Gerard Bergen’s prayers。
Reports started coming through on the landline。 With Karavassa and Tyrellis securely held and
protecting Imperial supply lines； Killian’s 12th Heavy Infantry Division had pushed forward；
storming the ruined fortress at Balkar； capturing it； and converting it into a front…line stronghold。
The fighting had been heavy there； and the casualty figures were high； hinting at a much heavier ork
presence closer to the site of the general’s ultimate objective。 But Killian succeeded all the same；
and the forward base so vital to supporting the final leg of the expedition was firmly and fully
established。 Those officers with a pessimistic bent predicted massive greenskin retaliation； but； for
now； Hadron； Karavassa； Tyrellis and Balkar were all back in Imperial hands after almost forty
years of enemy occupation。 The final stage of the Operation Thunderstorm could commence at last。
Bergen received all this news with a feeling of great relief。 He was even more relieved when the
10th Armoured Division’s new instructions came through from Hadron Base shortly after dawn on
the sixteenth day。 General deViers ordered Bergen’s forces — minus an adequate garrisoning force
— to press east from Karavassa； heading straight for Balkar with all possible speed。 Once there；
they would link up with elements from the other divisions and await the general’s arrival。 DeViers
would personally lead them out into the Hadar region； to the foothills of the Ishawar range； for the
final phase of the operation。
Talking directly to Bergen over the landline； the old man sounded practically ecstatic； like an
over…stimulated child on the night before Emperor’s Day。 Perhaps he sensed his long…sought
immortality waiting just beyond his fingertips。 He would find The Fortress of Arrogance； whatever
was left of it； and the operation would enter its closing stage。 The Mechanicus would fire a beacon
into the upper atmosphere to signal their position。 A lifter would then descend from The Scion of
Tharsis to haul the holy machine from the desert sands and lift it back into space。 Safely aboard the
Reclamator craft； The Fortress of Arrogance would be restored to its former glory during transit to
the Armageddon system。 There； it would be presented to Commissar Yarrick； and he would ride it
out onto the battlefields of Armageddon Prime； rousing the spirits of his tired soldiers； inspiring in
them a glorious new strength。 Thus uplifted； they would roll out to crush the foe。
It sounded wonderful； and in Bergen’s heart of hearts； he hoped it would be so； but the voice in
his head still held to the certainty that it was nothing but a pretty dream。 Things would not come to
pass that way。
Thirty…eight years； he thought。 To imagine that she would still be there…
The moment General deViers closed the vox…link from the other end； Bergen sent out a call to
his regimental commanders。 When he gave them their updated orders； all three sounded genuinely
glad to hear that they would be on the move again within hours。 Colonel Vinnemann in particular
expressed his relief in no uncertain terms。 Bergen had considered ordering the man to remain here；
convinced that it would be the best thing for his health。 But he knew Vinnemann would only have
railed against him； seeing it as the ultimate betrayal。 The man was a tanker through and through； just
as Bergen had once been； and Bergen knew that； for any real tanker； nothing beat riding out in your
crate； treads chewing up the dirt； the hearty roar of a promethium engine vibrating through your
whole body。 So Vinnemann would stay in command of his regiment despite his suffering； and
Captain Immrich would be there to step in if needed。
The regimental commanders broke the link to pass the new orders on to their executive officers
and company commanders。 From these men； the news filtered down to everyone in the base。
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Soon； Karavassa was buzzing with preparations as the 10th Armoured Division prepared to roll
out once again。
In all the scurrying around； the loading； the refuelling； the last…minute checks； and everything else
that went on prior to deployment； few men spared a thought for the fate of those companies that had
mysteriously disappeared on that first fateful day。 Some men did。 Kochatkis Vinnemann was one of
them。 Despite having troubles enough of his own； he prayed regularly for the souls of Lieutenant
Gossefried van Droi and his men； convinced that； after so many days without word or sign； they had
perished。
As he rolled out of Karavassa at the head of the 81st Armoured Regiment； the long…suffering
colonel could not have guessed that； just ten days’ journey to the southeast of his position；
Gossefried’s Gunheads were doing their best to avoid exactly that。
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CHAPTER TEN
Colonel Stromm was a man of his word。 He embraced the Gunheads as if they had always been part
of his outfit； and it pleased Lieutenant van Droi greatly； because； though he admitted it to no one； he
had harboured grave doubts about placing his men and machines at the disposal of a man he had
