Jarmo Haikonen was fugging freezing. He couldn't see gak through the raging blizzard that howled incessantly around him, seemingly hell-bent on making him a permanent, frozen fixture in the bleak white vastness of this throne-accursed world. He gritted his teeth as he waded through a deep snow drift, holding his right arm out in front of his face in an ineffective attempt to deflect some of the driving snow that was impeding his vision. The vague silhouette of a rocky outcrop loomed some distance ahead and Haikonen prayed that he might find shelter there. If he made it that far.

As he staggered on-wards, he cast his mind back to the horrendous events of several hours earlier; events that filled him with sorrow, resentment and an intense, burning hatred.

The reviled orks had attacked their camp in a sudden, brutal shock assault; they came out of nowhere, showing a level of initiative almost unheard of in their race. Taking advantage of the dreadful weather conditions, the green skins had dropped through the thick, low cloud cover and were on them in the blink of an eye; crude gunships sporting the hideous sigils of their lunatic gods emerging through the fog, cannon firing, explosive shells impacting into the ground sending up great plumes of white powder and red gore. As they swooped overhead their metal bellies split open giving birth to hundreds of crazed storm boyz, dropping to the ground firing their ugly weapons, cutting down his comrades of the 7th Company Lohkaarm Guard as they scattered in disarray, attempting vainly to reorganise and defend the outpost.

Within minutes, the orks had overwhelmed their position, and Haikonen was forced to flee, tears streaming down his face at the loss of his brothers. He could not be sure, but it was highly likely that he was the only survivor. How he hated himself for not being able to defend his comrades. Wracked with guilt, his only thoughts now were of survival and revenge.

The howling wind was relentless, and each step that Haikonen took required considerably more effort than the last. Despite the heavy arctic war gear, the fur boots and the thick gloves, his extremities were close to becoming frost-bitten, and he knew he couldn’t survive out in the open for much longer. It would soon be nightfall, and the terrifying predators of this bitter region would emerge from their holes to hunt. He cursed himself for losing his lasgun in the gunfight with the despicable orks. His only weapon now was his combat knife, which would be of little use against the hulking monstrosities that lurked in this ice-covered, hellish landscape. Head down, teeth chattering and muttering furiously to himself, he continued to force his way through the snow.

After what seemed like an age, struggling relentlessly through the heavy snow, the fatigued guardsman looked up to see a thick shard of grey, weatherworn rock jutting up from the stark whiteness of the ground, its pinnacle lost in the low-hanging cloud overhead. Haikonen was now in its shadow and he judged that he was less than a hundred metres from his goal. He permitted himself a wry smile at this small yet not insignificant achievement, but it was quickly wiped from his face when the whistling wind buffeting around him was pierced by the bloodcurdling howl of some unseen monster. Spurred on by the knowledge of some ravenous beast having caught his scent, Haikonen swore and began wading through the snow and ice as fast as he could. He whispered another prayer to the emperor as he pumped his arms and legs, every muscle burning with lactic acid, his breath ragged, lungs screaming for mercy. But Haikonen knew that he could not stop. His life most certainly depended upon it.

As the rock loomed closer, he permitted himself a quick, nervous glance over his shoulder, and instantly wished he hadn’t. Behind him, through the snowstorm, he could make out the large shape of a sabre-tooth tyranodon as it rapidly gained ground on him, its massive yet lithe body bounding with effortless grace, eating up the distance between them.

“Oh fug!” he managed, reverting his gaze to the route before him, shovelling snow out of his path with renewed vigour. He wasn’t far from the jagged rock face, which he could now see was punctuated with fissures. If only he could make it into one of the narrow cracks, he might yet evade the ravenous beast.

After several more agonisingly long seconds, his foot struck solid stone and he almost fell headlong into the snow. The sabre-tooth was almost upon him, its breathing now audible over the wind. Haikonen clambered up onto a large slab of rock, slipping on the icy stone as he scrambled for one of the fissures that looked wide enough for him, but hopefully too narrow for a great sabre-tooth. There was a sudden roar and the Lohkaarm guardsman spun around to see the beast in all its terrifying glory mere metres behind him, ready to pounce and take him in its claws! Haikonen’s world seemed to slow right down, as he turned in excruciatingly slow motion, his limbs unbearably heavy, aching to root themselves to the spot. With a desperate scream of fear mixed with sheer bloody-minded determination, he hurled himself headlong towards the crack, just as a huge, dark shadow descended over him.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuug!” he screamed, his body hurtling through the crack in the rock face, his right shoulder grazing against the hard wall. Just as he landed, there was a massive thud and roar of pain, the great cat’s bulk smashing against the rock face. Aware that he was not out of danger yet, Haikonen quickly scrambled across the icy floor and deeper into the fissure. The tyranodon was not done yet, one of its enormous paws slamming down behind him. But he kept going, deeper and deeper, further and further from the slavering beast. The tyranodon roared again, this time in undeniable frustration.

Haikonen sat there some ten metres away from the cat and finally out of its reach, panting and gasping for air. His body ached and the beads of sweat running from his face were rapidly freezing, forming small icicles in his beard. He pulled his snow goggles from his eyes and wiped the back of his gloved hand across his forehead and beard, moisture and ice particles falling around him.

