A scream had him whirling around as another dead man fell directly onto a recruit. Teeth, unnaturally white in the ruin of its face, clashed at the soldier’s neck. The plague zombie bore the young soldier down off the step. The creature was naked but for a helmet still snugly strapped about its chin. Blurred regimental tattoos marked its upper arms. Varens’ first shot was deflected by the helmet, the second cored it through. The reanimated corpse died, head dripping molten plasteel and rotten brains. Varens was at the youth’s side before the corpse had collapsed, dragging him from the muck and shaking the shock out of him.

‘Are you alright?’

The soldier stared mutely back. Varens quickly checked the seals around his mouth and eyes and shoved him back against the wall. The last few dead were being permanently put down, and no more had reached the trench line. Out over the wasteland, others were falling, speared through the head by ruby light. The fresh soldiers seemed to have finally caught on.

‘Varens!’ Bolus called him over.

‘We didn’t lose anyone,’ said Varens.

Bolus shook his head grimly. ‘It’s not over yet. This is something new. Listen!’

Varens struggled to see anything through the swirl of rain and drifting steam. The fog had thickened through the fight and reduced visibility to a score of metres.

A dirge came out from the murk.

‘All is ash, all is ash, all is ash.’

The words were wet and thick, carried on breath from lungs full of fluid, up throats clogged with phlegm, uttered by swollen lips.

‘All is ash, all is ash, all is ash,’ they droned.

The words were laden with loss and sorrow, and the inevitability of the end. They sent a chill down Varens’ spine. Hysterical giggles and guffaws of mirth interrupted the chant, as if the chanters performed some sacred duty they could not take entirely seriously. That made it worse. The new recruits wavered.

Behind the last few staggering dead stalked huge shapes, bloated giants of fearsome silhouette. The grinding of ancient motors sounded out their every step. Though spikes and unholy adornments had changed their shapes from their intended form, there was no mistaking what they were.

‘Guilliman save us,’ said Bolus, his confidence shaken. ‘Heretic Astartes.’ Behind his visor, his eyes shone with fear. ‘Keep the lads in line,’ he whispered. ‘These aren’t going to fall as easily as the dead.’

Varens’ stomach tightened. He nodded, teetering on the brink of utter panic, but his training took over, and he and Bolus went into action.

‘All is ash, all is ash, all is ash,’ chanted the enemy.