Deep within the massive hangar of the Gabbro, the engine's roar was a low, continuous hum, and vibrations subtly emanated from the adamantium deck beneath their feet.
The air was a mixture of the slightly acrid smell of burning promethium, the pungent odor of ozone, and the heavy metallic scent of machine oil.
Mikhail and his nine brothers stood motionless beside their Thunderhawk Transport.
Their brand-new MK10 Power Armor gleamed with a cold, hard luminescence under the intense hangar lights, the black and white Maltese cross emblem on the center of their breastplates strikingly conspicuous.
The sacred Ritual of Donning Armor had just concluded; they were no longer recruits on the training ground, but Space Marines of the Ashen Knights Chapter.
They weren't the only squad in the entire hangar.
As far as the eye could see, dozens of warriors, also clad in new ceramite, were making their final preparations beside their respective Thunderhawks or Stormraven gunships.
The hum of Power Armor servo systems, the monotonous clanging of Servitor striking metal, and the low-pitched instructions of other Vasily in the distance intertwined in the vast space.
The 'clack' of Bolter being cocked echoed occasionally, and the whirring of Chainsword starting up briefly cut through the air before falling silent again.
A tense atmosphere, mixed with the smell of oil, sweat, and unburnt propellant, enveloped the entire hangar.
A veteran Vasily stood before their formation, his posture as solid as if he were part of the deck beneath his feet.
Mikhail's gaze swept over this senior who would soon lead them into battle.
The dark ceramite Power Armor was covered in fine scratches and several repaired dents, silently recounting past battles.
On his pauldrons, several deep indentations marked significant kills.
The veteran Vasily did not wear his helmet, holding it in the crook of his arm, revealing a weather-beaten face.
It was sharply defined, an old scar diagonally cutting across his tightly-pressed lips, and in his deep-set eyes, his gaze was sharp and calm, like cold sensors scanning a target.
His equipment was distinctive: a Bolter with a slightly longer barrel and a precision scope was slung on his right hip, while a worn, gleaming, antique Power Sword hilt hung from his left.
His eyes swept over each new recruit.
"New blood," the veteran Vasily's voice rang out, low and clear, cutting through the hangar's din, "I am Vasily, your Vasily, and the Commander who will lead you into battle.
Look at the Chapter emblem on your chest! From this moment on, you are no longer fledglings. You are the Emperor's Ash Knights, His Angels of Death.
This ceramite is your second skin, a mobile sanctuary, and above all, supreme honor and heavy responsibility."
He paused, his voice like quenched steel. "Remember, your every action impacts the Chapter's glory! On the battlefield, you are each other's support, your brothers' blades!
Trust your brothers as you trust your own arm! Coordination is strength; discipline is life! Do not let recklessness tarnish the glory of the cross emblem, and do not let cowardice betray the Emperor's grace!
Today, in the foul blood of the heretic, prove with your actions that you are worthy of this armor! For the Emperor! Into the Ashes!"
"For the Emperor! Into the Ashes!" The ten new recruits roared in unison, their voices resonating within their helmets, merging with the similar shouts rising and falling throughout the hangar.
Veteran Vasily nodded slightly: "Board! Prepare for departure."
Magnetic lock boots clanged on the cold adamantium ramp of the Thunderhawk Transport.
Mikhail and his brothers entered in sequence, securing themselves in the cold seats according to positions rehearsed countless times.
Their heavy ceramite bodies vibrated slightly as the magnetic locks engaged.
The hatch slowly closed with the hiss of hydraulic systems, sealing off the hangar's dazzling light, the shuttling vehicles, the flashing warning lights, the shrill cries of the servitor skulls, and the increasingly loud roar of the engines.
Inside the cabin, only the low hum of circulating air and the faint operational sounds of each Power Armor's servo system remained.
Veteran Vasily was the last to step into the cabin.
He did not sit down, but stood steadily beside the closed hatch, his right hand habitually resting on the barrel of his customized Bolter, his left hand on the Power Sword hilt at his waist.
His mere presence filled the cramped troop compartment with an aura of steadfastness.
The engine's roar intensified abruptly, and the Thunderhawk Transport was propelled by immense force from the hangar's restraints, its tail spewing blinding blue-white plasma flames as it plunged into the cold void of Planet Tooth Fracture Three.
The moment the craft detached from its mothership, the Gabbro, the impact of inertia caused their bodies, secured in their seats, to sway.
Through the narrow observation window, the rust-colored planet rapidly expanded in their view, transforming from a dim speck into a suffocatingly desolate world that filled the entire viewport.
The massive craft trembled violently in the thin atmosphere.
Through the observation window, which glowed faintly red from friction with the high-speed air currents, Mikhail saw the scene below: a relatively open rocky platform on the edge of Iron Jaw Canyon had been cleared and constructed into a temporary landing zone.
Astra Militarum soldiers were busy behind makeshift shelters and sandbags, clad in the earth-yellow and dark-brown coarse wool uniforms of the Rostov 17th Regiment. Heavy weapons teams operated their ponderous Lascannons and Heavy Bolters, pouring fire into the depths of the canyon, suppressing the sporadic greenskins attempting to swarm up.
Further in the distance, the flashes of Bolter explosions and the hum of Chainsword were faintly visible from deep within the canyon, indicating that other Ash Knights squads had already engaged in battle.
The Iron Jaw Canyon, like a monstrous maw agape, was clearly visible, with towering, steep, barren red rock walls on either side, and its floor covered with crude fortresses, bunkers, and shacks built by Orks from scrap metal, rocks, and rags, all painted with chaotic symbols.
The air was thick with a visible, rust-colored dust-laden haze.
Even through the viewport and the roar of the engines, the deafening noise faintly penetrated.
Innumerable crude, off-key roars, the monotonous and frenzied firing of 'bang-bang' guns, the grating metallic crashes, and a raw, savage WAAAGH! energy field, almost capable of distorting the air, assailed their senses like an invisible tidal wave.
"Prepare for landing! Briefing initiated!" Vasily's voice rang out on the comms channel, overriding the engine's shriek.
Almost simultaneously, tactical data streamed like a waterfall across Mikhail's helmet display.
Mission Briefing:
Target Area: Iron Jaw Canyon core hive, grid coordinates Delta-7.
Primary Threat: Ork remnant concentration point. Confirmed presence of heavy weapon boy clusters, possible signs of Ork Nobz and Mekboy activity. WAAAGH! energy field readings extremely high, severe interference.
Friendly Status: Astra Militarum Rostov 17th Regiment responsible for consolidating the landing zone and outer defenses. They have endured multiple greenskin counterattacks and urgently require our deep strike to relieve pressure. Friendly squads are currently clearing stubborn resistance deep within the canyon.
Squad Mission:
Team A, directly commanded by Vasily, will penetrate the canyon core along the designated route "Anvil Road," destroying heavy weapon strongholds and eliminating key resistance nodes.
Team B, commanded by Ivanov, will seize the left flank high ground, Eagles Nest Rock, establish a fire support point, and suppress the green tide emerging from the canyon flank.
Both teams will advance cooperatively, clearing their paths.
Execution Points: Maintain wedge assault formation. Prioritize elimination of heavy fire threats. Beware of underground tunnel assaults. Trust your brothers, trust your weapons. For the Emperor!
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