THE WARMASTER

by Dan Abnett

  ‘Do you want the fight to be here, ayatani?’ asked Rawne. ‘Here where the retinue is?’

  ‘No, I do not.’

  ‘If we’re fighting here, it’ll be a very bad sign,’ said Rawne. ‘It’ll mean the enemy has taken everything south of here, and that’s most of the city. So if we’re fighting here, it means we’re neck-deep in shit.’

  Oysten, Rawne’s adjutant, pushed through the milling crowds of troopers, and ran to him. She held out a slip of paper.

  ‘This from staff, sir,’ she said.

  Rawne took it and read it.

  NOTICE OF HIGH ALERT ++ ALL STATIONS IN CITY ZONE TO SECONDARY IMMEDIATE ++ AWAIT PRIMARY ORDERS

  ‘No fething shit,’ he said, crumpling the paper and tossing it aside. He glanced at the flocks of aircraft droning overhead.

  ‘Like I needed brass to tell me that.’

  Felyx got out of the transport and looked at the sky, mouth open.

  ‘By the Throne, what is this?’

  ‘Come on,’ said Dalin. ‘We have to move.’

  Since accidentally overhearing Kolea and Hark, Dalin had been lost in worry about the prospect of Felyx’s secret coming out. But circumstances had changed so badly, that hardly seemed an issue. Felyx Chass’ stupid secret seemed insignificant now the city was under attack.

  ‘Will you come on?’ he urged.

  ‘But Maddalena–’

  ‘Move, now,’ said Dalin, grabbing Felyx by the arm.

  Elodie scooped Yoncy up in her arms and hurried with the rest of the retinue into the billet houses. Elam’s company had opened up the basements and were sandbagging the windows of the lower storeys. They were urgently ushering the non-coms inside.

  ‘Downstairs,’ a trooper said to Elodie. ‘Quick now.’

  ‘I said they were coming, didn’t I?’ Yoncy whispered in Elodie’s ear as they bumped down the cellar steps.

  Elodie looked at her.

  ‘The enemy? You meant the enemy?’

  Yoncy nodded.

  ‘They are always really close,’ she said.

  The wall batteries of the Urdeshic Palace began to fire, echoing the sustained barrage from batteries around the skirts of the high city. The storm clouds lit up with specks and flurries of light. The palace itself groaned and trembled. Deep-core generators kicked into life, and with a cough and pop of pressure drop, the fortress’ massive void shield system engaged, encasing the entire summit of the Great Hill in a globe of phosphorescent green energy against the incoming raid. The air stank of ozone.

  In the war room, contained pandemonium reigned.

  ‘What are we looking at?’ demanded Cybon.

  ‘The situation in Zarakppan has deteriorated in the last hour,’ said Biota, scanning the data that flooded the strategium. ‘Faster than anticipated. Much faster.’

  ‘Urienz is on the line there, isn’t he?’ asked Van Voytz.

  ‘He’s en route, sir,’ said Biota. ‘But the line has already broken in three places. The enemy is progressing into the refinery district.’

  ‘Damn it!’ Van Voytz snapped.

  ‘But that’s just a feint,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘It is,’ agreed Biota. ‘It’s drawn our main power. Their main assault is coming from the south west, out of the margins of the Northern Dynastic Claves. A principal force, predominately infantry with fast armour support. Plus air cover, of course. Fast strike, slash and burn. They’re using the suburbs here on the south shore of the bay.’

  The stained-glass windows of the war room rattled in their frames, shaken by the over-pressure of the massive void shield outside. Gaunt thought he could hear the first crisp stings of munitions spattering off the outside of the shield. On the hololithic display, the fuzzy patch of imaging that indicated the enemy aircraft formations was merging with the upper contours of the Great Hill.

  ‘We need to restructure,’ said Van Voytz, studying the chart and sliding the code-bars of brigade indicators around as if he were laying out playing cards for solitaire. ‘We need to pull garrison elements down from the north. Where’s Blackwood?’

  ‘Why do we need Blackwood?’ asked Gaunt.

  ‘Blackwood has principal command of the Eltath position,’ said Cybon. ‘This is his watch.’

  ‘This needs to go to the warmaster,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘The warmaster is indisposed,’ said Biota. ‘Marshal Blackwood has command precedence here.’

