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now； suddenly； it seemed that there was time。 But there was no life left to save。
Van Droi had made that call。 Weariness and the weight of his command hit him again like a
sledgehammer； and he sat at the rear of the Vanquisher’s turret with his hands pressed tight to his
face。
By the blasted Eye of Terror！
Absently； with that fraction of his awareness that wasn’t drowning in guilt； he heard Stromm’s
voice again on the vox…link。 The colonel confirmed the major general’s orders with the Sentinel
pilot who was relaying them。 Then Stromm contacted each of his officers and gave them his
instructions。
To van Droi； he said； “Damned good news； eh； lieutenant？ After all we’ve been through。”
“It certainly is； sir；” said van Droi。 “My tanks are ready to move out on your command。”
Stromm had served a long time in the Guard。 He knew when an officer wasn’t telling him
something。 “You all right； van Droi？ You sound a bit less ecstatic than I would’ve expected given
the circ — Oh！ The tank。 I’m sorry； van Droi。 In all the excitement…”
“That’s all right； sir。 Of course； I couldn’t be happier about making contact with the rest of the
army group。”
“Survivors？”
“No； sir；” said van Droi wearily。 “No survivors； I’m afraid。”
“I’m sorry； lieutenant。 Of course； they’ll be honoured properly when we get to Balkar。 I imagine
there will be plenty of decorations after the campaign。 Throne knows； our lads deserve them。 We’ve
had a devil of a time out here； van Droi。 Good men lost。 But we came through it； man。 We came
through。 The confessors will organise a service for those that didn’t。”
Van Droi knew they would； but it did nothing to comfort him。 Once Stromm had signed off； he
opened a link to his tank commanders on the company channel。 There were only seven of them now；
eight tanks left including his own。
“I want a double column。 Two fours。 Foe…Breaker front left。 Old Smashbones right。 We roll east
behind the colonel’s Chimeras。 Keep your eyes open for trouble。 You know the drill。 I know you’re
all tired； but we’re almost home。 See it through。”
When each of the tanks had confirmed and rumbled into position； he gave the order and they all
moved out。
84
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Balkar； like all of the old Imperial ruins out in the equatorial desert； was a fortified base built on a
rocky upthrust that had endured the onslaught of the wind…borne sands。 The orks had moved in as
soon as the Imperial forces had retreated but； in all those years； they had done little to change the
base other than to fill its streets with rusting junk。 Several of the structures； mostly barracks
buildings and concrete garages； had collapsed in on themselves under the weight of the sand that
had accumulated on their broad roofs。 Other structures had once been decorated with proud Imperial
iconography； but the winds had eaten it away to almost nothing； sandblasting the exposed surfaces
smooth。 The orks had subsequently covered them in childishly rendered glyphs and impenetrable
scrawls of alien gibberish。
Much of the metal used in the construction of the base was flaking away。 The rest； anything that
the orks had thought to utilise for the modification of their strange war machines； had been stripped
out； leaving bunkers without doors and barracks buildings without shutters。
To anyone looking down from the air； the base would have appeared hexagonal in plan； though
not symmetrical； designed with uneven sides to take full advantage of all the space afforded by the
broad； flat rock underneath。 There were a number of wells； cut straight down； very deep into the
ground。 Unfortunately for the 18th Army Group； they contained no water。 They must have dried up
long ago。 The base’s former occupants — the great greenskin horde that Major General Killian’s
men had fought so hard to eliminate — had been using them as latrines。 Killian had ordered them
sealed。
It was the topic of water discipline that Colonel Vinnemann was discussing with his staff when a
runner from Major General Bergen’s office interrupted； bringing him some rare good news。
Vinnemann’s expression said it all as he sat listening； a mixture of disbelief and joy lighting his
battle…scarred features。 The look was mirrored on the faces of his staff officers。
“Say that again； son；” he told the runner。 The words had gushed out of the gasping lad’s mouth。
Vinnemann wasn’t sure he had heard them correctly。
“Lieutenant van Droi calling for you on the vox； sir。 He and his 10th Company are heading
