at
of explosions。 The blast waves rocked her on her suspension。 Vinnemann heard pieces of rock
raining down on the roof of the turret。 “Damned close。 The next lot will hit us for sure if we don’t
get the hell out of here。 Move it！”
The mighty Shadowsword rumbled and shuddered as her giant drive sprockets started turning in
reverse； but she weighed three hundred and eight tonnes。 Accelerating from a dead stop wasn’t
exactly effortless。
As she started rumbling backwards； Vinnemann heard Bergen hailing him again on the vox。
“Division to Armour Command。 Can you hear me； Kochatkis？”
“Go ahead； sir；” said Vinnemann。
“You have to pull back faster。 Ork fighter…bombers are inbound from the south。 They’re coming
in fast。”
“From the south； sir？”
“Affirmative；” replied Bergen。 “Throne knows where the hell they launched from； but； judging
by their angle of approach； they didn’t come from behind the wall。”
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“You think the orks have long…range comms； sir？” asked Vinnemann。 “Could the orks on the
wall have called in an airstrike from somewhere？”
“If they have comms with that kind of range here on Golgotha；” said Bergen； “then they’re a
damned sight better off than we are。 And I’ll be asking the tech…priests why。 But listen； Kochatkis；
your crate is the biggest thing we’re fielding out there。 Expect lots of unwelcome attention。 I’m
sending some of our Hydras forward in support of you。 We’ve already lost one of the Vulcans。 They
weren’t designed for dogfighting。 They can’t handle anything with that kind of airspeed。”
“Understood； sir；” said Vinnemann。 “We’re pulling back as fast as we can； but the anti…air cover
would be much appreciated。”
“The Hydras will be with you in a few minutes； Kochatkis；” said Bergen。 “Inform me when they
reach you。”
“I will； sir。 Armour Command out。”
Bombers from the south； thought Vinnemann。 Didn’t Stromm and van Droi report a great ork
host moving in that direction？
“Move in； move in；” shouted Wulfe over the intercom。
Metzger gunned Last Rites II forward； and they passed the melted edges of the ork wall。 The
sight that greeted Wulfe was of a place in turmoil。 Shoddy ork buildings were everywhere； each an
ugly mishmash of rusting steel poles and sheets of corrugated metal all bolted together at odd
angles； looped by barbed wire and painted with bright glyphs of white on red。 Greenskin foot
soldiers were everywhere； crowded onto raised platforms or charging in great tides over the sandy
ground； blazing away at the intruding tanks with everything they had。
Most of the weapons they carried were heavy stubbers and flame…throwers； oversized cleavers
and axes； none of them much good against fifteen centimetres of heavy armour； but Wulfe knew that
far more dangerous weapons were available to the Golgothan orks。 His eyes scanned the roaring
mobs； frantically searching for signs of the thick； tube…like weapons that had brewed up Siemens’
tank。 It was an impossible task。 There were too many of them； and too much movement all around。
Wulfe didn’t have time to make a count of how many tanks from the 81st had survived to pass
the breach。 He had some sense that the number might be around fifty； meaning that fully half of the
regiment’s armour had been lost in getting this far。 As he thought this； trails of bright flame streaked
out from one of the tower…like constructions and struck a tank to his left。 The tank exploded in a
spectacular ball of orange flame。
“Shaped charges；” he yelled over the vox to any of the other tank commanders that might be
listening。 “They’ve got anti…tank weaponry！”
The vox…chatter he heard back told him which tank had been hit。
“Dark Majestic is down；” shouted someone。 “Anti…tank fire from ten o’clock high。”
Dark Majestic was a 3rd Company machine； one of Lieutenant Albrecht’s。
“Beans；” called Wulfe over the intercom。 “Traverse left。 Ork tower。 Three hundred metres。
High…explosive。”
Siegler heaved a shell into the main gun’s breech。 “She’s lit。”
Wulfe tapped Beans on the left shoulder； twice； a sign to fire at will。
“Brace！” shouted the gunner。
Last Rites II shook； coughing fire from her muzzle； and the ork tower disintegrated
spectacularly。 Bodies rained to the ground amid the storm of burning junk。
“Eat that！” shouted Beans。
“That’s a kill；” said Wulfe。 “Nice shot； son。 But don’t get cocky。 Traverse right。 Target ork
tower； five hundred metres。 High…ex。 Fire at will。”
Siegler slung another shell into place。 As the traverse motors hummed； turning the main gun
towards the specified target； Wulfe took the briefest second to check the rear。 He saw the burning
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wrecks of Imperial tanks on all sides。 Black bodies； too small to be orks； littered the ground； their
clothes still on fire。 He cursed。
Most of the regiment’s tanks were still fighting desperately； however； holding back the seething
tide of orks with booming volleys of explosive fire that killed countless hundreds with every passing
moment。
Thank the Throne； thought Wulfe； that most of the greenskin bastards only have blades and
guns。 With the exception of those carrying explosives； the ork infantry were largely powerless
against the might of Imperial armour。 Their wall…mounted cannon and artillery pieces were useless
back here。 The Cadian tanks were gradually pushing out from the breach； forming a wide semicircular
perimeter so that the infantry vehicles pouring in behind them had room to deploy。 Wulfe
saw halftracks； Chimeras and trucks skid to a halt behind him and start unloading men。
