Ostanko moved forward cautiously. His instincts told him this was a trap. He stopped about twenty feet away. The Jackal sucked the end of her lho-stick and then let the stub drop. It lay at her feet for a moment, the end of the paper still glowing.

She coughed, a rich, phlegmy sound. The gobbet landed with a wet slap. She sniffed, and spat again. Her boots scrunched on the grit. She paced up and down and then turned to go inside.

She stopped a yard short as Ostanko caught her in a murderous embrace. Hand over her mouth, knife into her kidneys, then up inside for her heart.

The Jackal was surprisingly strong. No one died easily. He wrestled her back as he drove the knife in deeper. It took a long time until she stopped struggling. There was a smear of blood as he let her slip to the floor.

His troopers were already at the door of the winchhouse.

They were in. Now all they had to do was fight their way into the tunnel network beneath, find the void shield generator and blow the thing into fragments.

As Ostanko’s kill-teams were landing on the clifftop, Colonel Baytov was leading the first amphibious landings in Pegasus Amphibious Assault Vehicles towards the shore.

They had been given the most difficult landing zones. Their beaches were narrow and rocky, with shoals stretching out into the waters, which would shred any landers that strayed off course. Hitting the designated beach was like hitting a bullseye blind.

The Cadians maintained vox-silence, signalling only with hooded lamps. A hundred yards out, even these lanterns were extinguished.

In the cupola of the lead Pegasus stood Colonel Baytov. The sea lapped dark and glossy below him and the cliffs rose up ahead, a wall of black. Water swirled about the Pegasus with a dull red phosphorescent light.

As the amphibious tank drew closer, Baytov could make out the steel hedges of razor wire, tank traps and pillboxes. He had absolute faith in the troopers with him, from one-eyed Diken to Aaron, and the metal-jawed Flynt and Balchin. They were scarred and grizzled veterans, toting a fearsome array of flamers and grenades. But their real weapon was secrecy.

‘How far?’ Diken asked as Baytov dropped down into the crew compartment.

‘A hundred yards.’

Each made themselves ready. Flynt fired up his flamer. The wire coil igniters glowed a dull red in the half light of the cabin. The smell of super-heated metal mixed with the scents of lubricant and unguents, sweat, salt-water corrosion and wet boot leather.

The Pegasus grounded twice before a wave finally slammed it up onto the beach. It roared forward, hitting wire and scraping through. They were thrown about as the tank careered up the beach, and then suddenly it skidded to a halt. The front ramp crashed down.