towards our position with the remnants of Colonel Stromm’s 98th Mechanised Infantry Regiment。
The major general thought you would want to know； sir。”
Vinnemann clapped his hands together。
“Did you hear that； Alex？” he asked his adjutant。 The young man nodded； smiling。 Vinnemann
barked out a laugh。 “Fine officer； that van Droi。 Fine officer！ I knew he’d get his boys through。
Come on； you lot。 We must welcome them！” He turned to the runner。 “Which direction are they
approaching from； son？”
“From the south…east； sir；” replied the young man。 He； too； was smiling； infected by the
colonel’s open joy。
“They’re about two hours out。 They’ll enter through the south gates。 The Sentinel pilots who
picked up their transmissions are guiding them in。”
“Outstanding；” said Vinnemann。 He grasped the head of his cane and struggled to his feet；
wincing for a moment with the pain that shot through his back。 It would soon be time for more
blasted injections； but he wouldn’t let the thought of that spoil this wonderful moment。 His 10th
Company had survived。 Gossefried’s Gunheads were returning to the fold。 Say what you liked about
them — and certain officers had plenty to say — they were a bloody resilient lot。
85
When General deViers ordered Vinnemann’s regiment east to secure The Fortress of Arrogance
at last； every single one of his companies would be accounted for。 Rolling Thunder would be
deploying in full strength。 It would do wonders for the regiment’s morale。
From his cupola； Wulfe saw the walls of the base appear through the dusty pink haze in the distance。
They rose from atop a rocky mound with a gentle； easy gradient on one side； and they were topped
with watchtowers and weapons batteries。 He could see long barrels protruding from the oldfashioned
crenellations； even at this distance。 Home at last； he thought； for home； to him； was with
the rest of the regiment。 Sure； there was competition； even the odd bitter rivalry； between the
companies of the 81st。 What regiment didn’t endure such things？ But they were all tankers together
in the end； and all of them were Cadians； and therefore brothers when it came to the fight for
mankind’s survival。 It would be good to see old Vinnemann again； to know that the man was still up
front； leading as few other officers of his rank dared to do。 Wulfe was surprised at how much that
thought suddenly meant to him。 Lieutenant van Droi was a great man and company commander in
own right — he was direct； honest and approachable； though he could be bastard hard at times —
but Vinnemann was practically a legend among his men。 His refusal to lie down and die when other
men would certainly have done so epitomised the unrelenting spirit that Rolling Thunder was
famous for。
“Can’t believe we made it back to the rest of the pack；” muttered Holtz over the intercom。
“Never thought we’d live to see this。”
“Can’t wait to sleep in a proper bunk again；” said Siegler。
Metzger was typically silent； concentrating on keeping Last Rites II in formation behind the tank
in front as the walls of Balkar loomed ever larger in his vision slit。
“Do you think they’ll have water and food waiting for us； sarge？” Siegler asked。
“They had bloody well better；” griped Holtz。 “I’ve been running on fumes for the last three days。
I’ll die if I have to drink recycled piss again。 Fit to collapse； I am。 Someone’ll have to help me out of
the hatch。”
“I’m sure the Officio Logistica has taken our supply needs into consideration；” said Wulfe。
“Balkar is the launching point for the general’s big gambit； right？ He won’t have left anything to
chance。 First thing I’ll do after we dismount is find the mess hall。 I’ll bloody well faint if they try to
debrief me first。”
The others laughed at that。 Even Metzger。 No one would be trying to debrief him。 Only the tank
commanders would have to deal with that； and； as far as fainting was concerned； they all knew that
their sergeant had only collapsed once in his life — that day so many years ago when an ork had cut
his throat。 Blood loss had knocked him unconscious； but the medic that had leapt onto the tank’s
turret to save him had got there just in time。 That very medic； Wulfe later found out； had died a few
days later； captured in a raid and tortured to death in a greenskin camp。 A mop…up detail had found
his body hanging from a makeshift gibbet； hands； feet and other parts lopped off。 He had been taken
while trying to save a wounded trooper on open ground。
Wulfe was still about the business of avenging him； and only death would ever make him stop。
In that sense； he felt a great closeness with Colonel Vinnemann； though he had only ev