Fire streaked across the black sky. The beast paused for a moment, both to admire the scene and find her next prey. Everywhere there were burning carcasses, some friend, some foe. There were plenty of enemies left, but the beast refrained; for now she was not a target, and failing to kill an enemy swiftly would make her one. She watched as the other beasts danced, fire scorching the green plain.

An enemy dove forward seeking her brother’s flank. The beast could see it taking aim, but she was already racing forward. Far more experienced than her enemy, the beast wasted no time and threw a wicked blast into the foe’s back. It let out a mortal scream as its back caved inward, its prepared shot firing ineffectually into the darkness.

“Confirmed kill! Pulls us back and load another HEAT. Get Daimone on the vox and tell him to keep us company, that last one nearly killed him.” Captain Adamns’ voice rang out in the cramped hull of his Leman Russ Vanquisher. The tank’s 180mm metal hide did little to muffle the carnage all around them, but Adamns cut above it all.

He pushed the hatch open at the top of the turret and stood. Looking out into the darkness he could barely make out the Comet falling back towards them. Adamns stepped down into the tank, taking the night-vision binocs from their harness on the wall of the turret. “Get us up on that hill,” he ordered Simmons before standing back out of the tank. Adamns scanned for targets, but expected nothing would engage them first. The plain’s flat terrain was a blessing for the tank hunters at the onset of the fighting, but as time dragged on the corpses of their victims concealed the enemy.

The Firefly backed up to the top of the hill, as the Comet just reached its base. The hill wasn’t much of a vantage, but Adamns could at least see the battle line. Helbrast’s 503rd Fortibrans were pushing the enemy back, but they weren’t rolling up the flanks to squeeze the enemy together. We’ll win, and spend a week cleaning up the gorilla fighters who escape.

Adamns stepped back into the tank, closing the hatch. “Ferg, tell the rest of the 253rd to get up here. Hell, inform Colonel Helbrast we’re pushing the right flank while you’re at it. This fight will be done in an hour.”

In ten minutes the 253rd had regrouped. Adamns left the platoon's Destroyer, the Archer, on the hill to cover their advance, and in a further five minutes they had outflanked the enemy. The two Vanquishers and Chimeras plunged into the enemy’s exposed rear. The enemy was slow to react, and the few true battle tanks they had holding the line were systematically killed by the veteran tank hunters.

The Chimeras rolled through the wreckage finishing the enemy’s lingering Siegfrieds while their hull mounted Lasguns cut down any survivors. The Archer moved up to the rest of the platoon when it saw the line folding. For twenty minutes the Russes and Destroyer skirted along the enemy’s rear, saving their fire for any vehicle that tried to flee. None escaped their awesome reach, though to the enemy’s credit few tried.

Dawn’s first light saw the Imperium’s salvage Trojans moving amongst the enemy’s smoldering debris. The tanks of the Modren 253rd Tank Hunter Detachment were drawn in a loose circle, their crews performing post battle rituals. Daimone, standing atop the Comet, regaled most of the grenadiers with a tale of a heroic whiteshield who fell in love with a governor’s daughter and fought across the galaxy to be with her. Hezeas and the Chimeras’ other gunners were playing some cards. Most of the others were off by themselves, working on the vehicles, reading, writing, or sleeping.

Adamns sat on the top of the Firefly watching the clean-up operation. He saw that no other platoon made it unscathed. Leaning back, he glanced over his shoulder; the men and tanks of the 253rd were in roughly the same shape as when he’d gotten them eight years ago. That was an exceptional thing, possible in part because of the nature of the platoon; they were tank snipers, and even on the front line they were removed from the battle. More than that, he knew, it was his skill as a commander that had kept them alive. The Munitorum knew it too, and had denied every request for transfer, refrained from any promotion, or any action which would have broken up the unit. We’ll all serve until doomsday if we must. I’ll make sure of it.

Ferg’s voice echoed from inside the Firefly, “Captain! Helbrast is on the horn. He’s asking for you.”

Adamns stifled a groan and climbed into the tank. Ferg got out of his seat at the communication nook and stepped away to let Adamns picked up the receiver. “This is Modren lead, over.”

The return was a sharp whine that made coherent sentences. “Adamns, get your men over to HQ. Word from on high says you’re shipping out soon and we’re not done here.”

“How soon, Colonel?”

“Didn’t say. Get over, now. The Lord General Militant is on his way down.” The static cut out, and Adamns hung up the receiver. He slipped out of his chair and pulled his stocky frame through the Firefly’s turret hatch. Ferg’s voice followed him, “Think it’ll be bad, Captain?”

Adamns leaned back over the hatch. “When in eight years hasn’t it been bad?” He stood on the tank’s tread and shouted to the 253rd, “Colonel wants us back at HQ, on the double. Saddle up, Modren.”

The men returned to the vehicles swiftly but without tension. Those sleeping were woken, and they made their ways to their respective tanks, probably only to fall back asleep. Denagan, commander of the Archer, jogged up to the Firefly’s flank.

“What’s going on, Seth?”

“Apparently we’re being shipped out again. Helbrast doesn’t know about it, and the Lord General Militant is coming to the debriefing.”

Denagan’s soft features hardened. “Departmento Munitorum couldn’t know we’d be finished by now. They’re pulling us out blind, which means this next theatre is going to be a gak-storm.”

Adamn leaned back against the turret and closed his eyes. “Looks that way.”

Denagan saw the concern on his friend’s face, and his mood returned to its natural joviality. “If I recall correctly, we had this conversation before we shipped out for this theatre. It might not even be worse than this. Maybe the paper-dispensers expect us to finish campaigns quicker.”

Adamn’s mood wasn’t lightened, but he smiled and said, “Alright, alright, get back to the Archer. We’re waiting on you.”

As Denagan turned to leave, the tank under the captain roared to life, followed swiftly by the rest of the 253rd. Adamns climbed back into the Firefly, and slumped down at the base of the ladder. “Simmons, you know the route. Wake me if anyone starts shooting.”

“Aye, sir. Should we be expecting someone to start shooting?”

“If I thought we should, I wouldn’t be sleeping. Relax, the war’s done.” Adamns stretched out, taking up all the floor space in the tank. Staring up, he watched the sky change color through the open top hatch. His eyes wouldn’t close, despite the crushing weariness that weighed on all his limbs. He couldn’t even remember the names of all the campaigns he’d been on, but he did remember the waiting. It felt like this.

The months between theatres seemed to stretch on uninterrupted in his memory. Exercise to keep his stamina, eating to keep him alive, sleeping to pass the time. He ran along endless gray corridors, ate the same gray food, and slept in the same gray bunk. Standard issue ships, standard issue corridors, stand issue waiting.

At least the tanks were something a soldier could make his own. Before he’d been promoted to captain and given the 253rd, he was a lieutenant commanding the Iron Hide. A year before that, he was driving an Exterminator, the Lancer, for a tank hunter squadron. In the two years before that assignment he’d been a loader or driver for a dozen tanks.

Adamns been drafted into the Guard at fifteen, as had all his friends. He’d been lucky: the only one of his friends selected for vehicle duties. Modren commanders abided by a doctrine of attrition, using artillery dangerously close to the infantry. He didn’t even know they were dead until his second tank. Jace, Klicks, Po’ten, and…

The name wouldn’t come. He’d long since forgotten their faces; he knew their names would fade too. Still, the realization struck a blow that plunged his aching to new depths. Was there even a time before war? Adamns had a creeping doubt…