sief。 Such was the fate of Lord Militant Humel’s great “land armada”； which had almost
24
reached the gateways of the Trinity Hives to purge Enothis； before being turned back by the
unbelievable ferocity of replenished Archenemy forces。
The abject wreck of the Fury of Pardua seemed to Captain LeGuin an appropriate symbol for
this disastrous retreat： a great； proud beast from another age； beaten to extinction by the foe and the
climate； left to rot into the consuming sands where only future archaeologists might ever expose its
dry bones again。
LeGuin looked north； watching the dust trail of the vehicles that had passed ahead。 Men trudged
beside crawling machines； as thirsty for water as the vehicles were for oil。 Some rode on fenders or
straddled body plating。 Every few kilometres something needed to be repaired； dug free or pulled
out of soft sand by the Atlas teams。 The Fury was not the first piece of armour to be abandoned at
the roadside。 The miserable route back to the Trinity Hives was marked with the corpses of
machines that had died along the way。
Died or been killed。 The Archenemy was not letting them run unmolested。
Klodas had flagged down a half…track weapons carrier； and his crew was formed into a human
chain to ship what was salvageable from the Conqueror。
“Don’t take too long；” LeGuin told him。
LeGuin walked back to his own steed； wiping his brow with a hand that came away black with
perspiration and grit。 As he walked； he looked up into the relentless sky。 Where would the next
attack come from？ Up there？ Or； as the vox…reports from back down the column suggested； were the
enemy land forces now beginning to nip at their heels too？
The Line of Death sat waiting for its commander。 As he climbed up； he patted its flank； even
though the sun…roasted metal scorched his hand。 The Line was an Exterminator…type assault tank； its
chassis the same basic pattern as the heavier Conqueror。 Its turret…mounted twin autocannons could
produce an astonishingly savage field of rapid firepower。 The tank was painted dust…red； though that
wash was scuffed down to the chrome base metal in many places。 Its name was painted on the
turret’s mantlet； and its regiment—8th Pardus Armoured—was embossed above the sponsons beside
an Imperial double eagle crest。
LeGuin clambered over the drums of spare munitions webbed to the rear cowling and hopped up
into the turret。 Matredes； his gunner； was waiting for him in the top hatchway。
“We going？”
“Yeah。”
Matredes shouted down to Emdeen； the driver； and the VI2 engine revved。 They lurched
onwards； treads clattering； and rejoined the file。
The Line had not been LeGuin’s for long and； though he tried to bond with the steed； they were
not tight。 For most of his career； LeGuin had been a Destroyer man； commander of the tank killer
Grey Venger。 Thirty…four kills they’d shared； until Venger had fallen to enemy fire on the shrine
world Hagia three years before。 LeGuin might have happily burned with his steed； but his life had
been saved by the selfless action of an infantry scout called Mkoll； a man LeGuin respected enough
not to be angry with。
On his return to regimental headquarters； they’d assigned LeGuin this can。 He’d wanted another
Destroyer； naturally； for that’s where his skills and training lay； but there were just none available。
On the rare occasions one of that ancient marque came up for transfer or reassignment； it was
usually a reconditioned hulk with lousy bearings； a rebored engine and some useless firework in
place of the precious； specialist L/D cannon。
So； disguising his disappointment； LeGuin had become an assault tanker； riding his new steed in
with Humel’s doomed Enothian campaign。
The Line spurred forward。 Under the present circumstances； the memory of his disappointment
seemed ridiculously insignificant and made LeGuin smile。 So； he hadn’t been assigned the steed he
wanted。 Shame。 If only that was the worst thing he had to deal with now。
All that mattered at this moment was what was going to get them first： the desert or the enemy。
25
Even with the internal compartments filter…sealed； it was like an oven in the Exterminator。
LeGuin dared not use the air exchanger for fear of depleting fuel even further。 Matredes was
studying the charts by the light of a red bulb overhead； and he said something。 LeGuin had put on
his ear…baffles already； and now he switched on the internal intercom。
“Say again？”
“Another forty kilometres； and we should be reaching rougher terrain… open karst。 That’ll mark
the beginnings of the rift。”
LeGuin nodded。 The rift； and the mountains beyond it； represented the second and third of the
great barriers the columns would have to overcome in order to reach safe territory。 The desert was
just the beginning。 But it gave him some sense of hope。 These were palpable markers that he could
tick off。
LeGuin popped the hatch and sat up； taking the electroscope Matredes passed to him。 The Line
of Death was travelling in the forward quarter of the retreating column。 According to unconfirmed
rumours； some of the Imperial elements had already reached the Makanite passes； on the doorstep of
safety。 According to other rumours； enemy rapid assault units had reached there too； gunning to
deny them。
He scanned ahead through the scope； trying to brace against the lurch of the machine。 Every
view was filtered by heat haze and whirling dust。 But there did now seem to be something far ahead。
A slender blue…white line。 Mountains； or a daylight dream？
The vox chattered something he didn’t quite catch。 A moment later； he didn’t need it repeated。
