The Elnaur Chasseurs were impressive. They came on fearlessly with a rolling bombardment only a hundred feet before them, shrugging off the hail of las-bolts as they marched forward.

Sparker appeared as the enemy did. ‘You have to hold!’ he ordered Minka. ‘There is no retreat!’

Minka nodded and looked at her section of the trench. She under­stood what this meant. She would die in this action if necessary.

Orugi held onto the heavy bolter with both hands as he engaged the firing mechanism. Each salvo sent judders down to his toes. The recoil made his whole body shake. He kept having to dig his boots in as Baine fed the belt of bolter shells in. Spent shells rattled as they started to pile up. Baine swept them to the side when they got in his way.

Each bolt tore a Chasseur apart, but the rate of fire was such that the gun kept overheating and the massive bolt shells jammed in the mechanism.

Each time this happened, Baine cleared the breech, burning his fingers and swearing profusely.

A ricocheting bolt broke Belus’ middle finger. He held it up as it swelled up to twice its size.

‘Well, you can’t go to the medicae,’ Asko told him. ‘Not after last time. They’ll have you down for suspicion of cowardice.’

Belus cursed as Asko strapped the broken digit to the next finger.

‘There!’ he said. ‘Can you still fire?’

Belus demonstrated and Asko slapped him encouragingly on the back.

It could have been moments or hours later when Sparker came back along the line. There was a splatter of blood across his face and he had a breathless air about him. ‘How are you doing?’ he demanded.

‘Good,’ Minka stated.

Sparker paused next to her. ‘Petr’s lot have been hit hard. I need ten of your troopers.’

Minka slapped every third trooper on the back and sent them along the line.

Moments later, Colour Sergeant Tyson appeared, chin thrust out in a defiant pose. He stepped over the dead bodies of the foe now settling into pools of their own blood. ‘For Creed!’ he shouted. ‘For Cadia!’

He was there when the next wave of enemy troops charged, and immediately behind them another wave, and then a third. The Cadians fired until their fingers ached. There was no way they could kill all the troops that were landing. The enemy were so thick that they fell in drifts, like snow.

Hundreds reached the Cadian trenches. A ferocious battle was taking place all along the front lines – hand to hand, in the manner of ancient warriors, death so close you could hear the last curses of the dying, feel the caress of their last breath upon your cheek, their hot blood spill out over the hand that plunged the knife into their throats.