I took her meaning immediately. I could only imagine was sort of tongue lashing I might get back at base, and so I took the piece of blank paper, cleared my throat, and opened it, staring at the blank whiteness as if it was a document I was pressed to read. "Ah, of course. Well, duty calls, as I always say." I turned to the gentry and gave them a tip of my hat, before granting the lady governor a sweeping bow, and finishing off my farewell ritual with a wink to the Arsenault. I was a fool to encourage her, but I had never been someone to eschew flirtation, and she was rather fetching in that dress. "Regrettably I must take my leave, but I shall return in two nights as you have so graciously granted me the invitation."

After a few more farewells, Sel and I exited the hall and left the corridor, only to bump into two sentries who looked put-off by the appearance of the Corporal before seeing I was accompanying her. They likely did not know me by reputation, even my exploits could not have spread so quickly, but they had greeted the Governess and the accompanying body, with my in their entourage, when I had first approached hours before.

"At ease, gentleman" Sel told them cooly, and they shifted uncomfortably as they parted before us, letting the two of us step into the waiting vehicle parked by the curb. Corporal Sel opened the door for me to enter, and I slid in, before she closed it and then hopped into her seat. Within minutes, we were speeding out of the palace grounds and onto the congested streets of Balor; congested of course, because of the tightly knit buildings that loomed overhead like unwanted teachers at the academy, not that the streets were overly crowded. The city sported strange florescent lights that dotted the buildings, replacing a single story of windows to give a trail of lights, though many groundcars, military vehicles, and street lamps were lit, cutting through the monotony of it.

"I apologize for not being there to help set the platoon up. I wish I had, but I couldn't get away from the Governess." I explained, though I was not certain just as to why I was giving the Corporal one. Of course, the other half of me knew exactly why. Because I was the bloody damned lieutenant and it was my throne damned job.

"We know where to go sir, there was no mishaps. No need to explain," She said, and though any soldier might have fed their superior officer the same bullshit, I found I believed her. She turned left up a slimmer street, likely to cut through the traffic. I turned the heat up a bit more, longing for being able to stay in my warm quarters tonight. The planet was cold as deep space, but at least it was an easy posting. I would head back, conduct the sentry screen along the coordinates I had pre-laid upon the map, and then retire for the evening. I yawned, and gave a sigh as I sat back, the lights like a distant rhythm of stars.

There was a loud pop, and our vehicle suddenly careened to the left, its back end whipping to the right, colliding with a parked aircar with the force of a thunderhammer. My eyes jolted open, and instinctively I reached for my bolt pistol as we hit the curb and landed on the sidewalk. A couple that had been enjoying an evening walk screamed and ran off, but as Sel cursed under her breath and checked the gauge of the vehicle, I saw the man and woman fall to the ground from well placed lasbolts.

"Sir, are you alright?" Sel asked, but she saw my look and knew what I was going to say before I even had the chance to.

"Get down, we're under fire!"

Sel cursed and ducked behind the heavy rubberized wheel of the cargo four. Las bolts snapped at them from across the street from at least a half dozen shooters. One of the tires on the far side took a hit and blew out with a spray-hiss of escaping air and a stink of volcanism. The vehicle rocked, ringing like a struck anvil as bolts punished the far side in a continual fusilade. Tactical mindset returned like a bath of cool water but it wasn’t any of the guard scenarios that came to mind. It took her back to the lean and hungry days of her youth in Glarian hive. Sel had run with a gang then, you had to in order to survive. The J-hooks they had called themselves because the came an ancient and crumbling annex to the even more ancient and crumbling tenement J. It had been a hard life, violent, hungry and filled with sudden terrors. There were magistratum sweeps which took people away never to be seen again, left to rot in prison or sold to the Ad-mech as servitor meat. There were raids, skirmishes fought over territory, food, or clean water, children as young as ten armed with sharpened lengths of industrial tubing, or hand bows made out of suspension springs. Sel could even remember seeing a black powder pistol once, remember being amazed by the power of such a simple thing. It had been a hard way to grow up but the innate paranoia it bred was surprisingly useful for a soldier.

