They had arrived at a set of great doors ornate with golden bas-relief. Vervun Elite troops in dress uniforms crusted with brocade, with plumes sprouting from their helmet spikes, opened the doors to admit them.
Beyond the doors, the audience theatre of House Command was seething with voices and commotion.
General Nash was at the lectern, trying to speak, but the noble houses were shouting him down. Junior Vervun Primary officers were stamping in their tiered seats and jeering, and Roane Deeper adjutants were yelling back at them, urged on by officers from NorthCol, the Narmenians and the Volpone.
Vice Marshal Anko rose to his feet, slamming his white-gloved hand into the bench-head for silence.
“While I welcome the aid our off-world kin have rendered us, I find this an affront. General Nash condemns our military organisations and says we are ill-equipped to deal with this fight. An insult, no less, no more! Does his highness General Sturm share this view?”
Sturm rose. “War, honoured gentlemen,” he began in soothing, mellow tones, “is a confusion. Emotions run high. It is hard to say if a system is right or wrong until it is found wanting in the fire of battle. The Vervun Primary are exemplary soldiers, well-drilled and highly motivated. Their bravery is beyond question. That our command channels clashed during today’s engagement is simply unfortunate. It is not the fault of Vervun officers. I have already issued standing orders to range the vox-channels so that there will be no further overlap. Any deaths that have resulted from this misfortune are greatly regretted. Such incidents will not recur.”
“What about discipline?” Gaunt’s voice cut across the great hall and all the faces turned to look. Gaunt walked to the end of the chamber and stepped up to the lectern. Kowle took his place on the front bench next to Anko.
“Colonel-commissar?” Marshal Croe rose and looked down the vast hall into Gaunt’s eyes. “Is there another matter? General Nash has already been unkind enough to reprimand Vervunhive for its weakness in command. Do you share that view?”
“In part, marshal. The communication problems General Sturm has referred to were only a piece of the crisis we faced today. We were lucky to survive the Veyveyr assault.”
Anko jumped to his feet. “And have we not our own hero, Commissar Kowle, to thank for turning that crisis around?”
The hall broke out in ripples of applause and cheers, mainly from the Vervun majority. Kowle accepted the applause with a gracious, modest nod. Gaunt knew better than to point out the cosmetic nature of Kowle’s involvement.
“Commissar Kowle’s actions are a matter of record. History will record the nature of his contribution to the Vervunhive war.” Gaunt couched his response carefully. “But the line of command failed severely during Veyveyr. Field commanders of the Vervun Primary, whose bravery is beyond question, failed to relay strategic orders or were unable—or unwilling—to redirect their forces in the face of the assault.”
leers and boos thundered down at Gaunt.
“I understand you have already exacted discipline, colonel-commissar,” Anko said stiffly.
“And I will do so again,” Gaunt raised his voice above the background roar. “But that simply punishes the symptoms of the problem. It does not address the heart of it.”
“That problem being a failure to obey direct orders?” Kowle asked, rising to his feet amid more cheers.
Gaunt nodded. “Chain of command must be observed at all times. Any who break it must do so knowing they risk the highest penalty. Without such order and control, this war will be lost. I trust Vervun Primary will respect this philosophy from now on.”
“So all who transgress must be punished?” Kowle asked.
He wants his transfer badly, Gaunt thought. He’s supporting me every step of the way.
“Of course. Without the threat of sanction, insubordination will continue.”
“Then you will support the punishment of General Grizmund?” asked Vice Marshal Anko.
“What?”
“General Grizmund—who broke orders this day and began his own deployment of the Narmenian armour?” Now the Narmenian staff booed and heckled.
Gaunt faltered. “I… I was not aware of this. It must have been a mistake. General Grizmund has my complete confidence and—”
“So, one rule for the locals, another for the Guard?” sneered Anko.
“I didn’t say that. I—”
“General Grizmund defied direct orders from House Command and redeployed his tanks through noble house territory. Forgetting the collateral damage he caused, is not his action worthy of the most severe censure?” Tarrian of the VPHC looked across at Gaunt. “That was the philosophy you were advocating, wasn’t it?”
Gaunt looked away from the hooded eyes of the VPHC commandant and found Kowle’s face in the throng. Kowle smiled back at him, unblinking, soulless.
He knew. He had known about Grizmund even before they had reached the chamber. He had manoeuvred Gaunt right into this trap.
Gaunt realised in an instant he had underestimated Kowle’s ambition. The man was after more than a simple transfer off Verghast. He was after glory and command.
“Well, colonel-commissar? What do we do with Grizmund?” asked Anko.
Gaunt stepped away from the lectern and strode down the hall to the exit, yells and cat-calls showering over him.
Outside, he grabbed one of the Vervun Elite minding the door by the brocade and slammed him into the wall.
“Grizmund! Where is he?”
“In the s-stockade, sir! Level S-sub-40!”
Gaunt released him and strode away.
The rousing hymns of the great choirs shivered the air around him. Their sentiments sounded all too hollow.
The sunrise was an hour away.
A file of Ghosts moved up from trucks parked on the eastern hab expressway and entered the manufactory depots that backed on to the Spoil.
Thirty men, the cream of the Tanith scout cadre. The Vervun troops occupying the location, soldiers of the so-called Spoilers unit, greeted them in the undercroft of an ore barn. The air was thick with rock-dust and the light was poor, issuing from a few hooded lamps nailed to the wall.
“Gak” Ormon, the major in command of the Spoilers, saluted as Mkoll led his men in. He was a big, bulky man with bloodshot eyes and a flamer-burned throat.
“I understand you have good snipers and stealthers,” Ormon said to Mkoll as he walked over to a chart table with him.
Mkoll nodded. He surveyed the chart. The Spoil, a vast heap of slag, was a real vulnerability for Vervunhive. They knew as much, otherwise they wouldn’t have formed a dedicated defence force, but the battle of the day before had decimated the Spoiler unit.
“General Sturm has acknowledged the Tanith ability in such endeavours. We’re here to support you.”
“Gak” Ormon’s great bulk was clad in the blue greatcoat and spiked helmet of the Vervun Primary. He looked down at the wiry off-worlder with his faded black fatigues and curious piebald cape. He was not impressed.
All of the Spoilers present, including Ormon, carried long-barrelled autoguns with scopes dedicated to sniping. Their faces were striped with bars of black camo-paint. Several had fresh wounds bound tightly.
Sergeant Mkoll called up his men so they could all study the chart. The Ghosts grouped around the table, making comments, pointing.
“Why don’t you just give them orders?” Ormon asked disdainfully.
“Because I want them to know the situation and understand the terrain. How can they defend an area effectively otherwise? Don’t you do the same?”