A shell screeched overhead. An answering salvo from the Imperial gunships lying off-shore landed short and tore up the bank fifty feet ahead of her in a necklace of explosions. Minka shielded Dido’s body with her own. Once the explosions died away Minka pushed herself up.

‘It’s just a scratch,’ she told Dido. ‘The things you do to get out of battle! Don’t you dare die on me!’

At that moment Dreno appeared. Minka didn’t need to ask the question. He showed her his hand. She could see right through it.

‘Las-bolt,’ he said. Las-bolts cauterised, but already the wound was thick with sand and starting to ooze gore.

‘She’s alive,’ Minka said. ‘Banting is down on the beach. Get her down there. Can you help carry her?’

‘I can,’ Dreno said.

Minka cursed. Someone had to take command. She looked about. Sergeant Barnabas was nowhere to be seen. No Elhrot. There were no stretcher crews either. Minka did not hesitate. She scrambled back up the defile. ‘Belus!’ she shouted. ‘Get back here. Go with Dreno. Get Dido back to the medicae!’

She went back down the slope with Belus. Dido’s eyes were wandering. It wasn’t clear if she could hear anything. ‘Keep talking to her,’ Minka told the two troopers. She pressed Dido’s hand. ‘You stay with me!’ Minka told her.

Dido’s eyes were closed, but Minka imagined that she mouthed the words Cadia stands.

And then she was gone. And Minka had a platoon to lead.

Eight

EIGHT

The air within Bendikt’s command bunker was tense as the first reports started to come in. Ostanko had landed. Baytov had secured a bridgehead above Faith Beach. Things were looking grim on Creed Beach. The landings on Tyrok Beach were facing tough resistance.

All evening the vox communication had been quiet. Half an hour after Ostanko’s reported landing on the headlands by the wheelhouse, the vox-traffic was loud and chaotic. Across twenty channels came the clipped chatter of a regiment locked in a deadly battle. Troopers pinned down. Troopers desperate for counter fire. Curses as friendly fire hit their own troops. Commanders reporting progress. Sergeants demanding support.

The reports from Creed Beach sounded increasingly dire.

‘They’re trapped,’ Mere observed.

Bendikt stood over the map of the island and stared down. Creed Beach was a gentle curve. Contour lines showed the sloping gradient of the beach and the two headlands. It shouldn’t have been this difficult. But the map showed none of the dangers that the Cadians were facing: The hail of fire they were enduring as they were trapped on the beach, and the stalwart resistance from a handful of Ongoth Jackals.

The vox-chatter from Creed Beach made it clear they were suffering terrible casualties. Bendikt could not bear to listen to the shouts and demands for air.

‘Throne above!’ he snapped. ‘What have we got that can help?’