“Behind!” Sel shouted, spinning around to see the sash of a second story window being thrown open above them. The ferocrete habs rose above them in a solid wall, half sunken into the street; their steel cored doors were reached by stone stairways with handrails of rusted wrought iron. It was certainly no coincidence that they functioned as block houses, offering no cover for a dash for cover inside. Sel was an adequate shot with a carbine, you used a carbine when things got hairy in a sentinel, but the pistol you saved for yourself in case of a flame out or worse. This grim philosophy did not equate to a lot of time spent at the range but her target was framed by the window and Sel opened fire spraying half her power pack up into the window in a flurry of shots just as one of the ambushers leaned out to toss an incendiary. One of Sel’s bolts carved a trough through his left arm and he screamed, dropping his improvised grenade. A bottle filled with promethium and stuffed with a burning rag fell from the window in apparent slow motion, turning end over end and leaving a trail of greasy smoke. Sel tried to force herself to move but she knew she wasn’t going to be fast enough to escape the bursting flames.. Kayden reached out and casually caught the improvised explosive, set his feet and then pitched it back into the window with a speed and precision that would have done a scrumball player proud. It sailed through the window and shattered on the hab ceiling, detonating with a whump of igniting prometheum. Screams and broken glass exploded from the window and Sel ducked even lower, raising her arm to ward off the drizzle of burning fuel that spattered down. A burning figure tumbled from the window, turning a half circle in the air before cracking their spine across one of the iron railings with a noise like the pop of a whip. His screams were deafening until Kayden burst his head with a single bolt from his pistol. The body slumped and continued to smoulder.

“Base 1, Base 1, this is Bravo 2 actual,” Sel called as she pressed her commbead, wrinkling her nose against the assaulting odor of petrochems and burned flesh.

“We are pinned down on the main drag, taking fire, estimate enemy is in squad strength,” she voxed. Kayden stood up and fired a three round burst at something across the street, the pop pop pop of his bolts echoing and reflecting of the hab fronts. Someone screamed and Kayden cracked out another shot before ducking back before the blistering las fire could find him.

“Base 1, do you copy?” Sel demanded there was a crackle of jamming and Sel cursed the fact the Cargo 4 didn’t have a powerful vox for her to link to the way a chimera or a sentinel did. There was no guarantee that short range vox bead, meant for squad communication, would get through.
“They will respond to the firing, but we can't stay here, we are pinned down and soon they will flank us,” Kayden said as he ducked back behind the cover of the car. The battered cargo 4 continued to ring with impacts, and glass shattered as something, probably a mirror, caught a bolt. Sel glanced up at the building behind them, no hope of getting inside without being cut to pieces by the enemy gunmen.

“Alright, well I got half a magazine left, dress uniform and all,” she apologized. It didn’t help that she had sprayed off half the mag in something close to panic, but it was true that she hadn’t come dressed for a fight.

“We need cover,” Kayden replied. Sel nodded, then rolled up and into the cargo 4. The right hand bodywork was glowing with the impact of so many las rounds and the stink of hot metal and burning upholstery stung her nose. She hit the ignition stud and the vehicle came to life with a scream and a knocking of misaligned pistons. Sel pulled her garrison cap off and shoved it under the accelerator before rolling back over the side. The vehicle began to creep along at walking pace, keeping their bodies behind it as a shield against their attackers.

“Good thinking,” Kayden approved as they crab walked along beside the mobile shield. The flat tires slapped the pavement and the knocking was getting much worse, at this rate it would only be a few minutes before the engine tore itself to bits, but if she could be assured she would be alive in a few minutes Sel would cheerfully have taken a las cannon to the vehicle herself. The las fire slackened as they got out of the kill box, but doubtlessly the enemy was redeploying. Sel was forced to try to watch all directions at once even as she kept low to avoid those shooters who still had an angle. Judging by the smoke and the stink, the cargo 4’s interior was on fire now, las fire having ignited everything flammable in the vehicle. Sel tried not to think about what hits to the fuel tank might do, though realistically this was unlikely. With a crunch the cargo 4 mounted the curb and trundled into the glass window of a bakery. With a tremendous crash the window exploded inwards in a storm of glass. The cargo 4 bounced off the wall and continued to grind against the ferocreate. Kayden and Sel leaped inside, clambering over the ruins of a display shelf, crushed pastries and pies tacky beneath their boots, the sweet smell of sugar and spices cloying their noses. The interior of the store was lined with similar, if undestroyed, display cases filled with baked goods and confections of all kinds. Possessed by some imp of the perverse Sel plucked a peppermint stick from a jar and stuck it between her teeth like a lho stick.

“Looting Corporal?” Kayden asked, trying to scrap chocolate cake off his dress boots.

“Bolstering the morale of the Emperor’s troops sir,” Sel replied around the peppermint stick.

Las fire crackled in from the street as several gunmen broke from their concealment, apparently willing to risk a rush. If Sel was expecting screaming cultists she was disappointed, they came on firing, lookinging way too professional for her liking. They wore no body armor but carried what looked like standard Astra Millitarum pattern las guns, and thank the Throne they had no grenades or heavy weapons! Sel ducked down behind the counter and checked the power gauge on her pistol in the vain hope that it had been miraculously refilled. Unfortunately it seemed the emperor had other plans.

“Brace yourself!” Kayden shouted as the enemy rushed in guns blazing.

