Commissarial Red Sash
"Well, don't you look striking with that red belt on you!" Stacey's voice sounded flirty to me.
"It goes with the uniform." I replied, a bit lamely.
"Does it? Then why are you the only one with one?" She asked, clearly proud of her observation skills.
"I am the only commissar."
"What's that exactly?"
"I keep up the morale of the troops, ensure good behaviour, bail them out of jail for being a bit too boisterous, that kind of thing." I should have stopped the conversation, long ago, I enjoyed looking at her, but it was clear she had ulterior motives... As a Commissar, I was supposed to know better.
"My, so you keep these killers in line?" She said, eying me with respect I seldom got, let alone from civilians... It was a powerful drug. It was also entirely inappropriate.
"With my voice of command, my sash, and my chainsword and pistol, if need be." I said, my voice entirely too tinny for the effect I was trying for.
She purred. "It's been too long since someone's been around to keep unruly citizens in line here at Elena. We've gotten naughty, some of us..."
What was she saying? Was she saying what I thought she was? My thoughts raced, my body on fire. I wasn't a virgin, but I certainly was more used to woman as superiors, peers, underlings, all of whom were untouchable within the regiment. I gulped, audibly.
"Will you administer discipline, Commissar Goldenrod? With your... sash and your other equipment?"
My mind was swimming with images. Other commissars had disciplinary tools such as she alluded to, like a riding crop or a baton, but my regiment had eschewed these for countless eons, the word of a commissar to enforce discipline had been enough for all our soldiers for some time, and besides, it would have looked bad if Terran-born soldiers had needed more, we were the elite, after all. And damn her, that fine behind, I could see myself giving her a few spanks, indeed. "..."
"Will you... spank me, Michael?" The way she said my name... it was a caress, and it promised more. God-Emperor forgive me, but I should have stopped her, and I didn't.
"I was in the Sanctum Imperialis, the holy of holies, the most protected place in the Imperial Palace, a structure so immense, it is visible from orbit with a naked eye." Michael was telling Jeannissa, Rememberancer Iulivit and his other houseguests about the time he met the Imperial Regent, at their request.
"That's when you met him?" Iulivit was sipping some drink his host had gotten for him, said it was 'single malt' and it was putting fire in his belly, indeed.
Jeanniessa, possessed of tastes more like the Imperial Navy's had declined, and gotten herself a tipple of Sacra. With the fall of the planet, and it being survived only by a single regiment, only her Great-Great Grandfather Michael could even dream of getting his hands on a bottle, and the price would have watered her eyes. "Hush, let great-gramps tell the story..." The ancient women in the room nodded in agreement, wearing only houserobes and clearly considering Michael, if not the youngins "intimate".
"I got lost, at first, the Sanctum is only a part of the Palace, but even it is huge beyond your imaginations, and I had not learned the expedient of always being accompanied by one of the scribes who doubled as guides in that place... I ran into the aurumite armor of one of the Emperor's own Sentinels, by mistake, and had the most frightening experience of my entire life..."
"What was so scary? You've been shot at so many times, lost at least one arm, and one leg, thankfully, all restored, what could he have done that could have scared you?" Iulivit's mouth was running at a frantic pace, and so Jeanniessa walked over, and diplomatically, invited him to join her in a toast to her ancestor, hoping it'd get him quiet...
"He... recognized me, and called upon me, by name... Marsha here can tell you just how disconcerting it can be, for one of us mere mortals, unaugmented, unarmored, to be in the presence of such a being, and worse, to be subject to their apparently eternal vigilance and scrutiny..." Marsha only nodded, sipped some of her own Sacra, and then saluted the Custodian assigned to her, still by an unknown(to her) agency, and for an unknown, again, to her, purpose, standing behind the couch to give them as much privacy as he could. She'd gotten to know it was a sign of deep and abiding respect even beyond having such a priceless warrior, whose very existence normally only consisted of serving the emperor, be concerned with both her survival, and her feelings upon the matter. "A Custodian knew your name?" The Sentinel had never addressed Michael outside of near-combat situations.
"The Tribune Heracleon, Master of the Custodian Guard, second only to the Captain-General himself, addressed me by my name that day."
The others went very quiet, even without recognizing the name, when they saw the Custodian' deeply tanned skin grow pale. "An honor one cannot earn without more years of service you can possibly give to the empreror, Commandant."
"I knew that, give me some credit... He said: 'Michael Goldenrod, Lord-General Commissar of the Officio Praefectus of the Astra Militarum.' His voice boomed in the large room. 'I am Tribune Heracleon, Master of these Custodian Guards, I have been given orders, should I find you. And by the favor of the emperor you walk up to me...'"
