Raptor

 	Initial scans showed that the crippled ship was as lifeless as a corpse. It spun slowly along its long axis as it drifted out-system, reactor dead, environmental systems compromised. Major life signals negative.
 	Navar Hef turned awkwardly, the bulk of his misshapen body and elongated arms inconvenient in the close confines of his ship’s bridge. His armour was a fusion of old Mark II and Mark III plate, an artifice of the Raven Guard Techmarines to fit the lieutenant’s hugely muscled form and bent spine. They had even fashioned a helm that could fit him, taken from an incomplete set of Terminator armour. It made him claustrophobic and when not in battle he kept it hanging from his belt.
 	The Raven Guard lieutenant looked at the data coming back from the sensors of the Fearless. Gauntlets altered to accommodate his clawed hands tapped at the panel controls. Hef spoke with deliberate care, so that the bulky tongue and fangs with which he had been afflicted did not mar his words.
 	‘No battle damage?’ 
 	His second-in-command, Sergeant Neroka was clean-limbed, one of the early intakes of the Raptors before the curse of mutation had taken hold in the Raven Guard recruits. Amongst themselves, the Raptors called such an untainted warrior a ‘smooth’. The sergeant turned from the navigational and weapons controls, and shook his head in reply to Hef’s question.
 	‘No scarring on the hull. No obvious breaches, residual radiation or shell fragments.’
 	‘So, a boarding action,’ Hef murmured. ‘The attackers closed in without firing a shot, daring the guns of the defenders all the way. They would have to be much larger, better protected.’
 	The third occupant of the small command space spoke from the communications console.
 	‘There is a Legion identifier transmission. Decoding now.’
 	To those that did not know him, Devor was an apparition dragged from a nightmare. A ‘rough’ like Hef, he possessed no skin, his muscle and blood vessels exposed to the world. He said that it caused him no pain but for the ache brought on from the tusks that sprouted from either side of his jaw. In all other respects he wore the regular Mark VI armour that was almost exclusive to the Raptors contingent.
 	He looked up from the screen. ‘It comes out as... the Sixth! The ship belongs to the Wolves of Fenris.’
 	‘What are Space Wolves doing out here?’ asked Neroka. ‘I don’t recognise the exact class but it’s a rapid deployment vessel. They were in a hurry to get somewhere.’
 	‘What were they doing?’ Hef agreed. ‘They clearly ran into more trouble than they could handle.’
 	‘Maybe this is what Lord Corax sent us to find,’ suggested Devor. 
 	‘It could be. There have been dozens of sightings and random warp-echoes picked up by the Librarians since Lord Corax issued his muster order. He didn’t give any details – the order came through Commander Branne to investigate the system based on a dream-watch by Librarian Kurthuri. The commander was not very specific and he didn’t sound hopeful. We need to take a closer look.’
 	Neroka returned to his position to carry out the lieutenant’s will. ‘I would guess that the Space Wolves picked up Lord Corax’s message and followed it this far before getting caught out by someone else.’
 	‘Guessing is for gamblers,’ said Hef. ‘Call the company to arms, full battle protocols. Unlike the Space Wolves, we’ll not be taken unawares.’
 	Inside the docking gantry extended by the Fearless, the hiss of the las-cutter melting through the heavy bulkhead sounded particularly loud. Hef was not sure if it was his hearing, which continued to get sharper and sharper over time, or simply the enclosed space that linked his light cruiser to the empty Space Wolves vessel.
 	‘We could have been aboard by now if we had taken the Storm Eagle,’ whispered Nakaska, probably thinking that his commanding officer could not hear. It was true, it had taken some skillful manoeuvring from Neroka and considerable time to exactly match the target ship’s tumbling trajectory in order for the docking to take place.
 	‘Would you rather we boarded with the twenty warriors that can be carried in a Storm Eagle, or our entire complement of fifty?’ Hef growled. ‘I would rather take the extra time and have the firepower to hand.’
 	‘No disrespect was meant, Lieutenant Navar.’ 
 	‘What do you really think we’ll find?’ Neroka had known Hef far longer, since they had both been children growing up in the same hab-cavern on Deliverance, and he was less abashed in his opinion. ‘The close range scans told us nothing more. The ship is an empty wreck. You’re too cautious these days.’
 	‘I almost killed an ally on Carandiru because of recklessness. It is better to take care now than rue hastiness later. And you are wrong – this isn’t a wreck. As far as we can tell, we just have to restart the reactor and it’s as good as the day it left the orbital dock.’
 	‘No lifesigns, Hef. It’s abandoned.’
 	‘The question is, why?’
 	Any speculation was cut short as the Raptor wielding the las-cutter stepped back and the sliced portion of hull fell inwards with a resounding clang. Within moments the Raven Guard were through the breach, their bolters at the ready as they covered the entry chamber, the gloom beyond broken by the glow of helmet lenses as auto-senses scoured the darkness. 
 	‘Split by combat squads, full sweep,’ Hef commanded. He pointed his chainsword ahead, the only weapon he carried because his hands were too unwieldy to operate a bolter anymore. ‘You have your scan results and grid routes from the briefing, leave nowhere unchecked. Augurs set for wide spectrum analysis. Any trouble, alert and withdraw. Do not get engaged in a fight until we understand what we’re facing.’
 	The Raven Guard dispersed quickly fore and aft, up and down, moving out in a search pattern that Hef and Neroka had devised from the scan data. The lieutenant and his command squad headed up towards the prow, their zone of control centred on the scout vessel’s command bridge and the surrounding chambers.
 	There was nothing to disturb their advance, the only sounds the wheeze and click of power armour, and the grunts and snorts from some of the more facially disfigured Raptors. With the environmental systems virtually on standby the air was thin, breathable for a legionary, but only just. There was no whine of fans or thrum of generators and the squads advanced into darkness.
 	Devor frowned, his skinless brow furrowing.
 	‘Shutting down a reactor takes time. You can’t just throw a switch. I would say that someone was attempting to hide this vessel, hoping to eradicate their energy signature.’
 	‘Why not kill the identity transmitter as well?’ said Hef. ‘It was that signal that tipped us to the ship’s existence.’
 	‘Whatever they were hiding from wasn’t fooled, so perhaps they sent out a low energy pulse as a distress signal?’ suggested Neroka.
 	The fourth member of the squad cut into the conversation. His name was Kaddian Styrus, one of the First Nine, the initial recruits subjected to the Raptor creation process. Four of his companions from that fateful day were now dead, and Hef’s contingent regarded Kaddian’s continued presence as a sort of talisman. 
