This is a note to remind you all that Gaunt, the Ghosts, the Tanith and all the characters within are not mine, but belong to Dan Abnett and Games Workshop. I own all the other characters though.
Gaunt's Ghosts: The Swords of Steel
The Imperial Crusade of the Sabbat Star System continued in force after the valiant efforts of the Tanith regiment on Hagia, the Shrineworld of Saint Sabbat herself. After an investigation into the ancient psychic device that in effect saved the planet and destroyed the approaching Chaos fleet, Colonel-Commissar Ibram Gaunt and his "Ghosts" were reassigned to the taking of a heavily fortified position on the barren ash world of Volgan. Returned to his position by Macaroth himself, after being threatened with demotion and execution by Lord Commander Lugo who undertook the Hagia mission, Gaunt was recommended for the mission to Volgan, where his regiments newly found knack for tank killing would come in useful against the armoured forces of the Volgan heretics. Along with the Tanith First-and-Only was the tank regiment of the Albion 3rd to 12th, a three Warlord Titans from the Grim Reaper Titan Legion.
Volgan was a planet rich in materials essential to the Imperial Crusade, and had many factories left intact after the rebellion. If they could liberate these factories, then they could produce munitions and armour in the heart of the enemy held planets, effectively giving them an edge that would be hard for them to counter.
From - A History of Later Imperial Crusades.
Chapter One: Morning Glory
Gaunt squinted through the omniscopes, trying to find any sign of movement in the thick whirling cloud of dust that assaulted their bunkers. He was wasting his time; all he could see was a almost solid cloud of sand and small rocks, tinted green through the lenses of the device he held to his eyes. He slid the scope back into his belt, and climbed back down the ladder, shutting the shutters of the bunker to prevent any dust being blown in. He reached the bottom of the metal ladder, and wipes the layers of reddish-white dust from his camo cloak that he wore over his Commissars battle dress. He grabbed his peaked cap from its resting place on an empty oil drum, where he had left it so it wasn't blown off as he spied for enemy movement. Adjusting his clothing, he headed off down one of the long, narrow metal tunnels that lay beneath the thick piled sand that was the surface of Volgan. A few minutes of walking and the occasional bunker point led him to a wide chamber, with the same grey metal walls and luminous strip lights. All of one wall was taken up with a scanning machine, with various screen showing presumably what was going on outside; they all showed the same scene of whirling dust and barren plains. Seated in front of the machine was an old Sergeant from the Albion Tank regiments, a man he had been introduced as Sergeant Firth. Colonel Haygan, the commanding officer of the regiment, had advised he was added to Gaunt's desert watch team for his skill at almost any type of scanning machinery. The Sergeant appeared to be a likable sort, if rather inclined to swear, but Gaunt could see what Colonel Haygan meant; he hadn't left this chamber for three days, and only once had been caught napping. Firth turned as he heard Gaunt's footsteps clanking towards him, and smiled a gap toothed smile.
'Good morning sir!' He said with chuckle and a salute, 'Ready to start the day, eh?'
Gaunt gave the man a smile.
'I just came for the nights readouts, although by the smell I can see you were trying to make coffee.'
Firth gave a laugh, his wrinkled eyes gleaming.
'The operative word there is "trying". The damn caffeine is about as biter as Albion Nectar-fruit.'
'Here, let me offer you something,' Gaunt said, unhooking a flask from his belt. He twisted the lid off, and a pall of sweet smelling steam wafted from it. Sergeant Firth hesitated for a moment.
'What's the matter Sergeant? Never had an officers rations before?' Gaunt said, pouring two healthy measures into a pair of mess cups. He uncorked a bottle of sacra that he carried in his breast pocket, and gestured to Firth if he wanted some in his coffee. The old man shook his head.
'No thank you sir, got to stay alert like. But thank you for the coffee.'
'Not a problem Firth,' Gaunt grinned. He seated himself on a box of munitions, and watched the screens flicker and change, too fast for him to comprehend.
'Do you understand all this?' He asked the elderly Sergeant. Firth sipped his drink, and chuckled.
'I damn well hope so, otherwise I've been wasting my time for the last six years. I've been the scanning officer for the Swords of Steel since we left Albion all those years ago. The old Colonel obviously hasn't bothered to change me, so I must be doing something right.'
