A second later he fell dead. Yedrin did not stop to check on him. The water clung to him as he struggled through the hissing surf. Heavy bolter shells kicked water and black sand up all around them. There was no shelter before them, just bodies everywhere, burning tanks, the whistling hiss of hard rounds ricocheting all about him, and broad sloping sand that rose up to the headland.

‘Forward!’ Knoll roared.

To their right a Leman Russ fitted with mine-clearer chains struggled ashore. The chains threw up sand and dirt and exploding fragments as mines erupted before it.

Yedrin stumbled after it. ‘Forward!’ he shouted, though it might have been, ‘For the Emperor!’

He did not know; he did not care. There was no choice now, Yedrin told himself as he sprinted up the beach. It was do or die.

Five

FIVE

The day before the landings, commissars had reported dangerous levels of discontent among some of the local units.

‘They’re petitioning me to impose stricter discipline,’ Bendikt said to Mere. ‘I think it would be better to raise their spirits a little.’

After visiting the Cadian camp, Bendikt spent the day in his Valkyrie, touring the front line to assess the attitude of the troopers. They started with the Potence Mountain Infantry, who had suffered a mauling in the trenches about Tor Tartarus.

The mood was hostile at first, but when Bendikt dismounted from the Centaur to walk among the local units, the troopers met his appearance with awe. The aura of the Cadian general cast a kind of magic upon the troopers. Just his presence seemed to electrify them.

He thanked them for their efforts and sacrifices, and assured them that, ‘You will be part of a great victory! For the Emperor!’

They answered his words with a great cheer. ‘Cadia stands!’ he shouted and they answered his shout louder than before.

By the time Bendikt left he had turned them around.

‘Excellent, sir!’ Mere said at the end.

Bendikt nodded. He was exhausted. He needed a drink. ‘Yes. But there isn’t enough time to do this with every regiment under my command.’

As evening fell they had visited more than twenty regimental bases, and Bendikt had performed the same magic of giving faith and hope and confidence to the local troops.

As night fell they returned to the General’s Palace. Praise birds were perched along the roof of the chapel where Saint Ignatzio lay. The saint’s presence had noticeably enlarged the camp of penitents. They were singing psalms of hatred. Each time one of the praise birds took off and swooped down over the crowd there was a gasp of excitement.

Gerent Bianca was also buoying up spirits. She was hosting a meal, and as they arrived, a series of military dignitaries were trooping inside.

Bendikt nodded. ‘I suppose we are obligated to attend.’

‘It would be fitting,’ Mere said.

‘Any news of the landings?’ Bendikt asked.