The shooting drop pods were suddenly surrounded on all sides by Valkyrie Transports and Vulture Gunships. Those pods whose auto correction systems weren't scrambled veered outside of their vectors, while the others weren't so fortunate. From the cockpit of his Valkyrie, Darius watched the chaos spreading through the flight of transports. To his starboard side, Darius' wingman was struck by a passing pod, tearing his wing off and sending the ship into a tumble. Darius's set his own gunship into a dive to avoid the conflagration of the two vessels mid air connection. However, this swift manoeuvre threw his ship into a spin, and Darius struggled to regain control of the bird as it continued its downward spiral.

He was vaguely aware of his navigator and co-pilot shouting behind him, but he drowned them out, focusing on leveling out. He finally regained control, no hailstorm of drop pods was about to stop him. Darius took a short moment to view the chaos above him. The air fleet was scattering to avoid collision with the passing drop pods, the telltale bursts of orange and yellow indicating where the craft connected with less fortunate pilots. Poor fools, he thought. Some pilots just lacked the stomach for close air manoeuvres, unlike him. Drop pods or no, he had a job to do.

His inner braggart got its comeuppance soon enough. Weaving in between a pair of hurtling pods, a third struck the ship squarely in the middle. Darius found his ship performing a ninety degree vector change. The starboard engine detonated, tearing the wing off with it.

The sudden shift threw his co-pilot violently into the cockpit canopy, snapping his neck on the glass covering. Darius could hear screams coming from the troop bay as soldiers tumbled out of their seats and were thrown about like discarded toys. Loud metallic thumps echoed across the top of the valkyrie as warning klaxons wailed indicating an imminent impact with the ground. Darius tried one last time to bring his ship about. Too little, too late. The Valkyrie slammed into the ground, crushed by the weight of the Drop Pod that had smashed into it in midair.

In a daze, Darius felt hot blood pooling around his waist. He tried to look down, but found he could not move his head; his spine had been shattered by the crash. As his blood poured out of his flight suit, sparks flying from his cockpit's damaged circuitry, he heard the sound of someone moving outside his broken cockpit. The last image he saw from his permanent stare at his cockpit canopy was of a hulking red figure with glowing green eyes, sending an armoured boot at his head.

'Keep firing! Don't let up as long as you stand!'

The air was punctuated by the repeating bursts from Denmor's heavy bolter as he and Cyrus covered the squad's retreat. An ever growing pile of guardsmen lay in their wake, more victims clambering over the corpses of their fallen comrades and into the marines' line of fire. Cyrus hefted his large calibre sniper rifle and lodged it into the crook of his arm. From his overturned rock cover, he scanned for the nearest officer. Eyeing the distinctive uniform of a Commissar, Cyrus took aim.

The scope of his rifle indicated a lock on the target. His hands gripped the stock of the gun harder. He squeezed the trigger, and there was a blinding flash from the muzzle. Searing through the air was a miniature rocket. It travelled swiftly, puncturing the sound barrier, passing by dozens of soldiers, unerring in its accuracy. The Commissar, busy shouting and shooting cowardly guardsman for "inspiration", was unaware of his imminent demise. For a split second, he might have felt the contact, a sudden shock, a brief moment of pain. If he had any doubts about his life, he wouldn't have time to reflect on them. A red smear and an explosion of blood were all that remained of the political officer's face, his blood being splashed across his men, inspiring them to run rather than stand.

A massive red projectile smashed into the hill as the first of the fleeing guardsmen reached its crest. The drop pod's impact sent soldiers flying into the air. Any that could still stand looked up with terror as the pod split open, revealing a hulking figure draped in shadows.

A deep, metallic voice spoke. 'Even in death, I still serve.'

Gouts of flame burst from the pod as a massive Space Marine Dreadnought tore itself free of its harness. With deceptive speed, the ancient warrior grabbed a petrified guardsman in one of its massive claws. Lifting the man into the air, the Dreadnought contemplated its victim for a moment, before slamming the body into the ground repeatedly. The Imperial Guardsmen were frozen with horror.

Denmor took advantage of their stupor, laying torrents of bolter fire into the masses, tearing apart the survivors while the Dreadnought incinerated the stragglers as they sprinted for cover. Cyrus approached the Dreadnought, and bowed with respect. "My thanks, Brother Alexis."

"Captain Cyrus... my drop pod... it was off course. No doubt the work of enemy psykers... they must pay..."

