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Harlow advanced up the street heading toward his next position. He found it in the next few miniutes, a large administrative building that was in the center of the Ghost's defense. Harlow looked around and saw many Ghosts hurrying to set up a new line of defense further back. They carried weapons, ammo crates, anything that could be salvaged from the first line. Harlow walked up to the building which was to be his next perch. Strangely, there was nobody around that Harlow could see. No lasguns or sihlouettes appeared in the windows, nobody could be seen from the outside.

"What the feth?" Harlow muttered to himself as he came up to the building.

Now wary, Harlow reached down into his holster and pulled out a large stub pistol. The calibre was almost the size of the rifle he was carrying but instead of a bolt action mechanism, it had a revolving cylinder holding some massive stub rounds. Harlow held his pistol out in front of him and cocked it as he walked into the building.

As soon as he had entered the building, he was grabbed by a pair of stong hands and hauled to the wall. Dazed, Harlow struggled and tried to pull his gun up but it was knocked out of his hands. Harlow began to fight the hands holding him when he heard a dull "Thuk!" in the wall beside his head and turned to see his own relfection in the thirty centimeter long blade shoved into the wall near his head.

Harlow looked back at his attacker and stopped sturggling long enough to see that he wasnt dead yet. He also saw that he was being pinned to the wall not by an enemy soldier but a Ghost who sneered an ugly expression in his face.

"Hey Cap, whaddya make of this?"

The Ghost called to another man standing near him. Harlow looked over to the man he was talking to. He wore a black beret and his pins showed that he was a captain, his dark sinister face glared at Harlow and seemed to bore right through him. Harlow could make out the starburst tattoo around the Captain's eye and finally realised who he was.

"Let him go Murt, he's here to help." said Captain Rawne of the Tanith First and Only.

The figure Harlow supposed was Murt let him go and replaced his blade into his scabbard. Harlow noticed that all around him Ghosts had materialised out of the darkness, there were at least thirty in this main room alone. Harlow finally spoke up,

"Feth, what did I do?"

Rawne's gaze was uncompromising

"You came in here without even the slightest notion of stealth." Rawne began "We thought you were the enemy because only they move so blunderingly. But what can you expect from the Milita boys eh?"

Harlow bristled at the last comment but held his tongue.

"Alright you got me, I was ordered to this position so where do I need to be?"

Rawne regarded Harlow for a moment, as if sizing him up for a fight, Rawne pointed to the stair case

"Get to the third floor, you can see the line from there and do what you do, get ready for a feth storm becuase we're in for a fight."

Murtan Feygor gave him his pistol back, Harlow nodded and went upstairs. He ignored the Ghosts who began to look at him funny as he set up at a window. Quickly he ran through his checklist of preparations and snuggled to the scope. He felt into his ammo satchels, not good, he was running low, he had barely more than three dozen shots left plus the bullets in his pistol and a few extra clips for that. This was gonna get nasty before it got better.

If it got better...

"Alright listen up!" came a voice over the mic "We hold here and we dont give another inch! The enemy is at the gates, we're all tired, and battered, but hang in there lads, we can do this together! Fight like the bastards I know you all are and give the enemy nothing! We're the first and last and only defense our home has! Make Tanith proud this night lads! Give them nothing, but take from them, evreything!" came the Major's voice.

At this Harlow heard one blessed noise over the tumult of the battle outside. The roars of defiance that sprang from every throat of every Ghost in the city, daring the enemy to come onto their guns. Harlow and the rest of the Ghosts with him joined the roar and it felt good to shout. Harlow felt invigorated, his adrenaline surged and he felt invincible.

"Alright you lot" came Rawne's voice over the mic "You heard Major Corbec, give them hell, For Tanith! For the Empeor!" Rawne spat in the mic.

In Harlow's scope the enemy advanced into the streets outside the administrative building. Somewhere, Harlow heard pipes began to wail. From atop the walls of the city not a few hundred meters back, the wail of several Tanith pipes joined the first one until one shrieking wailing note held above the roar of the encroaching battle. The Ghosts roared their defiant battle cries and unleashed hell on the advancing foe. Lines, droves and piles of cultists convulsed and fell on their faces. some were blown away by explosives as the Ghosts lobbed tube charges and grenades into their ranks. Harlow could hear the cracking of bolters and the thumping autocannons, the louder whump of the sparsley mounted wall guns opened up and focussed on taking out armor.

