The Warmaster

Seventeen: Eagles

The regiment’s psyber-eagle was roosting on a fence overlooking the billet yard, one head tucked asleep, the other wary and watching the dawn fiercely.

The sky was pink and the angles of the shadows long and hard. Zhukova wandered into the yard, greeting the sentries at the billet doors.

‘Up early,’ said Daur.

‘So are you,’ she replied with a smile.

‘If I sleep for too long, the scar gets sore,’ he replied, patting the side of his belly with a grimace. ‘A little stroll stretches it out and eases the cramp.’

‘Elodie not mind you leaving her bed now you’re only just in it?’ asked Zhukova.

‘I’ll be back directly,’ said Daur with a grin. ‘Anyway, she’s been up half the night. Criid’s little girl, Yoncy. Tona had to shave her head. Lice, you know. Poor kid’s beside herself at the loss of her pigtails. They’ve been taking it in turns to sit with her and calm her down.’

‘I thought I heard sobbing,’ said Zhukova.

‘Oh, that,’ laughed Daur. ‘That’s just all the hearts you’ve broken. The men of T Company, crying in their sleep.’

Zhukova snorted.

‘I was going for a run,’ she said.

‘Check with the scouts. They’re watching the area. After yesterday.’

She nodded, and then paused.

‘What’s this now?’ she asked.

An armoured transport, unmarked, was rolling down the track towards the yard.

‘Is that Gaunt back at last?’ she asked.

Daur shrugged.

‘No idea,’ he said.

Fazekiel, Baskevyl and Domor emerged from the billet units behind them. Each of them was in a clean number one uniform.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Daur.

‘Exciting day,’ said Bask. ‘We’re summoned to the ordos.’

‘What? Why?’ asked Zhukova.

‘Because someone,’ said Domor, looking daggers at Baskevyl, ‘was daft enough to feth around with the fething special cargo, that’s why.’

‘It’s routine,’ said Fazekiel. She finished pinning up her hair, and put her cap on, peak first. ‘The ordos took charge of the trinkets we picked up, and they want to interview everyone who came in contact with them.’

‘Trinkets, she says,’ moaned Domor.

‘Luna’s right, it’s just routine,’ said Bask. He dead-panned straight at Zhukova and Daur. ‘When we don’t come back, dear friends, remember our names.’

Zhukova and Daur laughed.

The transport drew up in the centre of the yard, and a rear hatch opened. Inquisitor Laksheema’s little aide stepped down.

‘Fazekiel? Domor? Baskevyl?’ she called out, reading off her data-slate.

‘Keep it down, you’ll wake the dead,’ Baskevyl called back.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ said Onabel. She waited, sour-faced, as the trio walked over to her and climbed aboard. Baskevyl shot Daur and Zhukova a cheeky wave as the hatch closed.

‘Well,’ said Daur, ‘fun for them.’

‘They can keep that kind of fun,’ said Zhukova.

‘What is it?’ asked Felyx. ‘Is it my father?’

He was squirmed down in his bunk under a heap of blankets, just his face poking out. At the window, Dalin yawned as he looked out into the yard below.

‘No, some transport,’ he said. ‘Baskevyl heading off with Shoggy and the commissar.’

‘Ludd?’

‘No, not Ludd,’ said Dalin. He yawned again as the transport drove away. ‘Fazekiel. We should get up.’

‘Is it time to get up?’

‘It will be soon. You don’t have to wait for the hour bell. Officers are impressed by punctuality. People who are ready before they need to be.’

He went to yank the blankets off Felyx.

‘Don’t you fething dare,’ snapped Felyx. Dalin backed off with a surrendering gesture.

‘Just get up, Felyx,’ he said. ‘You need a shower. We probably both need to see Curth for a lice check too.’

‘Lice?’

‘Yes. Get up. I don’t think you even got undressed last night.’

Dalin looked around the third floor room. It was the one Felyx had been assigned to share with Maddalena. Using Rawne’s authority, Dalin had simply taken it over. As soon as he’d heard Rawne’s name, Meryn hadn’t even questioned it.

Dalin kicked the bunk.

‘Come on, Chass. Get your lazy arse up. Get in the shower.’

‘Go,’ said Felyx. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

Dalin grabbed his washbag.

‘Make sure you fething are,’ he said.

