Whether for the rank-and-forth soldiers of the Imperial Guard, the surviving PDF, or the Deathwatch brothers who had made planetfall alongside them, witnessing colossal ground-based defense batteries thunder against orbital targets was no novelty.
However, it was the first time any of them had seen a Titan engage a starship.
The shockwaves generated by terrifying energy fluctuations triggered violent atmospheric vibrations.
BOOM!
The Hive Mind reacted instantly to this new threat. Swaths of arching bio-acid spores were launched into the sky, their trajectories calculated to carpet the position of the Apocalypse-class Titan.
Compared to the swarms on Raknor, the Tyranids here were in a state of hyper-evolution; their genus types were more diverse, and mutations were surfacing in endless, grotesque varieties.
Dense detonations blossomed into a thicket of fire against the Titan's void shields. Stray spores that missed the god-machine fell instead upon the Erratana-class combat automata nearby.
Yet, the flickering of the shields quickly upended everyone's tactical assumptions.
These mechanical constructs, each possessing a frame comparable to a Dreadnought, were equipped with individual shielding units. They strode forward, utterly contemptuous of the incoming fire.
Observing the swarm's counterattack, the Imperial Guard veterans, long-accustomed to the rhythm of war, quickly identified the threat. Experienced sergeants barked into their vox-casters, eyes narrowed as they tracked the spore trajectories, preparing to coordinate the few remaining Earthshaker batteries for a counter-battery strike.
However, the headless automata shouldering massive cannons moved far faster than the mortals.
Hydraulic stabilizers deployed as their massive barrels swung skyward. A deluge of high-explosive shells roared from the rear lines in a devastating arc. Distant, muffled thuds of impact soon echoed from the heart of the swarm.
A PDF lookout perched on a high vantage point gripped his vox-unit, screaming over the din:
"Tyranid flyers!"
Before his warning could even fade, a blanket of explosions erased the black silhouettes from the sky.
No one had ever witnessed such a saturation of missiles. They originated from the weapon pods atop the massive Titan. The white exhaust trails of the volley practically eclipsed the sun, swathes of Gargoyles and the Harpies weaving among them were swatted from the air before they could even close the distance.
Nearby, an Eight-Legs unit emerged from the defensive line, hauling several crates, each the size of a Leman Russ battle tank, which it had retrieved from the drop pods. At a height of nearly ten meters up the Titan's chassis, a specialized docking port hissed open. Once the crates were mag-locked, internal mechanisms began cycling to replenish the god-machine's missile magazines.
The Deathwatch gathered their squads before a warrior whose pauldrons bore no Chapter insignia, yet were adorned with exceptionally ornate honors.
In this company of the Deathwatch, a fifth of the battle-brothers wore blank, black pauldrons. These were the Black Shields. They possessed no names, only unique designations; to a mortal soldier, distinguishing one Black Shield from another was nearly impossible.
But to their cousins, the Adeptus Astartes, they had their own ways of recognition.
"Brother," a Space Marine with the sigil of the Iron Hands on his pauldron said, reaching out to clap the shoulder of a "nameless" warrior.
"Lofus. Why is it you always manage to find me?" the nameless warrior turned his head with a touch of resignation, looking at his Iron Hands battle-brother who now stood with hands on his hips.
"Hahaha! Because out of all the nameless brothers I know, only your power armor is festooned with quite so many parchments inscribed with the Emperor's Word and prayers. Kan, whatever sins you carry, I believe in your loyalty to the Master of Mankind."
In the Deathwatch, nearly every warrior hailed from a different Chapter. For most, secondment to the Long Vigil was an honor, a recognition of martial prowess.
For others, however, it was a punishment, a way for Chapters to deal with their more "difficult" elements.
Such was the case for the warrior standing behind Lofus: a White Scar whose pauldron bore the lightning bolt of Chogoris. Carved into the ceramite was his name: Thorne.
Once a squad leader of the White Scars, Thorne had led a pursuit against the Drukhari that resulted in the loss of four jetbikes and three battle-brothers. Though the mission was accomplished, the Great Khan's Librarians had seen fit to discipline him.
The reason? He had become obsessed with the xenos anti-gravity skimmer technology of the Drukhari and had acted with reckless abandon. While the sons of Jaghatai were brave, there was a fine line between courage and folly.
To temper his rashness, the Chapter's Librarians had sent him to the Deathwatch with a strict edict: he was to be denied the opportunity to pilot any vehicle, especially the fast ones.
This was precisely why Thorne's mouth practically watered at the sight of an Executor Heavy Tank, even if it only clocked two hundred kilometers per hour. He had been away from the pilot's seat for far too long. A proud son of Chogoris lived for speed; to be confined to his feet was a slow torture.
Nevertheless, collaborating with battle-brothers from diverse Chapters had spurred rapid growth. The clever son of the plains had become an expert in multi-Chapter tactical integration.
Unlike the steady, grinding advance of other Legions, Thorne preferred hit-and-run tactics, often finding common ground with the brothers bearing the raven-head insignia. While he couldn't pilot a vehicle, nothing stopped him from chasing the wind; occasionally "borrowing" a jump pack from his Raven Guard cousins allowed him a few fleeting moments of joy.
But today, the enemy was the Tyranid. Blindly taking to the sky with a jump pack would only result in being torn apart by Gargoyles and Harpies.
Instead, he had sought out the ground-support group he collaborated with most frequently, the one with the heaviest firepower. And among all the squads, none were better equipped or more heavily armed than the one containing an Iron Hand.
These brothers were masters of the machine; each possessed technical skills rivaling a Space Wolf Iron Priest. Most importantly, they weren't as aloof as the red-robed "cog-heads" of the Adeptus Mechanicus. They were easier to talk to, and they always had new toys.
Thorne had worked with them many times, even going so far as to ask Lofus if he could "cobble together" a small vehicle for him to play with.
Lofus, predictably, had declined.
The Black Shield Captain in command, having seen the warriors complete their own squad-level organization, immediately began briefing the mission.
This objective was unique.
They were to serve as the liaison hubs between these enigmatic mechanical allies and other Imperial forces, coordinating the two disparate armies.
Unlike standard joint operations, they held no authority over the mechanical "allies." The silver-clad automata fought according to their own logic. The Deathwatch's task was to find ways to integrate the Imperial Guard and PDF into the automata's maneuvers.
Per the mission parameters: if a critical target or high-value zone appeared on the battlefield, the Astartes could relay the information to any nearby mechanical unit. The machines would assess the data and immediately reply with an "affirmative" or "negative."
If they refused, the Astartes were ordered not to question it.
To ensure compliance among the headstrong Space Marines, a unique combat casualty ratio was appended to the bottom of the briefing:
1 : 3000
Below it, a single line of text was clearly marked: (Does not include Rippers or infection-spores).
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