The Silver Wolf of War

[BladeWolf]

Hi all,

This will be second solo story outing on these fourms, this one is a origin story for my 'guys', a Company of Space Marines for the Frost Wolf Chapter (Moar Spess Mureens).

I am ever open to critique and review as without I'm doomed to make the same mistake again and again.

Updating will be as often as I can, I of course have work and other RL commitments, if you;ve been reading my other story (Just Below the Surface) you'll know my scheduale gets disrupted more then I'd like but to be honest the last year has gone from bad to worse to slightly better to worse again.

[/angst]

Enjoy.

[BladeWolf]

Chapter One: The Chaos of War

The Imperium of Man, domain of the Emperor of Mankind. Its reach stretches from one side of the milky way to the other - billions of stars, over a million inhabited worlds, unnumbered trillions of humans dispersed over ten thousand light years of space. Yet, in the forty first millennium, in the grim darkness of the far future, humanity still has to fight for its survival. Ten thousand battles among a thousand wars rage across the stars. Great fleets annihilate each other while vast, innumerable armies of men stand firm against the myriad foes that seek to destroy humanity, from both without and within.

For ten thousand years, the Imperium has been watched over by the Immortal God Emperor of Man. For ten thousand years He on Terra has sat immobile upon the golden throne, His old eyes watching over humanity by burning a bright beacon into the Warp, guiding the ships of the Imperium as they go from world to world, from war to war.

Praxasis is one of those worlds, a deep black mark on the galactic map known to planetary aficionados only for two things: for its rings of thin ice that glint in the starlight - or in the detonations of orbiting starships - and for the traitorous forces of Malom Krunic, formerly the cardinal of Seris Prime, currently hell-bent on blowing up everything that moved, or didn't move as the case may be. Of course this was of some interest to the Departmento Munitorium, who dispatched a dozen regiments of the trillion-strong Imperial Guard to ensure the planet remained under Imperial control. Three months and four atomic purges later, much of the planetary surface including the capital still flew the flag of the Emperor. A stalemate had settled for the moment, both sides content to throw shells at each other while the infantry and armour licked their wounds and prepared for the inevitable assault.

The sky was a mish-mash of contrails from Lightning fighters running patrols, mixed with the smoke trails of Storm Eagle missiles burning across the atmosphere, wreaking carnage upon their unseen targets kilometres away.

The land below it was once verdant grass and farmland - small, thin dirt roads linking towns and villages of every size and flavour across an entire continent. Now, it was pot-marked with ceremite blisters and connected not by dirt roads but by sunken trenches, which were in turn filled by the bodies of Imperial Guardsmen.

The small farming town of Cruth was one of the villages bearing witness to this ugly transformation. Its population had been mostly evacuated to a larger town three kilometres away; those remaining were determined to do so and so the Imperial Guard left them to their own devices for the most part. Not a kilometre away was a deep trench network of ceremite bunkers, rockrete weapon emplacements, and seemingly hundreds of foxholes dug into the side walls, giving the Guardsmen somewhere to find cover from the storm brewing overhead.

The Guardsmen were of the Eighth regiment of Ragnarius, a world some fifty-seven light years away. The one-thousand, nine hundred and fifty men that comprised it were scurrying about in a frenzy of activity; lugging crates of ammunition, grenades and combat rations, cursing with each breath but continuing nonetheless, overseen by their sergeants and field officers. The officers who could find reason to were already under shelter, busying themselves with the veritable mountains of dataslates detailing mission reports and Tables of Organization and Equipment. Most however were delegated to the sergeants assigned the billet of Logistics, coordinating with the regimental headquarters and service company to maintain the equipment of their respective units.

One particular bunker was empty save for three souls, and outside were a trio of black carapace armoured, hellgun wielding soldiers. A sergeant and a group of five guardsmen made time for themselves as the trio blocked the door to the bunker.

"Is this really necessary?" said one of the figures inside the bunker, a man clad in dark green flak armour over fatigues of white and splotched green. His tone was dry as he crossed the interior of the spartan bunker. Light steamed through the thin firing slots, highlighting a plasteel table at which sat a woman with crimson hair. She was clad in armour similar to that of the soldiers outside; however she didn't carry an assault rifle, and wore a thick brown overcoat over the armour, masking its outline to the casual observer.