 	‘It could be that the abandoned ship was a decoy. It looks crippled, almost dead from a distance. In the time an enemy discovered the truth, the Space Wolves might have slipped away by some other means.’
 	‘The command records on the bridge will have the answers,’ Hef replied. ‘At least, some of them.’
 	They continued, progress slow but methodical, checking every stairwell, conveyor shaft, cupboard, weapons locker and chamber on their route. The touch of the Space Wolves was unmistakeable. The party found banners with Fenrisian images and runes on them, all kinds of trophies from hunting and battle, and many personal belongings that had been left behind.
 	‘These Wolves bring their home with them,’ remarked Devor.
 	Hef lifted up the polished skull of a canine animal. The incisors were as long as his claws. ‘Trinkets and souvenirs.’
 	‘They certainly take up a lot of space,’ muttered Neroka. ‘You can tell these are warriors that grew up beneath the open sky.’
 	‘I hear they are fearsome fighters, the Emperor’s watch dogs,’ said Devor.
 	‘And I’ve heard Commander Branne be less complimentary,’ Hef replied. ‘I think that Lord Corax and Russ might have... argued in the past.’
 	Neroka laughed. ‘Is there a primarch our lord did not fall out with, at some time or another?’
 	‘Are you suggesting the fault lies with Lord Corax?’
 	‘There are few of his brothers that he has not chastised as self-promoting. The others think him churlish to belittle their achievements. Or so I hear.’
 	‘The Emperor didn’t create the primarchs for mass adulation.’ 
 	‘But it is a consequence, all the same.’
 	The two of them fell silent as the squad reached the next chamber. Kaddian went in first beside the last squad member, another ‘smooth’ called Calda Sentox, who carried the squad’s bulky plasma cannon. 
 	‘It’s clear,’ he announced.
 	Hef looked in. The walls were hung with banners and wolf-skin totems. A long table was covered with another pelt upon which numerous amulets and other jewellery were laid. There were also several large, gilded fangs and another skull, all inscribed with angular runes. At first the lieutenant thought the chamber was the quarters of an officer, but there was no cot or personal locker.
 	‘A trophy room?’ said Kaddian, pointing his bolter towards an ork skull amongst the animal remains.
 	‘I don’t think so.’ Hef gestured at two benches lined up in front of the ornament-filled table. ‘More like some kind of... shrine?’
 	‘Why would the Space Wolves have a fane on their ship?’ asked Devor. ‘What are they worshipping?’
 	‘I’m not sure I want to know,’ said Neroka. ‘Not with some of the things we’ve seen in the past few years.’
 	‘More questions, and no answers,’ muttered Hef. The lieutenant waved for his squad to leave. ‘Let’s get to the bridge.’
 	They cleared the rest of the command deck, leaving the strategium located at the top of the ship until last. Hef was about to open the doors when he received a contact across the vox. He recognised the voice of Sergeant Foss, one of the squad that had been sent to investigate the weapon batteries in the lower decks.
 	‘Third detachment reporting. Lieutenant, we’ve found something down here. Bodies.’
 	‘Who? What sort of bodies?’
 	‘Three of them. Space Wolves. I think. Wearing their armour.’
 	‘You think?’
 	‘They’ve been... disfigured. You should come and see, lieutenant.’
 	‘Very well, everybody secure their position and hold fast. Kaddian, Calda – remain here, be on your guard.’
 	It took a while to reach the prow portion of the ship without the power for conveyors and elevators, even for the augmented legionaries. They came across the first of Foss’ squad guarding an armoury, the huge security doors open, the locks bearing the hallmark scars of a melta-charge.
 	Neroka pointed to the ruined mechanisms. ‘Someone blasted their way in. I suppose they didn’t have the codes.’
 	Hef examined the doors more closely.
 	‘Not so. These locks were destroyed from the inside.’
 	This unsettling news quelled any further chatter, and the lieutenant moved on until he found Foss standing in the corridor close to the entrance to the lower reactor decks. The sergeant said nothing. He stepped aside and waved Hef and his companions into the next chamber.
 	It was an outer security lock, the doors to the main reactor still sealed. There was little to distinguish the chamber from any number of others around the vital parts of the ship, except for the battle-damage on the walls and the three power-armoured bodies lying on the deck.
 	The colours were unmistakeably those of the VI Legion. The Space Wolves’ war-plate was broken and battered in many places, and they wore no helms. Their faces had been horribly mutilated, burned and cut beyond recognition. As for the visible markings on the armour, there was nothing that Hef recognised.
 	‘Anybody see rank indicators? Squad icons, maybe?’
 	The others shook their heads, equally baffled. Neroka crouched next to one of the corpses. His hands moved across the jagged holes and tears in the war-plate.
 	‘Bolt wounds, power sword cuts, chainswords, maybe even a plasma detonation... Whoever attacked them really wasn’t taking chances that they might survive.’
 	‘Who?’ Hef asked. ‘Who wanted them dead? We’ve seen nothing of the attackers. No bodies, no sign of forced boarding, no battle except in this room.’
 	Devor paced around the chamber, examining the blast marks and molten scars on the walls.
 	‘Looks more like an execution,’ he said. ‘Concentrated clusters of fire. Maybe whoever was locked in the armoury escaped and ambushed these three, before reaching the main reactor.’
 	‘It makes as much sense as any other explanation.’ Hef looked back at Sergeant Foss. ‘Have the remains taken back to the Fearless. We don’t know what happened here, but we can mark the passing of these warriors properly.’
 	‘Yes, lieutenant.’
 	Hef left the chamber, disturbed by what he had seen. There was something about the bodies that didn’t sit right, aside from the fact that they existed at all. Devor was similarly vexed and put his concern into words as they made their way back to where Kaddian and Calda waited.
 	‘I know there wasn’t much left of them, but don’t you think that some of that damage looked like it came from inside their armour?’
 	‘Bolt detonations can do that,’ said Neroka. ‘A chainsword can rip up power armour pretty well too, or pass straight through, depending on how it hits.’
 	Devor didn’t seem convinced but held his tongue. They kept their silence until they reached the main command bridge again. The doors were opened by simple keypad, no codes required. Stepping inside, Hef scanned the small chamber and saw nothing out of place. It was dark, the systems on minimal power, but he could see no signs of damage or fighting. The fitful glow of scanner screens illuminated empty chairs and glinted from unmanned consoles.
 	‘Devor, get their navigational logs online. Neroka, I want to see the records from the weapon arrays. We might learn something.’
 	The two Raven Guard legionaries busied themselves at the panels while Hef paced the room, his closer inspection revealing nothing out of the ordinary.
