Ghostmaker by Dan Abnett Page A

fell silent at the thought. Fear prickled them. Some looked away, uneasy and shaken.
    Gaunt crossed to the pile of equipment packs Bragg and Caffran were offloading and opened a compact carry-box. Out of this he slid a topolabe from its cushioned slot and held it up by the knurled handgrip. The small brass machine whirred and the concentric dials span and clicked as the gravimetric gyros turned in the glass bubble of inert gas.
    After a moment, the machine chimed and published a readout on a back-lit blue display.
    “We’re in a forest caldera called K7-75, about forty kilometres north north east of the Nero city perimeter. Your assessment was good, major. We’re on the wrong side of the lines and in pretty damn inhospitable country. There’s dense forest for at least eight kilometres in any direction, and this sinkhole’s about a kilometre deep. We’d better get ready to move.”
    “Move?” Feygor asked. “Commissar… we can get the crash beacon up and running…”
    “No we can’t,” Meryn said. He showed them the molten residue of the beacon unit.
    “And even if we could, Feygor?” Gaunt shook his head sadly. “About fifty kilometres south of us, the Imperial Guard is engaged in a massive assault. Thousands are dying. Every ship, and craft and man is committed to the attack. There will be nothing to spare to come looking — across enemy lines, mark you — for a few lost souls like us. They’ll have already written us off. Besides, there’s a psyker-bred storm raging up there, remember? No one could get to us even if they wanted to.”
    Rawne spat and cursed. “So what do we do?” Gaunt grinned, but without humour. “We see how far we can get. Better that than just wait here to die.”
     
    In fifteen minutes, the survivors were assembled and injuries tended. Salvageable equipment and weapons were divided up. Both Milo and the dazed co-pilot were given a laspistol and a few spare power cells. Obel and the now-freed Brennan lay unconscious on stretcher pallets.
    Rawne looked grimly at Gaunt. He nodded his head at the two injured men. “We should… be merciful.”
    Gaunt frowned. “We’re taking them with us.”
    Rawne shook his head. “With respect, they’ll probably both be dead in an hour. Taking them will tie up four able-bodied soldiers as stretcher bearers.”
    “We’re taking them,” Gaunt repeated.
    “If you lashed ’em both to a frame,” Bragg put in thoughtfully, “I could drag ’em along. Better me than four other boys.”
    Meryn and Feygor raised the two stretcher cases onto an A-frame of wood and Bragg took the weight of the point on his shoulder. Caffran had used his silver Tanith knife to cut lengths of waxy creeper and bound them on for a grip.
    “I won’t be fast, mind,” Bragg noted. But with the party clearing the way, he could pull them along on the sling-bed efficiently enough.
    The commissar checked the topolabe again, scanning for closer detail.
    “Interesting,” he murmured. “About four kilometres east there’s some kind of structure. Maybe an old farming complex or something. Might provide us with some shelter. Let’s see.” Gaunt had armed himself with a lasgun from one of the dead. He handed his chainsword to Rawne. “Take point please, major,” he said.
    Rawne moved to the head of the column and started to slice his way through the dense, wet forest.
     
    The Tanith Ghosts advanced through the outer complexes of the hive city, surging down an embankment and across the blasted ferrocrete of a six-lane arterial highway.
    Broken vehicles littered the lanes, and great pools of motor oil blazed up curtains of fire. Corbec urged the Ghosts forward, under traffic control boards that still flashed and winked speed limits and direction pointers. Guns blazing, they began to assault a vast block of worker residences on the far side.
    As the battle group swept into the shattered hallways of the old worker residences, where peeling placards exhorted the citizen workers to meet production targets and praise the Emperor