  Gaunt looked around. The chamber was bustling with staff, but there was no sign of Blackwood.

  ‘For Throne’s sake,’ Gaunt said to Cybon. ‘Interim orders at least. Start the fething restructure! Blackwood can take over when he arrives.’

  Van Voytz looked at Cybon. Cybon sighed, and walked to the balcony rail. He amped up the volume of his throat-vox.

  ‘Attention!’ he boomed. ‘I am assuming command until relieved by Marshal Blackwood! All data to my station! Await orders!’

  He looked back at the table. Van Voytz and Biota were already pushing data blocks across the hololith map, suggesting deployment structures for the reserve garrisons stationed inside the city.

  ‘Good,’ Cybon nodded, considering their suggestions. ‘Confirm these routings and send them to the main table. Get them despatched now! And make sure the damn Munitorum knows where and what it needs to support.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ said Biota.

  ‘Let’s look at the rest of the list,’ said Cybon. ‘Anything we can reposition in the western corner there?’

  Van Voytz pointed at the city map.

  ‘That’s your mob, Bram,’ he said.

  Gaunt nodded.

  ‘Any requests?’

  ‘I think they could make the south bayside in under an hour. Perhaps mount a support of the Tulkar Batteries?’

  Van Voytz nodded.

  ‘Yes, and we push this armour in at their left flank. Cybon?’

  ‘Do it,’ Cybon growled, busy with the deployment authorisations for another eighteen regiments.

  ‘We have retinue with us, sir,’ Gaunt said to Van Voytz. ‘Permission to have them transported inside the palace precinct?’

  ‘Granted,’ said Van Voytz immediately, then paused. He gestured to the chamber’s high windows, lit by the eerie green glow outside. ‘But nothing’s getting in or out with the shield up.’

  ‘Once this raid is driven off,’ said Cybon, looking up from the chart, ‘we’ll have to drop the voids. Power conservation.’

  Van Voytz nodded, and looked back at Gaunt.

  ‘Get them ready to move at our notice,’ he said. ‘They can come in once the raid has cleared.’

  Gaunt nodded a thank you. He beckoned to his waiting adjutant.

  ‘Beltayn?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Get me a link to the regiment. Call me when it’s up,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Beltayn hurried off to the vox-centre. Gaunt took Van Voytz aside.

  ‘The warmaster must be on top of this,’ he said quietly. ‘Now.’

  ‘We can manage.’

  ‘This is his fight! On his doorstep!’

  ‘He’s busy with the big picture, Bram. This isn’t the only warzone on Urdesh.’

  ‘Someone should go and–’

  ‘His area is off limits to all,’ said Van Voytz. ‘I’m sure he’s been made aware of the situation. He will intervene if he thinks it’s necessary. It’s staff’s job to keep on top of this.’

  Gaunt looked at him, unconvinced.

  ‘Dammit, Bram,’ said Van Voytz, ‘this is exactly what I’ve been talking about. Macaroth’s detached from everything. Everything. It’s all grand theory to him. He probably hasn’t even noticed we’re voids up.’

  ‘I can’t believe the warmaster is so divorced from reality,’ said Gaunt.

  Van Voytz’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  ‘Throne’s sake, Bram. We told you. We told you plain. He’s not fit. Not any more. He’s not the safe hands we need driving this. Not this fight
, not the theatre, not the damn crusade. He’s been holed up in his quarters for months, sending out strategic orders by runner. I don’t think he’s been out of the east wing in weeks.’

  He put his hand on Gaunt’s shoulder and turned him away from the officers around the busy strategium table.

  ‘That’s why we need to settle this,’ he whispered. ‘And we need to do it now. In the next few hours.’

  Gaunt looked at him, hard-faced.

  ‘You want to move against him now? Replace him? In the middle of this?’

  ‘If not now, when, Bram? When? The inner circle is ready to act. The declamation of confidence is prepared. All the formalities are in place. With your cooperation, we were hoping to act this week anyway. This crisis is forcing our hand. The Archenemy has shifted tactics, a hard turn. Throne knows what’s coming in the next few hours, here or on the Southern Front.’

