look that disturbed Sebastev greatly, but it was impossible to define. Sebastev felt deeply
uncomfortable around the man. He wished Colonel Kabanov would hurry up.
The captive was dressed surprisingly similar to an Imperial commissar. He wore a long, black
coat with gold brocade and buttons. His face was clean-shaven. The greatest visible difference was
in his headwear. While commissars across the Imperium proudly donned the peaked, black cap of
their station, these rebel officers wore tall, pointed hats that swept backwards like the dorsal fin of
some sea mammal or shark.
How will Commissar Karif react when he sees this man, Sebastev wondered? I’ve heard a lot
about them but, to my knowledge, this is the first time a so-called officer-patriot of the Danikkin
Special Patriotic Service has been taken alive. They usually take suicide capsules prior to capture.
Why didn’t this one do so when we took the building?
The men and women of the Special Patriotic Service were hated and feared by their own people.
Here was an agent of the secession whose task it was to purge Imperial loyalists from the populace,
and to ensure absolute dedication to Lord-General Vanandrasse among the forces of the Danikkin
Independence Army. They were reputed to be masters of torture and intimidation.
Not only do they look like commissars, thought Sebastev, but they share much of the same
remit.
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To some extent, however, the limits of their authority differed. The Danikkin officer-patriots had
power over both civilian and military conduct. The history of their organisation, going back only a
few decades according to Imperial intelligence reports, was bloody and brutal.
Booted footsteps sounded on the ferrocrete floor. “Cover him, Aronov,” said Sebastev. Aronov
raised his las-gun. Sebastev holstered his bolt pistol, turned, and saluted Colonel Kabanov. Kuritsin,
Maro, Politnov and Commissar Karif filed into the room.
“Solid work in taking this place, captain,” said Colonel Kabanov. “I had no doubts whatsoever
that you’d manage it. Now tell me, who do we have here?”
“I’d like to make the introductions, sir,” replied Sebastev, “but the bastard hasn’t told me his
name yet.”
“I see,” said Kabanov. He faced the patriot-officer and said, “Your attire says you’re an officer.
Act like one. Tell me your name and rank. My own name is—”
“Colonel Kabanov of the Vostroyan Sixty-Eighth Infantry Regiment,” interrupted the rebel with
a grin, “formerly stationed at Korris, now occupying Nhalich East with the barest remnant of your
force.” Lifting his hand slowly, he adjusted his fin-shaped hat. “I know who you are, colonel. I
know your reputation. Had I realised you were not among the dead of yesterday’s battle, you might
have found breaching our defences a lot harder than you did. Still, you won’t hold the town for long
with so few men, and no help will come. Your Imperium has forsaken you just as it did the people
of Danik’s World.”
“By Terra,” spat Sebastev, “you don’t have to listen to this, sir. Just say the word—”
Kabanov held up a hand. “In due course, captain, in due course. The man was just about to tell
me his name.”
“Very well,” said the rebel. “I am Brammon Gusseff, a patriot-captain attached to the Danikkin
Eleventh Mobile Infantry Division.”
“Patriot-captain, my eye,” hissed Commissar Karif from Kabanov’s right. “You are a faithless
traitor to the Imperium of Mankind.”
Gusseff actually laughed at that. “The similarities between us offend you, commissar. That is
most amusing. What is your name? You’re no Vostroyan.”
“There are no similarities between us, traitor.”
Sebastev looked over at Karif and saw his face twisted with hate.
“So you say,” replied Gusseff before returning his attention to Colonel Kabanov. “It seems,
colonel, that there’s no shortage of Imperial slaves in this room who’d bloody their hands on your
behalf. Perhaps they should fight amongst themselves for the privilege. That would provide some
fine entertainment. Of course, if you do kill me, you’ll never open the case the machine-man is so
interested in.”
Gusseff inclined his head towards the far corner, where Enginseer Politnov was occupied with
something. The enginseer had spotted the case while the others were talking and was about the
business of trying to open it. Despite his mastery of all things mechanical, he was having some
difficulty.
“What do you have there, enginseer?” asked Colonel Kabanov.
Politnov turned his hooded head and said, “The case contains something of significant weight.
There is a mechanism to avoid forced entry. If I attempt to open it without the relevant codes, the
mechanism will destroy the contents. I believe there is a high probability that this case contains
something of strategic importance.”
“Can’t you bypass the mechanism somehow?” asked Colonel Kabanov.
