“He’s fading,” said Sergeant Svemir. “You’ll need to be fast, captain.”
“Not yet, son,” said Sebastev. “Soon, but not yet.”
Bekov tried to smile through the pain. “I’m trying, sir,” he said, “but I reckon I can hear the
Emperor’s angels singing.”
“The White Boar,” said Sebastev, “he needs to know about Nhalich. How many are there?
What’s the condition of the bridge?”
“It’s gone. We tried to pull back across the bridge when the west bank fell to the enemy, but
they came up from the south-east too.” He coughed again, blood bubbling on his lips. “They caught
us right on the bridge. Ordered us to surrender. Old Tsurkov wasn’t having it. Galipolov, neither.
Not to bloody rebels, sir. So the enemy shelled the bridge.”
If Sebastev had thought things could hardly get worse, that nugget of information proved him
wrong. The bridge was gone, and with it, the company’s most direct route back to Vostroyan
territory.
“A handful of us—” Bekov’s words were broken off as he began choking on his own blood. It
ran freely from his mouth, soaking into his moustache. He gripped Sebastev’s arm tight.
Bekov kept fighting to speak through the blood, and finally managed a few words, spoken more
to himself than to those around him. “The Pit-Dog,” he gurgled. “Imagine that.” Then his lungs
rattled and his chest sank for a final time.
The silence of the woods roared in Sebastev’s ears. Gently, he pried the trooper’s hand from his
arm, and rose to his feet. “Thank you for your efforts, sergeant,” he said to Svemir. “Let’s get a
flamer out here to cremate the body, and make sure you bring his tags and lasgun back to the
transports with you. I’ll want to apply for a posthumous commendation on his behalf when we get
back to Seddisvarr.”
Svemir bowed his head and replied, “I’ll take care of it, captain.”
“Good. Gentlemen.” Sebastev walked past Kuritsin and Tarkarov, heading back to the waiting
vehicles. His lieutenants turned to follow him.
So it’s true, thought Sebastev. Fifth Company may very well be all that remains of the Sixty-
Eighth. What a burden to bear! We must survive at all costs. By abandoning us at Korris, Old
Hungry unwittingly spared us to resurrect the regiment. Thank the Throne Colonel Kabanov stayed
with us.
With their long strides, Kuritsin and Tarkarov caught up to Sebastev easily. As the three men
stepped from the forest, back out onto the open snow, Sebastev looked up at a night sky thick with
storm clouds. They stretched from horizon to horizon. The day was still some hours off, but it would
bring the snows with it when it came.
57
“I’ll never understand why you don’t just embrace it,” said Kuritsin, and Sebastev knew
immediately what his old friend was talking about.
“It is an insult,” he snapped. “It was created to be such, and so it remains.”
“You’re wrong. That snotty officer from the Thirty-Third may have intended it to be such, but
our men use it as a term of great respect. It’s a strong name, and it suits you. What does it matter
who coined it? I’ve used it on occasion myself. Would I do so if I thought it was an insult to you?”
Sebastev didn’t answer.
“Names have power,” continued Kuritsin. “The White Boar revels in his. The men rally to it.
Will you not let them rally to yours, also?”
Sebastev was occupied with far greater and darker matters. He didn’t have time for this. “Let
them continue to rally behind the White Boar, damn it,” he growled. “That has always been good
enough for me.”
He put an extra burst of speed into his step.
This time, Kuritsin and Tarkarov let him pull ahead.
In a mood like this, the Pit-Dog was best left alone.
Colonel Kabanov didn’t try to soften the blow. There was little point, the truth was the truth.
Nhalich was in the hands of the Danikkin Independence Army. The 701st and the Sixty-Eighth, with
the exception of this very company, were all but wiped out. The bridge over the Solenne lay as
rubble beneath its deep, black waters.
To make matters worse, thought Colonel Kabanov as he looked at the anxious faces of his
assembled officers, there’s all this talk of rebel jamming abilities. We should have suspected it from
the start. There’s no doubt the Adeptus Mechanicus spoke the truth when they told us the
atmosphere would interfere with our comms, but we should never have assumed all our problems
stemmed from a single source.
