Phase 03: Intervention

Phase 03: Intervention
"Dear B.B.,
We're finally receiving our deployment orders, and as I write we're enroute to [CENSORED FOR SECURITY]. Apparently the local militia have been having problems with rogue PDF companies raiding villages, extorting travelers and generally just being assholes to the people living here. From what I gather, the militia has been forced into drafting regular civilians just to match the attrition rate. Apparently the enemy soldiers are trained and equipped to the level of guardsmen, but hopefully our presence there will turn the tide. After all, we have better training, better equipment and we also have air support.

On our first sortie, one of the guys in our squad got killed by a girl that seemed to be either insane or overdosed on some kind of drugs. We later found out that she'd been taken from one of the nearby villages when the enemy raided it about a month previously. Needless to say, her family was furious when they learned that she was killed by two of ours (in self-defense, of course. She was armed and she just killed someone. There was no way to know that she wouldn't shoot again), but once they understood the circumstances, they were grateful that we found out what happened to her. Still, I saw the look on that girl's face when the Sarge and Zack fired, and it's not a sight I'm ever gonna forget.

With any luck we'll just drop in, scare the bejeesus out of the enemy and get to go home after doing a little cleanup to make sure we don't have to come back to do it all over again.

From Lietuvos with love,
- Specialist Andrew Franklin, 08th MST"

There was an awkward silence in the passenger compartment of the Valkyrie. Apart from the noise of the engines, the room was dead silent. Allan looked around at the other members of his squad: Sergeant Lukas was looking over the mission plans for the umpteenth time, Samwell's head was bobbing up and down presumably to the beat of the music he was listening to, while Specialists Furst and Elsman could be seen playing cards up next to the rear hatch. The new recruits, Privates 1st Class Williams and Jackson were visibly nervous, Specialist Franklin was writing another one of his letters, Ibrahim was checking his weapons again and Ivanova was asleep, using her armor to keep her sitting upright. I really wish I brought a book or something, Allan thought to himself, Anything to end the boredom would be nice...

"Hey, Samwell," Allan said after a couple minutes, "Whatcha listening to?"

Samwell took out an earphone. "What was that, Zack?"

"I said, 'what are you listening to?'"

"It's called 'Rose Petal Parachutes,'" Samwell grinned, "It's a song about love and peace."

"I've never heard of that song before," Allan replied, "Who's it by?"

"It's by a little-known group called 'Double-Shaft,'" Samwell said, "I'm the arranger, lyricist and lead keyboar- wait, here's the best part!" He cranked up the volume on his music player so loud that everyone else in the compartment whipped their heads around to glare at him as a fast-paced yet mellow electronic keyboard solo played. Samwell began to imitate playing a keyboard in the air as he closed his eyes and passionately danced in his seat to the music.

"Specialist Samwell," Lukas barked, "turn that shit down! Some of us have work to do!"

"Sorry, sir..." Samwell muttered as he glumly turned it back down to tolerable levels and stuck the earphone back into his ear, "Didn't mean to spoil the moment..."

* * * * *
A single autogun report claiming the life of one of his adjutants was enough to anger Vyrum Vilkas, First Citizen of the New Independent Democratic Republic of Lietuvos, a domain and title he created himself. "Fools," he murmured irritably as he motioned for one of his handmaidens to refill his wine flute, which she dutifully performed, "They can't seem to understand that they'll eventually bow to my superiority, so why do they waste their lives in futile resistance?" The handmaiden, being sensible, did not reply to this rhetorical question.

With a dramatic sweep of his arm, he gestured in the general direction of the village. "Burn the village and everything around it," he ordered his lieutenant, "but spare the people."

"Also," he continued, "Send in the tanks. I want them to understand just how futile it is to resist the will of the First Citizen."

Lieutenant Burning surveyed the sky in front of him with the trained eye of an experienced military pilot. Years of flying taught him that even the smallest detail is important, and that one mistake could cost him his life and his plane. So naturally, when he saw an orange glow coming from below the horizon the first thing he did was to find out if it was an immediate threat. Due to the lack of an auspex ping, he could rule out a missile or any solid airborne object, it wasn't moving fast enough and it was too irregular in shape to be a beam of some kind and it certainly wasn't the sun rising.

"Hey, Foxey!" Burning called down to the gunner, "get me an ID on that glow at our ten!"

"Looks like a surface feature, Lieutenant," replied Foxey, "Probably a fire, but it's pretty big."

