don't think I'll be climbing down more fire escapes any time soon either."
"I can wait," she very lightly flicked my nose with one finger as she withdrew her hand, "no pity-party though."
"Promise." I chuckled, which was nearly too painful to be worth doing.

"I'll come back on my next afternoon off." Gatchi smiled as she stood up, "Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?"
I considered the question, "Keep an eye on Ahde and Gaz for me, if you see them. I'm worried that this may not be the end of things." I gestured to my injuries.
She nodded, "I'll make sure to. And I'll let the guys at the bar know to be on the lookout. I'm sorry that we facilitated that bastard to begin with."
"You couldn't have known." I was starting to feel acutely tired again, and blinked, struggling to focus.
Reaching over again, Gatchi gently turned my head with one hand and kissed my forehead lightly, "Rest as you need to, Ray, the world won't stop, but you must now and then.”
I closed my eyes and nodded sleepily as she slipped out of the room.

Bridget reappeared with a roll of fresh gauze and some tape, “I like her.”
I gave her a politely quizzical look.
“She made you laugh. And she’s got confidence to her, you could do a lot worse.”
Caught off guard, I mumbled, “So could she. I’m a commissar, Bridget.”
She tilted her head.
I continued, “There’s no future for her there. There’s no end to my duty, not really. So, we get together… I might see her once or twice a year if that, and then some day she gets a letter saying that I’ve been killed or gone missing. I can’t do that to someone. Not someone like her…”
Sitting on the edge of my bed, Bridget looked at me, exasperated, “I wasn’t saying you should. I just meant that you should seize some joy, Ramirez. Enjoy what you have whilst you’re here. Besides, it’s her choice as much as yours. That girl is no fool, she knows what you are.”
I smiled, “I guess I am a bit doom and gloom, huh.”
“That’d be the nearly being beaten to death; it tends to lower the mood.” she lifted back the sheets carefully to inspect my side.
I rolled to allow her access, and at some point fell asleep again while she skilfully changed the dressing.



[ Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke ] [ Valse - 728.M41 - week after the assault] *

"A mugging? Didn't they teach you to lie convincingly when they gave you that hat?" Gaskell ran his hand through his hair in exasperation.
"They tried. I wasn't paying attention." I replied glibly.
 He glared at me, "You spin gak to sound better all the time!"
"That's just varnish. A pearl is formed around grit until it is beautiful, valuable." I made a circular motion with my hands.
"Can't you varnish your lies?" he replied, exasperated.
"Of course I could."
"Then why don't you?" my friend snapped.
"Don't want to. People get hurt." I smiled.
He growled and cuffed me around the back of the head in almost paternal frustration, unseating my hat over my eyes.
I laughed, "See?"
"I think I liked it better when you were unconscious." Gaz sighed.

I changed topic, straightening my hat, “So. Who were the other men brought in?”
"Hantel and Sanderson. Someone shot them, they were just clipped though." he watched my reaction closely.
I did my best to appear shocked, "And the third?"
"The Cap." he frowned.
I failed to appear surprised, this time, “Creer? How is he?"
"Dead." What?
"Dead! I didn't think those wounds were fatal." I scratched my chin, thoughtfully.
"Cat! What do you know?" he seized my shoulder suddenly and I let out an involuntary yelp. Bridget looked over sternly and Gaskell quickly released his grip. He looked almost sheepish.
"I know there was a spate of mugging." I shrugged, wincing.

He looked over uneasily at me, "Someone carved his face, neck and legs up badly, but it wasn't lethal. He died from ventilator malfunction two days ago."
"That's a shame. I'd have had him against the wall for trying to kill me." I growled quietly.
"He did this to y- You did that to them?" his eyes widened as he blurted it out.
"Keep your voice down, Emperor above us, you're worse at subtlety than that bastard Ahde." I hissed.
He lowered his voice, “Why didn't you say it was Creer?"
"I wasn’t sure!”
Watching my face carefully, Gaz relaxed, "The upside of you being a gak liar is I know you're being straight with me now."
As was often the case, I felt half complimented, half damned.

"What I don't understand," Gaz murmured, "Is why they did such a piss poor job of trying to kill you."
I stared at him completely deadpan, "Thanks."
"You know what I mean! Three trained guard, you were drunk, and they couldn’t just off you in the dark? Basic training covers how to kill up close, and none of them were first week recruits, Cat!”
It'd occurred to me as well, "At a guess, Creer wanted me to know what was happening. Get his point across before... Well, you know. He just hadn't anticipated my reaction."
My friend looked at me, something akin to concern in his eyes, "Neither had I, Cat. You made a right mess of him."
"I was hardly trying for efficiency!"
"Good, because you'd have failed entirely if you were!" Gaz ran his hand through his recently cropped hair, "Promise me if I ever cross you, just use that bloody pistol."
“Can’t,” I frowned, “dropped it during the attack." I felt a pang of deep sadness. After everything the battered thing had survived, I'd lost it after all. I could hardly complain given the circumstances, but losing my last tangible link with my own family was a raw feeling.
Gaz shook his head, smiling, "You mustn't have had it with you, Cat. It was by your bunk this morning."
I turned my head so quickly that I rapidly regretted it, I exclaimed "Someone must have found it, then. I definitely had it with me!” catching his doubtful face, I then snapped, "I'm not crazy; those troopers came in with las-wounds, didn't they?"
His eyes widened, "So they did. Sorry fella. Been a long one, this."
Sitting for a little while, we didn’t fill the time with chatter, just thinking about the mess.

*

“Look, before it goes further, I don't want to report it." I heard myself say after some consideration.
"Why the feth not?" Gaz gaped at me.
I spoke slowly, “We can move on. Let Creer die in this insignificant way, Gaz. Let them all believe he was killed by some local, squabbling over nothing. The man was a brute and a bully." 
Nodding, Gaz leaned back in his seat, "I can't argue there. And that's Captain Gaz, Yorke."
Saluting stiffly, before breaking into a grin, I murmured, “About time."
"Thank you, Cat. It makes this look mighty shifty though, everyone knows we get along well, and then Creer pegging it... And what about Hantel and Sanderson?"
I considered the problem. Executing the pair would lead to questions, but allowing them to live would mean also allowing for treachery in our ranks. Plus, it would be exceptionally dangerous for morale and survival if anyone found out I’d let them stay.
On top of that, Gaskell was right, my involvement in Creer's death could unfairly cast a shadow over his new promotion. My head started to hurt again, and this time not from the fractures.
"They're letting me out of here in the morning, I'll deal with them tomorrow." I stretched out on the bed. 



[ Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke ] [ Valse - 728.M41 - week after the assault] *

"Ahde, I need you to leave." I stood in the doorway of the signal hut. Ahde was lounging with Hantel and Sanderson, playing cards inside. They looked up in surprise, I watched them silently. I knew I looked a state, despite wearing my uniform My coat buttoned up to hide the amount of bandage under my shirt, and provide a little support. Two black eyes and a broken nose under my cap, combined with a repairing split lip and unavoidable but gentle sideways sway as I stood there refusing to lean on a doorframe.
As he stood, Ahde nodded to me, "It's good to see you up and about, Cat." he smiled broadly and then caught sight of the pistol in my hand, looked away and slipped past wordlessly. 
The two young men stood up eying me, their faces still but pale. Sanderson’s arm was bandaged heavily in a sling, and he sported a black eye of his own. Strange, as I hadn't struck out at either of them during the attack, only fired. Hantel was shirtless under his jacket, with a large swathe of clean bandage and gauze across his stomach. 
He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut across him, "Save it. I charge you both with my attempted murder. Do not insult me further by assuming me too stupid to realise it was you."
I handcuffed them both. Sanderson had the decency to turn his eyes and lower his head, whilst Hantel glowered coldly at me the entire time. 
"Outside." I pointed with my pistol, "And before you get ideas about running, remember that I could hit you both in the dark." They traipsed past me, out into the courtyard, and I led them around the back of the compound in silence. 
I have always hated what had to come next, there's enough death in our lives without adding our own men to the tally. Partly why I made the call to do it myself, freeing anyone else from the burden. Commissars see execution as performing the Emperors will and upholding the Imperium's strength. I recognise that. I may even have at one time have subscribed fully and unquestioningly to the school of thought. Standing before them, I wished that I still did.

"Your final words, Hantel.” my pistol raised to his head as he stood against the wall. We were alone but for Sanderson. No ceremony, no firing squad. A faint breeze blew past, moving branches in the nearby pines. Birds chattered, and grass rustled gently. It felt surreal enough without the backdrop of a perfectly pleasant day in the countryside.
"feth you, Yorke." he spat at my feet. 
I sighed, took aim and fired. As his companion’s body crumpled to the ground, Sanderson flinched away, his eyes wide in fear in his pale face.
Rubbing my temples I focused and began to recite the Litany of Forgiveness, my heart wasn’t in it, and he wasn’t listening.
The slim trooper was sweating visibly and I realised quite how young he was. My heart sank as he started pleading. He was sorry. They had threatened him. They had forced him to go along with them. I realised his black eye was much older than my own. His already browning and starting to fade. Other, older bruises showed in the daylight along the bare flesh of his partly bandaged arm. 
"Compose yourself, Sanderson.” I said, my voice level.
"Please. I'm sorry." tears ran down his freckled cheeks and I thought again, how truly young he was.
"I believe you." I whispered before I fired. 

~

Litany of Forgiveness:
God-Emperor, forgive your servant his sins, and remember I am just a man.

Rough justice, I daresay. I liked the two different outlooks they gave. Hantel was cold to the end, and Sanderson was as much of a victim as a perpetrator.

I find it odd after this scene that the only pictures of Cat that I've seen are cute and rendered in crayon.

I just want to see a gritty black and white study of the guy in all his grim bad-assery. All gaunt and steely eyed and haunted.

Here's a scruffy sketch. I haven't drawn people for about eight years, so it's a little uhh.. yes.

I managed to find the surface of my desk.



Excuse the pixellation. I signed it and oddly enough I don't want Dakka knowing my real name.

Awesome. And a bonus Gaskell to boot. Thanks.

Been meaning to get them in here for a while. He doesn't change dramatically from the neck up apart from getting grayer, so it'll do.

I asked a friend to do them for me, who's a professional illustrator, but that was May, and here we are. I may some day get them.

Now you all have to deal with the mystery of Yorke's head-buttons for another couple of months until we hit Book II.

Edit: Ah Hell, whilst I'm here, let's see if I can't pull my socks up and get a small update finished. It's mostly written, I'm just dawdling on describing the dark.

[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [Day 4 - Jallen - 732.M41 ] *

I became aware of a rustling in the bushes nearby, and turned my head, gesturing for silence from the men with me. Listening, I head a small pattering on the ground, and a thump on the step of the truck bed.
“Commar-sar?” a small face appeared over the edge, in the dark I could just discern crimson eyes below the pointed ears.
“Mouse! You came back?" I whispered, bewildered and almost humbled by the efforts of the creature I'd barely known a day.
Confusion at my question spread across his dimly lit face, "Yer? You said you'd help us." Either animal-like loyalty or childish naivety had caused him to believe me, and for either, I was grateful.
“Mouse, in the cab, they put my sword. I need you to get it, quietly. Don’t let yourself be seen.” I pointed to the front of the truck.
Nodding, he disappeared into the black.

“You sure you’re a real commissar?” Ron gave me a hard stare, his brown eyes appearing almost black in the low light from the camp. His shaggy dark hair didn’t serve to make him appear any less menacing.
I sat and considered his question.
Darren furrowed his brow, “Why is that thing helping you, Commissar?”
Staring out in the dark I murmured, “Ray. And he knows the geography of this place. I needed a guide.”
“Well Ray, I’m not sure if you’re resourceful, heretical or cracked.” Ron sighed.
“I’m your best shot at getting out of here.” I muttered.
He put one hand to his forehead, “Emperor help us all.”

After a painfully long wait, Mouse’s feet echoed on the step again, and he returned with my power sword firmly gripped in his hands, and hat perched precariously on his head. He also returned with my Hell-pistol. I kept my face calm but I was extremely relieved to see it again. A small glow of happiness at seeing the old thing quickly dissipated when I remembered our stranded situation.
I reached over and retrieved the items from the over-burdened little creature, “Thank you, Mouse. Did you see many men?” I laid the gun quietly on the seat beside me.
“Three,” the small xeno replied, “over by the fire. They were yellin’ about something. Didn’t even hear me when I dropped your sword.” I started to feel Ron was not far off the mark with his curse.
“Go wait by the trees, fella. Quietly.” I motioned. Taking up my power sword, I activated the disruptor field and quietly carved through the chain lining the four of us to a welded bar at the back of the truck bed. “One at a time,” I said in a low voice to the guard with me, “I’ll go last with one of you.”

A few seconds later, Ron dropped down from the truck and silently crept out into the dark, after a few paces he was invisible to us.
After a moment or so, I nudged Darren, “Go, lad.”
He swallowed nervously and set off after his squad-mate into the thick night. I wondered if they would actually wait for me or not. I was hoping so, but realised again I’d been overly trusting. After a moment, I stayed staring into the darkness and motioned again, “Our turn.”
“I don’t think so, Commissar.”
I snapped my head back, and what likely won’t be the last time in my life, found myself at the mercy of my own pistol. After I’d invested in that bloody buckle-holster too, why hadn’t I stowed the damn thing?
“What are you doing?” I stared at the remaining guard in confusion.
“You’re staying here,” the young man shook his head, “you’re going to buy us some more time to get clear.” he climbed past me, keeping the pistol trained on my chest. Dropping down onto the ground, he backed away, still carefully aiming at me.
I threw myself flat as he fired at me, the loud crack and flash illuminating the area.
He sprinted into the black, and as I heard a yell from the camp, I threw caution to the wind and followed him. I was going to get my gun back if nothing else. As I ran, lasfire cracked into the earth near my feet and I stumbled trying to avoid it, but managed to keep upright.

