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separated　into　two　pieces　along　a　horizontal　line。　The　dust　parted　for　a　second　to　show　the　dead　face
of　a　Chaos　Space　Marine　behind　him；　jerking　his　sword　free　of　his　victim’s　remains。
Then　she　was　climbing；　hand　over　hand；　foot　over　foot；　expecting　at　any　moment　to　feel　cold
fingers　closing　around　her　ankle；　dragging　her　back。　Bolts　pinged　off　the　ladder；　and　she　dropped　a
frag　grenade　to　discourage　another　burst。　Then　she　could　see　the　open　manhole　above　her；　and　she
knew　that　she　could　make　it。　She　ought　to　have　been　relieved　—　because　now　at　least　her　comrades
could　be　forewarned；　that　the　Chaos　Space　Marines　were　about　to　emerge　into　their　midst　—　but　her
stomach　sank　instead；　because　she　knew　that　her　mission　had　failed。　Her　squad　was　dead。
And　the　worst　of　it　all；　the　hardest　thing　for　Anakora　to　accept；　was　that　she　had　survived…
again。
Trooper　Grayle　stumbled　over　the　rubble；　hacking　and　coughing　from　the　smoke　in　his　throat；　his
arm　gushing　blood　from　a　stray　piece　of　shrapnel。　His　eyes　and　ears　had　been　deadened；　but　he　fired
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his　lasgun　blindly　over　his　shoulder　as　he　staggered　on；　just　hoping　and　waiting　—　waiting　for
Barreski　to　let　go　of　him；　to　stop　dragging　him　along；　so　that　he　could　fall　over。
He　didn’t　know　how　they　had　got　this　far。　His　recent　past　was　a　blur　of　bangs　and　flashes；　the
only　clear　impression　being　of　the　searing；　agonising　pain　he　had　felt　when　the　controls　of　the
Leman　Russ　had　blown　up　in　his　face。
Then　he　was　on　the　ground；　staring　up　at　Cressida’s　grey　sky；　the　last　flakes　of　the　sputtering
snowstorm　wetting　his　cheeks　and　soothing　his　burns。　His　chest　was　heaving　and　his　arm　was
throbbing；　and　he　wondered　for　a　moment　if　this　was　it；　if　Barreski　had　been　gunned　down　and　if　he
was　to　be　next。
Then　he　saw　his　comrade’s　concerned　face　looming　over　him；　his　skin　a　livid　pink　too；　the
stubble　on　his　chin　singed　and　even　more　ragged　than　usual。
“Did…　did　we　get　the　last　of　them？”　stammered　Grayle。
“I　reckon　so；　yeah；”　said　Barreski。　Then　something　made　him　tense　up；　turn；　and　fire　a　burst
from　his　lasgun　at　something　Grayle　couldn’t　see　—　though　he　did　hear　the　scream　that　followed　the
blast；　a　scream　abruptly　curtailed。　“Yeah；”　repeated　Barreski；　turning　back　to　him；　“yeah；　we　got　the
last　of　them；　now。”
Not　many　cultists　had　followed　them　back　into　the　ruins。　Those　that　had　survived　were　mostly
licking　their　wounds；　shell…shocked　from　the　fury　that　had　just　erupted　around　them。　The　Ice
Warriors　were　safe　from　the　enemy　tanks　—　assuming　that　none　of　their　drivers　had　Grayle’s　skill；
which　was　a　pretty　safe　bet。
“I　think　the　captain　made　it；”　said　Grayle；　chasing　a　confused　memory。　“I　think　I　saw　him
with…　with　someone　else；　I　couldn’t　make　out　who。”
“Kampanov；　probably。　As　soon　as　he　heard　the　evacuation　order；　he　was　out　of　that　hatch　like　a
snow　leopard　with　a　frag　grenade　up　its　backside。”
Grayle　pulled　himself　up　onto　his　elbows；　catching　his　second　wind；　and　said；　“They　took　out
the　turret　guns；　I’m　assuming？”
“Cold　got　the　first；　shrapnel　the　second。　Think　I’d　be　here　if　I　still　had　a　lascannon　to　fire？　They
were　works　of　art；　they　were。　Another　minute　with　them；　I　could　have　polished　off　two　more　tanks；
no　problem。”
“Never　mind；　eh；　Barreski。　I’m　sure　we　can　find　you　a　new　toy　to　play　with　soon；　maybe　an
even　bigger　one。”
“You　think　they’ll　let　us　have　another　vehicle？”　asked　Barreski。　“We　didn’t　take　such　good　care
of　the　last　one。　Of　the　last　three；　in　fact。”
Grayle　smiled　at　his　fellow　tanker　with　the　smug　air　of　one　who　knew　an　important　secret。　“Oh
yeah；”　he　said；　“I　think　we’ll　get　another　vehicle。　I　expect　we’ll　be　back　in　action　before　you　know
it。”
Then　he　told　Barreski　about　the　message。　The　one　that　had　come　in　through　the　Leman　Russ’
vox　system；　just　before　it　had　exploded。　Grayle　had　never　had　the　chance　to　acknowledge　the
message；　nor　to　relay　it　to　its　intended　recipient；　the　battle　tank’s　captain　—　but　it　had　now　been
heard　by　both　of　the　Ice　Warriors　name…checked　therein。
