FSB； his damaged Bolt had given up and dropped nose…down into the rainforest。 No chute；
according to their Lightning pilot； who had landed safely。 No chute。
Someone came out under the awning behind Marquall； and Blansher stiffened。 Marquall turned。
It was Jagdea。 Oil still smeared her face。 She looked grim。 “Come in；” she said。
The three of them crossed to her。
“What about the others？” Blansher asked。
“Leave them；” Jagdea said。 “They’re having fun。 I don’t want to spoil it。”
They walked into Operations。 Blansher and the priest stubbed out their sticks before entering。
Blaguer was there； leaning over a display intently with Oberlitz。 The operators sat at their
stations。
Commander Marcinon sat at a desk； reviewing pict slides on a back…lit writing slope。
“Kills confirmed；” Jagdea said。 “Two for me； three for Mil。 One for you； Vander。 Good work。”
“Thank you； mamzel。”
“Zemmic got his four。 Turns out； from the picts； Asche got ten。” Kautas whistled。
“Unheard of；” said Jagdea。 “Though by the look of the footage； the sky was so full of bats it
would have been hard not to hit something。”
“Why so grim？” Blansher asked her。
“We’ve studied the recon data the Lightning was so desperate to bring home。”
116
Jagdea went over to the light table and cycled up some images into the projector。 Hololithic
shapes formed in the air。
“What’s that？” said Kautas。 “I can’t—”
“That’s armour； father；” said Jagdea。 “Seen from above at high altitude。 Stalk tanks mostly； but
also lines of main battle tanks； troop transporters and some super…heavies。”
“It just looks like specks；” Kautas said。
Marquall stiffened。 He was more used to reading aerial picts than the priest。
“Holy Throne…” he sighed。
“Summary count is nine thousand units；” Jagdea said。 “Coming in out of the deserts。 These
enlargements here modify for dust cover。 See this？ Identified as the sigil markings of the Blood
Pact。”
“They’re coming north；” whispered Blansher。
“Undoubtedly；” said Marcinon； coming over to join them。 “The Archenemy clearly believes its
air war has been successful in hammering the Littoral。 The ground forces of Chaos are now
invading。 I have sent word to the coast。 The evacuation is being stepped up。 I… I somehow doubt
we will be ready in time。”
“What about us？” asked Marquall。
“Us； boy？” Marcinon asked。
“Sir； we’re in the direct path of this。 The enemy land forces must already be in the forests。”
“Yes。 Auspex returns paint them sixty kilometres south and moving fast。 Operations has ordered
our immediate withdrawal。 Us； and all the other FSBs in the forest region。 Transports will arrive
tomorrow at 08。00 hours。”
Jagdea looked at Marquall and saw his sadness。 “Time to retreat；” she said。 “It happens。”
117
DAY 264
Lake Gocel FSB； 06。30
The extraction transports were an hour and a half away。 Marquall watched the dawn come up。 All
through that long； humid night； the personnel of the base had moved with a single purpose； crating
up equipment and spares； bagging possessions； collapsing habitents and getting them stowed；
deactivating secondary detection systems。 The prefabs would have to be left； and the mats and the
ramps probably。 Certainly the ring defences。 The pilots would fly the planes out； the transports
would extract the rest。
Marquall had spent the small hours of the night lugging packages around and making sure his
fitters were clearing out swiftly。 Racklae insisted they run a full pre…flight on Nine…Nine before they
went； and told Marquall plainly that two fitters would stay on station to see him aloft。
The pathways were full of hurrying bodies under the lamps； and the huffing shapes of laden
Sentinels。
Everyone was active and alert。 No； not everyone。 Several of Umbra Flight had drunk too much
enjoying Larice Asche’s celebration； and had to be whipped into shape by Jagdea and Blansher。
Asche herself； and Zemmic； had disappeared。 Their tent…mates； Del Ruth and Cordiale； picked
up their gear。 Marquall volunteered to gather up Waldon’s belongings； but Jagdea said she’d do that
herself。
The sun was just rising。 There was rain in the air； beating on the leaf canopy and the shimmer
nets。 It was cold。
Weary； strung out； Marquall sat down by a tree bowl； and wiped the rain off his face。 He had to
go to dispersal to suit up； and then to his bird in time for the pull out。
Shades hurried past him along the pathway。 Fitters carrying crates。 A power lifter。
He jumped as he heard a strange； crackling noise。 It went on for some seconds； so odd and loud；
that he failed to realise at first that his alarm bracelet was sounding。
Panic hit the base。
Marquall realised that the crackling noise was the sound of the automated Tarantula guns along
the perimeter firing out into the forest。
They’d been tripped。
“Oh hell！” he yelped and leapt up。 His kit was nearby； and he reached into the haversack；
yanking out his service pistol and a belt of battery clips。
There was a bright flash in the trees ahead of him as something ell
fyceline and burning oil。 Gunfire chattered。
The enemy had arrived； far earlier than expected。
Lasfire zipped through the air； ripping apart shimmer nets and sections of the arboreal canopy。
The chunter of the Tarantulas increased。
“Throne alive！” Marquall said。 Klaxons were now wailing。 Pistol raised； he ran across to one of
the maintenance shelters and ducked inside。
Heavy gauge lasfire crisped the air outside。 The flak…board shivered。
Marquall ran across the floor space of the shelter and fell over something。
“What the bloody hell…？” a voice murmured。
118
