Dan Abnett - Necropolis

Anko jumped to his feet. And have we not our own hero, Commissar Kowle, to thank for turning that crisis around?

The hall broke out in ripples of applause and cheers, mainly from the Vervun majority. Kowle accepted the applause with a gracious, modest nod. Gaunt knew better than to point out the cosmetic nature of Kowle's involvement.

Commissar Kowle's actions are a matter of record. History will record the nature of his contribution to the Vervunhive war. Gaunt couched his response carefully. But the line of command failed severely during Veyveyr. Field commanders of the Vervun Primary, whose bravery is beyond question, failed to relay strategic orders or were unable or unwilling to redirect their forces in the face of the assault.

leers and boos thundered down at Gaunt.

I understand you have already exacted discipline, colonel-commissar, Anko said stiffly.

And I will do so again, Gaunt raised his voice above the background roar. But that simply punishes the symptoms of the problem. It does not address the heart of it.

That problem being a failure to obey direct orders? Kowle asked, rising to his feet amid more cheers.

Gaunt nodded. Chain of command must be observed at all times. Any who break it must do so knowing they risk the highest penalty. Without such order and control, this war will be lost. I trust Vervun Primary will respect this philosophy from now on.

So all who transgress must be punished? Kowle asked.

He wants his transfer badly, Gaunt thought. He's supporting me every step of the way.

Of course. Without the threat of sanction, insubordination will continue.

Then you will support the punishment of General Grizmund? asked Vice Marshal Anko.

What?

General Grizmund who broke orders this day and began his own deployment of the Narmenian armour? Now the Narmenian staff booed and heckled.

Gaunt faltered. I I was not aware of this. It must have been a mistake. General Grizmund has my complete confidence and

So, one rule for the locals, another for the Guard? sneered Anko.

I didn't say that. I

General Grizmund defied direct orders from House Command and redeployed his tanks through noble house territory. Forgetting the collateral damage he caused, is not his action worthy of the most severe censure? Tarrian of the VPHC looked across at Gaunt. That was the philosophy you were advocating, wasn't it?

Gaunt looked away from the hooded eyes of the VPHC commandant and found Kowle's face in the throng. Kowle smiled back at him, unblinking, soulless.

He knew. He had known about Grizmund even before they had reached the chamber. He had manoeuvred Gaunt right into this trap.

Gaunt realised in an instant he had underestimated Kowle's ambition. The man was after more than a simple transfer off Verghast. He was after glory and command.

Well, colonel-commissar? What do we do with Grizmund? asked Anko.

Gaunt stepped away from the lectern and strode down the hall to the exit, yells and cat-calls showering over him.

Outside, he grabbed one of the Vervun Elite minding the door by the brocade and slammed him into the wall.

Grizmund! Where is he?

In the s-stockade, sir! Level S-sub-40!

Gaunt released him and strode away.

The rousing hymns of the great choirs shivered the air around him. Their sentiments sounded all too hollow.

The sunrise was an hour away.

A file of Ghosts moved up from trucks parked on the eastern hab expressway and entered the manufactory depots that backed on to the Spoil.

Thirty men, the cream of the Tanith scout cadre. The Vervun troops occupying the location, soldiers of the so-called Spoilers unit, greeted them in the undercroft of an ore barn. The air was thick with rock-dust and the light was poor, issuing from a few hooded lamps nailed to the wall.

Gak Ormon, the major in command of the Spoilers, saluted as Mkoll led his men in. He was a big, bulky man with bloodshot eyes and a flamer-burned throat.

I understand you have good snipers and stealthers, Ormon said to Mkoll as he walked over to a chart table with him.

Mkoll nodded. He surveyed the chart. The Spoil, a vast heap of slag, was a real vulnerability for Vervunhive. They knew as much, otherwise they wouldn't have formed a dedicated defence force, but the battle of the day before had decimated the Spoiler unit.

General Sturm has acknowledged the Tanith ability in such endeavours. We're here to support you.

Gak Ormon's great bulk was clad in the blue greatcoat and spiked helmet of the Vervun Primary. He looked down at the wiry off-worlder with his faded black fatigues and curious piebald cape. He was not impressed.

All of the Spoilers present, including Ormon, carried long-barrelled autoguns with scopes dedicated to sniping. Their faces were striped with bars of black camo-paint. Several had fresh wounds bound tightly.

Sergeant Mkoll called up his men so they could all study the chart. The Ghosts grouped around the table, making comments, pointing.

Why don't you just give them orders? Ormon asked disdainfully.

Because I want them to know the situation and understand the terrain. How can they defend an area effectively otherwise? Don't you do the same?

Ormon said nothing.

Mkoll broke his men into work-teams and sent them away in different directions, though not before checking they had set their micro-beads to the same channel.

Ormon joined Mkoll as the sergeant led his group of MkVenner, Domor, Larkin and Rilke up shattered internal stairways to the third storey overlooking the slag heap. Nine Spoilers were stationed at the shattered windows up here, using scopes to watch the sleek slopes of the Spoil.

The Ghosts took position amongst them.

Larkin and Rilke, both armed with sniper-variant lasguns, set themselves up carefully. Rilke used a length of pipe to disguise the end of his gun as it protruded from the wall. Larkin covered his own gun down to the muzzle under loose sacks.

Domor took Mkoll's scope, set it up on a tripod stand in the shadow of a window and linked his mechanical eyes to the sight. He could now see further and clearer than anyone in the fortification.

Ormon was about to ask Mkoll a question when he realised he and the Ghost called MkVenner had vanished.

Mkoll and MkVenner moved invisibly down the Spoil slope, their capes spread over them. The coal-like ore-refuse was wet and slimy underfoot. They were outside the protection of the Shield and the night rain fell around them, making puddles amongst the rock waste.

They raised their scopes. Beyond the Spoil, two kilometres away, they saw the open, flat land and the blasted habs beyond. The heavy rain was creating standing water on the flat soil and the water was rippling like dimpled tin with the rainfall. Visibility was down and cloud cover was descending.

There was a sound. MkVenner armed his lasgun and Mkoll crawled forward.

It was singing. Chanting. From out in the enemy positions, via loudhailers and speakers, a foul hymn of Chaos was ringing out to answer the triumph hymns of the hive.

It grew louder.

Mkoll and MkVenner shuddered.

In the ore-works behind them, Ormon felt his bladder vice and hurried away.

At his position, Larkin tensed. He was weary from the day's nerve-shredding battle and had only been sent in with Mkoll's men because of his skills as a sniper.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the face, the face of the Zoican.

Now, from below, down the length of the Spoil, he could hear them.

The Zoican filth were singing a name over and over, in a canon repeat.

Heritor Asphodel Heritor Asphodel

ELEVEN

THE HERITOR

Kill us! Kill us all! In the name of Terra, before he

Transcript of last broadcast from Ryxus V,