When they got to camp Tyson was standing on the steps. From his expression she assumed she was in deep trouble. She thought of those that she had not brought off Tor Kharybdis, and it hurt.

But Tyson came down and embraced her. ‘Well done!’ he said. ‘Smart idea with the signalling.’

‘That was Yedrin’s idea. Fresh in his mind from the White­shields camp.’

Tyson shook his head. He and Sparker led her into the captain’s office. A runner had been sent to bring food and water.

She felt almost giddy. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said to Prassan.

He found his clipboard, which he had left on Sparker’s desk. ‘I’ve been asked by General Bendikt to assess the performance of the Whiteshields,’ Prassan said.

‘Now?’ she said. She could see the colour rise up Prassan’s neck. He coughed and looked down to consult his notes. ‘Yes. As you know, this is a trial programme, designed to ensure that Cadian regiments within this warzone continue to be a bulwark of the Imperium.’

‘You want to know how they did on Tor Kharybdis?’

He nodded.

‘I had two. Yedrin and Blanchez. They did great. Full marks all round. Both to the troopers and the training staff.’

Prassan made quick notes. From the way his pen moved over the form, it looked to Minka as though he was ticking a series of boxes before him.

‘That’s it?’

He nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Good. Listen. I have one other thing you might be able to help me with. I’ve been told that Trooper Dreno is currently under Commissariat investigation. Shot in the hand. Some bat thinks the wound was self-inflicted.’

Prassan had heard. ‘Y-yes,’ he said at last. ‘I was aware that something had happened.’

‘Dreno is a good trooper. Bit of a bastard at times, but there’re worse. I’d appreciate it if you could have a word with the bats.’

‘I can’t,’ Prassan said.

‘No?’

His cheeks had turned a deep red. He shook his head. ‘I’m just a trooper. You’re acting-lieutenant, so if you vouch for him then I am sure the Commissariat will consider your input with due respect.’

Minka laughed. ‘Right. I will. Anything else, sir?’

Sparker intervened. ‘No! Not now. Prassan – put that clipboard away!’ He reached into a drawer. ‘Here!’ he said and tossed something towards her.

She caught it one-handed. It was small and heavy. She opened her fist, and there were a pair of laurel collar badges in her palm.

‘Pin those on. Baytov has approved your promotion to lieutenant.’ He tossed the arm-badges as well.

She caught them in the other hand and saluted smartly. ‘Thank you, sir!’

From the other side of his desk he pulled out a bottle of his second-best grog. ‘Here!’ he said. ‘Have a drink.’