Old John's hearty laughter echoed through the base lobby, a booming sound that seemed to shake the metal walls. The round table meeting had reached its natural conclusion. Around the room, chairs scraped against the floor as everyone rose to leave, the gathering dispersing like ripples spreading across water.
But as the others filed out, Nolan's voice cut through the movement. "Raditus, stay a moment."
The servo skull had just engaged his anti-gravity engine, rising into the air with a characteristic hum of machinery. At Nolan's words, he froze mid-ascent. The red lights of his optical sensors flashed rapidly, a telltale sign of anxiety in the mechanical being.
Oh no. What did I do this time?
Raditus' thought process was almost visible in the way he moved, hesitant and uncertain as he approached Nolan. His voice emerged with a distinctly flattering tone, words tumbling over each other in his haste to preempt criticism.
"Lord Primarch, if you give me some more time, I will successfully repair the Thunderhawk transport aircraft and Drop Pod. Even after mastering the internal structure, building a production line for mass production will no longer be a problem!"
Nolan's eyebrows rose slightly. His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile, an expression caught between amusement and assessment. He regarded the servo skull with that particular look, one that always made Raditus feel like he was being seen through.
"That's not what I care about," Nolan said, his voice measured and calm. He paused, letting the tension ease slightly. "Although you did a good job."
The servo skull's lights flickered, recalibrating.
Nolan continued, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. "The previous battle with superhuman exposed some shortcomings in our actions. I will discuss the corresponding countermeasures with David. Raditus, what I need you to solve are technical problems, such as replicating blind grenades, smoke grenades and the most commonly used frag grenades, to increase the fighting style of the Stormtrooper team."
He held up a hand, ticking off another item. "Also, if possible, try to make an easy-to-carry adamantine handcuff or similar restraint."
The red lights in Raditus' eye sockets stuttered, blinking in what could only be described as surprise. For a moment, the servo skull seemed almost frozen, processing the unexpected request. Then understanding flooded through his circuits, and excitement surged in its wake.
"Lord Primarch, is this what you want?" The words burst out of him, volume rising with enthusiasm. "Then you really asked the right person!"
His anti-gravity engine bobbed him up and down in the air, the mechanical equivalent of bouncing on his heels. "I have produced a lot of small toys such as blind grenades and smoke grenades when I was making freeze grenades before. The quantity is enough for you and your team to waste. Things like frag grenades are even simpler. Even the production line is not needed!"
Raditus spun in a small circle, momentum carrying him through the explanation. "As for the adamantine handcuffs and the like you mentioned, can't you just carry a Scyllax-class Guardian-automata with you at any time? With their mechanical tentacles, they are like a mobile prison!"
Nolan's head lowered, his gaze dropping as he considered. The suggestion had merit, mechanical tentacles were certainly effective restraints. But practicality won out over convenience.
He looked back up at the servo skull. "Make a few pairs of adamantine handcuffs anyway. Keep them in reserve."
After all, dragging an Scyllax-class Guardian-automata along on every mission simply wasn't feasible. Some operations required speed, stealth, or both.
Raditus bobbed an acknowledgment, his anti-gravity engine humming louder as he prepared to depart. "As you command, Lord Primarch!"
The servo skull shot away, zipping out of the base hall with the kind of speed that only came from genuine excitement about a project. His mechanical form disappeared through the doorway, leaving trails of disturbed air in his wake.
Nolan turned to find David already waiting, patient and ready. Together, they approached the giant screen mounted on the wall. The display flickered to life at their approach, data streams flowing across its surface in organized patterns.
For the next stretch of time, they immersed themselves in research. Information about Latveria filled the screen, layer upon layer of intelligence. Maps, demographic data, political structures, military deployments. They combed through it all, searching for specific details.
Their focus narrowed to two key elements: locations controlled by the rebels, and any development status they could pull from internet sources. The resistance forces were scattered, cautious, their digital footprint minimal. But there were traces, if you knew where to look.
David's processing power made quick work of the data mining. Nolan's human intuition filled in the gaps, recognizing patterns that pure logic might miss.
Slowly, a picture emerged. The northern mountains held promise.
The vector engine's roar filled the air, a deep thrumming that resonated in the chest. The Valkyrie climbed once more into the gloomy sky, David at the controls as they left the base behind.
Inside the dimly lit cabin, shadows played across armored figures. The Stormtrooper team sat in their seats, power armor gleaming dully in the low light. Across from them, Nolan remained helmetless, his face visible in the gloom.
He spoke with calm authority, his voice cutting through the engine noise. "This mission is neither a surprise infiltration nor an assassination and beheading. In a sense, the purpose of bringing you there is to give our team a good appearance."
He paused, making sure he had their full attention. Five pairs of eyes fixed on him, unwavering.
"Our purpose is to make first contact with the local resistance forces. Remember, without our orders, do not kill enemies unless they really endanger your life. Do you understand?"
The response came as one, voices blending together in perfect synchronization. "Understood! Chief!"
The words echoed inside the cabin, bouncing off metal walls and equipment racks. Confidence radiated from every syllable.
Nolan's expression remained neutral, but he gave a slight nod of satisfaction. His gaze swept across them, taking inventory. The special grenades hung from everyone's waists, attached to the auxiliary power armor in easy-reach positions. Blind grenades, smoke grenades, frag grenades, all the tools Raditus had promised.
