Chapter 128: The Sector Transit Tithe
The moment General Zephyrus departed, the atmosphere among the men of the 109th Regiment shifted. The stiff, military formality evaporated, replaced by the grim camaraderie of brothers-in-arms.
Colonel Leo turned his attention to Major Hans, who was resting on a grav-stretcher.
"How are you holding up, Hans? Is it serious? Have the Chirurgeons seen to the damage?"
Hans winced as he shifted his weight. "It's nothing, Colonel. Just a few bursts of autogun fire to the midsection. The medicae-adepts have already stapled the intestines back together and purged the sepsis. A few more cycles of bed-rest and I'll be back in the saddle."
Imperial medicine, even at the PDF level, was a miracle of biological engineering. A wound that would have been a death sentence in the ancient 3k era—a shattered digestive tract—was little more than a routine repair in the 41st Millennium.
Colonel Leo nodded, satisfied, then looked toward Kian Voss.
"This 'Agri-Scheme' of yours... do you truly believe these boys can handle it? Most of them are Hive-born, the sons of factorum workers. They've spent their lives surrounded by plasteel and smog. Half of them have never even touched real soil."
Kian exhaled a cloud of Lho-smoke, his expression full of mercenary confidence. "Colonel, agriculture is just another form of logistics. We don't need the brothers to become peasants; we just need them to secure the land. We hold the perimeter and ensure no other PDF regiments come 'requisitioning' our harvest. As for the actual tilling of the earth? We can outsource that."
Kian's vision was cold and practical. He intended to "recruit" the local peasantry from the liberated rebel territories.
"The plan is simple," Kian explained. "We offer the farmers protection. The 109th acts as their iron shield against both heretics and rival Imperial units. In exchange, they work the soil for us. To maximize the yield, I'll need heavy hardware."
He leaned over a tactical slate. "I've seen high-output agricultural walkers and harvesters in the Silas Cell's territory. They're sitting in the mud, gathering dust because the rebels lack the fuel to run them. If I can secure a 'loan' of that machinery from my contacts on the surface, a single unit can do the work of a thousand men. With 3,000 soldiers in this regiment, we could bring hundreds of thousands of acres into production."
The officers in the tent nodded, their eyes gleaming with the fever of the ambitious. Solving the food shortage for their own families in the Hive was a motivation more powerful than any religious litany.
"I'll scout the front lines," Colonel Leo proposed. "I'll see if I can't find a few large groups of 'Dispossessed' refugees drifting through the No-Man's Land. We can offer them 'indentured salvation'—meat and a roof in exchange for labor. We could pull in ten thousand souls in a week."
"Perfect," Kian agreed. "Seeds, tools, and industrial-grade fertilizer are easy. I have the production lines in the Underhive; my factory can churn those out by the ton."
They finalized the details of the "Voss-Leo Military Cultivation Initiative." All they needed now was for General Zephyrus to smooth over the "clerical irregularities" with the Spire-Lords.
Once the "State Business" was settled, the conversation turned back to the day's conflict.
"The boys did well today," Leo grunted. "They didn't flinch. They stood their ground like True Sons of Terra. We need to keep that fire alive. In this regiment, we watch each other's backs."
Major Rudolphson, however, looked toward the horizon where the 81st Regiment had retreated. "I'm worried about their Colonel. The 81st is a field-heavy unit, and their commander is a man of violent temper. We humiliated him today. He'll be looking for a way to trip us up."
Leo snorted. "Let him try. He's a commoner with pips on his shoulders. He doesn't have a Spire-lineage or a seat at the High Governor's table. He only barked so loud because he didn't realize there was a 'Lord' in our ranks. If he knew our Patron's status, he'd be crawling over here to lick Kian's boots."
He gave Kian a subservient, "Shadow-Colonel" smile. Kian rolled his eyes. If this keeps up, I'm going to be the one giving the orders and Leo will be the one filling the canteens.
Major Hans spoke up from the stretcher, his voice rasping. "Those bastards... the other regiments treat us like trash. When I stopped that supply convoy, I only asked for a single sack of grain per truck. One sack! They had hundreds of tons intended for the Spire, and they wouldn't give us a crumb. They opened fire on their own brothers. Throne-damned leeches."
Kian let out a cold, sharp laugh.
"If they aren't our brothers, then we don't owe them the road. From this moment on, the 109th Regiment institutes the 'Sector Transit Tithe.' Every truck that passes through our lines, from the front to the Hive, pays a tax. Three sacks of grain per vehicle. One for each of our battalions."
Rudolphson blinked. "Kian... is that wise? We just had a firefight over one sack. If we ask for three, they'll bring Leman Russ tanks to clear the road."
Kian's smile was purely predatory. "We won't just 'ask.' We'll be 'helpful.' When the Spire-bound convoys arrive, we stop them at the checkpoint. We inform them that 'Rebel Saboteurs' have been active on this stretch of the highway. We tell them the road ahead is full of craters and IEDs.
"We offer to 'repair' the path and provide an escort. But the brothers can't do heavy engineering on an empty stomach, can they? Three sacks is a small price for a safe passage. It's not a toll; it's a Logistical Maintenance Fee."
"And if they try to go around?" Rudolphson asked. "The plains are wide. They can just drive through the fields."
Kian turned to Colonel Leo. "Colonel, don't we have a surplus of Munitorum-grade anti-tank and anti-personnel mines in the armory?"
Leo's lip twitched. "You're a vicious man, Kian. You're treating our fellow PDF units like heretic insurgents."
Kian shrugged. "They're fat, they're greedy, and they don't share. If we aren't brothers, then they're just 'unregistered elements' trespassing on our turf.
"We lay the minefields and the razor-wire. We put up signs in High Gothic: WARNING: ACTIVE WAR ZONE. MINEFIELDS ESTABLISHED TO PREVENT REBEL INFILTRATION. It's a standard defensive posture. No one can argue with military necessity.
"If some hothead tries to skirt the road and gets his treads blown off? That's his fault for ignoring the warning signs. We'll even help him tow the wreck... for a fee."
Leo slapped his knee and let out a booming laugh. "Throne! I love it! We have over five thousand mines gathering dust in Warehouse Gamma. I'll order the engineering squads to start seeding the fields immediately. I'll even file a request with the Munitorum for more!
"We'll wrap our territory in steel thorns. Let's see those Spire-dogs try to graze in our gardens then!"
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