Commissar General Rolf Yarrick stood by one of Cardinal Boras' vast bay windows and gazed into space. It had been three years, roughly, since Chomaki's death. Three highly eventful years.

When the regiments had gone back to Callidus, to reform the 29th, it had been made clear that Chomaki had one last ace to play. He had, as Rolf knew, promoted him to commissar rank, and Irwin dealt with this formally when they'd returned as he'd been told of Yarrick's graduation. Despite being elevated to full commissar-hood, Rolf decided to keep his camouflaged coat as long as he stayed with the Callidussian regiments. He also kept the lasgun, but he'd had a slight tinker with it, to the disgust of the Tech priests.

But Yarrick had only kept his rank of commissar for a few weeks. Then Chomaki's Will had been found. It stated that Chomaki gave over the command of the Callidussian regiments under him, to Rolf. The Commissariat had raged over this, but, as Chomaki had predicted, Irwin had played a good political spin to it and Rolf had been promoted to Commissar General. Few of the commissars in the Callidussian regiments had liked this; even Irwin had been slightly grumpy about it. But it had turned out to be Chomaki's perhaps wisest decision ever. Yarrick proved to be of the right mettle, and he'd lost no battle ever since he attained his command.

Yes, it had been three very eventful years...

The giant Retribution-class battleship Cardinal Boras lay in orbit over the crystal world Elysion again. The Guard had once again been allowed a few months off. Rolf didn't know if he liked it, or hated it. He liked the time off, yes, but the time off made the soldiery lazy and unfit for their duties, and as a commissar, he couldn't accept that.

Yarrick smiled to himself as he walked along the gantry, towards the mess hall. Irwin, who'd turned quite kind against Skuli (whom Rolf had decided to keep on as an aide), had taught Rolf well in the sneaky ways of politics that commissars often used. Rolf had resented such at first, but seeing how it could be used to good effect, he opted to learn more about it. Knowledge was no burden.

As he entered the mess hall, he looked around. Yarrick wasn't hungry, not even thirsty, but he had a reason to be here: Irwin. Yarrick had often spoken with the physicians accompanying the Callidussian regiments, and they were united in their answers.

Rolf spotted the potbellied little man in the sea of faces. He was sitting together with Skuli, who was watching intently as Irwin worked with a bunch of data-slates. Rolf had delegated work to other commissars instead of Irwin, but it seemed he liked to check things. As Rolf approached them, he saw Irwin break the stylus he was holding by mistake. Rolf heard the man's curse, and smirked. But he was quite astonished to see Skuli pull out one of his quills from his head and grant to Irwin. The hole that the quill left behind bled profusely and Skuli was handed a handkerchief by Irwin, who then continued his work.

"Didn't that hurt, Skuli?" Rolf said as he sat down beside the two. Skuli just grinned his fanged grin and Irwin smiled softly.

"Skuli here doesn't have a fully-functional neural system as you and me, Rolf." Irwin said without looking up.

"True," Skuli agreed. "I do not feel much, Master Yarrick, although it bleeds greatly."

Rolf smiled back at the mutant creature. Skuli was a strange thing. Any other man, and woman, in the Imperium considered Skuli dangerous. Dangerous due to his mutations. But Skuli was not a warmonger, and, strongly contradicting to most beliefs, he was smarter than most would like to think, or even imagine.

"Skuli, do you mind if I talk in private with Irwin for a while?" Rolf said softly.

"No problem, master." Skuli said and scurried off. Rolf turned to Irwin and grabbed the man's hand so that he would put down his makeshift stylus. Irwin looked up at Rolf, confusion in his eyes. Irwin's complexion wasn't as pale as it had been three years ago. He'd regained some colour.

"What's the matter, Rolf?" Irwin asked, seeing the concerned look in the commissar general's eyes.

"Irwin, I need to talk to you about-" Rolf began, but Irwin cut him off, knowing what would be coming. He'd been nagged about it for the last three years.

"My overweight? Fine! But I should let you know, Rolf, I have lost weight these last three years. Now I weigh around ninety kilos; that's ten kilos less than three years ago. I know what danger I am in, but Skuli has helped me lose weight, in some odd way..."

"Of course you've lost weight, Hendrik, I can see that, but it's not that... It's not enough. Consider this; you're mid-forties, overweight and work too hard. Text book causes for cardiac problems, no?"

"I feel fine, Rolf. Never better, I promise."

"You're a ticking bomb, Hendrik. And that's what the medics think too."

"They don't know crap!" Irwin barked. He didn't like where this was heading. "Now, if you would allow me to-"

"No, I won't. They recommend that you take a long time off, Hendrik, and I agree with them, seeing black on white the situation at hand."

