Inside the pitch-black Thunderhawk Gunship, the cramped cabin was cast in the eerie red glow of alert lights, and the engine's roar was deafening. Sergeant Numi, a seasoned veteran, had just toggled off the flashing mission updates from Command regarding the Plantium battlefront.
He took a deep breath and, over the Second Company's encrypted internal channel, commented to Sicarius, who was in another Thunderhawk: "Sicarius, you've really crossed a line this time."
Numi's voice was tinged with incredulous awe, mixed with a hint of sarcasm, but he couldn't hide his shock at the scope of Sicarius' "feat."
Sicarius' muffled reply came through the channel, carrying a strained edge: "Focus on the mission, Sergeant Numi. We're coming in hot."
His voice was lower than usual. Clearly, upon learning that the battle plan he had impulsively forged—a mere lightning strike with ten regiments of Helldivers and just over a thousand Astartes—had exploded into a full-scale war involving tens of thousands of Space Marines and millions of Helldivers across the entire Plantidium front, even Sicarius' legendary iron composure was starting to crack. He could practically feel the thunderous fury of Marneus Calgar, the complex, judgmental gazes of his comrades, and he could certainly imagine the headache the Battle-Chaplains were nursing.
But Sicarius was, after all, Sicarius. He was a Space Marine, an Ultramarine, and he was in the thick of a warzone with a critical objective. After his brief warning, he quickly suppressed his inner turmoil and refocused entirely on the impending fight. Personal concerns must always be secondary to the greater strategy.
"Attention, Battle-Brothers!" Sicarius' voice cut through the channel again. "When we reach the destination, the Thunderhawks will not be landing. We are jumping directly from the sky on jump packs."
This declaration caused a palpable ripple among the Second Company's veterans. Inside their gunships, many Space Marines' brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.
The voice of a veteran, marked by both question and the ingrained discipline of an Ultramarine, came over the channel: "But this violates the tactical guidance of the Codex Astartes, Captain. Standard assault protocol dictates that gunships land in a secured zone, establish a breach, and then the infantry forces penetrate the target."
Sicarius, who was well past the point of worrying about minor infractions, replied with a cold, unyielding tone: "The tactical guidance of the Codex is only a reference. We formulate tactics based on the live situation. There is no such thing as a 'secured zone' in the core of a Tyranid Hive. Our objective is direct penetration, using the fastest, most unexpected approach possible to utterly destroy this blight!"
The command was absolute, leaving no room for argument. Though the Ultramarines felt a momentary sense of unease at this deviation from the sacred Codex, their loyalty to their Captain swiftly crushed all hesitation. They quickly ran checks on their jump packs and boltguns.
The formation of Thunderhawks screamed across the battle-scarred skies of Plantidium like black wraiths. They skimmed over scorched earth and the ruins of leveled cities, evading sporadic anti-air strikes from the Tyranid organisms, heading straight for a colossal bio-structure deep in the Hive's control zone. It was a gargantuan, pulsating hill of living tissue, exuding a foul, sickening odor, with countless Tyranids writhing upon it like a plague of parasites.
As the Thunderhawks arrived over the target, the engine roar peaked. Sicarius was the first to throw open the ramp. A blast of violent wind instantly roared into the cabin, carrying the stench of gunpowder, blood, and the fetid Tyranid biomass. Without an instant's hesitation, he activated his jump pack and leaped from the bay like a cannonball, plummeting straight toward the undulating mountain of flesh below.
"For the Emperor! For Macragge!" he roared, his voice shredded by the wind, but his conviction absolute.
Close behind, nearly a hundred Ultramarines of the Second Company, along with their supporting Astartes, ignited their jump packs. They transformed into streaks of black, shooting out of the Thunderhawks like a shower of falling stars. Blue-white ion jet flames carved vivid tracks across the night sky, intersecting with the acid and plasma spat out by the Tyranid anti-air creatures below.
Sicarius had chosen this vertical penetration to prevent the Tyranids from building up a strong defense on the ground.
The speed of descent accelerated rapidly, and the target swelled in their visors. The Tyranids had clearly not anticipated such a radical, headlong assault. After a moment of total chaos, the ground swarm began to shriek wildly, and countless anti-air organisms swiveled to fire deadly bioweapon projectiles at the Space Marines hurtling toward them.
"Fire! Clear the landing zone!" Sicarius snarled into the channel.
The concentrated muzzle flashes of a thousand weapons blazed in the air. As they fell, the Space Marines used their boltguns to precisely neutralize the airborne Tyranids trying to intercept them. The Thunderhawks also poured every ounce of their heavy firepower onto the dense, writhing ground hordes, clearing their landing areas. Explosions ripped through the biomass, tearing flesh and sending organic fluids flying.
As they approached the surface, the thrust from their jump packs increased sharply, killing most of their downward momentum.
With a series of heavy, earth-shaking impacts, the Power-Armored Space Marines slammed onto the surface of the Tyranid bio-structure like crashing meteorites. The impact shockwaves sent the ground trembling, kicking up dust and tearing apart the nearby Tyranids.
Without a second to spare, Sicarius stabilized his stance, his Power Sword humming to life. He scanned his surroundings, confirmed his brothers' positions, and charged without hesitation toward the nearest pooling reservoir of Tyranid biomass.
"Push through! In the Emperor's name!" At this point, Sicarius was completely immersed in the adrenaline of the charge, all caution thrown to the wind.
Simultaneously, the Thunderhawks circling higher above began their "sanitization" pass. Incendiary bombs arced through the air, precisely hitting the most densely packed areas of the Tyranid swarm.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
A brutal succession of explosions instantly turned large sections of the area into a massive inferno. Promethium fuel erupted like lava, consuming hundreds of meters of Tyranid organisms and tissue. The air was choked with the acrid stench of burning biomass under extreme heat, mixed with the unique tang of the incendiaries.
Flames shot skyward, illuminating the war-reddened night sky of Plantidium as if it were day. The previously squirming, shrieking sea of Tyranids was now swallowed by a rolling wave of fire, dissolving into endless screams and desperate thrashing.
The creatures engulfed by the fire twisted in agony on the ground, ultimately turning into mounds of smoking charcoal. In the landing zone, a ring of blazing hellfire quickly formed.
The heat warped the air; the living tissue on the ground sizzled under the flames, oozing more foul fluid, which was quickly vaporized. The Ultramarines of the Second Company, bathed in this hellish glow, their Power Armor reflecting the light with a crimson sheen, looked like avenging angels who had stepped directly out of the furnace.