At the end of the river valley stood a dry waterfall cliff, its gray-white rock laid bare. Weeds grew everywhere amid withered trees that were barely clinging to life. The entire valley seemed to be slowly dying along with its dried-up riverbed.
Just then!
A series of low rumbles came from the sky. Two Storm-pattern Land Speeders raced in at low altitude, then steadily hovered less than half a meter above the ground.
The noise of their engines seemed to have been adjusted, suppressed to nearly nothing but a low hum, like the idling engine of a small vehicle.
The Speeders naturally bore the Ultramarines' signature blue paint, but long use and flight had covered their surfaces in thick dust. In some places, sand and gravel had even worn away the paint, exposing the gray-white metal beneath.
But the Ultramarines Astartes paid that no mind.
After all, these small craft could carry a five-man Scout squad, perfectly matching the minimum size of a standard Scout unit. Two of them were enough to transport their entire ten-man squad.
As light assault craft, they had sacrificed some weaponry in exchange for a transport compartment and quiet engines, allowing them to infiltrate at high speed and low altitude. They were exceptionally suited for reconnaissance and raid missions behind enemy lines.
Moreover, each was equipped with a heavy Bolter and a Felhound launcher, capable of firing blinding and concussion grenades to cover these Scouts during battlefield assaults and dismounted combat. For their ten-man Scout squad, there could hardly have been anything better.
They had flown all the way from that embattled city, crossing thousands of kilometers of ruins and forests without firing a single shot or exposing themselves even once. That was proof enough of their reliability.
Of course, none of that mattered—at least,