Zhukova jogged across the yard to the brazier where Mkoll and Bonin stood, sipping tin mugs of caffeine. She was shaking out her arms and flexing.

‘Safe for a circuit?’ she asked.

Bonin raised his eyebrows.

‘Safe enough,’ said Mkoll.

‘Thanks, chief,’ she said.

‘Zhukova? Captain?’

She had been about to start running. She looked back.

‘What is it, chief?’

‘You got time for a word?’

She walked back to them.

‘I’ll check the perimeter again,’ said Bonin.

‘Stay lucky, Mach,’ said Mkoll as the scout walked off.

‘What’s this about?’ Zhukova asked.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Mkoll.

‘Ooh, steady.’

Mkoll didn’t smile.

‘You know what your reputation was when you came to us?’ he asked.

She scowled. ‘Let me gakking guess,’ she said.

‘The pretty girl,’ said Mkoll. ‘Too pretty. Far too pretty to be a good soldier. Must’ve got her rank by being pretty. The trophy officer. Looks good on Vervunhive recruitment posters.’

‘Feth you,’ she said.

He shrugged.

‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ he asked.

‘I fought, chief. Planetary defence force, scratch company, then militia, then Guard. I earned my bars. I earned my place.’

‘Not saying you didn’t. I’m saying that’s what men always think.’

Zhukova sighed.

‘It’s followed me all my life. Men think what they think, and they tend to be dumb.’ She pointed to her face. ‘Didn’t ask for this. In the Vervun War, sometimes I hoped for a shrapnel wound. Get caught in a blitz cloud from one of the gakking woe machines, you know? Mess this up a bit, so people would start taking me seriously.’

Mkoll nodded.

‘Just this morning,’ she said. ‘Ban Daur’s my friend. I’ve known him years. Even he made a crack. Didn’t mean to be hurtful. Just the usual Zhukova jokes. “Oh, she’s beautiful. Must’ve screwed her way through some officers to get that rank.” I’m sick of it. It’s not just the men. Elodie’s all right with me now, but at first she thought I was some old flame come to scoop Ban away. And Pasha, Throne love her, is always warning men about me. That I use my looks to get what I want.’

‘Do you?’ he asked.

‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t think you should be a captain,’ said Mkoll.

She blinked. A flush rose in her cheeks.

‘I expected…’ she stammered. ‘From you, at least. Feth you. Feth you to hell.’

‘I don’t think you should be a captain, because it’s a waste,’ he said.

She frowned.

‘You’re a good soldier, and you look the way you do,’ said Mkoll ­simply. ‘You’re going to get promoted. Favoured. Chosen over ­others. Smart. Good-looking. Articulate.’

‘You trying to get in my pants now, Mkoll?’

He snorted.

‘I’m saying you took the obvious route. Career advancement. But I saw you work. On the Armaduke. And up on that roof yesterday. That wasn’t just good soldiering. You can lead men, Zhukova, but you are very good at individual action.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, surprised.

‘It made me review your service record. I gave it a lot of thought. See, I’m not just looking for good soldiers. I’m looking for specialists.’

‘Really?’ she asked.

‘Pasha’s back on her feet. Company command won’t stay yours. So it’ll come to you and Spetnin for T Company, and you’ll get it, because you look like you. And that’ll be a waste of Spetnin because, let’s be fair, he’s a fething good officer.’

Mkoll gazed idly up at the roosting eagle watching them.

‘So that’s a double shame. He’ll get demoted, so we lose a good line commander. And you’ll get the command, which is fine, but doesn’t play to your true talents. You’re wasted as a captain. Anyone can be an officer.’

‘Well, not anyone,’ she said.

‘I don’t know. Look at Meryn. Some people make decent officers. Some people make great officers. But almost no one makes a great scout.’

‘A scout?’ she asked.

‘What do you think?’

‘You’re offering me a place in the scout cadre?’

‘That’s what I seem to be doing, yeah,’ he said.

‘I never asked to–’

‘I pick the Tanith scouts, Zhukova. I don’t take volunteers. You’d keep your rank, but you’d answer to me. You’d give up your company command.’

‘What… what does Pasha say? Or Gaunt?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, with a careless shrug. ‘I haven’t asked anyone yet. I’m asking you first. Say no, and no one needs to be any wiser. Say yes… Well, Gaunt has very seldom not taken my recommendations.’

‘I‘m saying yes,’ she said.

