and bring down the lifter？
Thinking of the tech…priests； he put out a verification call。 Were they still alongside him？ What
was their condition？
Tech…Magos Sennesdiar answered the call personally。 His tinny voice was disturbingly calm。
“Worry not； general。 We are still with you。 But you must ensure that our vehicles are adequately
protected。 If anything were to happen to them； your mission would end prematurely。 Given
atmospheric conditions； only we can signal the fleet for evacuation。”
It almost sounded like a threat to deViers； but that didn’t make it untrue。
“We’ve got a solid rearguard in place；” answered the general。 “The orks at our backs will not
take us； even if my men have to die to guarantee our window of escape。 And the armour ahead is
holding a road east for us as we speak。 If you can think of anything I’m forgetting； don’t hold your
tongue！”
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Actually； he doubted the old Martian priest still had a tongue。 He doubted he had a soul； either。
If only the damned Mechanicus could have been kept out of all this。 No doubt they would try to
claim some； if not all； of the glory of the imminent recovery。 He wouldn’t let that happen。 He
would…
No； Mohamar； he told himself。 It isn’t the time to think about that。
“General deViers to all divisional commanders；” he voxed。 “Status report。 Now！”
“Armour in position and holding the corridor；” replied Bergen。 “North and south parallels
secure； sir； but let’s not gamble on holding them any longer than necessary。 We’ve taken losses all
across the board。”
“Rennkamp here。 I’ve split my infantry to support Bergen’s armour on both sides of the
corridor。 I’m working with Killian to forge east。 Forward elements are pushing away from the
battle。”
“Major General Killian？” voxed deViers。
“Here； sir。 My forward elements report a clean run on the far side of the corridor。 No large ork
structures to speak of； but the terrain gets rough a few kilometres out。 The Ishawar peaks aren’t far；
sir。 If we keep heading east； we’ll soon be moving into the foothills。”
“That’s exactly where we want to go； major general；” said deViers。 “That’s where she waits。”
It took all Bergen’s efforts just to make sense of the constant vox…chatter that sounded in his ears。
The corridor was holding； but the rearguard had been engaged by the orks from the south。 Their
light armour wasn’t a serious threat； but he had seen this all before。 The orks used their fast trucks；
bikes and buggies to slow prey down while they moved the heavy stuff up for the kill。 It wouldn’t
happen like that today。 The 18th Army Group couldn’t afford to turn and fight。
DeViers was pushing everything he had left into a desperate dash； but what the devil would he
do when he got there？ Bergen wondered。 The orks would be coming right along behind them； right
on their tail。 There would be a face off； sooner or later。 It would be a straight； stand…up fight； and the
Cadians were looking at bad odds。
Immrich seemed to be holding up； at least。 Bergen had worried that the news of Vinnemann’s
death might undo him； but battle had a way of keeping a man’s priorities in order。 There would be
time for sorrow and mourning later。 Right now； the fight for survival was keeping him together。
Bergen’s driver； Meekes； called back to him that they were through the breach。 Bergen would
have known it anyway。 The sound of battle was deafening。 He moved into the Chimera’s turret to
get a look through the vision blocks。 All around him； he saw Imperial machines blasting away with
everything they had。 Dead xenos lay in dense heaps all around； but every second； hundreds more
clambered over the corpse…mountains to add their fire to the battle。 Pistol and stubber fire danced
and ricocheted off the Chimera’s hull。 There were other weapons； too。 The orks seemed to have
developed las and plasma analogues。 Could it be that they were learning from their battles with the
Guard？
“Keep your speed up；” he told Meekes。 “There’s no time to join the fight。 The sooner we’re
clear and running for the hills； the sooner we can pull our armour back in behind us。” And the
sooner deViers will realise that this was a bloody wild grox chase from the start； he thought。
He knew Rennkamp and Killian were thinking the same thing。 All three men seemed to have a
silent understanding。 DeViers was out of control。 His ambition had become an obsession； and the
obsession had led to madness。 Look where his haste； his impatience； had got them： orks left and
right； orks at the rear。 It was a blasted miracle that Exolon had survived this long。
He saw Vinnemann’s tanks — no； Immrich’s tanks — blasting away for all they were worth；
great tongues of flame and beams of las…fire leaping out from their weapons。 No； he thought； it’s
nothing to do with miracles。 It’s them。 It’s their determination； their refusal to lie down and die。
Vinnemann lived on in them。
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They were Cadians； and he was damned proud of them all。
“Immrich to all tanks；” voxed the captain。 “The command staff are clear。 Rear echelons are through。
I want all machines to fall in by company。 We run east； but keep your turrets covering the rear。
There’ll be more ork machines coming through that breach once we move off。 Keep your speed up。
They’ll be chasing us all the way。 Let’s make it as unpleasant as possible for the bastards。”
Wulfe listened carefully； and then relayed the information to Metzger。 In formation with the
tanks on either side； Last Rites II started rolling again； still firing as she went。
The orks on foot rushed into the space left by the departing Imperial machines； but they couldn’t
