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dreadnought；　this　one　almost　twice　as　big　as　the　last。
“Damn　it；　Bullseye；”　he　called　to　his　gunner。　“Take　that　bastard　out。”
“I　can　only　shoot　one　at　a　time；　sir；”　snapped　Dietz；　but　he　stamped　on　the　floor　trigger　a　second
later。　The　breech　slid　back；　dumping　an　empty　brass　shell　casing。　The　dreadnought　had　its　right　leg
blown　off。　It　fell　forward　and　landed　on　its　face；　bladed　arms　wheeling　frantically；　dicing　ork　foot
soldiers　on　either　side。
“Nice　shot；”　said　van　Droi。　He　scanned　the　battlefield　for　the　rest　of　his　company。　It　was　hard　to
see　anything。　Dark；　billowing　smoke　rose　everywhere　and　the　horde　was　still　pressing　towards　him
on　every　side。　Blades　clanged　relentlessly　on　the　hull。
“Foe…Breaker　to　all　Gunheads；”　voxed　van　Droi。　“Call　in。”　Three　of　his　tank　commanders
responded。　One　did　not。
“Van　Droi　to　Holtz；　respond。”　Still　nothing。
“Old　Smashbones；　respond。”
Van　Droi　knew　Wulfe　would　be　listening。　They　all　knew　what　that　silence　would　mean：　another
veteran　dead。　If　van　Droi　had　just　let　him　stay　on　Wulfe’s　crew…
No；　there　was　no　use　in　thinking　like　that。　A　man　could　go　mad　on　what　ifs。
Go　with　the　Emperor；　corporal；　van　Droi　thought。　From　the　looks　of　it；　the　rest　of　us　will　be
following　you　soon。　I　don’t　think　anyone　will　be　left　to　grieve；　but　we’ll　hurt　the　bastards　on　the
way　out。　I　promise　you　that。
“Nails；”　he　yelled　over　the　intercom。　“We　need　more　speed；　damn　it。　Give　her　all　she’s　got。
Let’s　get　our　treads　bloody！”
Pressing　in　on　the　orks　from　the　south；　the　infantrymen　of　the　303rd　Skellas　Rifles　fought　valiantly
without　Colonel　Meyers。　The　word　was　that　he　had　been　shot　for　cowardice。　The　remains　of　his
regiment　—　some　four　hundred　and　sixty　men　—　set　out　to　prove　that　they　were　made　of　sterner
stuff。　They　achieved　exactly　that；　though　there　was　little　opportunity　for　anyone　near　them　to　truly
notice　in　the　dust…choked　maelstrom　of　battle。
Under　their　newly　appointed　commander；　Major　Gehrer；　who　led　from　the　very　front；　waving
the　regimental　banner　in　one　hand　and　brandishing　a　bloodstained　chainsword　in　the　other；　the　303rd
railed　hard　against　the　ork　infantry　and　momentarily　managed　to　drive　them　back。　It　didn’t　last　long。
At　such　close　quarters　and　our　support；　the　Cadian　troopers　were　simply　outmuscled；
and；　all　too　soon；　the　orks　closed　around　them　and　butchered　them　with　heavy；　rusting
blades。
Gehrer　was　the　last　to　fall；　protected　to　the　bitter　end　by　a　swiftly　shrinking　circle　of　his
strongest　men。　Even　as　the　orks　hacked　him　down　and　chopped　at　his　fallen　body；　he　fought　to　keep
the　banner　upright；　to　stop　its　sacred　cloth　from　touching　the　ground。
Seconds　later；　greenskin　feet　trampled　it　into　the　dust。
“Shore　up　the　southern　flank；”　screamed　General　deViers。　“Where　the　devil　are　the　303rd？　And
what’s　wrong　with　our　artillery？　Gruber！　Tell　them　to　increase　their　rate　of　fire。　That’s　the　worst
excuse　for　a　sustained　barrage　I’ve　ever　seen。　Our　men　are　getting　slaughtered　out　there！”
He　sat　high　in　the　turret　of　his　Chimera；　hatch　locked　above　his　head；　firing　rapid　multi…laser
bursts　at　anything　and　everything　that　came　into　range。　It　had　been　too　long；　decades　in　fact；　since
he　had　led　from　the　front。　The　sight　of　hideous　greenskins　being　cut　into　smoking　chunks　by　his
own　hand　brought　a　murderous　satisfaction　that　he　had　forgotten　was　possible。　He　revelled　in　it。
169
There　was　no　leading　from　the　rear　this　time。　He　had　known　it　the　moment　he　had　first　laid　eyes
on　the　ork　base。　Every　man；　every　machine；　every　bead　of　sweat　and　drop　of　blood　would　be　needed
to　win　this　day。　The　only　individuals　not　engaging　in　combat　were　those　damned　Martian　priests。
“We　are　not　a　combat　unit；”　Sennesdiar　had　said；　as　if　it　weren’t　already　obvious。　“And　we　are
not　under　the　command　of　the　Departmento　Munitorum。　We　shall　stay　back　with　the　artillery　and
offer　technical　assistance。　Our　servitor　bodyguards　will　help　to　protect　the　Basilisks　in　the　event　that
orks　outflank　your　forces；　general。”
Outflank　my　forces；　thought　deViers？　That　Eye…blasted　cogboy！
