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Corporal　Metzger　stopped　Last　Rites　II　just　behind　a　shallow　dune；　not　much　protection；　but
better　than　none。　It　would　keep　the　tank’s　vulnerable　underside　covered　while　the　hull　armour　took
the　brunt　of　the　enemy　fire。　Then　Metzger　manned　the　hull…mounted　heavy　bolter；　adding　his　fire　to
Wulfe’s；　devastating　the　press　of　enemies　that　were　desperately　trying　to　close　the　gap　so　they　could
swarm　the　tank’s　hatches。
At　this　range；　Wulfe　could　see　their　grotesque　faces　all　too　clearly；　reminding　him　of　so　many
other　greenskins　he　had　faced　over　the　years。　Some　men　said　they　all　looked　the　same；　but　Wulfe
knew　better。　One　face　in　particular　was　burned　into　his　brain：　the　wart…covered；　lopsided　face　of　the
ork　that　had　given　him　the　scar　on　his　throat。　The　old　scar　was　itching　like　crazy；　as　it　always　did
when　he　was　under　pressure。　Though　the　Golgothan　orks　were　similar　enough　to　their　distant　kin　to
dredge　up　unwelcome　memories；　they　were　different；　too。　They　were　brown　for　a　start；　discoloured；
he　imagined；　by　the　red　dust　to　which　they　had　been　exposed　for　so　many　years。　They　were　also
leaner　and　harder　than　any　he　had　seen　before；　their　muscles　rippling　like　steel　cables。　Golgotha　had
made　its　mark　on　them。　It　had　shaped　them。　Toughened　them。
Wulfe　stole　a　glance　to　left　and　right；　and　saw　that　Frontline　Crusader　and　New　Champion　of
Cerbera　had　halted　in　formation；　adding　their　lethal　firepower　to　the　slaughter。　The　toll　on　the　orks
was　mind…boggling；　and　a　number　of　the　smallest　turned　and　tried　to　break　from　the　fight。　These　few
began　struggling　against　the　tide　pressing　at　their　backs；　eager　to　escape　the　sweeping　arcs　of　fire
that　were　killing　so　many　of　their　foul　kin。　It　was　hopeless；　of　course。　Wulfe　swept　his　barrel　from
left　to　right；　cutting　them　down　without　mercy。
Suffer　not　the　alien　to　live。
Down　in　the　turret；　Corporal　Holtz　didn’t　need　Wulfe　to　tell　him　what　to　do。　He　had　plenty　of
experience　to　guide　him。　Last　Rites　II；　like　so　many　other　Leman　Russ　tanks；　boasted　a　co…axial
autocannon　that　could　chew　infantry　and　light　armour　apart　with　ease；　allowing　the　gunner　to　spare
the　precious；　limited　ammunition　of　the　main　gun。　Holtz　employed　the　co…ax　now；　traversing　the
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turret　slowly　in　a　ninety…degree　arc；　firing　relentlessly；　covering　the　sand　in　lifeless　alien　debris。　On
the　other　side　of　the　turret　basket；　Siegler　was　pulling　a　fresh　ammunition　belt　from　a　stowage　box。
With　its　incredible　rate　of　fire；　Wulfe’s　heavy　stubber　would　need　reloading　in　a　matter　of　seconds。
“Don’t　waste　any　time；　Lenck；”　Wulfe　voxed　to　the　New　Champion。　“Cut　that　corridor。　Those
men　can’t　last　much　longer。”
“I’m　on　it；　sergeant；”　Lenck　snapped　back。
Sure　enough；　Wulfe　saw　the　Exterminator’s　turret…mounted　heavy　bolters　blaze　into　life；
stitching　a　bloody　path　straight　through　the　foe。　They　made　one　hell　of　a　mess；　a　kill　for　almost
every　hit　scored。
Wulfe　felt　someone　tap　his　shin　twice。　He　tore　his　eyes　from　the　bloodbath；　dropped　his　hand
down　into　the　turret；　and　accepted　the　ammunition　belt　that　Siegler　was　feeding　up　to　him。　Ork　slugs
rattled　and　spanged　from　the　turret　armour　all　around　him；　sending　showers　of　sparks　into　the　air。
Wulfe　ducked　down；　staying　as　low　as　possible　without　abandoning　his　cupola　altogether。
“Sort　those　bastards　out；　Holtz！”　he　yelled　over　the　intercom。　“I’m　taking　an　awful　lot　of　fire　up
here！”
“If　I　could　just　use　the　main　gun；　sarge；”　Holtz　argued。
“Well　you　can’t！”　barked　Wulfe。　“No　high　explosives。　We’re　too　near　the　bloody　footsloggers。”
Wordlessly；　Holtz　traversed　the　turret　again；　using　the　autocannon　to　pour　out　another　lethal　hail
that　bought　Wulfe　the　time　he　needed　to　reload。　With　quick；　practised　hands；　Wulfe　re…threaded　the
belt　into　the　heavy　stubber；　yanked　hard　on　the　cocking　lever；　and　was　about　to　resume　firing　when
something　huge　and　dark　leapt　high　into　the　air　on　a　trail　of　blue　fire；　curved　straight　towards　him；
and　landed　with　a　heavy　clang　on　top　of　his　turret。　Just　a　metre　closer　and　Wulfe　would　have　been
