42
“Honour and glory！” shouted a sergeant off to the right。
“Honour and glory！” bellowed his squad。
Something changed in the air； building up like a massive electrical charge。 Even the wounded
seemed suddenly whole again； though their bodies still bled。 They turned from the sight of their
colonel and his banner； raised lasgun stocks to armoured shoulders； and met the orks with renewed
ferocity； determined to dispatch as many of the slavering beasts as possible before they were
overcome for good。
Push through your pain； Stromm willed them。 Just a bit further； a bit longer so we know the
Emperor’s eyes are on us。
Only a few hundred metres； now； until the orks were in among them。 Mere moments until the
fighting became hand…to…hand。 At that range； the greenskins’ massive physiologies would allow
them to rip through the Cadians like wet paper。 Only the mighty Kasrkin storm troopers； of which
Stromm had started with a single company and now had less than three full platoons； had any
chance in close quarters； and； even then； not much of one。
“Fix bayonets；” ordered Stromm。 Kassel repeated the order over the vox。 He might as well have
said “get ready to die”。 Against orks； it was essentially the same thing。
The call was taken up by officers and sergeants all along the line as the gap shrank to forty
metres； then thirty。 Las…fire blazed out in a last； desperate bid to make a difference before the clash
of blade on blade。 Plenty of orks went down； struck in the face with lethal； short…range blasts。 But； if
this bought the Cadians any time at all； it was mere seconds。
The ork artillery was rolling forward； too； unable to fire on the Cadians now that their own
infantry had closed the gap。 The greenskin gunnery crews； in the manner of all their race； were
desperate to get closer to the centre of the murder； to stain their hands with the blood of dying men。
For this； they kept their machines rolling in。
Twenty metres from Stromm； a massive ork with a broken tusk hacked one trooper to the ground
with its cleaver； shoved roughly past another； and raced directly forwards。 It was coming straight for
the colonel； attracted by the bright； snapping banner above his head。 As it closed； it raised its
massive stubber with a single hand and fired a burst that caught the colonel on the right shoulder。
His tough armaplas body…armour was enough to deflect the shot； but the impact threw him from his
feet。 He landed on the red sand with a grunt。 The force of the bullet’s impact had broken his arm；
and the banner fell from his hands。
Lieutenant Kassel moved in a blur； catching the banner as it fell； hoisting it high； desperate not
to dishonour the regiment by allowing its sanctified cloth to touch the ground。 He stabbed the base
of the haft into the sand； braced it with one hand； and crouched by his colonel； yelling his name。
“Are you alive； sir？ Speak to me； colonel！ Please！”
Groaning in agony and clutching his shattered arm； Stromm rolled； and； with Kassel’s eager aid；
struggled to his feet。 He looked around to see men forming a defensive line around him； fighting
back desperately with bayonets； pistols； sharpened entrenching tools — anything they had to hand
— against the massive chipped axes and cleavers of the orks。
“For Cadia！” Stromm roared； leaving Kassel with the banner and drawing his hellpistol again；
this time with his left hand。
“For Cadia！” his men roared back。
They fought with everything they had； but the air suddenly filled once again with the deafening
boom of big guns。 Stromm tensed； guessing the ork artillery crews had decided to fire after all；
whether they killed their foul kin or not。 He girded himself for the explosive blast that would bring
an end to his life any second now。
Any second…
But it never came。 There was no ear…splitting whistle overhead。
“Armour！” cried one of his platoon leaders over the vox…net。 “In Terra’s Holy Name！”
43
“They’re fielding tanks； too？” asked another。
“No；” snapped the first。 “Not the blasted orks； man！ Imperial tanks！ Leman Russ battle tanks
inbound from the west！”
Stromm heard a second stutter of booming fire and this time； to his utter astonishment； a mob of
orks pressing in on the left flank vanished； consumed by a great fountain of dirt and flame。
“Their artillery！” voxed another platoon leader。 “The ork SPGs are burning。 All of them。
Junked！”
Another sharp stutter sounded from the west； announcing death for more of the foe。 The horde
was being blasted apart； knots of them disappearing in fountains of dust； raining back to earth as
burnt and bloody pieces。 Those that weren’t killed outright by the high…explosive shells were
horribly maimed by flying shrapnel。 They went down screaming and roaring as tank fire continued
to scythe into their ranks。
Even those orks engaged in close…quarters combat couldn’t help themselves。 The sounds of
cannon fire reached them through their battle…lust。 For just a second； they turned their heads towards
the source； and Stromm’s fighters pressed their momentary advantage； downing scores of them；