Irwin was silent a moment, the red colour in his face subsiding slightly. "How long time off, Rolf?"

"Early retirement usually lasts your entire life." Yarrick said softly. He looked into Irwin's eyes, trying to look kind. They met an icy stare.

"You're kidding!" Irwin blurted out after a moment of silence. "Sir, with all due respect! This is my career. My life! You can't just take it away from me!"

"If it endangers your physical health, I can." Rolf replied smoothly to this outburst.

"By the Saints, I endanger my physical health by just being a commissar!" Irwin stood up. "With all due respect, Commissar General, but I can't stand this! I belong in the Guard! I do not want to end up on some backwater planet where electricity is a wonder!"

"You won't. I'll make sure of that, Hendrik."

"Crap talk!"

"Hendrik, your heart-"

"Shut up! If you want to ruin my life, shoot me instead! I live for the Imperial Guard! This is my life!" Irwin suddenly grasped his left upper arm as he got a stinging feeling in it.

"Now don't be like a stubborn mule, Hendrik! I can have you forcibly retired if I want to, but I thought I could refrain from that."

"Shut the frekk up! You're talking like a blasphemer in my ears!" There was fear mixed with rage in Irwin's voice now. Every single officer in the mess was looking at the two commissars. Irwin continued. "I know frekking well what's good for me..."

The last words of the sentence were lost as Irwin slumped to the ground in a heap. Yarrick was soon over the man to check him. It was all too obvious: heart attack.

"Fudge..." Rolf muttered to himself as he got the confirmation to his worst fears. "MEDIC!"

The medical bay's room was cold and quiet. However, the quietness was broken by a low sigh and a grumble. Commissar General Rolf Yarrick sat by the cot upon which his comrade in arms and friend, Hendrik Irwin, lay. Yarrick had been sitting by the man's side for nearly three days, relieved at intervals by Skuli.

Resting his head in his hands, Rolf sighed once again and felled a silent tear. He'd just wanted to help Irwin and this was the reward. A man whose health and life he'd wanted to save was now lying in an infirmary cot because of Rolf's eagerness.

"Damn," Rolf said and sighed again. He stood up and thought on calling Skuli. He'd been sitting here for nearly ten hours. As he turned to walk out, he heard a slight groan from the cot. Turning and looking over the bulge on the sheets that formed Irwin's belly, Rolf saw that his aide was awake, if faintly. Keeping calm, knowing that Irwin needed complete rest, Rolf walked over to his rotund friend and sat down next to him, clasping one of Irwin's hands in his own.

"Sir?" Irwin asked in a faint voice and looked with clouded eyes at his commander.

"Don't speak, Hendrik," Rolf said softly. "You need rest, total rest. Your life is safe, thanks to our splendid physicians."

"What happened?" Irwin asked, trying a confused look on his face.

"You suffered a heart attack, Hendrik. It was my fault, I pushed you too hard in a way you didn't like..."

Rolf paused to see a response in Irwin's face, but received no answer. Rolf continued, "I should've known better than to not have left well enough alone. You're satisfied as long as you have things to work with, right?"

Irwin nodded. "You should've known better..."

"Quite so, Hendrik, but... see, the doctors still claim firmly that you have to lose weight..."

Yarrick had spoken softly, as not to agitate the ill man even more.

Irwin nodded again. "I agree with that now..." he said cautiously. "I feel unhealthy. And this, Rolf... it has made my standing point adamant. I don't believe I have much of a choice but to lose weight, if I want to remain in the Guard... even more alive..."

Yarrick nodded, if gravely and stood up. "I'll inform the medics you are awake. I sincerely hope you keep your little promise, Hendrik, as I wouldn't want any other man to perform the duties you do. I can't ask for more than your impeccable work, can I?"

Irwin managed a smile. "I'm chuffed, sir."

Yarrick smiled down at the man. The usage of the Icharian slang sounded off in Irwin's fine-flowing Low Gothic. Without further word, Rolf left the man alone. As Rolf came outside the room, he found Skuli huddled up on a chair, clutching his knees. After telling a doctor about Irwin's awakening, Yarrick went over to Skuli. The mutant creature turned his hooded head towards his master.

"Good evening, master," Skuli said softly, trying hard to avoid the slight lisp his fangs gave him. He had a perpetual fear for the physicians and didn't want to be discovered. A slight smile crossed Rolf's lips as he saw that Skuli had put on mittens and socks to avoid people seeing his three-digit feet and hands.

"Good evening, Skuli," the commissar general answered. "It might be of your interest that Hendrik is awake now."

Happiness flared in Skuli's eyes. "Is he? Is he in pain? Or has it gone from him now?"

"He's fine," Rolf replied. "Although tired. He needs much rest... and a diet. Remember this, Skuli, that Hendrik has promised to lose weight, and you'll help him with that, right?"

