Blood Pact

THIRTEEN Awry

There was a word for the CO of the Bremenen 52nd, but it wasn’t one Viktor Hark would ever use around ladies.

As he stomped back towards the Tanith barracks in the blowing snow, there were no ladies present, so he used it freely and often.

During the lull triggered by the day’s heavy snowfall, he had trudged across the exercise quad for a quiet word with the commander of the neighbouring regiment, in the hope of patching up some of the bad feeling that had begun to eclipse inter-regimental relations, thanks to months of boredom and escalating practical jokes. Unfortunately, the Bremenen CO had chosen that morning to breakfast on iron filings, have his sense of humour amputated at the neck, and sit down very suddenly on a broom handle, as a consequence of which he was as rigid and unyielding as a sheet of flakboard. His response to Hark’s off-the-record nice-making had been dismissive, and he’d essentially blamed the catalogue of infractions and write-ups entirely on the Tanith ‘tricksters’. Then he’d given Hark a curt, ‘Good day to you’ to take home with him.

The Bremenen had done their share in the months they’d been stationed side by side. Of course they had. It had been tit for tat every step of the way, and some of the earliest run-ins had been playful and forgivable. Hark knew that, and he knew that the Bremenen CO knew it too, but it had stopped being funny some time before, and Hark understood that the Bremenen CO had simply had a gut-full. He wasn’t going to tolerate it any more, and part of his not tolerating it was to dump the whole thing on the Tanith.

The wind was bringing the snow in across the quad in huge, smoking clouds like flour caught in a mill’s through-draught. There was a good hand’s depth on just about every surface, and the ice-flakes were stinging his nose and lips, and catching in his eyelashes. Hark had his collar turned up and his hands stuffed into his stormcoat pockets. The snow cover was so heavy that the sodium lights around the Aarlem compound had come on in response to the gloom. Snowflakes batted dizzily around the hooded glow of the lights like moths.

It was all turning to crap, and Hark had had a gut-full too. In the years that Hark had been with the Tanith, he’d seen them on the verge of defeat and almost destroyed, but he’d never seen them so close to disintegration. They’d been inert too long. They had become bored and fractious, and spiteful. They’d been without an enemy for so long, they’d invented one, and it was themselves. Their idleness and frustration had turned them into wasters and idlers, and worse.

Every day, there was a list of fresh fethery. Hark was running out of options. Some men had crossed the line so often he was hard-pressed to know how to punish them, and just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, some new monster raised its head, and took his breath away. This thing with Rawne and the others, with Daur for feth’s sake! That was a whole new league of crap.

Daur was a yardstick. There wasn’t a straighter man in the regiment. That was how far they’d slipped. Every night when he went to his bed, and every morning when he woke, Viktor Hark offered up a little prayer to the God-Emperor of Mankind. It went:

For feth’s sake, post us. Post us today or tomorrow. We need a war.

Peacetime had been remarkably revealing about the Tanith character. Kilo for kilo, they were the best infantry troops Hark had ever seen or had the pleasure of serving with. In the field, they had an abundance of skills and an abundance of courage, and they were, in the strangest way, extraordinarily principled. They took pride in a sort of moral code that entirely forgave any lapses in discipline of conduct. They flourished in adversity.

They were not a garrison force. They were not a regiment you could put into reserve or turnaround, and expect them to sit tight and behave themselves in a safe little barracks compound. They would not spend their time polishing their buttons and practising their parade drill and reading their primers. Well, they would, but it wouldn’t be enough. They would get crazy.

The Tanith (and this quality had spread to the non-Tanith in the First) were a wild force. In the field, you didn’t notice their rough edges. Retire them to Balhaut for a year or two, and they were like caged animals. They wanted to get out, and if they couldn’t get out, they wanted to bite the hand off the next idiot who tried to feed them.

The Bremenen were a garrison force. There was nothing wrong with them; they were a decent, unexceptional, well-drilled infantry outfit. To them, two years turnaround on Balhaut was a sweet deal, the posting they’d been hoping for their entire service. For the Tanith, it was a prison sentence.

Hark stopped in the middle of the quad, tipped his head back, and cursed. He cursed the Bremenen CO, though it wasn’t personal. The Bremenen CO had simply become a hobbyhorse for Hark to take out his frustration on. When he’d finished cursing, he checked to see if he felt any better, and found that he didn’t very much, actually.

