place for him to prove his boxing skills； though。 Brawling would mean the lash if Crusher found out。
“Lenck；” said Wulfe in a growl； “get your mongrels away from here before something happens
that you’ll regret。”
The big one； Varnuss； stepped to Lenck’s side； rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck。
Wulfe glimpsed ganger tattoos under the collar of his tunic。 Was he just posturing； wondered Wulfe；
or was he really stupid enough to make trouble with a senior man？ Both possibilities seemed equally
credible at that moment。
Posturing or not； it was only when Lenck put out a hand and stopped Varnuss from advancing
that the big man seemed to reconsider。
“Come on； you lot；” Lenck told his crew in mock exasperation。 “Looks like we’d better go back
to the depot and get some more coolant。”
Muttering and cursing； the crew of the New Champion turned and fell in behind Lenck as he
stalked off。 After a few paces； however； Lenck stopped and turned。 He pointed at Siegler； though his
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eyes were locked on Wulfe’s as he said； “With respect； sergeant； you might want to keep your pet
moron on a leash in future。”
Wulfe felt something snap inside him。 He bolted straight at Lenck and grabbed him roughly by
the collar； hauling him up on his tiptoes。 Other hands immediately tried to free Lenck； tugging at
Wulfe’s wrists in vain； trying to break a grip that was like solid steel。
“What’re you going to do？” Lenck sneered； looking down his nose at Wulfe without a hint of
worry。 “You know the regs。”
Wulfe growled。 “I ought to rip your bloody tongue out； you piece of garbage。”
“But you know you’d pay for it；” said Lenck。
“That’s where you’re wrong； Lenck。 It doesn’t go both ways。 I could beat you to within an inch
of your life； and no commissar could touch me for it。”
Lenck’s eyes narrowed。 His voice became a hiss。 “I wasn’t talking about commissars。”
There was a sudden shout from atop Last Rites II。 It was Beans。
“Good morning； commissar！ How are you？”
Wulfe turned and saw a dark figure emerge from between two tanks about a hundred metres
away。 His grip automatically loosened on Lenck’s collar and the younger man wrenched himself
away。
When Wulfe turned around to face Lenck again； the corporal was smiling sardonically。
“I’m sure we’ll have a chance to pick this up again sometime； sergeant；” he said。 “In the
meantime； my crew has work to do。 Excuse us。”
Wulfe watched them go； fists clenched white at his sides。 How far would I have gone？ he asked
himself。 Would I have killed him？ Could I have stopped myself？ He remembered the panic he had
felt as Victor Dunst’s gang had restrained him all those years ago on Cadia。 He winced as he
recalled the pain of Dunst’s knife being pushed into his torso。 He heard the laughter of the gangers；
laughter that turned to curses when they heard the siren of the Civitas patrol car。
Lenck’s crew cast filthy looks back at him over their shoulders as they went； all of them but
Lenck。
He’s not Dunst； Wulfe told himself。 For Throne’s sake； he’s not Dunst。
When Lenck was about twenty…five metres away； he turned back towards Wulfe without
breaking stride and called out to him。 Just five words。 Five little words。 But they hit Wulfe like a
flurry of bolter shells that detonated in his mind。
Wulfe was struck motionless。 He saw Lenck laugh； then turn around and lead his men off
between two rows of Chimeras。
A hard； sharp voice at his shoulder woke Wulfe from his paralysis。 “What’s going on； sergeant？”
Wulfe turned to meet the icy stare of Commissar Slayte； his eyes glittering in the shadow of the
brim of his black cap。
“Not sure what you mean； commissar；” said Wulfe readying to move off towards his tank。 The
commissar moved faster。 Wulfe felt a heavy mechanical hand grasp his upper arm。
Crusher turned his eyes in the direction Lenck and his men had taken； but they were gone from
view。 After a pause； he leaned in towards Wulfe and said； “You’ve been away from your vox…set； so
maybe you haven’t heard； but Colonel Vinnemann has ordered the regiment to muster at the east
gate。 We leave Balkar in fifteen minutes。 Make sure your people are ready； Sergeant Wulfe。 I’ll
make a very memorable example of anyone that isn’t。”
Wulfe looked down at the perfectly…machined； black metal hand。 “We’ll be ready； commissar。”
“Make sure of it；” said Crusher。 There was the slightest whirring of gears as he released the
sergeant。 Then he walked off； taking his threats to other ears。
Wulfe’s crew was looking at him wordlessly as he marched past them。
“Get to your stations； all of you；” he said gruffly。 “We’re moving out in fifteen。”
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Siegler； Beans and Metzger leapt to comply； warned off asking questions by the dark look on
Wulfe’s face。 As always； Wulfe was the last one in。
As he swung his legs over the lip of his hatch； he thought about Lenck’s parting words。 They
had frozen his blood。 As he dropped into his command seat； those five words rang in his ears。 Did
they mean what he thought they meant？
Five little words； each one rocking him like a cannon shell。
“Watch out for ghosts； sergeant！”
