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magazine　fall　to　the　ground；　tore　a　fresh　one　from　a　pouch　on　his　belt；　slammed　it　home　and
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resumed　firing。　His　first　shot　left　a　smoking　black　hole　where　one　monster’s　ugly　face　had　been。
That　he　could　now　see　the　damage　his　shots　were　causing　was　not　a　good　sign。
“Sir；”　said　Kassel　urgently；　“you　need　to　think　about　falling　back　to　the　inner　defences。　We’re
losing　key　sections　of　the　outer　perimeter。”
Stromm　nodded　and；　still　facing　and　firing　at　the　enemy；　began　walking　slowly　backwards　in　the
direction　of　the　wrecked　hull。
“Give　the　order；”　he　told　Kassel。　“I　want　all　our　lads　falling　back　to　secondary　positions　at
once。”
He　chose　his　targets　carefully；　firing　always　at　the　biggest　and　darkest…skinned　orks。　He　knew
from　long　years　of　experience　that　they　were　the　toughest　and　most　ruthless。　Their　hides　were　harder
than　sun…baked　leather；　criss…crossed　with　battle…scars　and　signs　of　crude　surgery。
They　were　veteran　killers；　relentless；　blood…mad　savages；　and　it　was　they　who　led　the　charge。
Throne；　but　the　bastards　are　ugly；　thought　Stromm。　What　kind　of　universe　tolerates　such
horrors？
It　was　easy　to　see　why　mankind　sought　the　orks’　absolute　extermination。　They　were　the　stuff　of
nightmares；　these　greenskins；　and　they　would　never　stop　fighting；　never　stop　killing　until　there　was
nothing　left　to　kill。　They　seemed　to　wage　war　for　fun；　to　revel　in　motiveless　slaughter。　Or　was
slaughter　motive　enough　for　them？　Even　now；　as　they　pressed　forward；　eager　to　butcher　his　men；
Stromm　saw　them　laughing　insanely；　as　if　the　whole　matter　of　agony　and　death　in　combat　was　a
great　game。　No；　mutual　tolerance　had　never　been　an　option。　From　the　moment　the　two　species　had
met；　the　galaxy　had　set　them　against　each　other。
The　orks　raced　closer　through　the　churning　dust；　and　Stromm　saw　their　hideous　faces　rendered
in　increasingly　sharp　detail。　He　could　make　out　the　glint　of　savage　madness　in　each　beady　red　eye。
Each　face　was　a　bestial　mask。　Their　noses　were　small　and　flat；　often　pierced　with　the　bones　of　some
luckless　animal　or　with　rings　or　bars　of　metal。　Their　mouths　were　huge　and　slack；　gaping　wide　and
dripping　with　thick　strands　of　blood…tinged　saliva。　Those　jaws　were　large　enough；　in　some　cases；　to
close　over　a　grown　man’s　head；　and　each　was　crammed　full　of　short；　jutting；　knife…like　teeth
dominated　by　two　long；　curving　tusks　that　thrust　upwards　from　the　lower　mandible。
Few　things　Stromm　had　ever　gazed　upon　engendered　such　a　feeling　of　loathing　and　disgust。　The
ork　race　seemed　tailor…made　to　strike　fear　into　the　human　heart；　tapping　an　ancient　vein　of　primal
fear　shared　by　all。　It　was　as　if　the　least　worthy　traits　of　his　own　species　had　been　twisted　and
magnified　a　thousand　times；　and　given　monstrously　powerful　bodies　with　which　to　wage　their
bloody　and　incessant　war　on　Man。
Where　had　such　abominations　come　from？
Stromm’s　order　to　fall　back　to　secondary　positions　had　filtered　down　to　the　rank…and…file；　and　he
saw　men　leap　from　sandy　foxholes　and　sprint　back　towards　him。　Many　left　it　too　late。　He　shouted　in
frustration　as　he　watched　them　cut　down　by　sprays　of　ork　stubber…fire。　It　was　a　brutal　and　bloody
sight。　The　large…bore　weapons　made　a　real　mess　of　their　victims；　barking　as　loud　as　any　bolter；
throwing　massive　metal　slugs　out　in　every　direction。　The　orks　barely　bothered　to　aim；　spraying　fire
left　and　right　without　a　thought　for　accuracy　or　wasted　ammunition。　It　was　only　the　sheer　volume　of
fire　that　took　such　a　deadly　toll。　As　the　Cadians　raced　back　to　the　inner　defences；　many　fell
screaming；　great　ragged　holes　punched　into　their　backs；　exit　wounds　the　size　of　watermelons
exploding　from　their　chests　and　stomachs。　Others；　more　fortunate　only　in　that　they　suffered　less；
were　struck　in　the　back　of　the　head。　Even　good；　solid　Cadian　Mark　VIII　helmets　couldn’t　protect
them。　Their　skulls　practically　exploded　with　the　impact　of　the　heavy　ork　slugs；　and　their　headless
bodies　stumbled　and　fell；　gushing　crimson　on　the　sand。
To　the　last　man；　thought　Stromm；　gritting　his　teeth；　firing　back　until　another　cell　was　spent。
