Sabbat Crusade
More Gaunt’s Ghosts from blacklibrary.com
THE FOUNDING
Book 1: FIRST AND ONLY
Book 2: GHOSTMAKER
Book 3: NECROPOLIS
THE SAINT
Book 4: HONOUR GUARD
Book 5: THE GUNS OF TANITH
Book 6: STRAIGHT SILVER
Book 7: SABBAT MARTYR
THE LOST
Book 8: TRAITOR GENERAL
Book 9: HIS LAST COMMAND
Book 10: THE ARMOUR OF CONTEMPT
Book 11: ONLY IN DEATH
THE VICTORY
Book 12: BLOOD PACT
Book 13: SALVATION’S REACH
It is the 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.
Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor’s will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Astra Militarum and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants – and worse.
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
Introduction
Welcome back to the Sabbat Worlds.
I said (cups hands), ‘WELCOME BACK TO THE SABBAT WORLDS!’
I realise it’s hard to hear me over all the explosions and shooting. Find yourself a convenient foxhole, dig in tight, and I’ll tell you what’s going on.
The Sabbat Worlds is a vast tract of space in the Warhammer 40,000 universe, and the setting for my long-running Gaunt’s Ghosts novel series. Over the years (since, I believe, 1996) I’ve set fifteen novels and many short stories in its domain, primarily the Ghosts books, but also adventures taking place during the same campaign (Double Eagle, Titanicus). From something that started out as a vague hint of location in the first short stories, it has grown into quite a detailed territory. It’s been mapped. It has a chronology, and background books have been written.
In 2010, Black Library published an anthology called Sabbat Worlds, and it was very well received. All the stories in it were, as the title suggests, set in the Sabbat region, during the years of the massive Imperial Crusade. The unusual thing about the anthology was that I didn’t write all the stories; other Black Library authors were invited to write a tales set in the region. The results were fantastic. The stories were varied in tone, scale and approach, and many found really unusual ways to fit into my established continuity. There wasn’t a weak link in there. I was excited and, I suppose, honoured that the other authors had seized so gleefully on the opportunity to write tales set in a time and place that I have essentially evolved for my own creative purposes.
Four years later, we’ve decided it’s time to do it again, and thus you hold in your hands Sabbat Crusade, the second Sabbat Worlds anthology.
There are a couple of reasons for publishing a second anthology. The first is that there has been an unfortunate and unavoidable delay in the publication of the next Ghosts novel, The Warmaster. I can only apologise for that; sometimes life turns out that way. The Warmaster has been set back by unexpected complexities and demands in both my working and private life. It will be on its way to your bookshelves soon. The adventure will continue.
But because of the delay, we (and by ‘we’, I mean myself and Black Library editorial) thought it might be nice to get something Gaunt-related out there to tide people over until The Warmaster arrives. A little selection box of all things Ghosts and Sabbat Worlds. Another anthology.
The second reason was simply that the first anthology had been really good, and we wanted to do another anyway.
Sabbat Crusade is a little different from the first volume. For a start, its initial publication is in a gorgeous, deluxe special edition, with loads of desirable extras. It sees the return of several authors from the first volume, two of whom are writing follow-ups to their original stories. It also welcomes new writers to the Sabbat Worlds playground, and the contributions they’ve made are amazing.
The stories are also much more closely connected than the stories in the first volume. Many are set in a tight timeframe (six of them, no less, take place in the same year, and are set between Salvation’s Reach and The Warmaster). Those that are not linked by time are generally linked by theme, most particularly the activities of the Archenemy Blood Pact and Sons of Sek. This volume shows the war from BOTH sides. Oh, and the Adeptus Astartes Iron Snakes show up more than once.
Not every story in this book fits that tight remit, but it’s generally far more cohesive than the first. I’ve contributed three new stories, and they’re all Gaunt’s Ghosts stories. They are linked, they are presented in chronological order, and they are set in novel continuity, between Salvation’s Reach and The Warmaster. Rather than, as I did in the last volume, going back to explore an incident from the past, I thought it behove me to present stories set in the now – connective tissue between the last volume and the next. And they’re not just minor side incidents, either. For loyal readers of the Gaunt series, this anthology will sit on the shelf between Salvation’s Reach and The Warmaster, not alongside them. You really need to read this volume before you start the next Gaunt novel. My three new stories, and two or three of the other stories in the book, are ‘vital reading’ in the continuity thread of the novel series.
I’ll introduce every story as we go along to supply context.
Okay. Let’s begin. There are still many new worlds to conquer and the fight starts here.
Dan Abnett
Maidstone, June 2014
A Ghosts story to begin with. To me the Gaunt’s Ghosts novels have always been as much about character narrative as they have about war. I don’t think the series would have lasted fourteen (and counting) books if it hadn’t been so strongly character-driven. People always complain when I kill characters off: surely, that’s because those characters count for something?
