None of this is my fault, understand? You can blame my producer, since it was his decision to cut costs by booking travel with the camp followers of the 119th Chorzin Grenadiers.

Lieutenant Cobral Janner was bored. Eight years on a deathworld, guarding a secret fortified warehouse containing a strategic stockpile of spare clothing, equipment, weapons and vehicles, and he had yet to fire his lasgun in anger.  

The sand had teeth on this world.  They’d been a jungle regiment once. Their fatigues were still a blotched green, unsuited to this sun-blasted hellhole.