exploding propellant。
On the right； the tanks of Spear and Hammer squadrons were also keeping the pressure on。 Not
all of them were fitted with standard battle cannon； of course。 Van Droi’s company was a mixed
force； glad to make do with whatever machines it could get its hands on。 As he always impressed on
the new meat； what the Gunheads lacked in uniformity； they made up in versatility。 Who gave a
flying damn if some of the other company commanders sneered？ Czurloch and Brismund were the
worst for it； those stuck…up pricks。 Let them have their nice； ordered companies of identical
machines。 Specialise too much in one thing； van Droi knew； and you’d be properly stuffed when
some bastard suddenly changed the rules。
That didn’t happen to his Gunheads。
His machine； Foe…Breaker； was a rare and highly prized Leman Russ Vanquisher from the
forges of Ryza。 She was hundreds of years old — the saints alone knew how many kills she’d made
since her inception — but she still excelled at taking out enemy machines with her 120mm smoothbore
cannon and its highly specialised； armour…piercing sabot rounds。 No other Leman Russ could
fire as far and as accurately； and van Droi conscientiously prayed to her machine…spirit every single
day； making obeisance in the form of litanies approved by the regimental enginseers。
All this love and attention was repaid tenfold in her performance。 She had added another
armour…kill to her tally today when van Droi’s gunner； “Bullseye” Dietz； had lit up one of the ugly
ork artillery pieces like a bonfire。 It was still gushing red flame and thick black smoke into the sky。
Dietz hadn’t let up； either。 Van Droi’s loader — a grumpy little short…arse by the name of Waller —
was still slamming high…explosive shells into the main gun’s breech with all the speed he could
manage； and Dietz wasn’t wasting them。 Every time the gun belched； scores of orks disintegrated；
turned into a downpour of red rain that muddied the desert sand。
Seconds now； thought van Droi； his finger beginning to squeeze gently on the heavy bolter’s
trigger。 Just a few more seconds。
He revelled in the rush of hot desert air as it whipped at his collar。 Adrenaline surged through
him； familiar and welcome。 Two and a half decades of this； with combat experience spanning a
dozen contested worlds； and still it thrilled him like nothing else ever could。 He would never tire of
it； never。
In lethal range； he pulled the heavy bolter’s trigger back and loosed a flood of explosive shells。
The noise was deafening； even with his ear…protectors firmly in place。 The recoil was wicked； too；
despite much of it being absorbed by the pintle…mount。 The gun kicked hard in his hands； pouring
spent cartridges from its ejector like brass rain。
He strafed the orks in front of him as their return fire danced and sparked on the thick front
armour of his tank。 Dozens were struck； bolts punching deep into meaty bodies before detonating a
fraction of a second later with sickening； yet satisfying effect。
All along the line； his tank commanders were doing the same； manning the heavy stubbers and
bolters that graced the lip of each cupola。 Those few tanks with sponson…mounted weapons
chattered and blazed even louder than the others。 Hull…mounted weapons； too； spat deadly torrents
into the enemy force； leaving the orks nowhere to run to escape the slaughter。
Van Droi didn’t shout or growl or laugh madly like some men did while they fired on the foe。
That was for youngsters and fools； in his opinion。 Instead； he let go of everything； losing his sense
of self； becoming part of a kind of gestalt entity that encompassed the tank and her entire crew。 The
fighting always seemed to go so smoothly when this happened； as if each man instinctively knew
what needed to be done without having to ask。 The mark of a good crew； he thought。 No。 An
exceptional one。
46
A sudden crackle of static on his intercom yanked van Droi from his almost trance…like state。
The gruff voice of his loader sounded in his ear。 “Vox…panel’s flashing down here； sir。 Looks like
you’ve got a call coming in from one of the footsloggers。”
Van Droi picked off a few more of the orks nearest Foe…Breaker and dropped down into the
turret。 As he checked the board； he told Dietz； “Hostiles closing on our two。 Get the co…ax on them。”
Then； he switched from intercom to vox； and said； “This is Lieutenant Gossefried van Droi； 81st
Armoured Regiment； 10th Company。 Go ahead。”
The voice that came back had the sharp ring of the Cadian upper ranks； but it sounded tired and
more than a little desperate； too。 “This is Colonel Stromm of the 98th Mechanised Infantry
Regiment。 Can you hear me； van Droi？”
“I can； sir。”
“Emperor bless your armoured arse； man！ You and your men got here just in the nick of time。
Bought us a bit of space to fight back； but not much。 I’ve lost a lot of troopers； and it’s far from—”
He cut off mid…sentence to issue orders to his men。 Van Droi could hear the sounds of intense
fighting from the other end。 It sounded all too close to the colonel’s position。
