Once again, I claim no ownership to any GM material here. Just as an aside, I have been restless of late, only working on the second chapter of Forklovia when I decided, hey; why not write about the Battle of Hellgate! So, this is the first chap.
Resting his head against the side of the shaking Thunderhawk gunship, Sergeant Mepesto, of the Warhawks 2nd Company, focused his thoughts and carefully reviewed his objectives, planning the route he and his squad would take from the maps he had committed to memory two days before.
The world of Greta Minor was a standard Imperial world with a population of about one-hundred million people, with weak PDF forces and few defenses, for the world was far removed from the obvious war-zones of the Ultima Segmentum and the Cadian Gate. It was weak and unprepared for the hell-storm of revolt that engulfed it. A massive underground cult had permeated every strata of the world and the Adeptus Arbites, the infamous Judges that kept order on every Imperial World, were massacred from within their stony, sheer walled Precinct-Houses. The few loyal PDF regiments found themselves being attacked from all sides, by their fellow PDF troopers, by their officers, by the very populace, armed with guns and munitions taken from the Governors secret arsenal and the Arbites. With a week, cultists had total control of the planet, except for a single Interrogator. Jonas Hemoces was his name, and before he was torn apart by braying mobs of blood-mad cultists, he managed to transmit a single distress call.
The mighty Warhawks Battle Barge Swooping Flame was on a recruiting trip for the Second and Fourth Companies, when the distress beacon was intercepted. With two standard weeks, the Swooping Flame was in high orbit around the world and would have destroyed the planet with cyclonic torpedoes until the Second Company Captain, Gregor Mankiller, found a document, dating back several thousand years, about some relics contained on the world. These relics included a set of archaic power-armor, which once belonged to the Warhawks. Thus, the world had to be retaken, in the Emperors name.
Mepesto's first objective was to secure a nearby PDF barracks, located on a strategic hill and provide a base of fire for a fast-moving wedge of armor that would punch towards the capital of New Hope. An ironic name, the grizzled Sergeant thought, the Space Marines is this world's new hope. After the cultist lines had been breached by the armor, Mepesto's squad would rejoin the main advance and push into the capital, where the set of armor was believed to be. He had personally been tasked with securing the power-armor by Captain Gregor himself. He smiled proudly to himself; he had fought at the Captains side for two decades and bore his scars with pride. However, he had no idea what the fourth company was up to.
A close shell-burst snapped Mepesto out of his revere. He leaned his head forward again and looked around the armored bay of the Thunderhawk and the three squads of Warhawks strapped in there. Closest to him was his squad. Lucis, with a gigantic plasma-cannon, was next to him, Salk, with his melta-gun, sat across from the Sergeant. In the middle of the hold, sat Jengo's devastator squad, behind them sat Sergeant Korpes tactical squad.
"Fifteen seconds!" came a voice in Mepesto's vox-link, and into the vox of every Marine in the hold. It was the serf-pilot, his voice sounding strained even over the static hiss of the vox.
Mepesto switched to external vocalization with a thought, his deep and commanding voice cutting through the ever present shell-fire, "Brothers, today we take the fight to the foul minions of the dark gods! They deserve nothing but hatred and death! So let's give it to them!" The little jest had these battle-hardened Space Marines smiling inside their helmets, a few laughing.
"Five seconds!" again came the serf-pilot. The Thunderhawk was shaking violently now, and small-arms fire rattled against the armored sides, with larger rounds occasionally punching through, leaving shafts of bright light penetrating the red-hazard lighted gloom of the interior.
With a bone-jarring crash, the Thunderhawk touched down on its landing talons and with a pneumatic pop and hiss, the back hatch of the gunship flew open to land with a clang.