Criid nodded.
‘Rawne’s pushing units up to the right of us. The Helixids are supposed to have the left.’
‘I haven’t seen any Helixids,’ said Varl dubiously. ‘We’re supposed to be the invisible ones.’
‘Check it out,’ Criid told him. ‘Get a vox-man on it. If the Helixids aren’t in position, I want to know fast.’
Varl nodded, and dodged back to the street corner, head down.
Criid heard a plunk. A second later, a section of pavement high up Turnabout Lane blew up in a ball of flames. More, rapid plunks. Explosions turned into the left side of the street, blowing out the facade of one of the mill houses. Masonry tumbled down.
‘Mortar fire,’ Criid cursed. The shells were dropping thick and fast, and creeping towards her line. Incendiary shells. Flames were already beginning to lick into the mill houses and habs of the street.
‘Larkin!’ she voxed. ‘Fall back to me. All marksmen fall back!’
She heard a brief yelp of acknowledgement over the link.
‘Feth this,’ Criid said to Obel. ‘Infantry didn’t work, so they’re trying to burn us out.’
‘We’ll have to fall back,’ said Obel. ‘I dunno, Vallet Yard, around there?’
That would mean giving up about seventy metres of territory. But the shells were falling fast. She could barely hear herself think.
‘Contact!’ a trooper yelled from nearby.
Criid poked her head up. Down the lane, through the billowing flames, she could see silhouettes scurrying forwards, low and quick.
‘Hold them off!’ she yelled.
The Ghosts around her, huddled into cover, began shooting down the lane into the fire. Almost at once, she heard sustained gunfire kicking off in the streets parallel to her.
‘A Company to command!’ she called into her microbead. ‘Rawne, receiving?’
‘Go, Criid.’
‘They’re coming again. Laying down fire-shells and advancing behind them. A whole lot of the bastards.’
‘Understood.’
‘I need that support. At least two companies, preferably four. I need holding strength to come in via Vallet Yard and secure Hockspur Lane and Darppan Street.’
‘Stand by.’
‘Do you copy, Rawne? I’m not fething around.’
‘Stand by.’
Rawne pulled his microbead off and looked at Zhukova. She was so out of breath she was bent double, her hands planted on her thighs.
‘Tell me again,’ he said.
‘They’re coming through the scrapped boats,’ she said. She straightened up. ‘Significant strength.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Mkoll’s sure.’
‘Good enough,’ said Rawne.
‘Look,’ said Zhukova, ‘they’re not going to come through, they’re already in there.’
Rawne looked at Oysten.
‘Tell Pasha to hold the highway, but be ready to spare me as many bodies as she can. Half her strength, if possible.’
Oysten nodded.
‘What about Criid?’ asked Ludd. ‘What about here?’
‘Take C Company, Ludd – back her up.’
‘One company?’
‘If Zhukova’s right, one company is all I can spare.’
Ludd looked at him, pinched and fierce.
‘The Emperor protects, Nahum. Go put the fear of the Throne in them.’
‘Sir,’ Ludd nodded, and beckoned Caober to follow him.
‘The other companies with me,’ said Rawne. ‘We’re going to cross the highway behind Pasha’s position, and defend the east end of the scrap boats. Mkdask, get your men moving and lead the way.’
‘Sir?’
Oysten was pointing to the microbead in Rawne’s hand. It was emitting a piping squeak. He put it back in his ear.
‘Rawne, go.’
‘Eli, it’s Varl! The fething Helixid–’
‘Say again, Varl.’
‘They’re falling back! The mortar fire’s hit them hard, and they’re falling back fast. The left flank’s open all the way from Penthes Street north to Turnabout.’
Rawne grimaced. Everyone was looking at him.
‘Acknowledged, Varl. Stand by.’
He looked at the officers around him.
‘Change of plan,’ he said. ‘B Company with me. We’re going after Mkdask. Vivvo, lead the rest to the left and cover Criid’s arse at the Penthes Street junction. Don’t just stand there, move!’
Rawne strode into the narrow street, B Company assembling around him.
‘Double time, straight silver,’ he instructed. ‘If you thought street fighting in an old mill quarter was tight fun, get ready to have your minds blown.’
He looked at Zhukova.
‘Lead us back to Mkoll.’
She nodded.
‘How many men did he have with him when you left him?’ Rawne asked.
‘Men?’ she asked. ‘Major, he was on his own.’
Here’s where it starts to get interesting, Mkoll thought.
The first few to reach him were forward scouts. He picked them off with his knife, one by one, as they came through the dank guts of the rusted boats. But the main force was on their heels, and it had become necessary to ditch the subtle approach.
He crouched below a metal railing thick with lichen and wet weed, and used a row of heavy tool chests for cover. He started pushing shots at anything that stirred on the deck of the agriboat and its neighbours. He saw Sons of Sek attempting to haul themselves through rotted hatches, and blew them back inside. Head shots, throat shots. He heard shouting and cursing from the hulls below him. Las-fire started to kick back in his direction. It shattered the chipped windows of the drive house, dented the corroded metal of the engine house wall and spanked off the metal tool chests.
Mkoll crawled clear. He ran along a jingling companionway bridge, ducked into fresh cover, and leaned over to fire multiple shots down the throat of a through-deck hatch. He heard bodies fall as they were blown off rusty ladders.
He got up again, swung over the rail and jumped onto an inspection-way that ran the length of the agriboat. A figure in yellow combat gear was clambering up through one of the ladder-ways ahead. He fired from the hip, knocking the man sideways. The Son of Sek fell six metres into the bottom of an empty catch hold.
Mkoll swerved, and cut laterally across the boat. A man rose through a deck hatch in front of him, and Mkoll landed a hard kick in his masked face as he jumped over man and hatch together. The Son jerked backwards, his head bouncing off the back of the hatch ring, and he fell, senseless, knocking men off the ladder beneath him.
Las-fire ripped across the boat, a few shots, then a flurry. Sons of Sek had climbed on top of the engine housing, and were firing at him from cover.
He ducked, and crawled into the shelter of a hoist mounting. He changed clips fast. From his position, he could see the road line and the barricade. Ghosts were moving up from Pasha’s position. He estimated they would be in the hulks in six or seven minutes. Were they just responding to the gunfire flashes or had Zhukova got through? Did the Ghosts even know what they were about to meet head on?
More shots poured at him. He got down, took aim, and dropped two Sons of Sek off the roof of the engine house. He checked his musette bag. Four grenades. He took them out and started to crawl.
He reached a hatch, listened and heard movement below. He tossed a grenade in, and then kicked the open hatch shut to maximise concussion. The dull blast thumped through the deck under him. He crossed, head low, almost on his hands and knees, and reached a vent chute that aired the lower decks. He set a long fuse to the next grenade and rolled it down the chute. He was at the next hatch when he heard the deadened bang of the blast. Thin smoke was issuing from the vent grilles in the deck behind him.