Chapter 2

Three thunderhawk gunships screamed from the skies on roaring thrusters, the pilots expertly maintaining a tight wedge formation as they slowed their manic drop towards the planet below.
The wedge consisted of two standard pattern craft, one carrying an underslung vindicator in heavy retaining clamps under its boxy hull, the other bearing no such burden. The third, a transport variant, cradled the Strike force's 2 Razorback transports in its elongated cargo area.
Strapped upright in their restraint harnesses, Veteran squad Cain went through final checks on their personal battle gear, using the relatively mundane tasks to calm the violence in their minds before the inevitable bloodshed.
Oblivious to the gut wrenching turbulence the thunderhawk was battling through in it's violent descent, Cain loaded a long sickle mag into his bolter, racking the charging handle and appreciating the smooth motion of the working parts. He pulled the charging handle to the rear slightly to check that a round had fed into the chamber, old instincts from his scout training never truly going away. The black, snub nosed weapon was unmarked apart from it's original serial number above the pistol grip. Cain had modified the hand guard to incorporate a vertical forward grip for better stability on the move, as was permitted of a Veteran of his standing but otherwise the weapon had remained unchanged for millenia. Satisfied, he let the bolter hang from its thick leather sling as he repeated the drill with his bolt pistol, replacing it in his thigh holster once he was done. Glancing around the red-lit interior of the Razorback, Cain regarded the 5 Battle brothers accompanying him in this combat squad.

All were similarly adorned, their armour festooned with kit pouches to accommodate special ammo loads as well as all manner of personalised combat blades and other trinkets to establish their personal identity. The one thing that unified their appearance, aside from chapter colours, was the oath scroll around each marine's right thigh guard, each one inscribed with whatever the warrior wanted to achieve on this particular mission. Their suits of armour were generally older marks, their surfaces pitted and scarred from the 3 years of battle endured on this patrol arc but otherwise perfectly functional.
Along with the other 6 veteran brothers in the rear Razorback, Cain recognised that he and his men were rare, a breed apart in a chapter born of carnage and bloodshed and nothing else. Individually chosen by Seth to form dedicated squads of Bolter brothers, the cool headed nature of the Sternguard formed a logical centre point of calm for the less blessed brothers to fight around.

Seth believed that by incorporating these squads into each company he could temper the uncontrollable rage of his brothers by some small degree.
The ability to keep one's cool was a highly prized commodity among the sons of Sanguinius.
Cain looked to each of his brothers, testing his helm's target lock ability as the machine spirit followed his gaze and outlined each warrior in turn in white, identifying them as friendlies.

He blink-clicked a reticule overlay into place, which in turn brought up his bolter auto sense link, a small arrow indicating that his Bolter's point of aim was outside his periphery. He brought the weapon up and a reticule snapped into his vision, Cain's mouth silently reciting the litany of aiming as he locked onto an internal bulkhead.
The Veteran Sergeant grinned inside his helmet as he was reassured for the tenth time by his wargear's consistency.
The Thunderhawk lurched suddenly, the turbulence rapidly replaced by the steady roar of afterburners and the sensation of smooth acceleration.
They had levelled out.
This meant that they were close to the target destination.
As if on cue, the voice of Arnod, pilot of Cain's thunderhawk, crackled over the vox.
"2 minutes to insertion point."
Cain Blink-clicked in confirmation and saw all 5 runes on his visor representing the fellow squad members light green momentarily.
In his mind's eye, Cain imagined the lead thunderhawk powering away from its brothers now, maintaining altitude as the other two continued their steady descent, racing to drop it's deadly cargo.
Incidentally, this was exactly what was occurring.

