in the billet. “Looks like the Ghosts are making themselves at home,” he murmured to no one in particular.
“Ghosts? Why do you call them that? Where are you from?” Daur asked.
“Tanith,” Mkoll said.
Corbec smiled sadly and contradicted the sergeant. “Nowhere, Captain Daur. We’re from nowhere and that’s why we’re ghosts.”
“This is the only space available,” Commissar Langana said flatly.
“Not good enough,” Dorden said, looking around the dimly-lit hangar, taking in the shattered windows, the piles of refuse and the layers of dust. “I can’t make a field hospital in here. The filth will kill more of my regiment than the enemy.”
The VPHC officer looked round sourly at the doctor. “The vice marshal’s orders were quite specific. This area is designated for medical needs.”
“We could clean up,” Trooper Lesp suggested. A thin, hangdog man, Lesp was skulking to one side in the doorway with Chayker and Foskin. The three of them represented Dorden’s medical orderlies, troopers who had been trained for field hospital work by the chief medic himself. Gherran and Mtane, the only other fully qualified medics in the unit, were looking around behind them.
“With what?” Dorden asked. “By the time we’ve scoured this place clean, the war will be over.”
Lesp shrugged.
“You must make do. This is war,” Langana announced. “War levels all stations and makes us work with the bravery in our limbs and the ingenuity in our minds.”
Dorden turned his grizzled face to look directly into the puffy visage of the political officer. “Do you make that crap up yourself, or does someone write it down for you?”
The orderlies behind him tried to cover their sniggers. Gherran and Mtane laughed out loud.
“I could break you for such insolence!” Langana spat. Anger made his cheeks florid.
“Hmm?” Dorden replied, not seeming to hear. “And deprive an Imperial Guard regiment of their chief medic? Your vice marshal wouldn’t be too happy to hear about that, would he?”
Langana was about to retort when a strong, female voice echoed through the dirty space.
“I’m looking for the doctor! Hello?”
Dorden pushed past the seething commissar and went to the door. He was met by a short, slim, young woman in a form-fitting red uniform with embroidered cuffs. She carried a medical pack over one shoulder and was escorted by five more dressed like her: three men and two women.
“Dorden, chief medical officer, Tanith First.”
“Surgeon Ana Curth, Inner Hab Collective Medical Hall 67/mv,” she replied, nodding to him and glancing around the dingy hall. “Captain Daur, your liaison officer, was troubled by the state of the facilities and called my hall for support.”
“As you can see, Ana, it is a long way short of adequate,” said Dorden with a gentle gesture that took in the decay.
She frowned at him briefly. His use of her forename surprised her. Such informalities were rare in the hive. It was discourteous, almost condescending. She’d worked for her status and position as hard as any other hiver.
“That’s Surgeon Curth, medic.”
Dorden looked round at the woman, surprised, clearly hurt that he had offended her in any way. Behind Dorden, Langana smiled.
“My mistake. Surgeon Curth, indeed,” Dorden looked away. “Well, as you can see, this is no place for wounded. Can you possibly… assist us?”
She looked him up and down, still bristling but calming a little. There was something in his tired, avuncular manner that made her almost regret her tone. This was not some bravo trooper trying to hit on her. This was an old man with slumping shoulders. There was a weariness in his manner that no amount of sleep could ease. His lined eyes had seen too much, she realised.
Ana Curth turned to Langana. “I wouldn’t treat cattle in a place like this. I’m issuing an M-notice on it at once.”
“You can’t—” Langana began.
“Oh, yes I can, commissar! Fifth Bill of Rights, Amendment 457/hj: ‘In event of conflict, surgeon staff may commandeer all available resources for the furtherance of competent medical work.’ I want scrub teams from the hive sanitation department here by morning, with pressure hoses and steam scourers. I want disinfectant sluices. I want sixty cots, bedding, four theatre tables with lights, screens and instruments, flak-board lagging for the walls and windows, proper light-power, water and heat-links recoupled, and patches made to the gakking roof! Got it?”
“I—”
“Do you understand me, Political Officer Langana?”
Langana hesitated. “I will have to call House Command for these requirements.”
“Do so!” barked Curth. Dorden looked on. He liked her already.
“Use my hive caste-code: 678/cu. Got it? That will give you the authority to process my request. And do it now, Langana!”
The commissar saluted briefly and then marched away out of the chamber. He had to push through the smirking Tanith orderlies to exit.
Dorden turned to the woman. “My thanks, Surgeon Curth. The Tanith are in your debt.”
“Just do your job and we’ll get on fine,” she replied bluntly. “I have more wounded refugees in my hall now than I can deal with. I don’t want your overspill submerging me when the fighting starts.”
“Of course you don’t. I am grateful, surgeon.”
Dorden fixed her with an honest smile. She seemed about to soften and smile back, but she turned and led her team away out of the door. “We’ll return in two days to help you set up.”
“Surgeon?”
She stopped, turning back.
“How overrun are you? With the wounded, I mean?”
She sighed. “To breaking point.”
“Could you use six more trained staff?” Dorden asked. He waved casually at his fellow medics and waiting orderlies. “We have no wounded yet to treat, Emperor watch us. Until we have, we would be happy to assist.”
Curth glanced at her chief orderly. “Thank you. Your offer is appreciated. Follow us, please.”
Varl supervised the store detail, carrying more than his share thanks to the power of his artificial arm. With a team of thirty, he ordered the stacking and layout of the Tanith supplies. There was plenty of stuff in the barn already, well marked and identified by the triplicate manifest data-
