‘Will they take Carson?’ Blanks asked.
‘Well, he killed the wrong man, didn’t he. They can’t take him.’ Mouse shrugged and carried on. ‘Would you head back, Ducky? If they gave you the chance?’
‘They’re not going to offer it to someone like me.’
‘Yeah, but just saying if they did?’
The half-smirk that Ducky perpetually wore dropped away. ‘Go back to being a street cutter in the rookeries? All that ails you cured, thrice the price, no guarantees, no questions asked? Sewing up the cuts on drunks, picking out arbitrator buck-shot from the arse-cheeks of part-time anarchists? Lightening the load of women in trouble in a rat-infested flophouse? No, not again. Never again.’
Ducky looked around the circle. ‘I’m here. It’s a new colony. They’ll need medicae and they won’t care where they’ve come from or what they’ve done, and they won’t ask you to kill, and everyone you save is going back to a life, not going back into the grinder. I’m staying.’
The circle was silent for a few seconds before finally Blanks took the lead. ‘So, you’re going to settle down here and find some pretty Voorjer nurse to bat her eyelashes at you and learn at the feet of the master?’
‘I think I’ll leave devoorjing the local girls to the lieutenant,’ Ducky languidly replied, his half-smirk once more in its rightful place.
The circle cackled loudly with salacious glee and envy. For all that the striking young woman leading the Voorjer scouts had remained hard-nosed and resolute in front of the senior officers, her focus on their lieutenant whilst out on expedition had been obvious to the company’s old hands.
‘She won’t get anywhere sniffing around him,’ Marble said, closing his lasgun up and joining them. ‘None of the others ever have. He doesn’t do anything.’
‘Oh, I bet he does. He’s just picky I bet,’ Mouse countered. ‘If I was an officer and I looked like him, I’d be picky I tell you.’
‘If you were an officer and looked like him,’ Blanks said, ‘you’d help yourself as much as you liked.’
Ducky interjected. ‘If Mouse was an officer, Emperor help the rest of us.’
The circle laughed again, but their smiles froze as Forjaz pounded up to them. ‘Look lively! Look lively!’ he shouted. ‘The brass are coming. Up! Up!’
The laughter stopped instantly as the men ditched their rations and sprang to their feet, groping for jackets, clasps, laces and buttons. Forjaz told Mouse to run off and get the lieutenant.
‘What does the bleeding colonel want with us?’ Mouse muttered.
‘I must’ve forgot to inquire when I showed him into the parlour!’ Forjaz bit back. ‘And it’s not just the colonel, it’s the new black-coat too.’
If Forjaz thought his men were moving fast before, then they suddenly jumped up a few notches. Within a few breaths, the men of second platoon were in a rough formation. Forjaz smacked them into crisp lines and took his place to the side, just as the brass appeared from between the tents. They were chatting jovially between each other or, more accurately, Forjaz realised, the colonel and Major Brooce were chatting amicably while the commissar walked, unengaged, beside them.
The colonel came to a stop a metre away from Forjaz and looked at him expectantly. Forjaz took a step forwards and whipped off a crisp salute: ‘Sergeant Forjaz, sir. Second Platoon, K Company.’
Arbulaster returned the salute. ‘Excellent, sergeant. Stand your men easy, I hear you’ve pulled the short straw and are up on first watch?’
‘That’s right, sir.’
‘I’ll not take up too much of your time then. Now,’ he turned to the platoon lined up beside the fire, ‘which one of you men is Ogryn Frn’k?’
The ogryn stood in line towering a metre above every other man. Forjaz’s eyes flicked to the colonel’s face, but his expression had no trace of anything but honest curiosity. Forjaz gave a nod to Gardner and Gardner discreetly elbowed Frn’k in the thigh. The ogryn looked down puzzled at his friend for a moment and, at Gardner’s gestures, slowly raised his hand.
‘Excellent!’ Arbulaster said without a trace of sarcasm. ‘If he could step forwards and… er…’ He gestured at Gardner, ‘If his friend wouldn’t mind helping him along.’
