by Dan Abnett
Streams of evacuees made it up from the docks onto the great viaduct and crossed on foot. The density of foot traffic on the railbridge was so great that many were pushed off and fell screaming into the river far below. Just after midnight, Zoican rockets ranged down the dock basin from the invading forces at the Hiraldi Bridge end to the east. Some fell on the docks or hit the water. Four blew out the central spans of the viaduct, toppling three of the great brick pier supports and killing hundreds. The viaduct as an evacuation route was finished, and those pressed on to the southern spans who had survived the rocket strike were trapped, unable to retreat back into the hive and reach the docks because the pressure of bodies behind them was so great. One by one, they were pushed off the shattered end of the viaduct.
A little after the destruction of the railbridge, Folik, steering his ferry on a return run across the Hass, saw lights and movement on the north shore to the east. Zoican motorised brigades were sweeping in along the far shore from the pipelines and the Hiraldi road, pincering round to deny the escape route. The Zoicans clearly intended no one should survive the destruction of the hive. By dawn, the Zoican army groups were assaulting the tides of refugees on the north bank. The hordes who had been lucky enough to get across the river were now systematically massacred on the far side. Perhaps as many as half a million were slaughtered outright. Hundreds of thousands fled, their numbers dissipating into the inhospitable hinterlands or the ruined outhabs.
Now there was no way across. The ferries returned to the south docks, many under fire from Zoican forces on the north side, and tied up. They were as trapped as the hosts on the banks now. A fearful hush of realisation fell across the multitude when they saw flight was no longer an option. The Zoicans began to fire across the river into the tightly packed refugees. Despite the wholesale killing, it was a matter of hours before the civilian masses began to draw back into the hive. It took that long for the message to filter back through the press of humanity to adjust their tidal flow.
Folik sat with Mincer on the foredeck of the rocking Magnificat, sharing a bottle of joiliq. They had decided not to flee. There seemed little point, especially now they were both roaring drunk. Sporadic enemy fire from across the Mass stippled the waters around them and smacked off the hull. Parts of the docks were ablaze now. Folik expected a rocket or mortar to blow them out of the water at any moment. He fetched another bottle from the wheelhouse and a las-round punched straight through the cabin window and out the other side over his shoulder as he stooped to reach into the steerage locker. It made him laugh. He stumbled back to Mincer. They decided to see if they could finish the bottle before they were killed.
Hass West Fort was encircled by the enemy and under siege. By dawn, it was close to destruction. Shells and rockets rattled into it from outside the Curtain Wall, and enemy troops and light armour pounded it from the manufactories and habs within. Captain Cargin, badly wounded, held his men together, barely six hundred of the five thousand with which he had started the night. There were virtually no gunners or artillerymen left alive, but that hardly mattered because all the munitions for the Wall and fort gun emplacements and missile racks were spent. The Vervun Primary troopers and their lasguns were all that remained. The fort itself was rattled with damage and lower levels were blocked or ablaze.
Cargin adjusted his spiked helmet and limped down the gate battlement, urging his men with a voice hoarse from hours of shouting. The rockcrete deckways were littered with dead. One of his men, Corporal Anglon, called to him. Through the smoke and flame, he had sighted something approaching through the outer habs.
Cargin took a look. Through his scope, he saw a colossal shape crawling through the suburb ruins fifteen kilometres south of the fort. Another death machine, he thought instinctively.
But this was different larger, slower. A huge pyramid structure, five hundred metres high at the apex, its mechanical sides painted Zoican ochre and decorated with vast, obscene symbols of Chaos. It moved, as far as he could see, on dozens of fat, wide-gauge caterpillar units that crushed everything in its path. A gouged trail half a kilometre wide scored through the habs in its wake. Its flanks bristled with weapon turrets and emplacements, and huge, brass speaker-horns on its summit, with Chaos banners fluttering from poles between them, boomed out the Heritor chant and crackled the inhuman chatter.
What is it? Anglon hissed.
