“Less talking, more firing, captain,” said Kabanov, realising how foolish it was to damn the man
for his quick thinking. If anything, the speed of Sebastev’s reflex had prevented the other officers
from seeing just how slow Kabanov had become. “You’re used to leading these men in battle, and
they are used to you. I’ll have no apologies for that. In my own way, I’m the usurper here.”
Sebastev straightened. “Never that, colonel. This company follows the White Boar.”
Kabanov grinned, and then turned and resumed firing.
Sometimes your behaviour drives me to distraction, captain, he thought, but at other times,
you’re an exemplary officer. Let’s have more of the latter.
The greenskins’ next action disgusted Kabanov, highlighting the fact that orks lacked even the
least comprehension of honour or pride. Pinned down without adequate cover, they began to haul
the carcasses of their dead into piles to be used as shields. They pulled the heavy corpses up and
over their bodies. It was something the proud Vostroyans would never have stooped to, but it was
immediately effective. The shields of dead meat soaked up lasfire and bolter fire alike, giving the
orks the protection they needed to rally.
Grenades exploded. Orks armed with cleavers and axes darted forward. More Vostroyans began
to fall from their positions in the smartly ordered lines. Kabanov could hear increased vox-traffic,
officers and sergeants calling for order and courage among the men.
“Two of the ork leaders are still standing, captain,” said Kabanov. “Where in the warp are my
snipers?”
Even as the colonel barked at Sebastev, the largest and darkest of the orks rocked on its feet, and
collapsed, its skull perforated by a masterfully placed shot.
“Trooper Sarovic reports a successful kill, sir,” said Kuritsin.
Out in the square, the monstrous form of the last ork leader crumpled soundlessly, a sniper’s
bullet cutting a neat hole in its chest, punching an exit wound in its back as large as a man’s head.
“Corporal Izgorod also reports a successful kill, sir.”
“My compliments to both men. It’s time we started pulling back. What news from our sappers?”
Lieutenant Kuritsin checked in with Sergeant Barady, but it was another member of the sapper
squad that answered in his place. Kuritsin reported to the colonel. “Squad Breshek is at the power
plant, sir. They’re engaging the orks. I have reports that Sergeant Barady has fallen, sir. As have
three others from his squad. The remaining men… what? Please confirm that.”
“What is it, Rits?” asked Captain Sebastev, moving from his position at the window to stand
before his adjutant.
“Our sappers confirm that the charges are set, sir. We’ve got twelve minutes to evacuate the
town before the power plant blows. The blast will reach our current position.”
“Then we’d best be away from here,” said Kabanov. “Lieutenant, broadcast the order. I want our
men to fall back to the transports in a well-organised relay. Pull squads Breshek and Barady out
first, and then the squads on north and south. I want the heavy bolters to cover the final retreat.”
“Understood, colonel.”
“Very good,” said Kabanov. He faced Sebastev and said, “Let’s get ourselves down to ground
level and ready to move out, captain. We want to be as far away as possible when the power plant
blows. I expect the blast will make a proper mess of things here.”
“No doubt about that, sir,” said Sebastev with a wicked grin. “The bloody orks won’t know what
hit them.”
Things immediately looked different to Sebastev from the open street. As he raced from the old
hotel’s side entrance with the colonel and the men of First Platoon, he glanced left towards the
41
market square. From behind the heaps they’d made of their dead, ork mobs raced swinging their
blades, only to be cut down before they could engage the Vostroyans at close quarters.
The Vostroyan squads had been ordered to fall back, but as they did so, they were forced to keep
the pressure on the orks by utilising a staggered retreat formation that made pulling out far slower
than Sebastev would’ve liked. Just as he was turning from the scene, ready to race west to the
transports with Kabanov and the others, the ground began to shake. Great piles of snow slid from
the rooftops around the square, and rabble began to topple from the tops of half-shattered walls.
“What the Throne is going on?” asked a wide-eyed Maro. “An earthquake?”
It was a fair guess given the amount of regular seismic activity that Danik’s World endured, but
this was no earthquake. The shuddering of the ground was different somehow. It was rhythmic and
regular, like giant footsteps.
“Get moving, now!” barked Sebastev. But the others stood transfixed as a building on the far
side of the square exploded outwards into spinning, tumbling chunks of broken masonry.
