The men escorting the Wolf King broke into a run, dragging at their staggering primarch. Gunfire streaked noiselessly across the vast hangar deck. Explosions lifted up from the ground in silent effusions of brief fire. Bjorn jogged alongside his lord. Sighting his boltgun well with one hand was hard to do, but he called upon the mechanisms of his armour to steady his arm, and a spray of shots punched a Sons of Horus legionary off a catwalk high above. A hundred metres to go.

The great prow-ward gates blasted inwards soundlessly. Huge chunks of metal rushed onto the deck, smashing down Vlka manning barricades before them. Bjorn felt the explosion through the soles of his feet. A blast of atmosphere followed, and the Sons of Horus emerged in a cloud of dispersing ice crystals, guns blazing. The Vlka were withdrawing. Already gunships were lifting off, the sound of their passage reduced to faint tremors. As they departed, they loosed their remaining missiles through the gates into the enemy. Lascannon and turbo laser fire tore up sheets of metal. Warriors disappeared in incandescent plasma sunbursts. Both sides suffered from the other's attentions.

Fifty metres.

A stabbing flurry of phosphor rounds blasted the fleshmakers escorting Russ. The primarch stumbled as the warriors died. Half his remaining escort dropped to their knees, snapping off retaliatory shots. The Stormbird's powerful engines were cycling up to take-off speed. Heavy bolter rounds cut up the metal around Bjorn, chewing the deck into a snarled mess. Miraculously he wasn't hit. Bjorn added to the covering fire as he ran. More warriors aiding Russ were cut down as they sheltered the primarch with their bodies.

A brother of Sepp fell dead at Russ' side. Bjorn took his place, his armour jarring against Russ and making the primarch wince. His face was bare apart from the breathing grille over his mouth, but although his skin had taken on a bluish tinge, exposure to the near vacuum of the deck seemed to have done him little harm.

Twenty metres.

The Stormbird's ramp descended. Wolf Guard appeared in the aperture, beckoning urgently, shooting over the heads of the running Wolves. Three warriors besides Bjorn were left helping the wounded primarch. One lost his leg and he collapsed, blood rushing from his severed limb. Another took a bolt-round to the back, frying his power pack and locking his armour. The third turned back, howling madly over the vox, gun blazing. A volkite beam melted his pelvis.

Bjorn was alone with the limping primarch. His jaw was clamped hard with the effort of bearing his gene-father. The Emperor's Spear trailed loosely from Russ' fist He would not let it go.

Yellow lumen light shone from within the Stormbird, calm and steady against the frantic flash of the battle With a final heave Bjorn shoved the primarch forwards, and fell down through his effort. The Varagyr helped Russ up the ramp. Bjorn staggered forwards, turning back as his boots thumped into the ramp.