The universe is ruled by the 8 great races. The Space Marines, not humans but superhumans, made superior in all aspects to mortal men by a harsh regime of genetic alterations, mental and physical conditionings, and rigorous training. They are devoted to Emperor and Imperium with a single-minded loyalty. Their morale is near-unbreakable, their weapons are deadly, and their determination is titanium.
The Chaos Space Marines, the legions of space marines who forsook their allegiance to the Emperor and swore loyalty to the hordes of Chaos. Their armor and weapons, so like those of the Space Marines, are augmented by the dark Chaos magic that coursed through their veins. Their morale is nowhere near as that of the Space Marines, but they are determined that their foes should suffer the same fate. Their bloodied armor is stained with blood, bear fearsome spiked objects and induce fear into any foe who beholds the sight. Their loyalty is to the Demons of the Warp, the otherworldly Demons who have been banished to the Warp, but who the Chaos Space Marines have allied with to gain power.
The Eldar, the wisest of all the races. They are not of the race of humans, but of a separate civilization that has flourished away from mankind. Their technology is unsurpassed, with Webway Gates allowing them to pass through space instantaneously, personal teleportation devices that allow them to warp short distances, and cloaking devices that shield everything from all but the keenest senses. They follow the Farseer, the wisest of all Eldar who command the race.
The Orks, the most barbaric race in the universe. They are not one single unified civilization, but clans that align themselves under a multitude of banners. They are almost constantly at war with one another, which keeps them busy enough to stop them from annoying the other races. They live solely for battle, and anything that can damage and hurt is used. Their weapons are crude and prone to failure, they wield bladed weapons with no enhancements whatsoever and their buildings are made with materials that are found easily. However their brute strength is not to be underestimated, and their numbers can overwhelm even the best of armies. Their Waaagh! is their driving force in their lives, a psychic force that allows Orks to instinctively form a hierarchy. It also gives them their bloodlust. Each clan follows their Warboss, the biggest and the baddest of all the Orks. The Warboss can be recognized by his incredible size (some have been known to be over six meters in height), his armaments and the general impression of brute power.
The Tau Empire, masses of technologically-superior warriors fighting alongside other races in the name of the Greater Good. Their withering firepower has brought many an enemy to their knees, and they seek to convert the entire universe to the Greater Good.
The Tyranids, bug-like creatures that wield fearsome bio-weapons or genetically-modified talons and teeth. They are part of a Hive Mind that governs them. They live to serve the Hive Mind and they live to destroy all life, turning it into bio-matter for their Hive Mind.
The Necrons, undead warriors that have lain dormant until very recently. Now their gods, the evil C'tan, have once again woken them to do their bidding, to cause the extinction of life in the entire universe. The gods desire souls to feast on, and the Necrons seek to give them what they wish. Armed with Gauss weapons with massive destructive powers, and gifted with the ability to regenerate, the Necrons have started to march once again.
Finally, the Imperial Guard. The last remains of the once great-race of mankind, who have rejected the idea of fusing with machinery to preserve their human natures. To survive, almost all of them have become warriors, forming the Imperial Guardsmen. They serve to protect the Imperium, the wisest of all mankind. They govern over all of mankind, including the Imperial Guard. Because they are only human, their morale is easily shattered. However, their numbers are great and they possess many strong leaders that embolden the Guardsmen to greater feats of courage.
The war against the orks had not started until recently. Normally the war-like race kept their distance, their realm confined to the most inhabitable places. Recently that began to change. The orks began raiding nearby villages, burning and plundering all they found. They took women as slaves, and killed the others. Child, man and baby all fell under their cruel blade. The massacre continued for several months before the council of the Imperial Guard decided to put a stop to the senseless killing.
The 1st to the 5th squadrons of the 1st division of Imperial Guards were dispatched to the northern regions, the 6th to the 10th to the south. The five remaining squadrons remained to defend the command center of the realm under Imperial Guard control: what the troops now called Safe Haven. The second division was divided up in pretty much the same manner, but with east and west instead of north and south. The 3rd and 4th divisions were split up to north-east, north-west, south-east and south-west respectively. The last division- 5th division was in charge of the general security of Safe Haven.
Cortez was part of the Imperial Guard- the army of Mankind. He was part of the minority of Imperial Guardsmen that was born into the army, his hereditary allegiance increasing his loyalty to Imperium fivefold. He was now about 34 years old, with his black hair cropped in a severe crew cut. Cortez had been in many battles and skirmishes, shown in the few gray hairs on his head, the deep pits and scratches on his green helmet, the wrinkles and scars on his hardened face. The gold insignia on his helmet was one of his few pride and joys: along with his customized assault rifle, the skull and two wings was a polished gleaming star in the midst of a war-marked green field. Cortez's face used to be handsome, but continual fighting had marred it in more ways than one. A jagged scar stretched from just under his right temple to the right side of his lips, and a slightly smaller scar ran down the length of the left side of his face, from his hairline to his jaw. The body under his green DPM (disruption-pattern material) fatigues was muscled and lean, as a result of harsh training regimes.
Cortez was in division 1, squadron 5, squad Delta: squad leader. Including him there were 12 men in his squad, hand-picked for the positions that they would be best suited to. There was Marcus, his second-in-command, chosen for his extraordinary leadership skills, his ability to adapt to whatever situation he was faced with, and undying loyalty. The three medics, Philip, John and Robin, each chosen for stamina, speed and the ability to concentrate under incredible pressure. The two snipers, Alex and Mark, chosen for resistance to fatigue, marksmanship and observational skills. And finally the five speed-assault troops: Charles, Eric, Scott, Jean and Edward, each displaying stamina, speed and accuracy in great amounts. These handpicked soldiers formed Cortez's Delta squad, and they trusted each other implicitly.