"Damn it," muttered Burning, "Angel Base, this is Angel Two. Angel Base, this is Angel Two. Lieutenant Halder, do you copy?"

"Angel Two, this is DaCosta," a voice came from over the vox, "What's the problem?"

"Relay this to the L.T., DaCosta;" Burning replied, "I have what looks like a wildfire at 10 o'clock, but all my data suggests that it's too wet for that at this time of year."

"Lieutenant Burning," Foxey called up, "I have a better visual. It looks like we have enemy armor in the vicinity."

"Can you tell me what that fire is?"

"Yes, sir. It looks like a base or village."

"Which is it," Burning demanded, "a base or a village!?"

"I'm not seeing anything that looks military," Foxey replied, "so I'd guess that it's a village."

"This is Commissar Sutherland," a deep, gravelly voice said over the vox, "Our only concern here is to arrive at Jonava and meet up with the 103rd Linas Defense Regiment. One village is an acceptable loss compared to our failure to arrive at our destination."

"With all due respect, Commissar," Halder said in the background, "I am the supreme commander of all Imperial forces in this theater. I'll be the one to give the orders.

"Angel Squadron and 1st Platoon," he continued, "There is a change in your orders. We are engaging the enemy formation according to contingency plan Falcon. The 15th Platoon will continue along with the escort to Jonava. Mark this position as a waypoint, gentlemen. If we fail to arrive after 12 hours, send a force in to this location to find us. Understood?" Halder's orders were answered by a chorus of cheers.

"Well, then," Halder stated, "Let's earn our paychecks."

* * * * *
Just beneath the cloud cover, one of the transport planes flew over the still burning village, its gray hull blending in with the clouds and the night sky. Its enormous back ramp opened up, revealing its cavernous interior. After about a minute, the gray armored bulk of a Chimera armored transport rolled down the ramp and began its long fall to the ground below.

As the tank fell, the extended side compartments blew open, deploying a series of parachutes to slow the 38 ton adamantium and steel block's fall to a safe level before it hit the ground. At a half-dozen meters above the ground, thrusters on the bottom of the side panels fired to slow the vehicle's descent further, shortly before explosive bolts fired to separate the side extensions from the main hull, freeing the Chimera to drive on the soft, grassy soil beneath its treads. The top hatch opened up, and two men began setting up an autocannon on the vehicle's hull, while two others hefted their plasma guns over the edge, scanning for the enemy.

Next to drop from the plane was the special missions squad assigned to the platoon. These five men dropped with professional confidence to the landscape below, landing near their designated drop point.

Finally, it was Golan's turn. The Platoon Sergeant had eschewed the heavy armor of the Corvis Mobile Infantry in favor of lighter flak armor with a mirage colloid system integrated with the plating and fabric of the uniform. Strapping a grav-chute pack to his back, he checked his armament once again. He certainly had enough grenades, he didn't think he'd need any more meltabombs, his combat knife was properly stowed and his modified pulse carbine was in working order, with its underside grenade launcher loaded with a single airburst charge. This weapon was very special to Golan, as it once belonged to a Fire Warrior Shas'ui who was a nemesis of his during the campaign to free his world from the Tau Empire many years ago. It wasn't until a major battle left them both without ammunition or nearby allies that Golan was finally able to kill it, taking advantage of the alien's weakness in close quarters combat. After quite a bit of tinkering and testing, he was able to make the weapon compatible with standard Imperial power packs and modified the grip to be usable by human hands. Understandably, this now unique weapon was of extreme sentimental value to the man.

"Sergeant Davis," a voice over the vox said, "you're clear to drop. Happy hunting!"

"Time for some thrillin' heroics," Golan declared before strapping his rebreather to his face and pulling his goggles over his eyes. He signaled to three before running off the edge of the ramp, falling to the ground many meters below. The transport plane's ramp closed up again, and the lumbering aircraft flew off towards its original destination.

* * * * *
"Mission accomplished, First Citizen," the lieutenant reported.

Vilkas smiled with that sort of predatory smile that only a man of his temperament could do as he took yet another sip from his wine flute. "Excellent," he said amusedly, "Inform the men that we're returning to base. Tomorrow I intend to dine somewhere other than a tent in the middle of nowhere."

