The strategium was larger than that of the Ithraca’s Vengeance, spread across three levels like an amphitheatre. The main doors opened into the middle level, and the bulk of the enemy fired down from the horseshoe-shaped deck above, creating a crossfire, with bullets, shotgun shells and las-bolts also spraying forth from the defenders holding out beneath the broad main display and the bank of cogitators and projectors in front of it. Nem­etus aimed left and right with his plasma pistol, looking for a target, but the glimpses of the enemies that appeared in his targeting display were too close to the strategium metriculating engines. Even a partial hit risked incinerating vital databanks.

Nem­etus holstered his plasma pistol and started forward again. Enemy fire smacked into his backpack from the upper floor as he pushed on.

‘Audacity, vertical assault!’ the lieutenant snapped, pulling his sword to gesture towards the upper level while he continued forward into the heart of the enemy fire from below.

The Primaris Marines broke into two combat squads, each heading for the spiral staircases that flanked the upper deck. Trusting them to make short work of the firers above, Nem­etus pressed on with Tenacity and Admonius. The Eradicators came after them, melta rifles slung, combat knives drawn. From behind them came the occasional snap of a well-placed bolter round as a few of the Intercessors picked off targets of opportunity. Had the strategium not been the prize itself, Nem­etus would have had both squads shred and melt everything in sight, but that was not an option.

Heedless of the enemy’s guns, Judiciar Admonius vaulted over the rail that separated the main deck from the display sub-level, crushing a mutant beneath his bulk as he landed. Nem­etus followed slightly less spectacularly, descending the rampway with three long strides, shield held up to ward away the weakening enemy fusillade. Chainswords shrieking, the assault squad split between the two officers, some jumping directly into the fray while the rest pounded after the lieutenant.

‘Mark your targets, no collateral damage!’ Nem­etus barked again as Admonius’ long blade barely missed a bundle of cabling that hung like an Ascension Day garland between two terminals. He kept his words generic, not wanting to rebuke the Judiciar directly. ‘Watch your back-swings and follow-through.’

Like vermin bolting from the exterminator, handfuls of mutants and untainted crew scurried away from the arrival of the Space Marines, some fleeing towards the recesses behind the display, others throwing themselves between cogitator banks and under hololith tables.

‘Assault command, enemy massed attack now one hundred yards from perimeter line,’ warned Sergeant Dorium from outside the strategium.

‘Hard defence, give no ground,’ Nem­etus replied. ‘Estimate strength.’

‘Fifteen hundred, increasing, brother-lieutenant.’

How long to interface with the strategic cogitators? How much longer to inload their contents into the datatraps they had brought with them? Ten minutes? An hour?