by Dan Abnett
Beyond, to the north, the towering heart of the Mons rose, full of secrets and malice. Implacable, immense, as solid as a mountain peak, it lowered above the outer compartments, half-visible in the night, as ugly as a death threat.
The Valkyrie flew on, down the long fourth compartment, where yet more mighty rivers of military traffic flowed onward. A significant portion of Van Voytz’s commitment was heading for the bitter fifth compartment hot zone. Gaunt understood that the Imperial forces were at least making some headway in the fifth. Given the weight of the reinforcement coming through, he was hardly surprised.
They came in under the cyclopean arch and entered the fifth. Far ahead, down country, the baleful glow of a battle lit up the night, amber and red. Gaunt sighted the post, brightly-lit by radiant ground lights and stab-beams, over to the left of them. Another long column of armour and transportation was moving north below.
The Valkyrie circled in, and began its descent towards the wide table of basalt west of the post that served as a landing pad. They touched down with a gently controlled thud and the engines cycled down.
Gaunt slid open the side hatch and jumped out, Eszrah behind him.
“Do you want me to stay on site, sir?” the pilot called out.
Gaunt nodded. “Yes, thank you. As long as you can.”
“Turn-around checks, please!” the pilot shouted to the approaching ground crew. Ten minutes!”
Gaunt and Eszrah hurried up the path towards the house that served as the focus of the post. The low, hillside area around it was encrusted with thousands of habi-tents, like barnacles on the skin of some sea-monster. There was a din of engines from the nearby trackway as the relief column rolled past, without beginning or end. The post itself was bustling with personnel.
“Who’s the post commander?” Gaunt asked a passing Kolstec NCO.
“That would be Marshal DeBray, sir.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He’s already gone forward to the front line, sir.”
“So who’s in charge here?”
“Colonel Beider, sir. Sarpoy 88th.”
“And where would he be?”
The NCO shrugged. “Maybe in the main dug-out? Or you could try—”
“Never mind,” said Gaunt. He walked past the NCO towards a figure he’d just spotted in the crowd. An old man, all on his own, watching, waiting.
Gaunt began to walk faster, pushing through the crowds. The old man turned, and saw him coming.
Gaunt took a few, last steps, and dropped to his knees in front of him.
“Ayatani father,” he whispered. Zweil bent down and laid his hands on Gaunt’s shoulders, gently urging him back onto his feet. The priest gazed up into Gaunt’s face. There were tears welling in Zweil’s ancient eyes.
“I’ve seen plenty, life I’ve had,” Zweil said. “But the sight of you here gives me the most joy.”
“It’s good to see you too,” said Gaunt. He swallowed hard. “I’ve been a long time without blessing, father, too long. My sins are heavy on me. Sometimes, I think they’re too heavy now to be lifted away, even by the beati.”
“She’s a strong lass,” Zweil said. “I’m sure she’ll be up to the job.”
Zweil continued to stare into Gaunt’s face. “By all that’s holy, Ibram, you have been to hell, haven’t you?”
“It wore a different name, but yes.”
“I like the beard, though,” said Zweil.
Zweil led Gaunt up towards post command, his arm linked around Gaunt’s for both comfort and support. Ayatani Zweil, permanently ancient, had become much more old and frail since the last time Gaunt had seen him.
“Rawne’s here?”
“Yes, yes. You’ve lost weight too. Have you not been eating?”
“Father…”
“And you’re hurt. These scratches on your face.”
“Yes, father. There was a battle.”
“And your shoulder. What’s wrong with your shoulder?”
“A wound. A flesh wound.”
Zweil tutted. “Flesh wound? Flesh wound? They’re all flesh wounds! No one ever says “Ooh, look! I’ve just been shot in the bones, but it missed my flesh completely!” It’s a load of old nonsense, is what it is. It’s a phrase you heroic warrior types trot out so you can sound manly and stoic. “Bah, it’s just a flesh wound! Only a flesh wound! I can carry on!” Nonsense!”
“Father—”
“I’ve heard men say that when a leg’s come off!”
