I’ll bet you ten bottles of joi the bastard is in there right now。 The minute our lads move into that
open square； the orks’ll launch their last stand。 The warboss will lead it。”
Van Droi nodded in silent agreement。
“Well？” asked Gradz。 “You gonna take the bet？”
Something large moved in the shadowed mouth of the hangar。 The muzzle brake of a massive
battle cannon poked out into the daylight。 Van Droi and Gradz both saw it at the same time； but it
was too late to do anything。 The gun belched fire and smoke。 There was a clap of thunder。
They didn’t see the shell that killed them。 It happened too fast for that。
Foe…Breaker was flipped onto her back by the power of the explosion； crushing eight of the men
behind her。
Then her magazine ignited； and her armour blew outwards as a million spinning shrapnel shards。
No one within ten metres of her survived。
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CHAPTER THIRTY…THREE
Orks were spewing out from buildings on all sides。
“We need to fall back right now；” Lieutenant Keissler voxed to Captain Immrich。 “Draw them
back into the narrower streets。”
“No；” snapped Immrich。 “I will not disobey the general’s orders。 We are to stand firm and
engage。 There will be no retreat。 This is their last stand； and it is ours as well。”
“You’re a bloody fool； Immrich；” hissed Keissler。 “I always thought so。 Death or glory； is it？”
“What else is there？” Immrich replied and took aim。
General deViers could barely hear himself think over all the noise on the vox。
Killian was yelling for permission to pull his men out of the ork settlement。 Rennkamp was
calling on him to send everything they had in to support the Cadian tanks； and Bergen was raving
about some monstrous ork battle tank five times the size of a Leman Russ that was ripping the
forward elements of his armoured division apart。
In the general’s mind； there was only one pertinent fact。 His prize was in there somewhere。 The
path was clear。
“Army Group Command to all units。 This is General Mohamar deViers。 In the name of the
Emperor； I order you to move in。 Converge on the east side of the settlement。 Give your lives if
necessary； but sell them dear。 Our victory must be absolute。 The Fortress of Arrogance is within
reach。 For Cadia and for the glory of all mankind； we will recover her this day。 Fight hard； brave
Cadians。 The Emperor protects！”
The Emperor wasn’t doing a very good job of protecting the men of the 88th Mobile Infantry。
Wulfe had been attached to one of their platoons for the sweep eastwards； but the men were
dropping like flies； hemmed in on all sides by savage aliens of simply breathtaking bulk and power。
Lasgun blasts hardly seemed to affect the orks at all。
Wulfe’s stubber…fire was only marginally more effective。 He did his best to keep the orks off the
men around him； gunning them down mercilessly with enfilading fire from his cupola； but there
were simply too many。 They weren’t the worst of it； either； not by far。
Between them； the Cadian armour and infantry would have found a way to overcome the
unmounted troops。 It would have needed time； coordination； and a healthy serving of old…fashioned
Cadian courage； but the orks had armour support of their own — a single lethal machine that
nothing on the Cadian side seemed capable of damaging — and it was picking the 18th Army Group
tanks off one by one。
Beans had fired on that clanking； rumbling； smoke…spewing monstrosity three times already；
switching from high…explosive to armour…piercing when it was clear the former was utterly
ineffective； but the armour…piercing shot hadn’t done much in the way of damage either。 The other
tanks had discovered this too。 Their rounds either exploded without effect or lodged in metre…thick
slabs of iron skin。
Some of the remaining Executioners and Destroyers had enjoyed slightly more success；
managing to blast a few pieces off here and there； but the oversized lump of metal was still rolling
forward； emerging into the daylight with aching slowness。
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This was the monstrosity that had brewed up Foe…Breaker。 Wulfe had heard it all over the vox；
his gut knotting until it caused him actual physical pain。 Seconds after the vox report； he and the
other mixed units had arrived on the open ground before the big hangar。 That was when the orks had
poured out to surround them。
What in the blasted warp is it？ Wulfe wondered； glancing in the direction of the ork machine。
Only half of it was visible so far； but Wulfe guessed its speed had nothing at all to do with an
underpowered engine。 It had been built by orks。 Already its armour had proved superior to the
Cadian weapons。 It was most likely fitted with an insane excess of weaponry； too。
As he thought this； the machine’s main gun fired again； its thunderous roar shaking the hangar
walls and the buildings on either side。 The air trembled。 A Leman Russ Conqueror belonging to 2nd
Company spun on a pillar of flame and crashed to the ground on its side。
Wulfe wondered darkly if Foe…Breaker had landed the same way。
The report of van Droi’s death had hit him with all the force of an Earthshaker round； harder； if
he was honest； than the death of Holtz or Viess。 He had known van Droi longer。 The man had
seemed immortal to a young Wulfe when he had first joined the regiment。 He had been somewhat
like Colonel Vinnemann in that regard。 For Wulfe； Gossefried van Droi had embodied everything
that was strong and true and noble about the Imperial Guard。 He was a symbol。 Gossefried’s
Gunheads had been named for him。 Symbols weren’t supposed to die。 Only people died。 People and
