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Without　victory；　there　were　no　statues。
Humiliated；　the　old　man　had　scrabbled　for　another　cause　and；　in　his　desperation；　had　settled　on　a
hopeless　one　that　other；　more　wily　generals　had　manoeuvred　carefully　to　avoid：　a　half…mad　recovery
mission　that　Sector　Command　promised　would　earn　the　general　his　place　in　the　history　books。
What　wouldn’t　the　old　man　sacrifice；　Bergen　wondered　grimly；　for　something　like　that？　He　was
the　last　of　his　line。　He’d　said　it　himself。　His　obsession　with　leaving　some　kind　of　legacy　had　put　the
entire　army　group　at　extreme　risk。
Bergen’s　steps　grew　heavier　as　he　began　his　descent　from　the　high　battlements　eager　to　return　to
his　quarters。　The　walk　had　done　its　job。　Tiredness　settled　over　him　like　a　heavy　blanket。　As　he
trudged　down　one　of　the　southeastern　stairwells；　boots　ringing　on　the　metal　steps；　he　cast　his　mind
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back　to　the　briefing　session　earlier　that　day；　and　the　words　the　general　had　offered　before　dismissing
his　three　divisional　commanders。
“Expect　a　fight　when　you　get　to　Karavassa；　Gerard；”　deViers　had　said。　“You　can　be　sure　that
every　damned　outpost　that　Yarrick　established　during　the　last　war　has　been　infested　with　the
buggers。　They’ve　had　plenty　of　time　to　dig　in；　by　Throne。　Let’s　hope　all　that　time　has　made　them
soft　and　complacent。　Regardless；　I　know　you’ll　get　the　job　done。　I　must　have　secure　supply　lines
before　I　set　out　to　claim　the　prize。”
“You　still　insist　on　taking　to　the　field　in　person；　sir？”　Bergen　had　asked；　knowing　that　it　was　as
futile　as　ever　to　argue；　but　ploughing　ahead　anyway。　With　a　glance　at　Killian　and　Rennkamp；　he’d
added；　“I　think　all　three　of　us　would　counsel　you　against　it。　It’s　an　unnecessary　risk；　to　say　the
least。”
“There’s　nothing　unnecessary　about　it！”　deViers　had　barked；　and　Bergen　had　thought　another
volcano　of　anger　was　about　to　erupt。　But　it　hadn’t。　Instead；　deViers　had　simply　shaken　his　head　and
said；　“Things　of　value　demand　risk。　If　the　damned　Munitorum　thought　I　was　too　precious　to　risk；
they　wouldn’t　have　sent　me　out　here；　would　they？　But　that’s　beside　the　point。　I’ve　prayed　for
something　like　this　to　come　my　way；　Gerard。　I　deserve　this　chance。　It’s　my　destiny　to　recover　that
Baneblade。　And　if　any　of　you　think　I’m　going　to　command　from　the　rear　on　this　one；　you’re　bloody
well　out　of　your　minds。”
Well；　one　of　us　is　definitely　out　of　his　mind；　Bergen　thought　as　he　recalled　the　conversation；　but
I’m　pretty　sure　it　isn’t　me。
He　reached　the　rocky　surface　of　the　plateau；　increased　his　walking　pace；　and　soon　spotted　his
quarters　up　ahead　—　a　low；　two…storey　prefab　that　he　shared　with　Colonels　Vinnemann；　Marrenburg
and　Graves。　He　was　looking　forward　to　slipping　between　cool　sheets。　Such　comforts　would　be　just　a
memory　once　he　was　on　the　move。
Tired　as　he　was；　though；　his　mind　still　churned。
He　knew　that　thousands　of　men　would　die　in　the　coming　days。　Given　the　unexpected　drop…ship
losses；　it　seemed　all　too　likely　that　over　two　thousand　already　had。　There　would　be　worse　to　come。
Golgotha　would　see　to　that。　Scores　of　men　had　already　reported　to　the　med…block　and　they　hadn’t
even　left　the　plateau　yet。　For　some；　it　was　the　fines　—　particles　of　red　dust　so　small　that　they　could
penetrate　the　cell　membranes　of　the　human　body。　The　medics　said　there　was　little　they　could　do
beyond　prescribing　anti…toxic　medication；　but　the　real　solution　was　to　get　off　this　blasted　planet。　The
medicines　induced　short…term　vomiting　and　cramps。　Then　there　were　the　dannih　—　small　chitinous
bloodsuckers　with　powerful　tripartite　jaws。　They　seemed　to　get　everywhere；　even　inside　machines。
If　a　man　tried　to　pull　one　from　his　skin　while　it　was　feeding；　only　the　fat　red　body　would　come
away。　The　detached　head　would　then　burrow　down　into　his　flesh　dispensing　anti…coagulant；　homing
in　on　major　arteries。　A　man　could　bleed　to　death　if　he　wasn’t　careful。　It　was　a　powerful　deterrent
against　interfering　with　the　creature’s　feeding　cycle。　The　only　way　to　get　rid　of　them　without　this
happening　was　to　douse　the　afflicted　area　of　the　body　in　strong　alcohol；　an　unhappy　solution　on　two
