Rewind the clock a little.
High above the clouds, several Stormbirds dove straight through enemy anti-air fire, smashing toward the ground.
The recruits kept firing even when the void-shields shimmered around the incoming craft. The veterans, however, recognized the silhouette and were already fleeing.
By M42, Stormbirds—relics of the Great Crusade—had become exceedingly rare, replaced almost entirely by Thunderhawk Gunships. For several of them to appear at once now? Who could guess what followed in their wake—or what horrors they carried within?
Perhaps you downed a Stormbird, only for dozens of blood-soaked warriors with Grav-Chutes to leap from the burning wreckage, flying straight for your position.
Those who still fought on this blighted world were here either for blessings or for pleasure. Being pummeled into the dirt by a squad of ancient warriors was neither.
Well—except for Slaanesh Cultists, who might indeed crave the humiliation and violence of being beaten into the ground by such brutes. Even so, their storm of fire did little against the Stormbirds, which shielded one another in their approach.
They didn't even bother wasting fire on local anti-air batteries. With howling engines, the formation cut a direct line to the bunker entrance. Their onboard weapons effortlessly purged those few enemies foolish enough not to flee, those who dared return fire.
When the large-calibre Lascannons swept across the earth, even Chaos Space Marines were reduced to glowing slurry—flesh and armor alike fused into molten pools and vapor.
Yes, the horde of Daemons that the Veteran of Slaanesh had imagined overwhelming their foe with? Already gone before the first wave of landings.
And he was never alone.
From the Stormbirds thundered Redeemed Angels and Oathbreakers alike, striking down upon the burning ground.
At that instant, had any other veterans of the Great Crusade still lived to see it, they might have mistaken the vision before them for the past—twenty thousand years ago.
For the Redeemed Angels now wore Crusade-era Power Armour stripped from the Vengeful Spirit itself. The suits might not rival current-issue equipment in performance, but they were leagues beyond the neglected rags the Chapter had once worn—and far easier for disguising their allegiance than a fresh coat of paint.
Zhang Ge hadn't thought of it when aboard the Vengeful Spirit, but when he reached the ground and turned logistics over to Endymion, the latter acted at once. After a few shuttle runs, the Redeemed Angels were fully outfitted in genuine Heresy-era armour.
No—counting the lost millennia, twenty thousand years old. Only ten of them reversed in the Warp.
As these Astartes swept through the bunker, cutting down Chaos and noble private soldiers alike, the Terminator veteran meant to seize the Deathstrike Missiles failed in his task.
Testing his Eldar pet, Zhang Ge had flung her from a landing pod in near-orbit before descent, tasking her with scouting the bunker. That was his word. She, eager to prove herself, had no intention of stopping at mere reconnaissance.
Slipping past the siege lines, she blinked into the bunker with psychic sorcery, quickly mapping its layout. Then she seized control of the chamber housing the Deathstrike Missiles. By chance, just then, the Terminator was teleported into the same location.
With deft psychic manipulation, she didn't even need to fight him. She shifted his arrival point by a fraction—and he materialized halfway inside a wall, crushed.
By the time the Veteran of Slaanesh lost his head, the noble's bunker was already in Zhang Ge's hands.
So ended this "dangerous" mission—before the main force even set boots on the ground.
When the report reached him, Zhang Ge couldn't help but crack.
The Imperial Fists had described this bunker as impregnable, the mission as dire and fraught. Yet before he'd even thrown a punch, the foe had perished in its wind.
But surprises were nothing new. He calmed himself quickly, and then made a decision that ran counter to the Fists' orders.
Capturing the bunker didn't mean the enemy was destroyed. With the counteroffensive about to begin, why not shift the objective? Why not blossom outward from the center?
This was the very heart of the fallen sector. Who knew how many enemies infested it—or how many souls languished in torment? As an Imperial officer, he could not bear to see citizens suffer so. To liberate as many as possible was only right.
At least, Zhang Ge convinced himself it was.
As he issued this new order, he even had messengers ask the non-attached PDF if they wanted to withdraw. After all, the Fists' mission had already been completed. None could fault them for pulling back. For Zhang Ge, it also had the added benefit of thinning his own ranks.
Unfortunately, the inquiry only resulted in the messengers being mobbed by outraged PDF. A few who couldn't run fast enough were beaten soundly.
The officers, affronted, insisted some schemer had deceived Zhang Ge, leading him to believe there was cowardice among their men. Grateful for his supposed concern, they soon found a way to meet with him, pouring out their earnest loyalty until Zhang Ge, who had instigated the whole thing, was left mortified.
Thankfully, soon after, Drop Time arrived. Under the pretense of leading from the front, Zhang Ge escaped that hell of embarrassment.
Strapping on his Grav-Chute, he descended to the drop zone. Before him stood the silent lines of Armoured Vehicles, within them soldiers ready for war. Alone at the forefront, Zhang Ge raised his voice over the vox:
"In my homeland, those of shared will had a special word. An ancient Terran word. Its sound was 'comrade.'"
"And today, our will is unquestionable—comrades, the time has come for humanity and the galaxy to test us!"
———— 🌟🌟 ————
ps:Support and join my Patreon
patreon.c@om/chenc11 [Remove @]
You can read up to 50 premium chapters.