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unmounted　troops。　It　would　have　needed　time；　coordination；　and　a　healthy　serving　of　old…fashioned
Cadian　courage；　but　the　orks　had　armour　support　of　their　own　—　a　single　lethal　machine　that
nothing　on　the　Cadian　side　seemed　capable　of　damaging　—　and　it　was　picking　the　18th　Army　Group
tanks　off　one　by　one。
Beans　had　fired　on　that　clanking；　rumbling；　smoke…spewing　monstrosity　three　times　already；
switching　from　high…explosive　to　armour…piercing　when　it　was　clear　the　former　was　utterly
ineffective；　but　the　armour…piercing　shot　hadn’t　done　much　in　the　way　of　damage　either。　The　other
tanks　had　discovered　this　too。　Their　rounds　either　exploded　without　effect　or　lodged　in　metre…thick
slabs　of　iron　skin。
Some　of　the　remaining　Executioners　and　Destroyers　had　enjoyed　slightly　more　success；
managing　to　blast　a　few　pieces　off　here　and　there；　but　the　oversized　lump　of　metal　was　still　rolling
forward；　emerging　into　the　daylight　with　aching　slowness。
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This　was　the　monstrosity　that　had　brewed　up　Foe…Breaker。　Wulfe　had　heard　it　all　over　the　vox；
his　gut　knotting　until　it　caused　him　actual　physical　pain。　Seconds　after　the　vox　report；　he　and　the
other　mixed　units　had　arrived　on　the　open　ground　before　the　big　hangar。　That　was　when　the　orks　had
poured　out　to　surround　them。
What　in　the　blasted　warp　is　it？　Wulfe　wondered；　glancing　in　the　direction　of　the　ork　machine。
Only　half　of　it　was　visible　so　far；　but　Wulfe　guessed　its　speed　had　nothing　at　all　to　do　with　an
underpowered　engine。　It　had　been　built　by　orks。　Already　its　armour　had　proved　superior　to　the
Cadian　weapons。　It　was　most　likely　fitted　with　an　insane　excess　of　weaponry；　too。
As　he　thought　this；　the　machine’s　main　gun　fired　again；　its　thunderous　roar　shaking　the　hangar
walls　and　the　buildings　on　either　side。　The　air　trembled。　A　Leman　Russ　Conqueror　belonging　to　2nd
Company　spun　on　a　pillar　of　flame　and　crashed　to　the　ground　on　its　side。
Wulfe　wondered　darkly　if　Foe…Breaker　had　landed　the　same　way。
The　report　of　van　Droi’s　death　had　hit　him　with　all　the　force　of　an　Earthshaker　round；　harder；　if
he　was　honest；　than　the　death　of　Holtz　or　Viess。　He　had　known　van　Droi　longer。　The　man　had
seemed　immortal　to　a　young　Wulfe　when　he　had　first　joined　the　regiment。　He　had　been　somewhat
like　Colonel　Vinnemann　in　that　regard。　For　Wulfe；　Gossefried　van　Droi　had　embodied　everything
that　was　strong　and　true　and　noble　about　the　Imperial　Guard。　He　was　a　symbol。　Gossefried’s
Gunheads　had　been　named　for　him。　Symbols　weren’t　supposed　to　die。　Only　people　died。　People　and
orks。
Hungry　for　revenge；　he　loosed　a　battle　cry　and　thumbed　the　trigger　of　his　heavy　stubber；　sending
another　lethal　torrent　straight　into　a　pack　of　orks　that　were　hacking　the　arms　and　legs　from　an
infantryman　on　the　left。　Wulfe　couldn’t　save　him　—　it　was　too　late　for　that　—　but　he　punished　the
soldier’s　killers。　Their　grotesquely　muscled　bodies　crumpled　to　the　ground；　torsos　almost　cut　in　half
by　the　stubber’s　high　rate　of　fire。　Their　thick　red　blood　mixed　with　that　of　the　man　they　had　just
killed。
Wulfe　heard　Beans　calling　“Brace！”　on　the　intercom　just…before　a　tongue　of　fire　flickered　at　the
end　of　Last　Rites　II’s　battle　cannon。　The　sharp　boom　it　made　set　his　ears　ringing。
The　round　went　curving　in　towards　the　massive　ork　machine；　striking　a　plate　of　red…painted　iron
bolted　to　the　front。　White　sparks　showered　out　as　the　round　ricocheted　and　punched　a　hole　in　the
corrugated　surface　of　the　hangar　wall。　After　a　second；　the　plate　fell　off　and　was　pulled　under　a　set　of
massive　iron　treads。
“Damn　it！”　cursed　Beans　over　the　intercom；　but　Wulfe　wasn’t　listening　to　him。　He　was　listening
to　the　divisional　vox　channel。　The　chatter　there　had　suddenly　intensified；　for　Beans’　shot　had
uncovered　the　forward　edge　of　a　massive　black　track…guard；　on　top　of　which　sat　an　icon　cast　in
bright；　shining　gold。
Every　man　on　the　battlefield　recognised　it。　It　hung　from　their　necks；　imprinted　on　one　side　of　the
dog…tags　they　all　wore。　Many　had　paid　to　have　it　tattooed　on　their　bodies。
It　was　the　holy　aquila；　two…headed　eagle；　icon　of　the　Imperium　of　Man。
