Alright Folks, this here is my first true fanfiction here on this website. It's based on Spartan-168-Django's story, CRIMSON DAWN: The Imperium Comes To 1984. I liked his idea, so I decided to write my own, only this one set in my own fictional world. Please comment and give likes and feedback, it would be most helpful. With that, I welcome you to Dawn of Victory, a non-canon timeline of my world known as ATARIA.

Enjoy!


Chapter 1

Deus Vult

Orbit over UNKNOWN PLANET, UNKNOWN SYSTEM.
UNKNOWN SEGMENTUM, Battlefleet Scolaris.
Imperial Date-3778029.M42

Lord Admiral Cardin Vallin, Commanding Officer of Battlefleet Scolaris. Faithful servant of the God Emperor of Mankind and member of His Majesties Imperial Navy stared at the beautiful, lush ball glowing in the blackness of space. But Vallin knew what this planet was hiding, insidious heresy.

Battlefleet Scolaris had been supposed to arrive at the Planet of Oralia XXX, to deal with the remnants of Hivefleet Leviathan as part of the returned Primarch Robute Guilliman's new crusade against the Tyranids. However, it seemed that luck was not on their side today. The Warpstorm had been extremely heavy, and it had fried 3 of his psykers as well as driving countless men mad. When they had exited the warp, they arrived at an unfamiliar star system.

The vox picked up transmissions from the 3rd planet in the system. What he saw was a lovely planet, probably a long-lost world that went off the charts during the Dark Age of Humanity. Vallin planned to change that. With 4 Chapters of Adeptus Astartes, Or Space Marines, the Inquisition, a few battle orders of the Adepta Sororitas, and a full battlefleet of 75 ships, and a few hundred ships filled with Colonists he would bring this world back into the folds of the Imperium. After it was adequately purged of any Heresy of course.

He marched quickly to his massive throne in the Centre of the bridge. From the screens, he could see that the Black Templars chapter had already begun to enter their drop pods. No doubt ready to cleanse this world of any adequate traitors. Further away, the Battle Barge's Holy Rose, Sol Vinesia, and Emperor's Mercy were maneuvering into attack position. Further away, the Templars and other Astartes moved into position as well. Seeing no reason to delay the invasion and allow the enemy time to prepare, he allowed a horrific grin to cross his face.

"Begin the landings. Show no Mercy!" Vallin barked over the PA. "All troops, to the Surface!"

Sister Angela Sabriya, 3rd Company, 2nd Squad
Adepta Sororitas Order of the Valorous Heart

Orbit above UNKNOWN possibly Hostile World

Imperial Date -3778029.M42

The drop pod shook as it hurtled downwards toward the planet.

Inside the cramped compartment, the occupants were feeling the G-forces as it headed towards the drop zone. The more experienced were doing last-minute checks on their weapons, and the first-timers were praying. Sister Angela however was doing none of that. Instead, she just watched and felt gravity do its course. Beside her was her young daughter, barely 5 years old. Ayla Sabriya was terrified of it all. Angela held her hand the entire way. She always was a rather "Unorthodox" and "Impenitent" member of an ancient order of warriors dedicated to purging the Alien, the Mutant, the Heretic. All in the name of the emperor. Angela never was one of those fanatics, instead, she was a sort of rebel since Schola Progenium. Everything from her hair which was dark brown instead of white, her child and her rather chill personality never got her any friends aside from her Squad.

Her Squad was the only one who accepted her uniqueness. There was Sister Superior Celestia, the squad leader, Latia the heavy weapons specialist, Agatha and Maria were two others, and finally, there was Mayleena, the green recruit of the bunch.

"Throne, I hate these damn drop pods," grumbled Latia as she did one final check on her heavy bolter. "Feels like getting shot out of the Emperor's arsehole."

"Such vulgarity is unbecoming of a Sister of Battle," chided Sister Superior Celestia, though there was a slight smile on her face. She preferred her warriors to speak their minds plainly.

"Eh let her gripe, we're about to be shot onto some Emperor-forsaken planet. I'd say a little coarse language is fair," said Agatha, snapping the magazine into her bolter with a satisfying click.