Marquall looked down。 Asche and Zemmic； both naked； were curled up together； half…covered
by a section of blast curtain。
“Marquall？” Larice narrowed her eyes； bleary and annoyed。 “There better be a bloody good
reason why—”
A shelter nearby exploded loudly； raining debris out。
“Shit！” Larice Asche said； leaping up and pulling on her flight pants。 She kicked Zemmic。
“Get up！ Wake up！” she cried at him。
Zemmic sat up； blinking。
Asche had got her vest on now。 She turned to Marquall。 “What’s the situation？” she said。
“They’ve found us；” Marquall replied。 He was hunkered in the opposite doorway； looking out；
gun ready。 “I think they—”
He shut up quickly。 Three figures； armoured in red； were running up towards the side of the
shelter。 Without thinking； Marquall leaned out and shot the first one through the head。
He dropped hard。
Shaking； Marquall realised the warrior had been wearing a snarling mask of black metal。 Blood
Pact。 Blood Pact。
Shots ripped his way； punching holes in the side of the shelter。 Her boots still undone； Asche
joined him by the doorway； and started shooting her own service pistol into the trees。
“Where’s Zemmic？” Marquall asked。
“Running？ Who cares？” Asche replied。 She fired again。
Bright yellow； a stalk tank ripped into the outer clearing of the concealed base。 Its underslung
turrets recoiled as they spat out bursts of heavy las。
A section of the maintenance block exploded； sending shingles and pieces of spar into the sky。 A
kinderwood nee creaked and fell over。 Stripped…away shimmer netting revealed pale slices of dawn
sky。 The clattering stalk tank felled more trees； and their collapse severed a series of power cables
that showered white crumbs of light out in a savage flurry。
The Blood Pact warriors rushed them。 Marquall and Asche； decently covered； opened fire into
the charging figures and killed both of them。 It took a surprising number of shots to stop the enemy
shock troopers。 The necessary blasts exhausted their clips。
Asche threw up noisily。
“Not so easy when it’s face…to…face； eh？” Marquall asked； dragging the retching girl upright。
“It’s the drink； you idiot；” she coughed； spitting。
Lasfire tore past them。 The stalk tank reached one of the matt…decks。
A Commonwealth trooper with a tube launcher killed it dead。 The blast tore out a section of the
canopy and lifted smoke into the air clear of the forest。
Calm returned for a while。 The attack had been from an advance force。 Marquall prayed no more
would arrive until the final minutes of the evacuation had counted off。 Just before eight； they heard
the sound of Navy mass…lifters powering in across the lake。 The huge transporters settled on the
shoreline mud and opened their gaping maws to accept the lines of aircrew personnel； fitter teams
and Sentinels。 Pack after pack of machinery and material was carried on board。
About then； drawn in by the land attack； the enemy air cover reached Gocel。 The base’s planes
were just beginning to lift off。
Razors swept overhead； dropping submunitions。 One of the transporters at the lakeshore went up
in a haze of flames。 Blansher launched clear。 So did Van Tull and Del Ruth； then Cordiale。 Ortho
Blaguer’s rising Thunderbolt collided with a Razor on a strafing run。 The blast lit the sky。 Two of
the fleeing Lightnings； one of them Oberlitz’s； were stung hard as they attempted to climb。 Oberlitz
went down in the lake； the other into the trees on the far shore。
Asche pulled away。 Then two of the Raptors。 A Lightning。 Another Raptor launched； and was
blown apart。 Zemmic got away。 Ranfre。 Then Jagdea； her Bolt struck twice by heavy passing fire。
119
Marquall ran to Nine…Nine。 The sky was on fire。 He found Racklae and the chief fitter’s number
two waiting for him。
“Go！ Leave now！” Marquall yelled。
“Not before we see you safe； sir！” said Racklae。
“Your transport is about to leave； mister！” Marquall shouted。
Las…rounds ripped out of the trees。 Racklae’s number two dropped； his head fused into a
misshapen blob。
“Racklae； go！ Now； for Throne’s sake！”
Marquall fired his pistol into the tree…line。
“Cables are disconnected； sir。 You’re clean！” Racklae bellowed。
“Go； Racklae！ Go！ Go！” yelled Marquall。
“Give that to me； for Throne’s sake；” Kautas shouted； appearing from nowhere and snatching
the pistol out of Marquall’s hand。
“Run now； Mister Racklae；” Kautas said。 Racklae turned and began to sprint for the shore。 The
air was full of hard rounds and las…streaks。
Kautas started to fire the pistol。 “And you； Vander Marquall；” he said。
“Father…”
“Close your bloody lid； boy。”
Marquall slammed his canopy home。 He lit the engines； and kicked over the vector thrusters；
ripping up through the remains of the shimmer tents into the smoke…filled air。
He managed one last； frantic look down。
Far below； amongst me trees and flames； Marquall saw a figure with its arms spread wide； as if
in benediction。 Ayatani Kautas； his robes tugged by Nine…Nine’s down…draft； turned and ran towards
the red…armoured soldiers pouring in along the pathways。
The last time Marquall saw him； Kautas was a distant shape； sinking to his knees。 Bright lasshots
flickered in all directions。 Kautas held Marquall’s pistol out before him； firing over and over
again。
120
FATE’S WHEEL
THEDA
Imperial year 773。M41； day 264 … day 266
121
DAY 264
Theda MAB South； 08。30
Even to someone unfamiliar with the arcane sigils of Navy plotting symbols； it would have been
obvious that a huge fight was going on over the Littoral。 Nine of the flight controllers were now
involved； Eads included。 Darrow stoo