you’ve got a call coming in from one of the footsloggers。”
Van Droi picked off a few more of the orks nearest Foe…Breaker and dropped down into the
turret。 As he checked the board； he told Dietz； “Hostiles closing on our two。 Get the co…ax on them。”
Then； he switched from intercom to vox； and said； “This is Lieutenant Gossefried van Droi； 81st
Armoured Regiment； 10th Company。 Go ahead。”
The voice that came back had the sharp ring of the Cadian upper ranks； but it sounded tired and
more than a little desperate； too。 “This is Colonel Stromm of the 98th Mechanised Infantry
Regiment。 Can you hear me； van Droi？”
“I can； sir。”
“Emperor bless your armoured arse； man！ You and your men got here just in the nick of time。
Bought us a bit of space to fight back； but not much。 I’ve lost a lot of troopers； and it’s far from—”
He cut off mid…sentence to issue orders to his men。 Van Droi could hear the sounds of intense
fighting from the other end。 It sounded all too close to the colonel’s position。
“Van Droi； are you still there？” asked the gasping colonel a moment later。
“Yes； sir。 What’s your status？ I have a squadron flanking the orks from the rear and two
engaging from your left； but you’ll need to hold out a bit longer。 I can’t risk firing any closer to your
position。 It looked like one of our earlier salvoes was close enough to shave you。”
“I needed a shave anyway；” said Stromm。 “But listen； it’s touch…and…go here。 The loss of their
artillery turned their heads； as did your arrival； and we made them pay。 They’re fighting on two
fronts； and that has split their forces； but there are still plenty of them hell…bent on bloodying us up
in a bit of hand…to…hand。 I don’t need to tell you how long we’re likely to last at that range。 They
grow the bastards tough on Golgotha； and our backs are to the wall； literally。 Short of moving inside
what’s left of the drop…ship hull； there’s nowhere else for us to go； and I’ve no intention of getting
trapped in there。 It’s suicide。 If there’s any chance you can create a corridor for us； I have a few
platoons of Kasrkin that might be able to hold it open long enough to facilitate our escape。”
Van Droi nodded as he listened。 “You’ll have your corridor； sir。 I’ll send one of my squadrons
up flush with the drop…ship。 They’ll cut a path in towards you。 Keep your men back until the last
moment。 There’ll be plenty of lead in the air； you understand。”
“The more the better；” replied Stromm。 Grunting and shouting almost drowned out his words。
Chilling ork battle cries could be heard clearly in the background and； despite the security of his
tank； van Droi felt his blood run cold。 He knew he had to order Wulfe’s tanks forward at once。
Sword Squadron fielded the company’s only Leman Russ Exterminator； New Champion of Cerbera。
She would be best suited for the job。
“As soon as you can； van Droi；” Stromm added。 “The Emperor protects。 Stromm； out。”
Van Droi immediately switched back over to the company command channel and said；
“Command to Sword Leader。 Respond； Wulfe。”
“Sword Leader to Command；” Sergeant Wulfe voxed back。 “Go ahead； sir。”
Van Droi could hear the drumming of a heavy stubber between the sergeant’s words。
“Listen up； Wulfe；” he said。 “I have friendlies in urgent need of an escape corridor。 I want the
New Champion on it。 Understood？ Move your squad up and cut a path flush with the ship’s hull。 Let
the wreck cover the footsloggers’ backs。 Carve them a path to safety。 Colonel Stromm has the vox；
F…channel； band six。”
There was only the briefest pause before Wulfe responded — “Wulfe to Company Command。
Sove。” — but van Droi could read into it easily enough。
Wulfe was probably cursing。 New Champion of Cerbera was Corporal Lenck’s machine。
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“Let’s take it to them；” Wulfe told his crew over the intercom。 “Metzger； get her in close； three
hundred metres； a hull…down position if you can find one。 Expect plenty of fire。” Last Rites II
gunned forward； churning up the desert under her treads； throwing waves of sand up behind her。
Wulfe dropped down into the turret to switch vox channels。 Once he had opened the link to his
squadron； he said； “Sword Leader to One and Two。 Orders from van Droi。 We’re going in。 New
Champion； move up on my right and open a corridor for the infantry。 Cut a path in line with the
wreckage so their backs are covered。 And try not to hit the friendlies； Lenck。 Last Rites II and
Frontline Crusader will give supporting fire centre and left。 Frontline Crusader； stop parallel with
me； fifty metre spacing。 Hammer Squadron will be supporting us from the rear。 Confirm。”
Corporal Siemens came back first。 “Frontline Crusader confirms； sergeant。 Moving up to cover
your left。 The Emperor protects。”
“The Emperor protects；” Wulfe replied automatically。
“New Champion confirms；” reported Lenck a moment later。 “Watch and learn； sergeant。”
“Stow the backchat； corporal；” Wulfe spat back。 “Just do your job。” He had seen enough of
Lenck during training exercises in the massive holds of the Hand of Radiance to know that he was
good — far better； in fact； than could be expected given his level of combat experience — but Wulfe
wasn’t about to let Lenck know that。 The man was already infuriatingly cocky。
With Last Rites II just edging in front； the three tanks of Sword Squadron closed with the
charging orks。 Wulfe scrambled back up into his cupola and grasped the twin grips of his heavy
stubber。 Looking out at the wall of roaring brown bodies that surged towards him； he realised that he
barely needed to aim。 Anywhere he fired； he was sure hit something。 Hardly pausing to line up