Young Sister Mayleena looked positively nauseous, her hands tightly clasping her rosary as she whispered prayers under her breath. Maria gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"First combat drop is always the worst. You'll do fine once the blood gets pumping. Just stay close and follow our lead," said Maria.

Sister Angela grinned at Mayleena before winking. "We'll keep you safe out there. Just have faith in yourself and the Emperor and do not run screaming."

Ayla had buried her face into her mother's side, tiny hands holding tight to Angela's armor. "I'm scared mommy," she whimpered.

"I know honey, but it'll be over soon. Then we'll go get some recaf and sweets planet side, okay?" Angela said soothingly. That finally elicited a small giggle from the child. The pod began to burn as it reached the atmosphere.


Guardsman Valrik Kinzel.108th Cadian Regiment "Crimson Guard"

Currently en Route on Valkyrie Transport towards UNKNOWN PLANET.

The Valkyrie shuddered heavily as it entered the Atmosphere of the planet. Inside the cramped, tight space, the 12 Guardsmen plus their commissar cursed loudly as the shaking increased. Lt Valrik Kinzel tried to hold in his stomach which was threatening to vomit out the rather depressing rations they had had over his Red Flak Armor. Kinzel had served for 18 standard Terran years. He had survived horrific battles where his comrades had instead died. This had led him to be promoted to an officer rank, a lucky thing in what was essentially a suicidal job. Captain Sera, the squad's commander held on to the small overhead straps above. The commissar stood up and raised her power sword, no doubt preparing to give a "Morale raising Speech."

"Listen up" Commissar Kendra screeched. "You fools are now part of the first Wave, the tip of the spear, you should be honored. The moment this thing lands, you kill anything that moves. Am I Understood?"

"Yes Ma'am" the 6 men and woman answered in unison.

Kendra smiled and was preparing to continue when there was a boom. As the squad clambered to the single window, they saw another Valkyrie, Imperis-3 explode into fragments, a second later, something resembling the beam given off from a Lascannon landed a direct hit on an Astartes drop pod. With a boom, the pod was turned into metal slag and debris. Kinzel, in all his years of fighting, had never seen anything like it. It was impossible for ground-based weapons to shoot targets in space and the atmosphere.

"This is Imperis-7…Taking heavy fire…" a terrified Valkyrie pilot's voice entered the Vox. "I…oh Sweet Throne, I'm on fire…I'm burning…It hurts Oh god…Aaarrg..." There was an explosion and the girl's terrified voice fizzled into static.

"Hang on guys, this one's gonna be a pretty tough landing" the voice of Lt Leonhardt, their pilot screamed from the cockpit. "You might wanna settle into your seatbelts, the first time I've ever been shot by a ground-based weapon from the ground in space. It's gonna be one hell of a ride ladies and gentlemen" he cracked a toothy grin before returning his attention to the cockpit.

The squad strapped into their seats, Kinzel hoping that they would survive. Unfortunately, as the blue skies appeared in the window, it got worse. It seemed fate was not on the Imperium's side today. Outside, there was a flash as something resembling a missile slammed into an Inquisition Valkyrie. The squad began to break apart.

"Get yourself together Miya" Commissar Kendra shouted at a Guard member, a brunette girl in tears. "You are a soldier of his Holiness the God-Emperor's Astra Millitarum. You will cease that infernal wee…". Something bounced off the Valkyrie, ripping open a hole, from which the Commissar and 3 unlucky Guardsmen were sent screaming down below.

"Throne-damned hell!" shouted Sgt. Jonas as he watched Kendra and the others plunge out of the gaping hole. "Brace yourselves, lads, we're going down hard!"

The remaining guardsmen scrambled to tighten their harnesses as the Valkyrie spiraled out of control. The pilot was yelling panicked updates from the cockpit, but his words were lost in the chaos.

"Emperor's ballsack, we're hit!" bellowed Leonhardt over the din. "Brace for impact..." there was a crash of something hitting the cockpit. Kinzel watched their pilot, who had, a massive gaping hole in his forehead slump backward in his seat. His brains dripped out, coating the floor of the cockpit in sticky matter.

"Oh, come on!" spat Sergeant Cato as he struggled to unbuckle himself. "The frakking pilot's dead, we're going down!"

