A/N: Let's get this clear, since some of you guys are hell-bent on proving how inferior Helghast are.

The ISA was superior on every aspect too, "One week, two, tops, in and out. Expected low to moderate resistance, enemy morale at an all time low. They're technology is no match for our military might." They said. Out of the 16 cruisers sent to Helghan, none came back and there were only four survivors.

A gun's a gun, a bullet's a bullet. Ask any Marine what the difference between an AK47 and M16 is, in the facts, and they'll most probably say "The sound" yet there's half a century of innovation between both.

So what if the bullet is titanium tipped with uranium core and lead coating? You'll go trough the target like it's made of butter and, in the case of most Xenos, won't cause sufficient damages to put it out of action. (BTW, that's bs, man, I checked the 'specs'; a Glock-18 is just as good as a Scipio, so a StA18 should be just as effective.)

So, yes, I have taken the different ammo types into account, and reached the conclusion that it didn't change a thing, except the Higs will have a hard time kicking trough most armors…

Anon: Well, the Legacy is pretty much a bigger version of Stahl's cruiser. As for close combat, the Higs seem pretty well equipped for that with their shotgun attachments, flame throwers and shotgun revolvers... But yeah, close combat with an ork isn't a pleasent experience, no matter your toys xD

As I am strapped inside an Exoskeleton, on the roof of a school , piggy-bagging a genetically engineered psychopath, I suddenly wonder just where we are.

A bit late for that, but hey, I had other things on my mind.

We speak the same language as the locals, although they added some Latin and Scandinavian words here and there, we're biologically human sub-species, which indicates common ancestors.

However, they call their home world 'Terra', which, I suppose, is derived from 'Terre', the Earth.

So these guys could be UCN, but then, I don't remember hearing about such cultural differences and JADE never seemed that weird to me.

The Hyper-crap probably did something, like in those Sci-fi movies, switch dimension or stuff…

A Jetpack trooper drops in front of me and salutes.

Must be weird to salute an Exo.

"Sir! My men are ready to jump in the fray on your signal and the Commando Leader reports that he is in position as well."

"Excellent," I speak over the comm. Net, "Have two of your men run a recon over the area, make sure everything is in place. Once they report in, we'll move."

He nods; "Copy that, Colonel Sand." Before hitting the throttle on his 'handle bar'.

The officer leaves in an explosion of dust, hopping from one roof to another.

Over me, still clutching his behemoth of a gun, Herald asks me if I am not being a little over-cautious.

"It's my first operation," I explain, "I would rather it does not end in a failure."

Is it so weird that I don't want to fuck up?

I wiggle the joysticks a bit, to get a better feel of the Exo's commands. The machine makes a small dance in response.

It's a little slow when turning, but it's just as armored as a tank and goes even faster, so I can deal with sloppy turns.

I get no reaction from the big guy on my roof. I had expected him to bitch about the bumpy ride or something, but Asstards are obviously not the bitchy type.

After a few minutes of watching the orks' troop movements on my tactical display, I get a call from Air Division saying that everything is in place.

"Well then," I answer on the public channel, dropping the 'Colonel Attitude' for just one second, "Be ready to wreck some shit, Helghast!"

I punch the ceiling twice.

"We're ready, tell your boys to fall back!"

"Understood." Is the only answer I get.

0000000000000

Eight Years Earlier

Radec Academy

Helghan

Colonel Mael Radec's office, like the man, was imposing, but in a somewhat subtle manner.

He did not have any trivial items laid around for show, as most other commanders; instead, he kept it to the strict minimal… Or at least, his version of it.

A small desk, large enough to receive his two terminals, while leaving some space to comfortably read and write, two Helghast flags, a scale model of Pyhrrus, sitting in a far corner and two book shelves, within arm reach of his seat, were all the school master had allowed for himself… Beside the many trophies he'd taken from ISA.

"How many of them are adequate, Sergeant Kovachin?" Asked Radec from behind his desk.

Standing in front of it, the instructor sighed.

"Out of the whole batch, I'd say four hundred can be turned into acceptable cannon fodders, one hundred could specialize and six of them would be suitable for Special Operations duty."

