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hanging in the air between his tank and a rusty…looking dreadnought that was clanking its way
towards him kicking ork infantry from its path。 A rocket had struck Foe…Breaker’s gun mantlet；
detonating with enough power to give the crew a nasty headache； but little else。 Without needing to
be told； Dietz traversed the turret and lined her up。
“Brace！” he shouted。
Foe…Breaker rocked。 Her turret basket filled with stinking smoke。 The dreadnought seemed
frozen in time for a split second。 A melon…sized black hole had appeared in its armour； transfixing it。
Then it exploded outwards in a burst of white fire； raining debris on the howling orks around its feet。
168
“Keep pushing her； Nails；” said van Droi to his driver。 “If we let them slow us down； we’re done
for。”
Orks were clamouring at her hull as she rolled on； hacking futilely at her armoured sides with
their big chipped blades。 Another rocket arced in and smacked the hull。 Van Droi saw a different
dreadnought； this one almost twice as big as the last。
“Damn it； Bullseye；” he called to his gunner。 “Take that bastard out。”
“I can only shoot one at a time； sir；” snapped Dietz； but he stamped on the floor trigger a second
later。 The breech slid back； dumping an empty brass shell casing。 The dreadnought had its right leg
blown off。 It fell forward and landed on its face； bladed arms wheeling frantically； dicing ork foot
soldiers on either side。
“Nice shot；” said van Droi。 He scanned the battlefield for the rest of his company。 It was hard to
see anything。 Dark； billowing smoke rose everywhere and the horde was still pressing towards him
on every side。 Blades clanged relentlessly on the hull。
“Foe…Breaker to all Gunheads；” voxed van Droi。 “Call in。” Three of his tank commanders
responded。 One did not。
“Van Droi to Holtz； respond。” Still nothing。
“Old Smashbones； respond。”
Van Droi knew Wulfe would be listening。 They all knew what that silence would mean： another
veteran dead。 If van Droi had just let him stay on Wulfe’s crew…
No； there was no use in thinking like that。 A man could go mad on what ifs。
Go with the Emperor； corporal； van Droi thought。 From the looks of it； the rest of us will be
following you soon。 I don’t think anyone will be left to grieve； but we’ll hurt the bastards on the
way out。 I promise you that。
“Nails；” he yelled over the intercom。 “We need more speed； damn it。 Give her all she’s got。
Let’s get our treads bloody！”
Pressing in on the orks from the south； the infantrymen of the 303rd Skellas Rifles fought valiantly
without Colonel Meyers。 The word was that he had been shot for cowardice。 The remains of his
regiment — some four hundred and sixty men — set out to prove that they were made of sterner
stuff。 They achieved exactly that； though there was little opportunity for anyone near them to truly
notice in the dust…choked maelstrom of battle。
Under their newly appointed commander； Major Gehrer； who led from the very front； waving
the regimental banner in one hand and brandishing a bloodstained chainsword in the other； the 303rd
railed hard against the ork infantry and momentarily managed to drive them back。 It didn’t last long。
At such close quarters and our support； the Cadian troopers were simply outmuscled；
and； all too soon； the orks closed around them and butchered them with heavy； rusting
blades。
Gehrer was the last to fall； protected to the bitter end by a swiftly shrinking circle of his
strongest men。 Even as the orks hacked him down and chopped at his fallen body； he fought to keep
the banner upright； to stop its sacred cloth from touching the ground。
Seconds later； greenskin feet trampled it into the dust。
“Shore up the southern flank；” screamed General deViers。 “Where the devil are the 303rd？ And
what’s wrong with our artillery？ Gruber！ Tell them to increase their rate of fire。 That’s the worst
excuse for a sustained barrage I’ve ever seen。 Our men are getting slaughtered out there！”
He sat high in the turret of his Chimera； hatch locked above his head； firing rapid multi…laser
bursts at anything and everything that came into range。 It had been too long； decades in fact； since
he had led from the front。 The sight of hideous greenskins being cut into smoking chunks by his
own hand brought a murderous satisfaction that he had forgotten was possible。 He revelled in it。
169
There was no leading from the rear this time。 He had known it the moment he had first laid eyes
on the ork base。 Every man； every machine； every bead of sweat and drop of blood would be needed
