EMPEROR'S GRACE
Alex Hammond

THE BURNING FLAMES leapt high, throwing long shadows about the vault. The cold floor beneath his feet refused him comfort. Light robes adorned his body, clinging to him, providing little warmth. Streck stared into the dark, eyes straining to pierce the gloom. Above and all around him, a thick silence suffocated anything that dared to make an impact on the stillness.
A noise. Streck turned, his sleep-clogged eyes still trying to get their bearings amidst the flickering shadows.
The flames flared into monstrous life. The dark corners shrunk, betraying the shape of the room. High arching supports held aloft a roof of unimaginable height. Shining steel pipes funnelled the flames into the hall, their light revealing a man in black, military medals peppering his coat. A soft buzzing became apparent; it had always been there, echoing through the halls.
The man, dark-eyed and swathed in the coat and sacred insignia of the Cult of the Emperor, approached. The flames grew, casting light upon a huge lexicon, the Imperial seal burnt into its cover. The dark man stepped forward and opened the book, its pages reflecting flickering light onto his face. Streck stared into his own eyes. The halls erupted with flame. The buzzing grew shrill and flung Streck into the howling consciousness of a warzone.
Screeching attack sirens. His narrow stretcher bed. Bolt pistol in his hand. Streck rose, smoothed his commissar's uniform, placed his peaked cap on his head and rushed upstairs to his command post.
* * *

STILL. THE CHIRPING of the large, homed insects had stopped when the bombardment began. Lieutenant Lownes could still see their multicoloured wings, like stained glass windows, fluttering as the creatures darted desperately between the thick mangrove patches.
'Intelligence of a cat,' Lownes whispered to the young Guardsman next to him.
'Sir?'
Those insects have the intelligence of a cat, soldier.' A pair of kaleidoscope wings hovered close by the man's head. The Guardsman raised his lasgun.
'Steady, son. It's just taking a look at you.'
Olstar Prime. Recent Imperial colony in unclaimed space; a jungle planet rich in deep ores and petro-ethers. Lieutenant Lownes and his squad had been brought in specially from Catachan. Similar climate, similar terrain - High Command figured they'd be perfect for helping in the defence of the main colony installation. The problem was that 'perfect' needs ground support, covering fire and capable shelling, something the last functioning elements of the Valis Fifth Guardsmen and the local garrison on Olstar Prime were a little hard pressed to supply when the word 'Eldar' crackled over the airwaves.
The orders are clear. We're here to destroy their commander and weaken their position. The local garrison and colonists will try and keep the bulk of their force at bay.' Lownes whispered to his squad huddled in the ebbing shallows of the mangroves. The heat and mist had covered brawny arms and combat knives in a dewy sheen.
'So the rumours are true?' Sergeant Stern asked, batting an insect from his pack with the back of his huge hand.
Yes, we face eldar. No one's come in contact with them yet, might have something to do with their technology, but they're definitely out there. The alien devils have the colonists terrified while the local defence forces have no taste for battle - although facing down those sorcerous weapons doesn't appeal to me either.'
'Shuriken catapults, sir.'
'Sorry?' Lownes looked up, scanning his men.
'Sir.' It was the new Guardsman, a young, bullish lad with close-cropped hair. 'Shuriken catapults, they use magnetic impulses, fire spinning discs.'
In mock horror, Lownes made a religious symbol in the air. 'Didn't know we had an eldar expert amongst us. What kind of heretic are you?' He laughed and a cloud of insects rose from the ferns around him. 'Glad to have you along.' Not even a chuckle from his squad. They were apprehensive, and Lownes knew it. 'Make it clean and we'll make it through, Emperor willing. See you all at base camp.'
The Jungle Fighters each gripped their nearest comrade by the forearm, in a brief, silent display of camaraderie.