Then his eyes moved to the corner of the cabin. A large supply box sat there, nearly two meters in both width and height. Heavy, judging by the way it was secured with extra straps. Inside that container lay weapons and equipment, carefully selected to gain the resistance's initial trust.
Whether they would actually receive those supplies depended entirely on how they reacted to strangers appearing in their territory.
Hours passed. The Valkyrie's flight was smooth, eating up the distance with mechanical efficiency. The landscape below shifted, forests giving way to mountains, plains to valleys.
Finally, they crossed into the Balkans. The Valkyrie's stealth systems kept them invisible as they entered Latverian airspace, slipping past any potential detection.
The country's defenses were laughable. Years under the Fortunov family's greedy rule had left the military hollowed out. The army units used to suppress civilians boasted decent equipment, but the air force... the air force was a joke.
Propeller planes left over from World War II, many in disrepair, formed the bulk of their aerial capability. A dozen helicopters rounded out the fleet, used more for showing off the family's power than any practical military purpose.
As for the naval units stationed at the Black Sea ports, David's satellite reconnaissance had painted a pitiful picture. Dozens of speedboats. That was it. That was their entire navy.
No wonder the resistance had managed to survive this long.
The Valkyrie descended, its invisible form breaking through tree cover. Metal landing struts extended, reaching out from the aircraft's belly. They caught on thick branches, snapping them with sharp cracks that echoed through the forest. The transport settled into a narrow clearing, surrounded by dense woodland.
The vector engine's hum began to fade, gradually quieting as David powered it down. Beneath the aircraft, residual heat from the engines met the thin layer of snow covering the ground. Ice melted, water evaporating almost instantly. Wisps of white smoke rose up, curling through the cold air.
Click, click, click.
The cabin door's mechanisms engaged, hydraulics hissing as it began to open. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of pine and frozen earth.
Nolan stood, reaching for his metal helmet. He settled it over his head with practiced movements, seals engaging with soft clicks. His power armor came to life around him, servos whirring as he moved toward the exit.
He stepped out into the clearing. His boots, massive magnetic constructs, sank deep into the icy ground. Snow compressed beneath ceramite and adamantine, leaving deep impressions. The dark ceramite steel of his armor caught what little light filtered through the gray sky, reflecting it in dull glints.
Nolan's head tilted back, his gaze lifting skyward through the helmet's eyepiece. Above the treeline, he could see the pale sun, a weak disc barely visible through clouds. It hung there like a dying ember, seeming to radiate cold rather than warmth.
A sigh escaped him, the sound barely audible through his helmet's external speakers. "What evil did Leviathan and the Fortunov family they supported do to force a group of farmers and small citizens to fight guerrilla warfare in the remote mountains and forests?"
The question hung in the frigid air, rhetorical but genuine. This was northern Latveria, a mountainous region far from the capital's corruption. According to the traces David had managed to detect through extremely weak communication channel radio waves, the resistance had established their only base and control area somewhere in these peaks.
Hidden, isolated, desperate.
From the cockpit, David's metal head emerged. His optical sensors focused on Nolan's back, taking in the command figure standing in the snow. His voice carried a note of apology.
"My Lord, in order to try not to panic the other side, the landing site I chose is quite far away from the location of the resistance, about ten kilometers away. I hope you don't mind it."
Ten kilometers through mountainous terrain. A significant trek for most people.
Nolan turned his helmet slightly, the gesture casual. "It's okay, David, this distance is easier for us than breathing."
He rotated fully, facing back toward the cabin where the Stormtroopers were preparing to disembark. His voice carried clearly through the communication channel, relaxed and almost playful. "Come on, Stormtrooper, warm up together!"
Inside the cabin, the Bane brothers, Big Bane and Little Bane, moved to the supply box. Their power armor groaned slightly as they lifted the massive container, magnetic clamps engaging to hold it secure between them. Around them, the other team members conducted final equipment checks, hands moving over weapons and gear with the automatic precision of long practice.
Craig "Gum" tested the action on his weapon. Horn "Osprey" adjusted a strap on his armor. Gao Qi "Executioner" rolled his shoulders, settling the weight of his gear.
Since learning the nature of this mission, no assassination, no desperate combat, just first contact, the Stormtroopers had adopted a rare relaxed state of mind. They looked at each other, helmeted heads turning, and someone laughed. The sound was picked up by their internal comms, spreading to the others.
More laughter followed, genuine and unburdened. They followed Nolan out into the clearing, boots crunching in snow and frozen earth.
David remained behind, his form visible in the Valkyrie's cockpit. A guardian, a fallback point, insurance if things went wrong. Nolan raised a hand in brief farewell, and David returned the gesture with one metallic limb.
Then the team was moving, power armor lending strength and speed to their strides. They quickly covered the relatively flat area surrounding the clearing, eating up distance with mechanical efficiency.
The terrain began to change. The ground rose, becoming steeper and more uneven. Trees grew thinner, replaced by rocky outcroppings and sparse vegetation. The temperature seemed to drop with each meter of elevation gained.
They had officially entered the cold and desolate mountainous area where the resistance made their stand.
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