The orks turned to look, and were showered by a hail of flying fragments. Some of them were
crushed to death, rendered little more than smears on the snow by the passage of the largest
tumbling blocks. The others ignored the casualties, and began to hoot and cheer. As the great cloud
of dust and debris slowly settled in the still winter air, a monstrous silhouette appeared from within,
the massive form of an ork dreadnought.
Thick black fumes boiled up from its twin exhausts as they coughed and chugged. The sound of
its engines was a throaty, bass rumble that vibrated the plates of Sebastev’s armour.
It was absolutely huge — even taller than a sentinel and far bulkier. A moment ago, the
powerful bodies of the orks had looked formidable to Sebastev, packed with dense slabs of muscle
that could tear a man apart. Now they looked small by comparison.
As soon as the dreadnought stomped into the middle of the square, the orks swarmed around it,
seeking shelter between its gleaming piston legs. Vostroyan las-fire continued to slash across at
them from the mouths of alleys and streets, a few beams licking harmlessly across the dreadnought’s
armour.
For all its size, the killing machine looked as if it had been slapped together in the most
haphazard way. Its bucket-like torso was covered with thick plates of metal that looked as if they’d
been stripped from security doors or tank hatches, and bolted to it at all angles. Massive twin
stubbers sat fixed above its thick piston legs.
From either side, long steel arms extended outwards, covered in snaking cables and powerful
hydraulics. The bladed pincers at the end of each arm clashed together restlessly, eager to tear weak,
fleshy beings to bloody tatters.
A ragged banner of black cloth with a familiar image painted in bright yellow hung from the top
of the machine. It was the three-headed snake of the Venom-head clan.
“By the Throne,” gasped Kabanov, “we’ll need more than heavy-bolters to take that out.”
“The power plant explosion should do the job, sir,” said Sebastev, “but let’s not stick around to
find out. We’ve less than six minutes to get clear of the blast radius.”
Even as he spoke, the dreadnought turned towards the retreating Vostroyan squads on the south
side, and Sebastev’s stomach lurched. “Rits,” he shouted, “tell our lads to move it. Forget the
covering fire. Retreat at speed! That thing’s going to—”
A deafening staccato beat tore through the air. Fire licked out from the fat barrels of the
stubbers, illuminating the whole square in stark, flickering light. A blizzard of large-calibre bullets
spewed forth, stitching the front of the south-side buildings, ripping through the walls, and pounding
the thick stone construction into so much dust and stone chips. The upper floors of the ancient habs,
untouched for two thousand years, tumbled to the ground in billowing clouds of dust.
Sebastev could hear yelling over the vox. His officers were calling their men to cover. “Throne
damn it,” voxed Sebastev to them, “forget cover. I want a full-speed retreat, now! Get yourselves
out of there. Head to the transports at once. That’s an order!”
42
The order came a little too late for some. Firstborn were getting slaughtered under the
dreadnought’s devastating hail of fire. If the rest lingered even a moment longer, the orks would
take their chance to rush forward and engage them at close quarters before they could escape west.
Sebastev saw Colonel Kabanov looking at him. He realised that, for the second time today, he’d
bulldozed his superior officer, trampling on the colonel’s authority. But there wasn’t time to offer
another apology. They had to get moving. Sebastev figured he’d face the consequences later.
“Colonel,” said Sebastev, “we should run now, sir.”
“First Platoon,” said Colonel Kabanov, “get us safely to the transports, please.”
Lieutenant Tarkarov immediately ordered his men into a defensive formation around the
command staff officers. At another word, they took off down the street at speed.
As Sebastev ran, he noticed that the colonel was struggling to keep up. Kabanov was pushing
himself hard to match the speed of the others, but his age had eroded his former athleticism. Maro,
on the other hand, had mastered a kind of loping run that negated the disadvantage of his augmetic
leg.
In the square behind them, the thunder of the dreadnought’s heavy footsteps had been joined by
others. More of the ramshackle, red killing machines lumbered into view between the mined habs.
The orks roared and cheered as they raced forward in pursuit of the retreating men.
Sebastev saw that the colonel was gasping hard, but there was no time to stop. They were almost
at the western edge of the town. Then the assembled heavy transports and Chimeras came into view,
waiting patiently in a snow covered field. Their engines idled noisily. Their exhausts, like those of
the ork dreadnoughts, spouted dark fumes into the air. The men of Fifth Company who’d already
reached the site were hurriedly loading their gear onto the vehicles.
