Chapter 21: Airborne Operation

Chapter 21: Orbital Drop

On the drop deck of the *Macragge’s Honour*, one hundred Space Marines waited for the command to deploy amidst the hum of machinery.

The battle to purge the Plague Fleet continued. From time to time, brilliant beams of light streaked across the cold, silent void of space, dazzling in their intensity. On the battlefield, the sight of plague ships fracturing and silently disintegrating amidst roiling flames was truly awe-inspiring. With their flagship destroyed, the combat effectiveness of the Plague Fleet had plummeted, leaving them to be harvested like wheat by the Imperial fleet. Other warships continued to hunt down those plague vessels attempting to resist or flee, adding further glory to their already illustrious records.

The *Macragge’s Honour*, however, eschewed this opportunity for easy glory. Compared to vanity, Guilliman was far more concerned with what was unfolding on the surface below. The plague warriors were undoubtedly plotting another horrific, blasphemous ritual. There was no harm in putting an end to them as quickly as possible.

The hundred Space Marines were drawn from two different Chapters, forming a unique spearhead force. Guilliman had been experimenting with mixing Chapters, moving away from the old model of independent, solitary operations. He sought to implement a new doctrine: a flexible system where these Chapters could operate individually for guerrilla warfare, yet coalesce into large, structured formations when combined, much like the legions of the Great Crusade. This would allow him to deploy tens of thousands of perfectly coordinated Space Marines in major campaigns to crush all opposition, while retaining the efficiency of independent Chapters on specific fronts.

Fifty of the Space Marines were from the Ultramarines, clad in their signature deep blue armor; the front rank of veterans even wore Terminator armor. The other fifty were from the Dawn of Glory Chapter, a successor of the Ultramarines, whose armor was painted grey with blue accents. This Chapter was not as wealthy as the Ultramarines, possessing only two or three sets of Terminator armor, with the rest wearing standard power armor.

On the deck, hundreds of tech-adepts and servitors scurried about, finalizing preparations for the drop. The Marines in Terminator armor underwent self-diagnostics with the assistance of Tech-priests to ensure their systems were in peak condition, guaranteeing their devastating combat prowess would not be diminished by poor maintenance. Those in standard power armor, aided by heavy servitors, equipped themselves with towering storm shields. Lacking the absolute thickness of Terminator plating, these shields would bolster their survivability in the brutal close-quarters fighting to come.

With a thunderous rumble, lift elevators carried munitions from the lower decks to the flight deck. Chapter serfs in crisp uniforms, assisted by mechanical servitors, distributed the ammunition to every warrior.

Meanwhile, all the Space Marines conducted a final pre-battle check of their armor and weapons. Chaplains strode through the ranks, listening to the warriors' oaths and sealing purity seals onto their armor with wax. With a hiss, the holy, searing iron seal was pressed into the wax. Thanks to years of rigorous training, every member, from warrior to servant, worked with perfect efficiency.

"The *Macragge’s Honour* has entered planetary orbit. Orbital drop will commence in ten minutes."

The announcement was swallowed by the clamor of ongoing preparations, but it was not repeated. The heightened hearing of the Space Marines had caught the order clearly. Suddenly, a deafening blast of trumpets echoed across the deck. Every Space Marine and servant ceased their work, standing at attention and saluting, their gazes burning with intensity as they looked toward the arches.

In their expectant eyes, a magnificent giant strode forth, clad in the azure Armor of Fate, followed by his Honour Guard. It was the Lord Regent, Master of Ultramar, the great Primarch of the Ultramarines, the Emperor’s thirteenth son—Guilliman.

Guilliman wore the Gauntlet of Command on his left hand and the silent Emperor’s Sword at his waist. The power and will radiating from his every movement caused even the mortals to hold their breath.

"Are you ready?" Guilliman asked, his voice a low rumble as he looked upon the Space Marines.

"My Lord, all is prepared," the First Captain of the Dawn of Glory Chapter replied loudly.

"We await your command, my Lord," added Sicarius, Captain of the Ultramarines' Second Company.

The other Space Marines stood rigid, their gazes filled with awe and devotion. The reverence shining on their faces was like a beacon; they were ready to die for this great figure at a moment’s notice.

"Excellent," Guilliman said, looking firmly at all the Space Marines. "It is time to show those traitors the fate of those who rebel against the Imperium, against humanity. Victory for the Imperium."

"Victory!"

"Victory!"

The Space Marines roared, their voices drowning out all other noise.

Sicarius and a portion of the Space Marines were loaded into drop pods, ejected by the launchers like scattered stars toward the planet of Sarath, descending upon the surface like falling fire. This was the most common method of deployment for Space Marines: it was fast, and upon impact, the sheer kinetic force of the high-altitude drop could be used to strike the enemy, dealing significant damage.

Guilliman and the remaining warriors boarded a Thunderhawk gunship for the descent. The Primarch and those in Terminator armor were too large for the drop pods, requiring heavy transport craft.

Sarath was already shrouded in sickly green plague gases. The ejected drop pods plummeted like artillery shells, diving into the roiling toxic clouds.

"Forty seconds! Prepare for combat!" Sicarius shouted as the pod rapidly pierced the atmosphere of Sarath.

The high-speed descent created an intensely loud rush of air—a piercing, shrill sound that even the thick walls of the drop pod could not fully muffle. The other warriors remained silent, keeping themselves in a state of peak readiness.

As the atmosphere grew denser, the retro-thrusters at the base of the drop pod ignited, releasing powerful jets of flame to accelerate their descent. The pod shuddered violently as the massive friction converted into noise and intense heat. The entire drop process would take no more than five minutes, including the time spent in space. Once they hit the atmosphere, the thrusters accelerated the descent, dropping them from the high heavens to the ground in mere seconds.

Falling from ten thousand meters in seconds would be suicide for any other force; the human body could not withstand it. But for the Space Marines, it was of no consequence. This method of deployment also served as a testament to their strength.

Sicarius focused, controlling his emotions. Surrounded by noise, he could neither see the enemies he was about to face nor his comrades in the same pod. Until the pod touched down, there was nothing he could do. Compared to this "straight-from-the-heavens" entry, he preferred the surgical precision and rapid assault of the Stormbird.

Guilliman had good reasons for using drop pods. Dropping the Emperor’s Angels, without warning, directly behind enemy lines caused a more devastating psychological shock, crushing the enemy’s spirit before the fighting even truly began.

With a thunderous crash, the doors of the drop pod blew outward, and the restraints holding the Space Marines snapped open. They had landed with pinpoint accuracy directly onto a traitor artillery position.

The cultists, their faces and bodies covered in profane symbols, had not even realized what was happening before they were blown away by the massive shockwave of the landing. Some who were too close had their bodies shattered instantly, flesh and blood scattered in the carnage.

"For Guilliman!" roared Sicarius, activating his power sword and raising his bolter.