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expectantly。　Beans　in　particular　looked　keen　for　his　sergeant　to　speak。
Wulfe　nodded　at　them；　but　he　couldn’t　smile。　Colonel　Vinnemann　was　gone。　Things　already　felt
different。
On　the　intercom；　he　told　his　crew；　“Good　job；　you　lot。”
“Thanks；　sarge；”　replied　Beans；　but　Wulfe　sensed　he　was　waiting　for　more；　which　was　only
natural　given　the　fact　that　he　had　just　survived　his　first　front…line　engagement。　In　fact；　he　had
distinguished　himself。　Wulfe　wasn’t　in　the　mood　to　give　him　his　dues　right　now；　though。　He　felt　like
he’d　had　the　wind　knocked　out　of　him。
“Beans；”　he　said；　“you　and　Siegler　need　to　get　some　rest。　Metzger；　I’ll　cover　for　you　as　soon　as
we　get　a　chance　to　stop；　but　that　might　not　be　for　a　while　yet。　Can　you　go　on？”
“I’ve　got　a　flask　of　caffeine　that’ll　see　me　through；”　said　Metzger。　“Get　some　rest；　sarge。　Sounds
like　you　need　it。”
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Wulfe　decided　he　would　tell　them　about　Vinnemann　later。　He　would　spare　them　the　grief　for
now。
He　closed　his　eyes　and　leaned　back　against　the　inside　wall。　The　rumble　of　the　tank　rattled　his
teeth　together；　but；　after　so　many　years　of　sleeping　on　the　move；　he　was　well　used　to　it。　It　actually
seemed　to　help　him　sleep　these　days。
“Wake　me　if　something　bad　happens。”
Raising　an　eyelid；　he　checked　to　see　if　Siegler　and　Beans　were　following　his　example。　Siegler
was；　but　Beans　was　still　looking　at　his　sergeant。
“I　meant　what　I　said；　Beans；”　said　Wulfe。　“Get　some　shut…eye　while　you　can。　There’s　going　to
be　more　fighting　soon。　And　if　you　thought　today　was　bad…”
He　never　finished　the　sentence。　A　warm　darkness　embraced　him；　and　thoughts　of　battle　slipped
from　his　mind。　He　dreamed　of　a　blue　sky　and　the　green　banks　of　a　shimmering　lake。　There　were
purple　mountains　in　the　distance；　each　with　a　perfect　cap　of　white　snow；　and；　on　one　of　the　grassy
hills　at　the　foot　of　the　mountains；　he　saw　a　great　structure　of　white　marble；　a　shining　fortress。
To　Wulfe’s　eyes；　it　seemed　close；　just　a　few　hours　walking　distance；　but；　at　the　same　time；　and
with　an　inexplicable　surety　that　can　only　exist　in　dreams；　Wulfe　knew　that　the　fortress　was　much；
much　further　away　than　it　looked。
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CHAPTER　TWENTY…TWO
“Then　where　the　frakking　hell　is　it？”　raged　General　deViers。
A　blood…red　dawn　found　the　general　and　his　beleaguered　forces　in　a　dry；　rocky　valley　between
the　foothills　of　the　Ishawar　Mountains。　It　was　a　scene　that　held　the　eye　and　boggled　the　mind。　Here；
at　long　last；　was　the　reported　resting　place　of　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance；　at　least；　so　the　Adeptus
Mechanicus　had　told　the　Munitorum。　General　deViers　had　pinned　all　his　hopes　on　it。
But　there　was　no　sign　of　Yarrick’s　tank。　In　fact　there　was　no　sign　that　it　had　ever　been　here　at
all。
The　valley　was　two　kilometres　long；　curving　away　to　the　north…east　where　its　floor　gradually
rose　to　meet　the　mountain　slopes。　The　hills　between　which　it　nestled　were　of　loose　orange　sand　and
darker　orange　rock；　but　much　of　the　land　was　covered　by　rusting　metal；　for　it　was　here　that　a　great
battle　had　once　been　fought。　Yarrick’s　forces　had　passed　through　these　foothills；　hounded　by
Ghazghkull　Thraka’s　hordes　from　the　north。　It　was　here　that　the　Imperial　troops　had　truly　foundered；
sandwiched　between　their　pursuers　and　a　well…equipped　secondary　ork　force　that　came　up　from　the
southeast　in　a　pincer　movement。　Thraka　had　surprised　Yarrick　and　wreaked　havoc　on　his　army；
fielding　some　of　the　greatest　monstrosities　available　to　any　ork　commander；　massive　avatars　of　war
to　rival　in　power　and　stature　the　mighty　Titans　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus。
For　the　sake　of　target　identification；　the　Officio　Strategos　tagged　these　towering　creations
Gargants。　Similar　designs　of　a　lighter　class　had　been　code…named　Stompers。　They　looked　much　the
same　but　for　the　difference　in　size。　There　were　reports　of　Gargants　as　tall　as　the　greatest　machines　of
the　Legio　Titanicus。　They　were　as　tall　as　the　orks　could　make　them：　massive　effigies　of　their　savage
