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about　Lugo’s　Ditch。　But　how？　Wulfe　was　sure　that　Confessor　Friedrich　wouldn’t　have　betrayed　him。
He　doubted　any　of　his　crew　would　have；　either。　Beans　didn’t　know　anything　about　it　so　that　ruled
him　out。
Had　Lenck　simply　meant　Victor　Dunst？　A　ghost　of　the　past　rather　than　of　the　dead？　That　was
almost　as　much　of　a　stretch。　All　Lenck　had　regarding　Dunst　was　a　name；　wasn’t　it？
Wulfe　wracked　his　brain；　desperate　to　remember　who　he　had　told　about　Dunst。　He　hadn’t
recounted　the　story　often　—　it　wasn’t　exactly　one　of　his　favourites　—　but　it　was　an　old　custom
among　Cadian　troopers　to　compare　scars　and　tell　the　tales　of　how　they　had　been　won。　Wulfe　had
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shared　the　Dunst　story　with　a　handful　of　men　in　his　early　years　with　the　regiment。　Had　someone　told
Lenck？　Did　the　rotten　corporal　know　just　how　much　his　appearance　troubled　Wulfe？
As　the　day　wore　on；　Wulfe　tried　to　put　the　matter　to　the　back　of　his　mind。　He　sat　in　his　cupola；
occupying　himself　with　a　study　of　his　surroundings　as　Last　Rites　II　rambled　through　the　dust　kicked
up　by　the　tanks　in　front。　There　was　vegetation　in　the　canyon；　the　first　that　he　had　seen　since　crashing
on　this　world。　Not　much　of　it；　of　course　—　mostly　dry　grasses　and　scrawny；　thorn…covered　tangles　of
brash　—　but　it　meant　moisture。　There　was　animal　life；　too；　and　far　larger　than　the　biting　ticks　the
Cadians　had　endured　so　far。　Wulfe　saw　great；　slothful；　flat…bodied　lizards　basking　on　the　rocks。
Their　skins　were　armoured　with　hundreds　of　small；　bony　plates；　and　they　were　coloured　like　the　land
around　them。　As　the　Imperial　column　rolled　past；　they　hissed　and　slid　quickly　into　the　mouths　of
inky　black　caves。
Observing　these　things　offered　Wulfe　only　temporary　respite　from　his　thoughts。　Again　and
again；　he　returned　to　the　matters　that　troubled　him　most。　As　the　strip　of　sky　above　Red　Gorge　grew
dark；　he　dropped　back　down　into　his　turret　basket；　leaving　the　hatch　open　above　him　so　that　a
cooling　wind　could　circulate。
Siegler　was　dozing　in　his　seat；　thick　arms　folded　on　top　of　the　shell　magazine；　head　resting　in　the
crook　of　his　elbow。　By　the　glow　of　the　turret’s　internal　lamps；　Beans　was　leafing　through　a　tattered
magazine　featuring　monochrome　picts　of　hard…faced　Cadian　women　stripping　out　of　military
uniform。　Judging　by　the　state　of　the　pages；　the　magazine　had　had　a　great　many　owners　over　the
years。
Wulfe　smiled　to　himself　and　tapped　Beans　on　the　shoulder。　Speaking　low　on　the　intercom　so　as
not　to　wake　Siegler；　he　said；　“That　stuff　will　rot　your　soul。”
“Damage　done；”　said　Beans　with　a　grin。　“I’ve　been　through　this　one　so　many　times　I　think　I’ve
desensitised　myself。　You　want　it？”
Wulfe　laughed；　but　his　tone　was　serious　when　he　said；　“Listen；　Beans。　You　and　I　need　to　have　a
talk。”
“What　about；　sarge？”
“I　think　you　know　what。”
Was　it　Wulfe’s　imagination；　or　did　the　new　gunner　flush　a　little？
“The　stand…off　in　the　staging　area；　right？”
Wulfe　nodded；　frowning。　“A　tanker　stands　with　his　crew；　no　matter　what。　You　know　the　rules。
You’re　lucky　Siegler　and　Metzger　overlooked　it；　but　if　I　ever　see　you　standing　on　the　sidelines　like
that　again；　you’ll　be　back　on　the　support　crews　before　you　can　say　‘the　Emperor　protects’。　What　the
hell　were　you　thinking？”
Beans　shrugged　guiltily。　“If　it　had　been　any　other　crew；　sarge…　But　it　was　Lenck’s　lot。”
“What　difference　does　that　make？”
“Plenty。”
There　was　a　pause；　a　moment　of　uncomfortable　mutual　silence；　before　Wulfe　said；　“Tell　me
what　you　know　about　Lenck。”
Beans　looked　up。　“I　know　not　to　mess　with　him。　The　officers　might　have　all　the　official　power　in
the　Guard；　but　it’s　guys　like　Lenck　that　control　the　shadows。　Every　regiment　has　them；　right？　The
guys　who　can　get　you　more　booze；　more　smokes；　more　meds。”　He　held　up　his　shabby；　pornographic
pictomag。　“More　stuff　like　this。　They　make　a　business　of　it；　and　the　officers　let　it　go　on　because　the
men　grumble　a　little　less。　Fewer　fights　break　out。　I　can’t　imagine　Guard　life　without　such　guys；　can
you？　Well；　that’s　Lenck。　If　the　price　is　right；　he　can　get　just　about　anything。　He’s　more　like　a　hivegang