Chest heaving, head leaning back against the cold wall, Haikonen stared upwards to see that the fissure rose high above him, its heights lost in the fog. He wondered how high it went, and whether he might be able to climb it, once he had recovered sufficiently. He opened a pouch at his belt and pulled out a small portion of his meagre rations, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully whilst he considered his somewhat desperate situation. The tyranodon had stopped its scratching and snarling and was now regarding him with intelligent eyes.

“Sorry, my friend; it seems there’ll be no eating me today,” he said, continuing to chew. Now he had a chance to see the big cat’s face and size, he marvelled at how large yet agile it was. It must be at least six or seven metres, nose to tail, he thought. “Throne, you’re a big mother fugger.”

Eventually the beast let out a low growl and turned to lope off into the blizzard. Haikonen hoped it would travel far before it found another meal, and also that it would sleep soundly tomorrow so that he could put some distance between himself and the terrible yet majestic hunting machine. He decided to find somewhere in this fissure where it was slightly more sheltered so that he could maybe sleep for a few hours. Locating a small hole barely large enough to squeeze himself into, he conceded that this was as good as it was going to get, took his webbing off, wriggled into the gap and closed his eyes.

He woke with a start to the sound of a noisy engine. Haikonen knew immediately from the chugging and clanking that this was no Imperial vehicle and so remained inside his hole and out of sight. His webbing was just outside the entrance but he had taken care to bury it under the snow, just in case the green skin scum somehow managed to track him, however unlikely that was. It was probably just a recon vehicle of some kind scouting the area; he doubted they were specifically looking for him, as despite the fact several orks had chased him for some distance from the Lohkaarm camp, they would probably believe him to be a frozen lump of ice by now. To be fair, he almost was.

Whilst he estimated that the vehicle was less than thirty metres away, he was pretty sure that they couldn’t see up here into the fissure. Then he heard a door being opened and the tell-tale sound of one, two – no, three orks dropping into the thigh-deep snow. They were shouting loudly in their guttural alien tongue, their voices deep and harsh. Haikonen twisted his body forward to take a cautious look. They were coming this way.

He had a decision to make and he had to make it fast. Should he hide where he was, risking being found and killed like a kaniini in a hole? Or should he get out now and try to climb the wall, not knowing how far he needed to climb, to maybe fall to his death or be shot down should he be seen? Being the man of action he was, Haikonen quickly opted for the latter and squirmed out from the opening, hastily strapping on his webbing before finding a section of rock face that looked climbable. Heaving himself up, he started to scale the wall.

It was a treacherous climb and he lost his grip or foothold on more than one occasion, before reaching a small ledge maybe twenty metres above the ground. Fortunately for him, the three orks had stood around for a while arguing, giving him enough time to make it to where he was. However, the arguing had ceased and one of the orks was heading towards the opening of the fissure and Haikonen was perilously exposed. He strained to pull himself up and onto the shelf, scanning around to ascertain his options. To his dismay, the ledge was small and led nowhere. He would have to continue the ascent.

All of a sudden the ork below him shouted out, and Haikonen spun his head around to see the green skin pointing up at him, calling his companions and gesticulating wildly. He had no choice but to continue climbing as fast as he dared. The other orks were climbing up onto the rocky platform outside the fissure now, but Haikonen noticed that they were all too big to actually fit through the gap. Still, that wouldn’t prevent them from shooting him from where they stood. They had started laughing now, pointing and jeering at him, some of it in broken low gothic.

“Hey, ‘oomie! Where d’ya fink yoo’z goin’?” one of them yelled above the sound of the storm. They were laughing quite raucously now, slapping each other and making signs with their hands simulating someone climbing, falling and then going splat on the ground. Then the biggest one stopped laughing and punched the nearest ork to the ground.

“Shut it yoo slagz! Fun’z ova; it’z time ta shoot ‘im down.” The huge ork unslung his big bolter, pushed the other green skin out of his way and raised the brutal gun to take aim. Haikonen noticed a defaced Imperial eagle and realised it must have once belonged to an Astartes.

“Bye bye, ‘oomie!” sneered the ork. Haikonen felt anger and frustration rather than fear, and was about to hurl a foul tirade of verbal abuse at the green skin when one of the orks, the one picking himself up from the ground, shrieked in terror before a massive white shape pounced from the fog, landing on the ork and crushing him against the rock. The tyranodon opened its maw and proceeded to rip out the wretched ork’s windpipe. The big cat was back and apparently it was still very hungry.

The remaining two green skin brutes fired at the huge beast but only a couple of shells hit their target, as the monstrous animal leapt again, swiping with a great paw to smash both green skins to the side, snapping the neck of the smaller one and crushing the leader’s rib cage. The surviving ork let out a gurgling cry of pain, blood spurting from its mouth. He tried to raise his bolt gun as the big cat casually padded over to the prone orks and, one by one, picked them up by the scruffs of their necks, the big ork swearing loudly and flailing desperately to no effect as it scooped him up, dropping his weapon in the process. Then the animal turned, glancing momentarily up at Haikonen, and trotted off into the blizzard, leaving Haikonen to marvel at his good fortune.