Continuous training and fighting had welded them into a tight-knit squad, and they acted as such. In battle they covered each other virtually without communication, seeming to know exactly how their teammates would act and moving to cover their vulnerable areas. The medics could be trusted to patch up the deepest of cuts and even bring others back from the brink of death. The snipers could take down the most armored of foes, with their arsenal of different bullets for a variety of foes. They could be trusted to report on events during battle, giving advice and commands where necessary. Their advice proved invaluable more than once when blind-spots were numerous, and often resulted in the continued survival of the team. And of course, the speed-assault troops could rush into the thick of battle and cut a swathe through enemies, clearing a way for the rest of the squad. Alone they could deal significant amounts of damage to enemies. Together they could wreak havoc upon the unjust and bring them to face the hammer of justice.
Cortez was dispatched with the other squadron 5 teams: Alpha, Beta, Charlie and Echo. If Delta squad was like a family of 12 members then squadron 5 was like the extended family: uncles, aunties, grandparents and so on. Squadron 5 got along with each other so well that they were commended by the squadron commander. Fondly nicknamed "Artemis" after the god "Artemis the Hunter" by troops who admired his skill with a sniper rifle, Artemis was the grand-daddy of Squadron 5: friendly and comradely, yet strict and unforgiving on the battlefield. All of Squadron 5 looked to him for guidance and advice, orders and intelligence. He had the perfect balance of compassion and the harsh requirement for perfection. Cortez was sincerely grateful to be part of Squadron 5, to be under the wing of Artemis. He was sure that his squad members felt the same way.
Cortez was shaken from his short nap by the sudden jolt of their heavy-duty air transport lifting off. Thrust back in his thinly-padded seat, Cortez turned over his mission in his mind for the hundredth time. Squadron 5 had been sent to the mountains of the north. It seemed that the orks named the "Bloodaz" had set up a strong-hold in the safety of the mountains. They were soon joined by the Warboss "Big Blooda" and soon they had amassed enough resources to become a credible threat. Originally Squadron 5 was meant to follow the other Squadrons to attack the main settlement of the orks in the northern region. However the Council had finally labeled the "Bloodaz" as a potential threat and as a result Cortez was on his way to the mountains.
However Cortez felt that there was something fishy about this situation. It wasn't anything that could be clarified with or be dissected and examined by logic. It was the sixth sense, the gut instinct that was flashing the warning light. As he was brooding on this, a harsh metallic voice announced, "T-minus 20 to drop-site. T-minus 20 to drop-site." Damn that was quick, Cortez muttered. "All right, troops!" Cortez bellowed over the sound of their transport. "You know the drill! We are executing a HALO. You have 20 minutes to prepare your equipment." Upon hearing his words, eyes sharpened and backs straightened in anticipation. A HALO was a High Altitude Low Opening jump. As the full name suggests, troops jumped out of the aircraft at a high altitude, free-fell for some time and opened their parachute at a relatively low altitude. Risks presented themselves in the multitude. HALOs were only attempted after weeks of training, and with good reason. Free-falling from a high altitude allows you to reach terminal velocity quickly- the speed at which you cannot go any faster due to the laws of physics. The low opening meant your parachute could not slow you down very much and you hit the ground at a high speed. However, these risks were braved because of the huge benefits. Little time with a parachute over your head presented a smaller and less-noticeable target. Hitting the ground at speed meant that if you knew what you were doing you could translate the speed into lateral movement and come in firing. And best of all, the adrenal rush meant that your heart and lungs were pumping, morale at its highest: essential for a successful assault.
Finally the harsh voice sounded again. "T-minus 1 to drop-site. T-minus 1 to drop-site. Standby for green light." Cortez shouted a series of quick orders. "Troops, forrrrrrrrrrm up!" Delta squad rose and lined up as one, faces alight and intent. "Buddy check!" Each man checked the man in front, eyes looking for any loose equipment, rips in the parachute bag, anything that could jeopardize the maneuver. Cortez spotted Marcus holding a long black case in his hands. "Marcus, why are you bringing your musical instrument along?" Cortez inquired.
"I have this feeling sir." Marcus answered without the slightest grin to acknowledge his superior's joke. "I think that this may come in handy." Cortez trusted his second-in-command and so let him be.
Across the large bay of their transport Cortez saw the other squad leaders doing the same. As one, the troops finished their checks and bellowed as one, "Ready to go, sir!" The five leaders spun on their heels and echoed their cry to Artemis who was standing in front of the door leading to open sky. Right on cue, the buzzer sounded harshly and the door started to open.
Wind nipped through the crack, wound around everyone and caused everything to move and flap with a mind of its own. Artemis stood in front of the fully open door, back perfectly straight; legs spread shoulder length and hands planted firmly on his hips; face alight with adrenaline and eyes alight. His air of confidence was contagious and soon all the men amassed there felt completely confident in their skills, each other and Artemis himself. With a great roar of "Lock and Load!" Artemis ignited the courage buried within every individual on his feet in the hangar. "To Battle!" he cried, and the rallying cry was echoed by every single person in that hangar. The green light came on and the buzz sounded again. In perfect formation each squad lined up and jumped into open sky as one unbroken line. Immediately they disappeared, dropping so quickly that the human eye could not catch it.
At last it was Delta squad's turn. They lined up at the door to the sky, to whatever hell lay in wait for them. Cortez walked forwards, turned and met the eyes of everyone in the squad, and they met his gaze squarely. Cortez knew he trusted them with his life, and they with him. They were closer than brothers, and this made them strong. The buzz sounded again, and at that signal they reformed the line and jumped into open air as one.