“Get in line!” the commissar barked harshly at Sarl, as he shoved the private to the back of the line so hard he fell over. Carrim didn't seem to notice though, as he and the rest of the line took a few steps forward as Sarl scrambled to his feet. Standing by the cell on the left, Carrim imputted nine runes into the door and withdrew another guardsman, giving him an equally forceful greeting before doing the same to the cell on the right. No-one dared or felt like speaking to each other as they proceeded grimly down the hall, their number growing by two every few paces. Sarl could occassionally feel the boot-tips of the person behind him scrape against his heels as he hurried to keep up in an orderly fashion.
They didn't have to walk far at all before the commissar had collected all the men in the cells. The line was turned around as they proceeded to the hall enterance. Glancing behind him, Sarl counted that around twenty people had joined the line since he had stepped out of his cell. The commissar continued to press rune-pads as they proceeded up the stairs. Sarl wondered if all Guardsmen camps had their prison security as tight.
Once they reached the top of the stairs, they strode through a large amount of the complex before finally finding themselves outside. A cruiser ship had landed in the grass. As there was not a clearing for many many miles throughout the forest, three or four pine trees had been felled through the wieght of the decending ship. At least half a dozen of the Machine Men were waiting outside for them, as well as a confessor, who stood in the middle. They were dressed in expensive dark red robes, and Sarl could see the cloth push out slightly and then recede in places, as if there were claws scrabbling at it from underneath. The confessor was dressed in similarly high quality bright blue robes, and in one hand he grasped a tall golden staff with the mighty Aquilla positioned at the top. In the other, he held what looked like a laspistol. It was encased in gold and the Aquilla was engraved upon the barrel.
“Greetings, commissar! Ave!”
“Greetings to you, confessor. Ave.”
They both made the sign of the Aquilla with their hands.
“You are ready, commissar?” the confessor asked.
“I am.”
“Good. I would have gotten here quicker had our astropaths decifered your message sooner. Is this all?” he said, gazing upon the band of guardsmen which Carrim had by now arranged into a line standing against the wall of the complex from which they had emerged
The commissar looked pained. He glanced at his boots before returning
“Yes.”
“Then let us begin.”
The Mechanicus made itself into a small circle. The confessor offered the ornate laspistol to one of them, and he extended his hand from out of his robes to receive it. There were some quiet gasps from the crowd of guardsmen as they saw that from his fleshy palm emerged fingers fashioned out of metal.
The one who had been given the pistol stared at it. He did not peer, although the glowing red light that was enveloped in his hood retracted and extended slightly on occasion. He rotated it around slowly with finess, and then after twenty or so seconds he passed it clockwise to the next in the circle. They all completed this ritual which took around two minutes. Then, once the pistol had returned to the original examiner, he rotated out of his circle facing the confessor, bowed slightly, and handed it back to him.
“The Mechanicus approves of the instrument's spirit.” the confessor announced.
Staking his staff into the soft ground, he reached into his robes and re-emerged with a scroll, which he unraveled and read aloud.
“'By the order of the Administratum, for witnessing and defending the Imperium against the unknowable, the Fifth company of the Three-hundered and seventy-first regiment is to be executed with full honors. Commissar Syman Carrim!”
The commissar stepped up to the staff, and kneeled before the confessor.
“The Emperor rewards you for your service.” he muttered solomnly.
Carrim stayed perfectly still, fingering the Aquilla pendant he wore around his neck as the confessor raised the laspistol level with the commissar's head, and pulled the trigger. There was a crackle of energy as the red beam tore through his head and set a patch of fire behind him alight.
“Olav Krinch”
The crowd of guard stared at the cowering soldier among them. For a good five seconds Olav didn't do anything. Then, with a speed none of the rest would have thought possible, he dashed past the staff and the Mechanicus and into the woods.
The confessor's eyes burned with fury. Slowly and with a calm grace, he turned around, straightened his arm level and let off another crack of his golden pistol. The rest of the guardsmen looked in horror as Olav's head exploded one hundered feet away.
The confessor gazed upon the line of soldiers against the wall.
“There will be no mercy for him” he boomed.
“While your commissar will bathe forever in the light of the Emperor for his good works, he...” gesturing towards the headless corpse which was now flat on its chest, steaming at the neck “...will never be allowed to enter His presence. He will sit outside the gates and rot.”
Leaving this to digest in the minds of his audience, he continued.
“Charlos Degan”
And so it went on. Apparently the threat of being forced to rot behind the Emperor's gates was not especially moving for some. At least five other guardsmen tried to run off before they were called upon, and met the same results as Olav. Most, however, appeared somewhat glad to be given the Emperor's mercy this way. They wouldn't be able to get over what they had seen three days ago.
The pile of corpses before the staff rose and rose, until after around half the group's number had tried to escape or lay dead before the Aquilla, Sarl was called upon.
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I'll be writing a new segment next evening getting a bit of charactarization done and flashbacking to what brought about this little incident.
Tell me watcha think!
I must be missing something for doing a good job they're being executed with honors?
