The Word Bearers Answer Your Call for Aid

"Chapter Master Colin, we've reached Orbit around Dawn III."

On the vast, solemn Bridge of the Battle Barge Glorious Word, Company Captain Thomas Wilson stood half-hidden beneath torch-shaped electric lights.

He stood straight as a statue cast into the deck, facing the great Holographic Projection before the command Throne. He saluted the Chapter Master, who was countless light-years away leading the main force of the Fourth Chapter on another mission.

Company Captain Wilson wore Mark IV Maximus Power Armor, painted the deep, solemn gray of the Word Bearers. Fine silver trim edged the armor, and the Legion Insignia was engraved on his left pauldron.

The Holographic Projection of Chapter Master Colin blurred and flickered across the immense distance, but none of the authority or strength of an Astartes Chapter's Chapter Master was diminished.

Behind him appeared to be another Warship's tactical Command Center, where Tech-Priests and officers moved about at their work.

"Wilson." The Chapter Master's voice carried a metallic hum through the communications system, but its authority was unmistakable.

“The main Fleet will proceed as planned. We'll strike the filthy homeworld breeding these Orks and wipe it and their barbaric civilization from the Emperor's domain. The task of reinforcing Dawn III and purging the Xenos from its Orbit and surface falls to you and the Second Company.”

"Understood, my lord." Company Captain Wilson's answer was crisp, without a trace of hesitation or doubt.

"The Emperor's will shall be done, and the glory of the Word Bearers shall shine upon this battle."

The transmission ended. The Holographic Projection vanished, leaving the Bridge to its familiar low hum and the soft chatter of data streams.

Company Captain Wilson turned at once. His mind raced like a precision-built engine of war, forming and issuing orders almost as quickly as he could think.

“Navigation officer, maintain a stable Orbit. Weapons officer, target the Star Fortress occupied by the Orks. Charge all Macro-cannon batteries and stand by. Ship Captain, hold the Fleet in Battle Formation and be ready for any Orbit counterattack.”

“All Stormboyz squads, assemble on drop deck one. Landing Fleet, prepare for a forced entry into the Atmosphere. Target: the Jungle Hive City coordinates on Dawn III.”

Just then, an officer in an Imperial Navy uniform hurried forward with a freshly decoded communications slip.

"Company Captain! We've intercepted and decoded a repeated distress signal from the planet's surface. Its source is identified as... the Command Headquarters of the Imperial Army's 894th Infantry Regiment!"

Company Captain Wilson took the slip and quickly scanned the plea for aid written in High Gothic.

"Reply to them," Company Captain Wilson ordered.

"Tell the defenders of Dawn III that the Word Bearers have answered their call. The Emperor's Angels of Death have arrived. Order them to hold their positions at any cost! We will clear the Orbit and descend to the surface at once. In the name of the Emperor, the Master of Mankind, tell them hope has not abandoned his loyal faithful!"

"Understood, my lord!" The officer ran back to the communications station to relay the message.

A few minutes later

With every squad deployed, Company Captain Wilson strode forward, the Servo System of his Power Armor humming low.

He passed through the Bridge's corridors, inlaid with sacred scripture, and approached the weapons rack.

He took down his carefully maintained Power Sword, its blade inscribed with scripture, and checked the charge and ammunition of the Bolt Pistol at his waist. Finally, he solemnly donned his captain's crested helmet. Its lenses flashed cold red.

"Begin the operation," he said quietly over the company-wide Communications Channel.

For an Astartes Chapters company, especially the steadfast and tactically efficient Word Bearers, this was little more than a standard rescue and counter-encirclement operation.

Their objective was clear: reinforce and save the loyal Imperial Guard on the ground, then utterly destroy the Orks that had dared defile the Emperor's domain. Their blood would wash away this world's shame.

The Glorious Word and its escort Fleet rapidly closed on the Star Fortress the Orks had seized.

Several sleek but heavily armed Lunar-class Cruisers formed the escort, shifting their positions with the quiet purpose of a hunting pack.

Their massive prows pointed toward the Planet, mottled green like a filthy emerald, and the Star Fortress in its Orbit. The Orks had ravaged the station beyond recognition, covering it with crude additions and gun emplacements piled up like junk.

“It's those humies' Iron Coffins!” The Orks aboard the Star Fortress had spotted the approaching Fleet.

