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chance　to　object；　but；　to　a　practical　man　like　van　Droi；　it　made　perfect；　if　unpleasantly　harsh；　sense。
Ultimately；　the　two　medics　resolved　the　issue；　administering　large　doses　of　anaesthesium　to　the
worst　afflicted；　letting　them　die　peacefully　in　a　drug…induced　sleep。
With　the　column　stopping　only　briefly；　grim；　hollow…faced　troopers　buried　their　dead　comrades
in　the　sand。　There　was　no　Ministorum　man　to　pray　for　them；　but　one　of　Stromm’s　lieutenants；　a　man
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called　Boyd；　had　trained　briefly　as　a　confessor　before　abandoning　the　so…called　Righteous　Road　in
order　to　enlist　in　the　Guard。　He　said　a　few　words　for　the　souls　of　the　dead；　and　the　column　moved
on；　lighter　in　number；　heavier　in　spirit。
The　mood　got　even　worse　when　Stromm　had　his　lieutenants　issue　empty　jerry　cans　and
additional　water　purification　tablets　to　everyone。　If　they　wanted　to　survive　beyond　the　next　few
days；　he　told　them；　they　would　have　to　drink　the　undrinkable。　They　would　have　to　drink　their　own
urine。
As　if　the　lost　Cadians　didn’t　have　enough　problems；　the　dawn　of　the　sixteenth　day　brought　more　bad
news。　As　the　cloud…smothered　sun　rose　once　more；　casting　its　dull　red　glow　over　the　desert；　the　voxlink
began　to　erupt　with　anxious　chatter。　The　intercom　system　aboard　Foe…Breaker　did　likewise。
“There　must　be　millions　of　them！”　yelled　Bullseye　Dietz。　“There’s　no　beating　numbers　like　that；
sir。　They　won’t　be　on　foot；　not　moving　at　that　speed。”
Dietz　wasn’t　wrong。　Orks　were　closing　in　on　them。　Judging　by　the　dark　line　that　had　appeared　in
the　southeast　with　the　coming　of　day；　there　were　far　too　many　of　them　to　engage。　Raising　his　head
so　that　he　could　peer　through　his　tank’s　vision　blocks；　van　Droi　looked　again；　hoping　that　somehow
his　mind　had　played　a　trick　on　him；　that　it　had　exaggerated　the　size　of　the　enemy　force。
It　hadn’t。
The　horizon　was　seething　with　them。　How　close　were　they？　Between　the　heat　haze；　the　dust　and
the　mirage…line；　it　was　practically　impossible　to　tell。　That　they　were　visible　at　all；　van　Droi　decided；
meant　they　were　too　damned　close　by　far。
The　greenskin　host　had　moved　up　during　the　hours　of　darkness；　unnoticed　by　exhausted；
overheated；　dehydrated　men　more　intent　on　fighting　sleep　and　sickness　than　fighting　the　enemies　of
mankind。
The　Cadians　were　being　chased　down。　Perhaps　this　greenskin　war　party　had　stumbled　onto　their
tracks；　following　them　out　from　the　drop…ship　crashsite；　easily　tracing　them　by　the　deep　furrows　the
tanks　made　in　the　sand。　Now；　the　prey　was　in　sight。
“Nails；”　said　van　Droi；　“keep　her　bloody　speed　up。　And　I　want　to　know　the　moment　you　feel
anything　out　of　order；　the　slightest　jink　or　engine　stutter；　any　give　in　the　shocks　or　the　drive　train。
You　got　that？　Let’s　not　have　a　repeat　of　what　happened　to　Siemens。　We　won’t　have　time　to　frak
about　with　repairs。”
“Don’t　you　worry；　boss；”　replied　Nails。　“We’re　sympatico；　this　girl　and　me。　She　won’t　let　us
down。　Sympatico；　says　I。”
It　took　a　lot　to　faze　Karl　“Nails”　Nalzigg。　He　had　earned　his　nickname　the　hard　way　back　in　the
days　before　he　had　joined　van　Droi’s　crew。　He　had　earned　a　few　medals　to　go　with　it；　too。　Van　Droi
wished　he　shared　his　driver’s　easy　confidence；　but　Foe…Breaker　had　suffered　engine　trouble　twice
already　in　the　days　since　planetfall。　Not　her　fault；　of　course。
Van　Droi’s　old　girl　was　only　as　prone　to　stalling　as　any　of　the　other　machines。　With　every
passing　hour；　another　would　stop　dead；　refusing　to　start　again　until　the　contacts　on　its　engines　were
properly　cleared　of　the　red　dust。
To　van　Droi’s　knowledge；　there　was　only　a　single　exception。
Wulfe’s　old　crate　hadn’t　stalled　once　in　all　the　time　since　the　crash。　She　might　look　her　age；
thought　van　Droi；　but　Last　Rites　II　had　already　proved　that　she’d　got　what　it　takes　under　the　engine
covers。
He　hadn’t　mentioned　it　to　Wulfe；　but；　of　all　the　tanks　assigned　to　replace　the　losses　from
Palmeros；　van　Droi　had　hand…picked　the　Mars…Alpha　pattern　Leman　Russ　out　for　the　sergeant
personally。　Wulfe　had　taken　the　loss　of　his　old　machine　badly。　What　kind　of　tanker；　after　all；　could
