And； impulsively； he laid a restraining hand on his shoulder and he said； “Let me。”
“What’s wrong with you； trooper？” snapped Greiss。 “That’s ty orders；
and I’m telling you； I don’t like it！”
“You’ve taken worse hits than this； sergeant。 I know you have。 You aren’t going to let some
dumb ork get the better of you； are you？”
“Too damn old；” grumbled Greiss。 “This was always going to be my last outing。 And you；
Lorenzo； you got a job to do。 You’re the only one who can tell Patch’s story。 I’m only sorry I won’t
be around to hear it。”
“I… I’m dying too； sergeant。 Poisoned。”
Greiss looked Lorenzo up and down； and said curtly； “You look alright to me。” Lorenzo couldn’t
argue； because Greiss was right—because； exhausted and hurt though he was； he realised only now
that the effects of the effigy’s venom； the nausea and the dizziness； had receded。
Then Greiss clapped him on the arm and smiled grimly。 “Live for me。 Tell everyone I did it； got
my blaze of glory。 And don’t be so damn impatient for yours。 Way I see it； you got a lot of stories in
you yet； you only just earned your name。”
107
He turned and； before Lorenzo could say anything else—before he could think what to say—he
was charging at the front rank of zombies with a bloodcurdling scream。 As he reached them； as they
grabbed and clawed at him； he smashed his pickaxe into the wall beside them； again and again； until
the first crack began to show… and to widen… and explode。
A deluge of lava crashed into the passageway； and surged downhill。 It subsumed Sergeant Greiss
and the zombies； swept them away； and Lorenzo knew that this time there wouldn’t be enough left
of any of them for Rogar to reanimate。 He turned away； couldn’t watch； concentrated on the
blockage in front of him； swinging his pickaxe in time with Braxton’s； driving himself on； ignoring
the pain in his fractured wrist； not letting himself think about anything but the task at hand because
if he did think about it； what had happened to Greiss and Armstrong and Myers and Storm and all
the others； if he really thought about it； he might have been overwhelmed by the unfairness of it all。
Why them？ Why them and not him？
Lorenzo thought about their sacrifices； and his greatest fear was that they would all be for
nothing。
His pickaxe rose and fell； and he could feel the heat from the lava at his back and the rock walls
closed in around him； and his pickaxe rose and fell； and there were tears in his eyes but that might
have been the dirt。 He remembered the ship； out in warp space； so long ago now； and that feeling of
being trapped； surrounded by hostile forces； helpless to influence his own fate； and he longed for the
open air but feared he would never breathe it again。
Lorenzo’s pickaxe rose and fell； and he felt as if he had been doing this forever； getting
nowhere。 He could sense the planet； his enemy； a living presence in his thoughts； and he knew it had
won； defeated him； that he would never find his way out from inside it—that Rogar III would bury
him as it had buried the rest of his squad。 Just swallowed them up； left no trace of them。 No one to
tell their stories。
No one to remember…
108
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Daylight。
Lorenzo hardly registered it at first； couldn’t bring himself to believe in what might have been a
cruel trick on the planet’s part。 It was only a pinprick； after all； not enough to make out any details
of what might be out there。 But it was daylight； nonetheless； and its touch invigorated him。
His right wrist was bruise…blackened； stiffening； and he couldn’t wield the pickaxe anymore
without suffering a lance of pain up his arm。 But he and Braxton had chipped most of the bigger
pieces of rock away； and Lorenzo’s knife was now sufficient to whittle at the packed soil that
remained。 To make that pinprick wider。
Finally； thankfully； after what seemed like an age in the dark； they pushed their way through a
curtain of loose earth and emerged； stumbling and choking； into the dew…pregnant morning。 Only a
few hours； Lorenzo calculated from the height of the sun； since they had entered the ork mine—but
what a difference those few hours had made。
The earth had stopped shaking； Lorenzo didn’t know when。 Maybe Rogar III had expended its
energy—or maybe it was just content with its fresh kills； for now。 Nothing stirred in the jungle—
and； after so much noise； the silence felt eerie。 It heightened Lorenzo’s creeping sense of loneliness。
There was a shape in the undergrowth。 An ork； lying face…down。 He thought it was sleeping at
first； but on closer inspection it proved to be dead。 He recognised the multiple scorched entrance
wounds of las…rounds on its green skin。 A short way from it； he discovered another two greenskin
corpses； and a gretchin that had evidently tried to run and had been cut down from behind。 They
must have escaped the mine before the tunnel collapse； he thought； to find a greater peril waiting
outside。 He was grateful。 In his current condition； even a trio of orks； if they had taken him by
surprise； might have proved too much。
Lorenzo sensed； rather than heard； movement behind him； and he knew it could only be one
man。 He turned to greet Sly Marbo with a cool nod。
The legendary Catachan stood just a few metres away； but Lorenzo could hardly make him out
against the greens and browns of his background。 He recognised his dead； white eyes； though； and
his deep voice； empty of emotion。
“Did you get him？” asked Sly Marbo。
“Big Green？” said Lorenzo。 “Yes； yes； we got him。”
