Even so, the enemy were not seeking to kill the Space Marines, simply to delay them. The flicker of bolt shells and flash of heavier weaponry created a strobing effect in the dim light of the upper deck. Every half-second seemed to paint a different tableau of disfigured faces, twisted bodies and inhuman appendages clawing at the floor and walls. Determined to give their lives to trap the Space Marines aboard the ship, the traitorous humans and mutants would bury the Ultramarines in corpses and let the incoming battleship annihilate them at will.

The command vox hissed into life with Praxa­medes’ voice.

‘Assault command, gunship command, are you in position?’

The gunship pilots all signalled readiness while Nem­etus made a last check of his complement’s positioning.

‘Ready when you are, ship command.’ Though the withdrawal was tactically sound, a necessity in fact, the feeling of defeat weighed heavily on the lieutenant. ‘Target area is clear.’

He switched to the battle channel to speak to his warriors.

‘Extraction operation in progress. Check mag-locks and boots. Stand by.’

Nem­etus followed his own command, assuring himself that his power armour was magnetically attached to the metal deck underfoot. A few seconds of sporadic bolter and melta fire passed.

An explosion above shook the corridors, the shockwave of the bombardment shell’s impact throwing splinters and pieces of broken support beam from the ceiling. Cracks as wide as Nem­etus’ finger zig-zagged through the ceramite, while the ship’s damage alarms wailed into life and the lights flickered before cutting out altogether. Dust billowed along the passageway, stirred by a still-functioning filtration fan somewhere behind the lieutenant, coating his armour and that of his companions with glistening grey.

‘Breach the doors!’

His voxed order carried to the Eradicators stationed by a sealed secur­ity bulkhead about thirty yards up the main corridor. In the darkness, the lieutenant’s auto-senses picked up the surge of melta radiation and sudden explosion of heat from the bulwark. In seconds, the yard-thick metal had evaporated, the last slivers blown outwards by decompression to reveal a haze of starlight.

The internal atmosphere became an evacuating gale, carrying corpses and live foes alike, their misshapen bodies slamming against walls and warriors. Nem­etus ducked a large mutant with tusk-like teeth, turning his head to see it vanish through the ragged opening along with scores of others. When the rage of air and cadavers finished, a few corpses skidding to the deck around the opening and the passage beyond, Nem­etus saw the bright spark of plasma engines against the darkness of the void.

‘Gunships incoming. Extraction by squad!’ Nem­etus stepped back, his steps heavy as his boots pulled his feet down towards the deck.

The sergeants led their subordinates through the broken bulkhead, the first squads met by the ramp of a descending gunship. Nem­etus checked his chronometer. Three minutes until the enemy battleship was in range.