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between　his　lips。
Talking　around　it；　he　said；　“Rhaimes。　Damn。　I’d　rather　be　replacing　someone　else。　His　crew
aren’t　gonna　like　this　much。　Don’t　expect　I’ll　get　a　very　warm　welcome。”
“They’re　a　young　crew。　New　meat。　They　didn’t　have　much　time　with　Rhaimes；　so　you　should　be
all　right。　Besides；　they　need　someone　with　plenty　of　combat　experience　and　the　stones　to　get　them
through　whatever’s　coming。　If　not　you；　then　who？”
Holtz　had　no　answer　for　that。　He　was　too　busy　processing　it　all。
“Anyway；”　said　Wulfe。　“Your　new　crew　is　in　A…barracks；　so　you　won’t　need　to　move　your　stuff
far。　General　deViers　is　supposed　to　arrive　tomorrow。　You　won’t　have　much　time　to　get　to　know
them　before　we　roll　out；　so　you’d　best　start　now。”
Holtz　nodded；　unable　to　hide　a　degree　of　nerves。　The　side　of　his　face　that　looked　like　hashed
grox　barely　moved　anymore；　and　showed　little　emotion；　but　Wulfe　had　had　enough　practice　in
reading　the　other　half　to　know　that　Holtz　saw　the　announcement　for　the　mixed　bag　it　was。
“Just　remember；”　Wulfe　told　him；　“you’ve　been　through　much　more　than　they　have。　You’re　in
charge。　Tank　men　live　or　die　by　the　decisions　of　their　commander。”
“No　pressure；　then；”　Holtz　replied　with　literally　half　a　grin。　“Only　joking；　sarge。　I　appreciate
your　confidence。　If　it’s　all　the　same　to　you；　though；　I’ll　head　to　the　motor　pool　first。　Make　a　bit　of　a
farewell　to　Last　Rites　II　and　introduce　myself　to　the　new　girl。”
“Sounds　like　a　plan；”　said　Wulfe；　clapping　his　friend　on　the　shoulder。　He　returned　Holtz’s　brief
salute；　and　then　watched　him　walk　off　in　the　direction　of　the　motor　pool；　wishing　him　all　the　luck　in
the　galaxy。　Command　was　hard　on　any　man；　but　far　harder　on　those　new　to　it。　The　lives　of　the　crew
and　the　survival　of　each　precious　war　machine　were　heavy　burdens　to　bear。　Sometimes；　Wulfe
envied　the　men　under　his　command。　He　remembered　the　freedom　that　came　with　being　on　the
bottom　rung　of　the　ladder；　of　having　someone　else　make　most　of　your　decisions　for　you。　It　was　a
good　place　to　be　when　you　had　good　officers。　Wulfe　trusted　van　Droi　that　way；　and　knew　that　van
Droi；　in　turn；　trusted　Colonel　Vinnemann；　but　the　chain　of　command　went　much　higher　than　that。
Major　General　Bergen　had　a　good　reputation；　but　was　it　justified？　It　was　hard　to　tell。　Officers　at
such　a　senior　level　were　so　distant。
All　Wulfe　could　say　for　sure　was　that　command　would　be　hard　on　Piter　Holtz。　At　least　in　the
early　days。　He　would　sink；　or　he　would　swim。　It　was　as　simple　as　that。
Wulfe　walked　back　over　to　the　soldiers　jostling　around　the　cages；　noting　how　the　crowd　had
thinned　further　now　that　others　had　begun　drifting　away。　It　took　much　less　effort　to　get　to　the　front
of　the　crowd　where　he　found　Siegler　and　Beans　talking　animatedly　about　the　creatures　in　front　of
them。
The　ferocity　of　the　imprisoned　orks　was　impressive　given　their　pitiful　condition。　The　two
monsters　sat　in　their　steel　cages；　legs　reduced　to　tattered　stumps；　bellowing　and　spitting　at　the
smaller；　weaker　humans　that　surrounded　them。　Beans　was　stepping　in　towards　the　cages　to　get　a
closer　look　when　Wulfe　grabbed　him　by　the　back　of　the　collar　and　said；　“No　you　don’t；　trooper。　This
is　close　enough。”
The　new　gunner　looked　disappointed　and　perhaps　a　little　angry；　but　he　said　nothing；　merely
stepping　back　into　line　with　all　the　other　men。　From　the　same　distance；　Wulfe　eyed　the　greenskins
coldly。　One　was　larger　than　the　other；　though　not　by　much。　Its　skin　was　a　darker　brown；　too。　Both
had　the　nightmare　features　that　had　been　burned　into　Wulfe’s　brain　since　his　first　encounter　with
their　kind：　tiny　nose；　deeply…sunken　red　eyes；　wide　jaws　rimmed　with　razor…sharp　fangs。　Their　hides
looked　as　hard　and　coarse　as　an　adult　carnotaur’s；　covered　in　red　dust；　lined　with　cracks。　On　their
massive　shoulders；　great　patches　of　dead　skin　were　peeling　away。　They　looked　as　dry　as　the　desert。
So　Golgotha　is　not　being　particularly　kind　to　them　either；　Wulfe　thought；　though　I　notice　the
blasted　ticks　don’t　bother　them。　I　wonder　why。
98
