The teleport flare faded. The ringing in Justinius’ ears did not.

He was in a darkened hallway, lit only by red emergency lights. To his left Corporal Adrian had translated as well. The Corporals' greave was all that Justinius could see, protruding from the bulkhead adjoining the corridor. The metal of the warriors armour was smoothly joined into the bulkhead, where it became one with the metal of the door.

“Check in and headcount.”

His helmet radio warbled and voices of squad leaders came back to him. Eighty-percent translation success, twenty-percent KIA.

The jump distance had been small enough, but the vessel had been shielded. Eighty-percent survival was a resounding feat of good luck, now they just had to make it count.

In the early days humanity had dismissed teleport assault as an ineffective strategy. They had tested bombs and torpedoes, but the success rate fell off dramatically over distances, and nuclear warheads transported at short distances were just as likely to destroy your vessel as the enemies. Alien shielding had scrubbed the odds of successful munition deployment down even further.

A company of warriors though, even one decimated by transport failure, could achieve a great deal, and retain the advantage of salvaging an enemy ship's hull and intel.

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Justinius readied his energy blade and pistol, and proceeded silently down the hallway, leaving the body of his comrade to its somber fate.

The first crew-member he encountered came out of a side passageway, rifle slung over his shoulder. The alien's four eyes widened in stark terror as he saw the Terran warrior. Justinius saw himself reflected in those orbs, as he slid his combat blade through the beings neck. A matte-black behemoth, near invisible in the low light, his helms green combat lenses glowing with emotionless energy.

The next twenty ship-men did not go so quietly. Justinius fought a running battle through the halls of the alien ship, killing the ship’s crew as they valiantly tried to resist. Small arms fire plinked off his armour as he decapitated, dismembered and hacked his way to the bridge. By then they were fleeing before him, desperately seeking an abatement of the slaughter.

By the time he reached the ante-room to the ship's bridge, his combat armour was slathered in green blood and blue entrails. Three other squads of his men emerged from conjoined corridors as he approached the bridge's massive reinforced bulkhead, likewise gory with the evidence of their assault.

A group of twelve alien crew cowered there, forced back from the multiple axes of advance. Some pounded on the bridge door, crying out in terror, while others raised their hands, quaking in fear. His men paused, blades and pistols raised.

“We don’t have time for this.” Justinius radioed. “Kill them.”

His men laid in with blades, conserving their ammunition. When the last corpse fell to the ground six seconds later. Justinius strode forward and affixed a breaching charge to the massive bulkhead.

His men stacked up on either side of the bulkhead, and Justinius took two steps back and detonated the charge.

The thermal charge flared, so bright his visor automatically dimmed. When it cooled, the door was a pile of molten slag. Rounds flew out through this new opening, and Justinius felt dozens of impacts across his armour's front plates. All were ineffective, ricocheting off into the darkness.

The first of the Terran Company rushed in through the breach, and sounds of alien screaming and gunfire echoed out, as the slaughter reached its bloody conclusion.

Justinius activated his long-range radio.

“Admirals, the enemy bridge is secure. Send security teams for clean-up.”