They had no unified command, but they possessed a beast's instincts and a frenzy that thrived on chaos.

A motley collection of crude weapons platforms began to turn. They ranged from captured Imperial Autocannons to enormous homemade energy projectors resembling catapults. Noisy Orks crewed them all, aiming at the elegant, deadly Imperial Warships.

Energy beams and solid shells streaked through the Void with considerable force and no accuracy. Most vanished uselessly against ripples in the Warships' Void Shields. The few that struck armor left only trivial scorch marks.

“Fire.” Company Captain Wilson's calm order sounded across the Fleet communications network.

An instant later, the Emperor's fury tore through the enemy barrage.

The Macro-cannon batteries along the Lunar-class Cruisers' broadsides roared. Even in the near-silence of the void, their violent recoil shuddered through the hulls.

Every volley from those great guns struck like a blow from the Emperor's fist.

The binary hymns and blessings chanted by the Adeptus Mechanicus priests seemed to take substance, pouring into each howling Macro-cannon shell, each one the size of a small mountain.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Thunderous destruction slammed into the Star Fortress with precision.

The defenses and gun emplacements the Orks had cobbled together from scrap metal, rock, and incomprehensible technology proved as fragile as children's blocks before the Imperial Navy's overwhelming firepower.

Brilliant, lethal explosions erupted across the Star Fortress. Fragments, twisted metal, and severed green limbs sprayed into the cold void like rain.

Shock waves tore through the station's narrow passages and halls, ripping countless bellowing Orks apart or pounding them into pulp.

The moment the Fleet's barrage suppressed and shattered the outer defenses, opening several enormous breaches, the Glorious Word's launch bay doors thundered open.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Drop Pods bearing the Word Bearers' emblem launched like holy meteors. Trailing blazing exhaust, they shot through the passages blasted open by the Macro-cannons and into the Star Fortress.

Scattered, chaotic Ork fire failed to stop them. The Drop Pods plunged into the station's belly.

Heavy impacts rang out one after another. The metal constructs, each weighing dozens of tons, smashed through decks at tremendous speed and struck with the force of heavy bombs.

Thick steam and dust from the impacts billowed outward.

Several Orks unlucky enough to stand near the landing sites were crushed into unrecognizable green smears on the floor before they could even scream.

Then, through the steam and dust, came a sound more terrifying to the Orks than the Macro-cannons: the distinctive, rhythmic, devastating roar of the Bolter.

"For the Emperor!"

The battle cry cracked like thunder through the screech of twisting metal and the Orks' startled shouts.

One towering figure after another burst from the haze in gray Power Armor. They were the Emperor's angels, the Word Bearers Legion's Interstellar Space Marines!

They moved like Lightning, working in perfect concert. Their Bolters fired precise bursts, every spinning bolt finding a target.

The Ork Boyz charging them often had barely raised their crude weapons before a sharp explosion turned their upper bodies into sprays of flesh and blood.

Bolts ripped easily through green hide, crude iron armor, and brittle bone. Within the Star Fortress's confined spaces, each shot sounded especially sharp and deadly, with an almost Ritual severity.

Company Captain Wilson led from the front.

His Power Sword was already drawn, its blue energy Force Field humming as he cut an Ork lunging from the side in half, axe and all.

His Bolt Pistol barked. Every pull of the trigger burst an Ork's skull or blew open its chest.

"For the Emperor!"

Wilson surged ahead, carving through the Orks in his path with his Power Sword and leaving clouds of blood in his wake.

"Waaaaaaaaaaagh!"

An Ork Warboss charged Wilson, swinging an enormous iron claw. Wilson kept his composure. As the Warboss reached him, he slipped to one side and swept his blade across.

"The Emperor sends his regards, Xenos bastard!"

The Warboss's head rolled free. Wilson holstered his Bolt Pistol, seized the severed head, and raised it high.

"This is how you'll all end, Xenos bastards!"

"Feel the Emperor's Wrath!"

Wilson's voice drew the attention of countless Orks fighting the boarding parties and Space Marines. When they saw their boss decapitated, some began to lose their nerve. Their Power of the Waaagh! weakened, and a few even turned and fled.

"Kill them all! Leave none alive!" Company Captain Wilson shouted.