The camp was template Munitorum pattern, replicated a million times across the Imperium. In the centre, within its own perimeter fencing, was the command depot. Hab-blocks made up of flakboard sheds and converted metal containers were set around it in neat lines. There were rows of tented accommodation, latrines, workshops, ammo stores. There was a flakboard Imperial chapel, a command office, medicae pre-fab, Munitorum warehousing.

Lumens had already been lit. They showed the earth was chewed up by tracks. The pre-fab huts that the labour-corps had constructed had a slapdash, temporary feel. About the camp was a ditch and bank perimeter with loops of wire screening it.

The advance party had already started work. Sentry towers were being erected from lengths of rebar and corrugated flakboard. Land-movers were digging underground bunkers and using the rubble to fill sandbags. Work teams were already out repairing the thirty-foot fences and triple concertina wire. By dawn, this camp would be a fortress.

Minka was exhausted. She lay back and rested her head against the rough canvas of the turret. The Chimera’s headlights were bars of light in the gloom. But despite the Cadian energy, the camp had a tired air to it, as if the place was already weary of the siege that was taking place upon its soil.

Troopers with lumen wands and hand-held vox-horns directed them to their quarters.

Seventh Company were sent to the armpit of the camp, next to the latrine huts. The powerful scent of counterseptics hung in the air.

Orugi looked about. ‘Won’t be long till that stinks,’ he said. ‘Baine! Did you screw someone over in logistics?’

Dreno stood and looked about him. He rolled his eyes as he caught Minka’s eye. ‘This is Sparker’s fault,’ he said.

‘Speak about your commanding officer with respect,’ Minka told him.

Dreno put his hands up. ‘Sorry, sarge. Listen, he’s good on the battlefield, but camp after camp is a wreck.’

Baine yawned as he followed Jaromir down the ramp. He looked about, his pack thrown over one shoulder. He slapped Dreno’s back. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t be here for long.’

Minka’s squad pulled their packs down from the luggage nets. Breve let the engine run for a minute while he checked the power plant, then let it judder to a halt.

A team of tech-priests were making their way along the line, mechadendrites plugging into the cog-sockets, communicating with each machine-spirit. Breve was already feeling defensive. He stood back as an adept came to his Chimera.

The adept was largely human with just a single mechadendrite coming out of one of his sleeves. He plugged it in and there was a whirr of data reels. Breve stood rigidly, waiting for the priest’s diagnosis.

‘This tank’s service is incomplete,’ the adept said at last in a thin, high-pitched voice, before listing the problems found. ‘Suggestion – increase frequency and thoroughness of maintenance routines.’