The answers would have to wait。 Van Droi needed to speak to Colonel Stromm at once。 He
ordered everyone back to their tanks in the meantime； and then returned to Foe…Breaker。 Once he
was inside and the hatches were all locked； he flipped a switch on his vox…board and said； “Armour
Leader to Colonel Stromm； come in； please。”
“Go ahead； lieutenant。 What’s the situation？”
“Not good； sir。 As I feared； one of our tanks took a dive。 There’s a precipice about ten or twelve
metres in front of my lead tank。 No idea how deep it runs； sir。 The bottom isn’t visible in all this
dust。 I’m guessing it’s deep。 Deep enough to be a big problem； anyway。”
“Do we know its extent？ If the orks are right behind us…”
“There’s no way of knowing right now； sir。 The storm is moving on quickly； though； so I expect
we’ll have decent visibility in half an hour or less。 Suggest we wait it out until then。”
“Of course； lieutenant。 I don’t want any more accidents。 Could any of your men； the ones in the
tank… could they have survived？”
Van Droi thought about this for a second before answering。 For all the reliability of the Leman
Russ — a design that had barely changed in many thousands of years — the turret basket was still a
dangerous place to be。 The centre of the hot； cramped； noisy little space was usually dominated by
the huge mechanism of the main gun。 On one side of this sat the gunner； on the other sat the loader。
Close behind the gunner； the commander sat within easy reach of everything he needed： maps；
comms equipment； small arms and more。 What made it so dangerous were the stowage boxes bolted
to every surface； their metal edges and corners responsible for more wounds than enemy fire。 The
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locking levers for the hatches weren’t much better。 They stuck out like blunted metal barbs。
Veterans got used to this and reported fewer injuries with each passing year of service； but the new
meat learned the hard way。
“Chances are； sir； that most of the men inside are badly injured；” said van Droi。 “More than
likely there’s at least one dead。”
“But you think there will be survivors？”
“Can’t really say at this juncture； sir。 It depends on the height of the drop。”
Stromm paused； leaving van Droi to listen to the white noise that filled his right ear for a
moment。 “You know； van Droi； that if the orks are close by； I can’t give you the time you need。”
Van Droi shook his head。 “I know that； sir。 If there’s any chance at all； though； that some of
them are stuck in there； I owe it to them to get them out。”
He was actually thinking that Stromm’s Fighting 98th owed it to them； but he didn’t say so。 A
second later； he was glad he hadn’t。
“My boys and I will do everything we can to help； van Droi； but time really is of the essence
here。 Hold for one second。”
Stromm broke the link； and then re…connected a few seconds later。 “Take a look outside；
lieutenant；” he said。 “It looks like the storm has all but passed。”
Van Droi craned his neck and peered through the forward vision block set in the ceiling just
above his station。 He could see the tank in front of him in sharp detail； the treads on her windward
side piled high with red sand。 Beyond her； he thought he glimpsed the horizon and… could it be？
Was that the pale silhouette of a jutting mountain range？ It was difficult to be sure。 Behind the thick
brown clouds in the west； there were hints of the sun moving lower； but the day was still hot； and
the mirage line shimmered。 If there really were mountains over there…
Suddenly； something else occurred to van Droi。 The orks！ He spun to look through the rear
vision blocks； but The Adamantine was blocking his view。
“Any sign of the orks； sir？” he voxed to Stromm。 “Have you got anyone checking the rear？”
Again there was a pause while Stromm talked to his people。 Then； “No sign of the filthy beasts；
lieutenant。 I can’t believe we lost them so easily； but eyes at the rear report no sign of them。 Nothing
whatsoever to our backs。”
By the Emperor； thought van Droi。 Could it really have worked？ Had the storm covered their
tracks and sent the orks off somewhere else？
“You still there； lieutenant？”
“Yes； sir。 Sorry。 I was just wondering where in the warp the buggers went。 May I suggest we get
scouts out looking for a way down from here； sir？ If we want to continue north…east； we’ll need a
slope or a trail down from this ridge。 And； with your permission； I’d like to have some of my men
abseil down to Cold Deliverance。”
“You have it； lieutenant。 Be quick。 I want us all moving again as soon as possible。 You need
anything else； just let me know。 Stromm； out。”
Muller’s tank lay belly up at the bottom of a two…hundred…metre drop； and van Droi knew as soon as
he saw her that the chances of any of Muller’s men surviving were next to none。
With five other men； all hand…picked； he rappelled down to the rocky desert floor and moved
closer to observe the results of the fall。 The barrel of the main gun was crumpled and bent； and the
secondary weapons had suffered such an impact that pieces of them lay scattered around the
inverted hull。
Her turret wasn’t even visible； buried deep in sand and loose rock。 No one would be crawling
from its hatches。
He directed his team to move in and check for signs of life。 Sergeant Wulfe was among them
and immediately clambered up onto the machine’s upturned belly。 He removed his laspistol from its
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thigh holster； lay flat against the tank’s belly armour and began tapping out a message in cipher…one。
