Part 1: The Falling
The sweltering inner compartment of the Lander resembled something of a giant cattle truck, every possible space consumed by an anxious, fidgeting guardsman. Nervous chatter echoed through the hold, each man with his own opinion of where they were going. Just another war.
From his position beside the small portal window, Jecht studied the dozens of tech-adepts and servitors scurrying to and fro about the hulking behemoth like ants attending their bloated queen. With patient, precise vigilance they prepared the Mark IX Landing craft for its journey into orbit.
He watched as vast fuel lines were brought to bear by teams of Bionic Tech Servitors, pumping refined promethium deep into the bowels of the massive vessel. Others performed the ritual blessing and anointing required for the Lander to even power up - soaking every inch of the great machine with sacred oil as incense swirled in and around it. The sickly-sweet scent that filled the interior reminded Jecht of his joining the guard some six months prior. He remembered how the dancing clouds of smoke and steam made him dizzy with each carefully recited vow to the emperor.
Curious it was that humanity forced so much faith into these rituals. Every possible charge or purpose had to be preceded by a variety of bizarre ceremonies. Jecht scoffed slightly, Perhaps they themselves could spend a little more time making sure the damned things actually worked, rather than simply praying to the God Emperor to do it, the thought managed to bring a wry smile to his lips - the first hint of any positive emotion since he had awoken from his earlier warp nightmare. Almost a full hour later and still he could not shake the dreadful images from his thoughts; the grinning face of the alien horror etched indefinitely in the dark recesses of his mind. For all the reassuring words of his comrades, he couldn't help but get the feeling that the reverie had a deeper, ominous meaning.
From above the radio vox crackled into life, filling the expansive Lander hold with an ear piercing burst of static, followed shortly by the voice of Colonel Drezlen, his booming, rough tone instantly condemning the two thousand odd men to silence, "Men of the 42nd Cadian, listen close and listen well. As I am sure most of you are aware, the fleet dropped out of the warpstream some hours ago and began making preparations to send you, along with elements from the 73rd, 125th and 501st Cadian, 182nd and 48th Mordian and a detachment garrison of Adeptus Arbites, into planetary assault," the final mention of the Arbiters left Jecht stunned, the colour draining visibly from his face. The eyes of the dead Arbiter champion, his form embedded in the cruel embrace of ice, burned with dire ferocity behind his own.
As the baleful image ran its course once more, he became greeted by the same, familiar feeling of nausea and helplessness. Instinctively he rose a hand to cover his mouth, even as the Colonel continued with his briefing, "What you are not aware of is where it is exactly you are being sent and for what purpose. I shall tell you only what I know, for in truth we are dropping into the unknown here,"the vox broke to static for a second before Drezlen continued, "The planet is that of Carsus VII, a class A industry world accountable for over eighty percent of the mineral slag deposit and titanium ore in this entire sector.
All communications have been lost for several months and all trade vessels passing through this segmentum have disappeared without trace. The Departmento Munitorum fear the worst and have thus gathered a tithe to make contact with the central Hive city, Hyphereon prime. We are to establish the planet's situation and eliminate with extreme prejudice, any perceived threat to the authority of our immortal emperor.
Preliminary reports from our frigates and Thunderbolt scouts already in the atmosphere detect no hostile threat on the ground, no signs of life at all in fact, so there's a possibility that whatever might've been here has already moved on from the Hive. Keep your eyes open though 'caus we don't know what's lurking down there," as he spoke the Lander shuddered vigorously, the cataphract's engines humming into life below them. The huge constructs holding the craft in support slowly withdrew, leaving the metal Behemoth to drop several metres onto its suspension, arousing a multitude of grunts from the troops inside.
The light pouring in from the bay slowly began to subside to the dull red glow of the illuminated interior as steel shutters closed fast over the Perspex vision portals. Seeing his comrades in the eerie glow of crimson seemed strange, almost morbid, their eyes glowing like twin candle flames against the lowlight. Not long now, he thought gripping tight to his lasrifle and carefully checking over his torso and neck restraints; he had seen first hand what faulty buckles did to human bone structure on a landing.
Irritated by the interruption, the Colonel cleared his throat and spoke up once more, "Our LZ will be on the first tier of the inner hive, in close proximity to the main, southern entrance to the city. Your platoon commanders will brief you on securing the area and enabling a base of operations on arrival. I myself will descend via Valkyrie once a foothold has been secured and fortified. Until then, remain vigilant and keep faith in the Emperor. That is all. Good luck men. Drezlen out," the vox returned to static for an instant before turning off altogether.
