“Feth you,” Dorden said, snatching back the slate and beckoning the others after him. “We’ve got a life to save! Do you think we’d waste time trying to rustle some booty?”
The official turned away, disinterested. Dorden led the trio down the dark aisle, between racks of air-tanks, amphorae of wine and food crates stacked up to the high roof. They entered a junction bay in the dark depths of the storage holds, and through several hatches ahead saw the vast commodity stockpiles of the huge ship.
“Medical supplies down there,” Caffran said, noting the white marker tags on one of the hatch frames.
“There’s a console,” Milo said, pointing down another of the aisles into a dark hold. They could see the dull, distant green glow of a Munitorium artificer. Dorden glanced at his chronometer again. “Right, as we planned. Five minutes! Go!”
With Bragg at his heels, Dorden strode into the medical supply vault and started pulling bundles of sterile gauze, jars of counter-septic wash and packs of clean surgical tools off the black metal shelves. Bragg requisitioned a wheeled cargo trolley from an alcove near the door and followed him.
Milo and Caffran slunk down into the darker chamber, and the boy swung onto the low bench-seat in front of the console. He fumbled in his pocket and produced the memory tile that Gaunt had give him, gingerly fitting it into the slot on the desk-edge of the machine. Two teal-coloured lights winked and flashed as the artificer recognised the blank tile. His hands trembled. He tried to remember what the commissar had told him.
“Will this work?” Caffran asked, pulling out his blade and watching the door anxiously.
The Munitorium data banks were slaved directly to the ship’s main cogitator. Remembering Gaunt’s instructions piece by piece, Milo entered key search words via the ivory-toothed keyboard. The banks had full access to the ship’s information stockpile, including the security clearance Gaunt’s artificer lacked.
“Hurry up, boy!” Caffran snapped, edgy.
Milo ignored him, but that “boy” nagged him and made him unhappy. His trembling fingers conducted his way across the worn keys into new levels of instruction that glowed in runic cursors on the flat plate of the console, just as the commissar had laid it out.
“Here!” Milo said suddenly, “I think…” He awkwardly touched a rune-inscribed command key and the console hummed. Data began to download onto the blank tile. Gaunt would be proud. Milo had listened to his arcane ramblings about the use of machines well.
In the medical store, Dorden looked up from the cargo trolley he was filling and glanced once more at his chronometer. Bragg watched him, cautiously. “This is taking too fething long!” Dorden said irritably.
“l can go back—” Bragg suggested.
“No, we’ve not got everything yet,” Dorden said, searching the racks for jars of pneumeno-thorax resin.
Milo’s fingers hovered over the keys. “We’ve got it!” he exclaimed.
Caffran didn’t answer. Milo turned and saw Caffran frozen, the blunt nose of a deck-shotgun pressed to his temple. The Imperial Navy trooper said nothing, but nodded his helmet-dad head at Milo, indicating he should get up from the bench rapidly.
Milo rose, his hands where the trooper could see them.
“That’s good,” the trooper said through the dull resonator of his headset. He pointed the muzzle of his gun at where he wanted Milo to stand.
Caffran slammed back, jabbing his elbow at the trooper’s sternum, aiming for the solar plexus in one desperate move. The fibre-weave armour of the trooper’s uniform stopped the blow and he swung around, smashing Caffran into the wall-racks with an open hand.
Milo tried to move.
The shotgun fired, a wide burst of incandescent fury in the darkness.
FIFTEEN
As they waited in the shadows, they noted that the Jantine had been issued with the finest barrack decks on the ship. The approach colonnade was a spacious embarkation hall, wide enough for the bulkiest of equipment. The glittering wall-burners cast long purple shadows across the tiles.
Two Jantine Patricians in full dress armour, training shock-poles held ready, patrolled the far end. They were exchanging inconsequential remarks when Larkin appeared down the colonnade, bumbling along as if he’d missed his way. They snapped round in disbelief and Larkin froze, a look of horror on his leathery, narrow face. With an oath, he turned and began to run back the way he had come.
