‘Channel open,’ the vox-officer announced a moment later.

  The commissar picked up the speaker set. ‘Command, this is Ludd. Put me through to Commissar-General Balshin.’

  Gaunt returned to his billet.

  ‘Where’s Ludd?’ he asked Eszrah. The Nihtgane shrugged.

  ‘Get your stuff together,’ Gaunt told him. ‘We’ll be leaving shortly.’

  The wind was quite strong now. There seemed to be spots of rain in it. Gaunt touched his cheek where he’d felt the droplets land. Rain? The sky was a mass of crinkled grey cloud above the towering walls.

  Ludd appeared, hurrying down the track between the habi-tents. Empty, they stood on either side of him like an honour guard, their door flaps rippling like cloaks in the rising air.

  ‘Where did you go?’ Gaunt asked him.

  ‘I went looking for you, sir,’ Ludd said.

  ‘I told you to stay here, Ludd.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I know. But Ironmeadow came by just after you’d left. He had transport placings for us. We’re to move up because–’

  ‘I know, Ludd. Where is he?’

  ‘Waiting with our transportation, sir. So I came looking for you. I thought you’d want to know.’

  Gaunt looked at him. Ludd seemed a little more tense than usual, but then this day was doing that to everyone. ‘Where did you look, Ludd?’

  ‘Oh, in the command station. Around there. One of the Binar officers said they’d seen you heading back this way.’

  Gaunt held Ludd’s gaze a little longer. ‘All right, Ludd. Grab your things.’

  They took only their weapons and basic field kit. Eszrah zipped the rest of their kit up in the habi-tent, and then hurried after Gaunt and Ludd.

  The main assembly yards were packed with transports filing out along the east trackway. Most of the transports were carrying men dressed in the beige battledress of the Fortis Binars.

  Ironmeadow waved them over to a pair of Salamander command vehicles, both of which had been newly painted in Binar livery.

  ‘Sir!’ Ironmeadow said, saluting and handing over a message wafer. ‘The marshal asked me to find you and–’

  ‘Old news, Ironmeadow, I’ve spoken with him.’ Gaunt read the paper slip. It was a brief, curt order-tag requiring Gaunt to advance with the Second Binars into the hotzone, and ‘accomplish the maintenance of decent battlefield morale and discipline.’

  Gaunt handed the wafer to Ludd. ‘Keep that for me, Ludd. If I get a chance later I may want to choke Sautoy with it.’

  ‘You and your sense of humour, sir,’ Ironmeadow laughed.

  ‘Did you think I was joking, Ironmeadow?’ Gaunt asked. Ironmeadow half-laughed again, then blinked. Gaunt could tell how desperately scared the young officer was. He remembered how little combat experience Ironmeadow had – how little anyone of his regiment had. Sautoy was sending novice, frightened boys up country to assist novice, frightened boys. On top of that, Ironmeadow was most likely still very rattled by the events of the previous day.

  Just for a moment, Gaunt reminded himself who and what they all thought he was. ‘Things will be fine, Ironmeadow,’ he said. ‘Our spirits may be tested today, but if we keep our faith in the Throne and remember our training, we will prevail.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ironmeadow nodded.

  ‘Make it known that I regard it as a privilege to be advancing alongside the men of the Second Fortis Binars.’

  That actually got a flush of pride into Ironmeadow’s face. ‘Thank you, sir. I will.’

  One of the open-topped Salamanders had been reserved for Gaunt, with a driver, gunner and vox-operator assigned. The other belonged to Major Jernon Whitesmith, Ironmeadow’s direct superior. He was a slender, craggy man in his fifties, with receding hair, and the look of a veteran about him.

  ‘PDF?’ Gaunt asked him as he was introduced. Whitesmith smiled, as if impressed that Gaunt should notice. ‘Yes, sir. It was my honour to serve in the liberation war.’

  In founding their regiments to assist the Crusade, the people of Fortis Binary had selected some of their planetary defence force veterans to serve as line officers. That was something at least, Gaunt mused. It would be the experience and steadiness of the few older men like Whitesmith that would keep the rookie companies together.