only just met。 There were those in the upper ranks who might have said he knew all he needed to
about the colonel。 He had seen Stromm turn aside certain death； after all； and there were surely few
better measures of a man than that； but an officer’s performance in combat gave few clues； if any； as
to how he would command on the move。 Then there was Golgotha herself to consider。 She was an
enemy that couldn’t be fought。 Her endless sands ground away at the Cadians’ morale； and the more
time they spent crossing them； the more they seemed to stretch forever。
Van Droi knew his tanks were slowing the whole column down。 The Chimeras were much
faster； and the Thirty…Sixers were faster still at top speed； but without the tanks； the column would
have made an easy target for greenskin marauders。 Colonel Stromm kept everyone moving together；
with the exception of the Chimeras he sent to scout ahead in shifts。 Did it frustrate him that the
Leman Russ could barely manage thirty kilometres an hour？ wondered van Droi。 If so； he didn’t
show it。
For days； the tired； dirty； ragged column had pressed north…east over rolling dunes and；
gradually； the landscape began to change； becoming rockier and more uneven in stages。 Was the
change in terrain a good sign？ Van Droi wasn’t sure。 If it meant they were nearing high ground； it
certainly didn’t show。 The horizon to the north…east remained choked in a pink haze。 He saw no
jutting spurs of rock； no distant hints of a towering mountain range。
The mood of the men was as dark as the mud…coloured sky and getting darker all the time。 Little
communication passed from tank to tank。 Almost a dozen of van Droi’s men had taken seriously ill；
and the number was three times greater among Stromm’s infantry。 There were two medics with The
Fighting 98th； two who had survived the dreadful onslaught at the crash site。 They took a look at
van Droi’s sick； consulted with each other； and told him that at least three of the twelve would be
dead within a day。 Nothing could be done to save them。 The dust had poisoned them。 Liver； kidneys；
lungs； everything was shutting down。 The other nine would almost certainly follow soon afterwards
if they didn’t get specialist medical care。 With hopes of finding Exolon having dwindled to almost
nothing； that didn’t seem probable。 Van Droi’s anger and frustration got the better of him a few
times； and he vented inside the turret of his tank； where his shouts and curses were drowned out by
the rumble of the engine。
Colonel Stromm made a difficult decision regarding the seriously ill； he withheld their water and
provisions。 There was nothing to be gained by spending scarce resources on men who simply
weren’t going to last much longer。 This； of course； did not sit well with friends of the dying men。
There were sharp protestations that came near to violence； but the platoon leaders cracked down
hard。
Van Droi didn’t judge Stromm for the extremity of the measure。 Stromm had given him a
chance to object； but； to a practical man like van Droi； it made perfect； if unpleasantly harsh； sense。
Ultimately； the two medics resolved the issue； administering large doses of anaesthesium to the
worst afflicted； letting them die peacefully in a drug…induced sleep。
With the column stopping only briefly； grim； hollow…faced troopers buried their dead comrades
in the sand。 There was no Ministorum man to pray for them； but one of Stromm’s lieutenants； a man
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called Boyd； had trained briefly as a confessor before abandoning the so…called Righteous Road in
order to enlist in the Guard。 He said a few words for the souls of the dead； and the column moved
on； lighter in number； heavier in spirit。
The mood got even worse when Stromm had his lieutenants issue empty jerry cans and
additional water purification tablets to everyone。 If they wanted to survive beyond the next few
days； he told them； they would have to drink the undrinkable。 They would have to drink their own
urine。
As if the lost Cadians didn’t have enough problems； the dawn of the sixteenth day brought more bad
news。 As the cloud…smothered sun rose once more； casting its dull red glow over the desert； the voxlink
began to erupt with anxious chatter。 The intercom system aboard Foe…Breaker did likewise。
“There must be millions of them！” yelled Bullseye Dietz。 “There’s no beating numbers like that；
sir。 They won’t be on foot； not moving at that speed。”
Dietz wasn’t wrong。 Orks were closing in on them。 Judging by the dark line that had appeared in
the southeast with the coming of day； there were far too many of them to engage。 Raising his head
so that he could peer through his tank’s vision blocks； van Droi looked again； hoping that somehow
his mind had played a trick on him； that it had exaggerated the size of the enemy force。
It hadn’t。
The horizon was seething with them。 How close were they？ Between the heat haze； the dust and
the mirage…line； it was practically impossible to tell。 That they were visible at all； van Droi decided；
meant they were too damned close by far。
The greenskin host had moved up during the hours of darkness； unnoticed by exhausted；