"Yes," the crimson haired woman nodded, "I know this seems strange but its-"

"-Irresponsible! Hell yes it is!" the Guardsman blurted as he turned towards the woman with his face a mask of sudden fury, "You of all people should know what the word responsible means!"

The woman stood, her face turning red in frustration. "It's the safest place I could find for-!" she began, to which the Guardsman laughed, if only from surprise.

"Safest? Safest? An active warzone? Are you kidding me!"

"It's better than the alternative." the woman whispered, her eyes sharp on the green-armoured figure, "At least here there are eight companies of lasgun wielding guardsmen with their heads of a swivel - it's safer here." she finished as the guardsman stopped at a cogitator station, resting his hands on the desk. The Guardsman sighed heavily.

"I don't need this...not now." he breathed, "The Captain just got cuddly with an earthshaker shell, word is the good preacher man is planning to roll up on this position with two thousand tanks within the month. H&S tells me that our ration supply will only last a week, two if we go to one meal a day." He sighed heavily again. "Mary, please, I don't need this, not now."

He turned to look at Mary. She looked back at him and he had a burst of feeling deep down, but it was suppressed by the tension in the air. "But I suppose I don't have much choice do I."

Mary shook her head. I'm sorry she mouthed silently, to which the guardsman looked back to the cogitator.

"Yeah, I know."

Mary walked around the table, the overcoat falling down as her boots echoed off the floor. "I really am, but-"

"But you walk back into my life after four years and ask me the impossible." the guardsman bitterly interrupted.

"But" Mary started again, "I need this, please Jamis."

Jamis turned to face Mary at the use of his given name. The tone in which she said it touched something inside his chest, but again it was quashed by the four years of absence.

"Jamis...I'm going, for a while. It'll be-" Mary stopped for a moment. She glanced off to the side, to one of the cogitator stations, before looking at all the other tables currently vacant, eventually coming back to Jamis who'd taken a few steps toward her. "It'll be dangerous. This is the safest place. With you." She saw the guardsman open his mouth but she cut him off with a hand gesture. "Somewhere else, some fortress - is stationary, too easy to find."

"But in the chaos of war..." Jamis continued.

"Things can get a bit muddled, as I'm sure you know." Mary finished with a nod.

Jamis shook his head slowly, looking off to the side for a moment before turning back to Mary.

"Just what the in the name of Him on Terra are you doing that could risk..." He again glanced to the side before looking back. "What are you up to now?"

Mary shook her head. Jamis sighed and turned away. There was no way she would or could answer that question, not even to him.

"It still doesn't change anything Mary, this place is going be hell soon enough." He turned back to face her. "How this rates as the safest place on your list is beyond me."

At this Mary smiled, holding up one gloved finger with a playful smirk. As she opened her mouth to speak, another voice cut her off.

"Mother, what are those streaks in the sky?"

At that the two adults turned to the cogitator station. There was stood a boy, clad in dark brown robes. His face was round, and on his head was a well-kept mop of brown, thick hair. His eyes were mismatched, one blue, one green, and they seemed to sparkle as he gazed at Mary, one arm pointed towards the firing slits. Mary dutifully turned and stepped over to her son with some haste, followed shortly by Jamis. She knelt beside the boy, taking him in her arms as she gazed out into the grey sky. True to the boy's words, there were red streaks streaming between the missile contrails, punching toward the ground.

"That honey, is a gift to your father." Mary smiled with a glance to Jamis, who leaned against the ceramite to get a clearer view.

"They're heading for the preacher man's lines." Jamis mused aloud. Mary hummed in agreement.

"So you see dear." she said, while standing and taking Jamis by the arm, "I think this war is about to get a whole lot safer." She planted a light kiss on his cheek, "I promise." She whispered into his ear, causing him to turn. "I will come back."

Jamis nodded lightly before kissing her on the lips. "You damn better." He looked at the child who seemed mesmerised by the trails in the sky. "If not for me, then for Cristhios."

