Imperial Guard fic part 3
I suspect Duncan won't like this one so much, there's no combat. But it's out of my head before the event takes over, and that's the main thing :)
She was actually taller than she had seemed: her companion was a giant, who dwarfed everyone in comparison. The high boots she wore beneath a great coat slit to the waist in several sections did nothing to diminish the dramatic appearance, and her trousers would have seemed sprayed on if it were not for the imperial braiding along the seams. The red sash that was the badge of office for a commissar blew in the wind adding further drama to those long legs, and the baldrick that held her sword at her hip negated the need for a belt to break up the lines. Her blonde hair was long and tied up in a plait starting as high on her head as was possible without disturbing the line of her peaked cap.
There had been much discussion over what a female commissar would wear and several of the men would be quietly disappointed to find that it was a quite practical black v-neck blouse with a braid-festooned waistcoat across the top. It still emphasised her fine figure, but those expecting leather corsetry would have to look elsewhere for their thrills. Sensible, in King’s opinion, it’s hard to inspire fear in battle-hardened troops if you’ve got your tits out.
The other one, Aloysius, was almost as tall as a space marine and unlike many tall men, seemed to feel absolutely no embarrassment or awkwardness about it. He was slightly less broad than one across the chest, but not particularly so. Also unlike tall guardsmen, his great coat was perfectly cut for his size which added to the imposing impression. He was also blonde, though darker than hers, and there was a livid scar twisting down his left cheek and running into his neck which spoke of his time in the Emperor’s service.
Not to be outdone, King held Aloysius’ gaze as he firmly shook his hand, glad that it was his other arm that was injured. The pain was starting to bite in earnest now despite the anaesthetic and he could do with getting back to camp.
“Is there anyone else with you, a pilot or retinue we need to pull out?”
The Lord Commissar shook her head, her plait swinging slightly. “Just us commander, we travel light.” Her tone was clipped and practical, giving no real clue about the person behind the voice. King took the hint and turned to his unit.
“Rhys, Jaks, get the commissars’ things from the shuttle. Let’s get ourselves home.” They were the two who were carrying the least, not having backpacks, but also as a medic and the steel liaison they were people the commissars couldn’t really justify stealing from him to use as aides. He’d expected them to bring their own retinue but as they hadn’t, they would no doubt be on the scrounge for men to press into the role. Above them the vendettas screamed across the sky, chasing the remaining razorshark which had turned and fled back to the safety of Tau airspace.
“I hope you liked the airshow, we’d arranged a welcoming committee but I hadn’t realised the Xenos were planning the same thing. The lads will see them off and meet us back at base.” He spoke confidently and prayed the air team didn’t do anything stupid like pursue too far or get themselves shot down. He was uncomfortably aware that his wet shirt was now starting to re-freeze in the chill of the wind cutting through them, but didn’t let his discomfort show. Ordinarily Rhys would have her blanket wrapped round her shoulders as an attempt at a camouflage cloak that he could then borrow, or Jaks would offer his great coat, but then ordinarily he wouldn’t be standing in a pile of dead Tau wearing nothing but a thin shirt and a bandage. As was he just silently thanked both the Emperor and whoever designed the uniforms that his boots were in general slightly taller than the snow, and strode onwards as though he hadn’t noticed the cold. The rest of the regiment had mobilised and after a few calls via Bill who had had the good sense to grab his vox when they had run out, he organised for one of the chimera to dump out its cargo of troops and come to collect them. Not the most comfortable of transports but very gratefully received under the circumstances.
Both commissars swung themselves easily through the hatch, obviously something they were practiced in. The surviving squad members followed with Commander King taking up the rear, his wounded arm meaning he had to embark one-handed which was a rather awkward manoeuvre but he made it. Jaks jumped over and closed the hatch for him before he had a chance to tell someone to do it, and the chimera thundered off across the snow heading back towards the base. Balancing was a bit trickier with only one hand and King found he was standing awkwardly with the wrong arm wrapped in the webbing, but there was no way in hell that he was going to fall over or sit in front of these two while they were in a battle situation, so he kept his footing largely through force of will as they bumped their way back.