"I said: a million apologies my lord, there must be some mistake, I am only a middling officer of the Praefectus, I cannot possibly be of interest to someone so puissant as you..."
"There is no argument you could make that could stop a tribune from executing his orders, and no chance for you to prevent me doing so... You will come, or you will be brought. I know not what purpose the Regent has for you, but he demanded you be admitted fortwith, without delay, and with the minimum possible amount of 'fuss', yes 'fuss' was the word the Primarch Roboute Gulliman used, and I would not disappoint him, nor would I advise you do so..."
"My legs had the consistency of rubber and had been so since he recognized me, I tried not to embarass myself, repeating 'my lord' as meekly as I dared, and attempting to walk, until he grabbed me by the collar of my uniform, and thrust me within..."
"Oh, my aide has found you, good." The mighty Regent of the imperium was reading a book. "I have an important responsibility for you to take upon, for me."
"I was in my full-dress uniform, with all my medals, since I was there to meet other Commissars, hopefully for dinner, and perhaps a bit of poker, truth be told, and strange officers react well to my medals."
"Any medals that are especially impressive?"
"The medal for inquisitorial service always gets a good long look..." Carmine Petit, Inquisitor Lord Terran of the Ordo Militaris coughed in her petite hand.
"But the one that gets everyone's craw sticking is the multiple triple-skulls." Jeanniesse stated, her own triple-skull medal shining in the firelight. "Most regiments don't even allow multiple awards of it... But any regiment with the right to Emblason "Siege of Terra" on their regimental ensign, gets an exception.
"Michael's one of only three people with multiples, and since the regulations only allow a bar after three, he's the only living recipient with a bar on his skulls." Carmine's own two skulls glistened conspicuously in the light.
"How many does he have?"
"Three."
"Is there someone who's had more?"
"There's a regimental story among the 8745th Montral Fusilliers "Terra"... It said, and it's so old, it's more myth and legend than truth by now, that originally the Commissar's Sash was Black. This was thought to encourage commissars to only think of efficiency, of driving the troops forwards."
"Ok, macabre, but this is a regiment of the Imperial Guard, so not unexpected."
"This was a story about a predecessor regiment, of which we were the prolongation, although I haven't been able to pinpoint the exact refounding, it was in the three digits, sometime in the seventh millenia, if the tales are true..." The room quieted, twenty millenia was pretty old for anything to have survived, and often involved outlandish stories about the men of Iron
"There was this commissar of the Fusilliers, a Nash Katchum, said 'can't remember them all', so Nash 'can't remember them all' Katchum, but that name came after the events I'm about to tell you.." Michael had loved hearing this grim tale from his mentor, but they, and Carmine, had argued, fiercely, about any chance at authenticity it had...
"He was a firebrand, a martinet, a Commissar like you hear in the stories, who lives only to fight the enemies of the Imperium, restless, relentless. By that time, he had not only gotten a bar for triple-skills, but the bar numbered twenty-seven skulls, to indicate he had been awarded the medal, for surviving the near wipeout of his comrades, nine times...
He was with his unit, on Mars, fulfilling ancient pacts, when they were attacked, it's not clear by who. They wiped his entire unit, and, taking one look on his face, their leader, cruel beyond imagination, chose him and said: 'let that one live, let him tell the others of our might, of our glory.
When the knights gallant found him, his sash was red with his own blood, he had eaten his service weapon, rather than receive a tenth award. My mentor, and Carmine's, Lord-Commissar-General Oktar, told me that the moral of the story, is that he was afraid it had happened so often, he could not remember all the faces of the fallen, and since he had taken an oath, like all the members of the fusiliers at that time, to always 'remember the fallen', he simply could not continue, not while remaining himself. It is in the regulations that one cannot earn a second bar, which one would earn upon a tenth award, and indeed, one can only earn a bar for three awards or more, and only if one is from a regiment where multiple awards had occured before he got his bar.
"So that's why great-great aunt Carmine has two? The Vandoos had recipients that far back?"
"Yes." She looked at Wanda, Marsha, then Michael. "I do believe it's possible all the living recipients of the award, even singlets are in this room. It's sometimes awarded posthumously, for surviving just long enough to avenge your fallen..."
"You never said what the regent wanted with you..."
"Oh, I'm afraid that'll be a tale for another day." Michael smiled, they were hooked, it was nice to be able to tell stories to a rapt audience.
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