Ahead of me, I heard a dull thud, closely followed by Ron reaching out of the undergrowth and pulling me into cover by my lapels.
I regained my compose and found myself stood with Mouse, Ron and Darren, and the unconscious form of the third trooper.
Ron kicked him in the ribs, “Knew he was a ignoble little gak.” growled the tall trooper, as he handed me back my pistol.
“You could have gone.” I was confused as I nodded my thanks.
“So could you, when they attacked. But you stayed,” he replied simply, adding, “and you didn’t let them kill Darren.”
Understanding, I didn’t push the issue. We crouched low in the thick bushes, the light of the camp's fires clearly visible, sparkling through the branches. I was dog-tired, but leaving our attackers to roam free was simply storing up problems for later.
Before we did anything else, I turned to Mouse, “You said you have a camp?”
The tiny xeno nodded, “Yer.”
“Can you tell us where it is?” I knelt and held out my dataslate, showing the map I had of the area.

*

 Buttery Commissar wrote:
Book III is possibly the most soul-crushing thing I've ever written and I need to look at something colourful whenever I write a chapter.

if it's Gaskell letting slip a single tear as he orders a rag-tag band of surviving Hollies in their finest regalia performing a Three-Volley-Salute at Cat's funeral... I mean... I'd be an emotional wreck by that stage.

And all things considered that'd probably count amongst the happier endings the grimdark universe might have in store... Soul crushing you say.... I dread to think.


Also, really looking forward to a whole camp of grots! Feels like coming home.

[Journal Entry: Renan] [Day 2 - Inquisitorial Visit - 732M41] *

At the mention of the cultists, I fleetingly noticed a spike of interest from Inquisitor Sharp from across the room. He had momentarily dropped his guard and revealed a small detail.
So he is here to investigate the same thing, I thought. At least we would not be at odds regarding the xeno interaction. It did seem that both he and I shared a thought there. Though I did worry that the revelation gave him leverage to pull Yorke from us under another pretence, the inquisitor seemed content to cooperate with us. Perhaps he saw some merit in our methods, or perhaps he understood a combined investigation would yield more information, I was unsure. Whatever his motives, he was one man to watch closely.



[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [Day 4 - Jallen - 732.M41 ] *

As Mouse scurried into the jungle, back to his camp, I remained with the two men, “You don’t have to follow me back there, after this. I know it’s hard to swallow, working with xeno; it’s my decision and I wouldn’t hold you to it.”
Darren looked over at me, “You think they can help us?”
Thinking for a moment, I replied, “I think it’s worth trying. It’s certainly a resource to pull on. One more than we had to begin with.” 
Beside us, Ron shrugged, “If you think it would work, and that your regiment wouldn’t kill us as soon as look at us for doing so.”
“I’m almost entirely certain they wouldn’t.” I smiled tiredly.
Darren eyed me nervously and swallowed.
“Don’t tease the lad.” Ron nudged me with an elbow.
“I’m not,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “it’s not exactly something that’s ever come up.”
The large trooper chuckled, “Fair.”

“What about him?” I pointed to the unconscious trooper.
“He tried to kill you.” Ron shrugged again.
I raised my eyebrows, “So did you.” 
“Aye but to your face.” he grinned.
Fair. I nudged the comatose man with a foot, “Reckon he’ll stay out of it?”
Darren nodded, “He’d have to be crazy to go back toward the camp.”
As one, I turned with Ron and looked at the young lad, and then one another, but remained silent.

*

The three of us crept back toward the camp, despite all my best instincts telling me to lead the men away. The pair were unarmed, and I was feeling understandably reticent to share my weapons with anyone else.
Listening for the enemy, I heard voices muttering inside one of the shabby tents, and a lantern inside glowed through the worn cloth. It sounded as though they were arguing.
I signalled to Ron, who vanished into the dark, waiting to ambush anyone who emerged from the entrance. A faint reflection from his eyes several feet away, the only sign of his location. Darren was looking noticeably frightened, and extremely tired.
Feeling sympathetic, I paused,  "Go and wait by the truck." I whispered, "If anyone comes up that way, call to us." If nothing else, it gave me one less thing to worry about in the upcoming mayhem.

Waiting for a solid shadow against the canvas, I lined up my pistol and fired. The thin fabric offering no resistance to the blast, a small sooty hole immediately appearing. More pertinent was the crash as it downed a man inside the tent, and a yell of surprise from his companions.
Two men emerged, lasguns raised, and eyes squeezed half closed, desperately scanning the darkness.
As one, Ron and I attacked from either side. I caught the man nearest to me around the neck with my arm, and simply put my hellpistol to him. He crumpled quietly to the ground, lasgun clattering beside him. I turned to find that Ron had bodily tackled his own adversary, and was using the man's own lasgun to choke the life out of him against the ground.  To my relief there was no satisfaction in the strong trooper's face, just tired focus. He straightened up slightly as the cultist breathed his last, and raised his head to look at me.
"That's for the rest of our lads," he said firmly, "can't say I hated doing it-"
He never got to finish his sentence, as a blast of concentrated light caused his head to evaporate and burn at the same time. He collapsed before he knew what had hit him. No-
I wheeled and fired blind, hitting the cultist in the chest as he limped forward, the shot leaving me part blinded. For good measure I shot again as he fell, more out of spite than necessity.
Our tiredness had caused us to be lax. Cost Ron his life. Cautiously, I leaned to see into the tent, ready to spring back. Other than a spattering of blood from where I'd hit the man earlier, it was empty.

Kneeling, I moved Ron's body from atop the corpse of the heretic. At least he died secure in the thought that he had avenged his friends, I thought bitterly. It was limited comfort, but it was some.
I picked up the lasgun that his killer had been using, and examined it. Well used, but standard issue for guard. It hadn't even been defaced. I began to wonder what was driving the cultists.

Behind me, interrupting my thoughts, I heard a quiet yelp. Darren.

"Commissar!" gak.

I wheeled around to see Darren stumbling forward, the tip of a jagged blade protruding from the front of his abdomen. His face was white with shock, the channel of blood already drenching his front.
Unthinking, I fired at the remaining cultist behind him, downing the bastard instantly with a shot between the eyes, spraying a column of filth and matter into the night. Gaskell was right, I was only ever very good at instinctive snap-shots. In this instance it provided no comfort.
I sprinted to the young soldier and caught his arms as he sank to his knees on the ground.

