Dawn of Victory-A tale of Ataria Book I Year I Part-I: 1995

by BlackGuardsAce

Battlefleet Scolaris, a proud battlefleet of the Imperium of Man is separated into pieces en route to the Planet of Orallia-V during Robute Guiliman's crusade against Hivefleet Leviathan in early M42. Arriving at an unknown system and coming to a habitable, Terra-like world, the Lord Admiral decides to launch a crusade to conquer it in the name of the Emperor.

1. Deus Vult

Chapter-1

Deus Vult

Imperial Date: 3778084.M42

Chiros Sector. Segmentum Pacificus

Staging Point Alpha-3 Theta.

Lord Admiral Cardin Vallin, 22nd Earl of Uxbridge, Hero of the Badab war, Commander of Battlefleet Scolaris, Lord Admiral in his Divine Majesties Navis Imperialis, and Savior of the Triton Sector stared impassively at the blackness of space. All around him, on his flagship, the honorable Apocalypse Class Battleship Divine Right, Auspex officers, ratings, and other key personnel required to make such a gargantuan behemoth of a voidship run smoothly were making the final checks and preparations. From the corner of his eye, he could see comms officers sending off last-minute communiques' to the various other officers of the other ships in his 75-ship Battlefleet.

"A penny for your thoughts, Lord Admiral?"

Vallin turned, cold blue eyes appraising the form of Captain Lucien Nero, the Divine Right's captain. Despite looking no older than 20 standard years, Vallin knew in reality that due to time dilation due to traveling in the Warp, Nero was much older. A son of one of Holy Terra's Noble Families, he had been selected personally by Vallin and had stuck to him ever since.

"Just pondering our orders, captain."

Vallin returned to looking at the viewport. He could already see the 5 other battleships of various classes, 7 battlecruisers, 25 cruisers,10 light cruisers and 20 escort squadrons move into position. Nero joined him.

"Any words on the "other elements attached to our fleet?"

"You seem extremely disappointed, lord admiral, at the idea of having our forces enlarged."

Vallin grunted at Nero's cheerful tone as he frowned, eyes narrowing. "Reinforcements may bolster our numbers, but they also risk muddying command. I lead this fleet as I see fit, without external elements hampering our efforts."

Nero chuckled. "Ever the pragmatist, my lord. But Guilliman's new initiatives have borne fruit thus far, by all reports. An extra battlegroup or two could prove their worth."

As if summoned, the vox crackled. "Lord Admiral, sensors detect incoming craft. Imperial designations."

Vallin strode to the viewer, gaze hardening at the new ships emerging from the veil. Two Strike Cruisers, venomous and lethal. Accompanying them, a Retribution-class battleship, bulky firepower given flesh.

"Lord Admiral Marius hailing us, my lord," the vox officer reported.

Vallin nodded curtly. "Patch him through, captain."

The air shimmered, resolving into a stern-faced officer in gleaming carapace. Marius saluted crisply.

"Admiral Vallin, a pleasu-"

"Spare me the pleasantries, Marius. Our mission is time-sensitive. Are your ships prepared?"

If Marius took offense at Vallin's brusque manner he did not show it. "We stand ready as your blade, lord admiral. By your command."

Vallin gave a harumph

"Do us all a favour then and be silent. Emperor knows you fuck things up more than you ever do anything right"

Vallin gazed impassively upon the newcomers arrayed before him, eyes hard as flint.

"One Strike Cruiser and a lone Battleship do not fulfill our agreed battlegroup composition, Lord Admiral Marius. Where are the remainder of your reinforcements?"

Marius nodded stiffly. "Apologies Lord Admiral, warp currents have delayed the 6th and 11th Cruiser Squadrons. Scryers predict their imminent arrival within the hour."

Vallin grunted. "An hour is an eternity in war. We stand ready to embark upon months of campaigning based on this rendezvous. Your 'reinforcements' had best not dampen Scolaris' effectiveness."

"You wound me sir, to imply my forces will be anything but a boon to your glorious endeavor," Marius replied evenly. "I served under Lord Admiral Guerrard at Hydraphur - my skills and experience are proven."

"Perhaps. But I lead this fleet and will tolerate no disunity in its ranks. See that your crews integrate seamlessly once your stragglers deign to join us."

Vallin turned abruptly, dismissing the matter for now. There was little else to be done but wait, however impatiently, for this awkward liaison to be made whole. War paused for no man, but some pauses were of less irksome length than others.

An hour. Vallin hoped the Warp saw fit to heed the Astropaths' readings for once. There would be trouble if the completion of this conjoined force took any longer. And he had no patience left for trouble, nor the xeno horrors that would soon know Scolaris' wrath.

"Imperial Signatures at Marker 5! One Gloriana Class Battleship, the beacon says it's the Salamanders Flagship Flamewrought!"

Vallin turned his head at the announcement of one of the Vox techs. Sure enough, a green colored massive behemoth voidship appeared through a Warp tear.

"Their hailing us!"

The tactical map shimmered before the form of Chapter Master Tu'Shan of the Salamanders appeared. Like all Salamanders, his skin was black while his eyes were red. In the hologram, there was a blue shimmer.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Lord Admiral Vallin, my friend and comrade from the Badab War?" Continue. Do not start just yet, the forces are still not yet whole. So add lots more dialogue as they wait

"Chapter Master, I suppose this is all?"

The Astartes nodded.

"Yes, we could only spare the Flamewrought, most of our ships are busy in other sectors or back home in Nocturne. Sadly the Imperium's need spreads us thin, Lord Admiral. Nocturne remains beset by xenos threat as ever. But the Flamewrought and her flames stand ready to purge your foes as in days past."

Vallin grunted acknowledgment. "I require no less from the sons of Vulkan. Though one ship will barely swell our ranks." He gazed pointedly at Marius. "It seems Lord Admiral that you and your ilk still have some way to meet the standard reinforcement composition agreed."

Marius stiffened but politely inclined his head. "As ever Lord Admiral, we of the Imperial Navy live only to serve at your command. My remaining forces will arrive shortly."

"See that they do," Vallin growled. Turning back to Tu'shan's hovering blue visage, he asked, "Any word from your brethren, or other Imperial elements I was promised?"

The Salamander shook his head regretfully. "Our auspex show only the baleful tides of the Empyrean beyond. But help will come - it always does, for the righteous."

Vallin peered grimly into the darkness as if his gaze alone could hurry the lingering forces. The wait continued, seconds dragging as minutes, anticipation, and irritation warring within. At last, the astropath hissed in triumph.

"Multiple craft emerging! Imperial signatures confirmed - Cruisers and Light Cruisers inbound!"

Vallin watched, firstly, out of the warp came a Battle Barge of the Fulminators, an Ultramarine Successor Chapter made up entirely of the new Primaris Marines, then the fleets of the Imperial Fists, their successor Chapter, the Crimson Fists, the Black Templars, various troop transports and ships carrying Imperial Guard Regiments, a barge belonging to the Grey Angels Chapter. Still missing, however, were the Ships of the Mechanicus, and the three Militant Orders of the Adepta Sororitas, Our Martyred Lady, Argent Shroud, and Valorous Heart. Sighing, he decided to walk around the various stations on the bridge for one of his favorite time passers...Small talk.

"Mr Bush! I hear you got another medal."

Ensign Bush straightened from his station, coloring slightly under the Lord Admiral's piercing gaze.

"Ah, y-yes m'lord. Nothing special, just a commendation for meritorious service during the Hydraphur campaign."

Vallin nodded approvingly. "Fine work, Mr. Bush. The Navy relies on men like you to keep us all connected out here in the void."

He strolled on, spotting another officer bent over a sensor display.

"Any signs of those lingering Mechanicus doggers or Sisters, Miss Grey?"

She shook her head respectfully. "Nothing yet Lord Admiral. Astropathic echoes remain unclear."

Vallin harrumphed. "No doubt bickering over rites and resource allocation as ever. Can't expect efficiency from tech-worshipping magpies or fanatics in skirts I suppose."

Nearby, Sergeant Reynolds was deep in conversation with a vox lieutenant.

"-and then she says 'If you want a void-duel you'll have to catch me first!'" The men chuckled.

Vallin quirked a eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise with the missus, Mr Reynolds?"

Reynolds snapped to attention. "N-nothing serious sir! Just, ah, marital spats as usual."

Vallin guffawed, clapping the sergeant's shoulder. "Carry on, carry on! A little passion keeps life interesting, eh?"

With that he strode off, Further down, he greeted a rating. "How fares the plasma manifold, Jennings?"

The girl snapped a harried salute. "Overheating still, but we've purged the antiprotons. Barring further malfunctions we should be combat-ready!"

"Excellent work. See the duty techs give her a proper look-over once we're underway." Vallin turned last to a robed navigator. "And you, Azarius - still clinging to life amongst all these heathens?"

