Chapter 47: 1st Year: Reinforcement 2
POV: Commander Frag
I sat in my command sanctum, the dim light of a lone lumen-globe casting long shadows across the blood-smeared floor. Hans' voice crackled through the vox-channel, reporting 2nd Company Commander Jole's refusal to comply with direct order protocol.
"Tch. This is precisely why I would have preferred Varn for command of 2nd Company," I muttered bitterly, leaning forward on my war-scarred desk. "At least he understands the meaning of chain of command. But Jole... he's too damn eager for blood."
I sighed and pressed the vox-unit, transmitting my reply.
"Fine. Follow his lead. He's not wrong, anyway. My garrison is too depleted to repel another offensive by dawn. Just make sure he *hurries*. We can't hold the line for much longer."
Hans acknowledged the command with a brief affirmation before the vox went silent. I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly as the tension in my chest tightened like a servo-hydraulic clamp.
"Someone fetch Goss. Tell him I need him in my office immediately."
"Yes, Commander," came the muffled reply from beyond the door. The sound of hurried boots faded into the distance.
Minutes later, the steel door to my sanctum groaned open. Goss entered with his usual grim presence, his exo-suit stained with soot and machine oil. His multi-tool cybernetic arm twitched erratically, already eager for the next piece of ruined tech to mend.
"Ugh. What the frak do you want now?" he grumbled, grime smeared across his face, the scent of promethium and scorched ceramite clinging to him like a cloak.
I motioned toward the seat opposite me. He scoffed but dropped into it with all the grace of a servitor having a malfunction.
"I was mid-way through repairs on one of the eastern wall emplacements when your summons dragged me here. What is it this time?"
I clenched my fists under the table, suppressing the urge to reprimand his insubordination. Goss may be a tech-priest dropout, but he was the only one keeping the fortress from falling apart.
"You heard the casualty report, right?"
"Yeah. What of it?"
His disinterest grated on my nerves. I rubbed my temples and forced the words out.
"You *know* we're not going to survive another wave come dawn. I'm ordering your construction crews to arm up and prepare to defend the walls."
His eyes widened, surprise briefly overtaking the usual cynicism. Then, to my utter annoyance, he burst into laughter.
"You're going to throw untrained laborers into the meat grinder because you're out of soldiers? Hah!" He slammed the table with his cyber-arm, the servo-clamp rattling the dataslates.
I gritted my teeth, fully expecting ridicule. Not that I cared. Jacob and Leon's creed of shielding the innocent had its place in times of peace. But this was war. Brutal, unrelenting, and unforgiving. If a few had to fall to protect the many, so be it.
After a moment, Goss finally composed himself. He looked me dead in the eyes, an uncommon glint of respect in his gaze.
"No need to get worked up, Frag. I *respect* your decision. More of us need to be like that—willing to do what our precious high command won't. Jacob and Leon? Too soft. They'd rather throw themselves into the fire than ask others to suffer. Noble, sure. But not always smart."
He leaned forward, his tone gaining fervor.
"Mark my words, once we report the losses to Jacob, he'll wear the guilt like a penitence collar. Even though every single one of those soldiers *chose* to fight for him. Leon's bleeding-heart influence has shaped him too much."
He then pointed at me.
"But you and I? We're different. I fight for Leon. You fight for Jacob. We don't idolize them—we protect them. They are flawed, Commander, and we are the ones who must carry the burden they can't."
His cybernetic arm twitched wildly, as if reacting to the invocation of Leon's name. Neither of us paid it much mind.
"This galaxy is a graveyard, Frag. There's nothing left worth saving except those two. They are our lighthouses in this warp-damned storm. You followed Jacob because you want to carry a piece of his guilt. You want to be the strength he lacks."
His words struck deep. Because they were true. I had always believed in Jacob, not for his idealism—but for his *regret*. That same regret pushed me to shield him, no matter the cost.
"So let's be what they cannot be. The knives in the dark. The ones who make the hard calls while they carry the light."
He extended his soot-covered hand.
"For them."
I stared at it for a moment before grasping it firmly.
"And the construction workers?"
He grinned.
"Their lives are in your hands now, Commander. Make sure they die for something that matters."
The sanctum fell silent, save for the distant sound of hammers and welding torches—the calm before the next storm.