all night； waiting for his moment。 Whatever the reason； Lorenzo was determined to return the
favour； or to pass it on。
Marbo； he decided； had the right idea。 Find high ground。
He pulled himself up onto the roof of the nearest hut； finding plenty of handholds in the old；
pitted metal but almost falling as his muscles protested at being put to so much effort so soon。 He’d
half…expected to find Marbo up there； but he had moved on； of course。 Lorenzo lowered himself
onto his stomach； and craned his neck to see over the edge of the building without being seen in
return。
Much of the fighting had now moved out of the encampment。 The Catachans had drawn their
more numerous foes into the jungle environment they knew best； though with the acid swamp at
their backs they had precious little room to manoeuvre。 From here； Lorenzo couldn’t see any of his
camouflaged comrades—but he guessed； by the positions of the orks； that they’d separated along the
perimeter line； making themselves harder to find。 The orks； in turn； seemed to be everywhere；
shaking trees； firing into bushes； doing everything they could to beat their foes out of hiding。
There were more of them； of course； among the buildings； searching for the long…gone Marbo；
liable to find Lorenzo instead。
His eyes alighted upon one building in particular： a small metal structure； built with a little more
care than most； no windows cut into its walls； its door secured by thick chains。 Ammo store； he
guessed。 He strained to reach his backpack； unfastened it； and rummaged out the two demolition
charges with which he’d been equipped。 They weren’t really for combat use—the Catachans
employed them to clear hard…going areas of the jungle when they were in a hurry and stealth wasn’t
such an issue—but they were just what he needed now。
The first charge landed with a plop beside the chained door； when no orks were looking that
way。 Lorenzo set the second to detonate only two seconds after； and he felt his palm sweating as he
held the cold sphere in his hand； counting down。
He let the second charge go even as the first explosion shook the buildings around him。 By the
time its vibrations overtook him； he was running； but they made him mistime his leap to the next hut
across。 Lorenzo pedalled empty air； desperate to propel himself that vital centimetre further； and
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somehow he caught the protruding edge of the roof as it passed him； and almost yanked his fingers
out of their sockets as they caught his falling weight。
There were two orks below him； and they turned their guns upwards。 Before they could squeeze
their triggers； they were knocked off their feet—and Lorenzo felt it simultaneously： a furious
Shockwave of heat and sound； like a hurricane raging around him； in which it was all he could do to
grit his teeth and maintain his hold on the parapet while his back was peppered with debris。
The hurricane lessened； and he strained and pulled himself up； attaining his new perch at last。 He
rolled onto his back； breathless； but raised himself on his elbows because he couldn’t resist the
chance to inspect his handiwork。
It looked like the sky was on fire。 The building he had just leapt from had collapsed； along with
several others； and Lorenzo could see the burning； smoking hole where the ammo store had been。
Evidently； he’d guessed right about its contents。 His first charge had blown off the door； the second
must have bounced neatly through the resulting aperture。 Its detonation had sparked a chain
reaction； just as he had planned。 The sturdy walls had absorbed much of it before they had given；
else he would have been dead。 To his satisfaction； several orks—presumably reacting to the first
explosion； too late to stop the second—had perished； their burnt corpses twitching and steaming in
the midst of the devastation。
Dozens more orks were turning from the jungle； streaming back into the camp； looking for the
enemy that had penetrated their home。 Lorenzo couldn’t have hoped for a bigger distraction—and it
had certainly been well timed for at least one Jungle Fighter。 He saw a blur of activity； heard the
howls of stricken orks； and then Muldoon came streaking out of the foliage； his lasgun firing。 From
this distance； Lorenzo couldn’t see what had happened； but he could guess。 One of Muldoon’s
favourite tricks： he would gather up a cluster of deadly creepers； secrete himself in a tree and； when
the enemy got too close； let the creepers go。 Lorenzo could see orks dancing and twisting as they
fought to disentangle themselves； as the creepers stung them and burst their poisonous pustules in
their grotesque faces。
But he was exposed now； left with nowhere to run but out into the open where his painted skin
couldn’t camouflage him。 Like Lorenzo before him； he raced for the shelter of the ork huts；
miraculously untouched by a hail of bullets—but one great brute of an ork had avoided his trap； and
it came charging after him； and cannoned into him from behind。
Lorenzo was on his way before Muldoon hit the ground。 He leapt onto the sloping roof of the
next hut； almost lost his footing on its slick surface； righted himself and jumped again。 His fingers
hovered over his bandolier； over the pockets that held his frag grenades—but unless more orks
moved in； unless they formed a living shield between Lorenzo and Muldoon as they had between
him and Marbo； a grenade could do more harm than good。 His lasgun was gone。 That left him with
his knife。
He launched himself from the last roof； at the ork’s broad back； and he let out a cry—enough for
