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the　mutated　loyalists　—　and　so　far　they　were　wielding　nothing　more　deadly　than　las…guns。　They
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couldn’t　damage　the　lander　itself；　so　the　only　threat　they　posed　to　Wollkenden　was　if　they　were　able
to　board　it。　He　prayed　that；　with　just　five　Ice　Warriors　including　himself；　he　could　stop　them　from
doing　that。
He　crouched　behind　one　of　the　ship’s　wings；　as　las…beams　cracked　into　it　and　were　comfortably
absorbed。　When　it　was　safe　to　do　so；　he　returned　fire；　and　gritted　his　teeth　with　malicious
satisfaction　as　he　mowed　down　cultist　after　cultist。
The　second　wave　came　with　barely　a　moment’s　respite。　And　this　one　was　larger；　and　consisted
primarily　of　mutants　and　spawn：　a　sure　sign　that　the　heretics　were　becoming　more　organised；
enough　to　send　in　their　cannon　fodder　ahead　of　them。
A　particularly　large；　hairy　mutant　shrugged　off　all　the　las…fire　aimed　at　it；　staying　on　its　feet　long
enough　to　reach　Steele。　It　came　around　the　wing；　growling　and　clawing　at　him。　When　the　colonel
avoided　its　first　swipes；　the　mutant　shoulder…charged　him　instead；　and　slammed　him　into　the　hull。
He　jammed　his　bayonet　into　its　throat；　fighting　a　gag　reflex　as　its　stinking　blood　spewed　over
him。　The　mutant　fought　on；　although　it　could　only　have　been　kept　alive　now　by　the　force　of　its　own
fury。
Steele　ducked　under　its　claws　and　slipped　beneath　the　lopsided　lander　itself；　squeezing　himself
into　the　acute　angle　where　its　belly　almost　touched　the　ground。　The　mutant　tried　to　follow；　but　its
shoulders　were　too　broad。　It　strained　to　reach　its　prey；　and　its　claws　came　within　a　hair’s　breadth　of
Steele’s　chest　—　but；　at　last；　it　shuddered　and　died。　At　almost　the　same　moment；　an　enemy　las…beam
struck　one　of　the　few　undamaged　struts　around　Steele；　and　it　bowed　and　almost　broke。　The　ship’s
bulk　shifted　over　his　head　and　threatened　to　drop；　to　crush　him。　He　scrambled　out　of　there　as　fast　as
he　could。
The　heretics’　advance　had　faltered。　Steele’s　comrades　were　mounting　a　stout　defence；　as　was　the
Valhallan　way；　giving　him　a　moment　to　pause　and　take　stock。　He　saw　three　Traitor　Guardsmen
darting　behind　a　gutted　lander。　They　were　trying　to　circle　around　behind　the　ship；　just　as　he　would
have　done　in　their　place。
Steele　sent　a　volley　of　las…beams　after　them。　He　didn’t　manage　to　kill　any　of　them　before　they
took　cover　—　he　was　starting　to　miss　his　bionic　eye；　still　on　auto…repair　after　its　latest　discharge　—
but　he　did　send　a　message。
The　traitors　knew　he　had　seen　them。　They　would　proceed　more　slowly；　more　carefully；　from
now　on　—　if　they　dared　to　proceed　at　all。
One　of　the　lander’s　engines　groaned；　and　belched　smoke　from　its　exhaust　port　before　it　fell　silent
again。　The　hull　of　the　ship　creaked　and　shuddered；　and　gave　an　alarming　lurch　as　the　weakened
landing　leg　buckled　a　little　further。
Steele　concentrated　on　gunning　down　the　oncoming　mutants。　The　most　important　task　was　out
of　his　hands。　It　was　all　down　to　Grayle　now。
And　then；　to　his　relief；　the　engines　started　—　both　of　them。
“Fall　back；”　he　yelled　to　the　others。　“Onto　the　ship。　We’re　getting　out　of　here！”
He　was　closest　to　the　stubby　loading　ramp。　He　raced　up　it；　firing　a　few　parting　shots　back　over
his　shoulder；　and　leapt　through　the　hatchway　that　Grayle　had　left　half…open。
He　was　greeted　by　a　sight　that　made　his　heart　sink　into　his　boots。
Palinev　was　sprawled　out　on　the　floor　of　the　passenger　compartment；　unconscious。　Of　Confessor
Wollkenden；　there　was　no　sign。
Steele　dropped　by　his　scout’s　side；　and　shook　him　vigourously　until　his　eyelids　fluttered。　“The
confessor；”　he　hissed。　“Where　is　the　confessor？”
“He…　took　me　by　surprise；”　groaned　Palinev。　“Came　up…　behind　me。　He　was　burbling
something　about…　I　think　he　thought　I　was　Mangellan；　he…”
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Steele　didn’t　need　to　hear　any　more。　He　turned　to　find　Gavotski　and　Mikhaelev　behind　him；
pushed　his　way　past　them　and　collided　with　Anakora　and　Barreski　in　the　hatchway。　Gavotski　began
to　ask　him　what　was　happening；　where　he　was　going。
