Straight Silver, page 27
Gaunt stood alone for a few minutes. Around the mill, troopers whispered to each other. The Colonel-Commissar suddenly turned and walked back towards Costin. A hush fell. Dorden looked up from treating another man and saw where Gaunt was heading. He rose, but Milo stopped him.
‘Don’t,’ whispered Milo. ‘Not all over again.’
‘But–’
‘Milo’s right,’ said Mkoll, stepping closer to the pair. ‘Don’t.’
Gaunt crouched down by Costin and took off his cap. He smoothed out the brim.
Costin lay against the pock-marked wall, fear overlaying the pain in his face.
‘This is a regiment to be proud of, Costin,’ Gaunt said finally.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We stick up for one another. Look out for one another. That’s the way we’ve always done it. It’s the way I like it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The doctor is my friend. We don’t see eye to eye on some things, but that’s the mark of friendship, isn’t it? I think you deserve to be executed. Right here and now, because of your neglect. The doctor believes otherwise. I’m not about to shoot him. It turns out, in fact, I couldn’t even if I thought it was the correct thing to do. So that puts me in a hard place. I have to be fair. Even-handed. If I don’t shoot him for breaking orders, I can’t very well shoot you for the same, can I? So you should consider yourself lucky.’
‘I do, sir.’
‘You should also know I hold you in the deepest contempt for what you did. I can never trust you. Your comrades can never trust you. Many, in fact, may hate you for this. You better watch your back.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Gaunt put his cap back on. ‘Consider this your first and only chance. Clean up your act. From this moment onwards. Become the model of the perfect trooper. Prove Dorden right. If I see you take another drink, ever, or if I learn from others that you have, on duty or off, I will come down on you with the fury of a righteous god. It’s all up to you.’
‘Sir?’
‘What?’
‘I’m… I’m sorry. Truly sorry.’
Gaunt got to his feet. ‘Words, Costin. Just words. Actions speak louder. Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Be sorry.’
Good advice, Gaunt mused to himself as he rejoined Mkoll. Deeds not words. Time was getting on and they were in danger of losing the lead they’d gained earlier. Either they moved on the Shadik lines now, or packed it in.
Gaunt called Golke, Beltayn and the platoon leaders to join them.
‘I estimate from the light flashes the target guns are about seven kilometres away, sir,’ Mkoll said. ‘North-east. It could be more, given their range, but their firing lights are brighter than the last time I saw them so they’ve like as not moved up.’
‘They’re heavy. Rail-mounted. Do the Shadik have tracks in that area, count?’
Golke shrugged. ‘There was a rail line up the east side of the Naeme Valley, years ago, but these days? No one from the Alliance has seen past the Shadik front in decades. Even our aerial obs is limited. Of course, they may well have purpose-built something.’
‘So how do we get there?’ Gaunt said, inviting opinions.
‘It’s straight across no-man’s-land,’ said Domor. ‘About a kilometre and a half from here. There’s some decent cover apart from the last few hundred metres. We’d have to go slow, the Ghost way.’
‘What about this dugout, Criid?’ Gaunt asked.
She walked them to the back of the mill and showed them the pile of blast-collapsed rubble that marked the tunnel mouth. ‘I’ve every reason to think this runs right back to their lines,’ she said. ‘A covered arterial route for getting obs patrols back and forth from the mill. I’d have checked it if there’d been time last night, but there wasn’t, so I sealed it.’
‘Something Raglon and his boys are grateful for, no doubt. You used a single tube?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘So, if we clear this opening, the rest of the run should be sound?’
‘They’ll have it guarded,’ Golke said. ‘They may well even be trying to clear it now.’
Mkoll shook his head. ‘I can’t hear anything. No sounds of picks or shovels. I think they’ve just assumed we hold the mill now. Either that, or they haven’t had time to detail sappers in.’
‘If we go that way, we can be on them a lot quicker,’ Gaunt mused. ‘It’s going to get nasty at the far end, whichever way we go. I think I’d rather come up through a guarded tunnel and take my chances. The alternative, as Domor said, is a run at the lines, and that could get messy.’
