When Lenck was about twenty…five metres away； he turned back towards Wulfe without
breaking stride and called out to him。 Just five words。 Five little words。 But they hit Wulfe like a
flurry of bolter shells that detonated in his mind。
Wulfe was struck motionless。 He saw Lenck laugh； then turn around and lead his men off
between two rows of Chimeras。
A hard； sharp voice at his shoulder woke Wulfe from his paralysis。 “What’s going on； sergeant？”
Wulfe turned to meet the icy stare of Commissar Slayte； his eyes glittering in the shadow of the
brim of his black cap。
“Not sure what you mean； commissar；” said Wulfe readying to move off towards his tank。 The
commissar moved faster。 Wulfe felt a heavy mechanical hand grasp his upper arm。
Crusher turned his eyes in the direction Lenck and his men had taken； but they were gone from
view。 After a pause； he leaned in towards Wulfe and said； “You’ve been away from your vox…set； so
maybe you haven’t heard； but Colonel Vinnemann has ordered the regiment to muster at the east
gate。 We leave Balkar in fifteen minutes。 Make sure your people are ready； Sergeant Wulfe。 I’ll
make a very memorable example of anyone that isn’t。”
Wulfe looked down at the perfectly…machined； black metal hand。 “We’ll be ready； commissar。”
“Make sure of it；” said Crusher。 There was the slightest whirring of gears as he released the
sergeant。 Then he walked off； taking his threats to other ears。
Wulfe’s crew was looking at him wordlessly as he marched past them。
“Get to your stations； all of you；” he said gruffly。 “We’re moving out in fifteen。”
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Siegler； Beans and Metzger leapt to comply； warned off asking questions by the dark look on
Wulfe’s face。 As always； Wulfe was the last one in。
As he swung his legs over the lip of his hatch； he thought about Lenck’s parting words。 They
had frozen his blood。 As he dropped into his command seat； those five words rang in his ears。 Did
they mean what he thought they meant？
Five little words； each one rocking him like a cannon shell。
“Watch out for ghosts； sergeant！”
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Two days east of Balkar； Wulfe and the rest of the expeditionary force entered a rocky region of the
Hadar desert known as Vargas。 Led by General deViers； riding comfortably in a specially outfitted
command Chimera； the Cadians moved in a long column that slowly snaked along the floor of a
deep canyon marked on Officio Cartographica charts as Red Gorge。
The gorge ran for almost three hundred kilometres along a meandering path that would
eventually lead the men of the 18th Army Group to the site of the largest and bloodiest battle of the
last Golgothan War。 It was there； at long last； that General deViers expected to find The Fortress of
Arrogance。 It was there； also； that he expected to face the greatest ork resistance to his progress so
far。 By all accounts； the foothills and low valleys of the Ishawar Mountains were littered with
wrecks from the war。 What better place for the scavenging greenskins to build a major settlement？
Despite the likelihood of violent confrontation； the mood among the men was mixed。 Some were
upbeat； seeing the final phase for what it truly represented； an end to their tormented time on a world
unfit for human habitation。 Others were less optimistic。 Some； like Major General Bergen；
anticipated great disappointment on arrival at the coordinates the Mechanicus had provided。 Even
so； the realists in the army group were as keen to get the whole thing over as the optimists were。
On the other hand； few were happy about having the entire expeditionary force negotiate Red
Gorge。 There was simply no other choice。 The rocky clifftops and surrounding highlands were
riddled with chasms and crevasses； many of them impossible to spot from the ground until too late。
Under other circumstances； Commodore Galbraithe’s Vulcan gunships could perhaps have guided
the column from the air； but flying conditions were far from ideal over the Hadar。 Frequent dust
storms threatened to clog air intakes； something that would have sent the Vulcans crashing to the
ground。 Electromagnetic surges from the thick clouds made mid…and high…altitude flights just as
deadly。 So the Vulcan pilots were forced to fly low； making slow passes along the canyon floor； just
a few hundred metres above the heads of the Cadian troops； visored eyes scanning for signs of
ambush。
Wulfe watched the Vulcans from his cupola； black birds roaring as they crossed the strip of red
sky overhead。 They left trails of grey smoke that moved like ribbons on the wind。
For Wulfe； this phase of the journey was particularly harrowing。 The sharp crags and deep；
shadowed gullies along which the column moved were a powerful reminder of Lugo’s Ditch。 As the
rock walls rose to fantastic heights on either side； a cold sweat began to soak Wulfe’s tunic。
Watch out for ghosts； sergeant！
Even now； with the glow of the second day fading； Lenck’s words were still eating away at
Wulfe’s insides。 What had the bastard corporal meant？ The most obvious answer was that he knew
about Lugo’s Ditch。 But how？ Wulfe was sure that Confessor Friedrich wouldn’t have betrayed him。
He doubted any of his crew would have； either。 Beans didn’t know anything about it so that ruled
him out。
Had Lenck simply meant Victor Dunst？ A ghost of the past rather than of the dead？ That was
almost as much of a stretch。 All Lenck had regarding Dunst was a name； wasn’t it？
Wulfe wracked his brain； desperate to remember who he had told about Dunst。 He hadn’t
recounted the story often — it wasn’t exactly one of his favourites — but it was an old custom
