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  The Space Wolf frowned, opened his mouth to speak and paused. Cantos’s ice-blue eyes bored into him. The sergeant’s paired service studs glinted in the half-light as a reminder that he was many decades Lothar’s senior.

  ‘Cantos…’ Lothar began.

  ‘Brother-sergeant to you.’ Cantos’ voice was not raised, but it cut like a combat knife.

  ‘Brother-sergeant. The Atrophons and Catachans think this bridge is down. Reckon they think they’re safe, eh? But they’re not – there’s a great big hole in their shield wall.’

  ‘“Shield wall”, Brother Redfang?’

  Lothar banged his gauntlet against a datastack in exasperation.

  ‘You know what I mean! If we leave, what’s stopping the orks rolling straight over this bridge and catching the Astra Militarum taking a squat in the snow?’

  Brother Sor’khal frowned. ‘They’ve not crossed the bridge yet, or we’d have been neck deep in greenskins already. Maybe this was just the chance? A bunch of orks catch up to the Catachans and kill them, then carry their rampage off somewhere else? These are orks, Fenris. You know they’re not much for strategy.’

  ‘I know they do whatever you least expect, and when you least expect it,’ replied Lothar. ‘For all we know, they left themselves a way in on purpose, and the whole Waaagh! is approaching right now!’

  Sergeant Cantos nodded.

  ‘A fair assessment, Brother Lothar. But we have a mission. Already we’re out of position, and time is against us.’

  ‘But we can’t…’

  ‘We can,’ interrupted the sergeant, ‘and we must. I’ve no more desire than you to leave a hole in the Imperial defences. But our target takes precedence.’

  ‘Besides,’ put in Sor’khal, ‘how are we going to demolish a bridge? Tell me that, Fenris. Shoot it with bolters till it falls down? We’ll be here a while.’

  ‘By the Allfather! I’m not saying we demolish anything! I’m saying we hold the damn bridge like real warriors.’

  ‘Hold it?’ replied Cantos sceptically. ‘With what? Five battle-brothers? Rash foolishness.’

  ‘More like heroism,’ retorted Lothar angrily. ‘Think of the glory!’

  Sergeant Cantos’s eyes flashed with anger.

  ‘We are not here for glory, Brother Redfang. We are here to complete our mission. If you can’t grasp the difference, I’ll send you back to Fenris where you can engage in all the wasteful glory hunting you please.’

  Lothar growled, the sound raw and angry. Sergeant Cantos stood, a cold stare locked with the Space Wolf’s. The grate of Gorrvan’s voice punctured the moment.

  ‘Sergeant. Brother Redfang may be correct.’ Cantos turned his glare from Lothar to Gorrvan.

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘I have interrogated the machine-spirits and data-logs. When the stronghold garrison pulled back, they did indeed leave a team of Catachan sappers to take care of the bridge itself. I believe we can safely assume that they did not succeed. However, they seem only to have been interrupted at the last moment.’

  ‘The energy signatures!’ exclaimed Lothar. ‘They got their charges set, but didn’t have time to blow the bridge?’

  ‘I believe so,’ nodded Gorrvan, ‘I have inloaded our squad’s auspex data. Cross-referencing with the Catachans’ logged demolitions schematic, I believe there are two extremely large plasma bombs located a short distance east of here, and another in the support girders beneath this fortress. In addition, though meteorological conditions are becoming increasingly adverse, long-range auspex suggests dramatically increased movement on the river’s east bank.’

  ‘This may have been deliberate, then,’ nodded Cantos grimly. ‘The orks have left themselves an attack route, and now they gather to exploit it.’

  ‘And in this throne-damned weather, no-one’s realised,’ said Sor’khal. ‘But then, surely they’ll be on their way?’

  As though summoned by Sor’khal’s words, Kordus’s voice crackled over the vox.

  ‘Enemy movement in the east. Scattered infantry and light vehicles crossing the bridge towards your position. Numbers unclear.’

  Sor’khal exchanged a look with Cantos.

  ‘Sergeant?’ For a moment, Cantos stared intently into the middle distance. Lothar drew breath to speak, but Sor’khal motioned him to stay quiet.

  ‘Very well,’ said Cantos. ‘Brother Gorrvan, I assume we are still cut off from Atrophon high command?’ The Iron Hands legionary nodded.

  ‘Correct. Long-range vox contact is impossible at this time.’