Gaunt nodded. The Swords of Steel; he had heard little of their victories, cleaning up the fringe worlds and working there way inwards and into the history books. What little Gaunt had heard was impressive to say the least; of how the Swords had run circles around the far superior forces of the Dewitt Heretics before tightening the noose and wiping them out to a man; of how, in a suicidal assault, they had broken through the barriers of the Fortress of Forever Night and driven straight up the six thousand steps of pain and torture, burning the disgusting and mind warping idols and chaotic relics before blowing the doors clean off and crushing the Arch-Duke of Chaos under their tracks; of how Colonel Haygan, in a moment of defeat at the hands of a damned Titan, had raised his tanks barrel for one last strike and blown the gigantic machines head clean off in an explosion of electric blue energy. Gaunt had only met Haygan once, but he felt a sympathetic liking for the hard worn commander. The Swords were a lot like the Ghosts in a way; among other tank regiments they were considered savage, uncouth, and that Haygan valued his crews life far too highly. What was the point of caring for a few men if, in a single explosion, they would all die? They argued. Haygan merely replied that if he DID care about all his officers, and train them and work them hard and stick by them through thick and thin, then they wouldn't be the ones in that explosion. The enemy would. This had earned him a bad reputation among tank commanders, but his compassion and impressive victories had turned more than a few heads, and there were even rumors that Macaroth intended to honor him with a personal congratulation for his efforts in the Crusade.
Change the tanks for infantry, and you had the Ghosts to a tee. They were hated, and rejected, and looked down upon and sent to the worst scenes of war that made hell look inviting, but they got the job done and cursed the bastards that had sent them there as they went and did the impossible, more to spite them than to win back the world.
'Are you alright sir?' Firth asked, snapping Gaunt out of his contemplation. He nodded his head, and took the scan reports he was offered with a grateful nod. He turned to leave, but spotted something on the mess of scanning screens.
'Sergeant, what's that there?' He asked, pointing a finger to a heat scanner that spanned the network of tunnels they were currently in. In the top right hand corner, a smudge of yellow and red amidst the sea of green and black was creeping towards them, quite slowly. Sergeant Firth inspected it, and rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully.
'We've had a few of them readings. Could be an invisible army though,' He said. He noted Gaunts blank look, and looked apologetic.
'Sorry sir, an old scanner officer's term. You get a lot of these "invisible armies" on hot planets like Volgan; they're like little pockets of heated air that get trapped in the whirling dust clouds, so they can't escape and warm up more air, which gets bigger and bigger until they can span huge areas. When they pass over you, it's like the eye of a storm; all peaceful and stuffy, while all around there's this whirling cloud of sand and dust that could strip you to the bone in seconds.'
'I see. But could a small task force travel inside such a pocket of air?' Gaunt asked.
'Yes sir, that's why we've been scanning for movement as each one comes into range. So far they've all been empty.'
'I see. Thank you Firth.'
'Pleasure sir,' The old man grinned, tipping his light grey cap, 'Although it's strange; we've been getting more and more of them recently, and they tend to be spaced quite far apart. I'd better get on the blower to the nearest bunker point and ask for a quick scan.'
'Excellent. Carry on,' Gaunt said, and strode away. Firth watched him go; he admired the Colonel-Commissar and his Ghosts. They reminded him of his own regiment; hard, tough men who did what most other regiments wouldn't do, like get their hands dirty and take the fight to the enemy. He swilled the coffee in his mouth, and grinned; this was GOOD stuff! He had to invite the Commissar over more often.
As he drunk his coffee and tapped at the keyboard, the invisible pocket of air moved slowly towards them.
In the barracks, Colonel Corbec was playing cards with "Try Again" Bragg, mad Larkin, Sergeant Soric from Verunhive and the regiments first preacher, Zweil. After the war on Hagia, the elderly priest had asked to join the regiment as its preacher/moral officer, and Gaunt had only been too willing to allow him to join the Tanith. The old preacher took a swig of sacra and raised his cards to his face, keeping them as far away from Larkin's keen eyes.
'Four Titans,' He said triumphantly, laying down his cards, 'Read em and weep lads.'
