By sunset Minka wanted to clear her head, so she set off to the western guard tower, stretching her legs along the newly laid mat roadway. From each barracks-block came the sound of carbines being cleaned and put back together, the low, serious chatter of warriors about to go to war, the occasional burst of black hum­our. But it was good to walk away from it all.

The sentries had marked her approach and were alert. She lifted a hand to them and indicated which way she was heading and they nodded, but kept watching as she passed by.

The bombardment rolled on. She stopped at the westernmost guard tower. It was standard pattern with a rebar frame and elevated viewing platform, heavy stubbers mounted on each outer facing and steps zig-zagging up beneath.

When she approached the top a voice called out, ‘Halt!’

She had to give the password before they would let her through the hatch.

‘Sergeant Lesk,’ the officer on duty said as she clambered up. His name was Sacha, a man from Fifth Company. He had a wistful air when he said, ‘When are you going in?’

She gave them some details.

He nodded. ‘We’ve been assigned guard duty,’ Sacha said. His tone said it all. Minka looked about. The faces of the other troopers were just as frustrated as their commander.

Minka felt for them. To come all this way and to be forced to sit it out! She strained a smile. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll leave some for you.’

She strode to the seaward edge of the platform, where Crannog Mons filled the western horizon. It reminded her of the view of Markgraaf Hive. Its bulk rose high into the air, blue with distance. Dwarfed in the foreground were the Leviathans, the angular metal armour glinting in the slanting light of the setting sun. They looked like children’s toys under the shadow of the mountain bastion.

As she stood there she could see the flash of long-range fire arcing in from the batteries on Crannog Mons. One of the sentries offered her the auspex, then they went back to their duties and left her to it. The Leviathans were already attracting a storm of long-distance fire. The mountain was all bastions and gothic statues and bristling gun platforms.

Minka felt herself prickling with anticipation. Hatred was rising within her. She could almost feel her pistol in hand, the weight of her war-blade, could almost smell the blood of her enemies. Her reverie was broken abruptly.

‘Sergeant Lesk.’

She turned. It was Chief Commissar Shand, the senior discipline officer within the regiment. He was a good foot taller than her, with lean, scarred features. He was both feared and respected and now here he stood looking down on her, his face inscrutable behind the mask of scar tissue.