"Cain, this is Saur. One enemy MBT en route to your location."
Cain Clicked his Vox once to confirm he received the message.
looking out across to the East, the vast hangar loomed about a kilometre away on the other side of the flat, featureless vehicle park.
Sure enough, a lone Battle tank, one of the many variants of Leman Russ by Cain's reckoning, painted in the same dull grey drab as the PDF trooper's uniforms, was barrelling along at some speed towards their location.
A bright red outline appeared around the vehicle on Cain's HUD as his helm tracked it's movement, the word THREAT appearing in bold text above it.
No sooner had Cain linked the targeting information to his squad when the tank fired, it's main cannon belching smoke and flame, launching an armour piercing shell through the air at frightening speed.
The shell landed some metres to the front of the trench, the resulting explosion throwing up a plume of debris adding mud and permacrete to the rain that was beating down on top of Cain's warriors.
The Astartes to Cain's left, a usually stoic brute by the name of Daggar, let out a sharp laugh, distorted to a bark of noise by his external speakers.
"What do those Emperor damned scum expect to hit when running their engines flat out?" He snarled.
Cain shrugged, servos in his armour whining as they struggled to replicate the human Gesture.
"They are PDF brother, outclassed even by the Imperial Guardsmen we fight beside. I'm surprised they got that close."
Daggar grunted in response, his way of conceding the point.
The Russ fired again as it powered on, this shell landing some distance to their rear, further away than the first and equally useless.
Cain waited until it was within five hundred metres of the trench before voxing to his own heavy weapon.
"Vengeance, kill it."
The vindicator's tracks whined as it traversed, grinding on the spot to find the correct aiming spot.
The huge hull mounted Demolisher cannon boomed, the concussive force of it firing so close to the trench could be felt even through power armour, the twelve veteran warriors involuntary leaning forward as invisible forces sought to push them over.
The shell hit the ground directly in front of the speeding Leman Russ, launching it into the air, on fire, the wreck seeming to freeze in mid air for just a moment, lazily performing a back flip as it's forward momentum carried it onward. The once fearsome machine crashed down onto it's roof, it's chassis, enduring forces it was never built to withstand simply collapsed, violently imploding into itself as it hit the permacrete.
Before the burning wreckage had slid to a halt, the sound of 20 pairs of power armoured boots thumping onto hard ground caught Cain's attention, the tactical squads of Phaeron and Nicholye running to join the fight.
The thunderhawk they had just deployed from roared overheard, closing the last five hundred metres to the South entrance of the Spaceport in a heartbeat and launching a volley of hellstreak missiles at the exposed attackers before banking away sharply to avoid any potential incoming from heavier weapons.
It needn't have bothered, for the enemy forces were armed with no more than lasguns.
A ripple of explosions tore through the traitor ranks, maiming and killing dozens, forcing everyone in close proximity to hit the deck momentarily.
The Entrance to the Spaceport was pretty open, offering no decent cover to potential attackers, bar the huge, ornate support pillars that held up the covered entrance, the true entrance being recessed some twenty metres back from this false roof in order to keep important travellers from having to stand in the rain.
The lack of cover was not a problem for the attackers, as the Spaceport was built on a natural incline, meaning a large stone staircase had to be climbed to reach the doorway where it had been levelled off some millennia before, keeping any approaching person in the dead ground until the last moment.
This meant that the attackers could walk right up to the gothic majesty of the front door without being fired upon.
Realising this fact the defenders had pulled back into the terminal building, fixing their heavy weapons onto a raised balcony overlooking the entryway and cleared firing lanes looking straight at the door.
Led by a Colonel Jemiah Davise, the men of the 36th "Emperor's own" Ryanthis Light infantry were the most battle hardened unit on all of the Western hemisphere, having been engaged with purging unruly criminal elements alongside the local enforcer units of Cortunna for ten years now.
The three hundred men manning the defences were well armed and determined, having prepared the starport for siege by blocking all but the main entrances with welded barricades, as well as covering all windows with heavy flakboard.
Knowing that his rebellious enemy would not risk damaging the sacred structure of the Starport, named after the minor Saint Ryan himself, Davise had been content to sit back and let the rebels throw themselves at his guns, allowing the choke points to do most of the work for him.
They had then simply shot anyone that entered within the last 3 hours.
Frustrated by their lack of progress, the traitor commanders had stalled the assault proper until they had planned anew, occasionally probing with a couple of bodies at a time while they wondered what the hell they were going to do without heavy weapons.
