Author Notes:
Kehum~! Starting from the newest GSS chapter on Patreon, I will take some liberty and change the name of of a few Battle Tanks into their more feminine counterpart because, well, the Primarchs are all genderbent XD. So expects the Leman Russ to actually be 'Something' Russ. That's just a tiny little warning that won't affect the story, much.
Now then, I have been wracking my brain to write some cool scenes for this and the upcoming GSS chapters. Do give me your thoughts, and don't forget to enjoy reading them at your leisure~!
Oh, and the Monthly Recruiment Drive is still ongoing, just saying~!
https://www.patre-on.com/Heartbreak117
https://ko-fi.com/heartbreak117/goal?g=0
Income goal 787/8800 USD (Mom is now signed up for medical therapy every week, so the increase is to help me cover the treatment cost. Many thanks to whoever is helping me reach that mark.)
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"Ten minutes!" The pilot announces over the intercom.
At the reminder, men and women under the command of Lieutenant Ursarkar E. Creed rack the charging handles of their Lasrifles in a near-perfect synchronous manner. They're being carried away at speed, evidenced by the fading foamy wave crests just below them. Each passing moment brings them ever so closer to their hateful foes, and their possible humble death in the service of the Emperor. As such, the air inside the passenger cabin is thick in the grim acceptance of their glorious duty and the glorious dividends they will garner for the lives to come. Already briefed and experienced in what's expected of them, the Cadians under Creed aren't one for banter, especially more so when they're about to hit the landing zone. It's understandable why they would rather keep it muted, of course. One moment of distraction in the field can prove disastrous and no one wants that...
But then, there's Jarran Kell, Creed's Sergeant and second-in-command of their previously Platoon-level unit, now bolstered with a number of Cadian Whiteshields, otherwise known as Conscripts, and made an Echelon-level combat force.
Kell can be seen humming a Cadian marching tune as he sits with a certain confidence in his posture, holding his Lasrifle by the upper foregrip and with the buttstock kissing the metallic floor of the Valkyrie. Unlike any sensible person, however, Jarran Kell opts out of using the jumpseat and instead uses a spare helmet as his go-to lounging option. It's not the first time that Kell has done something like this, according to Creed's memory. The Sergeant does this regularly whenever they're flown to one battlefield or another. Only this time, unable to contain his mounting curiosity, Creed asks his second-in-command and long-time friend since the Whiteshields.
"Do elaborate to me on why you're so fixated on using a helmet as a seat, Jarran."
Kell turns to Creed, smirking as he forms a fist and gives his helmet a couple of audible bonks. "This is to safeguard the thinking part..." Then he moves the fist to knock on the helmet beneath him. "And this is for the real important bit. Don't want my balls catching some flaks, you know?"
"Ah," Creed nods wryly, looking away from the Sergeant. "I should have expected such an answer."
"What? Too crass for your taste?" Kell grins.
Creed shakes his head as he continues a mental countdown. "No, it's just so... Mundane, possibly even relatable. A man can't be called a man without his signature equipment... He can still fight for the Imperium, albeit with a bit of a weird gait if something is to remove said equipment."
"Heh, I know you'll see my point, Ursarkar! So, care to join the helm-sitter gang?" Kell nudges his friend with his elbow. "Who knows, it may help you secure a future with great descendants?"
"I'll pass..." Creed declines before thoughtfully adding after a few moments of silence. "At least for now."
"Five minutes!" Their pilot announces once more, cutting off any further discussion from the both of them.
The Imperial Guards, Creed and Kell included, turn to look as the door gunners move from their positions. "Opening side doors! Take your posts!"
With a nod to the rest of his subordinates, Creed stands from his jumpseat as the armored doors come sliding open with resounding bangs. The sounds made by which are then promptly drowned out by the reverberation of Valkyries flying, a lot of them. As Creed steps closer to the edge with one of his hands resting upon the upper handrail, the Lieutenant comes to witness perhaps the biggest aerial assault he has ever seen. Kell and others also come near the doors, some whistling as they see Valkyries and Arvus Lighters flying in big formations, stretching as far as the eyes can see above the rolling oceans of Cadia. Mixed in between those two airframes are the multiple ubiquitous Vulture gunships, armed with a variety of load-outs to provide Close Air Support to the Cadian Imperial Guards. However, few are as standout as the Valkyrie Sky Talons, their large magnetic lifting clamps are latched onto combat walkers like the Sentinels and the recently inducted Imperial Droidekas. The latter of which, in particular, will be having its first major trial by fire.
