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The cover had yielded at last； and Blonsky had been the first to climb through it； to stand
blinking in the unexpected light； though the others had soon joined him。
The Chaos forces had done a more thorough job； this time。
They had left no walls of the chapel standing。 They had demolished its columns； brought down
its roof。 They had burned what was left of its pews； and smashed its altar beyond all hope of
reclamation。 The smell of cordite still hung heavy in the air； as did the altogether more rotten stench
of death。
Blonsky jabbed at the nearest corpse with his toe； turned it over to inspect it properly。 He didn’t
want to stoop； didn’t want to get closer to it than he already was。 It was a mutant； of course。 Its grey
fur was matted with dark blood； beneath its torn blue smock。 It might have been one of the loyalists
they had met； one to which they had talked。 He couldn’t tell。 They all looked the same to him。
“What happened here？” asked Steele。 Gavotski told him about the mutants； their chapel and their
apparent desire to help。 Steele frowned and said nothing。 Blonsky guessed that he was unhappy
about his men allying themselves with the impure； but he didn’t want to question his sergeant’s
judgement； not in front of the troopers。
“Anyway；” sighed Gavotski； “it seems they got what they wanted。 They died； fighting。 For the
Emperor。”
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“It must have happened just after we left；” said Palinev。 “Maybe just a few minutes after。 Do
you think any of them escaped？”
Gavotski shrugged。 “Without a full search of the rubble…”
“Either way；” said Steele； “it looks like we are on our own after all。” With a sidelong glance at
Gavotski； he added； “And perhaps it’s best that way。”
Blonsky couldn’t have agreed more。 “The only good mutant；” he muttered with some
satisfaction； “is a dead mutant。”
109
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Time to Destruction of Cressida： 01。29。22
The spaceport lay at the eastern edge of the hive； on one of its mid…levels。 Steele knew the way； of
course； thanks to his brief inspection of the city maps the day before。
And so； for the second time； he found himself in the back of a rickety old truck； pressed in
against his comrades。 Grayle and Barreski had taken the cab； still in their black robes — although
Steele doubted whether the disguises would do them much good； not with every heretic in the hive
on their trail。
They had been driving for some time when he felt the truck swerve； heard its tyres squeal； felt an
impact with its front bumper。 “What’s happening up there？” he yelled。
“We’ve been seen； sir；” Barreski’s voice came back through the partition that separated them。
“A bunch of cultists。 Grayle tried to run them down — got a few of them； too — but two more
escaped。”
“And they’ll run to the nearest vox…caster；” sighed Mikhaelev。
Steele feared that he was right。 Until now； he had been banking on the hope that their enemies
didn’t know where they were heading； didn’t know they had lost their own transport。 The bulk of
the Chaos forces； with luck； would be guarding the hive’s exits； leaving a clear run to the Ice
Warriors’ real objective。 Now； that hope was lost。 Now； all they could do was try to reach the
spaceport first。
Steele hammered on the partition； and shouted to Grayle to put his foot down。
Confessor Wollkenden had woken half an hour ago； looking nauseous。 He had stared at the faces
of each of the Ice Warriors in turn； before drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his forehead
on them； shutting out the world。 Steele had collected dry rations and water from his troopers； and the
confessor had consumed them greedily； but he hadn’t moved since nor spoken a word。
He looked up now； though — and in a loud； clear voice； he said； “Is this transport appropriate
for a war hero？ I will have somebody’s head for this。 This engine should be silent。 We don’t want
him to hear； to come down here。 Is it almost time to eat？ They’re waiting for me to address them。
They need me to give them hope； and the strength to resist。”
The others were looking at each other； at the roof； anywhere but at the confessor。 Steele shared
their discomfort。 He had been worried about Wollkenden since he had found him in the dungeons；
had feared that whatever Mangellan had done to him had broken his mind。 He had pushed that fear
to the back of his thoughts； concentrated on the job at hand。 Now he had no choice but to face it。
“You’re free； confessor；” he said。 “Mangellan isn’t coming。 He can’t hurt you any more。 Do you