*-*-*
Commander King stood by the hangar door as the vehicles filed back in, the mission brief and largely uneventful, with the command squad having taken the only direct combat and Mirton being the only casualty. His body was carried back in a standard issue body bag, to be incinerated with all ceremony that evening. He needed to get to the medical bay but equally he needed to keep on top of things here. Rhys was keeping his arm topped up with painkillers but it was a long shift overseeing everything before having the Commissars shown to their rooms - both had an office-cum-bedroom, same as he and Trevanus, which were highly sought after and in one case had had to be converted from an ammo store room - and finally allowing himself to be taken to medical, leaving Trevanus in charge of making sure they had nothing to complain about. The command squad - minus Rhys, obviously - had been ordered to go to the mess hall on pain of his severe displeasure since he didn’t want any arguments later about his unusual habit of mixing his personal team with the officers, and fingers crossed (or at least they would be, once he regained the use of them) that there would be no major incidents while was getting patched up.
It was not good news. If he’d been a space marine, sure, he’d regrow the muscle in a couple of days, but ordinary folks weren’t built that way. If it was a large populated area with decent supplies he’d have more than earned the right to some bionic augmentation, but they were well out in the depths of nowhere and the enginseers needed everything they had to keep the vehicles running. So they filled him full of anaesthetic, sliced him open and gave him the jury-rigged alternative: something that from the description seemed to be akin to an elastic band allowing for the slightest of clumsy movement when absolutely necessary, and a sling for the rest of the time. And a lot of pain. He could already tell that pain was definitely going a feature once the drugs wore off.
Rhys was wryly apologetic, he got the impression that the medic was rather ashamed of the lack of resources, as if there was anything she could do about it. She was fiercely proud of her skill and of the wonders the medical bay team could do, so when she couldn’t help the commander she was evidently feeling rather embarrassed about it all. Yes, he did deserve and would have liked something better than this, but we can’t all see Terra and sometimes you just have to deal with what you get. Or don’t get, as the case may be.
“That’s good work Hannah.” With some people it was always first names, with others it was a rare occurrence, and he used it now to try to encourage her and he saw it working as she smiled slightly at the praise.
“Thank you sir. I…”
She was interrupted by another of the medical team rushing over and addressing Rhys directly - King may be the Commander of the regiment and hold power of life and death over them, but to this team right now he was just a patient.
“The Lord Commissar wants to speak to the Commander, Sir, what shall I tell her?”
Rhys immediately looked to King. “Sir? I can tell her to bugger off for a bit if you need time to recuperate.”
King almost laughed. The scary thing is that if he had needed time, she probably would indeed have told a Lord Commissar of the Imperial Commisariat to go bugger off because her patient needed some rest. Sometimes she had a blind spot when it came to other people’s priorities in medical situations, and to the consequences that could have.
“It’s ok soldier, I’ll be fine.” He jumped up from his chair, groaned, half-sat half-fell back down and tried again more slowly. On the second attempt he made it to his feet as Rhys went to tell Lady Bharti that they would not be imposing upon her good nature any longer with any further delays, and so as his visitor arrived he was standing to attention with the sling off and his arm smartly by his side.
“Feeling better, Commander?” she asked by way of greeting. King raised his wounded arm in a clumsy salute.
“Good enough to swing a sword in the Emperor’s service, Ma’am, that’s all I ask.”
She smiled, pleased by the answer. He glared briefly at Rhys and she took the unspoken instruction, leaving the room and ensuring the surrounding area was cleared so they could speak in peace. Bharti caught the gesture.
“You seem to inspire a lot of respect in your men, Commander.”
“I do my best for them, and them for me. We’ve worked together a long time and they tend to know my demands by now.”
“You’ve worked with half your men for a long time, Commander, not all of them.” Bharti sat down on the bed, the informal pose prompting King to retake his seat in the chair next to it. His mind was racing, fighting against the numbing effect of the anaesthetic that still pumped through his veins, trying to figure out her angle. He needed to know how to play her and fast, but he was playing against a master here and he wasn’t up to speed.