  ‘At least wait until we’ve pushed back this assault,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘The enemy is hitting Eltath, Bram. Two days ago, that was an unthinkable scenario. This offensive demonstrates the failure of command. It’s primary evidence to support our demands.’

  ‘Barthol, I refuse to accept that the best time to enforce change at the very upper level of command is during an enemy assault. Macaroth’s hands need to be on the reins–’

  ‘But they’re not, Gaunt, they’re not! He’s not engaged with the matter at hand. He’s letting it happen. The warmaster’s hands need to be on the reins, all right. But not Macaroth’s.’

  Van Voytz looked him in the eye.

  ‘We need theatre command, and we need it now,’ he said. ‘Not tonight, not tomorrow. We need it now. If we leave it a day or two, Throne knows what we’ll be facing across Urdesh. Throne knows how the game will have changed. I’m not going to wait to let a catastrophic defeat prove that we need new leadership.’

  ‘Barthol, you know the rest of staff knows all about it?’

  Van Voytz made a careless shrug.

  ‘It’s been plain to me,’ said Gaunt. ‘Staff knows what your inner circle is planning, and significant numbers of them oppose the idea. Even those sympathetic to the idea don’t think this is the right time to consider it. Those against you would block it.’

  ‘We have the numbers,’ Van Voytz sneered. ‘It will be a procedural formality. Look at what’s going on, Gaunt. This is a shambles. After this, staff will thank us for it… If we get fresh blood to haul us out of this offensive with renewed vigour. Come on. Think about it. We should be thanking the Anarch for giving us the push we need. It trounces all counter-arguments.’

  Gaunt took a deep breath. The windows were still quivering in their frames, and the sound of munition strikes and airbursts was now very distinct.

  ‘The inner circle,’ he said. ‘It’s not well liked…’

  Van Voytz raised his eyebrows.

  ‘What’s the matter, Bram? Afraid you’re going to be tarnished by association? Afraid you’ll catch lice lying down with the bad boys?’

  ‘I am concerned with the calibre of some of your co-conspirators,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘Oh! “Co-conspirators” now, is it?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Gaunt growled. ‘Lugo is a paper general. He’s never been better than barely competent–’

  ‘Screw Lugo,’ replied Van Voytz. ‘He’s a rat’s arse. But we need him, because he’s connected. He has strong links with the Ecclesiarchy in this sector and Khulan Sector. We need the approval of the Adeptus Ministorum and he brings that. A move like this slips down a damn sight easier with the church backing us. They’ll bring over the sector lord and the Imperial court. We need him, so we tolerate him.’

  Gaunt didn’t reply.

  ‘As soon as Blackwood gets here, we’re calling the circle together,’ said Van Voytz. ‘And then we’re pushing the button. An hour or two. Now, are you with us?’

  ‘Give me two hours, sir,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I need to issue direct instructions to the Ghosts. I owe them that much. I’m not leaving their feet in the fire like this.’

  ‘All right, but after that?’

  ‘I’ll give you my answer in two hours.’

  Van Voytz stared at him for a moment, as if trying to read his thoughts in his face. Gaunt’s eyes, their impenetrable blue a result of Van Voytz’s own command calls, made that impossible.

  ‘Two hours, then,’ Van Voytz said.

  Gaunt snapped a salute. Van Voytz was already turning back to the strategium table where Cybon was yelling instruction to his juniors.

  Gaunt looked over at Daur and Bonin.

  ‘With me,’ he said.

  Beltayn was in the vox-centre on the gallery below. He’d taken command of one of the high-gain voxcaster units, ordering the vox-men aside so he could operate it himself.

  ‘Linked to Tanith First, sir,’ he reported, handing a headset to Gaunt.

  Gaunt took off his cap and put the headset on.

  ‘This is Gaunt.’

  ‘Reading you, sir,’ came the reply. He recognised the voice of Oysten, Rawne’s new adjutant.

  ‘I need Kolea or Hark,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Oysten’s crackling reply came back. ‘Neither one is here.’

  ‘How can they…? Never mind. Baskevyl, then. And quickly.’

  ‘Sir, Major Baskevyl is not on-site either.’

  ‘Feth me, Oysten! What’s going on?’

  ‘One moment, sir.’

  There was a muffled thump from the other end of the connection, then a new voice came on.

  ‘Gaunt?’

  ‘Rawne? What the hell is happening?’

