Danikkin patrol, Sebastev had rammed the cold, black blade straight up under the jaw of the nearest
rebel, punching through the roof of the man’s mouth and into his brain.
Then, with no time to yank the knife free, Sebastev had flown at the second man, grasping the
collar of his quilted Danikkin coat, hoisting the man’s body over his hip and slamming it hard to the
frozen ground. The man’s neck had twisted awkwardly as he landed. The sickening snap announced
a quick end to the fight.
Aronov had choked the third man, holding him until his brain was starved of oxygen. Sebastev
had watched the man’s eyes roll up into his head. Then, they’d hidden the bodies and dashed west to
the rendezvous at speed. Their melta-charges had ruined a great deal of rebel armour, and the
Danikkin forces on this side of the river would be in utter chaos.
Colonel Kabanov was about to descend on them, and that meant it was time for Tarkarov,
Aronov and the rest of the saboteurs to move into phase two of the operation.
“Right you lot,” said Sebastev, “you know what you’ve got to do. Get into your squads.
Lieutenant Tarkarov will take his squad and deploy at the rebels’ backs. You’ll give them a nasty
surprise while they’re engaged with our main force. Make sure our boys know exactly where you
are. Save your surprises for the Danikkin scum. I don’t want to hear the words ‘friendly fire’.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” said Tarkarov. “We’ll make sure our lads know exactly where all the help is
coming from.”
Sebastev turned to the squad he’d be leading. “While we’ve still got this mist to cover us, let’s
make the most of it. Our objective is the comms relay station south-west of the old cathedral. I want
that building, Firstborn. Possible heavy resistance there, so you need to stay on top of things.
Aronov knows the way, don’t you Aronov?”
Aronov tapped the side of his fur hat with a gloved finger.
“Good,” said Sebastev. “Let’s move out. It’s time we take our revenge for the Firstborn who
died here.”
Fires blazed in the eyes of his men when they heard those words. Sebastev turned back to
Lieutenant Tarkarov and said, “Best of luck to you, lieutenant. Don’t disappoint the White Boar.”
Tarkarov gave a sharp salute. “I’ve no intention of doing that, sir. Best of luck with the relay
station. I’ll see you when it’s over.”
“Yes, you will,” said Sebastev with conviction.
69
Tarkarov marched his men out from under the shadow of the broken bridge. Within moments,
their forms melted into the mist.
Sebastev turned and nodded to Aronov. “Lead the way, trooper.”
As his squad moved out, Sebastev heard the sounds of heavy fighting from the east. Colonel
Kabanov had engaged the enemy. The battle for Nhalich raged.
70
CHAPTER EIGHT
Day 687
Nhalich, East Bank — 07:38hrs, -26°C
Karif held on tight as Colonel Kabanov’s Chimera smashed through the rebels’ outer defences,
lurching over the rubble of shattered walls, and easily bridging old trenches that hadn’t been manned
since the Vostroyan frontline had moved east to Korris two years earlier. The colonel’s driver,
Samarov, held his speed steady so the vehicle didn’t pull away from the infantry squad it was
shielding. Each of the Chimeras was followed by a squad on foot, pounding the snow packed hard
by the broad treads of the thirty-eight tonne behemoths.
Karif peered out from a firing port in the Chimera’s rear. It was difficult to properly assess the
strength of the rebel defences in the glowing mists, but it was clear to him that the enemy hadn’t
expected any kind of assault on their east flank. Between the rebels’ over-confidence and the
weather, Fifth Company had caught the so-called Danikkin Independence Army completely off
guard.
Lethal beams of energy cut bright ribbons in the mists, and the air resounded with the staccato of
cracking las-guns and chattering bolter fire.
Damn it all to the warp, thought Karif. Now that we’ve breeched the town, I wish the mist would
lift. If I can’t see the enemy, how can I be expected to kill him?
Colonel Kabanov called out to Maro and Stavin as the Chimera shuddered and jounced. “Don’t
waste ammunition firing blind. Trace their fire back. Give them something to think about before our
infantry breaks cover.”
Sergeant Samarov shouted something from the driver’s compartment. Karif had to focus hard to
catch his words over the angry buzz of the Chimera’s multi-lasers.
“Colonel, sir,” called Samarov, “this is as far in as I can take you. There’s tank wreckage all
over the road. It looks like armour from the 701st, sir.”
