up by the tanks in front。 There was vegetation in the canyon； the first that he had seen since crashing
on this world。 Not much of it； of course — mostly dry grasses and scrawny； thorn…covered tangles of
brash — but it meant moisture。 There was animal life； too； and far larger than the biting ticks the
Cadians had endured so far。 Wulfe saw great； slothful； flat…bodied lizards basking on the rocks。
Their skins were armoured with hundreds of small； bony plates； and they were coloured like the land
around them。 As the Imperial column rolled past； they hissed and slid quickly into the mouths of
inky black caves。
Observing these things offered Wulfe only temporary respite from his thoughts。 Again and
again； he returned to the matters that troubled him most。 As the strip of sky above Red Gorge grew
dark； he dropped back down into his turret basket； leaving the hatch open above him so that a
cooling wind could circulate。
Siegler was dozing in his seat； thick arms folded on top of the shell magazine； head resting in the
crook of his elbow。 By the glow of the turret’s internal lamps； Beans was leafing through a tattered
magazine featuring monochrome picts of hard…faced Cadian women stripping out of military
uniform。 Judging by the state of the pages； the magazine had had a great many owners over the
years。
Wulfe smiled to himself and tapped Beans on the shoulder。 Speaking low on the intercom so as
not to wake Siegler； he said； “That stuff will rot your soul。”
“Damage done；” said Beans with a grin。 “I’ve been through this one so many times I think I’ve
desensitised myself。 You want it？”
Wulfe laughed； but his tone was serious when he said； “Listen； Beans。 You and I need to have a
talk。”
“What about； sarge？”
“I think you know what。”
Was it Wulfe’s imagination； or did the new gunner flush a little？
“The stand…off in the staging area； right？”
Wulfe nodded； frowning。 “A tanker stands with his crew； no matter what。 You know the rules。
You’re lucky Siegler and Metzger overlooked it； but if I ever see you standing on the sidelines like
that again； you’ll be back on the support crews before you can say ‘the Emperor protects’。 What the
hell were you thinking？”
Beans shrugged guiltily。 “If it had been any other crew； sarge… But it was Lenck’s lot。”
“What difference does that make？”
“Plenty。”
There was a pause； a moment of uncomfortable mutual silence； before Wulfe said； “Tell me
what you know about Lenck。”
Beans looked up。 “I know not to mess with him。 The officers might have all the official power in
the Guard； but it’s guys like Lenck that control the shadows。 Every regiment has them； right？ The
guys who can get you more booze； more smokes； more meds。” He held up his shabby； pornographic
pictomag。 “More stuff like this。 They make a business of it； and the officers let it go on because the
men grumble a little less。 Fewer fights break out。 I can’t imagine Guard life without such guys； can
you？ Well； that’s Lenck。 If the price is right； he can get just about anything。 He’s more like a hivegang
boss than a soldier。 And he thinks you’re out to shut him down。”
Wulfe knew all this； of course。 Beans was still a relative newcomer to the regiment； but he
clearly had a good handle on things。 Everything he had said was true。 Regiments needed their
hustlers and fixers。 Things became unbearable all too fast without them。 It explained a lot about
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Lenck’s mysterious popularity with the newer guys。 Still； the idea that Lenck should be allowed
some slack on account of this alleged service to the regiment didn’t sit well。 Wulfe huffed。 “This is
the Imperial Guard； not the blasted underhives。 Voeder Lenck is a cocky； jumped…up little arsehole
and； sooner or later； he’s going to wish he’d never met me。”
Beans looked uncomfortable as he said； “Um… Didn’t he save your life； sarge？”
Wulfe spat a curse。 “He killed an ork that was about to kill me。 Duty demanded it。 Any trooper
would have done the same。” His voice had taken on an angry edge； all the harder because； in truth；
he was grateful and it bothered him immensely。
Beans raised a placatory hand。 “I’m just saying what I heard。”
Wulfe muttered under his breath。 Glancing up through his open hatch； he saw that the sky was
almost pitch black。 Would old deViers have them pressing on throughout the night again？
Wulfe addressed his driver； “You need me to take a shift on the sticks； Metzger？”
“I’ll be fine for another few hours； sarge；” replied Metzger。 “How about you take a shift then？”
In his long and bloody career； Wulfe had manned every single station aboard a Leman Russ