'Alright.' Lownes released the young soldier's arm. Let's move out.'
There is a skill to moving in waist high water and ignoring the strange movements brushing past. The Jungle Fighters of Catachan had got it down to a fine art - that and at least four unarmed fighting styles and extensive weapons training.
The bulbous mangrove trees sat still, the only things with sense enough not to try and move about in the quagmire. Lownes led his squad into cover behind a vine-swathed clump of the trees. Spiny trunks scratched at the exposed flesh of the fighters. A cocktail of combat drugs staved off all but the most extreme of injuries. Many a fighter had lived to see another day thanks to the potency of the Imperial chemists' brews.
A splash in the water to the left of the squad brought their honed reflexes into action. As silent as nightfall, Stern raised his lasgun. Lownes grabbed his infra-red scope and peered through it. An eldar, with a long, fluted pistol-like weapon strapped to its steel-slender body armour. It moved gracefully through the water; the swamp seemed to have little effect on its movement. Soft, discordant sounds, like an unearthly wind, came from the alien's respirator. Two, three... four in total. Outnumbering them and unseen, Lownes had the drop on them. Yet the men shuddered as the beings came into view.
Three sharp gestures from their commander and the squad went into action. Lownes tugged on two grenades and timed them long. They splashed into the water beside the two eldar on point. One moved close to the ripples in the water and stared upwards, assessing where they had come from. A second too late. The frag grenades cracked loud over the swamp. Burning body armour, flesh seared to metal, splashed into the water about Lownes's squad. Waves rushed about the grove. The Jungle Fighters leaped into the thick grenade smoke as the remaining eldar sprayed humming death from their shuriken catapults.
Tree bark and burnt foliage dropped down into the silent world of the swamp as Lownes swam in the shallows towards the unsuspecting eldar. Half his squad followed, respirators bubbling air to the surface the only sign of their passing. Chainsword spinning, Lownes exploded out of the water; the squad followed, lasguns firing controlled bursts into the mass of body-armoured warriors around them. The needle-sharp teeth of Lownes's mechanical sword ripped into an eldar, removing wrist and weapon in one fluid motion.
The aliens fell back in the face of the Jungle Fighters' numerical superiority, standing behind the tallest of their number, dressed differently in flowing robes and a strange elongated helmet. A pair of green eye sockets glowed. The robed figure raised its hand. A spray of low-powered lasfire from the remaining eldar channelled into one massive bolt that swept through the Jungle Fighters. Stern and four other men fell to the beam, identification tags and flesh fusing in one. The remainder of the squad

threw themselves away from the gunfire and found precarious cover behind what remained of the mangrove trees.
The battlefield was still.
Their leader, it's... it's psychic.' the new Guardsman stammered to Lownes.
'I guessed, son.' Grim faced, Lownes struggled to suppress the drags in his blood that screamed at him to rush into deadly action against the eldar. 'It doesn't matter. They're all the same when they're dead.'
FOR THE PURITY of the Empire, in deed and mind. Let my body be a machine of war. Let courage be my companion and never let it leave my side even in my darkest hour. Blood spilt in the nameof the Emperor is glory; fear is the death of courage and the death of me.
Commissar Streck prayed, staring down from the fire base at the jungle below him. Pitch floated on the shallow waters, blazing in the lasfire glare, only to show the deaths of more Imperial Guardsmen. The screams of the dying echoed through the low ridges. Many of the Valis Fifth would die in battle for the Emperor today. The dead were in their own realm now and had their own judges. It was not for Streck to judge the dead, but to monitor the living and see that they showed courage in battle. His commission was brief and to the point: Spiritual guidance necessary. Instil courage and condemn fear. Victory unlikely.
A rocket screamed through the air and collided with the armour of the steel plateau on which Streck stood. The commissar grabbed hold of the railing but it came away, rusted at the joints. Streck rolled backwards towards the edge of the platform. Below him he could see the vile eldar closing in. The line of bases that acted as the first defence, out in the tangled jungle, were falling. Streck's sinewy arms strained, muscles shuddering as he hoisted himself back onto the platform.
The commissar stumbled through the smoking wreckage of the lower levels of the base checking bodies, and administering the Emperor's Grace to those who could not be saved. He made for the remaining soldiers huddled beneath the main supports of the fire base. Pip-pupilled terror screamed in their eyes; shaking hands drooped lasguns at the floor. Because of the smoke they had not seen him yet.
One of the Guardsmen stood and staggered out of the bunker. Streck prayed that he'd turn back. For fear is the enemy of man. It stays his weapon in anger and dilutes his potency.
'State your name and rank, soldier.' The Guardsman staggered round as Commissar Streck stepped out from the smoking wreckage.
T, uh, I need a medic' The Guardsman blinked, blurry-eyed, as the black overcoat and cap of the Imperial commissar swam before his eyes.
'Name and rank?'

'Retner Ganch, Guardsman, Valis Fifth, sir.' The words dribbled from the slump-shouldered shape.
'Are you aware of the punishment for desertion?'
'Can't fight... lost gun, lost fingers.' Ganch wriggled the nubs of a bloodied stump.
And for each who has turned their back on battle there will be death. For they are dead already as weapons for the Emperor and lost to his halls of glory.' As Streck spoke the sentence, the Guardsman dropped to his knees, tears streaming down from his bloodshot eyes. 'Even worse are those who show fear in the face of judgement, for in death they have neither pride nor glory.'
Commissar Streck raised his pistol to the Guardsman's head, distancing himself so that the deserter's blood would not stain his clothes.
'If we must die, then we will die with courage.' Streck turned and bellowed at the remaining men. Another rocket struck the base, tearing through both plascrete and armour plating, but he did not flinch. The Emperor rewards those who show courage. They will join him at his halls and be recorded for ever in the annals of our heroes.'
Streck looked across the faces of the men before him. Youths, none more than two decades old, stared back at him. Mass-produced helmets rested loosely on their heads; the fit was almost always imperfect and required firm straps to provide any protection. Giddy-eyed and silent, the Guardsmen sat ineffectually in the mud. Streck was sick with rage. These men had not even caught sight of the aliens that assailed them, yet they were terrified.
'Do you not fear the death of a coward? There is no place for them. They will be spurned and hated by their fellow men, for they did not fight to better humanity. They lie slack-kneed and stupefied as the daemon weapons of the eldar come closer, every second making the last moments of their life those of a coward!'
Streck fired his pistol into one of the trembling Guardsmen. A brief shriek was all he relinquished. The dead man slumped forward, helmet tumbling into the blood-slick mud.
Shaking hands now readied weapons and began to release rapid volleys of lasfire through the fire-slits in the remaining parts of the bunker. Streck, pleased, set himself against a supporting beam and began to fire into the undergrowth, praying that his shots would ring true. He knew they were being surrounded. He could sense the unholy beings gathered in the swamp about them. Dusk was coming and they would renew their assault in the night, their alien eyes penetrating the darkness.
LOWNES, KNEE HIGH in swamp water, fingered his last grenade.
They can't give us any support. The Basilisks are tied up shelling their main strike force.' the new Guardsman said, dosing the console of a communicator.