As one of the more experienced Lieutenant of the Cadian 8th, Creed's 'Platoon' is assigned a few of these new combat walkers, Imperial Robots as called by the Mechanicus. However, as a methodical person, Creed doesn't put too much faith in the effectiveness of these new weapon platforms. The potency of their autonomous systems in a chaotic battlezone is... verified only in trials, not at all put through true mud and blood. A nagging fear of friendly fire incidents exists in Creed's heart. After all, Imperial Robotic designs have their share of nightmare-fueled stories. He is understandably worried that the machine spirits inside the Droidekas will go berserk mid-battle and slaughter friends and foes alike.
Yet, does he truly know anything about the new robot the Tech-priests cook up? Other than the fact that they're nominally commanded by registered field officers and Tech-priests, not much else. Both Creed and Kell know that the Droidekas seem potent enough, and their doctrinal usage put a heavy emphasis on combined arms and infantry assault warfare. How practical they really are is yet to be seen, however.
The blaring of jet engines, multiple, loud, and encroaching fast on their Valkyrie has interrupted Creed from his lonely musing. Turning toward the rear of the formation of landing crafts, Creed and everyone else lay their eyes on numerous low-flying objects. They're the jets and bombers belonging to the Aeronautica Imperialis. There are a lot of them, leaving behind pearly wakes as they fly so very close to the ocean surface.
"Lightnings... Thunderbolts... And Marauders flying this low...?" Kell whistles in amazement. "Damn, the Lightnings, I can kinda get it? Heard that airframe has good agility and can spin on a dime... But for the larger Thunderdolts and Marauders to be operating this close to the surface will take some balls of steel, man. Those things defy physics as we know it...!"
Something buzzes by their Valkyrie, causing a disturbance that shakes their airframe and nearly causes the overeager Kell to go overboard if not for Creed pulling the nape of the Sergeant's combat gear back.
"By the Throne!" Despite being so close to his impending doom earlier, Kell laughs boisterously. "Did you catch that, Ursarkar!? That was a damn fine Avenger if I have ever seen one! Today must be our lucky day to have them on CAS duty!"
Creed sighs, but nonetheless gives Kell a couple of good pats on the back in the hope of calming the overly excited Sergeant down. Already, Creed can hear the booming of weapon discharge and explosions being carried to their Valkyrie by the winds. The time for war has come, and no distraction must be allowed to hamper their combat efficiency.
"Arms up, all of you..." Creed orders as he grips his Lasrifle assertively. "And Kell, in the Emperor's name, less spectating our fliers and more killing the heretics."
Kell whistles as he peers to look ahead of the Valkyrie, seeing the ongoing devastation. "You got it, Lieutenant." The Sergeant changes his manner of address as well as his mindset.
He's still Kell, booming and bulling his way through the battlefield, but he is also Sergeant Jarran Kell, Ursarkar E. Creed's best friend, second-in-command, and self-proclaimed finest bodyguard. He's the brawl to Creed's brain, and for the brain to work at peak efficiency, the brawl must similarly give its all.
"We're at your command, Lieutenant." Kell bangs his chest plate.
"We proceed as planned, forming up with the Whiteshields and the Droidekas before beginning our push to clear our assigned LZ. Depending on the terrain, we will have to split a detachment to secure an overwatch position with our heavy weaponry."
Kell's affirmative reply is drowned out once more by yet another Avenger buzzing their VTOL. Only this time, the Avenger is seen launching a pair of missiles at distance targets.
"30 seconds! We'll be coming in hot!" The pilot shouts through the intercom.
Already, the Multi-Laser aboard the Valkyrie is spitting red, melting laser beams. With a more powerful hymn from the Valkyrie's engines, Creed and his unit are taken higher, bypassing the cratered boundary walls of Installation 08. Gone is the rolling sea behind them, what's replaced it is smoky pavements and the sickly shine of tainted metallic structures as far as the eyes can see. This high up, Creed can barely view an Avenger strafing a heretic position with its Gatling Cannon before disappearing behind a thick plume of smoke. Another Avenger soon takes to the prey the prior one left stunned and exposed, using its pair of twin-linked Lascannons to decimate a heretic Taurox APC before egressing out the same way its brethren used.