 	It was Neroka that found what he was looking for first.
 	‘No weapons activity in the last thirty days, Hef. If they got into a fight, they didn’t fire a shot to defend themselves. Void shields haven’t been active either. If someone got the jump on them, they did it with total surprise and were on board before the Space Wolves could even activate the point defence turrets.’
 	A negative chime sounded. ‘Strange,’ muttered Devor.
 	‘What have you got?’ asked Hef.
 	‘Until seven days ago, the ship was in orbit above a moon of the second planet in this system. It’d been there for fourteen days before. Someone sent it out-system on purpose. Last warp jump was a little over twenty days ago.’
 	‘That makes no sense,’ said Kaddian. ‘Who would send a perfectly capable ship into the void? Why would they do that?’
 	‘No command logs, so I suppose we’ll never know.’
 	Hef leaned against the main command throne to consider his options.
 	‘Something has happened here, and not good, whatever way you look at it. We should send a warning that there may be enemies in this sector.’
 	‘Wait for reinforcements?’ suggested Devor.
 	Hef caught Neroka looking at him. Though it was impossible to see the sergeant’s expression behind his helm, he could make a good guess at his old friend’s thoughts.
 	‘It would take too long,’ the lieutenant said. ‘Whatever happened here occurred in the last few days. If the Space Wolves encountered traitors–’
 	‘Or are traitors,’ Neroka interrupted him.
 	‘Maybe. Either way, the enemy could be away from here before we catch up with them. The only place we’re going to find more answers is on that moon.’
 	‘So what do we do?’ asked Devor.
 	‘We’ll finish the sweep and return to the Fearless. Full silent running, reflex shields on, we’ll move in-system and see what there is to see.’
 	‘And this ship?’
 	‘We’ll leave it here for now. When we’ve resolved the current situation, we will let Legion command know its whereabouts and they can send a recovery team. For the moment, let it carry on drifting. Let’s leave no sign that we were ever here.’
 	Enveloped by a layer of reflex shielding that all but nullified its energy output, the Fearless ghosted towards the second planet of the star system. The necessities of silent running required that the scanners performed only at minimal, passive power settings, meaning that Hef knew little of what they would find on the world until they were almost in high orbit. Such was the price of secrecy, but the opportunity to approach unheralded outweighed any shortcomings of the technology.
 	As when they discovered the Space Wolves strike vessel, Hef, Neroka and Devor were at their stations. The lieutenant waited in silence, eyes flicking from one display to another, looking for any telltale sign of danger. 
 	A radiation sensor bank spiked, detecting an energy source thirty thousand kilometres ahead, almost out of detection range. It was in orbit on the far side of the planet. Hef resisted the urge to order an active scan, knowing that such a move could just as likely reveal their presence as it would provide any further information. Instead, he left it to Neroka to compile a report from the other functioning sensory equipment. It took several minutes, but eventually the sergeant turned and spoke quietly to his commander.
 	‘Definitely an orbiting ship, not a static source. Sensor flicker shows a residual wash from orbit-to-surface communication, directed at one of the moons. Not strong enough to be an installation. I would say landed troops. Energy signature is either a strike cruiser-class ship at full readiness, or something larger with systems on standby, perhaps a battle-barge.’
 	‘A battle-barge? We can’t hope to match that sort of firepower, or troop complement.’
 	‘It’s more likely to be something comparable to the Fearless, Hef. Who would be orbiting a world with troops active on the surface but weapons on standby? We can probably take them with the element of surprise on our side.’
 	Unasked, Devor added his opinion from the communication console. 
 	‘We have the edge. There’s no chance they can know there’s another ship here. Perfect for a stealth attack.’
 	‘Not until we know more,’ said Hef. ‘If we move in for the attack, I want to be sure. What can you tell from the comm-feed?’
 	‘No idea what they’re saying to each other, but there are definitely ground troops on the largest natural satellite. Can’t decode the messages but the databanks say it’s a variation on a cryptoband used by the Sons of Horus.’
 	Neroka growled his displeasure. ‘The Warmaster’s own scum, come to pay us a visit. We should give them a welcome they won’t survive.’
 	‘I’m not convinced,’ said Hef. ‘If the Sons of Horus are what the Librarians detected, we should relay that information back to Lord Corax and await instruction. They could be in other systems nearby, too. But the Space Wolves being here, that I don’t understand. Where are they? Captured perhaps?’
 	‘We can’t just run away,’ said Neroka.
 	It took some effort for the lieutenant to keep his voice quiet in the face of such an accusation.
 	‘No one is running away, sergeant. I have yet to finish my assessment. If the Sons of Horus have warriors on the ground, we need to know what they are doing. It might also show us what brought the Space Wolves here.’
 	‘We can’t scan too close to that other ship,’ said Devor. ‘I don’t think we’ll be able to break their code system either. How are we going to find out what they’re doing?’
 	‘The best way.’ Hef grinned at the thought of some combat action. ‘Neroka and I will go and have a look for ourselves.’
 	The surface of the moon proved to be a mass of chasms and crags, the ruddy, iron-heavy rock striated with glittering layers. The atmosphere was nominally breathable but the Raven Guard marched in full war-plate, which meant that Hef’s small contingent was composed of Raptors capable of wearing their helms. His felt stuffy, the improvised filtration systems not quite up to standard specification. 
 	The journey from their landing site was several dozen kilometres over rough terrain, but low gravity and enhanced physiology made short work of the distance despite the deep cliffs and steep gorges that had to be crossed. The broken terrain, and its metallic composition, was perfect for the Raven Guard to approach the Sons of Horus undetected, both visually and by the enemy’s scans from orbit.
 	Nearing the site of the surface transmissions, Hef and the rest of his infiltration team headed for high ground to survey the route ahead. They located a blade-sharp ridge, four hundred metres high, overlooking the area of the communication they had intercepted from orbit. The Raven Guard climbed the ridge carefully.
 	Beyond, the ground fell away swiftly into a deep ravine that stretched as far as the horizon. Close by, no more than a kilometre away, Thunderhawks sat in the shadow of a tall spur of rock, and around the dropships were stockpiles of metal boxes and barrels, guarded by patrolling Space Marines in the livery of the Sons of Horus. 
 	The sky in the distance was lit by las-fire and the blaze of heavy weapons, much of which erupted from gun towers built into the rock spires around a small facility a few kilometres away. Hef could see the Sons of Horus in and around the channels and cliff faces that surrounded the fortification, though the elongated dusk shadows made spotting them difficult even with his auto-senses dialled up to full.
