The lieutenant signalled the cruiser.

‘Ship command, have we identified the target vessel?’ Fingers working the scrollball of the augur controls, Nem­etus flicked the view to a section of hull closer to the strategium.

‘Negative, assault command.’ Shipmaster Oloris’ reply was staccato with interference from the bombardment. ‘No registry information found corre­sponding to the target vessel.’

‘Understood, ship command. Assault command out.’

Whose ship was it? There were no obvious fleet or traitor markings.

While scanning for any tell-tale signs of who or what was aboard, Nem­etus found something else. A darker patch, a shadow behind the spread of the command bridge as it jutted either side of the dorsal armoured ridge. Nem­etus increased magnification further, losing sight of the shadow for a few seconds before locating it again.

Another breach. A hole no more than ten yards across, almost within bolter range of the strategium itself.

It would be a difficult landing. Too tight for a gunship to enter, they’d have to void-jump the last few yards, right under the gaze of the defenders. But if Nem­etus’ growing suspicions were right, the victualling dock would be even less welcoming.

‘One mile to target. Starting attack approach,’ signalled the pilot.

A last rage of gunfire slammed into the target area, the brightness of the detonation momentarily turning the auto-senses of Nem­etus’ armour to dull monochrome as they compensated. Then nothing. Darkness returned, the flight of the gunships taking them into the line of fire from the cruiser.

At approach speed, a mile would take less than thirty seconds to cover.

A lot could happen in thirty seconds. Half a minute could be the difference between victory and defeat. Battles far larger than the one about to begin could turn in a heartbeat – or at the ending of a heartbeat.

‘I have control,’ Nem­etus announced, dropping out of the gunship’s augur systems. He grabbed the guidance column in both hands. With a shrill whine of protest, the machine-spirit disengaged its influence and he started to turn the craft along the flank of the enemy ship. ‘New target vector. Follow me in.’

A red warning rune flashed across the videolith, snaring Aeschelus’ attention for a few seconds before Praxa­medes’ call cut through the chatter of the strategium.

‘Boarding group is off trajectory, captain!’

That much was already obvious, as a dotted red line diverged from the established flight path of the gunships, breaking slightly towards the prow of the target vessel. A cluster of orange glows around the projected landing point warned of a concentration of energy signatures. Praxa­medes was already aware of the issue and was on the general vox before Aeschelus could speak.

‘Assault command, your flight will take you into range of enemy defence turrets.’

‘Acknowledged, ship command,’ came the reply from Nem­etus.

Three more seconds passed with no further comment from the lieutenant. Aeschelus and Praxa­medes looked at each other, surprised by the silence.