Danik’s World had never been known for technological developments. Up until the dawning of
the deep winter, it had been a rather average world, civilised and fairly self-sufficient, but with little
to distinguish it from a million other worlds in the Imperium. Then the eruptions on the southern
continent had changed everything, plummeting the world into two thousand years of ice and snow.
The people that had survived fled to the warmth of the hive-cities, hoping their descendants, at least,
would one day be able to return to the land.
How would these people come by jamming technology? Some officers had commented on the
possibility of outside support for the rebels. Trade with pirates and arms smugglers was typical of all
rebel worlds. The idea that they might even be colluding with xenos sickened Kabanov, but couldn’t
be ruled out. Without proof, however, all of these things remained mere speculation.
In any case, thought Kabanov, such things are for others to attend. We’ve got enough trouble up
ahead. Right now, these men need briefing.
Since this briefing required all officers, commissioned or otherwise, to attend, Kabanov had
been forced to hold it in the belly of a Pathcutter transport. The men on the upper deck were being
treated by a Second Company medic and couldn’t be moved, but that was fine. The injured men had
as much stake in the coming events as everyone else.
Let them listen if they wish, he thought.
Kabanov turned to Captain Sebastev, sitting on his right, and said, “About the trooper in the
forest, captain, were the rites observed?”
Sebastev nodded. “They were, sir. Father Olov has formally commended the man’s spirit to the
Emperor.”
“Very good, captain,” said Kabanov. “We must focus our attention on the fate of the living.
There’s a time to honour our fallen, but it’s at the conclusive end of a crisis, not in the middle of it.”
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Kabanov saw Captain Sebastev sit up a little straighter. “It is as you say, sir,” he answered. But
there was something in the man’s eyes that Kabanov hadn’t expected: anger. It wasn’t anger against
the enemy, but at Kabanov himself. Had Sebastev misinterpreted his colonel’s words?
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been honest with him, thought Kabanov. He didn’t take it as well as I’d
expected. I may be dying slowly, but I was sure he’d guessed as much for himself. It seems I was
wrong. And this anger… Perhaps he blames me for the pressure he feels, knowing that the future of
the regiment will soon pass into his hands. What a time to receive that responsibility! While I’ve
still got some fight left in me, I’ll do what I can to see this company through. But Sebastev, you’ll
have to face up to the truth soon.
Kabanov glanced at his adjutant and said, “If you would, please, Maro.”
Maro called the men to order.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” Kabanov said when they had quieted. “I want to start by making sure
we’re all on the same page. A young soldier from Eighth Company was found mortally wounded in
the woods. Before he passed away, he was able to inform Captain Sebastev of the situation we face
up ahead. I’m afraid his message was dire indeed. I can say with grim certainty that Fifth Company
faces its greatest test yet. This company is all that remains of our proud regiment.”
Some among the officers shook their heads in denial, unwilling to believe that their fellows in
the other companies were gone.
Twelfth Army Command had underestimated the Danikkin Independence Army, and the rebels
were punishing them for it, but Vlastan’s tactical council needn’t shoulder all that blame themselves.
Lord Marshal Harazahn and Sector Command were as guilty as anyone else. Proper reconnaissance
could have made all the difference. If they’d only known that the orks were here.
The rebel leader, Vanandrasse, had played things surprisingly well for an ex-PDF upstart. He’d
ordered his men to back away from the Vostroyans, fostering a belief among the Imperial forces that
the orks represented a far greater threat. Then the rebels had watched and waited, and marshalled
their strength. Their strike had been well planned, well executed, and superbly timed. Kabanov
could admit that much.
“Nhalich is in enemy hands,” he continued, “that much is certain. The hows and whys remain
somewhat unclear. Trooper Bekov reported poisonings, sabotage of Imperial vehicles, and the
advance of rebel armour columns on both sides of the Solenne, not just on the west. That means the
second column slipped up behind us as we occupied Korris. Regardless of communication
difficulties, our preoccupation with the orks is unforgivable. It has cost us dearly, and I intend for us
to make amends during the coming day.”
The officers were silent, knowing better than to interrupt Kabanov, but perhaps also unsure of
what to say given the enormous gravity of their situation. Kabanov let the silence hold for a
moment. His throat hurt and he indicated to Maro that he required water. Maro handed him a
canteen from which Kabanov gulped down a few mouthfuls. The cold liquid soothed his throat.
