forced to fight from static positions； immobilised early in the assault by engine stalls。 The fines
penetrated everything。 If the brave crews of the Atlas recovery tanks hadn’t risked enemy fire to pull
those tanks out； the crews would have died where they sat。
Squinting through his magnoculars； Bergen saw greenskin reinforcements pushing and jostling
in their eagerness to join the fray。
“Get some fire on the main gates；” he voxed to his artillery commander。 “Hit them while they’re
bunched up。 But don’t damage the superstructure！ Remember； we need to take the outpost intact。”
His division had been unable to surprise the orks； but then； he hadn’t really expected to。 The
thick sandstone watchtowers of Karavassa had a commanding view from their seat on the basalt
bluff up ahead。 It wasn’t the towers that had raised the alarm first； however。 His armour columns
61
had been sighted when they were still about thirty kilometres out from the target。 Ork bike patrols
had been roaming the area； their powerful headlamps throwing broad cones of light out into the
darkness。 Some of these patrols had roared out from between high dunes and almost run into the
leading Imperial machines。 A sudden stutter of gunfire had lit the sands as both sides leapt into
action。 The bikes were noisy； oversized things with huge wheels and more growling exhaust pipes
than they could possibly have needed； but they were certainly fast。 Their riders had shown
surprising sense for orks； quickly turning tail and racing back the way they had come to alert the rest
of the horde。 Vinnemann’s tanks had managed to take out most of them as they showed their backs；
but a few had gotten away。
As the division had closed on the occupied outpost； with the cloud…smothered sunrise lending
the scene a hellish red glow； Bergen had looked out from his cupola to see a huge ork force： a horde
of greenskin infantry； numbering in the thousands； supported by tanks； artillery； light armour； and a
good number of those ridiculous lumbering contraptions that the orks so loved to build。 These
dreadnoughts looked like oversized red buckets on piston legs。 Their wicked arms flailed to and fro；
blades whirring； claws clashing； eager to begin the bloodshed。 They were covered in other weapons；
too： flamers； rocket launchers； heavy stubbers and anything else that could be bolted to them。 They
were utterly lethal to infantry； but they were no match for Imperial tanks。 Vinnemann’s crews had
already gunned down at least thirty of them at long range； turning them to burning scrap that rained
down on the heads of the orks around them。
“Infantry； keep up the advance！” Bergen commanded。 “Colonel Vinnemann； have three of your
companies move forward in support of the infantry on the left flank。 Send the rest straight up the
middle。 We need to knock out their armour support to give our boys a fighting chance。 We have to
drive a wedge into them。”
Bergen’s command Chimera； Pride of Caedus； had taken up position on a spur of rock just a few
kilometres southwest of the outpost’s walls。 Even sitting hull down； it was a risky place to perch。
Had he been the defender instead of the attacker； he would have put some artillery on the spur； sure
that the enemy commander would have chosen this spot from which to oversee his forces。 Did such
things occur to ork leaders？ Bergen didn’t know； but his need for a good view of the battlefield
overrode his concern。
A series of rippling explosions north…east of his position caused him to turn。 One of
Marrenburg’s mechanised infantry companies； ten Chimeras each carrying a squad of hardened
infantrymen； was trying to press forward in support of the troopers on foot。 But a phalanx of ork
tanks — looted Imperial machines from the last war； disfigured almost beyond recognition by the
addition of spikes and strange armaments — had broken free from their engagement with a
company of Vinnemann’s Leman Russ and were speeding towards the Chimeras with cannons
blazing。
Bergen saw two of the Chimeras struck head on； one of them hit so hard that it flipped onto its
back。 He saw the rear hatch open。 Dizzy men began stumbling out； desperate to be away from the
burning machine before its ammunition and fuel stores exploded。 Most were injured。 They fell。
Their shaking legs wouldn’t carry them。 They scrambled desperately to get up again。
Too late。 With a great boom and a mushrooming of fire and smoke； the Chimera lifted into the
air。 Only two of the troopers managed to escape the blast。 Bergen cursed and turned his eyes from
the sprawled； burning figures that hadn’t。
The other Chimera was luckier。 The cockpit was aflame； the driver certainly dead； but the hatch
at the back had been thrown wide； and the soldiers within were pouring out； lasguns up and ready。
Bergen knew those lasguns wouldn’t do a damned thing against the ork machines。
He was about to vox Vinnemann for support when a trio of Leman Russ tanks crested a rise just
north of the burning Chimeras。 They traversed their turrets right； in unison； and blasted the ork tanks
at mid…range。 One of the ork machines was hit dead centre。 The Russ’ armour…piercing round must
62
have punctured the enemy tank’s magazine； because Bergen saw it explode spectacularly； the entire
turret spinning into the air on a pillar of glaring orange flame。
The other two ork machines were still closing on the no…longer…mechanised infantry。 The
soldiers fired on them in tight； ordered volleys； but it was futile。 Las…bolts smacked harmlessly
against thick red armour。 A second later； however； the three Leman Russ fired again。 The ork
