Early Retirement
Muffled screams, battle cries and the inchoate dissonance of mixed weapons fire and explosions. Though the noises had drawn near all throughout the night even now, so close at hand, they seemed distant and removed. The midday sun filtered in through the high windows of the church, casting its interior in a blanket of color and contrasts. Thick walls kept the noise outside at bay even as errant gunfire raked across the old building’s stonework and blasted splinters from its wooden shutters. This was the sound of inevitability. This was the day he always knew would come.
Father Mathieu Richter stood at one of the front windows of the church, overlooking the central square of Kaltwald. Down the wide main avenue of the town he could see the foe coming. A mass of soldiers, clad in the liveries of Dornreich’s own PDF garrison, advancing towards the town centre. With indiscriminate volleys of weapons fire they scattered the citizens foolish enough to stand in their way and calmly cut down those who attempted to flee from their assault with disciplined ease. Some among the population had bravely taken up arms against the turncoats but their disorganized resistance was of little consequence to the attacking soldiers and the enemy pressed onward unabated.
At the window on the other side of the church’s main door a heavy bolter opened fire, spewing lines of explosive death into the ranks of traitors as they filed into the square. This, at least, seemed to be cause enough for them to slow their advance and take cover but it was certainly at best only a temporary setback.
The aged priest shared glances with a few of the other men standing vigil in the church’s interior. Fellow clergy like himself yet most far younger and appearing quite unaccustomed to the feel of weapons in their hands. Never the less, the air of quietude which had once blanketed the town of Kaltswald seemed still to hold some reign within the walls of the church. Every man assembled carried a look of fierce resolve, waiting upon a final note of calm for the coming battle. Their lives had steeled them for this moment despite the awkwardness with which they now took up arms. They carried pristine weapons, well-kept and untested like the very men who bore them. Both would be tried today. Peace and prosperity would be shown for the fleeting dreams that they were. The inevitable, the grim reality of existence, had finally caught up.
There is only war.
Richter turned and moved away from the window, taking deliberate strides down the central aisle of the church towards the raised altar at its far end. Though his weathered features creased with the same resolve as his fellows they carried something else none of them could have possessed. In just under a century of life the precious few years of peace he had enjoyed back here on his homeworld did little to dim the memories of the decades of bloodshed which came before them. While the aged priest bore a posture and vital gait which defied the truth of his long years there was nothing which could disguise the horrors of a past his ice blue eyes spoke so easily of.
As he ascended the broad steps up to the altar he paused to make the sign of the aquilla to the great statue of the Emperor which loomed above it before continuing. He approached the altar and lay a hand upon its edge, letting the pad of his thumb press to a hidden sensor which would verify his identity as he spoke a quiet incantation of opening to the mechanism’s machine spirit. With a resonant click the top of the altar swung slowly upward on a concealed hinge to unveil the items secreted within.
Most prominent of the items was a large chainsword which lay across the entire length of the hidden compartment. Etched with catechisms of damnation and adored with long-faded purity seals, the wicked teeth of the sword glinted even now like diamonds in the prismatic light of the chamber. Situated next to this was an elegant pistol of artisan design. It was slender and appeared almost fragile, with a mirror-polished blade which extended out a full foot from beneath its narrow barrel. Despite its delicate appearance, Richter smiled inwardly as he took it in hand and felt the weapon’s surprising, reassuring weight.
The priest quickly went about sifting through his effects, securing the sword and pistol in a mutual holster which situated them across his back. Most of the trinkets were just that, tokens from his past which had no immediate use. He fished out a small monocle from amongst them and affixed it over his left eye, its translucent screen flickering to life with a blinding scroll of unintelligible diagnostic information. Even so, a momentary jab of pain in his temple assured that the interface was still functional.
There was only one other thing Richter could think of and it was not something safely hidden away in secret. Moving away from the open altar he approached the pulpit where a thick tome lay open.
Bound in black and edged with plates of antiqued gold, the book was quite certainly ancient; written and expanded over the course of many centuries. Richter’s own hand had even contributed to its pages though such latter additions seemed almost out of place compared to the faded texts worn into the bulk of its pages. This was the same volume from which he read almost every day before his congregation, yet it was also the same he had carried on journeys to purge feral and alien worlds in the name of the God-Emperor. He ran his fingers reverently across the open page before turning unerringly to another, one far more familiar to him. The litany of battle.
