Sergeant Catania took stock. The breakthrough had not gone well and they were so deep in to the hulk that comms had gone dead. It had been an hour since they split off from Lupus and his wolves. An hour since that sprint through those terrible corridors, heaving with those clawed monsters. An hour since he watched Tristan and Novara get torn apart, his own storm bolter jammed. An hour since panic filled his heart as three of them bound towards him and the thought of the shame of his failure in death made him collapse before them, his sword falling from his fingers.
"And they shall know no fear."
His rescue came in the form of a grey armoured fiend. Brother Jagg had blown them apart with his own storm bolter and ordered the Blood Angel to pick up his sword and get to his feet before his brothers saw him. Jagg had become isolated from the other Wolves and, upon hearing the intense firefight, had hurried to lend his assistance. Catania felt shame again now. He had besmirched the honour of his chapter in front of one of the other brotherhoods.
Siracusa and Avellino had rounded the corner shortly after that, having dispatched the last of their pursuers. An hour since he had held that failure in his breast and still it stung. It was just the three of them now. Siracusa had fallen as a clawed hand had plunged through a vent in to his helmet, making pulp of his head. Jagg had loosed off six shots in to the shaft and they had moved on. They had a mission to complete and their was no time to waste with such trivial things as goodbye.
They had been planting explosives in key areas of this part of the hulk. With only three rooms to go, things had been suspiciously silent. As they clomped down the passage to the final section, they heard the Genestealers keening screeches ahead of them. There was no turning back. "Death or glory", thought Catania "and maybe some redemption too."