He carefully began to descend the rock face. When only a couple of metres from the bottom he finally lost his grip and fell backwards, landing heavily on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He groaned. “For fug’s sake! That’s just fugging typical,” he bemoaned, lying there for a few moments to gauge his injuries. Whilst battered and bruised, he was pretty sure he hadn’t broken anything, which was a minor miracle in itself. Slowly pulling himself up, he staggered bent-backed out into the open and the large rocky ledge where the orks had dropped their weapons. He went straight for the Astartes bolter, ignoring the crudely-made ork weapons. It was a huge weapon. As he hefted it up to get a feel for it, he traced his gloved fingers over the Imperial eagle on the fore stock. The gun was very heavy and his fingers barely wrapped round the large pistol grip. It would slow his progress somewhat, as it weighed many kilograms, but as he glanced up to look at the angular vehicle sat thirty metres away, he hoped that this would not be an impediment for long.

The ork transport was a small, ugly armoured hull sat atop two wide caterpillar tracks. Haikonen cautiously approached the rough-looking armoured personnel carrier, aiming the robust bolter at the riveted door. Ork glyphs and graffiti were painted onto the side of the APC, including one showing a green skin cleaving the head off an Astartes. It looked like it had been painted by a child. Once at the vehicle, he reached slowly for the big handle and turned it little by little, wincing at the awful sound of metal scraping on metal. The handle stopped once it reached the limit of its mechanism and he took a couple of deep breaths before sharply pulling the door back on its hinges, shoving the muzzle of his bolter in through the opening, sweeping it quickly from side to side, up and down as he scanned the interior.

Nothing.

He exhaled in relief and made to climb up into the hull, only to have a small blur of green leap down from behind the top of the opening, scratching furiously at his face with its fingers. Haikonen staggered back and fell into the deep snow, grabbing at the thing on his face. It had pulled his goggles off and was attempting to gouge his eyes when he finally managed to get it by its ankles and yanked it off, hurling it into a deep snow drift. He swiftly got to his feet and pulled the bolter around to take aim at his assailant.

It turned out to be an angry-looking snotling barely half a metre in height, currently digging itself out of the snow, complaining bitterly in its alien tongue. It stopped when it saw the barrel of the big gun pointing at it and promptly threw its hands into the air in surrender; a desperate attempt at what Haikonen guessed was supposed to be an apologetic grin across its face.

“You crazy little fugger! I should put a bolt through you,” he yelled at it. The smile disappeared from the snotling’s face and it started to cower, shivering in the freezing cold. Seasoned veteran though he was, Haikonen could not bring himself to shoot the tiny creature. “There’s no honour in shooting you. So instead I’ll just leave you out here to fend for yourself.”

The snotling appeared to understand this and dropped to its knees, gibbering frantically in its strange language, obviously begging for mercy. But Haikonen ignored it, shouldered his gun and leapt up into the cramped cabin of the armoured transport, slamming the heavy metal door behind him.

Now that Haikonen was inside, he saw just how primitive the ork vehicle was. There were two seats at the front, both of them different, and a small wooden bench at the back which was screwed into the floor plate. Under the front windscreen were a couple of levers as well as some valves and gauges. A short ladder was bolted next to the door which led up to a hatch where a gunner might sit. Apart from that there was a radio on the wall next to the driver’s seat; otherwise, the interior was extremely basic.

Haikonen placed the weighty bolter on one of the seats and threw himself into the other one. Looking around the primitive controls for some sort of activation switch, he soon found a crude key wedged into a slot. Turning this triggered the starter motor and the engine coughed deeply as it turned over. To his surprise it actually started first time. Grasping the two vertical levers that jutted up from the floor, he looked up to the view screen in time to see the pathetic form of the snotling pressing its face to the glass, gesticulating wildly. Haikonen frowned and looked around the rudimentary dashboard, eventually finding a small lever that he pulled down. Large wiper blades moved horizontally across the windscreen, pushing the screaming snotling off the front of the vehicle.

He now turned his attention to the radio. There was a dial and a handset, but the small glyphs were in orkish, so he had no idea how to tune it to an Imperial frequency. That was very frustrating, he thought. He couldn’t risk using the radio for fear that he’d be on an ork frequency. It was unlikely that the orks would have anything as advanced as a locator device onboard, but they had surprised him more than once in the past twelve hours, so he decided it was probably best not to take any chances. Therefore, he needed to move fast and hope he could find the nearest Imperial outpost which lay more than a hundred kilometres to the east. Forcibly pushing both of the drive levers forward as far as they would go, the carrier lurched and began to forge a path through the snow.

The transport was fairly quick across the snow field but was very noisy, the chassis bouncing violently from side to side on stiff springs. As Haikonen was shaken about in his seat, he made an inspection of the gauges in front of him. One looked like it measured velocity whilst another appeared to be some sort of temperature gauge. The one he was looking for, however, was the fuel meter. When he found it, he saw that the tank was less than a quarter full. He had no idea how big the fuel reservoir was on this thing but he hoped that there would be enough juice to get him at least most of the way to his destination.