The two guards thundered after him with baying blood-cries. They’d gone ten metres before the shadows behind them unfolded and Ghosts emerged, dropping stealth cloaks and seizing them from behind. Mkoll, Baru, Varl and Corbec fell on the two Jantine, struck with shock-poles and Tanith blades, and dragged the fallen men into the darkness off the main hall.
“Why am I always the fething bait?” the returning Larkin asked, stopping by Corbec, who was wiping a trace of blood from the floor with the hem of his cape.
“You’ve got that kind of face,” Varl said, and Corbec smiled.
“Look here!” Baru called in a hiss from the end of the hall. They moved to join him and he grinned as he pulled his find from the corner of the archway the Jantine sentries had been watching. Guns! A battered old exotic bolt-action rifle with a long muzzle and ornately decorated stock, and a worn but serviceable pump stubgun with a bandolier strap of shells. Neither were regular issue Guard pieces, and both were much lower tech than Guard standard-pattern gear. Corbec knew what they were.
“Souvenirs, spoils of war,” he murmured, his hands running a check on the stubgun. All soldiers collected trophies like these, stuck them away in their kits to sell on, keep as mementoes, or simply use in a clinch. Corbec knew many of the Ghosts had their own… but they had dutifully handed them in with their issued weapons when they’d come aboard. He was not the least surprised that the Jantine had kept hold of their unrecorded weapons. The sentries had left them here as backup in case of an assault their shock-poles couldn’t handle.
Varl handed the rifle to Larkin. There was no question who should carry it. The weight of a gun in his hands again seemed to calm the old sniper. He licked his almost lip-less mouth, which cut the leather of his face like a knife-slash. He’d been complaining incessantly since they had set out, unwilling to be part of a vendetta strike.
“If they catch us, we’ll be for the firing squad! This ain’t right!”
Corbec had been firm, fully aware of how daring the mission was. “We’re in a regimental feud, Larks,” he had said simply, “an honour thing. They killed Lonegin, Freul and Colhn. You think what they did to Feygor, and what they might be doing to the major. The commissar’s asked us to avenge the blood-wrong, and I for one am happy to oblige.”
Corbec hadn’t mentioned that he’d only selected Larkin because of his fine stealth abilities, nor had he made clear Gaunt’s real reason for the raid: distraction, misdirection — and, like the Jantine, to promote the notion that was really happening aboard the Absalom was a mindless soldier’s feud.
Now, checking the long gun, Larkin seemed to relax. His only eloquence was with a firearm. If he was going to break ship-law, then best do it full-measure, with a gun in his hands. And they all knew he was the best shot in the regiment.
They edged on into the Jantine barrack area. From down one long cross-hallway came the sounds of singing and carousing, from another, the dash of shock-poles in a training vault.
“How far do we go with this?” Mkoll whispered.
Corbec shrugged. “They killed three, wounded two. We should match that at least.”
He also had an urge to discover Rawne’s fate, and rescue him if they could. But he suspected the major was already long dead.
Mkoll, the commander of the scout platoon, was the best stealther they had. With Baru at his side, the pair melted into the hall shadows and swept ahead.
The other three waited. There seemed to be something sporadic and ill-at-ease in the distant rhythm of the ship’s engines as they vibrated the deck. I hope we’re not running i
nto some fething Warp-madness, Corbec mused, then lightened up as he realised that it may be Gaunt’s work. He’d said he was going to distract and upset the captain.
Baru came back to them. “We’ve hit lucky, really lucky,” he hissed. “You’d better see.”
Mkoll was waiting in cover in an archway around the next bend. Ahead was a lighted hatchway.
“Infirmary,” he whispered. “I went up close to the door. They’ve got Rawne in there.”
“How many Jantine?”
“Two troopers, an officer — a colonel — and someone else. Robed. I don’t like the look of him at all…”
A scream suddenly cut the air, sobbing down into a whimper. The five Ghosts stiffened. It had been Rawne’s voice.