The Colonel twitched.

"Only six?"

Nalia smiled smugly under her mask.

"You established the standards, sir…"

"Indeed. Any… Failures?"

Kovachin sighed before nodding.

"Yes, a few. One in particular I believe you should know about…"

The Colonel leaned forward a bit.

Why would he have any interest in a failure?

"Remember the twins, Nance and Nataniel Sand, I think their names were?"

Radec simply nodded; he knew the files of every last one of his students. An instructor had beaten the boy, once, for having passed out after the first day of drill. The sister had strangled the Helghast with her shoe-lace.

The trainee had to be knocked out by another instructor, who, himself, earned four broken fingers from the brother.

The boy was smart and tough, while the girl was fast and vicious. Together, they would make an excellent capture team.

"The girl is simply too free minded, we'll have to send her back. Once she's gone, the boy will fall in line."

The Colonel nodded slowly. "Pity, she would have made an excellent Trooper. How about the boy? Is he any good?"

"Well, no." She stated flatly, "But he has that attitude, that capacity of adaptation that reminds me of… Well…." She hesitated and the Colonel understood who she meant.

"Metrac." He mused, unsure if it was a good thing or not.

Lieutenant Metrac was burning trough the ranks… Litterally. Anyone who dared comment on his human appearance or accuse him of treason because of his unusual beliefs would end up the victim of a misfiring at the range or simply disappear. The man was ruthless, brilliant and quite a bit crazy.

He and Radec hated each others, yet there was some kind of respect between them. Radec viewed war as a contest of force, nothing personal and, although he would not let such petty considerations stand between him and success, he much preferred achieving victory trough a 'fair' fight, advanced tactics and clever strategy, while Metrac quite simply used every dirty trick in the book to get an edge; they knew they were both two sides of a same coin and accepted that fact… It didn't keep them from refusing to be in the same room as each other, though.

"No, sir, I was going to say you…" Kovachin interrupted his train of thoughts.

"Me?" That thought seemed to amuse him greatly. "Well, keep me informed, Sergeant." He stood and saluted her. "Dismiss."

She saluted back. "Sir!"

Once she was gone, Radec requested that all files on the Sand family be sent to his office. Quite an interesting pair, those twins; he wondered where they grew up.

0000000000000

"Omega is in, spring the trap, command!"

I push the joysticks as hard as I can and the Exo explodes from its position.

It stomps on the roof so hard I'm afraid we'll go trough it… But after a couple of painfully loud strides, we reach the edge and I hit the jump-jets.

Good thing I did before looking, otherwise I would have frozen and we'd have planted face-first.

They're everywhere! A moving sea of green and black, yelling and hitting at each others in frenzy.

Out in the corner of my eyes, I can see the buggies and Jet Bikes plow trough their lines.

I should have kept a few tanks, all we have is fast attack vehicles for a melee combat with those beasts.

We're so going to die.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" The Astarte booms before opening fire in mid-air. Once they connect, his bullets tear off limbs and blow over-sized chunks of flesh.

What the fuck is that gun! Machine rocket launcher!

We land straight on one of the green freaks and I get a close up view of its face.

It had its lower jaw replaced by a roughly cut piece of scrap metal and one of its eyes is yellowish and seems about to burst. Overall, some mutated ape freak.

"It's not that I want to kill you," I explain while lining my Machine-gun with its face, "But you're just too ugly to let live." I squeeze the trigger and unleash a burst of 50mm Mk 211 multipurpose rounds.

The thing's head bursts like a rotten tomato being hit by a baseball bat.

Yeah, I did lots of weird stuff during my free time on Helghan.

I spin the walker around and fire another volley in the fray. Once again, it's a good thing that I acted without thinking, because the sight of the whole ork army staring at me with hatred would have made me shit my pants. I feel a wave of heat and cold sweats as I take in the hundreds of hateful faces.

Then, my bullets hit.

No matter who you are, where you're from and what language you speak, the boom of a fifty cal cannon always mean the same thing: 'You're fucked.'

