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The Strength of Symbols – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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THE STRENGTH OF SYMBOLS

Carrie Harris

Med-ward four of the Cadian 214th base camp on Thrax III was unusually quiet. Long lines of beds sat in exacting rows, mutilated patients covered with pristine white sheets. A few of them stood empty, awaiting the inevitable deluge of wounded. The beeping and hissing of various medical devices provided a calming, rhythmic soundtrack, punctuated by only the occasional scream of pain or hysteria. Medicae made their way through the rows with an equal balance of hurry and calm in this, the relative quiet before the storm.

Every med-ward in every camp Cathris Korr had seen had this exact same layout, and the consistency soothed her, even amidst the wounded and dying. Although she was newly transplanted into the 214th, she knew what to do without instruction. Regardless of rank or home world, med-ward staff always welcomed help as long as you were competent, and she had honed her skills over years of war in the Valhallan 73rd.

The ward was at eighty-nine per cent capacity, and orders from command were to return as many troopers as possible to the front lines in preparation for the push into ork territory. She’d been evaluating discharges ever since her company arrived on Thrax III a few days ago.

She consulted her data-slate and made her way towards the next bed. Male, Terran standard age twenty-two. Arm pinned beneath one of the monstrous ork transports. According to his self-report, he’d cut off the shattered limb, tucked a krak grenade into the treads of the war machine, and crawled to safety.

‘I am Medic Cathris Korr of the Cadian Two Hundred-and-Fourteenth,’ she said. ‘Trooper Sandu?’

‘That’s me,’ he said.

‘I will be conducting your pre-discharge evaluation today. This evaluation will determine if you will return to full duties or be sent to a designated Adeptus Mechanicus facility for the fitting of an augmetic arm. If you do not qualify for discharge at this time, you will be re-evaluated tomorrow. I will begin the evaluation now,’ she said, reading from the provided script. It was easier than stumbling past words she didn’t want to say.

‘Return to the field?’ he asked, his face going ashen. ‘So soon?’

‘Possibly.’

His lips went even paler as he nodded. Patients tended to fall into one of a few categories, and he was the silent and stoic type. But the fear came off him in waves, despite his efforts to suppress it.

She pulled her diagnostor off her belt and pressed her thumb to the activating rune. The specialised scanner made quick work of diagnosis, but all the knowledge in the world couldn’t save a trooper suffocating as blood filled his lungs or spilled out onto the battlefield. Only a skilled medic could take that data and use it to save a life.

Readouts streamed across the monitor. Everything within tolerance levels. She made a note to implement a few minor medication adjustments going forward.

‘Good,’ she said, clipping the device back into place. ‘Now let’s take a look at that arm.’

He followed her instructions, lifting the stub of the limb so she could remove the sani cover. The wound proved to be a jagged mess, a truncated piece of bone sticking out from beneath wet flaps of trimmed flesh. But no signs that would indicate infection.

Trooper Sandu stared fixedly at the ceiling. Beads of sweat clung to his upper lip, but he remained stoic as she began the painful process of cleaning the wound.

‘You ever fought an ork?’ he blurted.

‘No,’ she admitted, pulling a purified dressing off the bedside cart. ‘Most of the time, I was stationed at the field hospital. I did well enough that the Munitorum decided my skills were worthy of Cadia.’

‘Where’d you come from?’ he asked.

‘Valhallan Seventy-Third.’

‘Guess you’re one of us now.’ Sandu whimpered as she dabbed at the wound, closing his eyes against the pain. ‘Now, about the orks. Don’t believe what the prop-vids say – they’re more than just stupid beasts.’

Korr eyed the torn remains of the trooper’s arm. She’d seen enough to know that he spoke the truth. Her heart began to gallop at the mere thought of facing the ork hordes on the field.

‘Korr?’

The sharp bark of her name made her jolt to attention, but her hands didn’t betray her. They remained steady and certain, bolstered by years of training. The training would get her through. She just had to remember that.

She turned to see Solmon Mur-Bakar, a Mordian trooper from her squad. Although they’d only known each other for a short while, she’d grown to respect his capability.

‘Trooper,’ he continued, nodding at Sandu. ‘Apologies for the interruption, but do stop scaring my medic.’

‘I’m not frightened,’ she lied.

She half expected him to call her bluff, but when he turned back to her, all he said was, ‘Briefing in twenty.’

‘We’re moving out?’ she asked, swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat.

‘That’s my guess.’

Sandu’s injury glistened beneath the harsh med-ward lights. That could be her. But if he could be self-controlled, so could she.

‘What’s the verdict?’ he asked.

Command would want her to clear him. They needed every able trooper, and although he was missing an arm, his mind was clear. He could be of use, even if that use was to draw fire while his fellow troopers mowed the enemy down. But she could not lie to herself. If she cleared him, she would send him to his death.

‘On secondary examination, I see signs of infection in the wound,’ she lied. ‘I’m going to recommend that you be re-evaluated tomorrow. I’m sorry to say that you’ll miss today’s excitement.’

The tense fear trickled from Sandu’s face in slow stages, to be replaced with gratitude.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

‘It’s my job.’

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A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

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Cover illustration by Dave Gallagher.

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