Gardner led Frn’k to the front of the platoon, still uncertain as to what was going on. They were quite a pair, Arbulaster reflected. He did not know which of them looked more savage: the shambling ogre or the brute of a corporal who had covered himself in trophies made from the detritus of war. Once they were still, and the ogryn was at a semblance of attention, Arbulaster motioned to Brooce who passed over a sheet of paper.
‘I have here,’ Arbulaster announced, ‘a commendation for Ogryn Frn’k, currently attached to the Brimlock 11th, K Company, 2nd Platoon. To whit, that on 058660M41 Corporal Frn’k carried out an individual act of heroism by which he led a group of enemy warriors into a prepared position and subsequently did single-handedly capture a vital prisoner. As this was in direct face of the enemy and at great personal risk to himself, his actions are worthy of commendation.’
Arbulaster handed the paper to the ogryn who took it carefully between his thumb and forefinger.
‘Try not to eat it, there’s a good man,’ Arbulaster said as he patted the ogryn on the chest. ‘Commissar? A few words?’
Arbulaster stepped away and beckoned to Reeve. The commissar came forwards, each step accompanied by the chink of his kill-studs striking together. Forjaz felt himself push his chest out even further. He did not dare look Reeve straight in the eye. No soldier ever benefited from a commissar’s attention, all one could hope for was to be forgotten as quickly as possible. And so he looked past Reeve and thereby had a perfect view of the expression on Gardner’s face as Reeve stepped into the light to address the platoon. In a brief second, Forjaz watched Gardner go from shock, to anger, then pale to terror.
‘Major Stanhope,’ Reeve declared as the officer appeared at the edge of the gathering. ‘You are just in time.’
Forjaz glanced over at Stanhope. He was standing bolt upright, but Forjaz could tell he was on it again and wasn’t about to intervene.
‘Blessed are the small minds,’ Reeve began, ‘for they are easily filled with faith. This ogryn here, less than human but no less a servant of the Emperor, is an example to this regiment. Though today we have commended his actions alone, I have faith that all of you here are equal to his dedication.’
Forjaz did not hear the commissar’s words, his only concern was Gardner. He was deathly white and looked ready to pass out. Forjaz wanted to get him out of there at once, but he did not dare draw the commissar’s attention.
‘And with that faith in my heart,’ Reeve continued, ‘I deliver to you a gift.’ Reeve held his hand up. From behind the tent came two soldiers that Forjaz didn’t recognise. They carried another between them, tied and bound, struggling. As they came closer, though, Forjaz realised it wasn’t a man, it was an ork.
The two soldiers dumped the ork in front of the platoon. ‘That very prisoner which has brought us here today.’
The ork was bound head to foot, yet it squirmed and slithered along the ground, trying to break free of the bindings. The platoon broke from its ranks, those closest retreating, those at the ends lapping around so as to have the ork encircled. Forjaz took the opportunity to step up and shove Gardner into Frn’k and push them both back towards the tents. Marble, who was never without his jerry-rigged lasrifle, raised it to shoot the ork dead.
‘Hold!’ Reeve ordered him, and Marble held. Reeve stepped across the circle, ignoring the ork, and held out his hand. ‘I commend you on your keenness, soldier, but this one is not for you.’
At Reeve’s insistent look, Marble unstrapped the lasrifle and handed it over to him. Reeve took it and held it out to the man next to him. Ducky picked it up, not knowing what was happening.
‘Private Drake
, I understand that the Emperor has never granted you the opportunity to rid the galaxy of one of his foes. That will change now. You will kill this animal that lies before us and join the rest of your fellows as one of His defenders.’
Reeve stepped away. ‘Back, all of you. Give him room. We do not wish this night to end in accidental tragedy.’
The rest of the platoon did as they were ordered. Ducky, the focus of their attention, looked aghast.
‘No, no,’ he said, almost stammering, to Reeve, ‘it’s not my place. Frn’k took him, it should be his… honour.’
‘The ogryn has already received his honour,’ Reeve replied. ‘This one is yours.’
‘I can’t take it for the whole platoon, we should draw lots.’