The Valkyrie was in an uncontrolled dive, the ground spinning closer at an alarming rate. Kinzel fought back the urge to vomit, his mind racing.

Trooper Miya was hysterical, screaming prayers to the Emperor at the top of her lungs. "Shut that grox-screwing noise up!" roared PFC Jax as he cuffed her hard across the cheek.

Kinzel managed to stagger up to the cockpit, gore squelching under his boots. Grabbing the flight controls did nothing, they were unresponsive.

"Brace for impact, this is gonna suck harder than a five-throne pleasure girl!" he yelled. The troopers fruitlessly tried to strap in as the ground filled the window.

The ground was rushing up fast through the cockpit viewport. Kinzel swallowed hard, one hand holding the stick steady while the other gripped his lasgun tight.

Capt. Sera was bellowing out a non-stop stream of expletives, her favorite being "Throne-fucking piece of groxshit!"

"Never seen AA guns that could hit us from orbit before. What in the warp is this planet?!" she yelled.

"Always hated flyin' in these metal coffins!" growled Trooper Karlin. "Give me solid ground any day!"

"Stow it, Karlin, just focus on not puking in your rebreather!" Lt. Kinzel barked back. Captain Sera turned to Alana, another guardsman who was hyperventilating in her seat.

"Steady on Trooper, you need to hold it together!" Capt. Sera said, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Alana nodded shakily, gripping her lasgun tightly to her chest like a lifeline.

With a deafening crunch of metal, the Valkyrie plowed into the earth, carving a smoking furrow as it skidded to a grinding halt.

Kinzel's eyes opened what felt like seconds later, his head ringing. With a pained groan, he extracted himself from the mangled cockpit. By some miracle, he was still alive.

"Captain? Miya?" he coughed through the smoke. No response came. Gripping his lasgun, Kinzel limped away from the wreck. Kinzel scanned the smoldering crash site, searching for survivors. The crumpled fuselage was a mess of twisted metal and scattered gear. He spotted a pair of legs sticking out from under part of the wing. Rushing over, he found it was Jonas, eyes glassy and a pool of blood under his head.

"Emperor's throne," he muttered, checking Jonas' pulse. Nothing. The man was gone.

A wet cough snapped Kinzel's attention to the right. Captain Sera was pulling herself from a mound of debris, face caked in blood and dirt. She spat a glob of phlegm and wiped her mouth.

"Well...that was a barrel of grox dung," she rasped. "Anyone else still sucking air?"

"You and me so far, Captain," Kinzel said, moving to help her up. She waved him off and steadied herself on a shred of bulkhead.

"Check on the others, Lieutenant. Emperor willing, some poor bastards made it."

Kinzel quickly searched the crash, finding no other survivors among the strewn bodies and wreckage. Miya was slumped against a chunk of the fuselage, eyes staring vacantly skyward.

Sera limped up beside Kinzel. "Just us then. We need to get to cover and figure out our next move." She fished a crumpled pack of lho sticks from her flak armor and lit one.

Kinzel nodded grimly. "Right Captain. Let's see if we can find a defensible spot and Vox the fleet for backup. I've got a feeling we've landed in a real dragon's den."

The two weary survivors gathered what supplies they could salvage and moved out. Their boots crunched on broken glass and twisted metal as they left the smoldering pyre that was their Valkyrie behind...


Planet of Earth

Confederation of Concordia, Continent of North Liberia.

NORAD, Cheyenne Complex.

Time. June 2nd, 10 AM in the Morning

Atarian Year-1995.

The futuristic and secretive Control Room in the Cheyenne Complex was in bedlam. Less than 3 hours ago NORAD's advanced Radar had picked up a massive cluster of objects heading towards various locations all over Ataria. Major General Adam Brynner now stood at his sleek workstation, looking as the various Men and Women under his command stared at their screens. It looked like the Cold War was about to go hot.

"Captain, give me a sitrep." He barked. "Have the goddamn Red Stovies launched their missiles, is this an attack. Has the Revolutionary Red Army Stormed our allies in Euronia in the Organization of Free Nations?"

"Negative sir." Captain Simon Lucas replied from where he was standing next to a group of Radar operators. "There are no launches coming from the Reds in Vostokvakia."