orks。
Hungry for revenge； he loosed a battle cry and thumbed the trigger of his heavy stubber； sending
another lethal torrent straight into a pack of orks that were hacking the arms and legs from an
infantryman on the left。 Wulfe couldn’t save him — it was too late for that — but he punished the
soldier’s killers。 Their grotesquely muscled bodies crumpled to the ground； torsos almost cut in half
by the stubber’s high rate of fire。 Their thick red blood mixed with that of the man they had just
killed。
Wulfe heard Beans calling “Brace！” on the intercom just…before a tongue of fire flickered at the
end of Last Rites II’s battle cannon。 The sharp boom it made set his ears ringing。
The round went curving in towards the massive ork machine； striking a plate of red…painted iron
bolted to the front。 White sparks showered out as the round ricocheted and punched a hole in the
corrugated surface of the hangar wall。 After a second； the plate fell off and was pulled under a set of
massive iron treads。
“Damn it！” cursed Beans over the intercom； but Wulfe wasn’t listening to him。 He was listening
to the divisional vox channel。 The chatter there had suddenly intensified； for Beans’ shot had
uncovered the forward edge of a massive black track…guard； on top of which sat an icon cast in
bright； shining gold。
Every man on the battlefield recognised it。 It hung from their necks； imprinted on one side of the
dog…tags they all wore。 Many had paid to have it tattooed on their bodies。
It was the holy aquila； two…headed eagle； icon of the Imperium of Man。
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CHAPTER THIRTY…FOUR
General deViers felt his heart hammering in his chest as his Chimera raced in towards the battle。 He
ordered his driver to crash straight through the orks that filled the street up ahead。 Beyond them； he
could already see the ground where his forces were fighting for their lives。 There was the massive
hangar he had heard about on the vox； and； there she was： The Fortress of Arrogance。
There was no doubt it was her。 Some tanker in the 10th Armoured Division had knocked off a
piece of her disguise； and now everyone knew。 They had found her。 They had tracked her down at
last； but what in blazes had the greenskins done to her？ In all the general’s dreams of how this
moment would unfold； he had never imagined this。 In the ultimate act of sacrilege； the orks were
using her to slaughter Imperial forces。 His forces。
Even so； he had no choice but to give the order。
Through gritted teeth； he voxed； “This is Army Group Command to all units。 Cease fire on the
enemy superheavy at once。 I repeat； do not fire on the ork super…heavy under any circumstances。
Concentrate on the enemy infantry。”
Gerard Bergen wasn’t slow to respond。 He didn’t bother with propriety； either。
“You’re out of your frakking mind； general；” he hissed。 “Whether that abomination is Yarrick’s
Baneblade or not； it’s devastating my armour。 We have to take it out right now。 Reverse that order！”
“Mind your damned tone； major general；” deViers barked back。 “I will do no such thing。 Ask
Magos Sennesdiar； if a round pierces the onboard fuel or ammunition supplies； she’ll be beyond all
hope of repair。”
“And if we don’t put her out of commission； there won’t be anyone left to claim her。 Have you
lost your mind； you old fool？ You’re acting like a damned Mechanicus puppet。 You know that？”
DeViers felt his face grow hot。
“I hope you live through this； Gerard；” he growled； “I really do； because if you ever speak like
that to me again； I’ll see you swing from the gallows。 Is that clear？ The order stands。 Anyone who
fires on The Fortress of Arrogance will answer to me。”
“Fine；” said Bergen bitterly； “and may you answer to the souls of the men you’ve just
condemned。 Bergen out。”
“You have got to be bloody joking！” exclaimed Beans。
“I wish I was；” answered Wulfe。 He turned to his left and fired on an ork wielding a bulky heavy
flamer as if it were little more than a pistol。 It had just finished roasting three Guardsmen to death at
close range。 When Wulfe’s stubber…rounds punched into its body； the ork threw up its hands。 One of
the rounds punctured the fuel tanks on its back； and it exploded in a fountain of bright fire and
burning meat。
The bastardised Baneblade was almost fully out of the hangar。 Wulfe could see an absolutely
massive ork standing on top of it。 It had to be the warboss。 It wasn’t just the size of the creature；
though it certainly made even the biggest of the black…skinned veterans look almost small。 It was the
massive suit of power armour that it wore。 Energy crackled in blue arcs along its arms。 It flexed
huge blade…like claws and bellowed its war cry through some kind of amplifier attached to its
shoulder。
183
The bestial roar swept over the battlefield； and the orks all around began fighting with fresh
reserves of energy and zeal。
“Look；” said Beans； “I might just be a gunner； but I know that order is utter bloody ball…rot；
sarge。 If we can’t fire on it； we’re dead men。”
As if to prove his point； the Baneblade’s main gun fired again。 The last surviving Leman Russ
Executioner detonated in a spectacular burst of orange fire and glowing blue plasma。
“Throne damn it；” cursed Wulfe。 “Listen； Beans； do you think you can hit the warboss without
hitting the tank？”
About twenty metres behind Last Rites II； a Chimera exploded。 Wulfe felt the intense heat of the
blast on the back of his neck and turned。
A slavering black ork was hauling its way up the back of his tank with an axe in one hand and a
rusty metal hook in the other。 A suing of desiccated human heads bobbed around its waist