'PERIMETER BREACHED!' I yelled, opening up again with my laspistol, and wishing I'd replaced the powerpack while I'd had the chance. Jurgen flicked the selector of his lasgun to full auto, no doubt reflecting that if we didn't manage to check the creatures' headlong rush, running out of ammunition was going to be the least of our worries. The leading one fell under the hail of las-bolts, not a second too soon, still reaching out for me, and I swatted its wickedly taloned hand aside with the blade of my chainsword as I retreated.
To my horror, a babble of overlapping voices answered my warning, and the distant roar of heavy bolters echoing through the corridors from what seemed like every direction immediately confirmed my worst fears. It seemed the genestealers had merely been biding their time, building up their numbers at the limits of auspex range, before attacking in force.
'Multiple signals all round!' one of the Terminators confirmed. 'Closing fast.'
'Engaging,' another called, as I cracked off a fusillade of shots at the 'stealer bounding over the corpse of the group leader, seemingly fixated on ripping my spleen out. This time the las-bolts barely slowed it, and I parried the first slash of its talons with my chainsword, feeling the screaming teeth bite deep into chitin. I followed up reflexively, stepping inside the reach of its quartet of arms, and driving the tip of the blade up through its jaw as I did so, to bury it deep in the creature's brain.
'Commissar!' Jurgen fired another burst, slowing the next one as it lunged, and I pivoted aside, dragging the expiring 'stealer with me to impede the progress of its fellow, as the chainblade ripped free, bisecting its skull. 'This way!' He'd taken up a position defending the door we'd first entered the chamber by, guarding our line of retreat back to the Thunderhawk, and I made haste to join him, shooting randomly into the middle of the pack as I went. His lasgun barked again, then went silent. 'Sorry sir, I'm dry.'
Deprived of his covering fire I fell back on my duellist's reflexes, retreating step by step, parrying by pure instinct each blow that sought to eviscerate me. There was no time for thought, and if I tried I'd be dead. A couple of times I fired my pistol again, once downing another of the 'stealers with a lucky shot through the eye socket, but relying in the main for my survival on the well-worn blade in my hand. I've no doubt that the hours of practice I'd spent in the Revenant's tertiary training chapel, and my sparring bouts with Drumon, saved my miserable skin in those few frantic moments, the keen edge they'd imparted to my fighting skills making all the difference.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Jurgen's hand dip into one of his array of pouches, but, to my surprise and consternation, instead of the lasgun powercell I'd been expecting, he drew out a frag grenade. Before I could shout a word of caution he'd already primed it, only the pressure of his grip forestalling an explosion which would undoubtedly kill us both in so confined a space. Watching me intently, he retreated a step or two, into the corridor behind him.
Well, grenade or no, it still seemed a healthier place to be than the middle of a genestealer swarm, so I swung the chainsword in a last desperate arc, driving my assailants back for the space of a heartbeat, and scrambled through the portal myself, smacking the palm plate as I passed it. Not that closing the door had helped much the last time, but even a second or two's head start would be better than nothing, and after more than a decade of serving together I thought I had a pretty good idea of what Jurgen had in mind.
I was right. The second I reached for the door control my aide lobbed the frag charge he'd readied, and the metal slab slid smoothly closed just before it detonated. The dull thump of the explosion was followed instantly by a metallic clatter, like someone dropping a tray full of tanna spoons[121], as the hailstorm of razor-edged shrapnel shards pattered against the sheltering steel plate. (With any luck after passing through a considerable thickness of intervening genestealer.)
'Nicely done,' I congratulated my aide, and he nodded with quiet satisfaction. 'But what would you have done if they'd killed me before I got to the door control?'
'Hit the plate with my elbow,' Jurgen said, as incapable as ever of recognising a joke, and I nodded too, as if considering the matter.
'That would have worked,' I conceded. 'But I'm pleased I could save you the bother.'
'Me too, sir,' he agreed, snapping another powercell into his lasgun at last, and, sure that he was now able to keep the door covered in case of any more unpleasant surprises, I lost no time in following suit. According to the glowing runes in the butt which kept track of such things, the number of shots remaining were down to single figures, and I wanted a lot more than that in hand with 'stealers on the loose.