hope to match the speed of the fleeing armour。 Wulfe watched the tide of brown bodies grow
smaller。 He could still see the breach； but the light that shone through from the other side was cut off
by massive angular shadows； the first rows of reinforcing ork armour moving through to give chase。
They could only come through three abreast。 That’ll slow them down； thought Wulfe。 If the top
brass hadn’t been in such a damned hurry to move； we could have used the bottleneck to slaughter
the filthy sods。 What the hell are the brass thinking？ If we come back this way； we’ll have to go
through this all over again。
Metzger was pushing Last Rites II along at full speed； tearing up the ground。 There was nothing
orderly about the retreat。 It was a mad； desperate flight。 There was an undeniable sense of panic and
disorder about the whole thing。 Wulfe hoped someone knew what they were doing； because right
now； he couldn’t see a good end to any of this。
As the ork wall disappeared behind the Imperial column in clouds of dust； smoke and heat…haze；
Wulfe turned his attention straight ahead and saw the Ishawar mountain range rising above him。
They dominated the landscape； towering over everything like dark； glowering gods。 The foothills
were much nearer。 The land was already rising to meet them。
We’re going up； thought Wulfe？
Looking back the way he’d come； he saw the sun’s dull red glow behind the clouds。 It was
barely visible； just peeking now and then from cracks in the thick cover。 Night would be coming
soon。 That would help。 Orks didn’t cover so much ground at night。 He remembered the Kasrkin he
had met earlier — the tooth collector from Stromm’s 98th — and the general belief that orks were
highly superstitious。 Wulfe wondered if that extended to feelings about the dark。 Mankind had
always held a special fear of the night。 It was a primal thing。 Even now； Throne only knew how
many millions of years since mankind’s mastery of fire； it was still deeply ingrained。 The darkness
was to be feared。 Did the orks feel something similar？
Wulfe dropped down into the turret basket； reached up； and locked the hatch of his cupola。
Sitting in his command seat； battle having turned to flight； he allowed his exhaustion to finally
settle on him。 His muscles ached。 Straining against a growing stiffness； he lifted a jerrycan from a
rack on the floor and took a mouthful of lukewarm water。 Siegler and Beans were looking at him
expectantly。 Beans in particular looked keen for his sergeant to speak。
Wulfe nodded at them； but he couldn’t smile。 Colonel Vinnemann was gone。 Things already felt
different。
On the intercom； he told his crew； “Good job； you lot。”
“Thanks； sarge；” replied Beans； but Wulfe sensed he was waiting for more； which was only
natural given the fact that he had just survived his first front…line engagement。 In fact； he had
distinguished himself。 Wulfe wasn’t in the mood to give him his dues right now； though。 He felt like
he’d had the wind knocked out of him。
“Beans；” he said； “you and Siegler need to get some rest。 Metzger； I’ll cover for you as soon as
we get a chance to stop； but that might not be for a while yet。 Can you go on？”
“I’ve got a flask of caffeine that’ll see me through；” said Metzger。 “Get some rest； sarge。 Sounds
like you need it。”
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Wulfe decided he would tell them about Vinnemann later。 He would spare them the grief for
now。
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the inside wall。 The rumble of the tank rattled his
teeth together； but； after so many years of sleeping on the move； he was well used to it。 It actually
seemed to help him sleep these days。
“Wake me if something bad happens。”
Raising an eyelid； he checked to see if Siegler and Beans were following his example。 Siegler
was； but Beans was still looking at his sergeant。
“I meant what I said； Beans；” said Wulfe。 “Get some shut…eye while you can。 There’s going to
be more fighting soon。 And if you thought today was bad…”
He never finished the sentence。 A warm darkness embraced him； and thoughts of battle slipped
from his mind。 He dreamed of a blue sky and the green banks of a shimmering lake。 There were
purple mountains in the distance； each with a perfect cap of white snow； and； on one of the grassy
hills at the foot of the mountains； he saw a great structure of white marble； a shining fortress。
To Wulfe’s eyes； it seemed close； just a few hours walking distance； but； at the same time； and
with an inexplicable surety that can only exist in dreams； Wulfe knew that the fortress was much；
much further away than it looked。
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CHAPTER TWENTY…TWO
“Then where the frakking hell is it？” raged General deViers。
A blood…red dawn found the general and his beleaguered forces in a dry； rocky valley between
the foothills of the Ishawar Mountains。 It was a scene that held the eye and boggled the mind。 Here；
at long last； was the reported resting place of The Fortress of Arrogance； at least； so the Adeptus
Mechanicus had told the Munitorum。 General deViers had pinned all his hopes on it。
But there was no sign of Yarrick’s tank。 In fact there was no sign that it had ever been here at
all。
The valley was two kilometres long； curving away to the north…east where its floor gradually
rose to meet the mountain slopes。 The hills between which it nestled were of loose orange sand and
darker orange rock； but much of the land was covered by rusting metal； for it was here that a great
battle had once been fought。 Yarrick’s forces had passed through these foothills； hounded by
Ghazghkull Thraka’s