The report of van Droi’s death had hit him with all the force of an Earthshaker round； harder； if
he was honest； than the death of Holtz or Viess。 He had known van Droi longer。 The man had
seemed immortal to a young Wulfe when he had first joined the regiment。 He had been somewhat
like Colonel Vinnemann in that regard。 For Wulfe； Gossefried van Droi had embodied everything
that was strong and true and noble about the Imperial Guard。 He was a symbol。 Gossefried’s
Gunheads had been named for him。 Symbols weren’t supposed to die。 Only people died。 People and
orks。
Hungry for revenge； he loosed a battle cry and thumbed the trigger of his heavy stubber； sending
another lethal torrent straight into a pack of orks that were hacking the arms and legs from an
infantryman on the left。 Wulfe couldn’t save him — it was too late for that — but he punished the
soldier’s killers。 Their grotesquely muscled bodies crumpled to the ground； torsos almost cut in half
by the stubber’s high rate of fire。 Their thick red blood mixed with that of the man they had just
killed。
Wulfe heard Beans calling “Brace！” on the intercom just…before a tongue of fire flickered at the
end of Last Rites II’s battle cannon。 The sharp boom it made set his ears ringing。
The round went curving in towards the massive ork machine； striking a plate of red…painted iron
bolted to the front。 White sparks showered out as the round ricocheted and punched a hole in the
corrugated surface of the hangar wall。 After a second； the plate fell off and was pulled under a set of
massive iron treads。
“Damn it！” cursed Beans over the intercom； but Wulfe wasn’t listening to him。 He was listening
to the divisional vox channel。 The chatter there had suddenly intensified； for Beans’ shot had
uncovered the forward edge of a massive black track…guard； on top of which sat an icon cast in
bright； shining gold。
Every man on the battlefield recognised it。 It hung from their necks； imprinted on one side of the
dog…tags they all wore。 Many had paid to have it tattooed on their bodies。
It was the holy aquila； two…headed eagle； icon of the Imperium of Man。
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CHAPTER THIRTY…FOUR
General deViers felt his heart hammering in his chest as his Chimera raced in towards the battle。 He
ordered his driver to crash straight through the orks that filled the street up ahead。 Beyond them； he
could already see the ground where his forces were fighting for their lives。 There was the massive
hangar he had heard about on the vox； and； there she was： The Fortress of Arrogance。
There was no doubt it was her。 Some tanker in the 10th Armoured Division had knocked off a
piece of her disguise； and now everyone knew。 They had found her。 They had tracked her down at
last； but what in blazes had the greenskins done to her？ In all the general’s dreams of how this
moment would unfold； he had never imagined this。 In the ultimate act of sacrilege； the orks were
using her to slaughter Imperial forces。 His forces。
Even so； he had no choice but to give the order。
Through gritted teeth； he voxed； “This is Army Group Command to all units。 Cease fire on the
enemy superheavy at once。 I repeat； do not fire on the ork super…heavy under any circumstances。
Concentrate on the enemy infantry。”
Gerard Bergen wasn’t slow to respond。 He didn’t bother with propriety； either。
“You’re out of your frakking mind； general；” he hissed。 “Whether that abomination is Yarrick’s
Baneblade or not； it’s devastating my armour。 We have to take it out right now。 Reverse that order！”
“Mind your damned tone； major general；” deViers barked back。 “I will do no such thing。 Ask
Magos Sennesdiar； if a round pierces the onboard fuel or ammunition supplies； she’ll be beyond all
hope of repair。”
“And if we don’t put her out of commission； there won’t be anyone left to claim her。 Have you
lost your mind； you old fool？ You’re acting like a damned Mechanicus puppet。 You know that？”
DeViers felt his face grow hot。
“I hope you live through this； Gerard；” he growled； “I really do； because if you ever speak like
that to me again； I’ll see you swing from the gallows。 Is that clear？ The order stands。 Anyone who
fires on The Fortress of Arrogance will answer to me。”
“Fine；” said Bergen bitterly； “and may you answer to the souls of the men you’ve just
condemned。 Bergen out。”
“You have got to be bloody joking！” exclaimed Beans。
“I wish I was；” answered Wulfe。 He turned to his left and fired on an ork wielding a bulky heavy
flamer as if it were little more than a pistol。 It had just finished roasting three Guardsmen to death at
close range。 When Wulfe’s stubber…rounds punched into its body； the ork threw up its hands。 One of
the rounds punctured the fuel tanks on its back； and it exploded in a fountain of bright fire and
burning meat。
The bastardised Baneblade was almost fully out of the hangar。 Wulfe could see an absolutely
massive ork standing on top of it。 It had to be the warboss。 It wasn’t just the size of the creature；
though it certainly made even the biggest of the black…skinned veterans look almost small。 It was the