He looked at his watch. If he called up a car from the pool, he could be at Section by nightfall. Despite the snow, the roads were still clear enough for a decent run into the city. He could go to Section, and quietly call in a few favours. He could find out how the land lay, and get the inside track on the likelihood of an imminent posting, maybe even seed the idea and get some gears moving. The Munitorum moved at its own pace, but sometimes it didn’t hurt to give it a little shove. He should have done it months ago. Yes, he’d go on up to Section, stick a finger in the air to see which way the wind was blowing, and maybe bend the ear of a couple of senior commissars he knew.

He turned and looked towards the fence in the direction of the city. Even in the snow-light gloom, he could see the immense spread of lights through the chainlink, like a fallen constellation, with the crown of the Oligarchy rising behind it. He was resolved. Doing something, anything, was better than this backbreaking damage control.

Hark sniffed. He realised he might have to revise his travel plans. It looked like worse weather was on the way. From where he was standing, the storm clouds over the Oligarchy looked especially black and menacing, like smoke.

He heard a voice calling his name, and turned to see Ludd thumping across the quad towards him. Now what?

‘Excuse the interruption, sir,’ Ludd declared as he reached Hark. ‘Something’s going on.’

‘Ludd,’ said Hark, brushing snow off his nose, ‘you realise your sole use to me is to supply meaningful and intelligible nouns and adverbs in place of the word something in sentences like that?’

‘Yes,’ Ludd shrugged, ‘but sometimes they don’t issue me with enough nouns from stores.’

‘Was that a joke, Ludd?’

‘Like a joke, but smaller, sir,’ Ludd replied, and handed Hark a message slip. ‘The vox office sent this through ten minutes ago. Your eyes only.’

A discipline matter. Hark groaned. It had to be a discipline matter, or it would have gone straight to Kolea, or whoever was officer of the watch. What now? What now?

Hark tore the slip open, and sniffed as he unfolded and read it. Snowflakes made little tick noises as they struck the sheet of paper in his gloved hands.

‘Summon the senior staff,’ he said to Ludd.

‘Sir?’

‘Summon the senior staff. Five minutes.’

‘Well, Rawne’s in jail, and the colonel’s off-site. Do we have any senior staff left?’ Ludd asked.

‘This isn’t even slightly the time for jokes, Ludd,’ said Hark.

Ludd saw the look on Hark’s face, and his grin quickly vanished.

‘Right, sir. At once,’ he said, and ran off through the snow towards the Tanith blockhouses.

‘And take us to Active Pending, please!’ Hark yelled after him.

Ludd stopped and looked back.

‘Active Pending?’ he asked.

‘You heard me, Ludd.’

‘Yes, sir!’

Ludd turned back and started running again.

Hark looked back down at the paper. Where the snowflakes had hit it, they had turned into drops of water and run, smudging the crude black ink of the printout. They looked like tears from a woman’s eyes, causing her make-up to streak. They looked like blood leaking from bullet holes.

‘Feth!’ he cried. ‘Feth! Feth!’

Just when he thought morale and behaviour were at their lowest, a whole new universe of bad had opened up.

Active Pending. The regiment woke up fast. It shook and galvanised itself to stand to, the pre-transit or pre-combat prepped status. Activity boiled through the Tanith barracks. Everything was suddenly bustling. Beltayn hurried along the main link corridor carrying the day-book and the other logs. Ghosts ran past him in both directions, scrambling for their assigned stations.

‘Is this a drill?’ Dalin Criid asked Beltayn as he went past.

‘What?’ Beltayn replied, looking up from the logs that he was reading as he walked.

‘It’s a drill, right?’ asked Dalin. He was with several young troopers from his company.

‘Just get on with it, trooper,’ Beltayn said.

Dalin shrugged and hurried away with his comrades.

Beltayn tutted and resumed his reading. A thought struck him.

‘Wait! Criid!’ he shouted after the departing soldiers.

Dalin turned and ran back to him.

‘Yes?’

‘You need to attend senior staff.’

‘Why? Did I get a promotion?’

‘Don’t be a feth-head, Criid,’ said Beltayn wearily. ‘You’re E Company adjutant.’

