lair itself was well concealed。 The Catachans’ job was to find the ork warboss and do the necessary
deed。 A stealth mission； a single assassination。 Sounded simple； Lorenzo thought。
Then； Mackenzie had thrown a spanner in the works。
“Given the importance of this mission；” he had said； “I will be leading it myself。 Silence！” he
bellowed in response to the Catachans’ howls of protest。
Sergeant Greiss； who a moment earlier had sported a broad grin on his face； now looked as if he
had been slapped。 “With respect； sir；” he had growled； “you aren’t a Jungle Fighter。 Better if the
men take their orders from someone used to—”
“Contrary to popular belief； sergeant。” Mackenzie had sneered； “they do teach us to do more
than sit around and drink amasec in officer training。 I am fully qualified in jungle warfare—and
more importantly； in command。 Now； I’m sure your style of leadership is adequate for charging at
the enemy with your bayonets fixed—but this is to be a precision strike。 For that to work； I need…”
He raised his voice to speak over the growing grumbles of dissent。 “I need a well…drilled； efficient
squad of men； who know what’s expected of them and plaint。
With respect； sergeant； I doubt you can provide that。”
Lorenzo wasn’t looking forward to serving under Mackenzie。 Still； he wouldn’t have swapped
this assignment for any other。 He felt proud at the thought that Colonel Graves might have
recommended his squad above all others—although he wasn’t kidding himself。 He knew that； if they
had been recommended； it would have been for Greiss’ experience or the distinguished war records
of Dougan and Armstrong。 Chances were； the colonel didn’t even know Lorenzo’s name。 Anyway；
it seemed more likely that Mackenzie had made the choice himself； probably just for the opportunity
to laud it over Greiss。
The Catachans had insisted on providing their own night watch； to the chagrin of the Validians
already standing sentry over the camp。 Lorenzo had volunteered for the duty； but he hadn’t been
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quick enough。 He slept soundly； knowing he was safe in the charge of his comrades—until； in the
dark hours of the morning； some inbred danger sense woke him。
He opened his eyes； instantly alert； to face a yellow stare。
A jungle lizard； just a little larger than the one he had seen yesterday。 Somehow it had slipped by
the Guardsmen of two regiments； and crept up on him。 Its eyes stared into his eyes。 It was perfectly
still； its trailing body propped up by two legs like miniature tree trunks。 Tiny nostrils quivered as it
breathed； slowly and calmly。 Its mouth was a thin line； perhaps a little upturned at the edges。 As if it
was mocking him； gloating。
Lorenzo had seen lizards that could breathe fire and spit poison； or eviscerate a man with their
claws in seconds。 He had seen one burrow into a man’s stomach and attach itself to his nervous
system； working him like a puppet。 He had no idea of the capabilities of this one； but he didn’t doubt
that it was deadly。 Deathworlds bred no other type of animal。 And it had the drop on him。
He lay still as a rock； staring into those yellow eyes； looking for the slightest glimmer of intent；
the warning that the lizard was about to strike。
Slowly； painfully slowly； so slowly that his muscles screamed in protest； Lorenzo’s fingers
worked their way down his leg。 Toward his Catachan fang。
The lizard made its move。
Its mouth gaped open； impossibly wide； almost larger than its head—and during the briefest
split…second that followed； Lorenzo got the impression of a coiled red tongue with a glistening
needlepoint end。 He snatched his knife from its sheath； tried to roll out of the way； but he knew there
was no time。
Something flashed through the air。 Something metal。
Then there was blood—thick； green blood—and Lorenzo was up and armed； but only because
the expected attack had not come。
A Catachan fang was buried up to its haft in the lizard’s head。 Its blade had passed through the
creature’s mouth； pinning its tongue； and into the scorched earth beneath it。 An ordinary man might
have thanked the God…Emperor for sparing him； but Lorenzo had long since learned there was no
divine intervention in such matters。 He thanked good comrades instead。
“Sorry “bout that； pal；” said Myers； reclaiming his knife from the dead lizard’s head and
casually wiping off its blood and brain matter with a leaf。 “These critters are like chameleons； they
can change their scale patterns to blend in with their surroundings。”
As usual； Myers was accompanied by Wildman Storm—a muscular； bearded Catachan who
often looked like he would tear off your head as soon as look at you； until his features broke into a
dazzling grin。 “We’ve picked off a few tonight；” he said； “but we didn’t hear this one until it was
already past us。 Took a minute to find it。”
“No problem；” said Lorenzo； adding a grateful nod for the rescue。
No longer pinned； the lizard had toppled onto its side。 Its ruptured tongue lolled out of its mouth；
leaking venom and blood。 From above； no longer eye to eye with it； it seemed small and
insignificant。 It was easy to forget the real threat it had posed just a few seconds earlier。 Lorenzo
wondered what its poison would have done to him—weakened him； paralysed him； killed him
outright？
“Do you suppose these are the ‘invisible monsters’ they talk about round here？” asked Storm。
Lorenzo shrugged。
“Hope not；” said Myers； as he re…sheathed his knife and sauntered away。 “I was hoping for
something more of a challenge。”