Mary reached up with her other hand, gripping Jamis' chin and dragging his gaze back to her. "I know this is strange for you to hear, but I will not betray you, my husband, or my only child."

Jamis chuckled, "Husband, that's a title I haven't used in a long time."

"Less than father?" Mary asked, to which she received a cold glare for an instant. "Sorry." she apologised before looking back to the sky.

They watched the streaks for a moment, quietly. There were about dozen in total, burning through the burgeoning storm. Accompanying them were flights of Marauders and Lightnings, thundering overhead, and even from the secluded bunker Jamis and Mary could hear the resulting commotion outside. It seemed someone else had noticed the burning rain the weekly meteorological scan had somehow missed.

Before Jamis could reach for the central table, where his helmet sat with his vox-link tucked neatly inside, there were raised words outside the door. Mary and Jamis listened for a moment; it sounded like someone wanted to get in quite urgently. Jamis glanced at the crackling vox inside his helmet as the activity outside escalated with each passing moment.

"Sounds like their looking for you, First Lieutenant." Mary quipped with an edge of mischief, "I think we've had this situation before."

She grinned to Jamis, and Jamis returned the grin.

"I think that was before little Cris."

He glanced out the firing slit with Mary, some flicker of the flame kindling inside him again.

"And on a planet with less rain, and less mud, and less traitors with large artillery pieces." Mary added dryly as the noise outside the door increased in volume. The noise reached a crescendo, resulting in a loud bang as the door was seemingly kicked open, drawing the attention of the adults while Cristhios continued watching the flights overhead and the red streaks in the sky. Two figures entered the top room of the bunker, one in green armour and sergeant stripes on his chest, and one in black carapace armour with seemingly no markings of any kind. The figure in black spoke first while restraining the figure in green with a single hard grip on his shoulder.

"Please forgive me Inquisitor, this guardsman would not take no for an answer." he growled through his helmet vox.

Mary immediately broke away from Jamis, raising a placating hand towards the black armoured soldier. "It's ok, let him go Rhodes. We've probably overstayed our welcome."

She smiled diplomatically. True to her orders, Rhodes released the guardsman in his grip, who scurried away with clenched fists and a mouthful of curses.

"Veteran Sergeant Thoran, what is it?" Jamis stepped away from Mary toward the spluttering sergeant. Thoran straightened up, still growling at Rhodes, who stood stoic in the face of the young NCO's most-likely toothless threats.

Thoran turned to the Lieutenant, breathing heavily and red in the face. He sketched a loose salute before dropping into a more relaxed posture. His armour was splattered with dirt and the webbing held seemingly everything: ration bars, markers, lho-sticks, a few frag grenades and one standard issue combat knife. His helmet hung loose off his belt, which also held a dark brown grox-leather holster containing the sergeant's sidearm, a rather large autopistol.

"Sir, two things."

Jamis urged the sergeant on with a simple nod.

"One, command wants the regiment to move out-"

"We have no captain, or any way to blast apart the preacher man's defence line." Jamis cut in as he crossed his arms.

"Ahh, LT, I'm getting to it." Thoran grinned, "Seems whatever the hell is happening up-side, they're broadcasting on a funny channel."

"Funny channel?" Jamis questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Thoran nodded gleefully, "Yeah, the ones used by the Angels themselves."

"Angels?" Jamis furrowed his brow, "The Angels of Death? The Space Marines!"

Thoran nodded again, "Navy flyboys confirm, one of their ships is hanging in high orbit."

"I think you'll find they are Space Marines of the Frost Wolves chapter - Captain Orionus of the fourth company I believe." Mary chimed in from across the bunker where she knelt by Cristhios.

Jamis looked over his shoulder at her. "I take back everything bad I have ever said if you can call in a Space Marine. Let alone, what, a company? How many is that?"

Mary stood and turned to face Jamis. "About a hundred battle brothers, not counting their command staff and vehicle operators." She smiled. "And I was just calling in a mark."

Thoran sidestepped to face the Inquisitor directly. "Excuse me ma'am, did you say Frost Wolves?" he said with a hint of awe, "The Kings of the White Peaks? The oncoming blizzard? The Lords of Currumpaw?"