"Easy now." kneeling with him, I steadied Darren's torso, stopping him from slipping face first to the earth, and causing any more damage to himself.
"Take it out." he whispered, his eyes pleading.
Still holding him upright, I studied the curved weapon's entry point and my heart sank, "I can't. If I pull that out, chances are you'll die."
He looked up at me, desperate, "But if you leave it in, I'll-" he couldn't finish.
"Yes." very gently I lowered him to the ground and onto his other side, keeping his head level as I could. We both knew it. There was nothing I could do. No medical supplies, no blood to give him. Even if I removed the blade without killing him, I had nothing to close the wound, or heal the terrible damage inside of him.

He gripped my arm, “You'll stay?"
"Yes." I repeated, and as slowly as I could, shifted so that I supported his head with my knees, raising it from the ground. I took his hand gently.
"Will it hurt?" he looked up at me, his young face still seeking answers.
"No. No, you'll get tired, and then you'll want to sleep." I answered quietly.
Darren nodded, his eyes already darkening from the exhaustion and blood loss.


Silence flowed around us, compared to the havoc only moments before,
"I'm sorry," he murmured as tears formed in his half-closed eyes, "I'm sorry I'm not a good guard."
I rested my other hand softly against the back of his head in a bid to comfort him, "There's no shame in that, lad. Not everyone is good at the same things."
"I'm good at farming." he smiled faintly.
Despite him not being able to see it, I smiled back, ”Yeah?"
"Yeah, I can get things to grow almost anywhere. Mam said I could get crops to grow out of an old boot if I tried." Darren's eyes started to close.
Carefully, I squeezed his hand, "See, that sounds a damn sight better to me than killing. Creating something from nothing. I wish I could say I was good at that."
"You think so?" he smiled again as he mumbled.
"Aye. I do. You tired, fella?"
"Mhm... What're you good at, Ray?"
I looked around, wondering the same thing, then remembered Mouse, "I think maybe, I'm good at telling stories."
Darren gave a little sound, like a small laugh, "That's not such a bad one either."

*

After a little while, the last sane guardsman of the 57ths passed quietly away. There was no fanfare, nobody around to even recognise it had happened. I knelt there with him, surrounded by dead, and as a swirl of emotions battered at the door, I struggled to make sense of the day.
Tiredness had become roaring background noise to loss, anger, confusion and a building resentment of the situation.
Gently I laid Darren’s head on the grass, and then stood, looking around the clearing. I took my sword and cut a panel of canvas from one of the guard’s makeshift tents. Then I slowly gathered the dead guardsmen and laid them on one half of it, taking time to also gather their dog tags. I folded the other half of the fabric over and pegged it down, forming a rough cover. Tomorrow we would return to bury them. Tonight I had not the energy nor the drive.

 Mouse had given me directions, I supposed I should head that way. Picking up my sword, and pausing to say a prayer for the dead, I set off in arguably the right direction.



[Audio Transcript: Captain Gaskell] [Day 5 - Jallen - 732.M41]

We've started the descent. It's cooler with every step, but it's also claggy. By the end of the night our uniforms were wringing wet, and it felt like a steam room all around us. The air smells like wet compost all the time, it’s fresh, but it’s thick and hard to concentrate.

Hopefully once we reach ground level this will clear.

Nothing much else to report. We're on time, making good progress. Ahde is keeping spirits up with his terrible jokes. He's using it as an excuse to keep a eye on the lads, Talsen especially. They seem fairly resilient, and morale is higher now that the landscape is changing. Less reminders, more to focus on. More to watch out for. This strange interim is dangerous. We still cannot see below us properly.

I keep a small amount of hope that he's down there. I know it's stupid. I know it is.
It's like walking into your house and expecting to see someone, it's hard to turn off that way of thinking.
I want to say it gets easier with time, or seeing it happen repeatedly. That's bollocks. It really is.

Makes me pity those mighty Astartes sometimes. We only have one lifetime, we can only see so much, and lose so many. They must see hundreds, if not thousands of years. Brothers, they call them. A blood loss as well. I can't imagine fighting alongside actual family. We're close, sure. We make our own family from the company we keep. But I couldn’t see someone from my actual family die fighting.

Couple of days now and We’ll be at the next camp. Here’s hoping there’s no fresh horror there.

[Disconnect]

You handled their deaths really well, and I'm actually familiar with how people would prop up the dying. I am sad that Darren is gone though. I think he made a better guard then he thought, he might have messed up, but he made up for it by doing what Yorke told him, even though it meant his own death. It's more than a lot of people are up for in their lives.

Interlude: What I did on my Hollies-Days: Diary of a Commissar: On Leave IV

[ Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke ] [ Valse - 728.M41 - week after the assault]

Ahde caught up with me as I came back around the corner, my hellpistol  still loosely in my hand by my side. I walked without speed, miserable, barely registering purpose, and desperately wanting to return to the oblivion of sleep. There was more work to be done first.
"Cat?"
I ignored him.
“Cat!”
"What."
"I heard shots. You didn't-" he looked with panic between my dull expression, and my pistol.
"Leave me be." I dismissed him without meeting his eye, and carried on my path back to the office where I now had the grim task of reducing two young men’s deaths to paperwork.
"Cat! What did they do?" Ahde called out piteously, and against my better judgement I turned back.
"Are you questioning me?” I snapped.
"No, sir." he bowed his head.
Seeing what I’d done, I softened my tone slightly, “Look, I’m sorry, Ahde. It's better that you don't know."
He looked up at me, confusion in his face, “Then they were not to be made an example of?"
“Ahde. Please. I’m asking you to stop. You know better."
Ahde threw out his hands in frustration, "I don't know what I know! I know Gaz is now Captain, Creer is dead. I know you just took out Creer's most loyal officer, like you were cleaning house!" 
I stepped close to face him, mere inches between us, looking coldly down into his dark features, "Be careful." I spoke with a low tone.
"Are you threatening me now? You'll take me back there too?" He pointed to the building behind which two young men lay, not yet cold. The last tatter of respect he had for me stripping away.
At the bald accusation, I expected to feel angry. Insulted. All I did feel was numb.
I rubbed my aching temples with my free hand, " Of course not. Let’s- let’s not go over this out here like children in the schoolyard." I turned towards the office, "Come on."

*

“I had no idea.” Ahde sat, his shoulders low, hanging his head. His fire blown out, he sat dejected and somehow smaller than before.
“It took a while for me to realise.” I replied.
“Hantel I could understand. But Sanderson? Sanders was a good lad!” he looked to me, desperate for an answer.
Looking away, I said quietly, “It was him, Ahde. He had the las-burn to prove it. He didn’t even try to deny it when I caught up with them.”
He shuddered, searching my face, it wasn’t hard. I could barely hide the fact I was miserable about the decision, “What happens now?” he asked.