Zweil was about to reach out for the rounds wager, which was kept inside an upturned helmet, but Corbec held his hand.
'Not so fast there preacher,' He said with a grin, laying his own cards down on the table, 'Two Emperors and two towers. Looks like I win this round, eh lads?'
There was a series of mutters, and Zweil laughed.
'How do you keep on winning like that?'
'It take a lot of practice,' Corbec said with a grin. He settled back in his seat, and took a sip from his bottle of sacra, 'But if you don't mind me asking, isn't it a bit strange for a priest to drink and gamble? I'm sure the Emperor wouldn't approve.'
'If the Emperor doesn't approve, he can tell me himself,' Zweil chuckled, clearing the table and putting a few candles and a hymn book in their place, 'But where is the harm in it? Gambling is only bad if you get addicted to it, and did not the Emperor, may he rule forever, drink fine wines that had a much higher alcohol content than sacra?'
He took another sip from his own bottle, and coughed.
'Although not by much by the taste of it,' He choked, 'Who makes this stuff?'
'Bragg seems to be the only one that knows, and he ain't telling, Soric grinned, 'Although I'd be gakked if they don't simply take anti-freeze for the Chimeras and put it in bottles.'
The whole room was filled with laughter for a moment, and Bragg emerged, grinning and bearing another box of sacra over one shoulder.
In the next barrack chamber, Rawne pulled a face and settled down in his hammock with a data-slate of the enemies latest activities. For some reason they seemed to be staying in the heart of the desert, where it was nigh on impossible to track them but equally dangerous for the rebels. If they didn't emerge soon, then all the Imperial forces would find was a pile of bones stripped of every bit of flesh, if that. It just didn't make sense, but then again Rawne had long ago stopped trying to make sense of the tactics of Chaos.
He looked around his chambers; he was sharing a cramped room with Feygor, his assistant, a nervous Verunhive recruit called Stimun, Caffran and of course, where you got Caffran you got Tona Criid. Rawne sneered; he was still highly skeptical about letting women into the regiment, as where many of the other Ghosts, but Gaunt was adamant in his decision. Besides, he'd have needed to use a las cutter to separate those two. Sure, the pair were efficient, and as far as he knew they hadn't done anything (yet he added mentally), but it was just a disaster waiting to happen. Two men had been shot when there was a dispute about a girl, and when you were a small infantry regiment you couldn't afford to go shooting your own men. He flicked the data-slate off, and passed it to Feygor, who passed him another fresh one.
'I don't like it sir,' Feygor spat, 'We've been here for three days now. Command said they'd have those damn tanks here by yesterday, and so far we haven't seen jack.'
'It's the damn storm, I know it,' Rawne agreed, 'It'll be messing with their sensors, making their equipment seize up and falter. We'll be lucky if we make it back tomorrow.'
Feygor pulled a face. He looked like he was going to say more, when suddenly the door slid aside, and Kolea stepped in, flanked by one of the deaf loom girls turned Ghosts, Banda. She looked up at Rawne, sprawled in his hammock, and smiled sweetly, winking. Rawne drew himself up, and gave her a stern look in reply; Banda had saved his life on Hagia, but he was damned if he would let some simple hive girl flirt with a superior officer. She merely grinned all the wider at his annoyance, which made him REALLY angry. Before he could speak however, Kolea gave a smart salute.
'The Colonel-Commissar has got word from the tank company,' He said, in his usual, lifeless voice, 'They'll arrive within three hours. We're to pack up and be ready to leave by then.'
'Got it. You heard the man,' Rawne called to Caffran and Criid, who were talking quietly to themselves to one side, 'I want this stuff packed away as soon as possible. I'll go and make sure the others know.'
'I'll come with you said Feygor, but before they could leave Kolea gave a polite cough.
'I think that Banda would be of assistance; you'll need someone to sign to the other deaf members of the regiment.'
Rawne blanched for a moment, and turned to Banda. She grinned at him, and gave him (to his increasing annoyance) another wink.
'Alright, she can come. Feygor, gather the data-slates and help Caffran pack up,' He said. Feygor gave a sly grin.
'You're in there, if you don't mind me saying sir.'
'Feth you,' Rawne growled, and strode out the small chamber.