Marbo nodded。 He had heard what he needed to know。 He left without a footstep or a rustle；
seeming to melt into the jungle without moving at all。 For a moment； Lorenzo fought the
discomfiting feeling that he hadn’t moved； that he was still there； watching with his white eyes。 But
that was just paranoia； he knew。 Marbo was gone—and it was unlikely Lorenzo would see him
again。
Braxton； meanwhile； had sagged to the ground； and was sitting with his back to a tree； knees up
to his chest。 “I could sleep for a week；” he moaned。
“Go ahead；” said Lorenzo； checking for jungle lizards in the grass before he sat down beside
him。 “For an hour or two； anyway。 I’ll keep watch—but I think it’s safe。 I think it’ll take Rogar a
while to gather its strength； to be ready for its next move。”
“How can you know that？” asked Braxton。
109
Lorenzo shrugged。 “I just do。 It’s like I can feel it in the back of my brain。 Like I could feel；
underground； when the earth was going to move； where the lava was flowing… I’ve been feeling it
ever since the effigy poisoned me。”
“You told Sergeant Greiss you were dying。”
“I thought I was。 But this was something different。 A part of the planet in me。 I think it was
trying to… In some weird way； I think it wanted to… communicate。”
“Didn’t stop it trying to kill you；” remarked Braxton。 “Or any of us。”
“No；” agreed Lorenzo。 “I think—I feel—it didn’t have much choice in that。”
“And I expect it’ll try again。”
“I expect it will。” It felt strange to say the words； to accept something that a few days earlier
he’d have sworn was impossible。 If Brains had been here； he reflected； he’d probably have been able
to make it all sound rational。 As it was； there was only one way Lorenzo could make sense of all
he’d been through。 “Remember；” he said； “when the zombies were stalking us； you said something
about the planet itself being intelligent。”
“It seemed that way； at the time。”
“Yes； it did。 To all of us。 But I’m not sure that was quite right。 No； I don’t think Rogar III is
intelligent as such—not in a calculating way。 It’s more like… like it’s just been reacting。 To what’s
been happening on its surface。 To the orks。 To us。 To the fighting。 Like it can’t help it。”
“Like some kind of an allergy；” suggested Braxton。 “The more we fight； the more we harm the
planet； the more deadly the defences it evolves。 New plants and animals； springing up on its skin
like rashes。 Or antibodies。”
“Yes。 Like that。 And whatever it is； whatever’s caused this； I doubt it’s something that can be
mined。 The orks are wasting their time。”
“That’s what Rogar wanted you—wanted all of us—to understand；” said Braxton。 “We’re all
wasting our time。”
Lorenzo looked at the Validian； and he remembered the nervous； apologetic adjutant who had
joined their squad four days ago； the stranger whose intrusion he and the other Catachans had so
resented。 “You did well；” he said。 “I mean； really well。 All the men； good men； who died trying to
see this mission through to the end—but you’re the one who finished it。 You struck the killing
blow。”
Braxton waved aside the compliment。 “I did nothing。 It was a team effort。 You took on the ork
leader by yourself； and crippled him。 And Sergeant Greiss—if it hadn’t been for him； we’d both be
dead。 I just blundered along at the right moment。”
“You made it this far；” said Lorenzo； “when most didn’t。 I guess that makes you one of us； after
all。”
“It isn’t over yet；” said Braxton。 “We’ve got a four…day trek ahead of us； if we’re to make it back
to the encampment。”
“Even if we don’t；” said Lorenzo； “Marbo will。 They’ll know we did our job。 They’ll know Big
Green is dead。”
“Maybe；” said Braxton； “but they ought to know more than that。 They ought to know about Old
Hardhead and the others； what they did for us—what they did for everyone。 Don’t suppose I’ll get to
write that story； though。”
Lorenzo grinned。 “You could always try。 You get drummed out of the Imperial Guard； I’m sure
the Jungle Fighters would have you。”
They sat there； side by side； for a long time； warmed by the sun； exchanging no words but
sharing a deep bond of comradeship forged in the fires of their mutual experience。 Eventually；
Braxton got up and searched the dead orks； finding a water bottle and taking a long swig from it
before he passed it to Lorenzo。 The Catachan hadn’t realised how thirsty he was； and the cold liquid
felt blissful against his parched throat。
110
“So； what do I call you now？” asked Braxton； sitting beside him again。
“I don’t know what you mean；” he lied。
“Now you’ve earned your name。 I heard what Greiss said。”
“He didn’t want me sacrificing myself instead of him。 He wanted his blaze of glory。 He was just
telling me what I wanted to hear。”
“You really think？” Braxton raised an eyebrow。 “Maybe I didn’t know Old Hardhead as well as
you did—but tell me this： in all the time he led your squad； did he ever once just tell anyone what
they wanted to hear？”
Lorenzo let out a bark of a laugh； and conceded； “Suppose not。”
“So； what do I call you？”
He sighed。 “Lorenzo； still。 Just Trooper Lorenzo。 A Catachan’s earned name—it’s given to him
by his comrades。 It’s like a mark of their respect； a sign that they accept him。 And I’ve got no
comrades left。”
“Maybe； when the other platoons hear—”
“Maybe。 But hearing about it isn’t the same as being there。 I’ll probably be assigned to another
squad； with men who don’t know me； and they won’t care that my old sergeant meant to give me
my name if he’d been able to think of one； if he hadn’t been too b