#duredhel

‘I’ll ask again, what’s your name?’ said the commissar lighting the tabac stick for herself.

‘Sergeant First Class Rokken A. Tamaguchi. Ident number 456-789-22010,’ he replied looking at the commissar with his one good eye, the other having been glued shut by dried blood.

‘Unit sergeant?’

The prisoner took in a breath, coughed, and grunted out, ‘2nd Platoon, Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, of the 7st Mu’gulath Bay Regiment.’

‘I guess it takes a commissar to get these traitors to talk uh, ma’am?’ said the sergeant.

The prisoner turned and glared up at the sergeant with his one good eye.

‘Got a problem heretic? Want a boot up your arse?’ shouted Demin getting ready to kick the prisoner.

‘Hold on sergeant!’ shouted the commissar with the tabac stick still between her teeth. Getting up, she shooed away the small crowd of guardsmen who were gathered around the prisoner. Then pulling the sergeant aside she asked, ‘So, Sergeant tell me What-the-Throne is going on here?’

The sergeant straightened his back and looking off into the desert said, ‘There was a firefight. We over ran their position. Shot all the survivors, including the wounded. Then two hours later this heretic here…’ Demin pointed at the prisoner, ‘…Comes staggering out of the pile of dead bodies holding his head in his hands. He’s gibber jabbering away in that Blue-fish talk, “Tiki-tak ching-chang-chong oola-la-la!”. So we gave him a rifle butt to the stomach, bound his hands, and sat his traitorous backside on the ground.’

‘Did you interrogate him?’

‘We tried. But he just wouldn’t answer. So we gave up figuring he didn’t speak any Low Gothic.’

‘Alright before we do anything else, let’s get him cleaned up and have the apothecary medic look at his wounds,’ said the commissar waving over the medic. ‘You said he was shot, does he still have any open wounds?’

‘No, ma’am. He’s just got a one big old scratch that runs around the top of his head…’ answered Demin catching a helmet tossed to him by another guardsmen. ‘…Here’s his helmet. See the bolter round entered just left of centre; but then it was deflected around his head, and exited the same hole it made coming in. Bet he’s got a helluva headache right now!’  

‘Get me Lieutenant Mahin, and post a guard so that no one “accidentality” shoots the prisoner,’ said the commissar taking a long drag on the tabac stick. ‘He’s a curiosity. And I want to find out what’s his story is.’

‘Yes ma’am.’