"Then maybe the Ulraznavian Federation," Brynner spoke while walking to Lucas, referring to a nation on the Map of Euronia of a relatively big size painted in a stark grey. It stood out among the blue of the OFN and the crimson of Vostokvakia. It stood in the way of Moskvingrad.

"It's not them either sir" Lucas replied. "The leadership in Salzmark's been following their Doctrine of Armed Neutrality since 1946 after the 2nd Great war ended sir. They won't attack unless some unlucky bastard attacks them."

A lieutenant rushed up to the two men. "Sir, orders from DC, the President himself has authorized us to go into DEFCON-3" she whispered breathlessly. Brynner took the orders before turning to Lucas.

"Get me Strategic Air Defense command, tell em to use their new plasma cannons. I know they were made to shoot down aircraft, but I want those things blown." He began walking back. "And tell them to use the Patriot SAMs once they come into range.

Lucas nodded before heading to the Complex's Comm Centre. Brynner watched tensely as more dots representing the unknown objects blinked out on the radar screens thanks to the plasma cannons. But there were still dozens remaining, streaking closer by the minute.

"Sir, Strategic Air Defense reports Patriot batteries are engaging targets coming into range along the west coast," reported an analyst. "Impact in less than five mikes."

"Very well, tell them to keep up the fire," Brynner replied. "I want every SAM battery we've got lighting those things up."

Lucas hurried over; a radio handset pressed to his ear. "General, a few of those things landed in Santa Monica, California, a few of em went into the sea. OFN command in Lille, Francovia is reporting similar. So are the Vostokvakians, the Ulraznavians, the Middle East, the Entire World sir"

"A worldwide Invasion?" mused Brynner. "Unlikely, but we need to be prepared for anything. Notify the President and Joint Chiefs. I want all commands ready for a coordinated response."

Alarms blared as multiple impacts were registered along the coastlines. Brynner scanned the screens intently. Strange energy readings were emerging from several of the landing zones.

"Sir, we have visual confirmation from CNN," an aide reported. "You're going to want to see this."

Brynner and Lucas gathered around the screen. Lucas muttered a curse under his breath at the sight revealed - smoldering craters surrounded by armored figures, and soldiers and smoking wrecks of archaic-looking technology unlike anything they had seen. And they were slaughtering everyone and everything. The old, the young, the children.

Brynner felt his blood run cold. "Get me DC." He ordered tersely, "Tell the President we got a goddamn invasion on our hands."


Aznayets-11, Satellite Command Bunker, RSVNSCV

Near Oknovst, Zaryena Oblast

Vostokvakian CFSR.

"Тревога

Тревога

Тревога"

Colonel Vikhor Aleksandervich Mironoff stared at the massive screen that dominated the large, brutalist room. On the screen, 3 massive Cyrillic words were flashing in an ominous red. Just like their Capitalist counterparts, they too had detected the objects that were currently heading all over the world. They had signaled Moskvingrad for confirmation of launches and the answer was a negative

Mironoff stared in shock before collecting himself. "What's this, is it a drill" he barked out to his subordinates at their terminals.

"Tovarish Polkvolnik". The boyish voice of Junior Lieutenant Makarenko responded from his terminal. "We have Unidentified contacts inbound". Just as he had been told, the young man began to read off from his terminal screen, visibly shaken. "Altitude, and dropping, Oh Bozhe Moy it's heading straight for Moskvingrad."

Mironoff stood stunned for a few seconds. "Mo…Mo…Moskvingrad?" he stuttered out fearfully.

"Da comrade" Makarenko swiveled his chair to face Mironoff.

"Comrade Colonel, more objects dropping near Leningrad and Moskvya ". Captain Klara Akhmatova's voice shouted out.

Mironoff snapped into action. "Order our plasma batteries to fire, I want SAM'S firing the moment those things are in our atmosphere. And someone tell the fucking Central Committee we are in a state of war. And someone get me a drink!"

The personnel immediately began following his orders. Junior Sergeant Pavlova rushed over with a bottle of vodka for the Colonel. Mironoff took a long swig to steady his nerves before barking more orders.

"Get our heavy rail cannons targeting those things too! Tell all commands to fire at will."