massive suit of power armour that it wore。 Energy crackled in blue arcs along its arms。 It flexed
huge blade…like claws and bellowed its war cry through some kind of amplifier attached to its
shoulder。
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The bestial roar swept over the battlefield； and the orks all around began fighting with fresh
reserves of energy and zeal。
“Look；” said Beans； “I might just be a gunner； but I know that order is utter bloody ball…rot；
sarge。 If we can’t fire on it； we’re dead men。”
As if to prove his point； the Baneblade’s main gun fired again。 The last surviving Leman Russ
Executioner detonated in a spectacular burst of orange fire and glowing blue plasma。
“Throne damn it；” cursed Wulfe。 “Listen； Beans； do you think you can hit the warboss without
hitting the tank？”
About twenty metres behind Last Rites II； a Chimera exploded。 Wulfe felt the intense heat of the
blast on the back of his neck and turned。
A slavering black ork was hauling its way up the back of his tank with an axe in one hand and a
rusty metal hook in the other。 A suing of desiccated human heads bobbed around its waist。
Wulfe dropped down into the turret basket just in time。 The beast’s axe clanged on the rim just
as his head disappeared inside。
“By the Throne！” shouted Siegler。 He began scrambling to unhook one of the lasguns from the
fixings by his station。 In the meantime； the ork had thrust its metal hook into the turret basket and
was slashing backwards and forwards； trying to snag the crewmen it knew were inside。
Wulfe threw both his arms around the ork’s massive wrist； but the damned thing was so
powerful it began battering him off the turret walls。 In desperation； Wulfe let go with one hand and
scrambled for his knife。 He grasped the handle； drew it from its sheath； and stabbed it hard into the
ork’s forearm。
With a roar of pain； the ork withdrew its arm； taking the knife with it； but the reprieve was only
temporary。 Seconds later； it thrust its massive head down into the turret and began snapping at
Wulfe with its razor…toothed jaws。 The stink of its foul breath filled the compartment。
“Down；” shouted Siegler； and Wulfe dropped his weight to the floor just in time。 Tusks clashed
an inch above his head。 Then the ork turned to face the loader； drawn by his shout。
Siegler rammed the barrel of a lasgun into the creature’s mouth and yanked back hard on the
trigger。 The blast blew out the back of the ork’s head； spattering the wall of the turret basket and two
of its occupants with blood and brain matter。
“By the bloody Eye of Terror；” shouted Beans。 The back of his head was drenched in foulsmelling
gore。
“Good work； Sig；” said Wulfe。 He immediately set about trying to clear the cupola； but it wasn’t
easy。 Shifting the heavy corpse took all his strength。
When the hatch was free； he poked his head out to check for any other orks waiting to lop his
head off。 There were none。 He stood and gripped the handles of his heavy stubber again。 In the few
seconds it had taken to deal with the hook…wielding ork； yet another Cadian tank had been reduced
to a flaming black skeleton。
Something else had changed； too。 There were more Cadians than before。 The reinforcements
from the rear had arrived。 Chimeras were pouring laser and autocannon fire in every direction but
that of The Fortress of Arrogance； and the foot soldiers were tapping in to some kind of hidden
reserves。 They fought back with a renewed sense of purpose。 Wulfe decided it must be the sight； or
perhaps the proximity； of the holy tank that had inspired them。 If they could only stop it knocking
out their damned armour…
Just as he was thinking this； the disfigured Baneblade fired again。
This time； the victim was Hal Keissler and The Damascine。 The 2nd Company leader died
instantly； blown apart with the rest of his crew。 Wulfe swore； realising that he could count the
number of surviving tanks on the fingers of two hands。 To the right he saw New Champion of
Cerbera and was amazed that she had stayed in the fight for this long。
Perhaps he had underestimated Lenck’s skill as a commander。
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It hardly mattered。 If The Fortress of Arrogance kept picking them off like this； none of it would
mean a damned thing。
“Beans； you never answered my question。”
Having been denied the only armoured target on the field； Beans was strafing ork infantry with
the co…ax。 “What question？”
“Do you think you can hit the damned warboss？”
“I can try；” said Beans； “but if I hit his ride instead； the general will have me shot！”
“Do it anyway；” barked Wulfe。 “I’ll answer for it； but you have to take the shot。 That damned
thing is getting ready to fire again； and we might just be the next target。 Siegler？ Load her up。 Highexplosive。
Let’s blow that greenskin bastard into the next life。”
“We’re out of high…ex； sarge；” replied Siegler。 “Only armour…piercing left； and not many of
’em。”
“Damn it；” spat Wulfe。 “AP it is。 Load her up。 Aim well； Beans。”
“Locked and lit；” shouted Siegler。
“Do it；” said Wulfe； “and may the Emperor guide your shot！”
Beans stamped on the floor trig