“That’s true but they’re all a fine bunch of lads. We’re not having any difficulty with integration if that’s the concern.”
“Then why don’t you trust them?” She shot back, her expression suddenly grim and her eyes looking straight into his. King stared back, his clear blue eyes holding her gaze evenly and firmly. There weren’t many untrained people who could win a staring contest with him and while she obviously would be trained and trained well, he knew his piercing gaze would be giving him a bit of an edge.
“I don’t see how you have reached that conclusion ma’am.” He replied calmly, never letting his eyes leave hers. Hers were grey-green, a rather bland colour and he wondered briefly why she hadn’t had them dyed something more impressive, it wouldn’t be too hard to do. Damn anaesthetic was letting his mind wander and he angrily brought himself back on target just in time, as she started to recite her list.
“Firstly, your numbers are roughly a 30:70 split between the regiments and yet your command squad only contains one from the 3rd legion. Secondly, Captain Trevanus could have easily taken over from you when you were wounded but you insisted on risking your health by overseeing everything yourself, and thirdly you say there are no difficulties with integration but the atmosphere between your men is obvious and I can easily see the two legions are forming different groups. You’re a smart man Commander and I’m sure you know that, so you telling me there’s no difficulty can only mean you don’t trust their integration sufficiently to be honest with me rather than defending them from the Commissariat. Now that’s only three instances I know, but given that we’ve not been planetside for an hour yet three seems to be a fairly significant number.”
King wanted approximately three hours to think of a reply, and ideally a stiff drink too. Unfortunately any hesitation would be a weakness he didn’t want to show here, so he answered straight away, his brain running only a few words ahead of his mouth.
“Firstly I don’t believe in breaking up a squad who work well together and so I saw no purpose in replacing any of my current command squad when none had failed in their tasks or merited a demotion. Jaks - Guardsman Jackson Marsh - earned his position by merit and I expect any new member of the squad to do the same. One of my men died on this morning’s assault and I will be looking to both parts of the regiment in order to recruit a replacement but I do not intend to show favouritism to either the 76th or the 3rd because I want to be sure that everyone knows they can rely on their comrades in a firefight and that no one is there purely because of the colour of his coat.
“Secondly Captain Trevanus is a very able man and I trust his ability implicitly.” Please don’t make me prove that, he silently added. “But I am in charge of this regiment and therefore I have ultimate responsibility for every man here, Trevanus included. Should anything somehow have been found wanting in your initial introduction to the regiment I had a duty to ensure that I was available to offer any necessary explanations rather than duck out of the firing line because of a scratch.
“And thirdly” What the hell was thirdly? Oh yeah “Of course there are teething issues with the regiment, it’s only been a month or so since we were formed and only a few weeks more than that since every man here saw comrades and friends torn apart around them. When I say there are no issues with integration I mean that there are no issues more than can be expected and that I fully anticipate the problems to resolve naturally in a timely fashion. I’m not trying to deceive you Lord Commissar, I have no need to. I always find that the easiest way is not to cut corners in the first place.”
He paused for breath, trying his best to look confident rather than defiant.
“I see.” She said finally. “Well I must apologise for my misunderstanding. Is there anything else I need to know about this regiment? I have already encountered your technique of inviting the command squad into the officer’s mess, I understand this is standard practice here?”
“It is indeed ma’am, and intentionally so. By decreasing the divide between officer and guardsman it helps to remind everyone that we’re all in it together.”
“Although as discussed, only one of the 3rd legion benefits from this arrangement.” Bhati interjected in a mild tone.
“At present yes, though I do think that the 3rd legion sergeants, being universally less senior in service time to the 76th, enjoy having someone else they can send to make the recaf. Also by decreasing the barrier in a small but legitimate way we just add a little to the overall morale without affecting discipline.”
“I see” she said again, giving nothing away. “Anything else I need to know?”