"Of course, master." Skuli went silent a moment and spoke when Yarrick was about to leave. "Sir, I must say that you agitated him a bit too much in the mess hall. It was highly unnecessary. You could have lost one of your finest subordinates."

With that, Skuli hopped down from the chair and scampered into Irwin's room to join him. Which left the young commissar general in deep contemplation.

*****************************

Commissar General Rolf Yarrick tried to keep his numbing fingers warm by blowing on them and rubbing them together, but it was no use. Volrath was damn cold, and he envied the red-armoured Space Marines in their heated power armour. His snow-camoed greatcoat couldn't keep him as warm as he wanted and he'd gladly exchange his peaked cap for a wool hat, the kind that his soldiers had issued to their cold-weather gear.

"You don't like the cold, sir?" a voice said suddenly aside Yarrick. The commissar general glanced round and down at Irwin.

"Oh, really, what made you guess that?" Yarrick replied caustically.

"Your envious looks on the Astartes Adepts, Rolf," Irwin replied smoothly, ignoring, maybe not even noticing, the remark.

Rolf took himself a closer look on Irwin. In this last year, Irwin had kept a very strict diet, but still had not lost more than four or five kilos of weight. Still, he seemed much healthier now than a year ago. Irwin still was slightly rotund and his thick greatcoat only strengthened that aspect.

"You look like a Moskvanian matroyska doll, Hendrik," Yarrick commented, which made his aide chuckle. Irwin produced a hipflask from somewhere inside his coat and offered it to Yarrick.

"Want a snifter? It's a cold planet and an equally callous enemy."

"No thank you, Hendrik. I want to stay away from drink... at least this early in day. And especially not before a battle."

"Have it your way," Irwin replied and to a hefty swig of it. There was a moment of silence afterwards, and Irwin screwed back the plug of the flask, as the two commissars watched the Imperial Guard unload side by side with Sisters of Battle and the huge Space Marines of the Death Angel's legion.

"They never seize to impress me, those Space Marines. No matter how many times I see them, I always seem, and feel mind you, small next to them," Irwin remarked.

"You seem small next to anybody, Hendrik." Yarrick said and tightened the coat around himself, as a chill wind blew down the pass.

"Yes, but I don't lack an air of authority, do I?" Irwin said and looked at Yarrick. The tall, slender man nodded. "Well," Irwin continued, "I do next to them. All my Commissarial authority is gone. Even Chomaki felt that way, you know."

Rolf didn't reply. He chose not to and instead watched as the Marines deployed from their Thunderhawk gunships and transports. He saw one particularly immense Marine walk out from one Thunderhawk. The man was huge; around two and a half metres tall and broad and muscly, even without the extra bulk his armour granted. His hair was cut severe and his bushy eyebrows were so close that they seemed to form one. He had a jump pack mounted on his back and a power sword and a holstered plasma pistol hung from his belt.

He walked towards were Yarrick and Irwin stood, saluted (strange, it seemed on the commissars) and introduced himself. His voice was a deep melodious bass, with clear signs of the middle-hive accent from Ichar.

"Lieutenant Commander Edmund Charleston, 8th company commander of the Legio Angelicus Mortis," he said flatly and stuck out a hand which Rolf grasped and shook, after answering the salute.

"Commissar General Rolf Yarrick, C-in-C Callidussian Imperial Guard regiments 25 through 29," Yarrick replied just as flatly. Irwin had to settle for just saluting, no introduction of him. He didn't matter it seemed.

A soft smile entered the big Marine's face. It bared glittering and perfect white teeth. "We've heard a lot about you, Commissar General. And it's all praise. Is the saying true as people tell; that you simply blew the head off Arch-traitor Fanthragos?"

"Yes," Rolf replied, sounding timid at the sudden tone of awe in the Marine's voice. "But not before the bastard had killed my mentor, Commissar Chomaki, may his soul rest eternally."

"The Emperor protects," Charleston filled in dutifully. He turned and looked, literally, down on Irwin. "You're Commissar Irwin, right?"

"Yes, that is me," Irwin replied simply.

"Seems you've got it on a good footing with Canoness Almita, buddy. Dunno what you've done for that, but you're a lucky stiff."

Charleston grinned, as Irwin blushed deeply red. The tubby man mumbled something and then moved off.

"So, it was as McKenzie said then..." Charleston said silently to himself, but Yarrick heard him.

"What did you say?" Rolf asked, startled at the name.

"I said that McKenzie was right, as usual," Charleston said and rolled his eyes. "He claimed that Irwin was a tad intimate with Almita, more intimate than perhaps necessary, but nothing dangerous. She's in celibacy and he's having a crush on something taboo."