“Better　get　yourself　back　on　your　feet　then；　my　friend；”　said　Barreski；　“because　if　we　want　to
report　to　Colonel　Stanislev　Steele　on　time；　I’d　say　we’ve　got　a　long；　dangerous　walk　ahead　of　us。”
Calchas　Spaceport　was　teeming　with　Guardsmen；　many　of　them　lost；　unable　to　hear　their　orders
over　the　roar　of　an　incoming　lander。　The　ship　was　trying　to　squeeze　its　bristling　form　into　a　tight
spot　between　a　near…identical　vessel　and　an　older；　scarred　Ironclad。　The　Navy　had　assigned　all　the
craft　it　could　spare；　all　that　could　reach　Cressida　in　time；　to　the　evacuation　effort；　whatever　their
usual　function。
13
The　lander　set　down；　at　last；　and　its　engines　cut　out；　but　those　of　another；　departing　ship　had
already　fired　up。　Sergeants　yelled　themselves　hoarse　to　be　heard　over　the　continuing　racket；
marshalling　their　troopers　to　the　loading　ramps。　From　the　window　beside　Trooper　Blonsky’s　head；
the　Guardsmen　looked　like　coloured　ants；　streaming　across　a　concrete　bowl　into　the　bellies　of　the
great　metal　behemoths。
His　interrogator　delivered　a　backhanded　slap　to　his　face；　drawing　a　little　blood　and　snapping　his
attention　back　to　the　small；　grey　room　in　which　he　was　seated。
“I　asked　you　a　question；　Blonsky。”　The　lieutenant　was　from　a　Validian　regiment。　Royal
Validians；　they　called　themselves。　His　uniform　was　red　with　highlights　in　polished　gold；　and　he
displayed　the　same　superior　attitude　that　Blonsky　had　seen　in　so　many　of　his　breed。　He　was　probably
also　one　of　the　most　senior　officers　on　Cressida。　Most　of　the　rest　had　been　aboard　the　first　ships　to
leave　—　Blonsky’s　Valhallan　commanders　excepted；　of　course。
He　glanced　down　at　his　cuffed　wrists；　resting　in　his　lap。　Then　he　looked　up　to　meet　his
interrogator’s　glare；　and　he　said　calmly；　“With　all　due　respect；　sir；　I　think　I　have　answered　it。　I　have
given　you　a　full　account　of　my　actions　this　morning。　I　executed　Sergeant　Arkadin—”
“You　killed　him；”　the　Validian　spat；　“killed　him　in　cold　blood！”
“I　executed　him；”　restated　Blonsky；　“because　he　was　a　deserter。”
The　lieutenant’s　nostrils　flared。　“Arkadin　was　a　good　friend　of　mine。　If　you　had　reason　to　doubt
his　courage；　you　should　have　come　to　me　or　to　one　of　his　other　commanders。　What　evidence　do　you
have；　what　evidence　could　you　have；　to　support　this　claim？”
“I　have　the　evidence　of　my　own　senses；　sir。　My　platoon　was　fighting　a　horde　of　mutants　when　I
was　separated　from　them　by　an　explosion。　I　took　cover　in　an　old　storage　depot。　That’s　where　I
encountered　Sergeant　Arkadin。　I　believe　he　had　been　hiding　in　there　for　some　time。”
“Did　he　tell　you　that？”　asked　the　lieutenant　sharply。
“No　sir；”　said　Blonsky；　“but　it　was　evident　from　his　body　language　that—”
“I　don’t　want　to　hear　about　his　body　language。”
“Very　well。　The　mutants　must　have　seen　me　entering　the　building。　I　had　barricaded　the　door　as
best　I　could；　but　they　were　starting　to　batter　it　down。　I　was　prepared　to　meet　them　with　las…fire；　but
Sergeant　Arkadin　threw　down　his　gun　and　tried　to　climb　through　the　window。”
“I　won’t　accept　that！”　The　lieutenant　drove　a　frustrated　fist　into　the　table　between　them。　“You
made　a　mistake；　Trooper　Blonsky。　Sergeant　Arkadin　is　—　was　—　an　excellent　tactician。　No　doubt
he　thought　that；　if　he　could　escape　from　the　depot；　he　could　circle　behind　your　attackers　and—”
“He　had　thrown　down　his　gun；　sir！”
“What　right　do　you　have　to　judge　one　of　us？”　the　Validian　hissed。
“May　I　ask　again；　sir；”　said　Blonsky；　“if　my　commanders　have　been　informed　of　my　detention。
By　rights；　one　of　them　ought　to　be　here。”　He　could　tell　from　the　lieutenant’s　stony　silence　that　the
answer　to　his　question　was　no。
He　sighed；　and　restated　for　what　seemed　like　the　hundredth　time；　“Sergeant　Arkadin　was　a
deserter。　I　shot　him；　in　accordance　with　standing　orders；　before　he　could—”
“No！”　the　lieutenant　bellowed。　Blonsky　stopped　talking。　No　one　was　listening　anyway。
A　long　silence　followed；　during　which　his　interrogator　stared　out　of　another　window　at　the
activity　in　the　spaceport　below。　Perhaps　he　was　worrying　about　his　own　place　on　one　of　those　ships；
wondering　how　m