He nodded. Minka looked about. There were twenty of them left. They were surrounded and out of grenades. The Cadians used the crates as cover and kept up a furious fusillade to fend the enemy back.

Minka’s laspistol was starting to overheat and she had to grab another triplex pattern lasrifle from the floor. She left it on standard, but after a few shots the enemy learnt from their mistakes.

There was a brief lull. ‘They’re getting ready to come from both sides again,’ one of the new troopers – Blanchez – warned.

Minka flipped her gun onto hotshot.

In ten shots she had exhausted her powercell. Rather than wait to reload, she tossed the gun down, pulled out the power sabre she had plundered and engaged the power-stud. She prepared to charge. ‘Stay with me!’ she ordered.

Minka’s Cadians were once more assaulted on three sides. The Swabian Fusiliers officer came straight for Minka, hoping for an impressive kill. He was a tall man, with a lean face and long black moustaches waxed down like fangs. In his fist he carried a pistol and power sabre. Blue lightning crackled along the curved blade.

‘Traitor!’ he roared at her, and brought his blade down in a long sideways swipe.

She had no choice but to parry with her own power sabre. Eldritch light crackled around the impact. She held against the blow for a moment, then her blade started to come apart in her hand.

She let go.

‘Traitor!’ he shouted again, as he shook the remains of her sabre from his blade. But Minka was already moving inside his guard, pistol in hand. She fired into his face at point-blank range. The las-bolts hit true and slammed him backwards.

Twelve

TWELVE

Dawn was breaking when Colonel Sparker clambered up the last slopes towards the looming fort of Tor Kharybdis. He had fought up through the trenches, which had been held by Swabian Fusiliers. There were bodies lying in the dry moat. But as the light began to spread, it was clear that they were not Cadian dead, but traitors.

The guns were silent. Above, the fort flew a banner.

‘They’re not firing,’ Colour Sergeant Tyson commented to his colonel.

Sparker nodded. He had better eyesight than the old veteran next to him. ‘And damn me if they’re not flying a Cadian flag,’ he said.

They stepped out onto the lip of the moat.

Colonel Sparker stood with his hands on his hips. ‘Throne!’ he said, as a figure climbed out of one of the gun emplacements.

It was Colonel Baytov who met them. He had a broad grin as he said, ‘Sparker. Where have you been?’

‘Clearing the trenches,’ Sparker said. He’d taken Fifth Redoubt as well. He looked at the bulk of the Lone Redoubt. ‘Well done, sir!’ he said and put out his hand.

Baytov laughed. ‘Don’t thank me. It was your lot who got here first.’

‘My lot?’