‘We’d still have to clear it,’ said Golke.
Gaunt smiled. ‘An opportunity for the Verghastite element of the First to shine. Arcuda… round up every man you can find who used to be a miner or an ore worker. We need six or seven. Any more and they’ll be getting in each other’s way. Move Dremmond and Lubba in to cover them. We’ll flame the hole the moment anything moves.’
Arcuda nodded and hurried off.
Gaunt looked at the rest of them. ‘Once we go, we’ll have to work to fluid plans. This is going to be hit and run. Opportunistic. We’re going to need everyone ready to improvise. Best case, we find these weapons and throw a rod in their spokes. Worst case, we simply find them and relay their precise location back to the Alliance. Everyone clear on that? Minimum result is locate. Any questions?’
‘What about the wounded?’ asked Mkoll. There were seven men from seventeen unfit to move.
‘They stay here. Zweil stays with them, along with a backstop team. I’ll select it. Anything else?’
‘One thing that might be useful, sir,’ said Beltayn. ‘I’ve been monitoring vox traffic. About five minutes ago, the Alliance distributed the signal “rogue behj”.’
‘By which they mean?’
‘There’s another assault due,’ said Golke. ‘The counter-push must have produced results in the 57th. GSC must have decided to capitalise on that, and send out a second wave. What was the qualifying code, Beltayn?’
‘Eleven one decimal two, sir.’
Golke nodded, impressed. ‘They’re coming on force. Right across 57th and 58th. We can expect a serious bombardment to start with, and then skirmishers followed by main assault. This part of the front is going to be lively tonight.’
‘Works in our favour,’ said Gaunt. ‘Confusion, line assault. We couldn’t want for better distractions. And being underground during the bombardment can’t hurt either.’
‘Unless a stray shell brings the roof down,’ muttered Criid.
Her pessimism made Gaunt laugh.
‘Let’s get set,’ he told them. ‘The clock’s running. I want to be coming up on the Shadik lines during or after the first assault. Then we play it as it comes.’
Arcuda had rounded up six Verghastites with mine experience: Trillo, Ezlan, Gunsfeld, Subeno, Pozetine and, of course, Kolea. Stripped down, they got to work with their nine-seventies and their bare hands. Other troops were brought in to form chains and clear the rubble the Verghastites were digging out. Lubba and Dremmond, their flamers ready, stood by to hose the opening if anything stirred.
Gaunt stood and watched the work for a while. He was fascinated by Gol Kolea. Criid had had to explain to Kolea what was needed, because his mind lacked even the most basic memories of his long years as a miner in Number Seventeen Deep Working, Vervunhive. But his body had not forgotten the skills. He set to work, relentless, inexhaustible, clearing the rubble and dirt with expert efficiency. He wasn’t just a powerful man mucking in, he knew what he was doing. He was able to advise on clearance and support measures. He set up the work chain so it moved effectively.
Except he didn’t know what he was doing. It was all automatic. The physical memory of mining practices informed his limbs. His eyes were vacant.
Gaunt considered that of all the men the First had lost, Kolea was the one to be most dearly mourned. A superb soldier. A fine leader. If it hadn’t been for Ouranberg, Kolea might have made serious rank in the Ghosts.
Most of all, Gaunt missed Kolea’s quiet, insightful character.
When men died, you simply mourned their absence. The lack of them. You missed their presence. He could think of many like that: Baffels, Adare, Doyl, Cluggan, Maroy, Cocoer, Rilke, Lerod, Hasker, Baru, Blane, Bragg…
God-Emperor! That was just scratching the surface.
But with Kolea it was worse. He was still there, in body, in voice. A constant reminder of the warrior they’d lost.
Gaunt walked back from the tunnel mouth and found Milo.
‘Got a duty for you,’ he said.
‘Ready and willing, sir,’ said Milo.
‘I want you to hold this mill. Zweil’s staying, and the wounded need looking after. I also want a team here in case we come back in a hurry. You and four men. You’ve the command, so you pick.’
