said Sennesdiar。
said Armadron。
said Sennesdiar。
Armadron bowed。
Wulfe yawned。 He was lying on the rear decking of his tank； cap pulled down across his eyes； but
true rest seemed out of reach。 Perhaps it was the dust。 Perhaps he was sick and hadn’t realised it。
There was an ache in his muscles that would not go away。 It had dulled somewhat since he lay
down； but it was still there； at the edge of his awareness。
Beans and Siegler were preparing rations of sliced meal…brick and water by the side of the tank。
There was nothing else to be had； but at least they weren’t back to drinking purified piss。
Would they even live long enough for that to happen again？ Wulfe wondered。 It seemed to him
that the 18th Army Group was practically broken already。 Lifting his cap and looking around； he
saw crewmen resting on rear decking or track…guards just like he was； but there had been significant
losses。 Van Droi’s 10th Company was down to just five tanks。 The lieutenant’s crate； Foe…Breaker；
was still in the game； though the man himself had become extremely quiet since the death of the
colonel。 Viess and his Steelhearted II had made it through。 The man was a solid commander。 Van
Droi had made a good move； promoting him to sergeant on the voyage to Golgotha。 Viess had
justified that choice back at the wall； taking out his share of the ork armour； and Holtz seemed to be
doing all right with Old Smashbones。 It was a small miracle that he had survived when so many
others had not。 Perhaps it was beginner’s luck。 In any case； Wulfe was damned glad van Droi hadn’t
promoted Holtz just to have him die in his first firefight as a commander。
Then； of course； there was Lenck。
Wulfe hadn’t given the bastard much thought during all the madness that had erupted since their
passage through Red Gorge。 Battle was good that way。 One could achieve an almost peaceful state
in the middle of all that mayhem。
Wulfe glanced over at Lenck’s tank； but if the crew was outside； they must’ve been lying low；
because he couldn’t see them。 Perhaps； like Metzger； they were all sleeping。
Wulfe sat up and swung around to watch the tech…priests。 They were down on the valley floor
performing some kind of arcane ritual he couldn’t begin to fathom。 It looked different to the rites he
had watched them perform on the regiment’s tanks but not much。 Every tech…priest and enginseer
attached to the expedition was down there； all dressed in the red robes of their cult； heads bowed in
prayer。 They moved in a clockwise circle； chanting and emitting strange mechanical noises that no
human throat could have made。
Some of them carried censers that they swung back and forward； lacing the air with blue smoke
that hung above them； gently shifting in slow motion。 There was no breeze。 The air was thick and
warm。 He looked up。 The tall red peaks of the Ishawar rose so high in the near east that they pierced
the bellies of the clouds like tusks。
Why did everything have to remind him of orks？ He would be facing them again soon enough。
Van Droi had voxed him just twenty minutes ago to say so。 The orks were closing in on them； still
pursuing from the west。 The Sentinels had used long…range scopes to spot them well out from the
valley； but； in a little over ninety minutes； the orks would be here； and the fighting would start all
over again。 Would deViers lead them in another run？ Or would he have them turn and fight？
Wulfe would have preferred to fight。 It had become increasingly clear to him that no one was
going to make it out of this alive。 The officers still talked of finding Yarrick’s lost tank； and they put
a lot of faith on the tech…priests’ ability to signal for evacuation。 A lifter would come for them when
the time was right。 At least； that was how Wulfe understood it。 He just didn’t think it was going to
be that easy。
The thought of dying here didn’t anger him。 He had spent his whole life knowing that he would
perish in the service of the Emperor。 What better way was there？
None； he told himself； but Armageddon would have been preferable。 There； at least； his last
moments could have been spent fighting to protect Holy Terra； rather than to retrieve an abandoned
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relic。 He told himself that any fight against orks was a good fight。 If he and his crew were to die
here today； so be it。 He would meet his fate head…on。
He turned his attention back to the tech…priests。 Their ceremony intrigued him。 He was a firm
believer in machine…spirits。 Nothing strange in that； of course。 All tankers came to feel that way； no
matter their original outlook on the matter。 Throughout his career； he had seen members of the
Adeptus Mechanicus achieve things he couldn’t hope to explain。 It wasn’t stretching credence to
imagine that the senior cogboys down there might actually come away with some kind of answer。
The Fortress of Arrogance was gone； but how far had it gone？ If it was still within reach； then
he would like to see it before he died。 It was a rare machine； after all； almost unique in the galaxy in
that； since its loss thirty…eight years ago； it had been sanctified by both the Ministorum and the techpriests；