“None　of　you；”　Steele　ordered；　“are　to　leave　this　ship　under　any　circumstances。　Give　me　as
much　time　as　you　can　—　but　as　soon　as　it　looks　as　if　the　heretics　might　board；　you　get　up　to　that
cockpit　and　you　tell　Grayle　to　lift　off；　whether　Wollkenden　and　I　have　returned　or　not。　Is　that
understood；　sergeant？”
He　didn’t　wait　for　an　answer。
He　was　out　in　the　open　again；　cursing　himself　for　not　having　foreseen　this；　for　not　having
detailed　more　men　to　watch　Wollkenden　—　for　not　having　heard　as　the　confessor　had　knocked　out
Palinev　and　escaped　behind　his　back。　It　must　have　happened；　he　thought；　while　he　was　underneath
the　ship；　occupied　with　the　mutant。
The　heretics　were　just　realising　that　the　lander　was　no　longer　defended；　just　starting　to　close　in。
They　reacted　to　Steele’s　sudden　reappearance　—　too　slowly。　Steele　reasoned　that　Wollkenden　would
have　made　for　the　nearest　cover。　He　saw　a　line　of　man…sized；　metal…framed　packing　crates；　and　he
leapt　behind　them　as　the　first　las…beams　stabbed　out　behind　him。
His　acoustic　enhancers　led　him　straight　to　the　confessor；　who　was　sitting　behind　the　crates；
whimpering　into　his　hands。　He　seized　Wollkenden　by　the　front　of　his　robes；　hauled　him　to　his　feet。
“I’m　sorry　I　don’t　have　time　to　show　you　all　due　respect；　sir；　but　this　is　the　situation：　you　are
boarding　that　ship　with　me　—　and　I　would　rather　you　did　so　willingly；　because　if　I　have　to　carry　you
it　will　probably　get　us　both　killed；　but　I　will　knock　you　out　again　if　I　have　to。　Which　is　it　to　be？”
ed　out　of　his　grasp　and　ran　for　it。　Steele　caught　him　before　he　could　take　two
steps；　and　slammed　him　into　a　crate　hard　enough　to　splinter　one　of　its　wooden　panels。　“Get　your
hands　off　me！”　Wollkenden　gasped；　winded。　“You’re　just　like　the　rest　of　them；　telling　me　what　to
do。　He　was　right　all　along；　with　his　words…　Let　me　go；　I　want　to　go　to　him！”
“You’re　confused；”　said　Steele。　“You　don’t　know　what　you’re　saying。　I　need　you　to　trust　me；
confessor。　I　need　you　to　do　as　I　say；　just　for　a　few—”
A　Traitor　Guardsman；　bolder　than　Steele　had　expected；　stepped　into　view。　His　lasgun　was
readied；　but　he　didn’t　fire。　Perhaps　he　was　out　of　power；　or　the　gun　had　simply　jammed。　Steele
didn’t　stop　to　question　his　good　fortune。　He　bundled　Wollkenden　into　the　narrow　space　between　two
crates　and　started　firing　himself。　The　traitor　leapt　back　into　cover；　but　Steele　could　hear　footsteps
running　to　join　him。
He　cursed　under　his　breath。　Wollkenden　had　delayed　him　too　long。　Their　way　back　to　the　lander
was　blocked；　and　the　heretics　were　moving　to　surround　them。　They　couldn’t　stay　where　they　were。
But　there　was　nowhere　to　run；　nowhere　that　didn’t　involve　breaking　cover　and　making　themselves
easy　targets。
If　Steele　had　been　alone；　he　could　have　hauled　himself　up　onto　one　of　the　crates；　got　the　drop　on
his　foes　from　up　there　—　but　he　doubted　Wollkenden　could　make　the　climb　even　if　he　was　willing
to　try。
Wollkenden…　Suddenly；　it　occurred　to　Steele　that　his　presence　might　be　his　greatest　asset；　that
that　traitor’s　gun　might　not　have　jammed　after　all。
He　turned　on　the　confessor；　spun　him　around。　He　yanked　his　arm　up　behind　his　back；　slipped　his
arm　around　Wollkenden’s　throat　and　pulled　tight　to　choke　his　words　of　protest。　“Sorry　about　this；
sir；”　he　muttered；　“but　needs　must；　and　this　is　the　only　way　I　can　think　of　to　keep　you　alive。”
He　pushed　Wollkenden　ahead　of　him；　stepped　out　from　behind　the　crate；　found　himself　facing　a
score　of　armed　traitors…
…and　was　relieved　to　find　that　his　hunch　had　been　right。　The　traitors　kept　him　covered　with
their　guns；　but　didn’t　dare　fire；　couldn’t　risk　hitting　his　hostage。　Evidently；　they　had　been　ordered　to
retake　Wollkenden；　their　offering　to　their　gods；　alive。　It　occurred　to　Steele　that　those　same　orders
might　apply　to　him　too　—　until　Wollkenden’s　legs　gave　way　and　he　sagged　in　the　colonel’s　grip；
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and　one　of　the　traitors　fired　a　las…beam；　tried　to　hit　Steele　over　the　confessor’s　head　and　only　missed
him　by　a　whisker。
“I　wouldn’t　try　that　again；”　Steele　snarled。　“Even　if　you　could　hit　me；　I　could　snap　Wollkenden’s
neck　as　I　went　down。　And　I　swear　this　by　the　Emperor’s　name；　I