The lieutenant was about to step out from the tent when his head suddenly evaporated in a bright blue flash, at the sight of which Vilkas' handmaiden dropped the wine bottle she bore, shattering as it hit the ground. Clumsy woman, thought Vilkas as he stood upright and reached for his pistol, I'll deal with you when I don't have more important things to do. Vilkas' bodyguards and the rest of his command staff formed a protective circle around him, determined not to let any harm come to him. "Viktor," Vilkas' newest adjutant called out over the vox, "what is this? Viktor!"

"I-I don't understand, sir!" a frightened voice said over the vox, "There's no one there! The shot came from out of thin air!"

"Search the area and find the shooter!" Vilkas ordered, "How did an enemy manage to get past the sentries undetected? Find him and kill him!"

"Yes, First Citizen!" came the reply over the vox.

A loud explosion sent shrapnel flying through the fabric of the tent, killing one of Vilkas' bodyguards and causing the flimsy construct to collapse around them. The first of Vilkas' men to dig himself out of the ruined tent soon had a hole the size of a man's head burned through his chest. Being much more cautious, Vilkas and his men slowly crawled out from the wreckage and took cover behind what structure remained. Vilkas surveyed the area surrounding his command tent. The watchtower was in ruins, as was the comm aerial. The two squads of infantry staying at the base for defending him were all dead or hiding, and the camp was eerily silent. Not even the insects were chirping.

To his right, there was another flash of light, and another, as Vilkas' men were mercilessly cut down one after another by weapons fire seemingly to come from nowhere. Vilkas closely watched the location where the flashes came from, and thought he could see movement, but without a distinct shape to it he could not tell what it was.

Eventually, an armored figure seemed to materialize right in front of his eyes and sprung into action, decapitating another of Vilkas' men with a point blank shot of a weapon Vilkas was unfamiliar with and running his adjutant through the sternum with a rather large combat knife in the blink of an eye before leveling his strange gun at Vilkas' forehead. "I suggest you surrender," the armored figure said, "No one's coming to rescue you."

Vilkas gulped in surprise. Who was this demon, and why could he turn invisible?

* * * * *
Meanwhile, the armored units Vilkas sent to torch the village were faring no better against the mobility and firepower of Angel Squadron. Angels 3 through 6, all Vendettas, tore through tank formations with the contemptuous ease of a child tearing a sheet of paper, while the lead Valkyries reduced many infantry squads to brown stains on the grassy plains with flurries of missile from their rocket pods, as well as the hail of multilaser bolts their nose-mounted weapons spat out. The lines of flaming tank wrecks were a testament to the lethality of the 08th Corvis Airborne platoons.

After mere minutes, there was nothing left of the armored column, and any survivors were running or pinned down behind the vehicle wreckage. When the Corvis infantry finally set their boots on the ground, there was no resistance from the enemy, as those who were hiding promptly surrendered.

Phase 02: Operation

Phase 02: Operation
"Dear B.B.,
This planet is amazing! The ceiling here is big, blue and it seems to go on forever in every direction! Maybe this is that 'sky' thing that a lot of the other soldiers were talking about on the way over here. Whatever it is, this planet is nothing like the hives on Corvis Major. There's lots of open space everywhere (Furst says it's wasted on all this green stuff on the ground apparently called 'grass,' but I think it's beautiful), there aren't any deep chasms in the middle of the city to fall into, the people are friendly (even if they do speak a completely different language. Stupid translator spirit not working properly...) and the air has a completely different smell and is much easier to breathe. It's also incredibly bright, but apparently that's supposed to change in a few hours when the sun sets.

However, I know I'm not a tourist. I've come here to do a job, and by the Emperor I'm gonna do it and come back home alive. It's what I want, and I know it's what you want, as well. Wait for me, okay?

From Lietuvos with love,
- Specialist Andrew Franklin, 08th MST"

The recovery operation was nearing completion. All in all, 1st Platoon suffered a total of five fatalities and a dozen minor casualties, along with minor battle damage to the supporting Vulture carrying the hellstrike missiles. In comparison, only seventeen enemy soldiers out of an estimated 200 survived, and all of those who survived had surrendered. Halder watched as the prisoners were taken away in covered trucks by elements of the Cadian 71st Infantry Regiment, presumably to face trial and execution for treason and war crimes. He then turned to the Chimeras being loaded with the deceased; his five men plus the girl Bravo Squad found. With any luck, they'd be able to find out where she came from, and be able to inform her family of her fate. Halder shook his head. Some of the things that happened in war made him wonder if he was really fighting human beings and not Orks or Tau.