‘For my sins,’ Dalin agreed.

‘Well, Captain Meryn is off-site.’

‘Captain Meryn’s banged up in jail, that’s what I heard,’ Dalin said. The look on his face suggested that he didn’t think it could have happened to a more deserving soul.

‘Captain Meryn’s status is not your business, trooper,’ Beltayn said, ‘so let’s ditch the lip. His absence is your business. As his adjutant, you have to attend and gather all the relevants for him, or for whoever ends up in charge of your fething shower.’

‘Really?’

‘Two minutes, please, in the temple house.’

Dalin let out an oath and ran off.

Beltayn turned and resumed his course. As he swept past medicae, he stopped, rapped on the door, and stuck his head in.

‘Senior staff, two minutes, doctor,’ he called.

Dorden looked up from his desk.

‘Thank you, adjutant,’ he said.

Beltayn nodded and went out, closing the door behind him.

‘It seems I’m called away,’ said Dorden.

‘Well, that’s a gigantic shame,’ replied Father Zweil. The ayatani was sitting across the desk from the chief medic.

‘It really is,’ Dorden agreed. ‘I finally get you to show up here for your examination, and I’m called out.’

‘We can finish at a later date,’ said Zweil.

‘We’re almost done as it is,’ said Dorden. He was busily writing up the notes that would accompany the little phials of blood and tissue samples he’d collected. ‘Can you be patient for a moment longer?’

‘Patient or patient?’ asked Zweil.

Dorden smiled, and got up. He walked through to the adjoining room, where Ana Curth was loading stainless steel instruments into the autoclave.

‘Can you finish up for me?’ he asked.

‘With Zweil?’

‘Yes. Just finish writing up the notes, ask him the green slip questions, and bag the samples and documents with his signature.’

She nodded, and said, ‘I can take them over to the pharmacon if you like.’

‘Thanks. Some kind of staff meeting’s been called.’

‘I know,’ she smiled. ‘I think it’s a drill. We’ve gone to Active Pending.’

‘Have we indeed?’ asked Dorden. He turned to leave.

‘How did you get him to show up?’ Curth asked.

‘The ayatani? I sicced Gaunt on him,’ Dorden replied.

‘And how did you get him to sit still for the samples? Zweil hates needles.’

Dorden showed her his left arm. His sleeve was rolled up and there was a small swab dressing taped in the crook of the elbow. ‘I did everything I was going to do to him to myself first to show it wasn’t going to hurt.’

‘Very clever.’

‘I learned that dealing with children years ago. It’s a technique that works on the old and cranky too.’

Curth laughed. ‘And Zweil’s ancient. He’s got all of… what, five years on you?’

‘Age is a state of mind, Ana,’ Dorden replied with pretend hauteur. ‘Anyway, thank you. I have to go.’

She followed him back into the examination room.

‘Doctor Curth is going to finish up for me,’ Dorden told the old priest.

‘Is she?’ asked Zweil suspiciously. ‘She’s not a real medicae, you know. She hasn’t got any qualifications. Gaunt just lets her hang around because she’s pretty.’

‘I’m sure that’s exactly right, father,’ said Curth, sitting down at the desk.

‘Your hands better not be cold,’ Zweil warned her.

‘Why?’ asked Curth. ‘All I’m doing is making notes.’

‘Damn!’ said Zweil.

Sniggering and shaking his head, Dorden let himself out of the room and joined the human traffic in the hallway. His amusement was superficial. An ugly mood had settled on him that was as cold and sudden as the snowstorm outside.

As he approached the entrance to the temple house, he saw Gol Kolea in the crowd. The big Verghastite major was smiling.

‘Afternoon, doctor.’

‘Gol.’

‘Active Pending, eh?’

‘You look delighted.’

Kolea nodded.

‘Could be the posting we’ve been waiting for,’ he said.

‘You think so?’

‘Orders had to come through sooner or later.’

Dorden nodded.

‘To be frank, major, if it is our orders coming through, and we’re being posted back to the front, that hardly fills me with delight.’

‘We’re going gak-happy here, Doc. The Ghosts need a tour. It’s overdue,’ said Kolea.

‘You seem to forget, major, that when we go to war, people die. That’s hardly something to look forward to.’