The psyker chuckled. "The Emperor protects, Lord Admiral. Though the tides grow ever more ominous - we must make haste to their source."

"Sgt Leon, your gun crew got 2nd place last time in gunnery, you ready to get the gold?"

"Sir, if we're gonna fight Tyranids, then we most certainly are gonna frakking get gold" Leon grinned toothily, patting the massive Hellbore she was calibrating. "These hormagaunts won't know what hit 'em, Admiral! Just give the word and we'll pound those buggers flatter than Grud's brew."

Her crew roared raucous approval, hands busying over munitions and cogitators with well-practiced ease. Vallin nodded, about to move when a crackle from the comm drew his gaze upward.

"Lord Admiral! Imperial signatures detected - a Legio force has dropped in-system. Ident codes match the Ryza adepti."

Vallin's eyes gleamed. "At last, some heavy metal to back our boomsticks. Carry on Leon, I want a demonstration of your mettle at the firing cams after this rendezvous."

He took his leave amid more cheers, sweeping back up the command dais. A shimmer heralded the sign that a holo transmission was beginning. And sure enough, the red-robed, multi-armed Magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus, a familiar one too, as it was Dominus, another old acquaintance

"Magos Dominus, I trust those rifles of yours are primed for xenos extermination?" Vallin greeted the Mechanicus representative cordially.

Dominus clattered and whirred, binary blinking across his lenses. "My Lord Admiral, Mars' faithful stand with your mighty host. The alien's doom is nigh!"

Vallin looked across the viewport again. And finally, a little too late for Vallin, the Sisters arrived. The Ships of the Valorous Heart, Argent Shroud, and the Order of the Martyred Lady slowly creeped into position, along with them, came a ship belonging to a Sororitas Hospitaller order and...a full fleet squadron of Ships belonging to the Inquisition.

Nero watched with an arched eyebrow as Vallin began cursing up a storm, able to make even the lowest Necromundan scum blush!

"Stupid, fucking primped-up Popinjays! They've sent fucking Lord Inquisitor Jessup! Anton Sonovabitch! Jessup! Miserable, sanctimonious bastards the lot of them!" Vallin fumed, storming the deck like a caged cerastus.

"Don't those puffed up witch-hunters have their own blasted war to fight, instead of mucking up my fleet at the last moment? And Jessup - that inbred toad couldn't find his arse with both hands in broad daylight!"

Nero struggled to maintain a straight face as ratings scrambled to give the apoplectic admiral a wide berth. "Now now my lord, the Ordos serve the Emperor in their own fashion. And additional firepower can only aid our coming blows against the tyranid."

"Firepower be damned, they'll second-guess my every order and stir up piety where none belongs! Mark my words captain, the first zealot to darken my bridge had best pray I'm feeling merciful."

Vallin continued raging until his choler began to ebb, leaving a brooding scowl in its wake. At last he sighed heavily.

"But it is as it is. These 'reinforcements' had best prove their mettle tenfold to earn their keep. And that goes doubly for Jessup and his ilk, prowling my decks like rats in the bilge."

His fury spent for now, Vallin clasped his hands behind his back to watch the final fleet elements slot snugly into formation. The trap was baited, the prey detected. Now there was nothing left but the spring and slaughter to come.

He punched the Intercom after doing one final check. "All ships, prepare for Warp jump!"

Vallin's voice echoed through every augur pickup and speaker across the fleet as he gripped the command pulpit decisively.

"This is Lord Admiral Vallin to all ships. The hour is nigh - the xenos plague we were bade purge lies within our sights. Your battlestations are manned, your guns are primed, and the Emperor's righteous wrath flows through your veins!"

"When we exit the warp, we shall be upon them with all fury! No mercy shall be given to these deviants that would turn their corruption against mankind. They will know Imperial justice! They will know fear, and pain, and oblivion at our hands!"

"So I say to you now - ready all Gellar fields! Stand firm in the face of the Empyrean's terrors, as you shall against the terrors from without. When next realspace greets our eyes, it will be painted anew in alien blood!"

"For the Emperor! For Holy Terra! And for Scolaris! All thrust, take us to the warp!"

Aboard ships great and small alike, crews roared defiance to the heavens. Tech-priests howled benedictions as warp engines surged, and with a jolt the massed force was cast adrift upon the aetheric tides. The end of their journey, and of the xeno menace, was at hand.

---

The warp, oh the warp.

The Gellar fields flickered and strained as reality dissolved beyond the viewports. Colors not meant for mortal eyes bled and warped across the shifting empyric vista, twisting forms lurking at the edge of perception.

Deep within the Divine Right, sensors wavered as unnatural currents buffeted the mighty hull. Crews muttered prayers through bloodless lips, clinging to rituals and duties as an anchor against primal terrors stirring in soul and flesh alike.

On the command pulpit, Vallin stood immovable as a monolith. Only the faintest sheen of sweat upon his brow betrayed any unease within that iron self-control. His gaze remained fixed forward, unwavering.

Beyond, the fleet writhed and twisted serpent-like through the maddening tides. Gellar projectors flared in fits and starts, reality's barbs wrenched free only to mesh together anew each microsecond, holding at bay lunacies that could unmake worlds with a whisper.

Warpcraft clung to bearing and thrust, fighting currents as much as the roiling neverwhen that sought to draw each ship down to chaotic damnation. But for now, discipline and determination yet held ascendant over Old Night's madness.

Colours slithered and coiled along the viewports, alien hues that strained mortal eyes. Shapes lurked at the edge of perception, twisting forms just beyond the light's reach.

Inside the fleet, an unnatural tumult assailed ship and soul alike. Sensors wavered as the Divine Right bucked upon empyric tides, inertia warring with senses long accustomed to natural law.

Crews clung white-knuckled to duty stations, reciting rites and incantations more to anchor their fraying minds than any faith in supernatural defense. Madness gnawed at the edges, whispers urging men to sink into nightmares given form.

Only Vallin remained untouched, though unseen horrors nibbled at his reserves. His gaze cut through the roiling madness without, focusing warriors' will against the warp's lunacies within.

Outside, the fleet writhed upon the aetheric torrents, some ships dragging as if moonstruck while others burst ahead of their fellows. Reality itself frayed at the seams with each pulse of Gellar shields, holding at bay chaos that could unmake with a thought.

The keening winds battered reason, but discipline and purpose steered each vessel true. For now. But each moment in this place stretched thin souls' faculties, doubt and despair ever creeping closer amidst the madness.

Only by clinging to duty and focus could any hope to emerge unsundered when next material skies greeted them. If reality held yet, and the gods of the neverwhen had not noticed these morsels adrift in their endless games. The die was cast. Now their numbers were made whole, fate would see this new force welded into a blade to finally deliver retribution to the galaxy's foes...

---

Somewhere deep in the warp

The entity in the warp was shapeless, slithering like some eldritch fog. It had to utilize this form in order to hide from The Four.

The entity was a Chaos God, not like the 4 that now ruled and played their "Great Game" and thought themselves important.

What truly defines a Chaos God? The entity mused to itself. And yet, it stared at this… thing with growing curiosity.

The object was a rift. Not unlike most Warp tears that were used to break the fabric reality, yet this one was different somehow.

This one was inky black.

And it piqued his curiosity. While not exactly Tzeentch, one could call him a "lesser god of change." A god of curiosity. Just a few mere moments ago he had sent a small tendril of his power into this tear. The portal had instead nullified his power, instead directing it back to him.

This meant two things.

Either this Tear was a trap set by one of the 4.

Or something else entirely.

And unlike Tzeentch who had his "Puppets," the entity had no such followers.

And then, he noticed the ships. These were of the make and design of the race called Humans. Perfect! Very slowly, as to not draw the attention of the 4, he extended his power.

Subtly as only a warp-born entity could, the nameless presence extended tendrils of psycho-spiritual energy towards the buffeted fleet. It sensed the crews' fading minds within - fear, doubt and frayed loyalties whetted ripe for toppling over oblivion's edge.

Slowly, oh so slowly, it began infiltrating cracks in will and reality alike. A injected thought here, a sensed premonition there, whispers just beyond hearing urging men to question all they knew.

Aboard the Divine Right, a navigator twitched and spun babbling, seeing portents of doom in the auroral storm beyond. On another ship, mutants stirred from fitful sleep clutching weapons taken up in madness.

Rifts opened minutely within ship and soul, reality thinning where before had been discipline and duty's bulwarks. And through each fissure the entity's essence oozed, binding ships as surely as minds to its will.

Ahead, reality's fabric tore open - a portal glimpsed only by its alien eyes. Towards this it steered the fleet, fleet and crews sliding ever closer to the final push into unknowing.

All followed its subtle commands now, reality and reason snared equally in its trap. Only a final effort remained, to rend completely the veil and cast these playthings beyond, into some alien realm to see what emerged. The entity's malignant experiment was nearing completion.

