V2 Chapter 66: Welcome to the 112th. Time to Get Back to Work.
"So those big ones are just going to follow the boss around from now on?"
Stroud was leaning against the outer metal wall of the isolation zone, watching the open preparation area some distance away.
Thirteen Astartes were spread across the space, sitting under the work lights. They had removed their power armour. In black combat trousers with their upper bodies bare, the old scars and neural interface ports on their skin catching the light, they were working black spray paint over the ancient suits. The armour was disassembled piece by piece, set between mechanical arms. The original white finish, the wolf's head, and the inverted crescent markings were being covered over methodically, one layer at a time.
"You might want to keep that to yourself." Elias put an elbow into the bald man beside him. "They look like they're having a terrible day, and I'd rather not see you get your head used as a ball."
Stroud's expression shifted without quite becoming a smile. He shifted his weight and kept watching the silent giants.
"First time I've spent any real time around the Emperor's Angels," Elias said, his voice lower.
"Me too." Stroud lifted one shoulder. "Trust me, they're going to be a problem."
Elias looked at him sideways. "Could you say less."
"I'm just stating facts." Stroud dropped his voice.
Elias did not respond. He had noticed that one of the Astartes had just stopped working.
The tall warrior rose from a half-kneeling position. Bare upper body, old wounds and nerve interfaces running across the skin. No power armour, but when he walked toward them his footsteps were heavy enough that the isolation zone's floor registered each one.
"Called it." Stroud straightened slowly. "Astartes hearing. Ridiculous."
"Shut up, you idiot," Elias said, very quietly.
Stroud watched Markus approaching and let the last trace of amusement leave his face. He was not a short man by any standard. In front of this Astartes, he looked like a boy who had not finished growing.
Markus Sevian stopped in front of them and looked down. Even among Astartes his build was considerable. Without the power armour, he still cleared two and a half metres.
He said nothing. He simply stood there. The pressure that came off him was not hostility. It was simply what he was.
"Need something?" Stroud asked, his tone evening out.
He had looked at the bare upper body and then at the fist hanging at the Astartes's side, and was making a specific effort to keep his voice as close to its usual register as possible.
"If this is a complaint about the service quality, I'd suggest finding the Commissar. We have nothing here except bad tempers and worse supplies."
Markus looked down at him briefly. "We have run out of black paint."
Stroud blinked. Then allowed himself one quiet internal exhale.
"Right. I'll go contact the Commissar." He looked sideways at Elias and raised his eyebrows once. "I'll leave this in your capable hands, Major."
Elias looked at him with an expression that had murder in it.
Stroud did not appear to notice. He turned and left. His pace was noticeably faster than normal and he was gone around the corridor's end in short order.
Markus had not moved.
Elias looked up at him and breathed in. "Is there anything else?"
A brief silence. "Are you one of his subordinates?"
Elias paused. "Whose? Commissar Duvette?"
"Yes."
"I am." He gave a nod. "I'm a Major attached to the Ash Watchers-Eisenmark 112th Regiment."
Markus asked his next question. "What kind of man is he? Duvette Erdmann."
Elias registered that the Astartes had addressed Duvette by full name without any rank prefix. He found he did not have any objection to make. Astartes did not follow Astra Militarum conventions under normal circumstances. These men had come from ten thousand years ago. The circumstances were not normal.
He thought about it for a moment and asked: "Do you want the polished version or the true one?"
"The true one."
"Then he is a problem."
Markus's brow moved slightly.
Elias spoke with the quality of someone who has thought this through previously and arrived at a stable answer. "Wherever he goes, the worst things follow. Orks. Tyranids. Heretics. Daemons. Daemon Engines. Chaos Astartes. The Inquisition. The Mechanicus. And now your lot."
Markus did not interrupt.
"At first we assumed it was just poor luck." Elias glanced down the corridor. "Then we worked out it was not only that."
A brief pause.
"Sometimes it is not that trouble follows him. Sometimes he deliberately walks directly into the worst of it."
Markus was quiet for a moment. "Then why do you hold him in such respect?"
