Dan Abnett - Ghostmaker

And then, in a pause, he realised that he, too, was more than willing to turn back into the fatal onslaught besetting the dense jungle and creeks. He couldn't account for it. It alarmed him.

Lilith's brigade slogged in through the creek-ways and water-runs, beaten by the rain and wind. The muddy ground became steep slopes, the low rises of upland rain forests above the flooded swamps.

Lilith sent pairs of men forward to secure lines. Corbec and a couple of Ghosts and Bluebloods clambered forward with Lerod up the muddy escarpments, playing out cables that they secured to trees and stumps along the way. Lightning berated them, exploding the tallest trees round about.

The brigade moved forward, following the twin lines of cable the advance had played out.

High on a slope, Corbec nailed the end of his cable line to a stump, and then set watch with his party as the main force struggled up behind. One of the Bluebloods looked at him, smiling.

'Culcis?'

'Colonel Corbec!'

Corbec slapped the younger man on the armoured shoulder, and the other Bluebloods eyed this camaraderie with suspicion.

'Where was it – Nacedon?'

'In the farm. I owe you my life, colonel.'

Corbec guffawed. 'I remember you fought as hard as the next that night, Culcis!'

The young man grinned. Rainwater dripping down his face from his helmet lip.

'So you made the Tenth, huh?' Corbec asked, settling in next to the Blueblood and taking aim into the blistering dark.

'Your medic wrote well of me, and your leader, Gaunt, mentioned me in dispatches. Then I got a lucky break on Vandamaar and won a medal.'

'So you're veteran now? One of the Blueblood elite? Best of the best, and all that?'

Culcis chuckled. 'We're all just soldiers, sir.'

The twin lines of advance progressed slowly up the slopes along the cable lines, weaving between the heavy trees and saturated foliage. The ground was like watered honey, loose and fluid, coming up to their shins. At least there were no insects abroad in the onslaught.

They moved on in fire-team formation, following a deep valley into the jungle uplands and the heart of the roiling storm. Lilith called a halt, to get a fix on their position. She was just raising her data-slate when a searing light flashed and they were deafened.

Lightning had struck a tree twenty paces back, exploding it in a welter of wooden shrapnel. Two Bluebloods had been atomised by electrical arcs and another two, along with one of the Tanith, had been flayed alive by the wood chips.

Major Gilbear slammed into Lilith as he stumbled up the slope. 'We must retreat, inquisitor! This is madness!'

'This is necessary, major,' she corrected, and returned her gaze to the slate. Gaunt was by her side. They compared data, pelting rain pattering off the screens of their respective devices.

'There's your Third platoon,' she said.

'As you had it last fixed before the storm came down,' corrected Gaunt. 'They were in the eye of the storm then, but can you get a true fix on their location now? Or on ours?'

Lilith cursed silently. Gaunt was right. They were cut off from orbital locator signals, and the storm was playing merry hell with all their finders and codiciers. All they had to work on was a memory or location and terrain. And none of that seemed reliable.

Gaunt drew her to one side, out of Gilbear's earshot. 'My men are the best scouts in the Guard, but they're coming up blind. If this storm is psyker like you say, it's foxing us. I'm not sure we can find our way to the last recorded position of the Third.'

'And so you suggest?'

'I don't know,' Gaunt said, meeting her grim eyes. 'But if we move much further in, I'm not sure we'll be able to find our way back…'

'Sir! Commissar!' It was Raglon, the vox-officer. He scrambled back down the muddy slope to Gaunt and held out his headset.

Third, sir! I've got them! Indistinct, broken, but it's Major Rawne and the others all right. I copy micro-bead traffic, trooper to trooper. Sounds like they're in a fight.'

Gaunt took the headset and listened. 'Can you get a fix?'

Raglon shook his head. The storm's fething everything, sir. I can't get the vox signals to jibe with anything. It's like… like they're nowhere and everywhere.'

'Nonsense!' Gilbear barked, snatching the headset from Gaunt and adjusting the dials on Raglon's caster set. After a moment, he gave up with a curse.

'Try sending to them,' Gaunt told Raglon. 'Repeat signal, wide-beam.'

'Message?' Raglon asked.

'Gaunt to Tanith Third platoon. Give status and position signal.'

Raglon dialled it in. 'Nothing sir, repeating… Wait! A response! Sir, it reads: ''Position: Elector's Palace, Tanith Magna. Rearguard''.'

'What?' Gaunt grabbed the headset again. 'Rawne! Rawne! Respond!'

The third were holed up at a bend in the hallway, las-rounds blistering back and forth from a ferocious firefight. Over his micro-bead, Rawne could hear Gaunt's signal.

'Try them again,' he urged Wheln, who was fumbling with the dials on the vox-caster backpack.

Rawne hated this Gaunt already, this new commander brought from oil-world to lead them. Where was he? What did he care for Tanith?

Wheln interrupted Rawne's thoughts. 'Gaunt signals, sir! He says to withdraw and pull out. Instructs us to rally with him at the following co-ordinates.'

Rawne eyed the print out and threw it aside. It made no sense.

Gaunt was ordering them to abandon the palace and Tanith Magna itself.

'Give me that!' he shouted to Wheln, taking the headset.

'Sir?' Ragon held out his headset to Gaunt. 'I don't understand…' Gaunt took it and listened.

'…won't give up now… won't let Tanith fall! Damn you, Gaunt, if you think we'll give up on the planet now!' Gaunt lowered his hand, letting the headset droop. 'Crazy,' Gaunt murmured. 'He's crazy…'

Mkoll shouldered on through the rain. He focussed his mind on reality and shut up the yearnings in his head. Home, the lines… he would make it…

Las-shots scorched at his heels, exploding trees. He glanced backwards and began to run.

An enemy warrior loomed ahead of him and Mkoll blasted with one of his pistols, taking the head clean off.

All around him, in the rain, Chaos warriors were closing.

He ducked into cover as laser blasts puffed up leaf-mould and weed. Two shots to the left. Two to the right. A hit, and body falling and twisting in the grime. Then Mkoll was up and running again.

A shot clipped his head and he went down, full length, into the mud. He tried to rise, but his body was slow and dazed. The mud sucked at him.

A powerful hand took him by the shoulder and yanked him over, the mud sucking as it kissed him goodbye.

Mkoll looked up into the face of Death, the raddled face of an enemy trooper. He shot him point blank and then rose, cutting the knees off the next foe who advanced with a double spit of las-fire from his guns.

Mkoll started shooting wholesale, picking off shadows that loomed between the trees through the storm, and fired on him.

Another shot kissed his flank and burned a scar that would never leave him. Mkoll dropped to one knee, firing with both pistols. He killed left and right. Maximum firepower. Then he realised his captured laspistol was coughing inert gas. He threw it aside.

As he went to reload his issue pistol, a huge form barrelled into him and knocked him down. The Chaos trooper had his bayonet raised to rip Mkoll's life out of his body.

They wrestled in the mud for a few moments, until Mkoll was able to use his trained skill to roll the other off him.

The sprawling warrior threw his bayonet and it impaled Mkoll's left knee with a clack of metal on bone and a ripping of tendons. Mkoll faltered and fell.