King thought for a moment - there was so much that was just standard practice, it took a bit of thinking to remember what was different from other regiments. “Oh yes, we’re in a bit of a minority being a mixed gender unit and so we’ve come up with our own ruling that everyone is an honorary man. No offence meant obviously, but in the stress of combat I don’t want people worrying about what to call each other, so we use Sir for all senior ranks rather than ma’am and when someone refers to the men or the lads, we mean the whole of the regiment regardless of what they keep in their shorts.”
King paused, wondering if that was being a bit crass for the situation, but she seemed unphased. Perhaps she even had a sense of humour?
“I see. So why are you calling me Ma’am then?” She sounded amused, and slightly puzzled, which on the whole, wasn't too bad. Perhaps he was getting somewhere in the conversation, though it was so difficult to tell.
“You’re not under my command ma’am and therefore not technically part of the regiment, so that’s not my call to make.”
She raised an eyebrow “Technically?”
King straightened up, holding himself formally, suddenly glad that he didn’t actually throw his medals at the enemy in a sulking fit. “I am an officer of the Astra Millitarum and therefore every decision I make is for the good of the Emperor and the Imperium and so while I don’t expect you to follow my orders because I have any authority over you, I do expect that my orders will always be the best suggestion at the time and so will be something you wish to follow. Unless of course you specifically believe otherwise, in which case arguing wouldn’t get me very far anyway.”
At this final comment she laughed, a gentle sound that contrasted strongly with her demeanour so far. “You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you commander?”
King gave a slight nod, as though it were a serious question “I wouldn’t be an officer of the Astra Millitarum if I didn’t.”
She nodded, conceding the point. “Well, as you point out I am not under your command, nor are you under mine, so Sir would hardly be an appropriate form of address from either of us particularly when it’s not life or death. Might I suggest Rossaria?”
She offered her hand again, and this time he took it in a far more informal handshake.
“Antonius.”
“A pleasure” she smiled again and turned to go. King let her walk to the door of the treatment room and waited until she had her hand on the handle before asking his most important question.
“Rossaria? Any chance you can tell me what we’re doing here?”
She froze, mentally centring herself before replying.
“We are serving the Emperor’s will, Antonius.” She said sweetly “Isn’t that what we do everywhere?”
She was actually taller than she had seemed: her companion was a giant, who dwarfed everyone in comparison. The high boots she wore beneath a great coat slit to the waist in several sections did nothing to diminish the dramatic appearance, and her trousers would have seemed sprayed on if it were not for the imperial braiding along the seams. The red sash that was the badge of office for a commissar blew in the wind adding further drama to those long legs, and the baldrick that held her sword at her hip negated the need for a belt to break up the lines. Her blonde hair was long and tied up in a plait starting as high on her head as was possible without disturbing the line of her peaked cap.
There had been much discussion over what a female commissar would wear and several of the men would be quietly disappointed to find that it was a quite practical black v-neck blouse with a braid-festooned waistcoat across the top. It still emphasised her fine figure, but those expecting leather corsetry would have to look elsewhere for their thrills. Sensible, in King’s opinion, it’s hard to inspire fear in battle-hardened troops if you’ve got your tits out.
The other one, Aloysius, was almost as tall as a space marine and unlike many tall men, seemed to feel absolutely no embarrassment or awkwardness about it. He was slightly less broad than one across the chest, but not particularly so. Also unlike tall guardsmen, his great coat was perfectly cut for his size which added to the imposing impression. He was also blonde, though darker than hers, and there was a livid scar twisting down his left cheek and running into his neck which spoke of his time in the Emperor’s service.
Not to be outdone, King held Aloysius’ gaze as he firmly shook his hand, glad that it was his other arm that was injured. The pain was starting to bite in earnest now despite the anaesthetic and he could do with getting back to camp.
“Is there anyone else with you, a pilot or retinue we need to pull out?”
The Lord Commissar shook her head, her plait swinging slightly. “Just us commander, we travel light.” Her tone was clipped and practical, giving no real clue about the person behind the voice. King took the hint and turned to his unit.
