Editing 97th Conglomerate's Tyrannic War (section)

== Deployment Day ==
=== Part 1: Judgement Day ===
“Sir, we’re pulling out of Warp!” The helmsman yelled to the Admiral who was seated in his Command Throne on the bridge of ''Gravity’s Union''. 

“What?!” Admiral Invictus shot up from the cushioned seat, standing at the top of the steps that led up the pedestal to the Throne itself. “We weren’t supposed to arrive for another 6 hours at least our time!” The ship burst forth from the purplish cloud of a Warp-hole, strings of greyish spittle ejected from the other dimension along with it. 

Below them was Moranis VI: a planet covered mostly with blue-green oceans (about 60% of the surface), and two enormous continents of dull grey-brown land flecked with dark green patches. Rivers and lakes dotted and carved across the landscapes; mountains and hills dominated the vast expanses of the continents, separating the many Hive Spires that were nestled between the rugged features in valleys and depressions. 

No enemy waited for permission to strike, and neither did the terrifyingly alien bioships of the Tyranid Hive Fleet. The massive latticed xenos structures along the Hive Ships’ surfaces betrayed their biological origins: being bred purely as warships, to strip and consume all life on a world. Despite the unexpected earliness of ''Gravity’s Union'', the bioships had reacted almost immediately, as if expecting them. Swarms of small crafts of sharp colours formed like enormous clouds around the Tyranid ships, while maelstroms of biomass rained down into the atmosphere in a giant funnel shape, pouring into a single location near Terragrad Hive. Through the massive plasma-glass windows of the bridge, the sun’s familiar yellow light could be seen glinting off the glittering hive spires from low orbit. 

“Make ready for war!” The Admiral barked at his First Mate. The short, stocky crewman tapped a series of runes on the console in front of him; a klaxon alarm resounded throughout the ship. He held the rune that activated the ship-wide vox system and spoke into the receiver. 

“All hands, man your battle stations!” His deep, projecting voice further amplified by the vox grills that blared it into every room on the warship. 
“Guardsmen, make ready for war!”

“Deploy the fleet.” Admiral Invictus commanded. 

Deep in the ship’s underbelly, a massive rumbling was felt. Enormous gears worked to open doors of various sizes, facing downward toward the planet, several hundred kilometers below them. From these massive doors were birthed warships; an entire battlefleet, ready for combat, swung out and upwards. A staggered line as formed, waiting for the commanding word of the Admiral. With this, a single large mining ship turned away from the impending battle upon its departure from ''Gravity’s Union'', its destination not known to anyone beyond its crew and the Admiral himself.  

As the line formed, the clouds of swarming Tyranid biofighters and single-ships drew closer with every single agonizingly long second. The 97th’s ships released their own fighters and defense craft, swirling like a ghostly aegis around the fleet. The fighters surged forth, having a single, disturbingly suicidal purpose; the only objective was to clear a hole through the Tyranids’ meatshield of fighter craft. 

“All ships, rotate 090 by 010 degrees.” The Admiral had reseated himself on the Command Throne, now transmitting orders to the other ships of his fleet. The sheer enormity of ''Gravity’s Union'' meant that his fleet of heavy cruisers and frigates with a myriad of destroyers was more than sufficient at handling almost any threat. 

The fleet of cruisers and frigates obeyed the Admiral’s order, rotating to the right 90 degrees and then tilting their bows up slightly; this maximized the number of shots that hit their targets. The destroyers and smaller corvettes floated amongst the larger warships, ready to cut through any biofighters with the audacity to attack the fleet directly. Just behind the line of broadsides, ''Gravity’s Union'' rotated to match the line, exposing its entire 18-kilometer-long broadside to the Tyranid splinter fleet. The bridge rotated opposed to the bow, so that that the Admiral could still view the battle directly. Macro-cannons of enormous size and quantity jutted outward, forming the most terrifying array of weapons any single Imperial Ship has known, and perhaps ever will know. 

Invictus watched the engagement between fighters that separated the two fleets for what felt like hours (but was only a minute or so), waiting until the moment came to unleash the Emperor’s Justice and His Holy Wrath upon the foul xenos swarm. As he waited, the doors of the bridge’s lift just behind the Command Throne gave a pneumatic hiss as they opened; several of the Auxillia Security Officers snapped to attention at the arrival of Lady Commissar Aurelia. The commanding woman stepped forth, her heeled-boots making a distinct sound against the heavy metal deck of the bridge, and stood beside the Admiral on the Throne as he watched the engagement. 

She stood in silence for a moment as they both watched the Tyranid’s main fleet tried to make an attempt at evasion. The crowded bioships lacked the maneuverability to weave past each other and escape their crowded formation. They only wanted one thing: biomass. 

