The ship rocked.
2273, the corporal, straightened as much as he could. The cruiser's deck creaked, irritatingly, but that was not a problem for him.
Or perhaps it should be said—this was not a problem for them.
The Krieg never worried about any problem.
"Entering orbit in five minutes." The commissar's cold voice rang through the vox channel. "In the name of The Emperor and the Captain, we will teleport in as the vanguard and break into that arsenal. Prepare yourselves."
There was no speech, no few rousing words, only cold orders. In that instant, Commissar Kossurian realized that he, too, had become little different from the Krieg.
At least in temperament. He had begun to grow more taciturn, colder and more ruthless. From the moment he had become commissar of the 974th Regiment, that change had begun to appear, subtly and imperceptibly.
Should I be glad of this, or regret it?
It did not matter.
They had been sailing for two months now, and the crusade had advanced smoothly. As the Vengeance's gunnery crew, the Cadians had earned many honors over those two months. More than once, Kossurian had stood on the bridge and watched the Vengeance's Composite Magic Cannon charge and fire. He could not describe such a sight in words.
Those deep-blue radiances blotted out the stars and the sun, staining the dark depths of space in the color of Destruction. Fire, flash, impact, explosion. Enemy vessels were often destroyed outright before they even had time to detect them, then were crushed beneath the Vengeance without mercy.
But they were merely a few ignored statistics written in the corners of the military records. The Vengeance Crusade had not been launched for their sake.
In the gap between thoughts, the commissar noticed that the shaking had stopped. That