While I had studied military tactics extensively at the scholam, and with no small measure of pride I can safely say I was a natural, you did not need to be a strategist to realize Sel and I were in a bad way.

In fact despite the mundane circumstances of being hunkered down in a bakery, there are only a handful of times in my long and illustrious career I can say I potentially came closer to death. A good ambush with the right equipment could cripple an astartes battle group, and we had certainly been caught with our pants down, and not in the way I typically enjoyed. Even now I can still recall the crackling of shattered glass as the paramilitary squad stepped past the threshold of the shop, firing above us to keep our heads down while they coordinated themselves to encircle and destroy. Sel held herself commendably with a stoicism I was envious of. Though I tended to believe myself a learned and worldly man, I felt as if our association was scraping away the last shred of inherent sexism I did not realize I still possessed as I was awed by how many women in her position would simply scream or throw themselves on the mercy of our attackers. However, the thought was very brief, when it hit me that most civilian men would do the same, and the women under my command were made with just as much grit and strength as I had. The mind tended to break it's usual habits when under threat of death, bringing out odd and untoward thoughts. However, it did grant me the will to save our lives, Emperor be praised. As I dwelled on the strength of the men and women serving under me and compared them to the ponces I had just left, it brought out an old hatred in my breast. I had joined the guard for a reason, and it was not to cower and wait for death in a throne damned cakery.

"Corporal, I need a distraction!" I said over the din of the lasbolts and autogun rounds shearing through the timber and stacked cakes we knelt behind. One round struck the edge of the table just above my head, sending my head flying to our feet. Sel gave me a look.

"Sir?"

"Just for a second." I assured her. I could see in her eyes that she saw I had a plan, and she nodded. Sel scooped up a handful of cake, and flung it into the air behind us, rolling to the end of the counter on its right side and returning fire. Only later would I realize she actually managed to incapacitate one of the assailants with some fine gunwork. In the meantime, as all of their guns were baring down on her position, I rose from behind the counter, planted the barrel of my gun on the edge to keep it steady, and set my sights on one of the nooks along the walls of the shop. Before the utter decimation of the niceties, the establishment had various indentions in the walls, like small alcoves, with three levels top to bottom where they would set various cakes on display. Behind the top cake on each nook were large sockets where the lumen above them recieved its power. If I had an autogun, this might not have worked. As it stood, I had a laspistol in my hand, and something every guardsmen and potentially every civilian knows, is that you should never aim at an electrical socket with a lasgun.

The effects are volatile.

I pulled the trigger, the lasbolt flying past the swathed men to strike the socket. It burst in an explosion of electricity and flames, popping like fireworks at close range. The gunmen flinched, one catching a stray rush of flame, desperately trying to quench it before it spread from his shoulder to the rest of his body. Suddenly, for a precious few moments, the highly disciplined squad was caught disorganized and distracted. It gives me no pleasure to say that Sel and I did not hesitate. I turned my gun on the closest man, who's autogun had been swinging in my direction before he caught the concussive force of the blast, staggering him. I dropped him with two shots to the neck, and nearly burned off the leg of the next man. He fell forward, my second and third shots ending his life before he hit the floor. Sel's lasgun punched through the chest of the last assailt with a burst of lasbolts, and we rose from out behind cover, I rounded the side and Sel vaulted the counter, sending cake and debris to the ground with the swing of her legs.

"Do you smell that?" I asked, raising my head and glancing around. It was a familiar odor, but the firefight had knocked away my senses for a moment.

"What?" She asked, checking the bodies to make certain they were dead.

"Burnt meat." I remarked. Sel raised her brows and gestured to the bodies. I shook my head. The meat I was smelling was spiced. Then it came to me, mere seconds before Morek did. An engine rumbled, and the squat skidded into view on a small salamander, the vehicle ramming through an overturned groundcar. The bearded abhuman had beef jerky in his mouth as usual, and goggles over his eyes. There were scorch marks on the armor plating, and a lasgun strapped to his barrel chest. I smiled, showing my perfect white teeth.

"Just in time, Morek."

There was no skill more essential to an Imperial Guardsman than the ability to stare fixedly at a point six inches above the head of whomever was dressing her down and betray absolutely no expression. Sel was a past master of this most essential of field crafts and demonstrated her skills as she stood in Major Sour's office, her fine dress uniform burned and torn, a great white splash of confectioners sugar across the front of her blue tunic and her feet lacquered to the polished stone floor but what both smell and texture suggested might be toffee. Kayden in marked contrast had come off rather better, with only a parted seam and a slight disheveling of his hair. The office had once belonged to some minor priest or functionary but devotional tapestries had been replaced with acetate maps marked up to show the city and its environs. Fuzzy pict plates showed aerial reconnaissance views of unfamiliar terrain and there were even a few stills from the gunpicters sentinels used. A faint smell of incense and old body powder over lay the more recent scent of lho sticks and recaf, a pot of which burbled on a hexamite stove in the corner. Sour pointedly did not offer his guests a cup.