Herald quickly joins me and body parts start flying around. The walker gets hit by a few stray rounds, but none of them penetrates.

Orks seem to be poor shots

A second later, four-eyed creatures climb down the walls of every nearby buildings and I need to remind myself they are my commandos. Doesn't keep my inner child from wanting his mommy though.

Still that's nothing compared to the scare I get when a Jetpack trooper hovers in front of me, peppering the orks with his .30 cal machine gun.

Fucking giant fire spitting mosquito.

I fire a missile at what could be either a buggy or a spare parts wagon… I'm not sure and its destruction doesn't help me figure it out either, since once the smoke clears, all there is left is a steering wheel and a scorch on the concrete.

Oh well.

Something hits my walker in the back pretty hard. Herald tells me to keep going; he's got my back.

A minute later, I hear the roar of his machine gun.

A glance at my tactical display tells me we've got the entanglement locked down real tight; with five commando squads, twenty jetpack troopers, four buggies and fourteen jet bikes, the whole squeezed between the school, the electric gas station and the –now destroyed- barricade.

"Dig in!" I yell on my radio, "Hold you positions! Victory or death!"

The answer is immediate:

"FOR THE GLORY OF HELGHAN!"

A few D-charges suffice to create trenches and craters deep enough for the bikes and buggies to take cover with just their machine guns poking out.

Once the trenches are done, the commandos set up heavy weapon positions, mostly W.A.S.P.s and LMGs, while Jetpack troopers either retreat to the roof or dive in the trenches, adding their highly accurate .30 guns to our defences.

Me, well, I'm riding a twelve foot tall weapon platform. I jump in the deepest trench I can find, but it's only four feet deep; anything above the Exo's knee gets hit by random lucky shots here and there, but at least I get a clear view of the enemy troop movements.

Speaking of which…

"Herald!" I holler while punching the shit out of my ceiling.

"What!"

The Space Marine is still covering my rear, which, in that case, means he's facing the enemy reinforcements.

From his voice, the situation is not that much better behind me.

"What the fuck is that!"

His answer takes a second to come, but when it does, I really regret asking.

"A big walking machine!"

And with that, he goes back to shooting.

Thanks, genius.

The walker is at least two stories high and packs enough fire-power to hurt a MAWLR.

Good news it that it's not heading for us, but for the main force.

The bad news is that I really don't know what we have that could take it down.

"I want all teams armed for AT warfare to pound that walker!" I holler in my radio. "ATACs, thin out the ground troopers."

"Wilco, air support incoming!"

I pound the roof again.

"HERALD!"

"What is it, now!"

"How did you hold that thing back?"

"What?"

"On the barricade!"

"We did not! The orks must have kept it in reserve!"

"USELESS WANKER!"

I fire my remaining missile at the back of the walker's 'head', to no effect.

Behind me, the W.A.S.P.s fire in artillery mode… And scorch the paint.

The thing fires in response. I don't se what it hits, but the fireball is impressive.

"He's ripping us apart!" I hear an officer yell, "We need bigger guns!"

Where am I supposed to get bigger guns! I don't shit arc cannons!

Then, I remember a small, insignificant detail.

The Legacy.

"Fire mission, fire mission, this is Task Force Command, requesting Arc strike on position. Target…" I quickly mark the walker on my radar, "…target is marked 'BIG MOFO' on your screen; Get' em, boys! Over!"

"Task Force Command, this is legacy fire mission, we see BIG MOFO, arc strike imminent, get clear of the killbox, over."

"Roger that." I switch to public channel, "Everyone, get in the APCs! Tank crews, switch off electronics, ATACs, RTB, now! We're getting an arc strike!"

I receive a dozen confirmation messages and power down my Exo.

'BIG MOFO' fires again, this time bringing down a whole building.

It's the last thing it does, since right after that, a pillar of blue light engulfs it and everything around, including a part of the school and an ATAC that was too slow. Lightnings dance across the streets and buildings, one of them setting fire to the plug station.

Even trough my mask I can smell the ion and burnt meat in the air.

After that, all we have to do is clean up the mess.