'I need cover, all of you. And make it clean.' Lownes stripped off his pack and readied his lasgun. 'On my mark.'
'One.' Lownes twisted the grenade's pin. 'Two.' The squad raised their rifles. 'Three.' Thrashing through the water like a charging beast, Lownes ran for an embankment close to the eldar. The squad fired in unison, lasers slicing jungle vines and igniting small gas pockets. The fury of their renewed assault scythed through the eldar. They shot down all but the robed eldar, the dead aliens' body armour cracking open to reveal pale skins glistening like shelled oysters.
An immense geyser of swamp water reared into the sky. Lownes had almost stood on his own grenade. In the second that the water spouted, Lownes tumbled out from behind cover and started firing at the robed eldar. Lasfire crackled about it. Lownes threw himself at the eldar psyker, chainsword sending rapid pulses up his arm. The eldritch being brought up its thin staff to parry the blow. Sparks danced around crackles of energy. Lownes reeled within the electrical maelstrom. Death only a heartbeat away, the seasoned Jungle Fighter threw down his lasgun and snatched at his combat knife. On his knees, Lownes plunged the simple blade into the eldar's side. The field dissipated. The chainsword shattered jewels and mesh armour. Like a burst of air rushing forth from a vacuum seal, the psyker expired.
THE SWAMP HOWLED with the sounds of the night creatures, their shrill, staccato voices beating at the air like tiny hammers upon a discordant chime. Streck found some solace in the noise. He had heard that the eldar possessed keen senses, their hearing unmatched. These night calls would make them uncomfortable. As if on cue, a shot rang out in the darkness and the screeching stopped, only to start again a few seconds later. Streck chuckled. He had long since learnt to find pleasure in his enemies' pain.
What remained of his command force lay scattered about the wrecked bunker. Eyes downcast, each man sat contemplating his fate. Some men looked over the personal possessions they kept about them: gang bandannas from their home world, farewell gifts from lovers, trinkets and keepsakes of all descriptions. Others simply stared at the mud, or shivered in the swamp water. Only a few talked. In one instant it occurred to Streck how far these men had been gathered from to defend this jungle planet. How each had come from the far distant world of Valis to die together in defence of the greater cause. The power of the Emperor was vast. He prayed the Great One would smile on them tonight.
Streck had ordered the men to conserve their energy packs. Until such a time as someone got a clean aim at an eldar, no one was to fire. Silent as.death's scythe, a spinning disc as fast as light skimmed into the armoured shell and struck the man closest to Streck in the head. His face a bloodied mess, he died before he could scream.

The Guardsmen fired wildly into the darkness. Lasfire lit up the bunker for a few seconds.
'No! Where I'm firing.' Streck screamed. 'Fire on my lead!'
The men still fired in all directions. A wave of enemy fire swept down into the bunker and cut more Guardsmen down. Limbs severed, screams ceased. Their wild firing was serving only to reveal their positions. A flash revealed two eldar rushing forward from the dark cover of the mangroves. Their feet hardly splashing the shallow water, they moved with terrifying grace, long hair running wild from hard armour crafted from sorcerous materials. Chainswords screaming, they fell upon the revealed Guardsmen, slicing through flesh and bone like it was water.
Streck spun and levelled his bolt pistol at the carnage. Men were falling by pairs, dual cries of terror sending others running.
'Hold your ground! For the Emperor!' Streck felled one of the eldar, three shots cutting cleanly through the lurid helm of the alien degenerate. The butchery stopped for a second. The remaining eldar withdrew its spinning blades from the carcass of a dead man and let the glowing green eyes of its helm look the commissar up and down.
'Let the Emperor's might be mine!' Streck spat bloody spittle as explosive shells cracked from his pistol, jarring his hand and throwing him backwards.
The alien leapt high over the commissar's shots. The shells burst against the roof of the bunker, each getting closer to the lightning-fast eldar as it sailed through the air. Streck tumbled through the mud, listless limbs flapping against the ground as the eldar darted after him, twin swords held high above its head like a matador.
Streck kicked a trembling Guardsman into the path of the eldar and it cut him down without slowing. Shots rung off his assailant's carapace. Streck rushed a prayer to the Emperor.
Steaming with sulphurous heat, the eldar dove at Streck. Bracing for the pain, the commissar blinked. It was all the time needed. Opening his eyes again, Streck looked up and traced the jittering death spasm of his assailant. It lay on the end of a large, crude chainsword. Engraved words following the blade read Catachan IV.
Lieutenant Lownes, dour face slick with the heat, looked down at the commissar. 'It would appear you're surrounded.'
IT TOOK SOME moments to cover the dead and regroup under the dripping steel bunker. Half the fortification was ripped open down one side, and Lownes set two Jungle Fighters to block it with whatever rubble they could scavenge and cram into the space without being shot.
'Why did they let you through, lieutenant?' Commissar Streck said, looking down over the Catachan commander.

