‘Cut a path for the Hellblasters,’ the captain called to his battle-brothers, pivoting his shield and hurling himself forward like a ram, slamming a xenos wraith into the wall. Judiciar Admonius swung his executioner relic blade at the trapped creature, the edge of his sword gleaming with a flash of power as it struck. Behind them, the Bladeguard drove forward and then parted, pinning the enemy between them.

A hail of plasma bolts followed from the Hellblasters, turning the necron apparitions to scattered fragments, molten metal spraying against the forcefields of the veterans’ shields. Another volley followed a few seconds later, pulping the last twitching remnants of the xenos, scattering the scarabs that had started to clamber over the bodies to repair them.

The intensity of fire from the Incursors ahead drew Aeschelus on until the passage brought them out at the bottom of a large spherical chamber, bisected by a waist-high wall clustered with glowing green spheres. Strange, angular hieroglyphs marked the ribbing of vaults overhead, which gleamed with their own light. Dozens of cables snaked in all directions, pulsing with the flow of energy.

The Incursors held the other four entrances, firing almost without end at gangling, floating shapes beyond.

‘Good find,’ Aeschelus told Lato, banging the sergeant on the backpack with the pommel of his sword. He switched the vox to company address. ‘Holding positions. Intercessors and Hellblasters to the fore. Bladeguard as mobile reserve. Bring up the charges.’

While the squads arranged themselves, a small coterie of tech-priests entered, flanked by an escort of dull-faced gun-servitors. The contingent brought four large chests with them, each a seismo-melta detonator capable of ripping open a starship’s armoured heart.

‘How many do you wish to use, captain?’ asked the senior tech-priest, its face consisting of overlapping metal scales punctured by two expression­less lenses for eyes.

‘Captain, detecting a surge in ambient temperature and energy readings off the scale.’ Sergeant Dorium had taken his Intercessors further out to provide a mobile perimeter. ‘Some kind of mass activation. Hundreds of readings about two hundred yards above our position.’

‘Acknowledged,’ replied Aeschelus. ‘Fall back to support position and report any movement.’

It seemed likely that the enemy would respond with unmatchable force very soon. That was always the nature of the hit-and-run attack: get aboard, locate a vital target to destroy and then get out. The speed and surprise of the attack was rapidly dwindling. Even if the counter-assault did not quickly wipe out the Space Marines it would tie them down in combat, meaning Aeschelus would have to detonate with his force aboard, or fight his way out before he did so, risking discovery and the deactivation of the anti-ship charges.

‘All of them,’ Aeschelus told the tech-priests.

If he was not going to get off this ship, nothing else would either.