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“Good,” said Colonel Kabanov. “Then it’s time the White Boar looked after himself for a
change.”
With that, he slid off the back of the Leman Russ.
Sebastev immediately reached out to grab for him, but Maro restrained him. “You know it
already, captain. This is what he wants. Would you have him wither and die in some hospital bed? I
don’t think so.”
Sebastev wanted to deny it. He wanted to order the Leman Russ to a stop and go back for the
man who’d been his hero since the day he’d joined the Sixty-Eighth Regiment, but he knew Maro
was right. Legends like the White Boar were meant to die in battle. When his own time came, he
wished no less for himself.
As he watched Colonel Kabanov walk back to meet the orks, Sebastev saluted.
“To me, you filthy devils!” shouted the old man as he staggered towards the foe. He pulled the
pins on his grenades. “One last gift from the Emperor of Mankind!”
Sebastev forced himself to watch. He owed the colonel that much and more. He couldn’t be sure
of the exact number, but it looked like the White Boar took a good many of the green khekkers with
him as he died.
The tanks rumbled around a corner and the scene shifted from view.
“Almost there,” said Commissar Karif from behind Sebastev. “The bridge is just up ahead.”
Captain Grigorius Sebastev and the scant remains of his Fifth Company crossed Grazzen’s north
bridge at 16.02 hours on the 688th day of the Danikkin Campaign. The north bridge was destroyed
precisely two minutes later, sending a significant number of pursuing Venomhead orks and their
vehicles to the bottom of the Solenne.
Patriot-Captain Brammon Gusseff, known to personnel with the appropriate clearance as Asset
6, was delivered to Twelfth Army Command HQ in Seddisvarr in the early hours of the following
day.
Captain Grigorius Sebastev was placed under arrest at that time.
A TRIAL ENDS
Thirteen days.
For thirteen days, Sebastev had listened with furrowed brow and gritted teeth as men who’d
never set foot on the Eastern Front berated him, belittled the valorous efforts of his men, and placed
the responsibility for each and every death firmly at his booted feet.
The trial reached its conclusion. There was General Vogor Vlastan, Old Hungry himself,
strapped into his life preserving mechanical chair behind the judges’ bench. He would pass sentence
personally. Sebastev figured the general must have been anticipating this moment for quite some
time. The spectators were anticipating it, too. The grand hall had gone deathly quiet.
The council of judges ended their whispered conversation and turned back to face Sebastev in
the dock. Servo-skulls, yellowed with age and bristling with sensors and recording devices,
descended from above, drifting through the air on suspensor engines that hummed softly. They
registered every word spoken in the hall, by officials and spectators alike. The records would be
carefully checked later to help identify dissenting voices and potential troublemakers.
“Stand,” ordered a wizened old major on General Vlastan’s immediate left. “Stand, Captain
Sebastev. The general wishes to pronounce.”
Sebastev got heavily to his feet, mentally fatigued by so many days of endless talk, of recounting
over and over again the events that had transpired since leaving Korris. He saw, there on the far
right, in the shadows below the hanging balcony, the figure of Commissar Karif, dressed, as always,
in black. He’d attended the court martial every single day since the beginning, and had given
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evidence of his own on eight of those days, though Sebastev had been ordered out of the court on
those occasions, and knew not what the commissar had reported.
Just as it had on every previous day, the hanging balcony that jutted out over the seats of the
spectators contained the same two bizarre, inscrutable occupants.
Sebastev’s blood chilled inexplicably every time he looked in their direction. He could feel the
eyes of the hunched old woman on him, burning into him as if she sought to scorch away his flesh
and view the naked soul beneath. The incredible alabaster giant, whose blood-red eyes missed
nothing, sat next to her.
And no one can tell me who the khek they are, he thought.
The general coughed and began burbling through a vox-amp attached to his chair. “We’ve heard,
honoured attendants, from a broad range of witnesses, analysts and assessors over the course of this
trial.” The general’s small, black eyes panned across the assembly. “We’ve heard how the accused
conducted himself throughout the period in question, the ways in which he influenced Vostroyan
men of both higher and lower rank. And we’ve heard in great detail how the events that transpired
after the loss of the Twelfth Army’s dominion over Korris have affected the status of this war.”