remember me？ I’m Colonel Stanislev Steele。 I rescued you。 I just need you to be patient； to be
strong； and we’ll get you out of here。 We’ll get you to a doctor。 They can treat your… fever。”
“I still have some water left；” offered Palinev； “if you think that might… I mean； if the
confessor…”
Wollkenden looked Steele in the eye； and he said； “I’ll say a prayer for us。”
Steele smiled。 “I’m sure we would all appreciate that； sir。”
“And you will kill him for me； won’t you？”
“You don’t have to worry about that； confessor。 In a few hours’ time； there will be nobody alive
on this planet。 Mangellan will be—”
110
“I don’t mean him； not the one with the words。 I mean the big bruiser in the cloak； the one who
punched me in the face。 You will make him suffer； won’t you？ You will make him pay for
presuming to lay his hands on a holy man。”
Steele was saved from having to answer that； as； again； something smacked into the truck and
made its frame judder。 “What the hell has Grayle hit now？” complained Blonsky； who had been
caught unawares and banged his head。 But Steele and a couple of the others had felt that this impact
was different from the first — and his enhanced hearing confirmed it。
It wasn’t the front of the truck that had hit something this time； rather that something had landed
on its roof… something that was moving about up there。 Something with a roaring chainsword…
The tip of the sword came slicing through the roof of the cab； above Grayle’s head。 He let out a cry；
and slid down in his seat until he could only just see through the windscreen； barely see where he
was going。 He spun the wheel hard right； left； right again； and pumped the pedals furiously。 Beside
him； Barreski was tossed back and forth； and Grayle could hear muffled protests from the rear
compartment。
But he could not shake his unwanted passenger。
The Chaos Space Marine clung on； and his sword cut deeper。 It was rising and falling； in a
sawing motion； scoring a seam across the roof。 Then the sword was withdrawn； and Grayle saw
gauntleted fingers scrabbling at that seam； widening it。
Barreski fired at those fingers — he had replaced his lasgun with one taken from a dead Traitor
Guardsman in the street — and the hand was withdrawn； stung。 A moment later； it returned； looking
for and finding fresh purchase。 And then； with a terrible； nerve…jangling wrench； the Chaos Space
Marine peeled back the roof； and Grayle gaped up into his leering face； could smell his fetid breath。
“Everybody； brace yourselves！” he yelled； and he stamped on the brake pedal。
This time； the Chaos Space Marine was taken by surprise。 He was reaching for Grayle when the
truck jolted to a halt and catapulted him forwards。 He hit the windscreen； shattering the plexiglas；
and then slid sideways across the bonnet and disappeared from sight。 Feverishly； Grayle slammed
the engine into reverse。 He felt his front right wheel bouncing over an obstacle in the road — the
monster’s head； he hoped； although whether this was the case or not it seemed to make little
difference。
The Chaos Space Marine was already back on his feet； his head down； charging towards the
retreating truck like an enraged bull。 He looked a mess； his black armour barely clinging to his
battered body。 His left arm had been amputated at the elbow； presumably by the teeth of the sewer
creature。 One of his eyes was missing。 He had dropped his chainsword； but he was wielding his bolt
pistol。
Grayle couldn’t outpace him； not driving backwards。 He forced his back wheels around； made to
set off along another street。 He was too late。 The Chaos Space Marine had caught up to them。 He
braced himself against the bumper so that no matter how hard the engine strained； or how fast the
wheels spun； they couldn’t gain headway against him。
And now the Chaos Space Marine stooped； took the truck by its axle； lifted it； one…handed； and
Barreski was banging on the partition； yelling； “Everybody out！” and he and Grayle kicked open
their doors； and leapt as the Chaos Space Marine flexed a powerful shoulder and gave the truck one
final twist…
Blonsky and Mikhaelev had been the nearest troopers to the back doors； and thus the first two out of
them。 Steele had made sure that Wollkenden went next； helping him along with a push to the back
when he had hesitated。 The confessor had fallen awkwardly； landing face first in the street； and
Steele had leapt down beside him and hoisted him to his feet。
All of which had left Anakora； Gavotski and Palinev in the back of the truck as it was flipped
over。
111
Anakora had been in the doorway； poised to jump； when the world had spun in