That was an issue for later. Even so, the ease of the boarding started to nag at Nem­etus the same way the open ladening bay had pricked his suspicions. When their trap had failed, had the enemy instigated some other subterfuge that he could not discern?

Admonius stepped forward, head tilted to one side. Nem­etus could sense the Judiciar’s impatience.

‘Awaiting your command, brother-lieutenant,’ said the sergeant of the Eradicators.

A chrono-check showed Nem­etus that five seconds had passed since the Eradicators had taken up position. Not long in objective turns, but a significant hesitation to a Space Marine.

‘Dorium, Lato, situation report,’ he said, signalling to the Incursor sergeants. This was another moment of commitment. Once they were in the strategium the Ultramarines’ position would be locked down. He could imagine Praxa­medes monitoring the boarding action from the bridge, likely considering how he would have conducted the operation differently. Nem­etus was not going to leave any room for accusations of casualness or unpreparedness. Praxa­medes would see he could be diligent as well as resourceful.

‘Detecting large movement, assault command,’ reported Lato, who was covering the starboard approaches. ‘Motion data and thermal registers increasing rapidly.’

‘Also significant increase in activity to port side,’ added Dorium. ‘Only in the last few seconds. I think this is the counter-attack, brother-lieutenant.’

‘I concur. Massed movement, enemy numbering hundreds. No powered armour signatures detected. What are your orders, assault command?’

Nem­etus felt the gaze of Admonius on him, and the more distant scrutiny of Aeschelus and Praxa­medes.

Breach or withdraw?

‘Incursor squads, collapsing rearguard to our position. Intercessor tactical, operational freedom. Move forward to support Incursors’ withdrawal and then assume perimeter defence.’

Nem­etus readied his shield and plasma pistol, looking at the Eradicators.

‘Breach!’

The whine of melta rifles became a screaming hiss of flash-vaporised molecules. The outer layer of the strategium portal exploded outwards in a billow of vapour that sparkled from the field of Nem­etus’ storm shield and coated the armour of his companions in a molecule-thick layer of glistening metal. The noise of the meltas was drowned out by the shriek of distorted plasteel and titanium as the door bubbled. The pressure imbalance between the strategium atmosphere and the superheated air in the accessway caused an explosive rupture, the last sheen of metal splaying out from the command bridge, droplets of molten plasteel flying like bullets through the hot air.

Nem­etus plunged forward, his armour moaning alarms, dotting his visor display with amber and red as he pushed himself through the radiation cloud that the portal had become. The residue of melta energy fogged his auto-senses for half a second, clearing with scatters of grey static to reveal the interior of the strategium.

He took in the broad sweep of the command platform and dozens of waiting enemies for just a second before warning notes sounded again, even as his eyeline swept to the muzzle of a missile launcher.