This book was absolutely everything that a reader like me could have asked for from the exploits of the Tanith Ghosts. Even behind the compelling story, the unmatched descriptions of combat, chaos and fear, and the general building conflict from start to finish, what really made this book stick out from the others was the specialty mission point of view contained in the story. It is about the exploits of some of the twelve best soldiers in the Tanith company on a stealth mission to assassinate a Traitor General with Imperial secrets who is safely held deep in enemy territory (as in the whole world).
This type of story allows for the reader to get real intimate with 12 ghosts vs. the typical roll call of familiar faces in the Tanith books. This change of pace already had me on the edge of my seat because the mission felt so fragile from the onset, until the ghosts got to work, and that's my other BIG excitement for this story. It was EXHILARATING reading how the Ghosts, at home in their set of skills, showed how deadly and trained they are in what they do. Landerson was the perfect camera lens to allow the reader to be just as amazed at how skilled and masterful the Ghosts wreaked death and mayhem behind enemy lines against unbelievable odds (and we as readers have been with the Ghosts along the way and know what they are capable of). Abnett went above and beyond in his ability to write knuckle-whitening fight scenes and near-death experiences (especially with one particular Tanith soldier in mind).
A quarter of the way through the book, I knew this would be my favorite book to date. The easiest five stars I've ever given an Abnett book. There were a dozen scenes I could have picked for my most memorable scene, but I'm a sucker for the initial shock our POV character Landerson gets when he essentially witnesses the Ghosts firsthand for the first time.
Most memorable scene
Excerpt from Traitor General, pg. 28-31:
As his eyes adjusted, Landerson saw Gaunt’s team was all around him, in cover, weapons raised.
“How long before your point men pull out?” Landerson whispered.
“They already have,” said Gaunt. Landerson realised the marksman and the tall, thin scout were
with them. How in the name of Holy Terra had they done that?
They heard the sound of dogs on the night air. Eager, frantic, whining and howling.
Landerson knew that sound.
“They’ve got the scent,” he whispered, his heart sinking.
“Feth!” spat Gaunt.
“Lily of Thrace, I suppose,” said the female medic.
Landerson shook his head. “No. Blood. Blood is the one thing they fix onto more than anything
else.” He held up his hand. His fall had torn the bandage off the bindings, and blood was weeping
again from the bite in his palm.
“I’m sorry, sir.” He rose to his feet. “Get your men away. I’ll draw them off.”
“No,” said Gaunt.
“It’s me they’ve scented. I—”
“No,” Gaunt repeated. “If they’ve got us, they’ll be on us all night, no matter how heroic and
stupid you decide to be. We’ll end this quickly here and get clear before anyone comes looking for a
missing patrol.”
“You’re mad,” said Landerson simply.
“Yes, but I’m also in charge.” He looked round at the mission team. “Straight silver. Let the dogs
come and do them first. Then switch live and take out the rest. Understood?”
A whispered chorus of affirmatives answered him.
“For Tanith. For the Emperor.”
The sound of the dogs grew louder. Down by the agri-complex, an engine revved and a section of
the outer fence stoved out and collapsed, driven down by the front fender of a large half-track. Its
spotlights blazed out across the waste ground. Around it, through the gap, the unleashed hounds
dashed out.
They were big. Some kind of semi-feral mastiff breed sired in the holds of the archenemy fleet. A
dozen of them, each one so thickly muscled it weighed more than an adult human male. They could
hear their paws thumping on the rough ground, hear their slavering growls.
Gaunt slid out a long silver dagger dulled with soot.
“Let them in,” he whispered. “Let them come right in…”
The first bounding animal crashed through the tree-line, heavy and stinking with spittle. Landerson
heard it barking, heard it—
Whine. A meaty thump. An interrupted whimper.
The next came, and then the next. Two more frenzied dog-voices suddenly stilled away in pathetic
squeals.
Then the rest. The other eight. One came in through the tree trunks right for Landerson. He saw its
dull eyes, its gaping, wretched maw, the fleshy, drooling lips bouncing with the impact of its stride.
He gasped out and raised his weapon.
Two metres from Landerson, as it began the pouncing leap that would bring him down, it jerked
sideways in the air. Using his lasrifle like a spear, Mkoll wrestled the hound to the ground on his
bayonet. It howled and writhed. He put a foot on its distended belly to free the blade, and lanced it
twice more.
Around him, Landerson heard a quick series of dull, wet impacts, like ripe fruit being hacked by a
machete. One human cry of pain.
A moment’s pause.
“All done?” Gaunt asked, wiping dog-blood off his warknife.
“Clear. They’re done,” Mkvenner replied from nearby.
...
Landerson looked back across at the fence. Both halftracks had moved out through the collapsed
section and were advancing across the rough ground at a slow lick, searchlights sweeping. He saw a
dozen excubitors dismounted alongside them, walking forward, las-locks raised.
“Looking for their fething pooches,” muttered Varl.
“Noise discipline!” Rawne snapped.
The patrol came closer.
