among them。
Few Valhallan women served in the Imperial Guard。 With so many men being marched off to
war and so few returning； they had the vital and valued task of replenishing their world’s population；
of birthing and raising the next generation of Ice Warriors。 This； then； was the life Anakora had
expected to live； the life that had been shot to pieces by a few cold words from a disinterested
medic。
It had taken her a few days to come to terms with the news； to accept that her life had no purpose
any longer。 Even one…time friends； even family； had looked at her with contempt； seeing her as a
burden； a drain on their society。 But far worse than that were those few who did understand； and
whose looks were laced with pity。
There had been no compulsion on Anakora to join up； not ostensibly。 But she had soon seen that
she had no choice。 The worst sin you could commit as an Imperial citizen was to serve the Emperor
to less than your full ability； and there was only one way left in which she could serve。
She had expected to find basic training a struggle。 She had just kept her head down and tried to
get through it； her only goal not to embarrass herself beside men who had spent their lives in
preparation for this。 She had worked hard； steeled herself to appear as tough and as stoic as any of
them； and no one could have been more surprised than Anakora when she had passed out with
honours。
Still； she had felt she was faking it； bluffing her way through a world in which she did not
belong； and she had known that her first battlefield would find her out。 Fifteen hours； that was the
average life expectancy of an Imperial Guardsmen； though for an Ice Warrior it was a little more；
maybe seventeen。 Anakora didn’t expect to last that long； but if she could claim just one kill； take
one heretic down with her； then she would have balanced the scales and justified her fleeting
existence。
Four years later； she was still here； and she didn’t know why。
She should have died on that first battlefield。 She should have died in the underhive； a couple of
hours ago。 She should have died so many times； on so many worlds — but most of all； she should
have died two and a half years ago； on Astaroth Prime。
23
Astaroth Prime… A hellhole of a world； with lakes of fire and molten rivers； a world on which
no Guardsman accustomed to the sub…zero temperatures of Valhalla should ever have set foot； a
world to which a company of Ice Warriors had been sent anyway； to deal with an incursion by their
oldest enemies； the orks； a world on which that company of Ice Warriors had been massacred。
In her brightest hours； Anakora tried to imagine that she had been spared for a reason； that the
Emperor had had a higher purpose in mind for her。 In her darkest； she forever relived that moment
when a fellow trooper； a good comrade； had thrown himself in the path of an ork axe to save her。
Her record showed that she was a survivor； and in the Imperial Guard that ability was as highly
prized as it was rare。 Anakora knew the truth。 She knew that she had not survived so long through
her own efforts。 She had survived because someone had taken pity on her； had thought her in need
of protection。
So； now she had been pulled from another suicide mission and given this chance to survive
again； precisely because of her record thus far。 She couldn’t help but wonder if this might be the
time her luck ran out at last； the time that everyone would see through her。
Anakora looked forward to the release of death。 Her only fear was that； when she died； she
would take the rest of her new squad with her。
Mikhaelev joined in with the general chatter。 He concurred with his new comrades that the Chaos
forces didn’t know what was about to hit them； that Confessor Wollkenden was as good as rescued。
He kept his true feelings to himself。
He was worried。 Behind the false bravado； he thought； they all were。 Well； perhaps not Pozhar
or Borscz — they both seemed like the kind of Guardsmen who lived only to die； the perfect
brainwashed soldiers。 It would not have occurred to them to question their orders； to wonder if their
lives might have been put to better use。
Mikhaelev asked himself those questions。 He stewed over the details of his briefing； the logic of
staking ten lives on the faint chance of saving just one。 If Confessor Wollkenden was so important；
why did the Inquisition care so little about him？ Why couldn’t the virus bombing they had
authorised be delayed a few days for his sake？
He couldn’t speak out； of course。 Even if some of the others； these relative strangers； agreed
with him； they would not dare to confess to it。 No； the floor would be held by the likes of Blonsky；
spewing his accusations； insisting that to doubt one’s leaders； even if they were only men； was to
doubt the Emperor。 Just as those same leaders would want him to think。
Not that Blonsky would hear him； of course。 No； as soon as he opened his mouth； he knew that
Steele or Gavotski would do their duty and shoot him dead。
So； he kept his own counsel； said what he was expected to say； and did what he was told as if he
was the perfect brainwashed soldier too。 And the fact that he was here； in this Termite； in this squad；
was proof that he had played that part supremely well。
He did all this because he knew there was just one thing； one choice he could make； that would
prove more dangerous than serving the Imperium… and that was not serving it。
The Termite was under attack； being buffeted by shock waves。 If he tuned out the deafening sound
