Vainglorious, p.30
Vainglorious, page 30
Two of the tank’s crew were rising from fold-out stools either side of a table improvised from a munitions crate. Across it was scattered the paraphernalia of a card game.
One was male, Cadian by his eyes and with youthful features, dark skin and a close-cropped beard. The other was a woman, also young to Etsul’s eyes. Her skin was a shade lighter than her companion’s and her eyes were so dark they looked almost black. Her hair was longer than regulation, with metal beads braided into it, and her nose and ears were both pierced multiple times. Tattoos forested her knuckles and forearms. A stylised teardrop marked the skin beneath her right eye. Both tankers stood to attention, and Etsul was immediately struck by the hostility in the woman’s glare.
The crewman with the augmetic arm ambled around the tank to join them at attention. To the vehicle’s other side, Etsul saw an older man with a sergeant’s insignia pulling himself to his feet. Her errant gunner, still in the process of waking up.
Vaslav dragged one hand over his narrow face as though to scrape away a rime of exhaustion. He was pale and scarred, with a shaved head and a pencil moustache. His violet eyes had bags beneath them. He wore an expression of thinly veiled annoyance.
Etsul took her time with the last few steps of her approach, giving herself a moment to consider what she was going to do. She could play the hard disciplinarian and shock them into shape, or the confident commander, ignoring the troubling details. She knew what Masenwe would have done. For that matter, she knew what she would do.
First impressions mattered.
‘I am Hadeya Etsul, your new commander,’ she said. Dropping her kitbag to free both hands, she made the sign of the aquila. Her crew returned the salute, though she noted the glaring woman’s aquila was just sloppy enough to be disrespectful.
Etsul kept her gaze level and let the silence stretch. It had grown uncomfortable by the time Vaslav cleared his throat.
‘Welcome to Steel Tread, sir. I’m Sergeant Vaslav, your gunner.’ He gestured to each of the others as he introduced them.
‘Loader Erika Moretzin,’ he said. The big woman saluted smartly.
‘Sponson Gunner Garret Verro.’ The young man’s salute was also crisp, and accompanied by a respectful, ‘Sir, it’s a pleasure, sir.’
‘And you are Sponson Gunner Nix Chalenboor, yes?’ asked Etsul. The woman with the gang tattoos wore an insouciant grin.
‘Yeah,’ she replied, and Etsul fancied she saw a challenging glint in the gunner’s eye.
‘My briefing did not suggest we were a stationary unit, sergeant,’ said Etsul. Vaslav looked nonplussed.
‘Stationary, sir?’
‘We have a driver?’ prompted Etsul.
‘Ah,’ said Vaslav, glancing about as though only just realising there was a crewman missing. ‘Driver Trieve is leading prayers in a nearby trench, sir. Faith is our first weapon against the Archenemy, after all.’
Etsul said nothing.
‘I told Trieve to return in time for your arrival but…’ Vaslav continued, letting out a breath. ‘But, well–’
‘He’s proper pious, him,’ sneered Chalenboor.
‘Speak when spoken to, Chalenboor,’ snapped Vaslav.
‘Yes, boss.’
‘I was given to understand the discipline of Cadian regiments is second to none,’ Etsul said. ‘Instead, I find nobody waiting to meet me at my drop-off point, and now you tell me my driver is absent without my leave. I find myself under-whelmed.’
There was something sullen in Vaslav’s continued silence.
‘Yeah, so if–’
‘Commander,’ said Verro, cutting Chalenboor off, ‘would you like to inspect Steel Tread? I can see to your belongings.’
‘That would be good,’ said Etsul, replying to Verro but keeping her eyes on Chalenboor. The young woman stared back.
‘Local orientation would also help,’ she said as Verro hefted her kitbag with a wince. ‘Commissary, section command post, latrines, all that.’
‘Of course, sir,’ began Vaslav, then his gaze slid over her shoulder and set hard. Etsul turned. The man from the side trench with the sharp blue eyes was walking up the ramp.
Leading prayers. Isaac Trieve, I presume.
Trieve was, at least, better presented than his crewmates. His tank suit was crisp, his stride purposeful. Somehow, he had contrived to keep the mud off himself almost entirely. He held a prayer book in one hand and wore a machine-stamped aquila on a chain around his neck. His expression was unconcerned, bordering on smug. Etsul was struck by the sudden thought that Trieve’s absence had been deliberate, that the man had engineered some distance between himself and his crewmates.
Trieve stood to attention and offered a sharp aquila salute.
‘Commander Etsul, it is a privilege.’
‘Is it? A pity, then, that you were not present when I arrived as you should have been.’
‘Of course, sir. My apologies.’ Trieve smiled, seemingly perversely pleased with the rebuke. ‘I was detained by the divine spirit of the God-Emperor, for He moved me to a surfeit of piety that ran overlong. I’m sure you understand, sir. When He speaks to us, His will supersedes all others.’
Etsul shook her head.
‘What I understand, Driver Trieve, is that when my crew musters, I expect you to be present and punctual. If you must make your peace with the God-Emperor afterwards, then He will have to be understanding. I stand between you and Him in the chain of command.’
At this borderline blasphemy, Trieve looked as though he’d taken a mouthful of something rotten. A flush crept up his neck. Etsul heard a sound behind her that might have been Chalenboor stifling a snort. She swung around to see an expression that was half guilty, half amused on the sponson gunner’s face.
Verro still clutched her kitbag, expression pained.
Etsul looked to Vaslav. He was her second-in-command. He knew these soldiers far better than she. A good gunnery sergeant dealt with day-to-day discipline so that their commander could rise above such things as a figure of authority and respect. Vaslav just stared into the middle distance, hands clasped tightly behind his back, expression carefully unreadable.
‘Let me be perfectly clear,’ she said, raking them with her gaze. ‘This has not gone well. I am going to inspect Steel Tread then get some food, and once I have–’
A loud clearing of the throat caused Etsul to wheel about. A Cadian soldier stood at the bottom of the ramp, Ninth Army Group command insignia on her shoulder. She held a data-slate and had her helmet tucked under one arm.
‘What?’ barked Etsul.
‘Apologies, lieutenant commander. Captain Brezyk requests your presence for a strategic briefing at Mandriga command.’
Etsul felt her shoulders sag. Tiredness, hunger, frustration and a painful longing for her old crewmates threatened to crack her composure. Instead, she took a deep breath, and then the proffered data-slate. It told her little more than the messenger.
‘I have just come from Mandriga command,’ Etsul bit out. ‘I am engaged in inspecting my new tank and crew.’
‘With respect, lieutenant commander, the captain was unambiguous.’
‘Of course,’ Etsul replied with a hard smile. She had been a soldier long enough to recognise a stress-test.
‘Verro, get my belongings stowed,’ she told the sponson gunner. ‘The rest of you be ready for full inspection upon my return. And no more excursions.’ She directed this last to Trieve, before turning and following the messenger back up the trench.
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