they’d dropped out of the warp into real space； for the final approach to their destination； but still he
longed to escape this prison。 It was almost worse； knowing that release was so close。 Time seemed
to have slowed down for him。 Lorenzo knew the others were restless； too； chafing for action。 He
didn’t know if they shared his sense of unease； if the warp had affected them as it had him； and he
wouldn’t ask。 There were some things you didn’t talk about。
7
“I don’t know； sergeant；” said Woods。 “There were times on that last world I wished I had
stayed curled up on a bedroll with a good book。 Might have made for more thrills； if you know what
I mean。”
“Got a point there； Hotshot；” laughed Greiss。 “I could almost have felt sorry for them… what
were they called？”
“Rhinoceraptors；” prompted Donovits。
“Yeah； right。 Few frag grenades under their hide plates； and boom！ Didn’t know what’d hit
them。 A couple o” squads could’ve taken out the lot of ’em。 Hell； Marbo could probably have done
it on his own。”
“He wouldn’t have thanked us for wasting his time； though。”
“You’re right there； Hotshot。”
“Of course；” said Dougan； quietly； “they did get Bryznowski。”
Greiss sighed。 “Yes。 They did get Bryznowski。 Heard we lost a few of the ogryns； too。”
“And that rookie from Bulldog’s squad；” said Dougan； easing himself back in his chair so he
could stretch out his bionic leg。 It had taken a hit a couple of worlds ago； and now it had a tendency
to seize up if he didn’t keep it exercised。
There was a short silence as the five soldiers remembered fallen comrades； then Greiss’ craggy
features folded into a scowl。
“Way things are going；” he grumbled； “I’m going to end up dying in my damn bed！” He waved
aside Woods and Donovits’ well…intentioned protests。 “Come off it； you lot。 I’m thirty…six years old
next birthday。 Leaving it a bit late for that blaze of glory。 But that’s okay。 I made my mark。 I just
want to go out the right way； that’s all。 Been too long since I had a scrap I couldn’t sleepwalk
through。 Long time since I faced a deathworld worthy of the name。”
“Maybe you should put in for a posting back home；” said Dougan； sympathetically。 “Back to
Catachan。 Stone Face will understand。 He’s coming up to the big three…oh himself。”
Lorenzo was aware that； by Imperial standards； Colonel Graves was a young man； and Greiss
and Dougan only middle…aged。 But then； most Imperial citizens didn’t grow up on Catachan。 Life
there was shorter。
“Ah； I couldn’t leave you jokers。 But it’s the youngsters I feel sorry for。 Like Lorenzo here。
How’s he going to make a name for himself if he never sets foot on a world worth taming？”
Lorenzo looked up from his meal； to grunt an acknowledgement of the name check。 He didn’t
reveal how much it smarted。 Greiss would never have called Hotshot Woods a “youngster”； and
Lorenzo was two years older than he was。
“I got a name for Lorenzo；” quipped Woods。 “Why don’t we call him ‘Chatterbox’ Lorenzo？ Or
‘Never Shuts His Yap’ Lorenzo？”
Lorenzo glared at him。
Greiss pushed his bowl aside； and hauled himself to his feet。 “All right； men；” he said； his voice
suddenly full of confidence and authority。 “You heard what Colonel Graves said。 Drop positions by
17。30 hours。”
“The colonel said 18。30； sergeant。”
“That’s for the rest of those slackers； Donovits。 My squad forms up at 17。30 sharp。 Fifty deck
reps； a few circuits of the deck—that should loosen up the muscles； get the adrenaline pumping。
Then； when we get down to this ‘deathworld’； we’re going to tear through it like it was nothing；
show those Guardsmen down there a thing or two。 This time tomorrow； we’ll be back in warp space；
headed for somewhere worth the sweat！”
Lorenzo greeted the prospect with mixed feelings。
The whole of Third Company could have fitted into one drop ship with room to spare。 Instead；
Colonel Graves had ordered them to split up； one platoon to a ship。 That meant only one thing。 He
8
was expecting trouble on the way down。 Better to lose a few squads and have the rest arrive intact
than to risk losing all twenty…two to a lucky shot。
The five squads in Lorenzo’s ship had separated to the edges of the troop deck； sitting in their
own small clusters in the rows of narrow seats。 It wasn’t that they didn’t get on； just that
Deathworlders found it best to make no more attachments than they had to。 They were too easily
broken。 Lorenzo had no friends； but he had something better。 He had nine comrades； who would die
for him in a heartbeat and he for them。
The shadowy spaces around the cramped seating area were empty； apart from a dusty Sentinel
scout walker tucked into one。 The Catachans carried little more equipment than would fit into their
kit bags—and those bags stayed with them； nestled in their laps or deposited on an adjacent seat。
Lorenzo pictured the four ships streaking towards the surface of Rogar III； blazing with the heat of
re…entry； like meteors from the heavens。 He wondered how many Guardsmen on the ground would
turn their heads upwards and thank the Emperor for sending them such an omen。 The thought made
him feel good。 It almost made him forget that he hadn’t touched ground himself yet。
There had been a reallocation of troops a few days earlier。 The commander of C Platoon；
Lieutenant Vines； had disbanded one squad and reassigned its members to bring the rest up to
strength。 Greiss’ squad had two new arrivals to complete its complement often—and old hands
Myers and Storm were currently passing the time by quizzing one of them； a nervy youngster by the
name of Landon。
