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down to a fair fight； though Lenck didn’t seem the type to fight fair。 Such an event was unlikely to
occur； of course。 For Lenck； striking Wulfe would constitute a capital offence due to the difference
in rank。 Still； thought Wulfe； if we were to put rank aside…
The ceiling speakers crackled again。 “Particle shields holding at eighty per cent。 Entering
stratosphere in ten； nine； eight…”
Any jokes or remarks that this announcement might have drawn died in the throats of the
troopers as the drop…ship began shaking and juddering。 Most of the drop…virgins grimaced。 A few
started to look peaky； as if they might begin to puke。
“Time to put them in； gentlemen；” said Wulfe to his crew。 He reached into the right pocket of
his field trousers and withdrew a small； transparent curve of hard rubber。 It was a gumshield； the
kind worn by troopers during hand…to…hand combat training。 With a nod； Metzger； Siegler and Holtz
drew identical items from their pockets and fitted them securely between their teeth。 All along the
facing rows； veteran tankers did the same thing。 The new meat looked on with expressions of abject
horror。
“By the bloody Eye！ Why didn’t anyone tell the rest of us to bring gumshields？” demanded a
round…faced trooper ten seats to Wulfe’s right。 He was the newest man on Sergeant Rhaimes’ crew；
and it was Rhaimes — seasoned commander of the Leman Russ Old Smashbones — who answered；
removing his gumshield for a moment to do so。
“Company tradition； bugfood；” he said。 He grinned； creasing the skin around the deep scar that
ran from his left eye to his left ear。 Bugfood was his personal term of affection for the new guys and；
whenever he said it； he managed to make it sound like idiot or arsehole。 Recently； a lot of the
veterans had started using it； and not just in 10th Company。 “You’re still a drop…virgin till you break
a tooth on the way down。”
15
The trooper gaped in disbelief for a moment and then fished in his pocket for something。 He
pulled out a wadded piece of rag； the type of cloth used to shine boots or buttons before inspection；
and stuffed it into his mouth。 With a miserable expression； he bit down on it。 Wulfe guessed it must
taste strongly of polish。
From the corner of his eye； he saw Rhaimes nodding at the young trooper。 “Good thinking； son。
Good thinking。 We’ll make something of you yet。”
“…three； two； one；” buzzed the voice from the ceiling。 “Tropospheric entry achieved。 Height；
nine thousand metres。 All personnel brace for increased atmospheric buffeting。 Touchdown in
approximately nineteen minutes。 Disengaging onboard gravitational systems。 Switching to local
gravity in three； two； one…”
For the second time since he had come aboard； there was an instant of gravitational overlap that
made Wulfe feel twice as heavy as he normally did。 Some of the men grunted as their bodies
protested against the sudden strain but； once the grav…plates below their feet went dead； they hardly
noticed the difference。
According to the thick wad of briefing papers that everyone had been issued — though few but
the guys in recon； as usual； had bothered to read — Golgotha’s surface gravity was a fairly
manageable 1。12Gs。 Wulfe； who typically weighed around eighty…five kilograms； now weighed
twelve per cent more； a little over ninety…five； but the increase didn’t bother him。 The tech…crews
onboard the Hand of Radiance had taken care of that。 Since leaving Palmeros； they had
incrementally increased the shipboard gravity each day； subtly preparing the troops for their
eventual ground deployment。 Men like Siegler and Sergeant Rhaimes； usually a little soft around the
middle； had hardened up a lot over the last few months。 Wulfe had felt his appetite increasing little
by little； and had noticed his clothes tightening around his arms； legs and chest。 His body had
adapted。 Now； with the planet’s local gravity acting on him directly； he didn’t feel any heavier than
normal。 It would make a big difference to the tanks； though； fuel efficiency； firing distance；
trajectory； speed； wear and tear。 All of these were matters of serious concern。 The enginseers in
charge of the regimental tech…crews wouldn’t be getting much sleep。
Thinking of the strange cybernetic tech…priests； Wulfe decided they probably didn’t need much
sleep anyway。 Maybe they just popped in some fresh batteries。 The image that formed in his mind
using and disturbing。
The drop…ship was really bouncing around。 Golgotha’s atmosphere was thicker than most