fatally　crushed　under　the　heavy　body　of　a　monstrous；　mad…eyed　brute　with　a　smoking　red　rocket
strapped　to　its　back。　It　was　some　kind　of　insane　greenskin　assault　trooper！
Wulfe　and　the　ork　looked　at　each　other　for　the　briefest　instant；　blue　eye　locked　to　red；　and　Wulfe
knew　that　it　was　over。　The　ork’s　rusty　cleaver　was　already　in　the　air；　poised　at　the　start　of　a
sweeping　downward　stroke　that　would　hack　him　apart。　His　heavy　stubber　couldn’t　help　him。　The
ork　had　one　massive　foot　on　either　side　of　the　barrel。
Oh；　frak；　thought　Wulfe。
A　tidal　surge　of　adrenaline　slowed　time　to　a　crawl　and　blocked　out　everything　but　the　enormous
figure　of　the　monster　that　was　about　to　end　his　life。　Wulfe　didn’t　hear　the　burst　of　fire　from　his　right。
He　didn’t　hear　his　name　being　called　over　the　vox。　But　he　saw　the　ork’s　weapon　hand　disintegrate　in
a　bloody　mist；　followed　almost　immediately　by　its　massive；　razor…toothed　head。　It　burst　like　a　rotten
fruit；　and　he　felt　the　monster’s　foul　blood　spray　over　his　face　and　fatigues　like　hot　rain。
The　creature’s　heavy　blade　clattered　against　the　turret　armour　as　it　fell。　Then　the　headless　body
followed　it；　falling　backwards；　slipping　over　the　tank’s　track　guards　to　the　red　sand　below。
Wulfe　didn’t　move　for　another　second；　confused　that　he　was　somehow　still　alive。　He　didn’t
register　the　ork　shells　that　were　whining　past　his　head。
There　was　something　powerfully　salty　on　his　lips；　and　the　foul　taste　of　it　snapped　him　back　to
his　senses。　It　was　ork　blood。　He　wiped　it　off　with　his　sleeve　and　turned。　Looking　to　the　right；　he　saw
Corporal　Lenck　standing　in　the　cupola　of　the　New　Champion；　his　heavy　stubber　still　pointed　in
Wulfe’s　direction。
For　just　the　briefest　moment；　Wulfe　felt　absolutely　sure　that　Lenck　was　about　to　shoot　him。
There　was　a　look　of　utter　triumph　in　the　arrogant　corporal’s　eyes。　He　could　end　Wulfe’s　life　with　the
merest　pressure　of　thumb　on　trigger。
But　the　lethal　impacts　never　came。　After　a　tense　second；　Lenck　laughed；　turned　his　stubber　back
on　the　orks　and　continued　firing。　He　looked　sickeningly　pleased　with　himself。
By　the　frakking　Eye；　Wulfe　cursed。　Now　I’m　in　his　debt。　Damn　it　all！　Why　did　it　have　to　be
Lenck？
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His　eyes　followed　the　line　of　Lenck’s　tracers　and　he　saw　that　the　New　Champion　had　cut　a　deep；
broad　path　in　the　ork　ranks；　deep　enough　and　wide　enough　to　make　all　the　difference　to　Stromm　and
his　men。　The　orks　were　pushing　away　from　the　crashed　drop…ship；　eager　to　avoid　being　slaughtered
under　the　torrent　of　explosive　munitions　and　autocannon　fire。　They　left　hundreds　of　their　dead
behind　them　in　great　heaps　of　reeking　meat。　Wulfe　looked　beyond　the　piled　bodies　and　saw
Stromm’s　infantrymen　fighting　valiantly　with　their　backs　to　the　crashed　ship’s　hull。　Not　smart；　he
thought；　to　get　yourself　grounded　like　that　without　an　exit　strategy。　It　was　only　by　sheer　luck；　or
perhaps　the　machinations　of　the　Divine　Emperor；　that　the　Gunheads　had　found　Stromm’s　lot　in　time。
If　Lieutenant　van　Droi　had　picked　up　the　colonel’s　faint　vox…transmissions　any　later；　the　Gunheads
would　have　found　only　dead　men　and　scavengers。
Wulfe　had　said　it　before；　and　he　said　it　to　himself　again　now；　he　wouldn’t　have　been　a
footslogger　for　all　the　gold　on　Agripinaa。　What　kind　of　madness　made　men　march　to　battle　without
at　least　a　hundred　millimetres　of　solid　armour　between　them　and　the　foe？　Little　wonder　that　the　life
of　an　infantryman　was　so　short。　One　way　or　another；　most　died　within　their　first　six　months　of
combat　duty。　The　average　for　tankers　was　almost　double。　He　knew　some　men　resented　that；　but　it
was　tanks　and　their　crews　that　drew　most　fire　on　the　battlefield。
Through　the　veils　of　churning　smoke　and　dust；　Wulfe　spotted　a　man　that　could　only　have　been
Colonel　Stromm。　His　poise；　his　movements；　everything　about　him　radiated　strength　and　leadership。
He　and　the　men　immediately　around　him　were　fighting　desperately　against　those　orks　that　were　still
pressing　in　from　the　far　side；　protected　from　the　tank　fire　by　the　very　men　they　were　so　eager　to　kill。
At　a　glance；　Wulfe　judged　that　there　wasn’t　much　more　than　a　company’s　wort