BOOM!
The searing brilliance of explosions completely illuminated the darkness. A rapid succession of shockwaves trailing from the rear sent the Orks sprawling. At the vanguard, the two retreating squads had only just converged when the first glimmering streaks of light descended from the heavens.
The earth buckled under a colossal tremor.
The orbital bombardment had begun.
Upon receiving the coordinates, the cruisers in high anchor had spent several minutes maneuvering into firing solutions. Calanthus's uplink had provided the bridge crews with their first clear look at the target. With the interference screens and illusory veils dissipated, the verdant facade of the planet had vanished, replaced by the reality of a desolate, dust-choked wasteland.
Scatterings of greenskin encampments across the surface were now laid bare to their auspex arrays. At the sight of the teeming Orks, even a veteran sergeant like Hadrian felt a sharp intake of breath.
The ship-borne heavy auspex arrays rapidly completed their sweeps, highlighting the ground forces in granular detail. This was no planetary-scale engagement; focusing on a localized theater allowed the auspex data to render with exceptional clarity.
A tide of green surged behind the two squads. Recognizing the dire urgency, Hadrian immediately relayed the strike order to the ship's captain.
But such divine wrath required time to manifest.
A single loading cycle for the massive macro-cannon shells required the synchronized labor of hundreds of ratings and bondsmen. Compounding the delay, recent damage to the lower decks had resulted in the loss of thousands of indentured deck-slaves. These factors conspired to ensure the orbital strike was anything but punctual.
Finally, after the colossal high-explosive shells were chambered by the crude mechanisms of the loading cradles, the first salvo pierced the atmosphere. Minutes late, the shells slammed into the coordinate grid specified by Calanthus.
These multi-ton payloads obliterated entire sections of the Ork camp instantly. Superheated promethium-flame and cataclysmic shockwaves tore through everything in their path. Even lumbering Ork Deff Dreads were tossed aside like scrap metal.
The strike assessment telemetry flashed before Hadrian's eyes almost instantaneously.
"Optical observation confirms strike efficacy at maximum parameters. Target saturation exceeds 136.34%."
Due to Calanthus's infiltration of the camp and the earlier discovery of Nalson by the Kommandos, the Orks had massed in significant density. Lacking any form of orbital defense, the encampment was virtually erased from the map.
The only structure to escape total destruction was the central facility, which the bombardment had been calibrated to avoid. While its surrounding scrap-iron perimeter had slumped into molten slag from the thermal bloom, the primary manufactorum remained largely intact.
Not far from this ruin lay an even larger Ork settlement. At its heart sat a gargantuan metal fortress—the unmistakable seat of the planet's Warboss.
Black Hammer watched the distant pyres rising into the sky, his eyes gleaming with primal cruelty. Having shown his face at the forward camp, Black Hammer had retreated to his battle-fortress the moment the losses among his Kommandos were confirmed. To the outside world, his ferocity and brutality were his defining traits; his perceived dullness was a mask. In truth, Cunning was the core of his survival and his rise to power.
He would not gamble his life until he understood the scale and nature of his foe. That crude forward camp lacked even a basic energy shield; a veteran of a thousand brawls, he knew well that no warrior, no matter how tough, fared well when caught in the focused fire of heavy ordnance on an open battlefield.
However, the sheer weight of the firepower now manifesting left even him uneasy.
Orbital bombardment.
The scale was excessive. As he watched the pillars of smoke and the sky-rending gouts of fire, he reached a singular conclusion:
I reckon none of the lads over there are comin' back.
Black Hammer's mind whirred with crude, frantic logic, trying to deduce how the enemy would strike next. In his eyes, a single war-factory was important, but it wasn't worth throwing his own life away.
While Black Hammer was lost in "finkin'," the squads led by Calanthus and Nalson finally found a moment of respite. The pursuing Orks had abandoned their hunt; they viewed the retreating Astartes as cowards for running, and the spectacle of their own camp being blown to high heaven promised "betta scrap." To the greenskin mind, why chase a coward when you can turn back and fight a real war?
After all, fightin' is what we're made for!
Thousands of surviving Orks who had been outside the blast radius were now swarming back toward the ruins of their base. However, the appearance of numerous new streaks of light in the sky caused the greenskins to scatter in sudden panic—they had just seen what "sky-lights" did to their mates.
As the Orks fell back, Calanthus finally had the chance to address Nalson. His gaze drifted toward the three Grey Knights, who were staring intently at Axion.
Carson, the leader of the trio, felt Calanthus's scrutiny. He took a measured look at this battle-brother, noting he was slightly shorter than the other Ultramarines. But seeing the intricate heraldry and that iconic wreathed helm, even Carson checked his initial disdain.
He cared little for Primaris neophytes, but an Invictarus Suzerain wearing a Laurel Wreath was a different matter entirely. Such status commanded the respect of even the 666th Chapter.
Respect, however, did not mean warmth. The Grey Knights maintained a mask of cold professionalism. Beyond the necessary, they spoke nothing; in their world, words were a vector for corruption. Even though these Astartes would likely face mind-cleansing upon their return, caution remained the watchword. The Warp is porous, and none can say where a leak begins.
The three knights felt a grim sense of relief that no mortals were present. Had there been Imperial Guard on site, the Grey Knights would have been forced to move beyond mere psychic veils and mind-wipes.
They would have had to implement a "physical" purging.
Once the communication between Calanthus and Nalson concluded, the two units merged. Calanthus's interaction with Carson was minimal—a nod, a gesture of acknowledgement, and nothing more. He knew enough to ask no questions and seek no proximity, regardless of his curiosity. Experience told him that when this storied and secretive Chapter appeared unannounced, it rarely heralded good tidings.
But more pressing matters were at hand.
A swarm of Thunderhawks and Transporters was descending from the heavens. Half of the Ultramarines aboard the cruiser and nearly two-thirds of the ship's armed personnel were being deployed to the surface in a rapid combat drop.
Carson immediately requisitioned a Thunderhawk Gunship to extract his team. Though their ultimate objective remained opaque, the request was granted. The three Grey Knights in Terminator plate boarded a blue-liveried transport and ascended toward the orbiting cruiser.
At Calanthus's behest, Hadrian received the trio personally. Even a veteran like Hadrian could not entirely suppress his curiosity as the three silver-clad giants disembarked in the hangar bay. At Carson's request, Hadrian sequestered several decks for their exclusive use, issuing a standing order that no soul was to approach the area without express authorization.
Faced with the command of the Adeptus Astartes, the naval ratings obeyed without question.