At first, all I could see was searing light and a barrage of explosions. But the hololith flickered, my seer-skull compensating for the glare. As the light dimmed, shadows coalesced into the imposing figure of an Imperial commissar, his greatcoat billowing in the wind, his peaked cap emblazoned with a winged skull. I could only just make out his eyes, but they carried the same steely determination I had witnessed during the Palatine Crusade. His jaw was carved in a grim line, but his manner bore not the righteous fury of the priest or penitent. Contempt was the only emotion I had seen him express. Contempt for those who opposed the Imperium, or those who failed to serve it to the best of their ability.

I did not wish to fall into the latter category.

‘Commissar von Shard?’ I said.

He glared at me. The link quality was still suspect, but I thought I could make out troops manoeuvring into position behind him.

‘Propagandist Simlex,’ he said. ‘I trust you have arrived safely on Bacchus?’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you for your concern.’

‘Thank only our God-Emperor,’ he replied curtly. ‘Has my sister seen my letter of introduction?’

‘Yes, sir. I handed it to her myself.’

‘Good.’ He nodded, glancing past me to something unseen. ‘Sergeant Vilma! Recalibrate the artillery! Focus on their left flank!’

‘Sir, if this is a bad time, I could–’

‘It is no matter.’ The commissar shrugged. ‘There is unlikely to be a better time. Not until we have broken these treacherous dogs.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Is the work progressing to an adequate standard?’

‘Yes, sir,’ I replied. ‘Though it might prove more challenging than I anticipated.’

‘Why?’

‘Some logistical issues. Local politics,’ I answered, unwilling to mention Shard’s name.

‘Then rise to the challenge, Propagandist Simlex,’ the commissar said. ‘Remember, you obtained this assignment due to my own personal recommendation. I do not offer such endorsements lightly. You will not disappoint me.’

‘Yes, sir. I will do my best.’

‘No, you will do better than that, for whilst I–’

His words were eclipsed by a deafening explosion. The image fractured, only to meld into the commissar, chainsword drawn, urging his men forward.

‘For the God-Emperor!’ he bellowed, his voice carrying even over the roar of his blade. It was difficult to follow what happened next, as his servo-skull was sprayed by a shower of blood, staining the lens crimson. Some moments passed whilst the vid-feed was restored, during which I was treated to blood-chilling screams punctuated by Commissar von Shard’s chainsword.

Abruptly, his face coalesced into view, the cap now askew and stained red. Behind him, the Guardsmen were surging forward, the battle apparently won.

‘My apologies, Simlex,’ the commissar said, adjusting his uniform and wiping his cheek. ‘I thank you for confirming your safe arrival and look forward to judging your final works.’

‘Thank you, sir. You will understand if I await your judgement with a little trepidation.’