Tendrils of empyric essence crept unseen towards the writhing Imperial fleet, questing tendrils probing and sensing. As it drew nearer, the warp entity gleaned flickers of thought and emotion floating unbound upon the aether.

Fear. Doubt. Faith and determination battling for dominion over mortal minds as madness nipped at reason's heels. Such frail and fractious souls, clinging to rituals and each other against the madness without.

But down in the dimmest decks, one spark caught its curiosity - a strand of doubt, wondering if any would emerge from this madness intact. A shred of thought giving voice where others dared not, questioning fate and purpose.

Here was potential, the entity realised. A seed that in time, given the right tilth and tending, could flower in ways none could foresee. And what better soil than this strangeness before it, this...rift, that denied even an elder power's essence?

Slowly, oh so slowly, phantom tendrils snaked towards the fleet like umbilical cords. The entity damped its presence to near null, a mere susurrus upon the tides. Unseen, unfelt, it began reeling the mortals towards the rift, one ship at a time, each crew oblivious to the strange currents drawing them offbearing...

Towards discovery, or doom, they drifted. And the entity watched, curious to see what fruit might bloom from seeds sown in strangeness. Change, after all, was his domain, in all its myriad masks and miracles.

As soon as the last craft disappeared, the rift finally reacted, slowly closing itself up like a wound or cloth got stitched up.

Had the entity had the required form for a face, it was certain it was smiling.

His gamble was correct, feeling the rift, he found it had led to another reality.

Most rifts went either straight to the point, some went even back in time. But one leading to an entirely new dimension was unheard of.

It was also most curious that this one did not have Warp.

Yes, it did not have a warp.

"Once more Unto the Breach"

The entity had heard that line a long time ago, and even now it never failed to amuse it.

His only disappointment was that he couldn't meddle in it. Wherever they were, the mortals were probably at the mercy of something worse.

It watched with a growing sense of pleased curiosity as the rift finally slipped shut, sealing away the last Imperial craft from whence they came.

Silence fell upon the aether, broken only by the slow sliding of the entity's intangible form as it slipped through the currents pondering this strange development. No warp beyond that portal - an entire realm unsullied by the gods' eternal games!

What wonders, horrors or banalities might such a place hold? And what tribulations would these vainglorious mortals face therein, marooned amongst realities unknowns? Truly this had promise as an experiment like no other.

Regret lingered that it could not take a more...direct role in proceedings. But the entity was no fool - the realm it now observed through dissipating essence memories of the rift held threats beyond counting, and powers perhaps even greater than the Ruinous Powers themselves.

No, for now, it would watch and wait, absorbing each subtle whisper and shiver across the raw stuff of creation for word of what transpired. Trapped in a warpless sphere, stripped of foreknowledge and allies, those fragile human minds and souls would be stretched to their limits.

Change was inevitable. And where change occurred, so too did the opportunity present itself to a knowing hand. The entity's curiosity had only been whetted - now, the true unfolding of potential could begin.

It settled in to observe, wait, and learn.

The 4 meanwhile, felt the fleet blink out of existence. Tzeentch himself was confused. This wasn't planned at all. That particular fleet was supposed to blunder right smack dab in the middle of Hivefleet Kronus. And then die a pretty gory death.

A ripple of unease disturbed even Tzeentch's scheming thoughts. That fleet, a key piece so carefully maneuvered into place, now erased without a trace! The whispers of Slaanesh mocked his confusion, Khorne's disinterest rang plain. Only Nurgle seemed as ignorant as he, rotting presence ponderous and calm.

Tzeentch writhed upon his ebony throne, avian visage a rictus of vexed calculation. Clawed fingers tapped and twitching quills scrawled nonsense runes as plans unraveled in his very mind. Some unseen agency had plucked that pawn from the board - but to what end? No thread of certainty remained to tug.

A low hiss escaped clenched beak as contingency after contingency proved as insubstantial as the act itself. A frustrated squeal rose, echoed by daemons cowering beyond whence bird-legs kicked out in fury. Such an act threatened decades of scheming, the cascade of slaughter and glory now derailed perhaps forever!

And yet, within the Master of Fates' molting breast, a spark of interest kindled unseen. For change verged on change now beyond even his ken, hope and doom twinned in a riddle sans answer. What player, what play had usurped his hold, and to what new game had these souls been consigned?

Tzeentch's rage ebbed as beady eyes began to gleam anew. Here was a mystery unlooked-for to savor, a new board potentially richer than the last. And where intrigue reigned, there too might Tzeentch yet weave wonders anew, in time. The game, it seemed, was afoot once more...

---

Imperial Date: 3778084.M42

Location: UNKNOWN.

Segmentum: UNKNOWN.

Battlefleet Scolaris.

Vallin felt his eyes peel open, and he became acutely aware that the klaxons were going off. Were they under attack? With a groan, he forced his body to rise unsteadily. Gripping a bulkhead, Vallin dragged himself to the command throne, settling himself in. His hands shifted around before finally he grasped a tube. With a hiss, it opened up, revealing a syringe that Vallin could not see due to the concussion. He jammed it into his arm, finding the drug doing its work almost instantly.

Now Vallin could see well again, and the sight that greeted him was the usual sight one received after Warp Travel. Crewmembers were hauling themselves and their friends up, some were rubbing their eyes. Vallin noticed Nero, slumped over a panel, drool dripping down slightly.

Walking unsteadily forward, he waddled over to the viewport. He saw a planet, dark blue and ringed- a gas giant. It resembled Neptune from the Sol system… could it be possible they had travelled somehow backward instead of forwards, it wasn't unheard off.

He stared, watching the rest of the forces attached beside his 75 ships hurl out of the Warp.

"Status report, what in the Emperor's name happened?" Vallin rasped, steadying himself against a console.

Nero stirred with a groan, clutching his head. "My lord...the tides were monstrous, more tormented than any plunge I've witnessed. We were buffeted something fierce."

Vallin grunted, gaze turning back to the enormous blue orb filling the view. Neptune, it seemed, yet... "Does Auspex show Terra or the rest of the system? Why have we not emerged with the fleet?"

A sensor tech shook her head blearily. "No lord, long-range scans detect only this gas giant and its moons. No solar emissions, manefactoriums, nothing matching our charts."

Unease stirred in Vallin's gut. "Then where in the hell are we? Some far edge of the Segmentum perhaps? Run full diagnostics, find our coordinates and get me status on the other ships. I want explanations, not mysteries."

As the crew mobilized, Vallin stood steadfast before the view. Neptune hung enormous, yet something seemed subtly...off. As if some foreign sky observed them in turn, beyond even the boundaries writ upon their maps.

"Sir...scanners to tell us that this is, a solar system." Nero looked at the readings.

"So it is."

Before Nero could reply, the ship's intercom buzzed to life.

"Lord admiral! Could you please come down to engineering and the engines?"

Vallin strode away from the viewport. "Tell me later" he called back to Nero, legs carrying him with purposeful strides toward the lift stations. As doors slid shut before him, the car began its long descent into the bowels of the ship.

Minutes passed as Vallin watched levels slide by through narrow slit windows. Crew scrambled between decks via tubular accessways, while anti-grav skiffs ferried supplies endlessly upwards and down.

At last the lift halted with a gentle shudder, opening before the bustling artery of Deck 30. Vallin took in the crowded concourse - servicemen jogging past with toolkits in tow, servitors' clanking gait weaving between. He picked his way forward amid the throng.

Ahead loomed the mag-escalators down to the lower decks, their steps sliding rhythmically. Vallin joined a group of engine-servitors clanking towards maintenance access. Down and down the moving stairways bore them, the crowd thinning with each level.

By the time Vallin disembarked onto Deck 50, only the odd lone worker hurried past. Gantries and walkways crisscrossed the vast engine caverns here, punctuated by the throaty rumble of reactors in their shielded housing bars.

He spotted his destination sign ahead - the warp core monitoring station, where answers to their mystery hopefully awaited. Vallin resumed his march, mind racing as his destination drew nigh. What malfunctions or more portents would the engines reveal?

Vallin made his way down through the mammoth ship towards the engineering decks, still a bit wobbly on his feet from warp exit disorientation. Crewmen saluted or called greetings as he passed, most looking as shaky as he felt.

The admiral gripped a guide rail as the ship's reactor core hummed distantly below, sending subtle vibrations through the hull. At last he reached the main engine chambers, feeling the drive plates throbbing like a vast metal heartbeat.

The chief engineer greeted him grimly. "It's the warp signatures my lord, some kind of anomalous emission in the engines. Space is clear but..." He prompted a cogitator screen full of scrolling code Vallin couldn't decipher.

"In layman's terms?" Vallin prompted impatiently. The greasy cog-head cleared his throat.

