Editing Love and Krieg Spinoffs (section)

==The Logs of 68th Krieg Field Artillery Regimental Commissar's Communications with the Commissariat==
''Administratum Note: The following transmissions were received from a Commissar attached to the 68th Krieg Regiment on a prior deployment, the desert world Saghalain.''
===Entry One===
Sir,

Throne willing, this reaches you in the best of health. You were absolutely right sir. My tenure in the Segmentum’s Propaganda Ministry was too long. I find myself disgracefully out of practice for my duties as a Regimental Commissar. I believe I understand your reasons for assigning me here to the 68th Krieger field artillery. The regiment is impeccably well disciplined. I took to heart your advice, that a good commissar should announce himself with a field execution within four hours of his arrival on post, but sir, in spite of my most rigorous scrutiny, I could find no breach of regulation anywhere.

Sir, I understand how unusual this may sound, but I’m not sure the 68th Krieger require a Commissar. I’m not sure what I am expected to do here. My duties seem vestigial, ceremonial, and Sir, there’s something else. They’re watching me, always watching. I know the sight of a guardsman at attention should fill any Imperial citizen with the warmth of the Emperor's confidence, but by the saints these people make me shiver; the glint on their lenses, the hiss of their respirators. Sir, I want my old assignment back. Please Sir, I’m sorry that your assistant and I… Sir it will never happen again. If you’d put me behind a desk again––Oh saints I can't send this. Delete that last part. Stop scribing. Oh, what was the command? Cease. Terminate. Desist. End. Hey, you there, Ensign, find the Enginseer. I’m having trouble with my servitor.


Recorded 4105988.M41
68th Krieg Field Artillery – Saghalain
Autoscribe Servitor #303440288
====Meanwhile, at the Commissariat====
"Commissar, the reason you were assigned to the 68th Krieg Field Artillery Regiment... was primarily to deal with any issues that may arise between your charges and the local civilians.  And to give them something resembling a normal human being to practice their social skills on."

*unintelligible*

"...you do realize that hysterical laughter followed by uncontrollable sobbing puts enough demerits on your record to lose Commissariat Ice Cream Privileges for a period of no less than one month?"

*unintelligible*

"No, I'm not...no, I'm not going to- WOULD YOU LET ME FINISH?!"

*throat-clearing noise, followed by exasperated sigh*

"No, I'm not going to take Mr. Buttons away. Teddy Bear Deployment Rights don't come under review unless you've done something like, say, suffer the Xenos to live."

*unintelligible*

"...What do you mean "the head of the PTA is a Lictor?"

*unintelligible*

"No, I don't care that it makes cookies."

*unintelligible*

"...wait, did you just say "Inverted Key Lime Double Fudge Chunk? That can't be possible, nobody's seen that STC in-"

*unintelligible*

"...I'll call you back."

*disconnection*

"Amberley?"

"Yes, Ciaphas?"

"Do you think I'm drinking too much amasec, or not enough?"

"...I'll pour each of us a double."
===Entry Two===
I’ve just completed the inspection of today’s muster. There isn’t really anything to log, as usual. The 68th continue to adhere to every directive in the primer, to the letter. Morale in the regiment is hard to gauge. I haven’t heard them saying anything seditious or heretical. I haven’t heard them saying anything. No executions yet. No reprimands to give, formal or informal.

The Astropath handed me the strangest communiqué from the Lord-Commissar. There was a lot of warp interference, but it sounded like––It’s better not to think of things at the old office. It doesn’t sound like he’ll take me back anyway that son of a––When did you get here? What are you doing in my tent? Well, say something. Who are you? Let me see your dogtags. Come on, I’ll take your number even if I have to read them myself.

Oh my throne, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were a––I didn’t realize this was a mixed gender regiment. I didn’t know Kriegers were ever, you know, girls. There button that back up, that’s better. I can read it just fine from here. Six Eight C Six Three Four Five. Yes, um, that will be all, dismissed. Go. There’s no reason for you to be in my sleeping quarters. Just, fine, I’ll go.


Recorded 4106988.M41
68th Krieg Field Artillery – Saghalain
Autoscribe #303440288
====Intercept====
"Speaking of poetry. While I was in the middle rubbing sacred unguents on my autoscribe to get it working again I found this note.