We waited tensely for a second or two, our weapons aimed at the blank metal slab, but if there were any 'stealers left on the other side capable of opening it to pursue us they had more sense than to try. When it became clear nothing was going to happen, I turned and began to lead the way back towards the Thunderhawk at a rapid jog. I must admit it crossed my mind to put a las-bolt through the palm plate, just to make sure we couldn't be followed, but reason prevailed over the impulse. I'd hardly be able to maintain my good standing with the Reclaimers if anyone survived the genestealers' initial onslaught, only to discover that I'd sealed them in with a slavering horde of ravening purestrains, and there was no guarantee that damaging the controls would secure the hatch in any case. For all I knew, the machine-spirit which had nursed this wrecked vessel for so long would react to such casual vandalism by opening it again out of pique, and the last thing I needed was provoking it into siding with the chitinous horrors. As it turned out, I was going to be grateful for my restraint sooner than I expected.
'Pull back,' Drumon's voice instructed in my ear, and I realised that only a handful of seconds could have passed since my first panic-stricken warning. 'Form up on this position, and we'll punch our way through to the docking bay.' A chorus of assent answered him, which I ignored; I wasn't about to put myself in harm's way again with a safe refuge a mere few minutes running time away.
Or so I thought, until a marked increase in the noise ahead drew my attention, and I beheld a sight which chilled me almost as much as a Valhallan shower. The Terminator we'd passed on our way in was backing towards us, firing continuously as he came, almost filling the passageway with the bulk of his armour. There wasn't a heretic's prayer of getting past him, although given that the strobing muzzle flashes of his storm bolter[122] were affording lurid glimpses of a mass of genestealers pressing him hard, I'd feel seriously disinclined to try. They were falling in droves, as you might expect, but for every one which went down, another would appear, bounding over the corpses of its fellows to charge straight down the barrels of his gun. What they were hoping to achieve by this was beyond me, at least to begin with; like the 'nids that spawned them, genestealer broods seem to regard individual members of the group mind as essentially expendable, but in my experience they only did so in pursuit of an objective. This seemed like a wanton waste of life, even by their standards.
'Back,' I told Jurgen, unnecessarily, as there was clearly nowhere else to go; not even an air duct we could have squeezed down at a pinch. He nodded, phlegmatic as always, and began jogging back the way we'd come.
As I turned to follow, the purpose of the brood mind's strategy became horrifyingly clear. The Terminator's weapon jammed, probably overheated by the constant firing; for a moment he struggled to clear it, then the leading 'stealer surged forwards, slashing with its talons. The Terminator stood his ground, trying to fend it off with the useless weapon, but the creature had an unbreakable grip on his arm. As he tried to tear it free with his other hand, a second one sprang out of the darkness, ripping open the ceramite protecting his torso as though it were paper. Before I could even think of trying to intervene, he was down, the tremors of his fall vibrating through my bootsoles, and I turned and ran, while the rest of the pack skittered and struggled to get past the bulky obstruction to dismember my aide and I.
No doubt warned by the echoes of my sprinting footfalls, Jurgen put on a burst of speed too, striking the door plate with his elbow as he passed it, and diving through the widening gap without slowing, his lasgun at the ready. No sounds of combat ensued, so I followed without hesitation, cracking off a few shots as I turned to close the hatch behind us. The bolts impacted on the snout of a 'stealer which had managed to get past the deceased Astartes and the tangle of its fellows still atop him, and got far too close to my unprotected back for comfort. It reeled from the impacts and lay thrashing on the floor of the passage, although whether I'd done enough to kill it I'll never know. The door slid closed, hiding the sight of the carnage beyond.
'We'd better get moving,' I said, picking my way through the chunks of genestealer decorating the room, a rather satisfying result of Jurgen's trick with the grenade. Now the creatures were dead, there seemed to be fewer of them than I remembered, although whether that was because the survivors had fled, or I'd simply been too busy for an accurate headcount at the time, I couldn't be sure. 'They'll be through at any moment.'
'Down here?' Jurgen asked, flashing his luminator along the passageway Drumon and the tech-priests had