Yarrick didn't quite follow the man's reasoning, but knew what he meant in some way.

"Hey," Charleston said and gestured over his shoulder. "McGranth wanted me to get you before the briefing, so that we can get introduced... again on McKenzie's advice." Under his breath, Charleston added, very silently "Damn psyker..."

As the huge Marine strode away, Rolf followed him, not having much of a choice. They went into a large conference room, the room meant to house Yarrick and all his staff, the Marine commanders, the Sororita officers and some more Imperial Guard, from Kenthas, Yarrick had been told.

But now, the room was empty, bar himself, Charleston and two other Marines, one dressed in intricately decorated armour and the other in a bulky Tactical Dreadnought armour suit.

The one in the Terminator suit introduced himself as Grand Commander Eddie McGranth. He was short, for a Space Marine, and stocky and had a healthier colour to his skin than his two companions. His eyes were lined from his many years in duty, the left one even had a crude and old looking scar over it, and he kept his black hair very short, with the exception of three, in lack of better words, braids. A thin, well-kept moustache sat on his upper lip and gave him a slightly aristocratic air. From his belt hung a massive power axe and a storm bolter was slung over his shoulder. Yarrick guessed that he wasn't more than one metre ninety and a very apt commander as well as a master opportunist.

The other one, in the strange power armour, was taller and more slender than Yarrick himself. Measuring somewhere around two metres twenty he still held a commanding presence. He had a powerful chin and a slight up nose. His hair was black and kept in similar braids to his grand commander's, though many more and most of his hair was covered by a large black slouch hat. A tiny starburst tattoo sat on his left temple. From his belt hung a holstered bolt pistol along with a strange sword in a blue metal. He took Yarrick's hand and shook it, surprising the commissar at the strength of the grip.

"Master Lexicanum Edward McKenzie," he said simply. Yarrick suddenly noticed a tang of metal in the air, and remembered from where he'd heard the name and where the feeling of metal had come from.

"You're a witch!" Rolf snapped and pulled back his hand.

McKenzie sighed. "I'd prefer the title psychically apt humanoid being, though it is most probably a matter of personal taste."

"What more do you expect from a pious man like a commissar?" McGranth asked softly his Master Lexicanum. "Even more so, as he is a Yarrick, I believe."

"Of course..." McKenzie said silently.

"Now," McGranth said and turned to Yarrick. "You should know us all as friends. We mean no harm." McGranth glared at McKenzie. "We all have thought highly of you since you killed Fanthragos. We all value you in our own ways. We have known Imperial Heroes to have fallen at the blades of Fanthragos-"

"Wait a minute!" Yarrick cut them off. "I killed Fanthragos by blowing his head off with Chomaki's bolt pistol." Rolf showed them the weapon in its holster. He had kept the pistol close since that day, as a memory of his mentor. "I never got close to him... And I couldn't do it until after Chomaki had been killed..."

"Yes," McKenzie spoke, "However, have you got any idea why Fanthragos didn't react and why he didn't duck out of the way? His reflexes would have made that possible."

"I haven't thought much of that day, to tell the truth. The memories scar me," Yarrick replied and lowered his head.

"I think that is were you go wrong, buddy," Charleston said and put a hand on the commissar's shoulder. "Don't leave things like that untouched. Your enemy can use that against you one day. Memories like that hurt, yes, but only when you let them grow and mature like that. Think about them when you have time, and reflect on them. Honour your lost and loved one's memories. That way, you can remember them as the people they were, not the sorrow their loss brought you."

Rolf looked up with tear-glazed eyes at the huge Space Marine. Charleston seemed a simple man; calm, straightforward and loyal. But it was obvious a deep mind and an intelligence of its own played behind his blue eyes.

"Let's get back on track," McKenzie interrupted. "The reason Fanthragos didn't duck was that he simply couldn't. I felt the Warp itself recoil from around Kiitar when Fanthragos met his death. I thought then, foolishly, that it had been the death of one of Dark Lord Kevlinn's most trusted lieutenants that had caused it. Know I know better. It recoiled because of you, Commissar General."

"But, how can that be?" Rolf asked. He was genuinely confused.

"You might scarcely believe it yourself, but the Dark is afraid of you," McKenzie said with a wry smile. "It is afraid of the damage you can cause it. For more than seven hundred thousand years it hasn't had anything to fear. Now it has, and it has come suddenly indeed, too sudden even for something as adaptable as the Warp."

"But," Yarrick said and sat down. "What has that to do with me?"

McGranth checked his watch. "You have ten minutes, Edward."