Mary nodded, holding the smile.

"They prefer just Frost Wolves, or the Wolves of Ragnarius at a push." she quipped as she turned back to her son.

"My gift to you, my love." she whispered as she looked to Jamis. "'The Wolves of War go forth, teeth bared and claws sharp - may the Traitor's so-called-gods be on their side, for I have the Astartes on mine.'" She recited proudly as she left her child's side and took a couple of steps toward Rhodes.

Jamis turned back to Thoran, a shallow gin on his face. "And the other news sergeant?"

Thoran gave a rather mischievous grin. "Yeah, we're about to roll and our little troop ain't got no captain. Colonel sent word down, after Captain Kiman, you're deemed the ranking officer." Jamis just stared back at the veteran sergeant. "Colonel says you're the new third company captain - til' you're dead, or they find someone better. Exact words actually."

"Huh." was Jamis' only response, his face a mask of surprise, shock, awe, anger, despair and a hundred other minute emotions that were swirling around his head.

A chuckle drifted from behind the new captain, and to Jamis it sounded like rich honey poured into his war-battered ears - a reminder of half a decade ago, a pleasant memory, of textured sheets and fluffed pillows.

"Congratulations, Captain Lognus." Inquisitor Mary Lognus beamed to the young soldier. Jamis turned to face her, but she was already moving toward the door.

"All of Cristhios' things have been put in your bunk." she quipped over her shoulder as she passed through the door of the bunker, but stopped just short of the dirt stairs, turning sideways to look Jamis in the eye. "I will come back, for both of you, by my honour, I swear."

Her eyes were unyielding as they stared into Jamis'. She smiled softly after a moment. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's time I vanished in the chaos of battle."

With a single fluid motion Mary brought a black hood over her vibrant hair, though her cerulean eyes held on to Jamis a moment longer before she turned. Her three soldiers turned with precise timing to shield her from prying eyes, and with the same silence with which she had arrived she vanished, engulfed by the shadows in the trench and lost among the scurrying bodies.

Jamis watched the confusion for a moment longer. Some part of him, some part he though buried under years of anger, sadness, regret and loneliness, wished to see her cloaked form again. Her smile. Her.

[BladeWolf]

After a moment Jamis took a deep breath, the feeling - or more specifically the still-chattering vox - drawing the new captain back to his duties. However, as soon as he turned to get his helmet his eyes fell on young Cristhios, who was stood still watching the metal birds in the sky.

"Captain." Thoran hissed. Jamis turned his head to look at his sergeant. "I could... I could get him to the barracks, sir."

"No." the Captain breathed, before turning back to the boy. "Cristhios!" he called across the bunker, making the boy turn to face his father. "Come here boy."

He beckoned the boy over with a gesture, which the five-year-old complied with dutifully, and as he did Jamis looked back to Thoran, "I must report to the Major, at least that's what Kiman did. He'll be in the field, Colonel will be in the bunker."

"True, but that still leaves the kid. Is he yours?" the sergeant uttered with a cheeky grin, "Wow, Lieutenant...I mean Captain...really?"

Jamis raised an eyebrow at the grin but ignored it. "Take him to the command bunker, it's definitely hardier then this place."

Thoran nodded. Jamis knelt at Cristhios reached him, pulling the boy close - holding him for the first time in four years. To the Imperial Guard Captain, it felt like an age. He hugged the boy for several moments, smiling as the boy placed his arms around him too.

"I'm sorry Cristhios, but your daddy has to go."

"It's ok father." the boy replied, his eyes still wide as he hugged Jamis, "I've waited four years, a few hours will matter little."

Jamis laughed as he pulled back to see Cristhios properly. "'Will matter little'? Who taught you to talk like that?"

Cristhios cocked his head as he looked up, "Mother taught me to speak clearly, she says that bad communication is the root of most problems."

"And the problems that aren't caused by bad communication?" Thoran queried as Jamis continued to chuckle.

Cristhios twitched his gaze to the sergeant. "Aliens, aliens in their space ships." This elicited a further guffaw from the Captain, who hugged his son again, tighter this time.

