Fortress of Hera
The vast fortress stood in Raponis Valley, its outer walls riddled with holes by wave after wave of shellfire. Blackened impact scars and streaks of melted metal covered its thick fortifications.
The corridors inside the fortress reeked of disinfectant, machine oil, and blood. Every few steps, medics hurried past or wounded soldiers were carried away on stretchers.
Voices rose and fell over the communications channel, orders and reports flooding the command center like a tide.
"The enemy is landing on the Mala Plains! We need support!"
"Where is the bombardment? What is the fleet in orbit doing?"
"We've lost contact with the Fifth Chapter! Switch to the emergency channel!"
"Have the personnel been evacuated? Clear Hill 956! We're going to bomb it!"
Amid the cacophony, Marius Gage, commander of the Ultramarines Legion's First Chapter and adjutant to the primarch, entered the underground stronghold beneath the Fortress of Hera.
He approached the edge of the tactical table and leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on the constantly updating map of the battlefield.
His power armour still bore uncleared impact scars and wear, and beneath his helmet was a weary yet resolute face.
The Iron Hands' invasion had advanced far faster than the Ultramarines Legion had imagined.
Ferrus Manus's legion was like a precision meat grinder, pushing the front forward section by section at a suffocating pace.
Their fleet, their heavily armed troops, their tactical deployments—everything worked together like one enormous mechanical hand. Every time it closed, the Ultramarines' defensive lines contracted a little further.
And the tenacity of Ultramar's Imperialis Militia had far exceeded anything even he, a Space Marine, had imagined.
Gage had seen countless armies and witnessed countless forms of courage, but these mortals, without genetic modifications or armour strong enough to withstand shellfire, had displayed