Cyrus nodded. "And they shall, brother. We shall make our stand here. It will be an honour to fight alongside you." He turned to the trio of scouts. "Denmor, stay with me. Vaenor, get Arreth back to the monastery."

"But I-" Vaenor started. Cyrus stopped him.

"No buts, initiate," he said sternly. "Arreth is in no condition to fight. No brother will be left behind so long as I can help it."

"I, yes, Captain, I shall do as you command." said Vaenor.

Cyrus put a hand on his shoulder. "If you are to become a brother, you must learn to work as a team, and rely on each other. Right now, Arreth needs medical attention. He is relying on you. Now, go."

Alexis spoke slowly. "Listen to the Captain, initiate. He speaks wisdom."

Vaenor nodded solemnly. He pulled Arreth over his shoulder, and started the long trek back to the monastery. Cyrus watched him leave before turning back. Two more drop pods had landed nearby, and soon, a dozen full battle brothers were gathered along the ridge. A sergeant approached Cyrus and bowed. "Sergeant Kerax, 6th Company reporting Captain!"

"At ease, sergeant, I need a status report. Communications are dead. What is the situation with the Steel Rain operations?"

Kerax relaxed. "Our strike force was thrown off course when the disruption hit our sensors. We hit a flight of Valkyries. My own drop pod collided with a ship as we passed through the thicket. I managed to link to a vox communication from another downed pod, and we regrouped here by zeroing in on Brother Alexis' signal. Sergeant Mieron's pod landed soon after us."

"Have you had contact with Captain Hethforn, Kerax? What about the 5th Company? Any ideas as to where the bulk of our forces have landed?"

Kerax shook his helmet, "Mieron's men are from 5th, but the vox is dead. We've been on our own for nearly twenty minutes without communications from any other squads. As far as I can tell, we're completely scattered."

Cyrus looked away, frustrated. He'd lost a scout already, another was wounded, the Deep Strike operation had been botched, and Emperor knows how many Marines had gone off course. "We'll hold position until communications are back up. If they aren't restored in ten minutes, we break for the Monastery. This ridgeline overlooks the Guard's approach, and it is a strong defensive position. The creeping barrage has already passed by us, and they won't risk shelling their own tanks. We have a slight advantage."

'Understood captain, brothers, take your positions.' Kerax saluted once more.

"We must... take defensive positions... our enemies approach..." Alexis groaned.

Through his scope, Cyrus sighted a fleet of Chimeras churning across the swamps. He was feeling more confident. The Blood Ravens had more time to set up, and they would be ready. Cyrus would not be taken by surprise again. He loaded a fresh clip into his sniper, and waited. The Blood Ravens spread out along the ridge. Kerax's marines were digging in, while Mieron's assault marines waited further down the hill, ready to jump. "Marines, vox test! Our short range beads might still work." Cyrus said.

"Kerax, Aye!"

"Mieron, Aye!"

"Denmor, Aye!"

"Loxas, Aye!"

"Alexis... Aye!"

"Bron, Aye!"

"Praxus, Aye!"

"Jereth, Aye!"

"Rastor, Aye!"

"Orthel, Aye!"

"Karov, Aye!"

"Wycox, Aye!"

"Arevar, Aye!"

"Breanor, Aye!"

"Squads are ready Captain!" shouted Kerax.

The rumbling of the approaching Chimeras grew louder, their engines grinding as they continued to close the distance with the Marines on the hill. Armoured gauntlets gripped bolters, meltas, rocket launchers, and flamers. Internal working systems on Alexis' Dreadnought clicked and hissed. Sweat poured off of Cyrus' forehead, and for the first time, he noticed that his left eye was obscured by blood. He had been so caught up in fighting that he hadn't noticed the shrapnel lodged in his face. He would need aid, but later.

The Chimeras were now entering firing distance, indicated by the sudden eruption of multilaser fire, crisscrossing beams of orange-red energy passing over the entrenched Battle Brothers. Denmor had not a look of fear or doubt in his eyes, but one of steely determination as he gripped his heavy bolter tighter. Cyrus smiled.

He looked down the scope of his Sniper once more, searching for a target. There, a suitable opponent. A zealous Commissar atop a Leman Russ hatch, waving a sword in the direction of the Blood Ravens. He would make an easy target.

Cyrus squeezed the trigger. "The Emperor Protects."