  ‘Then we must deal with this matter ourselves. A random greenskin incursion into the Imperial lines was troubling, but an acceptable risk. This is not random. There will be little gain to the Imperium if we eliminate our target at the expense of the entire Atrophon war effort.’

  ‘So we fight?’ asked Lothar eagerly.

  ‘Yes, Brother Redfang. We fight. But not for glory, and not in some forlorn last stand. We still have a mission to complete. Gorrvan?’

  ‘Yes, sergeant?’

  ‘The plasma charges. How difficult would it be for us to rouse their machine-spirits?’ For a moment, Gorrvan retched binary. From Kordus came three insistent vox-pips. Situation urgent, orders required.

  ‘Viable,’ grated Gorrvan. ‘The data-logs indicate that the charges require only the final rituals of arming to synchronise them in a data-choir with this cogitator bank.’

  ‘Good. Exfiltration? We need to be on the eastern bank when this bridge comes down.’

  ‘There are maintenance and drainage ducts running through the bridge superstructure just below surface level,’ replied Gorrvan after a pause. ‘Large enough for us to move along at a run, all the way to the eastern bank. Some systems are still inactive, sergeant. I cannot promise that the duct-ways are fully accessible, or that the foe will not have found a way into them. However, I calculate a seventy-six per cent chance that they will provide a suitable, uncontested exfiltration route once the charges are primed.’

  ‘It will have to do,’ barked Cantos, donning his helm. ‘Gorrvan, remain here, provide us with strategic oversight and guide us in the arming rituals. And get the east-facing servitor guns up and running as your first priority. Sor’khal, Redfang, with me. We’ll press on and prime those charges.’

  ‘Sergeant, I’ll take the bomb below the stronghold,’ voxed Kordus, ‘I can reach it quicker than any of you.’

  ‘Agreed,’ replied Cantos. ‘Once all charges are set, we fall back here. That should lure the orks onto the stronghold’s guns and, while they are fully distracted, we slip away through the ducts before the charges blow.’

  Sor’khal nodded.

  ‘No more bridge. No more orks. Brilliant. By the Khan, then, brothers, let us be about our duty!’

  The Space Marines emerged into gloom of the central tunnel once more, the door’s code-lock rune flashing from green to red behind them. Now only Gorrvan would be able to unlock that portal from the central command chamber. Cantos led his brothers at a run to the eastern mouth of the tunnel, where they ducked down for a moment with weapons held ready.

  Lothar stared hard along the bridge, noting that the weather was worsening fast. Already the crashed Taurox and its slain cargo were lost to sight amid the wind-whipped snow. He could hear engines snorting and snarling out there, but couldn’t yet see the foe.

  ‘With me,’ voxed Cantos, ‘Lothar left flank, Sor’khal right.’

  The three Space Marines loped out along the bridge, steadying themselves against shrieking gusts of icy wind. As they jogged along the bridge, their boots crunched in the snow and the sound of motors and crude bellowing voices got steadily louder.

  ‘You are now less than one hundred metres from the charges,’ voxed Gorrvan. ‘There appear to be two, one to either side of the bridge.’

  Just at that moment, the first of the foe loomed from the swirling snow. The orks were huge beasts, as tall as the Space Marines themselves and easily as broad. Despite the icy
cold they were clad in ragged cloth and scrappy armour that left much of their green flesh exposed. As the hulking silhouettes emerged from the storm, Lothar grinned in recognition.

  ‘Contact left,’ he snarled and, raising his bolt pistol, shot the first beast through the face. The ork’s head exploded in a wet spray. Behind it, its comrades roared in anger, but Lothar was already charging. A few crude slugs whined off his armour in showers of sparks, then he was in amongst the greenskins, his chainsword howling. His first stroke lopped a greenskin’s head from its shoulders. His second hacked through the haft of a scrap-iron axe and severed the arm holding it. An ork hatchet clanged against Lothar’s shoulder guard, hacking a chunk from the ceramite and driving the Space Wolf to one knee. In return, he drove his chainsword into the ork’s guts and snarled his satisfaction as the alien’s innards sprayed red across the snow.

  More orks closed in, a metal club crunching into Lothar’s chest with enough force to crack the black carapace beneath. The Space Wolf growled as he tasted blood in his mouth.

  Bolters thundered as Lothar’s brothers joined him. Cantos and Sor’khal gunned down the greenskins with practised skill, the muzzle flare from their weapons lighting the snowbanks with its strobing glare. Within moments only butchered meat remained, pools of xenos blood steaming as it swiftly cooled and froze.

