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think I’d have taken down？ Five？ Six？ I killed three times that many before morning rations； and I’ll
do the same tomorrow； and the next day。 That’s how I serve the Emperor！ How about you； Trooper
Blonsky？ How many kills have you claimed today？ Do you really want to talk about whose life is
the more valuable？”
Blonsky’s stare didn’t waver。 “You should not have come back；” he repeated with the
unshakeable conviction of a witch hunter。
The Termite gave a judder； and Grayle； seated at the controls； called back over his shoulder；
“We’ve just left the hive； sir。 No sighting of the enemy as yet。”
“How do we stand on that escort？” asked Gavotski。
“Looks like we can expert two Chimeras to meet us；” said Grayle。 “Still waiting for a vox from
Ursa Platoon to see if we can make it three。”
“You clap eyes on the enemy； Grayle；” said Barreski； “you just point me in their direction。 I’ll
show them we don’t need bodyguards！” He was stationed at one of the six hull…mounted flamers；
squinting along its barrel； making minute adjustments to its sights。 His enthusiasm was appreciated；
but Gavotski knew that the Termite was not built for combat。 It didn’t have the firepower。 That was
why they had left the hive by an eastern gate； from a zone relatively untouched by the battle to the
north。 For the first leg of their journey； they would be travelling above ground； and they hoped to
22
avoid the battle altogether。 Due to pressure of time； however； they couldn’t give it as wide a berth as
they would have liked。
“If we do come under attack；” said Borscz； “I would rather get out there and trust to the strength
of my own two hands than suffocate or freeze to death in this tin can。” He did look uncomfortable；
his massive frame sandwiched between Barreski and Anakora。 However； as one of the first troopers
into the Termite； Borscz appeared to have chosen his seat purposely to avoid having to man a
flamer。
“You would agree with me； I think； my friend；” he continued； leaning forward to give Palinev an
overly familiar pat on the shoulder。 The force of the blow almost knocked the smaller； slighter man
to the floor。 “As a scout； you must rely on your own abilities to stay silent and hidden； yes？ Not
much use to you inside a great clunking machine。”
“You are joking； right？” said Barreski。 “Without machines； our ancestors would never have won
the Great War。 It was machines like this one that turned the tide； and allowed them to drive the
filthy orks from our world。”
“The machines would have been little use；” Borscz countered； “without good； strong men inside
them。 It is not in the machines that our ancestors found the will to defeat the invaders； Trooper
Barreski； but rather in their own beating hearts。”
Anakora played little part in the conversation。 She had introduced herself to the others； given
accurate but short answers to their questions about her war record； but that was all。 She was acutely
aware that they were all here because of their proven expertise in their fields。 She had no right to sit
among them。
Few Valhallan women served in the Imperial Guard。 With so many men being marched off to
war and so few returning； they had the vital and valued task of replenishing their world’s population；
of birthing and raising the next generation of Ice Warriors。 This； then； was the life Anakora had
expected to live； the life that had been shot to pieces by a few cold words from a disinterested
medic。
It had taken her a few days to come to terms with the news； to accept that her life had no purpose
any longer。 Even one…time friends； even family； had looked at her with contempt； seeing her as a
burden； a drain on their society。 But far worse than that were those few who did understand； and
whose looks were laced with pity。
There had been no compulsion on Anakora to join up； not ostensibly。 But she had soon seen that
she had no choice。 The worst sin you could commit as an Imperial citizen was to serve the Emperor
to less than your full ability； and there was only one way left in which she could serve。
She had expected to find basic training a struggle。 She had just kept her head down and tried to
get through it； her only goal not to embarrass herself beside men who had spent their lives in
preparation for this。 She had worked hard； steeled herself to appear as tough and as stoic as any of
them； and no one could have been more surprised than Anakora when she had passed out with
honours。
Still； she had felt she was faking it； bluffing her way through a world in which she did not