“Only thing we ever do; we move on.” I reached to the bottom drawer of my desk to fish out my flask and swore, remembering that I was under doctor’s orders not to drink yet. I pulled it out and instead tossed it to Ahde, “You’ll have to double up for the both of us.”
“No fear.” he necked it. Then grimacing exclaimed, “Cat! This is filth!”
“Give it back, then.” I rolled my eyes.
He grinned, “Nah, it’s not that filthy. But I thought you officers got the good stuff? Why’re you slumming it with this gak in your drawer?”
“I like it.” I shrugged, “Reminds me of someone.”
He swigged again, “Family? There’s grit in this.”



[ Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke ] [ Valse - 728.M41 - week after the assault]

I needed to make a final call at the hospital, collecting the drugs for my aftercare, and final wound inspections. Whilst we could have insisted upon one of the hospital staff travelling out to the base, I was grateful of the diversion and headed out there alone.
In the examination room, I sat swinging my legs off the side of their bed, my coat and hat laid aside, my shirt open to give access to my back and side. Bridget was uncharacteristically quiet as she examined the neat stitches, checked my eyes and took down my vitals. The bright face I had become accustomed to was distant, and uneasy, and she barely spoke except when necessary.

"Something is troubling you." I stopped her work.
She avoided looking at my face, instead focusing on the chart in her hands, "I heard that you killed those two young men that came in the same night as you. We patched them up, you killed them anyway."
My gut sank as I remembered that she was a civilian, "I executed them, yes."
"Executed, killed, what difference does it make, how you dress it?" her eyes were intense, frightened.
"They committed a crime, Bridget. If it had been discovered sooner, they wouldn't have made it to the hospital." I looked down at my hands in my lap, the hands that killed Hantel and Sanderson.  Compared to her hands, those that had repaired the same men only days previously.
"What crime?" she asked quietly.
"They and Captain Creer were the ones who attacked me. They aimed to kill me. That is- it was, treachery and they paid for it the only way we can allow." I still stared down into my hands, unable to look away, "If it were up to me, I- Sanderson was so young and they, they beat him into doing it. He was nineteen! A child. But if I didn’t-“she reached out and touched my shoulder, causing me to jump. I was lost in my anger and had pulled my hands into fists without meaning to. I relaxed them and finally pulled my gaze from them, dragging it to the wall instead.

“It’s not my place. I didn't mean to judge you; I'm sorry." her hand still resting on my arm, Bridget spoke softly.
I let out a sigh, "By all means, do so. We end lives, you preserve them. Primum non nocere, no?”
A silence rested in the room. Outside the world carried on, patients and orderlies rattled past, doors hissed, people spoke in a blur of sound. I was unsure quite where in that world I fitted any more. Merging military and civilian life had never struck me as so difficult before. Nothing had caused me to feel so deeply unsettled, or the divide so deep as this one small conversation.
"Have you done it before?" the medic remained by my side.
"Far too many times. I remember all of them.” I wanted to leave, but her hand anchored me to the strange honesty.
Bridget slowly removed her touch, "Do you need to talk about it?"
"I didn- I mean I don't. No, I've already-" I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my fingertips, welcoming the distracting sting, "I'm alright. Besides, you find me monstrous enough already. And I won't have you thinking poorly of the rest of our guard on my account."

It was her turn to show anger, stepping in front of my view, casting down the chart on the bed, “You think so low of us? That I’m incapable of understanding? Of course I don’t find you a monster! Complicated, frightening, and by the Emperor, frustrating. But a man!” She lowered her voice, "I'd know, I've seen your insides."
"Now that's line you'll have to remember! I could see it working on the young men." I couldn't help myself, grinning and raising an eyebrow.
She sternly poked my chest with a finger, "You're the one who undressed for me, sunshine." she cracked and started giggling. 
"About that." I tilted my head at the chart beside me.
"Oh, right. Considering the timescale, your wounds are healing very well. Keep them clean, dry. These smaller stitches can come out next week, the rest will dissolve in their own." she rattled off the instructions and I listened attentively.
When she finished, it dawned on me, "You mean I've been sat here with my shirt open all this time, and you were already done?"
She laughed, "Perk of the job. Beats our regular clientele, kids and geriatrics."
"Young lady. I'm pretty sure perving on a political officer is an offence." I sternly wagged a finger, using an officious tone.
"Bollocks!" Bridget exclaimed.
"No, those are fine,” I chuckled at her cheeks rapidly turning red as I buttoned up my shirt, prompting further expletives, “that is, too."

After I dressed, I turned to the young medic and held out my hand, “Thank you, Bridget. If there's anything you need before we leave-"
She ignored my hand, and drew me into a hug, skilfully avoiding catching my injured side.
"What's this for?" I relaxed and gently put an arm around her.
“Another perk of the job." she mumbled into my shoulder. 

*

Ahde greeted me from his seat as I walked back into the office, "You're very late,” he raised his eyebrows, smirking, “trapped yourself in a broom closet with one of the nurses? Did she take your vitals?"
"feth off."
"Ha! You old rogue! Gaz owes me a drink." he snapped his fingers.
Stepping past him, I sat heavily in my chair, wincing. 
"So what was she like?" he leaned forward, attentive.
Sinking back into the seat, I considered, "Kind." 
"Well she'd have to be, face like yours.”
"What?" I blinked, returning to the present, "No, no! Not like that."

Ahde looked sorely disappointed, “Seriously? You're the only one who got off base all week and you didn't... get off base? Can I still call Gaz on that drink though?"
"Do what you want." I closing my eyes, leaning back further. I wished Ahde hadn't mentioned drink, I was still banned from alcohol, and felt extremely weary. I’d thrown out the flask in my lower drawer to avoid temptation, and started to regret the decision.
"Cat?" Ahde persisted. 
I growled, “Fine. Tell him it was two nurses, just piss off, will you?"
"I'll tell him it was a nurse and a hospital servitor if you don't watch your mouth." he chided.
“If you think I care-“
Sirens. We both snapped upright.
"Not ours!" Ahde streaked outside and I scrambled clumsily to join him.

*

Smoke in the distance, from the city, just down the hill from our barracks. Civilian buildings, or homes?
Gaskell raced past us and I met his speed. We clambered into a truck as it sped away.
"Back from your date?" he finally recognised my presence.
"What?" Confused by the sirens and urgency, I barely registered his voice.
Gaz swore. As we cleared the ridge, the flames were visible, licking up the sides of a small building, “Isn’t that the hospital? What in the hell is going on?"

Thankfully, the size of the building and low evening attendance meant that evacuation had been brief and efficient, over before we arrived.
Staff and patients milled around the front courtyard, watching in confusion, the local fire services hadn’t reached the building yet, made up of volunteers and their station further away than our temporary base. The back of the hospital was untouched, looking absurdly serene in comparison. The fire lighting up through the rooms as though everything inside were open as usual.
The truck slowed, barely stopped when the lads, Gaz and I leapt out to assist.

