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a medal for what he went through。”
“The captain is too kind；” Wulfe said absently。 He was thinking； not of medals； but of the
ghostly vision he had seen that day。
What I went through； he thought？ You don’t know the half of it。
Another officer piped up； eager to guide the conversation in a slightly different direction。
“Decorations aplenty；” he said； “when our General deViers gets his name in the history books；
though； what？”
It was Hal Keissler； a sturdy； heavy…browed lieutenant with deep…set eyes。 He was commander
of the regiment’s 2nd Company； Colonel Vinnemann’s number three man； and something of an
occasional rival to Immrich。 Wulfe wasn’t overly fond of him — the man’s love of extreme physical
discipline bordered on sadism — but he knew him for a solid battlefield commander。 The ribbons
and tin on his chest had been earned fair and square； just like van Droi’s。
Immrich laughed； changing his mood in short order。 “We all know how much you and your boys
love a bit of decoration； Hal。 Tell you what； if you leave now； you could have The Fortress of
Arrogance back here before breakfast。 They might even give you a damned governorship for that。”
The others laughed； and Wulfe joined in politely； though not loud enough to draw attention to
himself。 In his head； he was thinking； frak your bits of tin。 If Strieber and Kohl couldn’t get theirs；
why in the blasted Eye should anyone else？ They served the Golden Throne with honour and
courage。 They gave their lives。
As the officers embarked on a round of good…natured jibes； Wulfe leaned across to van Droi and
said pointedly； “If you don’t mind； sir… What was it you wanted to see me about？”
Van Droi had been chuckling at the banter of the other men。 When he looked across at Wulfe；
ho his face。
“Markus is sick； Oskar。”
“Rhaimes？” asked Wulfe； taken aback。 His fellow sergeant had been goggled and masked last
time they had talked； but he had seemed healthy enough。
“He’s in a medicae bed right now。 Held out as long as he could。 He wanted to see his crew to
safety； at the very least。 It all caught up with him just as we came in。”
“What’s wrong with him？”
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“It’s the fines； mostly；” said van Droi。 He sipped from his glass of water； and then placed it
heavily on the table。 “He’s having a bad reaction to the build…up in his body。 Allergic； apparently。
He can’t command anymore； not in his current state。”
“How long will he be out？ Days？ Weeks？”
Van Droi locked eyes with Wulfe。 “I won’t sugar…coat it； Oskar。 We’re not talking about
recovery。 We’re talking about death。 You saw what happened to those lads who got sick on our way
across the desert。 You heard Colonel Stromm’s medics。 Even with the facilities here at Balkar；
Markus will die unless he gets off this planet soon。 And he’s not alone。 The beds are full of sick
troopers。” He pointed at the back of Wulfe’s hand。 “More to come； too。 Don’t pretend you haven’t
noticed the colour change。”
Wulfe looked down at his fingers。 The reddish tinge was undeniable。
“I don’t get it； sir；” he said。 “Golgotha was a Mechanicus world once。 They must’ve had
millions of workers here。 How did they manage？”
“If I get the chance to ask them； I’ll let you know； sergeant。 Maybe the planet has changed since
then。 Perhaps the factory…settlements were sealed somehow。 I think most of them were in the polar
zones； anyway。 It hardly matters now； does it？”
Wulfe couldn’t miss the bitterness in van Droi’s voice。 Rhaimes and the lieutenant had been
good friends for longer than Wulfe had known either man。
“I’m sorry to hear about Rhaimes； sir；” said Wulfe。 “I’ll offer prayers to the Emperor that he
pulls through。 With luck and a blessing； we’ll find Yarrick’s tank quickly； and the sick will be lifted
out in time。 I should visit him。”
“No； Oskar；” said van Droi。 “He doesn’t want that。 Respect his wishes。”
Wulfe couldn’t find anything to say to that。
“General deViers is expected tomorrow；” continued van Droi。 “He’s flying in。 According to
Major General Bergen； he’s keen not to waste any time。 The major general has been in regular
contact with him via a cable…based communications system that the tech…priests set up。 Didn’t quite
get the gist of it myself； but at least it seems to be more reliable than the bloody vox。 Anyway； the
general wants all forward elements to be ready for deployment on his arrival。 Gives you about
fourteen hours； Wulfe。 How serious are the repairs you need？”
“She just needs a new radiator； new fuel lines； new filters； and a bit of love from the cogboys；
