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concern　for　their　success。　Groxshit。　The　Machine　Cult　had　manoeuvred　Imperial　forces　here；　and
sooner　or　later；　Bergen　intended　to　find　out　why。　Even　so；　Bergen　had　cause　to　be　glad　of
Armadron’s　attendance。　Despite　his　unsettling　presence；　the　tech…adept　had　proved　to　be　a　particular
asset。　He　was　a　member　of　the　priesthood’s　technicus　arm　and；　working　closely　with　senior
enginseer　Aurien；　he　had　done　much　to　keep　the　tank　columns　moving。　Without　his　tireless　efforts
and　expertise；　Bergen　doubted　his　division　would　have　made　it　here　for　many　more　days　yet。　That
would　really　have　given　old　deViers　something　to　rage　about。
Despite　being　fraught　with　problems；　the　journey　here　was　still　the　easy　part。　Now　that　they　had
engaged　the　orks　—　whole　regiments　rushing　forward　to　clash　with　them　as　they　poured　from　the
outpost’s　towering　iron　gates　—　the　damned　dust　was　proving　just　as　problematic　in　battle　as　it　had
been　on　the　move。　Since　the　fighting　had　begun；　a　number　of　Colonel　Vinnemann’s　tanks　had　been
forced　to　fight　from　static　positions；　immobilised　early　in　the　assault　by　engine　stalls。　The　fines
penetrated　everything。　If　the　brave　crews　of　the　Atlas　recovery　tanks　hadn’t　risked　enemy　fire　to　pull
those　tanks　out；　the　crews　would　have　died　where　they　sat。
Squinting　through　his　magnoculars；　Bergen　saw　greenskin　reinforcements　pushing　and　jostling
in　their　eagerness　to　join　the　fray。
“Get　some　fire　on　the　main　gates；”　he　voxed　to　his　artillery　commander。　“Hit　them　while　they’re
bunched　up。　But　don’t　damage　the　superstructure！　Remember；　we　need　to　take　the　outpost　intact。”
His　division　had　been　unable　to　surprise　the　orks；　but　then；　he　hadn’t　really　expected　to。　The
thick　sandstone　watchtowers　of　Karavassa　had　a　commanding　view　from　their　seat　on　the　basalt
bluff　up　ahead。　It　wasn’t　the　towers　that　had　raised　the　alarm　first；　however。　His　armour　columns
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had　been　sighted　when　they　were　still　about　thirty　kilometres　out　from　the　target。　Ork　bike　patrols
had　been　roaming　the　area；　their　powerful　headlamps　throwing　broad　cones　of　light　out　into　the
darkness。　Some　of　these　patrols　had　roared　out　from　between　high　dunes　and　almost　run　into　the
leading　Imperial　machines。　A　sudden　stutter　of　gunfire　had　lit　the　sands　as　both　sides　leapt　into
action。　The　bikes　were　noisy；　oversized　things　with　huge　wheels　and　more　growling　exhaust　pipes
than　they　could　possibly　have　needed；　but　they　were　certainly　fast。　Their　riders　had　shown
surprising　sense　for　orks；　quickly　turning　tail　and　racing　back　the　way　they　had　come　to　alert　the　rest
of　the　horde。　Vinnemann’s　tanks　had　managed　to　take　out　most　of　them　as　they　showed　their　backs；
but　a　few　had　gotten　away。
As　the　division　had　closed　on　the　occupied　outpost；　with　the　cloud…smothered　sunrise　lending
the　scene　a　hellish　red　glow；　Bergen　had　looked　out　from　his　cupola　to　see　a　huge　ork　force：　a　horde
of　greenskin　infantry；　numbering　in　the　thousands；　supported　by　tanks；　artillery；　light　armour；　and　a
good　number　of　those　ridiculous　lumbering　contraptions　that　the　orks　so　loved　to　build。　These
dreadnoughts　looked　like　oversized　red　buckets　on　piston　legs。　Their　wicked　arms　flailed　to　and　fro；
blades　whirring；　claws　clashing；　eager　to　begin　the　bloodshed。　They　were　covered　in　other　weapons；
too：　flamers；　rocket　launchers；　heavy　stubbers　and　anything　else　that　could　be　bolted　to　them。　They
were　utterly　lethal　to　infantry；　but　they　were　no　match　for　Imperial　tanks。　Vinnemann’s　crews　had
already　gunned　down　at　least　thirty　of　them　at　long　range；　turning　them　to　burning　scrap　that　rained
down　on　the　heads　of　the　orks　around　them。
“Infantry；　keep　up　the　advance！”　Bergen　commanded。　“Colonel　Vinnemann；　have　three　of　your
companies　move　forward　in　support　of　the　infantry　on　the　left　flank。　Send　the　rest　straight　up　the
middle。　We　need　to　knock　out　their　armour　support　to　give　our　boys　a　fighting　chance。　We　have　to
drive　a　wedge　into　them。”
Bergen’s　command　Chimera；　Pride　of　Caedus；　had　taken　up　position　on　a　spur　of　rock　just　a　few