SIXTEEN
The Navy trooper kicked Caffran’s fallen body hard and then swung his shotgun round to finish him. Weapon violation sirens were sounding shrilly in the close air of the Munitorium store. The trooper pumped the loader-grip and then was smashed sideways into the packing cartons to his left by a massive fist.
Bragg lifted the crumpled form of the dazed trooper and threw him ten metres down the vault-way. He landed hard, broken.
“Brinny! Brinny boy!” Bragg called anxiously over the siren. Milo raised himself up from under the artificer. The shot had exploded the vista-plate, just missing him. “I’m okay,” he said.
Bragg got the dazed Caffran to his feet as Brin slid the tile from the artificer slot.
“Go!” he said, “Go!”
In under a minute, they had rejoined Dorden, helping him to push his laden trolley back out of the vault. By then, Munitorium officials and navy troopers were rushing in through the cage.
Dorden was a master of nerve. “Thank Feth you’re here!” he bellowed, his voice cracking. “There are Jantine in there, madmen! They attacked us! Your man engaged them, but I think they got him. Quickly! Quickly now!”
Most of the detail moved past at a run, racking weapons. One stayed, eyeing the Ghost party cautiously.
“You’ll have to wait. We’re going to check this.”
Dorden strode forward, steely-calm now and held up his data-slate to show the man.
“Does this mean anything to you? A direct authorisation from your captain? I’ve got a man dying back in my infirmary! I need these supplies! Do you want a death on your hands, because by Feth you’re—”
The trooper waved them on, and hurried after his comrades.
“I thought this place was meant to be secure,” Dorden spat at the Munitorium official as they pushed past him towards the exit.
They slammed the cart into a lift and slumped back against the walls as it began to rise.
“Did you get it?” Dorden asked, after a few deep breaths.
Milo nodded. “Think so.”
Caffran looked at the elderly doctor with a wide-eyed grin. “ ‘There are Jantine in there, madmen! They attacked us! Your man engaged them, but I think they got him. Quickly!’ What the feth was that all about?”
“Inspired, I’d say,” Bragg said.
“Back home, I was a doctor… and also secretary of the County Pryze Citizens’ Players. My Prince Teygoth was highly regarded.”
Their relieved laughter began to fill the lift.
SEVENTEEN
Corbec’s revenge squad was about to move when the deck vox-casters started to relay the scream of a weapons violation alert. The dull choral wails echoed down the hallway and “Alert” runes began to blink above all of the archways.
The colonel pulled his men into cover as figures strode out of the infirmary, looking around. Squads of Jantine guards came up from both sides, milling around as vox-checks tried to ascertain the nature of the incident.
Corbec saw Flense and Brochuss, the Jantine senior officers, and another man, a hugely tall and grotesque figure in shimmering, smoke-like robes who filled him with dread.
“Weapons discharge on the Munitorium deck!” a Jantine trooper with a vox-caster on his back reported. “The Navy details are closing to contain it… Sir, the channels are alive with cross-reports. They’re blaming it on the Jantine! They say we conducted a feud strike on Tanith-scum in the supply vaults!”
Flense cursed. “Gaunt! The devil’s trying to match our game!” He turned to his men. “Brochuss! Secure the deck! Security detail with me!”
“I’ll stay and finish my work,” the robed figure said in a deep, liquid tone that quite chilled Corbec. As the various men moved off to comply with orders, the robed figure stopped Flense with a hand to his shoulder. Or rather, what seemed more like a long-fingered claw rather than a hand, Corbec noticed with a shudder.
“This isn’t good, Flense,” the figure breathed at the suddenly trembling colonel. “Use violence against a soldier like Gaunt and you can be assured he will use it back. And you seem to have underestimated his political abilities. I fear he has outplayed you. And if he has, you should fear for yourself.”
Flense shook himself free and hurried away. “I’ll deal with it!” he snarled defensively over his shoulder. The robed figure watched him leave and then withdrew into the infirmary.
“What do we do?” Varl hissed.
“Tell me we go back now,” Larkin whispered urgently. Another scream issued from the chamber beyond.
