their best efforts, it was still too cold to be called comfortable.
It was in this building, in Colonel Kabanov’s spacious office, that Sabastev now stood, still
dressed in his full winter kit, facing his commanding officer.
Colonel Kabanov sat behind a broad desk carved from dark Danikkin pine. The surface of the
desk was covered with a disorderly arrangement of rolled maps and message scrolls. On either side
of him, placed close to offer maximum warmth, two thermal coils hummed softly, casting a red
tinge over the colonel’s face that made him look almost healthy.
“Three days,” grumbled the colonel. “Three days since the regiment departed, and the third day
in a row that you’ve come to me to register a formal protest.” He scowled at Sebastev. “Am I to
suffer this every day, captain? I’m not logging these protests, you know.”
33
“I’ll continue regardless, sir,” said a frowning Sebastev, “at least, until you see sense and ship
out.”
Kabanov shook his head. “By the Golden Throne, you’re stubborn, and insolent too, damn it.
That’s Dubrin’s doing. You get more like the old scoundrel every day, Throne bless him.”
“I thank the colonel for his compliment.”
“It wasn’t a compliment, blast you,” said Kabanov, but a grin twitched at his moustache
nevertheless. “Good old Alexos, eh? Arrogant, proud, cocky. Then again, one might suppose the
same is true of all Vostroyans, damn our pride. I’m a victim of it myself, I expect.”
“Am I to understand from that statement, sir,” said Sebastev stiffly, “that pride is the reason for
your insistence on staying here with us?”
Colonel Kabanov didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted a hand to stall any further questions while he
coughed wetly into a handkerchief. Then he folded it, and returned it to his pocket.
When he’d composed himself, he leaned forward on his desk, stared Sebastev in the eye and
said, “I attached myself to Fifth Company because it’s what I wanted to do, captain. I’ve never been
in the habit of explaining myself to my subordinates, and I’m not about to start now. I’m your
commanding officer, so you’ll just bloody well accept it. Now, let this be an end to it.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. When the colonel spoke again, his tone was less contentious.
“In all your time under my command, have I ever done anything to betray the faith my fighters have
placed in me? Have I ever put myself above our men? Never, not in all our time serving the
Imperium together. Stop these daily protests, captain. If a simple request is not enough, you may
take that as a direct order.”
Sebastev bowed his head, resigned.
Colonel Kabanov sat back in his chair and sighed. “I do hate clashing blades with you,
Grigorius. Are we not friends as well as comrades? Thirty years have seen us struggle through some
hard times together, after all.”
“You honour me by saying so, sir,” said Sebastev. He meant it, too.
Urgent knocking sounded on the room’s broad double doors. Colonel Kabanov sat forward
again. “Enter,” he called out.
Lieutenant Maro walked awkwardly into the room, his metallic foot clattering on the marble
floor with every other step. He was gripping a sheet of parchment in his right hand and looked
anxious.
“What’s wrong, Maro?” asked the colonel. “You look like you sat on a spinefrait.”
“A communiqué from Nhalich, sir, from Commissar-Captain Vaughn: It just came through this
minute.” Maro moved across to Kabanov’s desk and handed him the parchment. The colonel
quickly unrolled it and scanned it with his eyes.
As Sebastev and Maro waited for Colonel Kabanov to finish reading, Maro threw Sebastev a
meaningful look that told him the message wasn’t good news.
Colonel Kabanov finished reading, loosed off a few curses, rolled the parchment up, and sat
tapping the surface of his desk with his knuckles.
Sebastev’s lack of patience finally got the better of him, and he cleared his throat. Colonel
Kabanov looked over at him. “Captain,” he said, “the message states that the Danikkin
Independence Army has moved into position around Nhalich. There’s a lot more to it than that,
however. Saboteurs have attacked Vostroyan vehicles and supplies there, and the men of the 701st
seem to be suffering from some kind of illness. The commissar-captain says he has tried everything
to make contact with Twelfth Army Command. Nothing is getting through to Seddisvarr. Damned
storms again, it seems.”
“Attacked from within by civilians?” asked Sebastev.
“These people are desperate,” said Kabanov, “desperate and doomed. Assemble the men. We’re
the closest assistance on offer. Since Command HQ is still unreachable over the vox, I’ll have to
34
take the matter into my own hands. Fifth Company must ride to the aid of our regiment. I want all
our transports ready and waiting on the western edge as soon as possible. Since I’m in command,
the decision is mine to make. I’ll answer to the general later.”
