Fate

"It was fate."
"No it wasn't, it was Brevet-Colonel Maxim's poor decision, charging into a nest of Blood Pact without adequate support. Your fine shot saved her life¹"
"Better you than me saying that."
"What?"
"You're the commissar, other commissars shoot line troopers for saying such things."
"Not me, not Carmine, either."
"Maybe if she did, the stupid feth wouldn't have ordered them into battle then."
"I don't like your inference."
"Look, Commissar, Sir, I said maybe... There's no guarantee of competence in any human endeavour though, but I'm thinking you might want to expand your mind to the possiblity she was coddling them..."
"Warrant, why don't you shut up while you're ahead?"
"Huh?"
"I'm certainly not going to shoot you for it, but since she's the last survivor of that unit, you're speaking ill... of the dead. And I can still assign punishment details last I checked."
"Err, sorry sir, no one wins arguments like you, I must say." Sty saluted, stiffly, it was easy to forget Michael, for all his affable, man of the people demeanour, was a Regimental Commissar, for whom the difference between shooting someone because he didn't like them, and shooting them for cowardice in the face of the enemy were a few forms after the act...
"Carry on Warrant."

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1. See Sharp