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“You　think　the　orks　have　long…range　comms；　sir？”　asked　Vinnemann。　“Could　the　orks　on　the
wall　have　called　in　an　airstrike　from　somewhere？”
“If　they　have　comms　with　that　kind　of　range　here　on　Golgotha；”　said　Bergen；　“then　they’re　a
damned　sight　better　off　than　we　are。　And　I’ll　be　asking　the　tech…priests　why。　But　listen；　Kochatkis；
your　crate　is　the　biggest　thing　we’re　fielding　out　there。　Expect　lots　of　unwelcome　attention。　I’m
sending　some　of　our　Hydras　forward　in　support　of　you。　We’ve　already　lost　one　of　the　Vulcans。　They
weren’t　designed　for　dogfighting。　They　can’t　handle　anything　with　that　kind　of　airspeed。”
“Understood；　sir；”　said　Vinnemann。　“We’re　pulling　back　as　fast　as　we　can；　but　the　anti…air　cover
would　be　much　appreciated。”
“The　Hydras　will　be　with　you　in　a　few　minutes；　Kochatkis；”　said　Bergen。　“Inform　me　when　they
reach　you。”
“I　will；　sir。　Armour　Command　out。”
Bombers　from　the　south；　thought　Vinnemann。　Didn’t　Stromm　and　van　Droi　report　a　great　ork
host　moving　in　that　direction？
“Move　in；　move　in；”　shouted　Wulfe　over　the　intercom。
Metzger　gunned　Last　Rites　II　forward；　and　they　passed　the　melted　edges　of　the　ork　wall。　The
sight　that　greeted　Wulfe　was　of　a　place　in　turmoil。　Shoddy　ork　buildings　were　everywhere；　each　an
ugly　mishmash　of　rusting　steel　poles　and　sheets　of　corrugated　metal　all　bolted　together　at　odd
angles；　looped　by　barbed　wire　and　painted　with　bright　glyphs　of　white　on　red。　Greenskin　foot
soldiers　were　everywhere；　crowded　onto　raised　platforms　or　charging　in　great　tides　over　the　sandy
ground；　blazing　away　at　the　intruding　tanks　with　everything　they　had。
Most　of　the　weapons　they　carried　were　heavy　stubbers　and　flame…throwers；　oversized　cleavers
and　axes；　none　of　them　much　good　against　fifteen　centimetres　of　heavy　armour；　but　Wulfe　knew　that
far　more　dangerous　weapons　were　available　to　the　Golgothan　orks。　His　eyes　scanned　the　roaring
mobs；　frantically　searching　for　signs　of　the　thick；　tube…like　weapons　that　had　brewed　up　Siemens’
tank。　It　was　an　impossible　task。　There　were　too　many　of　them；　and　too　much　movement　all　around。
Wulfe　didn’t　have　time　to　make　a　count　of　how　many　tanks　from　the　81st　had　survived　to　pass
the　breach。　He　had　some　sense　that　the　number　might　be　around　fifty；　meaning　that　fully　half　of　the
regiment’s　armour　had　been　lost　in　getting　this　far。　As　he　thought　this；　trails　of　bright　flame　streaked
out　from　one　of　the　tower…like　constructions　and　struck　a　tank　to　his　left。　The　tank　exploded　in　a
spectacular　ball　of　orange　flame。
“Shaped　charges；”　he　yelled　over　the　vox　to　any　of　the　other　tank　commanders　that　might　be
listening。　“They’ve　got　anti…tank　weaponry！”
The　vox…chatter　he　heard　back　told　him　which　tank　had　been　hit。
“Dark　Majestic　is　down；”　shouted　someone。　“Anti…tank　fire　from　ten　o’clock　high。”
Dark　Majestic　was　a　3rd　Company　machine；　one　of　Lieutenant　Albrecht’s。
“Beans；”　called　Wulfe　over　the　intercom。　“Traverse　left。　Ork　tower。　Three　hundred　metres。
High…explosive。”
Siegler　heaved　a　shell　into　the　main　gun’s　breech。　“She’s　lit。”
Wulfe　tapped　Beans　on　the　left　shoulder；　twice；　a　sign　to　fire　at　will。
“Brace！”　shouted　the　gunner。
Last　Rites　II　shook；　coughing　fire　from　her　muzzle；　and　the　ork　tower　disintegrated
spectacularly。　Bodies　rained　to　the　ground　amid　the　storm　of　burning　junk。
“Eat　that！”　shouted　Beans。
“That’s　a　kill；”　said　Wulfe。　“Nice　shot；　son。　But　don’t　get　cocky。　Traverse　right。　Target　ork
tower；　five　hundred　metres。　High…ex。　Fire　at　will。”
Siegler　slung　another　shell　into　place。　As　the　traverse　motors　hummed；　turning　the　main　gun
towards　the　specified　target；　Wulfe　took　the　briefest　second　to　check　the　rear。　He　saw　the　burning
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wrecks　of　Imperial　tanks　on　all　sides。　Black　bodies；　too　small　to　be　orks；　littered　the　ground；　their
clothes　still　on　fire。　He　cursed。
Most　of　the　regiment’s　tanks　were　still　fighting　desperately；　however；　holding　back　the　seething
tide　of　orks　with　booming　volleys　of　explosive　fire　that　killed　countless　hundreds　with　every　passing
moment。