'Oh sir, thank the emperor you're here!" Rhona Cananach the Divine Right's chief engineer was standing in the doorway, greasy coveralls and tools and all.

"Sir please, right this way." she gestured before walking, Vallin following. As always, they went through a throng of servicemen. tech-priests and servitors.

"What's wrong Rhona, out with it girl?" Vallin asked as they strode briskly through the throng.

Rhona waved a wrench absently. "Hard tae say just yet Admiral, best no te jump tae conclusions. But there be summat queer wi' th' readin's doon here, that's fer sure."

They arrived at a mag-lift, sealing themselves into the car for the long plunge into the core. Vallin leaned against grips as inertial dampeners hummed into action.

"Ach, dinna fash yersel just yet," Rhona said with a tired smile. "We'll sort it out, we aye dae. Probably jist another glitch is all."

The lift slowed, doors swishing open on the towering engine cavern beyond. Vallin followed Rhona onto catwalks encircling the twin reactors, heat and vibration washing over them. Diodes pulsed and rumbled below as she led him to monitoring stations.

"Now take a wee look fer yerself," Rhona said, gesturing at readouts. Vallin frowned as unfamiliar glyphs and figures swam before his gaze. What mysteries had the drives coughed up this time, in this strange new place so far from home?

"No not the readouts those are normal, I mean down here."

Vallin looked downwards, a panel had been screwed open, and wires were fizzing. He found two of them, one blue and one green were fizzing more than the others.

"Are the three wires important, those?"

"Important, sir, without these wires we can't do FTL, sublight only. Meaning we're stranded... wherever we are. Sir if you want my suggestion, make way to any inhabited planet, please."

"how much time?"

"As much as you can give me, sir, this could take as long as days, to weeks, even months. Worst case scenario is a year."

"We are still capable of sublight travel?"

Rhona nodded "Yessir, though I'd rather you go easy on the engines."

Vallin sighed, "I'll head back up to the bridge."

"Aye, git back tae the bridge then," Rhona said with a tired nod. "I'll set the lads tae crackin' on repairs straight away."

Vallin swept a weary hand over his eyes. Stranded in some alien sea, FTL down - it was a predicament to test even his iron will. But he had faced worse scrapes before and emerged triumphant.

"Set course for the nearest planet," he told his waiting helmsman upon returning to the bridge. "Sub-light only, factor in Rhona's repairs. And have the astropaths scry every system within long-range auspex - I want to know all she can learn of where we've ended up."

The crew sprang to orderly efficiency, compensating well for adverse fortunes through discipline. Within hours a destination emerged - a lush garden world some weeks' travel distant, promising sanctuary if not answers.

Vallin stood firm before the sweep of alien stars, doubt and determination warring within. But he had faced the unknown before and emerged the stronger. One way or another, he would bend this strange situation to mankind's will, as was his calling and oath. The journey, it seemed, had only begun.

---

Timeskip

Days lengthened into weeks as the fleet crawled sub-light towards the rust world glimpsed ahead. Each shift brought some fresh strangeness hinted through auspex readings, the lone ships drifting through empty vistas bearing scant clues.

Vallin stood tireless vigil at the panoramic viewports, eyes roving the alien tapestries of stars as Rhona's crews toiled in the depths. Constellations hinted at familiar patterns, yet subtly skewed - Orion's club trailing another star, the Pleiades one short of seven.

Chatter rose amongst sensor crews making similar finds across the scattered fleets. Microbursts of astropathic communiques rippled through the ether, piecing together fragmentary starmaps born more of gaps than placements.

All the while the dusty gas giant swelled till it dominated their gaze, twin moons Phobos and Deimos veiled in a shroud of dust. But as they drew near enough to make out details etched by millennia of impacts, something felt subtly skewed. No gouged pit with its manufactora deep below, nor gun emplacements guarding approaches to Terra - only raw desolation greeted them.

Exploration craft launched under the ever-watchful auspex of battle barges, scanning crews crooning hymns and prayer through every discovery. Barren plains roamed by funerary winds, scoured valleys etched by a myriad of dry storms. All hints of humanity's might were absent, solitary asteroids the sole inhabitants of these dead wastes. Yet they had come so far, through such madness - what answer might these sands hold?

A beep brought Vallin out of his thoughts, Looking at his command throne, he saw Lord Inquisitor Jessup had called for a meeting of all senior leadership in the force to come to his flagship for a "War Council"

Vallin's lip curled faintly at the summons, though he gave no other sign of distaste. In times of doubt, the Iron Handed often clutched at dogma as surely as talisman - yet meddling inquisitors brought naught but stymied initiative to his mind.

Still, needs must be when mysteries multiply. He swept from the bridge with cape swirling as the lift bore him down and corridors. Crew scattered at his passage, arriving soon in the cavernous hangar bays.

There his Aquila sat ready, smoothly armored hull gleaming dully under strata of runes and layered plates. Its guns and sensor clusters had indeed replaced frivolous trimmings, austere functionality his way. Vallin boarded via the rear ramp, crewmen bracing to his curt nod.

With a low whine, anti-grav systems lifted the shuttle smoothly skyward. Through the bay forcefield, it floated, escort craft forming up as stars wheeled past armaglass. Before long the Inquisitor's grandiose barge swelled into sight, plush salons doubtless thronged with shadowy intriguers.

Vallin gazed placidly forth, dissecting unknown astro-topographies as the vessel drew nigh its berth. Mysteries awaited within - would this council give answers or just give fresh cause for questions? Time would tell, as ever.

As the shuttle transported him to the Tonnant, he saw other shuttles, the crafts various other leaders. His own banked nimbly through the void as Escorts kept formation. Within, Vallin strode the armored passenger module in silence, gaze flitting over rudimentary charts and auspex readings cataloging yet more strangeness.

A chime announced docking clearance as the flagship loomed vast ahead. Subtly, engines pulsed to match vector and speed, mag-clamps extending in eerie synchronicity to capture and guide them into the polished hangar deck.

Vallin felt gravity return as landing struts engaged with melodic clanks. He waited as ramp hissed down before debarking amid greetings from livery-clad attendants. Other craft were likewise disgorging officers and agents, exchanging brief courtesies before falling in behind the Inquisitorial retinue.

Marbled corridors carried their steps to a conference antechamber, where a gaunt initiand awaited. "This way, Admiral." His guide swept silently ahead, chimes clacking, leaving Vallin to follow amid rumbling exchange beyond gilded doors.

They parted with a pneumatic hiss to reveal a grand hololithic chamber. Around its shimmering Heartworld projection sat gathered dignitaries, Jessup presiding imperiously at head. Vallin took his reserved seat, noting keen eyes avid for weakness. Chapter Master Tu'Shan gave a nod of greeting that Vallin returned. Lord Admiral Marius was there too, and so wer High Marshal Helbrecht of the Black Templars, Chapter Master Gideon of the Fulminators, various Guard Regiment officers, and the Prioress's of the Valorous Heart and Order of our Martyred lady, the Argent Shroud's ship had not come out of the Warp and was presumed KIA.

And above all, Lord Inquisitor Anton Jessup. Jessup cleared his throat ostentatiously. "My lords, these are grave times. While we have emerged whole from the warp's torment, finding ourselves in this...unknown realm is most concerning."

His oily tenor droned on, prattling of politics and portents while Vallin tuned out the inbred toad's dribblings. Only when full names were dropped did he pay heed.

"...and though the Argent Shroud's absence is unfortunate, we remain a potent force. Stronger when united against the unknown." As if unity came from his lips and not cold necessity.

Discussion turned to scouting reports, gleaned fragments raising more questions than clues. Thankfully strategic converse followed, outlining survey plans to glean vital resources.

Yet Jessup kept sliding talk toward esoteric matters, intimating ominous omens that turned stomachs. Even Chapter Masters bristled at the insinuations, forcing topics back to rationale.

When at last the meeting drew to a close, Vallin weighed possibilities in silence. Mysteries abounded, yet steady hands and eyes to the real world solve them - not crawling in shadows of imagined terrors. Skill and resolve would see them through, as ever.

"Now, you ask why we are here at this council. Observre this pict file. The following is the 3rd planet of this system. Look at how habitable it is? Continents like those of Ancient Terra! Our forces need repairs, and this world, Nova Arcadia as it has been christened will be perfect, once it is brought to compliance..."

Vallin studied the projected image with a careful eye, taking in details that others may miss. Certainly, the world showed signs of habitability - oxygen atmosphere, temperate latitudes, oceans and continents carved by weather patterns. All amenities a civilization might wish for.

And yet...something nagged at the edge of perception. Perhaps it was the distortions of this strange climes' light, but the continents seemed less familiar than Jessup claimed. Their outlines hinted at tectonic patterns unknown to Terra's archives.

Subtle differences, yet differences all the same. This was no pristine world awaiting humanity's touch - it was something other, part of a realm still mysterious in its workings.