Cargin shrugged. He was cold and weak from blood-loss and pain. Every word, movement, or thought was an effort of superhuman concentration. He unstrapped the handset of the vox-unit he had been carrying over his shoulder since his comm-officer had been killed some hours before.
Cargin/Hass West to Baptistry Command. Marker code 454/gau.
Received and recognised, Hass West.
We've got something out here, approaching the walls. Massive mechanised structure, mobile, armed. I'm only guessing, but unless there's more than one of these things, I'd lay real money it's the enemy's command centre. I've never seen a mobile unit so big.
Understood, Hass West. Can you supply visuals?
Pict-links are down, Command. You'll just have to take my word for it.
What is your situation, Hass West? We are trying to direct troop forces to support you.
Cargin sighed. He was about to tell Baptistry Command he had less than a thousand men left, most of them wounded, at the end of their ammo supplies, with no artillery support, and an ocean of enemy on all sides. He was about to estimate they could hold on another hour at the most.
The estimate would have been inaccurate by fifty-nine and a half minutes. Anglon grabbed Cargin's arm, shouting out as fierce lights blinked and fizzled in dark recesses down the centre of the pyramid side facing them. The vast Zoican vehicle shuddered and then retched huge, searing beams of plasma energy at Hass West Fort: cutting beams, like the ones that had dissected Ontabi Gate, but larger still and far more powerful, energy weapons of a scale usually seen in the fleet engagements of naval flagships. The roar was deafening, sending out a Shockwave that was felt kilometres away.
Hass West Fort and the gate it protected were obliterated. Cargin, Anglon and all the remaining defenders were disintegrated in one blinding instant. As the cutting beams faded, rocket and gunnery platforms all across the pyramid opened fire and piled destruction on the ruins. The air stank with ozone and static and fycelene. For half a kilometre in each direction, the Curtain Wall collapsed.
The pyramid machine began to trundle forward again, inching towards the dying hive, blaring the Heritor's name over and again.
Gaunt woke with a start, his mind spinning. Sleep had taken away his immediate fatigue, but every atom of his body ached and throbbed. It took him a moment to remember where he was. How long had he been asleep?
He clambered to his feet. The sacristy was chilly and silent, the Ecclesiarch choir long since finished.
Merity Chass stood nearby, gazing at the friezes of the Imperial cult. She wore his long overcoat and nothing else. She looked round at him and smiled. You'd better get dressed. They probably need you.
Gaunt recovered his shirt and boots and pulled them on. He could still taste her on his lips. He stared at her for a moment more. She was beautiful. If he didn't have a reason to fight for Vervunhive before, he did now. He would not allow this girl to perish.
He sat down on the pew and laughed to himself dryly.
What? she asked.
Gaunt shook his head. Such thoughts! He had committed the cardinal sin of any good officer. He'd placed his emotions in the firing line. Even now, he could hear Oktar's dirty chuckle in his mind, scolding him for becoming attached to anyone or anything. Over the years they had spent campaigning together, Gaunt had seen Oktar leave many tearful women behind as he moved on to the next warzone.
Don't get involved, Ibram, not with anything. If you don't care, you won't care, and that makes the hardest parts of this army life that much easier. Do what you must, take what you need and move on. Never look back, never regret and
never remember.
Gaunt buttoned his shirt. He realised, perhaps for the first time, that he had broken with Oktar's advice a long time since. When he had met the Tanith and had brought them as Ghosts from the deathfires of their world, he had started to care. He decided he didn't see it as a weakness. In that one thing, old Oktar had been wrong. Caring for the Ghosts, for the cause, for the fight, or for anyone, made him what he was. Without those reasons, without an emotional investment, he would have walked away or put a gun-muzzle in his mouth years before.
Gaunt got to his feet and found his cap, his gloves and his weapon belt.
He was trying to remember the furious notions that had woken him. Ideas, whirling
Daur burst into the sacristy. Commissar! Sir, we Daur saw the naked woman cloaked in the overcoat and stopped in his tracks. He turned away, flushing.
A moment, captain.
Gaunt crossed to Merity.