boss　than　a　soldier。　And　he　thinks　you’re　out　to　shut　him　down。”
Wulfe　knew　all　this；　of　course。　Beans　was　still　a　relative　newcomer　to　the　regiment；　but　he
clearly　had　a　good　handle　on　things。　Everything　he　had　said　was　true。　Regiments　needed　their
hustlers　and　fixers。　Things　became　unbearable　all　too　fast　without　them。　It　explained　a　lot　about
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Lenck’s　mysterious　popularity　with　the　newer　guys。　Still；　the　idea　that　Lenck　should　be　allowed
some　slack　on　account　of　this　alleged　service　to　the　regiment　didn’t　sit　well。　Wulfe　huffed。　“This　is
the　Imperial　Guard；　not　the　blasted　underhives。　Voeder　Lenck　is　a　cocky；　jumped…up　little　arsehole
and；　sooner　or　later；　he’s　going　to　wish　he’d　never　met　me。”
Beans　looked　uncomfortable　as　he　said；　“Um…　Didn’t　he　save　your　life；　sarge？”
Wulfe　spat　a　curse。　“He　killed　an　ork　that　was　about　to　kill　me。　Duty　demanded　it。　Any　trooper
would　have　done　the　same。”　His　voice　had　taken　on　an　angry　edge；　all　the　harder　because；　in　truth；
he　was　grateful　and　it　bothered　him　immensely。
Beans　raised　a　placatory　hand。　“I’m　just　saying　what　I　heard。”
Wulfe　muttered　under　his　breath。　Glancing　up　through　his　open　hatch；　he　saw　that　the　sky　was
almost　pitch　black。　Would　old　deViers　have　them　pressing　on　throughout　the　night　again？
Wulfe　addressed　his　driver；　“You　need　me　to　take　a　shift　on　the　sticks；　Metzger？”
“I’ll　be　fine　for　another　few　hours；　sarge；”　replied　Metzger。　“How　about　you　take　a　shift　then？”
In　his　long　and　bloody　career；　Wulfe　had　manned　every　single　station　aboard　a　Leman　Russ
tank。　He　wasn’t　nearly　as　talented　a　driver　as　Lucky　Metzger；　but　he　was　more　than　capable　of
keeping　his　crate　in　place　while　Metzger　got　some　much…needed　sleep。
“Fine；”　said　Wulfe。　“Two　hours。　Let　me　know　if　you　get　tired　before　that。”
“Will　do；　sarge；”　said　Metzger。
Wulfe　sat　back　in　his　command　seat。　He　wasn’t　feeling　particularly　sleepy　right　now。　He　mind
was　running　laps。　He　kept　hearing　Lenck’s　words　in　his　head。　The　old　scar　on　his　throat　was
irritating　him；　too。　He　scratched　it　lightly。
The　vox　channels　were　mostly　quiet。　The　only　regular　traffic　was　coming　from　the　Sentinel　and
motorbike　scouts　up　front。　After　a　minute；　Beans’　voice　broke　in　on　his　thoughts。
“Want　a　read？”　said　the　gunner　with　a　grin　as　he　offered　his　sergeant　his　magazine。
“Not　much　reading　in　it；”　Wulfe　replied　with　a　half…smile；　but　he　took　it　anyway。
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CHAPTER　EIGHTEEN
By　the　sixth　day　out　of　Balkar；　General　deViers　had　started　to　develop　a　dry；　itchy　cough。　It　wasn’t
nearly　as　bad　as　those　of　some　of　his　officers；　but　it　caused　him　a　certain　degree　of　panic　because　he
was　so　much　older　and；　therefore；　more　vulnerable　to　Golgotha’s　subtle　assaults　on　his　health。　He
had　seen　what　the　red　dust　had　done　to　some　of　his　troopers。　The　damned　medicae　staff　were　being
about　as　much　use　as　a　paper　lasgun；　in　his　opinion。
Last　night；　the　high　canyon　walls　of　Red　Gorge　had　come　to　an　abrupt　end。　The　column　had
made　it　through　without　incident　and　had　set　up　camp　briefly　on　the　open　sand　at　the　canyon’s
mouth。　Dawn　had　broken　only　an　hour　ago；　revealing　just　how　fortuitous　the　decision　to　halt　the
column　had　been。　His　decision；　of　course。　Had　the　men　of　Exolon　continued　pushing　eastwards；
they　would　have　run　straight　into　the　biggest　ork　fortification　that　deViers　had　ever　seen。
He　was　looking　at　it　now。
He　stood　just　outside　the　doorway　of　a　hastily…erected　command　tent；　magnoculars　pressed　to　his
eyes；　scanning　the　massive　ugly　structure　that　seemed　to　run　from　one　end　of　the　horizon　to　the
other。　Behind　it；　visible　as　little　more　than　a　faint　silhouette　in　the　morning　light；　he　could　see　the
slopes　of　the　towering　Ishawar　Mountains。　Their　peaks　were　invisible；　lost　in　the　bellies　of　bloodcoloured
clouds。
“Why　in　blazes　wasn’t　I　told　about　this？”　he　raged。　“It’s　colossal。　How　could　the　probe…servitors
possibly　have　missed　something　like　this？　Get　those　tech…priests　in　here。　Get　Magos　Sennesdiar。　I
want　some　damned　answers　at　once。”
The　ork　wall　was　easily　a　hundred　metr