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The Trial of Lucille von Shard – Extract

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The Trial of Lucille von Shard

Denny Flowers

The glorified tent was sweltering, the canvas doing little to repel the oppressive heat of the surrounding swamp. The press of bodies only made it worse, the soldiers of the Astra Militarum crammed onto foldout chairs. Two particularly burly specimens flanked me, ostensibly as my guards. But their true function was to ensure I fulfilled my assigned role. For I was their star witness, whether I wanted to be or not.

The prosecutor was already present. Tank Commander Baszler, still clad in her combat fatigues. Her shoulders were bare, the skin muddied and scarred from battle, but my gaze was drawn to her lower limbs. I do not know how she lost her legs. No doubt it was a tale of heroism and duty. But they had been replaced by steel talons reminiscent of an avian predator’s. She might have looked comical, pacing before the judges’ bench, her gait possessing a distinctly birdlike quality. But I recognised the look in her eyes. I had seen it before in both allies and enemies. They were the dead eyes of a cold-hearted killer, and her talons were sharp enough to disembowel a man with a single stroke.

I tensed as the tent’s vestibules peeled opened and Major Malechant strode into the makeshift courtroom. He was clad in his dress uniform, though it was already stained by swamp water, just like everything else on this accursed planet. On his left marched an officer of the Astra Militarum I did not recognise, but the man on his right was known to me. Flight Commander Gradeolous of the Aeronautica Imperialis, resplendent in his flight suit, his whiskers artfully crafted into boarlike tusks. He was not part of my squadron, at least not officially, though given our casualty rate that might have changed since the morning. As he passed, he nodded to me, and offered a cupped whisper that no doubt carried across the tent.

‘Steady, Flight Sergeant Jaymes. You need only speak the truth.’

My grip on my prayer beads tightened. The truth. As though it were that simple. As though my testimony would not condemn a comrade to death, or at best imprisonment in some penal colony. I suspected the former, for Malechant needed an example to be set. Perhaps that was why soldiers of the Astra Militarum were present, lasguns slung over their shoulders. Perhaps the trial was merely prequel to the execution.

Major Malechant took his seat at the bench, Gradeolous and the other officer flanking him. A triumvirate, ostensibly charged with determining the accused’s guilt. Except, given the way Malechant was conversing with Tank Commander Baszler, it appeared he’d already made his decision. I doubted the unknown officer would rule against him, leaving only Flight Commander Gradeolous. Alone, he could not overrule the others even if he so desired. His presence was merely to provide a veneer of validity to the proceedings, as would my testimony.

Malechant hammered the butt of his laspistol on the desk, silencing the whispers plaguing the confines of the canvas court. But he did not speak immediately, instead taking a moment to meet the gaze of those present. He seemed neither angry nor exuberant, his features arranged to convey the sombreness of the proceedings. When he spoke, it was almost a sigh.

‘I hereby convene this hearing in the name of the Imperium under the emergency powers pertaining to an active warzone. And, given how active this warzone is, I intend to conduct this trial with every expedience. I will not waste time repeating the circumstances that led us here, for most present witnessed what transpired, and those who did not will no doubt have heard of it from the survivors.’

He paused to glare at the attendees, but when his gaze met mine, it softened. Perhaps he sought to convey an apology, or sympathy for my plight. If so, his efforts were undermined by the presence of his guards. Indeed, all attending belonged to Malechant’s regiment. All except Flight Commander Gradeolous, the defendant and me.

‘Call Flight Commander Lucille von Shard to the stand!’

At his order the vestibules were flung open. In she strode, wrists manacled, her pale cheek bruised, perhaps by those who first detained her on our return to base. But her scarred lip wore a familiar sneer, and she walked with her head high. As she passed, she glanced towards me.

‘Tell everything, leave nothing out,’ she murmured, before being shoved forward by the guards, until she stood before the makeshift bench.

‘Flight Commander von Shard. You are charged with disobeying orders, dereliction of duty, and causing the death of hundreds of the God-Emperor’s soldiers. Do you have anything to say before we proceed?’

‘Anything?’ She frowned. ‘Well, if it pleases the court, I would quote the words of my father, renowned hero Colonel Horotha von Shard. I haven’t quite memorised the passage though, so, if nobody objects, I will make a brief trip to high command, pick up a few volumes of his memoirs, and be back here within a matter of days. Does anyone need anything?’

The butt of a lasgun struck her face, her head snapping to the side. She hissed in pain as the trial commenced.

It was but a day earlier that I’d watched the sun crest the misted swamps of Bacchus, its diffused light revealing the armoured convoy in all its glory. Admittedly, it would have been more glorious were the vehicles not clotted by the mire’s filth. The Chimera troop transports were theoretically amphibious, ideal for this sort of environment. But the mud was pervasive, penetrating viewports and clogging tank tracks. Travelling even a few miles required near-constant maintenance and clearance. Not that it mattered that day, for we had nowhere to go. The greenskins were coming to us.

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