Breakfast for the Catachans was a vegetable broth； brewed by Dougan from local plants。 It was the
best meal Lorenzo had tasted in weeks—made even more so when Storm dropped a hunk of lizard
steak into his bowl。 The men were in high spirits； looking forward to their missions。 The only
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shadow on the horizon was that of Commissar Mackenzie—and Greiss in particular was taking the
usurpation of his position badly。
“You tell me what the Imperium is even doing here；” he grumbled over his soup。 “We’re out at
the rear end of nowhere； there aren’t any minerals here worth a light； and as for colonising； forget it！
I’ll tell you this much： if the orks packed up tomorrow and left Rogar III； we wouldn’t be too far
behind ’em。 Seems to me the only reason we’re here is because they are； because the Emperor’s
armies can’t be seen to be turning their backs on the enemy。 The only reason the orks won’t leave is
because they won’t turn their backs on us； so we just keep fighting。”
“Hey； steady on； sergeant；” said Woods。 “You’re starting to sound like a heretic！”
“Hell； don’t get me wrong；” said Greiss； “I’m as up for a scrap as the next man。 I’d just rather
orks and Guardsmen alike moved their backsides out of here and left us to it。 Jungle Fighters against
the jungle； the way it should be。”
“Yeah； I can get on board with that；” grinned Woods。
“Course；” sighed Greiss； “ours is not to reason why。 We just move where we’re told to move；
fight who we’re told to fight； jump when we’re told to jump。”
Lorenzo remembered what the sergeant had said back on the ship； how he wanted his blaze of
glory。 He was unlikely to get it with Mackenzie calling the shots。 He told himself there’d be other
chances for the grizzled sergeant； but he could see it in Greiss’ despondent eyes： he’d convinced
himself that this would be his last hurrah。 Lorenzo had seen what happened to men who began to
think that way。 It was a thought that tended to become a self…fulfilling prophecy。
The hall was beginning to empty when a Validian approached Lorenzo’s table； and took a seat
beside him。 He was in his thirties； but still baby…faced。 He wasn’t exactly fat； but then nor were his
muscles exactly toned。 He was beginning to grow jowls。 Sizing him up in a second； Lorenzo
concluded that he’d never have reached half his present age on Catachan。
Greiss looked up from his meal。 “You’re at the wrong table； boy；” he growled； although the
Validian couldn’t have been much younger than he was。 “Your lot are over that side of the hall。”
“I know that； sergeant；” said the Guardsman。 “I wanted to introduce myself before we set out。
Braxton。” He held out a hand； which Greiss ignored。 “Commissar Mackenzie’s adjutant—and I
report for the Eagle & Bolter。 Didn’t anyone tell you？ I’ve been attached to your squad。 I’m coming
with you this morning。”
“Like hell！” snapped Greiss； and he pushed his bowl aside and stormed out of the hall。 Woods
shot Braxton a mocking sneer； then followed。 Myers and Storm； further down the table； were
absorbed in their own conversation； which left Lorenzo effectively； awkwardly； alone with the
newcomer。
“Don’t mind Old Hardhead；” he said。 “He’s had his nose put out of joint by your boss。”
Braxton nodded。 “The commissar does seem to have a talent for that。” The Validian and the
Jungle Fighter shared a brief smile。 “I just thought you ought to know we aren’t all like him；” said
Braxton。 “Or Enright。”
“Enright？”
“The sergeant who started the trouble yesterday。 Talk about noses being out of joint！ Or if it
wasn’t before the fight； your trooper over there sure saw to it… Enright and his cronies can’t face
the fact that we need your help。 They think we should be able to handle a few orks by ourselves。”
“But the orks aren’t the problem。” Lorenzo pointed out。
“I know；” said Braxton。 “Rogar III has changed。 I think I’ve noticed it more than some of the
others； because… well…” He shifted in his seat。 “Since I got this assignment； I haven’t seen much
action； you know？ But last week； I went out there； into the jungle； for the first time in a while；
and…”
Lorenzo’s ears pricked up； eager for some hint of what was to come。 “I swear；” said Braxton；
“those jungle lizards had doubled in size since the last time I’d seen one—and they’d never been so
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vicious。 They used to run for cover when we got within ten metres。 We used them for target
practice。 Now； they’re getting bolder； sniffing around the camp itself。 One of them stung Marks。 The
veins in his neck； and then his face； they turned black； throbbing。 He was screaming； begging us to
put him out of his misery。 We had to do it。 He’d have brought the orks down on us。”
“I just wanted to say；” said Braxton； “that it’s good to have the experts here。”
“Not according to Mackenzie；” said Lorenzo。
“I know—and if it were up to me； we’d leave you to do your jobs。 We’re only going to slow you
down out there。 But the commissar—he’s young； he wants to prove himself。 I think he wants to be
the one to tame the famous Jungle Fighters。 And deal with Big Green； of course。”
“And you just go where Mackenzie leads； huh？”
“My job is to report his glorious victory—if I’m lucky。”
Lorenzo regarded Braxton with a newly sympathetic gaze。 It occurred to him that he was only
obeying orders； like anyone—and that； in his own milieu； he was probably an able fighter。 But； like
most Guardsmen； he would have been conscripted at the age of sixteen or seventeen； already an
adult。 Lorenzo had been taught to defend himself with a knife before he could walk。 By the age of
eight； Catacha