Nightfall at Algemron

—and Helm rolled, plunged, and shook them off, clubbing them away, swinging the axe. He dragged himself to his feet again, the armor dented, his helmet half crushed against his face, blood running from it and from his shoulder. His arm hung limp.

With his one good hand, he pulled his axe again and roared, "Anybody else?!?" —and the sound of gunfire echoed and roared in the access corridor.

Suddenly there were no more kroath in the corridor, only a pile of oozing, dissolving bodies and armor. More Marines had come.

A kind of gasping quiet fell as the two groups stood looking at each other in disbelief and joy, but the joy didn't last long.