“Not with the equipment at hand, colonel. A number of the devices I require can be accessed at
the Mechanicus facility in Seddisvarr.”
“What makes you think we give a damn what it contains?” growled Commissar Karif, stepping
forward, ready to draw his chainsword. Colonel Kabanov put a hand on his shoulder and halted him.
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“Case or no case,” said Gusseff, “I’m the first officer-patriot your idiotic forces have ever taken
alive, and I expect to stay that way. Contact your superiors in Seddisvarr and inform them of my
capture. You’ll find establishing contact somewhat easier than before.”
Lieutenant Kuritsin stepped forward. “Do you mean to say that you’ve disabled the jamming
device? Where is it?”
“Jamming device?” asked Gusseff sardonically. “I really couldn’t say. Just call your superiors. I
might be the only hope you have of getting back behind your own lines.”
“Enginseer,” said Colonel Kabanov, “do you judge that case adequate to hold a possible
jamming device?”
“I do, colonel. It would need to be attached to a large vox-array in order to be effective, but such
a device could be built to fit this case.”
“Is the device in the case, patriot-captain? Don’t play games.”
“I’ll say no more on that, colonel. Contact Seddisvarr, unless you want your men to die here
when the next DIA armour columns come rolling into town, as they soon will.”
“Fine,” said Colonel Kabanov. “Enough of this. Where is the main communications console? I
want to speak to Twelfth Army Command at once.”
“The console is on the uppermost floor, sir,” said Sebastev. “I can take you there.”
“Very good, captain,” said Kabanov. “No one is to kill this prisoner without my express consent.
Any soldier who attempts to do so will be executed by Commissar Karif for disobeying a direct
order.” Kabanov fixed his gaze on Patriot-Captain Gusseff and added, “We’ll find out soon enough,
faithless wretch, whether you live or die.”
Lieutenant Kuritsin sat down at the console on Colonel Kabanov’s orders and began adjusting dials
as he called into the vox-mic, “Six-eight-five to Command HQ. This is six-eight-five calling
Command HQ. Are you receiving?”
There was nothing but the hiss of static and whining tones that rose and fell but never gave way
to speech. Kuritsin adjusted his dials and tried again, but with the same results. He turned to
Kabanov and said, “I don’t know what to think, sir. It could be the weather, I suppose. Even with an
array like this, sir, the atmosphere of the planet could still be playing hell with long-range signals.
Things aren’t too bad at our end, but I can’t vouch for the weather over Theqis.”
Just as he finished his sentence, a tinny voice sounded through the console speakers.
“…Command… eight-five…”
Kuritsin hurriedly adjusted the dials, desperate not to lose the signal before he could lock onto it.
Soon, the voice at the other end was coming through loud and clear. Kabanov let a look of great
relief show on his face.
“This is Command HQ. We are receiving you, six-eight-five. Name and rank.”
“Command HQ, this is Lieutenant Oleg Kuritsin, speaking on behalf of Colonel Maksim
Kabanov, commanding officer of the Firstborn Sixty-Eighth Infantry Regiment. The colonel is
present and wishes to communicate directly with General Vlastan.”
“Very good, Lieutenant Kuritsin. My encryption glyph is lit. Please confirm that your own is
also lit.”
Kabanov watched Kuritsin scan the console for the glyph that said comms encryption was
active, securing the content of their transmission from enemy comprehension. There, on the left of
the console, the glyph shone with a green light.
“Glyph is lit, command. I can confirm encryption is active.”
“Understood, lieutenant. I’ve got a standing order to patch any communications from regiments
in your sector straight through to General Vlastan’s personal staff. Await further instructions.”
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After a moment of relative silence, a different voice spoke. “This is Lieutenant Balkariev of the
general’s communications staff. The general is on his way. In the meantime, please report your
status.”
Kuritsin looked up at Colonel Kabanov, who nodded for him to proceed. “Fifth Company is
currently occupying Nhalich East. Forces of the Danikkin Independence Army are entrenched in
Nhalich West. The bridge between the two halves of the city has been destroyed by the enemy. We
are unable to proceed across the river at this location. Our forces are down to…” Kuritsin pulled a
piece of parchment from his greatcoat pocket and read, “Down to one-hundred and eleven men,
eighteen of those seriously wounded. The rebel presence on this side of the river has been
eliminated. Civilians are present in the town, currently being kept under guard. We have also taken a
prisoner who claims to be a member of the Danikkin Special Patriotic Service. He claims to have
something of strategic importance to both sides.”