We’ll　die　here；　but　we’ll　fight　the　bastards　to　the　last　bloody　man。　Damn　you　deViers！　I　hope　you
get　your　bloody　glory。
“Artillery；”　someone　shouted　over　the　vox。　“Ork　artillery　coming　in　from　the　north。　Get　down！”
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Stromm　heard　a　nerve…rattling　whistle　on　the　air；　growing　to　a　shriek。
Closer。　Closer。　Damn　it；　that’s　going　to　hit　right　on　top…
Both　he　and　Kassel　threw　themselves　to　the　ground。　Great　plumes　of　sand　and　dust　spurted　into
the　air　between　the　Cadians　and　the　orks；　and　the　air　shook　with　a　deafening　boom。　Stromm　found
himself　still　breathing。　No　fatalities。　It　was　a　ranging　shot；　but　the　next　would　bring　death　down　on
the　shrinking　Cadian　force。
“That’s　them　bringing　up　the　big　guns；　sir；”　shouted　Kassel　as　he　scrambled　to　his　feet。
“You　don’t　say；　Hans！”　barked　Stromm。　“Tell　those　spacer　runts　in　the　las…turrets　that　I　want
focused　fire　on　that　artillery。　Those　Navy　dogs　are　the　only　ones　with　a　clear　line　of　sight。　Do　it；
man！”
Kassel　plucked　the　mouthpiece　of　his　back…mounted　vox…caster　from　the　clip　on　his　belt；　barked
out　the　colonel’s　orders　in　a　clear；　authoritative　voice　and　waited　for　confirmation。　He　needn’t　have
bothered。　The　turret…gunners　atop　the　crumpled　drop…ship　were　already　traversing　their　turrets　to
zero　in　on　several　massive　ork　machines　—　self…propelled　guns　that　were　emerging　from　a　dust
cloud　about　fifteen　hundred　metres　away。　The　SPGs　had　short；　fat　barrels　that　sacrificed　accuracy
for　a　higher　explosive　payload。　Their　construction　appeared　so　slapdash　they　looked　as　likely　to
blow　themselves　apart　as　to　flatten　their　enemies。　By　rights；　they　shouldn’t　have　worked　at　all；　but；
as　ever　with　greenskin　machines；　their　performance　defied　their　appearance。　With　great　coughs　of
flame　and　ground…shaking　booms；　they　launched　another　deadly　salvo；　this　time　aimed　squarely　at
the　las…turrets　that　had　begun　to　open　fire　on　them。
Most　of　the　heavy　artillery　shells　went　wide　of　the　mark；　whining　straight　past　the　wreck　and
exploding　in　the　sand　on　the　far　side。　Most；　but　not　all。　Two　struck　the　hull；　packed　with　so　much
explosive　that；　between　them；　they　ripped　the　super　structure　apart。　The　pressure　wave　that　sped　out
from　the　twin　blasts　pulverised　the　turrets　and　the　men　inside　them。
Stromm　stood　gaping　for　a　split　second　at　the　terrible　destruction；　and　then　shielded　his　head　as　a
shower　of　burning　debris　cascaded　towards　him。　By　the　Emperor’s　grace；　neither　he　nor　Kassel　were
struck；　but　a　young　trooper　on　the　right　fell　without　screaming；　his　head　caved　in　by　a　turnip…sized
chunk　of　heavy　armaplas。
“Try　to　raise　them；”　Stromm　yelled　at　Kassel；　already　knowing　in　his　heart　that　it　was　futile。
Kassel　tried。　Nothing。
“Again；　Hans。　We　can’t　lose　them　now。　If　they　can’t　knock　out　those　SPGs　we　won’t　last
another　minute！”
“Nothing；”　said　Kassel。　He　tried　a　third　time　with　the　same　result。　“They’re　gone；　sir。”
“For　Throne’s　sake！　The　next　bloody　salvo　will　do　for　us。　Can’t　we　get　any　of　our　heavy
weapons　on　them？　What　about　our　mortar　teams？　They’re　all　we　have　left　that　doesn’t　need　line　of
sight。”
Kassel　immediately　tried　to　raise　the　mortar　teams　on　the　vox；　but　there　was　no　reply；　just
hissing　static　and　the　sure　knowledge　that　more　men　had　died。
“Sir；　we　need　to　get　you　away　from　here。　Those　green…skin　gun…crews　won’t　take　long　to　reload。
We　should　get　you　into　one　of　the　Chimeras。　The　Kasrkin　might　be　able　to　open　a　corridor。”
“If　you　suggest　that　to　me　ever　again；　Hans；　I’ll　pistol…whip　you。　Do　you　hear　me？　You　should
know　better　by　now。　I’ve　never　run　from　a　field　of　battle　in　my　life。”
“I…　Sorry；　sir。”
“Sod　your　apologies；　man。　Just　keep　shooting。　We’ll　make　a　proper　accounting　of　ourselves
before　the　end。　Get　the　word　out。　The　Fighting　98th　makes　its　last　stand　for　the　honour　of　Cadia！”
“The　Fighting　98th　forever；　sir！”　said　Kassel；　thrusting　out　his　chest。　Determination　replaced　the
fear　in　his　eyes。　If　they　were　to　die；　it　would　be　as　only　Cadian　men　could　die；　strong　and　true；　and
unrelenting　to　the　very　last。　The　Emperor　would　welcome　their