had needed flesh clamps, but most, according to Svemir, would get by with simple stitches. Stavin
48
watched the sergeant carefully tug a long, black piece of shrapnel from a trooper’s arm. Then he
lifted a curved needle and deftly stitched the wound shut.
“This one got too close to a greenskin grenade,” said Svemir. “That’s a hard one, boy. Do you
throw it back, or do you dive for cover? Half the time, the damned things are duds anyway.”
Stavin didn’t take long to answer. “If it was just the one, sir,” he said, “I’d try for the return.”
Svemir looked up, having finished stitching. “You’re a strange one, shiny. The accent is from
Muskha, but the looks say you’re from The Magdan.”
There it was again: shiny. Stavin wondered how long they’d call him that. It didn’t bother him
all that much, but it was another barrier between him and acceptance. It was common knowledge
that new things needed breaking in before they worked properly.
Then again, he thought, I don’t really want their acceptance. I want to go home. I don’t belong
here at all.
“My mother is a Magdan, sir,” said Stavin. “My father was Muskhavi. I grew up in Hive
Tzurka.”
It was the first time he’d mentioned anything of his family since leaving Vostroya. No one had
asked, not even the commissar. But something about Sergeant Svemir made Stavin want to open up.
There was a strange comfort in the presence of a man who worked to save lives rather than take
them. Stavin realised then that he was desperate to talk to someone, though he also saw the danger
in that need.
It was dangerous because Stavin was a keeper of secrets, and his greatest secret was that he had
come to Danik’s World under false pretences. Basic training might have made him a soldier, but
he’d never be true Firstborn on account of his older brother, the brother whose name he’d taken
when he joined the Guard.
“Hive Tzurka, eh?” said Svemir, shuffling across to the side of his next patient. He waved Stavin
over beside him. “What was that like? I’m from Hive Ahropol in Sohlsvod. Never got out as far as
Muskha.” He gestured for Stavin to raise the woozy trooper’s leg so that the blood drenched
bandages could be replaced.
Stavin wasn’t sure how to answer. Words didn’t seem adequate to the task of expressing the
misery of existence in Tzurka’s slums. So he pretended he hadn’t heard the question, and tied off
another fresh bandage in silence, noting how sticky his hands had become with the drying blood of
other men.
Sergeant Svemir interpreted the young trooper’s silence for himself. “That bad, huh?” he said.
“I’d heard Hive Tzurka was rough. Trouble with anti-Imperial dissidents a while back, wasn’t there?
I heard they took over a bunch of old munitions factories. You know about that?”
Stavin nodded. His father had been a Civitas enforcer seconded to the local Arbites at the time.
He’d been killed in the fighting. It was the turning point in Stavin’s life, the dark, pivotal moment
that had thrown his family into poverty and desperation. But these were private pains. Stavin bit
back on them and said simply, “That was eleven years ago, sir. They got them all in the end.”
“Good to know,” said Svemir with a nod, “can’t have bastards like that running around on
Vostroya. Though I admit the home world’s a fading memory to me these days. You’ll get like that
before long. Fighting on so many worlds… after a while, the battles all merge together. You feel
like you’ve been fighting your whole life without a break. Makes it easier to keep going, I suppose.
The regiment becomes home.” His voice grew quieter. “Lost some good friends out here, sitting in
the snow, waiting to finish this business. I’ll be glad to get off this rock when the time comes.”
Stavin didn’t like all this talk of long years in the Guard. It made him anxious to be away, eager
to return to the mother and brother he’d had to leave behind. They’d watched helplessly as the
Techtriarchy’s much-hated conscription officers had dragged him off to their truck. It was for the
best. They would have taken his brother, the real Danil Stavin, if they’d known about the switch of
identity cards.
49
Then again, thought Stavin, maybe those officers didn’t care who they took, so long as the
numbers added up.
Iador Stavin, that was his real name, had a brother just two years older who’d been born with a
learning disability. Life in the Guard would have been brutal and short for Danil. For years, Stavin
had endured nightmares about Danil being mistreated at the hands of xenos, heretics, or even other
troopers. Neither he nor his mother could bear it. So Iador had become Danil, and Danil had become
Iador.
Now I fight the monsters from those dreams, thought Stavin. I don’t regret it, but I must find
some way home. I must get back to them, one way or another.