sir。 She’ll be good to go after that。 I’d say eight or nine hours； give or take。”
“Good；” said van Droi； “but it’s not just the condition of your tank that concerns me right now。”
He stared at Wulfe without blinking。 “Listen； I’m sorry to do this to you； but I have to pull Corporal
Holtz off your crew。”
Wulfe felt like he had been slapped in the face。 “Holtz？ You must be bloody joking； sir！ He’s
only just mastered the main gun。 You already stripped Viess out。 Now you’re reassigning his
replacement？ What’s it about？”
“War is what it’s about； sergeant；” replied van Droi； suddenly brisk。 “With Markus out of the
game； you’re my senior man。 You had better understand what that means。 The crew of Old
Smashbones came in as new meat before the drop。 Holtz has plenty of combat experience and he’s
worked his way up from sponson…man。 Plus he’s a hard bastard。 They’ll need someone like that to
get them through。”
Damn it； thought Wulfe； if I thought he was ready for command…
“Put me in charge of Rhaimes’ crate；” he told van Droi。 “I’ve got more experience。 I can deal
with a rookie crew。 Put Holtz in charge of mine。 He’ll be much better off with men he already
knows。”
Van Droi shook his head。 “I’ve thought about that；” he said； “but； to be frank； Wulfe； your crew
is unorthodox； and I’m being kind with my wording here。 With you at the helm； they’re working out
all right； but with anyone else…”
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“Unorthodox？”
“For starters； you’ve got a driver most troopers still believe is cursed。 They still call him Lucky
Metzger。 It’s damned hard to erase a reputation for being the only survivor on crew after crew。”
“That’s all behind him；” said Wulfe。 “His luck hasn’t killed me yet； has it？”
“I hope it stays that way。 But then there’s Siegler。”
“What about him？”
“Come on； Oskar。 He’s damaged goods。 You know what he’s like。 As hard as it’ll be for a new
commander to get used to him； it’ll be twice as hard for him if you leave that crew。 The only reason
he still functions as a frontline loader is the strength he draws from your presence。 I honestly think
he’d lose it under someone else。”
Wulfe was quiet while he thought about that。 Since the accident that had damaged his brain；
Siegler had clung to Wulfe like a lifeline； a rock in a turbulent ocean； one of the few things that
remained familiar to the man after so much about his universe had changed。 What would he be like
without his sarge to watch out for him？ Van Droi was right。
“I promise you；” said the lieutenant； “you’re getting the best gunner we could find from the
reserve squads； a lad from Muntz’s platoon that I’ve had marked out for a while。 Good scores on the
ranges and I reckon he’s got the right stuff。 He only missed out on a frontline posting earlier because
of misconduct。 Nothing serious； you understand。 Commissar Slayte has given him the lash a few
times for brawling； but you weren’t exactly an angel yourself at his age。 You’ll like him。”
Wulfe was still angry over Holtz being swapped out； but he was in no position to argue。
“This trooper got a name； then； sir？” he asked。
Van Droi sat back。 “Most of the troopers call him Beans。 Heard of him？”
“Beans？” repeated Wulfe suspiciously。 “Why the hell do they call him that？”
“I think I’ll leave you to discover the specifics yourself；” said van Droi with a grin。 “It’ll give
you something to talk about。 You’ll find him waiting for you at C…barracks。 He’s expecting you。
You’ll need to break the news to Holtz； of course。”
“That won’t be pleasant；” said Wulfe darkly。
“For you？ Or for him？” asked van Droi。 “Trust me； Oskar。 Holtz will light up like Skellas Plaza
on Emperor’s Day。 Think about it。 If he does well； he could make sergeant by the end of this bloody
fiasco。”
Wulfe had never considered Holtz particularly ambitious； but most troopers aspired to having
sergeant’s stripes sewn onto their sleeves。 It was more to do with the perks than anything else。 Holtz
would certainly enjoy the increased alcohol and tabac rations… if he made the grade。
Having finished with Wulfe for now； Lieutenant van Droi was on the verge of dismissing him
when a commotion erupted at a table across the room。 A short； silver…haired； red…faced man in a
colonel’s uniform stood and slammed his palms down on the table’s surface。 His chair crashed to
the floor behind him。 “I will not hold my damned tongue； Pruscht。 You’re not my senior officer。 It’s
about time someone spoke his damned mind around here。”
There were five other men seated at the table。 Four of them looked de