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THE LAST DAY.
Major Versel Woldholm awoke to his usual alarm call, the incessant morning retort of the Basilisk regiments delivering there barrage to the ‘Greenskins’ in the west. Six levels above him on the surface of Tesalon III, the war went on - as always. He thought this war would go on forever; he didn’t even know how long it had lasted until now. He had been here with his regiment, the Drolsian 112th, for eight years; there was no way to tell how many years or decades it preceded his arrival. The records where scarce, all the records where scarce in the Imperium of Man. He reached for his pouch and retrieved a
litho stick; greedily he lit it and enjoyed the only taste of home he had left.
“Good morning Sir.”
Captain Jeeder Pellerwood, his second in command entered with the morning reports and a hot jar of kaf. Woldholm grunted and bade him over. Pellerwood handed him the kaf; the reports could wait.
“Well” said the major.
“The usual sir, some movement on the left by the ‘Greens’, our auto-guns held them back..”
“Is that what woke me at three” interrupted Woldholm.
“Yes, they are sorry about that Sir, but the 9th company really needed all the cover they could get. But they know how much you need your sleep.”
Woldholm broke into a smile, Jeeder Pellerwood’s little asides where one off the things that kept this madness in perspective. Normally he would have hated Pellerwood. He came from a high class family and by all rights should have been in a cushy staff job a thousand clicks behind the lines. No - he should have been in the navy, orbiting high above the mire of this hellhole; a lot of his family where. But he volunteered for the front, stepped on a few toes and burnt some bridges with his family and clan to get to the mud and blood with the honest poor fools of his home world. Woldholm respected him for that. Respected and pitied him at the same time.
“Go on.” he said.
“Still no reply from H.Q. about a replacement for Dr Hivick, A lander brought some new proximity det caps from stores, the pipeline from the rear is now only seventeen clicks away, twenty five new men have been sent up, raw like a wound most of them. News on the wire is that High Command is going to make some announcement, something major is developing. I still have a few contacts at Fleet, I’m trying to find out what’s up and Commissar Varchen requests an audience”.
Woldholm smiled at the thought of Varchen ‘requesting’ anything. Commanding, ordering, screaming at the top of his voice, but not requesting.
“Any idea what the creature wants.”
Pellerwood grinned slightly, not wanting to miss an opportunity to voice an opinion on the Commissar, but the Major stopped him with a wave of his finger.
“Careful now, Jeeder.” He also sported a smirk. They let the moment pass.
“I have no idea what the good Commissar wants, I’m sure he has some complaint about a minor infraction.”
Woldholm drained his cup and stubbed out his litho.
“Well, you best send him down, better him in with me than demoralizing the replacements.”
Pellerwood left, it would take him some time to make it to the surface, find the Commissar and return. About fifteen minutes that Woldholm could use to shave, wash and dress. Once his morning ritual was done, he sat down to look at the nights reports. There was nothing that caused too much concern, although the 9th had had quite a night. They had taken 7 casualties and 3 fatalities. More letters for home. He would bolster them with a few of the new men and some vets from the other companies, Best not to inflict them with too much new blood. He could hear the ‘clack - clack’ of boot’s on the hard floor outside his quarters and his heart sank a little; Commissar Varchen approaches.
As a commissar, Varchen could not be faulted. He performed his assigned tasks with vigor. Woldholm had only had dealings with a few, but he knew that Varchen was a fine example of his breed. Where a guard officer would cajole, persuade and inspire his men, the commissar could only scream and brandish a bolter, terror was there tool of compliance.
Varchen had arrived not long after Woldholm, in those six years he knew next to nothing of the man, not his home world, his given name or his family. In six years the man had revealed nothing. Apart from the feelings of unease that emanated from him, he was effectively a hole in space.
Varchen entered without knocking, Woldholm did not look up. After a moment he said “come in”.
When he did look up Varchen was before him. Immaculate as usual, not a crease out of place, every inch of metal gleaming. As always Woldholm liked to push the commissar of balance a little.
“Have you had any luck with requesting a replacement for Dr Hivick.”
“Do you think I am your adjutant, Major?” shouted back Varchen.
The Major looked at him with all the innocence that he could muster, “No Commissar. But I’ve been trying to get a doctor for two months with no success. If you remember, I asked you to see if you could look into it. I assumed you would have more influence?”
The captain had entered the room behind the commissar; Woldholm noted the smirk he wore at the exchange. Pellerwood enjoyed nothing more than the commissar being put on the spot. Woldholm enjoyed nothing more than obliging.
