commended。”
Clearly relieved； his face all but beaming at the praise； the ferret…faced Dushan puffed out his
chest with pride and bent forward in a low bow in grateful acknowledgement before taking his seat
once more。
Look at him； the Grand Marshal thought sourly。 The man is an idiot。 Still he is hardly unique in
that regard。 I am surrounded by idiots。 This whole damned city would seem to be staffed from first
to last with idiots； cowards and incompetents。
Briefly； the Grand Marshal idly wondered whether it might not be better to make an example of
Dushan。 To denounce him； here and now； and order him taken away to stand court martial on
charges of incompetence。 That might put the fear of the Emperor into the rest of them for a while； he
thought。 Force them to buck their ideas up for fear they’d he facing more of the same themselves。 As
attractive as the idea was； he found himself forced to dismiss it。 He had just praised the man； after
all。 To go back on that praise so quickly might make him seem indecisive。 No； like it or not； for the
rest of the day at least the idiot Dushan was beyond arrest； almost as inviolable to the Grand
Marshal’s powers as the body of an Imperial saint。 It was a matter of maintaining the proper respect
72
for the chain of command。 Once the Grand Marshal had given voice to an opinion on a man there
could be no turning back。
And besides； thought Kerchan； I was the one who gave Dushan his position in the first place。 To
punish him for his inadequacies now might be perceived as an admission I was wrong to promote
him。 No matter what； a Grand Marshal can never admit to having made a mistake。 He must be seen
to be infallible。 To give credence to any thought otherwise would be to fatally undermine the rightful
awe every Guardsman naturally feels for the wisdom of their superiors。 Well； the awe that most of
them feel anyway。 It is the nature of war that； occasionally and inevitably； there will always be
dissenters。
With a distant stab of quiet anger； the Grand Marshal found himself remembering the officer
whose place Dushan had taken on the General Staff。 What was the man’s name； he thought。 Minor？
Minaris？ Minovan？ He was about to turn to Colonel Vlin to ask him the name of Dushan’s
predecessor； when abruptly it came to him。 Mirovan！ That was the man’s name。 The remembered
name brought with it a clearer picture in his mind of the individual to whom it belonged and Grand
Marshal Kerchan found his bleak and unhappy mood growing even darker。
Of all the men on his staff； Mirovan had always seemed the best and brightest。 An exemplary
field officer with an admirable record of citations for bravery behind him； Mirovan had made
general in a creditably short space of time。 If the man had any flaw at all； it was in the one single
characteristic Kerchan could never abide in a subordinate。
Insolence。
Mirovan had been so insolent in fact that two weeks ago he had even had the temerity to
question one of the Grand Marshal’s military decisions during a staff meeting。 Enraged； Kerchan
had demoted the man on the spot； busting him down to the rank of common trooper and ordering
him to be immediately posted to a frontline combat unit。 Next； in a hasty decision the Grand
Marshal now bitterly regretted； he had promoted the man’s less than able second…in…command； the
men…colonel Dushan； and ordered him to serve on the General Staff in Mirovan’s place。 Though he
had felt quite sure humbling Mirovan had been the right thing to do at the time； the Grand Marshal
now experienced a troubling sense of ill…defined unease。 In many ways Mirovan was an admirable
man； he thought sadly。 Certainly； he was a damn sight more competent than most of the toadies and
feckless lackeys who bedevil me sitting around this table day after day。 I wonder what happened to
him？
“He was a good man in his way；” the Grand Marshal said。 “It would be a pity if such a man were
dead。”
All around the table； the others were staring at him。 Kerchan realised he must have inadvertently
spoken his musings aloud； interrupting the flow of conversation around him as the members of the
General Staff discussed the significance or not of Dushan’s report。 On every side of him； as though
not entirely sure how they should react； generals stared towards him with expressions ranging from
uncertainty to quiet trepidation。 Even the ever…faithful Vlin seemed to be looking at him strangely。
Kerchan； however； felt no embarrassment。 If nothing else； a lifetime spent commanding soldiers had
taught him a simple truth。 A man with the absolute authority of life…or…death over others should
never feel any need to have to apologise for his own behaviour。
“I was remembering Mirovan；” he said； turning to look toward General Dushan。 “After his
demotion he was given over to your command； Dushan。 What happened to him？”
“I… I am not sure； your excellency；” Dushan said； almost squirming before the Grand Marshal’s
gaze。 “I left the matter of assigning him to a new posting to one of my aides。 As to where precisely
he was sent； I should have to check the battalion rosters…”
Faltering； failing miserably to hide his discomfort； Dushan’s voice gradually trailed away to
guilty silence。 He probably had the man posted to the worst unit and the most dangerous duties he
could find； Kerchan thought。 Somewhere right in the thick of the action no doubt； where Mirovan
would have been lucky to survive a week。 After all； with their former general still alive there would
73
always be the danger of dissent and mutiny among the men who had served under him。 So； Mirovan
