Interlude 159: A Messenger's Observations

He ran.

Running without stopping.

The bottom of his boots was sticky, probably from blood covering his feet. But that wasn't a big deal; after all, his injured ankle deserved more attention than the socks that had practically become one with his soles.

Every time he landed, his ankle throbbed with excruciating pain, but he still had to keep running. He had no reason to stop.

If we were to describe this in a more realistic, detached, and Departmento Munitorum -standard manner, this passage could be expanded into the following longer sentence.

Corporal Ognyan Trantev, a messenger in the "Brave" Company, Second Company Infantry Regiment of Terra, was required to diligently deliver every order between the various battle positions, and he was not allowed to stop until his life or the end of his duty.

Ognyan had no objection. Communications had collapsed and were unlikely to be repaired, at least in their area. In this situation, the ancient post of messenger naturally represented an honor.

He was always eager to gain honors.

He strode across the blood-soaked, muddy trenches, his knees straight, like a malfunctioning Servitor.

The password was memorized, and the documents were tucked into the lining of his military overcoat. He carried a MK2 laser gun, made on Mars —not a particularly good weapon, but one he liked very much.

He replaced its handguard, stock, and grip, and even, with permission, added a special muzzle calibrator from the black market. He loved this gun so much that even now, he still holds it close to his chest.

The black snow continued to fall from the sky, landing on his military coat and helmet, and also on the ground. The snow continued to fall steadily, but there were hardly any living people left in this trench.

The last time he was here, the place was teeming with people. Now, most of them are corpses. However, the few remaining soldiers are still organizing a counterattack, waiting for reinforcements that may arrive at any time.

If Ognyan had the time or inclination to think, he would probably wonder why these people fought to the death, just as they wondered why he kept running.

But they had neither the inclination nor the time to think; they simply performed their duties and remained faithful to their posts. So they were born, and then they waited to die, nothing more.

Ognyan ran past them, spitting out a sentence laced with blood and foam.

"The angels of the Imperial Fists are coming!"

Logically speaking, leaking any form of order is not permitted. He should inform the commander of the 33rd position in the eastern district of the Imperial Palace, who would then relay the order to his soldiers. This would be in accordance with the regulations in the Departmento Munitorum Manual.

However, Ognyan believes that now is not the time to strictly adhere to rules and regulations. Besides, the Departmento Munitorum's manuals are more suitable for cleaning up messes.

The commander of the 33rd position had died when he last came here. Therefore, Ognyan made his own judgment and loudly proclaimed the order.

With each step he took, he uttered a few words. By the time he reached the end of the trench, he had repeated the order fifty-five times. All the surviving soldiers heard him, but he had no time to observe their reactions.

In reality, the only reaction most people could give was a few cheers during the lulls in the shooting, and even those were drowned out by another voice.

Half a loyal artillery squad remained on their position, and the artillery continued to fire. On the infantry positions, the sound of artillery was always the loudest.

If Ognyan had stopped at that moment and peered out through the observation hole in the trench, he would have seen some fiery spheres falling from the sky, crashing into the dark fog, smashing or igniting some grotesque and twisted shapes.

That was the work of the artillery squad on the 33rd position; they were very accurate. Ognyan didn't know this, but he always hoped they were accurate.

And so, the messenger Ognyan left the 33rd position and went to the 36th position, which was right next to it.

He immediately encountered a problem when he arrived; thick dust caught his boots, almost causing him to fall. If he hadn't reacted quickly and braced himself with his elbow, he probably would have landed face-first on the ground.

The messenger awkwardly used the butt of his rifle to prop himself up, pulled his right leg out of the at least ten-centimeter-thick layer of dust, and then stood up again.

Only then did he realize that his military overcoat had changed color; it used to be a beautiful white-gold, but now it was a thick, damp cloth interwoven with black, white, gray, and dark red.

It had once been perfectly tailored, even adding a touch of the Imperial Army might to his not-so-strong physique, but now it looked empty, as if it were hanging on his body, with nothing underneath.

Not only that, the worst news was that the medals he wore on his chest were also missing, probably lost in one of his falls. The messenger shook his head, feeling no regret, and continued running.

Compared to position 33, position 36 had more soldiers, and it appeared that some officers were still alive. Their situation was relatively good, with three intact artillery positions and a field medical system that was still operational.

Ognyan stepped aside to make way for two medics carrying a stretcher who passed by. On the stretcher lay a soldier with a severed arm and a stab wound to the abdomen. Clearly, the two men had just returned from the front lines, and this soldier was one of the survivors they had found.

The messenger felt a surge of excitement at the news. Ignoring the swelling and pain in his knees, he forced himself to quicken his pace and ran towards the center of the position.

Before he even got close, he heard the gruff voice of his target, Sig Grimm, the company commander of the 26th Company of the 63rd Infantry Regiment, known as "Tankbreaker." This quintessential veteran was still alive and was still hurling his rude curses in his signature booming voice.

"Damn it, no retreat! No retreat! Do you understand? Go back and tell that damn company commander who grew up eating Hive City shit to forget about it. The 26th Company will never give up the position unless every single soldier of the 26th Company dies here!"

He sounded furious.

Ognyan approached quickly; he didn't want to miss this. As he drew nearer, he soon spotted a man without any armor, his chest and back wrapped in blood-stained bandages, holding a helmet in his hand and shouting curses at another messenger.

Upon witnessing this scene, Ognyan quickly changed his mindset.

He stopped ten paces away from Sig Grimm, then clattered his boots, gave an Aquila Salute, and began to report his purpose and the orders he brought—he was no longer interested in watching the show, nor did he want any more delays.