machines were struck hard； skidding sideways on their treads before halting。 Greenskins started to
bail out； some of them already howling as flames licked their leathery brown flesh。 The Cadian
infantrymen moved straight in； pouring las…fire onto the ork crews； cutting them down； blazing away
on full charge until there was little left but smoking black hunks of meat。
“Armour Command to Division；” said a voice on the vox。 “Armour to Division。 Please
respond。” It was Colonel Vinnemann。
“I read you； Armour；” said Bergen。 “Go ahead。”
“I have a visual on enemy light vehicles breaking left to strafe our forward lines。 Armour cannot
engage。 I repeat； armour cannot engage。 We have hostile tanks front and right； and we’re taking
heavy fire from artillery located inside the base。”
Bergen cursed。 “Understood； Armour。 Leave it to me。 Division out。”
He panned his glasses right until he found the machines in question。 There were ten of them： ork
war…buggies bristling with heavy stubbers； rocket launchers and more。 They were roaring straight
towards the Cadian assault line。 The men were exposed； busy trying to push the hordes of ork
infantry back。 They would be slaughtered under the concentrated fire of the buggies unless…
“Division to Recon Two；” Bergen voxed。 “Come in please。”
“Recon Two reading you loud and clear； sir。 Go ahead。”
“Ork light armour advancing on our infantry at speed。 Look to your two。 Those lads need a little
Sentinel support； wouldn’t you say？”
The man on the other end of the vox was Captain Munzer。 Bergen could picture the grin on the
man’s scar…twisted face as he replied； “Sentinel’s moving to intercept； sir。 We’ll light the bastards
up。 Enjoy the show。”
Seconds later； Bergen saw Munzer’s bipedal machines lope out from behind a rocky hill to the
left and open fire。 Each of the Cadian Sentinels sported an autocannon； ideal for ripping right
through their current targets。 Ork bodies were torn apart in the deadly hail。 Fuel tanks ignited and
the speeding buggies flipped and spun； rolling end over end； spilling the xenos filth onboard。
He couldn’t hear them； but Bergen could see the infantry cheering the Sentinel pilots。 The cheers
stopped dead when five of the Sentinels vanished suddenly in a great ball of flame。 A row of ugly
black machines had emerged from Karavassa to join the fray。 More ork artillery！ The surviving
Sentinels immediately turned to identify their attackers； but the range was far too great to strike
back。 Over the vox； Bergen heard Captain Munzer ordering his walkers to scatter so they wouldn’t
provide such an opportune target again。
“Command to Armour；” voxed Bergen urgently； “be advised； we have additional ork artillery
pushing out from the main gates。 What’s your status？”
My status； thought Colonel Kochatkis Vinnemann； is that my back is bloody killing me。
He cursed his own stupidity。 As he and his men had neared the outpost； completely preoccupied
with the coming battle； he had neglected to take the vital medication that counteracted his body’s
immune system。 It had been years since the implant surgery； but his body still steadfastly refused to
accept the augmetic spine。 He needed large； regular doses of immunosuppressants and pain
mediators in order to function at his best。 But there wasn’t time to stop and take them now。
“Division； we are still engaged with hostile tanks。 Ninth company is down to half strength。
Fourth and Fifth companies have taken multiple losses。 We’re trying to push in； to flank the buggers
63
on the right； sir； but the damned artillery… I’ll ask one more time； sir； will you not put some
Basilisk fire down behind those walls？ It would make one hell of a difference。”
“That’s a negative； colonel；” Bergen answered with obvious regret。 “The objective must be
taken intact。 We have enemy artillery fire from just outside the main gates。 I need one of your
companies to knock it out。 I know you’re up against it； colonel。 It’s damned messy out there。 But do
what you can。”
By the blasted Eye； cursed Vinnemann。 “Understood； Division。 We’re on it。 Armour； out。”
He tapped a button on his headset； switching from vox to tank intercom。
“Listen up；” he told his crew。 “Our troops are hurting out there。 Not just our tankers； but
Marrenburg’s lot； Graves’ lot。 So it looks like the Angel gets to enter the fray after all。”
This announcement was met with resounding cheers from his crew。 To some extent；
Vinnemann’s tank； Angel of the Apocalypse； was a victim of her own superb design。 She was a
Shadowsword super…heavy tank； ancient and deadly； but her Volcano cannon； with its nine…metre
barrel； had originally been designed for felling traitor Titans and the like。 She was far too specialised
to warrant being fielded in most conventional battles； including this one。
Today； though； she would get to show what she could do。
The very thought of it was almost enough to overcome the pain in Vinnemann’s back。
“Bekker；” he said； addressing his driver； “get us behind that ridge on the right。 Hull down； but
leave plenty of clearance for the gun。 The rest of you； prep for firing。 We’re about to make things
interesting around here。”
With a great chugging cough from her exhausts； Angel of the Apocalypse rumbled into motion。
Bergen saw Vinnemann’s massive Shadowsword roar towards a shallow rise and settle into firing
position。 The ork artillery pieces had turned their attention to the infantry’s forward lines。 The
bodies of good Cadian men were being blasted apart to rain back down to the ground in ragged
pieces。 Scores of them