"Thank you, commander." McKenzie took off his hat and ran a gauntleted hand through his thick black hair. "You are without doubt in knowledge of your family past, right?" Seeing as Yarrick nodded, McKenzie continued. "Good, as it is of great value. Your family's founder; Hrodwulf Le'man, the forger of the Deamon Slayer sword, left a legacy saying that when the time arose, he would return to save the Imperium and guard his Emperor once more."

"I know of that," Yarrick said simply. McKenzie put his hat back on.

"Good, see, the Warp believes you to be the Deamon Slayer reincarnate, and now it hastens itself to conquer the mortal realm. That is why this sudden outburst of Dark activity has become. The Dark Gods know that there's only one mortal that can threaten their existence; the Imperial Legend Reborn."

Rolf realised McKenzie meant him. Yarrick knew he was stronger than most men, taller too and it went without mentioning that he had a constitution beyond normal men, but he'd thought these mere trifles. He had been diagnosed as a half-Space Marine, and that was it, he'd thought. It was a mutation that the Inquisition accepted. He had heard of other cases, but not that he would be his great ancestor reborn. That was ridiculous.

"It can't be me," Yarrick said with a sneer. "I'm but a young man still, unskilled-"

"Unskilled?" McKenzie raised his eyebrows in mock query. "I wouldn't say so. There are Space Marine captains that would fall for your blade. Not to mention the wicked warriors of the Dark. And yet, you are not more than a quarter of a decade old. And you most certainly have very much time left!"

"Still, I would not be able to match the Dark Lord himself in battle skill and prowess, would I?"

"His skill is formed from countless battles after centuries of savagery," McKenzie said and scowled. "His greatest wish is to slay and spill blood in his Master's name. A wish you don't share. But you will also gain skill, Rolf, as time progresses and you will have more than enough time to perfect your skills and gain experience.

"And do I not guess correctly when I say that you want to be able to face him in battle and defeat him one day?"

Rolf nodded but spoke not a word.

"I believe we have made clear to you our reason to respect you, haven't we?" McKenzie asked and smiled warmly.

"Indeed you have, although it seems unbelievable," Yarrick replied.

A few minutes later, a good fifty officers and juniors gathered in the briefing room and McGranth laid out his battle-plan. McKenzie also gave a brief on what they were facing: Hive Fleet vanguards called Genestealers. They were tougher and stronger than Hive Fleet Behemoth's Genestealers and thus they could only belong to Hive Fleet Kanker. This Hive Fleet had held a firm grip on Volrath a long time. It seemed however very strange that the insecticide aliens hadn't stripped Volrath, and their declared home world New Hope, of its resources, something that seemed too human in nature for aliens. McKenzie voiced none of his concern for that Kanker was preparing the coming of its parent Fleet Behemoth. If it was so, the Imperium had little hope, even with the Deamon Slayer reborn...

After the briefing the Imperial warriors spread out as McGranth had instructed and the force advanced upon the Genestealers. They would not let this cult survive. McKenzie felt an odd feeling when he advanced with a bodyguard of Tactical Marines. It was the feeling of being stopped, held back. He could not see as far as he'd liked with his psychic sight. Something was hampering him.

It had been more than two hours since brief when Rolf Yarrick met the enemy for the first time. He and three platoons of Imperial Guard along with a squad of storm troopers stood face to face with a Genestealer brood. Some of the Genestealers were pureblood aliens, but the vast majority of them were mutants: half-human and half-Genestealer. The mutations were grotesque. Instead of four arms, the mutants had perhaps three, of which one was a Genestealer talon. The Genestealers themselves were no pretty sight. Standing close on two metres tall, six limbed and with a strange colouring of dark blue carapace and pale blue skin, they could instil terror in anyone. Their eyes had a neon-blue light in them and their fangs were long and silvery. Their feet and one pair of arms ended in sturdy, three-digit talons and the other pair of arms ended in human looking hands with silver gleaming claws. The heads looked faintly human, though hairless. A short stubby tail extended from their rears and they all moved with an inhuman speed.

Although they fell easily for the lasguns and hellguns of the Imperial Guard, their speed enabled them to get very close very fast. Yarrick noticed this and ordered his men to fall back a pace to get a better shot. As long as they could keep a few hundred metres between themselves and the Genestealers, they would be safe. Yarrick found it odd that the half-humans didn't carry lasguns or at least autoguns. Instead they carried blades and axes. However, the lack of long-range weaponry didn't seemingly impede on them, and they were soon all over them. Yarrick found himself fighting for his life. No Dark madness could have prepared him for this. The half-humans proved able opponents to his brave Imperial Guard. The powerful talons of the Genestealers cut without greater problems straight through the carapace armour of the storm troopers, and that distressed Yarrick greatly. Turning round after decapitating another half-human, he looked into the face of one particularly large Genestealer. Viscous drool ran down its fangs as it studied the young commissar general. Yarrick saw the inhuman intelligence that worked behind the cold eyes. He raised his sword just in time to parry one of the powerful talons.