More orange blooms blossomed like bright flowers in the streets...

fire was pelted back and forth...

men on both sides died in the night...

Harlow could hear the men in th building open up with the whine-crack of their lasguns. He focussed on the gathering enemy outside through his scope.

"Oh Father who sits on the Throne, lead me through the valley of darkness and death to the eternal light of salvation..." Harlow began again, reciting absent mindedly.

He continued to pour shots into the enemy. Another officer, a flag bearer, a vox operator...

One large man strode into his scope. The man was rank from head to toe, he wore a welder's mask and heavy leather gloves, in his hands a huge nozzle sat menacingly its pilot light butning bright blue.

Harlow could see the flamer tanks on the mans back, he reloaded as the berserk swept fire into the bottom floor of the building, setting at least three Ghosts on fire...

Harlow could hear their piteous wails of pain, his lip curled, he could feel tears of hot anger streaming down his cheeks...

He lined up his scope on the monster's tanks and fired. The bright orange fireball exploded for fifteen meters and set at least seven cultists on fire. The torches stumbled around aimlessly until they either dropped or were put down by the Ghosts...

Harlow grinned his wicked grin of triumph...

"Take that you bastards!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.

His joy was short lived, however, as he reached into his webbing and found one bullet left...

Mortars were blowing into the street now, enemy mortars began to bracket Harlow's position, he could hear the thump and feel the rumble of the building as it shook on its founding. Harlow risked a look out the window as he slung his rifle, the enemy was charging forward now despite the raging stream of fire coming from the building. By sheer weight of numbers, the enemy was right on them, in mere seconds they would be flooding the bottom floor. Harlow cursed loudly and turned back for the staircase-

a thump and roar, and then blackness...

Harlow hadnt heard the mortar shell that hit the third floor of the adminsitrative building but he felt its concussive wave as it blew in the windows and showered hium with chunks of roof. Harlow got up off the floor dizzily, he was seeing double, his vision swam, he could hear nothing but ringing in his ears, that and what now seemed to be the distant sound of fighting. Harlow rose to his feet and propped himself against the back wall, he turned his head to look at the wall the windows were at.

Or rather the sudden abscence of a wall...

Harlow gazed out of the now walless third floor and saw carnage as the enemy streamed forward. He saw Ghosts on the streets and in the buildings fighting hand to hand and shooting point blank at anything that came close. Harlow noticed he was covered with dust and he brushed himself off slightly. Harlow's mind seemed to slow with the concussive force of the mortar, he just now registered the sounds of battle just below him.

He shook his head clear and forced himself to focus. They might all be dead now but they would all fight like daemons and make a good account of themsleves tonight. Harlow grabbed his pistol in his right hand and primed it, he grabbed his huge fat hunting knife in the other, it wasnt protocol weaponry but then again neither was his rifle or pistol, it was made out of the same material as the straight silver dagger but it wasnt double edged. What the blade lacked in finess or speed it made up with stopping power. Harlow clutched it with his left fist and descended the staircase.

When he got to the bottom floor he witnessed pure brutality unleashed...

Men were evreywhere, Ghosts and cultists alike, stabbing, thrusting, clubbing with improvised blunt objects, wrestling for weapons and killing men with their bare fists. Harlow saw one Ghost kill two cultists with his lasrifle and get disembowelled by a third. He saw one cultist braining a Ghost with a rock, only to be grabbed from behind and have his neck broken. Harlow saw Rawne and Murrt back to back slahsing throats and kicking in faces.

Harlow was stunned at what he saw, he stood their for a few moments until someone screaming at him snapped him out of it.

A Ghost yelled at him, he didnt know what exactly but Harlow had heard enough oaths to galvanise him into action. Harlow saw a cultist try to finish off a prone Ghost who had fallen on his back with a jagged bayonet, Harlow raised his pistol and fired, the huge crack and recoil was reassuring. The man's chest tore open and Harlow could see his ribcage had been mulched by the huge round. The cultist fell to the ground and Harlow helped the Ghost up and pushed the lasrifle that he had dropped into his hands.

"Get back to it! kill something before its all over!" Harlow yelled at him.

