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weapons on them？ What about our mortar teams？ They’re all we have left that doesn’t need line of
sight。”
Kassel immediately tried to raise the mortar teams on the vox； but there was no reply； just
hissing static and the sure knowledge that more men had died。
“Sir； we need to get you away from here。 Those green…skin gun…crews won’t take long to reload。
We should get you into one of the Chimeras。 The Kasrkin might be able to open a corridor。”
“If you suggest that to me ever again； Hans； I’ll pistol…whip you。 Do you hear me？ You should
know better by now。 I’ve never run from a field of battle in my life。”
“I… Sorry； sir。”
“Sod your apologies； man。 Just keep shooting。 We’ll make a proper accounting of ourselves
before the end。 Get the word out。 The Fighting 98th makes its last stand for the honour of Cadia！”
“The Fighting 98th forever； sir！” said Kassel； thrusting out his chest。 Determination replaced the
fear in his eyes。 If they were to die； it would be as only Cadian men could die； strong and true； and
unrelenting to the very last。 The Emperor would welcome their souls to his glorious hall。 Their
places at his table would be assured。
41
The outer defences were swarming with xenos； all jostling for a chance to revel in the slaughter
of Stromm’s men。 They pushed and shoved each other for better position； desperate to claim more
kills than their fellows。 They were so frantic with battle…lust that savage brawls began to break out
here and there among their ranks。 Stromm saw one of the beasts — spike…helmed and heavily
armoured； its dark skin textured like burned steak — turn to a marginally smaller monstrosity on its
right and begin wrestling with it； trying to prise a large axe from its grasp。 The smaller ork resisted
until the larger rammed the point of a huge； rust…pitted knife right into its belly and unzipped it from
sternum to crotch。 Thick blood poured out； followed by a tumble of looping intestines that glistened
pink as they slid out onto the sand。 Then； with the newly won axe in hand； the big one bellowed a
battle cry and continued its advance； eager to enter close…quarters combat where it could engage in
bloody slaughter。
It took six men firing lasguns at close range to put that bastard down。
By Terra； thought Stromm； they’re insane！ Death means nothing to them。 Whether we have men
like Yarrick or not — whether we had a thousand Yarricks； a million even — how can humanity
hope to hold back the savage tide？
In Stromm’s earpiece； the vox…chatter from his surviving platoon leaders had degenerated into a
cacophony of panicked shouts。 The gap was closing ever further。 Once the fighting went hand…tohand；
it would be over for the Cadians。 Nothing could save them then。
“We’re losing the inner defences。 The bolter…nests are being overrun！”
“What do we do？ Fall back to the drop…ship？ They’re hammering it with artillery！”
“I need heavy weapons support on our right flank； warp damn it！ Get me mortars。 Get me a
heavy bolter。 Anything！”
Stromm heard the words as if from a great distance。 A strange and unexpected sense of calm had
descended on him。 All around； the air was churning with noise and heat； whining bullets and
cracking las…fire； but； in his mind； everything was supremely clear。 The end of his lifelong duty to
the Emperor was at hand。
One more time； he allowed his thoughts to return to his family up there on The Incandescent；
and said a silent prayer to the Emperor：
May my wife remember me proudly； and may our son’s achievements exceed my own。 To the
Emperor’s side； I commend the souls of my men； and I ask Saint Josmane to be our guide。
“Hans；” he said； “the regimental banner。”
“It’s here； sir。”
“Then unfurl it； soldier； and give it to me。”
“At once； sir；” said Kassel； and leapt to the task。
Stromm holstered his smoking hellpistol and accepted the heavy banner from his adjutant。
Gripping its haft with both hands； he stepped forward； calling to his men as he waved it majestically
in the hot； dusty afternoon air。
“Rally to me； Cadians；” he shouted over the din of battle。 “Rally to me； troopers！ No more
falling back。 Here and now； we make our stand！”
The banner was a striking icon of gold and red。 The pillared symbol of the Cadian gate
dominated its centre and； on either side of it； the image of a grinning skull held a single stalk of
wheat between its teeth。 The wheat…stalk symbolised the regiment’s glorious victory at Ruzarch
Fields during the infamous Battle of Vogen nearly half a century before。 Had the regiment survived
