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the　hands　of　the　hated　ork。”
It　was　Vinnemann’s　particular　habit　to　refer　to　the　old　foe　in　the　singular。　Some　of　the　men　did　a
pretty　good　impersonation　of　him；　though　never　with　any　malice。　There　was　tremendous　love　and
respect　for　the　old　colonel　among　those　who　had　served　under　him　for　any　length　of　time。　It　was
well　earned。　Those　men　whose　jibes　contained　an　edge　of　genuine　insult；　especially　those　that
mocked　his　physical　disability；　quickly　found　themselves　isolated；　cast　out　by　their　fellows。　Among
Imperial　Guardsmen；　such　exclusion　was　as　good　as　a　death　sentence。
Vinnemann’s　distinctive　posture　was　caused　by　his　augmetic　spine。　Twenty…four　years　earlier；
while　just　a　captain；　he　had　undergone　a　life…saving　augmentation　procedure　following　the
destruction　of　his　Vanquisher　battle　tank。　His　body　had　never　fully　accepted　the　implant。　Regular
injections　of　immunosuppressants　and　painkillers　eased　things　a　little；　but　not　much。　The　injury
should　have　killed　him；　and　so；　too；　the　subsequent　operation；　but　his　indomitable　spirit　had　kept
him　alive；　that　and　the　care　of　the　Medicae　nurse　he　later　married。　During　his　slow；　painful　recovery；
his　superiors　had　offered　him　the　option　of　an　honourable　discharge。　It　seemed　to　them　the　only
logical　choice。
Vinnemann　had　rejected　it　without　hesitation。　“A　rear　echelon　position；　then；”　they　had
suggested；　but　the　old　tanker　had　rejected　that；　too。　“My　duty；”　he　had　insisted；　“is　to　lead　my　men
from　the　front；　no　matter　what；　and；　so　long　as　I　am　able；　that　is　exactly　what　I　intend　to　do。”
Twelve　years　later；　he　had　risen　to　the　rank　of　colonel；　taking　command　of　the　entire　81st
Armoured　Regiment。
10
He　studied　them　now；　his　brave　troopers；　during　a　short　pause　in　his　speech。　A　slim　lieutenant　at
the　rear　coughed　quietly　behind　his　hand。　The　sound　was　magnified　in　the　relative　silence。
Vinnemann　drew　a　deep　breath。
“Some　of　us　have　fought　the　ork　before；”　he　continued；　“and　with　notable　success。　Our　victories
on　Phaegos　II；　Galamos　and　Indara　stand　us　in　good　stead；　though　many　of　you；　I　suppose；　had　yet
to　be　born　at　the　time　of　the　latter。　Still；　the　point　is　this：　we　know　the　ork。　We　know　that　together；
man　and　machine；　tanker　and　tank；　we　are　stronger　than　the　ork。　We　know　that　we　can　beat　the　ork。
We’ve　proved　it　time　after　time。”
He　found　himself　stunned　by　how　young　some　of　the　most　recent　reinforcements　looked　when
standing　next　to　their　more　experienced　peers。　By　the　blasted　Eye；　he　thought；　some　of　them　are
practically　children！　Was　I　ever　so　fresh…faced？
Thoughts　of　his　two　sons　bubbled　up　in　his　mind。　Both　were　serving　in　the　92nd　Infantry
Division　on　Armageddon。　They　had　grown　into　fine　soldiers。　Was　it　too　much　to　hope　for　their
safety？　Was　it　foolish　to　pray　for　them？　Millions　would　die　to　stop　the　foe　on　Armageddon；　tens　of
millions；　perhaps。　Yarrick’s　war　demanded　it。　The　very　heart　of　the　Imperium　was　at　stake。　Why
should　his　sons　be　spared　the　fate　of　their　comrades？　He　knew　that　glory；　victory　and　a　good　death
were　the　best　he　could　ask　for　them。　It　was　all　that　most　good　Cadians　asked　for　themselves。
Besides；　were　the　men　before　him　not　also　his　sons？　That　was　how　he　saw　them　sometimes。　They
certainly　made　him　feel　just　as　proud。
“Could　General　deViers　be　any　more　fortunate　than　to　have　our　proud　regiment　roll　out　under
his　command？　I　hardly　think　so。　Yes；　I’ve　heard　the　mutterings　among　you。　I’ve　sensed　your　dark
mood。　Why　send　us　to　Golgotha；　you　still　wonder；　when　our　kin　are　so　pressed　on　Armageddon？
What　difference；　you　ask；　can　we　make　out　here　on　a　planet　untouched　by　the　Emperor’s　light？
Well；　let　me　tell　you　something。　Listen　closely；　now；　because　I　want　you　to　understand　it。　I　believe
in　this　operation！　Do　you　hear　me？　I　believe　in　it。　Our　success　will　make　a　difference　to　our
beleaguered　brothers　that　you　can　scarcely　imagine。　Our　triumphant　return　will　re…energise　them　as
nothing　else　can。　Those　of　you　who　doubt　it　will　understand　once　you　lay　eyes　on　the　prize。　Until