The man's eyes grew wide as he looked at something over Harlow's shoulder, the man shoved Harlow to the floor and in return was speared by the cultist's sword that was aimed for him. The dead weight of the Ghost took the sword out of the cultist's hands, Harlow shot the cultist in the gut and again in the chest and got to his feet as the man tumbled to the floor. Harlow's blood pounded in his ears and he still couldnt hear clearly, the ringing now a subtle shriek in his eardrums.

Harlow got to his feet shakily, as he was doing so a cultist charged in at him wielding a massive bilhook over his head and screaming some blashpemy Harlow didnt want to know the meaning of. The cultist, his rage blinding him, had left his guard wide open with his wild charge. Harlow didnt have the time or space to bring up his gun but he swung the massive knife in his other hand and plunged the silver blade into the man's sternum with a dull thud. Brackish blood seeped from the wound and stained Harlow's dust covered hand to the color of gritty rust. The cultist gurgled, and dropped his weapon clattering to the floor, he slumped, blood and foam dribbling out of his mouth. Harlow wrenched the knife free with a twist. The blade came out sheathed in the rust colored blood. Harlow looked at the blade, he let his gaze run out to the carnage around him...

the sounds and sights blended together...

slow and sluggish until everything seemed like...

it was being viewed...

underwater...

'Oh Feth!' Harlow thought.

He'd heard of veterans talking about winding down from a wound they didnt know they had recieved during an intense melee. Evreything seemed to slow and stop, evreything was distant and hollow, Harlow looked down at his body. the dust from the upstairs explosion still covered his uniform pasting it a dirty grey. He could see no wounds but that still didnt convince him.

A strangled cry broke him out of his reverie and time snapped back to life.

Harlow spun his sight around one hundred and eighty degrees and he saw three seperate cultists charging forward at him. Backed into a corner Harlow knew this was it, his final dance

'Never thought it'd come to this' He mused as the cultists came ever closer.

Futilely, Harlow raised his pistol and fired a single round into the face of one screaming cultist who toppled forwards, head detatched from body. Harlow swung the pistol around for the second wailing cultist and had it batted out of his hands, a bayonet was thrust forwards, its jagged edge gashing his ribs. Harlow yelled in pain and anger and shoved the cultist away as the next one charged in. Instinctively, Harlow bent at the knees and caught the cultist's legs with his shoulder. He stood up and flipped the cultist over himself on his backside as hard as he possibly could. In the same moment he swung his knife around and took the throat of the first cultist who had thrown his pistol away. Harlow's arms were covered in rusty blood. As the first cultist fell, the second wrenched his own knife around gashing the back of Harlow's leg in a wide slice. Losing his balance, Harlow fell on his back, a growl of pain on his lips. With his adrenaline boiling in his blood, Harlow deftly switched the grip on his knife as he fell on his back and plunged the blade into the cultist's chest and let gravity do the rest. As the cultist fell limp and began to stain the floor with his blood Harlow rolled to his feet and warily limped to the front wall.

The pain in his chest and leg was excruciating, he practically fell against the wall as the battle raged on around him, he waited for a cultist to charge forward and finish him off.

He would make his peace as he died...

"Oh Father who sits on the Throne, lead me through the valley of darkness and death to the eternal light of salvation..."

Harlow sank to his knees and waited for the end; helpless to act by the hell he'd just been through. The world shrunk until Harlow could only sense the pain in his side and leg, he felt the hotness streaming down his body from both wounds. It was strange to Harlow, he thought he'd be dead by now, but he could still feel the pain, smell the blood, feel the desperation in the air. He was still alive and Harlow couldnt help but wonder why. Finally with shaky conviction, Harlow looked up. He saw into the streets of the city outside the building...

The enemy was breaking, the fight had gone out of them and they were fleeing. Tanks revved madly backwards and retreated with them or were destroyed before Harlow's eyes...

Why would they be running? They had the Tanith dead to rites!

Harlow found the answer cresting the hill to the east...

over the battlements of the next street came a single man, clad in the black of the Commisariat, a gleaming chainsword held high above his head in one hand and a massive bolt pistol in the other...

Beside him a boy no older than his teens was playing a set of pipes. Distantly, Harlow recognized the tune "Behold! the Triumph of Terra!" His heart lept...