The　orks　would　not　get　through。　To　hell　with　the　odds。　Only　in　a　crucible　such　as　this　could　true
legends　be　forged。　The　blessing　of　the　Emperor　had　given　him　this　chance；　this　shot　at　genuine
glory。　Every　last　one　of　his　senior　officers　felt　it；　too；　he　was　sure。　They　were　out　there　now；　Bergen；
Killian　and　Rennkamp；　leading　their　divisions　from　the　front；　turret　guns　blazing　as　their　Chimeras
pressed　forward　inch　by　inch。
It　was　hard　to　see　much；　what　with　the　clouds　of　dust　and　smoke　that　cloaked　everything；　but　up
ahead；　just　a　little　to　his　left；　he　glimpsed　the　tanks　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment　roaring　straight
across　the　thick　press　of　enemy　infantry。　Big　alien　bodies　were　being　mashed　into　the　sand；　pulped
by　the　rolling；　grinding　iron　treads。
Stubber…fire　danced　and　sparked　across　hulls。　Huge　handheld　blades　clattered　uselessly　against
armour　plates。　As　he　watched；　two　were　struck　with　anti…tank　rockets　or　perhaps　some　kind　of
limpet　charge。　DeViers　couldn’t　tell　which。　They　stopped　dead　in　their　tracks；　turned　into　blazing
cauldrons；　the　men　inside　cooking　to　death。
DeViers　thanked　the　Throne　that　he　couldn’t　hear　their　screams。
The　other　Cadian　tanks　were　almost　through。　Their　guns　coughed。　He　could　just　make　out　the
first　of　the　enemy　armour　starting　to　burn　up。
“Gruber；”　deViers　yelled　again；　“what　about　my　artillery　fire？”
“I’ve　told　them；　sir；”　replied　the　adjutant　from　the　troop　compartment　at　the　back　of　the　vehicle。
“They　say　they’re　firing　at　full　capacity。　And　they’re　worried　about　hitting　our　own　troops　now。”
“Damn　it；”　deViers　called　back。　“Get　in　touch　with　their　commissar。　Tell　him　to　make　an
example　of　someone。　Then　we’ll　see　what　full　capacity　is！”
He　saw　a　massive　black　ork　kick　two　others　from　its　path　and　race　towards　the　troopers　in　front
of　his　Chimera　with　a　chilling　war　cry。　It　was　wielding　a　massive；　whirring　chainsword　with　both
hands。
“No　you　don’t；”　said　deViers。
With　a　grin；　he　thumbed　his　butterfly…trigger　and　gunned　the　monster　down。
Holtz；　thought　Wulfe；　by　the　blasted　Eye！
He　kept　repeating　the　name　in　his　head；　like　a　mantra　against　the　truth　of　what　he　had　just　heard。
He　couldn’t　believe　he　was　gone。　It　hurt　like　a　hot　knife　in　his　chest。　He　kept　seeing　Holtz’s　face
behind　his　eyelids　when　he　blinked　—　not　the　disfigured　face　he　had　worn　in　recent　years；　but　Holtz
as　he　had　been　in　the　years　before　Modessa　Prime。　The　man　had　changed　a　lot　after　that；　everything
but　those　ice…blue　eyes。
He　had　been　a　good　friend。　Wulfe　promised　to　let　the　real　pain　in；　to　stop　holding　it　at　bay；　if　he
lived　through　this。　For　now；　though；　he　had　to　fight　it　off。　There　was　no　time　to　miss　anyone　out
here　in　all　this　madness。
“Incoming；”　shouted　Metzger　over　the　intercom。
Something　hit　the　tank’s　glacis　plate　with　so　much　force　that　the　back　end　lifted　clear　of　the
sand。　Half　a　second　later；　it　crashed　down　again。　The　treads　bit　into　the　dirt；　and　Last　Rites　II　leapt
forward；　pulling　more　orks　underneath　her。
Through　his　vision　blocks；　Wulfe　saw　a　black　shadow　peel　away　in　the　sky　above。
170
“Damn　and　blast！　Don’t　we　have　anything　that　can　take　out　their　air　support？　How　are　we
supposed　to　clear　their　artillery　out　if　we　keep　getting　bombed　from　the　air？”
Just　as　he　finished　his　sentence；　something　small　and　bright　screamed　towards　the　jet　and
clipped　its　tail　section。　There　was　a　burst　of　red　flame　and　a　puff　of　black　smoke　that　quickly
became　an　elegant　curving　trail。　The　ork　fighter　rolled　slowly　onto　its　back；　and　then　slammed　down
into　the　horde。　There　was　a　mighty　boom　and　a　mushroom　of　dirt　and　fire。　Wulfe　judged　that
hundreds　of　orks　must　have　been　maimed　or　killed。
“By　Terra；　yes！”　he　shouted。　He　couldn’t　see　the　heavy　weapons　team　that　had　fired　the　missile；
but　he　saluted　them　anyway。
He　had　enough　to　worry　about　without　the　damned　greenskin　fliers　trying　to　blow　up　his　crate。
In　trying　to　crush　their　way　through　the　thickest　press　of　orks；　the　Cadian　tanks　had　been　forced　to
slow　down。　That　made　them　easier　targets　for　the　ork　tanks　that　spluttered　and　ru