“Rhys, Jaks, get the commissars’ things from the shuttle. Let’s get ourselves home.” They were the two who were carrying the least, not having backpacks, but also as a medic and the steel liaison they were people the commissars couldn’t really justify stealing from him to use as aides. He’d expected them to bring their own retinue but as they hadn’t, they would no doubt be on the scrounge for men to press into the role. Above them the vendettas screamed across the sky, chasing the remaining razorshark which had turned and fled back to the safety of Tau airspace.
“I hope you liked the airshow, we’d arranged a welcoming committee but I hadn’t realised the Xenos were planning the same thing. The lads will see them off and meet us back at base.” He spoke confidently and prayed the air team didn’t do anything stupid like pursue too far or get themselves shot down. He was uncomfortably aware that his wet shirt was now starting to re-freeze in the chill of the wind cutting through them, but didn’t let his discomfort show. Ordinarily Rhys would have her blanket wrapped round her shoulders as an attempt at a camouflage cloak that he could then borrow, or Jaks would offer his great coat, but then ordinarily he wouldn’t be standing in a pile of dead Tau wearing nothing but a thin shirt and a bandage. As was he just silently thanked both the Emperor and whoever designed the uniforms that his boots were in general slightly taller than the snow, and strode onwards as though he hadn’t noticed the cold. The rest of the regiment had mobilised and after a few calls via Bill who had had the good sense to grab his vox when they had run out, he organised for one of the chimera to dump out its cargo of troops and come to collect them. Not the most comfortable of transports but very gratefully received under the circumstances.
Both commissars swung themselves easily through the hatch, obviously something they were practiced in. The surviving squad members followed with Commander King taking up the rear, his wounded arm meaning he had to embark one-handed which was a rather awkward manoeuvre but he made it. Jaks jumped over and closed the hatch for him before he had a chance to tell someone to do it, and the chimera thundered off across the snow heading back towards the base. Balancing was a bit trickier with only one hand and King found he was standing awkwardly with the wrong arm wrapped in the webbing, but there was no way in hell that he was going to fall over or sit in front of these two while they were in a battle situation, so he kept his footing largely through force of will as they bumped their way back.
*-*-*
Commander King stood by the hangar door as the vehicles filed back in, the mission brief and largely uneventful, with the command squad having taken the only direct combat and Mirton being the only casualty. His body was carried back in a standard issue body bag, to be incinerated with all ceremony that evening. He needed to get to the medical bay but equally he needed to keep on top of things here. Rhys was keeping his arm topped up with painkillers but it was a long shift overseeing everything before having the Commissars shown to their rooms - both had an office-cum-bedroom, same as he and Trevanus, which were highly sought after and in one case had had to be converted from an ammo store room - and finally allowing himself to be taken to medical, leaving Trevanus in charge of making sure they had nothing to complain about. The command squad - minus Rhys, obviously - had been ordered to go to the mess hall on pain of his severe displeasure since he didn’t want any arguments later about his unusual habit of mixing his personal team with the officers, and fingers crossed (or at least they would be, once he regained the use of them) that there would be no major incidents while was getting patched up.
It was not good news. If he’d been a space marine, sure, he’d regrow the muscle in a couple of days, but ordinary folks weren’t built that way. If it was a large populated area with decent supplies he’d have more than earned the right to some bionic augmentation, but they were well out in the depths of nowhere and the enginseers needed everything they had to keep the vehicles running. So they filled him full of anaesthetic, sliced him open and gave him the jury-rigged alternative: something that from the description seemed to be akin to an elastic band allowing for the slightest of clumsy movement when absolutely necessary, and a sling for the rest of the time. And a lot of pain. He could already tell that pain was definitely going a feature once the drugs wore off.
Rhys was wryly apologetic, he got the impression that the medic was rather ashamed of the lack of resources, as if there was anything she could do about it. She was fiercely proud of her skill and of the wonders the medical bay team could do, so when she couldn’t help the commander she was evidently feeling rather embarrassed about it all. Yes, he did deserve and would have liked something better than this, but we can’t all see Terra and sometimes you just have to deal with what you get. Or don’t get, as the case may be.
