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happened　here　and　now　than　back　there　in　the　desert　with　the　orks　at　our　backs。”
Van　Droi　was　silent　for　a　moment。　When　he　replied；　a　touch　of　his　usual　good　humour　had
returned　to　his　voice。　“Fair　comment；　sergeant。　Glad　to　hear　she’s　finally　grown　on　you。　Took
bloody　long　enough；　mind　you。　Anyway；　what’s　this　about　refusing　Lenck’s　assistance？”
Wulfe　knew　van　Droi　was　probing　with　that　last　addition。　Wulfe’s　contempt　for　Lenck　was　still
a　matter　of　concern　to　the　lieutenant；　then。　“Didn’t　want　to　hold　him　up；　sir；”　he　said。　“We’ve　been
on　quarter　rations　and　bog…water　for　so　long；　I　figured　that　rookie　crew　of　his　would　fall　over　if　they
didn’t　get　some　proper　provisions。”
“You’re　a　damned　poor　liar；　sergeant；”　said　van　Droi。　“And　there　are　no　rookies　in　my　company；
not　anymore。　They　bled　and　sweated　like　the　rest　of　us；　and　they　killed　their　share　of　greenskins；　so
let’s　drop　the　whole　them　and　us　bit；　shall　we？　I’m　moving　through　the　gates　now。　Find　me　in　the
officers’　mess　when　you’ve　been　fed　and　watered。”
“Understood；　sir。”
Van　Droi　signed　off；　but　another　light　was　blinking　on　the　vox…board　now。　Wulfe　hit　the　switch
and　said；　“This　is　Last　Rites　II。　Go　ahead。”
“Last　Rites　II；　this　is　Atlas　recovery　tank　Orion　VI。　We’re　pulling　up　to　you　now。　Give　us　a
minute　to　get　tow…lines　hooked　up　and　we’ll　be　under　way；　over。”
The　Atlas　commander　sounded　young；　and　his　voice　made　Wulfe　reflect　on　van　Droi’s　words：
no　more　us　and　them。　He　had　been　obstinate　in　his　refusal　to　accept　the　new　tank。　He　had　been
obstinate　in　not　telling　his　crew　about　the　apparition　in　the　canyon　on　Palmeros。　Was　he　being　just
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as　obstinate　about　the　new　meat？　Was　Lenck　really　as　bad　as　he　seemed；　or　had　Wulfe　cultivated
bad　feeling　between　them　from　the　start　on　account　of　the　man’s　likeness　to　Victor　Dunst？　He　was
starting　to　suspect　it　was　the　latter。
“Understood；　Orion　VI；”　he　voxed。　“Let　me　know　when　you’re　ready　to　take　us　in。”
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CHAPTER　FOURTEEN
Evening　fell　quickly　over　the　base　at　Balkar。　The　sky　turned　black　just　as　Last　Rites　II　finally
reached　the　motor　pool　where　she　would　undergo　her　much…needed　repairs。　Wulfe　thanked　the
young　commander　of　the　Atlas　tank；　asked　him　where　the　mess　hall　and　barracks　buildings　were；
and　led　his　crew　off　to　find　them。　Their　search　would　have　been　impossible　but　for　the　electric
lamps　that　had　been　strung　up　throughout　the　base；　their　thick　cables　running　along　streets　and
dangling　from　rooftops。　Even　so；　it　wasn’t　easy。　The　lights　were　kept　relatively　dim　at　night　in　order
to　avoid　drawing　attention　from　itinerant　ork　bands。　Earlier　that　day；　units　from　the　259th
Mechanised　Infantry　Regiment　under　Colonel　von　Holden　—　part　of　Rennkamp’s　8th　Mechanised
Division　—　had　been　sent　out　to　eliminate　a　band　of　travelling　greenskin　scavengers。　The　greenskins
had　been　spotted　forty…some　kilometres　out　from　the　base　by　scouts　on　Hornet　bikes　as　they
patrolled　the　low　hills　to　the　north。　The　scouts　had　then　guided　Armoured　Fist　units　in　for　the　attack。
The　action　was　short；　bloody　and　decisive；　and；　importantly；　none　of　the　orks　had　escaped。　Even　a
single　fleeing　greenskin　might　have　brought　a　larger　force　back　down　on　the　Imperial　camp。　The　last
thing　Exolon　needed　was　a　full…scale　assault　on　their　forward　position。　The　top　brass　were　desperate
to　avoid　anything　that　might　delay　success；　and　a　siege　more　than　qualified。
The　mechanised　units　that　engaged　the　orks　actually　managed　something　quite　unusual；　they
brought　two　of　the　orks　back　alive。　Naturally；　both　of　them　were　horribly　maimed　and　crippled；
hanging　onto　their　worthless　alien　lives　by　virtue　of　their　raw　inhuman　resilience　alone。　Even　so；　the
struggle　to　capture　them　had　been　immense。　Wounded　orks　were　often　even　more　dangerous　than
healthy　ones。
Wulfe　heard　of　it　first　from　a　group　of　soldiers　in　the　mess　tent　as　he　finished　off　a　few　slices　of
cooked　meal…brick　and　a　glass　of　rather　tepid；　but　thankfully　clear　and　salt…free　water。　He　shook　his