counts。　Firstly；　troopers　didn’t　much　like　the　idea　of　wasting　their　coveted　liquor　on　shifting
stubborn　ticks；　and；　secondly；　dousing　oneself　in　alcohol　was　never　a　good　idea。　A　handful　of　the
heavier　smokers　had　already　discovered　this　first…hand。
There　were　other　challenges；　too。　Aside　from　the　dannih　and　the　fines；　there　were　numerous
minor　conditions　related　to　atmospheric　pressure；　allergies；　the　unusual　but　breathable　composition
of　the　air；　and　all　the　problems　caused　by　living　at　a　constant　gravity　of　one…point…twelve　gees。　It
seemed　to　Bergen　that　Golgotha　was　waging　its　own　war　against　the　Cadians；　and　the　orks　hadn’t
even　got　started　yet。
Bergen　had　never　been　a　dour　man　by　nature。　Quite　the　contrary；　in　fact。　He　had；　in　his　days　as　a
cadet；　been　selected　to　feature　in　a　short　series　of　Cadian　propaganda　and　recruitment　films；　such
was　his　natural　warmth　and　appeal。　But；　as　he　opened　the　door　to　his　quarters　and　saw　Katz
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snoozing　in　a　chair　by　his　desk；　he　decided　there　were　three　things　about　which　he　was　depressingly
certain。
The　first　was　that　his　commanding　officer　was　coming　apart　at　the　seams。　DeViers　had　lost　his
way。　A　powerful　aura　of　desperation　hovered　around　him；　and　it　heralded　disaster　for　the　18th　Army
Group　and　everyone　attached　to　it。
The　second　was　that　Exolon　would　never　find　the　famous　Fortress　of　Arrogance。　Holy　icon　or
not；　the　orks　had　enjoyed　thirty…eight　years　in　which　to　strip　it　down　to　its　bare　nuts　and　bolts。　If
there　was　anything　left　of　it　at　all；　it　would　be　unrecognisable。　No；　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　was
little　more　than　a　carrot　dangled　in　front　of　the　Munitorum’s　nose　by　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus。
Whatever　interest　they　had　in　returning　to　Golgotha；　Bergen　would　wager　it　had　little　to　do　with
finding　Yarrick’s　cherished　tank。
The　third　and　last　thing；　the　thing　that　worried　Bergen　most　of　all；　and　the　thing　that　he　was
convinced　of　above　all　else；　was　simply　this：　unless　the　Emperor　Himself　descended　from　the
heavens　to　offer　them　His　Divine　Protection；　not　a　single　man　in　his　beloved　armoured　division　was
going　to　make　it　off　this　blasted　world　alive。　The　cards　were　stacked　against　them　like　never　before。
Millions　of　men　had　died　in　the　Golgothan　War　all　those　years　ago。　Now；　like　those　men；　the　fate　of
Bergen’s　troopers　would　be　written　in　the　blood…red　sand。
He’d　fight　it　all　the　way　of　course。　He　swore　it。　He　had　been　born　and　raised　to　fight；　and　there
was　nothing　he　wouldn’t　do　to　see　his　men　through　this。
I’ll　go　over　the　old　man’s　head　if　I　have　to。　Killian　and　Rennkamp　will　back　me　up。　Together；
we’ll　go　to　Morten　and…
The　thought　went　unfinished。　Tiredness　crashed　over　Bergen　like　a　tidal　wave　and　he　fell　back
onto　the　bed；　asleep　before　his　head　hit　the　pillow。
*　*　*
Elsewhere　on　the　base；　about　a　kilometre　west　of　Bergen’s　quarters；　the　three　senior　agents　of　the
Adeptus　Mechanicus　had　returned　to　their　apartments　and　were　being　attended　by　a　flock　of　child
like　slaves。　True　children　would　have　perished　very　quickly　in　such　a　place　—　the　pungent
chemicals　that　misted　the　air　would　have　dissolved　the　tissue　of　their　lungs　—　but　these　were　not
true　children。　They　had　once　been　so；　long　ago；　before　extensive　surgeries　had　converted　them　into
ageless　amalgams　of　flesh　and　metal　like　the　tech…priests　they　served；　though　far　less　sophisticated。
Their　brains　had　been　cruelly　cut；　rendering　them　incapable　of　independent　thought；　and　their　voices
had　been　silenced　forever。　Their　only　function　was　to　obey　and；　as　such；　they　were　beyond　sin；
beyond　mischief　or　evil。　Perhaps　in　recognition　of　this；　their　creator　had　crafted　bronze　masks　for
them；　faces　frozen　in　beatific　smiles；　like　half…living　sculptures　of　holy　cherubim。
They　clustered　around　their　masters；　disrobing　them；　removing　peripheral　devices；　pulling　dataplugs
from　flesh…sockets。　Then　they　helped　the　tech…priests　into　a　deep　circular　tub　filled　with　a
thick；　glowing；　milky　substance　that　cast　its　light　up　to　the　metal　ceiling。　When　this　was　done；　the
cherub…slaves　retreated　to