"In the name of the Emperor and the Aquila, and according to the wishes of Company Commander Fafnir Lane of the Imperial Fists— "

He shouted hoarsely; this was certainly not his first time dealing with Sig Grimm. He had to yell like that for that damned loud voice to get his attention.

"--I bring his orders!"

Sig Grimm turned around.

"The Emperor protect you, but who?" he asked. "Which damned bastard—no, which esteemed Imperial Fists Commander? What the hell are you yelling about, you bastard Ognyan?"

"Company Commander Fafnir Lane wants me to pass a password to the major positions on the eastern front of the Imperial Palace," Augni said, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "A two-thousand-strong Imperial Fists strike force is crossing the front line from the west side of the Imperial Palace."

"They bring support, a Secutarii, and supply Servitor. Company Commander Fafnir Lane hopes you will remain courageous and loyal; they will arrive soon."

"Damn, that's great!"

Sig Grimm immediately roared, raising his right hand high and wildly waving his helmet. Then he turned around and slammed the mud-caked helmet at the feet of another messenger.

"Look at Ognyan, and then look at you! Damn it!"

The man sighed. "Getting angry at me like this won't do any good, Commander Grimm. Making you retreat is the company commander's business, not mine."

"Pick up your helmet!" Sig Grimm glared at him.

One second, two seconds, three seconds—amidst the roar of cannons and the sudden sound of bugles, the messenger bent down and tossed his helmet back to Sig Grimm.

The Tankbreaker put on his helmet, picked up his military jacket from a rock, and grabbed a Boltgun with astonishing speed. Six gleaming medals jingled and clinked against each other on the stock of the Boltgun.

He grinned and yelled, "Then I apologize! Go do what you're supposed to do! Don't mind this old bastard's foul language!"

The messenger saluted, a helpless smile on his young face. He nodded to Ognyan, then turned and left. Ognyan, however, did not leave immediately, but continued speaking.

He had something else he didn't say.

"Also," Ognyan leaned closer to the Tankbreaker and pulled a document soaked in his blood and sweat from his coat, "You'll need to sign this document as well."

"What the hell is this thing?"

The gray-haired Sig Grimm glanced at him, then, while disengaging the safety from his Boltgun, put a soldier's badge hanging around his neck into his mouth and pressed it under his tongue.

He asked, his voice muffled, "Didn't you say that Company Commander Lan gave you the password?"

"This is the Sigillites's secret order," Ognyan said. "He specifically asked me to bring this order to you, so it's for you alone, Company Commander Grim."

"Then I'm truly honored," Sig Grimm said sarcastically. "Read it to me."

"I don't have that permission."

"Read it to me!" Sig Grimm roared.

His voice, at such close range, even drowned out the bugle calls and the shouts of the men. Ognyan, however, remained steadfast and unperturbed.

He braced himself against the murderous gaze of the Tankbreaker and shoved the parchment scroll against his face.

"See for yourself, Company Commander Grimm," the messenger said firmly. "I told you, I don't have that authority."

The veteran paused for half a second, glared at him impatiently, but ultimately said nothing. He straightened his crookedly worn helmet before reaching out to take the parchment scroll.

His reading lasted about thirty seconds, divided into two parts. The first time, he glanced at it quickly; the second time, he read intently. Ognyan waited until he had been lost in thought for more than a minute before slowly offering a reminder.

"Do you have any orders for me to deliver to the other positions, Company Commander Grimm?"

"No," the veteran said thoughtfully. "But—oh, Ognyan, have you ever heard of Zephon Bane, and Jofeel Demuchia the Decapitator?"

"I'm sure I've never heard such a prestigious title in our troops."

"So that means they are Astartes?"

"Probably," the messenger said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing—have you ever heard of Ollanius Persson Perez?"

"No."

"And what about Saad bin Salah Ibn Rashid Al -Latib?"

"."

Ognyan looked at him silently, then slowly shook his head. "Company Commander Grim, if this is a joke—"

"--I swear to the Emperor this is no joke," the Tankbreaker said solemnly.

The messenger glanced at him, but Sig Grimm's eyes remained serious, devoid of any smile. Some veterans did enjoy playing pranks on messengers, but he had never heard of this man doing anything like it.

In retrospect, the company commander of the 26th Company of the 63rd Infantry Regiment was at most just short-tempered; I'd never heard of him liking to joke around inappropriately.

Ognyan nodded. A burning fireball landed not far from them, kicking up a cloud of dust.

"I haven't heard of the first three, but I know Major Ibn. He's the commander of the 21st Infantry Regiment, I mean, the current commander. Why are you asking about that?"

"Because they're coming to my position soon," Sig Grimm said, puzzled. "The Sigillites has ordered me to lead these five men on a secret mission."

This is not something I should hear.

Who cares?

Sig Grimm countered with a question, and then continued speaking to himself.

"And he also has requirements regarding the start time of this mission. He wants me to start the mission in, uh, fifteen hours, and requires me to arrive at Battle Position Ten before then. The Sigillites said I would find Ollanius Persson there."

He shook his head, his lips parting as he silently uttered a curse. The messenger pretended not to see it and asked again, "That's your business, Company Commander Grimm. Do you have any further orders?"

"No, get out of here!" Sig Grimm replied rudely.

He turned around, nimbly grabbed his rifle, and climbed to the top of the trench, beginning his charge. Ognyan stood in the somewhat empty trench, the sounds of the wounded wailing, the roars of the soldiers, and the incessant firing of various weapons filling his ears.

The noise around him was deafening, and his legs and body ached terribly. He collapsed to the ground in a daze, reached out and touched his chest, finding a hole the size of a fist. Then, he fell into a coma.

Five minutes later, he stood up again.

He kept running.

Update complete. Things are much better today. I'll resume normal updates tomorrow, with a minimum of 8k updates per day.