On his other side a huge grizzly man stood with the banner of the Tanith first flowing on its standard in one hand and a lasgun in the other, Harlow recognized him as Major Corbec.

The Major waved to something behind him and the blessed sight of almost three hundred screaming, blood hungry Ghosts came into view, charging down the hill with the none other than Colonel Commissar Gaunt leading them with a battle cry of:

"Men of Tanith! Do you want to live forever?"

The archenemy fled in terror at seeing this display of defiance...

Even if they outnumbered the Tanith, each cultist had had his fill and the stubborn close quarters fight had turned into a full blown rout. The sound of the lad's pipes was like a beacon call for all Ghosts to rally.

Men cheered...

Men charged...

the Ghosts pressed the advantage the counter push had given them. Harlow watched this all, unable to move in utter disbelief at the respite from certain death they were all given. He thought about joining them, he knew he should be trying to find a weapon and charge out there with them. He'd charge out there and prove his worth, he'd-

a thump and roar, and then blackness enveloped Harlow...

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Silence surrounded him as opressive as the darkness that accompanied and the weight on his chest. Struggling to come to, Harlow coughed and gagged as his lungs tried to fill to compacity. Momentarily, he thought he was dead and had entered the afterlife, the dark cramped, oppressive afterlife. Slowly trickling like sand in an hourglass Harlow began to remember who he was, where he was, and more importantly what had happened. He had been fighting a desperate last stand against the invaders, then the Colonel Commissar had come and...

He couldnt remember...

The oppressive weight on his chest was killing his lungs. He tried to shift his weight in the opressive blackness and the gash on his side flared into life as well. he snarled in pain and tried to move his legs, the slash acros the back of his knee protested harshly, the snarl turned into a supressed yelp and Harlow gave up trying to move. Lying still he could hear movement outside. He heard voices, fear swelled inside him as his thoughts raced...

It was the archenemy come looking for survivors to snuff. Harlow continued to squirm in his trapped state and shifted something off of him which clattered to the ground. The voices were alerted and Harlow cursed himself silently as he heard the footsteps come closer. The weight on top of him started to shift, Harlow could hear things being moved, the sound of stone and metal clangs filled Harlow's ears. Harlow knew his time was up and as soon as the enemy found him he would be skewered or worse tortured and then skewered. Harlow closed his eyes and waited for the end...

Suddenly a light appeared in the distance as if the salvation he had prayed for since yesterday had come. A head popped into the light and Harlow squinted to look up into the face. Harlow's apprehension turned into unparralelled relief. The face presented to him was a pale and dark haired Tanith face.

"Hello?" it called "Anyone alive down there?"

Harlow was so overcome with joy at his salvation that he was almost rendered speechless, instead he laughed as much as his wounds would let him and shouted "No you Feth brain, I'm dead! Get me outta here!"

Fifteen minutes later, Harlow was helped out of the giant moutntain of rubble by two Ghosts. The older lanky one he already knew...

"Good to see you Larks." Harlow coughed.

The other was unknown to him but Harlow didnt care, he was just thrilled to be alive.

"Damn! You sure your alive kid?" The other Ghost exclaimed when he saw how disheveled Harlow was.

It was true, Harlow was covered with a thick layer of dust and dirt. The areas around his wounds were stained dark red, and his fatigues were shredded.

"Alright, Varl" Larkin started, identifying the other Ghost, "Give the kid a break, he's had his first taste of hell... Lets get you to a medic."

"Yeah..." Harlow simply replied, he was still too dazed to make much conversation.

The two Ghosts half helped, half carried Harlow to an aid station made in the temple Larkin was posted in. Harlow sat down on a cot and looked around. There were many men like him, walking wounded with just scratches in comparison to the others. Harlow saw men blackened and burned, some had their guts shot out, some had thick bandages to their heads, some were missing arms or legs, or both. Harlow looked away into one of the stain glassed windows above his head where a depiction of the Emperor sat in silent glory. Harlow quietly thanked the Emperor that he had been saved last night. Varl and Larkin had decided to stay around the aid station to help out until they were given other orders. Soon, A medic came over to him, he was old, with thinning hair, but had soft, kind eyes and a set determined face. He began to check Harlow over and treat his wounds.

"So, How did this happen to you?" He asked continuing his work.

