expected from him。 “No one made Sharkbait do anything he didn’t want to do。 You made him think；
is all。 He let Mackenzie off the hook for the same reason any of us would’ve done it： because when
the commissar’s harness went and he grabbed for that rope and he held on； he surprised us all。 You
were right； Lorenzo。 You can’t deny a man a second chance after proving himself like that。”
“Even so…”
“If the light hadn’t got Mackenzie；” said Woods； “it would’ve worked its influence on someone
else。 Braxton； maybe。 Or… or… I told you； Lorenzo； I felt it in my head。 I felt it calling to me—and
in that second； I think I would’ve done just about anything it told me to do。”
That sealed it。 This wasn’t the Woods that Lorenzo knew。 He turned to his comrade with a new
anxiety prickling at him； and he said； “You never told me about yourself。 How you ended up… I
mean； how you went on。 Last night。”
“Hey； don’t worry about me；” said Woods cheerfully。 “I did okay。 Really。 Just tired myself out；
is all—and you know Greiss： he likes to think he’s looking after us。 He said if I didn’t come in here
for a lie…down； he’d knock me out himself。”
“Right；” said Lorenzo； not quite buying it。 He was just starting to realise how pale his comrade
seemed where the daylight fell across him。 Sweat beaded his brow； as if he was feverish—or
perhaps he too was just hot in his ork furs。
“Seriously；” said Woods； “you think this looks bad； you should see the ork that did it to me。 I
should say； the twenty orks！” And he launched into a detailed and bloody account of every punch he
had thrown； every shot he had fired； every thrust of his devil claw against the ork hordes。
Lorenzo stopped listening after a time。 He tuned out the words； and strained to catch the distant；
muffled sounds beyond the hut’s walls： footsteps； scraping； the odd snatch of conversation。 He felt
as if he had been lying in this bed for an age； and he longed to feel fresh air on his face； to catch up
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with the comrades he had thought he would never see again。 To see what fresh challenges had arisen
in his absence。
He knew he should wait。 He didn’t know the extent of his injuries。 He didn’t feel too badly hurt；
but then his head was muzzy and he could have been in shock。 He could have been infected。 But
normally； the person to tell him that—the man who ought to have been at his bedside with his
revolting herbal cures—was Brains。 Lorenzo couldn’t bear to wait any longer。
Woods had fallen silent。 Lorenzo realised he was asleep。
He peeled off his bed coverings and tested each of his limbs； trying his weight on them； before
he levered himself to his feet。 He swayed a little； and felt sickness rising in his throat but suppressed
it。 Morning air breezed in through the window； and prickled his skin like pins and needles。 He crept
over to Woods and put his hand to his forehead； finding it hot like a simmering pan。 He located his
clothes and backpack in a pile in the corner； with Muldoon’s lasgun laid out almost reverently
across them。
His jacket felt heavy and grimy against his skin； its insides caked with his own dried blood。 It
was only when he saw his water bottle that he realised how dry his throat was； and how cracked his
lips。 He gulped from the bottle greedily； and had to stop himself before he emptied it。 There had to
be fresh water somewhere in the camp； he reasoned。 The skin around his patched…up wound had
evidently been cleaned。 He longed for a pool to bathe in； though a bit of dirt didn’t usually bother
him。
Finally； Lorenzo approached the door to the outside world—and thought it was locked at first； as
it jammed in its frame。 He put his shoulder to it； and tried to pretend that the effort hadn’t made stars
explode in front of his eyes。 He stumbled out into the sunlight； unsteady and blinking； and walked
straight into Sergeant Greiss。
Somewhere； there was a fire burning； and Lorenzo caught a glimpse of Myers and Storm
lugging an ork corpse between them。
Then Greiss was guiding him back into the hut； telling him to take it easy in his gentlest growl；
and Lorenzo tried to throw off his hold； tried to prove he could stand unassisted； but before he knew
it he was sitting on the bunk again； just grateful that the room wasn’t spinning anymore。 Greiss took
Lorenzo’s head in his callused hands； peered into his eyes； and nodded； satisfied。 “You’ll live。”
“We did okay—right； sergeant？”
“Yes； Lorenzo。 We did okay。 We did more than okay。 We’ve been tossing ork bodies on the
flames all morning。” Lorenzo didn’t question that statement。 He knew the Catachans didn’t burn
their enemies’ corpses for the sake of their souls。 Orks were renowned for their regenerative
properties； it was common for one thought dead to rise from a cold battlefield in search of revenge。
On Rogar III； he realised； there was even more reason to take precautions。
“Sergeant！” Lorenzo’s fellow patient was awake again。 Lorenzo found himself wondering if
Woods’ voice had sounded so weak； so subdued； the last time he had spoken。 Perhaps it had； and he
just hadn’t noticed。 “Lorenzo tell you about Sharkbait？” asked Woods。 Greiss replied that he hadn’t；
and Woods repeated the story as the sergeant listened patiently。 This time； there were twenty orks on
the battlewagon； and Muldoon had to hack his way through four more to reach it； but Lorenzo didn’t
bother to correct the details。 Woods’ version made a better story； and Muldoon deserved his glory。
“We ready to move out yet； sergeant？” asked Woods； when the story was told。
