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last batch he’d gathered。 In case the planet had brewed up a new poison to surprise them。
They knew there was a small chance that foraging gretchin would happen upon them； so
Lorenzo helped Armstrong set up a few traps。 Any creature that came within earshot of them would
be strung up in a net； unable to raise an alarm。
They ate； and their conversation turned to the usual subject： to comrades gone but not forgotten。
They spoke of Hotshot； Sharkbait and Brains’ defiance of the ork hordes。 They had all heard the
stories by now； of course； but it helped to reiterate them。 It comforted them； and ensured that they
had the details right； for the next time the stories were told。 They talked of Landon’s bravery； and of
the heroic fight Steel Toe Dougan had no doubt put up against the blue light。 In time； their
conversation turned to earlier exploits； and they found these stories were even more worth the telling
because Armstrong and Guardsman Braxton were new to their squad and hadn’t heard them before。
Greiss recalled how； as an eager young rookie； Hotshot Woods had rushed an ork sniper that had
pinned the squad down； miraculously reaching it without a scratch and wrestling it from its
emplacement。 Myers and Storm took it in turns to relate how Brains Donovits had survived an
encounter with a stranded Chaos Space Marine； simply by outthinking it； and were pleased when
Braxton asked questions and made expressions of admiration in all the right places。 Then they all
listened attentively to Armstrong’s fresh tales of heroes from his former squad； and expressed a
collective wish that they could have known these great men and witnessed their deeds。
Myers followed that with the tale of how Old Hardhead had earned his name。 It was a story from
before Lorenzo’s time； of course—before Myers’； for that matter—but they had both heard it often
enough。 Trooper Greiss； as he had been then； had been part of a single platoon that had taken down
a Chaos Dreadnought。 He had lain some of the snares into which it had walked； and planted a mine
on its leg as it had struggled to free itself。 Unfortunately； he hadn’t been able to outran the explosion
that had ripped the Dreadnought apart。 Or maybe it hadn’t been fortune but fate that had lodged a
sizeable hunk of shrapnel in Greiss’ skull。 The surgeons had reportedly written him off； but his
strength of character had buoyed him to a full recovery。 “Without that metal plate they put in his
head；” Myers concluded； “he wouldn’t be the cantankerous old sod we know today。”
“Knock it off； Bullseye；” growled Greiss； “unless you want latrine duty when we get back to
civilisation。”
“You wait till you’re splashed over the front page of Eagle & Bolter； sergeant；” said Myers。
“We got their star reporter in our midst； you know。”
“Yes； that’s right；” remembered Storm； turning to Braxton。 “Didn’t I hear you were working on
a story about us？”
“We give you enough material yet？” put in Myers。
“Ease off； you two；” said Greiss。 “You know what those rags are like。 The higher…ups wouldn’t
let Braxton print any of this stuff if he wanted to。 They’re only interested in their own truths。”
“I wish I could argue with that；” said Braxton； “but you’re right； yes。 I always wrote what I was
told to write—about successful missions； and ground that we’d gained。 I don’t think half of it was
even true。 I didn’t ask。”
“Never saw a broadsheet that was any different；” remarked Myers。
“And I thought that was alright；” continued Braxton； “because it was all about morale。 That was
what Mackenzie always said； and the commissar before him。 Put the best possible spin on it； they
said。 Tell the troops about the overall campaign； about the Imperium resisting its enemies； and
remind them why they’re doing it。 Don’t let them dwell on the details； how people like them—like
us—are suffering and dying for the cause。 Your story would have been no different。 Just a few lines
89
about your great victory； maybe a name check for the commissar。 They’d never have let me write
about Woods or Dougan or the others。”
“All the more reason for us to make it back alive；” said Storm。 “Because if we don’t tell those
stories； who will？”
“I will；” swore Braxton。 “One day。 I’ll tell them how it is with you—how you make sure that
everyone matters； every life counts for something。”
“Keep talking like that；” said Greiss； “and your next commissar will probably boot you right out
on the first suicide mission to cross his desk。”
Braxton grimaced； but took the joke in the spirit it was intended。
They were all still smiling when the ground shook again。
This tremor was worse than the first one。 It lasted longer； felt deeper and more destructive；
although the only visible signs of it above ground were a slight blurring of the trees and the
dislodging of a few leaves and fruits。 The tremor died down with no harm done； but Lorenzo could
see his apprehension mirrored in die other Jungle Fighters’ eyes； because they knew what it might
presage。
Maybe Rogar III hadn’t conceded defeat after all。 Maybe it was just waiting； planning； and
building up to its biggest offensive against its interlopers yet。
90
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Sergeant—you’ve got to see this。”
As the Jungle Fighters had ventured deeper into ork territory； they had switched to stealth
tactics； as they had by the encampment。 This time； it was Myers who had the task of scouting ahead
for traps。 He had already guided the squad around several tripwires and a concealed pit。 Now he
came scurrying back to them； face flushed。
They followed him through the foliage； all too aware that they were moving parallel to a path
worn down and churned up by footprints。 Lorenzo could hear clinking and clunking and the guttural
sounds of ork voices ahead； and he moved as carefully as he could； disturbing hardly a leaf。
A light spilled into the jungle； and Lorenzo feared at first that it was the mind…altering blue light。
It was white； though； far more harsh； and it seemed to emanate from many sources。 The Jungle
Fighters were careful to stick to the shadows； not to let the light reveal them。
Then； with a cautious touch； Myers parted a cluster of spiny fronds； and Lorenzo saw what the
excitement was about。
The orks had set up a mining operation。 They were working well into the night。 A clearing was
illuminated by lanterns strung up in trees； turned inwards； their light bleaching out all but the
faintest hints of colour。 Across the clearing； the ground rose steeply； and a tunnel had been dug into
the side of this hillock。 A square wooden frame propped up its entrance—and as the Jungle Fighters
watched； another light appeared in the tunnel’s depths。 An ork emerged； the light streaming from a
battered helmet that was balanced atop its misshapen head。 It was wheeling a lopsided barrow
overloaded with rocks； which it dumped unceremoniously onto one of several heaps dotting the
area。
Four gretchin were sorting through this heap； giving each rock a cursory glance before they
tossed it onto a discard pile。 Nearby； two orks quarrelled over a pickaxe—and ten more stood sentry
at regular intervals around the clearing； with one stationed to each side of the mine entrance。 A few
more gretchin were scampering about； fetching and carrying； offering their ork masters food and
drink。
“What do you suppose they’re looking for？” asked Armstrong； after the Jungle Fighters had
backed up a safe distance。
“Isn’t much worth digging up on Rogar；” said Wildman Storm； “at least not according to
Brains—or did I hear that wrong？”
Greiss shook his head。 “You heard right； Wildman。 But remember what else Brains said—about
this world’s energy signature。 There’s something here； something the explorators couldn’t identify。
I’m guessing the green…skins are after it。”
“How？” protested Lorenzo。 “If the explorators couldn’t find it…”
Greiss shrugged。 “You know orks。 Bloody…minded。 Likelihood is they got nothing； know
nothing； but they’ll just keep on looking on the off…chance that there’s some miracle rock down
there they can mine and use against us。 Probably hollow out this whole planet before the