  ‘The explanation will take some time, and it will annoy you,’ said Rawne. ‘Do you really want to hear it right now?’

  ‘No. Dammit, I was about to promote Kolea to brevet colonel to get the regiment together.’

  ‘Well, Gol’s not present, and I don’t think a brevet promotion is going to do him much good right now.’

  ‘All right. Rawne, looks like you got the job after all.’

  Silence, a crackle.

  ‘You still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are we going to have that argument again?’

  ‘I don’t know. Shall we?’

  ‘Does this seem like a good time, Rawne?’ Gaunt snapped. ‘Are you the senior officer present or not?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then you’re in charge. I can’t get there. The palace is locked down. What’s the situation?’

  ‘We’re at secondary order, and ready to move. I was anticipating marching orders.’

  ‘Yes? Well, here they come. You’re moving south, to the Tulkar Batteries. The enemy is advancing from the south and south west. Garrison forces are moving in to cover the line. How fast can you get there?’

  ‘Hold on… Checking the charts… Fifty minutes if we leave now.’

  ‘Make it fast. Rapid transfer, and expect to hit the ground running when you arrive. The enemy may already be there. Orders are to hold the batteries and hold that line. I’ll get any supplementary data I can find relayed via the war room. Munitions?’

  ‘Adequate, but we’ll need more before long.’

  ‘Munitorum is aware. I think you may get some armour support in another ninety minutes, but you’ll probably be on station first.’

  ‘What about the retinue?’

  ‘Permission’s been granted to transfer all non-coms to the palace precinct. Transport will be despatched, but it will be a while. The retinue will have to remain at the billet site until the raid’s over and the shield’s down. Suggest you–’

  ‘Leave a couple of companies to protect them, got it,’ said Rawne.

  ‘Good. Get on with it. Rapid deploy. Do you need a brevet rank?’

  ‘No, I fething don’t.’

  ‘You’ve got it anyway, Colonel Rawne. You are primary order as of now. Get moving. The Emperor protects.’

  ‘Unde
rstood.’

  ‘Are my orders clear and comprehended, colonel?’

  ‘They are. They are… my lord militant.’

  ‘Straight silver, Rawne. I’ll make contact again as soon as I can.’

  ‘Understood. Rawne out.’

  The connection dropped. Gaunt handed the headset back to Beltayn.

  ‘Colonel Rawne?’ asked Daur.

  ‘Seems so,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘What happens now, sir?’ asked Beltayn.

  ‘We have to pay a visit,’ said Gaunt.

  ‘In the middle of this?’ asked Daur.

  ‘It’s important,’ said Gaunt. He looked at Bonin.

  ‘Think you can lead me to the east wing of this place?’ he asked.

  TWENTY-ONE: LICE

  Rawne walked out of the K700 billet buildings into the yard. Rain was still coming down hard.

  ‘Listen up!’ he yelled. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the constant drumming and rumbling of the raid. On the dismal skyline, the Great Hill was lit up, strobing with flashes and fizzles of light as the enemy aircraft assaulted the shield and the lower slopes.

  The officers, adjutants and seniors gathered in.

  ‘Primary order,’ said Rawne. ‘We’re moving in force towards the Tulkar Batteries. Expect enemy contact at that site. Be prepared to engage the enemy before we reach the batteries. We’re moving in five. Rapid deploy.’

  ‘Is this from the top?’ asked Kolosim.

  ‘No,’ said Rawne sarcastically. ‘I’m making it all up. Five minutes, are we clear?’

  There was general assent.

  ‘Sergeant Mkoll?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I want the approaches to the batteries scouted in advance, so your boys will tip the spear.’

  Mkoll nodded.

  ‘Do we have street plans?’ he asked.

  Rawne glanced at Oysten, who held out a waterproof bag of city maps and charts.

  ‘Read and digest,’ said Rawne. ‘In fact, everybody get a look, please. Make sketches if you have to.’

  ‘What about the retinue?’ asked Blenner.

  ‘E and V Companies will remain here and guard the non-coms,’ said Rawne.

  ‘Are you joking?’ asked Wilder, unable to contain his annoyance. Once again, the Colours Company was being relegated from the front line.

  ‘No, I’m not, captain,’ said Rawne.