 	‘Some kind of listening post, perhaps?’ The lieutenant pointed to a burning wreck not far from the embattled keep. He could make out the shattered remnants of another Thunderhawk fuselage. ‘It’s got anti-air weapons for a start, and probably anti-orbital since the Sons of Horus ship is staying well away.’
 	Neroka glanced back at him. ‘A listening post? Is this why the Sons of Horus came here? Seems pretty worthless at the moment. A barren moon circling an empty world.’
 	‘Someone is inside, that’s for sure. Maybe our Space Wolves.’
 	Hef looked around, memorising the layout of the canyons below. Then he returned his attention to the enemy warriors.
 	‘Too hard to count them, but even if they all survived the Thunderhawk crash then that makes no more than ninety of them, maybe a hundred. A skeleton crew left aboard the ship. You were right, it can’t be a battle-barge – or if it is, they’re woefully undermanned.’
 	‘If they want whatever’s in that station, it’s our duty to stop them getting it,’ said Neroka. ‘This is what Lord Corax wanted, to take the fight to enemy wherever possible.’
 	‘I don’t know why you think I need any encouragement. We’re here now, so we’ll see this through to the end. Killing Horus’ thugs isn’t a duty, it’s a pleasure.’
 	The infiltration squad followed their lieutenant down into the maze of gorges. Scouts were sent ahead and they advanced warily, alert for any overflight or sentries posted by the Sons of Horus. They regularly sought the higher ground to keep an eye on their foes, but it seemed the Warmaster’s forces were wholly concentrated on the small fortress, unaware of any other threat.
 	Progress became a lot harder on the final approach to the citadel. Hef could hear the bark of bolters and the snap of las-fire echoing down the gorge ahead, and beyond the steep rocks to the right he could see the detonation of shells and flare of lasers. Looking up he saw the planet around which the moon orbited – an enormous orb of shifting orange and purple gases, not far from occluding the local star. 
 	‘We’ll wait for darkness,’ he murmured. ‘Full stealth measures.’
 	The Raven Guard dispersed along the valley, their black armoured invisible in the deepening shadows. Each found a concealed spot and powered down his battleplate, running on minimal systems only. Hef remained on watch, all systems except his auto-senses reduced in power as he crouched in the darkness behind a finger of rock twice as tall as him. 
 	Now and then he would turn his head slowly, scanning along the ridge tops and cliffs with full-spectrum vision. The sky glittered with the sheen of battle, pulses of heat and ultraviolet energy creating fountains and whorls long after the visible flash of flame and las-fire dissipated. He was still amazed by the whole spectacle of war hidden from the sight of unenhanced warriors, and felt privileged to have been chosen to witness its destructive beauty.
 	He watched and waited until the star disappeared from the sky and an all-blanketing darkness descended over the moon.
 	‘On my location. Kharvo, take up forward scout position. Nastar, take sternguard. Movement by pairs, fifty metre intervals. Follow me.’
 	The air buzzed with armour powering up as the dormant Raven Guard came back to life. Around Hef, the darkness moved.
 	They had advanced no more than another two hundred metres when the vox clicked three times – a signal from Kharvo to stop. Hef froze along with the others, his auto-senses picking up the sound of footfalls and disturbed stones, though he could see nothing. With deliberate steps he moved forward, keeping close to the cliff face. Patience was his greatest strength, moving with such slowness that his armour made virtually no sound, his tread so light that he could not even hear it himself.
 	Eventually he reached Kharvo, a blurred shadow slightly darker than the rock behind him. The Raven Guard extended a hand, pointing up and to the left. On a shelf of rock about thirty metres above the valley stood two Sons of Horus. They were obviously sentries, but both kept looking back down the valley, distracted by the ongoing battle.
 	‘Neroka, join us.’
 	It was some time before the sergeant arrived, during which Hef had completed a detailed survey of the cliffs on either side. 
 	‘Take them from above. Neither is paying much attention. Kill essential.’
 	Neroka and Kharvo said nothing before disappearing into the darkness. Hef moved towards the Sons of Horus, choosing a spot less than a hundred metres away, from where he could see them clearly silhouetted against the starry sky. 
 	Nothing happened for a while, but the lieutenant kept his gaze fixed on the traitors, trusting his fellow Raven Guard to be watching his back, alert to any other danger. 
 	All of a sudden, the helm of the closest traitor erupted, spraying blood and ceramite shards. His companion half-raised his bolter as he looked up, but Hef heard the crack of an optical lens shattering and the second traitor fell, falling to the ground a moment after the first. Almost immediately, two darkly armoured figures slid down the steep incline. One stooped briefly, a blackened knife cutting across the throats of the downed warriors. The pair then stood, instantly assuming the poses of those they had just slain.
 	Hef activated the squad vox.
 	‘Route is clear. Move on.’
 	From the lip of a narrow defile not far from the armoured station, Hef could see the base more clearly. It consisted of a central building, hexagonal in shape, on three storeys. Corridors linked this to a trio of outbuildings, which in turn were joined by armoured earthworks to an outer ring of turrets and empty gun positions. Judging by the fire patterns, the gun platforms were firing on automatic, spewing bursts of autocannon and laser fire at the Sons of Horus that surrounded the facility. The traitors had raised works of their own and had evidently had several days to do so. A few of their dead could be seen lying in the kill-zone closer to the defensive guns.
 	To one side of the main structure was a cluster of communications antennae and dishes. Hef activated the command link built into his vambrace and sighted the narrow-beam transmitter onto the vox-array.
 	‘Attention station occupants. Can you receive this message?’ He waited for a few moments. ‘Attention station occupants. Can you receive–’
 	His vox-bead crackled as it detected an incoming transmission. 
 	‘We hear you. This is Packmaster Arvan Woundweaver of the Wolves of Fenris, and you choose a bad day to taunt me, traitor filth.’
 	‘Negative, Packmaster. This is Lieutenant Navar Hef, we’re here to help. We’re not from the Sons of Horus.’
 	The pause that followed could only mean that Woundweaver was not sure what to make of this change of circumstance. He soon made up his mind.
 	‘Go away, we don’t need any assistance, thanks all the same. We have these idiots right where we want them.’
 	Hef could scarcely believe what he had heard. 
 	‘Please say again. There are fifty, maybe a hundred or more, Sons of Horus besieging this station. How many of you are there?’
 	‘Enough. Go away before you spoil everything.’
 	‘With respect, we didn’t sneak our way through the enemy lines just to turn around and go back to our ship without finding out what’s happening here.’
 	‘Sneak through? What Legion are you, Hef?’
 	‘Nineteenth Legion, Raptors contingent. We found your ship.’