Milo looked crestfallen. He was clearly disappointed not to be advancing with the main mission.
‘Isn’t there someone better suited for the job, sir?’ he asked.
‘Like?’
‘Arcuda? Raglon? They’ve both got rank. And they’re–’
‘They’re what, Milo?’
Inexperienced, Milo wanted to say. ‘Good choices,’ he said, uncertainly.
Gaunt sighed and nodded. Milo had turned out to be a first class soldier, with a real promise of leadership qualities, despite his age. Either of the suggestions – Arcuda, green and nervous, and Raglon, shaken and tired – would make more sense. Indeed, Gaunt knew he’d rather have Milo in his fire-team than either of the sergeants.
There was another reason for his choice, one that had been nagging at him for days. He wanted to tell Milo about the old Sororitas woman in the forgotten woodland chapel, but every time he turned it over in his mind, it sounded stupid. He didn’t really even believe it himself.
She’d said Milo was important. Not here, important elsewhere. Then again, she’d been barking mad.
If, he acknowledged to himself, she’d even been there at all. That whole incident had taken on a very dreamlike quality in his head.
But Ibram Gaunt had been alive long enough to know that the galaxy moved in ways far stranger than he could ever divine. His whole life had been bisected and intercut with mysterious truths and consequences. Coincidences. Destinies. Truths that didn’t seem to be truths until years afterwards.
He could not risk it. He could not risk Milo.
‘I want you to do it,’ he said. ‘I trust you. Think of it as a test.’
‘A test, sir?’
‘Maroy’s dead, Milo. Sixteen platoon needs a new sergeant. I’m considering you for that. Get on with your duty, and I’ll consider you more seriously. Pick your four.’
Milo shrugged. He was quite taken aback by the prospect of a promotion and a command. At Vervunhive, it had been a toss up between Milo and Baffels, and Gaunt had given the command to Baffels on the basis of age and experience. Milo was so very young. But war had aged him since then. So had experience. Gaunt knew that if he offered the rank to Milo now, it wouldn’t be turned down. He wasn’t a boy any more. Vervunhive, Hagia, Phantine and Aexe Cardinal had turned him into a soldier.
‘So?’ said Gaunt. ‘Your four?’
‘I’ll need a sniper, Nessa.’ That made sense. Milo and Nessa had formed a good bond during the Ouranberg raid. ‘A flamer to cover the tunnel. Dremmond. Beyond that… I dunno. Mosark? Mkillian?’
‘You’ve got them. Do me proud. If we’re not back by dawn, retreat towards the line if you can. Identifier from me is “piper”, challenge is “boy”. Failing that, one long tap and two short ones. Make sure it’s not us before you get Dremmond to roast the tunnel.’
Milo nodded.
‘Watch Zweil. He can be a handful. Consider yourself in receipt of the brevet rank of sergeant.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Gaunt smiled and saluted Milo. Milo returned the gesture.
‘You’ve come a long way from Tanith Magna, Brin. Be proud of yourself.’
‘I am, sir.’
The hole was a dark, sinister space.
‘Clear?’ hissed Gaunt.
Two micro-bead taps from Mkoll said yes.
‘Advance,’ Gaunt said.
The infiltration team filed quickly into the dugout run. Mkoll and Domor had the lead, followed by Lubba and Hwlan. Gaunt was right behind them with Bonin.
Initially, the earth-dug tunnel dropped away rather sharply. The floor was a congealed mass of soil-waste. But after about ten metres, it levelled out and its nature changed. Rather than earth-cut walls, the tunnel was made of mouldering stone, old, but well-laid. It reminded Gaunt of a storm-drain or a sewer.
It was far too elaborate and significant to have been built to cover Republican troops out to the forward observation point at the mill. This was ancient. Gaunt realised it was most likely some part of the mill’s old water-system, a drain or possibly a feeder sluice. The Shadik had unearthed it and put it to use.
