The Drop

The valkyrie tumbled past, fire blazing from the ruined turbines on its right wing. It passed close enough for captain Niko Tavrentis to be able to see the terrified expression on the face of the pilot as he battled to control the aircraft’s descent. It continued to spiral downwards, shedding burning guardsmen from its rear hatch like leaves. As it fell out of sight, Tavrentis murmured a brief prayer that the saints would guide their souls to the halls of the Emperor.

“The drop is failing”, Kosta yelled, fighting to be heard over the roar of air rushing in through the open rear hatch. Tavrentis turned to face him, keeping one hand wrapped tightly around a metal grip moulded into the ceiling. “It looks like the enemy had mobile hydra batteries under cover. The hermeans took out four fifths of the static defences, but the drop forces are still taking a real pounding. We’ve lost eleven…..” Kosta paused, pressing the vox headphones tighter against his ears. “Correction, thirteen losses. Three more are reporting damage. At this rate, by the time we reach the drop ceiling we won’t have any men left!”

Tavrentis thumped his fist against the wall, barely feeling the impact through the carapace armour covering the back of his hand. He eyed the altimeter mounted just above the ramp: seeing it cross the two hundred metre mark as they continued to descend. The valkyrie banked sharply, only Tavrentis’s hand on the grip saving him from being hurled out of the aircraft. A line of shells interspersed with red tracer rounds whipped upwards just past the rear of the valkyrie, he watched as the fire changed direction to strike another valkyrie behind them. It juddered as the shells slammed into it one after the other, tearing it into two pieces after only a few seconds. Yet more guardsmen were hurled out to fall to their deaths. The saints would be busy today, he thought grimly.

Tavrentis knew that the intensity and accuracy of the anti-air fire would only increase when the descending Varseen forces hit the hundred metre mark. As drop troops the Varseen naturally expected heavy casualties, but this time was different. By the time they reached the thirty metre drop ceiling their forces would have been cut to ribbons, and those that survived to make it to the ground would be easy prey for the defenders. Tavrentis had to find a way to change that. Then it came to him. It was a gamble, a deadly one, but there was no other choice that he could see.

“Kosta, contact the captains of the other lokhos. Inform them that we will be dropping from a revised ceiling of sixty, repeat six-zero metres. I suggest that they do the same. Have the lieutenants pass my orders down the line, I want all squads in my lokhos ready to drop within three minutes”.

Kosta stared at him. “Captain, that is twice the height of the drop ceiling, our carapace armour may not be sufficient to absorb the impact!”

“You think I don’t know the risks, guardsman? You have your orders, now do your job!”

As Kosta began babbling into the vox, Tavrentis turned towards the squad of Varseen inside the valkyrie with him. Twin rows of anxious faces looked back at him. “This drop will be hard, harder than any we have yet faced. Trust in your carapace armour and your fellow Varseen, and know that the saints watch over us. Prepare for the drop!”

The guardsmen roared in affirmation and released the restraints holding them in place. Each checked the armour seals of the guardsman seated opposite them, ensuring that each piece of the thick carapace was locked in place. When that was done they clipped their lasrifles to their chests and checked that their storm-shield struts were fastened securely to their waists.

“Orders relayed, sir. All captains confirm new ceiling of six-zero metres”, Kosta said, removing the vox-unit from his back and placing it in a padded and reinforced crate which he would retrieve after the drop. When they had checked each other’s armour, Tavrentis looked at the altimeter: seventy metres. There was a muffled bang as some shell or piece of falling shrapnel struck one of the valkyrie’s wings and the aircraft wallowed briefly before the pilot regained control. Tavrentis made a swift hand-gesture and turned to face the open rear hatch, both hands clutching the ceiling grips. He knew without having to look that the others would be lining up behind him. His gaze was fixed on the altimeter, watching as the digits slowly ticked down. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing quickened.

Sixty-two. Sixty-one. Sixty.

“Go, go, go!”

Without hesitation, captain Tavrentis flung himself out of the hatch. He fell rapidly, the ground seeming to rush up to meet him. He felt the chill of the wind penetrating the seams in his carapace armour and howling in his ears. His training took over and the Varseen officer swivelled in mid-air so that the thicker, padded armour on his back was now facing downwards. Above him he could see his squad strung out in a long line, each doing the same as him, one after another. Further up the valkyrie that had carried them this far banked away.

He hit the ground with an ominous cracking sound, the impact driving the breath from his body. His jaw snapped closed and Tavrentis felt a sudden rush of warmth in his mouth; he had bitten his tongue. He groaned and moved each limb in turn. Every part of him ached, but he didn’t seem to have any broken bones. A network of cracks covered his carapace armour, something that had never happened to him before. Even so, it had held.

Tavrentis got to his feet, unclipping his lasrifle from his chest armour as he did so. Varseen were falling all around him. Many hit the ground at awkward angles or with bone-shattering force and did not rise again, but still more were slowly getting up. His gamble seemed to have paid off.

Flares of yellow light blossomed in several directions as guardsmen clipped their storm-shield struts together and activated them, forming up in defensive wedges and beginning to advance on the enemy, who seemed in disarray, unprepared for the suddenness of the guardsmen’s arrival.

Tavrentis ran towards the nearest cluster of Varseen and moved into the centre of their wedge formation. “For the Emperor and the saints”, he yelled, his cry echoed by every Varseen within earshot.

Now the battle had truly begun.