But the scarred and wizened Reeve would not budge, ‘You have been chosen, private. I insist. It is an order.’
Ducky looked at the ork on the ground. It looked up at him, its xenos face twisted in anger and hatred. Its life was dedicated to destruction and death. It would be a mercy, a kindness to the entire galaxy to end it. But then, the decision that Ducky had made so long ago not to kill had never been about the enemy. Xenos or human, it did not matter. His duty to his god and to the Guard did not matter. It had only ever been about how he could live with himself in this damned universe.
‘No,’ Ducky decided. ‘I won’t.’ He lowered the lasrifle.
‘You’re refusing a direct order?’
‘Yes,’ Ducky said and the platoon held its collective breath, knowing he was about to die.
‘That is unacceptable.’ Reeve pulled his pistol from his coat and fired straight into Marble’s leg. Marble howled in pain and collapsed, clutching at the burn.
Forjaz instinctively took a step forwards, but saw Reeve’s pistol pointed at him. ‘Hold your position, sergeant, or your life will be forfeit.’
Reeve whirled the pistol back to point at Marble. ‘Kill the animal, Private Drake, or my next shot will be to the head.’
But Ducky was already pointing the lasrifle at Reeve. ‘So will mine, you black-hearted parasite. Leave us alone.’
Reeve’s cold gaze locked with Ducky’s furious glare. Forjaz looked desperately to the colonel to intervene, but Arbulaster merely looked on with a sombre expression. No one else dared move. No one wished to aid the commissar, no one dared oppose him. No one but Ducky, whose finger was trembling with rage around the trigger.
Reeve was unfazed. He was outnumbered and surrounded, and yet he had them all in the palm of his hand. He lowered his pistol slowly.
‘If you wish to kill me, private,’ he said, taking a step towards him, ‘you had best hope to do so with your first shot. For if you do not, then I will have you and every other man of this platoon ended. And I will take my time in doing so. It will be slow and there will be pain, and only when they have scratched their throats raw with their screams will they be granted the mercy of death. Or, private, you will follow my orders and this will all be over.’
Ducky felt his hands shake wildly. Reeve would do it too. He would have them all killed for the slightest reason, and Ducky had just given him that.
The ork on the ground was bucking and snarling, ignorant that its fate was being decided. Ducky ignored it, his world full only of the grey eyes and the scornful expression on the commissar’s sunken, ancient face. He raised the rifle to his shoulder to reduce the shaking, his eyes watered as he squinted down the barrel at his target in the middle of Reeve’s forehead.
‘Just do it!’ Marble shouted.
For a split second, Ducky stopped shaking and stood perfectly still. Then he swept the rifle down towards the ork. He shoved the butt down and pulled the barrel in, back towards himself, as though about to club the xenos to death. And then he pushed the trigger. The lasrifle fired, then sparked and exploded. Ducky fell in silence his face a mass of burns and blood, his uniform burning from the misfire.
‘What in the Emperor’s name is going on here?’ Carson appeared, Mouse trailing behind.
Reeve, for the first time surprised and unsure what to do, retreated. He stepped away and strode off into the darkness with the two Guardsmen he had brought. Carson did not wait an instant. He drew one of his pistols and shot the ork clean through the head as Forjaz and the rest of second platoon scrambled to save Ducky’s life.
‘Well,’ Arbulaster commented to Brooce as they boarded a Valkyrie to fly them back to Dova. ‘I think that went far better than expected, don’t you?’
Brooce did not know how to begin to frame a reply. Fortunately, the colonel did not need one.
‘Did you see his face, Brooce? Did you see it?’
‘Who? The commissar’s?’
‘Not him! The other one. Oh, it doesn’t matter.’ He activated the intra-vox. ‘We’re all on board, Plant. Up, up and away!’
Chapter Ten
Carson watched the medicae try to patch Ducky’s face back together again. He had been standing there for two hours already, but the surgeons were still working. They had no one else to attend to aside from Corporal Marble and a private who was laid up after a mishap with a las-cutter. Carson had not even known that the colonel was here. He had been giving his report to Major Roussell when he had heard the news. By the time the platoon had taken Ducky to the medicae tent, none of the senior officers who had caused the disruption could be seen.
