Bror took up a forward position in cover by the bridge. Deep shadows dominated the space behind the baffles. The canyons were lit a twilight blue, but by contrast to the backs of the baffles they seemed bright and open.

'Enrir,' Bror voxed. He kept the message brief. The turrets were of a sophisticated mark, and were doubtless scanning for vox broadcasts. Enrir came forwards stealthily.

'Can you hit them with your meltagun?' Bror asked. Enrir carried the weapon as a supplement to his bolt gun. It went against Legion organisational doctrines, but the Rout had never been one to follow rules.

Enrir leaned forwards.

'Those turrets are forty-six metres away, the extreme edge of the beam focus. I can do it, but I'll be able to take only one turret down. The other will open fire as soon as I claim the first for Morkai.' Bror patted his pauldron. 'Do it. Take the left. The rest of you, target the right. And be quick. The lack of sentries here is making me nervous.'

Enrir set his boltgun down quietly. He undamped his meltagun from the side of his power plant. He sighted it carefully, and adjusted the focal length of the fusion beam with a dial on the housing. He brought the weapon to bear, stock close in to his shoulder. He looked down at the iron sight on the barrel end. Fusion weapons were intended for close-range work. They didn't need aiming too carefully under ordinary circumstances.

'On tra,' said Bror. 'Onn, twa, tra!'

Enrir squeezed the trigger carefully so as not to disturb his aim. The air shimmered between the gun and the autocannon turret. The efficacy of the beam was reduced so far away, and the turret had time to come to bear before Enrir burned through it, setting off the ammunition stores inside. Cooked off shells spiralled outwards.

The second turret immediately opened fire with a sawing chug, driving Enrir back behind the armoured baffle. Bror and the others responded in kind, but their bolts exploded on the armoured exterior of the turret, doing little damage.

'My apologies, fat one, but you're going to have to brave the iron rain and take that second one out!' Bror shouted.

Enrir nodded. He adjusted the settings on his gun, then threw himself back around the corner and fired.

A large, solid round smashed Enrir's right pauldron from his shoulder with violent force. The edge of the plate ripped open his body glove and cut his flesh down to the bone of his shoulder blade before bouncing off the wall near Gren's head and falling into the chasm. Enrir was turned about by the hit. His meltagun flew from his hands and slid over the edge of the drop. He cursed hard, enraged by the loss of his favourite gun rather than the wound he had taken. His brothers returned fire with a punishing hail of bolt-rounds.