DaCosta approached Halder bearing a dataslate and stylus. "Lieutenant," he began, "Colonel Sharps wants a report on the mission by tomorrow, you need to sign this resupply request and the forms regarding the fallen should be filled out as soon as possible."

"Ah, well," Halder sighed as he took the slate and stylus and began to sign form after form, "This needs to be done anyway. Let's get it over with."

* * * * *
"Yes, yes, I understand, sir," Captain Brooks said as he swept his pen across yet another form, authorizing another Company-level action with his signature, "Although an evacuation would probably make more sense in the short term, I suppose a show of force would benefit us more in the long run. I'll send in Halder's boys; if they can't handle it, no one but Space Marines can."

Brooks hung up the handset to his desk-vox as he heard a knocking on the door to his office. "Come," he ordered as Lieutenant Halder opened the door and stepped in, stood at attention and saluted. "First Lieutenant Andrew Halder, reporting as ordered, sir," he said.

"Have a seat, Andy," Brooks said as he put his pen away. Halder sat down in one of the chairs set in front of the Captain's desk. "Colonel Sharps was impressed by your prompt action the other night," Brooks continued, "Five minutes from start to finish... that's a new record for your boys, ain't it?"

"Yes sir, it is," Halder replied, "Every one of them gave it 110%."

"Still," Brooks began, "you took a few more casualties than normal, correct?"

"Yes, sir. I'm still working on the paperwork, but I don't know when my men will be getting reinforcements. Are there any reserves available?"

"No, unfortunately," Brooks chuckled slightly, "I'm surprised at you, Halder. Why don't you use the Departmento form letters for writing to next-of-kin? It would make your workload that much easier, you know."

"With all due respect, sir," Halder replied, "I prefer to write those letters myself. Those were men under my command who died, and I owe it to them and their families to tell them personally."

"Suit yourself," Brooks responded, "Just remember what I said when one of your birds goes down. It takes forever to explain to the tech department why you deserve a new Valkyrie when you let the last one go down in flames."

Halder paused. "Pardon my asking, sir," he said, "but do we know anything more about that civilian girl Lukas and his squad found?"

"Not much," Brooks replied, "From what the Medicae tell me, her bloodstream was so full of drugs and adrenaline she might as well have been in the Warp. Unfortunately, we still have no idea who she was or where she came from."

Brooks opened his drawer and pulled out the binder labeled "Operation Victory." "This," he said, "appears to be the outline of the campaign plan of one of the smaller factions, headed by the self-proclaimed First Citizen Vyrum Vilkas. He's a petty dictator, no better than the Imperial Governor of Lietuvos. If the contents of this document are any indication, he has grandiose dreams of conquest on a global scale." Brooks shook his head in disbelief. "As if he has the sort of force to be able to make a sustained assault..." he muttered, "Still, I have my orders." Brooks slid another small bound document over to Halder. Halder looked at it curiously. "Operation Guardian Angel..." Halder muttered as he read the cover of the document.

"Lieutenant Halder," Brooks declared, "The 1st Platoon will join up with the 15th Platoon from Delta Company at the Linas Province to secure the region and reinforce the PDF regiment stationed there. High Command has appointed you to be the supreme commander of all friendly forces stationed in the area, effective the minute I handed you those orders. All the operational details are contained within the document you have in your hands.

"Additionally," he continued, "one new person has been assigned to your command staff." He pressed a button on the desk-vox. "Julia, could you send him in, please?" His request was answered momentarily by the sound of the door opening.

In walked the most intimidating individual Halder had met in his life. Clad in the elaborate armor, black trenchcoat, jackboots and peaked cap of the Schola Progenium, Halder didn't need an introduction to know that this man was a commissar. His short, black beard was immaculately trimmed and waxed, and he wore a black bolt pistol at his hip and a gargantuan gauntlet that Halder suspected was a power fist on his left arm. "Greetings, First Lieutenant Andrew Halder," the man said with a deep, gravelly voice, "I am Commissar William Sutherland. I trust you will accomplish this mission to the Emperor's satisfaction. Don't betray my trust."

Mentally, Halder facepalmed. Commissars generally didn't last long in the 08th Corvis.