The soldiers immediately added their fire to that of the tanks； and the death toll among the orks
mounted faster and faster。 Torrents of stubber and bolter fire blazed out from the Chimeras and
halftracks； and the Cadians continued to gain ground。
Keep it up； thought Wulfe。 We’re beating them。 By the Golden Throne； we’re beating them。
Then he heard van Droi’s voice on the company command channel。
Ork armour had been spotted approaching from the north along the inside of the wall。 Wulfe
turned his head in that direction and caught a glimpse of hulking black machines just as Siegler
shouted； “She’s lit！”
“Brace！” shouted Beans。
The tank rocked and the turret basket filled with the sharp stink of propellant once again。 Wulfe
quickly checked and saw that Beans had made another direct hit。 The tower collapsed sideways；
spilling green bodies all around it。
“Good work； soldier；” Wulfe told the gunner。 “No time to rest； though。 We’ve got enemy heavy
armour coming in。 Siegler； I want armour…piercing up the spout。 Beans； traverse left。”
Rumbling through the smoke； fire and dusty haze； three hulking metal monsters emerged。 Wulfe
gaped。 The ork machines had been fashioned to look like some kind of carnivorous creature。 Their
insane alien creators had given them metal jaws with long steel tusks that clanged together as they
gnashed。 They were bristling with cannon and secondary armaments。 Wulfe could only imagine the
fear such machines might drive into infantrymen； but； to Last Rites II； the ork tanks were big fat
targets； begging to be turned into burning scrap。
Wulfe had every intention of obliging。
His fellow tank commanders clearly had the same idea。 As the monstrous ork armour closed； all
three machines rumbling and spluttering their way along a wide avenue that ran parallel to the inside
of the wall； the Leman Russ tanks loosed a stuttering volley of armour…piercing shells。
Most of the shells struck home； and one of the ork machines stopped dead in its tracks。 The
greenskin crew began bailing out at speed； leaping from high hatches to land on the heads and
shoulders of the ork infantry that surged around the treads of their machine。 They weren’t quick
enough。 The magazine inside the tank detonated seconds later； and both the escaping crew and the
orks on which they had dropped were roasted to death in a massive rush of red fire。
Wulfe heard Captain Immrich broadcasting on the regimental channel。
“Good kill； armour；” he said。 “But the other two aren’t taking it very well。”
The other monstrosities brought all their cannon to bear on the Leman Russ machines closest to
them and unleashed a ground…shaking fusillade of high…explosive shells。 Two Imperial tanks — one
a Conqueror； the other a Destroyer — erupted into fire almost simultaneously。 The Destroyer’s
onboard plasma…containment field lost integrity almost immediately。 It exploded with a spectacular
and lethal burst of energy that turned a dozen Cadian infantrymen nearby into piles of ash。
Wulfe yelled out in protest as he watched。 He heard Captain Immrich’s voice on the vox。
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“Armour down；” the man was yelling。 “I want those bloody abominations taken out； now！
That’s an order！”
Wulfe wondered who the dead tank crews were。 There hadn’t been any chance to read the names
on their crates before they were brewed up。 There would be time to find out after the battle； if he
lived through it。 For some men； the absence of friends would become brutally； painfully apparent
after the fighting was done。 Thinking of this； he looked around for Viess and Holtz。 Were they still
alive？ Still fighting？
They were。 Old Smashbones was blasting away at a sturdy…looking ork tower on the far right。
Steelhearted II was standing parallel with van Droi’s tank； its turret slowly turning to face the ork
armour。
Wulfe realised that his own crate had a clear line…of…sight on the right…hand target。
“Beans；” he said； “target the one on the right。 See that plate of armour just right of the main
gun’s mantlet？ The one with the glyph？”
“The skull…looking thing？” said Beans。 “Yeah； I see it。”
“There’s a damned good chance that armour is protecting the gunner’s station。 If we can put one
through it…”
Beans didn’t answer。 He hit the traverse pedal； already busy lining up the main gun。 Electric
motors hummed as he adjusted elevation。 He had to get it right。 A miss might very well mean more
Cadian deaths。
“Lit；” said Siegler。
Beans was just about to call out Brace！ when the whole tank was suddenly shunted backwards
about three metres。 Wulfe shook his head； trying to lose the ringing sound in his ears。 They had been
hit right on the front armour； the glacis plate。
“Damn；” spat Wulfe； simultaneously checking himself for injuries。 “Metzger； you all right？”
“More armour approaching from front…right； sarge；” reported the driver。 “They look like looted
Leman Russ。”
“Try to hit their treads with the lascannon；” ordered Wulfe。 “Buy us some time。”
The vox was filled with reports of the new machines’ approach。 Beans was already reacquiring
his original target。 His crosshairs were quickly re…centred on the skull…glyph that decorated the
multi…cannoned monster to the north。
“I have it； sarge；” he said。
“Take the shot；” said Wulfe。
“Brace！” called Beans； and stamped on the floor trigger。
The shot hit the ork machine exactly where it was supposed to； and Beans let out a whoop of
joy； but there was no explosion； no sudden burst of flame； just a neat black hole the size of a
grapefruit right in the centre of the skull…glyph’s forehead。 The ork tank’s turret stopped moving。 It
stopped firing； too。