‘Cadian Shock Troopers!’ the young man hissed between gritted teeth.

‘Impossible!’

She was about to put a las-bolt into his skull when a distinctive black shape stepped forward. ‘Sergeant Lesk,’ a voice said. It was Commissar Knoll. ‘That is Trooper Urae Yedrin! He is from the Whiteshield programme.’

Minka let Yedrin go and sat back against the trench wall, slamming her pistol into its holder. ‘Your eyes!’ she said, and then shook herself and put her hand out. ‘Welcome to the Hundred-and-First!’

Minka led her troops up the supply trench at a run. They twice met supply troops running down the trench towards them. The Cadians fell on the unsuspecting reinforcements with knives and fists and the heavy butts of their guns. The sound of breaking bones, spurting blood and strangled curses filled the trench for a few long, sickening seconds. The struggles ended with Minka pistol-whipping the officer across the face. He was flung against the trench wall. She kneed him in the gut, then slammed the butt of her pistol down upon the back of his neck.

There was a sharp crack as his vertebrae broke. He fell like a butchered animal.

They grabbed the Jackals’ overcoats. ‘Let’s go!’ Minka said.

The second time, the coats were enough disguise in the darkness. The results were the same: death to the traitors.

Minka’s squad were fearless; they aimed to do what no other troopers wanted – to become cut off and encircled deep within the enemy.

Ten

TEN

The Lone Redoubt dominated the whole of Tor Kharybdis. For military purposes, it was the island. It was a fastness of a massive angular construction, with a deep, dry rockcrete moat, covered at each corner with heavy bolter cupolas.

The fortress had clearly been struck a number of times, but it had been built to withstand just such bombardments. While the rockcrete casement had been cracked and fractured, the fortress was to all intents and purposes intact.

A hundred yards off from the outer perimeter, Minka crouched down and the other troopers knelt behind her. She felt a low dread in her stomach. She had thirty troopers and one meltagun and a whole bastion to take. To make matters worse, she had thirty troopers and one commissar and that happened to be the butcher, Commissar Knoll.

She led them right to the edge of the dry moat. The metal drawbridge had been pulled up, and the sally port lay across the fifty-foot trench, ten feet from the ground.

Loopholes stared down: black, ominous holes in the massive walls. Minka felt a cold chill. They had to get close enough to that doorway to blow it away. She puffed out her cheeks.

‘It’s a death trap,’ Baine said.

She glanced back. Knoll still had his bolt pistol in his gloved fist. She ignored him for a moment so she could think this through.

He gave her a few bare seconds. ‘Do not forget your orders, Sergeant Lesk,’ Knoll called out.