Once loaded, the transport ships were cast out by the starport and ignited their engines, vanishing into the void.
For this transit, Leontus had specifically ordered contingents of Astartes from various Chapters to be stationed on each vessel. He commanded these demigods of the Imperium to guard the cargo bays once the loading was complete. Upon reaching their destination, they were to follow the cargo to the surface to reinforce the Imperial lines.
While many Astartes were curious about what they were escorting, and what enemy required such security, Leontus found himself at a loss for words. He could hardly tell them, "You must prevent the Adeptus Mechanicus from breaking into the cargo bays and causing a catastrophe."
However, all Astartes received a specific additional directive: assist the "allied forces" in the coming battle. At the time, no one grasped the true meaning behind that order, nor did they imagine that the "allies" in question would be anything but Astra Militarum or PDF.
Thus, the Astartes aboard the transports stood vigil, believing they were guarding some high-level classified shipment, cautiously watching the cargo bay doors.
As the transports reached the frontlines, the crisscrossing beams of light in space and on the ground told a tale of absolute carnage. The frequent blossoms of fire in the void signaled the death of yet another ship.
As the cargo bays swung open, the oversized dropships carrying the crates streaked toward the terrestrial warzones. By the time a few Thunderhawks exited the bays, the strange transport craft were already disappearing into the horizon.
On the ground, the Astra Militarum fought with blood and life to hold the line against the swarming Tyranid broods. Reports soon flooded in from every front: massive, oddly-shaped vehicles had been sighted.
The nine teams initiated their violent planetfall across seven worlds simultaneously. The dropships, carrying immense kinetic energy, plowed through the skies like shells, smashing gaps through swarms of Gargoyles. Drenched in xenos ichor, they slammed down onto the landing pads controlled by Imperial forces.
Logistics officers stood dazed, clutching data-slates, staring at the gargantuan vehicles recognized by their defense systems as "Allied Transports." Their confusion only deepened when they looked at the manifests pushed to their slates.
As squads of soldiers moved to assist with unloading, the massive rear ramps of the dropships descended.
Cohorts of Automated Sentry-Troopers marched out with cold, synchronized steps, forming ranks with mechanical precision. Several Eight-Legs dragged the empty crates out of the hold, and once unloaded, the dropships roared back into the heavens and vanished.
According to Axion's calculations, six of the seven target planets received two regiments each, while the world in the direst straits received the remainder of the host.
The only difference between this planet and the fallen world of Raknor was that the system had not yet fully succumbed. A significant Imperial fleet was still engaged, and the planet's massive defense installations remained intact. To silence these devastating batteries, the Tyranids had launched an intensive planetfall. Spore Chimneys and Mycetic Spores fell like rain across one hemisphere.
Though the Imperial Navy attempted orbital strikes, the Tyranids retaliated with Razorfiend Cruisers and Kraken bio-ships, launching relentless boarding actions. Badly mauled, the Navy was forced to duel the bio-fleet across the planet's horizon. Bio-plasma and Lance beams locked in a deadly exchange in orbit, while the situation on the ground grew increasingly complex.
If the planet's primary defense installations fell, the Imperial fleet in orbit would lose its cover, and the vast Tyranid swarm would shatter the line. The Imperium could not afford to lose this lynchpin world. Yet, despite the Navy deploying every soul capable of holding a lasgun to support the PDF, they remained vastly outnumbered.
Faced with this, Axion had not only deployed five regiments here but had also sent the Apocalypse-class Titan and all the Executor Heavy Tanks. Along with the mechanical legions, the transports carried a company-strength contingent of the Deathwatch.
As the Deathwatch veterans watched the rows of Sentry-Troopers march down the ramps, their helmet auto-senses finally relayed the truth. The systems, usually capable of identifying specific enemy or ally designations, displayed only two words: "Allied Unit"
No category, no chapter info, no data. Nothing. This occurred across every tactical display in the theater. Only then did the Astartes realize the "allied forces" mentioned in their orders were quite literally... allied forces.
Axion cared little for Leontus's arrangements or subtle maneuvers. All units had reached their designated zones and begun deployment. No "red-robed fanatics" had approached to drool over his hardware. The slaughter was about to begin, and everything was proceeding optimally.
For the Imperial troops on the ground, the scene was nothing short of surreal. Unseen heavy dropships had descended, vomited out a mass of unmarked but "allied-verified" automata, and departed. No Tech-Priest Dominus appeared to chant binharic canticles. There was no dialogue, no negotiation, no coordination. Nothing.
Mechanical constructs that were clearly servitors, waving cutters and carrying heaps of strange materials, followed behind the iron giants, who stood as tall as the Angels of Death. Together, they marched out from the defensive lines in perfect silence.
In the middle of the charnel house of the battlefield, they began constructing strange metallic structures. The flying "eight-legged octopi" drifted into the fray, hauling cargo crates. Unseen mechanical muzzles tilted upward, providing precision grenade barrages before the line advanced.
Mechanical monstrosities as large as Dreadnoughts began to rampaged across the field. The surging Tyranid tide, which had seemed unstoppable, was abruptly checked the moment these iron entities engaged.
The orange beams of light emitting from the automata's arms made the nearby Guardsmen look at their own lasguns with newfound suspicion. For the first time, the suppressed Imperial forces saw the potential for a counter-offensive.
The shock felt by the Deathwatch was no less profound than that of their brothers on other worlds. Here, the fighting was at its most incandescent. The Apocalypse-class Titan stood at the vanguard, its thick void shields shimmering. It braced its massive tripod legs, one high, two low, tilting its colossal frame as the twin Atomic Pulse Cannons angled upward.
Beams of light thick enough to illuminate the sky tore through the atmosphere, and the subsequent violent explosions in the void told of their terrifying potency. Compared to the fixed defense batteries, the Apocalypse Titan was a mobile fortress of annihilation.
Meanwhile, the Executor Heavy Tanks began their high-speed rampage. Their massive hulls and horrific weight brought unparalleled crushing power. Dense swarms of Tyranids were evaporated by the tanks' turret-mounted laser arrays, while missile pods maintained a ceaseless blanket of suppressive fire.
The Guardsmen huddled behind the landing pad walls, and the Deathwatch veterans who had just deployed to reinforce the line, stood frozen in disbelief.
Except, of course, for a few warriors whose shoulder pauldrons bore the iron gauntlet or the crossed lightning bolts of the Iron Hands and Storm Lords. Those warriors were looking at the rampaging Executor tanks, quietly suppressing their awe, and their greed.