Klara nodded, relaying the orders through her console. Anti-aircraft and rail cannon batteries around Vostokvakia began filling the sky with plasma bolts and hypersonic slugs. Several of the mysterious objects winked out from the radar screen.

"We just lost contact with plasma battery Volk-7 near Leningrad," Makarenko reported worriedly. "Energy spikes consistent with weapons fire detected."

Mironoff scowled. "Get me the VVS. Tell them to send the 64th Bomber Wing to assist. If these fascist pigs from space think they can attack us, they're sorely mistaken!"

Despite the heavy barrage, multiple enemy forces touched down around major cities. As reports came in of armored soldiers sweeping through the streets, slaughtering civilians, Mironoff and his officers exchanged grave looks.

"It seems we face a common foe," Mironoff rumbled. "Get me the General Secretary on the line. The Motherland is under attack."


Headquarters of the Federal Ulraznavian Air Defense Command. Salzmark

General Michel Hengst looked at the radar screen. So far so good, very few of these things had made landfall on the Federation. The president had been notified and the country was in a Grade 1, full readiness for conflict. He watched as the usually Anti-Aircraft Rail and Plasma cannons shoot down more and more of these things.

He observed impassively as more objects were swatted from the sky by the defense grid's withering fire. An aide hurried over with a phone.

"General, call from the Chancellor's office."

Hengst took the handset. "This is Hengst."

The familiar voice of Chancellor Riesmann came on. "General, what is our status?"

"We've intercepted a number of the unidentified craft over our territory, Herr Chancellor. Air defenses are at full readiness."

"Very good. You are to repel these invaders with all available forces. We did not remain neutral through two world wars only to fall to aliens now."

Hengst smiled tightly. "They will find the Ulraznavian military is not so easy to conquer. My flak towers will turn their landing craft into so much scrap."

"See that they do, General. Protect our people at all costs. Riesmann out."

The line clicked off. Hengst turned to his second-in-command. "Colonel Weber, order all batteries to intensify fire. Not one more ship will touch Ulraznavian soil!"

"Yes sir!" Weber hurried to carry out the command.

Hengst watched impassively as more alien craft were obliterated by his defenses. The Ulraznavian people had survived worse threats before. These invaders would be no different.


Santa Monica Beach.

East Coast of Concordia.

1995.

The beachgoers watched as one of those pods slammed into the beach. It opened revealing massive, armored soldiers. they began to attack innocent civilians. Colonel Hendricks of the Concordian National Guard watched in horror from his command post as the armored soldiers emerged from the landed pods and began their rampage. Screams and bursts of strange energy weapons echoed across the beach.

"Sweet Jesus, they're butchering those people," gasped his second-in-command, Major Shaw.

Hendricks gripped the radio tightly. "All forces, converge on the beachfront and engage hostiles! Get me air support now!"

In the distance, the staccato roar of heavy machine guns and artillery opened as his regiments engaged the invaders. Hendricks spotted a few of the hulking soldiers get blown back by tank rounds. But more continued swarming from the landed pods.

"Sir, 23rd Fighter Wing is inbound, ETA 3 minutes," reported Shaw.

"Tell them to shoot to kill, wipe those alien bastards off the map," Hendricks said coldly. He watched as tracer fire lit up around the beach. This was no ordinary enemy. His gut told him that today would be the start of a long and bloody conflict.


SKIES ABOVE SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA.

2nd Lt Jake Chrysler scanned the situation on the ground with his shiny new in-built camera in his A-10 Thunderbolt II. Or as the pilots liked to call it, the Hog. It was bedlam on the ground. From his camera, he could see that literally no civilian on the beach was left alive. The National Guard had arrived a bit late and was trying to Stem the tide as best as they could, while also covering for the remaining civilians on the ground.

"Oh god… it's like something out of a bad, dark sci-fi film." Lt Mary Chandler's voice disrupted the grim silence over the airwaves.

"Is this for real?" another pilot's voice asked. "Or is this a bunch of crackheads who were wearing costumes and are too high?"

The horror-filled banter was interrupted by the sound of their AWACS. "Gala Flight, weapons free. Engage all hostiles in your AO. Happy Hunting"

"Sir did command give us permission to light something the fuck up for once," a pilot asked Major Gerard "Vic" Stevens, their flight leader.

