Legal stuff: the Mass Effect universe and the Warhammer 40000 universe are property of the corporation Bioware and Games Workshop respectively; neither of them are my creation.

All original characters are my property, and may be used if I have provided appropriate permission.

Hammerhand

Chapter 1-Evacuation

"Hull integrity at sixty percent."

"Losing life support power."

"Torpedo batteries five through to twenty lost."

The droning of Servitors was barely discernable through the din of klaxons blaring their warnings and the frantic yells of the crew of the Faith's Fury. Brother Captain Malleus cursed as he heard yet another alert of yet more structural damage reports were relayed to him, yet more grim, hopeless new. The Fury was dying, he knew it. It was only a matter of time before the strike cruiser gave out.

In the void, hundreds of kilometres away, the Ork fleet pounded the great bulk of Faith's Fury. Crude lasers cobbled together from scrap pounded the vessel's flanks, torpedoes guided by insane greenskin pilots screaming across the void and into the ship. Cut off from the rest of the Imperial fleet, who were making a spirited attempt to fight through the xenos blockade, Faith's Fury was alone and defenceless.

"Captain!" Hullen's voice crackled into the vox bead surgically planted into the Astartes' ear. "We need to go now. Our brothers have been evacuated, and we're in the Thunderhawk waiting for you."

"Then go!" Malleus ordered without a second thought. "Don't wait for me."

"That is not a good idea, Captain," Cyralius replied, jumping into the vox channel. "If we wish to defeat the greenskins then your tactical expertise will be needed. The Fury is done for; do not be a fool. Staying here and dying will achieve nothing."

Malleus sighed, before nodding.

"Once again you provide the voice of reason, Cyralius," he said. "I'm coming down."

"Be quick, Malleus."

"Captain!" Malleus called over the din, and the command throne at the centre of the bridge swivelled to face the Astartes. The thin, bionically enhanced figure within it called across; "What is it, Malleus?"

"I'm leaving the ship, Kurias," Malleus replied. "Give the orders to evacuate the officers and come with me."

"Aye sir," Kurias replied, before barking a set of orders into a vox mounted into the throne. Kurias was one of the best ship pilots the Sons of Thunder had; he would be needed as much as Malleus in the fight to come. There was a whine as various neural plugs retracted from his body, before he dragged himself free of the throne, pushing through the crowded bridge towards Malleus. The Astartes clamped his helmet into place before grabbing a rebreather unit and slinging it to Kurias.

"No telling where there'll be vacuum," he said. "Now we must hurry."

The hulking space marine hurried through the bridge, Kurias in his wake, and through one of the heavy blast doors that sealed it off from the rest of the ship.

In the corridors, the chaos was even more intense, panicked armsmen sprinting through the corridors. There was shouting, the screams of the injured and dying and the desperate prayers of those invoking the Emperor to save them in their hour of need. While Malleus could simply shoulder his way through the chaos, his immense bulk lending him the brawn needed, Kurias was struggling to keep up; even with his bionics, the captain spent a long time in his command throne and was struggling to walk, let alone get through the mad scrum of panicked people, servitors, crimson alert lights and blaring claxons.

Realising that Kurias was struggling to keep up, Malleus turned and grabbed the captain, before hoisting him onto his shoulders, ignoring the man's surprised protests as he continued his same, relentless pace.

"Captain, where are you?" Hullen asked. "We can't wait much longer."

"I'm on my way!" Malleus replied. "Hold on!"

Taking a deep breath, the Astartes began to run. The crowds scattered before him in terror of being crushed as he stampeded forwards, smashing aside servitors too slow to get into his way. He thundered down stairs, drawing his thunder hammer one handed to break down a bulkhead barring his way. Within minutes, he had reached the hangar, in which the reassuringly familiar white and gold bulk of his personal thunderhawk, Emperor's Flame, was