 	‘The Raven Guard! Why didn’t you say? We’ve been looking for you for a long time. Let us know when you’re at the perimeter, we’ll open one of the gates for you.’
 	The sound of approaching engines alerted Hef to a change in the movements of the Sons of Horus close by. He turned to see two armoured carriers peeling off from the main attack, heading in the direction of the Raven Guard. A Predator tank followed them.
 	‘Packmaster, is this channel comms-shielded?’
 	‘What for? No point trying to hide, the enemy know exactly where we are.’
 	‘But they didn’t know where we were!’ Hef switched to his squad frequency. ‘Rapid advance, the enemy know we’re here. We have incoming armour and infantry. Counter-attack with me.’
 	The Raptors bounded out from their hiding places, following Hef as he scrambled up to a ledge of rock about halfway up the face of the gorge. The lights of the nearest Rhino transport glimmered around a bend in the defile, gleaming from the moon’s rust-and-grey surface. 
 	The carrier appeared, a legionary manning the combi-bolters mounted in a cupola on its top, headlights blazing. Moving slowly, the Rhino nosed around the bend as the gunner tracked left and right with his weapon. A searchlight above the cupola cut back and forth across the jagged rocks where the Raven Guard had been half a minute earlier.
 	The legionary looked up, swivelling his weapon towards Hef’s hiding place. But he was too late, as the lieutenant leapt down from the rocks, chainsword in one hand, a melta-bomb in the other, and his squad-brothers behind him.
 	Landing on the hull of the Rhino, Hef smashed a boot into the side of the gunner’s head, crashing it against the open hatch of the cupola. The chainsword roared into life as he slashed it down across the legionary’s exposed neck, lacerating the vulnerable ridged seal and the flesh within. The spray of blood arced slowly from the fatal wound, individual droplets carrying far in the low gravity. 
 	The others landed around Hef, their bolters and melee weapons at the ready. Hef activated the mag-clamp of his melta-bomb and slapped it to the side of the access hatch. The breaching charge detonated, blasting through the Rhino’s armour with ease, and killing the driver below. Other charges set by the rest of the squad exploded in quick succession, turning the engine into a smoking mass of slag and blowing holes in the transport’s roof. The Rhino careened across the gorge for several metres before crashing to a halt against a pillar of rock. 
 	The rear hatch slammed open and a handful of Sons of Horus spilled out, turning their bolters back towards the Raptors. But Hef’s warriors were ready, and met them with a hail of bolts and a shot from a plasma gun. The traitors were down in the space of a few heartbeats, without a single shot fired in return.
 	The Predator and a second Rhino rounded the bend in the canyon. The moment the gunners saw what was happening they opened fire, a storm of autocannon and heavy bolter rounds slamming into the mangled wreck beneath the Raven Guard. Tarbor was struck full in the chest and thrown into the air, where the trace of heavy bolter shots tore his armour apart with a flurry of rapid detonations.
 	‘Down!’ yelled Hef. ‘Use the wreck as cover!’
 	The Raven Guard followed their lieutenant to the ground, finding sanctuary behind the smoking remains of the transport. Rock splinters, chips of ceramite and slivers of metal shrapnel showered down after them as the Predator continued its fusillade.
 	Neroka moved to one edge of the rapidly deteriorating wreckage and looked out. He snapped his head back quickly as a storm of bolts rattled against the hull.
 	‘The other Rhino is moving in on our left. They’ll have us flanked in a minute. That’s if our cover lasts that long.’
 	Hef looked back down the gorge, where they had come from. It was several hundred metres of nearly open ground. ‘We’ll be picked off as soon as we make a move.’ He looked up the steep walls of the canyon. ‘Too long to make the ascent. It’ll be like a firing range for that tank crew.’
 	‘You want to just sit here and wait for the inevitable?’
 	‘I’m thinking. Let me think, for the love of–’
 	But Hef’s thoughts were interrupted again, by the white streak of a lascannon beam from the lip of the gorge above. The energy blast was followed by a huge fireball soaring over the wreck of the Rhino, as the Predator’s fuel tanks exploded. Looking up again, Hef saw grey-armoured figures against the gloom.
 	‘Just in time, Hef of the Raptors!’ Woundweaver was obvious by his more ostentatious gear - an ornate skull and fang necklace and the dark wolfpelt hanging across his backpack, as well as golden torqs and runes worked into the ceramite of his battleplate. ‘Lucky thing we hear your trouble and come for you, eh?’
 	‘Lucky?’ Hef almost shrieked the word. ‘You compromised our position with your stupidity!’
 	‘Huh. There’s gratitude for you.’
 	The Space Wolves took aim again just as the second Rhino came into view, striking the vehicle’s track housing on the far side. The Rhino skidded, shedding track links as the lascannon blazed again, the beam slicing neatly through the driver’s compartment this time.
 	‘Raptors, attack!’ Hef cried, leaping away from the cover of the wreck. He crossed the ground to the other Rhino in a dozen gigantic strides, in time to meet the first Son of Horus as the large firing hatch on the top of the transport opened. Hef’s growling chainsword took off the top of the Space Marine’s head, the weapon juddering in his hand as it carved through helm and thickened skull with equal ease. 
 	The lieutenant leapt back as bolter fire burst from the open crew compartment. As he landed, the other Raven Guard were charging in, jumping up to the Rhino’s roof with their own bolters firing. Kaddian was caught by a burst of burning promethium from a flamer. The fire enveloped him from head to foot as he stumbled across the vehicle’s roof, smoke rising from his burning war-plate, coolant and lubricant hissing and steaming as he pitched to the rocky ground.
 	The firefight around the Rhino was ended with a clutch of grenades thrown into the transport’s open top. Shrapnel and fire filled the interior for a moment, finishing off all within.
 	Hef looked across to Kaddian’s body, the slick of promethium still sheathing him in blue flame. He spared a moment to mourn the passing of another from the First Nine, but his bleak thoughts were interrupted by Woundweaver.
 	‘There’s a Land Raider heading your way, you’d best come inside with us.’
 	‘Bring the dead,’ Hef said, remembering the mission protocols of his Legion. It seemed likely that the Sons of Horus would assume the Space Wolves had contacted their own reinforcements. It was better, then, that the enemy did not know there was another Legion involved. ‘We will avenge them soon enough.’
 	The heavy inner doors closed behind the group, leaving the Raven Guard and Space Wolves looking at each other across a bare chamber. Beyond Woundweaver’s squad, Hef could see two more of their Legion propped up against the wall, obviously wounded, perhaps dead. 
 	Tired of sucking in stale air, Hef unsealed his helm and, without thinking, took it off. The moment he revealed his twisted face, he realised his mistake.
