It was hopeless. Even an old soldier like Sergeant Vessig had to admit that they were overwhelmed. But no matter, he thought. Such a desperate fact was of little consequence to a veteran of Fortress Cadia. It would just mean that they would die for the noblest cause in the universe: that of serving the God-Emperor of Mankind.

The Emperor protects.’ Vessig voiced into his helm-vox.

'The Emperor protects.’ those among Squad Vessig still standing replied.

'Continue to fire at will.’

There was a screaming roar of discharging heavy weapons and the flakboard wall of the manufactory disintegrated, exploding inwards as heavily armoured giants burst through it. The hangar was lit up again by the strobing light of heavy las-fire and a bolter fusillade that threw up clouds of smoke and dust from the compacted floor of the shed.

The clouds parted in eddying swirls and for the second time that fateful day, Sergeant Vessig of the Cadian 108th Wyverns was confronted by towering colossi emerging from the black smoke, terrible golems of ceramite and steel.

Their armour was black and bore the unmistakable wings of the two-headed Imperial eagle. Other strange glyphs decorated their shoulder plates but what marked these warriors out more than anything else, especially compared to the Plague Marines, were their robotic limbs and obvious augmetics. They seemed to be half-cybernetic creations, bursting from the roiling smoke and flame like avenging angels.

Vessig's mind was in turmoil. He half-hoped that these new arrivals were their liberators, but were he and the survivors of his squad really safe from their wrathful deliverers? The sergeant scrambled backwards making sure that he kept fully out of the way of the Cadians' advancing, black-armoured, unwitting saviours.

The loyalist Marines doused their traitor brethren with bolter fire, searing beams of las-fire and screaming plasma discharge. Vessig watched with grim satisfaction as the corpulent armour of one of the Plague Marines disintegrated under the concussive blast of an autocannon. Stinking offal and viscera slopped from the rent armour only to be cooked by the blast from a plasma gun.

Where the black-armoured Marines' weapons found their mark amongst the Death Guard, thick green gunk spurted from the traitors' wounds.

A huge, highly augmented Marine's calliper arm took the head off one of the corrupted abominations with a sharp twist. Viscous black blood welled up from the jaundiced flesh of the stump of the thing's neck as its bloated body keeled over onto the floor of the hangar.

As the leader turned his gleaming bolter on another of the diseased ones, a voice, hot with rage boomed from the vox-speakers of the warrior's helmet. Vessig noticed that the Space Marine's visor was adapted so that one eye was an vertical oblong red lens.

'Irons Hands!' the authoritative voice declared. 'Purge the vile plague-bearers from this place, for the Emperor, in the name of our Primarch Ferrus Manus! Iron Hands, purge the weak! Burn the heretic! Destroy the corrupted!'

FOUR

HUNTING THULE

Ferroturitus Prime Guard Command HQ