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you　both。》
　they　intoned　dutifully。
　added　Armadron。
　said　Sennesdiar。　　Then　he　swept　from　the　room；
leaving　his　adepts　to　soak　in　the　bubbling　pool。　They　left　shortly　after　him；　however；　for　there　was
much　to　be　done。
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CHAPTER　FIVE
“Hold　them　back；　you　dogs；”　bellowed　Colonel　Stromm。　“Don’t　let　them　pass　the　outer　lines！”　He
fired　his　hellpistol　into　the　charging　mass　of　orks；　but；　squinting　through　the　haze　and　the　sweat　that
stung　his　eyes；　it　was　difficult　to　see　the　level　of　damage　he　was　causing。　With　his　free　hand；　he
grabbed　his　adjutant；　Lieutenant　Kassel；　by　the　collar；　yanking　him　close　to　shout　in　his　ear。　“Where
the　frak　are　my　Kasrkin；　Hans？　Why　aren’t　they　shoring　up　those　blasted　gaps？”
The　air　danced　with　tracer　fire　as　the　orks　pushed　closer；　huge　pistols　and　stubbers　blazing。　The
Cadians　fired　back　with　deadly　intensity；　bright　las…beams　licking　out　from　their　sandbagged
positions；　slicing　through　the　clouds　of　billowing　dust　thrown　up　by　the　anti…personnel　mines　that
were　detonating　under　the　feet　of　the　green…skins’　front　ranks。　Heavy　brown　bodies　spun　into　the　air
to　land　in　bloody；　mangled　heaps。　Other　orks　trampled　over　them　uncaring；　undaunted；　yelling　and
hooting；　and　roaring　bestial　battle　cries　with　unrestrained　glee。
Competing　with　all　the　noise；　most　particularly　with　the　deafening　crack　and　stutter　of　nearby
las…　and　bolter…fire；　Lieutenant　Kassel　placed　his　mouth　at　his　colonel’s　ear　and　replied；　“Vonnel’s
platoon　is　taking　heavy　losses　on　the　right　flank；　sir。　The　Kasrkin　have　moved　across　to　plug　the
breach。”
Damn　it；　thought　Stromm。　Five　days。　Five　days　we’ve　lasted　out　here　on　the　open　sand；　and　not
a　single　bloody　sign　of　rescue；　no　vox…comms；　nothing。　And　there’s　no　end　to　the　greenskin
bastards。　Scores　of　men　are　dead　or　dying。　Our　perimeter　is　shrinking　with　every　charge　made
against　us。　This　looks　like　the　last　of　it　for　The　Fighting　98th。
His　mind　turned　to　his　family；　safe　aboard　the　naval　heavy…transport　The　Incandescent；　which
was　anchored　in　high　orbit　with　the　rest　of　the　fleet。　He　had　a　son；　still　just　an　infant；　who　had　been
born　during　the　Palmeros　campaign。　Stromm　had　hoped　to　watch　the　lad　grow；　to　see　him　strengthen
and　develop；　and；　one　day；　become　an　officer　like　his　father。　No；　not　like　his　father；　better　than　his
father。　A　son　should　always　strive　to　achieve　more　than　the　man　who　sired　him。　He　had　hoped　to　see
it；　to　live　that　long　despite　the　odds。　But　he’d　known　the　second　old　deViers　had　brought　Exolon　to
Golgotha　that　his　life　expectancy　had　been　suddenly；　dramatically　reduced。　Here　today；　before　his
eyes；　the　truth　of　it　was　playing　out。
Curse　this　world；　he　thought。　To　the　blasted　bloody　warp　with　it！　We　should　have　virus…bombed
it　from　space。　That　would　have　been　poetic　justice　in　that　—　revenge　for　all　the　people　Thraka’s
asteroids　have　killed。　If　it　weren’t　for　Yarrick’s　damned　tank…
The　orks　were　closing。　Six　hundred　metres。　Five…ninety。　Five…eighty。　The　Cadians’　landmines
were　barely　slowing　them。　Heavy　alien　bodies　were　being　blasted　high　on　pillars　of　smoke　and　sand；
but　the　enemy　far　outnumbered　Stromm’s　men。　The　foe　had　bodies　to　spare。　Those　that　escaped　the
deadly　fragmentation　and　explosive　pressure　waves　created　by　each　blast　just　kept　on　coming；　not
faltering　for　even　a　moment。
On　Stromm’s　first　day；　the　day　his　drop…ship　had　smashed　nose…first　into　the　red　sand；　he　and　his
officers　had　decided　that　it　was　best　to　stay　put；　sure　that　Major　General　Rennkamp　would　send　out
reconnaissance　units　to　look　for　his　missing　men。　But　vox…comms　weren’t　worth　a　damn　out　here；
and　darkness　fell　quickly　in　the　desert；　so　Stromm　hadn’t　wasted　any　time　in　ordering　makeshift
defensives　built；　though　progress　was　initially　slow　under　lamp　and　torchlight。
Sand　was；　of　course；　in　plentiful　supply　and　had　been　put　to　good　use。　The　sandbags　had
hardened　like　concrete；　such　was　the　effect　of　water　on　the　Golgothan　dust；　though　Stromm　was
38
