On the landing zone temporarily cleared on Fort Howe's hangar platform, an APOD-33 Gladiator transport descended onto the asphalt runway, where bloodstains still remained, guided by signal lights. Its engine thrusters shifted into a vertical position, kicking up a scorching blast that smelled of ozone. Frost clinging to the transport's rear stabilizers melted at once, and the white vapor was quickly scattered by the frigid dawn wind of Turaxis II.
A unit of paratroopers in white Power Armor marched out in formation down the lowered ramp, with their commander, Major Edmund Duke, bringing up the rear. Immediately afterward, a Goliath Combat Robot in pristine white paint stepped out through an entryway in the transport's underside cargo compartment.
"33rd Assault Division. Ah, old friends. This isn't our first meeting, Horace Warfield. The last time I saw you on Onuru Sigma, you were still a 'private third class' under Mengsk." Rather than giving an attack order, Major Duke strode unhurriedly toward Warfield. Augustus stood behind Warfield, every bit the adjutant at his side.
Major Duke was a large man, broad-shouldered and powerfully built. The heavy, sturdy Power Armor encasing him made him look even taller and more imposing. His footwork was vigorous, but when he swung those powerful arms with such force, he walked more like an enraged silverback gorilla than a valiant Confederacy officer.
"Being the firefighting captain isn't easy, huh? Without Alpha Squadron there to change your diapers, you'd be lying in your cribs bawling your heads off." Duke's helmet visor slowly rose, revealing a lean, wrinkled face. His eye sockets were deep, and beneath prominent diamond-shaped cheekbones sat a narrow chin with thin lips.
"What's with that marine behind you? Is he a Haigolong?" Duke quickly noticed something off about Augustus's armor paint job.
"No. They're all genuine Confederacy