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walked　out　of　the　door；　relieved　to　be　away　from　the　officers’　mess　and　the　tension　inside　it。　He
knew　there　were　some　good　men　in　the　upper　ranks；　but　they　made　everything　so　bloody
complicated　sometimes；　not　like　the　grunts。　You　could　speak　your　mind　among　the　rank…and…file。
There　might　be　the　odd　punch…up　afterwards；　but　you　didn’t　have　to　worry　about　bloodlines；　family
honour　and　all　that　career　lark；　and　the　bond　of　brotherhood　shared　between　the　men　of　the　lower
ranks　was　one　of　those　things　that　made　life　in　the　Guard　more　bearable。　Wulfe　had　always　thought
so；　until　Lenck　had　shown　up。
Wulfe　was　torn　over　that　one。　The　bastard　had　saved　his　life；　but　he　was　the　antithesis　of
everything　Wulfe　valued　and　respected。　He　was　a　boaster　and　a　manipulator。　Wulfe　could　almost
smell　the　cruelty　within　him。　Sooner　or　later；　there　would　be　a　reckoning　between　them。　It　was
inevitable。
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Wulfe　turned　his　mind　to　the　new　gunner；　Beans。　Was　he　as　good　a　shot　as　van　Droi　said？
Would　he　fit　in　with　Metzger　and　Siegler？　The　lieutenant　had　a　point；　they　weren’t　the　most　typical
of　tank　crews。
He　walked　towards　C…barracks；　muttering　to　himself。
“Beans。　I　hope　it　doesn’t　mean　what　I　think　it　does。”
Wulfe　found　Beans　waiting　for　him　outside　C…barracks　with　his　belongings　already　packed　into　a
canvas　bag。　He　was　sitting　on　a　concrete　step；　smoking　a　lho…stick；　and　examining　the　red　dust　that
had　gathered　under　his　fingernails。　Wulfe　automatically　assessed　him　as　he　drew　closer。　Judging　by
his　smooth；　open　facial　features；　Beans　was　young；　no　older　than　twenty　standard　most　probably。
His　fatigues　hung　loose　on　a　skinny　frame。　He　had　rolled　the　sleeves　of　his　red　field…tunic　up　to
reveal　heavily　tattooed　forearms　but；　if　any　of　the　tats　were　hive…ganger　symbols　from　his　life　back
on　Cadia；　Wulfe　didn’t　recognise　them。　That　didn’t　mean　much；　of　course。　There　were　literally　tens
of　thousands　of　gangs　in　the　vast；　crowded　fortress…hives　where　the　men　of　Exolon　had　been　raised。
“You’ll　be　Beans；”　said　Wulfe　as　he　stopped　in　front　of　the　trooper。
“Are　you　Wulfe？”　Beans’　voice　was　high　and　he　spoke　with　the　soft；　drawling　vowels　of　a　Kasr
Feros　man。
“I’m　Sergeant　Wulfe；　and　you　can　call　me　sergeant；　or　sarge。　If　you　call　me　anything　else；　I’ll
break　your　teeth。”
Beans　stood　up；　dropping　his　smoke　at　the　side　of　the　step　and　crushing　it　under　a　booted　foot。
He　was　a　good　head　shorter　than　Wulfe　and　had　to　look　up　at　an　angle　to　meet　his　gaze。　“All　right；
sergeant。　Throne　above。　I　didn’t　mean　any　disrespect；　did　I？　Don’t　want　to　get　off　on　the　wrong　foot。
I’m　nervous　enough　already；　by　Throne。”
Wulfe　nodded。　At　least　the　trooper　was　frank。　“Why　do　they　call　you　Beans？”
“It’s　my　name；　isn’t　it？　Mirkos　Biehn。　Beans。　See？”　Wulfe　let　the　relief　show　on　his　face。
“What？”　said　Beans。　“Thought　I　was　going　to　stink　up　the　air　in　your　turret？　Nah；　it’s　nothing
like　that；　sergeant。　Then　again；　I　can’t　promise　I’ll　be　forest　fresh　all　the　time。　I’m　only　human。”
“I’ll　make　sure　the　rest　of　the　crew　don’t　shoot　you　for　your　first　offence；”　said　Wulfe。　“To　be
honest；　it　stinks　so　bad　in　there　when　we’re　on　manoeuvres　that　no　one　would　notice。　You’ll　learn　to
breathe　through　your　mouth　pretty　quickly。”
Beans　looked　horrified　and　Wulfe　couldn’t　help　but　laugh。
“As　for　being　nervous；　Beans；　don’t　be。　My　lot　look　out　for　each　other。　It’s　the　first　rule。　You’ll
be　seeing　proper　combat　on　my　crew。　Make　no　mistake　about　that。　But　the　lieutenant　tells　me　you’re
a　good　shot；　and　he　thinks　you’ll　fit　in　well。”
Beans　brightened　up　on　hearing　this；　as　Wulfe　had　intended。　“The　lieutenant　said　that？”
“He　hasn’t　picked　out　a　bad　gunner　for　me　yet。　Both　of　my　last　two　went　on　to　command　tanks
of　their　own。　That　could　be　you　in　a　few　years　if　you　do　right　by　me。　Now；　if　that’s　your　bag　there；
pick　it　up　and　follow。　We’ll　drop　it　off　at　A…barracks　on　the　way。”
Beans　hefted　his　bag　over　his　shoulder　and　fell　into　pace　at　Wulfe’s　side。
“On　the　way　where；　sarge？”　he　asked。
