Mackenzie shook his head。 “There was nothing here a few weeks ago。 I sent a squad to
reconnoitre this area； and they reported nothing like this。”
Greiss raised an eyebrow。 “This area？ You sure about that； commissar？”
“Of course I’m sure； sergeant。 What are you suggesting？”
“Well； I know the jungle can be good at covering tracks—but I’d swear that； till we turned up；
there hadn’t been anyone come this way in a long time。”
That sent the commissar scrambling for his sketch map。 In the meantime； his adjutant had
recovered his breath； though he still looked pale。 “I guess that could have been worse； right？” said
Braxton—and Lorenzo looked at him； and tried to work out what he really wanted。 Some
reassurance that the Catachans had everything under control？ Or that things couldn’t have been
worse； that he’d just survived the best this jungle had to throw at him？ He couldn’t give the Validian
either。
“I mean； most of us escaped with superficial cuts。 Unless—”
“Unless？”
Braxton’s eyes flickered towards Muldoon； and now Lorenzo understood。
“Relax； city boy；” drawled Woods。 “If the birds had poisoned us； we’d know about it by now。
You feeling ill？ Because I’ve never felt healthier in my whole life。 Raring to go！”
“Muldoon didn’t know；” said Braxton quietly。
Lorenzo and Woods glanced at each other； and Lorenzo knew they were both thinking the same
thought： that Muldoon had known； that he’d felt the sickness creeping up on him； even fought off
the first of the hallucinations。 He had known； but he had been too proud to speak up。
“You want to worry about something；” said Woods； “you worry about those ‘superficial cuts’—
because out here； there’s no such thing。 Any cut can be deadly。 Jungle worlds breed diseases—and
not all of them are carried by insects and vermin。 Most； you can’t see—but they’re around us all the
same； in the air。 And they’re just looking for a way into your bloodstream！”
Woods wiggled his fingers； miming the action of a bacteria creeping its way under Braxton’s
flesh。 Then he closed his fist with a clap； and Braxton jumped。
He laughed； but Lorenzo didn’t join in。 Woods had seemed to enjoy tormenting Braxton—but
the threat he described was real； to all of them。 Maybe； he thought numbly； that had been the point
of the birds’ attack all along。
35
CHAPTER SIX
Mackenzie was all for setting up camp there and then； the fight knocked out of him； but Greiss
insisted on moving on。 “This place stinks of death；” he growled； kicking out at a fresh bird corpse
that； despite having lost its wings and its head； had crawled out from a bush to make a feeble attack
on his ankle。 “God…Emperor knows what that might attract here tonight。 Bigger birds； maybe。”
Lorenzo knew there was one other reason。 The Jungle Fighters’ mood had darkened since the
attack。 They ore apprehensive。 They spoke few words as they treated their
wounds with sterilising fluid and synth…skin。 Even Woods； now he’d had time to reflect upon what
had happened； seemed subdued。 They had faced greater threats—Braxton had been right about
that—but none like this。 The way their attackers had fought on beyond death—that was different。
The men of Catachan lived by the laws of Nature； and tonight those laws had been violated。 Greiss
wanted to get them away from the scene of that violation； from the broken bones； to give them
something else to think about。
“Five minutes； troopers；” he growled。 “Finish up what you’re doing； then we’re getting out of
here！”
Landon’s left eye was bleeding。 One of the birds must have found it with its hooked beak。 Myers
and Storm had sat the rookie against a tree； cleaned his face with swabs from their first aid kits； and
now they were applying a field dressing to the injured area。 “Look at you。” Storm tutted goodnaturedly；
“this is； what； your first； second； time out in the field； and you’re trying to get yourself
scarred permanent…like。 What； you bucking for your earned name already？”
“Can’t be that； Wildman；” said Myers。 “Even a rookie wouldn’t be stupid enough to let those
birds go for his eye； knowing we got a ‘Patch’ already。”
“Yes；” said Storm； nodding with mock gravity； “can’t have two of those。”
Landon smiled； but the smile turned into a wince。 Lorenzo felt ice in his stomach。 He knew
Myers and Storm were only joking； trying to keep up the youngster’s spirits—but just for a second
there he’d feared Landon would get his earned name before he did。 He chided himself for that
thought。 A comrade was hurt。 Would he rather it was him sprawled in the dirt； wondering if he
would see out of both eyes again？
Armstrong sported a nasty gash on his arm； where it glistened amid the knotted tissue of old
scars。 He was sewing it up with a needle； biting on a stick to control the pain。 When Greiss gave the
word； however； he—like all the others—clambered to his feet and hoisted his pack； fresh and ready
to go。
Mackenzie didn’t question the sergeant’s decision。 He knew he was right。 But Lorenzo could
read the commissar’s eyes。 He resented the way the Catachans deferred so readily to their sergeant
over him。 That was going to mean trouble。
Ninety minutes later； in a less dense part of the jungle； Greiss came to a halt and called for silence。
He listened for a moment； then declared this as good a spot as any。 Braxton shucked off his pack
and sank to the ground with a sigh—but he scrambled guiltily to his feet and joined in as the
Catachans got straight to work。 They identified any flora that could be classed as dangerous and cut