Sergeant Firth was watching the heat scanner closely. It was definitely moving towards them, and it seemed a little too hot for a usual pocket of hot air. He might be wrong, but he wasn't willing to take that risk. Picking up the com-unit, or the blower as he liked to call it, he tapped in a link to Observation Bunker 67-GA.
'Command to Bunker 67, respond,' He called down the speaker. There was a moment of rustling on the other side, and then a voice.
'Bunker 67, go ahead,' Came the crackling response.
'I've got a large heat reading here on the sensor. Could be an invisible army, but I want visual confirmation all the same.'
'Copy Command. We've been picking up movement for the last hour, so this could be a live one.'
'Affirmative 67. It should be passing over you right about………now.'
Over the com-link, he noticed the sudden decrease of background noise as the storm of dust and sand passed over them. There was a brief pause, and then another response.
'Seems all clear, negative sightings so far. Perhaps it was just a hot one?'
'Perhaps. Can you see what was making the movement?'
'No sir. Seems to be utterly clear….wait, I'm getting something. Huge spike of movement, three clicks north. Something's coming out the storm…..Holy Emperor! It's huge!'
'Bunker 67, what's going on!?' Sergeant Firth yelled, 'What have you got on visual!?'
'Fire the weapons! Fire them damn it, it's coming!' Was all Firth got in response, 'Command, request immediate backup, now damn it!'
'Negative 67, retreat back through the tunnels to Command, and self destruct the bunker!'
'Affirmative, I'll try and hol…..'
Suddenly, the line went dead. Firth cursed, and tried to reconnect.
'Bunker 67!? Respond, you bastards!!'
Nothing but white noise greeted him. With a growl, he threw the ear-piece onto the desk, and looked up at the heat scanner. It was now totally over the Bunker 67 icon, and was getting close to the 43 and 89 bunkers as he watched. He tapped the com-set, and reset his ear-piece.
'Command to all Bunkers. This is a red situation. All units are to fall back and seal off their positions to the enemy. Fall back to Command and await further instructions.'
He switched the com-link off, and sighed. He'd better tell the Commissar……
Well, there's the first chapter. Let me know if you want more, otherwise I'll go away and leave you alone LOL.
Gaunt's Ghosts: The Swords of Steel
The Imperial Crusade of the Sabbat Star System continued in force after the valiant efforts of the Tanith regiment on Hagia, the Shrineworld of Saint Sabbat herself. After an investigation into the ancient psychic device that in effect saved the planet and destroyed the approaching Chaos fleet, Colonel-Commissar Ibram Gaunt and his "Ghosts" were reassigned to the taking of a heavily fortified position on the barren ash world of Volgan. Returned to his position by Macaroth himself, after being threatened with demotion and execution by Lord Commander Lugo who undertook the Hagia mission, Gaunt was recommended for the mission to Volgan, where his regiments newly found knack for tank killing would come in useful against the armoured forces of the Volgan heretics. Along with the Tanith First-and-Only was the tank regiment of the Albion 3rd to 12th, a three Warlord Titans from the Grim Reaper Titan Legion.
Volgan was a planet rich in materials essential to the Imperial Crusade, and had many factories left intact after the rebellion. If they could liberate these factories, then they could produce munitions and armour in the heart of the enemy held planets, effectively giving them an edge that would be hard for them to counter.
From - A History of Later Imperial Crusades.
Chapter One: Morning Glory
Gaunt squinted through the omniscopes, trying to find any sign of movement in the thick whirling cloud of dust that assaulted their bunkers. He was wasting his time; all he could see was a almost solid cloud of sand and small rocks, tinted green through the lenses of the device he held to his eyes. He slid the scope back into his belt, and climbed back down the ladder, shutting the shutters of the bunker to prevent any dust being blown in. He reached the bottom of the metal ladder, and wipes the layers of reddish-white dust from his camo cloak that he wore over his Commissars battle dress. He grabbed his peaked cap from its resting place on an empty oil drum, where he had left it so it wasn't blown off as he spied for enemy movement. Adjusting his clothing, he headed off down one of the long, narrow metal tunnels that lay beneath the thick piled sand that was the surface of Volgan. A few minutes of walking and the occasional bunker point led him to a wide chamber, with the same grey metal walls and luminous strip lights. All of one wall was taken up with a scanning machine, with various screen showing presumably what was going on outside; they all showed the same scene of whirling dust and barren plains. Seated in front of the machine was an old Sergeant from the Albion Tank regiments, a man he had been introduced as Sergeant Firth. Colonel Haygan, the commanding officer of the regiment, had advised he was added to Gaunt's desert watch team for his skill at almost any type of scanning machinery. The Sergeant appeared to be a likable sort, if rather inclined to swear, but Gaunt could see what Colonel Haygan meant; he hadn't left this chamber for three days, and only once had been caught napping. Firth turned as he heard Gaunt's footsteps clanking towards him, and smiled a gap toothed smile.