After a bone-jarring journey of an hour or so, Haikonen needed a piss. From the speed he’d been doing, he judged that he must have travelled around twenty kilometres. Pulling both levers back, the snow track ground to a halt, skidding slightly on the packed snow. The blizzard was still raging outside and it was very, very dark. He got up from his seat and walked to the door, pulling the handle to open it just wide enough so that he could piss through the gap. As he struggled with his arctic clothing, Haikonen failed to notice a small dark shape crawling through the gap in the doorway. Whilst he stood there firing a warm beam of urine through the slit, an extremely frozen snotling crawled slowly towards the front of the compartment, occasionally glancing anxiously over its shoulder at the tall human.

Haikonen was just shaking off the last few drops when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Spinning to see who or what was in the cabin with him, zipping his flies and simultaneously drawing his combat knife from its sheath, Haikonen saw the snotling on one of the seats at the front, trying desperately to heave the massive bolter around to point at him. Quick as a flash, he threw his knife which pierced the reptilian hide covering the seat, right between the snotling’s legs. Haikonen quickly closed the distance between them, picking the shaken snotling up by its neck and pulling his blade from the seat. The thing was almost frozen, teeth chattering, its skin now a shade of blue, with snow and ice covering it from head to foot. He was utterly amazed it had survived this long in the open.

“You’re a determined little fugger, I’ll give you that,” he said, putting his knife away and pulling some cord from one of his belt pouches. He carried the wretched thing over to the ladder and unceremoniously began tying it to one of the rungs. The thing wriggled and spat, screeching in its high-pitched voice. Once he was satisfied that the creature was secure, he took a step back to regard it. The snotling struggled for a bit against its bonds, before ultimately sagging in defeat, head lolling forward. Haikonen permitted himself a smile as he walked over to close the door, putting a stop to the wind and snow that was rushing into the compartment.

Returning to the driver’s seat, he slammed the levers forward once more, the bone-shaking vibrations of the moving vehicle returning instantly. As Haikonen drove east he kept a wary eye on the fuel gauge, noting with some dismay that the needle was descending towards the red much faster than he had hoped. By his estimations, he had travelled around fifty kilometres and, from the rate the fuel was going, reckoned he only had another twenty or so in the tank. He was only halfway to his destination. Although that all depended on whether he was even heading in the right direction; in this blizzard he was going purely on instinct.

“Well, my little friend. It would seem we are well and truly in the gak.” He didn’t even turn to look at the tiny green alien, but could tell from the sounds of its whimpering that it knew all too well the predicament they were in.

It wasn’t long before the engine started coughing and losing power. Finally, after one last mechanical spasm, the motor died and the transport ground to a halt. The snotling began to wail.

Haikonen got up from his seat and walked up to the creature with more than a little menace in his step. The snotling quickly reduced its wailing to a whimper.

“I’ll have no more of that,” he said, gripping the creature by its chin so that it would hold his steady gaze. “Otherwise you’ll find yourself kicked out into the blackness of the arctic night.” He let go and the snotling seemed to nod in affirmation.

Haikonen then proceeded to look around the compartment for anything of use, although he certainly wasn’t expecting much. In a locker at the back of the transport he found a few supplies including a thick woollen coat that was about five sizes too big for him, a vicious-looking axe, a canteen of water and a metal box that had “rashunz” written on it. Pulling out the stopper of the canteen he took a sniff and instantly recoiled, throwing the canteen to the floor. It obviously contained some vile and incredibly potent ork brew. Moving to the metal box, he carefully lifted the lid to release the pungent aroma of cured spiced meat. He took a small bite and was surprised to find that it wasn’t actually that bad. He started putting the contents of the box into his pouches.

The tiny snotling watched all of this with beady eyes. As the human rifled through the locker, it decided to try its bonds again. Whilst the human had been driving the transport, the snotling had been ever so carefully wriggling in its bonds, and it was slowly managing to loosen them. It could almost get an arm free now and, in its excitement, began to wriggle with a little more fervour, being careful to keep a distrustful eye on the nasty human. At last, it succeeded in releasing its right arm, closest to the wall, just as the hairy-faced human turned around to look him suspiciously. The snotling felt that a big innocent-looking grin would convince the human that everything was as it should be.

Haikonen frowned as he regarded the snotling, a wide toothy smile across its face that screamed ‘I’m up to something’. He got up, axe in hand and in two strides he was inches from its face, its smile wavering noticeably. A small bead of sweat trickled down its forehead.

“What are you up to now, eh?” Haikonen pulled its head down and craned over to look at the bonds on its other side, at once noticing that it had begun to slip out of the tightly-bound rope. The snotling began straining against the cord, yelping and snapping with its mouth at Haikonen’s arm.

“Why, you little…” he started, pulling his arm away and raising the axe in his other hand. The snotling screamed and shut its eyes, but Haikonen just waited a few moments until the annoying little scamp finally dared to open one eye to look up at his angry face.

“That’s it; I’ve really had enough of you.” Looking around he laid eyes upon the box that had contained the ork rations, nodding to himself as he decided that it should be just about big enough. The snotling followed his gaze and saw what was about to happen, going into another fit of fear and fury as realisation dawned.