  There was no time for further conversation. Whitesmith climbed into his Salamander and set off down the truckway, the vehicle’s heavy track sections clattering. Gaunt, Ludd and Eszrah followed Ironmeadow aboard the second machine, and rattled off after him, the light tanks skirting swiftly around the column of slow-moving troop trucks on the road. Heavier tanks and armour pieces formed the bulk of the column’s front portion, including Trojan tractor units tugging heavy field artillery.

  The inky grey storm clouds were firmly settled above the compartment, leaching most of the daylight away. Again, Gaunt felt the cold spits of rain in the air. It was so overcast that many vehicles had activated their headlamps and running lights.

  ‘Damned weather!’ Ironmeadow said, raising his voice over the roar of the Salamander’s engines. ‘It’s getting as black as night out here!’

  He’s right, Gaunt thought. As black as night. Then he wondered if anyone in high command or the senior staff had considered just how literally nocturnal the stalkers were.

  Less than an hour later, powering north-east into the middle lowlands of the third compartment, they met hell coming the other way.

  It was an astonishing sight. The scrubby, shelving landscape that Gaunt and Ludd had driven up through the previous day was masked with wind-driven smoke-banks, great tidal waves of choking black soot and ash that billowed off firestorms raging across the central compartment. From wall to wall, it seemed that the whole landscape was ablaze, except where it was broken by the lakes and deep ponds, stretches of water that now flashed back the reflected flame-light like mirrors. There were men and machines moving everywhere, not just on the trackways. Thousands of Guardsmen and a ramshackle multitude of vehicles were crawling back across country, chased by the firestorms.

  As the Salamander slowed, Ludd got to his feet and stared out over the cabin top. He’d never seen anything like it.

  The column was bunching up ahead. The relief forces from post 10 were coming up against the exodus from the north. There was panic and confusion. Over the Salamander’s vox-caster, Gaunt could hear frantic chatter. Calls for help, calls for clarification, calls for orders. He knew the sound only too well. It was the sound of defeat. It was the terrible sound the Imperial Guard made when it fell apart.

  ‘Post 12?’ he asked the Salamander’s vox operator. The man shook his head.

  ‘Sir!’ Ludd called out sharply. Gaunt joined him at the front of the Salamander’s compartment and took up a scope. The ragged edge of the firestorms lay about three kilometres in front of them, and through it, the first enemy units had just emerged. Tanks, some churning fire, scrub and earth ahead of them with massive dozer blades; self-propelled guns, lurching out of the smoke; platoons of troops in rebreathers. Gaunt could see the flash of shells landing amongst the fleeing Imperial forces. He saw the bright surge-fires of the flamer weapons the Blood Pact was using to drive all before it. A quick estimate put the number of enemy vehicles at three hundred plus, and that was just what he could see. There was no telling the infantry strength.

  ‘Throne, this is awful,’ Ludd said.

  ‘Nothing gets by you, eh, Nahum?’ Gaunt replied. He jumped down from the Salamander and hurried on up the track on foot to the brow of the hill. There, Whitesmith stood in conference with some of his senior unit officers.

  ‘Situation?’ Gaunt asked.

  ‘We’ve just had an unconfirmed report that Colonel Stonewright has been killed.’ Stonewright was the Second Binar’s commanding officer, who had led the support forces in an hour in front of them. Whitesmith’s orders had been to move in to support him.

  ‘That puts you in charge, Whitesmith,’ Gaunt said. ‘These men are waiting for your orders.’

  Whitesmith straightened himself up, as if he’d only just realised that. ‘Yes, commissar, of course.’ He paused. ‘I’ve called in for more air cover.’

  ‘That’s good. That’s about the only advantage we have right now.’

  Whitesmith gestured to his left. ‘The bulk of our armour is down that way, though Throne knows it’s hardly deployed properly. Beyond it, towards that lake, I think we’ve got auxiliary light armour, the Dev Hetra 301, but I’ve no idea what shape they’re in.’

  ‘Other side?’ Gaunt asked, glancing south.

  ‘The bulk of our infantry, and two columns of Sarpoy armour. See for yourself, though. It’s a shambles.’