"They sure did sonny" Vick replied. "Split into two groups. Group one, strafe em, group two, use the bombs and bomblets."

Chrysler fell in line with the rest of Group 1. He switched the safety of his GAU-08 Avenger cannon off. The gunsight came online, he gently grabbed the stick before climbing upwards with the rest of the group. Once having reached a desired height, Vic gave them the long-awaited words. "Light 'em up, ladies and gents. Use the depleted Uranium for those big, armored guys and any tanks."

With that, they swooped down below on the unsuspecting invaders. In a flash, Jake was back in the academy simulations. As he swooped down, he let his gunsight aim on one of the big, armored giants. Chrysler thumbed the trigger and a stream of 30mm depleted uranium rounds erupted from the Avenger cannon. The armor-piercing shells tore into the armored giant, shredding its thick plating. The thing stumbled back in a spray of blood and fluids before collapsing to the ground.

"Hell yeah, chalk up one for the good guys!" whooped Lt. Rogers as his own cannon fire ripped through more of the invaders. The thunderous roar of the A-10s' guns drowned out all other noise as they made pass after pass.

On the second strafing run, Chrysler spotted a cluster of the invaders taking cover near a crater. He lined up for a textbook gun run, walking the tracers right into the middle of the group. Several of the hostiles disappeared in a red mist.

"Nice shooting Lieutenants, keep it up," Vic said over the radio. "Group two, you are clear hot for gun and bomb runs."

The other A-10s dove in, dropping cluster munitions and launching missiles. Explosions tore through enemy positions, throwing up geysers of sand and debris. In just minutes, the beachhead was transformed into a smoking ruin.

"Area sanitized, no remaining activity detected," reported AWACS. "RTB for rearm and refuel."

Chrysler took one last look at the devastation below as he banked away. The invaders were still coming…minus the big guys.


BROTHER FANDRAL, GREY BULLS CHAPTER.

Brother Fandral leaped over a demolished stall. Judging by how little these wretches were wearing, it was clear this had to be a Slaaneshii cult world. No matter, it would be purged. His enhanced vision caught sight of something in the sky. He watched a group of Aerocraft hammered down, weapons blazing. He smirked. As if the puny thing could...

"WHAM" something impacted his shoulder plate. Inspecting it, to his horror, he found the ceramite, which had protected him from the primitive slug throwers, had a hole in it, melted like putty.

Suddenly, Fandral felt something was wrong. His temperature began to rise exponentially which was impossible. Astartes did not get ill. His entire body felt like it was burning. His legs buckled as he tried to take a step. Falling, he tried to call for help, but instead, his voice came out like a choked whisper, barely heard by anybody. Something inside the primitive projectile was attacking his body that even his immune system could not fight. While the Imperial Guard Regiment supporting them charged ahead, most of his chapter was not doing well.

Fandral collapsed to the ground, his body wracked with intense pain. All around him, other Space Marines were suffering similar fates after being hit by the strange munitions.

Sergeant Tycho stumbled over to where Fandral lay. "Brother...I feel like I'm burning from the inside out," he choked. "My skin...feels like it's melting off."

Fandral tried to respond but only managed a weak groan. Whatever foul poison was inside those primitive projectiles was somehow interacting catastrophically with the Space Marines' gene-seed enhancements.

He watched helplessly as Tycho spasmed and coughed up blood before falling motionless. Apothecary Varus rushed over, scanning them with his narthecium.

"Their gene seed has been corrupted! Some radiation-based toxin is ravaging them from within," Varus shouted. "We must withdraw and quarantine any exposed battle brothers!"

The surviving unexposed Marines dragged their poisoned brethren away from the beachhead. The strange radiation was burning through them, overloading even their enhanced Astartes physiology.

As he was hauled to safety, Fandral witnessed Imperial Guard tanks pushing ahead, ignorant of the insidious danger. He tried to yell a warning but only managed a strangled croak.

If they couldn't find a way to counteract this poison, it could be the doom of their entire invasion force. The Imperium had never faced such an insidious foe...