among Cadian troopers to compare scars and tell the tales of how they had been won。 Wulfe had
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shared the Dunst story with a handful of men in his early years with the regiment。 Had someone told
Lenck？ Did the rotten corporal know just how much his appearance troubled Wulfe？
As the day wore on； Wulfe tried to put the matter to the back of his mind。 He sat in his cupola；
occupying himself with a study of his surroundings as Last Rites II rambled through the dust kicked
up by the tanks in front。 There was vegetation in the canyon； the first that he had seen since crashing
on this world。 Not much of it； of course — mostly dry grasses and scrawny； thorn…covered tangles of
brash — but it meant moisture。 There was animal life； too； and far larger than the biting ticks the
Cadians had endured so far。 Wulfe saw great； slothful； flat…bodied lizards basking on the rocks。
Their skins were armoured with hundreds of small； bony plates； and they were coloured like the land
around them。 As the Imperial column rolled past； they hissed and slid quickly into the mouths of
inky black caves。
Observing these things offered Wulfe only temporary respite from his thoughts。 Again and
again； he returned to the matters that troubled him most。 As the strip of sky above Red Gorge grew
dark； he dropped back down into his turret basket； leaving the hatch open above him so that a
cooling wind could circulate。
Siegler was dozing in his seat； thick arms folded on top of the shell magazine； head resting in the
crook of his elbow。 By the glow of the turret’s internal lamps； Beans was leafing through a tattered
magazine featuring monochrome picts of hard…faced Cadian women stripping out of military
uniform。 Judging by the state of the pages； the magazine had had a great many owners over the
years。
Wulfe smiled to himself and tapped Beans on the shoulder。 Speaking low on the intercom so as
not to wake Siegler； he said； “That stuff will rot your soul。”
“Damage done；” said Beans with a grin。 “I’ve been through this one so many times I think I’ve
desensitised myself。 You want it？”
Wulfe laughed； but his tone was serious when he said； “Listen； Beans。 You and I need to have a
talk。”
“What about； sarge？”
“I think you know what。”
Was it Wulfe’s imagination； or did the new gunner flush a little？
“The stand…off in the staging area； right？”
Wulfe nodded； frowning。 “A tanker stands with his crew； no matter what。 You know the rules。
You’re lucky Siegler and Metzger overlooked it； but if I ever see you standing on the sidelines like
that again； you’ll be back on the support crews before you can say ‘the Emperor protects’。 What the
hell were you thinking？”
Beans shrugged guiltily。 “If it had been any other crew； sarge… But it was Lenck’s lot。”
“What difference does that make？”
“Plenty。”
There was a pause； a moment of uncomfortable mutual silence； before Wulfe said； “Tell me
what you know about Lenck。”
Beans looked up。 “I know not to mess with him。 The officers might have all the official power in
the Guard； but it’s guys like Lenck that control the shadows。 Every regiment has them； right？ The
guys who can get you more booze； more smokes； more meds。” He held up his shabby； pornographic
pictomag。 “More stuff like this。 They make a business of it； and the officers let it go on because the
men grumble a little less。 Fewer fights break out。 I can’t imagine Guard life without such guys； can
you？ Well； that’s Lenck。 If the price is right； he can get just about anything。 He’s more like a hivegang
boss than a soldier。 And he thinks you’re out to shut him down。”
Wulfe knew all this； of course。 Beans was still a relative newcomer to the regiment； but he
clearly had a good handle on things。 Everything he had said was true。 Regiments needed their
hustlers and fixers。 Things became unbearable all too fast without them。 It explained a lot about
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Lenck’s mysterious popularity with the newer guys。 Still； the idea that Lenck should be allowed
some slack on account of this alleged service to the regiment didn’t sit well。 Wulfe huffed。 “This is
the Imperial Guard； not the blasted underhives。 Voeder Lenck is a cocky； jumped…up little arsehole
and； sooner or later； he’s going to wish he’d never met me。”
Beans looked uncomfortable as he said； “Um… Didn’t he save your life； sarge？”
Wulfe spat a curse。 “He killed an ork that was about to kill me。 Duty demanded it。 Any trooper
would have done the same。” His voice had taken on an angry edge； all the harder because； in truth；
he was grateful and it bothered him immensely。
Beans raised a placatory hand。 “I’m just saying what I heard。”
Wulfe muttered under his breath。 Glancing up through his open hatch； he saw that the sky was
almost pitch black。 Would old deViers have them pressing on throughout the night again？
Wulfe addressed his driver； “You need me to take a shift on the sticks； Metzger？”
“I’ll be fine for another few hours； sarge；” replied Metzger。 “How about you take a shift then？”
In his long and bloody career； Wulfe had manned every single station aboard a Leman Russ
tank。 He wasn’t nearly as talented a driver as Lucky Metzger； but he was more than capable of
keeping his crate in place while Metzger got some much…needed sleep。
“Fine；” said Wulfe。 “Two hours。 Let me know if you get tired before that。”
“Will do； sarge；” said Metzger。
Wulfe sat back in his command seat。 He wasn’t feeling particularly sleepy right now。 He mind
was running laps。 He kept hearing Lenck’s words in his head。 The old scar on his throat was
irritati