belong； and she had known that her first battlefield would find her out。 Fifteen hours； that was the
average life expectancy of an Imperial Guardsmen； though for an Ice Warrior it was a little more；
maybe seventeen。 Anakora didn’t expect to last that long； but if she could claim just one kill； take
one heretic down with her； then she would have balanced the scales and justified her fleeting
existence。
Four years later； she was still here； and she didn’t know why。
She should have died on that first battlefield。 She should have died in the underhive； a couple of
hours ago。 She should have died so many times； on so many worlds — but most of all； she should
have died two and a half years ago； on Astaroth Prime。
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Astaroth Prime… A hellhole of a world； with lakes of fire and molten rivers； a world on which
no Guardsman accustomed to the sub…zero temperatures of Valhalla should ever have set foot； a
world to which a company of Ice Warriors had been sent anyway； to deal with an incursion by their
oldest enemies； the orks； a world on which that company of Ice Warriors had been massacred。
In her brightest hours； Anakora tried to imagine that she had been spared for a reason； that the
Emperor had had a higher purpose in mind for her。 In her darkest； she forever relived that moment
when a fellow trooper； a good comrade； had thrown himself in the path of an ork axe to save her。
Her record showed that she was a survivor； and in the Imperial Guard that ability was as highly
prized as it was rare。 Anakora knew the truth。 She knew that she had not survived so long through
her own efforts。 She had survived because someone had taken pity on her； had thought her in need
of protection。
So； now she had been pulled from another suicide mission and given this chance to survive
again； precisely because of her record thus far。 She couldn’t help but wonder if this might be the
time her luck ran out at last； the time that everyone would see through her。
Anakora looked forward to the release of death。 Her only fear was that； when she died； she
would take the rest of her new squad with her。
Mikhaelev joined in with the general chatter。 He concurred with his new comrades that the Chaos
forces didn’t know what was about to hit them； that Confessor Wollkenden was as good as rescued。
He kept his true feelings to himself。
He was worried。 Behind the false bravado； he thought； they all were。 Well； perhaps not Pozhar
or Borscz — they both seemed like the kind of Guardsmen who lived only to die； the perfect
brainwashed soldiers。 It would not have occurred to them to question their orders； to wonder if their
lives might have been put to better use。
Mikhaelev asked himself those questions。 He stewed over the details of his briefing； the logic of
staking ten lives on the faint chance of saving just one。 If Confessor Wollkenden was so important；
why did the Inquisition care so little about him？ Why couldn’t the virus bombing they had
authorised be delayed a few days for his sake？
He couldn’t speak out； of course。 Even if some of the others； these relative strangers； agreed
with him； they would not dare to confess to it。 No； the floor would be held by the likes of Blonsky；
spewing his accusations； insisting that to doubt one’s leaders； even if they were only men； was to
doubt the Emperor。 Just as those same leaders would want him to think。
Not that Blonsky would hear him； of course。 No； as soon as he opened his mouth； he knew that
Steele or Gavotski would do their duty and shoot him dead。
So； he kept his own counsel； said what he was expected to say； and did what he was told as if he
was the perfect brainwashed soldier too。 And the fact that he was here； in this Termite； in this squad；
was proof that he had played that part supremely well。
He did all this because he knew there was just one thing； one choice he could make； that would
prove more dangerous than serving the Imperium… and that was not serving it。
The Termite was under attack； being buffeted by shock waves。 If he tuned out the deafening sound
of its engines； Steele could identify the crump of explosive shells from without； of the sort fired by a
Basilisk or a Bombard。
“We have a problem； sir；” Grayle yelled from the controls。 “We’re in the sights of something…
long…range artillery。 It’s decided to take a few pot shots。 Thing is； it has good cover。 The Chimeras
can’t see to return fire。 The captain of one is requesting your permission to break formation； to go
after it。”
“Denied；” said Steele。 “Do what you can； Grayle。 Find us cover； get out of firing range。 Do not；
I repeat do not； engage with the enemy。”
24
“A