He nodded. He tried not to smile, but her smile was bright and infectious.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Oh, no, Zhukova. Don’t thank me. No one ever thanks me for making this their life.’

‘Well, I am. I’d kiss you, but that would not improve my terrible reputation.’

‘It would not.’ Mkoll shook out his mug and turned away.

‘Enjoy your run,’ he said.

Mkoll walked back to the billet habs.

‘You ask her?’ asked Bonin. He was watching Zhukova extend her stride as she made off along the entry track.

‘Yup.’

‘And?’

‘She said yes.’

Bonin nodded and smiled.

‘Good news,’ he said.

‘About time we had some,’ Mkoll agreed.

The eagle took flight overhead.

‘Look sharp,’ Bonin said.

Vehicles were coming down the track towards the camp. Two Tauroxes, front and back of a Chimera.

‘They’re flying pennants. Staff vehicles,’ said Bonin. ‘We’ve got some fething lord fething general inbound.’

‘Go get Rawne and Kolea, quick,’ said Mkoll.

The vehicles pulled up in the yard, engines juddering to a stop. Rawne and Kolea had hurried out to join Mkoll, and Hark followed them. Startled troopers were hurrying out behind them, some yawning, some not fully dressed.

‘Guard line, if you please!’ Hark yelled. ‘Come on, you fethers! Dress it up, dress it up! Vadim? Where’s your weapon? Well, go and fething get it!’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Pasha.

‘Feth alone knows, ma’am,’ said Obel.

‘You want me to rouse the whole regiment?’ Kolosim asked in ­Rawne’s ear.

‘No. If they’re not up and tidy, keep ’em hidden and tell them to smarten up. We’ll gussy up what we have here.’

He turned and called, ‘Hark? Can we try to make this look reasonably professional?’

Women and children were looking out of the middle floor windows of the hab blocks.

‘Back inside, please!’ Rawne yelled, pointing at them.

The Chimera’s hatch swung open. Two Tempestus Scions in gleaming grey carapace armour stomped out, followed by two more. They glanced around the yard, eyed the assembling Ghosts with mute contempt, then took up a line, four abreast, facing the company, hellguns across their chests.

‘What are the fething glory boys here for?’ Elam whispered.

‘Something’s awry,’ murmured Beltayn.

Gaunt stepped down the Chimera’s ramp. He winced into the sunlight, and pulled his storm coat close around him. Then he strode past the motionless Scions and stopped, face to face with Rawne and Kolea.

‘Morning,’ he said.

‘Sir,’ said Rawne. ‘What’s the big fuss?’

Gaunt glanced over his shoulder at the Scions.

‘Them?’ he said. He grunted. ‘They’ve been assigned. To me.’

‘What for?’ asked Kolea.

‘Close protection.’

‘What did you do?’ asked Rawne.

Gaunt smiled, and shook his head.

‘I’ve been asking myself that,’ he said.

‘There’s no one else in the transport?’ asked Kolea. ‘No lord general about to surprise us with an inspection?’

‘No,’ said Gaunt.

‘No one important?’ asked Rawne.

‘No,’ said Gaunt, more emphatically. ‘Everyone can stand down. Just relax.’

He glanced at the ranks Hark had assembled, and the officers waiting with them.

‘Stand down!’ he called, pointing to them. ‘Please, stand down and go back to your breakfasts.’

He started to turn back to Rawne and Kolea.

‘This is going to get aggravating very quickly,’ he began.

But Rawne grabbed at him. He grasped the front of Gaunt’s storm coat and dragged it open. As Gaunt had pointed to the ranks, the coat had parted slightly, and Rawne had seen something.

‘What the feth is this?’ he said.

‘Well,’ said Gaunt. ‘I’m going to tell you about that…’

‘Is that real?’ asked Kolea, wide-eyed, staring at the gold eagle crest pinned to Gaunt’s chest that Rawne was unveiling.

The four Scions were suddenly all around them, aiming their weapons directly at Rawne. Rawne froze.

‘Remove your hands,’ said their leader, his grinding voice amplified by his threatening visor, ‘from the person of the militant commander now!’

‘You heard the instruction, scum!’ barked another. Their optics glowed pinpoint red as auto-aiming systems kicked in.

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa!’ said Kolea.

‘I’m letting him go! I’m letting him go!’ Rawne exclaimed, releasing his grip.

