‘Faster! We have to be aboard in two minutes.’ He started down the corr­idor as the first gunship lifted away, its compartment full. Void-frozen flesh crunched underfoot as he strode over the bodies of the mutants, his gaze occasionally meeting the frozen glare of a heretic. He waited a few seconds, assuring himself that everyone under his command would board before he did. Admonius waited ahead, also opting to be aboard the last gunship. It was the way of the Ultramarines. First to attack, last to withdraw.

A few of the battle-brothers had sustained injuries by sheer weight of fire, but none requiring anything but the most basic aid. All were capable of getting back to the gunships without assistance. In any other situation it would have been an unqualified success, mission one hundred per cent achieved with zero casualties.

Too good to be true, it had turned out.

Instead he experienced a moment of grudging admiration for not only the deviousness of the enemy plan but also for the unflinching hate that had powered it.

He moved towards the jagged opening again. They had to be aboard the Ithraca’s Vengeance in two minutes or the traitors’ martyrdom would be rewarded.

‘Master Oloris, status on embarkation?’

Aeschelus asked the question softly, with just a tilt of the head towards the shipmaster at the monitoring station. It was moments like these for which the captain had been created. Not just trained, but moulded from frail human flesh and thoughts into a warrior capable of leading a force of the Adeptus Astartes.

He felt tense. It was counter-productive to suppress all reaction to conflict. His thoughts proceeded without too much biochemical impediment, aided by neuroboosters from his armour. He could see Praxa­medes restless at the augury position, probably desiring to oversee the shipmaster’s duty. It was to be expected from a Space Marine who had risen through the company from its inception; his first instinct was to personally involve himself, whereas Aeschelus had been inculcated with the need for a certain amount of strategic distance.

Even so, the several seconds it took for Oloris to reply felt much longer.

‘All three gunships are returning, captain. First embarkation to commence in twenty seconds.’

Aeschelus did not need to ask how long until the battleship was within weapons range. The countdown was superimposed into a corner of the chrono-display of the videolith, and the captain was subconsciously monitoring it with every second that ticked past.

Sixty-two seconds.

Sixty-one seconds.

‘Detecting plasma surge in the enemy vessel, brother-captain. They’re powering up their batteries and lances.’

‘Void shield generators operational and nominal,’ added the deck officer assigned to the defence grid station.