Sebastev’s stomach rambled quietly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since daybreak. His
appetite was starting to come back, but his complaining stomach would have to wait.
“This honourable council,” continued the general, “has listened carefully to all that has been put
before it. We have consulted with learned bodies and scoured the histories of our proud military past
for precedents.”
Sebastev caught Old Hungry casting his glance to the two strange figures on the balcony, just as
he had done throughout the trial. It was further confirmation of something Sebastev suspected:
General Vlastan was terrified of the strange pair.
Just who are they, he wondered, and why are they here for this?
The general continued, but Sebastev was sure he detected a loss of confidence in the man’s
amplified voice. “We have reached our conclusions and shall now make our pronouncement. In the
name of the Emperor of Mankind, and the honoured tradition of the Vostroyan Firstborn who serve
in his name, I now address Captain Grigorius Sebastev of the Sixty-Eighth Infantry Regiment’s
Fifth Company.”
As was the form, Sebastev saluted the Twelfth Army leader.
“Captain Sebastev,” said the general. “It has long been held by many worthy officers in the
Twelfth Army that your field commission to the rank of captain was a grievous and reproachable
error on the part of Major Alexos Dubrin. Indeed, some of your senior officers consider your
appointment to the rank of captain little more than a favour from one friend to another. Naturally
there is no room for such things in the ranks of the Firstborn, but the late Major Dubrin is beyond
our judgement now. You, however, are not.”
Sebastev scowled and gripped the wooden railing of the dock. His knuckles whitened. He’d
known all along that the man would make the most of this final, grand opportunity to offend and
aggravate him.
“Of course, the matter of your promotion is not on trial. We must turn, instead, to matters of
acceptable conduct and proper performance. A man in command has responsibilities to many, both
above him in rank and below, but especially to those above. That, I’m afraid, captain, is the root of
your worst transgressions.
“Throughout your career, you have consistently been shown to suffer from the regrettable
delusion that it is your job to safeguard the lives of each and every one of the men under your
command. Let me address that delusion by telling you directly, captain, that it is not so, nor has it
ever been. The responsibility of any officer is both clear and singular: it is the execution of those
orders given to you by your superior officers no matter the cost in blood, pain, lives or anything else
you wouldn’t care to spend or endure.
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“This regular prioritising of your men’s lives above all else constitutes a definitive failure on
your part to live up to the duties, honours and expectations placed on you by men of vastly superior
lineage, intellect and judgement.”
A sharp sound echoed through the great hall. Sebastev flicked his eyes to the source. The
alabaster giant sat glaring at General Vlastan, but it was the old woman next to him who’d
interrupted the general’s speech. She had struck the floor of the balcony with the metal-shod heel of
her walking stick.
A long moment of silence stretched out, during which Sebastev watched the general wither
under the old woman’s gaze before finally turning back to face Sebastev. The general’s usual
arrogance and confidence had bled right out of him.
“As I was saying,” he said, shifting uncomfortably, “it is the opinion of some members of this
military council that you, Captain Grigorius Sebastev, have consistently placed the lives of
individual Guardsmen above the best interests of the Twelfth Army.”
The general was interrupted again by the sharp rapping of metal on wood. Sebastev followed
General Vlastan’s eyes as they again darted over to the tiny old woman.
“By the Throne,” snapped Vlastan, immediately regretting it. With obvious effort, he reverted to
a more placatory tone. “Please, honoured madam, I have not forgotten your decree. If you’ll just
allow me to finish what I was saying without further… interruptions.”
In response, the old woman folded her tiny, childlike hands and nodded from beneath the hood
of her cloak. Sebastev couldn’t shake the impression that she was laughing, though no sound or
motion gave evidence of this.
“Some members of this council believe that, for the role you played in the death of Colonel
Maksim Kabanov, a greatly respected man among the ranks of the Firstborn, you should be
precluded from any commission for the rest of your life. Others felt that the mere stripping of your
rank was overly lenient. Extended incarceration and expulsion from the ranks of the Firstborn were
considered as alternative punishments.”
