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At　a　glance；　Wulfe　judged　that　there　wasn’t　much　more　than　a　company’s　worth　of　men　left
standing：　two　hundred；　maybe　three。　The　number　was　dropping　even　as　he　watched。　The　orks　kept
up　a　constant　pressure；　clambering　over　banks　of　their　dead　to　fire　clumsily…made　pistols　and
stubbers；　or　to　charge　forward　with　blades　raised　high。　The　sand　under　the　carpet　of　dead　men　and
orks　had　turned　into　a　blood…sodden　quagmire。
Wulfe　dropped　down　into　the　turret　and　nudged　the　vox…selector　switch　to　F　channel；　band　six。
“Colonel　Stromm；”　he　voxed；　“you　have　your　corridor；　but　it　won’t　hold　for　long。”
Stromm　didn’t　waste　time　offering　thanks。　Instead；　he　answered；　“Understood；　armour。　We’ll
make　our　push。　Give　us　all　the　cover　you　can。　Stromm；　out。”
Wulfe　contacted　Lenck　and　Siemens　briefly　and　passed　this　on。　For　an　instant；　he　considered
thanking　Lenck；　but　he　couldn’t　forget　the　look　in　the　man’s　eyes。　He　decided　that　they　would　talk
about　it　later；　providing　they　both　lived　through　this。　He　scrambled　back　up　into　his　cupola；　intent　on
doing　whatever　he　could　to　help　Stromm’s　men。　He　sa　troopers
moving　out　from　the　colonel’s　side；　swiftly　taking　up　positions　that　would　allow　them　to　hold　the
passage　open　for　as　long　as　possible。　They　moved　as　one；　firing　clean；　disciplined　hellgun　bursts　for
maximum　effect；　and　Wulfe　found　he　was　profoundly　impressed。　The　Kasrkin　were　a　special　breed。
He　wondered　what　it　took　to　remain　so　cool…headed；　surrounded　by　all　that　death　and　horror；　by
alien　savages　that　outweighed　you　three　or　four　times。　He　marvelled　at　their　calm　efficiency。
Like　tankers；　the　Kasrkin　drew　a　certain　level　of　resentment　from　standard　infantrymen。　They
received　special　training　and　superior　kit；　and　commanders　tended　not　to　waste　them　in　wars　of
attrition　when　there　were　other　options　available。　Right　now；　however；　that　training　and　equipment
was　being　employed　to　save　lives。
Wulfe　wondered　how　any　soldier　could　resent　that。
With　the　corridor　momentarily　secured；　the　remnants　of　the　embattled　infantry　began　pouring
out；　desperately　making　for　the　cover　of　Sword　Squadron’s　tanks。　As　they　ran；　some　stopped　and
turned；　dropping　to　one　knee　to　fire　back　at　the　pursuing　orks。　When　the　men　behind　had　overtaken
them；　they　rose　again　and　ran　while　someone　else　covered　the　rear。　It　was　as　well…executed　a
staggered　retreat　as　Wulfe　had　seen。
While　Sword　Squadron’s　secondary　weapons　continued　to　blaze　and　stutter；　helping　to　hold　the
orks　at　bay；　Wulfe　saw　Colonel　Stromm　run　down　the　centre　of　the　corridor；　a　wiry…looking　comms50
officer　at　his　side。　The　comms…officer　was　carrying　a　regimental　banner　of　bright　crimson　and　gold
that　rippled　and　waved　above　his　head　as　he　ran。　It　might　have　been　glorious　but　for　all　the　bullet
holes　in　it。　Wulfe　noticed；　too；　that　Stromm’s　right　arm　had　been　strapped　to　his　body。　It　was
probably　broken；　and　yet　he　moved　towards　the　tanks　with　as　much　speed　as　any　of　the　others；
slowing　only　to　turn　and　fire　blazing　hellpistol　shots　back　at　his　howling　pursuers。
With　men　pouring　out；　racing　to　the　relative　safety　behind　the　tanks；　it　wasn’t　long　before　only
the　Kasrkin　storm　troopers　were　left；　holding　the　line　until　the　last　man　was　clear。　The　orks　vented
their　full　fury　and　rage　on　them；　and　some　inevitably　went　down；　though　they　fought　to　the　bitter
end　through　wounds　that　would　have　killed　lesser　men　outright。
S　all　the　fire　support　they　could　manage。　Most　of　the　Kasrkin　made　it
out；　but　not　by　much。　As　they　raced　towards　the　cover　of　the　tanks；　Wulfe　ordered　his　squadron　to
keep　the　fire　up　but　prepare　to　fall　back。　Then　he　contacted　Colonel　Stromm。
“You　have　wounded　men　in　your　group；　sir。　Get　them　up　onto　the　tanks。　Use　the　track…guards
and　the　rear　decking；　but　stay　clear　of　the　engine　louvres　and　the　radiator。　We　can　carry　them　out　of
here　and　still　cover　the　retreat。　Those　on　foot　will　have　to　run。　What　do　you　say？”
Stromm　began　barking　out　orders　immediately；　and　the　track…guards　of　the　three　tanks　were
soon　crowded　with　men　in　blood…soaked　Guard…issue　fatigues。　Wulfe　would　have　helped　them　up；
