Dan Abnett - Necropolis

You must make do. This is war, Langana announced. War levels all stations and makes us work with the bravery in our limbs and the ingenuity in our minds.

Dorden turned his grizzled face to look directly into the puffy visage of the political officer. Do you make that crap up yourself, or does someone write it down for you?

The orderlies behind him tried to cover their sniggers. Gherran and Mtane laughed out loud.

I could break you for such insolence! Langana spat. Anger made his cheeks florid.

Hmm? Dorden replied, not seeming to hear. And deprive an Imperial Guard regiment of their chief medic? Your vice marshal wouldn't be too happy to hear about that, would he?

Langana was about to retort when a strong, female voice echoed through the dirty space.

I'm looking for the doctor! Hello?

Dorden pushed past the seething commissar and went to the door. He was met by a short, slim, young woman in a form-fitting red uniform with embroidered cuffs. She carried a medical pack over one shoulder and was escorted by five more dressed like her: three men and two women.

Dorden, chief medical officer, Tanith First.

Surgeon Ana Curth, Inner Hab Collective Medical Hall 67/mv, she replied, nodding to him and glancing around the dingy hall. Captain Daur, your liaison officer, was troubled by the state of the facilities and called my hall for support.

As you can see, Ana, it is a long way short of adequate, said Dorden with a gentle gesture that took in the decay.

She frowned at him briefly. His use of her forename surprised her. Such informalities were rare in the hive. It was discourteous, almost condescending. She'd worked for her status and position as hard as any other hiver.

That's Surgeon Curth, medic.

Dorden looked round at the woman, surprised, clearly hurt that he had offended her in any way. Behind Dorden, Langana smiled.

My mistake. Surgeon Curth, indeed, Dorden looked away. Well, as you can see, this is no place for wounded. Can you possibly assist us?

She looked him up and down, still bristling but calming a little. There was something in his tired, avuncular manner that made her almost regret her tone. This was not some bravo trooper trying to hit on her. This was an old man with slumping shoulders. There was a weariness in his manner that no amount of sleep could ease. His lined eyes had seen too much, she realised.

Ana Curth turned to Langana. I wouldn't treat cattle in a place like this. I'm issuing an M-notice on it at once.

You can't Langana began.

Oh, yes I can, commissar! Fifth Bill of Rights, Amendment 457/hj: ˜In event of conflict, surgeon staff may commandeer all available resources for the furtherance of competent medical work.' I want scrub teams from the hive sanitation department here by morning, with pressure hoses and steam scourers. I want disinfectant sluices. I want sixty cots, bedding, four theatre tables with lights, screens and instruments, flak-board lagging for the walls and windows, proper light-power, water and heat-links recoupled, and patches made to the gakking roof! Got it?

I

Do you understand me, Political Officer Langana?

Langana hesitated. I will have to call House Command for these requirements.

Do so! barked Curth. Dorden looked on. He liked her already.

Use my hive caste-code: 678/cu. Got it? That will give you the authority to process my request. And do it now, Langana!

The commissar saluted briefly and then marched away out of the chamber. He had to push through the smirking Tanith orderlies to exit.

Dorden turned to the woman. My thanks, Surgeon Curth. The Tanith are in your debt.

Just do your job and we'll get on fine, she replied bluntly. I have more wounded refugees in my hall now than I can deal with. I don't want your overspill submerging me when the fighting starts.

Of course you don't. I am grateful, surgeon.

Dorden fixed her with an honest smile. She seemed about to soften and smile back, but she turned and led her team away out of the door. We'll return in two days to help you set up.

Surgeon?

She stopped, turning back.

How overrun are you? With the wounded, I mean?

She sighed. To breaking point.

Could you use six more trained staff? Dorden asked. He waved casually at his fellow medics and waiting orderlies. We have no wounded yet to treat, Emperor watch us. Until we have, we would be happy to assist.

Curth glanced at her chief orderly. Thank you. Your offer is appreciated. Follow us, please.

Varl supervised the store detail, carrying more than his share thanks to the power of his artificial arm. With a team of thirty, he ordered the stacking and layout of the Tanith supplies. There was plenty of stuff in the barn already, well marked and identified by the triplicate manifest data-slates, but there was still more than enough room for the supplies and munitions they had brought with them.

Another truck backed up to the doorway, lights winking, and Domor, Cocoer and Brostin helped to shift the crates of perishables to their appointed stacks. Varl allocated another area for the munitions he had been told would arrive later.

Caffran looked up as the sergeant called to him. Sweep the back, Varl ordered. Make sure the rear of the barn is secure.

Caffran nodded, pulling his jacket and camo-cape from a nearby crate-pile and putting them back on. He was still sweat-hot from the work.

Lifting his lasgun, he paced round the rear of the supply stacks, moving through the darkness and shadows, checking the rotting rear wall of the hangar for holes.

Something scurried in the dark.

He swung his gun round. Rodents?

There was no further movement. Caffran edged forward and noticed the edge of a crate that had been chewed away. The plastic-wrapped packets of dried biscuit inside had been invaded. Definitely rodents. There was a trail of crumbs and shreds of plastic seal. They'd have to set traps and poison too probably.

He paused. The hole in the crate's side was far too high to be the work of rodents. Unless they bred something the size of a hound in the sewers of this place. That wouldn't surprise him, given the giant scale of everything else here in Vervunhive.

He armed his lasgun and slid around the edge of the next stack.

Something scurried again.

He hastened forward, gun raised, looking for a target. Feth, maybe the local vermin would be good eating. They'd had precious little fresh meat in the last forty days.

There was a movement to his left and he dropped to one knee, taking aim. Beyond the supply stacks, there was a pale, green slice of light, a jagged hole in the back of the barn through which the glow of the Shield high above leaked in.

Caffran shuffled forward.

A noise to the right.

He spun around. Nothing. He saw how several more crates had been clawed into.

Something flickered past the slice of light, something moving through it quickly, blocking out the glow.

Caffran ran forward, pulling himself sideways through the gap in the rotten fibre-planks of the hangar's rear wall and out into the tangled waste of debris and rubble behind the storage barn.

He crawled out, got down, raised his gun

And saw the boy. A small boy, eight or nine years old it seemed to Caffran, scampering up a mound of nibble with a wrap of biscuits in his hand.

The boy reached the summit and another figure loomed out of the dark. A girl, older, in her late teens, clad in vulgar rags and decorated with piercings. She took the wrap from the boy and hugged him tightly.

Caffran got up, lowering his gun. Hey! he called.

The child and the girl looked round at him sharply, like animals caught in a huntsman's light.

Caffran saw for just a moment the strong, fierce, beautiful face of the girl before the children ducked out of sight and vanished into the wasteland.