Chapter 215: Protecting His Own
Calling in the artillery had worked. The 81st's soldiers went quiet the moment Kian gave the fire order — because everyone present understood that incendiary chemical rounds on those haulers meant ten loads of food becoming ten loads of ash, and nobody wanted that outcome.
But the 81st wasn't going to simply hand anything over either. Both sides locked into a standoff and started sending vox messages up their respective chains of command.
Rudolphson arrived with Third Battalion shortly after, assessed the situation in about four seconds, and deployed his people into the line without asking for a detailed briefing. He moved to the rear of Kian's position and kept his voice low on the handset.
"Colonel Leo's already heard about this. He's gone to get Zeppelin. The General will be here — he'll sort it."
Kian muttered: "I don't want it sorted. I want it won."
"That's what Zeppelin coming here means. He's our General, not theirs. When he arrives, he'll be sorting it in our favour."
The chain of command on this world topped out at the regimental level for day-to-day organisation. Above the regiments, ten or so units would share a senior commander — a General — for coordination purposes. Zeppelin commanded regiments one hundred through one hundred and ten, including the 109th. The 81st belonged to a different General entirely.
The standoff had been holding for perhaps half an hour when the sound of engines came from above.
A Valkyrie assault carrier came in low over the road — the standard Imperial multi-role type, equally capable of carrying troops or mounting weapons. It settled to the ground in a cloud of dust thrown up by its engines, and the rear ramp came down.
A dozen soldiers in powered armour and carrying lasrifles came out first, spread to a perimeter, and then stood aside for the man they were escorting.
General Zeppelin, peaked cap, gold stars, expression like a man who had been interrupted during something important and intended to express this clearly.
Colonel Leo trotted alongside him with the energy of a man who knew which side he was on.
Zeppelin surveyed the scene and began.
"What in the Golden Throne's name is happening here? The front line is burning and you lot are pointing guns at each other?!"
Kian dropped off the Chimera, crossed to Zeppelin in about six strides, and launched into his account with visible distress.
"General — the injustice of it, sir! We've been holding this road for two months without complaint, no chance to get to the front, no way to bring food back for our families — and our families are going hungry, sir, going hungry while we stand our post and keep this supply line open because we understand what's at stake and we don't want to disrupt the main operation—"
He wheeled and pointed at the 81st's commander with the extended arm of a man presenting evidence before a tribunal.
"And then his soldiers come through our sector and tell us we're second-line filth who don't deserve to be here and our families can starve for all they care! And when our Battalion Commander Hans, performing his duties conscientiously at the checkpoint, asked to inspect their vehicles for contraband — they shot him! He's in the medicae tent right now, General, and we don't know if he's going to make it!"
Two tears. Actual tears. Kian had produced them through what appeared to be genuine effort.
Around him, 109th soldiers who hadn't been present for the original incident were hearing this version of events for the first time and responding to it with the authentic outrage of men who believed every word.
The 81st's commander's face cycled through several colours.
"That's not — that's not what—"
"Silence."
Colonel Leo cut him off with the flat authority of a man who had been waiting for exactly this moment. He turned to the Second Battalion position.
"Where is Battalion Commander Hans? Bring him out."
A stretcher appeared. Hans was on it — gut-shot, bandaged, the dressing already showing red, the overall impression of a man who had taken serious damage and was not entirely sure of his status. He looked like a man who had been shot in the stomach, because he had been.
Zeppelin looked at the stretcher. Then he looked at the 81st's commander with an expression that had dropped several degrees.
"Excellent. You decided to shoot a battalion commander in my operational area. I look forward to the conversation with your General."
The 81st's commander understood the situation. Zeppelin was running interference for his own people — this was how it worked, this was how it had always worked, and arguing against it with a two-star General staring at him was not a productive use of his remaining dignity.
He was also quietly furious about where his own General was and why that individual had not yet materialised.
Kian stepped forward again, voice shifting to something more measured.
"General — the men aren't afraid of the fighting. They're afraid of being forgotten. Two months, and not one bag of redistributed food has reached a 109th family. We don't know how many of our people's relatives have already died. But the soldiers are still here, still holding their posts, because they trust that the system works.
I want to ask, respectfully — hundreds of loads come through here every day heading south. Why has nothing reached our families?"
Zeppelin exhaled.
"There are bad actors in the chain. I'll address it." He paused, then pointed at the immobilised haulers sitting in the road with their cargo intact.
"Those loads — the 109th takes them back. Emergency provision for dependants. I will not have soldiers bleeding for this Hive while their families starve."
The 109th erupted with something very close to cheering.
The 81st's commander stepped forward.
"General — that cargo belongs to my regiment—"
"Does a General not have the authority to redistribute supplies within his operational area?"
"With respect, sir, this isn't your operational—"
"Does a General not have that authority?"
Leo materialised at the commander's elbow.
"You will stand down. The General has given an order. You will comply with it, or you can explain your position in writing to your own commanding officer."
The 81st's commander stood there with his jaw tight and something dangerous happening behind his eyes. Then he breathed out through his nose, turned to his soldiers, and said with great restraint:
"We're leaving."
Ten loads of food stayed on the road. The 81st Regiment turned around and drove north.
[End of Chapter 215]
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