good arm； and their fingers strained to find each other。
At last the struggle was won； and six muddy； exhausted soldiers lay on dry land and looked
mournfully at the swamp that had been their campsite； thinking of the precious kit they had lost to
its embrace； and of how much more they could have lost。
They had just three half…filled water bottles between them now； Lorenzo’s； Storm’s and
Armstrong’s having gone down with their backpacks。 The flamer could never be assembled again
without the parts Storm had been carrying。 They were just grateful that Myers still had the power
packs for their lasguns。
But Lorenzo felt most sorry for Armstrong； because his devil claw knife had been snatched from
him。 The veteran Jungle Fighter looked devastated about that； far more hurt than he’d been by his
shoulder injury。 Braxton offered him Woods’ old devil claw； but he just shrugged the Validian
away。 It wasn’t the same。
“I hate to say this；” announced Greiss； “but we need to move on before we can bed down again。”
“You think there’s anywhere safe on this damned planet？” asked Armstrong； sullenly。
“I’m gambling it takes a good while for Rogar to turn an area like this into a bog；” said Greiss；
“else why would it have waited till now？ In future； we’re just going to have to move between two or
three campsites a night； grab our sleep a few hours at a time。” They all saw the sense in that； though
it was a disheartening proposition。
In the event； they moved only a few hundred metres before Greiss gave the order to start
clearing the ground again。 Lorenzo and Armstrong took their watch while the others slept。
Armstrong was poor company； sitting on a tree trunk and stared at his own feet。 Lorenzo；
fortunately； had slept long enough to feel relatively refreshed。 He hoisted the protective plastic
sheets over his comrades’ heads by himself； though shortly after he had done so the rain subsided at
last。
A few silver…backed snakes hissed in the undergrowth—but to Lorenzo’s relief； the rest of the
night passed without incident。
The next morning； the Jungle Fighters had an unexpected visitor。
The figure stepped out of the trees as they were making to move out—and instantly； six lasguns
were drawn and aimed at it。 The figure made no threatening move； however。
Lorenzo peered at it curiously。 It was humanoid in shape； about his height and build—and to an
extent； it resembled one of the ork zombies； fashioned as it was from Rogar’s vegetation。 But this
figure was wearing a jacket woven from varicoloured leaves； and a branch slung across its back
where the Jungle Fighters kept their lasguns； and it even seemed to have a face； wide…eyed and
grinning； though this was just a pattern formed—accidentally？—by the twisted stalks and plants that
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ran through its rough； sculpted head。 A thatch of straw was perched atop that head； like a mop of
blond hair。
It grinned at the Jungle Fighters for a minute or more； as they watched it warily。 Then the figure
let out a bizarre； inhuman noise： a series of guttural clicks and warbling vowel sounds。 Then it
turned； and with a clumsy； rolling gait like it might shake itself apart； it moved away from them； in
the direction they intended to go； until its path was blocked。 Then it brought up an arm； jerkily； and
sliced it down； then up and down again。
“What the hell is it meant to be？” breathed Myers。
“Best guess？” growled Greiss。 “It’s meant to be one of us。 Look at it； Bullseye！ Pretending it’s
cutting its way through the jungle like we’ve been doing。”
“I think it was trying to talk。” Armstrong said。 “It was trying to sound like us； imitate the noises
we make； but it doesn’t understand language。”
“You think we’re supposed to be taken in by that？” asked Lorenzo； not sure if he should be
amused or disturbed by the idea。 “We’re supposed to think that’s one of us； let it join us； and—then
what？”
“I vote we don’t give it the chance to show us；” said Myers。
“I’ll second that；” said Greiss。
Six lasguns converged on the unlikely doppelganger—and it whirled around to face the Jungle
Fighters； and if Lorenzo hadn’t known better he could have sworn it seemed surprised。 Then the
figure exploded。
Hidden spines shot out from its chest and mouth； like slender darts； and the Jungle Fighters leapt
for cover； and fortunately had kept enough distance between them and the twisted effigy to avoid
being struck。 Lorenzo raised his head to find a dozen spines embedded in a tree beside him。 More
lay in the grass； and he noted that their needle points dripped with poison。 Of the effigy； there was
no trace at all now。 It had fallen apart； returned to its constituent components and reclaimed by the
jungle； and Lorenzo couldn’t tell which of the leaves and plants that strewed the ground before them
had belonged to its mass。
The second effigy showed itself almost four hours later； just stepping out behind the Jungle
Fighters into the path they’d cut； greeting them with its incoherent warble。 It didn’t last a second
before it was gunned down； falling onto its back and shooting its poisonous payload into the sky。
Lorenzo had barely set eyes upon it before it was gone—but he was left with the distinct impression
that this doppelganger had been more sophisticated； a far more accurate likeness of its template；
than its predecessor had been。 It was about then that they all felt the first tremor。
It had been a quiet day by the Jungle Fighters’ standards。 They had dealt with routine attacks by
jungle lizards； snakes and spitter plants； but nothing that had really challenged them。 Since the
