‘Throne!’ Orugi said, blowing onto his fingers. ‘I thought this was supposed to be a temperate planet.’

An hour later Dido saw the three forms crawling back towards the Cadian camp. They had cut a small hole in the wire beneath the watchtower where Dido stood and once back inside they repaired the holes. It had taken little more than two hours.

Dido stood waiting as Minka clambered up to the watchtower. When she came through the hatch she had a broad smile on her face.

‘All set,’ she said. She waited for Baine and Maenard to clamber up.

Maenard was the demo expert. He held the detonator in his hand. ‘Now?’ he said.

Minka nodded. In the darkness there was a sudden gout of fire, followed by a loud crack. In the light of the flames they could make out the curse pole in the moment that it was blown to pieces.

Shouts of alarm carried across from the other camp. They could see the lights of lumens hurrying to the spot where the curse pole had been. Its remains lay scattered in a wide circle, burning from the heat of the explosion.

They stood up to enjoy the alarm of the Drookians. ‘What do you think they’re going to do in revenge?’ Minka said.

Dido shrugged. ‘I don’t think they’ll have the chance. We’re ­moving out tomorrow morning for field exercises.’

Ten minutes later, Minka stepped inside Sparker’s office.

She felt a weight off her shoulders as she reported, ‘It’s gone, sir.’

‘Any problems?’ he said simply.

‘None.’

‘Good,’ he said and almost smiled. ‘Well done.’

True to Dido’s words, they were out after breakfast, in a long convoy of Chimeras and Leman Russes. The air had turned warm. They pulled open the tops of their Cadian drab uniforms to allow a little air to circulate as they drove inland for nearly two hours, into the charred remains of an old battlefield.

Mechanicus crews were busy gathering the debris of armour and transports. The Cadians camped amidst the tank graveyards and left-over trenches. All about them were the towering mounds that marked the mass graves of Imperial dead. Regimental banners flew from each one. The largest mound rose like a hill from the flat plain, the foundations of a stone mausoleum marked out with Imperial flags. A temporary chantry chapel stood alongside. It had been built of flakboard and appeared to be staffed by a lone Rakallion minister, who stumped about, chainsword over his back, in a clinking suit of armour made from the ID tags of dead troopers.

He stood at the door of the chapel as the Cadians filed past. His look was not friendly.

They returned his gaze with resolve.

But he was like a spectre. This is how many of you shall end up, priest and mound seemed to say. Bones in a field on some forgotten planet.