'Good morning sir!' He said with chuckle and a salute, 'Ready to start the day, eh?'
Gaunt gave the man a smile.
'I just came for the nights readouts, although by the smell I can see you were trying to make coffee.'
Firth gave a laugh, his wrinkled eyes gleaming.
'The operative word there is "trying". The damn caffeine is about as biter as Albion Nectar-fruit.'
'Here, let me offer you something,' Gaunt said, unhooking a flask from his belt. He twisted the lid off, and a pall of sweet smelling steam wafted from it. Sergeant Firth hesitated for a moment.
'What's the matter Sergeant? Never had an officers rations before?' Gaunt said, pouring two healthy measures into a pair of mess cups. He uncorked a bottle of sacra that he carried in his breast pocket, and gestured to Firth if he wanted some in his coffee. The old man shook his head.
'No thank you sir, got to stay alert like. But thank you for the coffee.'
'Not a problem Firth,' Gaunt grinned. He seated himself on a box of munitions, and watched the screens flicker and change, too fast for him to comprehend.
'Do you understand all this?' He asked the elderly Sergeant. Firth sipped his drink, and chuckled.
'I damn well hope so, otherwise I've been wasting my time for the last six years. I've been the scanning officer for the Swords of Steel since we left Albion all those years ago. The old Colonel obviously hasn't bothered to change me, so I must be doing something right.'
Gaunt nodded. The Swords of Steel; he had heard little of their victories, cleaning up the fringe worlds and working there way inwards and into the history books. What little Gaunt had heard was impressive to say the least; of how the Swords had run circles around the far superior forces of the Dewitt Heretics before tightening the noose and wiping them out to a man; of how, in a suicidal assault, they had broken through the barriers of the Fortress of Forever Night and driven straight up the six thousand steps of pain and torture, burning the disgusting and mind warping idols and chaotic relics before blowing the doors clean off and crushing the Arch-Duke of Chaos under their tracks; of how Colonel Haygan, in a moment of defeat at the hands of a damned Titan, had raised his tanks barrel for one last strike and blown the gigantic machines head clean off in an explosion of electric blue energy. Gaunt had only met Haygan once, but he felt a sympathetic liking for the hard worn commander. The Swords were a lot like the Ghosts in a way; among other tank regiments they were considered savage, uncouth, and that Haygan valued his crews life far too highly. What was the point of caring for a few men if, in a single explosion, they would all die? They argued. Haygan merely replied that if he DID care about all his officers, and train them and work them hard and stick by them through thick and thin, then they wouldn't be the ones in that explosion. The enemy would. This had earned him a bad reputation among tank commanders, but his compassion and impressive victories had turned more than a few heads, and there were even rumors that Macaroth intended to honor him with a personal congratulation for his efforts in the Crusade.
Change the tanks for infantry, and you had the Ghosts to a tee. They were hated, and rejected, and looked down upon and sent to the worst scenes of war that made hell look inviting, but they got the job done and cursed the bastards that had sent them there as they went and did the impossible, more to spite them than to win back the world.
'Are you alright sir?' Firth asked, snapping Gaunt out of his contemplation. He nodded his head, and took the scan reports he was offered with a grateful nod. He turned to leave, but spotted something on the mess of scanning screens.
'Sergeant, what's that there?' He asked, pointing a finger to a heat scanner that spanned the network of tunnels they were currently in. In the top right hand corner, a smudge of yellow and red amidst the sea of green and black was creeping towards them, quite slowly. Sergeant Firth inspected it, and rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully.