“Admiral.” She nodded to the officer as an acknowledgment of presence.

“Lady Commissar.” He replied, only paying half-attention to the incredibly high-ranking member of the Commissariat. “Would you care to read for us?” He turned to her.

“Pardon?” She finally pulled her gaze from the battle in front of her with raised eyebrows, looking almost confusedly at the shipmaster. 

“I would like you to grace us with your voice, and read The Emperor’s Word to the fleet, so they we may crush those xenos that have not seen His Light.” Invictus was now humbling himself to the Aurelia, trying to gain her favour. She blinked, narcissistic approval in her eyes.

“It would be an honour, Admiral.” She replied graciously. “From what text would you like me to read?”

“Actually, it’s an ancient Imperial text, not even many Ministorium Priests have heard of it.” The Admiral admitted. “It was one held dear on my homeworld.”

“Well, what is it?” The Commissar was already becoming annoyed by the delay. 

“It’s simply known as Ezekiel 25:17.” He finally offered; the Commissar’s eyes lit up. 

“I’m familiar with the passage, but have not read it for many years.” She admitted. 

At this, the admiral pulled out a very old, small, leather-bound book from the inside jacket-pocket of his uniform; he opened it to a dog-eared page and presented it to Aurelia. She moved towards the communication console, tapped in the runes that opened a broadcast to the whole fleet – in fact, to the ship-wide voxgrills of every ship in the fleet – and read aloud for all to hear. 

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil powers. Blessed is the man who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For that man is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children.” Her voice, smooth yet powerful, began to crescendo as the passage deepened. The Admiral’s finger hovered over a rune on the arm of his Command Throne; the rune would give the signal to Smite-at-Will. Lady Commissar Aurelia, book in one hand and the other raised in a fist, stood almost triumphantly as her oration met its climax. “And He will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy His children! And you will know He is the Emperor when He lays His Vengeance upon you!" The rune was tapped…

They say that in space, no one can hear you scream. That may yet be true, but the same cannot always be said for thunder.

=== Part 2: Planetfall ===
Samson was startled awake by the sounds of confusion and commotion. The bunk room for Omega Squad was a bustle of noise and ruckus. Klaxon alarms blared into his ears as he fell out of his bed. He jumped up and began throwing on his fatigues. The Krieger, Hanz, stood him up and straight and helped him clamp into his carapace armour. Every man was doing so as well, helping each other hurriedly strap into the medium red plates of armour, mostly dulled from years of combat, use, and wear and tear. The Grenadier slapped Samson’s pauldrons, letting him know he was good to go. Each man grabbed their packs (which they slung over a single shoulder, in a hurry) and ran out down the corridor that the bunk room opened out into. 

Samson found himself in corridors he no longer recognized, bodies crowded into the narrow space. The lumen strips were still darkened; it was still early by the ship’s chrono. The noise and confusion created a dangerous sense of anxiety in Samson. It took him a minute to realize he had lost the rest of his squad. He wanted to turn back, but the crowded guardsmen simply continued surging forward. Samson would’ve had to fight an unstoppable river of men flowing towards the hangar. 

The first volley of fire almost shook him to the ground. Men stumbled as the ship rumbled violently. The macro-cannons of ''Gravity’s Union'' had begun firing, and every man was struggling against them. Samson almost lost his autogun in the confusion, damn near dropping it with each thunderous boom of fire. 

He finally pushed out into the massive hangar. The whole expanse was a maelstrom of confusion and yelling. He craned his neck desperately looking for the sergeant. He could see several Commissars and officers of various ranks standing atop Chimeras and Leman Russ tanks, piled ammunition crates and shipping containers; they all barked orders and directions, coordinates and assignments to whomever was the relevant audience. As he shouldered his way through the mass of armoured bodies, he bumped into a rather short guardsman. He was about to yell at the bloke before he realized it was actually Natasha in her full combat gear. 

“Samson, thank Emperor I found you.” She sighed relief, grabbing him and almost hugging him. He still felt weird that he and his superior were this casual with each other. She wore a red sergeant’s patrol cap instead of a helmet, opting for something actually more feminine than she normally would. She pulled her face from Samson’s chestplate and looked up at him with those light eyes that contrasted with her dark hair. He almost completely forgot about the chaos (BLAM, HERESY) around him before she spoke. “Samson, come on! We gotta get to the lander!”

She grabbed his free hand and pulled him along behind her. She was actually minimally equipped compared to him. Her chainsword hung lazily from its hook on her belt’s right side, and on the other side was an almost vicious looking autopistol in its holster. The two of them pushed their way through the crowded hangar; enormous landing craft, Valkyrie troop carriers, and Vendetta gunships whirred their engines to life. The craft hovered into a massive airlock in squadrons. The ship continued to rock with every volley of macro-cannon fire from its main battery, unleashing salvo after salvo of Imperial Justice upon the threat that Samson barely understood. 