 	The Wolves raised their guns and the Raptors responded in kind. Woundweaver stepped forwards, pistol in one hand, a power axe in the other.
 	‘This is unexpected, Hef of the Raptors.’
 	Hef waved a hand at his warriors. ‘Lower your weapons!’ The lieutenant turned his gaze back to Woundweaver and slowly hung his chainsword on his belt. ‘We are not enemies.’
 	The Space Wolves sergeant looked from one Raven Guard to the next as they reluctantly obeyed Hef’s command. ‘Are you all like this?’
 	Neroka took off his helm.
 	‘Not all. It makes no difference, we are all Raptors. We take the rough with the smooth, as we say. All Raven Guard together.’
 	‘Is that so?’
 	The rest of Hef’s contingent followed suit, revealing a mixture of unchanged and malformed faces. Hef reached out to Woundweaver.
 	‘I know what you are thinking, packmaster, but it is not so. We’ve also seen some of the things our foes have become, but we are different. It is an affliction of the gene-seed. Some of us are changed, some of us aren’t – a price to be paid, perhaps, for trying to improve on the Emperor’s own design.’
 	One of the other Space Wolves laughed and pointed at the Raven Guard, speaking in the VI Legion’s own guttural Fenrisian. ‘Baier eru weregelder, eh?’
 	He slung his bolter and took off his own helm. A shaggy mane rolled down across his chest and shoulders, framing a face that was covered in thick hair save for the eyes and mouth. Fangs as long as fingers were revealed as the Space Wolf grinned. His eyes flashed yellow in the harsh lights.
 	‘I did not know the Raven Guard had such warriors, Arvan.’
 	‘Silence, Svarad!’ snapped the packmaster. ‘We do not discuss with outsiders.’
 	Hef looked on incredulously as the rest of the handful of Space Wolves removed their helms, revealing faces in greater or lesser degrees of canine-like mutation. Woundweaver’s was almost a snout, his hair a mixture of black and grey, his eyes a bright blue.
 	‘We are not beasts, Hef of the Raptors.’
 	‘Nor are we.’ 
 	They continued to eye each other suspiciously for a few more seconds, until Hef broke the silence.
 	‘What are you doing here?’
 	‘Isn’t it obvious? We come here to die.’
 	Woundweaver despatched his warriors back to their positions, and Hef realised that the five Space Wolves were all that were left. The packmaster led the Raven Guard to an adjoining chamber where ammunition crates and other supplies were stacked. At the Space Wolves’ invitation, Hef gestured for his warriors to resupply. He stepped close to Woundweaver so that they could speak with some privacy.
 	‘You think you can hold this place with just a handful of legionaries?’
 	‘Of course not, Hef of the Raptors. But we will hold long enough.’
 	There was something that Woundweaver wasn’t telling him. His explanations didn’t entirely make sense. Hef tried another tack. ‘What brought you to this system?’
 	Woundweaver nodded towards the boxes and crates.
 	‘We need more supplies. Many seasons pass since we left Fenris seeking your king. Five years, maybe more.’
 	‘Seeking our king? You mean Lord Corax? What business do you have with the primarch?’
 	‘By decree of Russ and Malcador, we are here to join the Ravenlord and act as guardians, to remind him of oaths sworn and endeavours to be undertaken.’
 	‘He needs no guardians, nor reminders from the likes of you.’ Hef regretted the outburst immediately and raised a hand in conciliation. ‘He is as loyal as Russ, you can be sure of that.’
 	‘That remains to be seen.’ Woundweaver cast an eye at the other Raven Guard, his gaze lingering on those that suffered from the worst deformities. ‘I have orders, but your king is a wily one and we cannot find him for many years. Now we hear he is gathering a new army, but we have to come here to the weapons cache first, to ensure we are properly equipped.’
 	‘Equipped to do what?’ Hef looked at the supplies and saw that there were several heavy weapons, crates of demolition charges and a large stockpile of ammunition. 
 	Woundweaver met Hef’s steady stare without blinking. ‘Whatever needs doing.’
 	Hef eventually conceded, glancing away.
 	The Space Wolf took in a deep breath. ‘The Sons of Horus arrive a few days after us. Maybe coincidence, maybe not. Who can say? We are outmatched but we can still strike a deadly blow. If we lure the traitors to the surface, they will be vulnerable.’
 	‘I don’t understand. What has that got to do with leaving your ship?’
 	‘We use ourselves as bait, see? Pretend we are crippled, bring them in close and then detonate the warp drive and take us all to Hel.’
 	‘Something went wrong. The bodies we found...’
 	Woundweaver looked uncomfortable and turned away as he spoke.
 	‘Five years is a long time, a lot of warp travel, you understand? The weregeld, the price of our Legion’s superiority, takes its toll.’ The packmaster raised a hand to his face. ‘A side effect of the canis helix, the Emperor’s gift to Fenris and her sons. Three of my pack-brothers are consumed, unable to fight the beast within. We subdue them, lock them in the armoury. Think they are too far gone, but they have enough civilisation left in them to remember the melta-bombs.’
 	The Space Wolf fell silent and Hef could imagine the rest.
 	‘They tried to take the reactor room, didn’t they? You had to kill them.’
 	‘It was too soon. But they are driven mad, grief-stricken by their curse.’
 	‘But not you? You came here to die, because you’re so happy about everything?’
 	‘The fight with the wulfen-skinned is a distraction, and the plan has to change. I send the ship out looking crippled, knowing anyone will trace the course back to this moon. The Sons of Horus do, and they fall into our trap.’
 	‘Your trap? You must realised that you’re the ones surrounded.’
 	‘That’s right!’ Woundweaver grinned, baring fangs as long as those he wore around his neck. ‘We bleed those traitors for a bit, and when they’re mad and hungry for blood we let them in. That’s when we fire the reactor.’
 	It took a few seconds for the packmaster’s words to sink in. Hef’s voice was a whisper.
 	‘Did you just say you’re going to blow up this base? Detonate the reactor?’
 	‘Of course, how else do we kill enough Sons of Horus to make it worthwhile?’
 	‘Why don’t they just eradicate you from orbit?’
 	Wounderweaver winked. ‘Defence laser outposts. Two of them, Hef of the Raptors. That was the original plan, to blast them out of orbit, but their shields hold and they run away before the auto-lasers recharge. They keep their distance ever since, so now we have the reactor. It has to be this way, to make sure we take as many as we can. They’ve been probing the defences, not committing themselves. I’m afraid they’ll wear us down eventually if we keep fighting the normal way.’