I must go. When this is over
We'll either be dead, or we'll be a noble lady and a soldier once again.
Then I thank the Emperor for this precious interlude of equality. Until the hour of my death, however far away that is, I will remember you.
I should hope so. And I hope that hour is a long time coming.
He kissed her mouth, stroked his fingers down her cheek, and then followed Daur out of the sacristy, pulling on his jacket and weapon-harness. At the door, he put on his cap and adjusted the metal rose Lord Chass had given him for honour. It was drooping in his lapel and he straightened it.
Sorry, sir, Daur said as Gaunt followed him down the hall.
Forget it, Ban. You should have woken me earlier.
I wanted to give you all the rest you could get, sir.
What's the situation now?
A holding pattern as before. Intense fighting on all fronts. The enemy has taken the north shore. And Hass West fell a few minutes ago.
Damn! Gaunt growled. They strode into the bustle of the Baptistry Command Centre. Additional cogitators and vox-sets had been added over night. Over three hundred men and women from Vervun Primary, the Administratum and the guilds now crewed them, working in concert with dozens of servitors. Major Otte was occupying the Font, as the command station was now known. Intendant Banefail and members of his elite staff assisted the major.
Many saluted as Gaunt entered the chamber. He acknowledged the greetings while taking in the details of the main hololithic display.
Just before it fell, Hass West reported seeing a massive mobile structure moving in towards them. We're fairly sure it is their main command vehicle.
Gaunt spotted the marker on the display. The thing was certainly huge, and now close to the western extremity of the Wall. The marker code spike'?
Banefail joined them. The distinguished lord was almost dead on his feet with fatigue. My fault, commissar. I referred to it as a bloody great spike, and the word stuck.
It'll do. What do we know about it?
It's a massive weapon, but slow moving, Major Otte said, crossing the floor to Gaunt. I guess we can assume it's well armoured too.
What makes you think it's the command element?
It's the only one we've sighted, Daur said, and its size clearly indicates its importance.
More than that, Banefail said, gesturing at a vox-set manned by a female Administratum cleric, two servitors and a withered astropath. It's the source of the chatter.
Gaunt glanced at the woman operating the set. She dialled up the speaker and the air filled briefly with the coded, incessant growl of the enemy.
The enemy vox-traffic unites them all, lisped the pallid astropath thickly. Gaunt tried not to look at him and the festoon of data-plugs stapled into his translucent scalp. The astropath lifted a bionically augmented, wasted limb and pointed to data runes flashing across the instrumentation. We knew it was coming from outside the hive and we suspected the source was Zoica. But it's mobile now and audio scans confirm it is being emitted by that structure.
Gaunt nodded to himself. Asphodel.
Banefail glanced around at the name. He's there? So close?
It matches his recorded behaviour. The Heritor likes to be near to his triumphs, and he likes to maintain intense control. He commands by charisma, intendant. Where his legions march, we will not find him far behind.
Golden Throne Otte murmured, looking at the display with frightened eyes.
Gaunt forced himself to look at the astropath. The stink of the warp hung about the cadaverous wretch. Your opinion? This chatter: could it be the control signal of the Zoican forces? An addictive broadcast that maintains the Heritor's hold over his zealots?
It is certainly patterned and hypnotic. I find myself reluctant to listen to it for any length of time. It is a Chaos pulse. Though we can't daren't interpret its meaning, the flow of the enemy troops and armour seems to match its rhythmic fluctuations.
Gaunt turned away, deep in thought. The idea that had woken him reformed in his mind.
I have a notion, he told Daur, Otte and Banefail. Send word to Major Rawne's units and to Sergeant Mkoll and his scout platoon. He ordered other preparations to be made, and then told Daur to fetch him a fresh box of bolter shells.
Where are you going? We need you here, sir! stammered Otte.
You have my full confidence, major, Gaunt said. He gestured to the hololithic display. The defence strategies are set in motion. You and this staff are more than able to direct them. I'm a foot soldier. A warrior, not a warmaster. It's time I did my job, the job I'm best at. And with the grace of the Emperor shining on me, I may take this field yet.