"Pah! Privileges of rank right? Saving himself the Lander ride," came the sneering voice of Jecht's neighbour, private Quentin. A shady, dark haired character - the Cadian had oddly found himself bonding with him more than most across his small term of service. Yet he didn't bother to reply, instead he found himself gazing out across the Lander's inner compartment. Rank after rank of secured Guardsmen; some weathered veterans, others freshly conscripted.
He felt for those who had not endured a Landing before, even one not facing the threat of enemy ground fire such as this. After only six months with the Guard, Jecht had already endured twelve, each one more gut wrenching than the last.
Aptly named 'The Falling,' it involved the Landing Cataphract switching off all engine power once it reached the upper atmosphere, resulting in a controlled freefall towards the ground below. At about four hundred feet from the surface the Lander's counter thrusters would deploy, saving all from certain death.
The purpose of this was apparently to reduce the risk of enemy fire, yet the shock trooper guessed it had more to do with building up the adrenaline in the two thousand odd guardsmen that would then charge blindly from the craft into hell or worse. Nevertheless, he had survived up until now and that was what held importance.
As if from nowhere a thunderous, growling roar rose up from beneath them, the Lander's take off thrusters igniting into action. Slowly but surely the massive Cataphract shifted forward, speeding up as the opening blast doors released the vacuum of space on the Hangar bay.
His knuckles glowing white around the his rifle, Jecht prayed silently to the Emperor.
With the Lander inclining towards the menacing, brooding shape of Carsus, the familiar feel of the Battle Cruiser's artificial gravity rapidly gave way to that of weightlessness. Indeed, the heavy seat restraints became the only thing stopping the 42nd taskforce from forming a floating mass of bodies and equipment. It was the calm before the storm that Jecht knew all too well.
The Lander shuddered very slightly. Then again. Jecht closed his eyes, clenching his teeth until the tendons of his neck were plainly visible above his collar. He knew what was coming, or so he thought. The shuddering continued, now without pause. Soon it had risen to a loud rattle as the Cataphract broke through the outer layers of ozone. Alongside the rattle emerged a slight, growling rumble, also growing in intensity with each passing second.
The minutes passed and so rose the tension in the air, the craft visibly shaking and the noise outside now a deafening roar. Jecht pulled his knees up to his chest, a look of pain etched across his face. It seemed as if his ears were about to rupture, yet the barrage of sound still continued to magnify. He felt like crying out but managed to force his mouth shut, It will end, soon. Ignore it, he told himself, pressing his hands hard over his ears.
As if some higher force had heard him, the terrible roaring suddenly subsided. They had broken through.
Around the hold, the newer recruits were instantly identified with a simultaneous gasp of relief, the more seasoned guardsmen simply consigning themselves to the greater horror to come.
Yet their expectations were shattered in an instant; the cataphract rocked wildly under the force of a huge explosion. At the opposite side of the Lander's interior, a wide section of the craft's metal hull simply broke away, taking with it several rows of screaming guardsmen. In its place remained a gaping hole, outlined by several sharp sections of twisted, smouldering metal, like the maw of some alien monstrosity.
Outside, the clouds loomed dark and ominous, angry giants belligerent to the presence of the Lander. Those teetering on the brink of the rift screamed in terror, desperately clawing at their nearest passengers to try and hold on. Stunned by the unexpected explosion, the hulking vessel seemed to hang in the air, the wind howling through its inner compartment, guiding the sickly smell of molten iron throughout the hold.
The seconds passed. Only the wind and the whimpering disturbing the otherwise shocked silence of the Cataphract's interior. The pilots were somehow keeping the it aloft with thruster power alone, yet they couldn't keep it up Jecht knew. They had to drop.
As if on cue the metal Behemoth lurched violently to one side, sending several more men spiralling off through the hole and into oblivion, their screams dying in the wind. For a few final seconds the craft held suspended, as if reluctant to drop to its grizzly demise. Gravity would have its just reward.
The Lander's thrusters fizzled to nothing, sending the huge vessel into freefall. Manoeuvred by the now deafening wind, it veered awkwardly onto its back, plummeting the guardsmen headfirst towards the hive city below. The prior stench of smouldering iron quickly dissipated to a new, vile odour; that of vomit.