'False hope. You've held out this far - thought you'd be saved.' Lownes continued bandaging a Guardsman's arm. There's only five of us. Not nearly enough to help dig you out of this one.'
'We're doomed? Is that what you think, lieutenant?' Streck stared into the
Catachan's eyes.
Lownes stood and gestured at the huddled, forlorn figures. 'No, it's what they think.' He grinned at the commissar. 'I've been in worse situations than this.'
'Really?'
Well they're not tyranids, that's a start.'
Streck turned his back on the Catachan and looked out through the dark hole that was once a bunker wall. 1 will wait until daybreak before I command the men to attack. We make our stand here. The glory of the Emperor
will aid our fight.'
They won't let us make it through to daybreak. They'll shell this bunker to rubble before they let us see their positions. We need to set a trap, lure some in and get out of here,' Lownes replied. The commissar turned to face
him.
When the Great One was fighting the foul Horus, do you think he set about creating a trap to "lure" him to his death. With will alone he defeated the fiend, not simple tricks. Was he not-'
Lownes shook his head. 'Commissar. Sir. I am not questioning doctrine, rather trying to get my men and yourself out of here alive. Glory can wait for
another day'
'Glory must be the sole aim of each man, each day. His mind a temple, his body a weapon in the service of the Emperor'
Lownes looked up at the roof, then fixed Streck with a steely glare. 'I hate to say it, sir, but this particular temple should be condemned - and all of the Emperor's weapons are running out of ammunition.'
THE PREPARATIONS TOOK only a few moments. Lownes and his men scampered in and out of the bunker, low to the ground like crabs. Others ran the detonating cable they'd scavenged from the burnt-out fire base along the ground. Commissar Streck looked on, his face a granite scowl. In his head he played through the various positions he could take. From depths he had not penetrated for some years he drew out fragments of doctrine, of teachings and precedents. The rebellion on Ultar III, bloody merciless suppression, the Emperor's Grace for those whose minds were mortally fatigued. Streck formulated, stipulated and prepared his judgement, dark eyes impenetrable to those who would dare look the commissar in the face.
Only one man did. 'Commissar, we are ready, thank the Emperor,' Lownes called from a precarious position atop the bunker.
Streck stood well back. The Catachans had jury-rigged several grenades at weak points about the rubble strewn about the outer walls of the bunker.

'There's double-thick plating up that end.' Lownes said, pointing. 'Everyone up there.'
What exactly are you suggesting we do, lieutenant?' Streck sneered.
'We've rigged the outside with explosives. This bunker is now one big grenade.' Even Streck shuddered a little at this suggestion. 'All we need to do is lure them in and let the thing rip.'
'How do you propose we do that?'
'Surrender.' Lownes grinned.
'Alien heretics are not known for taking prisoners.'
'Exactly.'
'I DON'T SEE them coming.' The jungle was still in the bright dawn light.
'You won't until they're close enough to make a kill.' Lownes called, keeping his voice low. He continued staring out from the bunker, lasgun sight fixed on the young Guardsman. The small figure shuffled forward towards the edge of the clearing, gazing nervously all around him.
They're fast, sir.'
'I know, son. That's why I sent you out there. You've got reflexes that would make the Departmento Munitorium consider giving you special training.' Lownes was nervous too. He couldn't make out any movement in the faint light of the waking day.
Think so, sir?' The Guardsman lowered his white flag for a moment as he looked back over his shoulder.
'Keep your eyes sharp, soldier.'
Well?' Streck's voice rung the length of the bunker.
'Nothing yet, commissar.' Lownes flicked his head; sweat had saturated his bandanna and was beginning to ran into his eyes. 'Tense, isn't it?'
You make sure your men are ready and I'll take care of mine.' Streck turned his back on him and stalked the length of his retinue.
Lownes motioned with his hand and the three remaining Jungle Fighters crept forward, keeping meir heads low. 'We have the surprise.' Lownes whispered to his men. 'We may be outnumbered but we've been through much worse and lived. Get through this and I'll look into getting us into Segmentum Solar, closer to home.'
Streck's voice came ringing down the length of the bunker as he walked along the line of nervous Imperial Guardsmen. 'Fear is the province of the weak and unworthy. There is no glory for those who run from battle or fail to raise their weapon in anger. Others who come after you will remember this day if you fight with valour. We are outnumbered - this planet is destined to be taken. There are too many of the obscene enemies of the Emperor and too few of his servants.' Streck removed a copy of the Imperial Scriptures from his overcoat. 'I am a hard man but I give you my blessing for what it is worth. For each man lost-'