along the weapon’s iron sights； he pressed his thumbs down hard on the gun’s butterfly trigger。
There was a deafening rattle as the stubber unloaded on the alien horde； cutting dozens of them to
pieces。 It was a strange； darkly comical sight； one that Wulfe had witnessed before。 The bulky alien
savages appeared to dance a deathly jig as they were literally chewed apart by the hail of lead。
Corporal Metzger stopped Last Rites II just behind a shallow dune； not much protection； but
better than none。 It would keep the tank’s vulnerable underside covered while the hull armour took
the brunt of the enemy fire。 Then Metzger manned the hull…mounted heavy bolter； adding his fire to
Wulfe’s； devastating the press of enemies that were desperately trying to close the gap so they could
swarm the tank’s hatches。
At this range； Wulfe could see their grotesque faces all too clearly； reminding him of so many
other greenskins he had faced over the years。 Some men said they all looked the same； but Wulfe
knew better。 One face in particular was burned into his brain： the wart…covered； lopsided face of the
ork that had given him the scar on his throat。 The old scar was itching like crazy； as it always did
when he was under pressure。 Though the Golgothan orks were similar enough to their distant kin to
dredge up unwelcome memories； they were different； too。 They were brown for a start； discoloured；
he imagined； by the red dust to which they had been exposed for so many years。 They were also
leaner and harder than any he had seen before； their muscles rippling like steel cables。 Golgotha had
made its mark on them。 It had shaped them。 Toughened them。
Wulfe stole a glance to left and right； and saw that Frontline Crusader and New Champion of
Cerbera had halted in formation； adding their lethal firepower to the slaughter。 The toll on the orks
was mind…boggling； and a number of the smallest turned and tried to break from the fight。 These few
began struggling against the tide pressing at their backs； eager to escape the sweeping arcs of fire
that were killing so many of their foul kin。 It was hopeless； of course。 Wulfe swept his barrel from
left to right； cutting them down without mercy。
Suffer not the alien to live。
Down in the turret； Corporal Holtz didn’t need Wulfe to tell him what to do。 He had plenty of
experience to guide him。 Last Rites II； like so many other Leman Russ tanks； boasted a co…axial
autocannon that could chew infantry and light armour apart with ease； allowing the gunner to spare
the precious； limited ammunition of the main gun。 Holtz employed the co…ax now； traversing the
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turret slowly in a ninety…degree arc； firing relentlessly； covering the sand in lifeless alien debris。 On
the other side of the turret basket； Siegler was pulling a fresh ammunition belt from a stowage box。
With its incredible rate of fire； Wulfe’s heavy stubber would need reloading in a matter of seconds。
“Don’t waste any time； Lenck；” Wulfe voxed to the New Champion。 “Cut that corridor。 Those
men can’t last much longer。”
“I’m on it； sergeant；” Lenck snapped back。
Sure enough； Wulfe saw the Exterminator’s turret…mounted heavy bolters blaze into life；
stitching a bloody path straight through the foe。 They made one hell of a mess； a kill for almost
every hit scored。
Wulfe felt someone tap his shin twice。 He tore his eyes from the bloodbath； dropped his hand
down into the turret； and accepted the ammunition belt that Siegler was feeding up to him。 Ork slugs
rattled and spanged from the turret armour all around him； sending showers of sparks into the air。
Wulfe ducked down； staying as low as possible without abandoning his cupola altogether。
“Sort those bastards out； Holtz！” he yelled over the intercom。 “I’m taking an awful lot of fire up
here！”
“If I could just use the main gun； sarge；” Holtz argued。
“Well you can’t！” barked Wulfe。 “No high explosives。 We’re too near the bloody footsloggers。”
Wordlessly； Holtz traversed the turret again； using the autocannon to pour out another lethal hail
that bought Wulfe the time he needed to reload。 With quick； practised hands； Wulfe re…threaded the
belt into the heavy stubber； yanked hard on the cocking lever； and was about to resume firing when
something huge and dark leapt high into the air on a trail of blue fire； curved straight towards him；
and landed with a heavy clang on top of his turret。 Just a metre closer and Wulfe would have been
fatally crushed under the heavy body of a monstrous； mad…eyed brute with a smoking red rocket
strapped to its back。 It was some kind of insane greenskin assault trooper！
Wulfe and the ork looked at each other for the briefest instant； blue eye locked to red； and Wulfe
knew that it was over。 The ork’s rusty cleaver was already in the air； poised at the start of a
sweeping downward stroke that would hack him apart。 His heavy stubber couldn’t help him。 The
ork had one massive foot on either side of the barrel。
Oh； frak； thought Wulfe。
A tidal surge of adrenaline slowed time to a crawl and blocked out everything but the enormous
figure of the monster that was about to end his life。 Wulfe didn’t hear the burst of fire from his right。
He didn’t hear his name being called over the vox。 But he saw the ork’s weapon hand disintegrate in
a bloody mist； followed almost immediately by its massive； razor…toothed head。 It burst like a rotten
fruit； and he felt the monster’s foul blood spray over his face and fatigues like hot rain。
The creature’s heavy blade clattered against the tur