The beast hissed and made a new attack. Yarrick brought his sword round and took off the beast's left clawed hand with it. The snow beneath them was painted purple by the strange ichors flowing in the veins of the Genestealer. The thing jumped backwards, and sprung forwards so fast that Rolf barely saw it coming. He managed to get out of the way just in time, but the Genestealer took part of his left arm coat and flesh with one of its talons. Shutting out the pain, Yarrick could not prevent that his blood mixed in the snow with the Genestealer's purple ichors. The beast lunged at him again, but this time Yarrick was ready for it, despite his pain. He fell backwards into the snow, the beast coming on top of him. Rolf sent both his jackbooted feet into the belly of it and cut a long, deep gash in its chest with his sword. Half a second later, he threw it over himself so that it landed several metres away into the snow. Rolf stood up and tottered on the spot a while. The beast didn't move. Rolf doubted he'd killed it. He could've impaled it on his sword if he'd wanted, but he did not want to risk it having death spasms. His breath came in gasps now. The blood hadn't dried in his arm; it had frozen. He noticed a movement by his side and spun round with his sword, decapitating a lone Genestealer. Looking around, Yarrick saw he was the last man standing amongst his own. The fight hadn't lasted long, the corpses still smoked because their own body heat. A small movement behind him caught his eye and he saw the huge Genestealer standing up. It launched itself at him and knocked the Yarrickian sword out of his hands and landed firmly on top of him, knocking the air out of the Imperial Commissar. It stood up to its full height and screamed out a victory shriek. It was wordless, alien and it pierced the thin air of Volrath, carrying far, proclaiming its victory over the Commissar General.

Bending down, opening its maws to chew off the knocked Yarrick's face, it found itself with a cold bolt pistol's muzzle in its mouth.

"Eat this!" Yarrick growled and pulled the trigger. The back of the Genestealer's head exploded in a mist of purple ichors and pale blue flesh. The beast toppled backwards and landed with a wet thump in the snow. Its limbs twitched a few moments before finally coming to rest.

Rolf let his extended right arm fall back into the snow, still clutching the bolt pistol of his dead mentor. "God-Emperor have mercy," he muttered before passing out of pain and cold.

McKenzie walked the lines. The battle was long since over, though he couldn't find the commissar general. He saw Commissar Irwin stepping out of one of the command buildings and approached the short man. McKenzie felt a tang of envy as he felt the smell from the steaming caffeine in Irwin's hands. There was a stiff measure of Scotch in it. McKenzie felt it. He damned himself that he couldn't have the stuff. Marines were meant to be able to take more than ordinary humans when it came to alcohol, but they were forbidden from drinking it any way.

"Commissar Irwin, have you seen Commissar General Yarrick?" McKenzie asked as he came up to the commissar.

Irwin stopped the jug just at his lips and gave it a think. "Not recently, if you mean now after the battle?"

"Strange," McKenzie said and scratched his head. "No vox from his platoons. Nothing?"

Irwin shrugged. "Damned if I know."

"Where was he last reported?"

"Colonel Ilkan said that the last report from them was somewhere around map section C4," Irwin said after a few moments of thinking.

"When was that?"

"Damn, you ask many questions!" Irwin spat. "I thought you were a mind-reader, McKenzie? Ah, well, it must've been two hours ago, or something. I'm not sure."

"Oh, frekk!" McKenzie growled and ran off towards a collection of big Space Marine snow-bikes. Irwin shrugged. He felt that it was no rush really; he knew that Yarrick could take care of himself. Besides, it was hard to worry with a good, heavy meal filling the stomach. He'd allowed himself to be a bit indulgent over the diet just this once.

McKenzie shouted to Apothecary O'Brian to get his medicae kit and come with him. He also picked out four Marines as escort, in case there still was Genestealers at large. McKenzie jumped up on one snow-bike, ignited the engine and sped off towards map section C4. He brought the map online on a tiny data-screen mounted in the steering bar of the snow-bike. He threw a hasty glance behind himself to see if the others were following. They were, though it was hard to make out the Apothecary in his white armour against the snow. McKenzie pressed a few buttons to make the cogitator unit plot a course to section C4. In a moment's notice, he got response and turned his bike to drive down a deep ice valley. Apothecary O'Brian and the four Marines followed without hesitation, fully confident in their leader.

They came out of the ice valley and McKenzie set off to the north. He still had the strange feeling of being held back. He didn't like it. He slowed his bike down as they reached the map section. He tried to scan for life signs in the entire area, but it was futile. Something was really blocking him out. McKenzie ordered them to spread out and search the area for any survivors.