As First Platoon and the command squad emerged from the avenues of buildings, Sebastev saw
more men in red and gold running up ramps and into the bellies of the heavy transports. There
wasn’t time for any kind of accurate assessment, but at a glance it looked to Sebastev as if Fifth
Company hadn’t fared too badly.
As the command squad slowed to a trot, and then a walk, Kabanov scrambled in his pocket for a
handkerchief. He raised it to his mouth and gave a series of hacking coughs that made him hunch
over. On the colonel’s behalf, Maro faced Lieutenant Tarkarov and said, Thank you, lieutenant. You
and your men should board your transport now. Prepare to move out at once.”
Tarkarov nodded, though it was clear from his face that he was concerned, and perhaps a little
shocked, by the state of Colonel Kabanov. Throwing a quick salute, he spun and led his men away.
Maro ushered Colonel Kabanov up the ramp and into the colonel’s command Chimera. Sebastev
hesitated for a moment. He and Kuritsin looked at each other unhappily.
“It seems the colonel isn’t a well man, sir,” said Kuritsin.
“You’re not joking,” said Sebastev.
More Vostroyans raced from the edges of the town, sprinting towards the safety of the waiting
vehicles. The orks could be heard from between the buildings, their grunts and roars getting louder
as they closed.
“We need to get moving, captain.”
“There must be more to come, Rits.”
“You know there isn’t, sir. Anyone who hasn’t made it here by now isn’t coming.”
“Father Olov? The commissar?”
Kuritsin quickly voxed a call out for the priest and the commissar, and received prompt answers
from Second and Third Platoon lieutenants.
“Third Platoon reports that Father Olov is safe with them in transport three. The commissar has
apparently decided to travel with the men of Second Company. Our drivers await the colonel’s order
to move out.”
43
The first knot of ork pursuers emerged from the edge of the town, firing their pistols in
Sebastev’s general direction. Sebastev turned and marched up the ramp into the back of the
rambling Chimera, Kuritsin following a pace behind.
Inside the cramped rear compartment, Kuritsin hit the control rune to raise the ramp. Kabanov
was already strapped in, covered with a thick blanket, drinking rahzvod from a silver flask. Sebastev
had expected the man’s face to be red from his exertions, but it was ghostly white.
“May I give the order for all transports to move out, sir?” asked Kuritsin.
“Do so at once, lieutenant. Get us away from this accursed place.” The colonel’s voice was
scratchy and subdued. He lifted the flask to his lips and took a deep draught.
Kuritsin voxed the order, and the rambling of engines intensified outside. Lieutenant Maro gave
two sharp knocks on the inside of the hull and, with a jolt and a shudder, the command Chimera
accelerated away from Korris, leaving the frenzied orks and their monstrous contraptions behind.
Sebastev and Kuritsin strapped themselves into their seats, a quiet look passing between them.
No one spoke. A minute later, a flash of bright light poured through the Chimera’s firing ports,
followed by a distant boom that rocked the vehicle.
Colonel Kabanov managed a small grin, perhaps imagining the utter devastation the explosion
had wreaked on the orks. Sebastev took the colonel’s reaction as a cue. He leaned forward, stared
the old man straight in the eye, and said, “No more grox-shit, colonel. It’s high time you levelled
with me.”
44
CHAPTER FIVE
Day 686
82km West of Korris — 17:48hrs, -22°C
The setting sun painted the land in hues of reddish gold before it slid from the sky. Cold, dark
evening descended. The stars glittered overhead, a billion icy pinpricks of light, and the Danikkin
moon, Avarice, rose fat and glowing.
Over the moonlit snows, a column of rambling vehicles charged west with all available speed. It
wasn’t much, the unbroken drifts averaged over a metre deep. Fifth Company’s Chimeras were
forced to ran slow, matching the speed of the massive, Danikkin-built troop transporters that moved
up front, carving broad channels through the snow with their huge plough blades.
The local machines, called Pathcutters, had been sequestered from captured depots throughout
Vostroyan occupied territory on Danik’s World. They were ponderous compared to the smaller,
better Imperial machines, but they hadn’t been built for speed. Instead, their design stressed large
capacity and a raggedness that could handle the very worst of the Danikkin terrain. The troop