forging a gap across which they could once more employ their lasrifles and surviving heavy
weapons。 The Kasrkin platoons took this opportunity to press in from the right； shifting closer to
Colonel Stromm； the better to protect him and react faster to his needs。
Through the space that had opened； Stromm could see the cause of his company’s unexpected
respite。 There； on the western flank； a great dust cloud rose； churning up from the desert floor。 At its
head； ten Cadian tanks charged forward in an assault wedge。 Behind them； barely visible in their
dusty wake； came a line of Heracles halftracks filled to the brim with men and supply crates。 It
looked like an entire armoured company。 For a moment； Stromm thought he was dreaming。
“Colonel；” yelled Kassel excitedly； “there’s an urgent message coming through from… say
again… roger that… from a Lieutenant van Droi； sir。”
“Van Droi？” said Stromm。 He didn’t recognise the name。 Most of Exolon’s armour was with
10th Division。 He and his men were with the 8th。 “Well； don’t keep it to yourself； Hans。 What’s the
message？”
Kassel beamed。
“To dig in； sir。 Van Droi says the Gunheads are here。”
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CHAPTER SIX
Gossefried’s Gunheads roared forward； guns booming like thunder； far more than simple
promethium fuelling their charge。 Disgust； hatred； the desire for revenge； all of these things and
more filled the hearts of the men inside the massive； rumbling war machines as they surged on；
desperate to cut the foe down before it was too late for their fellow Guardsmen。
For Gossefried van Droi； the survival of the embattled Cadian infantrymen was paramount。 Here
at last； after days travelling through the desert without any sign whatsoever that others had survived
planetfall； he had found welcome confirmation that his Gunheads were not alone。 Someone else had
survived and； right now； that meant everything in the world to him。 But they wouldn’t survive much
longer if they didn’t get the aid they so desperately needed。
It would be a close thing。 He could see that from his cupola。 Colonel Stromm’s footsloggers
were on their last legs。 That much was all too clear； despite the dust and black smoke that shrouded
the chaos of the battlefield。
“Spread out；” van Droi ordered his tank commanders over the vox。 “Keep your main guns
blazing。 I want secondary weapons on those hostiles as soon as you make range。 Don’t spare the
treads！ Our brother Cadians are dying out there！”
A stutter of cannon fire from the tanks on either side was answer enough for him。 Up ahead； still
more than a kilometre away； but closer with every passing second； pillars of sand and gore burst into
the air。 Firing on the move meant a big trade…off in accuracy for the gunners； but； given the sheer
number of gargantuan brown…bodies in front of them； they could afford to be sloppy。 What they
couldn’t afford to be was slow。
No fear of that。 Their engines roared； spewing thick black fumes out behind them； powering the
sixty…tonne war machines forward over the sand with surprising speed。 Between the noise of his
engine and the booming of his powerful main gun； van Droi could hear nothing at all of the fighting
around the crashed drop…ship。 He didn’t need to hear it to know how badly it was going。 As his
tanks crossed the one kilometre line； he gripped the pintle…mounted heavy bolter in front of him and
made ready to open fire。 Much of the mad alien horde had turned its aggression towards the tanks；
knowing they posed a far greater； more immediate threat than the infantry； and a better fight。 His
eyes picked out the biggest orks； long…tusked； black…skinned abominations wearing huge suits of
armour and carrying ludicrously oversized blades。 He saw them throw back their heads to bellow
battle cries as they readied the rest of the horde to charge。
Bring it on； you godless freaks； thought van Droi。 You don’t stand a frakker’s chance in hell
against my 10th Company。
“Break them wide open； Gunheads；” he called over the company command channel。 “Sword；
Hammer； move into line formation。 Rhaimes； take your squadron out on the left flank。 Angle in on
their rear。 Wulfe； Richter； move your squadrons straight up。 Keep the pressure on。 Not one of those
alien bastards survives。 No runners。”
“Spear Leader to company command；” replied Sergeant Rhaimes。 “Read you loud and clear； sir。
We’ll make them wish they’d never crawled out of the dirt。”
“Sword Leader to command；” voxed Sergeant Wulfe。 “Moving into formation。”
Sergeant Richter was the last to vox in。 “Hammer Squadron confirming； sir。 Moving up now。”
Van Droi looked to either side and saw his tanks fan out to form a broad fighting line abreast of
his machine。 Old Smashbones； The Rage Imperius and The Adamantine pressed left； bearing north45
east so that they could swing in on the greenskin flanks and funnel them into the killing zone。 As
van Droi watched； flame and smoke licked out from their barrels and the air shook with the sound of
exploding propellant。
On the right； the tanks of Spear and Hammer squadrons were also keeping the pressure on。 Not
all of them were