“Understood sergeant,” said Kabanov. “Maro, stay on the multi-laser. Cover our men as they
move forward. Try to keep the enemy’s attention on the Chimera. The rest of you, get ready to
deploy. Lieutenant Kuritsin, inform Squad Breshek that I will be joining them. Make sure they’re
ready when I drop that ramp.”
Lieutenant Kuritsin immediately relayed the message to Squad Breshek.
Karif fastened his black fur cloak over his shoulders. Apart from his usual robes, Father Olov’s
only concession to the biting cold was a pair of brown leather gloves that he tugged over his hands.
Karif eyed him incredulously.
“Should you not don something more substantial, Father?” asked Karif.
“I’m cloaked in my faith, commissar,” rumbled the old priest. “It’s always been enough.”
“Is that so? Then perhaps the fires of your holy zeal are warming you from within.” Karif’s tone
was snide.
“Almost certainly true, commissar,” rumbled Olov. “Speaking of holy zeal, I’ll be listening
closely to your reading.”
“Then I’ll be sure to give my best.”
Lieutenant Kuritsin finished helping Colonel Kabanov ready himself to lead the men. The
colonel presented a striking image of Vostroyan military nobility. Under the white fur, Karif saw
71
shimmering golden carapace armour that was finely embossed with images of the Imperial eagle,
the winged skull of the Imperial Guard and the ancient icon of the colonel’s noble family, House
Kabanov.
On command, Stavin abandoned his position up front and moved to join his commissar in the
troop compartment.
Lieutenant Kuritsin stood admiring the colonel. “It does me good to see you like this, sir,” he
said. “The men will fight all the harder for the presence of the White Boar among them. I know
they’re looking forward to making you proud.”
Colonel Kabanov nodded once. Karif thought the man seemed a little embarrassed by the
appreciative stares of the others. This was confirmed when he faced Karif and said, “I’m not usually
prone to such ostentation, commissar. Perhaps I’m like our Captain Sebastev in that respect. But
today we visit revenge on those that murdered our kinsmen. I want our men to see me leading them
in.” His gaze moved to the others. “We are the Emperor’s hammer, gentlemen. Let us fall on these
traitors and smash them asunder. Open the hatch, if you would, commissar.”
“At once, colonel,” said Karif.
“Aye,” said Father Olov. He hefted his massive eviscerator. “Open it up and let me out. I’ve
apostates to punish.”
“For the Golden Throne,” said Karif. He slammed the heel of his hand against the hatch release
glyph. The Chimera’s rear hatch crashed heavily to the snow, and cold air rushed in. He emerged
from the Chimera behind Colonel Kabanov.
Squad Breshek snapped to attention; ten men in two ordered rows. They stood unflinching as
enemy lasbolts slashed through the mist around them. When Colonel Kabanov stepped forward,
Sergeant Breshek and his men saluted as one. Then Breshek marched forward and presented
himself. “Squad Breshek awaits your orders, colonel,” he said.
“Thank you, sergeant,” replied Kabanov.
Sergeant Breshek moved to stand by the colonel’s side.
“We will press forward through the enemy positions,” said Colonel Kabanov, addressing the
squad, “eliminating opposition as we go, moving with all available speed to Reivemot Square. We
will secure key structures at that location. I’ll update your orders once we have the square.”
“For the Emperor and Vostroya,” shouted Sergeant Breshek.
“For the Emperor and Vostroya,” shouted his squad.
Colonel Kabanov turned to Breshek and added, “By the Emperor’s grace, sergeant, some of our
brother Firstborn may yet live. Given past experience with DIA forces, I realise the likelihood is
slim, but still… If there are Firstborn prisoners here, we must liberate them. I want the town taken
with all available speed. No quarter is to be given to the Danikkin traitors. Is that understood?”
“No mercy, sir,” said Breshek. “My fighters are with you all the way.”
“I know they are, sergeant,” said Colonel Kabanov. “Now let’s form up and move out.”
Sebastev ducked back behind the hab wall as another torrent of stubber shells tore into the
stonework, chewing the edge to pieces only inches from his face. “Son of a grox,” he growled as he
was showered in flakes of stone. “Keep to cover all of you.”
His squad had reached the relay station just minutes earlier, surprising and easily overcoming
the patrolling rebel guards they’d encountered in the streets nearby. But Sebastev’s objective of
gaining control of the station was a very different matter. Two good men were already down, killed
while dashing to forward cover. They’d been chewed up by the heavy stubbers that poked from dark
apertures about fifteen metres up each face of the building. With the chill mist still hampering
visibility somewhat, it seemed the rebel gunners were targeting his men by thermal signature. They
fired with deadly accuracy. The bodies of troopers Ravsky and Ilyanev attested to that. They lay in
72
the middle of the street, leaking steam into the air from each of the fist-sized exit wounds in their
backs.