After locking the box with the snotling inside, Haikonen took the massive, foul-smelling ork coat from the locker and lay down on the floor, pulling the thick fur cover over him and attempting to get comfortable. The box bounced up and down in the corner of the compartment, high-pitched squealing coming from inside. He took the heavy bolter and put it on top of the box, putting a stop to the bouncing. Then he turned over and closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep.

Haikonen awoke the following morning stiff and aching from the previous day’s injuries. His back was quite tender and he suspected that he might have at least one cracked rib from the fall in the fissure. However, he was Lohkaarm through and through and tough as they come. It would take a lot more than yesterday’s trials to put him out of action.

Looking out through the front view screen he could see that dawn had broken. The howling blizzard had died down, although it still sounded windy outside the cab. He had a quick breakfast of the spiced meat (probably squig, he thought) and a few gulps of water from his canteen. Getting up he took the axe, put it through his belt, and slung the bolter on his back. Then he took the great, smelly fur coat and draped it around him, pulling the big hood up over his head. It really did smell bad, but it was a fug-load better than freezing his balls off!

Satisfied that he had everything he required for his trek, Haikonen reached for the release mechanism on the door. The wind whistled through the gap, bringing flakes of snow with it. Just as he was about to step out into the bitter cold he stopped and looked over his shoulder at the silent metal box. He walked over and knelt down beside it, putting his ear to the lid. There was no audible sound from within.

Haikonen cursed himself for his weakness. Why couldn’t he just leave the vile alien to die? He pondered this for a moment, eventually putting it down to the fact that the snotling was nothing more than a slave to its ork masters, and therefore had little choice in being here. He sighed and unlocked the lid.

The snotling pounced and, despite himself, Haikonen recoiled in astonishment. Running past him towards the door, the green thing turned, pulled up its hood, sticking its tongue out at him before leaping out into the snow. Haikonen thought about this for a moment and let out a short bark of a laugh. Shaking his head, he got up and went to the door. The snotling’s tracks led away from the vehicle into the distance, disappearing over a small ridge.

Smiling to himself as he jumped down into the thick white powder, Haikonen pulled his furs tight around him and set of in the opposite direction to the snotling. At least he had been spared the final decision regarding the creature’s fate. “Fare well, little pest,” he spoke into the wind as he trudged on through the drifts.

The sky was white and the snow was still falling, but the conditions were considerably improved when compared to the previous night. As he marched on, the distraction provided by the devious little snotling now gone, he could not help but think about his fallen comrades and tears welled up in his eyes. He thought of all the good times with the men in his platoon; from the harmless fun of their drinking, gambling and wrestling, to the thrill of battling – and defeating – the many enemies of the Imperium. He thought of Hannu, Eero, big Aarne and the others. The tears were flowing freely now as he first mourned their passing and then felt his choler rising as he contemplated furious revenge upon the green skins. He remembered the sigils on the ork drop ships; burnt as they now were into his hippocampus. He would never forget.

Goffs.

Spurred on by his craving for vengeance, Haikonen traipsed through the snow with single-minded intent and began eating up the kilometres. He climbed swiftly up an incline and reached a ridge that looked out over a deep, wide valley below. The snow had stopped and the sky was turning to a shade of pale blue. It was approaching midday and the temperature had increased by a few degrees, so he decided to remove his furs, roll them up and tie them to his back. Then, inhaling deeply through flared nostrils, Haikonen marched down into the valley.

Striding down the slope, he could see the valley stretching beyond his vision and far into the distance. Craggy cliffs rose up on the right hand side of the gorge and he decided to walk in their shadow as there would likely be caves where he could hole-up for the coming night. The sun was now out and the sky a brilliant shade of blue. If it wasn’t for the circumstances, Haikonen was sure he would find the scene to be quite tranquil.

Two hours passed and he had made good headway. Stopping briefly outside the mouth of a small cave, Haikonen relieved himself in the snow and took some more of the squig meat. The valley still stretched on ahead of him for emperor knows how far. He raised his hand above his eyes and squinted to survey the land. There was absolutely no sign of life, either mammalian or vegetation. Then he looked up into the sky and saw something. At first it looked like a flock of birds but he quickly realised that this was not the case. They were way too big to be birds. They were also way too noisy.

Haikonen ducked back inside the cave mouth but continued watching the ‘flock’. There were about thirty ugly metal ‘birds’ flying through the sky at a distance of about five kilometres from his position. At the centre of the formation was a large, brutal-looking armoured transport, held aloft by several gigantic rotor blades.

Fugging orks.

They were flying past Haikonen, but were coming from the direction that he was heading in. He abruptly had a horrible sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. They were coming from the Lohkaarm outpost. The fact that they weren’t being pursued by Imperial gunships filled him with dread. He whispered a prayer to the emperor.

“Let my brothers be safe.”

It seemed like an age, for the ork fliers were cruising ever so slowly through the air, but at last they disappeared over the horizon. Haikonen leapt out of the cave and jogged on at double time towards his destination. He was certainly at least ten kilometres away, but reckoned that he could cover the ground before nightfall, emperor willing.

