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autocannon that could chew infantry and light armour apart with ease； allowing the gunner to spare
the precious； limited ammunition of the main gun。 Holtz employed the co…ax now； traversing the
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turret slowly in a ninety…degree arc； firing relentlessly； covering the sand in lifeless alien debris。 On
the other side of the turret basket； Siegler was pulling a fresh ammunition belt from a stowage box。
With its incredible rate of fire； Wulfe’s heavy stubber would need reloading in a matter of seconds。
“Don’t waste any time； Lenck；” Wulfe voxed to the New Champion。 “Cut that corridor。 Those
men can’t last much longer。”
“I’m on it； sergeant；” Lenck snapped back。
Sure enough； Wulfe saw the Exterminator’s turret…mounted heavy bolters blaze into life；
stitching a bloody path straight through the foe。 They made one hell of a mess； a kill for almost
every hit scored。
Wulfe felt someone tap his shin twice。 He tore his eyes from the bloodbath； dropped his hand
down into the turret； and accepted the ammunition belt that Siegler was feeding up to him。 Ork slugs
rattled and spanged from the turret armour all around him； sending showers of sparks into the air。
Wulfe ducked down； staying as low as possible without abandoning his cupola altogether。
“Sort those bastards out； Holtz！” he yelled over the intercom。 “I’m taking an awful lot of fire up
here！”
“If I could just use the main gun； sarge；” Holtz argued。
“Well you can’t！” barked Wulfe。 “No high explosives。 We’re too near the bloody footsloggers。”
Wordlessly； Holtz traversed the turret again； using the autocannon to pour out another lethal hail
that bought Wulfe the time he needed to reload。 With quick； practised hands； Wulfe re…threaded the
belt into the heavy stubber； yanked hard on the cocking lever； and was about to resume firing when
something huge and dark leapt high into the air on a trail of blue fire； curved straight towards him；
and landed with a heavy clang on top of his turret。 Just a metre closer and Wulfe would have been
fatally crushed under the heavy body of a monstrous； mad…eyed brute with a smoking red rocket
strapped to its back。 It was some kind of insane greenskin assault trooper！
Wulfe and the ork looked at each other for the briefest instant； blue eye locked to red； and Wulfe
knew that it was over。 The ork’s rusty cleaver was already in the air； poised at the start of a
sweeping downward stroke that would hack him apart。 His heavy stubber couldn’t help him。 The
ork had one massive foot on either side of the barrel。
Oh； frak； thought Wulfe。
A tidal surge of adrenaline slowed time to a crawl and blocked out everything but the enormous
figure of the monster that was about to end his life。 Wulfe didn’t hear the burst of fire from his right。
He didn’t hear his name being called over the vox。 But he saw the ork’s weapon hand disintegrate in
a bloody mist； followed almost immediately by its massive； razor…toothed head。 It burst like a rotten
fruit； and he felt the monster’s foul blood spray over his face and fatigues like hot rain。
The creature’s heavy blade clattered against the turret armour as it fell。 Then the headless body
followed it； falling backwards； slipping over the tank’s track guards to the red sand below。
Wulfe didn’t move for another second； confused that he was somehow still alive。 He didn’t
register the ork shells that were whining past his head。
There was something powerfully salty on his lips； and the foul taste of it snapped him back to
his senses。 It was ork blood。 He wiped it off with his sleeve and turned。 Looking to the right； he saw
Corporal Lenck standing in the cupola of the New Champion； his heavy stubber still pointed in
Wulfe’s direction。
For just the briefest moment； Wulfe felt absolutely sure that Lenck was about to shoot him。
There was a look of utter triumph in the arrogant corporal’s eyes。 He could end Wulfe’s life with the
merest pressure of thumb on trigger。
But the lethal impacts never came。 After a tense second； Lenck laughed； turned his stubber back
on the orks and continued firing。 He looked sickeningly pleased with himself。
By the frakking Eye； Wulfe cursed。 Now I’m in his debt。 Damn it all！ Why did it have to be
Lenck？
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His eyes followed the line of Lenck’s tracers and he saw that the New Champion had cut a deep；
broad path in the ork ranks； deep enough and wide enough to make all the difference to Stromm and
his men。 The orks were pushing away from the crashed drop…ship； eager to avoid being slaughtered
