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inverted　hull。
Her　turret　wasn’t　even　visible；　buried　deep　in　sand　and　loose　rock。　No　one　would　be　crawling
from　its　hatches。
He　directed　his　team　to　move　in　and　check　for　signs　of　life。　Sergeant　Wulfe　was　among　them
and　immediately　clambered　up　onto　the　machine’s　upturned　belly。　He　removed　his　laspistol　from　its
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thigh　holster；　lay　flat　against　the　tank’s　belly　armour　and　began　tapping　out　a　message　in　cipher…one。
It　was　an　old　code；　a　series　of　taps　and　pauses　that　the　Cadian　military　still　taught　to　cadets　in　their
first　year；　though　there　was　little　cause　to　use　it　given　the　prevalence　of　vox…comms。　Van　Droi　was
amazed　that　Wulfe　remembered　the　code　at　all。　It　had　been　over　twenty　years　since　the　man　had
been　a　cadet。　Reaching　back　to　memories　of　his　own　days　in　training；　it　took　van　Droi　a　moment　to
unscramble　the　message。　It　was　the　same　code；　repeated　over　and　over　again：　Survivors；　respond。
Survivors；　respond。
Wulfe　pressed　his　ear　to　metal　for　about　a　minute；　after　which　his　movements　took　on　a
distinctly　urgent　quality。　Noting　this；　van　Droi　moved　closer；　but　he　didn’t　dare　speak。　This　was　no
time　to　distract　the　sergeant。
Wulfe’s　message　changed：　Number　of　casualties？
Van　Droi　saw　him　press　his　ear　to　the　armour　again；　and　then；　after　a　short　pause；　tap　a　single
word：　Wait。
Leaping　down　from　the　belly　of　the　tank；　Wulfe　marched　straight　over　to　van　Droi。
“Three　dead；　one　alive；　sir。　It’s　the　driver；　Private　Krausse。”
“Status？”　asked　van　Droi。
“Not　good；　sir。　Lots　of　broken　bones。　Lacerations。”
“Damn；”　spat　van　Droi。　“I　think　we　both　know　how　this　is　going　to　turn　out；　Wulfe。”
The　sergeant　looked　at　the　ground。　“Frakking　hell；　sir。　We　can’t。”
“We　both　know　that’s　not　our　call。　Stromm’s　the　man　in　charge。　Don’t　hate　him　for　it。　He　has　to
think　about　the　rest　of　us。”
“Can’t　we　at　least　try；　sir？”
“I　wish　we　could；　Oskar；”　said　van　Droi　heavily；　“but　with　our　limited　resources；　it　would　take
the　rest　of　this　day　and　half　of　the　next　to　cut　him　out。　And　that’s　cutting　where　the　armour　is
thinnest。”
Van　Droi　couldn’t　see　Wulfe’s　face。　It　was　masked　and　goggled；　like　his　own；　against　the
airborne　dust；　but　he　knew　the　sergeant’s　expression　would　be　much　the　same　as　his：　bloody
miserable。
“Get　yourself　and　the　others　back　up　to　your　tanks。　Stromm　will　have　orders　for　us　to　move　out
soon。　His　people　will　have　found　a　trail　down　for　the　vehicles　by　now。　Do　something　else　for　me；
will　you？　Tell　the　others…　Tell　them　there　were　no　survivors。”
“You　want　me　to　lie；　sir？”　asked　Wulfe。　There　was　a　knife…edge　of　bitterness　in　his　voice。
“I　want　you　to　think　of　what’s　best；　sergeant；”　snapped　van　Droi。　“Morale　is　bastard　low　as　it　is。
So　you　go　up　there　and　you　tell　them　no　one　made　it。　And　we　move　on。　Is　that　clear？”
Wulfe　snapped　his　boots　together。　The　tone　of　his　voice　became　flat　and　hard　as　he　said；
“Crystal　clear；　sir。　My　apologies。　I　should　not　have　questioned　you。”
“No；　Oskar；”　said　van　Droi。　“No　apologies　from　you。　Just…　do　as　I’ve　asked；　will　you？”
“Of　course；　sir。　You　can　count　on　me。”
With　that；　Wulfe　turned；　gathered　the　other　four　men　together　and　led　them　back　up　the　ropes　to
the　waiting　tanks　above。
Van　Droi　hauled　himself　up　onto　Cold　Deliverance；　frowning　under　his　mask　at　how　dizzy　the
effort　made　him　feel。　He　wasn’t　drinking　enough　water　each　day；　not　by　far。　Who　could　blame　him？
The　purification　kits　didn’t　do　much　to　take　away　the　bitter　saline　taste　of　the　processed　urine。　Food
rations　were　also　running　very　low。　He　must　have　lost　a　dozen　kilograms　over　the　last　ten　days；　if
not　more。
He　removed　a　finely…crafted　autopistol　from　the　holster　at　his　hip；　and　lay　down　on　the　upturned
belly　of　the　tank　in　the　spot　Wulfe　had　occupied　a　moment　earlier。　With　the　heel　of　his　pistol　he
began　tapping　a　message　to　the　man　trapped　inside：　Company　commander　here。
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He　listened　for　a　response。　After　a　few　seconds；　there　came　a　series　of　clangs。　In　his　mind；　van
Droi　translated　the　beats　and　pauses：　Understood。　Greetings。
