luckless animal or with rings or bars of metal。 Their mouths were huge and slack； gaping wide and
dripping with thick strands of blood…tinged saliva。 Those jaws were large enough； in some cases； to
close over a grown man’s head； and each was crammed full of short； jutting； knife…like teeth
dominated by two long； curving tusks that thrust upwards from the lower mandible。
Few things Stromm had ever gazed upon engendered such a feeling of loathing and disgust。 The
ork race seemed tailor…made to strike fear into the human heart； tapping an ancient vein of primal
fear shared by all。 It was as if the least worthy traits of his own species had been twisted and
magnified a thousand times； and given monstrously powerful bodies with which to wage their
bloody and incessant war on Man。
Where had such abominations come from？
Stromm’s order to fall back to secondary positions had filtered down to the rank…and…file； and he
saw men leap from sandy foxholes and sprint back towards him。 Many left it too late。 He shouted in
frustration as he watched them cut down by sprays of ork stubber…fire。 It was a brutal and bloody
sight。 The large…bore weapons made a real mess of their victims； barking as loud as any bolter；
throwing massive metal slugs out in every direction。 The orks barely bothered to aim； spraying fire
left and right without a thought for accuracy or wasted ammunition。 It was only the sheer volume of
fire that took such a deadly toll。 As the Cadians raced back to the inner defences； many fell
screaming； great ragged holes punched into their backs； exit wounds the size of watermelons
exploding from their chests and stomachs。 Others； more fortunate only in that they suffered less；
were struck in the back of the head。 Even good； solid Cadian Mark VIII helmets couldn’t protect
them。 Their skulls practically exploded with the impact of the heavy ork slugs； and their headless
bodies stumbled and fell； gushing crimson on the sand。
To the last man； thought Stromm； gritting his teeth； firing back until another cell was spent。
We’ll die here； but we’ll fight the bastards to the last bloody man。 Damn you deViers！ I hope you
get your bloody glory。
“Artillery；” someone shouted over the vox。 “Ork artillery coming in from the north。 Get down！”
40
Stromm heard a nerve…rattling whistle on the air； growing to a shriek。
Closer。 Closer。 Damn it； that’s going to hit right on top…
Both he and Kassel threw themselves to the ground。 Great plumes of sand and dust spurted into
the air between the Cadians and the orks； and the air shook with a deafening boom。 Stromm found
himself still breathing。 No fatalities。 It was a ranging shot； but the next would bring death down on
the shrinking Cadian force。
“That’s them bringing up the big guns； sir；” shouted Kassel as he scrambled to his feet。
“You don’t say； Hans！” barked Stromm。 “Tell those spacer runts in the las…turrets that I want
focused fire on that artillery。 Those Navy dogs are the only ones with a clear line of sight。 Do it；
man！”
Kassel plucked the mouthpiece of his back…mounted vox…caster from the clip on his belt； barked
out the colonel’s orders in a clear； authoritative voice and waited for confirmation。 He needn’t have
bothered。 The turret…gunners atop the crumpled drop…ship were already traversing their turrets to
zero in on several massive ork machines — self…propelled guns that were emerging from a dust
cloud about fifteen hundred metres away。 The SPGs had short； fat barrels that sacrificed accuracy
for a higher explosive payload。 Their construction appeared so slapdash they looked as likely to
blow themselves apart as to flatten their enemies。 By rights； they shouldn’t have worked at all； but；
as ever with greenskin machines； their performance defied their appearance。 With great coughs of
flame and ground…shaking booms； they launched another deadly salvo； this time aimed squarely at
the las…turrets that had begun to open fire on them。
Most of the heavy artillery shells went wide of the mark； whining straight past the wreck and
exploding in the sand on the far side。 Most； but not all。 Two struck the hull； packed with so much
explosive that； between them； they ripped the super structure apart。 The pressure wave that sped out
from the twin blasts pulverised the turrets and the men inside them。
Stromm stood gaping for a split second at the terrible destruction； and then shielded his head as a
shower of burning debris cascaded towards him。 By the Emperor’s grace； neither he nor Kassel were
struck； but a young trooper on the right fell without screaming； his head caved in by a turnip…sized
chunk of heavy armaplas。
“Try to raise them；” Stromm yelled at Kassel； already knowing in his heart that it was futile。
Kassel tried。 Nothing。
“Again； Hans。 We can’t lose them now。 If they can’t knock out those SPGs we won’t last
another minute！”
“Nothing；” said Kassel。 He tried a third time with the same result。 “They’re gone； sir。”
“For Throne’s sake！ The next bloody salvo will do for us。 Can’t we get any of our heavy