“That’s good work Hannah.” With some people it was always first names, with others it was a rare occurrence, and he used it now to try to encourage her and he saw it working as she smiled slightly at the praise.
“Thank you sir. I…”
She was interrupted by another of the medical team rushing over and addressing Rhys directly - King may be the Commander of the regiment and hold power of life and death over them, but to this team right now he was just a patient.
“The Lord Commissar wants to speak to the Commander, Sir, what shall I tell her?”
Rhys immediately looked to King. “Sir? I can tell her to bugger off for a bit if you need time to recuperate.”
King almost laughed. The scary thing is that if he had needed time, she probably would indeed have told a Lord Commissar of the Imperial Commisariat to go bugger off because her patient needed some rest. Sometimes she had a blind spot when it came to other people’s priorities in medical situations, and to the consequences that could have.
“It’s ok soldier, I’ll be fine.” He jumped up from his chair, groaned, half-sat half-fell back down and tried again more slowly. On the second attempt he made it to his feet as Rhys went to tell Lady Bharti that they would not be imposing upon her good nature any longer with any further delays, and so as his visitor arrived he was standing to attention with the sling off and his arm smartly by his side.
“Feeling better, Commander?” she asked by way of greeting. King raised his wounded arm in a clumsy salute.
“Good enough to swing a sword in the Emperor’s service, Ma’am, that’s all I ask.”
She smiled, pleased by the answer. He glared briefly at Rhys and she took the unspoken instruction, leaving the room and ensuring the surrounding area was cleared so they could speak in peace. Bharti caught the gesture.
“You seem to inspire a lot of respect in your men, Commander.”
“I do my best for them, and them for me. We’ve worked together a long time and they tend to know my demands by now.”
“You’ve worked with half your men for a long time, Commander, not all of them.” Bharti sat down on the bed, the informal pose prompting King to retake his seat in the chair next to it. His mind was racing, fighting against the numbing effect of the anaesthetic that still pumped through his veins, trying to figure out her angle. He needed to know how to play her and fast, but he was playing against a master here and he wasn’t up to speed.
“That’s true but they’re all a fine bunch of lads. We’re not having any difficulty with integration if that’s the concern.”
“Then why don’t you trust them?” She shot back, her expression suddenly grim and her eyes looking straight into his. King stared back, his clear blue eyes holding her gaze evenly and firmly. There weren’t many untrained people who could win a staring contest with him and while she obviously would be trained and trained well, he knew his piercing gaze would be giving him a bit of an edge.
“I don’t see how you have reached that conclusion ma’am.” He replied calmly, never letting his eyes leave hers. Hers were grey-green, a rather bland colour and he wondered briefly why she hadn’t had them dyed something more impressive, it wouldn’t be too hard to do. Damn anaesthetic was letting his mind wander and he angrily brought himself back on target just in time, as she started to recite her list.
“Firstly, your numbers are roughly a 30:70 split between the regiments and yet your command squad only contains one from the 3rd legion. Secondly, Captain Trevanus could have easily taken over from you when you were wounded but you insisted on risking your health by overseeing everything yourself, and thirdly you say there are no difficulties with integration but the atmosphere between your men is obvious and I can easily see the two legions are forming different groups. You’re a smart man Commander and I’m sure you know that, so you telling me there’s no difficulty can only mean you don’t trust their integration sufficiently to be honest with me rather than defending them from the Commissariat. Now that’s only three instances I know, but given that we’ve not been planetside for an hour yet three seems to be a fairly significant number.”
King wanted approximately three hours to think of a reply, and ideally a stiff drink too. Unfortunately any hesitation would be a weakness he didn’t want to show here, so he answered straight away, his brain running only a few words ahead of his mouth.
“Firstly I don’t believe in breaking up a squad who work well together and so I saw no purpose in replacing any of my current command squad when none had failed in their tasks or merited a demotion. Jaks - Guardsman Jackson Marsh - earned his position by merit and I expect any new member of the squad to do the same. One of my men died on this morning’s assault and I will be looking to both parts of the regiment in order to recruit a replacement but I do not intend to show favouritism to either the 76th or the 3rd because I want to be sure that everyone knows they can rely on their comrades in a firefight and that no one is there purely because of the colour of his coat.
