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possible　against　the　stinging　assault　of　the　hard　red　grains。
Their　voices　didn’t　travel　far。　Words　already　muffled　by　rebreather　masks　were　snatched　away
by　the　rising　storm。　Van　Droi　was　forced　to　shout　at　the　top　of　his　voice。　“Hurry　it　up。　I　want　all　the
tanks　chained　together　before　it　gets　any　worse　out　here。　Come　on。　Only　a　few　minutes　left。　Work
faster。”
The　Gunheads　hauled　heavy　steel　chains　from　the　stowage　bins　on　the　rear　of　each　tank　and
worked　hard　to　attach　them　to　the　towing　pegs　at　the　front　and　back　of　their　machines。
“Twenty　metres　between　each　tank；”　shouted　van　Droi。　He　wished　he　had　a　vox…amp　handy。　The
bead　he　wore　in　his　right　ear　linked　him　to　his　tank　commanders；　but　the　crews　didn’t　wear　such
advanced　tech。　They　took　their　orders　through　their　tanks’　intercom　systems。　There　was　no　time　for
van　Droi　to　return　to　Foe…Breaker　and　dig　out　a　vox…amp　now；　though。　The　winds　were　really
picking　up。　The　men　worked　quickly　despite　their　thirst　and　fatigue。　Some　struggled　through　bouts
of　coughing　that　doubled　them　over　in　pain　and　discomfort；　but　they　fought　through　it　to　get　the　job
done。　It　was　just　as　well　they　did。　In　the　few　minutes　it　took　to　link　all　the　tanks　together；　the　storm
had　become　incredibly　fierce。　Visibility　dropped　another　ten　metres。　Then　another。　Then　another。
Van　Droi　could　only　just　make　out　the　red　silhouette　of　the　tanks　to　the　front　and　rear　of　his　own。
The　wind　was　buffeting　him　so　hard　that　it　almost　pitched　him　from　his　feet　as　he　reached　up　to
climb　back　into　his　turret。
After　wrestling　his　way　up　Foe…Breaker’s　back；　he　dropped　down　into　her　basket；　slamming　and
locking　the　hatch　above　him。　Hitting　the　intercom；　he　said；　“Are　we　all　buttoned　up；　lads？”
“Tighter　than　a　governor’s　daughter；　sir；”　said　Waller。　He　had　been　van　Droi’s　loader　for　more
than　ten　years；　a　compact；　ruddy…faced　man；　good　at　his　work；　but　a　truculent　devil　when　he　had　a
bit　of　drink　in　him。
“Right　then；”　said　van　Droi。　“We　wait　for　Stromm’s　lot　to　finish；　then　roll　forward　nice　and
slow。”
Seated　out　of　eyesight　behind　his　crew；　he　allowed　himself　a　small　shake　of　the　head。　This　is　a
bit　of　bloody　madness；　he　thought。　If　it　weren’t　for　the　orks　at　our　backs…
“Van　Droi　to　Colonel　Stromm；”　he　voxed。　“Can　you　hear　me；　sir？”
“Not　too　well；　van　Droi；”　said　Stromm；　“but　go　ahead。”　The　clarity　of　the　transmission　was
terrible。　The　dust…storm　had　brought　with　it　a　shocking　drop　in　the　quality　of　short…range　comms。　If
it　got　much　worse；　van　Droi　thought；　they　might　lose　comms　altogether。　That　would　ground　them
here　completely　until　the　storm　passed。
“My　crates　are　linked　and　ready。　Awaiting　your　order　to　move　out；　sir。”
“Hold　on　for　another　minute；　van　Droi。　The　last　of　my　lot　are　getting　hooked　together　now。
Can’t　believe　how　bad　it　is　out　there。　Throne　help　those　poor　lads　in　the　soft…tops。　I　hope　the　extra
tarps　will　be　enough　to　protect　them。”
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Van　Droi　grimaced。　He　was　worried　too。　It　hadn’t　been　possible　to　squeeze　everyone　from　the
open…backed　trucks　and　halftracks　into　sealed　cabins　and　the　troop　compartments　of　the　Chimeras；
but　they　had　done　their　best。　As　few　men　as　possible　were　left　to　endure　the　storm　in　the　less
protected　vehicles。　They　had　been　given　as　much　extra　cover　as　was　available　to　protect　them；　but
Van　Droi　had　no　idea　just　how　much　worse　the　storm　was　likely　to　get。
“I’m　sure　they’ll　be　all　right；　sir；”　he　said；　managing　to　sound　far　more　positive　than　he　felt。
“One　moment；　lieutenant。”
There　was　a　pause　and　a　flicker　of　vox…board　lights。　Then　the　colonel　returned。　“The　last　of　my
machines　has　been　linked　up；　van　Droi。　Have　your　tanks　lead　us　out。　Keep　the　speed　to　a　steady　ten
kilometres　per　hour；　no　more；　no　less。”
“Ten　it　is；　sir。　Giving　the　order　now。”
“Very　good；　Armour。　Stromm；　out。”
“You　all　ready　for　this？”　van　Droi　asked　his　crew。
The　half…hearted　grunts　that　came　back　to　him　over　the　intercom　spoke　volumes　about　how　his
crew　felt　riding　blind。　There　was　no　hiding　their　anxiety。