Elias let out a short sound that was not quite a laugh. "Because when he walks into it, he looks back to make sure we're with him."
Something shifted in Markus's expression.
"Most officers just push you in," Elias continued. "Most commissars stand behind you and use a gun to remind you what loyalty means."
"Commissar Duvette is different. He will absolutely lead you into a killing ground."
"But he is always at the front."
The isolation zone went quiet for a moment. Only the sound of the mechanical arms turning and the spray cans venting carried across from the work area.
Markus said nothing further.
Then footsteps came from the other end of the corridor. Duvette walked back with Stroud at his shoulder, the bald veteran wearing an expression of entirely unearned self-satisfaction. Behind them, several 112th veterans pushed a small supply trolley carrying black spray cans, cleaning solvents, grinding tools, and a number of grey cloaks without any markings.
The veterans' feet slowed fractionally when they saw Markus standing in the doorway.
Duvette glanced at them. "Just leave it here."
They set everything down at the isolation zone entrance and departed without looking at the Astartes again.
"Right. Go get yourselves ready." Duvette addressed Elias and Stroud. "We're changing ships shortly. Time to get back to actual work."
Stroud raised an eyebrow. "Back to actual work?"
"Yes." Duvette looked at him. "The Sabbat Worlds. Back to fighting the wars we're supposed to be fighting."
"Sounds considerably better than daemon worlds," Stroud muttered.
Elias looked at him. "You always say that. It's always worse."
Duvette did not engage with either of them. He walked to where Markus was standing, reached up and put his hand on the Astartes's arm to indicate they should step inside the isolation zone.
Markus looked at the hand on his arm. He did not pull away.
They walked to a corner of the space. At a distance, the other Shadow Wolves had stopped working. Every pair of eyes had drifted to Markus and Duvette. None of them came closer.
Duvette went straight to it. "I have reached agreements with the Lord Inquisitor and with Cawl."
Markus looked down at him.
"Cawl has agreed to let you go." Duvette continued. "Not because he trusts you. He has accepted my proposal for the time being. You will be leaving the Ark of Omen and coming with me to the Sabbat Worlds."
"What is there?"
"Imperial traitors. Chaos Legions. Heretic warlords. A crusade that may run for some time yet." Duvette said. "It is not Terra. It is not the battlefield you originally intended to reach. But there are more than enough enemies there."
Markus did not answer immediately.
"I am not going to mislead you," Duvette said. "You cannot appear openly as the Sixteenth Legion. Not yet. That is not a possibility right now."
"I know." Markus looked toward the power armour being painted over in the distance.
The old Legion's colours were disappearing under black, one pass at a time. The markings from the Great Crusade were being covered and gone. The warriors doing it had said nothing, but Duvette understood what it was costing them.
"So. What have you decided?" Duvette asked. "Will you come with me?"
Markus was quiet for a moment. Then he gave a small, unhurried shrug.
He turned and indicated the Shadow Wolves who had been rising to their feet. "We have already painted the armour black."
Duvette looked at him and said nothing.
Markus lowered his gaze to meet Duvette's. He held it for a moment. Then he raised his right fist and pressed it hard against his own chest.
It was an old gesture and a serious one.
"Then until the vengeance is complete."
"My blade is yours to call on."
At a distance, all twelve Shadow Wolves stopped moving at the same moment. None of them shouted an oath. One by one they raised their fists and pressed them to their chests.
The isolation zone went quiet again.
Duvette looked at these warriors who had walked out of ten thousand years of darkness, and felt nothing resembling lightness. He knew what he had just taken on. He had accepted a problem of the kind that could send the Inquisition and several other Imperial institutions into simultaneous crisis if it became known.
But he allowed himself the smile anyway.
"Welcome to the 112th, sergeant."
He reached up and put his hand on Markus's arm.
"You will not regret it."
Markus looked at him. The voice that came back was low and level. "I hope you are right, Commissar."
Duvette turned and looked out toward the isolation zone's entrance.
"Good. Move quickly. Before we transfer ships, get that armour finished. I had Archmagos Cawl arrange some new equipment for you."