Gaunt took Heironymo's amulet from his pocket and felt it whisper and chuckle in his hand. The flickering light patterns on its carapace roiled like the twisting flashes of the Immaterium.
In my absence, Otte and Daur have field command. If I fail to return, intendant, you should signal Warmaster Macaroth and plead for salvation. But I believe it won't come to that.
The amulet gurgled and quivered.
This could work, thought Gaunt. God-Emperor save us, this could fething work!
SEVENTEEN
OPERATION HIERONYMO
I believe this Gaunt fellow is singularly overrated.
General Noches Sturm to Major Gilbear,
during the assault on Voltemand
A scratch company met them at 281/kl to guide them in. The company was forty strong and had been conducting guerrilla work in the southern outer habs before the Shield fell. Their leader, a powerful, saturnine ex-miner called Gol Kolea, saluted Gaunt as he approached. Gaunt looked every centimetre a leader, though the braid of his cap had been rubbed with ash to dull its glint. He wore the powersword at his waist and his boltgun in a holster across his chest, under a short, black, leather jacket. On top of that, draped expertly as Colm Corbec had instructed him during the first days of the Ghost regiment's existence, was his Tanith stealth cape.
The roar of battle thundered down the ruined streets beside them, but this sector was clear and quiet. Cold, morning light filtered in through the crackling Shield. Gaunt signalled his units up to join Kolea's scratch company: thirty men, all Tanith, pale-skinned, dark-haired warriors in black fatigues and stealth capes, their skin decorated with various, blue tattoo symbols. They were the cream of Rawne's unit and the pride of Mkoll's stealth scouts. Amongst them, Bragg, Larkin, Domor, MkVenner, Dremmond, Genx, Neskon, Cocoer, the medic Gherran most of the very best.
Gaunt was beginning to outline Operation Heironymo to his waiting squad when Rawne heard movement down a side street. The Ghosts and scratches fanned out and made ready, arming weapons freshly supplied for the mission.
A fireteam of ten Volpone advanced down the side street, led by Colonel Gilbear. They were all Volpone elite troops from the 10th: massive, carapace-armoured and holding hellguns ready.
Gaunt walked out into the rubble-strewn open to meet Gilbear. They saluted each other.
Not going in without the Bluebloods, I hope, colonel-com
missar? Gilbear said archly.
I wouldn't dream of it, colonel, Gaunt replied. I'm glad you got my message and gladder still you found your way here. Join us. We're about to move out.
Gaunt crossed to Rawne and Kolea as the Volpone meshed into the column spread.
I don't fething believe you invited them, Rawne cursed.
Keep your thoughts to yourself, major. The Bluebloods may be bastards, but I feel I have reached an understanding with them. Besides, we'll need their muscle when it comes to it.
Rawne spat in the puddles and made no reply.
I understand you're command now, Kolea said bluntly to Gaunt. May I ask what the gak you're doing here? Gnide and Croe never got their hands dirty.
Their command ethic was different, Kolea. I hope you'll appreciate my method of doing things.
Can you sign?
What?
Most of my company are deaf. Can you sign your commands?
I can, sir, Mkoll piped up.
Gaunt gestured to the scout sergeant. Mkoll can relay my instructions to your fighters. Good enough?
Gol Kolea scratched his cheek. Perhaps.
Gaunt could tell Kolea had been through hell in the last thirty-odd days. Courage and determination seemed to ooze out of him like sweat. He was not a man Gaunt wanted to be on the wrong side of.
They followed dingy, battle-worn streets out through the southern extremities of the hive, and they left the shattered Curtain Wall behind them. Mkoll's scouts led the way, directed by Kolea's troops. The bulky Volpone struggled to keep up with the swift, silent advance. Clear of the Shield, they were all exposed to the bitter rain.
You know these quarters well, Kolea. I guess they were your home, Gaunt remarked softly to the miner.
Correct. Just half a kilometre from here, I could take you to the crater where my hab once stood.