It did not look good.
Cain's Veterans leapt from the trench and set off at a sprint in a loose firing line, each ten man tactical squad taking a flank and keeping in line with their commander.
A barrage of Las fire met them head on, most of it missing at this range, the traitor troops quickly recognising that this new enemy was a much greater threat than the loyalists they had previously been attempting to kill and bringing their small arms to bear.
Bellowing Sergeants organised their men into gunlines, the incline of the steps allowing practically the entire battalion to open fire at once, filling the sky with glittering purple flashes of light.
Cain's force chewed up the distance in impressive time, nearing optimum firing range in under seven seconds. The Veteran Sergeant tore his gaze away from the densely packed body of enemy troops and stole a glance at the mission chrono on his HUD.
Six minutes.
It had been six minutes since the tracks of his Razorback had touched solid ground, deploying the instruments of the Emperor's wrath to tear the enemy from this world.
Too slow.
Cain thought, chastising himself for conducting operations at this leisurely pace.
We don't have time for this.
He would pay penance for this weakness.
Cain factored that he only had another 16 minutes before the second mechanised battalion struck through the city to the North, if he hadn't secured the port by then, then the difficulty in holding it would increase tenfold, especially if the enemy decided to put their supporting tank units to good use.
"Engage." The Veteran Sgt voxed to his tactical units, before skidding to one knee mid stride and opening fire with his squad. Phaeron's squad to his left did exactly the same, with Neyf and Nicholye's squads continuing to dash forward. The Razorbacks, trundling behind the tactical advance also opened up, scything down the front ranks of the enemy with punishing fire.
Cain and his men put down a wall of bolts, each Marine tracking and engaging individual targets with inhuman speed, each bolt fired hit home against a human form, each one lethal.
Once they had pulled ahead by roughly twenty or so metres, Neyf and Nicholy went static, adding their fire to the mix.
This was the signal for Cain to move, his squads rising as one and sprinting forward, being covered all the while by fire from his opposite number and the transports.
This was the routine they set for themselves over the next minute or so, a disciplined type of fire-and-manoeuvre, gaining ground rapidly while maintaining a constant rate of fire.
Soon they had reached the bottom of the staircase, a trail of shattered bodies in their wake, the enemy now on the back foot and slowly pulling back, all the while bunching up at the rear, unwilling to meet the defenders guns.
Cain looked around and decided to use this break in terrain as a logical point to up the pace again.
The retreating guardsmen remained in force all the way up to the entryway, at least two hundred of them remaining, pouring a constant hail of fire into their attackers, relentlessly loading and firing for dear life, hoping to drop at least one of the hulking warriors before them.
To Cain it felt like a heavy hail, las bolts dinging from his armour with such frequency that it had become background noise, the veteran prayed to his armour's machine spirit to hold firm under the assault, dismayed at how it must look on the outside while he let an empty mag drop from his bolter, slamming a fresh one home before the spent one had even hit the floor.
No time for returning empties to pouches, they could be gathered later.
"GRENADES!"
He exclaimed over his external speakers rather than using his vox, his guttural tones distorted to a truly inhuman bark when amplified by the helm's internal devices. It was intended to demoralise the already near-to-breaking point enemy, as well the more obvious intention of blowing them to shreds.
Thirty two Frag grenade immediately sailed through the air on this command, towards the exposed traitors on the steps.
Cain aimed his directly at a particularly loud squad sergeant who was red faced and angry while bellowing orders to his men, delighting as the small cylinder whacked into his face, snapping the head back at an unnatural angle before Cain lost sight of him in a hail of frag. The almost simultaneous explosions turned the first couple of ranks into mince, Marine weapons back up and firing before a single body had time to fall.
"BASELINE!"
Cain yelled, indicating to his men to let rip on automatic, continuing to fire without pause until ordered to stop.
The Astartes stood shoulder to shoulder, raking the enemy with an intense hail of bolts, decimating flak armoured forms while a carpet of empty shell casings formed around their feet, the hollow tinkling sound they made unheard against the deafening roar of the weapons.
Cain Reloaded twice in the barrage, firing nearly a hundred rounds alone in the space of under thirty seconds.
With thirty marines doing this, they were quickly left with a lot of corpses and a couple of dozen wounded and shellshocked traitors, broken and running for their lives to the top of the staircase.
