It had been three days since the 9th Vostroyan broke through the outer trench line of the Tau bastion on Frontera’s southern ridge. The snow still steamed from orbital bombardment. Fires crackled in hollowed dugouts as troopers huddled for warmth, steam rising from ration tins.

Sgt. Ekaterina Voschenkova moved with quiet steps, her lasgun slung over her shoulder, the red and gold of her coat unblemished despite the mire. She stopped before a knot of soldiers around a fire, her gaze sharp beneath the flickering light.

“Do not let the warmth dull your purpose,” she said, voice like iron on frost. “At dawn, we march again. The Emperor has no use for idle hands.”