 	‘Madness. And we’re stuck in here with you…’
 	‘The Sons of Horus will regret the day they faced us, yes? Those few that survive to spread the saga of this battle.’
 	‘I think I’d prefer to take my chances with the Sons of Horus. You’re welcome to stay and seek a stupid death if you prefer, but I have a gunship and I plan to leave on it.’
 	Woundweaver glared at Hef, his brow furrowed with annoyance. The packmaster was about to say something but stopped himself. Then he scratched his bearded chin and dragged his fingers through the thick hair.
 	‘Hmm. It would be difficult, but it might just work.’
 	Hef was not sure if Woundweaver was talking to him, or simply muttering to himself. ‘What might work?’
 	‘We lure in the Sons of Horus before the reactor goes critical and then… No. No, it won’t work. We stay here to be the bait in the trap.’
 	‘Why not just leave with us? I’m sure we can all make it back to the gunship, if you follow our lead and try not to attract attention.’
 	‘Leaving Warmaster’s treacherous cowards to go on their way? Russ will be ashamed of such a thing. I cannot let you go, in case you get captured and reveal the plan.’
 	Hef was about to challenge Woundweaver to explain how he expected to stop the Raven Guard leaving, but decided it was better to take a different approach.
 	‘There’s a third option. One that kills lots of enemies and doesn’t result in you getting vaporised in a ball of plasma.’
 	‘I doubt it, but continue, Hef of the Raptors.’
 	‘I leave with my warriors – I promise you, we won’t get caught. We will reach a safe distance and contact my ship. It will disable their vessel and then come into orbit over the station and attack the Sons of Horus. They will have to launch an assault to take the defence lasers if they want to drive us away again. By then, you will have evacuated and set the reactor to detonate.’
 	The Space Wolf considered this for some time, gauging Hef with narrowed eyes. Eventually he nodded. ‘You swear on your honour that you carry out this attack?’
 	‘As a true son of Corax, you have my word, packmaster. The Raven Guard have not yet shirked an opportunity to hurt Horus, and we will not do so today.’
 	‘And the other matter...’ Woundweaver vaguely waved a hand, presumably to indicate the altered nature of Hef and his fellow Raptors. ‘That is set aside for the moment?’
 	‘Trust me. I swear that together we will destroy these traitors. No other consideration will be made.’
 	‘Hmm. I am satisfied, and you have my word that we will not abandon the station until the foe are committed to the attack. We will send our location to your ship when we are away from the enemy.’
 	‘Make whatever preparations you need. It would be well if you could provide some form of distraction to mask our leaving.’
 	‘Hef of the Raptors – we will cause such a commotion, the enemy will have no eye but for us. The Sons of Horus will feel the bite of our long fangs.’
 	Woundweaver was good to his word. He gathered his small force and led them to the outer defence line, from where they poured heavy weapons fire into the enemy. Goaded into fresh action by this unexpected counterattack, the Sons of Horus gathered for a determined thrust towards the fortified station.
 	The Raven Guard departed on the opposite side of the facility, slipping into the shadows as quickly as they were able. Within minutes they were hidden amongst the maze of gorges and spires and moving away fast.
 	Despite their rapid progress, it was some time before Hef spied the landed gunship. Boarding with Neroka, he posted the others to guard against any pursuing foe – not that there had been any sign that the Raptors had been followed, but precautions were always taken. It was the code of the Raven Guard that they took the enemy unawares but were never themselves surprised.
 	The lieutenant moved directly to the communication controls and sent a short machine-hail to Devor on board the Fearless. A few minutes later he received a series of rapid clicks in response. Any lengthier transmissions ran the risk of being detected by the orbiting Sons of Horus vessel.
 	‘This is Hef, no further response required. I expect you to carry out these commands precisely. Maintain silent running to ambush Sixteenth Legion vessel. When it has been disabled, confirm by vox and take up position over the combat site. The facility is held by allies – do not target the station. Sons of Horus are encircling the facility. They are to be targeted with all capable weapons. An evacuation corridor is to be left free of attack, co-ordinates attached. Continue with saturation bombardment until directly countermanded by ciphered transmission from the ground.’
 	Hef used a keypad to enter the spatial reference codes for the route out of the station he had agreed with Woundweaver. As long as the Space Wolves kept to that narrow corridor, they would be safe from the bombardment. 
 	Neroka looked at him. ‘And now?’
 	‘We have to wait. We can’t risk entering the combat zone again. It’s up to Devor and Woundweaver now.’ Hef took a deep breath. ‘What trouble are they going to cause us, do you think?’
 	‘The Wolves? We can’t just leave them stranded here, brother. What harm can they really do? There’s only five of them, maybe less now.’
 	‘They might return to Russ and tell him what they’ve seen. We’re not the face of the Legion that Lord Corax wishes to be known.’
 	‘I’m sure the Wolf King has more important things to worry about at the moment,’ said Neroka.
 	‘We don’t know that, not for sure. Woundweaver was sent to keep an eye on Lord Corax for a reason. If they don’t aim to respond directly, I would swear that they’ll make trouble some other way.’
 	‘We’re battle-brothers now. Things I’ve heard, the sons of Fenris are big on honour and oaths. You saw what had become of them. They understand what it’s like to have the bodies of beasts but the hearts of loyal men.’
 	Hef shrugged as best he was able. ‘Perhaps, but Commander Branne might say otherwise. They’re big on oaths, of course, but it seems that Russ considers himself above certain rules. Always keen to keep others in line, but equally ready with a reason why the Space Wolves are different. You didn’t see the way Woundweaver looked at us. He hates what we are, but he’s trying to hide it.’
 	Before Neroka could reply, the vox came to life. 
 	‘This is Devor, transmission only. Enemy ship has been destroyed, proceeding to target zone to complete fire mission as ordered.’
 	Neroka gave his commander a congratulatory slap on the shoulder pad.
 	‘Well done, lieutenant. It seems that the first part of the plan has succeeded. All we have to do now is rendezvous with the Space Wolves.’
 	Hef hesitated.
 	The sky was lit by strobing flashes, and the ground began to quake as the orbital bombardment commenced.
 	‘We are going to pick them up, yes?’ said Neroka. ‘You gave them your word.’
 	‘I had to. Woundweaver wouldn’t have let us out of that place otherwise.’
 	‘An oath is still an oath, Hef.’
 	‘Is it? Does it count if all of those that heard it are dead?’
 	Neroka’s tone became more fierce. ‘I heard it, brother.’
 	‘I could have ordered the station annihilated from orbit, along with the Sons of Horus. Perhaps I should have done.’