Wait till I get my hands on the bastards inside, cursed Sebastev.
“Any ideas, sir?” asked Aronov behind him.
Sebastev’s men were looking at him expectantly. They didn’t like hanging back. Two of their
number had gone down right in front of them and, just like Sebastev, they wanted to punish those
responsible.
“The defenders will have called someone in to flank us,” said Sebastev. “We’ve got to move
fast. If we can get inside and interfere with the rebel comms, our main assault force can really start
to carve them up. “We just need a way past those damned heavy stubbers.”
Sebastev risked another glance out from his position. He could clearly see the main entrance to
the relay station through the thinning mist. It was about fifty metres away. He squinted up at the
muzzles of the west-facing stubbers. There were two of them. From his position, Sebastev judged
that the guns’ vertical firing arcs were limited by the stone sills beneath them. It looked as if the
guns wouldn’t be able to fire on targets any less that fifteen or twenty metres from the base of the
wall.
Suddenly, the guns spat again, stitching the wall that shielded him with bullets. He whipped his
head back into cover. “Warp damn and blast them!”
“They can’t take all of us out, sir,” said a blue-eyed trooper crouching behind Sebastev. It was
Vamkin. He’d been a Ministorum choirboy before his entry into the Firstborn. It was hard to picture
it now; his face was a mess of scar tissue and grafted skin, hardly the image of purity and perfection
the cathedrals liked to present. But the young man’s eyes were still clear and bright. “I mean, if we
all ran together, sir,” continued Vamkin, “I think most of us would make it to the door.”
Acceptable losses again, thought Sebastev with a scowl. Do I have a choice?
Others voiced their agreement with Vamkin’s suggestion. Aronov was among them. “I counted
five streets that open onto this side of the building,” he said. “I think if we all rush forward from
different corners at the same time, we’ll at least buy ourselves a better chance, sir. As you said, sir,
time is against us.”
“It sounds like—”
Sebastev was interrupted by the sound of doors being kicked open, followed by orders being
shouted in a thick Danikkin accent.
He carefully peeked out from cover.
A rebel squad had spilled from the main entrance. They were taking up positions around the
building. As always, the heavily accented Gothic was difficult to comprehend, but there was
something else too. The rebel sergeant sounded worried. Could it be that he’s heard his forces are
falling in the face of the colonel’s assault, hoped Sebastev?
“He’s unsure of himself,” he told Aronov.
“Sir?” asked the scout.
Sebastev faced him. “That rebel bastard, the sergeant, he’s nervous. I can hear it. They weren’t
expecting anyone to get this far into the town. Warp damn them, they actually thought they’d
secured the whole region. I’ve just heard him tell his men to stay calm, that the heavy stubbers will
protect them. It sounds like we’re facing civilian militia, not former PDF. What do you think,
Aronov? Willing to gamble on it?”
“Well, sir,” said Aronov, “if there’s a case of rahzvod in it, you can count me in. But I’d give
you much better odds if we didn’t have to face both the stubbers and the guards. We’ll suffer if we
try to charge straight towards both.”
Sebastev nodded his agreement, thought about it for a second, and said, “We could send two
troopers around to feint an attack from the east. I don’t think it will be hard to draw the rebels away
from the entrance if they think they’re needed on the building’s east side. That would just leave the
73
stubbers. Once we’re under their vertical firing arcs, we can take care of the militia-men as they
come back around the sides of the building.”
“It sounds like a plan, sir,” replied Aronov.
Sebastev’s eyes lingered over the bodies of Ravsky and Ilyanev for a moment. Each man lay in a
pool of dark blood frozen mirror-smooth. The steam from their wounds had stopped. The bodies
were quickly freezing solid. He knew he’d lose more before the relay station was firmly back in
Vostroyan hands.
“Ulyan!” said Sebastev. “Gorgolev! Get your backsides up here.”
Two troopers shuffled forward, eager not to step out too far from the safety of the wall. Ulyan
was the older of the two. He was grey-eyed, slim, and a damned good shot with a lasgun. Gorgolev,
on the other hand was brown-eyed, broad-faced and mean: a trouble maker. That made him a good
choice for what Sebastev had in mind.
“Get yourselves into cover on the other side of the target. Use the back alleys to get there. Don’t