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Two days east of Balkar； Wulfe and the rest of the expeditionary force entered a rocky region of the
Hadar desert known as Vargas。 Led by General deViers； riding comfortably in a specially outfitted
command Chimera； the Cadians moved in a long column that slowly snaked along the floor of a
deep canyon marked on Officio Cartographica charts as Red Gorge。
The gorge ran for almost three hundred kilometres along a meandering path that would
eventually lead the men of the 18th Army Group to the site of the largest and bloodiest battle of the
last Golgothan War。 It was there； at long last； that General deViers expected to find The Fortress of
Arrogance。 It was there； also； that he expected to face the greatest ork resistance to his progress so
far。 By all accounts； the foothills and low valleys of the Ishawar Mountains were littered with
wrecks from the war。 What better place for the scavenging greenskins to build a major settlement？
Despite the likelihood of violent confrontation； the mood among the men was mixed。 Some were
upbeat； seeing the final phase for what it truly represented； an end to their tormented time on a world
unfit for human habitation。 Others were less optimistic。 Some； like Major General Bergen；
anticipated great disappointment on arrival at the coordinates the Mechanicus had provided。 Even
so； the realists in the army group were as keen to get the whole thing over as the optimists were。
On the other hand； few were happy about having the entire expeditionary force negotiate Red
Gorge。 There was simply no other choice。 The rocky clifftops and surrounding highlands were
riddled with chasms and crevasses； many of them impossible to spot from the ground until too late。
Under other circumstances； Commodore Galbraithe’s Vulcan gunships could perhaps have guided
the column from the air； but flying conditions were far from ideal over the Hadar。 Frequent dust
storms threatened to clog air intakes； something that would have sent the Vulcans crashing to the
ground。 Electromagnetic surges from the thick clouds made mid…and high…altitude flights just as
deadly。 So the Vulcan pilots were forced to fly low； making slow passes along the canyon floor； just
a few hundred metres above the heads of the Cadian troops； visored eyes scanning for signs of
ambush。
Wulfe watched the Vulcans from his cupola； black birds roaring as they crossed the strip of red
sky overhead。 They left trails of grey smoke that moved like ribbons on the wind。
For Wulfe； this phase of the journey was particularly harrowing。 The sharp crags and deep；
shadowed gullies along which the column moved were a powerful reminder of Lugo’s Ditch。 As the
rock walls rose to fantastic heights on either side； a cold sweat began to soak Wulfe’s tunic。
Watch out for ghosts； sergeant！
Even now； with the glow of the second day fading； Lenck’s words were still eating away at
Wulfe’s insides。 What had the bastard corporal meant？ The most obvious answer was that he knew
about Lugo’s Ditch。 But how？ Wulfe was sure that Confessor Friedrich wouldn’t have betrayed him。
He doubted any of his crew would have； either。 Beans didn’t know anything about it so that ruled
him out。
Had Lenck simply meant Victor Dunst？ A ghost of the past rather than of the dead？ That was
almost as much of a stretch。 All Lenck had regarding Dunst was a name； wasn’t it？
Wulfe wracked his brain； desperate to remember who he had told about Dunst。 He hadn’t
recounted the story often — it wasn’t exactly one of his favourites — but it was an old custom
among Cadian troopers to compare scars and tell the tales of how they had been won。 Wulfe had
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shared the Dunst story with a handful of men in his early years with the regiment。 Had someone told
Lenck？ Did the rotten corporal know just how much his appearance troubled Wulfe？
As the day wore on； Wulfe tried to put the matter to the back of his mind。 He sat in his cupola；
occupying himself with a study of his surroundings as Last Rites II rambled through the dust kicked
up by the tanks in front。 There was vegetation in the canyon； the first that he had seen since crashing
on this world。 Not much of it； of course — mostly dry grasses and scrawny； thorn…covered tangles of
brash — but it meant moisture。 There was animal life； too； and far larger than the biting ticks the
Cadians had endured so far。 Wulfe saw great； slothful； flat…bodied lizards basking on the rocks。
Their skins were armoured with hundreds of small； bony plates； and they were coloured like the land
around them。 As the Imperial column rolled past； they hissed and slid quickly into the mouths of
inky black caves。
Observing these things offered Wulfe only temporary respite from his thoughts。 Again and
again； he returned to the matters that troubled him most。 As the strip of sky above Red Gorge grew
dark； he dropped back down into his turret basket； leaving the hatch open above him so that a
cooling wind could circulate。
Siegler was dozing in his seat； thick arms folded on top of the shell magazine； head resting in the
crook