Van　Droi　tapped　again：　Extrication　impossible。
There　was　a　much　longer　pause　this　time　before　the　response　came　back。　This　time；　a　single
word：　Understood。
Do　you　have　a　weapon？　van　Droi　tapped。
Yes；　tapped　Krausse。　There　was　a　long　pause；　then　he　added；　Will　use。
Van　Droi　wanted　to　tap　the　word　sorry；　but　something　stayed　his　hand。　Instead；　he　tapped；　Go
with　the　Emperor；　son。
He　listened　carefully；　ear　pressed　hard　to　the　thick　metal　below　him；　but　the　tank　driver　had
stopped　tapping　back。　There　was　only　a　single　last　clang　from　inside　the　overturned　machine。　It　was
the　sound　of　a　weapon　discharging。　Van　Droi　didn’t　need　to　decrypt　it　to　know　that　it　meant
goodbye。
As　he　scrambled　down　from　the　tank；　walked　over　to　the　rope；　and　began　the　tiring　climb　back
up；　the　lieutenant’s　heart　felt　like　it　weighed　about　sixty　tonnes　itself。　Damn　it　all；　he　thought。　Who
would　be　a　bloody　leader　of　men？
At　the　top　of　the　rope；　arms　reached　out　to　help　him　over；　and　he　stood　to　find　himself　facing　a
row　of　his　tankers　clad　in　masks　and　goggles。　They　stood　to　attention　as　he　rose　and　dusted　off　his
fatigues。
“Why　aren’t　you　lot　in　your　tanks？”　he　asked　them。　“Have　Stromm’s　lot　found　a　way　down
yet？”
It　was　the　burly　Sergeant　Rhaimes　who　stepped　forward　and　said；　“They’ve　found　a　lot　more
than　that；　sir。　Switch　your　vox　over　to　band　nine。”
Van　Droi　huffed　impatiently　and　lifted　a　finger　to　his　vox　bead。　He　switched　it　to　band　nine　and
froze。　He　could　hardly　believe　his　ears。　There　was　rapid　chatter　bouncing　back　and　forth。　One　of　the
voices　was　immediately　familiar；　the　gruff　but　well…educated　voice　of　Colonel　Stromm。
The　other；　however；　was　new　to　van　Droi；　and　that　in　itself　was　significant。
“Sentinel　patrol　ident　tag　nine…theta…nine…six…five　confirms　your　last　transmission；　colonel。
Relaying　it　back　to　field　headquarters。　Standby。”
Van　Droi　gasped。　He　moved　towards　Rhaimes。
“Is　that　what　I　think　it　is？”　he　demanded。
He　didn’t　need　to　see　Rhaimes’　face　to　know　he　was　smiling　as　he　said；　“Bet　your　balls　on　it；　sir。
A　Sentinel　patrol！　It’s　Exolon。　They　must　have　secured　a　base　nearby。”
Van　Droi　suddenly　felt　like　leaping　into　the　air。　“By　the　bloody　Golden　Throne！　They　made　it
down　after　all。　But　I　can　barely　hear　them　on　this　bead。　Everyone　back　to　your　tanks　on　the　double。
Get　ready　to　move　out　as　soon　as　we　have　instructions。”
The　men　saluted　and　trotted　off　at　speed。　Van　Droi　felt　better　than　he　had　in　days。　Salvation　at
last。　He　had　been　sure　they　would　all　die　out　here　one　way　or　another。　But　now…　hope！
Inside　his　turret；　using　the　more　powerful　vox…caster　there；　he　heard　the　communications　from
the　Sentinel　patrol　coming　in　much　louder　and　clearer。
“Colonel　Stromm；”　said　the　voice；　“I　have　orders　for　you　from　Major　General　Bergen。　You　are
to　move　due　east；　proceed　down　from　the　escarpment；　rendezvous　with　this　patrol　at　the　base　of　the
cliffs　and　follow　us　back　to　the　base　at　Balkar。　Confirm。”
Balkar！　thought　van　Droi。　I　can’t　believe　we’re　this　far　out。
He　thought　back　to　General　deViers’　briefing　sessions。　From　Balkar；　it　was　a　short　journey
eastwards　to　the　last　known　location　of　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance。　From　there；　the　Mechanicus　ship
in　orbit　above　the　planet　would　be　signalled。　A　recovery　craft　would　be　sent　for　the　tank。　Then　it
was　back　to　Hadron　base　for　extrication　by　the　Navy。　Throne　above；　things　were　looking　up！
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Suddenly；　with　the　thought　of　extrication；　the　lieutenant’s　mind　was　yanked　roughly　back　to
Private　Krausse；　the　driver　trapped　inside　Cold　Deliverance。
Extrication　impossible。
Van　Droi　had　tapped　the　message。
Extrication　frakking　impossible！
There　had　been　no　time　to　save　Krausse；　no　time　to　wait　while　fuel　and　rations　were　burned　up；
no　time　to　stop；　hoping　the　orks　wouldn’t　happen　across　them　as　they　tried　to　rescue　one　of　their
own。　It　would　have　put　everyone　at　risk。　Van　Droi　had　been　sure　he　was　doing　the　right　thing。　Only
now；　suddenly；　it　seemed　that　there　was　time。　But　there　was　no　life　left　to　save。
Van　Droi　had　made　that　call。　Weariness　and　the　weight　of　his　command　hit　him　again　like