"Oh, my son." Jamis said in between bouts of chuckles, "You don't know how right you are." He breathed. "But, Cristhios-" he started as he pulled back again, "Drop the 'father' thing, makes me feel old. Dad or daddy works just as well."

He smiled at the child, who looked bewildered for a minute before nodding and grinning.

"Cristhios, sergeant Thoran here will get you to the command bunker, you'll be safe there." Jamis smiled as he stood to retrieve his helmet.

"Will you, fath- dad?" Cristhios looked up at his father as he stepped over to the side, retrieving his lasgun and bandolier. "Will you be safe?"

Jamis turned to face his son, sideways on, with a look of strange confusion. What should he tell his own son? Should he tell the truth? Or a convenient lie? He turned to face his son fully as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, his face set now as the years of war took over. He stopped short of Cristhios, standing with his shoulders set.

"Cris," he started as he looked at the child, who attempted to emulate his father. "We are soldiers. We fight in the name of the Imperium and for the Emperor, we taste the wine of victory, but sometimes some soldiers are called by the Emperor Himself to serve him personally."

Jamis smiled lightly, if grimly. Cristhios dipped his gaze and Jamis found himself wondering if Cristhios knew what the word death meant. It was a strange thought as he looked at the five year old boy. Does a five year old know about death? Could he comprehend death? Jamis sighed; five years in the care of Inquisitor Mary Lognus had probably left a few emotional landmines buried in the boy, and Jamis made a mental note to look out for those problems before they blew up in his face.

He sighed again - as if his sudden promotion to Captain wasn't stressful enough, could he be a father again as well? Jamis stopped for a second as he looked at the child. After six years of serving in the Guard, at first following orders, then giving them as he rose to a position where he was responsible for nearly fifty other soldiers, each of whom he'd had to deal with their personal crises, wants and needs, and of course their temper tantrums and lovers' tiffs - one of the unmentioned bonuses of mixed-sex regiments - whenever they felt was the most inopportune, all the while keeping them out of the gunsights of the Commissar, though she'd mellowed out as of late. Jamis would swear that sometimes he felt like he was leading a platoon of children and not supposedly battle-hardened soldiers of the Imperial Guard. He stopped himself mid thought as he looked at Cristhios. If he could deal with fifty others, surely that gave him some advantage, if not complete preparedness? That's what Jamis kept telling himself as he escorted Thoran and Cristhios from the bunker, into the streams of bodies and the localised thunder of basilisk fire.

"Thoran." Jamis uttered as he clutched his child's hand, much to the surprise of some of the passing guardsmen.

"Yes sir." The sergeant turned as they closed on the junction in the trench that would send them to either the command trench or the front where the vast majority of guardsmen seemed to be headed.

Jamis glanced towards the command bunker, easily identifiable by the bank of antennae and small uplink disk that were mounted on a block beside the grey rockrete, the fortified heart of this section of the front line.

"I... I need to think this through, need to clear my thoughts." Jamis breathed before looking back to Thoran, "Tell the Colonel...er, umm...tell Harran, tell him...something, sergeant." He sighed, "Tell him what is going on, tell him something, try to leave out the Inquisitor part, though I think that'll come out eventually. Er..."

Jamis rubbed his forehead as he tried to find the words. What to tell the commander of the Eighth Ragnarian regiment? That he had, out of the Warp, had a son he'd not seen in just shy of four years, had been left in his care by his wife, whom he had also not seen in four years, who just happened to be an agent of the - if he remembered correctly - Ordo Xenos, a part of the cold, faceless organisation called the Imperial Inquisition that, if rumours were true, made little children vanish in the middle of the night?

Luckily, he was stopped in his rambling by a deft gesture from the sergeant.

"I'll take care of it, sir." Thoran grinned. "And I'll grab a few grenades, and a few clips on my way in, and a few scraps of intel on the way out. Perhaps find out just what the hell we're up against."

Jamis smiled at the sergeant before dropping to a knee to look his child in the eye.

"Cristhios." he said softly, holding the child by the shoulders to bring his attention back from the still-visible trails in the sky. More had appeared in the minutes it had taken to walk the trench. "You need to go with Thoran, he's going to take you to the command bunker, where you'll be safe. I have a friend, his name is Colonel Harran, your daddy and him know each other very well. He will look after you til I get back. Ok?" Jamis asked quietly as he put on a smile.

