Gav Thorpe - 13th Legion

'Faster!' I bellow to Striden as die Shockwave crashes dirough the air. The ground's being ripped up by the invisible force, rock splintering into fragments, die high walls exploding into millions of shards. With a final convulsive spasm the plasma engulfs everytiiing. The light sears my eyes, the boom of the explosion reaches my ears just as the shutde is lifted up bodily by die Shockwave, hurled towards die clouds. The hull ratdes deafeningly from debris impacts, die metal shrieking under die torment of die unnatural storm, bouncing us up and down in our seats. I hear Striden laughing in his high-pitched way from up front, but I'm more concerned with my heaving guts as we're spun and pitched and rolled around by the blast.

As it passes, and the passage begins to smooth, I hear this strange noise and turn to look at the Colonel.

He's laughing, a deep chuckle. He's satdiere, one arm ending in a ragged stump, dishevelled and covered in the blood and guts of otiiers, and he's laughing. He looks at me, his ice eyes glinting.

'How does it feel to be a hero, Kage?' he asks.

EPILOGUE

The Colonel waves away the orderly fussing over his arm with an irritated gesture. I stand there impatiently, waiting to get my hands on the pardon. We're back in the commissariat relay post where we were told about our final mission. The door behind me creaks open and Schaeffer's personal scribe, Clericus Amadiel, walks in, the hem of his brown robes flow­ing across the floor. There's someone else with him, a young man, his face tattooed with the skull and cog of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Amadiel has the bundle of pardons in his arms, while the tech-adept is carrying some piece of bizarre equip­ment that looks like a cross between a laspistol and a spider.

'Here are the documents, Colonel/ Amadiel says slowly, plac­ing them one at a time on the bare wooden desk in front of Schaeffer.

I restrain myself, wanting to grab the whole bunch and find mine. The Colonel, deliberately making his point, signs the pardons of the others - Franx, Kronin, Lorii, Loron and Gudmanz. Pardons for dead people, keeping the alive waiting. He works slowly and methodically, the clericus holding the parchments for him while he signs them with his good arm. Amadiel passes him a lighted red candle, and with the same infuriating slowness, dribbles a blob of wax onto the parch­ments, which the Colonel then seals with a stamp produced from the scribe's sleeve. Eventually, perhaps a lifetime later, the Colonel pulls mine forward.

There are a number of conditions attached to the continuing application of this pardon, Kage/ he tells me sternly, finally looking up at me.

Yes?' I ask, suspicious of what the Colonel might say next. I didn't think he was the type of person who would try to wrig­gle out of something. He has some honour, that much I'm sure.

'First, you are to discuss no details of the Last Chancers' activ­ities in Coritanoram with anyone unless specifically ordered by myself or a member of his Holy Emperor's Inquisitorial Orders/ he says gravely, counting the point off with a raised fin­ger.

'Forget this ever happened, right sir?' I confirm.

That is correct/ he replies with a nod. We were never here, a malfunction in Coritanorum's reactors caused the citadel's destruction. An Act of the Emperor/

'Understood/1 assure him. I'd been expecting something like this ever since the shuttle landed and we were bundled into another one of those black-painted commissariat armoured cars.

'Second/ he says raising another finger, 'you are on parole. The pardon is revoked if ever you transgress any Imperial Law or, should you remain with the Imperial Guard, any article of the Imperial Guard Code and Laws of Conduct/ he says, as if reading it out from a script inside his head.

I'll keep my nose clean, sir/ I tell him with a sincere nod.

'I doubt that/ he says suddenly with a lopsided smirk, men­tally throwing me off balance. That was almost a joke! 'Just make sure you do not get caught doing anything too serious.'

'Don't fret, Colonel/ I tell him with feeling. As much as I've enjoyed your company, I never want to see your face again/

Those are the conditions/ he concludes, scribbling his sig­nature on the scroll and whacking down the seal. With a casual gesture, he offers it to me. I reach out cautiously, still half-sus­pecting him to pull it away at the last moment, laughing cruelly.

I'm afraid to say that I snatch it from his grasp, eagerly read­ing the words: freedom... pardoned of all crimes. Freedom!

'What will you do now, Kage?' the Colonel asks, leaning back in die rickety wooden chair, making the back creak under the weight.

'Stay in the Guard, sir/ I tell him instantly. I'd been thinking about it on the bumpy half-hour shuttle run. More to take my mind off Striden's poor flying than anything else. We had to ditch eventually, when another storm broke. He raises a ques­tioning eyebrow and I explain. 'I joined the Imperial Guard to fight for the Emperor. I swore an oath to defend His realms. I aim to keep that oath/

Very well/ the Colonel says with an approving nod, 'your final rank of lieutenant will be transferred to whatever regi­ment you end up joining. There are quite a few here to choose from. But I recommend you stay away from the Mordians/

'I will/ I say emphatically. 'I kinda like the uniforms of the Trobaran Rangers, so perhaps I'll see if tiiey take me/

'Notify Clericus Amadiel as soon as you have made your choice. He will ensure any necessary paperwork is in order/ the Colonel says, nodding in the scribe's direction. Amadiel looks at me with his fixed, blank expression.

There is one other thing,' the Colonel adds as I'm about to turn to die door. He beckons the tech-adept forward witii a finger.

'I can remove your penal legion tattoo/ the adept says, rais­ing die peculiar gadget as if in explanation.

I roll up my sleeve and look at my shoulder, barely making out die skull and crossed swords emblem. Above the badge you can just make out '13th Penal Legion', and underneath I know is written '14-3889: Kage, N/, though you can't see it now past die white scar tissue.

'I'll keep it/ I announce, letting my shirt sleeve drop down again.

'Keep it?' stutters Amadiel, unable to stop himself.

To remember/ I add, and the Colonel nods in understand­ing. The memory of four thousand dead is etched into my brain. It makes a strange kind of sense that it's tattooed into my skin as well.

We don't exchange another word as I salute, turn on my heel and march out, hand gripping the pardon so tighdy my knuck­les are going white. Outside the bunker, the two provosts click their heels to attention as I walk between them, and I stu­diously ignore diem. A day ago, they would have shot me given the slightest chance or reason.

As I pick my way across die shellhole-pocked mud, I glance back and see die Colonel emerge. A sudden whine of engines and a downblast of air heralds die arrival of some kind of stra-tocraft - long, sleek, jet-black, no insignia at all. A door hisses open in the side and three men jump out, swatiied in dark red cloaks that flap madly in the downwash of die craft's engines, and the Colonel nods in greeting. The four of them climb back in again and with a whoosh it accelerates back into the clouds

again in less than ten seconds. That's the last I'll see of him, he's probably already planning the first suicide mission for the next bunch of poor bastards to be called the Last Chancers.

The empty bottle smashes as I casually drop it to the floor, the shards of pottery mixing with the glass and ceramic of the four other bottles that proceeded it. I'm drunk. Very drank. I hadn't had a drink in three years and the first glass went straight to my head. The second went to my legs, and the rest has gone, well, Emperor knows where! That's how it's been for the past two months, every night in the officers' mess, crawling back to my bunk when they throw me out.