found himself confronted by defeatism at every turn： his every waking moment spent in the
company of dozens of mewling incompetents； all of them with their pleas of extenuation and tales of
woe。
The Adeptus Mechanicus complained about not having enough workers or raw materials for the
manufactoriums。 The Medical Corps complained of not having enough surgeons or medicines for
the apothecariums。 The militia authorities he had placed in command of the civilian infrastructure
complained of not having the resources to provide enough food or clean water for the city’s
population。 Worst of all； his own generals complained of not having enough men； or arms； or
artillery support； or any other damned thing。 Complaint； after complaint； after damn complaint。 All
the while； the Grand Marshal knew all these complaints for what they truly were。 Excuses。 It was
hardly any wonder that sometimes he felt such outrage he was tempted to pick out one of his
generals at random and put a lasblast through his head just as an example to the others。
A lasblast； he thought； hand straying unconsciously to the finely filigreed surface of the
ceremonial laspistol at his side。 Right here and now。 That really would put the fear of the Emperor
into them！
“Fifteen； the loss of 38；964 working man…hours through reason of power shortages in Sectors 1…
42 through 1…47。” the magos droned relentlessly on； his mechadendrites still attending to the
machines of his body as though with a life of their own。 “Sixteen； the loss of a manufactorium to
explosion in Sector 1…26； said explosion believed to have been caused by a malfunction in an
incorrectly fitted power conduit。 Seventeen…”
And on and on and on。 Seeking relief from the depressing tedium of the Magos’ report； hearing
the sound of a door opening behind him the Grand Marshal turned his head enough to the side to
watch from the corner of his eye as one of Vlin’s aides stepped into the briefing room from the
anteroom outside。 Holding a data…slate the aide advanced to the table to hand it to Colonel Vlin；
before saluting and smartly turning on his heel to march away。 Pressing the display stud to bring up
the report stored on the data…slate； Vlin studied it for a full minute。 Then； his face visibly growing
pale； he raised his eyes to look uneasily toward the Grand Marshal。
“What is it； Vlin？” Kerchan asked as； from further down the table； the magos’ briefing continued
inexorably。
“I have just received the latest estimates from the Office of Strategic Analysis； your excellency；”
Vlin said； a wavering tone of uncertainty in his voice。 “But there must be some mistake—”
“Let me see it；” the Grand Marshal said； holding his hand out for Vlin to give him the data…slate。
For a moment； as though unsure whether he should surrender it； Vlin hesitated。 Then； the habits
of obedience engrained by fifteen years in the Grand Marshal’s service proving too strong to resist；
he reluctantly complied。 Curious as to what could have so unnerved his adjutant； Kerchan took the
data…slate and skimmed through the report to see for himself。 At first glance it seemed no more than
Vlin had said： another dry analysis of facts and figures from the number crunchers in the OSA。 At
least until the Grand Marshal happened to look at the report’s conclusions。
“Damnation！” he roared。
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Incensed； before he even knew what he was doing the Grand Marshal had thrown the data…slate
away in a rage； flinging it across the room to smash against the wall in a crash of breaking plexiglass
as its display screen shattered。 Stunned by his outburst； mouths gaping open in idiot expressions of
surprise； the men around the table sat frozen in shock。 Even Magos Garan was not immune； his
mechadendrites becoming suddenly motionless； he paused in his report and stood gazing at Kerchan
as though unsure how best to react。 All of them silently staring at the Grand Marshal with wary
expressions whose combined meanings were almost palpably clear。
They think I have turned into a madman； Kerchan thought； the storm of his anger having
subsided immediately he had vented his rage against the helpless data…slate。 The old man is losing it。
That is what they are all telling themselves。
“Leave me；” he said quietly； his face a mask； his mind feeling suddenly tired and no longer
willing to see the looks in their eyes。 “Leave me；” he directed。 “All of you。 Get out of here now。”
Cowed； heads bent so as not to meet his gaze； the members of the General Staff stood； bowed at
him； and filed from the room in uneasy silence。 All except Vlin。 Treading cautiously over to the
fallen data…slate while the others went to the door； the adjutant picked it up and made to take it with
him。
“Leave it； Vlin；” the Grand Marshal said。 “Put it on the table； and then get out with the rest of
them。”
Soon； he was alone。 The mammoth expanse of the briefing room seemed desolate and empty
about him now it was deserted； Grand Marshal Kerchan began to wonder if he perhaps should have
held himself better in check。 Generals were by their nature inveterate gossips。 Within the hour news
of his outburst would be known throughout General Headquarters； by tomorrow it would likely be
known across the city。 In these trying times even a Grand Marshal must be careful。 Whatever the
rules and regulations of the Imperial Guard might say to the contrary； as the commanding officer of
a besieged city his position was precarious。 Idle gossip about the data…slate incident could easily
lead to discussions about the state of his mental health； discussions that in turn might undermine his