it down。 Donovits found an acid spitter behind a tree； almost as if it had been deliberately hiding
there。 They thinned out the undergrowth； and Myers unearthed a jungle lizard。 It sprang at his
36
crotch； its legs propelling it higher than Lorenzo would have thought possible。 Myers flashed his
knife； and bisected it in midair。
“I think we should light a fire；” said Donovits； addressing his sergeant rather than the
commissar。
Greiss nodded his approval； and Mackenzie opened his mouth to object。 “Worth the risk； I’d
say。” Greiss interrupted sharply。 “The men fight better with a hot meal inside ’em。 And it’s going to
get dark around these parts pretty damn soon。 Don’t know about you； but I like to be able to see
what’s creeping up on me—and in the jungle； there’s a whole new menagerie of critters come out at
night。”
“Apart from anything else； sir；” said Dougan in his usual polite manner； “it’s always good to
know which of those creatures are afraid of fire。”
“And which ones aren’t；” added Greiss under his breath。
“Where’s Sly Marbo？” asked Braxton。 “Is he joining us？”
Nobody answered him。 The truth； Lorenzo knew； was that none of them had a clue where Marbo
was now。 They hadn’t glimpsed or heard him in hours。 He might have been present for the bird
attack； perhaps firing in from the sidelines； in the chaos； Lorenzo could have missed him。 Or he
might have gone scouting ahead； maybe encountered orks and found a good sniping position in
which he would wait for hours or days—as long as necessary。 One thing； Lorenzo did not doubt：
wherever Marbo was； he could look after himself。 He would be back。
The Jungle Fighters broke into their standard rations； because they were tired and because none
of them had the spirit to go hunting or gathering anything better。 Anyway； their trust in what they
knew about this jungle had been shaken； and no one was especially keen to sample its wares right
now。
The night brought with it the fluttering of leathern bat…wings； the soft chittering of a new type of
ground…based insect； and—at one point—the footfall of something bigger and heavier； which
nevertheless slipped away before it could be seen。 The fire drew curious moth…like creatures—and；
although they seemed non…aggressive； Armstrong pointed out their barbed fangs and the Jungle
Fighters took to swatting them when they could； just in case。
There were snakes； too。 Storm found one； about a metre long； slender and black； coiled around a
tree trunk； slithering its way down towards the roots。 He glared into its slit eyes； challenging it； and
the snake glared back。 It hissed and struck； and—having ascertained that it was hostile； as if there
had been much doubt—Storm caught it by its head； squeezing its mouth shut with his fingers。 He
yanked it from its perch； swung it over…arm and smacked its body hard into the ground like a whip。
Lorenzo glimpsed a distinctive silver triangular pattern on the snake’s back。 Then Storm casually
tossed its lifeless body to Donovits； who would probably spend his watch teasing venom out of its
glands for analysis。
Lorenzo was loath to lie down； to close his eyes on an environment about which he still knew so
little。 But he had no choice； and he trusted his comrades to protect him。 So； he lay down on the
damp earth and slept。
He was woken by Trooper Storm。
He reached for his fang； and started to push himself to his feet。 Storm clapped a steadying hand
on his shoulder； and a bright grin broke through his now ragged…looking black beard。 “Easy
trooper；” he laughed。 “There’s no fire。 It’s time for your watch； that’s all。”
Lorenzo nodded and relaxed。 He glanced at the small patch of sky immediately above him。 It
had been pitch black when he’d gone to sleep； but now it was showing just the earliest signs of
lightening。 If Rogar III had a moon； Lorenzo hadn’t seen it yet。 He threw on his jacket and his
bandolier； and checked that his lasgun was locked and loaded。
37
The only other light source in the Catachan…made clearing was the embers of the fire。 They
popped and cracked as Myers poked them with a stick； keeping them alive but torpid。 There was a
slight chill in the air； and Lorenzo drew closer to the glowing coals； to soak up their scant warmth。
“Steel Toe was right； by the way；” said Storm。 “The lizards really don’t like fire。 Even this is
enough to keep them away； though we’ve heard them hissing out there。 You want steak for breakfast
this morning； you’re going to have to go get one。”
Dougan greeted Lorenzo with a nod。 They were to share the last two…hour watch。 Typical of
Greiss； thought Lorenzo； to pair him up with a veteran； as if he still needed watching over。 The rest
of his squad were shadowy mounds in the darkness—though he could identify the sergeant by his
quiet but distinctive snore； like a grox breaking wind。 Presumably； it was Braxton who was
twitching in his sleep and sometimes letting out a quiet whimper—while Muldoon； of course； was
the one tied to the tree。 “Keep an eye on him；” advised Storm； nodding toward their unconscious
comrade。 “Woods says he woke during his watch； muttered all kinds of gibberish about daemons
and monsters。 Hotshot had to slug him one to put him back under。”
Lorenzo was disappointed to hear it。 He’d hoped that time； or maybe one of the herbal remedies
Donovits had forced down Muldoon’s throat； may have dispelled his hallucinations。 For all that
Greiss and Woods had said to Mackenzie； the Catachans knew they couldn’t lug Muldoon around
with them indefinitely。 There would come a time when they’d have to accept that he was lost。
Myers and