"How d'you think Doc?" Harlow answered honestly. The Doctor stopped what he was doing and caught Harlows dazed gaze and lifted his eyebrows in a 'fair enough' gesture. As the doctor finished his work cleaning and bandaging Harlow's wounds, he continued to talk

"My name is Dorden, I'm the senior medic for the Tanith regiment, I've never seen you around, are you with the militia?"

Harlow nodded.

"Well, your pretty lucky then, most of militia boys are either dead, dying, or maimed."

Harlow thought about that for a minute and realised really how lucky he was, suddenly concern splashed across his face.

"Hey Doc, did you happen to see a trooper by the name of Mkalister pass through here?"

Dorden thought about this for a minute and reached into his pocket, he pulled out a bloody pair of dogtags and handed them to Harlow. Harlow looked at them, already knowing what was on them, the name of his best friend.

"Yeah, he passed through here, and left, we tried to save him, but..."

Dorden trailed off sadly and finished his treatment.

"I'm sorry son, a friend of yours?"

Harlow's gaze wandered around the temple and he nodded faintly

"Yeah..." he said in a hoarse whisper. Dorden nodded too, said his goodbyes and walked away to treat other wounded.

Harlow stayed sitting on the cot for several minutes just looking at his friend's bloody dogtags. Soon, Varl and Larkin came back over to him and found places to sit next to him. For a few minutes, the trio sat in silence. Harlow finally spoke up and asked

"So what happened exactly?"

Varl looked over.

"What d'you mean?" he asked.

"I saw the Colonel-Commissar lead a charge against the flank" Harlow started "I guess the fact that us three and evreyone else is still here means that he won it for us."

Varl nodded "Yeah, a Fething beatutiful thing that was, him and Milo, and Corbec I mean."

"Milo?" Harlow asked

"The regiment's piper boy, Gaunt's runner" Larkin answered. Harlow nodded. The silence continued for a few moments.

"I guess the building fell in on me when I was watching him because thats the last thing I remember."

Larkin nodded, "Yeah I asked around, the building was bracketed with mortars so badly it fell in, there werent many people in it when that happened, most had charged out when Gaunt led em into the flank."

Harlow remembered feeling a number of presences surging around him in the final few seconds of conciousness he'd had last night. He had thought those were the footfalls of the cultists come to tear him apart but he knew now it was the Ghosts, following their glorious leader into battle.

"That building had already been searched for survivors by the time me and Varl walked past, then I heard something making a racket and figured someone maight have still been trapped in the rubble, and there you were like a stuck pig." Larkin said patting Harlows shoulder with his bony hand. Harlow smiled, Varls' expression changed from dull boredom to interest.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I found these in the rubble."

Varl held out Harlow's knife and pistol, Harlow thanked Varl and sheathed the knife, his holster had been torn away in the fight so he put it into his pocket. Harlow found that the strap of his rifle remained resolutely strapped to him as well as the rifle was to his back. Harlow swung it around, he frowned, the thing had dust choked into it and was banged and scratched in several places. It would take Harlow forever to get his beloved rifle back to inspection status. Harlow fished out a vizzy cloth and began to clean the bolt and barrel.

"Hey" he said absent mindedly "Wheres the big cheese now anyway, did he live?"

"Yeah" Varl said squarely "He charged the flank of the pocket the fethers made in our line, he pushed em back all the way to the treeline, they left all their gear, heavy weapons, tanks, wounded even, and ran back into the woods like a bunch of scared fethers."

Harlow nodded and gazed out of the entrance into the courtyard of the temple, he saw the very same man he'd seen last night conversing with a group of Tanith Ghosts, he recognised two of them as Captain Rawne and Major Corbec, the other was unknown to him.

"That him?" Harlow said tipping his head toward the smal group outside.

Larkin looked and squinted, "Yeah, he's out there figuring out how to clean the mess up with Rawne and Corbec, you know troop dispositions and Feth like that."

Harlow nodded, his gaze switched to the only member of the group who had his back turned to Harlow.

"Who's that?" Harlow said nodding to the figure who was standing ramrod straight even though he looked tired.

Larkin looked again and sighed "That is Lieutenant Mkarth."

Harlow looked around at Larkin at this, "THE Lieutenant Mkarth?" Harlow asked incredulous.