  Whitesmith looked at Gaunt. ‘I can’t raise Marshal Sautoy. I can’t even get a clean patch through to the Sarpoy or Dev Hetra commanders. And I’m afraid I can tell for a fact that my boys are close to breaking. They’ve had no experience of this. Line discipline has gone and–’

  ‘Line discipline is my job, Major Whitesmith. Stop worrying whether the men will do as you tell them, and start worrying about what it is you’re actually going to order them to do.’

  Whitesmith shook his head. ‘I believe I have two options on that score, sir. The first is to hand command to you.’

  ‘Whitesmith, I’m a commissar, not a command officer. It’s my place to advise, muster control and make sure orders are followed. It’s not in my remit to decide strategy.’

  Deep, rolling booms echoed in across the lowland floodplain. The enemy tanks were shelling with more fervour. ‘With respect, Gaunt,’ Whitesmith said soberly, ‘you were a line officer and a commander for a long time. A successful, decorated commander. You’ve had a damn sight more experience of front-line engagement than me or any of my staff, and you’ve lived to carry that wisdom forward. For pity’s sake, sir, I hardly think this is a moment to stick to some feeble rule of authority. Are you honestly going to stand by and watch while I struggle and lead these young men into a shambolic disaster?’

  ‘No, major. In my capacity as an agent of the Imperial Commissariat, I am going to support you in the implementation of your command decisions. You were given your rank for a reason. You are an officer and a leader of men, and your training should tell you what to do under these circumstances.’

  Whitesmith smiled sadly. ‘Then there’s the second option, commissar. My forces are in disarray. The enemy’s right upon us. I must order an immediate retreat in order to salvage what lives and materiel I can.’

  ‘What about a third option, major?’ Gaunt said.

  ‘Dammit, there is no–’

  ‘There’s always another option, Whitesmith!’ Gaunt snapped. ‘Think of one! You were kind enough to remember I was once a successful commander in war. Do you think for a moment those successes came easily? That I never had to wrack my brains and think beyond the obvious? Tell me, quickly, what would you do if this was more to your liking?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ignore the immediate problems. Imagine you’ve got the Jantine Patricians here under your command, or a phalanx of Cadian Kasrkin. Battle-hardened veterans, ready and eager for your orders. What would those orders be, Whitesmith?’

  ‘I’d…’ Whitesmith began. ‘I’d order them to hold this ridge line, and the open fen down to the lake there. That would give us the best defensive file.’

  ‘Good. Go on.’

  ‘I’d spread the infantry out, right along the line, and swing two squadrons of armour up over the ridge onto the right flank. I’d deploy artillery in the low land behind us and start shelling the enemy before they got any closer. And I’d make damn sure the Dev Hetra and Sarpoy understood that I needed their firm support.’

  Gaunt smiled and smacked the Binar on the shoulder. ‘That sounds like a plan to me, sir.’

  ‘But–’

  ‘Call up your officers. Finesse that plan for five minutes, get it solid and workable, make sure everyone knows what they’re supposed to be doing.’

  ‘Where will you be?’ Whitesmith asked.

  ‘Holding up my side of the bargain,’ Gaunt replied, ‘by making sure your orders are followed when they come.’

  Gaunt hurried back down the dirt track to Ludd and Ironmeadow. Eszrah lurked behind them, gazing dubiously at the creeping curtain of fire and smoke approaching like doomsday across the scrubby landscape.

  ‘Ironmeadow,’ Gaunt said. ‘Your services as a liaison are no longer required.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Look about you, man. Whitesmith needs every officer he can get. Go to him, listen to him, obey him. You’ve got rank there, Ironmeadow. Use it. Give an example to your men and they will follow you. Whitesmith’s counting on you.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ Ironmeadow said.

  ‘I know you’re young and this is new to you, Ironmeadow, but I have faith. You faced down a stalker last night and lived to tell the tale.’

  ‘Only because you saved my bloody life, sir,’ Ironmeadow groaned.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. You’ve looked death in the eyes, and survived. That’s more than any of these young men can say. That makes you special, tempered, like any good officer or fine piece of steel. It almost makes you a veteran. Strength of character, Captain Ironmeadow.’

  Ironmeadow smiled.

