按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
And you there！ Yes； you。 Help me up at once。”
A young trooper bearing the insignia of the 110th Mechanised Regiment gave General deViers a
boost up onto the track…guards of The Fortress of Arrogance。
Kasrkin storm troopers had already popped her hatches and slaughtered her greenskin crew； and
her engines had stopped rumbling。 She stood still and silent as the general climbed up to stand on
the top of the turret。 It had been a pulpit once； a place from which Commissar Yarrick had given his
rousing speeches to Imperial troops before leading them into battle。 DeViers could feel it now； all
that glory settling on his shoulders like a fine heavy cloak。 He glanced down at the body of the
warboss where it lay on its back。
Disgusting beast； he thought。
The stench from its innards made his nose crinkle； but it would take much more than that to ruin
the moment。 He turned and faced out towards the ordered ranks of troopers。 There were so damned
few of them。 Had he really started all this with over twenty thousand men？ The losses seemed
incredible； but Yarrick had demanded victory at any cost。 DeViers had held to that remark； and now
he had his victory。
He saw Magos Sennesdiar and his tech…adepts moving towards the front； their robes stained dark
at the hem by all the blood that soaked the ground。
DeViers lifted the microphone of his vox…amp unit and began； “Men of Exolon and of the
Adeptus Mechanicus； let us always remember this day。 It has taken time； resources and the sacrifice
of many of our Cadian brothers to make this dream a reality。 But here we stand； victorious； and the
greatest prize in all the Imperium of Man is finally in our hands。 I stand upon it； and I feel its holy
spirit all around me： The Fortress of Arrogance； a holy relic the likes of which few men could ever
hope to see。 Come forward if you wish。 Lay your hands on it。 Feel its holy spirit wash over you and
inspire you。 Even in this wretched state； desecrated by our enemies； robbed of its true glory； it still
exudes a power that surely embodies something of the Emperor Himself。”
On he went； talking of a glory that would never be forgotten。 He believed every word that came
out of his mouth； and the strength of his conviction convinced many of the men who listened。
Caught up in the moment with all those eyes fixed on him； all those ears hanging on his every
word； General deViers didn’t hear the scrape of metal on metal。
He didn’t know anything was wrong until he felt hot； stinking breath on the back of his neck。
His blood ran cold as ice and he moved to turn； but it was a motion he never finished。 The ork
warboss was barely alive； able to stand only by virtue of a central nervous system that had been
developed to work through indescribable levels of physical pain； that； and the all…consuming hatred
it felt for weak； pathetic humans。
It closed its remaining power claw around the general’s middle and； with the briefest twitch of
its fingers； cut the man in half。
Colonel Stromm of The Fighting 98th was in the front row； standing just a few metres in front of
the Baneblade’s hull。 He was moving before the general’s upper body tumbled sideways from the
turret。
187
“Kasrkin！” he yelled to his men as he tore his hellpistol from its holster。 Together； he and his
storm troopers began blazing away at the giant swaying ork。
It shuddered as it was peppered with searing shots。 Then it fell backwards again。
The firing stopped。
Magos Sennesdiar wasted no time。 He surged forward； leaping onto the front of the Baneblade
with an agility that was totally at odds with his bulk。 His adepts immediately climbed up after him。
As they hurried onto the top of the turret； Armadron said；
said Xephous。
Sennesdiar was the first to reach the body of the ork。 The creature was breathing no more。 There；
around its tree…trunk neck； he saw a glimmer of green and gold。
The fragments he told his adepts。
his adepts intoned together。
“Is the damned thing dead？” asked a gruff voice。
Sennesdiar quickly tugged the fragment from around the warboss’ neck； breaking the leather
cord that held it there； and hid it within the deep folds of his robe。 Then he rose and turned to face
the speaker。
“Colonel Stromm。 The ork leader no longer lives。 Adepts；” he said； addressing his subordinates
in Low Gothic； “it is time we launched our beacon。”
Together； the three Martian priests climbed down from The Fortress of Arrogance； and strode
towards their Chimera； passing Major Generals Bergen； Killian and Rennkamp on the way。 All three
men looked drawn and exhausted； and they were speechless as the tech…priests passed。
When Sennesdiar was within a few metres of them； he said； “One of our lifters can be expected
to arrive within the hour； major generals。 My servitors will tend to the Baneblade； but I suggest we
all make haste in our preparations to leave。 Golgotha is still home to a vast population of orks。
Tarrying too long could prove to be a grave mistake。”
The magos moved off； but he had only gone about ten metres when Bergen called out to him。
“Sennesdiar；” he said。 “Tell me； will you answer a question？”
Sennesdiar turned。 “Ask it。”
Bergen’s eyes were hard。 “Did you get what you were looking for？”
The magos paused for the briefest instant； and Bergen found himself imagining that； had
Sennesdiar still possessed a face capable of it； he would be wearing a smile。
“Didn’t we all？” said the magos。 Then he turned and moved off again。
188
CHAPTER THIRTY…SIX
The sky was turning from red to murky brown。 It would be night soon； but Wulfe and the others
wouldn’t be here to see it。 They were leaving。 What remained of the 18th Army Group’s vehicles
had already been rolled or towed up the ramps and into the gaping holds of the Mechanicus lifter。
On the battlefield； the fires had gone out in most of the wrecks。 Men moved among the dead；
collecting dog tags from the necks of their fallen brothers； and retrieving lasguns； pistols； grenades
and anything else that Munitorum procedure said was too valuable to leave behind。
Wulfe’s crew was already onboard the lifter； tying Last Rites II down in preparation for the
flight。 Wulfe had asked Siegler to come and fetch him when the last call to board went out。 Then he
had come； alone； to the place where Gossefried van Droi had died。
He stood looking at the twisted； burnt…out wreck that had once been the man’s pride and joy：
Foe…Breaker。 The bodies of her brave crew were still inside her。 There was no Confessor Friedrich
here to take care of them。 The confessor had almost certainly died in the ork siege at Balkar； another
good man lost。
Wulfe’s heart felt like it was made of lead。 He had known van Droi for almost all of his fighting
life。 He trusted few people as much as he had trusted the lieutenant。 That he was suddenly gone；
after so many years of beating the odds； just didn’t seem real； neither did the loss of Holtz or Viess。
These were men he had respected； men he had liked； not just fellow troopers； but friends。
That thought threw up another name； and a shiver ran the length of his spine； despite the heat。
He remembered a whispering voice he had heard on his intercom once； and a hollow…eyed face that
looked anything but peaceful： Corporal Borscht。
Wulfe prayed that van Droi and the others would not appear to him inexplicably like his former
driver had。 Surely the Emperor had already welcomed them to his side。 They had more than earned
it。
Footsteps sounded on the sand behind him。
“Time to ship out； right Sig？” asked Wulfe without turning。
“In a hurry to leave？” replied Voeder Lenck。
Wulfe turned； his brows drawing down into a scowl。 “What are you doing here？”
Lenck grinned； but his eyes were dark and cold as he said； “Came to pay my respects； didn’t I？
Think you’ve got a monopoly on that？”
Wulfe’s eyes narrowed。 There was something about Lenck’s stance that he didn’t like。 The wiry
corporal looked loose and relaxed； but it seemed forced somehow。
Silence hung between them on the warm； still air。
“What are yo