So, despite the fact that the Sabbat Worlds Crusade is a nightmarish sprawl of warfare, I’ve decided to start with something much quieter. Of all the interpersonal dynamics in the regiment, there is one particular nexus of characters that is especially poignant and complex, and a story examining it is long overdue.
Pay attention. This may be a quieter story, but it’s important.
It’s set six days after the end of Salvation’s Reach.
Dan Abnett
Family
Dan Abnett
The Highness Ser Armaduke, six days out from Salvation’s Reach, 782.M41
(the 27th year of the Sabbat Worlds Crusade)
I
Gol Kolea and Dalin Criid, father and son.
A father and a son who had been estranged and then brought back together by the fluid circumstances of war, and who seldom liked to acknowledge their blood connection.
The hellweather fight for Salvation’s Reach was just six days behind everyone, fresh in the regimental thoughts, fresh as the healing wounds and the grieving memories. The Ghosts were bedded down again, locked into shipboard trudge routines, enduring the span of another long-haul passage to wherever their next home would be.
Nowhere pleasant, that was Gol’s guess. No one had told them, not Gaunt, not Hark, not Fazekiel. There had been talk of a resupply stop at some depot, because munitions were fething low, but no one had announced their final destination.
Nowhere pleasant; it never was. That was Guard life. One storm to the next, with weeks of tedium in between. Hurry up and wait. Wait, then hurry up.
Gol had filled the containers in his mess tray with slab and bean slop from the dispensary, and then looked for a seat. He caught Dalin’s eye, saw the boy gesture. There was a space next to him.
Next to his son. The one he had thought dead for so very long. The fight they had waged at the Reach had been bitter and costly, but it had been nothing compared to Vervunhive. Bedded down with the scratch companies, facing the Zoican hordes every hour of every day, knowing your family were dead–
Until it turned out some of them weren’t.
Gol sat. He was a big man. Even though there was a spare seat, Baskevyl and Luffrey had to scrunch up to accommodate him.
‘How’s the food?’ Gol asked Dalin.
‘Wet, sir,’ Dalin smiled.
‘Don’t “sir” me, Dal,’ said Gol, twiddling his fork and looking for a promising target on the tray in front of him.
‘You’re a major, major,’ said Dalin.
Gol shrugged.
‘All right. I thought you were doing that “son to father” thing.’
Dalin forked up some beans.
‘We’ve never really done that,’ he said. ‘Had a chance to, I mean. I’m not being funny. Not blaming. I mean, we just… our relationship is–’
‘I get it.’
‘All right. Good.’
‘How are you, Dal?’ asked Kolea.
‘Pretty good, all things considered. The Reach. That was a feth-storm.’
‘It was a victory.’
‘I know,’ said Dalin. ‘But the people we lost… Merrt. And the Doc. And–’
Kolea put his fork down.
‘Something wrong?’ asked Dalin.
‘This food is terrible,’ said Gol.
‘I’m sort of getting used to it,’ said Dalin, chewing. ‘I mean, it is shit, but we’ve been on this hulk so long, it almost feels like home.’
‘Won’t be home for long,’ said Kolea.
‘No, I suppose… No.’
‘It feel like home to you, Dal?’
‘I don’t know what home’s supposed to feel like, so I suppose it does, sir.’
Gol looked at him.
‘Gol,’ said Kolea. ‘You can call me Gol when we’re not in the line or on parade.’
‘Yeah?’ asked Dalin.
‘Yeah,’ said Gol. ‘My pa made me call him Gyn. Said he wanted me to know his name, not his function. Or something.’
‘Your pa was called Gyn?’ asked Dalin.
Gol Kolea sighed.
‘You didn’t know your grandpa’s name? So much you don’t know.’
‘You should tell me some time,’ Dalin said. He paused. ‘You should tell me some time, Gol,’ he corrected.
Gol nodded. He resumed eating. He stopped again after a few moments.
‘This stuff really is shit,’ he said.
Dalin moved beans around his tray.
‘Tona–’
‘What?’ asked Gol.
‘Tona, she’s cooking tonight,’ said Dalin. ‘She can proper cook, too. Family meal. Why don’t you come along?’
‘Ah, I don’t think–’ Gol shrugged.
‘Why don’t you?’ asked Dalin.
‘Tona and I, we have an understanding,’ said Gol. ‘I stay out of it. She’s your family now, and she won that right.’
‘Caff was my family, too, and he’s gone,’ said Dalin. ‘We’re all family, aren’t we? Us Ghosts? All of us. Hey-hey! Major Kolea’s coming for supper. Where’s the harm in that? I’ll have a word with mum–’
‘Mum? You call her mum?’