“I’m not here to discuss your staffing issues. There is a more important issue: Discipline.”
What now, thought Woldholm. Had a food wrapper blown across the muster field, had a trooper sown a button on squint or; may the Emperor forgive, with the Aquila upside down.
“Desertion to be precise, major”
“What?” said Woldholm.
“There is a problem with the 9th company, four men disengaged from the enemy and ran away, one oversaw it.”
“Who!?”
“Troopers Anmast, Rohilnert and Bosster along with Corporal Treech. All abandoned there posts. Sergeant Novogram oversaw. ”
“There was no mention of this in the morning reports.” Woldholm looked at an ashen faced Pellerwood, Who shook his head.
“Sir, there was no desertion last night, the men fought bravely.” Interjected Pellerwood.
“It’s all in your own logs Captain,” Varchen countered,” the same ones you provided for the major’s morning reports. No matter, justice will be done. I’ve arranged a firing squad for noon. See to it that there is a detachment from each company to witness it. Indiscipline is like a disease Major; it must be rooted out and be seen to be destroyed.”
With that he turned and left.
“No Major, no.” Pellerwood pleaded as he came over to look at the reports.
Both men re read the reports, Suddenly Woldholm cried out.
“What?” said the captain.
“That fool, the fool, here, the sergeants report, ‘sent four men for ammo re-supply at about 3:25’, that’s what Varchen means.”
The captain fell into seat, “But why, how?”
“The order to leave the firing line was not issued by an officer. So in the mind of the Commissar, its desertion.”
“The fool can’t be that obtuse?” he looked at the major and answered his own question, “Yes, he can.”
“I need that fool stopped, I’ll shoot him myself if I need too.” said Woldholm, fixing his belt and checking his gun. “There is no way I’m allowing that idiot to execute my men because they broke a rule to keep the front being overrun!”
“Sir, I agree but…” Pellerwood trailed off as the radio call alarm sounded. He called on the major to wait, but Woldholm was already out the door.
The base was a maze to the untrained eye, but to those who called it home it formed a type of logic. Everything was focused to defense. The uppermost three floors where entirely arranged around combat operations. At a quick pace it took the major six minutes to emerge at ground level. Well, at the muster level. The large space that served as a landing site, recreation ground, parade square and vehicle park, was still one level lower than ground level, but it was open to the sky and you could stand and stretch without a ‘Greenskin’ shooting you. The major scanned the space, and then found his quarry. The commissar stood out quite clearly in the distance, a black figure with shining metal adornments. The major set off at a pace, he had no idea what was going to happen.
When he reached the Commissar he assessed the scene. The prisoners where in the back of a Chimera guarded by four provosts. Everyone, except the commissar, looked glad to see him.
“Commissioner Varchen, we need to talk!” said Woldholm.
“I hope you’re not going to tell me you haven’t found men from every company? I did insist.”
“That’s not why I’m here. You cant kill these men, they saved the line.”
Varchen looked at the major aghast. “These men left a fire line with no order. That is a dereliction of duty and must be punished.”
“No Commissar, they went on the sergeant’s orders…”
“Exactly, that is why the sergeant is in custody as well.” interrupted the commissar.
Woldholm took a breath, unable to comprehend the stupidity of the man when Pellerwood came running up to him, breathless, and pulled him aside.
“What’s wrong man?” shouted Woldholm.
The captain was breathless but blurted out what he had to say “Exterminatus!”
“What?”
“Exterminatus. I’ve just taken a call from an uncle of mine at Fleet. The war is not going well; there is a major Wagh about to fall on us. The war leaders have decided to abandon this planet.”
“Emperors mercy, when are they going to evacuate?”
“They aren’t, they are going to start in the next twenty minutes, my uncle was going to send a Lander for me, but I’m apparently to close to an impact point!”
Woldholm threw back his head and laughed. The absurdity of the situation appealed to him. He looked at Pellerwood, who was also smiling. The madness was now all encompassing. Woldholm looked over at Varchen, who was busying himself with the execution preparations, and smiled. He was not going to allow this animal to deny the life of good men even for a few minutes. He raised his pistol and blew the back of his commissar’s head off. Everyone stood stunned. Woldholm threw his gun down on the lifeless body.
“You’re in charge here Captain” he said as he walked off towards the firing lines, He lit a litho stick, the second of the day, and the last of his life.
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