"Why is it, that when there is trouble I may depend on finding you two caught up in it," Major Sour asked acidly. Sour was a beefy man, not fat exactly but too fond of food and drink to stay lean in a rear echelon posting like regiment XO. He had been a famous duelist in his youth and still bore a dueling scar on the left side of his face but that fame and that youth had been long ago. Sour was also a man who bore a grudge, his service record and seniority might have seen him elevated to colonel but his lack of political saavy had seen him passed over in favor of a politically connected officer. It was a bitter blow, a colonel might hope to one day elevate himself to the general staff but an aging major could look forward only to thankless work, the faults in which would fall to him and the success laid at the feet of his chief. It was too his credit that Sour did not avenge that disappointment on his juniors. Usually he didn't. Sel couldn't imagine that having to deal with an even younger, even better connected officer was doing the jowly old troll's ulcers any good.

"Sir," Kayden said in a reasonable and respectful tone, "I do not believe Corporal Seldon and I can be blamed for defeating an insurgent attack." The word defeated hung in the air and Sour glowered, unable to deny that it had been a win, albeit one so narrow that it made her palms itch. She didn’t know why being jumped in a supposedly friendly city made her so much more edgy than being bushwhacked out the back of beyond but there it was.

“Yes… Corporal Seldon,” Sour acknowledge in a tone so dry that Sel could almost feel the pages of her personnel file being judged and found to be considerably short of the mark. Sour tried to catch her eye but Sel expertly kept her own gaze fixed on her imaginary aiming point, her face so blank an neutral that she might have been a tailors dummy for all the emotion it conveyed. Sour, having played this game with soldiers his entire life, gave it up as a bad bargain and returned his attention to Kayden.

“Yes, well,” Sour continued dismissively, “you weren’t the only one that got shot at you know.” That was true, a handful of snipers had opened fire on the barracks at precisely the moment the ambush in the street was sprung. Snipers might be stretching the point though because not a single trooper had so much as been wounded. That was an odd contrast with the cold professionalism of the hit squad that Sel and Kayden had dispatched, more by luck than skill, and it made Sel even more nervous. Perhaps the enemy only had so many trained people and had used them all to try to eliminate Kayden. Sel supposed that after the spectacle at the palace it would be a public relations victory if nothing else.

“Yes Sir!” Kayden replied with a crisp enthusiasm that, while no doubt genuine, made Sour give him an irritated look. There was no way he could come down on a junior for such an appropriate response. He made a show of leafing through some papers on his desk, though it was a fair bet the sheets of flimsy held no new information.

“Ever consider a career in the holos Caradwalden?” Sour asked, which nonsequitor was so sudden that even Kayden was momentarily at a loss for words.

“Sir?” he asked in genuine perplexity. Sour produced a pict slate and turned it to face the pair. On it Sel could see footage of Kayden catching the prometheum bomb in one hand, then lobbing it back into the window. The view, which appeared to be from the other side of the street, showed a much better view of the resulting fireball, even highlighting three bodies behind the inferno in the moment their bodies were engulfed. If there was audio it was turned off, but a banner along the bottom of the screen read: “Lord Lieutenant Caradwalden single handedly defeats assassins.”

Nobody spoke for a long moment. A Lord Lieutenant was a rank at sector level, something someone in line to become governor might hold. A screw up like this, if it caught on, might well lead Kayden personally and the regiment generally into extremely dangerous waters. Clearly the vid had come from local newscasters, probably paparazzi who had followed Kayden from his dinner party.

“Hey!” Sel interjected without thinking about it, “he wasn’t single handed!”

“Seldon,” Sour said in the tone of a man wearier than words could describe. “Kindly keep your mouth shut for the remainder of this interview.” Sel opened her mouth to say Sir, then hastily closed it and nodded.

“This is already all over the city and by nightfall you will be a Throne damned local celebrity, which I’m sure to a glory hunter like you, does not seem like a problem,” Sour continued.

“Sir..” Kayden protested, but the Major was in no mood and he continued talking over the top of his subordinate.

“Which means, every damn insurgent in the city is going to want to blow whatever you have out of your head, and worse people standing beside you are likely to get it in the neck as well,” Sour grumbled. He softened slightly, as though embarrassed by his own vehemence.

“What we need is to get you out of here for a few days while things get settled down… fortunately a local noblewoman, one Baroness..." he paused to actually consult his papers before continuing. "Baroness Arsenault has asked for an Imperial Guard assessment of her estate and her household troops…”