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Braxton accepted the claw； and turned it over in his hands。 He admired its well…honed edge； and
gauged how light and well balanced it was thanks to its hollow blade； half…filled with mercury。
“Yes； sergeant；” he said； in a voice full of awe。
“I can see now why you think so much of him；” said the Validian； when he and Lorenzo were alone
together。 Greiss and Armstrong were still some way behind； laying mines； and Myers and Storm had
taken this opportunity—while their progress was impeded—to fall back and hunt jungle lizards and
anything else they deemed edible。 Lorenzo and Braxton were left with the repetitive and wearying
work of swinging their knives； forging ahead—though Lorenzo had to admit； it was going a lot
faster now that Braxton was properly equipped。
“Who？” he asked。
“Sergeant Greiss。”
“Of course we do。 He wouldn’t have that rank if he hadn’t earned the respect of all of us。”
“I didn’t realise。 At first； he seemed—I don’t know—surly； I guess。 Distant。 Disapproving。”
“If you’re looking for a soft approach；” said Lorenzo； “I’m afraid Catachan doesn’t breed ’em
like that。”
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“I guess not。 But now I’ve seen Greiss in action—the way he leads from the front； keeps this
squad together； keeps us focused on the mission。 And the way he… I mean； he really does care
about his troopers； even if he doesn’t always…”
“He’d give his life for us；” said Lorenzo simply； “as we would for him。 Your point is？”
“I’m used to sergeants who do things by the book； that’s all。 Same with the commissar。 If
Mackenzie had survived； if he could see Greiss now…”
“If he’d been willing to look；” said Lorenzo pointedly。
“Yes。 I just think； Mackenzie； he was like most of us。 We don’t know till we see for ourselves。 I
can’t imagine what it must have been like for you； for Greiss； for all of you； being brought up on a
world like this。 A deathworld。 But I’m starting to understand； and Mackenzie—I think he would
have understood too； in time。”
“You don’t think he’d have filed his complaint against Old Hardhead？ You don’t think he’d
have had him shot？”
“We’ll never know；” said the Validian。 “Best thing； I think； is to let it lie。 I certainly won’t be
saying a thing。”
Lorenzo was about to agree when he spotted something。 A triangle。 Silver。 He could easily have
mistaken it for an exotic leaf； lying flat against a branch； had the pattern not connected with
something in his memory。 A warning。 Braxton’s knife hand was moving towards it； and Lorenzo
batted it away even before his conscious mind remembered what the pattern represented。 The
triangle wrinkled； as a snake head jerked out from beneath it and made a stab at where the hand had
just been。
“I think we should both talk less；” said Lorenzo； “and pay more attention to where we’re going。”
Braxton nodded。 But it wasn’t long before he spoke up again。 “I just wondered；” he said； “if I
should say something。 To the others。 Let them know。 That they can trust me； I mean。”
Lorenzo smiled tightly。 “They know。 Old Hardhead in particular。” He indicated the devil claw in
Braxton’s hand。 “Trust me； he knows。”
Then Greiss and Armstrong came pelting towards them； sweeping Myers and Storm along in
their wake。
They had barely come to a halt when a series of explosions from behind them rattled the ground
and shook leaves from their branches。 The trap had been sprung。 Greiss’ cruel grin exposed his teeth
and flared his nostrils。 They all waited for a minute； listening for the shuffling footsteps of zombies；
squinting through the rain for the shape of an ork； but there was nothing。
And； a few minutes after that； Braxton found a trap。 A snare in the undergrowth； ready to tighten
about the ankle of an unwary traveller and hoist him into the trees。 A sign； Lorenzo agreed when the
Validian pointed it out to him； that orks had been here。 Crafty orks。 Then he inspected the snare
more closely。 It was fashioned from creepers—but； far than having been knotted together by hand； it
seemed to have grown into its unnatural shape。
“Rogar’s still learning；” he murmured as Braxton used his devil claw to slice through the snare。
“It’s learning from us。”
They forged on well into the night； making up for their late start； until Lorenzo’s body wanted
nothing more than to shut down。 He’d been running on adrenaline； but now even this was spent。 The
acid rain hadn’t let up； and despite his precautions Lorenzo’s face and neck were red raw。 The
wound in his side felt like it was ablaze。 He had begun to wonder if Sergeant Greiss would ever call
a halt to this torture； though of course he would never have complained。
At last； Greiss accepted that even his squad needed rest。 He warned； however； that they didn’t
have much time。 He intended to move out early in the morning—and until then； the Jungle Fighters
would have to keep watch in three shifts of two in case the blue light returned。
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For the first time； Lorenzo didn’t volunteer for first watch。 Greiss detailed Myers and Storm to
that duty； and Lorenzo was grateful to be placed on the third and final watch with Armstrong；
possibly in deference to the fact that both were wounded。 Only as they set up camp—positioning
their plastic sheeting not to collect water tonight but to deflect the rain—did he realise how tired the
sergeant himself looked。
They built the biggest； hottest fire they could； despite the risk that it might be seen。 They did it to
spite what they now saw to be their real enemy： Rogar III。
Lorenzo was asleep almost before his head touched the ground。 But it seemed like his eyes had
only been closed a minute when the shouting began。
He thought he was dreaming again； at first。 That dream from the previous night； before the ork
camp； when dead comrades had pulled him down into the earth to join them。 Only this time it was
real； and it was the earth itself that pulled at him。 Lorenzo was already half…buried； he tried to stand；
to tear himself free； but he couldn’t gain leverage and the pull of the earth only increased。
Quicksand？ He was sinking； though the ground had been perfectly firm when he had lain down
on it。 He fought the urge to lash out； because he knew he would only go down faster。 Somebody was
shouting his name； yelling at him to wake； and the rain was still drumming on the plastic sheets
above his head； searing them brown。
This was worse than quicksand。 Lorenzo knew how to deal with quicksand； knew how hard it
was to actually drown in it； but this—this was Rogar III itself； grasping at him； drawing him to its
heart。 His first instinct was to unsheathe his Catachan fang； though he had no use for it yet； because
if his legs went under he didn’t want to lose it with them。
With a supreme effort； he raised his head。 The strong and
Myers had been caught sleeping too； and were being sucked under。 Greiss and Braxton were
standing but buried up to their knees； it must have been their watch when the planet had struck。 It
was Braxton who had shouted； presumably unable to see from where he was that Lorenzo had
already woken。 There was no sign of the campfire： it must have been pulled under and smothered。
Storm was doing better than any of them。 He was on his hands and knees in the mud； but pulling
himself along with his powerful muscles； almost swimming； his teeth clenched； face red with
exertion； until he came to the edge of the Catachans’ small clearing and his flailing hand caught a
tree branch。 He had something to hold on to now； and he could begin to haul himself upright。
Lorenzo was determined to follow Storm’s example。 But suddenly； the earth beside him seemed
to explode； and he recoiled and sank a little further as a figure erupted from beneath it。 A large；
hunched figure with tusks protruding through a matted layer of plants and dirt。 An ork zombie。
And there were more of them； bursting from the ground all across the clearing； outnumbering
the Jungle Fighters and surrounding them。 In contrast to their floundering targets； they waded easily
through the mud； their ponderous gait now seeming only too fast。
The nearest zombie loomed over Lorenzo； and raised both fists above its head as it prepared t