“Have you… One moment, lieutenant. General Vlastan has arrived and wishes to speak directly
with Colonel Kabanov.”
Lieutenant Kuritsin stood and offered Kabanov his seat. Kabanov sat down and immediately felt
his body settle into the chair. He hadn’t realised just how fatigued he was. Now, with his legs able to
rest for the first time in hours, he dreaded having to haul himself out of it. His muscles ached and he
longed for sleep. He forced himself not to let it show in front of the others.
“This is Kabanov.”
A wet, wheezy voice sounded from the console speakers. Even through the distortion of longrange
vox, General Vogor Vlastan sounded a lot like he looked: a physical ruin of a man kept alive
artificially.
“Maksim, Maksim,” he said, calling Kabanov by his first name, greeting him as an old friend.
“Praise the Emperor you’re still alive. Damn this world and its bloody storms. We heard the DIA
were moving up from Ohslir, but I knew the White Boar would see them off.”
“I regret to report, general, that we didn’t exactly see them off. The 701st and most of the Sixty-
Eighth were lost in a major DIA offensive. The rebels managed to occupy Nhalich, blowing the
bridge in the process and isolating the east and west banks. Our losses were… grievous, sir.”
“But you’re alive, Maksim. The White Boar lives on. You weathered the ambush and beat them
back. There’ll be medals for this.”
“Please, general, you misunderstand me. The rebel ambush was a complete success. They wiped
out every single Vostroyan company under my command but one. I only survived by the grace of
the Emperor and because I arrived after the event with our rearguard company, Fifth Company, sir.”
The vox-speakers went silent for a moment. The only sound was the background hum and
crackle of dead air. Then Vlastan spoke again. “At least you’re alive, Maksim.” The blustery tone
had gone from the man’s voice, “And you’re holding Nhalich. That’s something.”
Damn you for an old fool, thought Kabanov. We couldn’t hold this place now if we tried. Half a
company against Throne knows how many more orks or rebels? Don’t be insane.
“There’s more, sir.” Kabanov continued. “We’ve taken a captive, sir.”
“You surprise me, Maksim,” said Vlastan. “The Twelfth Army doesn’t take prisoners in this
campaign. You know that. We’re stretched too thin already without worrying about detainees.”
“We believe he’s a member of the Special Patriotic Service, sir. He was apprehended in the relay
station, coordinating the rebel defence of the building. He seems to think his life is of some
significant worth to the Twelfth Army.”
Vlastan seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying, “A name, Maksim. Has he furnished you
with a name?”
“He calls himself Patriot-Captain Brammon Gusseff, sir, attached to the Eleventh Danikkin
Mobile Infantry Division, if I heard him correctly. His accent is very thick.”
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Again the vox-speakers went silent. Kabanov had the distinct impression that General Vlastan
was engaged in urgent discussions with others at his end. After almost a full minute, the speakers
crackled to life again.
“Stay by your comms unit, Maksim. Just stay exactly where you are and await further
communication.”
“Understood, sir.” Kabanov turned from the microphone. “Damned strange, all of this. It doesn’t
feel right to me at all. Have any of you something to say?”
Atypically, it was Lieutenant Maro who spoke up first. “He recognised the traitor’s name, sir.
I’m sure of it. He sounded unusually anxious. Throne knows why.”
Commissar Karif nodded and said, “I must agree with Lieutenant Maro, colonel.”
“Very well,” said Kabanov, “but I’m not sure what that suggests. We’re talking about a man
directly responsible for the death of Vostroyan Firstborn. I don’t want to believe Twelfth Army
Command is willing to deal with this devil.”
“The man did seem extremely confident that his life would be spared,” said Lieutenant Kuritsin.
“Could he have pre-arranged his own defection on the promise of handing over the alleged Danikkin
jamming device?”
Sebastev shook his head. “He’s not defecting. Why would anyone switching sides kill Vostroyan
Firstborn? Something is wrong in all of this. I’ve got a very bad feeling about the man. Part of me
thinks killing him would be a kindness.”
A sharp burst of static preceded Vlastan’s return to the airwaves. “Are you there, Maksim?”
“I am, sir,” replied Kabanov.
“Good. Listen carefully, old friend. I have new orders for you. They must be followed to the
letter.”
Old friend he calls me, thought Kabanov, but would I have saved his life all those years ago if