Carson ordered Red to get them to their sentry posts. They would be early but it would be better to spread them out and give them a sense of purpose. At the very least, none of them would be falling asleep at their posts tonight. He held back Forjaz and got the story from him, then went inside. Stanhope was already there, watching the surgeons work.
‘Seems like you weren’t the only one Reeve was interested in after all,’ Carson said.
There was no response.
‘Where were you?’ he continued.
Stanhope said nothing. He just stood there like a ghost, a presence without substance.
Carson went over to talk to Marble. He had needed little attention beyond a bandage for his las-burn. He was distraught, over Ducky rather than his rifle. Ducky, he said, must have ridden the trigger too long and overcharged it. He kept on swearing that he hadn’t known that when he told him to shoot the ork. Carson forgave him, though he knew it wasn’t his place to do so. Even so, Marble took comfort from it.
Carson stayed there until he realised the sentry shift was nearly done. The company found him waiting for them at their tent cluster. The hours in the dark had not done much to cool their tempers and several of them wore murderous expressions.
‘Listen close all of you,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s nothing about this that isn’t rotten. Rotten to the core. But Ducky has shown us the way. No matter how that circumstance came to be, when it came down to it he put the company first and himself second.’
He heard the men shift uneasily. He carried on.
‘Now, as likely as not, there’ll be a battle tomorrow. Maybe our last one. Think on that and get some sleep.’
The company fell out and retired to their tents. He stopped Gardner, though, and pulled him over.
‘I understand you have something to tell me, corporal.’
‘No, sir,’ Gardner answered stiffly, but Carson could see the murderous intent in his demeanour.
‘Yes, you damn well do. This Reeve character, who is he? How do you know him?’
‘I don’t–’
‘Don’t lie to me, corporal,’ Carson hissed. ‘You’re worse at it than your big friend. Forjaz saw you. You recognised him. So you tell me, why’s he got my company in his sights?’
‘That I don’t know, sir. Honestly, I don’t. But I have seen him before,’ Gardner replied with menace.
‘When?’ Carson urged.
‘At Cawnpore.’
‘He was on the Execution Boards?’ Carson said, incredul
ous.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The one that ordered your brother…’
‘Yes, sir. They didn’t tell us the names, and he didn’t wear that coat of his, but I wouldn’t forget his face.’
‘I understand.’ The man was committed, Carson could tell. There was no way to deter him, only to stop him heading out this night and deflect him down a more favourable path. He shook the corporal fiercely. ‘Now listen, there’ll most likely be a battle tomorrow. Maybe our last one.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘A great battle. A lot of confusion. A lot of death. Think on that,’ Carson felt his meaning could not have been more clear. ‘Now get some sleep.’
After that, Carson took his own advice and retired for the night. His sleep was restless, though, filled with the stories he had heard of the Cawnpore Execution Boards. They hadn’t just taken the mutineers out and put them up against a wall, they had ordered them tied, spread-eagled, across the mouths of Basilisks. When the artillery fired, so he had been told, there was nothing left of the men except their arms, still tied to the cannons, and their blackened heads, which would roll to the ground. At which point the barrels would be lowered and the next mutineers strapped on. He had seen men die in worse ways on the battlefield, but to do that to your own kind… The image plagued his dreams, first seeing his men strapped on and fired through and then the arrival of his turn. As he was raised up and he looked down the barrel he could see the officer about to give the order to fire. It was Stanhope.
‘Lieutenant? Are you awake? Have you heard the news?’
Carson cracked an eye open. Someone was inside his tent. Someone who was reaching for him. As his mind struggled from sleep his body reacted. He grabbed out with one hand, struck cloth, gripped tight. His other hand already held the bayonet he kept by his side. He yanked the shape down and rolled on top of it.
‘It’s me! Wait! Wait!’ the shape whispered in a panic as it felt the sharp point of the bayonet at its throat.
Carson’s mind awoke and found the firm body of Van Am tensed beneath him.
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