'Lieutenant! They're coming!' the Guardsman screamed from outside, running hell for leather for the bunker.
'Keep that flag waving!' Lownes yelled as he motioned his men into action. A tall, slender shape, moving fast amongst the trees, took aim on the young Guardsman. Lownes reached out and grabbed the sprinting soldier by the lapels, swinging him into safety. A dozen shuriken ripped the white flag out of the Guardsman's hand, shredding it against the thick concrete wall.
Honed reflexes snapping into action, one of the other Jungle Fighters raised his lasgun and cut the alien down with a single shot. Its seared body armour glowed faintly in the dawn light as it dropped like cut bamboo into the swamp. The Catachans fell back from the bunker opening, firing neat bursts at the charging eldar as they crossed the clearing.
'Everyone back... and pray this works.' Lownes snatched up a small control panel, twenty lines patched into it. The first inhuman figure was silhouetted in the bunker's doorway.
'Everybody down!'
'Emperor protect us!' Streck cried as Lownes slammed his hand down on the panel.
A rash of air, like a deep space air lock blowing, dragged at the Imperial Guard huddled in the bunker. Men cried and blood burst from ear drums as the explosion raged through the confined space. Flame rushed about the soldiers, setting some alight. Lownes grabbed the brave young Guardsman and threw his flaming body to the ground, holding him down to smother the flames. Commissar Streck screamed prayers to the Emperor as the flames rose higher.
Then silence.
STRECK WAS THE first to open his eyes. Gashes in the bunker roof bled shafts of light into the dust-choked darkness. The pages of his book of scripture lay scattered and burning around his collapsed body.
The commissar struggled to his feet and staggered out of a ripped hole into the warm dawn air. It was filled with the smell of burning steel, harsh and metallic, lapping at the edges of his nostrils. A dozen eldar lay on the ground; some moved, others lay still. Streck stumbled towards one of the aliens, its leg pinned to the ground by a steel girder. The eldar flapped uselessly at the beam, the blood running freely onto the ground marking the minutes it had left to live. Streck dropped to his knees and grappled with the creature's helm, ripping it from side to side, rocking loose the bonds that fastened it. The eldar slapped at Streck, making limp, childlike attempts to knock him to the ground. Streck stumbled backwards as the helm came loose, revealing the pale white skin of the alien.
'Heretic scum.' Streck panted. 'Look upon the face of man!' Streck raised his bolt pistol and held it to the eldar's forehead. The alien closed

its eyes and sat still. Streck bolstered his weapon and pulled himself to his feet using the girder that impaled the eldar. The creature screamed, a hollow, soulless noise. 'No mercy for you, degenerate.'
'Commissar, get down!' Lieutenant Lownes burst from the bunker, a lasgun under each arm. Streck snapped his head around and saw several more eldar rushing from the shadows of the jungle, fluted weapons pointed in his direction.
Streck fell backwards and pulled an eldar's body over him just as a barrage of spinning discs collided where he had been standing. Lownes unleashed a volley of burning hot laser fire from each of his weapons. They seared eldar armour, sinking deep into the soft flesh beneath. A humming shuriken clipped Lownes's arm. Reacting to the stinging pain, the seasoned warrior dropped to his stomach to give himself cover.
'For the Emperor!' Lownes called from his prone position, waving his hand high in the air.
The remaining Imperial Guardsmen opened fire, using the precarious cover of the destroyed bunker. Their shots flashed through the superheated air, slamming into both eldar and muddy swamp. From the edges of the vegetation, Lownes's Jungle Fighters unleashed everything they had. Streck had not seen them move through the mangroves to cut off the eldar. Grenades threw wads of swamp filth up into the air, toppling the eldar.
Lownes lunged forward, holstering one lasgun to unstrap his chainsword. A wounded eldar lurched forward at Lownes from the swamp. Its chainsword whirled close to Lownes's head, metal teeth spitting mud across his face. Lownes brought his own sword up against the eldar's. The creature slammed a quick succession of blows against the Cat-achan, Lownes catching each with a narrow parry. He held the last of the eldar's blows on his chainsword, drove his lasgun into the alien warrior's chest and fired. The force from the gun threw the eldar back into the muddy water, its chainsword still spinning as it jerked in a death spasm.
Lownes caught sight of the commissar's muddy uniform amidst the dead eldar.
'You still alive, commissar?' Lownes asked, dragging an eldar body off Streck.
'I will not ran. Help me to my feet and let me fight for my glory.'
You've got shellshock. It might only be temporary.'
'Let me fight,' Streck spluttered, blood trickling out of his ears and mouth.
'You're hardly able to stand. You'd better serve the Emperor by getting out of this alive, sir. We must retreat.'
Lownes hoisted the commissar onto his shoulder and begun to stagger mrough the swamp, away from the battle. Streck fired his pistol uselessly in the direction of the remaining eldar forces.

