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Chapter 50: Eisenmark 11th Heavy Armoured Regiment
"Report! Colonel, the Ork fighter-bombers have been entirely destroyed."
A non-commissioned officer in a neat grey-green wool coat and steel helmet came through the tent entrance at a brisk pace. Inside the command tent, an officer was bent over a wide tactical table, studying the maps spread across its surface.
At the report, Kleist von Ludwig straightened slowly and gave a single nod.
"Good." His voice was measured and unhurried. "And what are our allies doing at this moment? Simply watching?"
The adjutant snapped to attention. "They are organizing civilian evacuation, sir."
"Those fanatics." Kleist touched the map at the position representing the city with one black-gloved finger. "When exactly are they going to finish?"
"According to the latest communication, the Ash Watchers 101st Regiment reports they have successfully accelerated the process. Full clearance of the city is estimated at three hours. The 101st has indicated they will coordinate with us to block and delay any incoming enemy."
"Three hours."
Kleist's brow pulled down. He traced the dotted line on the map labeled as the retreat route with one finger, then moved it north to the marker representing the next defensive line eighty kilometers out.
"That means we have to buy these people a minimum of one full day." He looked up at the adjutant. "What changed the Archbishop's mind so suddenly? I met the man. He was more stubborn than any noble officer I ever encountered on Eisenmark."
The adjutant's expression went through several adjustments before settling on something that was not quite comfort. He hesitated for a few seconds.
"It was our allied regiment's commissar who... executed him, sir."
A brief silence settled over the tent.
Kleist narrowed his eyes and let his gaze rest on the map marker representing the Ash Watchers 101st.
"Is that so."
He thought, privately, that this was exactly what one should expect from a death-world regiment. Even their commissar operated without any apparent refinement. He was also privately curious about how that execution had failed to produce an immediate armed response from the Battle Sisters present. They were not typically known for restraint when Ecclesiarchy officials were involved.
And then there was the less comfortable thought beneath that one. If he had not argued back against the Lord General in the troopship's command hall, his regiment would not have been assigned to rear-area escort duties alongside people like this. An elite armoured regiment sitting in the back of a shrine-world withdrawal operation, babysitting pilgrims. The humiliation of it had been sitting with him since the orders were cut.
"Commissar!"
The adjutant at the entrance came to attention sharply, his voice going up a register.
Kleist looked up.
The tent's canvas flap was pulled aside and a man in a commissar's coat and peaked cap walked in. He was middle-aged, his bearing composed, and he moved to an empty chair without waiting for direction, settling into it with the air of someone who had been in enough command tents to have no opinions about any particular one. He removed his peaked cap and set it precisely on the tactical table in front of him.
"I have just received word," said the man who had been addressed as Commissar Volkov, his voice at a low, even pitch. "Our allied forces will be arriving shortly for the pre-engagement conference."
"Excellent timing." Kleist settled back into his own chair with a thin smile. "I have been looking forward to meeting our... allies."
* * *
Duvette and his squad were led by one of the regiment's soldiers into the encampment of the Eisenmark 11th Heavy Armoured Regiment.
His first sight, positioned at the camp's entrance as if placed for exactly this purpose, was ten Leman Russ battle tanks.
They were arranged in precise formation, their armored hulls painted in a crisp three-color geometric camouflage pattern, each turret bearing a black cross marking and the Imperial aquila on the facing panels. The track systems carried dried mud from recent movement. These machines had not been sitting idle.
What caught Duvette's attention more specifically was the composition. Three of the ten were Demolisher variants. The Demolisher cannon mounted on a Demolisher's turret was a short, broad-mouthed weapon that traded engagement range for a destructive yield that no standard Leman Russ armament could match. Its shells were capable of reducing heavy armored vehicles to wreckage with a single hit. At sufficient range, even Titan-class war engines could not entirely ignore the threat one posed.
This regiment was extraordinarily well-resourced. He was going to admit, internally, that he was envious.
He had noticed something was off about this regiment the moment the Strategic Display Module showed five Hydra anti-aircraft platforms in their eastern position. Seeing it on the ground confirmed it. This was not a standard line regiment operating within its allocation.
He continued his assessment as he walked. The soldiers moving between the vehicles and equipment were operating with a precision and order that was immediately recognizable. Uniform grey-green tunics, steel helmets, straight backs, movements that were fast and deliberate and did not waste anything on gesture. Pre-engagement checks conducted as a matter of efficient procedure.
He knew this style. It reminded him, in a way that came from somewhere considerably further back than his current life, of a particular national character from his world of origin â€" a discipline that was not performed but structural, built into the way the people who carried it moved and worked and thought.
What he could not immediately account for was why they were here.
A regiment with this composition â€" main battle tanks, heavy-armour variants, dedicated anti-aircraft capability, support platforms â€" belonged at the front, not the rear. At any contested point on an active front line, this regiment could serve as either a breakthrough element or an anchor. Their presence here, in the rear, covering an evacuation that a standard line infantry regiment could manage, indicated that something had gone wrong in the command process above his level.
The 101st was a second-line regiment with no particular reputation; being assigned evacuation cover made functional sense for them. But this armored regiment should not be here.
He pushed the question aside. Whatever the reason, the outcome was favorable for his immediate situation. With their firepower available, the probability of getting his people through whatever the Orks sent at this city had just improved by a measurable amount.
The guiding soldier stopped in front of the largest tent in the central cluster and turned to salute.
"Sir. Command post."
Two guards stood outside the entrance with lasrifles. Anderson and Finn and the others behind Duvette stopped without being told when the guards raised their hands.
"Commanders only," one guard said. The tone was correct and not negotiable.
Duvette turned and gestured to his people to find somewhere to wait. "I'll be out shortly."
He pushed the canvas flap aside and walked in.
The interior was more spacious than the tent's exterior suggested. A wide wooden tactical table occupied the center, a detailed topographic map spread across its full surface, several folding chairs arranged around it. Along one wall, a stack of communications equipment boxes sat with their indicator lights running their regular cycles.
Two men were already seated.
One wore a commissar's coat. The shoulder boards read the same rank as Duvette's. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, with the kind of face that expressed resolution as its default state, lips pressed together, bent over a data-slate in his hand. Duvette knew this man â€" the one who had been on the other end of the recent communication. Commissar Volkov.
The other man wore a well-tailored grey-green officer's coat with silver trim at the collar and the insignia of a colonel at the shoulder. He had short, neat golden hair, a straight nose, and a jawline that looked like it had been drawn with the intention of making a point. His hands were interlaced under his chin and he was looking at Duvette with an expression that was approximately polite and slightly less than approximately so in the eyes.
A brief silence. Then the golden-haired officer rose from his chair. A correct smile arrived on his face at the same moment. He raised his right hand in the standard Imperial military salute.
"An honor to meet you at last, Commissar Duvette Erdmann."
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