is likely dead then。 Not that I can fault Dushan’s decision…making in that regard； of course。 Dissent
is a cancer。 If I had been in his position； I would have done the same myself。
Then； looking at the eyes of the men seated around him； the Grand Marshal realised his mention
of Mirovan’s name had apparently had an entirely unforeseen consequence。 Every man there
seemed in the grip of the same queasy discomfort as Dushan； as though the recollection of
Mirovan’s sudden fall from grace had spooked them。 Watching them； the Grand Marshal began to
understand he had quite inadvertently achieved his original purpose。 Mentioning Mirovan did the
trick； he thought。 That seems to have put the fear of the Emperor in them； all right。 Not for the first
time； Kerchan was left dazzled by the extent of his own genius when it came to motivating the men
under his command。 I didn’t even realise I was doing it； he thought。 And yet still； by some happy
accident； I seem to have created exactly the effect I wanted。 No； not an accident。 Unconsciously or
not； the fact I achieved my aim means I must have intended to do so all along。 There are no
accidents when one is a Grand Marshal。 Then； making the effort to summon his most carefully
unreadable sinister half…smile； the Grand Marshal spoke to Dushan once more。
“No matter； Dushan；” he said； noting with satisfaction that the man seemed little reassured by
his manner。 “It was simply an idle thought； nothing more。 Now； on to other matters。 Colonel Vlin？
Who is scheduled to give the next briefing？”
“Magos Garan； your excellency；” his adjutant said。 “He wishes to advise us on the monthly
production figures from the city’s munitions manufactoriums。”
His brief mood of good humour abruptly evaporating； the Grand Marshal watched with a sinking
heart as the hooded figure of the archmagos of the Adeptus Mechanicus in Broucheroc rose slowly
to his feet。 As much machine as man； covered in whirring devices that had kept their owner alive for
far past the normal span of life； what could be seen of the magos’ aged and withered body from
beneath his cloak no longer looked entirely human。 Most disquieting of all were the mechadendrites：
four thin tentacle…like mechanical arms that would periodically emerge from the folds of the magos’
cloak to make minute adjustments to the other machines that covered his flesh。
Though as disturbing as he had always found the creature’s appearance； the real root of the
Grand Marshal’s dislike of Magos Garan lay more in practical considerations than in anything so
flighty as matters of aesthetics。 Unlike the rest of the men seated around the briefing table； Magos
Garan did not serve at the Grand Marshal’s whim。 As the most senior member of the Adeptus
Mechanicus in the city Garan was not here as a subordinate。 Without the machine…adepts to keep the
city’s manufactoriums working； the Grand Marshal would have no munitions for his troops。 No new
las…guns。 No missile launchers。 No replacement power packs。 No grenades； mortar rounds； artillery
shells； or any of the hundreds of other things the Guardsmen of the city needed daily to help them
keep the orks at bay。 As such； the Grand Marshal found himself forced to deal with Magos Garan as
though he was the representative of some foreign power。 A man to be negotiated and entreated with；
but never commanded。 An equal； not an inferior。 Not being by inclination a man much given to the
subtle intricacies of diplomacy； Kerchan had long found dealing with the haughty Magos to be a
difficult burden to bear。
“In the last thirty days the productivity of the city’s manufactoriums has fallen by a figure of
four point three four per cent；” the Magos said in a dry monotone voice； apparently so long past
remembering what it was to be human he made no attempt to leaven the bad news as he delivered it。
“The reasons for this fall in productivity are as follows。 One； the loss of five manufactoriums in
Sector 1…49 when the sector in question was partially overrun by the orks。 Two； the destruction of
another manufactorium in Sector 1…37 by an ork raiding party who had gained entrance past the
city’s defensive perimeter by unknown means。 Three； damage to a further fifteen manufactoriums in
Sectors 1…22 through 1…25 caused by the orks’ long…range artillery。 Four； further damage to three of
the same manufactoriums caused by gretchin suicide bombers。 Five； the slowness of repair to these
facilities caused by a chronic lack of qualified personnel。 Six； the outbreak of an unknown viral
74
pathogen among the lay manufactorium workers of Sector 1…19； causing the loss of 180；757
working man…hours through either sickness or death。 Seven； the loss of 162；983 working man…hours
caused through civil unrest occasioned by food shortages among the lay manufactorium workers of
Sector 1…32； said unrest having since been suppressed at the result of a further 34；234 working manhours
lost through either injury or death…”
His face emotionless； the magos continued； droning out an apparently endless catalogue of
doom。 As he listened； Grand Marshal Kerchan once more found himself falling into despair。
According to his strategic calculations； the battle for Broucheroc should have been won weeks； if
not months； ago。 More than that； by now they should have broken out of this Emperor…forsaken city
and be pushing the enemy back on every front。 Yet； impossibly； after ten years of warfare the orks
still showed no sign of defeat or collapse。 While day after day； hour after hour； Grand Marshal
found himself confronted by defeatism at every turn： his every waking moment sp