Commissar Karif, who was standing against the back wall, uncrossed his arms and raised a
black-gloved hand.
“Yes, commissar?” said Kabanov. “You wish to ask something?”
Karif touched a finger to the brim of his cap by way of apology for his interruption, and said,
“From the sound of it, colonel, you’re committed to entering Nhalich, despite the fact that we almost
certainly face an overwhelming force.”
“I dislike the word ‘overwhelming’, commissar,” said Kabanov. He scanned the faces of his men
as he spoke. “We have little idea of the true size of the force entrenched in the town, save that it was
large enough to overcome our kinsmen. A straight fight would have seen different results, I’m sure.
From the words of the trooper we found in the woods, it’s clear the rebels employed every bit of
shameless trickery at their disposal. They fought without honour or pride. That will come back to
haunt them, I assure you. As far as actual numbers are concerned… yes, we can expect heavy
resistance, but the enemy on the west bank no longer concerns us. When they shelled our forces on
59
the bridge, they cut themselves off from this side of the river. That was a big mistake. Whatever
strength they have on the far bank will be staying on the far bank. We face only those units
entrenched on this side. That evens things out a little, I’d say.”
Though not by much, he thought to himself.
“It’s also a certainty that our brother Firstborn from the Sixty-Eighth and the 701st inflicted
some damage on the invading force before they succumbed. We can be sure they took some of the
bastards with them. We ride to deal with the rest. Fifth Company will have vengeance. Are you with
me?”
They responded in the affirmative, strong but still unsure. It wasn’t enough for Kabanov. The
fires in their bellies had to be stoked. It was time to make them remember just who led them. He still
held Maro’s canteen. Lifting it high into the air, he hurled it at the metal floor of the transport and
shouted, “I said are you with me, warp damn it?”
The sudden motion caused pain to flare under his ribs, and his ears filled with the sound of his
pounding heart, but he couldn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he glared at each of them with all the
intensity he could muster.
Every man in the back of that Pathcutter sat up straight under the burning stare of the White
Boar. “Yes, sir!” they shouted back at him.
Kabanov turned to Sebastev and said, “I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with Fifth Company
today, captain, but it’d better get sorted out fast. I’m the White Boar, by Terra, and my Firstborn are
supposed to be the toughest damned killing machines in the Imperial Guard. This company will live
up to its reputation. The Emperor demands it!” He turned from Sebastev, to face the rest of the
assembly. “If we die, we die in the Emperor’s name. This company will not go down without a
fight. Every man left in my regiment will do his duty. Is that understood?”
The voices were much louder this time, and filled with the kind of fire that Kabanov had needed
from them. “Yes, sir!”
As the men answered, Kabanov fought to hold back a fit of coughing. His lungs felt as if they
were full of pine needles. He suddenly wished he hadn’t thrown Maro’s water on the floor. There
was another flask, one containing rahzvod, in the adjutant’s pocket, but it wasn’t strong alcohol that
his body needed, it was rest.
When he’d overcome the need to cough, he addressed them again. “That’s better,” he said.
“Every day you’ve spent serving in the Guard, all of it, comes down to what you do now. The
regiment mustn’t end with us. We have to smash our enemies, live through this and rebuild. It won’t
be easy. With the bridge gone, we may be stuck out here, cut off completely from our own lines.
The Solenne is too fast and too rough to be forded by Chimeras. The orks will be assaulting Grazzen
in the north, in which case both of that city’s bridges will have been destroyed, too. The ports to the
far south are located in the rebel heartland, so a sea crossing is out. For now, at least, it looks like
we’re stuck on this side of the line, no matter what we do.
“I believe the biggest difference we can make is right here at Nhalich. I want the relay station
and, if it exists, I want the Danikkin jamming device. If we can capture it, we can counter it.” He
looked over at Enginseer Politnov, sitting at the back of the transport beside Commissar Karif and
Father Olov. “Is that not so, enginseer?”
Politnov lifted his head, hooded as always, and said, “Obtain the device and the Machine-God
will reveal its secrets to us. We need only observe the proper rituals.”
Kabanov nodded. “I have absolute faith in that, and I don’t need to tell you the difference we
could make to this campaign by restoring full communications to the Twelfth Army. What a worthy
task! If the damned thing is in Nhalich, Fifth Company are going to go in there and get it for me,
