This storey was high enough for my purposes, though, as a quick glance was enough to assure me. The far wall was missing, the floor coming to an abrupt end about a metre from where it should be, affording a panoramic view across much of the city. I made for it cautiously, testing every footfall, but it all seemed solid enough, and within a minute or two I was close enough to the edge to look down into the rebels' artillery park, across the rubbled remains of the intervening building on the other side of the street. This had evidently fared far worse than the one I was occupying; though a few floors still remained, it had been reduced to about half the height of the shattered structure I was currently standing in.
The most cursory of glances was enough to tell me that my plan to collapse the sewer wouldn't cut it. Only one of the artillery pieces was in the right place to be disabled, the rest being dispersed around the square, backed into the remains of buildings for concealment and protection, and surrounded by sandbagged emplacements. No chance of being able to just run up and place a satchel charge either: we'd be cut down before we even got close. As the wind shifted, it brought with it the grumble of idling engines and the acrid tang of burned promethium; I'd been right about them being prepared to scatter if the Thunderhawk moved in their direction too. Perhaps if we mined the roads with the demo charges we'd brought with us we could bottle them up long enough for the gunship to take them out, but our chances of being able to place the explosives in the open without being spotted were minimal.
I was still musing over the problem when a las-bolt hissed past me, impacting against the stump of one of the columns which used to support the floor above. I turned, drawing my weapons and cursing myself for a fool. The very reason I'd chosen this spot to scout the enemy emplacement from also made it the perfect place to station sentries, and I should have anticipated an enemy presence here. Two men were running at me, lasguns in their hands, and firing as they came, but fortunately it's almost impossible to shoot accurately while on the move; if they'd had the sense to stand still and aim properly, they'd probably have dropped me before I'd even become aware of their presence.
Unfortunately for them, I wasn't so stupid, only taking a couple of strides to find refuge behind the sturdy pillar which had already stopped one of their las-bolts, before dropping to a crouch and cracking off a couple of rounds of my own. My aim was scarcely any better at first, one of the las-bolts from my pistol clipping the edge of the right-hand man's torso armour, but it was enough to make him hesitate. As he looked around for some cover I saved him the bother, putting a third and less hurried shot through the middle of his face. He went down hard, and beyond the usual reflexive spasms, didn't move again.
Which left the second man, who was going wide, towards the drop, hoping to flank me and get a shot in round the rockcrete pillar I was sheltering behind. I dodged back, trying to target him around the other side, but with a belated surge of common sense he switched to full auto, hosing my makeshift position down with a blizzard of fire too heavy for me to be able to risk popping out to take a crack at him.
Abruptly the firing ceased, and I seized the opportunity the momentary lull presented, lunging out to the side as I stood, my chainsword swinging to meet the anticipated charge, while my laspistol sought a target. To my surprise, however, he was already down, flat out on the rubble-strewn floor, deader than Horus. I approached the corpse warily, anticipating some kind of trick, but as I got closer I could see that the back of his head was missing, taken out by another las-bolt. From the angle of the wound, it had clearly come from somewhere down below, outside the building.
I edged cautiously to the brink of the drop and glanced down. Mira was still crouched in the lee of the burned-out Chimera, her lasgun raised and pointing in my direction. Seeing me, she lowered the weapon and waved, in a manner which, even at that distance, struck me as distinctly pleased with herself. Hard to resent that under the circumstances, though, so I returned the wave and turned back to the bodies of the late sentries. Neither had any vox gear on him, or anything else which might have provided some useful intelligence come to that, so I started to head back towards the stairs, intent on nothing more than getting back down the hole and out of sight before anyone got around to missing them.
I'd barely gone a pace or two, though, before the air seemed to thicken around me, the hairs on my arms bristling as if a thunderstorm was building, and a remarkably unpleasant sensation of pressure began to grow behind my eyes. It felt as if my sinuses were being packed with rockcrete, and I stumbled, my vision blurring. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the feeling ended, leaving me almost giddy with relief.
I hurried back to the hole in the wall, looking outside, anxiously, just as a rumble of displaced air echoed between the buildings, like one of the distant explosions where the crew of the Thunderhawk were continuing to amuse themselves. The rebel artillery park was in a state of complete confusion, with people running everywhere, like rats in a room when someone turns on the lights, and as the firing started, I began to see why. Towering figures in white and yellow armour were plodding unhurriedly through the pandemonium, shrugging off the las-bolts and occasional grenade sleeting in their direction with magnificent disdain. They were larger and bulkier than the Astartes I'd seen before; although I was to become familiar with it later, this was the first time I'd ever seen Terminator armour in action, apart from a handful of seconds aboard the necron vessel before losing consciousness. Most of the Astartes wearing it seemed to be carrying twin-barrelled bolters, which put out a staggering amount of firepower, ripping all traces of resistance to shreds with contemptuous ease, and one had a pair of missile pods mounted above his shoulders.
As I watched, the Terminator fired one from each, taking out a Basilisk which had started to move away in an explosion which knocked many of the defenders from their feet, but left the Astartes striding grimly forwards, apparently unmoved. Another of his fellows approached the nearest artillery piece and began literally tearing it apart, the long metal claws attached to his gauntlets shearing through the thick metal as though it was no more substantial than mist and shadows, a faint nimbus of arcane energies crackling about them.[18]
Panic-stricken crewmen bailed from it and ran in random directions, desperate to get away before those formidable talons found purchase in flesh.
Tearing my eyes reluctantly away from the spectacle, because it's not often I get so close to a battle without someone diverting my attention by trying to kill me, I glanced down to make sure Mira was all right. As it happened she was looking distinctly apprehensive, and who could blame her; apart from the disconcerting effect of being caught in the fringes of a teleport field, she'd be hearing all the noise without a clue as to what was going on. Catching her eye, I waved, as nonchalantly as I could manage, and started back down the stairs to reassure her. After all, annoying brat or not, she had just saved my life, which was always welcome, and she was considerably more decorative than Jurgen, whose job that usually was.
18
Conventional practice would be for Terminators to be deployed in dedicated squads, equipped with either ranged or close-combat weaponry. It's unclear from what Cain says here whether this is in fact the case, and two full squads were sent in, or whether the Reclaimers had combined elements of both in a single unit, as they also appear to do later in his account. If the latter, this would be extremely unusual.