* * * * *
There was quite a bit of commotion at the base's airfield as Valkyries were being loaded with weapons and supplies, Vultures were rearmed and larger vehicle transports began loading tanks and other armored vehicles into their massive bulks. Ground crews scrambled around each aircraft, making last-minute checks to the hulls of their charges under the watchful eyes and cameras of the base's techpriests.

Although not strictly permitted by Imperial doctrine, it was considered a tradition of air crews in the Corvis regiments to overcome the anonymity of mechanized combat by applying personalized decals or paintings onto the hulls of their vehicles, so long as they didn't significantly impact the overall color scheme of black, white and gray. This "nose art" took a variety of forms; paintings of beautiful women, playing cards or dice, stylized animal features or even sports team logos. One example was a curious airbrushing in a chocolate-sepia tone of a generously proportioned woman seated on what looked to all the world like a gigantic slice of syrup-coated cake, holding a rather large spoon in her hands with the words "chocolate girl" underneath in flowing, chocolate-brown cursive script. Sergeant Lukas and his squad were all standing nearby their Valkyrie, a boxy gray contraption with this particular piece of nose art on the right side beneath the cockpit.

"Okay, boys and girls, listen up!" Lukas shouted to his squad, "I know we have some new faces transferred in from 3rd Platoon, but that doesn't mean that we're goin' on a damn milk run.

"The amateurs playing soldier down in Linas Province seem to be having trouble with the enemy, a division of troops from this planet's own defense force led by First Citizen Vyrum Vilkas, a militaristic dictator with delusions of grandeur. Whether he's evil or not ain't for us to decide; our job is to make sure that his forces don't interfere with our mission to stabilize the planet. This is why we're hooking up with the 15th Platoon and flying over to Jonava, the capital of the province which is also a major sea port. Apparently we're supposed to reinforce the local militia with actual firepower and ranking officers, with our own Lieutenant Halder being appointed supreme commander of all Imperial forces in the area." There was some murmuring among the squad at the mention of Halder possibly commanding an entire brigade.

"I haven't heard whether or not he's actually getting promoted for this yet," Lukas continued, "but that's what the brass tell me. Anyways, we have another new member joining us for this mission. Lieutenant, if you could step forward?"

A man who looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties stepped forward, dressed in a flight suit and carrying his helmet under his arm. "Good morning, everyone," he began, "My name is First Lieutenant Keith Burning, I'll be your pilot for this operation."

Allan raised his hand. "What happened to Lieutenant Kessler, sir?" he asked.

"I really don't know the details," Burning replied, "but it seems that he was called away under Inquisitorial order or something. Regardless, I have been assigned to your squad for the duration of this operation. I hope we can all get along."

Lukas clapped his hands together. "Okay! Bravo Squad, move out!" he barked. Bravo Squad began to file into their Valkyrie, carrying their weapons and enough supplies to last them for a mission should they get separated from the supply plane.

Phase 01: First Blood

Phase 01: First Blood
"Dear B.B.,
After a month enroute, my regiment finally arrived at our destination, the planet Lietuvos. Looking at it out of one of the windows, it reminds me of the jewel on your engagement ring; a beautiful orb of emerald and sapphire, glimmering in the darkness of space. It's hard to believe what Colonel Sharps says about the situation down there, but I guess it's not exactly visible from way up here.

According to the Colonel, the planet's in a state of civil war, with many different factions fighting amongst themselves and destabilizing the planet's economy. There's the legitimate government, they've taken refuge in orbit around the planet while the remaining loyalist PDF elements hold the planet's one spaceport; there's a rebel movement led by other PDF elements attempting to overthrow the government, a couple PDF brigades following charismatic heretical cults and half a dozen smaller factions carving out their own petty dominions in all the chaos.

We're being sent in as part of a larger Imperial Guard army group under General Alexander Holst to bring order to the region. If we fail here, the whole world and all 12 billion people on it could fall prey to xenos or heretical attacks. That would leave the greater Imperium open to attacks by the Tau (or as we call them in the Guard, "Bluies") and other alien threats. None of us want a repeat of the Occupation, which is why I'm gonna fight for the both of us and come home safely.

From Lietuvos with love,
- Specialist Andrew Franklin, 08th MST"

The night was ominously silent as Staff Sergeant DaCosta studied the enemy camp through his magnoculars, slowly shifting his gaze from one watchtower to another, watching the enemy soldiers eat, make jokes he could not hear and make token attempts at maintaining a vigilant watch over the frontline base that DaCosta's platoon were tasked with eliminating. Funnily, it wasn't so much a base as a couple pre-fabricated buildings and enough tents to shelter an infantry company surrounded with chain link fence and barbed wire, which made it an easy target for 1st Platoon, Alpha Company of the 08th Corvis Mobile Strike Tactics Regiment.