A middle-aged man stepped across us, "Don't you think you've done enough?" he demanded.
We were two dark figures against the hard light, and I could barely make out the man's face, but his anger was baldly obvious.
Gaskell ignored him and carried on past, but I halted in bewilderment, “What?”
He leaned in close, I still couldn’t make his face out, “You got gak between your ears, lad? Imperials! If we hadn't been treating a bloody member of the Inquisition, the bastards wouldn't have lit us up to begin with."
"Who?" I furrowed my brow, trying to concentrate.
“Don’t know, there was a threat called through this morning, but nobody took it seriously." he waved an arm at the scene.
"Is everyone out?"
“Try looking yourself." he spat at me.
I frowned, “Thanks for the help.”
"Stow it up your arse." 

Finally, I lost my patience with the man, and started moving towards where Gaskell and Ahde were organising the staff into a line. I turned back briefly, “And that's Commissar gak-between-his-ears."
The man took a pace back, ready to run, and I gave him two thumbs up before returning on my way. Prick. 
"What can we do?" I asked Gaz as I rolled up behind him.
"Get everyone clear, more bucket columns. Try and do a head count." he nodded. We set to it, with the obvious military precision and efficiency. It took a further twenty minutes for the fire crews to arrive, and we welcomed their help.

*

My tiny earpiece crackled, an incoming vox, "Cat!" Ahde? I turned from passing a water bucket, and stepped out of the line. It continued seamlessly, the men now well practised.
He was out of breath, "Thought you should hear it from someone you knew. Fennel just finished the headcount. There's someone still in the building, he thinks” 
"Who?" I felt a sudden chill, fearing the answer.
Ahde paused, “The medic- the lass that saw you today." strangely I’d anticipated his answer, even though it horrified me.
I'd already started running towards the back of the building when Gaskell tackled me, holding me back, "You're insane!"
“Get off!" I fought to pull away, but despite being near a foot shorter, Gaskell was far stronger than I was. On top of it, I felt myself rapidly tiring, not yet recovered from my injuries. Thinking fast, I twisted and slipped out of my coat, leaving him grasping it as I sprinted towards the doors.
"Cat! Get back here!" I heard him call out behind me, before cursing at me and starting to run himself.

Running into the double doors at the rear of the hospital, I was surprised to find it untouched by the flames.
The entrance hall was evacuated, chairs and tables left in a moments notice. Drinks and paperwork were discarded mid-use. The blinds were still half-drawn on the barred windows, as though to guard fromm the afternoon’s sun.
The air was thick and unpleasantly hot, a slight haze rising like dust in afternoon sunlight, but the fire was yet to reach the back half of the building. Everything else was strangely serene.
"Bridget?" I called her name as loudly as I could, and listened. 
The thick air seemed to muffle the sounds around me. I thought I could hear a faint noise over the distant sirens and the crashing of the fire in the next building. It could have been my ears playing tricks, but it was all I had to go on. I followed the sound, boots skidding on the polished floors as I hared down the corridor. 
My earpiece crackled to life. "Where the feth are you?" Gaskell demanded.
"Down by the examination rooms.” I panted.
"You're inside?" 
I slowed down, catching my breath, “What?”
"The door is bolted, Cat. There's no way in back here."
"Make one! I'll get back to you when I find her."
I passed along the winding corridor, pushing each door open in turn. As I got closer to the front of the building, the heat was stifling. I started to feel dizzy. I called out to the medic again, and finally heard a reply, and the frantic clanging of metal on metal.
Pushing open the final exam room door, I found her. 

"Ramirez?"
The room was in disarray, the table over-turned and instruments strewn around. On the far wall, Bridget was handcuffed to a thick heating pipe, struggling against it.
"Hold on." I drew my cutlass, and she pulled back out of my way.
"You're nuts, you'll have my arm off!"
Not having accuracy on my side, I waved her gently to one side with my spare hand, and hacked the pipe in two places, it broke neatly off the wall, freeing her and spraying us both with unpleasantly hot water.
"Come on!" The corridor was substantially hotter than when I'd arrived, we were far closer to the fire next door than I cared for. I sheathed the sword and ran, pulling her along with me, at times she pulled me as I struggled to breathe.
"How did you end up in here?" I gasped as we ran toward the exit.
“feth knows! I was outside and someone called me over to assist looking at a patient. Next thing I know I woke up in there, chained to the wall." she was out of breath but I could hear anger in her voice.
"Gaz, any joy with the door?" I pressed my mic.
“We’re working on it, someone’s bolted it from the inside! Can’t you sort it?”
I skidded to a halt as we had nearly reached the lobby, Bridget beside me, as we saw what lay ahead.

"This end’s on fire as well, Gaz! Get clear!"
Bridget murmured, “Smell that?”
She was right, I scanned my eyes back and forth, above the smoke I could smell the distinct tang of fuel. Someone had waited for me to run in and blocked the exit, before setting that ablaze too.
Bridget grabbed my arm, “Upstairs! There’s a large enough unbarred window in the staffroom.”
She led the way, our feet pounding on the tiles, the air further filling with smog as we ran back towards the fire, and up a spiralling staircase. Bursting into the staff room, we were both badly out of breath. She pointed to the window, it was certainly big enough for an adult to climb through, with a large sill on the outside.
"Ahde, Gaz? Can you get us a soft landing? Large window on the north side, second floor. You'll see us."
"Got it! Give me five."

We watched out of the window, the scene below strange, silent. Gaz raced past in his pale uniform, a ghost in the dark. He briefly glanced up and I waved my arm. He signalled having seen me before vanishing.
Bridget leaned on me, lightly, her eyes clamped shut, “What is going on here, Ramirez? Who burns a hospital?"
"Someone insane?" I didn't have an answer. Someone who wants us both dead, I thought. Despite the heat, I felt my hair stand on end.
As we watched, more pale figures appear against the black, Gaskell returning with more troops, carrying something between them.
"Give us a minute, Cat. We found you a landing.” Ahde fizzed in my ear.
"What, time to leave? Just when things were getting heated up in here." I tried my best to sound disappointed.
Bridget swatted me around the shoulders.
"Okay okay." making sure the door was closed, I slid the window open and looked down. Beneath us, Gaz and half a dozen troopers were setting up a chute large enough to land safely in. It looked suspiciously like a truck cover.