'We've had a few of them readings. Could be an invisible army though,' He said. He noted Gaunts blank look, and looked apologetic.
'Sorry sir, an old scanner officer's term. You get a lot of these "invisible armies" on hot planets like Volgan; they're like little pockets of heated air that get trapped in the whirling dust clouds, so they can't escape and warm up more air, which gets bigger and bigger until they can span huge areas. When they pass over you, it's like the eye of a storm; all peaceful and stuffy, while all around there's this whirling cloud of sand and dust that could strip you to the bone in seconds.'
'I see. But could a small task force travel inside such a pocket of air?' Gaunt asked.
'Yes sir, that's why we've been scanning for movement as each one comes into range. So far they've all been empty.'
'I see. Thank you Firth.'
'Pleasure sir,' The old man grinned, tipping his light grey cap, 'Although it's strange; we've been getting more and more of them recently, and they tend to be spaced quite far apart. I'd better get on the blower to the nearest bunker point and ask for a quick scan.'
'Excellent. Carry on,' Gaunt said, and strode away. Firth watched him go; he admired the Colonel-Commissar and his Ghosts. They reminded him of his own regiment; hard, tough men who did what most other regiments wouldn't do, like get their hands dirty and take the fight to the enemy. He swilled the coffee in his mouth, and grinned; this was GOOD stuff! He had to invite the Commissar over more often.
As he drunk his coffee and tapped at the keyboard, the invisible pocket of air moved slowly towards them.
In the barracks, Colonel Corbec was playing cards with "Try Again" Bragg, mad Larkin, Sergeant Soric from Verunhive and the regiments first preacher, Zweil. After the war on Hagia, the elderly priest had asked to join the regiment as its preacher/moral officer, and Gaunt had only been too willing to allow him to join the Tanith. The old preacher took a swig of sacra and raised his cards to his face, keeping them as far away from Larkin's keen eyes.
'Four Titans,' He said triumphantly, laying down his cards, 'Read em and weep lads.'
Zweil was about to reach out for the rounds wager, which was kept inside an upturned helmet, but Corbec held his hand.
'Not so fast there preacher,' He said with a grin, laying his own cards down on the table, 'Two Emperors and two towers. Looks like I win this round, eh lads?'
There was a series of mutters, and Zweil laughed.
'How do you keep on winning like that?'
'It take a lot of practice,' Corbec said with a grin. He settled back in his seat, and took a sip from his bottle of sacra, 'But if you don't mind me asking, isn't it a bit strange for a priest to drink and gamble? I'm sure the Emperor wouldn't approve.'
'If the Emperor doesn't approve, he can tell me himself,' Zweil chuckled, clearing the table and putting a few candles and a hymn book in their place, 'But where is the harm in it? Gambling is only bad if you get addicted to it, and did not the Emperor, may he rule forever, drink fine wines that had a much higher alcohol content than sacra?'
He took another sip from his own bottle, and coughed.
'Although not by much by the taste of it,' He choked, 'Who makes this stuff?'
'Bragg seems to be the only one that knows, and he ain't telling, Soric grinned, 'Although I'd be gakked if they don't simply take anti-freeze for the Chimeras and put it in bottles.'
The whole room was filled with laughter for a moment, and Bragg emerged, grinning and bearing another box of sacra over one shoulder.
In the next barrack chamber, Rawne pulled a face and settled down in his hammock with a data-slate of the enemies latest activities. For some reason they seemed to be staying in the heart of the desert, where it was nigh on impossible to track them but equally dangerous for the rebels. If they didn't emerge soon, then all the Imperial forces would find was a pile of bones stripped of every bit of flesh, if that. It just didn't make sense, but then again Rawne had long ago stopped trying to make sense of the tactics of Chaos.
He looked around his chambers; he was sharing a cramped room with Feygor, his assistant, a nervous Verunhive recruit called Stimun, Caffran and of course, where you got Caffran you got Tona Criid. Rawne sneered; he was still highly skeptical about letting women into the regiment, as where many of the other Ghosts, but Gaunt was adamant in his decision. Besides, he'd have needed to use a las cutter to separate those two. Sure, the pair were efficient, and as far as he knew they hadn't done anything (yet he added mentally), but it was just a disaster waiting to happen. Two men had been shot when there was a dispute about a girl, and when you were a small infantry regiment you couldn't afford to go shooting your own men. He flicked the data-slate off, and passed it to Feygor, who passed him another fresh one.