"How does it look out there, DaCosta?" came the voice of Lieutenant Halder from behind. DaCosta turned to face his commanding officer as Halder climbed out of the top hatch of the command Chimera, with a steaming tin mug in his hand as he made his way over to his subordinate sitting in the turret.

"They appear to be unaware of our presence, sir," DaCosta replied, "I haven't seen any significant movement since they changed guard shifts half an hour ago."

"Sounds like they're all tucked in and sleeping soundly," Halder remarked as he took a sip from his mug, then started slightly. Noticing this sudden movement, DaCosta darted back to his scope and frantically scanned the camp for movement. "What is it, sir?" he asked as his search failed to turn up anything out of the ordinary. Halder chuckled slightly as he looked into his mug.

"This coffee's pretty good," he remarked as he breathed in the warm, soothing steam wafting up from the liquid, "I put a little less of the bitter and more of the fine ground in this time, and I'm pleased with the results." DaCosta sighed with relief.

"Lieutenant," a third voice called from within the armored vehicle, "Master Sergeant Davis just reported in. His team's in position, sir."

"Well, I guess my coffee's a good omen after all," Halder declared as he quickly drank the rest of his brew and made his way into the Chimera's interior. Inside the vehicle, drowned in red light, stood a chart table and another table shoved into a corner with coffee-brewing equipment atop it. Four soldiers stood to attention inside, each clad in the gray armored shell worn by all Corvis infantry. DaCosta soon entered the passenger compartment and began to help Halder into his own suit. As DaCosta was finishing up, Halder turned to his musings again. "It's funny," he said, "six months ago, I would have called those men out there our allies. Ah, well. We have our orders, now we need to carry them out. Send the Angels the go signal, DaCosta. It's time to go fight a war."

DaCosta pulled the vox-horn off the wall. "Angel Squadron, we are go for launch. Repeat, we are go for launch. All weapons free."

* * * * *
Six large winged shapes screamed over the forest surrounding the enemy encampment. With no light to speak of to illuminate them, they were almost invisible against the night sky. Inside each Valkyrie, its cargo of highly trained and well equipped Guardsmen memorized battle plans and mission objectives as they shot towards their unsuspecting target.

The first indication that something was amiss was the faint, distant whine the guardsman on watch heard as he looked up occasionally from his dirty magazine, pretending to pay attention. As far as he was concerned, if the enemy was going to attack, he'd have heard the rumbling of tanks and the rustling of bushes as enemy soldiers attempted to infiltrate by now. A faint whine meant nothing to him as he went back to gazing at the lustful images in his hands.

That faint whine soon became a loud scream seconds before a well-placed lascannon blast reduced him and the watchtower he occupied to a flaming pile of debris.

One of his companions in an adjacent tower had the sense to sound the alarm before he and his tower rapidly shared the same fate. The wail of klaxons caused men to spring to action, hastily grabbing for weapons and throwing on armor in the chaos. Spotlights abruptly flashed on, scanning the surrounding forest for the source of the attack. Occasionally, a soldier would panic and fire a few rounds into shadows he mistook for an enemy soldier, but the attacker's location and identity remained a mystery.

All of this changed when a single hellstrike-type missile sailed into the command building and reduced it to ruin in a single explosive blast. The same fate befell the motor pool moments later. Further chaos and disorder ensued when a pair of gray Valkyries, bearing an insignia of a sword between a pair of white angelic wings on the side doors and wings seemingly dropped out of the sky and unleashed death from above with their rocket pods before coming to a stop mere meters off the ground. Their nose-mounted multilasers mercilessly gunned down fleeing men as gray-armored soldiers rappelled down from the Valkyries' three hatches, unleashing yet more fire into unprepared bodies. A pair of Vendettas soared overhead, blasting squads of traitorous guardsmen into sprays of blood and guts as their door-mounted heavy bolters chanted a litany of death, spitting round after explosive round into the masses of panicking men.