“Secondly Captain Trevanus is a very able man and I trust his ability implicitly.” Please don’t make me prove that, he silently added. “But I am in charge of this regiment and therefore I have ultimate responsibility for every man here, Trevanus included. Should anything somehow have been found wanting in your initial introduction to the regiment I had a duty to ensure that I was available to offer any necessary explanations rather than duck out of the firing line because of a scratch.
“And thirdly” What the hell was thirdly? Oh yeah “Of course there are teething issues with the regiment, it’s only been a month or so since we were formed and only a few weeks more than that since every man here saw comrades and friends torn apart around them. When I say there are no issues with integration I mean that there are no issues more than can be expected and that I fully anticipate the problems to resolve naturally in a timely fashion. I’m not trying to deceive you Lord Commissar, I have no need to. I always find that the easiest way is not to cut corners in the first place.”
He paused for breath, trying his best to look confident rather than defiant.
“I see.” She said finally. “Well I must apologise for my misunderstanding. Is there anything else I need to know about this regiment? I have already encountered your technique of inviting the command squad into the officer’s mess, I understand this is standard practice here?”
“It is indeed ma’am, and intentionally so. By decreasing the divide between officer and guardsman it helps to remind everyone that we’re all in it together.”
“Although as discussed, only one of the 3rd legion benefits from this arrangement.” Bhati interjected in a mild tone.
“At present yes, though I do think that the 3rd legion sergeants, being universally less senior in service time to the 76th, enjoy having someone else they can send to make the recaf. Also by decreasing the barrier in a small but legitimate way we just add a little to the overall morale without affecting discipline.”
“I see” she said again, giving nothing away. “Anything else I need to know?”
King thought for a moment - there was so much that was just standard practice, it took a bit of thinking to remember what was different from other regiments. “Oh yes, we’re in a bit of a minority being a mixed gender unit and so we’ve come up with our own ruling that everyone is an honorary man. No offence meant obviously, but in the stress of combat I don’t want people worrying about what to call each other, so we use Sir for all senior ranks rather than ma’am and when someone refers to the men or the lads, we mean the whole of the regiment regardless of what they keep in their shorts.”
King paused, wondering if that was being a bit crass for the situation, but she seemed unphased. Perhaps she even had a sense of humour?
“I see. So why are you calling me Ma’am then?” She sounded amused, and slightly puzzled, which on the whole, wasn't too bad. Perhaps he was getting somewhere in the conversation, though it was so difficult to tell.
“You’re not under my command ma’am and therefore not technically part of the regiment, so that’s not my call to make.”
She raised an eyebrow “Technically?”
King straightened up, holding himself formally, suddenly glad that he didn’t actually throw his medals at the enemy in a sulking fit. “I am an officer of the Astra Millitarum and therefore every decision I make is for the good of the Emperor and the Imperium and so while I don’t expect you to follow my orders because I have any authority over you, I do expect that my orders will always be the best suggestion at the time and so will be something you wish to follow. Unless of course you specifically believe otherwise, in which case arguing wouldn’t get me very far anyway.”
At this final comment she laughed, a gentle sound that contrasted strongly with her demeanour so far. “You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you commander?”
King gave a slight nod, as though it were a serious question “I wouldn’t be an officer of the Astra Millitarum if I didn’t.”
She nodded, conceding the point. “Well, as you point out I am not under your command, nor are you under mine, so Sir would hardly be an appropriate form of address from either of us particularly when it’s not life or death. Might I suggest Rossaria?”
She offered her hand again, and this time he took it in a far more informal handshake.
“Antonius.”
“A pleasure” she smiled again and turned to go. King let her walk to the door of the treatment room and waited until she had her hand on the handle before asking his most important question.
“Rossaria? Any chance you can tell me what we’re doing here?”
She froze, mentally centring herself before replying.
“We are serving the Emperor’s will, Antonius.” She said sweetly “Isn’t that what we do everywhere?”