reluctant　to　spare　even　a　fraction　of　their　precious　reserves　for　anything　other　than　drinking。　Scrap
metal　pulled　from　the　wrecked　ship　was　plentiful；　too。　With　these　resources；　his　98th　Mechanised
Infantry　Regiment　had　constructed　outer　and　inner　defensive　works；　reinforcing　the　heavy…weapons
nests　with　plates　from　the　ship’s　crumpled　bulkheads。
The　resulting　fortifications　were　basic　in　the　extreme；　but　at　least　they　offered　better　protection
than　the　open　sand。　As　he　fired　shot　after　flesh…searing　shot　into　the　charging　xenos　horde；　Stromm
was　damned　glad　of　those　defences。
Torrents　of　fire　blazed　out　from　each　of　the　heavy…weapon　nests；　chewing　apart　scores　of
grotesque　alien　bodies　with　broad　sweeps　of　enfilading　fire。　Some　of　the　regiment’s　Chimeras　and
halftracks　had　survived　the　crash　and　were　entrenched　behind　walls　of　compacted　sand　and　steel；
adding　their　considerable　firepower　to　the　desperate　battle。　The　Chimeras’　hull…mounted　heavy
bolters　chattered　deep　and　low；　ripping　the　enemy　into　bloody　hunks　of　meat　with　their　explosive
ammunition。　Turret…mounted　multi…lasers　hissed　and　cracked；　scoring　the　air　with　blinding
brightness。　A　few　of　the　Chimeras　boasted　autocannon　as　their　main　armament；　their　long　barrels
chambered　for　powerful　thirty…millimetre　rounds。　They　made　a　harsh　chugging　sound　as　they
spewed　shells　out　in　devastating　torrents。　Over…muscled　brown　bodies　dissolved　into　scraps　and
tatters　wherever　the　autocannon　found　their　mark。
The　Chimeras　and　the　weapon…nests　were　not　alone　in　providing　heavy　support。　Thick　spears　of
lascannon　fire　blazed　down　from　atop　the　crumpled　hull　of　the　drop…ship。　The　ship’s　cockpit　had
folded　like　a　concertina　in　the　crash　and　the　flight　crew　had　been　killed　outright；　but　a　handful　of
navy　ratings　—　tech…crew　mostly　—　had　survived。　They　had　been　insistent　about　manning　the　ship’s
turrets；　only　a　few　of　which　still　functioned。　Stromm　had　seen　it　in　their　faces：　the　fear；　the　panic。
When　he　had　agreed　to　let　them　man　the　turrets；　their　relief　had　been　all　too　apparent。　They　were
terrified　of　meeting　the　orks　face…to…face。　He　cursed　their　cowardice；　but　he　couldn’t　hate　them　for
it。
They　hadn’t　been　raised　on　Cadia。　They　were　lesser　men　by　birth。
In　his　opinion；　that　said　it　all。
Despite　such　thoughts；　he　was　glad　to　have　those　turrets　manned　by　anyone。　They　poured
blistering　fire　down　on　top　of　the　orks；　killing　dozens　at　a　time；　charring　their　bodies　to　shrunken
black　husks。
Given　the　weight　of　combined　fire　the　Cadians　were　pouring　out；　it　seemed　that　scores　of　orks
were　dropping　with　every　metre　of　ground　they　gained；　but　they　were　still　gaining。　Stromm　could
already　see　that　it　wouldn’t　be　enough；　not　by　any　stretch。　As　so　often　in　a　straight　fight　with　the
orks；　it　would　ultimately　come　down　to　numbers；　and　numbers　were　something　he　didn’t　have。
Each　day　that　Stromm　and　his　men　had　stayed　by　the　shattered　drop…ship；　desperately　and
futilely　trying　to　raise　anyone；　anyone　at　all；　on　their　vox…casters；　more　and　more　orks　had　started　to
show　up。　They　had　been　drawn　to　the　site　by　the　spectacular　trail　of　fire　and　black　smoke　that　the
falling　drop…ship　had　painted　across　the　sky　in　a　descent　that　had　been　visible　for　a　hundred
kilometres　in　every　direction。
Stromm　regretted　entrenching　his　forces。
I　should　have　moved　us　out　into　the　desert；　he　thought；　away　from　the　crashsite。　I　should　have
got　everyone　away　from　here。
Even　as　he　thought　this；　however；　he　rejected　it。　Hindsight　was　a　fine　thing；　but　he　had　made　the
best　choice　he　could　with　the　information　he’d　had。　Moving　off　would　have　left　his　infantry
companies　vulnerable。　There　weren’t　enough　vehicles　left　intact　after　the　crash　to　carry　everyone。
And　there　were　the　wounded　to　think　about；　too。　He　had　no　idea　of　their　exact　coordinates；　either。
No　one　did。　Where　the　bloody　hell　was　the　rest　of　Exolon？
His　hellpistol　clicked；　another　cell　spent。　On　reflex；　he　hit　the　power…pack　release；　let　the
magazine　fall　to　the　ground；　tore　a　fresh　one　from　a　pouch　on　his　belt；　slammed　it　home　and
39
resumed　firing。　His