Outside, the clouds raced past with incredible speed, illuminated magnificently against the cold, blue sky. Nice view to meet the end, Jecht thought, struggling desperately against the accumulated forces to gaze through the rift. He felt strangely relieved, the nightmare couldn't have held any omen if he was to die here in the Lander. A smile even began to play across his lips.
For what seemed like hours the descent continued, prolonging the inevitable, final conclusion. Most of those inside the Lander were silent now, resigned to accept their fate. Some were deep in prayer, making their peace with the Emperor. Others simply sat stunned, dumbfounded as to how they could meet such an end before even touching down.
Or would they meet it now? Beneath them Jecht felt something shifting. Something was fighting back against gravity. Indeed! The pilots were trying to right the huge machine! Surely an impossible task, yet he could sense it, the counter-thrusters were humming into life once more.
Slowly at first, the Lander began to turn in mid-air. Others began to notice it too, tearing themselves from prayer or trance. Soon the craft was no longer upside down but on one side, the gaping hole in its hull now showing the first glimpses of Hive Hyphereon, stretching out across the planet's surface in all its majesty, several miles below. A final push from the thrusters and the Cataphract righted itself, dropping towards the city as designed. Looking across the hold, Jecht saw the relief written clearly across the face of each and every man. The Emperor had given them another chance. For now.
After another few minutes of plummeting freefall, the descent began to slow, all power being diverted to the flaring counter-thrusters which had become their saviour. Outside, the taller spires and megaplexes of the city were now visible. The rain soaked structures glimmered like ice against the constant flash of lightning and echo of thunder.
"After all that an' they can't even give us nice weather to drop into," spoke Corporal Mecca somewhere to Jecht's left. The squad allowed themselves a nervous laugh, all trying to shake off the trauma of their prior near miss.
The Lander's descent slowed to a final, agonising depression, its cargo bracing themselves for the inevitable impact. They would have to trust their harnesses now, if they failed on landing, the result would be a shattered spine.
Rain poured in through the rift in the hull, driven by the fierce gales that resounded outside. It was already plain to see that they were well off course. A vast ocean stood visible a short distance away, lashing furiously at a crumbling harbour wall that spanned for miles around the Hive peninsula. Whatever caused the explosion high above had unintentionally sent them spiralling off to a different part of the city, apparently some sort of dockland area.
Without warning the Cataphract touched down, its suspension struggling audibly to contain the brunt of the powerful impact. Plumes of dust billowed up through the gaping wound in the hull, choking and blinding those inside.
Jecht felt the restraints of his seat pull tightly as the metal Behemoth slammed to a halt, sucking him in to the recesses of the padded chair. He breathed a huge sigh of relief, offering a silent praise to the Emperor. Number thirteen, survived, he thought with a sigh, readying his rifle for departure.
In unison, the strap harnesses snapped open and slid back into their chairs, releasing the guardsmen from captivity. The metal window shutters slid open again, bathing the hold with the dull grey light from outside, "Get moving dogs! Whatever hit us up there probably wants to finish the kill, regroup on me once we're away from the Lander!" Jecht found himself relieved to hear his sergeant's voice, thankful that Valerie had survived.
All around them the exit doors hissed and fizzled as they blew outwards, the automated drop ramps swiftly deploying in their wake. The men raced from every exit, even jumping out of the hull tear, all desperate to be away from the Cataphract that had so nearly killed them all. As Jecht made his way to the nearest ramp he looked about the emptying hold, at least half a dozen men still rigid in their seats, necks broken. A cruel twist of irony that these men could be spared once, only to die on landing. His gaze dropped to the floor as he turned away from them.
Once outside, the Shock Trooper was greeted by the full force of a Carsus downpour, soaking through to his skin in seconds. Looking around he saw his assumptions of a dockland were correct, huge warehouses and cargo cranes towered above even the Lander's hulking form. Several huge ships still stood anchored in the harbour, their cargo apparently half unloaded. One of the vast vessels had been blown half to pieces, its rotting decks exposed to the elements and its stern wholly submerged beneath the surging brown-grey waves. Turning his attention in the opposite direction, he quickly registered the sight of several other Landers plummeting towards the ground, their thrusters engaging just as they disappeared behind the concrete and steel horizon of infrastructure, albeit several miles away.