gods；　dressed　for　war　in　great　skirts　of　the　thickest　armour　plating　the　greenskins　could　find。　Clouds
of　toxic　gas　and　steam　vented　from　them　with　every　lumbering；　earth…shaking　step；　and　they　were
typically　armed　with　more　weapons　than　was　practical。
More　often　than　not；　their　arms　were　comprised　of　cannon　of　outrageous　calibre；　all　grouped
together　so　that　they　might　launch　volleys　of　devastating　shells　at　a　single　target。　Atop　each　giant
body　sat　a　control　deck　in　the　shape　of　a　monstrous　metal　head。　The　orks　designed　these　to　look
much　like　themselves；　they　had　red　eyes；　albeit　glowing　ones　made　up　of　sensors；　and　jutting　metal
jaws　that　thrust　forward；　providing　a　parapet　for　the　insane　infantry　that　manned　the　gun　positions
there。　Each　shoulder　was　a　firing　platform　bearing　everything　from　artillery　pieces　to　mortars　and
fixed　stubber　positions。　Nothing　else　in　the　ork　arsenal　embodied　their　enthusiasm　for　war　like　these
oversized　abominations。
It　was　the　wreckage　of　one　of　these　Gargants　that　told　General　deViers　he　was　looking　in　the
right　place。
The　Gargant　was　practically　skeletal。　Over　the　years　since　Yarrick　had　managed　to　fell　it；　ork
bands　had　come；　stripping　away　everything　they　could　use　from　its　mighty　carcass。　They　took　the
weapons。　They　took　the　armour　plates。　All　that　lay　before　deViers　and　his　forces　was　a　rusting
frame　that　barely　hinted　at　the　terror　of　the　original　machine。
Other；　smaller　machines　lay　all　around　it；　also　half　buried　in　the　sand；　also　looted。　They　were
mostly　dreadnoughts；　much　smaller　than　a　Stomper；　but　deadly　enough　in　their　own　right。　There
were　signs　that　Imperial　Titans　had　fought　here；　too。　The　wreckage　of　their　mighty　guns　lay　halfburied
in　the　hillsides。　The　valley　had　seen　a　great　battle；　so　great；　in　fact；　that　few　living　beings　had
walked　away　from　it；　and　few　machines　had　survived　it　intact。
134
It　was　here　that　Yarrick　had　lost　his　Baneblade　and　his　freedom。　It　was　here　that　the　greenskin
warlord　Ghazghkull　Thraka　finally　captured　his　nemesis；　though　he　released　him　soon　afterwards　so
that　he　would　have　a　worthy　opponent　for　his　second　war　on　Armageddon。
“Someone　answer　me；”　demanded　deViers。　He　was　standing　halfway　up　the　left　hillside；
scanning　the　valley　desperately；　and　the　air　of　panic　he　exuded　was　palpable。　Bergen　stood　close　by；
shaking　his　head。
I　knew　it；　he　thought。　He　wasn’t　gloating。　His　feeling　was　one　of　resignation。　Here　was　the　proof
that　his　doubts　had　been　justified　all　along。　There　was　no　need　to　feel　guilty　for　harbouring　such
scepticism。　He　had　been　right；　but　he　had　truly　wanted　to　be　wrong。　The　current　question　was　this：
what　would　Tech…Magos　Sennesdiar　do　now？　The　ancient　tech…priest　must　have　known　all　along
that　the　whole　expedition　would　eventually　come　to　this。　He　must　have　known　he’d　have　to　answer
for　the　missing　Baneblade　eventually。
General　deViers　was　thinking　about　the　tech…priests；　too。　“Get　the　damned　cogboys　over　here。　I
want　a　bloody　explanation。　And　don’t　let　the　men　stop　searching。　I　want　to　know　the　moment
anyone　finds　anything；　absolutely　anything　at　all。”
Bergen　looked　out　over　the　opposite　slope。　The　day　was　still　new；　but　the　air　was　already　warm。
There　was　no　breeze；　not　yet　anyway。　Looking　westwards；　he　gazed　along　the　row　of　tanks　and
transports　that　sat　waiting　patiently　for　their　orders。　The　tank　crews　were　out；　stretching　their　legs
after　a　long　hard　run　from　the　orks。　The　Sentinels　were　up　on　the　high　ground；　keeping　watch　on　the
gullies　below。　The　greenskins　couldn’t　be　far　off。　The　hours　of　pitch　darkness　might　have　slowed
them　down　a　little；　but　Bergen　knew　it　was　a　temporary　reprieve。　The　orks　wanted　to　fight。
What　would　deViers　do；　Bergen　wondered？　Would　he　have　Exolon　make　a　stand？　Or　would　he
urge　them　on？　Where　was　there　left　to　go　after　this？
“You　called；　general；”　said　a　mechanical　voice　from　Bergen’s　right。　He　turned　his　head　to　see
the　three　senior　tech…priests　drift　forward；　red　robes　rippling　around　them　as　they　moved。　“May　we
assume　that　your　men　have　found　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance？　I　shall　launch　an　orbital　beacon　as
soon　as　I　have　verified　this。”
“No　they　bloody　well　have　not　found　it；”　deViers　practically　sc