Rosen sind Rot,
Mohne sind zu,
Ich werde gehen nach Lebensborn
und Schlafen mit Du

I think 68c left it. But I don't speak Kriegermanish. Anybody got a clue what she's trying to tell me?"

"Ah yes, I recognize the beginning. It appears to be an archaic Terran verse, one known for its many variations. Pre-Unification certainly, in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it dates even further back than that. Let's see.

"Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I will go to Lebensborn
and-"

Oh. Oh my. Well then, I'll just take that from you and send you on your way. No lad, do not question your superiors. Back to work with you."
===Entry Three===
Sir,

I hope the Astropath doesn’t have any trouble understanding my penmanship. Forgive me if it causes any problems. I was wrong to assume these guardsmen had nothing to hide behind their respirators. They’re up to something, I’m sure of it. I used to think they didn’t speak at all, but I suspect they’re only playing dumb. It’s a ruse! I swear, sir, I’ve heard them mumbling to each other when they think I’m not listening. They’re coordinating something behind my back.

They’ve left someone to keep tabs on me every moment of the day. She’s there when I wake up. She follows me on my morning inspection. When the troop is on parade, their eyes are on her not me; at least I think they are. It’s hard to tell. I’m not sure how to proceed sir, she never leaves my side. I can’t even use my autoscribe for letters anymore. She’ll hear every word. She’s behind me now. I hardly ever see her move when she’s in my tent, but I swear she seems a step closer to me every time I turn around. Every day, she watches me until I sleep. She’s there when I wake up. I think it’s the same one every day, Six Eight C. I haven’t changed out of my uniform in three days. If I don’t think of something soon I’ll have to file a formal reprimand against my self for failing to pass inspection, Article 4733/67y.


4108988.M41
68th Krieg Field Artillery – Saghalain
===Entry Four===
It is the same one, watching me every day. I’m certain of it. I had my eye on her last night, and an idea came to me. As I was pacing my tent, writing my last letter, I bumped into her intentionally. I knew instantly that it was at the very least another female because of the soft, yielding feel of her chest, but that wasn’t the point of my plan. My pen left a stain on her right breast, just between the second and third buttons of her greatcoat. When I woke up this morning, the stain was still there.

I’m not sure what to make of it. I was certain my minder would leave when I slept, to report change shifts with a replacement for the next day. Something else must be going on. When does she find a moment to tell them everything I’m doing? When does she sleep? If she isn’t spying on me, then why, for the sake of everything that’s holy in the Imperium is she still in my tent. What on Terra could she want?


4109988.M41
68th Krieg Field Artillery – Saghalain
===Entry Five===
Commence. Begin. Initiate. Oh, it’s started already. Delete. Erase. Never mind. I might have been a bit hasty to jump to the conclusion that Six Eight C was informing on my actions. As certain I may be that I have never left her sight, I’m nearly as sure that she hasn’t been more than a pace or two away from me this whole week. As such, I have resumed the use of my autoscribe. Also, I am out of ink.

It’s awkward, I’ll admit, to talk about her in the third person. She’s right over there. She always is. I presume she knows whom the pronoun I keep dropping refers to. Or to whom it refers, or whatever. Why can’t my autoscribe have an editing cogitator? Anyway I suppose I’m beginning to get used to having her around. Yes, to having you around, Six Eight C Six Three Four Four. Or was it Six Eight C Six Three Four Seven? No. No, you don’t need to show me again it really doesn’t––Oh, Six Three Four Five, that’s uh, a very pretty, uh, number.


Recorded 4110988.M41
68th Krieg Field Artillery – Saghalain
Autoscribe #303440288
===Entry Six===
This afternoon I finally changed into a new uniform. It feels wonderful. I can’t believe it took me so long to think of a way to get rid of Six Eight C. It was so simple, I could have done it days ago. This morning I was inspecting the troops, as I always do. I was thinking of what a waste of time it always is, nothing to report, when I noticed my chance. The ink stain was still there where I’d made it, on her chest.