They finally reached the loading ramp of a massive landing craft, capable of carrying an entire platoon and a half. Both levels were visible; the first level was loaded up with 6 Chimera APCs, and the second level exposed the guardsmen stowing their gear and prepping for hot drop. Each of the Chimeras’ dozer blades bore the name of the Machine Spirit, crudely written in white paint. Names like ''Target Practice'', ''Crazy Train'', and ''Contents May Vary'' hinted at the cynical, dark humor possessed by most members of the 97th. 

The rest of the squad was already on the second level, being seated nearest the loading ramp on their row. Natasha led Samson up the ramp, between the Chimeras, and to the grated stairs leading up to the second level. She released his hand and pushed him in front of her, hurrying him to seat himself. He dropped his backpack into the wire mesh basket under his seat. His autogun was placed into a holding rack to one side of his leg as he sat down. He fumbled with his security harness, hands trembling with a mix of fear, nerves, and adrenaline. 

As he finally secured himself, he looked around the relatively empty troop compartment of the lander. Only about 6-7 squads of men, clad head-to-toe in carapace armour, were geared-up and ready to go. Natasha seated herself directly across from Samson, her eyes just as full of fear as his were. The ship shook a couple more times; another round of fire caused tremors throughout Gravity’s Union, the salvo’s vibration rolled through the ship like thunder through a storm. A red light blinked on, a warning buzzer belched, and the loading ramp of the lander shuddered slowly upwards, finally closing the platoon into what could easily become their coffin. Samson felt his stomach drop as the craft lifted off the hangar deck. He imagined the hangar deck becoming less claustrophobic as several of the landing craft rose into the crowded airspace, ready to deliver 1st Company to Terragrad Hive. 

He felt the momentum in his guts as the craft and its brethren hovered into the airlock. The door to the hangar shut ominously like a crypt; but all of these things Samson only imagined and visualized, as there were no external windows on the lander aside from the cockpit. A moment of still silence in the dimly lit hull took hold, revealing the tension inside as everyone felt a mix of excitement and absolute terror. Only once the Catachan broke the silence was the tension cut. 

“Hey!” Pyro yelled at Samson with a wicked grin. “You a dead man?!”

“No!” Samson replied, only realizing the joke after he had already spoken.

“You will be!” Pyro said with a chuckle that the rest of the squad – save for Natasha, Samson, and Hanz – shared in. 

The rumbling of the external airlock doors groaned for a moment before that sound completely ceased; the vacuum of space stole away any sound that might’ve come from outside the lander. Samson sat in his seat, but only in a figurative sense. Gravity had ceased as the craft shot straight out of the airlock chamber. The lander rolled on its back (in relationship to the planet’s surface) and dove straight down. As they descended, the metal craft began to shudder, atmospheric entry shaking their cargo almost violently. Samson’s teeth began to rattle, having terrifying flashbacks to his first hot-drop. His attention was snapped back to the present when the platoon commander bellowed a PT cadence over the racket of the tin can as it burned its way through atmo. 

“Guardsman, Guardsman, how you going to Hell?!” He barked to an unheard rhythm. The ship shook in a different way; an explosion of xenos anti-air batteries throwing the formation into disarray. 

“Feet First, Feet First, that’s how we fell!” The platoon replied with gusto and enthusiasm. The formation had breached the stratosphere; an explosion bit cleanly into the side of one of the landers.

“Now Guardsman, Guardsman, have you heard tell?!” The commander versed. The damaged lander lost control. It barreled into the next nearest craft, which knocked the side of the platoon’s lander. The ship took minimal damage, but at such speeds, it was enough to send the craft spinning out of control. The craft flipped and rolled, its structure crying in protest to the strain being demanded by its pilot. It took a long moment for the platoon to reply. 

“Yes, the Emperor Protects with lasbolt and shell!” They triumphantly reply, feeling the lander begin to stabilize. 

The first craft to take a hit had descended uncontrollably, now smacking into the ground with an enormous explosion. Another of the landers had to barrel across the ground, smashing through shelled-out buildings, most of its hull heavily damaged. The platoon’s lander pitched upward as it reached ground level. Its nose pulled upward in rapid deceleration, the embarked troopers’ stomachs lurching with the sudden change in momentum. It slowed down to the ground, its landing feet extending and bearing the weight of the lander. 

There was a moment of almost unsettling silence; every man’s veins were flooded with a mix of adrenaline and hormones preparing them for the unprecedented violence of combat. The red light blinked green, an alarm belched once, and the loading ramp began to open slowly, the grinding noise of it near-deafening inside the metal box of the hull.