The priest was a bulky man with a black eyepatch and a wild grey beard. His robes were splattered with blood and mud. Over his shoulder he carried an eviscerator chainsword, as long as he was tall. He wore holy pennants on his void-suit armour. He glared at the Whiteshields as if he saw a lack of faith or conviction in their souls. As Yedrin passed he put out a hand.

He had a thick accent that Yedrin took a moment to catch. ‘Did you kill traitors?’

‘I did,’ Yedrin said.

‘How many?’

‘I lost count,’ Yedrin said. ‘A hundred. Maybe more.’

The priest nodded. ‘Good,’ he said at last. ‘I shall kill more to prove my faith in the Golden Throne. And while you kill with the gun, I shall kill with this…’ He patted the double-handed hilt of his heavy chainsword. ‘That is my oath of battle.’

Yedrin nodded. ‘The Emperor Protects!’ he said.

The priest smiled slowly. A chilling look. ‘So he does.’

It took half a day for the Whiteshields to return to the access tunnels that led down into the assault pipes. The tunnels were now lined with field medicae facilities, rows of wounded warriors lying on the floor, and teams of penal legionnaires assisting the medicae staff with plasma and cleaning wounds. A preacher was moving along the line saying prayers for the dying. The dead were being piled up for disposal.

Moans echoed down the tunnels towards them. It was like listening to a wounded grox: inhuman sounds of pain and incomprehension. As they stumbled forward they saw the cause, a wounded ogryn being held down by a team of medicae and penal legionnaires.

Half the ogryn’s face was missing and he was thrashing about like a giant child. He had already killed one of the medics. The others were struggling to restrain him.

Major Luka stumped forward. ‘Back!’ he shouted as he drew his pistol. ‘Stand back!’

The major put his pistol to the ogryn’s temple and said, ‘Your service is done!’

It took three shots before the beast let out a long sigh, his massive torso sliding gently onto the ground.

‘Thank the Throne!’ Blanchez hissed.

And they passed on, utterly weary.

At last the surviving Whiteshields found an empty space along the side of the tunnel.

‘Rest,’ Major Luka croaked. His voice did not carry very far, but it was enough. There were only a few hundred left. Yedrin found a patch of wall to lean against.

He had no strength left in him, and slid down until he was in a seated position.

He was asleep before he hit the floor.

Eighteen

EIGHTEEN