but　his　continued　fire　was　needed　to　keep　the　orks　at　bay。
“Sword　One；　Sword　Two；”　he　voxed　to　Siemens　and　Lenck；　“fall　back　to　Hammer’s　position。
Keep　your　fire　up　as　we　move；　but　no　main　guns　until　van　Droi　gives　the　word。　We　don’t　want　to
scatter　them。”
A　short　series　of　acknowledgements　followed　and；　slowly；　steadily；　Sword　Squadron　began　to
roll　backwards。　It　was　then　that　Frontline　Crusader’s　engine　sputtered　and　died。　Wulfe　could　hear
Corporal　Siemens　swearing　over　the　vox。　The　panic　in　his　voice　was　all　too　clear。　“Oh；　Throne！
We’ve　stalled。　Come　in；　Sword　Leader。　Frontline　Crusader　is　in　big　trouble！”
From　his　cupola；　Wulfe　saw　Siemens　slamming　his　fists　on　the　top　of　his　turret。　The　wounded
men　perched　on　the　Frontline　Crusader’s　track　guards　were　looking　agitated。　The　orks　coming
forward　immediately　angled　straight　towards　the　crippled　tank。
Some　of　the　wounded　leapt　off　and　started　limping　through　the　sand；　clearly　unwilling　to　gamble
on　the　engine　restarting。　Others　stayed　put；　bravely　pouring　las…fire　down　at　the　oncoming　enemy。
That　didn’t　last　long。　Wulfe　saw　them　struck　by　wild　sprays　of　enemy　fire。　The　wounded　Cadians
fell　from　the　sides　of　the　tank；　as　lifeless　as　rag　dolls。
Wulfe　barked　orders　over　to　Lenck；　and　both　the　New　Champion　and　Last　Rites　II　turned　their
weapons　left；　desperate　to　buy　Corporal　Siemens　some　time。
Wulfe　knew　Siemens　needed　more　than　time。　He　needed　a　bloody　miracle。
None　was　forthcoming。
While　the　stubbers　and　bolters　were　busy　raking　the　charging　greenskins；　three　orks　with　rockets
strapped　to　their　backs　suddenly　careened　upwards　on　trails　of　blue　fire；　landing　just　metres　away
from　the　Frontline　Crusader’s　armoured　flanks。
Wulfe　barely　had　time　to　register　the　thick；　cylindrical　weapons　the　orks　were　carrying；　before
they　were　put　to　murderous　use。　The　moment　they　landed；　each　of　the　orks　raised　its　tube　to　its
shoulder；　took　aim　at　the　sides　of　the　crippled　tank；　and　fired。
Three　explosions　sounded　in　rapid　succession；　and　a　cloud　of　dust　and　fire　erupted　into　the　air；
cloaking　the　Frontline　Crusader　from　view。
“Siemens！”　shouted　Wulfe　over　the　vox。　There　was　no　answer。　He　immediately　turned　his
stubber　on　the　orks　responsible；　turning　two　of　them　into　hunks　of　dead　meat　where　they　stood。
Aiming　at　the　third；　his　shells　struck　the　red　rocket　on　its　back；　and　it　detonated；　scattering　tiny　burnt
pieces　of　the　ork　in　every　direction。
As　the　cloak　of　dust　and　sand　around　the　Frontline　Crusader　showered　back　down　to　the
ground；　Wulfe　saw　Siemens’　body。　It　was　still　in　the　cupola；　slumped　forward。　His　flesh　was　black。
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His　clothes；　hair　and　skin　were　still　burning。　One　charred　and　lifeless　arm　was　draped　over　the　barrel
of　his　heavy　stubber。
There　were　holes　in　the　tank’s　armour；　too。　Wulfe　could　see　twin　gaping　wounds　where　the
plating　looked　like　it　had　melted　straight　through。　Red　flames　were　boiling　up　out　of　them；　and　out
of　the　hatches　the　crew　had　tried　frantically　to　open　in　their　last　moments。
Four　men；　men　Wulfe　had　known；　dead。　Rage　lit　inside　him　like　dry　tinder。　He　turned　his
stubber　back　on　the　advancing　horde　with　a　vengeance。
“Throne　curse　you　and　your　entire　stinking　race；”　he　yelled　at　them。
“What　are　you　doing；　Wulfe？”　a　gruff　voice　demanded　over　the　vox…link。　It　was　Lieutenant　van
Droi　speaking　on　the　company　command　channel。
“It’s　the　Frontline　Crusader；　sir；”　replied　Wulfe；　breaking　only　momentarily　from　his　revenge。
“She’s　been　brewed　up。”
“I　can　see　that；　damn　it；”　growled　van　Droi。　“Keep　falling　back。　Spear　Squadron　is　in　position。
It’s　time　we　put　a　lid　on　this。”
Wulfe　gritted　his　teeth。　Siemens　had　been　all　right；　not　a　friend　exactly；　but　a　fellow　tanker；　a
Cadian　brother。　He　was　one　of　the　few　left　who　had　been　with　the　company　since　before　Palmeros。
He　didn’t　deserve　to　be　cooked　in　his　crate　like　that。　Wulfe　didn’t　want　to　think　about　what　it　had
been　like　for　the　crew　inside；　struggling　to　free　themselves　while　the　flames　devoured　them。　It
seemed　like　every　time　Wulfe　faced　the　orks；　he