“Father Zweil…”
Zweil suddenly leaned close and whispered up into Gaunt’s ear. “I don’t want to worry you, Ibram my dear boy, but there’s a very large man following us. Very large. Great tall fellow. He looks pretty sinister to me, but I’m sure you’re aware of him, ever-vigilant coiled spring that you are.”
Gaunt halted and turned.
“Eszrah? Come here.” The Nihtgane approached.
“Eszrah ap Niht, of the Gereon Untill. This is my old friend Father Zweil of the Imhava Ayatani.”
The towering partisan nodded slightly in Zweil’s direction.
“Biddye hallow, elderen,” he said.
“What did he say?” Zweil asked, sidelong to Gaunt.
“He greeted you.”
“He’s very tall. Alarmingly tall. I say, you’re very tall, sir.”
“Hwat seythee?”
“I said, you’re very tall. Tall!” Zweil gestured with his hand above his own head. “Tall? You know? Not short?”
“Hwat, elderen?”
“Is he simple in the head, Ibram? He doesn’t seem to understand.”
Eszrah looked questioningly at Gaunt, nodded towards Zweil and plucked his fingers away from his lips.
“No, that’s all right,” Gaunt said. “I’ve suffered him this long.”
“That was a rude gesture, wasn’t it?” Zweil whispered to Gaunt. “He just made a rude gesture towards me.”
“No, father. He was just concerned for my welfare.”
“Hnh! Tall is one thing, rude is quite another. Strange acquaintances you pick up in your travels, Gaunt.”
“I’ve often thought so,” Gaunt smiled. “Now, where’s Rawne?”
“In here, in here,” Zweil muttered, pushing open the doors into the wards of the infirmary. A smell of counter-septic and body waste suddenly filled the air. Medicae personnel were treating the latest batch of wounded shipped back from the fifth compartment front line.
“This way!” Zweil called breezily, apparently oblivious to the suffering around him. He strode on into the field theatre.
Gaunt followed him and came to a halt. The massive, badly damaged corpse of a semi-mature stalker lay on the theatre bed. A masked surgeon was in the middle of a rigorous autopsy.
The surgeon looked up at the interruption and slowly set down his bloodied instruments. He struggled for a moment to take off his gloves and mask, and then came quickly across the room to Gaunt and embraced him.
“Throne of Terra, Ibram!”
“Hello, Tolin.”
Dorden took a step back. “Let me look at you,” he said. “Feth, is it really you?”
“In the flesh.”
“That’s why I brought him to you first, doctor,” Zweil said. “So you could look at him. He has a flesh wound, he says. In the flesh, precisely, in corpus mortalis. He blusters he’s fine, but you know these warrior types. Off comes a leg and they blither on regardless.”
“You’re hurt?” Dorden said. “Leg, is it?”
“Just ignore Zweil for a moment. I’ve scraped a shoulder. You can look at it later. Rawne’s here, isn’t he?”
Dorden nodded.
“Was this his idea?” Gaunt asked, gesturing to the autopsy.
“One of your lot suggested it, actually. A commissar, Novobazky. He’s with Rawne. They dragged this carcass out of the scrubland with them.”
“Find anything?”
Dorden shrugged. “Yes. Things I’d rather not have found. But I’m sti
ll collating data.”
“I need to see Rawne. Do you know where he is?”
The hunting party was waiting in one of the larger habi-tents outside the infirmary. Dorden led Gaunt across, with Zweil and Eszrah behind them. Gaunt went inside the tent, and embraced Criid, Varl and Beltayn. Bonin shook him firmly by the hand. The Ghosts greeted Eszrah warmly too, though the partisan made no response. Rawne waited, facing Gaunt.
“Bram.”
“Elim. Same old, same old. Eh?”
“There’s only war, sir.”
“Show me what you have.”
“Introductions, first,” Rawne said. This is Kolosim, Eighty-First First.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you, sir,” Kolosim said.
“And this is Commissar Novobazky.”
“Gaunt,” Novobazky nodded.
“Commissar,” Gaunt nodded back.
“Over there,” said Rawne, “that’s Recon Trooper Kortenhus. On the cots there, Recon Trooper Maggs and, well, Mkoll.”
“Poor devils,” said Zweil.