Cristhios nodded, smiling back at his father. "I'll be brave. Mother said to be brave, she said you were brave, and so I should be." he returned as his mouth curved higher, puffing out his cheeks.

"Hell, he may actually be yours sir." Thoran quipped as he sheltered the two from prying eyes with his own body. "Sounds dumb enough." He chuckled. "Not been around a Commissar to get to know the other meaning of bravery, also known as stupidly suicidal."

Jamis heard the comment but chose to ignore it for the time being. "That's my boy." he beamed at his child.

"Mother said I needed to be brave most when we went to somewhere she called 'Teoo', she told me not to listen to them." Cristhios continued.

"Teoo?" Jamis raised an eyebrow, "Teoo." he repeated, more to himself then Cristhios.

"Tau maybe sir?" Thoran suggested over his shoulder, to which Jamis' eyes widened and his face became a mask of surprise and anger.

"Tau! Tau space!" Jamis hissed hotly, his memory spiking with the flash of blue projectiles and images of flying, armoured suits. "She took you on field missions?"

Cristhios looked away, his smile fading as his father got angry, even though it was not at him. "Not always, mother said I'd have to learn about the ga-waxy sometime."

"I swear I'm going to..." Jamis stopped himself as he looked to one side, swallowing sharply and mulling his next thought. However, a sudden crack of thunder and a shake from the dirt beneath his feet jolted him from his thoughts rather violently.

"Sir," Thoran began, "Looks like the preacher man's decided to knock!" He yanked the Captain to his feet. "Go, sir! I'll get the boy to the bunker."

Jamis nodded, and Thoran promptly pulled the boy up into his arms, allowing his rifle to hang off his shoulder, and like that he darted for the command bunker. Jamis watched them go for a moment, before un-slinging his own rifle and turning toward the front.

The battle was something that had to seen to be believed, even as Jamis led his company - as much to their surprise as to his. As the Imperial Guard rolled forward in their Chimeras and on foot, they caught sight of their new allies, the white knights of Ragnarius, the Frost Wolves.

The land that 'belonged' to the preacher man was pot marked by tear drop-shaped metal pods, dozens of them, some spouting fire at the preacher man's trench line while the armoured giants of the Adeptus Astartes marched forward into the swirling maelstrom of gunfire, their own weapons barking thunder with each step.

The sky roared and screamed as the various aircraft, bombers, fighters and gunships made their way overhead, eager to press the advantage against the traitor forces, their weapon fire raking the ground behind the trench line ahead of the Jamis' third company as they advanced.

So fast was the battle, that by the time Jamis had led his company through the artillery-scarred battlefield, the superhuman giants were already half a kilometre ahead of them, forging a path through the command and communication trenches. As Jamis reached the lip of the front line trench, a thunderous roar screamed overhead, as the new captain look up he saw a flight of white plated gunships, they bore on their flanks the same symbol Jamis had seen on the left shoulders of the Space Marines he'd seen through his magnoculars. With a look of some awe, Jamis watched as one of the gunships dropped down low, and from its undercarriage a pair of armoured fighting vehicles, complete with turrets and sponsons, dropped onto the hard ground, with a far deeper growl, more guttural in nature, the two revved and shuddered into action, their turrets barking and sponsons flashing as the two rolled forward behind the now-far ahead Space Marines.

As the third company made their way into the corpse-strewn trench, Jamis waved his fellow guardsmen forward.

The Guardsmen found as they advanced, the warriors of the Adeptus Astartes were thorough, very thorough, every traitor, every heretic was dead, not just shot, but devastated, one bolt in the chest, a second in the lower torso, needless to say they were blown apart, and they were the lucky ones. Thoran happened across one who had been graced with what looked to be a melta blast.

Jamis had to stop for a moment as he vaulted up over the lip of the communication trench, only to find the clearly crushed corpse of a heavy weapons gunner, judging from the pieces of heavy bolter embedded into the hard dirt around him - tank treads passed over the bloodied uniform.