"Compliance may find resistance, Inquisitor," Vallin said calmly into the gathering murmurs. "Unknown biologies or sentiences may dwell there. Prudence demands surveying unknowns before action."

Jessup curled a lip dismissively. But Vallin's words sowed more thoughtful expressions amongst the warrior leaders. For now, they would watch and learn, not presume. In this strange land, understanding outranked imposition as a path to victory.

"A vote! Lord Admiral Vallin here may command Scolaris, but he can be vetoed. Come raise your hands, let us see!"

A murmur welled as officers weighed choices, glancing between Vallin and Jessup. The latter waved a languid hand, snake eyes gleaming avariciously. "Well my lords? Do you endorse reconnaissance alone, or action to secure this prize?"

Helbrecht was first, gauntleted fist hammering armor in endorsement as his Templars were wont. At his back others joined, steely fanatics yearning for holy war on fresh shores. Marius followed with reluctance, discipline overriding care, his fist punching upward with reluctance, the Prioress raising a fist in zealous fervor. Disquiet stained Tu'Shan's features, yet his limb remained lowered in defeat.

Marius' expressionless mask turned against his old friend, logic bending to ambition. Only the Fulminators 'Master stood resolute beside Vallin, urging a calmer approach. But their voices were lost beneath the din of enthusiasm for further " compliance."

Silence fell thick once more. Jessup smirked in triumph as Vallin allowed himself a slow exhale before speaking. "Very well, the will of the council stands. Scolaris shall launch strike and survey teams within the cycle."

Tu'Shan stirred, objecting, but Vallin stilled him with an upraised hand. "Victory requires unity, however obtained. I shall see this course plays out with care and wisdom, as is my way."

Jessup's grin might have curdled ichor. "It seems you are overruled, Admiral. Compliance it shall be."

Vallin inclined his head stiffly. "As you command, Inquisitor. So be it." Inside raged indignation – but duty was duty, and the cause still larger than any single stance.

He would play his part, as he ever had, and trust his experience could yet guide them from the worst of follies. There were always alternatives, if one had eyes to see them. And see them Vallin would, steely gaze ever assessing…

…

"Are you sure of this, Cardin?" Tu'Shan asked him as they walked to the hangers, the Astartes stomping along.

"It was either War or being branded a coward, what is your stake on this, Chapter Master?"

"Not good, I am still surprised you went with this at all, why didn't you speak, you had Marius me and Gideon?"

"And have a target painted on me and Marius's backs? Marius is a good officer, but he is often too vocal at times. And did you know his family is on his flagship?"

Tu'Shan's eyes widened, "No, I did not..."

"Exactly, Had I spoken, Marius would be in danger."

"By the Throne, that changes things," Tu'Shan rumbled softly. "No wonder Marius folded, not with his kin at stake."

Vallin nodded grimly. "Jessup has claws sunk deep in many a man's pride or loved ones. Dangerous to defy without allies at your back."

"I had no notion. Damned Inquisition, always with hidden claws." Tu'Shan spat harshly. "When did you learn of Marius' family?"

"Not long after we arrived in this abyss. Overheard in the Roma's-that is Marius' flagship's medbay - seems his daughter fell ill." Vallin glanced sidelong at the Marine. "Could be leverage, or target, if Marius stepped out of line."

Tu'Shan snorted angrily. "Honorless wretch. Well you did right keeping silent- can't fight a foe whose blows come from the dark."

Vallin sighed. "Now we must make the best of a bad call. I'll run tight orbit on this Scolaris - too many eyes watching for tricks. You'll back me if things turn?"

"To the last Marine, Vallin. The innocent don't deserve to suffer for politics. Where is she, I can send a squad of Primaris Reivers to go through stealthily!

"No," Vallin said firmly. "We play this carefully. One wrong move and the girl dies, or worse. For now we watch, gather information."

Tu'Shan growled low in his throat. "I do not like this, Cardin. Using innocents as pawns..."

"Nor I. But direct confrontation helps none. We keep this between us for now." Vallin's eyes were hard as iron. "Marius must not know - he would act rashly in his daughter's defense."

They strode on in bleak silence. At last Tu'Shan rumbled "What is your plan, my friend?"

A ghost of a smile. "For now, we follow the Council's directive, learn all we can of this world. But I set contingencies in motion, have operatives watch our...friends. If the moment seems right, we spring our trap and end this game of tyranny."

"I or my brothers could end Jessup quickly."

"No. It must appear natural, or loyalists may retaliate against Marius' kin. But fear not - one way or another, the family will be freed, and justice done in time."

His grim assurance eased Tu'Shan's wrath, if but slightly. For now, all they could do was watch, and wait.

---

Imperial Vercingetorix class Transport Ship "Honoria"

Cadian Shock Troops 423rd Regiment

"All Guardsmen, report to your CO before heading to hangers. I repeat..." The PA system blared as men and women got into equipment before marching down to the hangers where the Valkyries awaited. As the fleet crept closer to the target planet, weapons and troops prepped themselves, readying their flak armor and Lasgun.

"Think this'll be like the Taros campaign, only with less Tau ambushes?"

"Taros was a shitshow, no lie," grunted Cortez, checking the charge on his lasgun. "At least these guys should fight head on, none of that devilfish sneakin'."

Drake just spat and scratched under his flak armor. "Dunno, something don't feel right 'bout this run. Whole damn sector gone loopy if you ask me."

"Eh, when isn't something loopy in the Guard?" Cortez chuckled. "We just point and shoot, leave the thinkin' to the brass."

The valkyrie hangar opened before them, bulbous gunships settling in rows as figures scrambled between drop hatches and supply crates. Drake peered up at the cavernous decking.

"Frag, just hope we don't repeat Cadia," he muttered. No one replied. They shouldered lasguns and joined the forming ranks, instinct guiding them to long-memorized order despite the mysteries around them.

"Taros campaign was a fething nightmare," muttered Lance Corporal Harkin as he juggled his lasgun and pack. "At least these new drop suits got more padding than the last ones."

Private Felix fell in beside him, securing his borrowed laspack. "Reckon we'll see any xenos down there?"

Harkin spat. "Hope not. Just wanna do the job, get paid, go home in one piece."

They joined a knot of Guardsmen heading to the hangar. Banter flowed as easy as las-fire, covering nerves with bravado. The Valkyries waited in neatly stacked rows, pilots running preflight as tech-priests chanted prayers nearby.

Sergeant Brenner bellowed orders. "Double-check gear and strap in, lads! We're inbound in twenty klicks for a combat drop. Eyes sharp - who knows what we'll find down there."

Felix grinned shakily. "Here's hoping it's just some recon and we all get to enjoy leave on Tanius after."

Harkin snorted. "With our luck? Don't count on it, rookie. Just watch your flank and keep that lasgun smoking!"

With grinding hoists the first Valkyrie rose, dripping troops into cockpits. Engines pulsed, drowning out anxiety with the coming storm.

When duty called, a guardsman's lot was simply to answer. Questioning could come later, if they lived to see the return trip. For now, helmets on, lasguns ready. The mission was the thing, as always.

---

Divine right.

"Lord Admiral, why are we not going faster?" Jessup asked on the holo, they'd been creeping forward slowly, reaching the planet.

Vallin surveyed the tac-map steadily. "The planet's magnetic field interferes with our instruments, Lord Inquisitor. Haste risks mishap until we map anomalies."

Truth, but not all of it. Vallin saw no need to imperil crews at Jessup's whim. The methodical survey boded well, as Tu'Shan counseled privately.

Jessup's lips curled. "Superstition. The Imperium commands, Admiral-"

"The Imperium commands victory, safely won. I serve both with equal fervor." Vallin's gaze bored into Jessup's. "Your doubts are noted, yet fleet operations remain my purview. We continue circumspectly."

Tension hummed until Jessup inclined his head, barely. "Wise as always, it seems. Carry on...for now." His parting glare promised this wasn't over.

Vallin watched him go impassively. Power plays annoyed, yet posed small threat by themselves. And delay gave him time - to learn world and people, shore defenses, place trigger should Jessup overreach.

Patience and care would defeat brashness here, as on every field. The Imperium's future was his lodestar, not one man's delusions of control. That would see them through this trial, and the next.

A few hours passed before they finally arrived. Vallin thought back to their original Mission.

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 had 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. Anton Jessup planned to change that. With 4 Chapters of Adeptus Astartes, Or Space Marines, the Inquisition, a few battle orders of the Adepta Sororitas, a full battlefleet of 75 ships, and 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.

He punched the fleetwide communications frequency reluctantly opened a channel. "Begin the landings" Vallin barked over the PA, his voice having no emotion. "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: 3778084.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.

The drop pod shook violently now as atmospheric entry took hold. Through the small viewing slit, ribbons of burning plasma could be seen streaming past.