 	‘I suppose we could strand them here. Maybe drop them supplies. We’ll leave them out of the way until we tell Lord Corax and he figures out what to do with them.’
 	‘No,’ said Hef. ‘Lord Corax will want to welcome them, as he has all the others that have responded to his call.’
 	‘And why shouldn’t he?’
 	‘I just told you – these warriors are different. Woundweaver is acting on orders from Russ himself, and from the Regent of Terra. He is on a mission. He’ll see it through to whatever end he thinks necessary. Five or five thousand, if they decide that Lord Corax is acting beyond his authority, then they could destroy everything we’ve been fighting for.’
 	Neroka was incredulous. ‘You don’t really think they would try to hurt the primarch?’
 	‘They might try, and the distraction, the damage to his faith in the cause, could be catastrophic. If he thought Russ and the Wolves were against us, he might lose hope, and that would be a disaster. The weapons in that station could take down a Battle Titan. Why would they need those, sergeant? Tell me. This can’t be the only supply depot they have. Over-gunned, protected by anti-orbital weaponry, located in dead systems – why do the Space Wolves have caches of high-powered ordnance hidden across the galaxy?’
 	Neroka looked at Hef for a long moment, but only shook his head.
 	‘I can’t make an argument for something I don’t know. It feels wrong, that’s all.’
 	A buzz on the gunship’s sensors alerted Hef to a sudden energy surge outside. He donned his helm and sprang down the fuselage to the boarding ramp and looked back to the station. A hemispherical blast of blue and white lightning rose up from beyond the jagged peaks, so bright that Hef’s auto-senses cut out for a moment, dulling the input to almost black to prevent the sight blinding him.
 	When the light filtration ended, the plasma detonation had dissipated to a glittering shell of purples and reds.
 	‘We might get lucky,’ said Neroka. ‘Perhaps they didn’t get away in time.’
 	Hef was not hopeful, and the vox hissed just as he returned to the cockpit. The joy in Woundweaver’s voice carried even over the crackling link.
 	‘Do you see that, Hef of the Raptors? Like Hel’s own fire to consume the traitors, eh? Long will the telling of this saga be heard.’
 	‘We’ll see you at the rendezvous location, packmaster.’ Hef closed the channel and turned to his companion, shaking his head. ‘The luck of the Raven Guard.’
 	 ‘He sounded happy, Hef. I don’t think he would speak out against us, but the command lies with you. Your word will be final.’
 	Hef walked down the ramp of the gunship, feeling as though he carried a crushing weight despite the low gravity. His warriors followed him, fanning out to either side as they reached the rocky ground. 
 	Woundweaver and two other Space Wolves had escaped from the station, which still burned with plasma fire, its glow bright above the ridges and peaks. Occasionally the explosion of another shell from orbit would illuminate the shadows, its detonation punctuating the stillness.
 	The packmaster had no helm, his breath coming in clouds of vapour. Hef took off his helm too, so that he could face Woundweaver, eye to eye. He stopped about ten metres away from the Space Wolves.
 	‘The enemy are dead,’ he said, flatly. ‘We have kept our word.’
 	‘So you have. I admit I was having doubts, but you come through.’
 	‘Aye.’ Hef drew his chainsword and revved the motor. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it has to end this way.’
 	Woundweaver realised what was happening and threw himself forwards as the other Raven Guard opened fire. Whickering bolts engulfed the two other sons of Fenris, detonations sparking across their armour, throwing out chunks of ruined ceramite. 
 	The packmaster’s bolt pistol spat rounds at Hef, a trio of shots smashing into the lieutenant’s shoulder and breastplate. Hef ignored the prick of shrapnel piercing his flesh – he was all but inured to any pain these days, above and beyond the tolerance of other legionaries. He counter-charged, sweeping his chainsword towards Woundweaver as the Space Wolf dragged his power axe free.
 	The gleaming axe head carved through Hef’s weapon, scattering half-melted adamantium teeth and chain links. The lieutenant twisted aside, turning with the shock of the blow, and retreated a few steps as Woundweaver’s momentum took him past.
 	The packmaster growled, a feral sound more animal than human. ‘I see now you are nothing but monsters.’
 	‘Fenris must lack mirrors.’
 	‘We are the weregeld, the price of greatness! You are lowly savages! The remnants of inglorious meddling by your master!’
 	The Raptors closed in a tight circle around them, the blood from the corpses of Woundweaver’s companions the same colour as the hard rock onto which it spread. The packmaster snarled, glaring at Hef.
 	‘You leave the deed to your minions, worthless scum. You cannot beat me. You lack conviction, just as you lack a weapon.’
 	‘I have both!’ Hef roared as he pounced, clearing the gap between them with one leap. His claws erupted from the sealed sheaths that tipped his gauntlets, shining in the glare of the gunship’s lights. Woundweaver tried to bring up his axe but Hef was too close, his left hand grabbing the packmaster’s wrist while the right carved three bloody furrows across his cheek and forehead.
 	Woundweaver swayed, using the strength of Hef’s assault to turn the lieutenant. In the weak gravity, the two of them left the ground, spinning around each other as though locked together in some bloody dance. They landed and rolled, Hef slamming his claws into his foe’s chest while Woundweaver still struggled with the axe. 
 	The Space Wolf kicked out, flinging Hef back a few paces. Eyes now a gleaming blue, threads of saliva drooling from his jaw, Woundweaver pushed himself to his feet. He threw back his head and howled.
 	Hef did not hesitate, but ploughed into the packmaster shoulder-first, barrelling both of them to the ground again.
 	Snapping and snarling, the axe pinned beneath Hef’s knee, the Space Wolf tried to bite off his face. The lieutenant drove his bony forehead into Woundweaver’s snout, breaking bone and teeth. Despite this, the packmaster spat damning words.
 	‘You will be Corax’s weregeld, beast! You are his curse, and no good passes while you live. You are creatures of Hel that will be sent back to the dark pit.’
 	Hef smashed a fist into the Space Wolf’s canine face and thrust a claw into his eye. ‘I’m sure you’ll wait for me...’
 	Sinking wicked talons into flesh, piercing windpipe and arteries with ease, the lieutenant stood and tore out Woundweaver’s throat.
 	Panting, he stepped away. Sensing the others around him, Hef glared at them as he wiped the blood from his hands. ‘No word of this reaches the Legion. None of the Space Wolves survived the traitors’ final attack – that is all the others need to know.’
 	There were nods from the Raptors, and Hef was grateful for their understanding. He glanced back at the dead Space Wolves.
 	‘Guessing is for gamblers. We can’t afford to take chances.’