Van　Droi　flicked　over　to　the　company　command　channel　and　said；　“Company　Commander　to　all
tanks。　Confirm　readiness　to　deploy。”
“Spear　Leader　confirms；”　came　the　static…riddled　response　from　Sergeant　Rhaimes。
Spear　One’s　confirmation　followed；　then；　Spear　Two’s。　So　it　went　until　all　eight　of　van　Droi’s
surviving　tank　commanders　had　called　in。
“Keep　your　crates　absolutely　steady　at　ten　per　hour。　Stay　on　this　heading。　I　don’t　want　any
accidents。　Cold　Deliverance　has　point。　Corporal　Muller；　lead　us　out。”
One　by　one；　the　tanks　of　10th　Company　started　to　edge　forward　blindly；　tow　chains　giving　out
metallic　groans　as　they　went　taut。
The　rumble　of　Foe…Breaker’s　engine　deepened；　and　she　lurched　forward　gently　as　her　gears
caught；　feeding　power　to　the　massive　axle　that　turned　her　drive　sprocket。　The　heavy；　cog…like　wheel
turned；　iron　teeth　pulling　link　after　link　towards　it；　driving　the　tank　forward　slowly　and　steadily。　The
tank　directly　in　front　of　Foe…Breaker　—　Corporal　Fuchs’　Rage　Imperius　—　was　practically　invisible
now。　Van　Droi　checked　the　rear　vision　blocks　and　found　that　the　tank　behind　—　Corporal　Kurtz’s
The　Adamantine　—　was　just　as　difficult　to　see。　The　screech　of　grinding　metal　sounded　over　the
howling　wind　and　the　rumble　of　the　engine　as　hooks　took　the　strain　against　towing　pegs。
“Keep　her　real　steady；　won’t　you；　Nails？”　said　van　Droi。
“Sure　thing；　sir；”　replied　the　grizzled　old　driver。　His　voice　was　clear。　The　tank’s　intercom　system
wasn’t　affected　by　the　storm　in　the　same　way　the　vox…link　was。　“As　steady　as　Waller’s　hands　after　a
few　bottles　of　the　rough　stuff。”
Van　Droi　frowned。　That　wasn’t　very　steady　at　all。
Lenck’s　men　were　far　more　worried　than　he　was；　and　they　weren’t　beyond　showing　it。　As　the　New
Champion　rolled　forward；　they　grumbled　and　griped　on　the　intercom；　snapping　at　each　other；　letting
their　nerves　get　the　better　of　them。　Lenck　tuned　them　out。
As　the　storm　intensified；　gusts　battering　against　his　tank；　rocking　her　as　if　she　weighed　far　less
than　her　sixty…three　tonnes；　he　sat　back　in　his　command　seat；　idly　playing　with　the　cruelly　serrated
knife　he　kept　in　his　boot。　It　was　a　non…regulation　blade；　officially　forbidden；　but　it　had　saved　his
neck　a　few　times　back　in　the　reserves；　particularly　when　bigger　men　came　looking　for　him；　burning
with　anger；　ready　to　pulp　him　for　cheating　them　out　of　money　or　bedding　their　women。　Most　lost　the
will　to　fight　after　they’d　been　cut　a　few　times。
Lenck　rated　himself　with　a　blade。
He　hadn’t　needed　to　use　his　little　equaliser　since　joining　the　81st　Armoured；　but　he　was　sure
there　would　come　a　time。　Sooner　or　later；　someone　would　come　looking　for　him　with　a　mind　to　do
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some　damage。　He　had　a　feeling　it　would　be　Sergeant　Wulfe。　Most　of　the　men　in　10th　Company　were
younger　than　Lenck；　recent　reinforcements　who　looked　up　to　him　for　one　reason　or　another。　It　was
something　different　for　each；　but　Lenck　could　always　find　it　and　use　it　to　his　advantage。　For　some；　it
was　his　skill　with　women　that　they　envied。　They　wanted　to　share　in　the　secret　of　his　success；　not
realising　there　was　no　secret；　he　was　simply　better　than　they　were。　For　others；　it　was　his　ability　to
procure　the　things　without　which　some　men　found　Guard　life　unbearable；　from　extra　smokes　or
booze　all　the　way　up　to　restricted　meds。　Before　that　damned　drop…ship　had　ditched　him　on　the　red
sands；　Lenck　had　enjoyed　a　nice　little　arrangement　with　a　certain　medicae　officer　whose　sinful
appetites　he　had　threatened　to　reveal　to　a　member　of　the　Ministorum。　The　man　would　have　faced
execution　for　sure。　Throne　knew　where　the　bloody　clown　was　now。　Maybe　he　had　made　it　down　on
another　ship。　Maybe　he　was　dead。　No　matter。　When　Lenck　got　out　of　this　mess　—　and　he　knew　he
would；　for　if　he　believed　in　anything；　it　was　that　he　had　been　born　lucky　—　he　would　find　another
source。　Everyone　could　be　bent　to　his　will　one　way　or　another。
That　thought　brought　him　to　the　curious　matter　of　Victor　Dunst；　and　he　felt　a　rare　flash　of
irritation。　Dunst；　whoever　he　was；　seemed　to　be　the　reason　that　Sergeant　Wulfe　had　it　in　for　him。
Lenck　wanted　details；　sure　that　t