I prodded it roughly with my finger and said, “Guardswoman, are you aware of Article 4733/67y? That’s Ill-Treatment or Neglect of Accoutrements. Take her away” And that was all it took. I heard her make a sharp gasp in her respirator and then the sergeant was dragging her away. She kept staring at me, what a look.

Now I’m alone. What a feeling. It’s wonderful I can lounge in here in my shirtsleeves. I can say anything I want to my autoscribe, and tonight, oh tonight I can sleep alone. Tomorrow I can roll out of my cot and take my time slipping into a nice fresh uniform. All I have to do in the morning is heft my bolt pistol to the parade ground and––Throne on Terra She’s going to be shot! Sweet Sanguinius what do I do?


Recorded 4111988.M41
68th Krieg Field Artillery – Saghalain
Autoscribe #303440288

===Entry Seven===
''Administratum Note: The following transmissions were received independently with distinct identification markers, all apparently following the events of the previous transmission. For the sake of completeness, all three have been archived here and an investigation of their authenticity is ongoing.'' 
====Entry Seven A====
She almost died in front of me.

I don't know how it happened, but somehow, one of the enemies of the Imperium managed to get an artillery strike on the parade grounds. They must have managed to raid a supply dump for the shells; they were standard Krieg toxic gas. Apparently they found a makeshift launcher near the Hive covered in Chaos runes. I don't, I don't…

I was going to pardon her. Let her off with a lecture and restricted rations. But the shells hit before I had got to her, and, and, and

I don't know what - whoever it was who launched the attack - was thinking. All the Kriegers were wearing their masks. The only one at risk was me, of course, I didn't have mine on me. It was a parade, dammit! It was supposed to be safe territory!

She saved my life. It...it was the first time I saw her eyes when she wrestled her mask onto my face. It was the same look that my sister gave to me back before the days at the Schola, just a concerned look of someone not wanting to see someone they cared for hurt. Someone that they lo- they lo-

They're shelling the Hive. I don't have the heart to stop them. End. Stop. Get out. Get-


Recorded 4112988.M41
68th Krieg Field Artillery – Saghalain
Autoscribe #303440288

====Entry Seven B====
How did it come to this? I wasn’t a bad student in the Schola. Those posters I wrote in the Ministry ended up on walls all through the Segmentum. I’m sure I could have had my old, safe job back if I’d just kept my head down a little longer. That face, though, that haunting face would never leave my head. Those eyes, imploring me through the lenses were just––what could I have done.

I could spend the rest of my life, however short that may be, pondering about how I could have played it differently, if I hadn’t acted like a fool, or if I hadn’t had to be the hero. Funny that the bravest thing I’ve ever done is the blackest mark I’ll ever have on my career. I had to make a choice, a stand.

Throne, imagine the look on my old instructor's face when he heard I’d ended up with a Penal Legion. What a waste, a good name, with a good record. But, you know, I think I made the right choice. There’s only one face I care if I’ll see or not for the rest of my life, and the funny thing is I didn’t even see it for the first time until yesterday. Now at least I’ll get to see it until the very end. I told Six Eight C that the explosive collar brought out her eyes, and you know, I meant it. That’s when I knew it was all worth it. That’s when I saw her smile.


Recorded 4112988.M41
4th Penal Legion – Saghalain
====Entry Seven C====

Start scribing or whatever your activation code is, blasted Enginseer said he can't come have a look at you for another week, they're re-sanctifying all the Russes this week.

I did it, I saved her. It was awkward, it was unprofessional, and it's going to be even worse, but I used her as an example of wasting the Emperor's resources. They bought it. Every last one of them gave a solemn nod as I finished explaining that executing her would waste vital resources that the Imperium needs to continue fighting the Heretic, the Xenos and the Traitor.

However, after pouring over my dataslates, the only way I could commute the sentence was to assign her to myself personally, to ensure no more infractions are committed. When this was announced, I could have sworn I saw them all smile, or whatever passes as a smile under those masks.

By time I made it back to my quarters, she had already set up a spare bunk, had brewed a pot of recaf, and was tidying my desk.

It was then that it occurred to me: I had a Krieger for a maid.


Recorded 4112988.M41
68th Krieg Field Artillery – Saghalain
Autoscribe #303440288