Ghostmaker by Dan Abnett

green, wet daylight — streamed in.
    Bragg’s huge face swam up in front of Milo’s, upside down.
    “Hang on, Brinny-boy,” Bragg said softly. “Soon have you down.” He started rattling the restraints and slamming the lock handle back and forth.
    The restraints abruptly stopped restraining and Milo uttered a little yelp as he dropped two and a half metres onto the sloping roof of the troop-ship.
    “Sorry,” Bragg said, helping him up. “You hurt, lad?”
    Milo shook his head. “Where are we?” he asked.
    Bragg paused as if he was thinking about this carefully, Then, with deliberation, he said “We’re earlobe deep in doo-doo.”
     
    The troop-ship, now just a crumpled sleeve of metal, had impacted at a steep angle on its roof.
    Milo climbed down and gazed back up at the mangled wreck. What amazed him only slightly less than the fact he was still alive, was that they had come down in what appeared to be a jungle. Enormous pinkish trees that looked like swollen, magnified root vegetables, formed a dense forest of flaccid trunks around them. The huge growths were strung with thick ropey vines, creepers and flowering tendrils, and thorny fern and horsetail covered the moist, steaming ground. Everything was green, as all light — except for a single clear shaft which slanted down through the trees where the troop-ship had burst through — was filtered by the dense canopy of foliage above their heads. It was humid, and sticky, and sappy water dripped from the trees. There was a sweet stink of fungoid flowers.
    Bragg clambered down from the wreck, and joined the boy. A dozen other Ghosts had clambered out and were sat down or leaning against trees, waiting for spinning heads and ringing ears to clear. All had minor cuts and scrapes, except Trooper Obel who lay on a makeshift stretcher, his chest bloody and torn. Corporal Meryn had taken charge. He and Caffran were trying to open other emergency hatches to look for more survivors.
    Milo saw Rawne had survived. The major stood to one side with a tall, pale Ghost called I’eygor, who served as his aide.
    “I didn’t know there were any jungles on this world,” Milo said.
    “Me neither,” Bragg answered. He was catching and piling equipment packs Meryn was tossing down from the side of the wreck. “Actually, I didn’t even know what this world was called.”
    Milo found Rawne by his side.
    “We’re in a forest hollow,” Rawne said. “The surface of Caligula is barren pumice, but it’s punctured in many places by deep rift basins, many of them old craters or volcanic sinks. The cities are built down into the largest of them, but others sustain microclimates wet enough for these forests. I think some of them were actually farmed… before the fething enemy came in.”
    “So… where are we?” I’eygor asked.
    Rawne rubbed his throat, thoughtful. “We’ve come down a good way off target. I think there were some forest calderas north of Nero. On the wrong side of the lines.”
    I’eygor swore.
    “I think the major is correct,” said a voice.
    Gaunt appeared, sliding down from a side vent in the punctured hull. He was tattered and bruised, with blood soaking the shoulder and side of his tunic under his coat. Meryn hurried over to him to assist.
    “Not me,” Gaunt said, waving him off. “The co-pilot’s alive and he needs to be cut free.”
    “It’s a miracle anyone got out of that front end,” Meryn said with a whistle.
    Gaunt crossed to Milo, Rawne and the others.
    “Report, major,” he said.
    “Unless we find anyone else alive in there, we’ve got twelve able-bodied men, plus yourself, the boy Milo and the co-pilot. Minor injuries all round, though Trooper Grogan has a broken arm. But he can walk. Obel has chest injuries. Pretty bad. Brennan is inside. He’s a real mess and pinned, but he’s alive. The rest are pulp.”
    Rawne looked up at the wreck. “Lucky shot got us, I guess. Missile—”
    “Psykers!” Gaunt growled. “They threw some freakshow storm up. Smashed us out of the sky.”
    Everyone