It was quite narrow and low, and the wet, slime-covered stones were treacherous, especially in the near-pitch darkness. They dared not use lamp packs for fear of advertising their approach. That was why he’d put Sergeant Domor in the lead. ‘Shoggy’ Domor had been blinded on Menazoid Epsilon, and his eyes had been replaced with bulky augmetic optics, which made him resemble a certain bug-eyed amphibean and thus earned him his nickname. Domor adjusted his optics to night-vision mode.
After a further twenty metres, the tunnel dropped again, this time suddenly, and they had to wade through knee-deep water. There was greater damage to the stone work – evidently this part of the tunnel had subsided or dropped badly.
Gaunt looked back down the file. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom, as much as they were going to, anyway. He could see grey-black shapes moving against the darkness, and hear the occasional splash or clink of rock. It was hard effort, and the men were trying to keep their breathing quiet. It was also hot and airless, and everyone was sweating freely.
About three hundred metres along, Mkoll called a stop. A secondary tunnel opened up to the left, also stone-built, and water gurgled out of it. They waited while the master scout checked it. A minute. Two. Three.
Then a double-tap on the micro-bead link.
Gaunt risked vocals, keeping his voice low. ‘One, four?’
‘Four, one,’ Mkoll responded, barely audible. ‘A side chute. Dead-end. It’s collapsed.’
They moved on. In the space of the next two hundred metres, three more side chutes opened. The party waited as Mkoll checked each one scrupulously.
A few minutes more, and Gaunt felt cool air moving past his face. He could smell water. In another step or two, he could hear it. A torrent, fast moving.
The tunnel opened out. Gaunt couldn’t see enough, but he could feel the space in front of him.
‘Some kind of vault,’ Domor reported over the link. There was a sudden scrabbling noise and a low curse.
‘Report!’ Gaunt said.
‘Lubba nearly slipped over. Sir, I think we’re going to have to risk lamps.’
‘How clear is the way ahead?’
‘No sign of contact. Wait.’
They heard soft boot-steps on stone, a wooden creak, and then it fell silent for a few seconds.
‘Domor?’
‘It’s clear. I think we should use lamps. Someone’s gonna fall, otherwise.’
‘Your call, Domor, you’re in the best position to decide.’
‘Do it, sir.’
‘Two lamps only. Hwlan. Bonin.’
The scouts switched on their packs. The pools of light they cast seemed alarmingly bright. They illuminated the chamber, and Gaunt realised at once that Domor had been correct.
The tunnel they had been following came out halfway up the stone walls of a deep cistern area. It dropped away below them. Narrow, rail-less stone steps led down from the tunnel to a stone buttress where lengths of duckboards had been placed as a bridge across the gap over onto a matching buttress. From there, another flight of steps led up to the resumption of the tunnel. Domor was on the far side, crouched at the top of the opposite steps, watching the way ahead.
There was nothing to hold on to, and every surface was dripping with slime. Without the light, a good many of them would have lost their footing on either set of steps, and the narrow duckboard bridge would have been impossible to negotiate.
Far below them, water thundered through the bottom of the stone vault.
Holding his lamp, Hwlan went across the bridge. He stood at the foot of the opposite steps to light the way. Bonin waited with his own lamp at the bottom of the near flight.
Gaunt and Mkoll went across with Lubba. Gaunt turned back and signalled the troop to follow, single file. He wanted Bonin and Hwlan free to move up at the front. He instructed every third man to stop and take over the job of holding the lamps. The last man through would collect in the lamps and turn them off.
They’d been underground for about fifty minutes, and had advanced what Mkoll reckoned was about two-thirds of a kilometre, when the barrage began.
It sounded like a distant hammering at first, then rose in volume and tempo until they could actually feel the earth around them vibrating. Gaunt calculated there was between eight and twelve metres of solid earth above their heads, but still everything jarred. Spoil and water squirted and dribbled out of the roof, shaken loose or forced out through ground distortions. Every once in a while, a whole stone block popped out of the wall and fell on the floor.
Agitation rose. Gaunt could feel it. It wasn’t hard to imagine what would happen if a heavy shell scored a direct hit above them. Crushed, suffocated, buried alive. The tunnel could cave or collapse. They’d already seen it had done that further back.