head　as　he　listened。　Captive　orks？　It　sounded　like　the　officer　in　charge　of　the　Armoured　Fist　unit　in
question　was　some　kind　of　show…off。　Wulfe　wouldn’t　have　brought　them　back。　He’d　have　executed
them　on　the　spot。　The　top　brass；　on　the　other　hand；　must　have　seen　some　gain　in　the　situation　—　a
morale　boost；　probably　—　because　someone　had　approved　the　construction　of　two　cages　in　an　area
by　the　east　wall。　According　to　the　troopers　that　told　Wulfe　all　this；　the　captured　xenos　were　proving
quite　a　draw。
Wulfe　was　just　finishing　his　meal　when　word　reached　him　that　the　men　of　10th　Company　were
to　pay　the　caged　aliens　a　visit。　Wulfe　guessed　van　Droi　wanted　the　less　experienced　men　to　see　the
foe　up　close　and　personal；　based　perhaps　on　some　notion　that　familiarity　eliminated　fear。
Groxshit；　thought　Wulfe。　The　closer　you　got　to　orks；　the　more　you　saw　how　damned　dangerous
they　were。
Despite　his　earlier　promise　to　give　thanks　to　the　machine…spirit　of　his　tank；　he　found　himself
with　little　time　to　do　so。　Stopping　briefly　at　his　barracks；　he　made　arrangements　to　meet　his　crew　by
the　cages　a　little　later；　but　his　first　order　of　business　was　to　find　Lieutenant　van　Droi　in　the　officer’s
mess。　Thus；　after　a　few　moments　spent　trying　to　smarten　himself　up　a　bit　—　not　easy　given　all　he
had　been　through　—　he　crossed　the　base　and　arrived　outside　a　single…storey　sandstone　building　with
the　appropriate　marker…glyph　on　the　door。
There　was　a　surly；　bored…looking　soldier　on　guard　duty　outside。
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“Sergeant　Wulfe　to　see　Lieutenant　van　Droi；”　said　Wulfe。　The　trooper　nodded；　asked　him　to
wait；　and　then　popped　inside　to　verify　things　with　the　lieutenant。　A　moment　later；　he　reappeared　and
ushered　Wulfe　inside。
The　officer’s　mess　had　a　low　ceiling　of　cracked　plaster；　and　at　least　half　of　the　red　floor　tiles
were　missing；　leaving　large　areas　of　bare　concrete　visible。　Strip…lights　hung　above　long　trestle
tables；　buzzing　and　flickering；　their　bright　glare　somewhat　harsh　to　eyes　accustomed　to　the　dull
Golgothan　day。　As　he　looked　around；　Wulfe　decided　this　place　wasn’t　much　of　an　improvement　on
the　grunts’　mess。　He　wondered　idly　if　the　food　and　drink　was　any　better。
Even　here；　inside　this　building；　the　orks　had　painted　typically　crude　images　of　the　things　that
generally　occupied　their　tiny　minds：　guns；　blades；　skulls；　strange　gods；　and　much　more　besides。
Many　of　the　scrawls　were　so　obscure；　so　badly　rendered　that　Wulfe　couldn’t　begin　to　guess　what
they　might　represent。　Some　effort　had　been　made　to　cover　them　up；　of　course；　but　there　were　so
many。　They　were　literally　everywhere。　As　he　had　walked　here；　Wulfe　had　seen　miserable　troopers
plastering　the　walls　with　propaganda　material　from　the　Departmento　Munitorum。　It　was　a　minor
punishment　detail。　The　commissars　had　ordered　it。　One　of　the　posters　near　Wulfe’s　assigned
barracks　building　had　caught　his　eye。　Check　your　kills！　it　ordered。　There　was　a　well　painted　image
of　a　big；　strong　Cadian　trooper　blowing　an　ork’s　brains　out　as　it　lay　limp　on　the　ground。　The　bottom
of　the　poster　read：
Destroying　the　brain　will　put　most　targets　down　for　good！
The　ork　in　the　poster　was　a　damned　sight　smaller　than　any　of　the　ones　Wulfe　had　met；　but　there
was　no　denying　the　artist’s　talent。　His　or　her　work　graced　a　number　of　other　posters；　too。　Most　were
concerned　with　showing　proper　reverence　to　the　Emperor　and　the　authority　of　his　agents；　from　the
political　to　the　theological。　Others　yet　bore　the　seal　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　and　offered　concise
reminders　on　the　proper　care　and　operation　of　standard…issue　field　equipment。
It　wasn’t　that　the　troops　needed　reminding　—　their　drill　sergeants　back　on　Cadia　had　seen　to　that
with　an　abundance　of　cruel　enthusiasm　—　but　leaving　the　walls　of　an　Imperial　base　covered　in　ork
iconography；　no　matter　how　short　the　intended　stay；　was　tantamount　to　heresy　under　Imperial　Law。
The　mess　hall　was　busy。　The　air　was　filled　with　the　constant　hum　of　conversation；　and　no　one
paid　him　much　attention。　Wulfe　soon　spotted　van　Droi　at　a　table　on　the　far　left。　The　lieutenant　was
sitting　with　a　number　of　officers　from　the　other　companies　of　the　81st　Armoured　Re