General deViers’ Golgothan expedition； another symbol of honour would have been added： a
stylised cloud and lightning bolt。
The men close enough to hear his voice turned to see their colonel standing there； the banner
snapping and fluttering as he waved it over his head。 He looked like an image from a propaganda
poster； and their spirits burned with fresh pride。 Stromm could see it as he looked into their eyes。 He
saw the fires of determination surging there； the will to die fighting。
42
“Honour and glory！” shouted a sergeant off to the right。
“Honour and glory！” bellowed his squad。
Something changed in the air； building up like a massive electrical charge。 Even the wounded
seemed suddenly whole again； though their bodies still bled。 They turned from the sight of their
colonel and his banner； raised lasgun stocks to armoured shoulders； and met the orks with renewed
ferocity； determined to dispatch as many of the slavering beasts as possible before they were
overcome for good。
Push through your pain； Stromm willed them。 Just a bit further； a bit longer so we know the
Emperor’s eyes are on us。
Only a few hundred metres； now； until the orks were in among them。 Mere moments until the
fighting became hand…to…hand。 At that range； the greenskins’ massive physiologies would allow
them to rip through the Cadians like wet paper。 Only the mighty Kasrkin storm troopers； of which
Stromm had started with a single company and now had less than three full platoons； had any
chance in close quarters； and； even then； not much of one。
“Fix bayonets；” ordered Stromm。 Kassel repeated the order over the vox。 He might as well have
said “get ready to die”。 Against orks； it was essentially the same thing。
The call was taken up by officers and sergeants all along the line as the gap shrank to forty
metres； then thirty。 Las…fire blazed out in a last； desperate bid to make a difference before the clash
of blade on blade。 Plenty of orks went down； struck in the face with lethal； short…range blasts。 But； if
this bought the Cadians any time at all； it was mere seconds。
The ork artillery was rolling forward； too； unable to fire on the Cadians now that their own
infantry had closed the gap。 The greenskin gunnery crews； in the manner of all their race； were
desperate to get closer to the centre of the murder； to stain their hands with the blood of dying men。
For this； they kept their machines rolling in。
Twenty metres from Stromm； a massive ork with a broken tusk hacked one trooper to the ground
with its cleaver； shoved roughly past another； and raced directly forwards。 It was coming straight for
the colonel； attracted by the bright； snapping banner above his head。 As it closed； it raised its
massive stubber with a single hand and fired a burst that caught the colonel on the right shoulder。
His tough armaplas body…armour was enough to deflect the shot； but the impact threw him from his
feet。 He landed on the red sand with a grunt。 The force of the bullet’s impact had broken his arm；
and the banner fell from his hands。
Lieutenant Kassel moved in a blur； catching the banner as it fell； hoisting it high； desperate not
to dishonour the regiment by allowing its sanctified cloth to touch the ground。 He stabbed the base
of the haft into the sand； braced it with one hand； and crouched by his colonel； yelling his name。
“Are you alive； sir？ Speak to me； colonel！ Please！”
Groaning in agony and clutching his shattered arm； Stromm rolled； and； with Kassel’s eager aid；
struggled to his feet。 He looked around to see men forming a defensive line around him； fighting
back desperately with bayonets； pistols； sharpened entrenching tools — anything they had to hand
— against the massive chipped axes and cleavers of the orks。
“For Cadia！” Stromm roared； leaving Kassel with the banner and drawing his hellpistol again；
this time with his left hand。
“For Cadia！” his men roared back。
They fought with everything they had； but the air suddenly filled once again with the deafening
boom of big guns。 Stromm tensed； guessing the ork artillery crews had decided to fire after all；
whether they killed their foul kin or not。 He girded himself for the explosive blast that would bring
an end to his life any second now。
Any second…
But it never came。 There was no ear…splitting whistle overhead。
“Armour！” cried one of his platoon leaders over the vox…net。 “In Terra’s Holy Name！”
43
“They’re fielding tanks； too？” asked another。
“No；” snapped the first。 “Not the blasted orks； man！ Imperial tanks！ Leman Russ battle tanks
inbound from the west！”
Stromm heard a second stutter of booming fire and t