Yedrin’s emotions were getting the better of him. His teeth rattled and his fingers shook so hard he could barely hold his lasgun.

Zweden was next to him. His friend had come first in the most recent round of training and as a reward had been assigned the platoon’s flamer. The thick strap was slung over one shoulder, the tank at the small of his back. ‘Excited?’ he said.

Yedrin nodded, but the truth was he was terrified. He forced a smile as they pressed up into the lifts. Each stood nose to jowl with the others. They started with a mechanical jolt, then set off upwards at a steady pace.

It was at least a minute up to the surface tunnels. The higher they went, the stronger the scent of promethium smoke and dust, the louder the thunder of artillery. By the time they reached the surface the noise was so loud they needed to shout to be heard.

‘Light ahead!’ someone yelled.

Light was glimmering, yet it was not the light of day but the blazing fires of an inferno.

‘Keep down,’ Luka called out, ‘or you won’t last long.’

Bendikt and his command staff stood on the cliffs facing Tor Tartarus, field-auspex lifted to their faces. Even here the stench of death was overwhelming.

‘How good are these Whiteshields?’ Bendikt asked Mere.

‘They have been through a training regime close to what they would have had before the fall as we could achieve within the timescale.’

Bendikt nodded. A lot went unsaid. Cadians had always been the best, the product of planet, society and training. They would have to be Cadians without Cadia.

‘Do you have a lho-stick?’ Bendikt said.

‘Yes, sir,’ Mere said. He always kept an unopened packet in his breast pocket for rare moments like these. He tore the lid open, removed the aquila-printed foil, and slid a lho-stick out for Bendikt to take.

At the same time he took a lighter from his back pocket and held it up, cupping the flame in his hand. Bendikt drew the flame into the end of the stick, then stood and exhaled the long plume of blue-grey smoke out into the cool night air.

‘A bad habit I picked up as a sergeant,’ he said. Mere nodded. ‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘We shall see how they perform today.’

There was a long pause. The vox-officer was checking his chrono­meter. Bendikt kept tapping the floor. Mere could tell he hated this waiting.

‘Are they ready yet?’

Mere knew exactly who he was talking about. ‘Yes, sir.’ He paused. ‘They’re going to go over the top any moment…’

The Whiteshields filed out of the Leviathan straight into the trench network that had been scraped out of the rubble and rock. Sagging clapboard walls held the earth back. Troopers here were dusty and dirty. Everyone stood as if bracing for foul weather, their heads tucked in low.