incident with the second effigy； they’d had no sense of being followed； so it seemed that—for now
at least—they were safe from zombies。
As they had progressed； so too had their spirits lightened。 Lorenzo had started to feel like they
had finally got the measure of this deathworld； like Rogar had run out of new ways to torment them
and accepted their mastery of it。 It was a good feeling。 A reaffirming feeling。 It made their sacrifices
worthwhile。
They didn’t speak about the tremor。 With luck； it had been an isolated incident—and the more
time passed without a recurrence； the more likely this seemed。
Then； as the daylight began to die； the jungle opened up again； and they were able to sheathe
their knives as their passage through it eased。 Shortly thereafter； they uncovered gretchin footprints
and knew they were close to their goal。 They withdrew a short way； and found a secluded spot in
which they could rest for a time。 The last time； they all knew； before the culmination of their
mission。 Find the ork warboss and take him out。 They were starting to look forward to it again。
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Greiss agreed to let them light a cooking fire； because the canopy was thick here and a small
amount of smoke would likely go unnoticed。 Anyway； they were low on standard rations； but they
did have the lizards Myers and Storm had caught； along with a few handfuls of Rogar’s choicest
spices。 Myers tasted each one before he added it to the pot； in case its nature had changed since the
last batch he’d gathered。 In case the planet had brewed up a new poison to surprise them。
They knew there was a small chance that foraging gretchin would happen upon them； so
Lorenzo helped Armstrong set up a few traps。 Any creature that came within earshot of them would
be strung up in a net； unable to raise an alarm。
They ate； and their conversation turned to the usual subject： to comrades gone but not forgotten。
They spoke of Hotshot； Sharkbait and Brains’ defiance of the ork hordes。 They had all heard the
stories by now； of course； but it helped to reiterate them。 It comforted them； and ensured that they
had the details right； for the next time the stories were told。 They talked of Landon’s bravery； and of
the heroic fight Steel Toe Dougan had no doubt put up against the blue light。 In time； their
conversation turned to earlier exploits； and they found these stories were even more worth the telling
because Armstrong and Guardsman Braxton were new to their squad and hadn’t heard them before。
Greiss recalled how； as an eager young rookie； Hotshot Woods had rushed an ork sniper that had
pinned the squad down； miraculously reaching it without a scratch and wrestling it from its
emplacement。 Myers and Storm took it in turns to relate how Brains Donovits had survived an
encounter with a stranded Chaos Space Marine； simply by outthinking it； and were pleased when
Braxton asked questions and made expressions of admiration in all the right places。 Then they all
listened attentively to Armstrong’s fresh tales of heroes from his former squad； and expressed a
collective wish that they could have known these great men and witnessed their deeds。
Myers followed that with the tale of how Old Hardhead had earned his name。 It was a story from
before Lorenzo’s time； of course—before Myers’； for that matter—but they had both heard it often
enough。 Trooper Greiss； as he had been then； had been part of a single platoon that had taken down
a Chaos Dreadnought。 He had lain some of the snares into which it had walked； and planted a mine
on its leg as it had struggled to free itself。 Unfortunately； he hadn’t been able to outran the explosion
that had ripped the Dreadnought apart。 Or maybe it hadn’t been fortune but fate that had lodged a
sizeable hunk of shrapnel in Greiss’ skull。 The surgeons had reportedly written him off； but his
strength of character had buoyed him to a full recovery。 “Without that metal plate they put in his
head；” Myers concluded； “he wouldn’t be the cantankerous old sod we know today。”
“Knock it off； Bullseye；” growled Greiss； “unless you want latrine duty when we get back to
civilisation。”
“You wait till you’re splashed over the front page of Eagle & Bolter； sergeant；” said Myers。
“We got their star reporter in our midst； you know。”
“Yes； that’s right；” remembered Storm； turning to Braxton。 “Didn’t I hear you were working on
a story about us？”
“We give you enough material yet？” put in Myers。
“Ease off； you two；” said Greiss。 “You know what those rags are like。 The higher…ups wouldn’t
let Braxton print any of this stuff if he wanted to。 They’re only interested in their own truths。”
“I wish I could argue with that；” said Braxton； “but you’re right； yes。 I always wrote what I was
told to write—about successful missions； and ground that we’d gained。 I don’t think half of it was
even true。 I didn’t ask。”
“Never saw a broadsheet that was any different；” remarked Myers。
“And I thought that was alright；” continued Braxton； “because it was all about morale。 That was
what Mackenzie always said； and the commissar before him。 Put the best possible spin on it； they
said。 Tell the troops about the overall campaign； about the Imperium resisting its enemies； and
remind them why they’re doing it。 Don’t let them dwell on the details； how people like them—like
us—are suffering and dying for the cause。 Your story would have been no different。 Just a few lines
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about your great victory； maybe a name check for the commissar。 They’d never have let me write
about Woods or Dougan or the others。”
“All the more