"Ladies first." I bowed theatrically and helped Bridget mount the windowsill. She swung both legs elegantly over the edge, ready to drop.
Before doing so, she leaned back and lightly kissed my forehead, "For luck." she smiled.
"Get on with you." I was bemused but not entirely displeased. She landed safely, slid off the chute assisted by two troopers, and I climbed onto the ledge myself. To my embarrassment, I wobbled, as despite the nickname, I am not fond of heights at the best of times. As I got ready to drop down, the temperature was already decidedly unpleasant and I heard distant crashing from the floor beneath. I tensed to push away from the sill.
An arm grabbed my neck and pulled me from the ledge, back into the room, throwing me to the floor. I landed across my shoulders and sprawled out sideways, in a last minute bid to avoid laying flat on my back.
I heard a cry of desperation from outside, and my ear blew up at me, "WHAT ARE YOU PLAYING AT?" Gaskell, I barely needed the vox to hear him.
I couldn't reply, my hands busy righting myself on the floor, as I looked up at a face I recognised. Fennel, the man who had reported Bridget as missing. One of Creer's senior officers. Feth.

Staring up in confusion, I righted myself onto one knee, ready to stand. He kicked me in the face. My head erupted in pain, as the blow reignited the fracture and broken nose, I clutched my a hand to my forehead, swearing.
“On your knees again, Yorke? Why is this so familiar?” Fennel sneered, aiming another kick at me. This time I managed to dodge, rolling inelegantly away. My side burned from the effort, I felt tight, unpleasant resistance in my flesh from the healing stitches.
"Cat? What is going on up there?" Ahde came through clearly.
"Fennel! It was him! He set the fires, lit up the building!" I flicked my mic open, and called out as I scrambled up to my feet using a chair. The metal was hot to the touch, not a good sign. I wondered how long the floor could hold us.
Fennel advanced, and I drew my sword. In the rush to leave, I’d not picked up my pistol after returning from the hospital.
He laughed coldly and drew his own knife, “I was hoping to get that old bastard Gaskell up here, but he was smarter than you, it seems.”

The man was clearly cracked. I kept my distance, buying time we couldn’t afford as the heat increased.
“Want another hole to match the first?" he purred, hefting his blade.
I blinked, “Wait. You?” I matched his pace, circling gradually, the floor tiles no longer polished and slick, but sticking to our soles.
"You really are naive,” he laughed again, “Sanderson? He made a great cover. We even got his las burn right." He flexed his arm out and I saw that it was inelegantly bandaged in the same area that Sanderson’s had been.
I froze. That meant Sanderson hadn't- That I had-

My pause gave him an opening. He lunged for me, and I darted out from his reach at the very last moment, using the weight of his motion to send him off balance. As he swept past, I flicked my cutlass and caught him with a glancing swipe to his side, drawing blood but not striking well enough.
"That's your last." he snarled, whilst making another lunge. I threw myself out of the way, but he recovered quickly.
On a good day my reactions would save me, but I was running on fumes, and barely able to avoid his strikes as he tried again and again. The circling and diving was starting to wear me down, my head swam. The reawakened skull fracture now combined with the heat and exhaustion. Fennel had the upper hand, and could easily wait me out until I was ready to drop. If the floor held that long. The air was burning, becoming thicker, both of us soaked with sweat.
Facing the fact I had to take initiative, I tried striking out at him, feinting back and then catching him across the chest as he dodged the first arc. Again, not enough to cause serious damage. But enough to enrage him.

As I drew back, he threw himself at me, taking me off my feet. I dropped my blade and we grappled on the slowly melting floor tiles, evening the playing field. Or so I’d thought. My torso was an agony rivalling the one in my head as I gripped his wrist, and pushed it away. I punched him in the side of the head, causing him to lose focus briefly, but he shook it off. The fury of the lunatic outweighing my own energy. Fennel kneed me viciously in the side, and I saw bright light, pain beyond my comprehension, only stubborn self-preservation keeping me conscious. My hands slipped on his wrist and he drew back his knife, his other hand at my throat. 
He sneered again, as I choked, and he took final aim with his blade, "You shouldn't have come alone, Yorke."
"He didn't." 
Fennel’s head whipped around and his last expression was that of alarm before his chest was loudly blown out across the room in a mess of scorched flesh. His body slumped heavily into my own, leaving me in a pool of blood and filth. I quickly shoved his remains off me, clambering to my feet amongst the slick mess, the flooring burning unpleasantly hot against my hands. Stepping over his corpse, I struggled to breathe, the room already half filled with smoke. In the doorway stood a figure that I failed to make out. It was oddly familiar, the poise and height.

"Thank you?" I raised a hand over my eyes, trying to see clearly through the smog.
The voice I was sure I recognised, called out, “Don’t just stand there! Go, Ray! And don't forget your blade.”
"Who-" crashing from beneath sent me running across the floor towards the window. Sweeping up my sword as I passed, I crouched on the sill, sheathing it. I twisted back to glance at the doorway, but the room was too thick to see across.
"Gaz I'm coming down!"
"About fething time!"
I dropped, unceremoniously. As I landed, I heard a booming roar of destruction, as the building's last floor gave way moments later.

*

I lay coughing gently, face up on the grass, close to where I'd slid from the chute earlier. I was scarcely able to move. Exhaustion, pain and mild smoke inhalation had finally caught up to me. 
Bridget gripped one of my hands, kneeling in the cold grass beside me, I barely noticed. I  flicked my eyes up, she was smiling. He hair hung lightly around her shoulders, framing her face. She was safe. I smiled back, blearily.
”You are a cock of the highest order." I didn't have to look to know who that was.
"You leave him be-" the young medic turned and started to defend me.
"- he's a sweetie." Finished Gaskell, “A word with him alone, if you will, Bridget.”
She gently released my hand and it fell to the ground lightly.
I found myself gazing up instead into Gaskell’s tired face as he crouched beside me, which was becoming a familiar sensation lately.
"Don't think I'm not pissed at you. You knew better than to run into a mess like this. And who’s blood are you covered in now?

"They laid it out for you." I murmured.
"What?"
"It wasn't for me. Fennel, he was waiting for you up there. Got me instead."
Gaskell’s eyes widened, but he stayed silent, unmoving.
I felt slow horror in my gut through the pain, “They framed Sanderson. He didn't-" I'd killed one of our own for something he hadn't done. I swallowed as I fought something down. Nausea? Tears? My throat tightened urgently, and I needed to get up as the heat flooded up my torso.
"It's okay, Cat.”Gaskell placed his hand on my chest, stopping my rise.
"Not. Vom.” I managed.
He quickly released me, I struggled to sit up, and managed, breathing hard and sweating in the cold air. I turned from Gaskell, lurched to my hands and knees, and vomited into the dark.

Moving away from it, I shakily sat back down beside Gaskell on my shabby coat. A thought struck me as I gulped air, shivering, “Where’s the other man?”
"Who?" he turned his head, puzzled.
“Not sure. Saved my hide up there."
"Nobody else came out, Cat."
I gestured to the gore soaking my front, “He must have. Took down Fennel. Shot him right through the chest."
Gaz shook his head firmly, "It must have been you, reactions or something. Shock."
I scowled at him, “Someone else was there!"
"Look, You're tired."
"You think I'm cracked." I fell back to the grass in exasperation.
"I think whatever happened, nobody else came out that window. First truck’s going back to base shortly, taking you as well. Get some sleep back there, no more idiot heroics."