Wulfe’s　first　deployment　as　a　tanker　had　been　as　part　of　the　operation　to　defend　Phaegos　II
against　ork　incursions　from　the　Ghoul　Stars。　That　was　more　than　twenty　years　ago；　a　different　time；
a　different　segmentum；　and　here　he　was　still　fighting　the　same　foe；　still　losing　more　friends　to　them
each　time　they　clashed。　It　sometimes　seemed　as　if　all　mankind’s　efforts；　all　the　blood　spilled；　all　the
battles　won；　all　of　it　might　count　for　nothing　at　all。　In　galactic　terms；　had　anything　really　changed？
Had　anything　he　had　done　ever　made　a　blind　bit　of　difference？
Dangerous　thoughts；　he　cautioned　himself。　If　every　Guardsman　doubted　the　necessity　of　his
actions；　the　Imperium　would　crumble　and　die。　Of　course　he　had　made　a　difference。　He　had　killed
thousands　of　mankind’s　foes　in　his　time。　If　every　man　in　the　Guard　accounted　for　the　same　number；
the　green　tide　would　surely　be　overcome　someday。
Wulfe　wanted　to　believe　that；　he　really　did；　but　it　was　a　struggle。　For　every　victory　in　the　history
books；　how　many　losses　went　unpublicised？
As　he　studied　the　darker　of　the　two　orks；　his　eyes　locked　with　the　creature’s。　Immediately
perceiving　a　challenge；　it　began　roaring　at　him　and　hammering　its　head　against　the　bars　of　its　cage。
It　grunted　and　hissed　and　bellowed　at　him　in　what　Wulfe　supposed　was　the　orkish　language。
Commissar　Yarrick；　the　stories　said；　could　understand　this　bestial　gibberish；　but　Wulfe　had　never
met　anyone　else　who　could。　No　one　ever　admitted　as　much；　anyway。　It　was　a　horrible　sound；
something　wild　canids　might　make　as　they　guzzled　meat　from　a　fresh　kill；　but　there　was　definitely　a
syntax　in　there；　however　unrefined。　Wulfe　instinctively　knew　that　he　was　hearing　language。
With　the　force　of　its　violent　motions；　the　dark…skinned　ork’s　wounds　had　begun　to　bleed　again；
but　the　flow　was　slow。　The　blood　that　oozed　out　was　thick　and　sticky。　Wulfe　thought　he　understood
why。　It　was　the　low　availability　of　water　here。　It　changed　the　blood　of　those　that　lived　in　the　desert；
making　it　clot　far　more　quickly：　a　water…conservation　mechanism；　a　survival　mechanism；　and　that
wasn’t　the　only　gift　the　hard　desert　life　had　given　the　greenskins。　These　two　orks　were　distinctly
different　from　those　he　had　encountered　before。　They　were　leaner；　almost　wiry　by　greenskin
standards；　though　still　far　larger　and　more　powerful…looking　than　any　human。　Somehow；　they
seemed　faster　and　all　the　more　deadly　because　of　it。
He　was　about　to　turn　away；　to　lead　Siegler　and　Beans　off　at　last；　when　someone　began　shouting
from　the　rear　of　the　crowd。
“Make　way！　Make　way　at　once；　you　damned　fools。”
There　was　no　mistaking　the　cold；　crisp　voice。　Wulfe　knew　that　it　was　Crusher　even　before　he
saw　the　stiff　peak　of　the　man’s　black　cap　moving　towards　him　over　the　heads　of　the　others。
Crusher　violently　thrust　his　way　to　the　front　row。
“Commissar　Slayte；”　said　Wulfe　with　a　nod。　“Come　to　view　the　exhibits？”
“Hardly；　sergeant；”　hissed　the　commissar；　clocking　Wulfe’s　stripes。　“I’m　here　to　put　a　bloody
stop　to　this　nonsense。”
The　commissar　swept　back　the　folds　of　his　long　black　coat　and　drew　a　bolt　pistol　from　the
holster　at　his　thigh。　The　motion　was　smooth；　well…practiced。　Wulfe　knew　what　was　coming。　He
stepped　away。
One　of　the　lieutenants　from　the　303rd　saw　it　coming；　too。　He　protested。　“Come　now；　commissar。
You　can’t　mean　to　spoil　the　fun　prematurely。　It’s　good　for　morale　to　see　our　enemies　caged　and
helpless。　You　must　agree。”
Crusher　didn’t　even　glance　at　the　man。　Instead；　he　took　aim　at　the　smaller；　lighter…skinned　alien；
eased　a　black　metal　finger　back　on　the　trigger　of　his　pistol；　and　loosed　off　a　barking　shot。
Wulfe　had　been　about　to　shout；　“Stand　back！”　to　Siegler　and　Beans；　but　it　was　too　late。　The　bolt
punched　a　coin…sized　hole　in　the　ork’s　skull　and　detonated　there；　showering　the　closest　men　with　a
foul　spray　of　blood　and　brain　matter。　The　men　behind　them；　shielded　from　the　spray　by　their
luckless　comrades；　laughed　out　loud。　The　headless　ork　body　slid　down　to　the　floor　of　its　cage。
Seeing　the　slaughter　of　its　foul　kin；　the　darker　ork　began　thrashing　madly。　Slayte　calmly　turned
towards　it　and　rep