adult。 Lorenzo had been taught to defend himself with a knife before he could walk。 By the age of
eight； Catachan children were expected to be able to tame a wild grox； a harsh lesson that some did
not survive； but such was the nature of life on a deathworld。 You could be forged in its jungle heat；
or you could wither and die in it。
Beneath Guardsman Braxton’s words was an unspoken plea for help。 But the men of Lorenzo’s
world—like those of all deathworlds across the Imperium—obeyed only one law： that of the jungle。
Survival of the fittest。
22
CHAPTER FOUR
It was another clear day。 The sun blazed bright and hot； the morning temperature far in excess of
that of the previous evening； the air bereft of breeze。 Most of the Validians had been forced out of
their stuffy huts； and some were evidently finding the heat uncomfortable。 The Catachans； however；
revelled in it。 It opened Lorenzo’s pores and invigorated him。
The clearing was full of sweaty bodies； moving in time to barked commands。 Jungle Fighters
were forming up in their squads and moving out。 The men of A Platoon were arming themselves
with autocannons and heavy bolters； and tuning up the three Sentinels that would precede them into
battle。
Mackenzie was in the thick of the activity； dispensing words here and there to the sergeants；
complaining repeatedly about the Catachans’ lack of a formal uniform。 “Uniforms get damaged。”
Colonel Graves told him； “when you’re out in the jungle。” But it didn’t seem to calm Mackenzie’s
ire。
Greiss would normally have had his squad doing circuits or squat…thrusts by now； instead； he sat
with his knees to his chest； and snarled at anyone who dared come near him。 Muldoon had acquired
the dyes of some indigenous plants； and was adapting his body camouflage to the local shapes and
colours。 A few other Catachans had followed his lead； Myers and Storm among them； glad to let the
sun caress their skin。 Lorenzo； however； was no artist； he would have to make do with his heavy
jacket； and with a few streaks of dubbin across his face。
Mackenzie was annoyed to find the squad not standing to attention； awaiting his inspection； he
made his displeasure known to Greiss； who shrugged and climbed to his feet in his own time。 The
Catachans fell in sloppily； making their feelings for the young officer clear。 In turn； Mackenzie
griped about the absence of regulation shoulder guards with identifying numbers； but there wasn’t
much he could do about it at this stage。 He gave a stern speech that was mostly a reworking of the
previous day’s—“whip you rabble into shape”； “smartest Guardsmen in the Imperium” and so
forth—with a few clichés added： “When I say ‘jump’… I expect you to crawl on your bellies over
broken glass…”
“We’re facing a four…day journey together；” concluded the commissar。 “Eight days； for those
lucky enough to make the return trip。 It’ll go much easier if we all pull together。” He produced a
sheet of paper； then； and began a roll call。 “Sergeant Greiss。”
“Yes！”
“Yes； what？”
“Yes； sir！” said Greiss with a sneer。
“Trooper Armstrong。”
Patch Armstrong answered to his name； and Mackenzie went through the others； giving each
trooper in turn an appraising look as he committed his face to memory。 Dougan； Storm； Myers；
Donovits； Muldoon； Woods； finally； Lorenzo and Landon。
Braxton； of course； was already well known to the commissar。 The Validian had found an illfitting
camouflage jacket in the stores； and was looking uncomfortable。 Mackenzie was in
camouflage too； though he had retained his peaked cap。 It was a little too large for him； but his
jutting ears kept it from sliding down。 “Do you think it’s a good idea to be going into this with an
eagle…shaped target on your head； sir？” Greiss asked； with measured disdain。
23
“It’s a symbol of authority； sergeant；” snarled Mackenzie。 “You’ll learn。 By the time I’m
finished with you； you’ll all learn。”
They moved out； at the commissar’s insistence； at a quick march in two ranks of five； with
Greiss leading the way。 Mackenzie brought up the rear； occasionally shouting orders。
They broke step； however； as they crossed the tree line—and Lorenzo noted that Mackenzie
worked his way into the centre of the group； so that there would always be a Catachan between him
and any potential threat。 The commissar had a rough sketched map； which he kept to himself； and a
compass。 He kept the squad moving on a bearing of approximately twenty…five degrees。 “We’re
taking a circuitous route；” he explained when questioned； “to avoid a small ork encampment to the
north…west of here。”
“I’m sure we could take ’em； sir；” offered Woods。
“I’m sure we could； trooper；” said Mackenzie icily； “but as I explained at the briefing last night；
this is a stealth mission。 A single ork gets wind of our presence in this area and lives to tell of it； and
we may as well pack up and go home—because our chances of getting within shooting distance of
their warboss will be zero。”
“I still say we could take ’em；” muttered Woods resentfully。 But Mackenzie was right； and he
knew it。
The jungle closed in above them； sparing them the fiercest of the sun’s rays； though the air was
still sweltering。 Braxton was sweating； wiping his damp forehead with his sleeve every few steps。
The burnt odour lingered； and the Catachans’ feet crunched on dead； blackened leaves。 This area
had been torched—and recently—but with little effect。 Some of the plants and trees seemed to have
been growing here for years。
Their progress was punctuated by cracks of las…fire； whenever a jungle lizard was sighted。 Myers