“On　the　way　to　see　some　orks；”　Wulfe　answered。
Quite　a　crowd　had　gathered　around　the　cages　by　the　time　Wulfe　and　Beans　arrived。　Troopers　were
jostling　each　other　to　get　closer　to　the　front　where　a　couple　of　lieutenants　from　the　303rd　Cadian
Fusiliers　were　trying　to　keep　order；　largely　in　vain。　Wulfe　couldn’t　see　Metzger；　Siegler　or　Holtz
among　the　crowd；　so　he　and　Beans　hung　back　until　two　other　sergeants　arrived　and　began　shouting
at　their　men。　“Playtime　is　over；　ladies！”
“Back　to　the　barracks！　Double…time　it；　you　lot！”
96
About　twenty　grumbling　men　pushed　their　way　to　the　back　of　the　mob　and　split　off　from　it。　With
their　sergeants　leading　them；　they　jogged　off　down　dark；　sand…filled　streets。　Now；　with　fresh　gaps
opening　in　the　crowd；　Wulfe　and　Beans　pushed　forward；　using　their　elbows　and　shoulders　to　gain
ground。
What　a　lot　of　fuss；　thought　Wulfe；　to　see　monsters　I’ve　had　more　than　enough　of；　but　he　kept
pushing　all　the　same；　moving　as　if　on　autopilot。
A　few　rows　from　the　front；　he　found　himself　standing　next　to　Siegler　and　Holtz。
“There　you　are；”　he　said。　“Where’s　Metzger？”
“Gone　for　a　walk；”　Siegler　answered。　“Said　this　was　bloody　stupid。”
Wulfe　turned　to　Beans　and　said；　“Which　should　tell　you　that　Metzger　is　the　smart　one。”
“I　resent　that；”　said　Siegler　looking　genuinely　insulted。
“Me；　too；”　protested　Holtz。
“Don’t　kid　yourselves；”　Wulfe　told　them　with　a　grin。
“Who’s　the　kid？”　Holtz　asked；　turning　a　scowl　on　Beans。
“This　is　Beans；”　said　Wulfe。　“He　farts　a　lot。”
“Hey！”　protested　Beans；　but　he　caught　a　look　in　Wulfe’s　eye　and　laughed。
“Holtz；”　said　Wulfe；　“you　and　I　need　to　have　a　word。　Come　with　me。　Beans；　stay　here　with
Siegler。”
“Right；　sarge；”　said　Beans。
Wulfe　and　Holtz　broke　from　the　group　around　the　cages　and　moved　off　to　stand　at　the　side　of　an
old　storage　building。　Together；　they　leaned　back　against　the　pitted　sandstone　bricks。　Holtz　reached
into　his　hip　pocket；　pulled　out　a　smoke　and　placed　it　between　his　lips。
Wulfe　decided　not　to　mince　words。　“You’re　getting　your　own　command；　Piter。　Effective
immediately。　Van　Droi　thought　I　should　tell　you　myself。”
The　lho…stick　fell　from　Holtz’s　gaping　jaw　to　the　ground　at　his　feet。
“You’re　pulling　my　leg！”　he　said。
“I’m　not。”
“By　the　Eye；”　gasped　Holtz。　“My　own　crate？　You　mean　that　Beans　kid　is　taking　over　on　the
main　gun？”
“Got　it　in　one；”　said　Wulfe。　“The　lieutenant　rates　him。　He　scored　high　in　the　standard　tests。
Apparently　he’s　a　good　shot。　But　that’s　not　the　point。　This　isn’t　about　Beans。　It’s　about　you。”
Holtz　barked　out　a　laugh。　“There’s　a　hell　of　a　difference　between　being　a　good　shot　on　the
practice　course　and　being　a　good　shot　in　combat。　What　if　he　gets　the　jinks？”
It　was　a　legitimate　concern。　Wulfe　had　known　other　crews　that　had　taken　on　a　new　man　only　to
have　him　suffer　the　jinks。　It　was　a　nervous　condition　characterised　by　sever　twitches　and　spasms；
and　it　seemed　to　be　brought　on　by　the　noise　of　the　main　gun　or　the　impact　of　heavy　enemy　fire　on
the　tank’s　armour。　Once　a　trooper　contracted　the　jinks；　he　was　as　good　as　useless　on　the　battlefield。
It　took　some　men　years　to　recover。　Others　never　did。
“You’re　not　listening；　Holtz。　Forget　about　Beans。　I’ll　deal　with　him。　He’ll　be　fine。　We’re　talking
about　you。　We’re　talking　about　commanding　a　tank。”
“What’s　to　say？”　said　Holtz。　“Show　me　a　man　in　this　regiment　who　doesn’t　want　his　own　crate！”
Something　in　Holtz’s　voice　didn’t　manage　to　convince　Wulfe。
“Come　on；　Piter；”　he　said。　“Some　men　are　happier　taking　orders　than　giving　them　out。　I
sometimes　wish—”
“Which　crate？”　asked　Holtz；　talking　over　him。　“And　why　now？”
“It’s　Rhaimes’　tank；　Old　Smashbones。　She’s　a　good；　solid　machine。　Hell　of　a　service　record。
Rhaimes　is　sick　with　the　fines。　It’s　serious。　Van　Droi　is　treating　this　as　permanent。　Says　you　might
make　sergeant　if　you　do　your　duty。”
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Holtz　bent　down；　picked　up　the　lho…stick　at　his　feet；　blew　red　dust　off　it；　and　popped　it　back
between　his　lips。
Talking　around　it；　he　said；　“Rhaimes。　Damn。　I’d　rather　be　replacing　someone　else。　His　crew
aren’t　g