To the new captain's left he heard a low rumble, not the distinctive growl of the Chimera Armoured Personnel Carriers that were trundling along behind them, sending streams of heavy bolter and multilaser fire into positions further away. No, the rumble was the dull roar of the Imperial Guard battle tank, the Leman Russ. The Hammer of the Emperor was in full swing.

[BladeWolf]

****

"So," Harran said as he stepped about the field tent, newly constructed in the fields once held by the preacher man. The Colonel had been informed quite humorously that the site of where the preacher man had visited his troops, had become the site of the regimental latrine trench. "If you've explained this right..." he uttered as he gripped the canteen at his belt and turned to face the two, the father and the son - who was sat on a stool with his hands holding a half-chewed grox bun taken from the slop squad as they set up. "Your wife, who is part of the Inquisition, who you married in a flurry of emotions after that complete frak-up on Raimis," he took a swig from his canteen. "And, after four years of complete silence from her, out of the Warp, she dumps your spawn on your lap, knowing full well that this is a warzone, and that's safer than a fortress, or even a schola progenium." He took another swig of lukewarm water as he paced back and forth on the hard ground. "Does this woman have an iota of sense? She's an Inquisitor, for His sake."

"Preaching to a former choir boy." Jamis gestured to the Colonel with a grin.

The Colonel glanced toward Jamis with a similar grin. "Choir boy, my flame grilled rear, you knocked up an Inquisitor-"

"Interrogator, well actually still just an Acolyte at the time." Jamis swiftly corrected.

"Still." Harran continued, "You, a choir boy? the Lieutenant who punched a priest - admittedly he deserved it."

Jamis grinned wider, "I did say former didn't I?" he looked to Cristhios, who was still in his dark robes. "I took an extended leave of absence from the position after one of the altar girls made a pass at me."

"Groxcrud!" Harran bellowed out, his mouth wide with laughter, spraying water out in front of him. "An Altar girl!" he repeated incredulously. "Chosen for their 'purity' and 'devotion'?"

To that Jamis laughed dirtily. "Ha! As if, if you mean purity you mean leg length, and devotion, well, best left unsaid." He shook a finger for a second as he tried to stop another bout of chuckles. "That priest was the dirtiest bastard you've ever met, guy was scum, you could tell by the filthy grin."

"Dirtiest? You mean someone can be worse than General Kamarov?" to which the two let loose another roar of laughter, all the while Cristhios looked about in confusion while chewing on his grox bun.

The two stood for a moment in enrapture of humour among the corpse strewn battlefield, the stench of coppery blood still permeating seemingly everything. Despite the respite from the assault, the sounds of battle echoed from the hills up ahead. The thundering cannons and roaring missiles split the air as they speared toward their targets both near and far. The vox still chattered after five hours of constant, unexpected assault, in those five hours the eighth regiment had advanced nearly three kilometres, following a trail of devastated fortifications and blasted corpses, the warriors of the Adeptus Astartes always ahead, small, white specks on the horizon, even their tanks outpaced the Cadian Fifty-Third Armoured Regiment, whose redoubtable Leman Russes, despite their size, moved quite fast when pushed flat-out.

"Well, I hope I'm not interrupting something." a feminine voice drifted into the tent, feminine, but hard, the harsh Lycarian dialect hovering on the edges of her speech. The Colonel, Cristhios and Captain turned their heads. Stood in the tent flaps was a figure clad in near-black fatigues, hanging from her shoulders was an opened blue great coat, a lingering reminder of her homeworld, Lycarius. Wrapped tightly about her mid section was a deep crimson sash, over which sat a grox-hide weapons belt, holding a filled scabbard and pistol holster. Her face was white from wind chill but her green eyes remained sharp as they darted between the three figures. Her thick brown hair was held in a controlled bun around the back of her head while a black beaked cap sat atop it, a small, decorative silver skull mounted to the front face. The Eighth Ragnarian Regiment's Commissar.

"Nerima, how nice for you to join us." the colonel smiled. "Cup of recaff?" he proffered with a gesture to a side table where the boiler and cup were. To which the Commissar politely refused with a gesture.

