did consider him something of a friend. A friendship he'd
pushed to the limits by trying to incite a rebellion around me.
'Can't blame me, Kage/ he says, with a slight whine to his
deep voice that irritates me. 'Should've all died back then, you
know it/
'I'm still alive, and I know that if I'd let you take off I wouldn't be/ I reply, not even bothering to look at him. The Colonel would've killed me for letting you go, even before the 'nids had a chance/ 'Yeah, I know, I know/ Franx tells me apologetically. 'Look' I say, finally meeting his eye, 'I can't blame you for wanting out. Emperor knows, it's what we all want. But you've got to be smarter about it. Pick your time better, and not one that's gonna leave me implicated/
'I understand, Kage/ Franx nods before falling silent. One of the shuttle crewmen, looking hot and bothered in his crisp blue and white Navy uniform, is counting us off as we head up the loading ramp, giving us sullen looks as if he wishes they could just leave us here. It's hot inside the shuttle, which has slowly baked in the harsh sun until the air inside feels like a kiln. I see the others settling into places along the three benches, securing themselves with thick restraint belts that hang from beams that stretch at head height along the shuttle chamber's ten-metre length. As I find a place and strap myself into the restraining harnesses, Franx takes the place next to me. 'How's Kronin?' he asks, fumbling with a metal buckle as he pulls the leather straps tighter across his barrel chest.
'Haven't seen him. He went up on the first shuttle run/ I tell him, checking around to see that everybody else is secured. Seeing that the survivors of my platoon are sitting as tight as a Battle Sister's affections, I give the signal to the naval rating waiting at the end of the seating bay. He disappears through the bulkhead and the red take-off lights flash three times in
warning.
'I haven't got the full story about Kronin yet/ I say to Franx, pushing my back against the hard metal of the bench to settle myself. Franx is about to reply when the rumble of thrasters reverberates through the fuselage of the shuttle. The rumbling increases in volume to a roar and I feel myself being pushed further into the bench by the shuttle's take-off. The whole craft starts to shake violemly as it gathers momentum, soaring
upwards into the sky above Deliverance. My booted feet judder against the mesh decking of the shuttle and my backside slides slightly across the metal bench. My stomach is still painful, and I feel slightly sick as the shuttle banks over sharply to take its new course. The twelve centimetre slash in my thigh begins to throb painfully as more blood is forced into my legs by the acceleration. I grit my teeth and ignore the pain. Through a viewport opposite I can see the ground dropping away, the seemingly haphazard scattering of shuttles and dropships sit ting a kilometre beyond the walls of Deliverance. The settlement itself is receding quickly, until I can only dimly make out the line of the curtain wall and the block of the central keep. Then we're into the clouds and everything turns white.
As we break out of the atmosphere the engines turn to a dull whine and a scattering of stars replaces the blue of the sky outside the viewport. Franx leans over.
They say Kronin is touched/ he says, tapping the side of his head to emphasise his point.
'It's bloody strange, I'll give you that/ I reply. 'Something happened to him when he was in the chapel/
'Chapel?' Franx asks, scratching his head vigorously through a thick bush of brown curls.
AVhat did you hear?' I say, curious to find out what rumours had started flying around, only a day after the battle against the tyranids. Gossip is a good way of gauging morale, as well as the reactions to a recent battle. Of course, we're never happy, being stuck in a penal legion until we die, but sometimes some of the men are more depressed than usual. The fight against the alien tyranids at the missionary station was horrific, combating monsters like them always is. I wanted to know what the men were focusing their thoughts on.
'Nothing really/ Franx says, trying unsuccessfully to shrug in the tight confines of the safety harness. 'People are saying that he went over the edge/
The way I heard it, he and the rest of 2nd platoon had fallen back to the chapel/ I tell him. There were 'nids rushing about everywhere, coming over the east wall. Most of them were the big warriors, smashing at the doors of the shrine with their claws, battering their way in. They crashed through the windows and got inside. There was nowhere to run; those alien bastards just started hacking and chopping at everything inside.
They lost the whole platoon except for Kronin. They must have left him for dead, since the Colonel found him under a pile of
bodies/ That's a sure way to crack/ Franx says sagely, a half-smile on
his bulbous lips.
'Anyway/ I continue, 'Kronin is cracked, like you say. Keeps talking all this gibber, constantly jabbering away about something that no one could work out/
'I've seen that sort of thing before/ says Poal, who's been listening from the other side of Franx. His narrow, chiselled face has a knowing air about it, like he was a sage dispensing the wisdom of the ancients or something. 'I had a sergeant once whose leg was blown off by a mine on Gaulis II. He just kept repeating his brother's name, minute after minute, day after day. He slit his own throat with a med's scalpel in the end/
There's a moment of silence as everybody considers this, and I carry on with the story to distract them from thoughts of self-murder.
'Yeah, that's pretty grim/ I tell them, 'but Kronin's case just gets weirder. Turns out, he's not mumbling just any old thing, oh no. He's quoting scripture, right? Nathaniel, the preacher back in Deliverance, overhears him saying out lines from the Litanies of Faith. Stuff like: 'And the Beast from the Abyss rose up with its multitudes and laid low the servants of the Emperor with its clawed hands'. Things like that/
'Fragged if I've ever seen Kronin with a damned prayer book, not in two fragging years of fighting under the son of an ork/ Jorett announces from the bench down the middle of the shuttle, looking around. Everybody's listening in now that we can be heard over the dimmed noise of the engines. Forty pairs of eyes look towards me in anticipation of the next twist of the
tale.
'Exactly!' I declare with an emphatic nod, beginning to play to the audience a little bit. I'm enjoying having a