it to hear him coming and half…turn its head； not soon enough for it to bring around its gun and pick
him off in midair。 Enough for it to take its eyes off Muldoon for a moment。 The ork jerked
backwards； easing its weight off its fallen prey； as Lorenzo’s fang sliced down between its shoulder
blades—and in that same moment； Muldoon drove his night reaper up into the ork’s throat。
The ork took a long； long second to die—but at last it toppled like a felled tree； and Lorenzo
fancied he could feel the ground shaking with the impact of its heavy corpse。 Or with something
else…
Something was coming。 Something big。 Lorenzo didn’t have to look； didn’t have to waste the
half…second it would take him； to know it was bad； that they had to take cover。 But Muldoon was
slowed； having trouble standing； and Lorenzo saw that his head was cut； his eyes glazed over。
Concussion。
He reached out a hand； and Muldoon laughed giddily as he took it； as Lorenzo hauled him to his
feet。 “Looks like… like I owe you my life；” he giggled。 Then； suddenly earnest； he gripped Lorenzo
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by the arms and stared into his eyes as if he had the most important information in the Imperium to
impart。 “Hey； Lorenzo； you noticed？ There isn’t… isn’t half as many of the greenskins as Greiss
said there’d be。 Thirty… thirty to one； my eye！ More like ten to one。 And we can take down ten orks
apiece； right？ Hell； I must’ve killed five already。”
That noise was getting closer… The rumbling of an engine。 Lorenzo looked now； and he saw
it—saw its piercing light first； through the drifting smoke of the battlefield； and then the shape of the
behemoth behind it。
It was black； daubed with crude paintings of human skulls and bones—ramshackle in
appearance； but bristling with armour plating and weapons。 Lorenzo had seen vehicles like this
before。 It was the ork equivalent of a tank—a battlewagon； they called it—manned by a greenskin
mob。 They howled and strained forward on the back of this unnatural beast as they saw their two
exposed foes。 The pilot trained the vehicle’s searchlight upon the Catachans； and wrestled its great
wheels around。
Muldoon’s mood had changed again； and suddenly he looked distant and extremely pale； apart
from the livid red gash across his head。 “Trouble is；” he said to himself in a hollow voice； “they got
Brains。 I saw him go down。 So； we have to take out a few more orks each to make up his share。”
Lorenzo couldn’t allow himself to react to this news。 There would be time for mourning the
dead later； when the act of so doing wouldn’t add to their numbers。
The battlewagon had two guns； like eyes on stalks protruding before it。 The one on the right
flared； and Lorenzo pushed Muldoon aside as a shell whistled by and thumped into the dirt； and
filled the world with light and sound again。 His comrade sagged in his arms like a dead weight； and
Lorenzo slapped him across the face； hoping to shock him back to alertness。 More gunfire—the
right…hand gun again—but the searchlight had lost its targets and the smoke from the first impact
was swirling around them and ork weapons； mostly lashed together from spare parts； were
notoriously unreliable anyway。 Still； the impact almost knocked Lorenzo off his feet。
Muldoon blinked as blood seeped into his eye； and coughed as smoke crept into his throat。
Lorenzo tried to drag him toward the huts； but there came another explosion from that direction and
they were thrown back； back into the open； and the searchlight had rediscovered them and there
were more orks coming； silhouettes through the haze； from the encampment； from the jungle。
Muldoon was pressing his lasgun into Lorenzo’s hands； saying； “Here—you can make better use
of this than I can。”
“What… what are you—？”
He wouldn’t have had to finish the question； even had the smoke not robbed him of speech。 He
could see the answer。 Muldoon was rummaging in his bandolier； finding a demolition charge with
each hand—and although Lorenzo’s first instinct was to stop him； to save him； he held himself back
because his comrade was grinning at him now。 “You saved my life。 That makes it my turn。 And
besides； I count nine greenskins on that tank。 Add them to the other five； and that’s my share and a
few for Brains to boot。” Looking into his comrade’s ashen face； Lorenzo saw the pain he was
holding at arm’s length； the darkness lurking at the edges of his eyes； and he knew then as Muldoon
surely did that this was how it had to be。
Then he was gone； tearing himself from Lorenzo’s grip before he could think of a word to say。
He was racing into the light—and before the orks knew what was happening； he was too close for
them to train their gun upon him； but not too close for them to bring their other weapon—the one on
the left—to bear…
It was a flamethrower。 That explained what this single wagon was doing out here； thought
Lorenzo； why the orks had assembled it in the depths of a jungle that would only impede it： they’d
been using it for clearance operations。 A fierce jet of flame licked around Muldoon now； and
although he seemed to avoid the worst of it； and though Lorenzo’s vision was obscured by smoke
and by the battlewagon’s glaring light； he was certain that Muldoon had been winged； that he’d been
burnt； and yet like the relentless orks themselves he kept going。
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He vaulted over the guns onto the front of the tank； planting his feet and his fists into the faces
of the orks at the triggers。 Those behind saw the threat to them and； snarling； drew their own guns；
and one of them leapt at him but he turned its momentum and its weight against it； and threw it ov