McKenzie tried once again to scan for life signs as he rumbled slowly across the snow. He could feel about ten metres around himself, he guessed. McKenzie felt O'Brian coming up behind him.

"If this young man was alive but wounded two hours ago, he won't be alive any more, Master Lexicanum," O'Brian said gravely.

"He is alive," McKenzie growled. "I have a strange feeling he is damn well alive."

He rolled down another valley, though smaller. Suddenly, the impeding blanket was gone from his psychic mind and McKenzie took in the entire of section C4. There was one more soul there, except the five Marines and himself, but it was a faint one. McKenzie programmed the coordinates into the cogitator and ordered all Marines to follow him. He brought his bike round and drove due east, towards the reading. As soon as he left the valley, the blanket of psychics were there again and hampered him, but he needed not his mind any more.

McKenzie reached the spot where Yarrick had passed out and saw the devastation wrought by the Genestealers. It turned his guts to see so many brave men gutted by those foul aliens. Still, they'd taken every single Genestealer with them down. McKenzie got off his snow-bike and crossed over to the corpse of one particularly large Genestealer.

"Brood leader," McKenzie whispered to himself, recording what he spoke. "Was highly psychic undoubtly, close to two metres fifty, weighed probably around two hundred kilos." McKenzie examined it closer and saw that one hand was missing and the jaw had been broken, the back of the head blown off and several fangs were broken. It also had a deep cut in its chest. McKenzie reported all this in his link. The Magos Biologis would be proud of this specimen of the Genestealer species.

McKenzie spun round abruptly as he heard a low groan behind him. He walked over the form of Rolf Yarrick, which was lying sprawled in the snow. The commissar's lips were blue and his usually tanned skin had taken a pale hue instead. He was in dire need of medical help.

"O'Brian! Over here!" McKenzie called out.

The apothecary rushed over and bent down by McKenzie's side. "He's very frozen," O'Brian said, stating the obvious. "And he's suffered from blood loss as well."

O’Brian pulled out a thick blanket from somewhere and they wrapped Yarrick up tight in it to keep him warm. They then carried him over to the Apothecary’s combination bike and put him in the sidecar. McKenzie watched as the medic performed his duties. He then glanced down on the ground. Something had caught his eye. He picked up the bolt pistol that Yarrick had had in his frozen hand, and also his sword as he found it sticking out of the snow a few metres away. He went over to Yarrick in the sidecar and sheathed the sword in its scabbard. He didn't put the bolt pistol back though. Instead, he kept it with him as they drove back to the main base.

Yarrick slowly opened his eyes. It felt like crawling up an icy slope. He looked up into the roof of the sickbay of the transport ship and then to his left as he felt someone's presence. It wasn't psychic; it was something gained through battle. There he saw Irwin sitting on a chair, wearing the same expression that Rolf had worn when Irwin had had his heart attack. Rolf smiled to himself and called Irwin's name. The short man looked suddenly up and a broad smile spread on his lips.

"God-Emperor be merciful! You're alive, sir!" Irwin exclaimed and sat himself closer to the medic cot. "We all thought you were going to die, considering the condition McKenzie found you in."

Yarrick didn't reply immediately. He studied Irwin. The man seemed haggard, despite his roundness. It was obvious he'd been sitting by Yarrick's side for a long time.

"What state did McKenzie find me in?" Rolf asked politely.

Irwin was just to reply, when Skuli spoke. "In a bad condition, and that is all you need to know, master."

Yarrick looked surprised at the mutant servant, but Irwin smiled warmly. Rolf thought he'd never seen such a genuine smile on anyone's lips.

"That is true, Skuli," Irwin said. "Rolf need not know what terrible state he was in." Irwin turned to Yarrick. "Honestly speaking, Rolf, we were afraid of losing you."

Yarrick's emotions must have shone through, because Irwin patted him soothingly on his hand, like a father might do with his son. A long moment of reverent silence followed. But it was suddenly broken by angry voices from the outside. Yarrick recognised one at once as McKenzie's. The other one, not as high in tone as McKenzie's, he knew, but he couldn't place it. He heard pieces from a heated argument, as did Skuli and Irwin.

"...Must one day find out! You can't keep it from him, inquisitor!" That was McKenzie's voice.

"I can keep it form him if I prefer to, Master Lexicanum!" the inquisitor replied coldly.

"I doubt that!" McKenzie threw back. "You know full well that I have no love lost for your kin."

"True... Alas, it is not you or your damned family it concerns, but the Yarricks."

McKenzie replied with something unintelligible. Which was perhaps just as good, Yarrick thought. It sounded rude.

