his broad； toothy grin a bright white behind his black beard。
“Trooper Borscz； sergeant；” he introduced himself。 “Apologies for my late arrival； but your first
message did not get through。 Machines； you know。”
Gavotski introduced himself in turn； held up a hand to stem Borscz’s eager questions； and
indicated that he should wait beside the Termite with the others。 As the newcomer moved to obey；
the sergeant noted that his eyes flickered； as all their eyes had； towards the brooding figure of
Colonel Stanislev Steele。
Steele stood a few metres away； his power sword at his hip； observing all with a cool but shrewd
gaze。 His bionic right eye glinted in the light of a flaring explosion in the sky； but there were no
other outward signs of his internal augmetics。
It was said by some that Steele’s emotions had been neutered by his cybernetic grafts； that he
had become cold； unfeeling。 Gavotski could see how that myth had been born。 He counted himself
privileged； however； to be one of the few who knew the truth。
16
The Chimera had come to a halt； and another two Ice Warriors emerged； exchanging amiable
banter。 They introduced themselves as Troopers Barreski and Grayle。 That made six — eight；
including the sergeant and the colonel。 It was enough to make do； but two short of the full squad for
which Gavotski had hoped。 He glanced at Steele for instructions； but could see that； as always； he
was happy to trust his sergeant’s judgement。
He decided to wait another ten minutes。 With luck； Palinev might still make it； and bring the
count up to nine。 Beyond that…
Gavotski had had high hopes for one more Ice Warrior。 He had added Pozhar’s name to his list；
despite his chequered service record； despite Steele’s concerns； because he had worked with the lad
before and judged him to have potential。 Pozhar was one of the three MIAs — which meant that
Gavotski was now praying for a miracle。
Or； to put it another way； he was about to find out if his faith had been justified。
Pozhar had lost all track of time。
He was so close to his goal； so close to getting back to his comrades； the returning hero。 It
seemed like days since he had been separated from them； days since he had lain on the battlefield；
almost gagging on the stench of the fallen Chaos worshippers whose bodies had protected him。
Now； he was just a few metres away。
A few metres — but it may as well have been a few thousand。
It was not in the young trooper’s nature to lie still for long。 Anyway； the grumbling of
approaching engines had alerted him to a new danger。 The Chaos army had pressed forward； most of
its foot soldiers passing him by without seeing him； but behind them had come the heavy artillery；
the tanks and the battle cannons； and he had had to act fast to avoid being crushed beneath their
wheels。
Pozhar had scrambled to his feet； feeling the sting of cold air on his face； expecting to be shot
down as soon as he was seen。 Instead； surrounded by the enemy； he went unnoticed。 He had realised
that his uniform was dishevelled and torn； coated in grime and blood； and thus there was no real
visible difference between him and any number of Traitor Guardsmen on the battlefield。 Thinking
quickly； he had ripped off his unit badge to further this illusion； and had considered taking a coat
from one of the fallen traitors； one daubed in Chaos sigils； but the thought of wearing such a thing
had made his stomach turn and his skin crawl。
He couldn’t just stand there； he had realised。 He had to do something； make it look like he
belonged here； give himself time to think； to find an escape route。
Casting around； he had seen a pair of cultists bickering over an upset cart。 A purloined plasma
cannon； too heavy to carry； had spilled from the rickety contraption； and Pozhar had rushed to help
lift it back into place。 In so doing； he had brushed against a cultist’s arm and felt something shifting
beneath his cloak。 He had caught a glimpse of a slimy black tentacle； and had almost vomited on the
spot。
Pozhar had ached — truly； physically ached — with the driving need to pull out his lasgun； to
blast these freaks to whatever afterlife they believed in； and he would have done it too had it not
been for the vox…message… had it not been for the fact that Colonel Stanislev Steele needed him。
He wished he knew how long it had been。
He had slipped away from the cultists at the first opportunity； leaving his last frag grenade in
their cannon’s barrel。 When the weapon was fired； the grenade would burst and； Pozhar hoped；
trigger a devastating plasma explosion。 He had made his way to the edge of the battlefield； trying to
remain innocuous； finding cover where he could in deserted； half…demolished buildings。
He had not counted on running into civilians。 Four women and six children were huddled in a
dark corner of one of those buildings； somehow overlooked by the heretics that had burnt out their
homes and slaughtered their men。
17
At first they had been an unwelcome burden； because Pozhar would certainly have become a
target as soon as he had stepped out into the open with them。 But； emboldened by the appearance of
an Imperial Guardsmen； their saviour； the women had told him of a way out： a hatchway into the
underhive。
And so； Pozhar had ended up here； in a tunnel mouth； up to his ankles in the filth of a billion
departed slum…dwellers； as the women waited some way behind him and tried to keep their children
quiet。 And the ladder that would take them all back up to the surface； back to Pozhar’s comrades；
was just a few metres away… a few metres away； but guarded。