tank。 He wasn’t nearly as talented a driver as Lucky Metzger； but he was more than capable of
keeping his crate in place while Metzger got some much…needed sleep。
“Fine；” said Wulfe。 “Two hours。 Let me know if you get tired before that。”
“Will do； sarge；” said Metzger。
Wulfe sat back in his command seat。 He wasn’t feeling particularly sleepy right now。 He mind
was running laps。 He kept hearing Lenck’s words in his head。 The old scar on his throat was
irritating him； too。 He scratched it lightly。
The vox channels were mostly quiet。 The only regular traffic was coming from the Sentinel and
motorbike scouts up front。 After a minute； Beans’ voice broke in on his thoughts。
“Want a read？” said the gunner with a grin as he offered his sergeant his magazine。
“Not much reading in it；” Wulfe replied with a half…smile； but he took it anyway。
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
By the sixth day out of Balkar； General deViers had started to develop a dry； itchy cough。 It wasn’t
nearly as bad as those of some of his officers； but it caused him a certain degree of panic because he
was so much older and； therefore； more vulnerable to Golgotha’s subtle assaults on his health。 He
had seen what the red dust had done to some of his troopers。 The damned medicae staff were being
about as much use as a paper lasgun； in his opinion。
Last night； the high canyon walls of Red Gorge had come to an abrupt end。 The column had
made it through without incident and had set up camp briefly on the open sand at the canyon’s
mouth。 Dawn had broken only an hour ago； revealing just how fortuitous the decision to halt the
column had been。 His decision； of course。 Had the men of Exolon continued pushing eastwards；
they would have run straight into the biggest ork fortification that deViers had ever seen。
He was looking at it now。
He stood just outside the doorway of a hastily…erected command tent； magnoculars pressed to his
eyes； scanning the massive ugly structure that seemed to run from one end of the horizon to the
other。 Behind it； visible as little more than a faint silhouette in the morning light； he could see the
slopes of the towering Ishawar Mountains。 Their peaks were invisible； lost in the bellies of bloodcoloured
clouds。
“Why in blazes wasn’t I told about this？” he raged。 “It’s colossal。 How could the probe…servitors
possibly have missed something like this？ Get those tech…priests in here。 Get Magos Sennesdiar。 I
want some damned answers at once。”
The ork wall was easily a hundred metres tall。 Throne knew how long it was。 It was breathtaking
in its scale。 It was plated with great metal slabs of armour painted red from top to bottom； and
decorated with oversized ork glyphs daubed crudely in white。 There were sharp； uneven
crenellations all along the battlements； and the barrels of huge cannon could be seen thrusting
outwards from behind them。 But was the wall manned？ In the short time deViers had been watching；
he hadn’t witnessed any signs of life。 Could he trust his eyes？ The haze of dust and shimmering air
made it difficult to discern movement at this range。 The gun…towers and battlements could； in fact；
be seething with the foe。
If they were there at all； however； it seemed that they hadn’t spotted the 18th Army Group。 Not
yet。
Their eyesight； thought deViers； isn’t as good as ours； but the longer we watch and wait； the
more time we give them to discover us。 We can’t lose the element of surprise。 A sudden thrust is our
best chance to get through； and we must get through。 Glory and fame await； Mohamar。 It won’t be
long now。
There were vast iron gates； as tall as the wall itself； spaced at intervals all along its length； but
none were open。 They looked very heavy； very solid。
One of the major generals cleared his throat。 DeViers couldn’t tell which one。
“And we’ve no idea how far it extends？” deViers asked。 “No idea at all？”
Bergen； Killian and Rennkamp all stood a pace behind him； staring out at the ork wall through
their own magnoculars。
“There hasn’t been time to properly reconnoitre it yet； sir；” said Bergen。 “The Vulcan pilots say
they’re awaiting your order to go up； if that’s what you want。 There might be a way around it。 Best
estimates at this time suggest it’s over a hundred kilometres long； though。”
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“By the Golden Throne；” hissed deViers。 “Over a hundred kilometres。”
He wasn’t optimistic about finding a way around。 A feeling in his gut； an instinct developed over
decades of battlefield command； told him this was all part of his great test。 Here was an obstacl