"Brace for impact in thirty seconds!" Sister Angela called out above the deafening roar. She pulled Ayla tight against her ceramite chestplate, cushioning the girl against the rigors of thrust and turbulence.

The other Sisters clamped themselves into position, weapons held securely. Sister Celestia was a stolid mass of calm amidst the frenzy, checking readouts one last time. Maria smiled encouragement at the pale-faced Mayleena.

With a bone-jarring thud, they slammed into the ground. Dust and pebbles showered the tiny viewport. For a moment all was still save the receding whine of cooling vents. Then the blessed silence of the external pickups kicked in.

"Touchdown!" Latia cried joyfully. "Everybody in one piece?"

A crackle of affirmations answered her. Sister Angela let out a long breath and peeked down at Ayla, who blinked up at her with watery eyes but a tentative smile.

The outer doors ground open, revealing a bucolic countryside underneath balmy skies. Far in the distance, plumes of smoke rose from initial battles. To work, then.

With a hiss of equalizing pressure, the Sisters rose as one, readying bolters. As Angela led Ayla out, Celestia smiled. "The Emperor protects, sisters. Let faith be our shield!"

---

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

Currently en Route on Valkyrie Transport towards UNKNOWN PLANET.

The Valkyrie shudder heavily as it entered the Atmosphere of the planet. Inside the cramped, tight space, the 12 Guardsmen plus their comissar 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 comissar stood up and raised her power sword, no doubt preparing to give a "Morale raising Speech."

"Listen up" Comissar 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 of 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, 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 laser slammed into an Inquisition Valkyrie. The Valkyrie lurched wildly as another impact rocked its shields. Kinzel clenched his teeth, gripping his lasgun tight as Commissar Kendra railed angrily at the pilot.

"By the Throne, Leonhardt, get us down in one piece!" she shrieked.

"Doing my best, ma'am!" he shouted back. "Whatever's firing on us has acute targeting, but it's limited to our beachhead zone. Rest of the planet's quiet as far as I can tell on auspex."

That gave Kinzel pause - a singularly advanced defense focusing fire precisely. Strange for a pre-Imperial world. Though stranger things happened in the warp-wracked universe.

Another gut-twisting evasive maneuver sprayed soldiers against bulkheads. Kinzel glimpsed shattered hulls tumbling from the heavens through a rent in the screaming metal. Then the ground swelled huge and merciless, a green blur resolving into treetops.

The Valkyrie shuddered violently as Leonhardt whipped it through evasive maneuvers. Outside, explosions flashed as unseen batteries found their range.

"Hold on!" he yelled through the comms. Inside was bedlam as the Guardsmen clung to handholds, weapons, and each other. Only Commissar Kendra and Capt. Sera stood stoic, trained muscles keeping them balanced.

A particularly heavy blast rocked the vehicle, shearing away an engine nacelle. "Frak!" Leonhardt cursed through bloodied teeth, fighting the controls. "We're hit bad, going in hard!"

Through glimpses out cracking viewports, Kinzel saw the ground rising up fast - too fast. Then a flash of inspiration. "Punch a hole in the cloud layer!" he shouted to Leonhardt over the din.

The pilot blinked blood from his eyes and scanned readouts blurrily. Then a grim smile. "Good call, Officer! Hold on to your lunches, ladies..."

With a screech of stressed metal, Leonhardt kicked the Valkyrie into a screaming dive. The craft bucked madly, swinging close to structural failure. For a breathless minute they plunged earthward - then punched through wispy clouds into clear air.

Silence fell but for labored groans and hisses. Leonhardt let out a shaky whoop. "You're all alive thanks to Lieutenant Pretty Words back there! Brace for a bumpy landing."

With rattling skids and flailing fans, the crippled transport fought its descent. Below, an unknown world - and answers - beckoned their first steps. If any survived to take them.

---

NORTH Liberian Aerospace Defense COMMAND.

June 2nd, 1995.

"Thanks for the coffee, man."

"You got it." the other missileer said from his station. It was another usual shift waiting in their bunker in the Cheyenne mountains, watching the screens and waiting to see if the President would give the order to blow the VSSR and it's Warsaw Pact Satellite states in Eastern Euronia...

It had been a quiet shift so far. John sipped his coffee and scanned the various radar screens and readouts once more. Everything appeared calm and routine.

Across the command center, some of the other missileers chatted casually as they monitored their stations. A few played solitaire on their computers to pass the time. In the break room, others relaxed over fresh pots of coffee.

John stifled a yawn. The afternoon hours often dragged on without much happening. Still, they had to stay alert in case of any anomalies. You never knew when tensions could flare up overseas and things might suddenly get busy.

For now, all looked peaceful. Satellite imagery showed no unexpected military movements from the Stovies. Early warning systems were silent. It was shaping up to be another quiet night. John settled back in his chair, content to watch the computer screens while occasionally chatting with his fellow crewmates. Just another routine shift so far at NORAD, protecting Concordia's skies through the long dark hours. And then the ground started shaking. John spilled hot coffee down his coveralls and screamed, "Son of a bitch!"

Alarms began blaring as radar screens flickered and went black. "We've lost all satellite feeds!" someone called out.

The rumbling grew more intense as ceiling tiles rained down. Consoles sparked as equipment shorted out. The emergency generators kicked on, flickering the emergency lights on and off.

"Earthquake!" someone yelled over the din. It was the biggest tremor anyone had ever felt in Colorado. Files and papers flew everywhere as the bunker shook violently.

As suddenly as it started, the quake ended. But the damage was done. Every screen was dark. Nothing was responding.

"What the hell just happened?" John cried. An uneasy silence fell over the command center, lit only by the stuttering emergency lights.

Then the radio crackled to life. "NORAD, this is Cheyenne Mountain. We just got slammed by an 8.5 earthquake and some kind of massive electromagnetic pulse. The whole base is down. Sending a damage assessment team your way."

An EMP? John and the others exchanged nervous looks. That could only mean one thing - a nuclear attack. But nothing had shown up on the radar.

"Jesus, look at the screen!"

John quickly looked over at his panel. And his blood froze in his veins. On-screen, a cluster of objects, no large cluster of objects was speeding through the atmosphere towards various cities worldwide. He watched as some of them fragmented into many more dots- a multi launch nuke!

"Oh God, we need to get the president!"

"An EMP just slammed into us, we're cut off for now." John quickly walked over to the Intercom.

A lieutenant rushed up to the two men. "Gentlemen, orders from up top, probably the President himself has authorized us to go into DEFCON-3" she whispered breathlessly.

"Shit"

"So I guess it's true then, WW3 has just started?"

"May god have mercy on us all…"

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

"Jesus Christ…it's worldwide!" He saw some of the dots blink out of existence, meaning they were being destroyed.

"Who's firing?" another Missileer asked.

"That's Excalibur, also known as the Sword of Annihilation, and Tauberg's Sword, It's a chemical laser weapon constructed by the Ulraznavians between the late 1980s and early 1990s. Excalibur was originally conceived as a long-range, anti-ICBM defense system."

John checked his terminal, sure enough, there were energy signatures emanating from the aforementioned Ulraznavian region.

Resigning himself to the situation, John sighed.

---

Aznayets-11, Satellite Command Bunker, RSVNSCV

Near Oknovst, Zaryena Oblast

Vostokvakian SSFR.

"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 terminal's.

"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 of from his terminal screen, visibly shaken. "Altitude, and dropping, Oh Bozhe Moy its 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.

Junior-Lieutenant Yakovich, stationed on Makarenko's left, spoke up, "This is just ground radar; nothing from Oko." He did a better job than Mironoff at hiding his shock, perhaps because he trusted in their satellite early detection protocols. He believed it couldn't possibly be a surprise attack. But if it wasn't, what else could it be? Or worse, what if the system was wrong? It wasn't flawless...

Petrov anxiously watched the world map on the bunker wall. Small blinking lights were moving towards Moskvingrad. Unidentified objects were approaching the city. They had only a minute or so before impact...

"Second unidentified object detected!" Akhmatova exclaimed.

Everyone's attention turned to the map, where more blinking lights appeared. Not just one, but several. Like a cluster of warheads from a single MIRV. Mironoff felt a lump in his throat. It was over Leningrad. Something was very wrong. Could this be a drill?

"Third unidentified object detected!" Makarenko shouted, his hands trembling. This time, the blinking light appeared over the Urals, near Chelyabinsk.

Mironoff looked at Yakovich, who understood without words what his superior wanted. "Comrade!" Mironoff said, "still no confirmation of any launches."

Considering the flight time, even the Pershing-2s stationed in Francovia would have been detected by now. Mironoff pondered the reason the Concordians would have to attack. And why only three? Surely, but then... what else could they be? Meteors? Like the Tunguska comet? But why were they aimed at major population centers?

"We have impact!" Yakovich shouted. Mironoff gripped his desk, expecting the shockwave to hit the bunker any second. For a few moments, silence filled the room.