‘Yeah? Why?’ asked Dalin.
‘No reason you wouldn’t,’ said Gol. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’ll have a word with Tona,’ said Dalin. ‘She’ll be fine about it. Decent food, all right? A nice conversation. Yoncy will love to see her Uncle Gol.’
‘I’m not going to step back into something I was better off staying out of,’ said Gol.
Dalin looked down at his food, disappointed.
‘You won’t be,’ he said. ‘You’d be very welcome.’
‘Well, I’ll come then,’ said Gol.
Dalin looked up, smiling.
‘Mum serves up at fifth bell, sharp,’ he said.
‘Check with her, for gak’s sake,’ Kolea said, ‘and let me know if I’m not welcome. I’ll understand.’
Dalin nodded. ‘You will be,’ he said.
Gol sighed.
‘Dal?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Does Yoncy know?’
‘She was too young. I didn’t even know my grandpa’s name till just then. You’re her Uncle Gol.’
Dalin got up.
‘Gonna police my tray,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you at fifth.’
‘Unless you tell me otherwise. And for feth’s sake tell me otherwise.’
Dalin nodded and walked away.
‘Couldn’t help overhearing that,’ said Baskevyl.
‘Really?’ asked Gol.
‘Well, you’re practically sitting in my lap,’ Bask smiled.
Gol smiled back and shook his head.
‘Go have supper with your son, Kolea,’ said Baskevyl. ‘He’d like that. If you want my advice.’
‘I really don’t,’ replied Gol Kolea.
II
Fifth bell. There was a distant thrum of the old ship’s engines, labouring, propelling them through the empyrean. The hab bays smelled of stale, recycled air and disinfectant. They smelled like armpit.
Kolea hesitated, then knocked on the compartment door.
Tona Criid opened the hatch and looked out at him. Kolea suddenly smelled the cooking. It made his mouth water.
‘Hello, Gol,’ she said. ‘Dal said you were coming.’
‘If it’s not an imposition.’
‘Are you a fething idiot? Come in.’
The cabin was warm and steamy. Criid was wearing combat-issue trousers and a white tee-shirt.
‘Larks and Varl, they both come here all the time,’ she said. ‘Rerval too. And Shoggy. It’s ridiculous that you don’t. And regularly, too. You should see them, Gol. You should be in their lives, at least a little.’
‘Food smells good,’ Gol said.
‘I’ve got actual ground meat, and actual legumes. Plus actual spices. Scared them all up from the Navy mess. To be fair, Gaunt put a word in. The Navy eats better than we do.’
‘Gaunt put a word in?’ asked Gol.
‘He takes an interest in morale.’
‘I’ve got this,’ said Gol, producing a bottle of amasec.
‘Oh, good boy,’ Tona smiled.
‘Stole it from the Navy wardroom.’
‘Even better.’
She was a handsome woman, tall and lean, with short hair. She had been a gang
er on Verghast, and had somehow managed to save and look after Gol’s kids during the siege. The siege had killed Gol’s wife, Livy, and occupied Gol’s entire attention. He had believed he had lost his whole family in the murder-war until, by odd chance, he had discovered that his children had not just been rescued, they had actually been adopted as part of the Ghost entourage.
A child ran into the room, zooming a doll. She was small, pretty, oddly intent, her hair in pigtails.
Yoncy.
‘Hello, Yoncy,’ said Gol.
‘Hello to you, Uncle Gol. Are you coming for supper?’
‘I am.’
She laughed, and screamed out of the room again.
‘She… she seems very small for her age,’ Gol said.
‘I feed her well enough,’ said Criid, stirring something in a pot.
‘I wasn’t saying you didn’t,’ said Gol.
‘All right.’
‘Dalin is a grown man now,’ Gol said. ‘Yoncy’s only a few years behind him, but he seems like a child.’
‘“He”?’
‘What?’ said Gol.
‘You said “he”,’ said Tona, confused.
Gol paused.
‘Did I?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Then I misspoke,’ said Gol. ‘She seems like a child still.’
‘That happens with girls,’ Criid replied. ‘They seem young… then a sudden growth spurt. Six months from now, you mark my words, she’s going to be a nightmare. The young troopers will be dying at her feet. I’ll be fending them off with a crew-served weapon. Every mother’s nightmare.’
‘Tona?’
‘Yeah?’ she replied.
‘I think we’ve all seen enough nightmares in our years together to know what a real one looks like,’ said Gol.
She nodded, shrugging. ‘That’s the fething truth,’ she replied.
‘That said,’ Gol smiled, ‘I’ll be right beside you with an axe-rake.’
She laughed.
‘Tona?’
‘What?’ she asked.
‘I’ll never be able to properly thank you for what you’ve done,’ he said. ‘Saving my children. Looking after them.’