'Fall back to the main installation!' Lownes shouted over the noise of the battle.
'No!' Streck cried. We hold our ground and fight to the last!'
The ragged band moved in increments from the bunker, some supporting others on their shoulders. Every few steps, men would have to take cover and return fire on the advancing eldar. Lownes kept pace with the men, hacking aside any vines or large fronds that slowed their progress. After an hour's forced march, guns levelled every step of the way in fear of more eldar, the Guardsman reached the central installation, the key Imperial defence position in this sector of Olstar Prime. Lownes staggered forward, the commissar straggling on his back, until he passed under the heavy gates to the compound and fell to his knees.
'How dare you challenge a commissar!' Streck screamed at Lownes as the lieutenant knelt, panting on the ground, his face crimson. The commissar flailed himself to his feet, tottered for a moment and then stood erect. 'How long have we been out of the battle?'
'It's over, Streck.'
'Over?'
The surviving elements of the Fifth are returning; my men are guiding them through the jungle as we speak.'
They know the way back!' Streck snapped.
'They're taking an alternate route.'
'Creeping back like dogs on their bellies!'
The same way we got back alive.'
You have threatened my immortality today, Lownes. I have fought gloriously in every battle I have joined. I have never turned my back on the enemy. I have suffered countless wounds and remained alive, to fight again for the sanctity of man and the honour of the Emperor!'
'Save your preaching.' the Catachan said, shaking his head. 'I serve the Emperor just like you, but I would rather fight than die a lone fool striking out against a hundred enemies. If I can find a way to make a difference I will, but I will not die in some forsaken swamp for no reason other than glory.'
'Glory is found through death.'
'Glory is what I make of it.'
Commissar Streck stared at the Jungle Fighter. Both men stood still, Lownes's eyes cast to the ground.
'I'm going to find my men.' Lownes turned his back and left the compound.
HE STOOD TALL amongst the returning Imperial Guardsmen. The battle over, few walked upright, their energy spent. Even those unwounded walked like men with a death sentence, their eyes towards the ground, bodies near paralysed with dread resolve. Amidst scant cheers, the Catachan Jungle

Fighters arrived, leading the Guardsmen through the massive barricade gate. Catachan, a planet of fringe dwellers, souls sworn to the Emperor despite lives spent in obscene pursuits. For Streck these troops were worse than barbarian outriders. They fought in no formation, wore no real uniform, misused weapons and showed no honour in battle. They did not stand and fight but nipped at the enemy's heels like dogs.
Lownes stood at the head of the returning men, his face dour, despite his heroics on the battlefield. No cheer passed his lips, no smile broke his face. Dead and living travelled through the gates. Bodies upon stretchers covered by shrouds soon separated from the file of men; like driftwood cast out of the sea by waves, they were directed towards the morgue and crematorium. Above everything hung a persistent roaring, as merchant ships - not bound by illusory notions of duty and honour - heaved into orbit from the refugee-choked landing pads, every space filled with those who could afford today's asking price.
Streck followed the Jungle Fighters through the complex. People scurried about frantically like ants, laden down with bundles of equipment and rations. Many of the civilian buildings had been stripped, Guardsmen protecting the military installations. Streck was unsurprised by the Catachan's destination when they finally pushed open the crude metal doors of the last open saloon. In the dim light, a woman divesting herself of clothing betrayed their motives.
So soon after the glory of battle! Streck was sick with the thought of what these men were truly like. No sooner had their bodies done the glorious work of the Emperor than their weak spirits drove them into the clutches of flesh and alcohol.
Without really thinking what he was doing, the commissar entered through the back of the saloon, clenching his book of scripture tightly in his hand. The bar owner's pockmarked face twisted white as the agent of the Emperor's law entered. Streck sat amidst the din and smoke and watched. He had never entered the saloon before; military business had never given him reason to.
The woman moved listlessly. Streck assumed she was shutting out the desperate, doomed faces of those about her, the reminders of her own fate. The Catachan were more sullen than earlier. They drank and watched the woman dance with loveless eyes. Streck looked across their faces. Scarred, brows furrowed, they stared dark-eyed into their glasses. Their lips moved in crude motions, mouthing words with such effort that Streck could read their lips through the filth laden air.
Glasses. Streck hadn't realised until now. Every soldier drank, bar one. Lieutenant Lownes just stared into the table, into darkness. Streck considered the man. He had disgraced so many by leading them in a retreat from the battle. Perhaps he had realised the truth of his actions, felt the guilt of a coward. Streck considered the value of a court martial again. It