Vengeance stopped most of them in their tracks with its teeth shuddering report, the impressive ordnance shell placing itself just at the top of the staircase, right in the centre of the retreating pack.
Those nearest the blast were simply vaporised, bodies turned to the consistency of water by the shockwave then immediately evaporated by the heat, leaving not a trace of their existence behind. Those slightly further away were shredded into streaks of offal, shards of meat and bone adding to the fragmentation that ripped into those furthest from the blast, flinging them off their feet, the bigger pieces of shrapnel lopping off limbs or disembowelling their victims.
Fire and smoke from the blast billowed up and reached the false roof, obscuring the scene to un-augmented eyes and hiding the fate of those unfortunate few to be blown clear of the blast, wounded, directly into the line of fire of the defender's heavy bolters.
The staccato rattle of belt fed heavy weapons ended their suffering.
A single arm, not a scratch on it, flopped down the stairs towards the Astartes, attached to a smoking lump of torso and half a head, before coming to rest by an equally dead comrade. The hand was fixed into a clawing motion, as if holding the invisible pistol grip of a rifle no longer there.
Then, there was silence.
When the dust had settled, all that was left of the top of the stair case was a jagged crater and a mass of tangled corpses. Even one of the mighty support pillars, stood motionless for over a thousand years, enduring the elements and whatever else nature could throw at it had fallen, shattered, to the ground.
Cain made a mental note to commend the gunner of Vengeance, a young battle brother by the name of Draik. That shot deserved praise.
Reloading his bolter yet again, Cain took stock of his situation, He only had three mags for his bolter left, and 5 for his bolt pistol. He switched his fire selector back to single shot before thinking what to do next.
The enemy attacking forces dead, Phase 1 of the operation was complete, the hard part yet to come. Clearing the Starport in time to muster an effective defence against the Northern traitor battle group would be time consuming, fighting an enemy with heavy weapons in tight confines always was.
Still, it was exactly the type of fighting Flesh Tearers excelled at.
Cain opened an open vox channel as the tactical squads and Sternguard spread out around him, securing a quick perimeter in Lieu of any further orders.
By now, each element of Strikeforce Reaper should have concluded their initial objectives.
"This is Cain. All squads Report."
"Squad Lorzen, top floor clear, 90 percent ammo, no casualties."
"Squad Saur, All armour destroyed, 90 percent ammo, no casualties."
"Squad Neyf, with you, 30 percent ammo, no casualties."
And so it went, with each squad giving a brief situation report, in order of squad seniority. The tactical units were all low on ammo, an eventuality Cain had prepared for. Right now, the third thunderhawk Would be unloading a pallet containing crates of fresh bolter magazine, grenades, and additional heavy weapons for the upcoming defence.
The assault Squads were far better off, having dealt with most of their threats via close combat or explosives.
Vengeance had only fired its main gun twice in the operation so far, so was practically fully stocked to go. The only logistical problem were the two Razorbacks, each having expended all ammunition in the assault.
They would have to liase with the third thunderhawk after it had dropped the Bolter ammo to receive the second pallet of ammunition, Assault cannon rounds stacked floor to ceiling in the Gunship's hold. The lethal firepower of the transports could not be compromised.
The only anomaly was Gornt, the chaplain having remained silent when it came his turn to report.
"Brother Chaplain, this is Cain. Please report." The Sergeant repeated, annoyed at the delay.
"I am leading the Rage Brethren in prayer, Brother Sergeant. They are compliant for now, but if you do not give us targets soon, I can predict what they will do and it will not be beneficial."
"Control them just a short while longer, Brother Chaplain, I swear by Sanguinius they will find battle again soon."
Gornt snarled his reply, Zealous Fervour etched in every word.
"Aye, they better do Brother Sergeant. Otherwise, the enemy will not be the only ones whose blood is spilled on this day."
Cain killed the link, this wasn't the time to exchange fiery rhetoric.
The sense of urgency Cain felt overrode any desire to maintain petty protocol, there were objectives to complete and a deadline to be met.
This was the Grim reality of war.
Having cogitated all the relevant information, Cain gave the command to advance with Phase two of the mission, taking the Starport proper.
As Cain rose, he noticed a slight stiffness in one knee of his power armour, a slight background whine adding itself to the usual angry hum of servos.
Apologising to the machine spirit of his battle plate for allowing it to suffer such damage, Cain gave a signal and moved off, the Space Marines of Strike force Reaper advancing into Ryan Starport.