It was suddenly clear to Sebastev that Kabanov had been expecting this all along, possibly even
counting on it. He’d known the chance to withdraw from Korris would come all too quickly. He’d
probably ordered Galipolov and Vaughn to request aid at the first sign of trouble.
You knew I wouldn’t pull the company out, thought Sebastev. No matter how I feel about Old
Hungry, orders are orders.
“I’ll order the transports assembled at once, colonel.”
Sebastev saluted the colonel and turned to leave, his mind fixed on the task of organising his
men. But just as he was crossing towards the door, sound poured into the room, stopping him in
mid-stride. The air filled with a terrible ululating wail. It was so penetrating that it made the thick
stone walls seem like paper. Sebastev had been dreading that sound. The timing couldn’t have been
worse.
“Raid sirens on the east towers,” he shouted over the din. “Orks, sir!”
His vox-bead burst to life with a dozen frantic voices. Reports came flooding in from his scouts.
Orks were pouring over the snow from the east. They’d already reached the abandoned trenchworks.
The scouts were heading back to the town with all the speed they could manage.
Fifth Company was in trouble.
Colonel Kabanov had established procedures for repelling enemy assaults on Korris back when the
Sixty-Eighth Infantry Regiment had first moved in to occupy the town. Of course, those plans had
been built around command of an entire regiment, so they were mostly useless now. Instead, his
strategy for holding Korris with only Fifth Company under his command relied in no small part on
the colonel’s many previous experiences with orks. In Kabanov’s opinion, the greatest advantage
one had in fighting the greenskins was that they were particularly easy to bait. That knowledge was
being put to use right now by the squads of men tasked with drawing the oncoming orks into a trap
in the market square.
Kabanov stood with Captain Sebastev and Lieutenants Maro and Kuritsin, around a table
covered with a large tattered map of the town. Kabanov didn’t intend to occupy the place for long,
but this building, the remains of a once grand, three-storey hotel overlooking the market square from
its eastern edge, was well suited to his current needs. The construction of the old hotel was solid.
Thick stone walls offered reassuring cover for the men stationed at shattered windows on each floor.
Vox traffic was still heavy. Snipers were calling in the movements of the orks. The baiting
squads were in constant contact as they drew the orks in. Enginseer Politnov and his small staff of
Mechanicus servants had assembled Fifth Company’s vehicles, a few Chimeras and heavy troop
transporters, outside the town on its western edge.
Kabanov tapped the map with a gloved finger and said, “Squads are waiting at these
intersections, ready to converge on the square once the orks are in. We’ve got heavy bolter nests set
up here, here and here to provide enfilading fire. And you’ve ordered snipers onto rooftops and
balconies at these points. Is that right, captain?”
“As ordered, sir,” said Captain Sebastev.
“Good,” said Kabanov. He traced a street to the point where it opened onto the square and said,
“When they reach this point, our men stationed around the square will have visual contact. I want
everyone to wait for my order. No firing until the orks have fully committed themselves. It’s
imperative that the orks aren’t distracted from their pursuit of Squads Kashr and Rahkman.
Absolutely nothing must draw them away from the trap.”
“Understood, sir,” said Sebastev, “but, with respect, we can’t expect to just herd them like cattle.
I think we have to accept that there will be ork elements outside of the trap that could cause us
significant problems.”
35
“That’s a given, captain. Our troopers will have to deal with stray groups of orks as they
encounter them. Deal with the unexpected as it arises, I say. Our biggest priority is establishing a
crossfire. It’s the only feasible solution we have at this point for inflicting massive casualties with
minimal losses of our own. We need to hold them just long enough for our sappers to achieve their
objective.”
From the room’s empty window frames, Kabanov heard the sounds of ork pistols and stubbers
firing into the air. Over the vox, Sergeant Kashr reported that the greenskins were shooting wildly as
they followed his squad. A moment later, Sergeant Rahkman reported the same. Both squads were
drawing the ork force closer and closer to Kabanov’s trap.
Kabanov took a glance outside. The day was still bright, and snow sparkled on the roofs of the
other buildings around the square. The orks weren’t in view yet. Everything looked peaceful, frozen
and still like a landscape painting or a high resolution pictograph. Kabanov knew this sensation
well. It was the quiet before the storm.