Sergeant Saur could hear nothing but his own breathing. The corners of his vision blurred as he stared at the gunmetal grey floor of the thunderhawk, not really seeing anything. His teeth were fixed in a snarl, the grip of his gauntleted hand so strong on the overhead rail he would later discover he left indentations in it.
Saur knew that now the other craft were deploying to the South to commence their mechanised assault, he knew that the strike force was outnumbered at least 20 to 1 and the success of the mission relied on simultaneous surgical strikes designed to divide and conquer the hated enemy.
He knew all this and a lot more but didn't care for any of it.
He was fixated on the sounds coming through his internal vox unit.
"Kill the Heretic, Burn him, rend the flesh from his bones!" Brother-Chaplain Gornt growled, his voice even more haggard than Cain's, though where Cain's voice was measured and cold, he spoke with the inner fire of a zealot.
"Care not of motive, of reason, of proclaimed innocence, for the act of Heresy condemns them to an eternity of pain. There is only consequence!"
The Death company were chanting something over the howling report of the gunship's engines, but it could barely be heard as their vox units were deactivated.
More animated now, Gornt Raised his Crozius Arcanum to the ceiling of the thunderhawk as he faced his assembled Brethren, his back to the entry ramp of the craft.
The ramp began to lower even as the Gunship decelerated to a practical standstill, the darkened compartment filled now with howling wind and a scything rain that rattled off ceramite and plasteel battle plate like autogun fire.
This display of weather was not even noticed by the Astartes, being stirred into a frenzy by their Spiritual guide.
"RIP THEM APART, DISMEMBER THE ENEMY AND FEAST ON THE REMAINS! TODAY WE KILL EVERYTHING THAT STANDS, FOR SANGUINIUS, AND FOR THE EMPEROR!"
The final word was drawn out into an incoherent roar as Gornt threw himself backwards off the entry ramp, followed immediately by the screaming forms of the death company. The 4 black armoured brothers, former Captain Slaught among them, revved their chainswords at thin air as they dropped into freefall behind the Chaplain. In stark contrast, the bronze armoured shapes of the Sanguinary guard jumped in silence, falling in perfect formation towards their designated objective. Hot on their tails, squads Saur and Cortez leapt from the belly of the formidable craft, Saur being dimly aware of Cortez voxing
"Drop complete" to the pilot as the last man cleared the ramp.
The thunderhawk veered sharply away to the South to commence a holding pattern.
Saur watched as the Death company drifted to the East, their target a large hanger where it was believed a Battalion of traitor infantry was being held to reinforce once the attacking forces had broken the ad-hoc Imperial defence.
The Sanguinary guard peeled to the West, diving directly to the centre of the Sprawling Terminal Hub building, their job was to butcher the surviving defenders from above, linking up the ground assault to strike from both sides . Saur could see massed Las fire whipping back and forth by the Besieged South entrance, the furthest entrance from the city, and Cain's target. Looking North, Saur could just make out smoke trails snaking through the city through the ferocious downpour, evidence of the second mechanised traitor battalion about to join the fight.
Looking directly below, Saur target locked his objective, a red reticule appearing over his chosen target, followed swiftly by 7 faint orange reticules, showing the designated targets of each of his squad members. He knew Cortez would be going through exactly the same process.
As much as Saur wanted to shed blood, he conceded to the fact that some metal had die first, some Guard pattern junk, and he readied a chunky melta bomb in one hand. The other wielded his chain axe, the blessed motor purring as he dropped from the sky with all the grace of a half ton piece of armour and muscle, which consequently, he was.

A bone jarring impact signalled the landing of the razorbacks, tracks already spinning full speed in anticipation of the rolling dustoff. The thunderhawk transporter didn't stop as it deployed it's charges, swooping low to the ground to release it's docking clamps before lifting hard straight away, attempting to rendezvous at altitude with the lead gunship.
By contrast the last Thunderhawk, a regular gunship pattern, had to stop momentarily to release the heavy vindicator it held under its belly, the heavier tank falling into loose formation behind the transports, tracks squealing in protest as the armoured beast fought to keep up. Suddenly free of it's burden, the thunderhawk powered low over the top of the speeding razorbacks to start a strafing run.
Looking at the crew monitors, Cain saw a 360 degree view around the troop carrier as it sped to the objective, thanks to many ocular devices attached to the outside. The second razorback was to their right, keeping line with Cain's own while it powered across a flat landing pad, Lucifer pattern engine roaring at an unnerving pitch.
The first port of call was an old trench system, a millennia old throwback to the days when the starport and Cortunna were part of a PDF garrison.
To his credit, whoever the commander of the Traitor PDF forces was had the foresight to man the trenches as he advanced on the starport, lest he be caught in a counter attack from behind. He had also left a troop of armoured vehicles, which to be honest was the only reason Cain didn't just ignore it as an objective.
Though, the forces he left could have never expected what was about to attack them.
Cain watched as the Thunderhawk opened up, Slack jawed PDF troops not quite believing what was happening as their chimeras exploded behind them.
The battle cannon and lascannon batteries opened up simultaneously, obliterating the three troops transports before they even had a chance to move, robbing the lightly armed mech infantry of their primary firepower.
Swooping low over the trenches, the human troops instinctively ducked as the gunship shrieked overhead, the pilot pulling hard Gs as he threw the craft into a tight 180 degree turn. Happy with the destruction it had brought upon the enemy armour, the gunship moved behind Cain's advance in preparation for it's next tasking.
Cain estimated roughly a 100 men had been left in the trenches as rearguard, an under strength company at best, with practically no heavy weaponry.
They were doomed from the start.
A few single shots of las fire glittered past, the bright red beams of light sizzling as they burnt the moisture in their flight path. Those shots quickly turned into a barrage as the guardsmen regained their bearings and recognised the imminent threat of 3 armoured vehicle bearing down on them, appearing like something from their worst nightmares through the rain. They poured their fire into the 2 razorbacks, each impact sounding to Cain as though someone was outside throwing stones at the armour, and having about as much effect.