Sergeant Svemir had been lost in his own thoughts as he worked on. He emerged from them now
and ordered Stavin to fetch a box of ampoules from the medical case he called his narthecium. Some
of the men were coming round from the effects of their anaesthecium injections and would need to
be administered a second dose.
As he raised his injector pistol, Sergeant Svemir said, “Twenty whole years in the Guard. Time
pours through a man’s hands, by the Throne.”
Stavin must have looked horrified, because the sergeant laughed and said, “You think that’s a
long time? You think I should have left after my ten?” He shook his head. “You’re fresh, son. Your
memories of home are still sharp. Give it time. Ten years from now, when the papers come through,
you’ll tick the second box just like I did. When you’ve given such a chunk of your life to the
Emperor’s service, it doesn’t take much to sign over the rest of it. A little guilt will do it. I could
never have left knowing my brother Firstborn fought on. Retiring from the Guard is the coward’s
way out.”
Stavin’s jaw clenched.
I’ll never tick the second box, he promised himself. If that’s what the Emperor asks of me, he
can bloody rot on his Golden Throne. They can call me a coward as much as they like but, one way
or another, I’ll find my way back to Vostroya.
“My family, sir,” said Stavin. “I’ll want to return to them. When my term is up, I mean.”
Sergeant Svemir was readying to dispense another injection, but he stopped and met Stavin’s
gaze as he said, “Family is important to a good Vostroyan. It’s good that you feel this way. Think of
the honour you do your family. What Vostroyan mother could be anything but proud to have her son
serve with the finest regiment in the Imperial Guard?” He waved a hand over the wounded men that
surrounded him and said, “They all left their families behind. They all made the same sacrifice you
did. After twenty years of service, the Sixty-Eighth is my family now. It’s yours, too, though you’re
too fresh to know it yet.”
No, thought Stavin, I’m not like them. I’m no Firstborn son. My family is back in Hive Tzurka.
Footsteps rang on the metal staircase to the lower deck, and Stavin knew before he turned that
Commissar Karif was ascending. A moment later, the familiar black cap appeared, followed by the
rest of the tall, dark form as the man pulled himself up the metal railing and stepped onto the top
deck.
For a brief moment, Stavin caught a look of cold fury in the commissar’s eyes. Someone or
something on the lower deck had made him angry. But the moment Sergeant Svemir looked over at
him, the commissar masked his discontent. He threw the sergeant a half-smile and said, “I hope my
adjutant is proving his worth, sergeant.”
Svemir nodded, and then winked at Stavin. “Rest easy, commissar. The lad has been most
helpful. It’ll take more than the sight of shed blood and broken bones to shake this one up. In fact,
we’re always short of medics, perhaps with some additional training—”
“Nice try, sergeant,” replied the commissar, “but young Stavin has quite enough to do as my
adjutant.”
That’s right, thought Stavin, don’t bother asking me what I think. He talks as if I’m not even
here.
50
Stavin had thought he was getting used to the commissar’s incredible arrogance, but it still irked
him now and then. The man was mercurial, to say the least. At times, he was surprisingly friendly,
almost parental in his level of concern. At others, he was ice-cold, with an absolute disregard for the
feelings of others.
Still, Stavin supposed, there are worse things to be than a commissar’s adjutant, I’m sure. I could
be cleaning latrines somewhere.
“And what of these men?” asked Commissar Karif. He looked around at the men lying bandaged
on the floor. “How many can we count on should we find the battle at Nhalich still raging?”
Sergeant Svemir’s face darkened. “These are badly wounded men, commissar,” he said.
“Colonel Kabanov will receive my strong recommendation that none be called upon to perform in
battle. If their wounds were to re-open…”
“I see,” said the commissar. “However, sometimes even the wounded must fight. Let’s hope the
town is secure by the time we arrive.”
The transport suddenly lurched hard, almost throwing the commissar off his feet. His hand
caught the steel banister at the top of the stairs, saving him from a fall. A number of the wounded
groaned as their bedrolls shifted on the floor.
“We’ve stopped,” said Svemir. “Something must be wrong. We can’t be at Nhalich already.”
Commissar Karif raised one hand for silence and pressed the other to the vox-bead in his ear.
His eyes widened. “Stavin,” he said, “get cleaned up. “We’re returning to the colonel’s Chimera.”
Stavin nodded and rose to his feet.