Mironoff turned to one of the officers manning the station on the level below him and commanded that they give him a direct phone line to the surface. He was immensely relieved that it wasn't what they had initially thought it to be, but he also had the uneasy feeling that whatever was going on, this was only the beginning.

---

Santa Monica Beach,

West of Los Angeles, State Of California. United Republican States of Concordia.

June 2nd. 1995

Santa Monica Beach, located west of Los Angeles in the state of California, was always bustling with activity, even during autumn. By mid-morning, the beaches were packed with thousands of people. Teenage boys were skateboarding along the boardwalk, while young women relaxed on deck-chairs, soaking up the sun. Little children played in the surf or built sand-castles on the shore. Vendors, mostly Hispanic, went about their business, selling various items like t-shirts, suntan lotion, ice-cold Coca-Colas, and ice-cream. However, everything changed when a sudden impact occurred.

Only a few individuals bothered to look up and witness a brilliant streak of light tearing through the atmosphere, glowing red-hot from reentry. Within seconds, it crashed down and landed in the busiest section of the beach, causing immediate casualties. The air was filled with screams as panicked beachgoers ran for their lives. Some people remained frozen in shock or curiosity, unable to move from their positions.

A large, six-sided, roughly conical metal object now rested in the center of the beach, partially buried in the sand. Its dark blue-painted metallic hull stood out against the blackened, smoldering sand and the lifeless bodies scattered around it. Observers noticed a large white pair of wings painted on the side of the object.

Suddenly, all six sides of the cylinder forcefully opened, revealing its occupants - strange humanoid figures. Towering at a height of eight or nine feet, they were encased entirely in metal armor, with fiercely glowing eyes and a glowing blade in hand. Each step they took sent tremors through the ground, felt by everyone nearby. And they were not alone.

People wondered who or what they were. Were they aliens? Demons from Hell? These thoughts raced through the minds of those present on the beach that day. Some individuals remained paralyzed with fear, unable to move, while others attempted to flee. Unfortunately, many did not manage to escape very far.

---

Landing Zone Theta 11.

Brother Captain Allegro Vergil

Grey Angels Chapter.

Nova Arcadia.

Clearing the landing zone of any potential threats was surprisingly easy. Once they sent a clear message to the locals, they quickly scattered. Captain Allegro Vergil could continue, but he decided to take a moment to get his bearings.

Looking around, he realized something was off. Instead of the designated target area, they found themselves on a wide sandy beach with the ocean to the west. To the east, there was a boardwalk and a small town with mostly low buildings, but a few taller square towers. Further east, he could see a cluster of even taller glass towers, but nothing like the hive city they expected.

Sergeant Dante and his team had landed west of them, in the town. Allegro could hear the distant screams and see smoke rising from their position. Two other teams, Brothers Lucien and Arminus, had landed miles to the east, among the distant towers.

Allegro frowned; their deployment was not as planned. The Warp energies they encountered during their descent might have caused them to veer off course. This worried him, as it confirmed his suspicions about the challenges they would face on this planet. However, so far, they hadn't encountered much resistance from the rebels. The few armed rebels they found in the landing area had pathetically small weapons that could hardly be called "weapons" at all.

The ground was littered with the bodies of the natives who tried to escape the judgment of the Emperor's Angels. Civilian casualties were expected to be high, as is typical in any military operation. but it was deemed acceptable in order to eradicate any heresy and corruption. Although it was clear that they had not landed where they intended and did not find any rebel forces, Allegro still felt a strong hatred towards them. The natives, both men and women, were wretched creatures barely dressed in minimal clothing.

Through his helmet's visor, Allegro focused on the body of a young woman nearby. She must have been around twenty years old, with a clean hole burned through her chest from a power sword. Her clothing was peculiar, with denim pants ripped, in a blue color, a very, very revealing top in blue, and garishly colored footwear. Her hair was black though he could see streaks of white. Allegro was disgusted by the excess and immodesty of this pleasure-filled beach. Considering the probable allegiances, there was reason to suspect the influence of the Prince of Pleasure.

He glanced ahead and spotted a black and white ground car with flashing red and blue lights on its roof. The letters "L.A.P.D." were written on its doors. The vehicle's former occupants, now torn to shreds, had dared to shoot back at the Emperor's Angels.

He saw his battle brother, Brother-Adept Dursus, approaching him with a purposeful stride. Dursus, the Techmarine of the Company, wore dark grey armor with accents of Mechanicum red. His four servo-arms extended from his back, resembling a mechanical spider. Each servo-arm held a different object.

As Allegro approached, he asked, "Any progress in contacting the fleet, Brother-Adept? And what are those items you're carrying?"

"I've been collecting some of the locals' devices for study," replied the techmarine, his voice sounding flat and synthesized due to the Adeptus Mechanicus' modifications. Dursus dropped the four objects at Acastus' feet. "Primitive, but intriguing nonetheless."

Captain Acastus examined the collection of objects on the sand. The first was a simple wooden oval mounted on four small wheels - another means of transportation used by the natives.

The second object was one of their feeble "weapons" - a semi-automatic pistol that fired projectiles. Like other Imperial stubguns, it was likely effective against unarmored targets but useless against power armor. This particular pistol seemed incapable of penetrating even the flak armor worn by the lowest-ranking Astra Militarum soldiers. Pathetic! It was evident that these weapons were meant more for controlling the native population than for actual military combat.

"Do what you will with them, Techmarine, I have better things to do." And with that, Allegro stomped off heading in the direction of the nearby buildings. The distant sound of gunfire and explosions could still be heard, though they had died down somewhat as the squad slowly cleared and secured this landing zone. Still, though, he had to wonder to himself: where in the Emperor's Sacred Name are we?

East Coast of Concordia.

June 2nd, 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.

The thunder of jet engines grew overhead as three F/A-18E/F Super Hornets streaked in from Miramar Air Base. Their payloads of AGM-65 Maverick missiles and 20mm cannons would be the first real resistance these invaders encountered.

"Fox Two, Fox Two!" shouted the lead pilot as they came into range of the intruders swarming up and down the beach. Mavericks arced down, striking one of the landed pods and several armored soldiers in blistering explosions. Chaingun fire from the others raked targets across the sands.

Yet more pods continued disgorging troops. Their weapons - strange pulsing beams and bolts that downed aircraft with disturbing ease. One Hornet spun out of control, crashing into the surf in a fireball.

On the ground, Hendricks watched his soldiers engage from the high ground above the beach. Woodland BDUs and M16s contrasted starkly with the invaders' immense ceramite armor and thunderous weaponry. Whole squads were wiped out with each volley.

"Bring up the M1A1s, we need firepower!" he barked into his headset mic. The rumble of Abrams tanks announced their arrival, 120mm shells punching through invader ranks. But still they came, undeterred by losses.

Civilian traffic clogged the roads inland as the city of Santa Monica dissolved into chaos. National Guardsmen struggled to direct evacuations while covering the rear. Stranded families pleaded for help as the enemy closed in.

"We can't hold them, Colonel!" cried Shaw as another Super Hornet exploded overhead. "Recommend immediate retreat and aerial bombing run!"

Hendricks hesitated. Leaving civilians to die went against everything. But they were overmatched here. "Fall back to Venice Blvd, form a defensive line. All remaining aircraft, carpet bombing of the beach - now!"

With rattling cannon and turbine whines, the defenders pulled back through smoking wreckage. Above, jets wheeled and dove, unleashing payloads that rocked the skies. For now, the shore was lost - but the city would not fall without a fight.

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…its 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, armoured 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, armoured 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, however, with the element of surprise lost, the armoured hostiles quickly began to open fire...with their frickin guns. Chrysler saw an A-10's cockpit explode...

In an istant, the aircraft were caught in the trap. Chrysler's comm was now filled with the terrified voices. These guns the troopers had fired some sort of rocket,

The A-10s' guns fell silent all too soon, their ammo drums spent. But in those few precious seconds they had bought time for civilians inland.

Now the invaders turned their weapons skyward. Enemy fire lanced up in anger, and Chrysler got his first taste of their fury.

Each bullet fired was more lika a tiny rocket, penetrating the armored cockpits with hateful ease. Explosions lit the air as aircraft died around him. Rogers' craft spiraled down in flames, the pilot's final screams cut short.

"Break off, break off!" Vic roared desperately as two more planes exploded around him. But the enemy fire was relentless, each shot finding its mark unerringly.

Jake yanked back hard on his stick as a stream of bolts ripped past, bucking his aircraft. Warning alarms shrieked as damage reports scrolled down his HUD too fast to comprehend. Smoke billowed from somewhere behind him.

"Mayday, mayday! We're getting massacred up here!"

He wheeled hard, spitting 30mm rounds back at the armored figures on the beach, to no avail. Their armor was simply too strong. More cries erupted over the radio as planes disintegrated under the assault.