'I don't like it sir,' Feygor spat, 'We've been here for three days now. Command said they'd have those damn tanks here by yesterday, and so far we haven't seen jack.'
'It's the damn storm, I know it,' Rawne agreed, 'It'll be messing with their sensors, making their equipment seize up and falter. We'll be lucky if we make it back tomorrow.'
Feygor pulled a face. He looked like he was going to say more, when suddenly the door slid aside, and Kolea stepped in, flanked by one of the deaf loom girls turned Ghosts, Banda. She looked up at Rawne, sprawled in his hammock, and smiled sweetly, winking. Rawne drew himself up, and gave her a stern look in reply; Banda had saved his life on Hagia, but he was damned if he would let some simple hive girl flirt with a superior officer. She merely grinned all the wider at his annoyance, which made him REALLY angry. Before he could speak however, Kolea gave a smart salute.
'The Colonel-Commissar has got word from the tank company,' He said, in his usual, lifeless voice, 'They'll arrive within three hours. We're to pack up and be ready to leave by then.'
'Got it. You heard the man,' Rawne called to Caffran and Criid, who were talking quietly to themselves to one side, 'I want this stuff packed away as soon as possible. I'll go and make sure the others know.'
'I'll come with you said Feygor, but before they could leave Kolea gave a polite cough.
'I think that Banda would be of assistance; you'll need someone to sign to the other deaf members of the regiment.'
Rawne blanched for a moment, and turned to Banda. She grinned at him, and gave him (to his increasing annoyance) another wink.
'Alright, she can come. Feygor, gather the data-slates and help Caffran pack up,' He said. Feygor gave a sly grin.
'You're in there, if you don't mind me saying sir.'
'Feth you,' Rawne growled, and strode out the small chamber.
Sergeant Firth was watching the heat scanner closely. It was definitely moving towards them, and it seemed a little too hot for a usual pocket of hot air. He might be wrong, but he wasn't willing to take that risk. Picking up the com-unit, or the blower as he liked to call it, he tapped in a link to Observation Bunker 67-GA.
'Command to Bunker 67, respond,' He called down the speaker. There was a moment of rustling on the other side, and then a voice.
'Bunker 67, go ahead,' Came the crackling response.
'I've got a large heat reading here on the sensor. Could be an invisible army, but I want visual confirmation all the same.'
'Copy Command. We've been picking up movement for the last hour, so this could be a live one.'
'Affirmative 67. It should be passing over you right about………now.'
Over the com-link, he noticed the sudden decrease of background noise as the storm of dust and sand passed over them. There was a brief pause, and then another response.
'Seems all clear, negative sightings so far. Perhaps it was just a hot one?'
'Perhaps. Can you see what was making the movement?'
'No sir. Seems to be utterly clear….wait, I'm getting something. Huge spike of movement, three clicks north. Something's coming out the storm…..Holy Emperor! It's huge!'
'Bunker 67, what's going on!?' Sergeant Firth yelled, 'What have you got on visual!?'
'Fire the weapons! Fire them damn it, it's coming!' Was all Firth got in response, 'Command, request immediate backup, now damn it!'
'Negative 67, retreat back through the tunnels to Command, and self destruct the bunker!'
'Affirmative, I'll try and hol…..'
Suddenly, the line went dead. Firth cursed, and tried to reconnect.
'Bunker 67!? Respond, you bastards!!'
Nothing but white noise greeted him. With a growl, he threw the ear-piece onto the desk, and looked up at the heat scanner. It was now totally over the Bunker 67 icon, and was getting close to the 43 and 89 bunkers as he watched. He tapped the com-set, and reset his ear-piece.
'Command to all Bunkers. This is a red situation. All units are to fall back and seal off their positions to the enemy. Fall back to Command and await further instructions.'
He switched the com-link off, and sighed. He'd better tell the Commissar……
Well, there's the first chapter. Let me know if you want more, otherwise I'll go away and leave you alone LOL.