to win this day。 The only individuals not engaging in combat were those damned Martian priests。
“We are not a combat unit；” Sennesdiar had said； as if it weren’t already obvious。 “And we are
not under the command of the Departmento Munitorum。 We shall stay back with the artillery and
offer technical assistance。 Our servitor bodyguards will help to protect the Basilisks in the event that
orks outflank your forces； general。”
Outflank my forces； thought deViers？ That Eye…blasted cogboy！
The orks would not get through。 To hell with the odds。 Only in a crucible such as this could true
legends be forged。 The blessing of the Emperor had given him this chance； this shot at genuine
glory。 Every last one of his senior officers felt it； too； he was sure。 They were out there now； Bergen；
Killian and Rennkamp； leading their divisions from the front； turret guns blazing as their Chimeras
pressed forward inch by inch。
It was hard to see much； what with the clouds of dust and smoke that cloaked everything； but up
ahead； just a little to his left； he glimpsed the tanks of the 81st Armoured Regiment roaring straight
across the thick press of enemy infantry。 Big alien bodies were being mashed into the sand； pulped
by the rolling； grinding iron treads。
Stubber…fire danced and sparked across hulls。 Huge handheld blades clattered uselessly against
armour plates。 As he watched； two were struck with anti…tank rockets or perhaps some kind of
limpet charge。 DeViers couldn’t tell which。 They stopped dead in their tracks； turned into blazing
cauldrons； the men inside cooking to death。
DeViers thanked the Throne that he couldn’t hear their screams。
The other Cadian tanks were almost through。 Their guns coughed。 He could just make out the
first of the enemy armour starting to burn up。
“Gruber；” deViers yelled again； “what about my artillery fire？”
“I’ve told them； sir；” replied the adjutant from the troop compartment at the back of the vehicle。
“They say they’re firing at full capacity。 And they’re worried about hitting our own troops now。”
“Damn it；” deViers called back。 “Get in touch with their commissar。 Tell him to make an
example of someone。 Then we’ll see what full capacity is！”
He saw a massive black ork kick two others from its path and race towards the troopers in front
of his Chimera with a chilling war cry。 It was wielding a massive； whirring chainsword with both
hands。
“No you don’t；” said deViers。
With a grin； he thumbed his butterfly…trigger and gunned the monster down。
Holtz； thought Wulfe； by the blasted Eye！
He kept repeating the name in his head； like a mantra against the truth of what he had just heard。
He couldn’t believe he was gone。 It hurt like a hot knife in his chest。 He kept seeing Holtz’s face
behind his eyelids when he blinked — not the disfigured face he had worn in recent years； but Holtz
as he had been in the years before Modessa Prime。 The man had changed a lot after that； everything
but those ice…blue eyes。
He had been a good friend。 Wulfe promised to let the real pain in； to stop holding it at bay； if he
lived through this。 For now； though； he had to fight it off。 There was no time to miss anyone out
here in all this madness。
“Incoming；” shouted Metzger over the intercom。
Something hit the tank’s glacis plate with so much force that the back end lifted clear of the
sand。 Half a second later； it crashed down again。 The treads bit into the dirt； and Last Rites II leapt
forward； pulling more orks underneath her。
Through his vision blocks； Wulfe saw a black shadow peel away in the sky above。
170
“Damn and blast！ Don’t we have anything that can take out their air support？ How are we
supposed to clear their artillery out if we keep getting bombed from the air？”
Just as he finished his sentence； something small and bright screamed towards the jet and
clipped its tail section。 There was a burst of red flame and a puff of black smoke that quickly
became an elegant curving trail。 The ork fighter rolled slowly onto its back； and then slammed down
into the horde。 There was a mighty boom and a mushroom of dirt and fire。 Wulfe judged that
hundreds of orks must have been maimed or killed。
“By Terra； yes！” he shouted。 He couldn’t see the heavy weapons team that had fired the missile；
but he saluted them anyway。
He had enough to worry about without the damned greenskin fliers trying to blow up his crate。
In trying to crush their way through the thickest press of orks； the Cadian tanks had been forced to
slow down。 That made them easier targets for the ork tanks that spluttered and rumbled at the rear of
the horde。 They were