ride　into　battle　time　after　time　in　the　same　tank；　come　out　alive　when　so　many　around　him　died；　and
not　feel　some　kind　of　special　bond　with　her？　It　was　exactly　the　way　van　Droi　felt　about　Foe…
Breaker。
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His　choice　of　replacement　tank　for　Wulfe　seemed　to　have　backfired；　though。　The　rugged
sergeant　hadn’t　taken　to　Last　Rites　II　at　all。　In　fact；　he　seemed　to　think　van　Droi　had　assigned　him
the　new　tank　out　of　spite。　Van　Droi　wanted　to　believe　it　was　simply　a　matter　of　time；　that　Wulfe
would　come　around　soon　enough；　but；　with　the　ork　host　tailing　them；　time　looked　like　it　might　be
up。　How　fast　were　the　ork　machines　chasing　them？　There　would　be　buggies　in　their　hundreds。
Assault　bikes；　too；　perhaps。　Might　they　even　have　air　support？　Bombers？　Greenskins　were　certainly
insane　enough　to　fly　in　such　dangerous　skies。
A　red　light　began　flickering　on　the　vox…board　by　van　Droi’s　left　shoulder。　He　turned　in　his
command　seat；　flipped　the　toggle　that　turned　the　light　green；　and　said；　“10th　Company　Command
here。　Go　ahead。”
“Tenth；　this　is　Regiment；”　said　Colonel　Stromm。　“It　looks　like　we’re　caught　between　a　rock　and
a　hard　place。　Have　you　looked　south…east　recently？”
“I　have；　sir；”　said　van　Droi。　“Don’t　like　the　view　much。　Very　difficult　to　estimate　party　strength
given　distance　and　conditions；　but　I　think　it’s　fair　to　say　we’re　a　little　outnumbered。　Assuming　the
majority　of　those　green…skins　are　on　wheels；　they　could　well　catch　us　by　midday。”
“The　galaxy　does　like　to　stack　the　odds　against　us；　doesn’t　it；　lieutenant？”　said　Stromm。
“No　glory　in　easy　victories；　sir。　Still；　a　man　should　know　his　limits。”
“Or　in　this　case；”　replied　Stromm；　“the　limits　of　his　machines。　I　think…　Hold　on　a　moment；
lieutenant。”
Stromm　cut　the　link。　A　few　seconds　later；　the　same　light　on　van　Droi’s　vox…board　started
flashing　again。　He　hit　the　toggle。　“Sir？”
“Sorry　about　that；　van　Droi；”　said　Stromm。　“Just　got　word　from　our　scouts。　I’ll　let　you　judge　for
yourself　whether　it’s　good　or　bad。　He’s　reporting　a　massive　dust　storm　up　ahead。　Point　your
magnoculars　a　few　degrees　east　of　our　current　heading。　You　can　just　about　make　it　out。”
“It’s　going　to　hit？”
“Soon；　apparently。　It’s　moving　fast。　If　we　cut　south…east　we　can　probably　escape　the　worst　of　it；
but—”
“But　it’ll　put　us　within　easy　striking　range　of　the　orks　at　our　back；　sir。　By　the　blasted　Eye！”
“You　said　it；　lieutenant。　I’m　not　about　to　order　our　lads　into　a　battle　we　won’t　survive　without　a
damned　good　reason。　I　say　we　head　straight　into　the　storm。　Take　our　chances。　If　anything；　it　might
serve　to　cover　our　tracks。　We　might　actually　lose　the　bastards。　What　do　you　say？”
It’s　a　ballsy　move；　thought　van　Droi。　There’s　plenty　that　could　go　wrong。　On　the　other　hand…
“The　machine…spirits　aren’t　going　to　like　it；　sir；”　he　said。　“I’d　put　money　on　mechanical　failures。
Any　estimates　on　how　long　the　storm　will　last？　We　won’t　be　able　to　see　a　damned　thing　while　we’re
in　there。　If　we　move　at　all；　it’ll　have　to　be　very　slowly。”
“There’s　no　way　to　say　how　long；　van　Droi；”　voxed　Stromm。　“The　environmental　summaries　the
Mechanicus　issued　during　warp　transit　painted　a　pretty　bleak　picture。　Some　storms　last　a　few　hours；
others　last　days；　even　weeks。”
“That’s　one　hell　of　a　gamble；　sir。”
“Are　you　much　of　a　gambling　man；　lieutenant？”
“I　guess　I　am　today；”　said　van　Droi。
“That’s　what　I　thought。　Let’s　roll　the　dice　and　hope　for　the　best。　And　may　the　Emperor’s　luck　be
with　us。　Stromm　out。”
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CHAPTER　ELEVEN
Colonel　Stromm　ordered　his　column　to　a　complete　stop　as　it　was　hit　by　the　fringes　of　the　coming
dust　storm。　Visibility　had　dropped　to　about　fifty　metres　already。　The　air　around　the　Imperial
machines　was　dark　with　veils　of　gusting　sand；　and　the　wind　howled；　rocking　the　vehicles　on　their
suspension。　The　sky　was　gone　from　view。　On　the　colonel’s　orders；　anxious　men　emerged　from
hatches　and　cabin　doors　with　their　faces　goggled　and　masked；　their　bodies　covered　as　much　as
possible　against　the　stinging　assault　of　the　hard　red　grains。
Their　voices　didn’t