of its engines； Steele could identify the crump of explosive shells from without； of the sort fired by a
Basilisk or a Bombard。
“We have a problem； sir；” Grayle yelled from the controls。 “We’re in the sights of something…
long…range artillery。 It’s decided to take a few pot shots。 Thing is； it has good cover。 The Chimeras
can’t see to return fire。 The captain of one is requesting your permission to break formation； to go
after it。”
“Denied；” said Steele。 “Do what you can； Grayle。 Find us cover； get out of firing range。 Do not；
I repeat do not； engage with the enemy。”
24
“Aye； sir；” Grayle answered。 The Termite made a sharp right turn； sharper than Steele would
have thought possible。 He was sure that； for an instant； its left…hand track had left the ground。
“We need a smoke launcher on this thing；” opined Barreski。 “Do we at least have smoke
grenades； something we can lob out through the flamer emplacements？”
“We are sitting ducks in here；” Borscz fretted。 “If we were out in the field； ten smaller； fastermoving
targets； that machine could never get a bead on us。”
At that moment； a tremendous concussive force slammed through the Termite’s chassis； from its
back left corner。 A direct hit。 It felt as if a tank had rammed them from behind； and only the fact that
the Ice Warriors were so tightly wedged into their seats saved Steele from being thrown into
Grayle’s back。
Grayle muttered a prayer as the engine coughed； spluttered； whined； and then roared back into
full throat。 The Termite’s suspension was shot。 It felt as if it was shaking itself apart； and the
passenger compartment was filled with smoke。
“Palinev； Mikhaelev；” said Gavotski； “go through the equipment lockers； see if you can whip up
a smokescreen as Barreski suggested。 Barreski； I need you to check the borer； make sure it still
functions。 Grayle…”
“I know； sergeant；” said Grayle。 “Get us the hell out of here！”
No one needed to say what every one of the ten Ice Warriors present was thinking： that they
couldn’t take a second hit like that one。
Steele watched as they jumped to their assigned tasks。 He had no need to intervene； trusting
Gavotski to handle the situation。 So； he took the opportunity to observe how each member of his
new squad responded to pressure。 The more he could learn about them； the more effectively he
could lead them； and official records could only tell him so much。
There was something about Mikhaelev’s body language； for example — the slump of his
shoulders — that said his heart wasn’t truly in this mission； that perhaps he was just going through
the motions。 That hadn’t come across at all in his records； and it was a cause for concern。 Pozhar；
thought Steele； would bear watching too； although； in his case； the reports of his commanders had
been perfectly clear。
Pozhar was a loose cannon。 He was loyal to the Emperor； fervently so； but he appeared to have
no concept of his own limitations。 Send him up against a tyranid army and； unless given specific
instructions to the contrary； he would be the one to seek out the Hive Tyrant and to spit in its eye。
On a mission like this one； that sort of overconfidence could be the death of everyone。
Pozhar was here because Gavotski had vouched for him。 He had been the young trooper’s squad
commander once； and had averred that he was one of the most skilled close…quarters combatants he
had ever seen。 Gavotski had also sworn that he could handle Pozhar’s rough edges and get the best
out of him； and Steele had learned that his experienced sergeant was seldom wrong。
If Pozhar was overconfident； then Anakora had the opposite problem。 She had come with the
highest recommendations of any of them； but Steele had already seen enough to know that she
lacked the faith in herself that others seemed to have in her。 He felt that he； of all people； could
identify with that。
Then there was Blonsky； a trooper in whom a succession of commanders had been unable to
find fault； and yet they had couched their reports in terms that suggested they were more than happy
to have seen the back of him。
Blonsky had summarily executed at least six comrades in combat； accusing them of heresy。 He
had made three similar accusations against superior officers； one of them a general no less。 On the
surface of it； his actions had always seemed justified — but reading between the lines； Steele had
noted that his commanders considered him a liability； and a dangerous man to be around。
Blonsky had been one of Steele and Gavotski’s reserve choices for their squad。 Gavotski had
pointed out； quite reasonably； that the Imperial Guard had suffered more than its fair share of
deserters and turncoats on Cressida。 With nine pairs of eyes focused on the search for Confessor
25
Wollkenden； it was perhaps advisable to have the tenth pair turned inwards； watching the squad
itself。
The shelling had ceased at last。 Grayle； it seemed； had been right： the unseen gunner had just been
taking potshots； and he had evidently decided to maintain his position rather than be enticed into
pursuing a handful of enemy vehicles。
For the past few minutes； the only thing protecting the Termite had been the cloud kicked up by
a handful of smoke bombs dropped by Palinev and Mikhaelev。 By the Emperor’s grace； it had been
enough。 A few more explosions had vibrated through the passenger compartment； but none had
come close enough to cause real damage； and Barreski； who had moved up to the front seat beside
Grayle； reported that the all…important borer was intact。
Grayle ploughed on； across land that had once been fertile fields but was now coated with grey
slush and the ever…present purpl