Gaunt looked at the lead Scion.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Sancto, lord.’

‘Tempestor Sancto, this “scum” is my second in command. You will extend him every courtesy you extend to me.’

‘Lord.’

‘Now go and stand by the truck. No, go and face the fething wall. All of you!’

‘Lord?’

‘Did you not fething hear me, Scions? I’m a fething militant commander and you will do as I fething say, without question!’

‘Yes, lord!’

The four turned, marched away, and stood in a perfect line facing the fabricatory, their backs to the yard.

Gaunt looked at Kolea and Rawne.

‘Clearly,’ he said, clearing his throat, ‘clearly, I have to get a better handle on that. Not going to win friends that way.’

‘You’re a fething militant commander?’ asked Rawne.

‘I fething am, Eli,’ said Gaunt.

‘Are you… fething kidding?’ asked Kolea.

Gaunt shook his head. He looked at them. It had gone extraordinarily quiet in the yard.

‘Throne, your fething faces…’ Gaunt smiled.

‘I don’t know whether to punch you or hug you,’ said Rawne.

‘Saluting would probably be the best option,’ whispered Kolea. He turned. ‘Commissar Hark?’

Hark swung to face the ranks, straight-backed.

‘Tanith First, attention!’ he bellowed. ‘Tanith First, salute!’

The men snapped to attention and made the sign of the aquila.

‘Tanith First, three cheers for our militant commander!’

Applause and cheering erupted across the yard. In the windows, the retinue and troopers too late to reach the parade whooped and waved. The chant ‘First and only! First and only!’ started up.

Gaunt shook Rawne’s hand.

‘You fething bastard,’ said Rawne.

‘Congratulations, sir,’ said Gol, shaking Gaunt’s hand as soon as Rawne had let it go.

Mkoll patted Gaunt on the shoulder.

‘Tears in your eyes, chief?’ Gaunt asked.

‘Not a one, sir,’ said Mkoll.

‘Are you lying, Oan?’

‘Allergies, sir.’

The men came over, clapping and chanting, mobbing around him.

‘You cheeky fether!’ Varl laughed, then added, ‘sir.’

‘I never thought I’d live to see the day, sir,’ said Larkin. Gaunt gave the old marksman a hug.

‘I see high command’s finally made a decision I approve of,’ cried Hark.

‘I hope you don’t come to regret that remark, Viktor,’ replied Gaunt. They embraced, Hark bear-hugging Gaunt so tightly he lifted him off the ground for a moment.

From the doorway of the hab, Criid and Curth watched Gaunt moving through the mob of applauding, cheering troopers. Criid’s grin was broad, Curth’s smaller and sadder.

‘Rawne’s got to tell him,’ she said.

‘He will,’ said Criid.

‘He’s got to do it now. It can’t wait. He’ll find out any moment.’

‘He’ll tell him, Ana,’ said Criid.

‘Let him have this moment,’ said Blenner from behind them. They turned. Blenner looked very bleary and hungover, but there was a look of pride on his face, and he was welling up.

‘Let him have this one moment, for feth’s sake,’ he said.

He pushed past them into the yard, walking towards the crowd, raising his hands and clapping enthusiastically.

‘I’ve got a band somewhere, I seem to think!’ he was yelling. ‘Why aren’t they gakking well playing? Come on! Ibram, you old dog! You old dog!’

Wet from the freezing shower, a towel kilted around his waist, Dalin raced down the hab hallway, his wet feet slipping and slamming him off the walls. The hab around him was rocking with chanting and cheering. Down in the yard outside, the band had started playing, not well but exuberantly.

‘Felyx!’ Dalin yelled. ‘Felyx, get up! Get up! Get up now!’

He burst into the room. Felyx was out of bed and half dressed. As Dalin crashed in, Felyx let out a howl and grabbed a blanket, dragging it around himself.

‘Oh my Throne!’ Dalin gasped, stopping in his tracks.

‘Don’t you ever fething knock? Don’t you?’ Felyx yelled at him.

‘Oh my fething Throne…’ Dalin stammered. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry!’

He turned to exit, floundering.

Wrapped in the blanket, Felyx pushed past him and slammed the door.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Dalin, staring at the inside of the door.

‘You don’t tell anyone,’ said Felyx. ‘Understand?’

‘Y-yes!’ said Dalin.

‘Do you understand? You don’t tell anyone,’ she said.