Boreas stepped back, raising his sword to cut down and in. It was perfectly timed, the product of experience and training and the lessons of ten thousand battlefields. It was also a mistake. The blow would not land. Not because Boreas had made an error in technique, but because the opponent he was facing was a lord of traitors, a son of Horus schooled by the Warmaster both before and after his fall. Aximand twisted and rammed his faceplate into Boreas before the Templar could strike. Sigismund saw Boreas stagger, then the press of battle closed over his view.

Sigismund shoved forwards but a warrior with a crested helm barred his path and swung a two-handed mace. A shield caught the blow. Light and lightning exploded off the black-faced shield. The warrior with the mace staggered. Rann rammed his shield forwards and buried his axe in the warrior’s neck.

‘They have teeth after all,’ growled Rann, pulling his shield close as a squall of bolt-rounds exploded off it. Sigismund was at Rann’s side, the old patterns of war slotting back into place without question. There were Imperial Fists all around them now, forming a triangle of overlapping shields.

‘Low!’ shouted Rann as a beaked hammer’s head hooked over the top of his shield to pull it down. Sigismund braced, holding his sword low in his one good hand. Rann gave for an instant and then surged forwards, muscle and armour and decades of sharpened skill flowing into the movement. The shield went high, yanking up the hammer hooked over its edge. Sigismund stabbed his sword up and under the bottom of the shield. He felt it ram home through armour and into meat, and pulled it back before the dead weight could pull it down.

In the brief opening he glimpsed Boreas and Aximand. There were Sons of Horus all around Boreas now, and blood lacquered the First Lieutenant’s armour.

‘The teleport sequence is initiated,’ called Rann. ‘The Persephone will be in range in four minutes. Think we can live until then?’

Sigismund shook his head.

‘We advance to Boreas’ side,’ he shouted to Rann. The Assault captain’s laugh boomed out.

‘You really do want to die, don’t you? Boreas was right. We came for you and you want to die to these dogs? The ship is crawling with the bastards.’

‘Our oath was to this moment,’ shouted Sigismund.

‘And our duty is to the war,’ roared Rann.

‘We will not abandon him.’

Rann glanced around at him, green eye-lenses unreadable in his helmed face.

‘All right. As you will it.’ He braced into the shield. ‘Forwards on my lead!’ The shield-wall surged ahead, battering into a gale of gunfire and blades.

One pace, two paces, muscle and servos screaming as they absorbed blows, bolters firing into their path.