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foothills north…east should take us within a few days’ travel of Balkar。 Sooner or later; if Operation
Thunderstorm is still rolling; the rest of Exolon will deploy near there。 The Fortress of Arrogance
was lost in the north…east Hadar region。 So yes; sir。 I’d say that’s about the best plan we’ve got。”
“Knew you’d see it my way;” said Stromm。 “Let’s talk about numbers。 What exactly are you
fielding?”
“Nine tanks; all Leman Russ variants; all crewed; plus four Heracles halftracks and eight trucks。
Five of those are packed with ammunition and supplies。 Most of our personnel are crammed into the
halftracks。”
“How many personnel?” asked Stromm。
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“One hundred and twenty…nine; sir。 Forty of those are tank crew。 The rest are reserve crews and
battlefield support。 Half a dozen are wounded men; two of which are critical。”
Stromm turned to Kassel and said; “There go our worries about transportation then; Hans。”
Kassel nodded。
“Sir?” said van Droi。
Stromm sat forward and lifted one of the glasses from the top of the crate in front of him。 “We
have a few Chimeras; mostly machines from the Kasrkin Armoured Fist squads; and a couple of
halftracks and trucks。 Seventy per cent of our vehicles were wrecked in the crash。” Stromm looked
down at the water in his glass。 “It was one of the factors in my decision to stay put; that and our
wounded。”
“Even if we had the transports;” said Kassel; “it’s not much good moving our people out of here
if we don’t have enough trucks to carry the supplies we’re going to need。”
“My support crews are pretty talented; colonel;” said van Droi。 “The vehicles you say are
wrecked; are they still in the drop…ship?”
Stromm grinned。 “Think your men can fix some of them up; van Droi?”
“Not like the cogboys could; sir; but I’d say it’s worth a try; wouldn’t you?”
“Get them on it right away; then。 Kassel; make sure they get everything they need。”
“Of course; sir。”
Stromm stood and walked to the entrance of the tent。 “We’ve got lots to do; gentlemen。 Let’s be
about it。”
Having been dismissed; van Droi and Kassel followed the colonel out into the open air。 Van
Droi judged that there were just a few hours of daylight left。 His crews would have to work under
lamps。 It would be a long night for them; but there would be time enough for rest once they were
under way again。
“If you’ll follow me; lieutenant;” said Kassel; “I’ll show you what there is to work with。”
“Lead the way;” said van Droi; and together; he and Kassel moved off; walking around to the far
side of the crashed ship to enter via the massive rent in its main hold。
With the two lieutenants gone; an exhausted Stromm let his facade slip; just for a moment。 His
shoulders sagged and he blew out a deep; exhausted breath。 His arm still hurt like hell despite
injections of anaesthesium。 Sure that no one else was within earshot; he took a tiny; handcrafted
icon of the Emperor from a side pocket in his fatigues; raised it level with his face and said; “Light
of all Mankind; there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you。 You know that。 So do you think you might
get off your bloody Throne and help us out a bit?”
After checking Last Rites II for outer damage — her headlamps had been shot to pieces; some of her
vision blocks needed replacing; and the turret’s left…side external stowage boxes were riddled with
bullet holes; but these things were easily fixed — Wulfe found himself with a little well…earned
downtime。 The support squads would take care of maintenance duties。 Lieutenant van Droi had
ordered the tank crews to rest and recover; knowing they would be crashing hard after the fight。
Coming down off so much adrenaline was enough to knock some guys out; but Wulfe didn’t feel
ready to try for sleep yet。 His throat was still itching; though whether it was because of his scar or
because of the damned dust; he couldn’t be sure。 Sipping a little water — a little being all he could
afford himself — seemed to help。 He pulled a rebreather mask over his mouth and nose and went for
a walk。 If it was the dust that was bothering him; the mask would stop it getting worse。
Masked or not; his stroll was far from pleasant。 The desert sands were cratered; fire…blackened;
and absolutely littered with bodies。 At least all the bodies were those of the foe。 Colonel Stromm’s
men had finished removing their fallen brothers from the field of battle。 Wulfe was glad of that as he
weaved between piles of alien cadavers。 Many of the bodies wore thick plates of black armour; iron
pitted with rust and scored by las…fire。 Between the plates; Wulfe saw gaping wounds caked with
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blood…soaked sand。 He was doubly glad of his rebreather now。 The stench would have been
unbearable without the mask’s powerful filter。
Last Rites II had slain many of the beasts; surely over a hundred; though she wouldn’t be
wearing any new kill…markings for it。 To an armoured company; infantry kills counted for little in
terms of prestige; even in such numbers。 Armour kills were what mattered; the challenge of machine
against machine; crew against crew。 Such were the fights a tank commander lived for。 Until Last
Rites II bested another tank in combat; she had proved nothing to Wulfe; nothing at all。
Wulfe’s crew had a different outlook。 After the battle; they had been quick to show their
gratitude to her; offering sanctioned prayers to the machine…spirit housed in her metal body。
Through the vision blocks; they had seen the Frontline Crusader brew up。 They had seen Siemens’
body roasting in the red fire。 Why was it always the most horrific images that remained so clear in
one’s mind? Wulfe wondered。 Why could he never remember a pretty girl’s smile or a glorious
sunset in the same kind of vivid detail?
The Frontline Crusader had stalled and it was all down to the damned dust。 In the days the
Gunheads had spent crossing the desert; eleven of their machines — five of the tanks; four of the
halftracks; and two of the rugged Thirty…Sixers — had suffered the same kind of sudden cutouts:
dust on the contacts; dust clogging the fuel lines。 Clean the dust out and you were fine; good to go。 It
just took a little work; a few minutes’ attention。 Siemens and his crew had been dead men from the
moment it happened。 They never stood a chance。
It could have happened to any of them。 Last Rites II could have stalled just as easily。 He knew
that。 It was a cruel thing that had happened to Siemens; but Wulfe couldn’t deny a guilty relief。 His
crew was alive。 He was alive。
His footsteps took him towards the wreckage of Frontline Crusader; and he stopped just a few
metres from her。 She was nothing but a black husk now。 Her machine…spirit was gone。 She was a
corpse like the countless bodies that surrounded her。 Thankfully; someone had removed Siemens’
remains from the turret。 Wulfe hoped the bodies of the men inside had been removed; too。 Throne
help the support crew who had taken care of that。 It was a miserable business。 Wulfe had seen some
terrible things in his time: turret baskets painted red ent caked in bone fragments
and gore; blackened bodies fused together by flame so that you couldn’t tell where one man ended
and another began。 Little wonder that infantrymen sometimes referred to tanks as “steel coffins”。
Years ago; Confessor Friedrich had taken it on himself to deal with that kind of mess as often as
possible; working quickly; quietly; and without solicitation or complaint。 No one had asked him to
take on such a burden; but it wasn’t right; he said; for tank men to have to see such things。 Wulfe
hoped the confessor had got down safely with the rest of the regiment。 He was a good man。 Given
the horrors he put himself through; it was no wonder he drank so much。
Moving closer to the black husk of the tank; Wulfe saw again the two great gouges in her side。
The armour plating had melted around the wounds; creating a jutting lip of metal under each。 He
stretched out a hand and found that the metal was cool to the touch。
Walking around to her other side; he found another hole。 She had been hit simultaneously on
both flanks with three separate impacts。 The weapons that had killed h