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CHAPTER　THIRTY…FOUR
General　deViers　felt　his　heart　hammering　in　his　chest　as　his　Chimera　raced　in　towards　the　battle。　He
ordered　his　driver　to　crash　straight　through　the　orks　that　filled　the　street　up　ahead。　Beyond　them；　he
could　already　see　the　ground　where　his　forces　were　fighting　for　their　lives。　There　was　the　massive
hangar　he　had　heard　about　on　the　vox；　and；　there　she　was：　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance。
There　was　no　doubt　it　was　her。　Some　tanker　in　the　10th　Armoured　Division　had　knocked　off　a
piece　of　her　disguise；　and　now　everyone　knew。　They　had　found　her。　They　had　tracked　her　down　at
last；　but　what　in　blazes　had　the　greenskins　done　to　her？　In　all　the　general’s　dreams　of　how　this
moment　would　unfold；　he　had　never　imagined　this。　In　the　ultimate　act　of　sacrilege；　the　orks　were
using　her　to　slaughter　Imperial　forces。　His　forces。
Even　so；　he　had　no　choice　but　to　give　the　order。
Through　gritted　teeth；　he　voxed；　“This　is　Army　Group　Command　to　all　units。　Cease　fire　on　the
enemy　superheavy　at　once。　I　repeat；　do　not　fire　on　the　ork　super…heavy　under　any　circumstances。
Concentrate　on　the　enemy　infantry。”
Gerard　Bergen　wasn’t　slow　to　respond。　He　didn’t　bother　with　propriety；　either。
“You’re　out　of　your　frakking　mind；　general；”　he　hissed。　“Whether　that　abomination　is　Yarrick’s
Baneblade　or　not；　it’s　devastating　my　armour。　We　have　to　take　it　out　right　now。　Reverse　that　order！”
“Mind　your　damned　tone；　major　general；”　deViers　barked　back。　“I　will　do　no　such　thing。　Ask
Magos　Sennesdiar；　if　a　round　pierces　the　onboard　fuel　or　ammunition　supplies；　she’ll　be　beyond　all
hope　of　repair。”
“And　if　we　don’t　put　her　out　of　commission；　there　won’t　be　anyone　left　to　claim　her。　Have　you
lost　your　mind；　you　old　fool？　You’re　acting　like　a　damned　Mechanicus　puppet。　You　know　that？”
DeViers　felt　his　face　grow　hot。
“I　hope　you　live　through　this；　Gerard；”　he　growled；　“I　really　do；　because　if　you　ever　speak　like
that　to　me　again；　I’ll　see　you　swing　from　the　gallows。　Is　that　clear？　The　order　stands。　Anyone　who
fires　on　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　will　answer　to　me。”
“Fine；”　said　Bergen　bitterly；　“and　may　you　answer　to　the　souls　of　the　men　you’ve　just
condemned。　Bergen　out。”
“You　have　got　to　be　bloody　joking！”　exclaimed　Beans。
“I　wish　I　was；”　answered　Wulfe。　He　turned　to　his　left　and　fired　on　an　ork　wielding　a　bulky　heavy
flamer　as　if　it　were　little　more　than　a　pistol。　It　had　just　finished　roasting　three　Guardsmen　to　death　at
close　range。　When　Wulfe’s　stubber…rounds　punched　into　its　body；　the　ork　threw　up　its　hands。　One　of
the　rounds　punctured　the　fuel　tanks　on　its　back；　and　it　exploded　in　a　fountain　of　bright　fire　and
burning　meat。
The　bastardised　Baneblade　was　almost　fully　out　of　the　hangar。　Wulfe　could　see　an　absolutely
massive　ork　standing　on　top　of　it。　It　had　to　be　the　warboss。　It　wasn’t　just　the　size　of　the　creature；
though　it　certainly　made　even　the　biggest　of　the　black…skinned　veterans　look　almost　small。　It　was　the
massive　suit　of　power　armour　that　it　wore。　Energy　crackled　in　blue　arcs　along　its　arms。　It　flexed
huge　blade…like　claws　and　bellowed　its　war　cry　through　some　kind　of　amplifier　attached　to　its
shoulder。
183
The　bestial　roar　swept　over　the　battlefield；　and　the　orks　all　around　began　fighting　with　fresh
reserves　of　energy　and　zeal。
“Look；”　said　Beans；　“I　might　just　be　a　gunner；　but　I　know　that　order　is　utter　bloody　ball…rot；
sarge。　If　we　can’t　fire　on　it；　we’re　dead　men。”
As　if　to　prove　his　point；　the　Baneblade’s　main　gun　fired　again。　The　last　surviving　Leman　Russ
Executioner　detonated　in　a　spectacular　burst　of　orange　fire　and　glowing　blue　plasma。
“Throne　damn　it；”　cursed　Wulfe。　“Listen；　Beans；　do　you　think　you　can　hit　the　warboss　without
hitting　the　tank？”
About　twenty　metres　behind　Last　Rites　II；　a　Chimera　exploded。　Wulfe　felt　the　intense　heat　of　the
blast　on　the　back　of　his　neck　and　turned。
A　slavering　black　ork　was　hauling　its　way　up　the　back　of　his　tank　with　an　axe　in　one　hand　and　a
rusty　metal　hook　in　the　other。　A　suing　of　desiccated　human　heads　bobbed　around　its　waist。