  ‘…sily recognisable. Vox me whe… cated the charges.’ Cantos paused, one hand pressed to the side of his helm.

  ‘Brother Gorrvan, repeat. You’re breaking up.’ Static whistled through the vox.

  ‘We need to move,’ muttered Sor’khal, scanning the whirling snow. ‘That was just the first handful. The sound of fighting brings the bastards running.’

  Lothar revved his chainsword.

  ‘Let them come. Stormtooth hungers for their blood!’

  ‘Atmospheri… terferance is increasi… sergeant,’ voxed Gorrvan. ‘Reiterati… each charge is located at the ba… a support column, and will be easily recogni… Vox me when… located the charges.’

  ‘Acknowledged,’ replied Cantos. ‘Sor’khal, take the left-hand side of the bridge. Brother Redfang, right. I will remain central and retain their attention while you complete the rituals. Go.’

  The two Deathwatch brothers nodded, turned, and forged off into the snow. Cantos remained where he was, stood alone amid the orks’ contorted corpses. Engines roared, louder now and getting swiftly closer. Cantos raised his combi-melta and waited.

  Brother Kordus triggered his jump pack, launching himself from the gantry. Snow whipped around him as he flew through the air, auto-senses overlaying his vision with trajectories and the wireframe mapping of the bridge’s structure. For a long moment he sailed through white nothingness, the thuggish wind trying to bludgeon him off course, before his boots clanged down on another strut. He stood on a censer-spar that jutted precipitously from the bridge’s underside. Far below, the river churned and roared. The Raven Guard calmly calculated his next leap, ignoring the wind screaming around him, then fired his jump pack’s thrusters again. As he flew, he listened to his brothers’ vox chatter. Sor’khal and Redfang had almost reached their charges now, and Cantos was engaging another wave of greenskins. Kordus had no doubt they would complete their duties, even the newcomer. Meanwhile, he would see to his task.

  Kordus’s leap carried him down, under the ferrocrete mass of the bridge and into its shadow. Down here, a vast cradle of gantries, girders and cables helped support the stronghold, lest its weight pull it down into the fury of the Strakk. He landed on a long, wide girder and paused, getting a fix on the energy signature of the plasma charge. With whipping snow and shadow all around, the Raven Guard’s visibility was now down to a few metres at best; his helm’s auto-senses would have to be his eyes.

  Kordus’s contemplation was broken as a bullet whined off the girder to his left. Another clanged from his helm, then more were raining around him. Obeying ingrained training, Kordus triggered his jump pack and executed a twisting, evasive leap to carry him out of danger. He crossed the vaulted space between two spars then cut his engines suddenly to drop like a stone. Kordus fell several metres and grabbed the edge of a lower platform as it flashed up at him out of the murk. Swinging into shadow, he waited, twin hearts thudding steadily, aware of the constant, hungry roar of the river far below. More gunfire rattled, then petered out. His assailants had lost him. Hopefully.

  Scouring the gloom, Kordus saw the foe as flickering heat-signatures. The creatures swarming along the cables and girders weren’t orks. They were smaller, gangling things that clung on for dear life as they climbed. Gretchin, a whole mob of them heading right for the plasma charge. He could see its power readings from here, and gauged that the device was nestled close to a support column directly below the stronghold’s main mass. It wasn’t far away. Kordus pulled himself up with one fluid motion. The Raven Guard crouched, palmed a frag grenade, and drew his bolt pistol. He would need to be quick.

  Lothar was almost at the plasma charge, and could see it pulsing green through the snow when the orks struck. Only the sudden howl of his instincts saved him. Lothar threw himself sideways, a smoke-belching rocket whipping over his head. The projectile corkscrewed into the bridge and exploded. He hit the ground, rolled, and came up with his pistol raised. The snow around him erupted as a mob of orks burst from hiding. They were clad in a jarring grey and red pattern that Lothar realised was meant to be camouflage, and many had a crossed-axe glyph smeared crudely on their skin or wargear.

