48. The Falling Transport Plane

Although Ezekiel felt in his heart that he was just an ordinary Astartes—clearly, he was not.

What ordinary Astartes could tear a Slaanesh demon apart with his bare hands?

This wasn't one of those third-rate novels published by the Departmento Munitorum, where an Astra Militarum recruit who had only enlisted three months ago stabbed through a Chaos Astartes' chest with a dagger. They really dared to write that sort of thing.

"Captain."

A warrior of the Third Company walked over. On his right pauldron was a red blood drop on a yellow field, the mark of their company. "We've had the Astra Militarum withdraw. They suffered heavy losses. There are a lot of enemies."

At that, Ezekiel frowned. "The rebels still have reinforcements?"

"They're endless, Captain. Not only that, according to the Astra Militarum's reports, they even have some heavy firepower, including two Stormsword tanks."

"."

Ezekiel's hand paused as he loaded rounds into a magazine—this sort of thing was supposed to be a Servitor's job, but he insisted on doing it himself, which counted as a small quirk of his.

Taking a deep breath, he suppressed the urge to curse. A Stormsword tank—strictly speaking, that was not its full name. Its full name was the "Stormsword Super-Heavy Tank." The thing had a long history, but it was by no means some broken-down antique.

The Hellhammer-pattern siege cannon it was equipped with could blast apart a heavily defended key stronghold in a single shot. Most importantly, this tank had been designed for street fighting. Its predecessor, the Shadowsword, had already been adept at urban warfare, to say nothing of this improved model.

Damn it all, where had a mob of rebels gotten something like that? Could they have been a rebellious navy, then forced the Imperial Guard aboard their ships