Mkoll and Maggs were supine on simple bed frames. Both of them were hooked up to intravenous drips and bio-feeds. Both looked unconscious, cold, pinched.
“What’s wrong with them?” Gaunt asked.
“They went through,” Rawne said. “They left this planet entirely for a few minutes. Dorden says they’re hypothermic and run-down, but they’ll live.”
“They left this planet entirely for a few minutes?” Gaunt repeated.
“The proof you were asking for,” Rawne said.
“Start at the top,” Gaunt said.
Rawne recounted the hunting mission for a few minutes. What detail he left out was readily reinforced by Varl, Novobazky and Beltayn.
“Bonin said the back of the skull was the weak point, so that’s what I did,” Beltayn complained. “He’d already killed a stalker that way.”
“You killed a stalker by stabbing it in the back of the head?” Gaunt asked Bonin.
“Yeah. Sure,” said the scout. They’re not armoured in the back.”
“That’s not the point I was trying to make, sir,” Beltayn continued. “I tried it, on good faith, and—”
“Let’s move along,” said Gaunt. “Commissar Novobazky? Maybe you’d like to report?”
Novobazky nodded. “I can only confirm what these people have told you, Gaunt. The stalkers clearly enter the compartments via portals. Warp gates. I don’t know what you’d call them. They’re like trap doors, letting the bastards out after dark, right in amongst us.”
“This is a character of the Mons, you think?”
Novobazky shrugged. “The various standing stones in the inner terrain seem to be the focal points of the gates. Throne, I don’t know. I’m no expert in these things. In my opinion, the Mons is wired to let them through. It’s built into the architecture. Established warp gates, networked to I don’t know where. This isn’t a level playing field.”
“And the stalkers themselves?” Gaunt asked, looking at Dorden, who was standing in the doorway of the habi-tent.
“Tissue samples say they’re ogryns,” Dorden said, “with some human genetic material. The creations of some vicious eugenic program. Their brains are modified for absolute aggression. We’re talking about human and ogryn specimens who have been stripped down, rebuilt and programmed just to kill.”
“You’ve proof?”
Dorden shook his head. “I’m still collating. I don’t have the right instrument back-up here to be conclusive. This is just a field hospital. Maybe if I had access to the body scanners and biopsy vaults at Frag Flats or Tarenal. Right now, it’s just a hunch.”
“We do hunches,” Rawne said. “Inklings too.”
Gaunt looked at Dorden. “But from what you’ve seen, doctor, you’d say these were modified human or human-allied troops?”
Dorden nodded. “The corpse I was autopsying, it had dog tags buried in the flesh of its throat. I mean overlapped by skin graft and regrowth. The tags identified a Trooper Olios Ollogred, Fifth Storm Faction (Ogryn), 21st Hurgren Regiment. I checked it out. The 21st is currently in action on Morlond.”
“They’re sending our own people back to fight us,” Novobazky said.
“It seems so,” Gaunt replied. “And they’re sending them back through punctures in the warp. Anyone here remember the jehgenesh?” he asked.
Rawne, Varl, Criid and Bonin nodded. Beltayn moaned at the memory.
“The what?” asked Novobazky, but Gaunt had already moved on. “Mkoll and…what was his name? Maggs? They went through?” he asked.
“And came back alive,” Rawne replied.
“I want to talk to them,” Gaunt said.
Dorden injected something powerful into Mkoll’s drip, and nursed him back into consciousness.
“Five minutes,” he told Gaunt. “That’s all I’ll allow.”
Gaunt nodded. He crouched down at Mkoll’s bedside. “Oan? Hey, Oan? It’s Gaunt.”
“…never come back.
“Mkoll?”
“Thought you’d never come back,” Mkoll slurred, opening his eyes.
“You’re going to be fine, Oan. Dorden says so. I just want to talk to you.”
“So talk. I’m not going anywhere.”
“What did you see, Oan? What the feth did you see?”
Mkoll rolled over and stared at the roof of the habi-tent. “Maggs went through, so I followed him. Never leave a man behind, that’s what you always taught me.”
“I did. I did.”