and Storm had warned everyone of the creatures’ chameleonic properties； and Lorenzo had added
the information he’d received from Braxton； so the whole squad was on the alert。 Out loud； each
man swore he would never end his days like Braxton’s ill…fated friend； pleading for the mercy of a
quick death。 Privately； Lorenzo knew—as the others must have known—that stronger men than he
had been broken by such pain as only a deathworld could inflict。
In time； the discharges became less frequent； as if the lizards had learned from their mistakes
and were keeping their distance。 Lorenzo didn’t imagine for a second； though； that they had seen the
last of them。
That burnt smell was fading。 The jungle grass was growing taller and the trees more closely
together； letting less sunlight in through their branches。 A pink…headed； acid…spitting plant reared up
beside the Catachans without warning； but Myers blasted it to pieces before it could open its mouth。
Lorenzo felt goose bumps on his flesh； but it was a pleasant feeling。
He seemed to have been waiting a long time for this： to plunge into the darkest heart of the
jungle。 To face Rogar III on its own turf。
They were about two hours out when Braxton reported to the nearest Jungle Fighters—Myers and
Storm—that he thought they were being followed。 Their only response was a pair of knowing grins；
so Braxton called out to Commissar Mackenzie。 “Sir！ Sir； I think we’re being followed。”
The young officer called a halt； and the squad stood silent for a minute or two。 Mackenzie
frowned。 “Anyone hear anything？”
“No； sir；” murmured the Catachans。
“It was up there； sir；” said Braxton； pointing； “in the trees。”
“You’re imagining things； Braxton；” decided Mackenzie； though his voice betrayed a doubt。
Lorenzo caught an aside from Storm to Myers： “Looks like the commissar’s radar dish ears are
just ornamental； then。”
24
“Actually；” said Sergeant Greiss； with no little satisfaction； “there is someone stalking us。 The
rest of us have been aware of it since we left the clearing。”
Mackenzie turned pink。 “What？ Then why didn’t you speak up？”
“Because he’s on our side。 In fact； we’re honoured to have him watching our backs。”
The commissar looked none the wiser； and fumbled with his list of names。 “There’s no one
missing；” he said。
“This man works alone；” said Dougan。
Mackenzie scowled。 “That is not acceptable。 This offensive has been planned to the last detail；
and I will not have those plans jeopardised by a maverick。” He shouted into the jungle： “You；
trooper。 Come here； now！”
Dougan cleared his throat。 “Should you be yelling like that； sir？ If there are ork patrols or
gretchin in the area—”
The commissar ignored him。 “Trooper； my name is Commissar Mackenzie； and I am in
command here。 I demand you show yourself immediately。 You have ten seconds。 If I can’t see your
face by then； you will be facing court…martial！”
The echoes of his words were soaked up by the foliage。 In the distance； a bird took flight。 There
was no other sound。
“Could be out of earshot by now； sir；” offered Myers。
Mackenzie rounded on the Catachans； clenching his fists。 “If anyone sees or hears a trace of that
man again； I wish to be informed of it immediately； do you hear me？ Immediately！”
They moved on。
Dougan dropped back in the marching order until he was alongside Braxton。 He gave the
Validian an approving nod。 “Mostly； if Sly Marbo doesn’t want to be seen or heard； he isn’t—
sometimes not even by those of us who know he’s around。 I’m impressed。”
An hour after that； the jungle became so dense that the Catachans had to draw their knives and cut
their way through。 Armstrong and Muldoon took point to begin with； Armstrong’s devil claw and
Muldoon’s sleek； black night reaper hacking at stinging plants and thick purple creepers。
All of a sudden； Muldoon let out a warning cry； and a cloud of insects blossomed from the
undergrowth at his feet。 Each was the length of one of Lorenzo’s fingers； with hairy black bodies
and gossamer wings。 Armstrong hopped out of the way of the swarm； but it latched onto Muldoon；
following him with an angry； high…pitched whine as he tried to back away from it。 He swung his
arms furiously； flattening several insects against the nearest tree； his blade slicing through two more。
The rest of the squad had withdrawn out of reach。 Lorenzo brought up his lasgun； squinting
along its sights until he knew he could fire without hitting Muldoon。 His las…fire fried several
insects； as did simultaneous shots from Greiss； Woods and Donovits。 But there were too many of
them。 The cloud seemed hardly to have lessened in size。
Myers and Storm had flung their packs to the ground； and they pulled out the constituent parts of
a heavy flamer。 They clicked them together； then Storm steadied the bulky weapon while Myers
aimed it at the swarm。 The first explosion of fire singed the ends of Muldoon’s hair； and lit up one
flank of the insect cloud； sending them streaking to the ground as dying embers。 Muldoon hurled
himself face…first into the undergrowth； giving Myers a clearer second shot that took out the bulk of
the remaining swarm。
There were still more than a dozen insects crawling over Muldoon； but he rolled and crushed
those that couldn’t take flight in time。 The others rushed to stamp on the rest； or to skewer them with
blades。 Myers and Storm aimed one final； precautionary blast of flame at the ground from which the
swarm had risen。 Then the Catachans surrounded Muldoon where he lay on his back。 He blinked up
at them；