It had been a shock to find cultists in the underhive。 Fortunately； the women had known their
way around； and； so far； they had been able to keep out of sight； though a number of diversions due
to blocked tunnels had left Pozhar fretting with impatience。 His greatest fear was that Colonel Steele
might have given up on him by now — worse still； might have written him off as a coward or a
traitor。
Four cultists。 He could take them； he thought； especially as their guns were trained on the
manhole above them。 They were expecting trouble from above； not from below。 They weren’t
expecting him。 He could take them。
And they would raise the alarm； and then more cultists would come running。 Would he be able
to ferry the women and the children up the ladder and hold their attackers off long enough to follow
them？
A more cautious man might have waited a while longer； might have looked for a better chance；
or even another ladder。 Not Pozhar。 He had lost enough time already。
Even though he knew that the fight ahead of him would be difficult； even though he knew that
his chances of survival were slim； he drew his lasgun and he ran to meet it firing。 And he did so not
just because he felt he had no other choice； but with a grin on his face and a mad laugh erupting
from his stomach。
A step gave way beneath Trooper Palinev’s foot； and he leapt for the safety rail and pulled himself
up。 He had started a cascade effect； which demolished the rest of the staircase beneath him； but he
had attained the balcony level of the refinery as planned。
He grinned at the memory of those comrades who had thought him mad for eschewing the
standard Valhallan greatcoat。 His basic flak jacket might not have provided the same level of
protection against the cold； but it was much lighter； more flexible； and Palinev’s unencumbered
agility had just saved his life。
He reached the tall； narrow window — the one towards which his sergeant had directed him
from outside； below。 He settled behind it and used the butt of his long…las； his sniper variant lasgun；
to knock out the glass。 An icy gust of wind blew away the refinery’s stuffy gloom； and further
reddened Palinev’s already ruddy cheeks。
He rested the long； thin barrel of his weapon against the sill； and waited。
The battle had only just spread to this part of the hive； and many of the buildings were still
standing。 Palinev’s platoon was attempting to draw the enemy into a narrow street； a bottleneck in
which the defenders would have the advantage； and the strategy was working。 The first wave of
Chaos forces came crashing against the Ice Warriors’ front lines； and were held。 That made them
sitting ducks for Palinev； and the nine other snipers stationed behind the surrounding windows。 He
squeezed off round after round； claiming kill after kill。
And then； in a second； the tide turned。
Palinev didn’t know what had happened at first； only that there had been a shift in the battle； that
his comrades were reacting to something he hadn’t seen。 Something behind them。 Then he saw lasbeams
ripping into them； from an area that ought to have been secure； taking them by surprise。 It
was a massacre。
18
His heart in his throat； Palinev abandoned his post and raced along the circular balcony； his
footsteps ringing off metal mesh。 Three windows along； he found a better view； and he saw to his
horror that cultists and traitors were rising from the manholes； from the underhive； outflanking their
foes。 The Ice Warriors on the ground were rallying； but they didn’t stand a chance。 Still； Palinev did
what he could to help them； sniping down all the heretics he could in the time he had。
The refinery doors crashed open； somewhere beneath him； and all of a sudden the battle seemed
a great deal louder； a great deal closer to him。
The intruders knew where he was。 A frag grenade arced over the balcony rail and rolled up to
Palinev’s feet。 He was already running； just ahead of the explosion； which blew out a section of the
building’s wall。 The balcony was mangled； left partially unsupported； trembling and creaking —
and； as Palinev reached the one remaining set of steps； he found four Chaos cultists ascending
towards him； recognisable by their cloaks and by their obscene tattoos。
He brought up his gun； but the cultists were too fast for him； and he had to throw himself onto
his stomach to avoid their las…fire。 He wasn’t accustomed to close combat； wasn’t built for it。
Palinev had spent his years in service honing his sneaking and sniping skills。 This； then； was his
worst nightmare： an enemy that could see him！
A section of mesh beneath him rattled and slid。 Feverishly； he pried it loose and clambered down
through a web of scaffolding。 He dropped the six metres to the ground floor level； rolling to absorb
the impact of his landing。 The cultists were up on the teetering balcony； looking for him； and he
decided to give them a taste of their own medicine。 They saw the incoming grenade； and one of
them tried to run； while the other three saw the futility of that course and jumped for it。
Palinev managed to get off a shot while they were in mid air； wounding one of the cultists； who
landed awkwardly with a snap of bone。 Then the grenade went off and the balcony gave way；
bringing two walls down with it。 All Palinev had time to do was to drop to his knees and cover his
head with his hands as he was engulfed by a tidal wave of screeching； rending sound。
When it was all over； as the echoes died down； Palinev raised his head； and saw that one of the
cultists had survived； and was training a lasgun on him。 He closed his eyes； heard the fa