As he moved quickly along the foot of the cliffs he passed several more caves, many of which he suspected housed slumbering predators. But he was beyond fear now; driven on by the powerful emotions swelling inside him. At one point he almost fell through a crevasse as the layer of compacted snow that had covered it gave way under his weight. But he just hauled himself up the other side and carried on running, seemingly oblivious to yet another near-death experience. Nothing would stop him from reaching his brothers.

But something did stop him in his tracks. It was not a pitfall of nature blocking his path, nor was it some ravenous beast intent on making him its next meal. It was a wide opening in the cliff face, some fifty metres across, at the end of which Haikonen beheld an incredible sight. He stopped running, breathing heavily, sucking in the frigid air through his gaping mouth.

Before him, cut deep into the cliff face and rising high above him, was some ancient, alien architectural structure, carved as it was from the very rock. He’d seen a fair few alien worlds before and fought in the streets of alien cities and on the battlements of their palaces, but he had seen nothing like this. It looked like a temple, vaguely Eldar in appearance, he thought, but there was something very different about it. As he gaped in awe at the incredible sight, momentarily forgetting his mission, his attention was suddenly drawn to something else and his head snapped down from the soaring building. At the foot of the temple (or whatever it was) close to the huge, gaping entrance was an Imperial lander. His heart leapt, but no sooner had had congratulated himself on his good fortune, he reigned the emotions in. Just what was an Imperial lander doing here? Who was onboard? Were they human or could they be vile xenos scum?

Haikonen pulled the big bolter around from his back, reassured by its weight and considerable firepower, and commenced a careful approach towards the craft. The snow crunched softly underfoot as he crept forward, gun trained on the open door of the vessel. He hardly made a sound as he moved forward, years of training honing his skills of stealth and awareness.

And yet he did not hear the man approach.

“Can I help you?” spoke a voice in low gothic, with a distinctly patrician accent.

Haikonen spun round, aiming his weapon at the man’s face before he had even finished the sentence. The man before him had adopted quite a nonchalant pose and was not wielding a weapon in either hand, although a rather ornate looking sidearm sat in a holster strapped to his thigh. Haikonen regarded him through the iron sights along the top of the bolter. He was tall, of late middle age and had brown skin. His dark hair was long and pulled up into a neat dreadlocked topknot. He was wearing exceptionally high-quality arctic clothing that was lightweight and contoured to his body, with a long light grey hooded cloak. The clothes looked tailor-made and expensive. Probably a year’s wages for me, he thought. The man regarded Haikonen with piercing green eyes.

“Who are you?” demanded Haikonen. “And what the fug are you doing out here?”

The man smiled the easy smile of someone who is extremely confident in their own abilities, with more than just an edge of arrogance. Haikonen took a step forward and snarled.

“I asked you a question.”

Several seconds passed, and the man continued smirking haughtily. Eventually, he spoke.

“Actually, you asked me two questions,” he said indifferently. “However, in answer to your first question: I am Count Ferdinand Lotharius von Beck, 115,201st in the noble line of von Beck and captain of the White Rose.” He said this with a flourish of his cloak and a deep, theatrical and overtly mocking bow.

“As to what the fug I am doing out here, as you so eloquently put it, well; I am a free trader in the outer systems of this segmentum, and I deal mainly in the esoteric and very occasionally in the intangible.” Von Beck smiled again, this time at Haikonen’s noticeable perplexity.

Haikonen digested this information before responding.

“So, you’re a smuggler then.” It wasn’t a question.

Von Beck laughed. “Yes, I rather suppose I am. I’ve been called a lot of things, Lohkaarmi, including pirate, adventurer, scoundrel, tomb robber and even assassin. All of them are true.”

Hiding his surprise not only at von Beck’s candour, but also his use of the name Lohkaarmi, Haikonen gave his response.

“Then I should probably put a bullet in your head and be done with it, rogue.”

“Being the loyal Imperial that you obviously are; yes, you probably should,” von Beck replied. “However, before you pull the trigger on that impressive Astartes weapon of yours, I would very much like to know a little about you first, if that is acceptable?”

“Go on, then. But hurry it up, as I have somewhere to be.” Haikonen kept the gun trained on his head.

“In all honesty, I do have a number of questions that directly spring to mind, not least of which how you happen to be here, quite literally in the middle of nowhere, with no obvious form of transportation and no unit under your command, kersatti.” Von Beck had used the Lohkaarmi word for sergeant, and Haikonen was beginning to become more than a little intrigued about this roguish character. “Also of immediate note is your war gear: an Astartes Mars pattern bolter, Imperial Eagle vandalised and a primitive ork fur coat strapped to your back. Not only do you reek of ork, but you also carry the delightfully repugnant odour of dried squig flesh. I can see that you are of the 7th company of the Lohkaarm Guard regiment, and I believe you should be stationed some eighty kilometres to our west.”

“I was stationed there,” Haikonen growled through his teeth, “but the fugging accursed orks dropped on us through yesterday’s storm and…” He stopped momentarily to blink back the moisture in his eyes and then sighed, shoulders sagging. “I am the last of the 7th.”