Irwin had also listened and now lost his temper with the two men outside. He got up from his chair, put on his commissar's cap and walked out to them. Yarrick heard his angered voice through the walls as he chased McKenzie and the inquisitor off.

"What do you think you're up to? This is a medical bay and it is supposed to be quiet. It won't be quiet if you argue as loudly as you do now, kind sirs. So, off you go! Argue some other place, but not here. Tsach!"

Yarrick heard the heavy tread of power armoured feet and the lighter tread of feet in jackboots. A few seconds later, all was silent again and Irwin came back into the room.

"No respect for the wounded, those two," he muttered to himself as he sat down heavily on a chair. Rolf smiled to himself. It must have been a funny looking scene, he thought. Tall McKenzie and undoubtedly a powerful and tall inquisitor chased off by a short, tubby commissar. It was a crazy world...

"Hendrik," Yarrick asked after a moment of silence. "Who was that inquisitor?"

"An Inquisitor Felix Rovannion," Irwin replied as he sat down. "If you want my opinion, he's not to be trusted, that inquisitor."

"They must have been surprised at you chasing them off, Hendrik," Rolf said and grinned.

Irwin didn't notice the joke, but Skuli did and grinned too.

"They should respect the solitude that people want when in convalesce and not just speak away like that!" Irwin said sounding irritated.

Yarrick looked at Skuli and both laughed out loud. Sometimes, Irwin's total lack of any greater imagination was laughable.

*****************************

Rolf Yarrick remembered well that day as he now reflected on it. It had been the first time he'd met McKenzie, Charleston and McGranth, but it had also been the first time his strange iron will had saved him from certain death. It was also then he'd been made aware that Inquisitor Rovannion had been at his home all those years ago for more than coincidence. But that was two years ago and it seemed an eternity away.

He was once again standing in the Cardinal Boras, reflecting over his life. He hadn't lived for long; little more than twenty-seven years, but he was already an acknowledged and revered officer. He wondered if this year might be his last in life? So much had happened in two short years. The Genestealers on Volrath hadn't been able to be contained; they'd spread to Ichar and in some extent even to Holy Secondus itself. There were purges mounted against them, but it wasn't stopping the coming of the gigantic Hive Fleet Behemoth. Yarrick could but hope it would turn away and leave the Imperium alone. Hive Fleet Kanker was one thing, Behemoth something entirely else.

Without notice, an Eldar Craftworld had appeared out of nowhere two years ago. Craftworld Pano. McKenzie had told Yarrick it meant 'plank', but the commissar hadn't become the wiser for that. The presence of the Eldarain was both reassuring and terrifying at the same time. None could understand the Eldar's true reason to be there, but to have one of the eldest races in the galaxy fighting by your side felt well.

And then there were the Berzerkers... They had managed to find a way to his home-world Callidus without using interstellar ships. It scared Yarrick very much, but he dared not confess it to anyone. Dark Lord Kevlinn's attacks became more and more desperate, and it McKenzie was right; it was all due to Rolf Yarrick. The thought didn't fancy him.

And now, they were en route to a planet beyond Volrath; the infamous jungle world Lost Hope. The heart of the cancer, as Irwin had referred to it, meaning the Hive Fleet that resided there. Rolf noticed the short man by his side suddenly, Skuli not far behind. The little mutant didn't seem to leave Irwin for a minute's notice. This behaviour amused Yarrick greatly.

"I tell you what, sir," Irwin said sincerely. "I don't like going to Lost Hope. It was there that the magnificent Grand Commander Dante lost his life, after all, and to this very Hive Fleet."

Rolf nodded. "Perhaps so, but we must aid these new Saviours as greatly as we can, no?"

"You refer to the Outlaws of the Omega Squadron? Yes, of course." Irwin turned silent a while. "'Saviours'... Almita coined that name, didn't she?"

"What do you believe?" Yarrick asked with a smile.

Irwin was just to reply when Skuli broke in. "Master, Lost Hope is a jungle world just like Morrokk, isn't it?" Skuli asked as he peered out the bay window. His yellow eyes seemed to glow with an inner light.

"Yes, it is." Yarrick replied; trying to see what Skuli was looking at. He soon found it.

"Then it is supposed to be lushly green," Skuli continued. Irwin had also taken interest in looking at the approaching ball that Lost Hope was. "How come it is scorch brown?" Skuli asked politely.

Irwin made the sign of the Aquila and said in a mournful tone, "Emperor watch over their souls..."

"Our Saviours can't be..." Skuli tried, but when he saw Master Yarrick's stern face, he fell quiet.

"Those Eldar will be in dire trouble if they are..." Yarrick said grimly. "Now we at least know why they departed so quickly."

None spoke this time. All they could do was to pray to the Emperor and hope that they weren't too late.