They went into the temple house. The snow beat against the tall, narrow windows. The senior staff were finding places to sit. All the company commanders had assembled, or were represented by adjutants or juniors. Dorden saw Kolosim, Obel, Raglon, Sloman, Arcuda, Domor, Theiss and Baskevyl, as well as Elam and Seley, who had been promoted to the commands of H and L companies respectively to replace men lost at Hinzerhaus. He could also see Mkoll, the master of scouts. Bonin was the representative for B Company in Rawne’s absence, Daur’s adjutant Mohr for G Company, and a very nervous-looking Dalin Criid for Meryn’s Company E.

‘Take your seats. Let’s have you!’ Commissar Ludd called out, climbing onto the stage. ‘That’s enough, come on!’

‘A little order and attention, please, gentlemen!’ Baskevyl called, backing the young commissar up. The noise level dropped appreciably.

‘Thank you,’ said Baskevyl. ‘Door, please, Shoggy.’

Shoggy Domor got out of his seat to close the temple door, but Hark walked in and shut the door behind him. Hark marched to the front, all eyes following him. Dorden noticed that at some point during the assembly, Eszrah ap Niht had slipped into the temple and was standing at the back in the shadows.

‘What’s going on, Hark?’ Baskevyl asked.

‘Have we got marching orders?’ Kolosim added. ‘We’ve got marching orders, haven’t we?’

There was a general murmur.

Hark cleared his throat. Dorden realised that he didn’t like the look on Hark’s face, and it wasn’t for the reasons he had expected.

‘As of twenty-seven minutes ago,’ Hark began, ‘Aarlem Fortress is on security lockdown.’

Everybody started talking.

‘Shut up and listen!’ Hark shouted. ‘Security condition two has been imposed on this station, and on Balopolis and the Oligarchy. The PDF is locking all orbital links, and transit is forbidden. An advisory has been issued.’

‘What the feth?’ Kolea grumbled.

‘There was a serious incident this afternoon in the Oligarchy. All I know is that Section was attacked by forces unknown.’

‘An attack?’ echoed Obel. ‘Are you kidding? Who attacks Balhaut?’

‘Somebody,’ said Hark. ‘This is serious. We are to remain on base until further notice. Nobody goes off-site.’

‘On whose orders?’ Baskevyl asked.

‘Section’s, and it’s been ratified by Guard Command. Beltayn?’

‘Yes, commissar?’

‘Consult the day-book and check with the other adjutants. I want a list of all personnel off-site as of right now.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Beltayn nodded.

Hark gestured to Kolea, who had quietly raised a hand.

‘Yes, major?’

Kolea breathed a sort of sigh, and then said, ‘What’s the scale of this? Has the Archenemy mounted a counter-offensive? Have they punched right through?’

‘We’d know about it,’ said Mkoll.

Kolea looked over at the chief scout.

‘However optimistically you want to place the Crusade front line on the star-maps,’ Mkoll said, ‘Balhaut is over a sector’s distance from the fight zone. If an enemy counter-offensive had pushed through, we’d have heard about it months ago.’

‘But a long, deep-warp jump? A bounding strike into our heartland?’

‘Doesn’t feel like that, Gol,’ said Mkoll.

‘I agree with the chief,’ said Hark, ‘but that’s not important. It isn’t our business to figure this out. Orders are simple. We confine ourselves to base and lock down. No one leaves. No one is unaccounted for. All Guard strengths on the surface are to secure their base facilities and stand ready for deployment.’

Bonin looked up at the ceiling.

‘I hear incoming,’ he said. ‘Engines.’

The steadily increasing throb of turbofan motors drew them out into the snow. Six flying machines, running nose to tail in a line, were hacking in from the city, through the snowstorm, their running lights blinking. They came in low, and circled Aarlem Fortress. The lead bird banked and began to settle towards the open expanse of the lamp-lit quad.

The six machines were Valkyrie gunships. They blew up mini blizzards with their jetwash as they settled side by side across the quad.

‘Oh feth,’ murmured Hark. ‘Would somebody like to tell me what they’re doing here?’

Baskevyl looked at Hark, and the commissar pointed.

On the side of each Valkyrie, plainly visible despite the snow, was the rosette crest of the Inquisition.