Varl nodded, "Yeah thats him all right."

"The same guy who led 'The Gambit'? The same hard feth who took out a hundred thousand culists?" Harlow asked his voice slowly rising.

"Thats a bit of an exaggeration but yeah, he's already a legend in the regiment, lots a Feth he cooked up for the poor archenemy."

Harlow sat in fascination for a few moments more, and went back to busily cleaning his rifle while the congregatiton of officers outside continued to converse...

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Rothgar knew his time was up, the assault had failed and it was all that infernal Colonel-Commissar's fault. Despite the situation, Rothgar smiled. He would soon remedy that situation. The currs of the False Emperor thought they had won when in reality they had lost the minute Rothgar had gotten to the outer limits of the city. Rothgar snuck through damaged and destroyed buildings, carwling like a rat toward his final target. Rothgar could practically smell his prey now, he was close...

Rothgar climed into a listing four story building and made his way to the second floor, below him, Ghosts milled around or moed with purpose in groups. The prey was close, he could almost smell him. Rothgar fished out his binoculars and gazed into the courtyard of the temple where the aid station had been set up less than a kilometre away. A few seconds of scanning revealed the congregated group of officers in the middle, next to the well. Rothgar smiled as he spied the tall man with the peaked cap and black dress uniform...

There, there! There was his prey!

Rothgar smiled a wicked toothed smile and hefted his rifle,

he was only going to get one shot,

perhaps he needed a better angle, a more sure angle. Chuckling to himself, Rothgar moved to the fourth floor and began to set his rifle up...

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Harlow continued to rub away the dirt and grit from the firing mechanism. He looked up every few seconds. It was a nervous tic, something that he had started doing ever since he had woken up earlier that morning. This tic would go on to save Colonel-Commissar Gaunt's life...

Harlow looked up, with Varl and Larkin still by his side. Harlow was just about to go back to his cleaning when his trained eyes spotted something he had been attuned to so finely that only he saw it. Movement, a silhouette, on the edge of his vision, in that tilting building, just a shimmer in the window of a faraway direlict. Harlow was just about to play it off as a trick of the light when he remembered the silhouette he had seen along the treeline just yesterday. Harlow stared at the point for a few moments, nothing happened...

'He's changed positions.' Harlow thought.

Quickly he rose to his feet and looked at Larkin.

"How high is the bell tower in this building?"

Larkin looked at Harlow confused

"About three stories up, why?"

Harlow didnt answer, instead, he said "It'll have to do" and hustled toward the stairs with his rifle in tow. Larkin looked at Varl for an explanation, but Varl just shrugged his shoulders. In the crow's nest of the bell tower, Harlow got into position. There was no time to set up his bipod or make precise adjustments...

this was sniping at its purest:

no tools...

no calculations...

just two marksmen and their rifles...

Harlow looked through his scope at the direlict buildng and couldnt see it through the glare. Absent mindedly, he remembered his hat and reached behind his head to pull the wide brimmed hat onto his head, shielding his eyes. Harlow opened the bolt rack and reached into his webbing, he had only one bullet left, he had to make this count. Harlow scanned the buidlig in the distance for movement. Finally he saw the snout of a long autorifle and a few agonising moments later, a head settled behind it. It was smiling a wicked toothed smile and had sighted up on...

Harlow knew it in his gut who the bastard was aiming at...

It was an almost one kilometer shot...

he had to make this...

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Rothgar's soul laughed heartily as he zoned into the killshot. Finally the crosshairs were aimed right over the mans head, his peaked cap rising just above where the crosshairs met. Rothgar had done it, he had won, he had-

A flash...

He had seen that kind of flash before, it was the flash only made by a scope in the sudden light of the broken clouds. Rothgar quickly zoomed out and repositioned his scope to where he had seen the flash. To his suprise he was looking into the crow's nest of the temple's bell tower-

right into the face of another marksman aiming a rifle at him through his scope...

The man had a wickedly scarred smile on his face.

'no...No...NO!' his mind sceamed.

His final shout of disbelief was followed shortly by a slug round and a crack like thunder...

