Quite ironic he thought. Who’s brilliant idea was it to include the death notice right beside the “Soldiers Particulars”, right on fifth page of the book? Not that he would complain, made all the paper work so much easier when you did not have to flicker through the pages while filling all the death notices, which in Volkmann’s opinion were nothing short of pointless, seeing as they would never get past the Departmento Munitorum. Of course it boosted morale among the ranks of the guard to know that their kin would be informed of their “heroic deeds” in the service of the Emperor, but Volkmann knew better. The rabble would not be remembered for anything else but for their regiments name and where they would be annihilated.
He sipped the last of the tea, before telling Epsilon two-seven, the servitor looming at his door, to get his cup filled. He ripped the death notice out from the primer, and put it on top of the ever growing stack of death notices, and then proceeding with filling the next one.
Name? He looked over at the other page, “D.HENKINS”. Serial number? 87690. Rank?
Frak this, he thought and slammed the primer back onto the desk. He leaned back in his chair, trying to relax. He looked at the grey ceiling, trying to think, but his mind was constantly pulled back to all the waiting paper work. He looked at the desk, at stacks of Uplifting Primers and piles of dog tags, and then there was the brown box. He thought about taking another cigar, but resisted the temptation. Instead he waited for Epsilon two-seven to return, the expressionless servitor making its way into the room as quietly as it could, which honestly, it failed miserably at.
“Master, your tea as requested.” Volkmann took the cup, not bothering to thank the servitor, for it would not notice, or indeed care, whatever or not he did. He took a zip of the tea, before spitting it out, and pointlessly shouting, “Who is the blasted idiot making this tea!? Fool should be relieved of his duty!”
“Gunnery Sergeant S.Dienekes, lord, I shall go an-“
“Shut it.” Volkmann said, before sighing and handing the cup to epsilon two-seven, who, once again, tried to quietly move out of the room. He could almost hear the servos squeeze as the servitor moved, and made a mental note to have the Mechanium Adepts tend to the matter.
Then he sunk his head back into the paper work. Cause of death?
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