under the torrent of explosive munitions and autocannon fire。 They left hundreds of their dead
behind them in great heaps of reeking meat。 Wulfe looked beyond the piled bodies and saw
Stromm’s infantrymen fighting valiantly with their backs to the crashed ship’s hull。 Not smart； he
thought； to get yourself grounded like that without an exit strategy。 It was only by sheer luck； or
perhaps the machinations of the Divine Emperor； that the Gunheads had found Stromm’s lot in time。
If Lieutenant van Droi had picked up the colonel’s faint vox…transmissions any later； the Gunheads
would have found only dead men and scavengers。
Wulfe had said it before； and he said it to himself again now； he wouldn’t have been a
footslogger for all the gold on Agripinaa。 What kind of madness made men march to battle without
at least a hundred millimetres of solid armour between them and the foe？ Little wonder that the life
of an infantryman was so short。 One way or another； most died within their first six months of
combat duty。 The average for tankers was almost double。 He knew some men resented that； but it
was tanks and their crews that drew most fire on the battlefield。
Through the veils of churning smoke and dust； Wulfe spotted a man that could only have been
Colonel Stromm。 His poise； his movements； everything about him radiated strength and leadership。
He and the men immediately around him were fighting desperately against those orks that were still
pressing in from the far side； protected from the tank fire by the very men they were so eager to kill。
At a glance； Wulfe judged that there wasn’t much more than a company’s worth of men left
standing： two hundred； maybe three。 The number was dropping even as he watched。 The orks kept
up a constant pressure； clambering over banks of their dead to fire clumsily…made pistols and
stubbers； or to charge forward with blades raised high。 The sand under the carpet of dead men and
orks had turned into a blood…sodden quagmire。
Wulfe dropped down into the turret and nudged the vox…selector switch to F channel； band six。
“Colonel Stromm；” he voxed； “you have your corridor； but it won’t hold for long。”
Stromm didn’t waste time offering thanks。 Instead； he answered； “Understood； armour。 We’ll
make our push。 Give us all the cover you can。 Stromm； out。”
Wulfe contacted Lenck and Siemens briefly and passed this on。 For an instant； he considered
thanking Lenck； but he couldn’t forget the look in the man’s eyes。 He decided that they would talk
about it later； providing they both lived through this。 He scrambled back up into his cupola； intent on
doing whatever he could to help Stromm’s men。 He sa troopers
moving out from the colonel’s side； swiftly taking up positions that would allow them to hold the
passage open for as long as possible。 They moved as one； firing clean； disciplined hellgun bursts for
maximum effect； and Wulfe found he was profoundly impressed。 The Kasrkin were a special breed。
He wondered what it took to remain so cool…headed； surrounded by all that death and horror； by
alien savages that outweighed you three or four times。 He marvelled at their calm efficiency。
Like tankers； the Kasrkin drew a certain level of resentment from standard infantrymen。 They
received special training and superior kit； and commanders tended not to waste them in wars of
attrition when there were other options available。 Right now； however； that training and equipment
was being employed to save lives。
Wulfe wondered how any soldier could resent that。
With the corridor momentarily secured； the remnants of the embattled infantry began pouring
out； desperately making for the cover of Sword Squadron’s tanks。 As they ran； some stopped and
turned； dropping to one knee to fire back at the pursuing orks。 When the men behind had overtaken
them； they rose again and ran while someone else covered the rear。 It was as well…executed a
staggered retreat as Wulfe had seen。
While Sword Squadron’s secondary weapons continued to blaze and stutter； helping to hold the
orks at bay； Wulfe saw Colonel Stromm run down the centre of the corridor； a wiry…looking comms50
officer at his side。 The comms…officer was carrying a regimental banner of bright crimson and gold
that rippled and waved above his head as he ran。 It might have been glorious but for all the bullet
holes in it。 Wulfe noticed； too； that Stromm’s right arm had been strapped to his body。 It was
probably broken； and yet he moved towards the tanks with as much speed as any of the others；
slowing only to turn and fire blazing hellpistol shots back at his howling pursuers。
With men pouring out； racing to the relative safety behind the ta