“What’s going on, commissar?” asked Sergeant Svemir.
Karif was already halfway down the stairs, his boots clanging on metal, but he paused before his
head disappeared below the deck. “Contact, sergeant,” he said. “The colonel’s driver just spotted
las-fire in the woods up ahead.”
51
CHAPTER SIX
Day 686
161km West of Korris — 21:06hrs, -27°C
The moment the Chimera’s hatch crashed open, Sebastev felt the night air stabbing at his skin.
He pulled his scarf up over his nose and stepped out, his boots crunching on the snow. Lieutenant
Kuritsin followed a step behind him.
Low clouds muddied the sky, moving up from the south-east at speed, swallowing the bright
stars as they came. The landscape had turned from moonlit silver to dark, icy blue. Bitter winds
were picking up, driving north-west from the Gulf of Karsse.
All around, the air was filled with the impatient rumble of idling vehicles. The Chimeras had
moved up on Colonel Kabanov’s orders, arranging themselves in a tight wedge formation with
autocannons, multi-lasers and heavy bolters aimed out into the night, ready to protect the more
vulnerable Pathcutters.
The Pathcutters held back, arranged in a single column that extended out behind the Chimeras
like the shaft of an arrow. The Danikkin machines were light on both armour and armaments.
They’d never been intended for a frontline combat role. Maximum load capacity was their
strongpoint.
Fifth Company’s officers descended the ramps of their respective vehicles. All interior lights had
to be switched off before they opened the hatches. Nhalich wasn’t far away. It wouldn’t do to be
spotted. For that same reason, the vehicles had been pushing west all night without the benefit of
headlights. The snow was bright enough, even now, for them to see where they were going.
Sebastev watched the silhouettes of his officers as they kicked their way through the snow
towards him. Soon, he was surrounded by expectant men. In the darkness, the figure of Commissar
Karif stood out from the others, his commissarial cap distinct among the tall fur hats.
Sebastev gestured for the men to step close, and they formed a huddle with their backs to the
night air. “About three minutes ago, Sergeant Samarov reported seeing lights up ahead,” he told
them. “Possible las-fire at a distance of about three kilometres. Nhalich is about twenty kilometres
west of here. According to our maps, it should be visible from the next rise. It’s possible that
Samarov’s lights were Vostroyan, but since there’s been no further contact from Nhalich, I’m not
counting on it.”
“You expect the worst, captain?” asked Commissar Karif.
“I’d say we’ve every reason to do so, commissar. Something should have gotten through to us
by now. This lack of vox-chatter…”
The men were silent as they considered the implications.
“Regardless,” said Sebastev, “our immediate objective is to investigate the lights that were
spotted in the woods up ahead.” He turned to the First Platoon leader and said, “Lieutenant
Tarkarov, I want you to organise a reconnaissance. Draw scouts from each platoon and have them
sweep in twos. The moment they find anything, I want to know about it. The rest of you, go back to
your vehicles and prep your men for combat. We’ll know what we’re up against soon enough.
Colonel Kabanov will let us know how he wants to play it.”
“I don’t want to believe, sir,” said Lieutenant Severin of Fifth Platoon, “that our own company
might be all that remains of the Sixty-Eighth.”
52
“I don’t want to believe it, either, lieutenant,” said Sebastev, “but I won’t lie to you. We have to
consider it a possibility. The colonel always planned to pull us out of Korris. It’s why he stayed. But
I don’t think he was expecting this. We’ll proceed with all caution. Lieutenant Tarkarov, let’s get
those scouts out there. I want vox-chatter kept to a minimum. And one more thing: get your snipers
up front with your drivers. I want our best eyes searching the darkness, not sitting in the back with
the others.”
Before the men turned to disperse, Commissar Karif asked them to wait. With hands pressed to
his chest in the sign of the aquila, he said, “Emperor, grant us your blessing. Let us be the hammer
in your hand, as you are our lantern in the dark. This, we beseech thee. Ave Imperator.”
“Ave Imperator,” replied the officers. Their tone was subdued. Sebastev could tell just how
worried they were. The mood was grim as they moved off.
For a moment, he watched their shadows disappear up ramps and into hatches. Then, as he
turned to re-enter the colonel’s command Chimera, an unwelcome image came upon him: his
officers walking, not into the hatches of their vehicles, but into the hungry mouths of a dozen