However, it was too little too late. From another drop pod, Chapter Master Elnas stared as a cluster of objects were dropped by the primitive. aircraft dropped towards him. Underestimating the bombs,

Elnas watched as the bombs fell toward his position. He had no time to react before they impacted all around him. The explosions tore through the Space Marines, shredding ceramite armor and enhanced flesh.

When the smoke cleared, Elnas lay broken on the ground, his armor cracked and melted by the intense heat. Blood pooled under him from multiple shrapnel wounds.

With his dying breaths, he stared defiantly up at the primitive aircraft as they streaked by overhead. His enhanced physiology had not been enough to save him from the barrage.

All around him, the shredded remains of his battle brothers lay motionless. Flames engulfed the drop pods and vehicles, sending oily black smoke into the sky.

Elnas had thought these primitives would fall easily before the might of the Adeptus Astartes. He had gravely underestimated their technology and tenacity.

As his vision faded, rage burned within him. How could such backward savages have defeated them? The shame was unbearable.

With a final shuddering breath, Elnas expired, becoming another casualty of this invasion. he died a soldier's death,


BOARDWALK.

Within moments, the entire Grey Bulls' chapter was wiped off the map. Not that the Imperial Guard 31st Carolan Regiment noticed. Having gotten out of the beachhead, they began to engage in close-quarters combat with the enemy. Here, Sgt Maria Auriea Ramon, learned the hard way as the slugthrowers couldn't pierce Flak armor but were deadly when hitting the unexposed areas.

"Mierda" she muttered in her planet's local dialect. Beside her, Private Rodolfo Vasquez said in low gothic. "What do we do Sargenta, their slugs are keeping us suppressed. It's like being a bull, but against the best Matador, Emperador protégenos."

"Keep your head down and advance, Vasquez!" Sgt. Ramon barked. "Focus your lasfire on their weapon systems!"

The guardsmen continued their advance through the ruined streets. Las-blasts glanced off the primitive vehicles, barely leaving scorch marks. Return slugthrower fire raked the Imperial lines.

With a cry, Private Estevez collapsed, clutching at the gaping wounds in his abdomen. The primitive munitions were shredding through flesh and bone with ease.

"Emperor's blood, we're getting slaughtered!" cried Trooper Sanchez. A burst of slugs cracked his helmet visor, killing him instantly.

Ramon grabbed Vasquez and pulled him into an alleyway. "This is madness! We're fighting damn Grox here!"

Vasquez slumped against the wall, panting. "Sarge, without armor support we're just lining up for execution here. We should fall back and regroup."

Ramon grimly nodded in agreement. These primitives were far deadlier than anticipated. Fighting them head-on was suicide.

"You're right. Let's pull the squad back and link up with 2nd Platoon." She peeked out at the advancing enemy vehicles. "We'll need heavy weapons and a damn miracle to take this planet."

The two retreated down the alley, returning to find the remnants of their beleaguered unit. The battle was lost on this day.


FIVE GUYS, SANTA MONICA

Meanwhile, Concordian National Guard Captain Annie Roediger stared at her orders. "We're retreating? Santa Monica's gonna be in enemy hands for chrissake." She shook her head in frustration as she read the orders again. A full retreat from Santa Monica, ceding the area to the invaders after all the losses they had suffered. It left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"This doesn't make any sense, we need to hold the ground we took back," she said angrily to her XO, Lieutenant Branson.

He could only offer a helpless shrug. "Orders from the top brass are to pull back and consolidate. Higher-ups probably don't want us getting chewed up in house-to-house urban fighting."

"So, we just let these alien bastards setup right on our doorstep? They'll be dug in before we can fart out new plans to remove them." She crumpled the orders in her fist.

Branson placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "I don't like it any more than you do Captain. But we've got no choice but to obey and regroup."

Roediger scanned the weary, battered faces of her company. As much as she hated the retreat, she knew they were in no shape to keep pushing their advance.

"Alright people, you heard the Lieutenant," she called out. "Pack it up, we're falling back for now. Get our wounded loaded up first."

As her troops prepared to withdraw, Roediger made a silent vow. They would be back, and next time they would be ready to take the fight to the enemy. The war was just beginning...