“So I went after him. It was cold, that place. Really cold. I knew at once that I’d stepped off Ancreon Sextus completely. I was… somewhere…”
“Oan?”
“Sorry sorry, drifting off. I was somewhere else. The stars weren’t right, that was the first thing I noticed. The constellations were entirely different. I navigate by the stars. I notice these things.”
“Go on, Oan.”
“It was cold. Did I mention that? I mean really cold. Rocks, slabs. Everywhere you looked. Maggs was shouting about the sky, and I noticed that too. I could see star patterns, but directly overhead, it was a roof. A ceiling. Massive blocks of stone hanging in the night sky. It made no sense. How could stones be just hanging there? And they were so quiet.”
“Quiet?” Gaunt asked.
“Really quiet,” Mkoll whispered. “They should have been making a huge noise, a sky filled with stone slabs. But they were quiet.”
His voice faded away. Dorden reluctantly pushed another vial into the drip.
“No more,” he told Gaunt.
Gaunt nodded. “Oan? Tell me about the place. Was it empty?”
“No! No, no, no. Hordes of stalkers, massing to attack. Inhuman things too. Machines. War machines. Blood Pact. We ran, and we tried to hide. The stalkers came after us. The wrought ones. I saw legions of the damned, assembled, en masse, waiting for the gates to open.”
“The gates?” Gaunt asked.
“You have to understand,” Mkoll murmured. There’s nothing inside the Mons. It’s empty. It’s just a gateway.
“A massive gateway, sucking us in so it can open and destroy us. The gates in each compartment don’t lead into the next compartment along. I saw them. Laid out in a row. They open into somewhere else….”
“Mkoll?”
“That’s enough!” snapped Dorden. “He’s passed out again.”
Eszrah suddenly unharnessed his reynbow and moved to the entrance.
“What is it?” Varl asked. He and Criid switched round, training their weapons on the mouth of the tent. Bright lights were flickering outside. Gaunt rose, hearing the whine of a gunship.
“Put your guns away” he said. “You too, Eszrah. I’ve been waiting for this.”
The tent flaps pulled aside and Commissariat troopers came in, firearms raised.
“Nobody move!” the squad leader said, playing his hellgun around the tent.
Nobody did, not even Rawne.
His pistol
aimed squarely at Gaunt, Faragut entered the tent. Behind him came Commissar-General Balshin, Inquisitor Welt and Nahum Ludd.
“You will surrender yourselves to the authority of the Commissariat!” Faragut barked.
“End of the road, Gaunt,” Balshin smiled.
“I’m really very sorry, sir,” Ludd said.
TWENTY-FOUR
04.10 hrs, 199.776.M41
Post 36, Fifth Compartment
Sparshad Mons, Ancreon Sextus
“We gave you a chance, Gaunt,” Balshin said smoothly. “I was against it, but the lord general insisted. We gave you the chance to prove yourself. And as is usually the case when someone is given enough rope…”
“AH the things you could be focusing your attention on, commissar-general,” Gaunt said, “and you fixate on me. I really bother you, don’t I?”
“My foremost task is the removal of the heresy of taint in the Imperial Guard, Gaunt,” she replied. “It is endemic on this front of the Crusade. I have never seen its effects so pernicious, so deep-rooted. Of course I am bothered when a senior commissar, a man of influence and authority, walks free amongst us, riddled with the touch of ruin.”
Gaunt almost laughed out loud. “Based on what?”
Balshin stared at him levelly, as if scolding a recalcitrant child. “I was never satisfied with your testimony at the tribunal. It was hollow. To be exposed for such a length of time to an afflicted world? The notion you remained untainted is laughable. Since returning to duty, your behaviour has been wayward to say the least. You have meandered from duty, pursued your own private agendas. There have been unauthorised communiqués, conspiratorial exchanges conducted under the guise of official Commissariat business…”
Gaunt shook his head. “Is that all you’ve got?”
She smiled blandly. “Let’s consider the fact that just a few hours ago you deserted your post, broke your orders, misappropriated an Imperial transport, moved from one location to another within a martial cordon without clearance or validation… and here I find you, plotting again, in a little huddle with some of the very people who stood accused of taint beside you.”