One of the first squads to set their boots on the ground, Bravo Squad, took up defensive positions in what was left of the command building. Some of the enemy had managed to get themselves into organized squads and found cover from which to shoot at them. Sergeant Lukas pried a lasgun from the smoldering arms of a dead traitor and took aim at a pair of young soldiers, perhaps no older than fifteen, working hastily to set up a heavy bolter behind their cover. Frag it all, he thought to himself as he decapitated one of them with a clean shot to the boy's neck, Why the hell can't I have a rifle like the rest of my men? It would make things so much easier... His second shot missed the other one, who frantically began to spray fist-sized explosive death in their general direction. To his left, PFC Floyd's torso seemingly burst in a spray of red and incandescent orange as he took a hit to the chest. "Get down!" Lukas shouted as large chunks were blown out of the plascrete wall they were hiding behind.

Within moments, he heard a clicking sound, almost drowned out by the fighting engulfing them. Figuring that the enemy was out of ammunition, Lukas seized his chance and popped up out of cover to snap off a couple shots at the bolter gunner. The lad and his gun were quickly engulfed in a bright ball of electric-blue energy, causing Lukas to turn around in confusion, only to see Specialist Furst pointing her smoking plasma gun in the general direction of the enemy, grinning widely. "Great minds think alike, Sarge," she said boastfully, "Too bad I got there first!" She wasted no time in picking off a couple traitors who decided that standing up to throw grenades was a good idea, while Lukas turned back to target hunting. Spotting what looked like the squad leader, he promptly burned a hole through the man's temple, throwing the enemy in his immediate location into disarray. Some shot back, others dove for cover, but regardless of what each soldier did, he was acting alone, without any central authority to guide him.

"Sam, call our angel!" Lukas shouted at the squad's vox operator, "We need an airstrike, pronto!"

"Angel Two, this is Bravo Squad," Specialist Samwell said into his vox unit, "Requesting air support at AoE 15 by 62, we have entrenched reds in enemy comm room, repeat, air support at Alpha-Oscar-Echo one-five by six-two, hostiles in enemy comm room."

Samwell's request was answered by a hail of rockets fired from one of the Valkyries into the room the enemy was holed up in. Those who weren't killed by the explosions were cut down by fire from Lukas' squad. "It's all yours, Bravo Squad," replied the pilot over the vox, "Go get 'em." That was all the confirmation Lukas needed.

"To the objective!" he ordered, "Let's move, move, move!"

Bravo Squad got up from their cover and quickly made the dash over to the comm room, taking up positions by the door. PFC Newmann signaled to three with his hands before kicking the door in and storming into the room, supported by the rest of his squad. Immediately after he did so, however, his face was torn to shreds by buckshot fired by a young, terrified girl hiding behind a desk, clutching a combat shotgun in her small hands. As Newmann's lifeless corpse dropped to the floor, Lukas and PFC Allan filled her with holes as they sprayed las bolts in her direction. Taking up positions, the rest of the squad filed in. After securing the room, Samwell spoke into his vox again. "Base, this is Bravo Squad," he reported, "Objective secure."

As Samwell made his report, Allan examined the girl he and Lukas had just killed. She was a pitiful sight; Allan guessed that she was around thirteen, clad in nothing but a now blood-soaked nightgown and had hair that looked roughly and hastily cut, possibly with a combat knife or machete. Her eyes were bloodshot and wide with terror, a sight that he was certain that he wouldn't forget any time soon. In a gesture of kindness, he closed her eyelids and placed her arms over her chest, so she at least looked like she was at peace with the Emperor and all.

"It's sobering, ain't it?" Allan heard Lukas say from behind him, "She certainly doesn't look like a soldier." Lukas knelt over her and patted her neck and shoulders down. "No dog tags," he muttered, "Probably taken from one of the nearby villages." He stood up again. "Girl didn't have a choice, most likely. That's the saddest part of all..."

Lukas' attention wandered over to a drawer left lying half-opened. Inside, he found a sheaf of papers bound with a wire spiral. The cover simply said, "Operation Victory" in block lettering. He held it in his left hand and turned to the vox operator. "Samwell," he said, "relay this to the L.T.:"

* * * * *
"Base, this is Bravo Squad. Objective secure."
"Alpha Squad here. The north gate is ours."
"Charlie Squad, We have the south gate. They're not going anywhere."
"Delta Squad reporting. We confirm seventeen enemy prisoners."
"Golan here. No hostiles escaped."

Listening to all of the vox chatter, Lieutenant Halder took a contented sip of his coffee. Mission accomplished.