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Harlow saw the shooter clearly and was sure that it was the same man who had shot at him the day before. Harlow grinned as he saw the man seemingly switch his gaze in slow motion to Harlow. He noted with pleasure the look of disbelif in the man's face. Harlow decided to add insult to injury and recite the rest of his prayer from earlier

"Give me the strength to topple my enemies, the power to crush my foes..." He whispered, he felt his breathing slow, he felt his heart go almost to a standstill just as he had taught himself.

'The last thing you never see...'

His finger squeezed the trigger...

A crack of thunder followed by the harsh recoil of the weapon was all Harlow needed to know aout to know that it was done...

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Larkin was puzzled. Why had the kid taken off so quick?

Why had he gone to the crow's nest?

Why had he taken his rifle?

Suddenly realisation hit him like a firey coal. Larkin jumped up and ran out into the courtyard with Varl right behind him. Larkin ran straight out, his hands raised, and began to yell to the congregated officers

"Get Down! Get Down! Enemy shooter! Enemy-"

The last part of his warning was cut off by a loud crack of a bolt rifle. Larkin's heart sank, they had failed and he knew what that meant. He looked up, but strangely none of the officers were dead. The were all still alive, now in cover and heads looking in all directions to try to figure out what had just happend, but still very much alive. Men began to shout and run for cover, some jumped out of cover and began to shout questions.

Larkin looked up at Harlow in the crow's nest. Harlow was standing in the bell tower, smiling, when he caught Larkin's gaze, he held up a thumbs up signal.

Larkin grinned and began to laugh. He couldnt help it, it had been a good day...

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Harlow walked into the four story building alone. He remembered the events of the last two hours. His shot, the cultist sniper exploding backwards, the laughter of his mentor Larkin. He remembered how he'd come down from the crow's nest and been met by Larkin, Varl and to his amazement the first four officers of the Tanith First regiment. The Commissar wore a proud smile on his face, he held out his hand to shake Harlow's and Harlow took it sheepishly. Gaunt thanked him for saving his life and so did the other officers. Harlow remembered the next few moments as if he had dreamed them. Gaunt had taken off his own regimental cap badge and handed it to Harlow. Harlow had, at first been confused, but everyone had just been smiling at him. Gaunt put his hand on Harlow's shoulder and announced that his militia unit was, effective immediately, being folded into the Tanith First regiment to replace losses. Harlow had been at a loss for words. He was sill at a loss for words as he walked past every Ghost on his way out to the street, they all nodded at him or gave subtle salutes. Harlow had never felt so...accepted, in all his life. As he walked out of the Temple Larkin told him something he'd never forget.

"Welcome to the Ghosts, Harlow, good to have you onboard."

Harlow continued to walk up the stairs of the listing building. He finally found the sniper spread eagled on the floor, his rifle scope had been exploded through. There were tiny glass shards everywhere. Harlow looked at the corpse and saw that most of the cultist's head had been taken off around the right eye. Harlow smiled his wickedly scarred smile. He picked up the cultist's rifle, it was same in operation as his.

Harlow opened the bolt rack. Inside he found a silver slug round, the bullet head was roughly the size of a nalwolf's fang. Harlow continued to smile and put the bullet in his pocket along with the one that cultist had fired at him the day before.

Harlow laughed as he left the dead cultist to join his new regiment...

He couldnt help it. Today had been a good day...

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The Siege of Tanith was the most horriffic battle the system had ever seen. In only a month of fighting thousands of men and machines were lost in the battle for Tanith's main cities. These sacrifices, however, were not in vain, an army of millions desencded on Tanith and was held by only a few thousand defenders until reinforcements arrived to extinguish any other opposition. Thanks to the brilliance of the leadership, the bravery and courage of every Tanith soldier, and the benevolence of the Emperor, the planet was held despite all odds and calculations and, consequently, became the launching point for the Imperial counter strike which retook the salient that had been carved into the crusade's flank by the splinter fleets which had fled Balhaut...

Most heavy was the last few nights of the siege, Tacticae computations plot that up to a million archenemy soldiers were killed in the last week alone. the Tanith took amazingly only around ten thousand casualties during the entire siege. Regardless, after the dust had cleared there were only enough fighting men left on the planet for to form one regiment, officially dubbed the Tanith 1st Recon Regiment (known by its soldiers as the "Tanith First and Only") by the Munitorum. The regiment was shortly assigened to another crusade battlegroup shortly after and, unfortunately, did not have much part in the rebuilding process.

End Part two