Staring blankly into the night sky, seeing nothing, feeling little. I tried to call to mind the figure in the smoke. He hasn’t seemed like a reaction, reactions don’t typically take time to chastise you for dropping your sword. Maybe I’d simply hallucinated, a last move as I suffocated, which wasn’t a comforting thought either. I ran my hand to my holster, wondering if any clue lay with my pistol. Briefly I panicked, finding nothing by my side, but exhaled to calm myself when I remembered. I’d left it hanging on my bunk before coming out to the hospital.
Reactions? I closed my eyes.

*

The morning was spent rounding up the last few men known to be openly loyal to Creer. Half a dozen stood before us in the tiny office. The room chilly despite the sun shining outside. Some looked confused, others indignant. There was no telling how many of them knew what had truly gone on.
I'd spent much of the night sleeplessly deliberating what to do, and in the end we had them transferred to another regiment. It was not Gaskell's first choice, but it was the right one.

Primum non nocere:
Latin phrase that means "first, do no harm."

Health-wise things are going a bit south at the moment. Whilst I have the ideas, I don't have the energy to sit and edit them. It's about 6pm here and I'm starting to feel bed calling me back.
I'm starting to run out of energy to chew when it gets bad. Seeing a doctor tomorrow, hopefully the start of a turn back to being normal.

I'm getting some solid chunks put into the later 2 books, which is good because honestly this first one is very well laid out, it's just filling in the sections as I go along at this point.
But the other two are somewhat less structured, and scenes sort of fall into place as I think of them. There's a lot of social sequences and flashbacks to short encounters.

Sometimes there are just sections that don't fit anywhere.

[Journal Entry: Cadet Commissar Lewis] [733.M41]

["Ah, feth the cook!" Captain Gaskell rarely lost his temper, but he was getting close.
"Again?" murmured Ray distractedly, "I haven't the time right now."
We both slowly turned to stare at him.
Gaz then closed his eyes, "What."
Ray gave the conversation his full attention, "Hm? You remember a few months back when we were really getting short changed on the meal rations... Some of the lads were actually starting to pass out during drill."
"I remember. You said you'd sort it." our captain rubbed his chin and considered the past.

"Well I did. I went down there and explained a few things. Turned out somehow the Charlen meal quota had been doubled, and ours had been halved." Ray tapped the dataslate he was holding in emphasis, "I found out about the error."
Gaskell looked at him, "So you did what any rational commissar would do and reported the responsible staff. Obviously."
Laughing, Ray shook his head, "And lose the only palatable meals we've had in years? No, I simply used diplomacy to re-address the balance."

"Diplomacy? Is that what you're calling your little hell-pistol these days?" Gaz snorted and made an obscene gesture.
"You laugh, I didn't see you complaining when we had steak and eggs." Ray folded his arms.
"You're incorrigible." the captain sighed.
Ray grinned, "Look, everyone got what they wanted. We got the food, the kitchen staff didn't get reprimanded, and the cook and I had an evening's ...earnest discussion."
"Earnest? I thought his name was Thomas." Gaskell tilted his head.

[Journal Entry: Cadet Commissar Lewis] [733.M41]

I truly thought we'd lost Ray today, he led an extraordinarily brave assault on the xeno before us.
One moment he was staring down at the horde below, from atop the city wall, eyes cold with hate... The next he was amongst them, screaming curses and creating a windmill of death with his old pistol and powersword. He didn't stop moving, scarce anything could get inside the arc he created, and scarce anything tried.
Scared the foul green-skins into giving us space to get down there too. And then we really cleared them out. Without Ray's lead we'd be still picking them off now.

[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [733.M41]

If I ever meet whichever prick built that wall, I will invent an entirely new kind of Hell.
I was just stood, leaning over, trying to assess just how many Orks were below us, I'd counted about four dozen, and the bloody flagstone under my boots tipped forward, slinging me off the top.
If I hadn't landed feet first on top of an unsuspecting, gigantic green moron, knocking him out cold, it’d be an entirely different story.

They say cats land on their feet, thankfully it held true. The huge stone flag landing squarely on his nearby buddy didn't hurt either. So to speak. The surprise gave the advantage, if they'd had time to expect me down there, I'd be dead.
Lewis keeps praising me, I don't think he quite understands what happened. I've tried telling him, but he's got some strange notion I was leading by example. If he goes leaping off any walls, I just hope he warns me first.

I have a folder full of these little entries, they're not worth crowbarring into the main stories, but I do like them.

Health comes before the writing. Get better, and don't worry about this, I definitely understand the delay. I wish you a speedy recovery, and hope you won't be rushing over anything because you're worried we haven't seen an update in awhile. I'd rather you take your time, feel better, and write something then, as opposed to not feeling good at all, and writing something for the sake of there not being any writing lately, if that makes any sense.

Anyway, I hope you feel better sometime soon, and wish the best of luck to you.

[Journal Entry: Commissar Yorke] [Day 7 - Jallen - 732.M41 ]

"Why don't humans like us Orks, then?" Mouse trotted alongside as I dragged a large sheet of dense scrap metal toward the camp.
"We're taught that the human form is perfection, and that mutants, xenos, psykers... Well they're not made in that image." I rested the sheet against a fallen tree trunk, and wiped my brow.
"What's perfusion?" he looked up at me, eager to learn.
"Per-fec-shun." I spelled out patiently in the air, "It means without flaw, without deviation. Correct as correct can be."

"Perfection." Mouse lightly sat on the metal sheet as it warmed in the sun that broke through the canopy. He tilted his head from side to side as though rolling the thought around, his pointed ears waving slightly from the motion. After a little he looked up, concerned, "I'm sorry we're aren't."
I patted his shoulder, "You're good!"
"But not perfection."
I gently steered him off the metal and lifted one end again, "Sometimes you just need to be good."
Mouse strained very hard to lift the other end of the sheet, and carry it with me. His effort made very little difference, but I didn't stop him.

"Are you just good, then?" he huffed as we traversed the last few hundred metres to the grot camp.
"What do you mean?" I slowed and turned my head to look back at him.
The small grot examined me, "You're not doing what you're taught to. That's not perfection."
I blinked, and then laughed, "I'm not really sure."

I forget if you've already mentioned this before, but do you intend to bring in some of the cadets from the build-a-commissar workshop in the story? I apologize if you've mentioned it already, but I was curious.

It would be after book three, or in flashbacks. It entirely depends if Cat survives all three books of 183.

I'm going to write independent tales for BaC in that topic, which can be considered a bit of branch-off.

Ah, ok thank you. Wonderful story thus far. Love it