This time, Sebastev had the impression that General Vlastan was deliberately trying to avoid
glancing at the figures on the balcony.
“However,” continued the general, “the reality of our war against secession and treachery on
Danik’s World has changed dramatically in the short time since Barahn and Ohslir fell. The Twelfth
Army finds itself facing unprecedented pressure on two fronts, and this war has attracted the
attention of certain Imperial bodies that wield a level of authority even greater than that of Twelfth
Army Command. As such, this court is forced to acknowledge your part in the successful delivery of
a valuable prisoner, the recovery of a device crucial to the continuation of the war effort, and the
survival of a regiment whose long and unbroken history is filled with honour.”
General Vlastan’s brows knitted together in frustration as he continued. “There is also the matter
of Commissar Karif’s testimony to consider. The statements made by the commissar go a long way
to suggesting that your purported bravery, piety and prowess in combat were responsible for the
deaths of a great many orks and rebels. With these things in mind, and at the insistence of certain
high ranking individuals outside the Vostroyan military structure, this court decrees that you will
retain the rank of captain.
“Henceforth you are charged with conducting yourself in a manner more fitting to your
responsibilities. And to those responsibilities, this court now adds the command of all remnants of
the Sixty-Eighth Infantry Regiment, until such time as an officer of adequate rank and potential can
be found to replace you. Once this replacement has been selected, you will immediately revert to
your former position as Fifth Company commander.”
Voices filled the air of the court as the spectators reacted to the council’s pronouncement. People
began chattering, eager to share their opinions with those seated next to them. Sebastev looked for
Commissar Karif, stunned that the man had spoken out on his behalf, but the commissar had already
left his seat. He was nowhere to be seen.
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Sebastev looked up at the balcony, but the strange duo had likewise vanished in the last few
seconds.
General Vlastan cleared his throat and raised his voice over the hubbub. “Captain Sebastev, pay
attention.”
Sebastev met the general’s glare.
“Your men are billeted in the city’s south-east quarter, district eleven. My staff will provide a
map and arrange transportation for you. Twenty-eight men are listed as the last survivors of the
Sixty-Eighth Infantry Regiment, captain. It’s not many, but I’m afraid there won’t be time to
reinforce you before your next deployment.”
For the first time in over an hour, Sebastev parted his lips to speak. “Deployment?”
The panel of officers who’d acted as Sebastev’s judges rose at a gesture from the general and
left the bench. General Vlastan’s chair gave a loud, mechanical hiss as its piston legs unfolded. The
walking chair shook as it rose to its full height, causing General Vlastan’s abundant flesh to wobble.
The general’s lips stretched into a lop-sided grin. “I’ve always thought you disconcertingly short
for an officer, Sebastev. A leader should be tall so that men are forced to look up to him, you know.”
Sebastev didn’t bother to respond to that. Instead, he met Vlastan’s gaze and held it.
The general’s grin dropped. “Yes, redeployed. The Sixty-Eighth Regiment, such as it is, has
been temporarily placed in the service of a higher authority. You’ll find out the rest for yourself
soon enough. You’re no longer of any concern to me, at least for the moment.”
The general grasped the controls of his chair, turned it, and skittered out of the hall, leaving
Sebastev speechless. A staff officer led him down from the dock and out through a side door as the
rest of the court emptied.
Seconded to a higher authority, he thought? What in the twisted hells of the warp is going on?
Sebastev had a partial answer soon enough.
Commissar Karif awaited him outside the court, accompanied, as always, by his adjutant. As
Sebastev walked towards them, he couldn’t fail to notice the wide smile on the young trooper’s face.
“It’s wonderful to see you, sir,” said Stavin with a salute. “I’m so glad everything…
Congratulations on the verdict.”
Sebastev saluted back and said, “Thank you, trooper. At ease.” He met Karif s gaze. “As for
you, commissar, I don’t know what kind of grox-balls you told them in there…”
Karif stiffened.
Sebastev fought back a grin, and added, “But thank you. Your presence in that hall over the last
thirteen days is appreciated, I assure you.” He reached out and gripped Karif’s hand, shaking it