“What do you think?” Corbec asked.
EIGHTEEN
Sirens wailed in the normally tranquil strategium. Grasticus shifted in his cot-throne, wanding screens to him and cursing at the information he was reading.
Gaunt and Zoren exchanged glances. I hope this confusion is the confusion we planned, Gaunt thought.
Grasticus rose up on his elbows and bawled at the quaking Lekulanzi. “Weapons fire on the Munitorium deck! My data says it’s Jantine feuders!”
“Are any of mine hurt?” Gaunt asked, pushing forward, urgent. “I told you the Jantine were out for blood—”
“Shut up, commissar,” the captain said with a suddenly sour look. His day had been disrupted enough. “The reports are unconfirmed. Get down there and see to it, warrant officer!”
Lekulanzi scurried out of the chamber. Grasticus turned back to the two Imperial Guard colonels.
“This matter needs my undivided attention. I will summon you when we can speak further.”
Zoren and Gaunt nodded and backed out of the strategium smartly. Side by side they crossed the nave of the bridge, through the hubbub of bridge crew, and entered the lifts.
“Is it working?” Zoren asked as the doors closed and the choral chime sang out.
“Pray by the Throne that it is,” Gaunt said.
NINETEEN
They took the infirmary in a text-book move.
The room was wide, long and low. The robed figure was bent over Rawne, who was strapped, screaming, to a gurney. A pair of Jantine troopers stood guard at the door. Corbec came in between them, ignoring them both as he dived into a roll, his shotgun raised up to fire. The robed figure turned, as if sensing the sudden intrusion. The shot-gun blast blew him backwards into a stack of wheezing resuscitrex units.
The guards began to turn when Mkoll and Baru launched in on Corbec’s heels and knifed them both. Corbec rolled up onto his feet, slung his shotgun by the strap and grabbed Rawne.
“Sacred Feth…” he murmured, as he saw the head wound, and the insidious pattern of scalpel cuts across the major’s face, neck and stripped body. Rawne was slipping in and out of consciousness.
“Come on, Rawne, come on!” Corbec snapped, hauling the major up over his shoulder.
“We have to move now!” Mkoll bellowed, as secondary weapons violation sirens began to shrill. Corbec threw the shotgun over to him.
“Take point! We shoot our way out if we have to!”
“Colonel!” Baru yelled. Weighed down by Rawne, Corbec couldn’t turn in time. The robed figure was clawing its way back onto its feet behind him. Its hood was thrown back, and they gasped to see the equine extension and bared teeth of the head. Fury boiled in the eyes of the
man-monster, and violet-dark energy crackled around him.
Corbec felt the room temperature drop. Fething magic, was all he had time to think — before a shot took the man-monster’s throat clean away.
Larkin stood in the doorway, the old rifle raised in his hands.
“Now we’re leaving, right?” he said.
TWENTY
Gaunt took the tile Milo held out for him. Then he shut the door of his quarters on the faces of the men crowded outside. Inside, Corbec, Zoren and Milo watched him carefully.
“That had better be worth all that damn effort,” Corbec said eventually, voicing what they all thought.
Gaunt nodded. The gamble had been immense. But for the Jantine’s bloodthirsty and brutal methods of pursuing their intrigue, they would never have got this far. The ship was still full of commotion. Adeptus Mechanicus security details clogged every corridor, conducting barrack searches. Rumour, accusation and threat rebounded from counter rumour, counter accusation and promise.
Gaunt knew his hands weren’t spotless in this, and he would make no attempt to hide that his men fought back against the Jantine in a feud. There would be reprimands, punishment details, rounds of questioning that would lead to nothing conclusive. But, like him, the Jantine would not take the matter beyond a simple regimental feud. And only he and those secret elements pitched against him would know precisely what had been at stake.
He slotted the tile into his artificer, and then set the crystal in the read-slot. He touched a few keys.
There was a pause.
“It isn’t working,” Zoren began.
[Gaunt's Ghosts 01] - First & Only Page 19