kilometres　southwest　of　the　outpost’s　walls。　Even　sitting　hull　down；　it　was　a　risky　place　to　perch。
Had　he　been　the　defender　instead　of　the　attacker；　he　would　have　put　some　artillery　on　the　spur；　sure
that　the　enemy　commander　would　have　chosen　this　spot　from　which　to　oversee　his　forces。　Did　such
things　occur　to　ork　leaders？　Bergen　didn’t　know；　but　his　need　for　a　good　view　of　the　battlefield
overrode　his　concern。
A　series　of　rippling　explosions　north…east　of　his　position　caused　him　to　turn。　One　of
Marrenburg’s　mechanised　infantry　companies；　ten　Chimeras　each　carrying　a　squad　of　hardened
infantrymen；　was　trying　to　press　forward　in　support　of　the　troopers　on　foot。　But　a　phalanx　of　ork
tanks　—　looted　Imperial　machines　from　the　last　war；　disfigured　almost　beyond　recognition　by　the
addition　of　spikes　and　strange　armaments　—　had　broken　free　from　their　engagement　with　a
company　of　Vinnemann’s　Leman　Russ　and　were　speeding　towards　the　Chimeras　with　cannons
blazing。
Bergen　saw　two　of　the　Chimeras　struck　head　on；　one　of　them　hit　so　hard　that　it　flipped　onto　its
back。　He　saw　the　rear　hatch　open。　Dizzy　men　began　stumbling　out；　desperate　to　be　away　from　the
burning　machine　before　its　ammunition　and　fuel　stores　exploded。　Most　were　injured。　They　fell。
Their　shaking　legs　wouldn’t　carry　them。　They　scrambled　desperately　to　get　up　again。
Too　late。　With　a　great　boom　and　a　mushrooming　of　fire　and　smoke；　the　Chimera　lifted　into　the
air。　Only　two　of　the　troopers　managed　to　escape　the　blast。　Bergen　cursed　and　turned　his　eyes　from
the　sprawled；　burning　figures　that　hadn’t。
The　other　Chimera　was　luckier。　The　cockpit　was　aflame；　the　driver　certainly　dead；　but　the　hatch
at　the　back　had　been　thrown　wide；　and　the　soldiers　within　were　pouring　out；　lasguns　up　and　ready。
Bergen　knew　those　lasguns　wouldn’t　do　a　damned　thing　against　the　ork　machines。
He　was　about　to　vox　Vinnemann　for　support　when　a　trio　of　Leman　Russ　tanks　crested　a　rise　just
north　of　the　burning　Chimeras。　They　traversed　their　turrets　right；　in　unison；　and　blasted　the　ork　tanks
at　mid…range。　One　of　the　ork　machines　was　hit　dead　centre。　The　Russ’　armour…piercing　round　must
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have　punctured　the　enemy　tank’s　magazine；　because　Bergen　saw　it　explode　spectacularly；　the　entire
turret　spinning　into　the　air　on　a　pillar　of　glaring　orange　flame。
The　other　two　ork　machines　were　still　closing　on　the　no…longer…mechanised　infantry。　The
soldiers　fired　on　them　in　tight；　ordered　volleys；　but　it　was　futile。　Las…bolts　smacked　harmlessly
against　thick　red　armour。　A　second　later；　however；　the　three　Leman　Russ　fired　again。　The　ork
machines　were　struck　hard；　skidding　sideways　on　their　treads　before　halting。　Greenskins　started　to
bail　out；　some　of　them　already　howling　as　flames　licked　their　leathery　brown　flesh。　The　Cadian
infantrymen　moved　straight　in；　pouring　las…fire　onto　the　ork　crews；　cutting　them　down；　blazing　away
on　full　charge　until　there　was　little　left　but　smoking　black　hunks　of　meat。
“Armour　Command　to　Division；”　said　a　voice　on　the　vox。　“Armour　to　Division。　Please
respond。”　It　was　Colonel　Vinnemann。
“I　read　you；　Armour；”　said　Bergen。　“Go　ahead。”
“I　have　a　visual　on　enemy　light　vehicles　breaking　left　to　strafe　our　forward　lines。　Armour　cannot
engage。　I　repeat；　armour　cannot　engage。　We　have　hostile　tanks　front　and　right；　and　we’re　taking
heavy　fire　from　artillery　located　inside　the　base。”
Bergen　cursed。　“Understood；　Armour。　Leave　it　to　me。　Division　out。”
He　panned　his　glasses　right　until　he　found　the　machines　in　question。　There　were　ten　of　them：　ork
war…buggies　bristling　with　heavy　stubbers；　rocket　launchers　and　more。　They　were　roaring　straight
towards　the　Cadian　assault　line。　The　men　were　exposed；　busy　trying　to　push　the　hordes　of　ork
infantry　back。　They　would　be　slaughtered　under　the　concentrated　fire　of　the　buggies　unless…
“Division　to　Recon　Two；”　Bergen　voxed。　“Come　in　please。”
“Recon　Two　reading　you　loud　and　clear；　sir。　Go　ahead。”
“Ork　light　armour　advancing　on　our　infantry　at　speed。　Look　to　your　two。　Those　lads　need　a　little
Sentinel　support；　wouldn’t　you　say？”
The　man　on　the　other　end　of　the　vox　was　Captain　Mun