would set a precedent, of course, but men bearing ranks as high as Lownes's were not exempt from execution.
Lownes stood, bade farewell to his men and left the saloon. Drifting after him, Streck wove through the crowded room, all eyes turned away uncomfortably moments before he passed. Streck knew this behaviour as shame, for those who serve the Emperor well know their actions are true and will only receive praise.
A TROPICAL HEAT washed over Olstar Prime, sucking fluid from every pore. Streck stalked Lownes through the compound: Lownes striding forward, a giant powerhouse riding the waves of combat drugs that still tingled along his limbs; Streck lean, tall, keeping pace. Lownes returned to the steady flow of the dead through the colony gates. He walked amongst them, pulling back each sheet.
Streck hung back and watched, trying to pierce the motivations of this man. His reports described him as a loose cannon, but honoured him numerous times with no less than thirty successful engagements to his name. He himself had seen how the Jungle Fighter had led his men and those thrown in with him by fate. He spoke the words of the faithful and did not show any signs of heresy - but he had challenged a superior officer and refused the command of a commissar. Offences punishable by death, yet Streck remained undecided.
Lownes walked along the 'Road of the Dead', as the colonists called it, for it led to the installation's mortuarium. A house that might contain his body one day, and if not this one, definitely some other mortuary in another dark place of the galaxy. Streck had noticed long before that Imperial Guard drop pods often contained morgues, as though death was just another element of battle that needed to be taken care of. Lownes entered and approached the line of bodies gradually being pushed towards the furnace.
Streck watched as Lownes continued his dismal search. The end result: five shrouded figures, red bandannas draped across them. Lownes stood over diem in the damp chill of the vault. Drawing out his combat knife, Lownes held out his left forearm; steely muscles twitched as he scored five long gashes across it. Placing each body bag into die crematorium, Lownes ignited them. Once they were consumed he rubbed some of the combined ashes produced by the furnace into die wounds. Ritual scarification. Crude but not without honour, Streck mused.
A steel stretcher-bed in the barrack block was Lownes's next port of call. The Catachan end of the barracks was covered in an array of war trophies and coloured banners. It was far short of the Spartan neatness that Streck called for in his own morough examinations of the Imperial Guard quarters. Streck's aversion to the Catachan Fighters had never led him past this part of the barrack compound. Now he peered in through a window like a thief.

In the still of nightfall, Lownes produced his lasgun and began stripping it down with rapid, staccato movements, each hand operating on its own task. Streck watched Lownes go through this ritual again and again, mesmerised by die symphony of assembly and disassembly. The soldier's wounds still wept, yet he ignored the pain.
Streck considered for long moments. He knew that a mould must be flexible enough to create versatility in what it cast. In those days of judgement, the Emperor cast and recast his actions, each one different, each one enough to hold back the traitors and heretics that threatened the purity of mankind. Had he not done so, the pattern of his thinking would have been revealed, he considered, and his battle strategies useless. Skills Streck still believed he must hone. Maybe he should teach himself a little more flexibility in both strategy and judgement. Let Lownes be the man he must, Streck thought; let him be cast from the mould a little rough around the edges. Perhaps it was a test set by the Emperor, a test of his ability to reason with the faith to have the courage to engage fully with the scriptures, not just die Lore of Punishment and Retribution alone. After all, had not Lownes served the Emperor well? Maybe the Catachan should not be condemned so harshly for his actions.
Streck had learnt long ago never to let down his guard. Two years ago, three Imperial Guardsmen had attempted a mutiny whilst he was engaged in combat with a renegade Space Marine. Their escape was forever burnt upon his mind.
The rustle in the bushes beside the barracks was entirely noticeable. Streck caught sight of a figure darting into the barracks. A surprise attack? Bolt pistol at the ready, he peered into the room again. In the darkness he saw two figures - Lownes and a second, a woman. Streck peered harder but could only make out silhouettes. A flare of light from within and for an instant Streck saw all. Lownes's torso, exposed, deep cuts and wounds wet with blood. The deep orange flashes emanated from a cauterising device the woman was applying.
When his wounds were treated, Lownes leaned to pull a pack from beneath his bed. He had carried it with him throughout the battle. Streck had paid it no heed, figuring it for rations or repair equipment - he knew the tales of the Catachan's self-sufficiency.
The Jungle Fighter opened the bag and held it open for the woman. Streck could see her properly now as she looked appraisingly over the contents of the bag. She was striking, hair cut short in the style of a native Catachan, a long scar running down one cheek to the point of her sharp chin. Her jump-suit and flak jacket showed she was not a soldier; a merchant guild badge hanging from her chest was all that identified her.
The woman reached into the bag and began to examine its contents, Lownes's solid form obscuring them from Streck's view. The commissar