“Not yet； Hotshot；” said Sergeant Greiss。 “Still cleaning up behind ourselves。 We’ve taken apart
all the comms we can find； but you can bet a few gretchin would’ve made a run for it when they
realised they were beaten。”
Woods grimaced。 “Sooner or later； they’ll find more greenskins； and then the whole planet will
know we’re here。”
“If we’re lucky；” said Greiss； “the orks won’t put two and two together in a hurry。 For all they
know； this camp could’ve been our target all along。”
“Yeah； “specially when they hear about the attacks on their other camps。”
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“But they’ll know we’re closing in on their warboss—whether they believe we know it or not—
and if Big Green has half the brains Mackenzie reckoned he had； he’ll be doubling his personal
guard about now。 Our dear； departed commissar just made getting to our target about ten times
harder than it ever was。”
“I thought as much；” said Woods。 “But； we just came through against thirty…to…one odds。
Shouldn’t think there’s a whole lot can stop us now； yeah？”
“Funny thing about that。” Greiss growled。 “There aren’t half as many dead orks about these
parts as there ought to be。 I think we got lucky； Hotshot。 I think our job was half…done before we got
here。”
“You think Rogar’s been as hard on them as it’s been on us？”
“About the size of it； yes。”
“Now you’re wondering what happened to the orks it killed。 And how long it took the survivors
to work out that any bodies they leave intact…”
Lorenzo didn’t remember lying down； but he was staring at the ceiling。 He didn’t remember
discarding his backpack and jacket； but he was unencumbered by them。 He had been thinking about
Dougan； or rather about the mockery this deathworld had made of his memory。 About the skeletal
birds that had refused to lie down。 And now； about a hundred； two hundred； dead orks； in varying
stages of decay； clambering from the ground all over the planet…
“Should make for an interesting few days；” murmured Greiss。
“Nothing we can’t handle though；” said Woods； “right； sergeant？”
Lorenzo drifted into a dreamless sleep； then； and opened his eyes only once in the next few
hours to find himself on the cot again； and Greiss in the doorway of the hut。 He must have been
leaving； waking Lorenzo as he shouldered the sticking door out of its frame。 But something had
stopped him。 He was looking at Woods； and with the sunlight behind him casting his face into
shadow； Greiss seemed weighed down by every one of his thirty…five years； older and more tired
than Lorenzo had seen him before。
When next he woke； Greiss was there again； standing over him； shaking him； and from the
quality of the light through the window he guessed it was early afternoon。 “Time you dragged
yourself out of that pit； trooper；” he said。 “We got a lot of ground to make up if we still want a
chance of catching the warboss by surprise。 You up to it？”
“Yes； sergeant；” said Lorenzo； getting to his feet； relieved when his body didn’t make a liar of
him。 He still felt weak； drained； and his side hurt like hell； but his senses were clearer now。
Catachan men healed quickly。 He donned his jacket and his backpack again； picked up the lasgun
that he supposed was now his； and made for the door。 He stopped when he realised Greiss wasn’t
following。 He was sitting on the bunk Lorenzo had vacated； staring into space； a lasgun laid across
his lap。 Not his own gun： that was slung under his pack as normal。 Lorenzo felt a knot forming in his
stomach as he was finally forced to face an unpleasant truth。
“What about Hotshot； sergeant？ Aren’t you going to wake him？”
“In a minute；” the sergeant said。
Lorenzo looked at Woods。 His skin was whiter than ever； drenched in perspiration。 His
breathing was ragged； and his face twitched with emotions that Lorenzo had never seen writ there
before。 Every few seconds he let out a low moan； almost a whimper。 He seemed to be having the
mother of all nightmares。 The young trooper looked surprisingly； awfully small。
“Is he…？” Lorenzo ventured。
“Hotshot managed to find a sniping position；” said Greiss； “up a tree。 He was cutting down those
greenskins like dummies on a shooting range。 But one of ’em got lucky—happened to be looking
the right way when an explosion went off and the light glinted off Hotshot’s lasgun。 He couldn’t get
down in time。 The orks surrounded him； started firing up into the branches。 Hotshot took a bullet in
the leg； was grazed by two more； but nothing critical； he knew how to make himself small； use his
backpack and the tree trunk to protect himself—and with his camouflage and all； the greenskins
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didn’t know where they were aiming。 Hotshot was firing at ’em； dropping grenades on their heads—
he must’ve taken out a dozen or more。 But you know what orks are like。 They don’t give up easy。
They were swarming up that tree； and Hotshot was shooting and slashing down at ’em； but even he
couldn’t stay put forever。 He made a jump for it； sailed right over their heads。” There had been a
touch of admiration in Old Hardhead’s voice； but now it faded； and his shoulders slumped。 Lorenzo
knew how fond he had always been of Woods。
“He didn’t make it。”
“If it hadn’t been for that damn slug in his leg…” Greiss was silent for a moment； then with
pride in his voice； he continued； “He kept fighting。 Even though he’d shattered his spine； he was on
the ground； and the orks were piling onto him… I should’ve got there sooner。”
“No； sergeant！” Lorenzo protested automatically。
“Don’t give me that；” Greiss growled。 “If any of us had to end his days a cripple； better i