“Van Droi； are you still there？” asked the gasping colonel a moment later。
“Yes； sir。 What’s your status？ I have a squadron flanking the orks from the rear and two
engaging from your left； but you’ll need to hold out a bit longer。 I can’t risk firing any closer to your
position。 It looked like one of our earlier salvoes was close enough to shave you。”
“I needed a shave anyway；” said Stromm。 “But listen； it’s touch…and…go here。 The loss of their
artillery turned their heads； as did your arrival； and we made them pay。 They’re fighting on two
fronts； and that has split their forces； but there are still plenty of them hell…bent on bloodying us up
in a bit of hand…to…hand。 I don’t need to tell you how long we’re likely to last at that range。 They
grow the bastards tough on Golgotha； and our backs are to the wall； literally。 Short of moving inside
what’s left of the drop…ship hull； there’s nowhere else for us to go； and I’ve no intention of getting
trapped in there。 It’s suicide。 If there’s any chance you can create a corridor for us； I have a few
platoons of Kasrkin that might be able to hold it open long enough to facilitate our escape。”
Van Droi nodded as he listened。 “You’ll have your corridor； sir。 I’ll send one of my squadrons
up flush with the drop…ship。 They’ll cut a path in towards you。 Keep your men back until the last
moment。 There’ll be plenty of lead in the air； you understand。”
“The more the better；” replied Stromm。 Grunting and shouting almost drowned out his words。
Chilling ork battle cries could be heard clearly in the background and； despite the security of his
tank； van Droi felt his blood run cold。 He knew he had to order Wulfe’s tanks forward at once。
Sword Squadron fielded the company’s only Leman Russ Exterminator； New Champion of Cerbera。
She would be best suited for the job。
“As soon as you can； van Droi；” Stromm added。 “The Emperor protects。 Stromm； out。”
Van Droi immediately switched back over to the company command channel and said；
“Command to Sword Leader。 Respond； Wulfe。”
“Sword Leader to Command；” Sergeant Wulfe voxed back。 “Go ahead； sir。”
Van Droi could hear the drumming of a heavy stubber between the sergeant’s words。
“Listen up； Wulfe；” he said。 “I have friendlies in urgent need of an escape corridor。 I want the
New Champion on it。 Understood？ Move your squad up and cut a path flush with the ship’s hull。 Let
the wreck cover the footsloggers’ backs。 Carve them a path to safety。 Colonel Stromm has the vox；
F…channel； band six。”
There was only the briefest pause before Wulfe responded — “Wulfe to Company Command。
Sove。” — but van Droi could read into it easily enough。
Wulfe was probably cursing。 New Champion of Cerbera was Corporal Lenck’s machine。
47
“Let’s take it to them；” Wulfe told his crew over the intercom。 “Metzger； get her in close； three
hundred metres； a hull…down position if you can find one。 Expect plenty of fire。” Last Rites II
gunned forward； churning up the desert under her treads； throwing waves of sand up behind her。
Wulfe dropped down into the turret to switch vox channels。 Once he had opened the link to his
squadron； he said； “Sword Leader to One and Two。 Orders from van Droi。 We’re going in。 New
Champion； move up on my right and open a corridor for the infantry。 Cut a path in line with the
wreckage so their backs are covered。 And try not to hit the friendlies； Lenck。 Last Rites II and
Frontline Crusader will give supporting fire centre and left。 Frontline Crusader； stop parallel with
me； fifty metre spacing。 Hammer Squadron will be supporting us from the rear。 Confirm。”
Corporal Siemens came back first。 “Frontline Crusader confirms； sergeant。 Moving up to cover
your left。 The Emperor protects。”
“The Emperor protects；” Wulfe replied automatically。
“New Champion confirms；” reported Lenck a moment later。 “Watch and learn； sergeant。”
“Stow the backchat； corporal；” Wulfe spat back。 “Just do your job。” He had seen enough of
Lenck during training exercises in the massive holds of the Hand of Radiance to know that he was
good — far better； in fact； than could be expected given his level of combat experience — but Wulfe
wasn’t about to let Lenck know that。 The man was already infuriatingly cocky。
With Last Rites II just edging in front； the three tanks of Sword Squadron closed with the
charging orks。 Wulfe scrambled back up into his cupola and grasped the twin grips of his heavy
stubber。 Looking out at the wall of roaring brown bodies that surged towards him； he realised that he
barely needed to aim。 Anywhere he fired； he was sure hit something。 Hardly pausing to line up
along the weapon’s iron sights； he pressed his thumbs down hard on the gun’s butterfly trigger。
There was a deafening rattle as the stubber unloaded on the alien horde； cutting dozens of them to
pieces。 It was a strange； darkly comical sight； one that Wulfe had witnessed before。 The bulky alien
savages appeared to dance a deathly jig as they were literally chewed apart by the hail of lead。
Corporal Metzger stopped Last Rites II just behind a shallow