MOSKVINGRAD. MALINKOVKAYA STATION. 7 PM, MOSKVINGRAD TIME

Ryadavoy Ivan Karimov slowly marched around the entrance of the Metro Line. Unlike the sleek clean lines of the city, the Metro stations were often built in a sort of Neo-Stalinist Style. Not that Karimov minded it, the change of scenery did him good. After all, staring at sleek clean lines of apartment blocks was not good for one's health, it was soul-crushing to stare at the same thing for the rest of one's life.

Nevertheless, Ivan and his comrades prepared to switch around for the next shift, he couldn't wait to go back to his spartan but well-equipped block flat. He looked towards the main Guard Post near the entrance. He could see the commander looking agitated. Her face was flaxen, and beads of sweat were running down her forehead.

"I bet 10 Roubles that some Politburo Apparatchik is coming" Vadim, another guard joked.

The Sirens suddenly started to blare. Ivan was shocked as thousands of people rushed into the metro, all whispering fearfully. The commander got out of the Guard post. "Shut the doors, there seems to be more of them coming."

"More of who coming, OFN? The Ulraznavs" Mira, another guard muttered before heading to the control panel. In Cyrillic, it said ONLY IN THE CASE OF EMERGENCY. She pounded it and the Blast doors began to close. The commander took out a megaphone. "All civilians head to the exits, Karimov, and Ibrahimov, you take them". The two guards led the panicking mass towards the escalators.

Karimov and Ibrahimov hurried the frightened civilians deeper into the metro station. Many were crying or praying under their breath. A woman was trying to comfort her wailing toddler.

"What's happening?" an old man asked Karimov fearfully. "Are we under attack?"

"I do not know, but remain calm and keep moving," Karimov replied. Though inwardly, he too was uneasy about what new crisis could have sparked such panic.

At the platforms, they directed people onto the waiting trains. The electric engines hummed to life and began ferrying carloads away to the central transit hub.

Karimov was about to follow when a young corporal came running over to him. The man's uniform was torn and he looked on the verge of collapse.

"Ryadavoy, you must send as many trains as possible!" he gasped out. "The city...it's being overrun!"

Karimov grabbed the man's shoulder to steady him. "Overrun? By who? Ulraznavians?"

The corporal shook his head wildly. "Not Ulraznavians...monsters! Giant creatures in armor! They came from the sky..."

With that he sank to his knees, utterly spent. Karimov and Ibrahimov exchanged an uneasy glance. Just what was happening above ground? They needed answers, and quickly.


BROTHER CAPTAIN HARALD

CRIMSON HOSPITALEERS CHAPTER

Brother Captain Harald Grunted in frustration. What were these doors made of? They had just ordered a Shadowsword Super Heavy tank to fire on the doors and all it did was ruin the paintwork. They threw Melta Grenades, Nada. And their techmarine was somehow hacked when he tried to open the doors and was currently wreaking havoc. He scowled as yet another attempt to breach the stubborn blast doors failed. The mighty guns of the Shadowsword super-heavy tank had not even scorched the material.

"Bring up the plasma cutters, we'll burn our way through," he ordered. Techmarines hurried to set up the bulky cutting equipment.

Harald watched impatiently as the searing blue plasma torches went to work. But after nearly an hour, they had barely made a finger's width of progress.

At his side, Chaplain Norse shook his head. "Whatever sorcery built these doors, our conventional methods are insufficient."

With a snarl, Harald pulled a Melta charge from his belt and slammed it onto the blast door. "Then we shall rely on the Motive Force! Break them down!"

The melta charge flared bright, and for a moment Harald thought they had succeeded. But when the smoke cleared, the doors stood firm, the metal barely warm to the touch.

From behind he heard a sudden discharge of energy and a scream. Whirling around, he saw Techmarine Jorvak convulsing as arcs of lightning played over his armor. With a smell of ozone, the hapless marine collapsed, armor smoking.

"Damn these savages and their tech-witchery!" Harald spat. Clearly, a more cunning solution was required here. He opened his vox to consult the Chapter's Librarians - if science could not defeat these doors, perhaps psychic power could.


I updated the chapter. Changed the formatting and the year the story takes place from 1990 to 1995. Also changed the month and date.