that　moment；　I　know　you’ll　do　whatever　it　takes；　give　your　every　bead　of　sweat；　your　last　drop　of
blood　if　necessary；　for　the　honour　and　tradition　of　our　proud　regiment；　for　the　glory　of　Cadia；　and
for　the　everlasting　dominion　of　the　God…Emperor　of　mankind。”
He　scanned　their　faces　for　signs　of　open　dissent　and　found　none。　Instead；　their　response　to　his
words　was　both　immediate　and　deafening。
“For　Cadia　and　the　Emperor！”　they　roared　and；　like　his　own　amplified　words；　the　sound　echoed
back　at　him　from　the　hangar　walls。
He　grinned　at　them；　eager　not　to　dwell　on　the　doubts　he　secretly　carried。　“Sergeant　Keppler；”　he
said；　“get　these　brave　soldiers　loaded　up！”
“Aye；　sir；”　said　the　old　sergeant　with　the　mutilated　ear；　and　he　threw　up　a　salute　that　was　so
sharp　it　could　have　cut　glass。　He　turned；　took　a　deep　breath；　and　roared　at　the　men；　“Right　you
maggots；　you　heard　the　colonel。　About　face！　Squad　leaders；　take　’em　in　nice　and　clean！”
Vinnemann　watched　them　proudly　as　they　marched　up　the　ramps　and　into　the　bellies　of　the
waiting　drop…ships；　each　company　to　a　ship　of　its　own。　Be　strong；　sons　of　Cadia；　he　thought；　now
more　than　ever。
He　turned　and　dismissed　his　officers　so　that　each　could　go　to　join　his　men。　Finally；　with　his
personal　staff　in　tow；　the　colonel　moved　off　to　board　his　own　shuttle。
The　hangar　air　began　vibrating　with　the　whine　of　powerful　engines　as　the　naval　flight…crews
began　warming　up　their　craft。　With　a　great　metallic　groan；　the　massive　bay　doors　slowly　opened
onto　space。　Orange　light　flooded　in；　reflected　from　the　planet　below。
After　seven　long　and　troubled　months　aboard　the　Hand　of　Radiance；　it　was　time；　at　last；　to　return
to　war。
11
CHAPTER　TWO
Good　solid　ground；　thought　Sergeant　Oskar　Andreas　Wulfe。　Greenskins　or　not；　he　was　looking
forward　to　standing　on　good　solid　ground。　It　would　be　a　fine　thing　to　feel　dirt　and　rock　under　his
boot…heels　again；　the　first　time　in　far　too　long。　He　was　sick　of　living　day…to…day　on　this　damned　ship
with　its　maze　of　gloomy　corridors　and　its　endlessly　recycled　air。　With　thoughts　of　dunes　and
mountains　and　broad　open　plains；　he　marched　his　crew　up　the　boarding　ramp　and　into　the　drop…ship
that　would　ferry　them　down　to　the　surface。
The　trip　from　Palmeros　to　the　Golgothan　subsector　had　been　the　longest　unbroken　warp　journey
of　his　career；　and　plenty　of　tempers　had　frayed　under　the　strain；　not　least　his　own。　It　wasn’t　just　the
journey；　however。　Warp　travel　was　no　picnic；　but　it　didn’t　help　that　his　mind　was　still　wrestling　with
the　memories　of　his　last　days　on　Palmeros；　memories　that　often　woke　him　in　a　cold　sweat；　gripping
his　bunched　sheets　and　calling　out　the　name　of　a　dead　friend。
He　suspected　that　his　crew　was　more　bothered　by　this　than　they　let　on。　They　had　to　bunk　with
him；　after　all；　and　often　got　as　little　restful　sleep　as　he　did。　He　thought　he　detected　it　in　their　eyes
sometimes；　a　loss　of　confidence　in　him　where　once　it　had　been　unshakeable。　How　much　worse
would　matters　be；　he　wondered；　if　he　ever　told　them　the　truth　about　what　he　had　seen　in　the　canyon
that　day？　Much　worse。　It　didn’t　do　for　a　tank　commander　to　see　ghosts。　Those　who　reported　such
things　tended　to　go　missing　shortly　afterwards；　marched　off　by　whatever　Imperial　body　had
jurisdiction。　So　far；　the　only　man　Wulfe　had　confided　in　was　Confessor　Friedrich；　and　that　was　how
he　intended　to　keep　it。　Even　drunk　off　his　arse；　as　he　often　was；　the　confessor　was　a　man　to　be
trusted。
Wulfe　forced　his　mind　back　to　more　positive　territory。　It　would　be　good　to　see　a　sky　overhead
again；　instead　of　pitted　metal　bulkheads　veined　with　dripping　pipes　and　tangled　cables。　It　hardly
mattered　what　that　sky　looked　like；　just　so　long　as　it　was　wide　and　open　and　any　colour　but　the
lustreless　grey　of　starship　bulkheads。
Following　the　squad　in　front；　Wulfe　led　his　men　through　one　of　the　drop…ship’s　cargo　holds；
turning　his　head　to　look　at　the　tanks　and　halftracks　that　rested　there。　Beyond　them；　further　back　in
the　shadows；　sat　the　company’s　fuel　and　supply　trucks。　All　of　the　vehicles　were　covered　in　heavy
brown　tarpaulins；　lashed　down　with　thick　steel　cables　and　bolted　to　solid