Von Beck looked genuinely remorseful. “I am deeply sad for your loss, Lohkaarm. We had heard of the attack but did not know the full outcome.”

Haikonen’s raised a questioning eyebrow. “You said ‘we’. Who else is with you?”

As if in response to his question there was the faint sound of soft fabric moving in the wind. There was a strange shimmer of hazy movement in the air to his left and a form appeared right next to him, disarming him before he could react. Haikonen suddenly found himself lying flat on his back in the wet snow with a lithe figure standing over him. It was in full Eldar body armour and a cloak identical to the one worn by von Beck hung from its shoulders.

Von Beck stepped over to the prone guardsman, grinning from ear to ear. “This is my travelling companion and first mate, Jaya’niva Shiv’narine. She is very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Haikonen lifted himself to his elbows and looked firstly at the Eldar’s expressionless faceguard and then to von Beck’s beaming visage. “And how, exactly, is she pleased to meet me?”

Von Beck chuckled. “Because she hasn’t killed you. Not yet, anyway.” He then extended a hand to Haikonen, who looked at it warily before grabbing it and being hauled to his feet.

“You have us at a disadvantage, Lohkaarmi. Would you care to share your name?”

Haikonen brushed the snow from his clothing and looked up at von Beck who, now that they were standing next to each other, he realised was several centimetres taller than him. “I am Kersatti Jarmo Haikonen of the 7th Company Lohkaarm Kaard, Imperial Guard. Now, if you’ll give me my bolter back I need to requisition your ship.”

“Ah! You have a sense of humour, Kersatti Haikonen! Under your current circumstances I would say that a well-developed sense of humour is a most valuable asset. Well met. Sadly, I cannot at this point in our nascent relationship acquiesce to your humble request.”

Haikonen’s choler shot to the fore and he launched himself at the arrogant rogue. Von Beck moved so fast Haikonen didn’t realise he’d missed until he landed face first in the snow, the back of his neck aching terribly. He groaned and rolled onto his back, looking up for a second time at the outlaw. Von Beck was rubbing the edge of his hand, and Haikonen guessed that must be why his neck hurt so much. He’d never seen a non-gene enhanced human move so fast.

“Now then, Kersatti Haikonen, that is no way to treat your host,” von Beck admonished.

“Host?!” Haikonen spat. “What are you talking about?”

“I much prefer the term ‘host’. I believe it sounds better than ‘captor’. Ultimately, it’s all just semantics.”

“So you mean to make me your prisoner?” Haikonen snarled.

Von Beck flashed that smile again. “Why the future tense, Jarmo? You are already my guest. You don’t mind if I call you Jarmo, do you?”

Haikonen’s heart sank. As much as he hated to admit it, these were superior foes and he no longer fancied his chances of besting them in hand-to-hand combat. Perhaps he would get an opportunity onboard the shuttle. It was at that point, whilst trying to formulate desperate plans, that he noticed two more figures descending the steps leading from the great ancient temple, bearing a large engraved chest between them. To Haikonen’s consternation they were not human, nor were they Eldar. They were huge, Astartes huge even. He began pushing himself backwards in the snow, rushing to get up and away from them.

“There is no need to be afraid, Jarmo. They are Kroot and are extremely loyal members of my crew.” The two Kroot dropped the heavy chest into the snow and leant against it, evidently fatigued from their exertion.

It was at that moment Haikonen noticed the Eldar female turn to gaze skywards. He could hear a barely audible thundering in the distance and turned to look. High above a far-off mountain range, streaking down through the clouds trailing snaking tails of promethean fire, were hundreds of small meteorites, plummeting earthwards at extreme velocity. Following them were several larger falling bodies, misshapen yet terribly familiar in their angular shapes.

A hitherto unseen vox link hidden in the collar of von Beck’s jacket crackled into life as they all stared at the horizon. The tall man cocked his head to one side as he listened, eventually fixing his gaze on Haikonen. The first meteorites impacted in the distance; their dull explosions heard by all present.

“Intelligence from the White Rose confirms that an uncommonly large ork hulk has translated in system, accompanied by a huge armada. The Imperial fleet in high orbit has been destroyed. All army positions in this region have been devastated in a synchronised attack, and victory would appear to belong to the orks.” Von Beck’s sombre expression revealed his sadness. “I am sorry for your loss, Kersatti.”

Haikonen, despite seeing the broken shape of an Imperial cruiser crashing through the atmosphere, was not ready to accept this. “You lie!” he snarled, fists clenched at his sides. “My entire regiment is on this world and there is no way in hell those fugging orks could ever get the better of my brothers.”

“It is only natural to deny such a terrible loss, Jarmo. But, I am afraid it is true; and I can see that deep down you know this.” He paused before continuing. “I am afraid we do not have much time. The ork fleet is mustering in this system in obvious preparation for a significant waaagh. We must leave this lost world and warn Imperial authorities as soon as we can. This will be your job, as an honourable Kersatti of the Lohkaarm Guard.” Von Beck made a gesture with his hand and the two tall Kroot left the big box and marched over; their bounding, alien gait quite bizarre to behold. As they neared Haikonen, one of them pulled strange manacles from its belt whilst the other took his axe and combat knife. The Lohkaarmi scowled in frustration, realising that this was not a fight that he could win, and reluctantly extended his wrists to be chained, turning his head to look meaningfully at the pirate captain.