Higher than the altitude the Avengers are flying are more of the Aeronautica Imperialis' jets. Lightnings and Thunderbolts either hunt down the soddy traitorous airframe or perform Suppression of Enemy Air Defense duty while the heavier Marauders drop bombs after bombs to pave proverbial welcoming carpets for the approaching friendly transport. With some expert flicks of the control stick and the vectoring thrust, the pilot ferrying Creed spins the Valkyrie in a near-perfect 180 degrees. The door gunners aboard use their Heavy Bolters to suppress building outcrops with maddened heretics trying to stop their landing. Retaliation fires come sporadically, some hitting and doing nothing to the rugged airframe of the Valkyrie. Having chosen one of the many bomb craters left behind by the Marauders' bombing run, the pilot manages to deposit the Cadian Guards somewhere with adequate all-around protection. Other VTOLs follow suit in using craters as 'safe' LZs whether they're Valkyries or Arvus Lighters, minimizing casualties as best as they can in the initial landing.
Nonetheless, having too many transports coming and going at one given time has painted a giant target on the LZs chosen by the Cadian 8th. Even if the bombings have softened up the local heretics really well, they're swift to mount an immediate counterattack on the recently disembarked Cadians. While it's unknown whether the traitors could fully comprehend wartime tactics, it's true that this is the worst possible moment for the Cadians. Having just touched down, they've barely gotten their feet warm in the mud and debris when it's fight-or-die time. Creed and Kell, like many other Cadians, Whiteshields or not, are forced to hug the edge of the bomb craters with their Lasrifles sticking out and flashing deadly red. An onslaught of enemies from above and at the same ground level as them unleash a withering hail of suppressive fire. Some of the less adept Whiteshields are caught on the back foot, falling mercilessly to stray beams or bullets. The lucky ones die instantly, while the survivors are dragged back into the craters for immediate treatment by Combat Medics. A commissar can be seen shouting and directing retaliation efforts as the last of the transport they were on cleared the immediate airspace. With his Vox-amplified voice, the Commissar orders that the men and women of Cadia stand firm and wait for the momentary arrival of their gunships. That uplifting command bolsters not just the spirit of the Whiteshields but also those of the stalwart Cadian 8th Regulars.
As promised, a pair of Vulture gunships soon hover above their location. Both of them start unleashing a cacophony of devastation using their nose-mounted Heavy Bolters and wing-mounted Rocket Pods. As dedicated as they are to the Heretical Gods of the Immaterium, these lowly heretics are not at all impervious to the blessed bolt rounds and Frag warheads, certified multiple times by the Tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus. In the blink of an eye, the only things that are still firing are the Vultures themselves. The nearby traitors have all perished or run away. Seeing no other threat, yet, the Vultures move on to another feeding ground.
Now that they have a moment of respite, a few Valkyrie Sky Talons come down with their precious reinforcements, the Sentinels and Droidekas. Arguably, they could have been deployed sooner, however, it means they will be prioritized first by the heretics and risk untimely destruction. While the Droidekas can fight as soon as they're deployed, the same can't be said for the Sentinels. And as the Droidekas are still limited in availability, no one dares to risk them being destroyed without having touched the ground. Such are the reasons why combat walkers are deployed after the Cadian Regulars and Whiteshields have taken on most of the heat. However, now that they're here at last, the men and women of the 8th can breathe more easily now that they have some solid firepower and even protection.
Creed turns to Kell.
"Have our weapon specialists garrison that building over them, and give some Whiteshields over to them as well. The rest of us will dig in right here with a few of the Droidekas while the Commissar expands our combat depth. If needed, we will be the ones to reinforce the man as well."
"Understood, Lieutenant!" Kell nods before screaming his lungs out. "Oi! You heard the man! Get your ass moving or I will whoop your butt before our Commissar!"
Now that the first phase of the landing is accomplished, Creed wonders to himself what sorts of developments will occur next as he brings out an entrenching tool attached to his rucksack. Even in the 41st millennium, this good old hand tool is still a must for any Imperial Guard worth a damn.