Lieutenant Kuritsin suddenly looked up from the map and lifted a hand to the vox-apparatus
over his right ear. He was getting a message from beyond vox-bead range. “Enginseer Politnov, sir,”
he said. “He wishes to inform us that the transports are assembled as ordered. They’re ready to
move out on your command.”
“Thank you, lieutenant,” said Kabanov. “Please ask the enginseer to keep the engines running…
and keep trying to reach Nhalich, will you? I’ll want updates on the battle as soon as they come in.”
“Aye, sir,” said Kuritsin. He relayed the message to Enginseer Politnov, and then resumed his
attempts to re-establish contact with Nhalich.
From the vox-bead in his ear, Kabanov heard breathless reports from Squads Kashr and
Rahkman. Both squads would be entering the square at any moment. The orks were close behind.
Kabanov moved into the cover of the window frame. He raised a finger to his vox-bead, keyed
the command channel, pressed the transmit stud and said, “Everyone to firing positions, now!
Squads Kashr and Rahkman will be crossing the square any second. The orks are right behind them.
All squads prepare to fire on my order.”
All five platoon leaders voxed back their affirmations.
Down in the square, on its east side, two squads of Firstborn pounded into view. Sunlight
winked at Kabanov from the troopers’ golden pauldrons as they sprinted in his direction, pumping
their arms for extra speed. Their breath billowed out behind them in clouds. Both squads merged
together, sprinting straight towards the ground level entrance of the hotel that the command staff
occupied.
Seconds later, roaring and laughing, and firing their weapons into the air, the great green horde
spilled into the square. It was impossible to guess their number: hundreds, perhaps even thousands.
They were a seething mass. The moment they reached the mid-point of the market square, Kabanov
hit his vox-bead and called out, “Open fire! All squads converge!”
Commissar Karif knew it didn’t do to underestimate man’s oldest foe. The ork race was a disease of
which the Imperium might never truly be cleansed. Munitorum propaganda underplayed the
greenskins’ strengths, leading many to underestimate them. But anyone who met the greenskins on
the battlefield quickly developed a grudging respect for this most violent and relentless of enemies.
Once orks gained a foothold on a world, it was almost impossible to shake them off without the
employment of devastating ordnance. The Twelfth Army had been tasked with purging the human
rebellion, and they were determined to fulfil their orders, but, according to Captain Sebastev, no one
had prepared the Firstborn on Danik’s World for a war against the orks. They hadn’t been detected
here until after the Twelfth Army had deployed.
Karif wasn’t prone to negativism, but it was depressing to think the Second Kholdas War was
such a desperate drain on Imperial resources that the Munitorum couldn’t ship a few more
Vostroyan regiments out to help cleanse this planet.
36
What does that say about the state of play on the Kholdas Line, Karif wondered? The cluster
must be in more danger than I’d imagined.
He stood with the men of Squad Grodolkin at an intersection just south of the market square,
awaiting the order to converge with the others and catch the orks in the colonel’s planned crossfire.
Stavin stood quietly by Karif’s side, checking his lasgun in preparation for the firefight. Sergeant
Grodolkin, a monstrously ugly man in Karif’s opinion, stepped up beside him and said, “It looks as
if the order to advance is about to come through, commissar. Kashr and Rahkman are crossing the
square. My men and I wondered if you might like to lead us into battle.”
Karif was taken aback by this. He’d expected to have to push his oration onto these men,
perhaps competing with a vox-cast from Father Olov. To be asked like this was a pleasant surprise.
Perhaps my judgement of this sergeant was a little harsh, thought Karif. He’s not even that ugly,
now that I look at him. Yes, his disfigured face is more a badge of honour.
“I accept your request, sergeant. I’d be delighted to lead you and your squad against the foe.
When the battle is won, our contribution will be regarded with great envy by all.”
Grodolkin’s eyes lit up.
“Open fire!” crackled the vox-bead in Karif’s ear. “All squads converge! This is the White Boar
commanding that you do your duty for the Emperor and for Vostroya!”
“Right, you lot.” Sergeant Grodolkin yelled, “into formation. Power packs locked and loaded.”
“Stavin,” said Karif, “stick to my left, a few metres behind me. Stay sharp and keep pace. I
