Dan Abnett - Ghostmaker

The shutter clanked and three men entered. Gaunt viewed them without comment. One was tall, taller and older than Gaunt and built heavily, if a little paunchy. His arms were like hams and were decorated with blue spirals. His beard was shaggy, and his eyes might once have twinkled. The second was slim and dark, with sinister good looks that were almost reptilian. He had a blue star tattooed across his right eye. The third was the boy, the piper.

'Let's know you,' Gaunt said simply.

'I'm Corbec,' said the big man. 'This is Rawne.'

The snake nodded.

'And you know the boy.' Corbec said.

'Not his name.'

'Milo,' the boy said clearly. 'Brin Milo.'

'Hmagine you're here to tell me that the men of Tanith want me dead,' said Gaunt simply.

'Perfectly true,' Rawne said. Gaunt was impressed. None of them even bothered to acknowledge his rank and seniority. Not a ''sir'', not a ''commissar''.

'Do you know why I did what I did?' Gaunt asked. 'Do you know why I ordered the regiments off Tanith and left it to die? Do you know why I refused all your pleas to let you turn and fight?'

'It was our right—' Rawne began.

'Our world died, Colonel-Commissar Gaunt,' Corbec said, the title bringing Gaunt's head up sharp. 'We saw it flame out from the windows of our transports. You should have let us stand and fight. We would have died for Tanith.'

'You still can, just somewhere else.' Gaunt got to his feet. 'You're not men of Tanith any more. You weren't when you were camped out on the Founding Fields. You're Imperial Guard, servants of the Emperor first and nothing else second.'

He turned to face the window port, his back to them. 'I mourn the loss of any world, any life. I did not want to see Tanith die, nor did I want to abandon it. But my duty is to the Emperor, and the Sabbat Worlds Crusade must be fought and won for the good of the entire Imperium. The only thing you could have done if I had left you on Tanith was die. If that's what you want, I can provide you with many opportunities. What I need is soldiers, not corpses.'

Gaunt gazed out into space. 'Use your loss, don't be crippled by it. Put the pain into your fighting spirit. Think hard! Most men who join the Guard never see their homes again. You are no different.'

'But most have a home to return to!' Corbec spat.

'Most can look forward to living through a campaign and mustering to settle on some world their leader has conquered and won. Slaydo made me a gift after Balhaut. He gave me the military rank of colonel and granted me settlement rights to the first planet I win. Help me by doing your job, and I'll help you by sharing that with you.'

'Is that a bribe?' Rawne asked.

Gaunt shook his head. 'Just a promise. We need each other. I need an able, motivated army, you need something to take the pain away, something to fight for, something to look forward to.'

Gaunt saw something in the reflection on the glass. He didn't turn his head. 'Is that a laspistol, Rawne? Would you have come here and murdered me?'

Rawne, grinned. 'What makes you put that in the past tense, commissar?'

Gaunt turned. 'What do I have here then? A regiment or a mutiny?'

Corbec met his gaze. The men will need convincing. You've made ghosts of them, hollow echoes. We'll take word back to the troop-ships of why you did what you did and what the future might hold. Then it's up to them.'

They need to rally around their officers.'

Rawne laughed. There are none! Our command staff were all on the Founding Fields trying to embark the men when the bombardment started. None of them made it off Tanith alive.'

Gaunt nodded. 'But the men elected you to lead the deputation? You're leaders.'

'Or simply bold and dumb enough to be the ones to front you,' Corbec said.

'It's the same thing,' Gaunt said. 'Colonel Corbec. Major Rawne. You can appoint your own juniors and unit chiefs and report back to me in six hours with an assessment of morale. I should have our deployment by then.'

They glanced at each other, taken aback.

'Dismissed,' prompted Gaunt.

The trio turned away confused.

'Milo? Wait, please,' Gaunt said. The boy stopped as the shutter closed after the two men. 'I owe you,' Gaunt told him baldly.

'And you paid me back. I'm not militia or Guard. I only got off Tanith alive because you brought me.'

'Because of your service to me.'

Milo paused. The Elector himself ordered me to stay with you, to see to your needs. I was just doing my duty.'

'Those two brought you along because they thought the sight of you might mollify me, didn't they?'

'They're not stupid,' noted Milo.

Gaunt sat back at his desk. 'Neither are you. I have need of an adjutant, a personal aide. It's dogsbody, gopher work mostly, and the harder stuff you can learn. It would help me to have a Tanith in the post if my working relationship with them is going to continue.'

Before Milo could answer, the shutter slammed open again and Kreff entered, a slate in his hand. He saluted again. 'We've got our orders, sir,' he said.

Distant, rumbling explosions seemed a constant feature of the deadzone on Blackshard. The persistent crump of heavy gunnery drummed the low, leaden sky over the ridgeline. An earthwork had been built up along the ridge's spine and, under hardened bunkers, a detachment of Imperial Guard – six units of the 10th Royal Sloka – were readying to mobilise.

Colonel Thoren walked the line. The men looked like world-killers in their ornate battledress: crested, enamelled scarlet and silver warsuits built by the artisans of Sloka to inspire terror in the enemy.

But perhaps not this enemy. General Hadrak's orders had been precise, but Thoren's heart was heavy. He had no relish for the approaching push. He had no doubt at all it would cost him dearly. To push blind, unsupported, into treacherous unknown territory in the hope of finding a wormhole into the enemy positions that might not even be there. The prospect made him feel sick.

Thoren's subaltern drew his attention suddenly to the double file of sixty men moving down the covered transit trench towards them. Scrawny ruffians, dressed in black, camo-cloaks draped over them, plastered to their bodies by the rain.

'Who in the name of Balor's blood…?' Thorne began.

Halting his column, the leader, a huge blackguard with a mess of tangled beard and a tattoo – a tattoo! – marched up to Thoren and saluted.

'Colonel Corbec, 1st Tanith. First-and-Only. General Hadrak has ordered us forward to assist you.'

'Tanith? Where the hell is that?' asked Thoren.

'It isn't,' replied the big man genially. 'The general said you were set to advance on the enemy positions over the deadzone. Suggested you might need a covert scouting force seeing as how your boys' scarlet armour stands out like a baboon's arse.'

Thoren felt his face flush. 'Now listen to me, you piece—'

A shadow fell across them. 'Colonel Thoren, I presume?'

Gaunt dropped down into the dugout from the trench boarding. 'My regiment arrived here on Blackshard yesterday night, with orders to reinforce General Hadrak's efforts to seize the Chaos stronghold. That presupposes co-operative efforts between our units.'

Thoren nodded. This was Gaunt, the upstart colonel-commissar, it had to be. He'd heard stories.

'Appraise me, please,' said Gaunt.

Thoren waved up an aide who flipped up a map-projector, and displayed a fuzzy image of the deadzone. The foe are dug in deep in the old citadel ruins. The citadel had a sizeable standing defence force, so they're well equipped. Chaos cultists, mostly, about seventeen thousand able fighting men. We also…' he paused.

Gaunt raised a questioning eyebrow.