The drivers waited until they were within 100 metres of the trenches before returning fire, the tell tale sound of motorised barrels spooling up marking the first traitor's violent deaths.
A sound not unlike what Cain imagined would happen if the sky itself tore open signalled the retaliation, both razorback's twin linked assault cannons firing nearly in unison, causing the Veteran Sergeant to smile inside his helmet. The razorback turrets panned left and right, unleashing hell at the hapless traitors, the impacts of thousands of shells throwing up plumes of permacrete and mud around the trenches as a score of traitor PDF were kicked off their feet by armour piercing rounds. In nano-seconds, every man directly in front of the transports was dead, their flak armour offering no protection against the high velocity ammo drilling through their frames, splattering their comrades with gore as they slumped into the bottom of the trench.
Almost immediately the las fire reduced to a trickle, a third of their number dead, the remaining PDF instinctively ducked for cover rather than face the fearsome firepower on display.
The Driver's chose this moment to slam on their brakes, bringing the transports to a juddering halt no more than 50 metres away from the trenches, the exit ramps crashing down onto the hard standing while the assault cannons pulverised the trench defenders.
Cain's squad hit the release runes on their restraint harnesses as one and filed out the rear of their vehicle at a sprint, peeling to the left of the razorback and spreading out in a firing line, the other 6 members of the stern guard pulling an exact mirror image of the manoeuvre some 20 metres to Cain's right, under the command of squad leader veteran Neyf.
Once his last man was in position, Cain voxed his driver to raise the ramp and advance and the squad rose as one, Cain noting a momentary flash of polished bronze falling from the sky ahead as he moved.
Stalking forward at a brisk walk with weapons in the aim, Cain's squad of veterans started banging off single shots at the defenders, miserable looking figures in urban camo fatigues toting simple machine stamped lasguns, the precision fire exploding among any traitor brave enough to stick his head up. Within seconds they were at the trench line where they stopped and opened up on automatic, mercilessly gunning down the majority of the surviving traitors. Cowering among their own dead, explosive bolts tore soft bodies apart in a visceral display of astartes power, leaving an unrecognisable slurry of meat and bone spread along the length of the trench in the wake of the Bolter's thunderous report..
One or two PDF troopers who had somehow survived the assault clambered out of the trenches and attempted to run, managing no more than 5 paces before being calmly dispatched with a bolt to the head, their skulls bursting like over ripe melons from the impact.
Cain ordered his squad into the trench, jumping down onto the viscera of mangled corpses to take a knee and wait momentarily for the next move.
He noted with slight interest that the Traitor's uniforms were not defiled in any way, their armour and helmets still proudly bore the imperial Aquila, and none bore any heretical slogans or symbols that usually marked the early signs of a full blown rebellion.
A point to be pondered later, perhaps.
Their armoured bulk barely fitting into the trench, Cain's squad reloaded in pairs, one brother covering while the other changed magazine with an innate economy of motion, reloading one's weapon as natural as breathing to these genhanced warriors. No words or signals were given, the Astartes simply acted in unison, a product of decades of relentless fighting and training together.
A ripple of explosions sounded to the East, a mixture of dull thuds, the signature sound of melta bombs, and the more sporadic booms of ammunition and fuel tanks detonating.
Saur and Cortez are getting to work.
Cain thought with a smile.