authority； creating fertile soil in which the twin ugly flowers of dissent and mutiny could grow。 He
was not afraid。 Experience had taught him there was always one sure way for a Grand Marshal to
maintain order。
It is time for another purge； he thought。 Tonight； I will tell Vlin to contact the Commissariat and
have them send over a list of anyone above the rank of major they suspect of disloyalty。 A few show
trials and shootings should nip any problems in the bud in that regard。 And while we’re at it； I will
tell Vlin to add Dushan to the list。 Yes； another purge。 That is exactly what is needing here。
Calm and satisfied now； he turned his attention back to the object that had originally provoked
his displeasure。 Lifting the data…slate from its position on the table where Vlin had left it； the Grand
Marshal looked again at the words and graphs of the report still visible on the shattered surface of its
display screen。 The findings of the report were bleak。 Based on current estimates of ork birth…rates
and the rate of attrition of men and materiel inside the city； it concluded Broucheroc could only
survive another six months at most。
Six months； the Grand Marshal thought grimly。 I shall have to remember to tell Vlin to add the
name of whatever traitor compiled this report to the list as well。 Imagine claiming this city has only
six months left to live； when any fool knows the siege is on the verge of crumbling and victory is
within our grasp。
Mentally making another note to himself to have the report suppressed； Kerchan tossed the dataslate
away and sat in silence for several minutes。 Feeling weighed down by the heavy burden of
responsibility on his shoulders； his brooding mood of earlier returned。 I am assailed on all sides by
troubles； he thought。 Bad enough after a long and glorious career for a man to find himself shunted
to a sideshow war on a planet of no importance。 Worse； to then he condemned to a long siege with
no prospect of relief from other sources。 But it does not matter。 The genius that won me my battles
in the past has not deserted me。 I am still a great leader； and my plan is sound。 Soon； I will break
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this siege and reclaim this planet for the Emperor。 And； when I do； the fools among the Lord
Generals Militant responsible for sidelining me to this awful place will find themselves embarrassed
to see me celebrated and revered for all my victories。 I am the Grand Marshal Tirnas Kerchan。 I am
still in control of my own destiny。 I will win this war。 And； soon enough； I will be able to add the
name “Hero of Broucheroc” to all my different titles。 I will not allow matters here to go any other
way。
Then； noticing a single page sitting alone among the flotsam spread of maps and documents
lying across the table； the Grand Marshal saw something there that excited his interest。 It was the
latest edition of The Veritas； the city’s twice…daily newsletter and； as so often in the past when he
felt weighed down by all his troubles； the Grand Marshal turned to the newsletter in the hope of
comfort。
Orks Defeated in Sector 1…13； the headline read。 Jumael 14th Victorious！
Yes； he thought； reading the story written below it。 It doesn’t matter what the others say； here is
the proof that I was right all along。 The proof of impending victory and the proof my battle plans
are sound。 We are winning victories。 We are defeating the orks。 We are winning this war。
It says so right here in the news。
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CHAPTER ELEVEN
17：54 Central Broucheroc Time
Boy and the Taking of Broucheroc’s Children — Trench Repairs Parts 1； 2 & 3 — Questions as to
the Whys and Wherefores of Survival — A Reappraisal of the Tale of his Fathers
His name was Boy。 Granted； his Ma had given him another name but she had been dead for more
than three something years now and he had been so young he could no longer remember what it was
she had called him。 Instead； he had taken the name the auxies used for him when they tried to catch
him to take him to the machine…men and their big making…places。 “Come here； boy；” they would
say。 “We don’t want to hurt you； boy；” their voices breathless from running； their stupid faces red
and panting； trying to chase him as he danced away from them across the rubble。 Some of them； the
clever ones he guessed； would even try to trick him。 “We have food； boy；” they’d say。 “Come down
here and we will share some with you。” But they could never fool him。 He was Boy； and he lived
wild and swift and free in the ruins of this city。 Try as they might； the auxies and the machine…men
would never get him。
Now； the cloak he had made from rat skins and scavenged sacking…cloth wrapped tight about
him to keep out the cold； Boy crouched hidden in a hollow in the rubble waiting to see if one of the
children of Cap’n Rat would take his bait。 The pickings had been good this week； with Cap’n Rat
sending at least one of his children along each day for Boy to kill and eat。 In return Boy had done
right by the Cap’n just liked he’d promised him： forsaking all other gods and praying to Cap’n Rat
over each of his kills。 As far as agreements went Boy reckoned it had been a pretty good one。 Only
problem was； despite the fact he had been waiting in the same place for hours now； so far today the
Cap’n didn’t seem in any great hurry to live up to his end of the bargain。
Then； at last； Boy saw signs of progress。 Tempted from his burrow by the promise of easy
pickings； a rat emerged from a nearby hole in the rubble and moved quickly across the rocks
towards the bait。 Until； coming to the small piece of greasy flesh Boy had set out as a lure；