"Commissar Dalian." Captain Lognus nodded, Commissars were not part of the standard chain of command, you didn't need to salute them outside of official functions.

"Jamis." she smiled warmly in return. "Congratulations on your promotion." she moved closer to the gathering. "Shame it happened like it did."

"Shame the Captain got hit with an earthshaker you mean?" Jamis replied dryly.

The Commissar shrugged her shoulders "Not how I would choose, that's for a fact." Jamis grunted at that but said nothing. Nerima turned toward Cristhios as he caught her eye. She smiled lightly as her eyes darted to Jamis. "This is your boy?" she asked and Jamis nodded, "Our new recruit." she smirked, "A soldier born."

Jamis sent a dirty look to the Colonel before looking back to the commissar. "He's a young boy Commissar, not a soldier."

"A small mind is easily filled with faith." The Commissar smiled powerfully as she turned to face the two officers.

"Mother says 'a small mind can be lead astray with ease by those they fear.'" A voice spoke up from below the commissar. Nerima turned her gaze, now soured to the child. Cristhios was idly holding a cup of warm grox-lact with both hands.

The Commissar opened her mouth, her eyebrows twitched with annoyance but before she could form words the colonel got in before her. "Now now Nerima, the boy is, if I'm not mistaken, the son of an Inquisitor, a soldier born yes, just not of the Guardsman variety" Harran noted off handily, taking a sip of recaff before looking back to Jamis and then to Nerima, "you wouldn't question the Inquisition would you? Much less draw their ire?"

Nerima glared at Harran for a second before turning away, "If you'll excuse me Colonel, I have a disciplinary action to oversee." she moved away, her back straight and her pace betraying her mood, "Captain." she growled as she pushed her way through the tent flaps, to Cristhios she said nothing.

A silence fell over the tent for a moment, Harran looked at the boy while Cristhios finished his grox-lact. Silently he looked to the boy's father, who was also watching his child.

Harran leaned back in his nice chair, he called it his nice chair as he'd 'liberated' it from a farmstead that had fallen into step with the preacher man. After a surprisingly long firefight, by that he meant the farm hands threw pitchforks and fired hunting rifles at the regiment, it was surprisingly long because one of Delta company's platoons rolled right through a haze-field and was unsure of what was happening. It was when the rest of the company appeared on the scene did the crud hit the fan. The regimental H&S, Delta and Bravo companies bulldozed through the meagre cordon and brought the Hammer of the Emperor down on the traitors with their Chimera Armoured Personnel Carriers, to the credit of the traitors, they tried to fight back, but ramming a Chimera with a Harvest-Crawler wasn't a master stroke, especially when a Chimera is heavier, and has a twin-linked heavy bolter for a turret.

The infantry didn't even disembark until they reached the main house. The Colonel found the chair in what he assumed was the private chambers of the owner. It rather clean given what had transpired around it. The colonel had picked it up himself, and relocated it in the Regimental supply train.

It wasn't particularly nice by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a damn-sight better then the crates and stools he'd otherwise have to put up with. It had four legs, a back and arms, it was covered on its main regions by dark brown grox-hide and it gave excellent support for the spine.

As the Colonel sat, his mind turned around the situation, mentally dissecting it. "Jamis." He said quietly, his chin resting on his hand. "Your boy," he started as Jamis turned to look at the Colonel. "He seems rather..." he started as he placed his cup on the table. "Articulate, don't take that the wrong way." he continued as he leaned back into his nice chair, "but, you know what I mean."

Jamis nodded slowly, "He's been in the care of an Inquisitor for five years." He glanced to the Colonel, "Hypno-training?" to which the Colonel shrugged.

"Or just exceptionally bright." Harran smiled. "I know my two were." Jamis looked to the Colonel with a half-grin and a chuckle. "It's true - I wasn't always out getting my backside blown off by traitors or Tau, or Orks, or whatever else I've fought in these past three decades."

Jamis smiled, more inwardly then to anyone as he looked back to Cristhios, who was sitting quietly, intent on watching the world around him. Occasionally something would move past the open tent flaps and Cristhios would turn sharply to watch it. Jamis felt his smile grow as he watched the boy, his boy, his Cristhios.