“Not yet….” Gaunt whispered. “Not yet… let the foot troops get into the trees.”
So close now. Searchlight beams washed in through the trees, dappling off the shrubs and low
boughs. Landerson could smell the spice and sweet unguents of the excubitors. There was no way they
could take them all. Two to one, not counting the vehicles.
He raised his autorifle to his shoulder.
He saw the first excubitor enter the hem of the trees, a lanky black shape, las-lock right up to aim.
He could hear the knock and thump of the bastard’s respirator box.
The excubitor disappeared. It had bent down. It had found one of the gutted fetch-hounds.
“Voi shet tgharr!” the excubitor yelled, rising.
“Now,” said Gaunt. His bolt pistol banged and the excubitor flopped backwards violently.
The edge of the woods went wild. Lasfire streamed out between the trees, shredding the low
foliage. It was suddenly so bright it was as if the sun had come up.
The noise was extraordinary. Landerson saw at least four of the excubitors cut down in the
opening salvo. He started to fire, but the air was suddenly thick with smoke wash and water vapour
from the burst foliage.
The patrol began to answer, charging and firing weapons into the hail of fire from the woods. The
halftracks gunned forward. A heavy bolter on the top of the closest vehicle began to flash and chatter.
Small trees in the woodline were decapitated and deep wounds tore the trunks of the more mature
trees.
“Larks! The lights!” Gaunt yelled.
The sniper close to Landerson sat up and fired his long-las, reloading and refiring with amazing
precision. The searchlights on the vehicle rigs exploded one after another like cans on a shooting
gallery wall, spraying out glass chips and stark thorns of shorting electricals. Another sniper round
took the head off one of the excubitors manning the lamps.
Landerson saw Gaunt striding forward, shouting to his men though the roar of the intense combat
drowned him out. He had a compact bolt pistol in each hand and was firing both of them. What
Landerson had taken to be a single chest holster had evidently been a doubled pair.
Shots screamed through the trees. Branches exploded. Landerson could smell wood pulp and sap,
fyceline and blood. He crawled to the nearest trunk and tried to get a better angle.
“Brostin!” Gaunt yelled. “Nail that first track!”
The big, rough-looking man calmly advanced with his massive autocannon cradled like a baby in
his arms. He dropped the long telescope monopod to brace and then let rip, feeding ammo on a belt
from one of two heavy hoppers strung to his hips.
The half-track plating buckled and twisted. This Brostin seemed to be aiming for the main chassis
of the vehicle rather than the upper crew compartment. Why the hell would he be aiming for the most
heavily armoured section, the engine bearing, the—
The half-track ignited like a fuel-soaked rag. Flames gushed out from underneath it and wrapped it
in a cocoon of fire. The steady flow of armour-piercing rounds had ruptured the deep-set fuel tank.
Landerson saw two excubitors, swathed in flame, tumble screaming out of the crew well.
“Holy Throne of Earth…” Landerson mumbled.
“He’s got a thing about fire, our Brostin,” said the man next to him. It was the sniper. Larks.
Larkin. Something like that. He had a face as lined and creased as old saddle leather. “Plus, he’s
ticked off he wasn’t allowed to bring his precious fething flamer. Whoop, ’scuse me.”
Larkin raised his long-las, panned the barrel round and snapped off a shot that destroyed the head
of another excubitor.
Pincer fire suddenly ripped in out of the right-hand quarter. Lasrifles on rapid, but devastatingly
precise. Some of the excubitors tried to turn and were smacked off their feet. Landerson saw a chest
explode, scale-mail pieces flung out. A las-lock was hit as it fired and blew up in a crescent of
torched energy. Another excubitor was hit in the head and stumbled blindly across the wasteland like
a jerking puppet until another shot put him down. Mkoll, Mkvenner and Bonin appeared out of the
dark, coming in from the side, firing from the chest.
The last of the excubitors went down. The second halftrack tried to turn and reverse. A tube-
charge spun in from Rawne — a long, precise throw — and blew it apart.
Landerson lowered his weapon. He was breathing hard and his mind was reeling. How long?
Thirty, forty seconds? Less than a minute. A whole patrol slaughtered in less than a minute. How…
how was that even possible?
“Cease fire!” Gaunt yelled.
The area was bright with the burning wrecks of the vehicles.
“Douse them?” Varl asked Gaunt.
“No, we’re out of here. Now.
“Into the woods!” Rawne shouted. “File of two, double time! That means you too, Varl, feth take
your dog bite! Come on! Keep our new friends with us!”
“Stick with me,” the sniper said to Landerson. He smiled reassuringly. “Stick tight. The
archenemy’s not found a thing yet that can kill Hlaine Larkin.”
“Right,” said Landerson, hurrying after him. For an older man, the sniper could move.
“What’s your name?” Larkin called back over his shoulder.
“L-Landerson.”
“Stick tight, Landerson. The woods await.”
“The woods?”
He heard Larkin laughing. “We’re Tanith, Landerson. We like woods.”