Flickering shadows shot north overhead； and he heard the rush of afterburners above the roar of the
tank’s engine。
Two dark red shapes in the bright sky； moving as fast as arrows； curled in low above the column
ahead。 He saw flashes； sprays of sand； then heard the rolling crump of detonating munitions。 A
kilometre away； something caught fire and began to smudge the sky with a thick spout of oily； black
smoke。
“Alarm！ Alarm！” he shouted into the vox。 The Line’s turret weapons were already cranked to
maximum elevation； but there was no point wasting ammo at this range。 In the distance； he saw the
choppy flashes of tracers from Hydra carriers in the front file。
Two more bats went over； using the convoy’s long dust wake as a marker to line up on their
targets。 Matredes was rotating the turret； but LeGuin shook his head。 A troop truck three vehicles
forward of them leapt into the air in a brilliant eruption of flame； and showered burning debris in all
directions。
They hadn’t even seen that one coming。
The vehicles ahead of them swerved。 The hit truck was a stricken mass of blazing； twisted metal。
Burnt bodies； some stripped naked by the blast； littered the sand。
Another troop truck； turning to avoid the ruin； hit soft sand and dug in。 It rocked violently；
wheels spinning and digging deeper； engine over…revving。 The infantrymen in the back leapt down
with spades and chains。
“Full stop！ Get the cable！” LeGuin yelled to Matredes； who clambered out at once with
Mergson； one of the sponson gunners。
“Tie it up！ Tie it up！” LeGuin shouted at the men on the ground as Matredes and the gunner
fetched the hawser coil from the starboard panniers。 They had to be quick。 The enemy warplanes
habitually dumped their payloads on the head of the column to slow it down。 Then they delighted in
coming about down the stationary line； strafing as they went home。
“Come on！”
Surface…to…air from the column ahead。 Tracer； some wild cannon fire； small…arms。 Some idiot
tried a shoulder rocket。 It went up； useless as a white flare in daylight。 Where were they？ Where the
bloody hell w—
26
Booom！ One went right over at zero altitude； rocking the tank on its torsion bars with the
Shockwave。 By the time it had gone by them； it was already pulling off。 The track five hundred
metres ahead was swathed in fyceline smoke from the deluge of cannon fire it had stitched down the
line。 New fires had started。 Something big—a tank’s magazine； most likely—blew up with a dry
roar。
“Come on； Matredes！” LeGuin bawled。 Most of the troopers had thrown themselves flat when
the bat went over； but LeGuin’s men had got the cable lashed around the truck’s bull…bars。
“Ease off！ Get him to ease off！” LeGuin shouted to Matredes； indicating the truck driver； a
Munitorum drone who was still thrashing the daylights out of the vehicle’s drive shaft in an effort to
self…right。
“Emdeen？” LeGuin voxed to his driver。 “Nice and easy back step； no jerks； or you’ll amputate
its rear end。”
“Understood； captain；” Emdeen voxed back。 “Fifteen segs； mind。”
Fifteen segs。 LeGuin laughed despite the situation。 A Pardus tanker was permitted to sew a little
stylised track segment to the edge of his uniform collar for every year served active。 Emdeen was
reminding his captain that he was a fifteen year vet and didn’t need to be told how to tow a cargo…10
successfully。
LeGuin had thirteen segs of his own。
His laughter stopped as he saw the next bat。 Low； head on； red as an open wound。 Weapon ports
flashed as it came on。 Tormentor…class； LeGuin presumed。 Maybe a Hell Talon。 He didn’t care。 He
knew tanks。 Planes looked all the same to him。 It might as well have been a frigging flying pixie； it
was still intent on murder。
The bat’s cannon fire chewed along the track； kicking dirt up in man…high bursts with the rapid
precision of an industrial belt press。 A STeG armoured car wearing the dusty livery of the Enothian
PDF ruptured like an eggshell and rolled on its side。 The raking blasts atomised the front end of the
water tanker。
Then the shots stitched right across them。 Half a dozen of the troopers from the stranded truck
were thrown down； their bodies flung aside； or into the air； or into pieces。 The air filled with upflung
dust and dirt。 LeGuin lost sight of Matredes； but saw Mergson clearly as he was hit。
Everything below Mergson’s waist vaporised in a blitz of flame and fibres。
“No！” LeGuin screamed as he dropped back into the turret for cover； three shells spanking off
the Line’s top armour。
The bat had already hammered past； but as he’d dropped； LeGuin had seen a second one right
behind it。
Raging； he seized the yokes of the main turret’s twin mount； threw the autoloader lever and
began to fire。
The turret rocked。 He couldn’t see a thing through the prismatic sight； certainly not a target。
A waste of munitions？ Let me miss first； LeGuin reasoned； then tell me that。
Over the Makanites； 12。01
Flight time was coming up on one hour。 Twenty thousand metres of clear air down to the frosted
mountains below them； three…tenths cloud。 Visibility clear to forty…plus。
Strapped in his flight armour and breathing air…mix through his mask； Viltry looked up out of his
Marauder’s shadowed cockpit into the bright realm of the sky。 Ahead； and slightly high； Hello
Hellfire was cruising smoothly； leaving long； straight； pure…white condensation trails behind her。
The sunlight glinted off her polished…alloy silver。
It the background thrum of G for Greta’s four ramjets。
According to the auspex； there was nothing in the air except their six plane formation for