The Cadian spotted Sergeant Valerie, the entirety of sixth platoon gathering around him, "Alright men, Lieutenant Omagh didn't make it. As such I'll be taking command as acting sergeant major of this platoon until we're commissioned a new JO. So forever in other words," his humour found a warm welcome, even amongst the mass of still-shocked guardsmen, "As you can probably guess we're slightly off target here, about five clicks southwest of our intended LZ at the south gate. Our first priority is to get the heavier equipment and weaponry inside out of this weather. About two hundred metres north of here stands the dockyard cargo link, used to transport manpower and goods to and fro between the docks and main Hive. We need to move fast in case we get targeted aga…" the sergeant paused, his gaze fixed steadily on the sky above. A mixed look of shock and awe was etched across his features, the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his left cheek guiding the rain from his face, "Holy Throne…"
Jecht followed Valerie's unwavering gaze to the clouds above, his own face quickly matching that of his sergeant's. Bursting through the shifting cloud bank in the wake of the landers, came a hail of ice blue spheres, huge balls of glowing bio plasma tearing towards the earth below. Like comets they arced in all directions, tails stretching out far behind. Most inclined towards the other Landers but some seemed to break from the main pack and plummet towards the 42nd's own vessel, "We've got incoming! Get moving, one piece of equipment each and head towards the link facility! Weaponry first, ammo second! Move move!" roared the burly sergeant, darting off towards the Lander bay storage himself, the platoon following closely. Jecht grabbed for one side of a heavy Auto-Cannon casing, Quentin taking hold of the other. Together they staggered off towards the Cargo link, half running, half limping under the weight of the heavy weapon, spurred on by the threat of orbital bombardment.
As they ran, so the swirling balls of energy began to connect with the surface of Hyphereon, sending vast, dome shaped explosions high into the air. Soon the warehouses dotted about the lander began to echo with the same explosions, the ear-splitting sound rivalling that of the angry thunderclouds above. Plasma fires were already beginning to tear through the docklands area, defiant against the heavy downpour as the barrage continued. With his free hand, Jecht shielded his eyes as ahead of him an entire squad disappeared inside an explosion, atomised by the superheated plasma.
He could see the Link facility now, it's adamantium structure impervious to the barrage. Anxiously he dared a glance up at the sky, making sure that no malignant orb headed for him or Quentin. Yet the sight he was greeted with gave him pause to stop altogether, his jaw dropping in steadfast awe.
Bursting through the clouds came one of the colossal Battle Cruisers that carried the Landing Craft to Carsus. Its hull stood ravaged by vast scars, glowing like magma through layer after layer of exposed decks and inner chambers. It leaned heavily to one side; the ship's landing thrusters desperately struggling to slow its lethal descent. Around it swarmed and spiralled half a dozen smaller vessels, dodging and weaving past the Cruiser's frantic firepower, all the while unleashing wave after wave of their own assault on the crippled ship like a pack of wolves hunting a wounded bison.
"Throne almighty that's the Gallant, one of the Mordians' own, it's being blown to pieces!" rose the voice of Quentin as they watched the death throes of the massive Cruiser side by side. One of the strange, alien craft fell limp as a lucky lance shot from the Gallant blew through its pink-yellow hull, sending it plummeting towards the ocean below, a mass of tentacles writhing and twisting in its wake.
As it dropped closer and closer to the murky water, escape craft and escort fighters began to disembark from the Gallant's hangar bays, breaking towards land to try and escape the attack. As they did so, a multitude of smaller craft took off from the undersides of the alien ships, keen to let nothing escape.
Before long the air around the cruiser was alive with dogfights, the imperial fighters struggling to buy the escape pods time to reach land. The resulting aerial explosions stained the brooding sky in all directions with the incandescent blossoms of crimson fireballs. Jecht winced as a lone Thunderbolt flew close overhead, two alien fighters hard on its tail, their strange weaponry filling the air with a screeching whine.
Looking up to the newly formed break in the cloud bank, the Cadian once again found himself awestruck. A gargantuan, mushroom shaped vessel hung in low orbit like some cruel portrait, easily the same size as Hive Hyphereon, perhaps even larger, "What the hell is going on here?" he asked aloud, unsure what to make of the situation.
"Nids." came Corporal Mecca's sullen reply as he jogged past, a rocket launcher slung across one shoulder, his own flamer across his back. With his free hand his gestured for Jecht and Quentin to follow, "Had to be Emperor damned Nids."