  ‘Die, filth,’ snarled the Space Wolf, blasting the ork with the smoking rocket launcher off its feet. The next greenskin roared and shot Lothar point-blank, cracking his armour and sending him staggering back. The Space Wolf howled with rage and charged, sawing his chainsword into the ork’s face. Blood and broken teeth sprayed, even as Lothar’s next two shots blew chunks of flesh from another assailant. The ork came on, despite the craters blasted in its torso, and Lothar took a resounding blow to his helm, amber warning runes flickering in the corners of his vision. Spinning, the Space Wolf brought his blade whirring around in an arc and hacked the head from his tenacious foe. As this latest ork fell, neck-stump jetting gore, the last of Lothar’s attackers lost their nerve and fled. His instincts bayed at him to give chase, but he had a mission to complete. Instead, he dropped to one knee next to the humming bulk of the plasma charge and stared in incomprehension at the wires and cables that spilled from its innards.

  ‘Gorrvan, I’m at the bomb. What in the Allfather’s name do I do now?’

  For a few moments there was silence, followed by the sound of Cantos engaging the orks somewhere behind him. Muffled bolter fire thudded through the air, interwoven with bestial greenskin warcries. Lothar grinned fiercely at the sound of something exploding with a hoarse boom. For an Ultramarine, he thought, it sounded like Cantos could really fight. Suddenly, Gorrvan’s voice broke through the choppy static.

  ‘…rother Redfang… see a panel with a …echanicus cog. It… about ha… way up the dev…’

  For a moment, Lothar was at a loss. Then his eyes found the panel. ‘Got it.’

  ‘Ver… ood. Intoning the thir… cantica… of the Omniss… pre… the red rune ne… the pane…’

  Lothar scowled. The wind howled around him, gathering pace by the second. A particularly fierce gust snatched a clutch of icicles from a gantry high above, flinging them down to shatter upon his armoured shoulders.

  ‘…n the circumstance… think we can dispense with the chanting. Just hit the red rune Brother Redfa…’

  Lothar grunted and thumped his fist against the blinking red rune. With a puff of incense, the panel slid aside, revealing a nest of wires and switches. Squatting amongst them was a device that Lothar recognised. A melta bomb. A secondary charge, presumably placed to violently dissuade tampering. As the panel opened, a runic display on the small charge’s front began to count downward.

  ‘Fenrir’s arse,’ cursed Lothar. ‘There’s a bomb here, Gorrvan. Another one, a
nd its machine-spirit doesn’t like me! Now what?’

  ‘Ah,’ came Gorrvan’s response.

  ‘Ah? What do I do?’ snarled Lothar. For long, agonising seconds, the only response was static, hissing and whistling through the vox. Lothar’s twin hearts thudded, and every nerve screamed at him to get clear, but he had a duty to discharge.

  ‘Gorrvan? Gorrvan! By the Allfather, you metal bastard, if you don’t tell me what to do right now this thing’s going to blow my head off!’

  Finally, Gorrvan’s voice returned, still infuriatingly unruffled.

  ‘Remain cal… Brother, I will hel… you. Thr… wires shoul… from the top of the melta charge, yes?’

  Lothar searched frantically, sweat rolling down the back of his neck as the runes counted down towards zero.

  ‘No… yes! I see them. Now what?’

  ‘…ood. Rip out the … ed and blue. Lea… the green.’

  Sliding his thick, armoured fingers into the bomb’s workings, Lothar gingerly grasped the wires and, with a muttered prayer, yanked them out. For a second more the rune counter spiralled downwards, and then it blinked and went dark.

  A breath that Lothar hadn’t realised he was holding escaped his lips in a rush.

  ‘Brother Lo… ar, do you sti… live?’

  Lothar barked a humourless laugh. ‘I do, Gorrvan. I do. I owe you a debt, brother.’

  ‘You are ver… elcome, Brother Redfa… but no debt has… en incurred. Your immolation, along with… plasma charge, would ha… been sub-optimal for our chances of missio… uccess. Now… the panel, do you se… switches?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘…ount along fro… the left… ick the third switch…’

  Lothar swore as the signal finally deteriorated into a roar of static. With a wary glance at the huge, pulsing bomb, Lothar counted the switches from the left and placed his finger on the third one.

  ‘Hope this is right, brother,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t want another mechanical failure eh?’ Wincing, Lothar flicked the switch.

  At the same moment, Kordus, having monitored Gorrvan’s instructions to Lothar, flicked his own switch and gunned down another two gretchin. Already, heaps of the vile creatures lay scattered around the platform, blown apart by bolts and frag grenades. The rest had hunkered down behind struts and spars, preferring to pelt Kordus with fire from a safe distance. He was bleeding from several superficial wounds, his armour a mess of bullet-scars, but as the charge’s rune flashed from red to green he knew he’d completed his task.