Landon was eager to please； bragging about a time back on Catachan when he’d wrestled a
blackback viper single…handed。 Myers and Storm were pretending to be impressed； but Lorenzo
knew they were poking fun at the rookie。
The other newcomer； Patch Armstrong； had an easier ride。 It had taken an ambush by four ice
apes on the frozen world of Tundrar to deprive Armstrong of his left eye—and even then he had
snapped the spine of one beast； gutted two more and gunned down the fourth as it had fled。 The
patch he wore； and the crooked ends of the scar that protruded above and below it； were his badges
of honour。 Like Dougan’s leg； and the plate in Sergeant Greiss’ head。
The drop ship was being shaken。
It had only been a little at first； but now it was growing stronger。 Sharkbait Muldoon had rolled
up the left sleeve of his jacket to paint his own； better； camouflage pattern directly onto his skin；
layering on natural dyes with his knife； he let out a curse as the blade slipped and nicked his arm。
Lorenzo said nothing； but his fingers tightened around the armrests of his seat。
“Must be one hell of a storm；” commented Woods。 But Lorenzo observed that Greiss’ jaw was
set； his teeth clenched； his nostrils flaring； and he knew this was no mere storm。
Then； just like that； they were falling。
The drop ship plummeted like a brick； like it had when it had first been launched from its
mother。 Lorenzo’s stomach was in his mouth again； had he not been strapped in； he would have
been slammed into the ceiling。 Woods； cocky as ever； had loosened his own restraints； and now he
was fighting to hold himself down as g…forces rippled the skin of his cheeks。
For eight long seconds； Lorenzo was facing his worst nightmare。 Then the engines caught them
and they were flying level again； but still buffeted； the deck lurching unpredictably beneath their
feet。 Behind the din of the protesting hull； the soft； artificial voice of the navigation servitor sounded
over the vox…caster：
“Warning： extreme atmospheric turbulence encountered。 Destination coordinates no longer
attainable。 Prepare for emergency landing。 Repeat； prepare for emergency landing！”
The first impact came almost as soon as the warning was issued。
Lorenzo had barely had time to get into the brace position； his chin on his chest； his hands
clasped over his head。 It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to every bone in his body at
once。 And then it happened again； with only marginally less force this second time。
9
The drop ship was skipping along the ground； its engines shrieking。 Lorenzo was rattled in his
seat； his straps biting into his chest。 He concentrated on keeping his muscles relaxed； despite the
situation； knowing that to resist the repeated shocks would do him more harm than good。
Then they hit the ground for the final time； but they were still barrelling forwards； and the scrape
of earth and branches against the outer hull was almost deafening。 Rogar III； as Donovits had taken
pleasure in informing everyone； was blanketed in jungle。 There were no open spaces in which to
land； but for those cleared with axe and flame。 Lorenzo pictured the scene outside the drop ship’s
hull now； as it ploughed through tangled vegetation； the servitors straining to rein in its speed before
it hit something that wouldn’t yield to its considerable mass。 Before it crumpled in on itself like a
ball of paper。
And then； at last； they were still； the engines letting out a last dying whine as the drop ship’s
superstructure creaked and settled。 The lighting flickered and cut out； and Lorenzo could see nothing
in the sudden total darkness。 But he knew his way to the hatchway； and his squad was the closest to
it。
The drop ship had come to rest at an angle。 The deck was tilted some forty…five degrees to the
horizontal； so Lorenzo had to climb to reach his goal。 He swung himself from one empty seat to the
next； using their backs to keep his balance and his bearings。 From all around； he could hear the
sounds of buckles popping and men leaping to their feet。
He was almost there when he realised he had been beaten to it。 The hatch had buckled a little
and was sticking in its frame； but Woods managed to shoulder it open even as Lorenzo was about to
lend him a hand。 First a crack； then a rectangle of brilliant light blazed in Lorenzo’s eyes； and he
blinked to clear the patterns it burnt into his retinas。
In the meantime； Woods had clambered out onto the angled side of the ship。 “Hey；” he called
down to the others enthusiastically。 “You’ve got to see this。 It’s a beautiful evening！”
Lorenzo frowned。 The upturned hatchway offered him the familiar sight of a jungle canopy—but
behind the greens and browns； the leaves and the branches； the sky appeared to be a perfect； deep
blue； free from cloud。 Woods was right。 If there had been a storm； it had passed； impossibly；
without trace。 But then； what else could have tossed the drop ship about like that？
It was there again： that sense of wrongness he had felt in the warp。 He needed to get out into the
open。 The rest of the platoon were crowding up behind him anyway； so Lorenzo followed the sweet
scent of fresh air； mingled though it was with the stench of burning。 He gripped the sides of the
hatchway and pulled himself up and out through it。
He had barely raised his head above the parapet and started to take in his new surroundings；
when Trooper Woods pushed him down again； with a warning yell： “Incoming！”
Three plants were shuffling towards the drop ship。 They looked like the mantraps of Catachan；
but taller。 Three