populated worlds； and the pressure differentials between the planet’s hot and cold zones reportedly
made for some truly ferocious storms。 Some of the rookies looked set to soil themselves as the craft
was tossed this way and that。
Wulfe fought an instinct to tense his muscles。 It was far smarter to relax if one didn’t want to
suffer torn tendons and the like。 Such injuries were all too common during a drop。
“Altitude； seven thousand five—”
The static…ridden voice was suddenly drowned out by the most awful； ringing screech。 Wulfe
pressed his hands to his ears。 He knew that sound； knew it never heralded good news。 It was the
sound of tearing metal！
The drop…ship suddenly rolled hard to the right。 Wulfe’s head flew backwards and struck the
padded surface of the seat。 His stomach felt like it was doing backflips。 His vision dimmed。 He saw
stars。 Some of the men on the opposite row were thrown so hard against their restraints that their
gumshields flew out。 Yelled curses filled the air。
“We’re frakkin’ hit！” shouted a young trooper in a panic。 Wulfe’s heart felt like it was stuck
somewhere up by his throat。
“We’re not hit； Webber；” barked another。 “Don’t say that！”
“What the hell was it； then？” demanded someone else。 “By the bloody Eye！”
16
“Quiet！” Sergeant Rhaimes yelled at them around his gumshield。 “That’s enough of that！ It’s
turbulence； you kak…eating dung…worms。 You heard the cogboy。 Buffeting； he said。 Now； pipe
down！”
Rhaimes’ lie was all too obvious。 He was trying to keep them calm； but no one was buying a
word of it。
The ship rolled hard in the other direction and righted itself； though the juddering was so severe；
now； that it was painful。 The men gripped their impact frames with white…knuckled hands。
Wulfe chanced a look up the row at Lenck and was irritated to see him sitting quietly； lips
bulging over the tell…tale bump of a gumshield； apparently unfazed。 The cocky upstart only jumped
when a noise exploded from the vox…speakers。 It was a deafening； high…pitched whine that cut off
suddenly to be replaced by the cold flat tones of the cogboy addressing them once again。 This time；
the voice was amplified to ear…damaging levels and； whether Wulfe simply imagined it or not； he
heard hints of his own panic reflected in the broken sentences。
“…concentrated anti…aircraft… storm… below… off course and… down。 All personnel… for
immediate…”
Suddenly； a great wave of nerve…searing pain blossomed in Wulfe’s head。 The whole galaxy
seemed to roll over on its axis。 Up was down； left was right。 Then everything shifted again with
frightening speed。 He shut his eyes tight； saw fireworks bursting behind his eyelids； felt his muscles
cry out in protest as his body’s limits were brutally tested； and then； with his heart battering the
inside of his chest like it wanted out…
Darkness。 Thoughtlessness。 Silence。
He sank into an unfeeling void in which even bad dreams ceased to exist。
Something stung Wulfe’s left cheek。 The pain was sharp； and； slowly； though he struggled against it；
it dragged him back from the comfort of his dark oblivion。 Half awake； he probed the inside of his
cheek with his tongue。 The flesh was ragged。 He tasted blood。 His tongue played over nearby teeth
and… Damn it！ Two of them were much sharper than before。 They’d been broken。 He wondered
idly if he’d swallowed the pieces and decided that he probably had。
Next； there came a shooting pain in his eyes。 He wanted to shut them tighter； but the lids were
already squeezed together hard。 Then a shadow fell across him； and the pain dissipated。 Slowly；
carefully； he eased the lids apart and saw…
“Holtz？ Is that—”
Waves of fire surged through his muscles as he tried to rise。 He grunted in pain and sank back
down。
“Easy；” said Holtz； leaning over him。 “Siegler’s gone to scare up a medic； but they’ve got their
hands full。 There were deaths； sarge。 Brebner and half his crew。 Some of Fuchs’ men。 Krauss and
Siemens both lost their drivers。 A score of lads from the support crews bought it； too。”
Holtz paused for a second。 Then； with sorrow giving way to relief； added； “By the bloody Eye；
sarge； we thought you were out of the game for good this time。 Just lie still for a bit； will you？”
They were wasted words。 Wulfe was already moving。 With another grunt of pain； he rolled to
his left and braced himself with his right hand。 His fingers pressed down into warm red sand and he
froze。
“Golgotha；” he whispered。
Holtz heard him。 “Aye； sir。 Golgotha； for better or worse。”
Wulfe paused； letting the sensation of the fine red grains filter up into his brain。 He raised a
handful of sand up in front of his