weapons on them？ What about our mortar teams？ They’re all we have left that doesn’t need line of
sight。”
Kassel immediately tried to raise the mortar teams on the vox； but there was no reply； just
hissing static and the sure knowledge that more men had died。
“Sir； we need to get you away from here。 Those green…skin gun…crews won’t take long to reload。
We should get you into one of the Chimeras。 The Kasrkin might be able to open a corridor。”
“If you suggest that to me ever again； Hans； I’ll pistol…whip you。 Do you hear me？ You should
know better by now。 I’ve never run from a field of battle in my life。”
“I… Sorry； sir。”
“Sod your apologies； man。 Just keep shooting。 We’ll make a proper accounting of ourselves
before the end。 Get the word out。 The Fighting 98th makes its last stand for the honour of Cadia！”
“The Fighting 98th forever； sir！” said Kassel； thrusting out his chest。 Determination replaced the
fear in his eyes。 If they were to die； it would be as only Cadian men could die； strong and true； and
unrelenting to the very last。 The Emperor would welcome their souls to his glorious hall。 Their
places at his table would be assured。
41
The outer defences were swarming with xenos； all jostling for a chance to revel in the slaughter
of Stromm’s men。 They pushed and shoved each other for better position； desperate to claim more
kills than their fellows。 They were so frantic with battle…lust that savage brawls began to break out
here and there among their ranks。 Stromm saw one of the beasts — spike…helmed and heavily
armoured； its dark skin textured like burned steak — turn to a marginally smaller monstrosity on its
right and begin wrestling with it； trying to prise a large axe from its grasp。 The smaller ork resisted
until the larger rammed the point of a huge； rust…pitted knife right into its belly and unzipped it from
sternum to crotch。 Thick blood poured out； followed by a tumble of looping intestines that glistened
pink as they slid out onto the sand。 Then； with the newly won axe in hand； the big one bellowed a
battle cry and continued its advance； eager to enter close…quarters combat where it could engage in
bloody slaughter。
It took six men firing lasguns at close range to put that bastard down。
By Terra； thought Stromm； they’re insane！ Death means nothing to them。 Whether we have men
like Yarrick or not — whether we had a thousand Yarricks； a million even — how can humanity
hope to hold back the savage tide？
In Stromm’s earpiece； the vox…chatter from his surviving platoon leaders had degenerated into a
cacophony of panicked shouts。 The gap was closing ever further。 Once the fighting went hand…tohand；
it would be over for the Cadians。 Nothing could save them then。
“We’re losing the inner defences。 The bolter…nests are being overrun！”
“What do we do？ Fall back to the drop…ship？ They’re hammering it with artillery！”
“I need heavy weapons support on our right flank； warp damn it！ Get me mortars。 Get me a
heavy bolter。 Anything！”
Stromm heard the words as if from a great distance。 A strange and unexpected sense of calm had
descended on him。 All around； the air was churning with noise and heat； whining bullets and
cracking las…fire； but； in his mind； everything was supremely clear。 The end of his lifelong duty to
the Emperor was at hand。
One more time； he allowed his thoughts to return to his family up there on The Incandescent；
and said a silent prayer to the Emperor：
May my wife remember me proudly； and may our son’s achievements exceed my own。 To the
Emperor’s side； I commend the souls of my men； and I ask Saint Josmane to be our guide。
“Hans；” he said； “the regimental banner。”
“It’s here； sir。”
“Then unfurl it； soldier； and give it to me。”
“At once； sir；” said Kassel； and leapt to the task。
Stromm holstered his smoking hellpistol and accepted the heavy banner from his adjutant。
Gripping its haft with both hands； he stepped forward； calling to his men as he waved it majestically
in the hot； dusty afternoon air。
“Rally to me； Cadians；” he shouted over the din of battle。 “Rally to me； troopers！ No more
falling back。 Here and now； we make our stand！”
The banner was a striking icon of gold and red。 The pillared symbol of the Cadian gate
dominated its centre and； on either side of it； the image of a grinning skull held a single stalk of
wheat between its teeth。 The wheat…stalk symbolised the regiment’s glorious victory at Ruzarch
Fields during the infamous Battle of Vogen nearly half a century before。 Had the regiment survived
General deViers’ Golgothan expedition； another symbol of honour would have been added： a
stylised cloud and lightning bolt。
The men close enough to hear his voice turned to see their colonel standing there； the banner
snapping and fluttering as he waved it over his head。 He looked like an image from a propaganda
poster； and their spirits burned with fresh pride。 Stromm could see it as he looked into their eyes。 He
saw the fires of determination surging there； the will to die fighting。
42
“Honour and glory！” shouted a sergeant off to the right。
“Honour and glory！” bellowed his squad。