Their last night was spent asleep in a side chamber. It had been full that morning; there was evidence everywhere. As they arrived labour corps teams were sweeping up the piles of half-eaten ration packs, and the wax-paper wrappings, personal possessions and abandoned military gear were stacked where each regiment had been. They were being bagged up in giant nets to be loaded into cargo crates by teams of Sentinel lifters with flashing yellow lights.

The chamber now bare, the Whiteshields lay down to sleep. They were silent with the weight of expectation pressing down upon them. The breeze carried the stink of ash and death, and the lumen above Yedrin’s head rattled with each rumble overhead. Each of them lay down knowing that by the time the next day fell, many of them would be dead.

I made it, Mother, Yedrin thought. I will serve the Emperor as a Cadian Whiteshield.

In the morning, Major Luka made a short speech. The Whiteshields gathered round in the half-grey light. Yedrin put his shoulders back as he listened to Major Luka’s words.

‘We, your instructors, shall accompany you on this, your last training exercise. One final task faces you all – the ultimate challenge that all Cadian Shock Troopers have fulfilled.

‘For many of you this will be the end of your career. Your remains will be given the greatest honours the Imperium can bestow. Your bones will be gathered and interred within holy shrines with chantry chapels to pray for your soul until the end of times. However, those of you who survive this battle will be elevated to the finest body of warriors within the Astra Militarum.

‘For those of you who pass this test, you will remove the white stripe from your helmet and you will be transferred to the Cadian Shock Troops.’

The Whiteshields marched for an hour. Someone started singing. It was a man’s voice, low and strong. It was Major Luka singing Flower of Cadia.

Yedrin’s skin goose pimpled. He had grown up listening to his mother singing that song. The words came back to him in an instant and he joined in. The song rippled out, back through the line. Soon it was ringing from a thousand voices in that mix of grim nostalgia and fierce determination.

It spoke of a world they had never been to. A world they would never visit. A planet lost in the warp. The fortified kasr, the hab-blocks, the monumental squares, bath houses, barracks-blocks, training camps, the smells and emotions of home. And the people. Mothers, brothers, fathers, sisters.

A long rockcrete gallery led to a wall of open lifts. Major Luka stood to supervise as the cadets of the 72nd Whiteshields loaded in their fifty-strong squads. They were quiet and pensive.

‘For the Emperor!’ Major Luka called out to them all. Some nodded, or forced a smile, or saluted.