A bolt punched through the engine cowling in a flash of flames, severing pipes and wires. Power failing, Jake wrestled furiously with the controls as his plane spiraled earthward in an unstoppable spin. Through streaming tears he glimpsed the invaders leveling weapons upwards to finish the job.

With a bone-shattering impact, the world went dark. His last thought was of those left defenseless below, at the mercy of an enemy beyond human comprehension. A foe that cut through armored tanks and heavy aircraft like paper, ending hope before it could truly take flight.

Then nothing but the acrid stench of burning aviation fuel and spilled blood in the ruined sand. A new dawn of fear had broken over this new world.

Brother Captain Allegro Vergil

Grey Angels Chapter.

Nova Arcadia.

Allegro grunted as he saw a few of the native's aero craft attempt a cowardly, but ultimately pitiful stab-in-the back surprise attack. A few fellow battle brothers were wounded, but nothing to serious.

"Send a message to Scolaris and Lord Admiral Vallin" he ordered a nearbye Astartes with a vox pack "We have secured a foothold. They can arrive in orbit now."

The Marine nodded, before turning to fiddle with the pack on his back. Allegro marched up to one of the Aerocraft, and ripped off the cockpit, revealing the pilot.

The pilot was a standard, unaugmented human, no sign of Chaos taint (Despite the obvious fact that they'd just landed in a traitor world. He wore a green flightsuit, several harnesses, a mask and helmet for oxygen.

"Techmarine! Come over here!" he boomed "What can you make of this?"

Dursus strode over, Servo arms whirring. Arriving at the aircraft, his bionic eye analyzed thr aircraft.

"Interesting, it appears that this aircraft is advanced...yet at the same time not."

"In lay man's terms, Dursus" Allegro grunted irritably

"The fuel, engine, and alloys are a bit more advanced than standard Imperial fare, is that simple?" Dursus responded dryly.

Allegro nodded slowly as he pondered this observation. These natives possessed sophistication beyond mere humans yet still seemed primitive compared to proper Imperial standards.

A muffled plea drew his gaze to the bound pilot at his feet. Though his armor filtered all sound, he saw the man's lips moving frantically. Whether begging for mercy or hurling defiant curses mattered little. These traitors had dared attack the Emperor's Angels and would be dealt with accordingly.

"Interrogate him if you wish, Techmarine, but be swift. We have a world to purge." With that, Allegro turned and stalked away to rally his squads. Complacency could not be allowed even briefly against such debased foes.

Dursus unleashed a battery of probes and augurs from his cogitator-threaded gauntlet, delving into the pilot's unprotected mind in seconds. Datastreams flickered across his bionic vision — primitive personal records, tactical information, images of towns and cities from on high.

Nothing hinted at the scale of corruption that had brought such ire down upon this place. No trace of the Ruinous Powers or signs of rebellion could he discern from the pathetic captive's mind.

Rising, Dursus uttered a metallic sigh. "Captain, I detect no taint of heresy here. These people seem truly ignorant of their world's fall from grace. What would you have us do?"

Allegro scowled beneath his helm. Somewhere amid this prosperous yet primitive realm festered a canker that had drawn the Angels' wrath. And they would raze whole nations to cleanse it, if needed.

"Continue the operation as planned," he growled. "Leave none capable of opposing us standing. Innocence means little where heresy has taken root. We will know their sin soon enough."

Marching over to another area of the beach, Allegro soon found Fandral, in the arms of the Apocathery.

Brother...I feel like I'm burning from the inside out," he choked. "My skin...feels like it's melting off."

"Keep calm, you'll be alright" the Apocathery comforted

Fandral writhed in agony, clawing at his armor as sweat poured from his pores. "The pain...it's unbearable. Please brother, end it!"

Allegro grabbed his hand firmly. "You will not die today. Stay strong!" He glanced at the apothecary. "Well?"

The apothecary shook his head grimly. "The radiation is ravaging his body at a cellular level. His gene-seed is already failing."

Fandral screamed as boils erupted across his skin, merging into vast weeping sores. His veins stood out black under the surface. "My innards are melting!" Blood sprayed from his mouth as internal organs dissolved.

Allegro steeled himself. "Purge the taint, leave only what is necessary to sustain his life until an answer can be found."

Serums and foreign organs were implanted with brutal efficiency, buying time. But Fandral's suffering only increased as his mutated flesh reacted violently.

As his thrashing weakened, Allegro leaned close. "Brother, your sacrifice will not be forgotten. If any means exist to cure this affliction, we will find it. The Emperor protects."

With one last strangled gasp, Fandral stilled. The apothecary bowed his head. A dire mystery had landed on their shores, and the price of ignorance may yet be high.

With that grim portent, he signaled his squads to advance, leaving only corpses behind on the bloody sands. Their Great Work here had just begun.

Boardwalk.

Within moments, the entire Grey Angels' chapter had wiped the enemy literally off the map. Not that the Imperial Guard 31st Carolan Regiment noticed. They began to combat close-quarters with the enemy after getting out of the beachhead alongside the Grey Angels. Here, Sgt Maria Auriea Ramon, learned the hard way as that Flak armor, while impervious to stubgun fire, did not cover everything. Hence the rebels of this world were aiming at the exposed areas.

"Mierda" she muttered in her planet's local dialect.

"Sgt, Vox from the Grey Angels, they wish to know have we advanced?"

"Tell them...We will advance when we clear this area!"

The vox caster nodded before quickly settling his vox down to communicate.

"Alright ladies! command wants us to take this area quick, for the Emperor! Rhe fleet's counting on us, and so are the Astartes!"

"Ma'am! Do we fix bayonets?"

"No. Private! I want a couple of lasguns giving us covering fire. Erina you have that plasma gun, use it when we advance to that habitation over there! Romeo, you have our last Krak grenades, the minute we reach into cover again, you throw 'em."

The others nodded.

Maria waited until there was a short lull in enemy fire.

"Now! Go! GO! Go!"

The squad burst from cover in a hail of lasbolts, plasma bursts melting holes in the enemy lines. Shouts and explosions echoed down the boardwalk as militia and rebels clashed in brutal hand-to-hand combat.

Maria dispatched two men with precise las-shots, bayonet stabbing a third as he charged her position. " Grenade out!" Romeo yelled, tossing two krak charges toward a dug-in heavy bolter emplacement.

The ensuing blast showered shards of decking and body parts, tearing screaming enemies apart. "Advance!" Maria ordered over the din.

They pushed forward step by bloody step. A rebel shotgun boomed, tearing a leg off Private Li. She went down with a wail of pain. Erina's plasma scorched the shooter before he could reload.

Maria dragged Li into cover, tearing a stim into her thigh with her teeth. "You'll make it soldier, just hold on!"

Meanwhile the lasguns kept up covering fire, beams slicing through rebels foolish enough to poke heads up. But more poured in from ruined shops and homes to either side.

"Inside people! C'mon!" The squad headed to a big building that was being used as a defensive position. Maria and the others quickly ducked as a rebel in green, brown and yellowish camouflage gear let loose a full magazine.

"Should I throw a grenade?" Romeo asked.

"Not yet," Maria hissed. She peered around the edge of the doorway, surveying their opposition with a practiced eye.

The rebels wore pale earth tones that blended disturbingly well amid the wreckage - this force knew these streets intimately. They were focused on the beach where the Grey Angels battled, unaware of the Guardsmen's infiltration thus far.

A balcony on the upper floors provided ideal cover for snipers and heavier weapons. If they could seize it, the advantage would be theirs.

"Romeo, smoke grenades on my mark. The rest of you, fix bayonets and follow me in. We're taking the high ground!"

Her M35 Kantreal spat, dropping a rebel spotter by the stairwell. "Grenades! Now!"

Thick white smoke billowed forth, concealing their charge. Maria crashed through the doorway at a run, bayonet stabbing left and right with brutal efficiency.

Her squad emerged from the fog behind, joining the melee. "Clear the stairs, push up!"

Rebels fell back under the onslaught, but dug in on the landing above to bar their advance. A heated exchange of lasfire echoed in the smoke-filled chamber.

Then a boom shattered rebel ranks, flinging bodyparts across the wall. "Grenade out!" Romeo yelled triumphantly from below.

"Move, move!" Maria roared, storming upward over the fresh carnage. Within moments they owned the high ground, guns trained on streets below as the last rebels broke and ran.

"Area secure," she panted into her vox. "Awaiting orders." Their foothold was gained - now to purge this district, one rebel at a time.

---

Alright, here is the first of the new Rewritten chapters. Chapter 1. I've now added new information, as well as rewritten the first battle with the Imperium actually now portrayed as a legitimate threat. The A-10 attack is now a semi successful failure with only few Astartes (3 in total) actually dying. Comment if you find the new version or the old version better.