  ‘Tell every Binar you meet that Ibram Gaunt is with them, and Ibram Gaunt expects to be honoured by the company he keeps. And Ironmeadow?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘I expect to read your name in despatches tomorrow, you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ Ironmeadow replied, and ran up the slope to where Whitesmith was convening his officers.

  ‘Ludd?’ Gaunt said, turning to his junior. ‘I want you to go find every commissar on this hillside and get them assembled here in the next ten minutes.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘The Binars have at least three, Ludd. Find them for me.’

  Ludd hesitated. The sound of shelling was rolling ever closer. There were dark strands of smoke in the wind.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. I’m on it.’ Ludd hurried away.

  With Eszrah at his heels, tall and ominous, Gaunt crossed the trackway to the left and hurried down a slope of patchy grass onto a muddy strand beside a long pool. Almost a hundred Binar troopers were gathered there, gazing at the oncoming horror. Behind them, several Binar treads had come to a halt, bottled up.

  ‘You men!’ Gaunt yelled. Some of them turned and straightened up at the sight of an approaching commissar.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Gaunt demanded, splashing closer. There were a few, miserable answering grunts. Gaunt leapt up onto a limestone boulder at the edge of the pool so that they could all see him.

  ‘You see the emblem on my cap?’ he cried out. ‘Commissariat, that’s right! You know what that means, don’t you? It means bully! It means discipline master! It means the lash of the God-Emperor, driving you cowards to a miserable end! Let me show you something else…’

  He drew a bolt pistol in one fist, his power sword in the other, and held them both up so that the crowd of men could see. ‘Tools of my trade! They kill the enemy, they kill cowards! Either one, they’re not fussy! Now listen to this…’

  Gaunt dropped his voice, made it softer, but still injected the well-practiced projection qualities he had honed over the years, so that they could all still hear him. ‘You want to run, don’t you? You want to run right now. You want to get out of here. Get to safety. Throne, I know you all do.’ He sheathed his sword and reholstered his gun. ‘I could wave those about some more. I could tell you, and Throne knows I wouldn’t be lying, that whatever it is coming this way in that wall of smoke is nothing compared to my wrath. I could tell you I’m the thing to be frightened of.’

  He jumped down off the boulder and walked in amongst them. Some of the men backed away. ‘If you want to run, men of Fortis Binary, then go ahead. Run. You might outrun the Archenemy, bearing down on us now. Feth, you might even outrun me. But you will never, ever outrun your conscience. Your world suffered under the yoke of the Ruinous Powers for a long time. You’re only here today, as free men of the Imperium, because others did not run. Your fathers and uncles and brothers, and young men, just like you, Imperial Guardsmen from a hundred scattered worlds, who had the courage to stand and fight. For your world. For Fortis Binary. I know this because I was there. So, run, if you dare. If you can live with it. If you can face the dreams, and the pangs of conscience. If you can even bear to think of the fathers and uncles and brothers you lost.’

  He paused. There was a strained silence, broken only by the booming sound of the shelling behind him.

  ‘Alternatively, you can stay here, and follow Major Whitesmith’s orders, and fight like men. You can stay, and honour the memory of your fathers, and your uncles and your brothers. You can stay and stand with me, for the Imperium, for the God-Emperor. And for Fortis Binary.’

  Gaunt walked back to the boulder he had vacated and climbed back onto it. ‘What do you say?’ he asked.

  The men cheered approval. It was hearty, and just what Gaunt had been looking for. He smiled and raised a fist. ‘Squad leaders form up! Get this trackway cleared so the treads can roll through! Unit commanders! Where are you? Come on! Get yourselves up onto the trackway so Whitesmith can brief you! Support weapons, through to the front and get set up! Let’s move!’

  The men started moving. Gaunt jumped down. He turned to Eszrah. ‘Come on,’ he urged.

  They splashed across the edges of the pool, onto the far slope and ran towards the next gaggle of Binars, milling purposelessly on the adjacent ridge top. The men there had seen the activity below, heard the sudden cheer, and stood bewildered.

  ‘Histye, soule!’ Eszrah called.

  ‘What?’ Gaunt looked back over his shoulder, still running.

  ‘Preyathee, wherein wastye maden so?’