and those two august bodies almost never saw eye to optic sensor。
“Grub’s up； sarge；” called Siegler from the side of the tank。 “You want to wake Metzger？”
Wulfe slid off the track…guard and landed on his feet by Siegler and Beans。
“Let him rest a little more；” he told them。 “We’ll keep some for when he wakes up。”
The three men sat and enjoyed their small repast as chanting lifted towards them from the valley
floor。
“I still don’t get it；” said Beans。 “They think they can find out where it went？”
Wulfe nodded and spoke around a mouthful of tough； dry meal…brick。 “You’d better hope they
can。 The orks will be on us soon。 I think deViers will give the cogboys enough time to finish their
little communion and then lead us off somewhere。 He won’t give up looking。”
Siegler shook his head。 “And people call me crazy；” he said。 Wulfe grinned and clapped his
friend on the shoulder。 “Yes； they do。” Beans laughed。
A burst of vox…chatter from the bead in his ear made the smile suddenly drop from Wulfe’s face。
He spat his mouthful of meal…brick onto the hard ground at his side。
“What’s up； sarge？” asked Siegler。
Wulfe stood bolt upright。
“Get your arses into the tank；” he told them； “and wake Metzger at once。”
All around them； the air shook with the rumble of engines being turned。 A Chimera just ten
metres away rumbled noisily to life； coughing blue…black fumes from her exhausts。 Siegler and
Beans jumped to their feet。
“That was van Droi；” said Wulfe； picking up the remains of his meal and stuffing them into a tin
box。 “The tech…priests say they got their answer。 We’re moving out。”
“But where to； sarge？” asked Beans。
Wulfe had turned and was already clambering up the side of the tank。 He didn’t stop climbing；
but called over his shoulder； “To the mountains； trooper。 We’re going into the mountains。”
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CHAPTER TWENTY…FOUR
The path the 18th Army Group took from the valley up into the Ishawar Mountains soon became
treacherous； especially for the tanks； most of which weighed over sixty tonnes； but there was no
time to be careful。 The orks were less than an hour behind them。 They had spotted the Cadians rising
up into the hills and had turned on a burst of speed。 Bergen didn’t know how long it would be before
the orks caught up to them； but he knew the machines at the rear of the column would soon face the
threat of ork bikes and buggies。 The light； speedy greenskin machines were far more adept at
handling rough terrain like this。 The steep gradients and narrow trails that Exolon found itself forced
to follow were really challenging the heaviest of the Cadian machines。
For now； though； there was little choice but to push on with all the speed they could muster。
General deViers was taking Tech…Magos Sennesdiar extremely seriously。 The magos claimed that
the almighty Omnissiah； tech…aspect of the Divine Emperor of Mankind； had been roused by their
ceremony and had spoken to them directly through their most powerful and sophisticated auspex
scanners。 The data was irrefutable； the tech…priests insisted。 The Fortress of Arrogance had indeed
lain in the valley for many years； but had been moved in the recent past。 Even now； Sennesdiar told
them； the orks that had taken it were within striking distance； if only the general would lead his
forces up into the mountains exactly as the magos directed。
It sounded entirely too convenient to Gerard Bergen。 He was sure the tech…priests had known
from the start that Yarrick’s lost tank was no longer in the valley。 DeViers was still in charge；
however； and the old general had become so frantic； so desperate； that he might believe just about
anything he was told。 Whether deViers was mad or not； Bergen and the other divisional leaders
weren’t about to protest。 Not now。 What was the point？ Rennkamp and Killian both seemed to feel
as he did。 Cut off from the rest of the Imperial forces with little hope of ever returning； there was
little choice but to follow the path they were on and see where it led them in the end。
Bergen rode high in the cupola of his Chimera； a habit he had developed over his long years as a
tank commander。 He remembered those times fondly； times before he had been singled out for
greater things。
Greater things？ That was a laugh。 Operation Thunderstorm had gone to hell。 The Munitorum
wouldn’t want to lose face。 They’d expunge it from the Imperial records once it was clear how
spectacularly it had failed。
It hasn’t failed yet； said a tiny voice in the back of his mind； but another； louder voice at the
front said； hasn’t it？
Bergen tried to ignore both and looked up at the sky。
The cloaked Golgothan sun was close to its zenith； judging by the bright patch in the thick red
clouds overhead。 At this altitude； the clouds seemed so low they might choke him； and he
automatically checked that his rebreather mask and goggles were firmly in place。
The expedition force had ascended over a thousand metres already。
Where in the blasted warp are the cogboys taking us； he wondered？
He tried to look back down the mountainside along the route they had followed； but all he could
see was t