Fragment by fragment, she was losing her past.

She closed her eyes. She was a child again walking along Euphrates Street. It was a safe place to be. Her mother and Tarli would be home when she returned. But then, in a moment, her mind rebelled. The setting about her scrambled. It was now a city of smoke and ruins. Empty windows stared blankly out. Dead bodies lay hidden under the rubble. She could smell their rotting cadavers. She saw herself as she crept forward, lasrifle in hand, her skin white with rock-dust. She was ready for any danger as the keening of the Broken rose up as they hunted through the ruins.

And then Colonel Rath Sturm appeared, his face broken in a lopsided grin. ‘Ready, Lesk?’ he said.

Minka blinked her eyes open. It was still night. In the shelter of the squad cabin, Viktor had brewed up recaff with a prometh­ium stove. He passed mugs round.

‘Sarge,’ he said, and shook her shoulder.

In a moment she was sitting up.

‘Cheers,’ she said, taking the mug and holding it tight. The recaff was thin and watery, but it was warm enough.

She passed the empty mug backwards as the artillery bombardment spread across the horizon, battery after battery of Earthshaker cannons adding to the fury, each one a flaming yellow tongue licking against the sky.

Each member of the squad got sleep as well as they could, lying in the cabin, packs for bedding. Minka slept head to toe with Lyrga – one of their new reinforcements – in net hammocks used for stowing baggage.

Breve and Wulfe took it in turns driving through the night. Baine and Dreno were passing a bottle of grog about. The songs stopped and started and faded away to low conversation.

At some point in the night they had to stop for a convoy of cargo-12s carrying a squadron of three Baneblades. The Cadians pulled over to let them pass. The engines of their Chimeras and tanks idled as they waited. Minka was barely awake as she watched the great beasts pass by.

Behind came a tail of Adeptus Mechanicus support vehicles and shrine-walkers, skitarii centaurs and cherubs carrying heavy brass censors. At the head of the convoy strode three banner bearers, each carrying the colours of the ancient engines. The engines of war were a wondrous sight, the colours of the Cadian 101st emblaz­oned upon their flanks.

In the wake of the procession, a pair of drab coloured cargo-8s were nosing forward, the vehicles rusting and ill-maintained. They did not look as if they had anything to do with the previous convoy. They were clearly not Cadian.

Anger came quickly. Minka grabbed a lumen and jumped down, waving the lead cargo-8 to a halt. It tried to go round her, but she stood in front and lifted her hand for it to stop.