Thank　the　Throne；　thought　Wulfe；　that　most　of　the　greenskin　bastards　only　have　blades　and
guns。　With　the　exception　of　those　carrying　explosives；　the　ork　infantry　were　largely　powerless
against　the　might　of　Imperial　armour。　Their　wall…mounted　cannon　and　artillery　pieces　were　useless
back　here。　The　Cadian　tanks　were　gradually　pushing　out　from　the　breach；　forming　a　wide　semicircular
perimeter　so　that　the　infantry　vehicles　pouring　in　behind　them　had　room　to　deploy。　Wulfe
saw　halftracks；　Chimeras　and　trucks　skid　to　a　halt　behind　him　and　start　unloading　men。
The　soldiers　immediately　added　their　fire　to　that　of　the　tanks；　and　the　death　toll　among　the　orks
mounted　faster　and　faster。　Torrents　of　stubber　and　bolter　fire　blazed　out　from　the　Chimeras　and
halftracks；　and　the　Cadians　continued　to　gain　ground。
Keep　it　up；　thought　Wulfe。　We’re　beating　them。　By　the　Golden　Throne；　we’re　beating　them。
Then　he　heard　van　Droi’s　voice　on　the　company　command　channel。
Ork　armour　had　been　spotted　approaching　from　the　north　along　the　inside　of　the　wall。　Wulfe
turned　his　head　in　that　direction　and　caught　a　glimpse　of　hulking　black　machines　just　as　Siegler
shouted；　“She’s　lit！”
“Brace！”　shouted　Beans。
The　tank　rocked　and　the　turret　basket　filled　with　the　sharp　stink　of　propellant　once　again。　Wulfe
quickly　checked　and　saw　that　Beans　had　made　another　direct　hit。　The　tower　collapsed　sideways；
spilling　green　bodies　all　around　it。
“Good　work；　soldier；”　Wulfe　told　the　gunner。　“No　time　to　rest；　though。　We’ve　got　enemy　heavy
armour　coming　in。　Siegler；　I　want　armour…piercing　up　the　spout。　Beans；　traverse　left。”
Rumbling　through　the　smoke；　fire　and　dusty　haze；　three　hulking　metal　monsters　emerged。　Wulfe
gaped。　The　ork　machines　had　been　fashioned　to　look　like　some　kind　of　carnivorous　creature。　Their
insane　alien　creators　had　given　them　metal　jaws　with　long　steel　tusks　that　clanged　together　as　they
gnashed。　They　were　bristling　with　cannon　and　secondary　armaments。　Wulfe　could　only　imagine　the
fear　such　machines　might　drive　into　infantrymen；　but；　to　Last　Rites　II；　the　ork　tanks　were　big　fat
targets；　begging　to　be　turned　into　burning　scrap。
Wulfe　had　every　intention　of　obliging。
His　fellow　tank　commanders　clearly　had　the　same　idea。　As　the　monstrous　ork　armour　closed；　all
three　machines　rumbling　and　spluttering　their　way　along　a　wide　avenue　that　ran　parallel　to　the　inside
of　the　wall；　the　Leman　Russ　tanks　loosed　a　stuttering　volley　of　armour…piercing　shells。
Most　of　the　shells　struck　home；　and　one　of　the　ork　machines　stopped　dead　in　its　tracks。　The
greenskin　crew　began　bailing　out　at　speed；　leaping　from　high　hatches　to　land　on　the　heads　and
shoulders　of　the　ork　infantry　that　surged　around　the　treads　of　their　machine。　They　weren’t　quick
enough。　The　magazine　inside　the　tank　detonated　seconds　later；　and　both　the　escaping　crew　and　the
orks　on　which　they　had　dropped　were　roasted　to　death　in　a　massive　rush　of　red　fire。
Wulfe　heard　Captain　Immrich　broadcasting　on　the　regimental　channel。
“Good　kill；　armour；”　he　said。　“But　the　other　two　aren’t　taking　it　very　well。”
The　other　monstrosities　brought　all　their　cannon　to　bear　on　the　Leman　Russ　machines　closest　to
them　and　unleashed　a　ground…shaking　fusillade　of　high…explosive　shells。　Two　Imperial　tanks　—　one
a　Conqueror；　the　other　a　Destroyer　—　erupted　into　fire　almost　simultaneously。　The　Destroyer’s
onboard　plasma…containment　field　lost　integrity　almost　immediately。　It　exploded　with　a　spectacular
and　lethal　burst　of　energy　that　turned　a　dozen　Cadian　infantrymen　nearby　into　piles　of　ash。
Wulfe　yelled　out　in　protest　as　he　watched。　He　heard　Captain　Immrich’s　voice　on　the　vox。
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“Armour　down；”　the　man　was　yelling。　“I　want　those　bloody　abominations　taken　out；　now！
That’s　an　order！”
Wulfe　wondered　who　the　dead　tank　crews　were。　There　hadn’t　been　any　chance　to　read　the　names
on　their　crates　before　they　were　brewed　up。　There　would　be　time　to　find　out　after　the　battle；　if　he
lived　through　it。　For　some　men；　the　absence　of　friends　would　become　brutally；　painfully　apparent
after　the　fighting　was　done。　Thinking　of　this；　he　looked