hurried quietly around to the half-open door and found he could see completely into the room.
'You will help me get my men off this place?' Lownes was asking.
'Lownes, how long have you known me for?' the merchant replied, sifting through the bag.
'A long time... since we were young. But I know this will just be business. This will make up the final payment?'
'Given that I don't have enough time to barter you down, I'll agree - but that's only because I know you, Lownes.'
'And that's passage for all of them.'
'We've got just enough room.' The merchant turned.
At last Streck saw what Lownes was trading: eldar weapons!
'Lieutenant!' the commissar burst into the room, bolt pistol drawn.
'Streck!' The half-assembled lasgun lay on the bed beside Lownes. He reached for it but its parts clattered onto the steel floor, lost amongst the mesh grating.
'Lieutenant Lownes, you are charged with attempted desertion and possession of heretical weapons!'
"What?'
'This subterfuge, these plans to flee are not warrior's work. You have defamed your body as a machine of the Emperor. The Emperor gives you life and you, in turn, give him yours. This is a warzone and you have sullied yourself with this illicit transaction.' Streck spat the words out in a frenzied babble. As a champion of the Emperor you betray us all.'
Lownes put himself between Streck and the merchant. 'I am doing what is best for my men, as always.'
'Your men are servants of the Emperor. You are a servant of the Emperor. To possess such weapons is heresy and punishable by death -but to seek to flee a righteous war is to have all honour stripped from your name after death. Your spirit is marred. You can not be remade. Trust in the Emperor, not the embraces of a woman!' Streck raised his pistol.
'Save it, Streck.' Lownes said, somehow calmer now. 'It's not loaded. I removed the clip earlier, when you were unconscious.'
Streck pulled the trigger anyway. Nothing happened.
The two men jumped as one. Streck ejected the empty clip from his pistol onto the ground, grabbing a fresh one from his belt and slamming it into the gun. Simultaneously, Lownes flung the contents of the bag out onto the bed and grabbed an eldar pistol, pointing it at the commissar.
'This is lunacy!' the merchant cried, struggling to push herself between the pair, Lownes's arm holding her at bay. 'Look, commissar, I can fit you on board, no charge. I'll get you out of here before the whole place goes down. It's the deal of a lifetime.'
'Let my men leave, Streck. You'll never hear from us again.' Lownes pleaded.

You will be sentenced to death.' Streck said through gritted teeth.
'My finger is on the trigger. I will fire as soon as you do.'
'My aim is good.' The commissar steadied his gun.
'So is mine. Look, this is madness. We can both live.'
And for each who has turned their back on battle there will be death. For they are dead already-'
'Incoming!' screamed a voice from outside. Metal plating ripped and the ground cracked open as a massive explosion rocked the compound. In the barrack room, however, neither man moved despite the shaking ground.
'Eldar! Here they come!' cried a different voice from out by the gate.
Streck paused for a moment. Lownes stared him straight in the eyes, the merchant woman looking on in terror.
Suddenly one of Lownes's men was at the door. 'Sir, it's the big one. They've breached the- Lieutenant?'
Other Jungle Fighters arrived behind him, weaponless and bloodied. Neither Streck nor Lownes moved.
'For they are dead already-' Streck began.
We have enough time to escape. We're not going to win, commissar!' Lownes insisted. 'This planet is lost, but we can live - criminals, perhaps, but alive! Come on!'
Streck paused in his litany and regarded Lownes with eyes of steel. 'Oh yes. We could run.' he snarled. Then another planet will fall, overrun by alien degenerates intent upon the destruction of humanity. Creatures driven by such a desperate vengeance that they will fight on until every last one of us is destroyed. Unless we remain defiant, fighting on despite this madness. Face the task in hand and make the difference. For each enemy dead in this last stand, it will be one less enemy to be fought in the future. Each man can make a difference: "As weapons for the Emperor and lost to his halls of glory!"' Streck finished, his voice level with unshakeable faith.
Lownes stared at the commissar's set expression, his mind racing in confusion.
There was a deafening roar and a pressure wave slammed against the barracks, sending men and fittings flying. Plaster and bricks blew into the room, leaving several holes in the wall.
'They're inside the-' someone screamed, their voice cut off as a line of shells sliced through the room like a scythe. The merchant woman was thrown backwards into a corner. Picking himself up off the floor, Lownes started to move towards her, but he knew already that she was dead.
He looked at Streck, who had somehow remained standing throughout the bombardment, then down at the eldar weapon in his hands. He dropped it as if it was diseased, then looked back at the commissar, face set. Very well. Let's do it. Let's make a difference. Give me a lasgun.'

'Thank you, Lieutenant Lownes.' Streck said calmly, handing over a weapon. 'For the Emperor!'
'For the Emperor!'
Moments later, the ragged, lit-up doorway to the barracks was filled with the contrasting silhouettes of the Catachan lieutenant and the commissar. Then the pair of them dove, guns blazing, into the metal-filled air of the white hot night.