“If you have any amount of decency left in you, captain, I implore you to leave me behind so that I can search for my brothers.” Haikonen’s voice was heavy with grief.

“I cannot do that, Kersatti. Your mission now is to warn the Imperials of an impending ork waaagh. We cannot safely assume that an astropathic message got out before your fleet was destroyed. When we get to the nearest Imperial space station you and you alone need to raise the alarm, for the White Rose will not be given a warm welcome. Now, if you would be so kind as to climb aboard my craft, we can take our leave of this lost planet,” von Beck said.

The larger of the two Kroot grasped Haikonen firmly by his shoulders and pushed him unceremoniously towards the access ramp at the rear of the lander.

“Now then, B’rok, there’s no need to be rough with Kersatti Haikonen. This man is our guest and should be treated with the utmost respect,” von Beck scolded.

“Then why have me bound, Captain von Beck?” Haikonen asked, a certain derisive emphasis on the way he pronounced the rogue’s title. “Is this how you usually treat your guests?”

Von Beck ignored the mocking tone in Haikonen’s voice and answered simply. “You are bound because I do not know you, and cannot yet trust you, Jarmo. Surely you would do the same if our positions were reversed?”

As the Kroot continued to push him irreverently up the ramp, Haikonen responded over his shoulder. “No, von Beck. I would have shot out your knee caps and left you to die in this frozen wasteland.”

Captain von Beck smiled, “Yes, Jarmo; I believe you would,” before taking the Eldar warrior’s hand in the crook of his arm and walking out of sight, towards the cockpit at the front of the craft.

The big Kroot snarled in Haikonen’s face before shoving him forcefully into a seat bolted to the wall inside the small cargo hold.

“You. Sit,” it said with obvious difficulty; its mandibles struggling with the human vowels of low gothic. It then strode back down the ramp with its colleague, no doubt to retrieve the large chest that they had left in the snow. Whilst they were gone, Haikonen quickly tested his bonds but was not surprised to find that they were tight and well-made. Well, he thought to himself, those definitely aren’t coming off without a key.

He turned his attention to the compartment he was in. It was relatively Spartan, with a flat metal floor and a dozen seats lining the walls, six on each side. There were a few small crates and containers pilled up in the corner furthest from the access ramp and three steps led up to a door that no doubt led to the cockpit. Haikonen noticed a small box set in the wall next to the door; an Imperial symbol identifying it as containing emergency flares. A small plan began forming in his head.

The sound of feet clanging on the metal ramp tore him from his thoughts, and he looked around to see the two Kroot clambering up the ramp and into the hold, carrying the heavy-looking box between them. Haikonen watched them dump the box into the middle of the floor. The shorter one bent down and commenced the task of securing the big chest, using thick straps and attaching the looped ends to bolts set in the metal floor. The larger one walked over to the access ramp and pulled a lever. Servos buzzing and hydraulics hissing, the heavy ramp began to slowly rise out of the snow. Backs to him, Haikonen saw his opportunity.

He got up from his seat and crept towards the small container next to the cockpit door, never once taking his eyes from the two Kroot. The engine turbines started to whine as they started up, quickly changing to a high-pitched roar. Just as Haikonen reached the door, the craft lifted slowly from the ground. He quickly opened the case and found what he was looking for: a long, ancient-looking flare gun. Taking it up and checking it was loaded, he turned to see the nearest Kroot loping towards him, pulling a strange, bladed rifle from its back as it charged. He aimed at its torso and pulled the trigger. There was a loud crack and the flare smacked into the alien’s chest, blasting it backwards and off its feet. It slammed into the ornate box that it had barely finished stowing and slumped to the floor – unconscious or dead, Haikonen did not know – the phosphorous glow of the burning projectile rolling across the floor.

The other Kroot’s head jerked around and it clicked and howled in its xeno tongue. Haikonen did not pause and lunged forwards to scoop up the prone alien’s weapon. Running to meet the oncoming Kroot, he ducked as it swung at him, slashing the bladed tip of the weapon into its shin as he rolled across the metal and towards the door which was still half open. The alien let out a scream of pain as it clutched at its wounded leg. Haikonen glanced out of the door and could see that they were several metres from the ground and rising. Without hesitation he sprinted for the exit and hurled himself into space.

He landed heavily, white powder erupting into the air, but thankfully the snow was thick enough to cushion the fall and reduce the impact. Scrambling to get on his feet, Haikonen looked up to see the ship still rising and an angry-looking Kroot peering at him from the opening at the back of the craft. Making a rude Lohkaarmi gesture with his fingers, Haikonen watched as the ship rose higher and higher, until it suddenly turned and pointed its nose towards him. Realising that von Beck obviously wasn’t going to let him escape that easily, Haikonen turned to momentarily regard the somewhat sinister entrance to the alien temple before running up the steps to finally disappear into its frosty maw.