It was an old code； a series of taps and pauses that the Cadian military still taught to cadets in their
first year； though there was little cause to use it given the prevalence of vox…comms。 Van Droi was
amazed that Wulfe remembered the code at all。 It had been over twenty years since the man had
been a cadet。 Reaching back to memories of his own days in training； it took van Droi a moment to
unscramble the message。 It was the same code； repeated over and over again： Survivors； respond。
Survivors； respond。
Wulfe pressed his ear to metal for about a minute； after which his movements took on a
distinctly urgent quality。 Noting this； van Droi moved closer； but he didn’t dare speak。 This was no
time to distract the sergeant。
Wulfe’s message changed： Number of casualties？
Van Droi saw him press his ear to the armour again； and then； after a short pause； tap a single
word： Wait。
Leaping down from the belly of the tank； Wulfe marched straight over to van Droi。
“Three dead； one alive； sir。 It’s the driver； Private Krausse。”
“Status？” asked van Droi。
“Not good； sir。 Lots of broken bones。 Lacerations。”
“Damn；” spat van Droi。 “I think we both know how this is going to turn out； Wulfe。”
The sergeant looked at the ground。 “Frakking hell； sir。 We can’t。”
“We both know that’s not our call。 Stromm’s the man in charge。 Don’t hate him for it。 He has to
think about the rest of us。”
“Can’t we at least try； sir？”
“I wish we could； Oskar；” said van Droi heavily； “but with our limited resources； it would take
the rest of this day and half of the next to cut him out。 And that’s cutting where the armour is
thinnest。”
Van Droi couldn’t see Wulfe’s face。 It was masked and goggled； like his own； against the
airborne dust； but he knew the sergeant’s expression would be much the same as his： bloody
miserable。
“Get yourself and the others back up to your tanks。 Stromm will have orders for us to move out
soon。 His people will have found a trail down for the vehicles by now。 Do something else for me；
will you？ Tell the others… Tell them there were no survivors。”
“You want me to lie； sir？” asked Wulfe。 There was a knife…edge of bitterness in his voice。
“I want you to think of what’s best； sergeant；” snapped van Droi。 “Morale is bastard low as it is。
So you go up there and you tell them no one made it。 And we move on。 Is that clear？”
Wulfe snapped his boots together。 The tone of his voice became flat and hard as he said；
“Crystal clear； sir。 My apologies。 I should not have questioned you。”
“No； Oskar；” said van Droi。 “No apologies from you。 Just… do as I’ve asked； will you？”
“Of course； sir。 You can count on me。”
With that； Wulfe turned； gathered the other four men together and led them back up the ropes to
the waiting tanks above。
Van Droi hauled himself up onto Cold Deliverance； frowning under his mask at how dizzy the
effort made him feel。 He wasn’t drinking enough water each day； not by far。 Who could blame him？
The purification kits didn’t do much to take away the bitter saline taste of the processed urine。 Food
rations were also running very low。 He must have lost a dozen kilograms over the last ten days； if
not more。
He removed a finely…crafted autopistol from the holster at his hip； and lay down on the upturned
belly of the tank in the spot Wulfe had occupied a moment earlier。 With the heel of his pistol he
began tapping a message to the man trapped inside： Company commander here。
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He listened for a response。 After a few seconds； there came a series of clangs。 In his mind； van
Droi translated the beats and pauses： Understood。 Greetings。
Van Droi tapped again： Extrication impossible。
There was a much longer pause this time before the response came back。 This time； a single
word： Understood。
Do you have a weapon？ van Droi tapped。
Yes； tapped Krausse。 There was a long pause； then he added； Will use。
Van Droi wanted to tap the word sorry； but something stayed his hand。 Instead； he tapped； Go
with the Emperor； son。
He listened carefully； ear pressed hard to the thick metal below him； but the tank driver had
stopped tapping back。 There was only a single last clang from inside the overturned machine。 It was
the sound of a weapon discharging。 Van Droi didn’t need to decrypt it to know that it meant
goodbye。
As he scrambled down from the tank； walked over to the rope； and began the tiring climb back
up； the lieutenant’s heart felt like it weighed about sixty tonnes itself。 Damn it all； he thought。 Who
would be a bloody leader of men？
At the top of the rope； arms reached out to help him over； and he stood to find himself facing a
row of his tankers clad in masks and goggles。 They stood to attention as he rose and dusted off his
fatigues。
“Why aren’t you lot in your tanks？” he asked them。 “Have Stromm’s lot found a way down
yet？”
It was the burly Sergeant Rhaimes who stepped forward and said； “They’ve found a lot more
than that； sir。 Switch your vox over to band nine。”
Van Droi huffed impatiently and lifted a finger to his vox bead。 He switched it to band nine and
froze。 He could hardly believe his ears。 There was rapid chatter bouncing back and forth。 One of the
voices was immediately familiar； the gruff but well…educated voice of Colonel Stromm。
The other； however； was new to van Droi； and that in itself was significant。
“Sentinel patrol ident tag nine…theta…nine…six…five confirms your last transmission； colonel。
Relaying it back to field headquarters。 Standby。”
Van Droi gasped。 He moved towards Rhaimes。
“Is that what I think it is？” he demanded。
He didn’t need to see Rhaimes’ face to know he was smiling as he said； “Bet your balls