The enemy had stepped into the carefully laid trap. Command immediately set the prepared strategic deployment into motion, and the long-waiting Astartes forces entered the battlefield.
Amatara's Regent personally donned his armor, gripping a power sword in one hand and a combat dagger in the other as he led his Victorious Guard to the front lines.
In close-quarters combat, even fully armed mortals were no match for Space Marines. The only way to leave none of these World Eaters who had launched this risky assault alive was to pit Astartes against Astartes.
Both sides understood this perfectly. The enemy had repeatedly used their own Space Marines to batter the defenses; beyond destroying the line, their greatest purpose was to draw the Ultramarines into battle.
As long as they could utterly crush the Ultramarines Astartes on Amatara and kill their commander, the rebels would only have some disoriented mortal troops left to face.
Kharn, captain of the Eighth Assault Company, was one of the World Eaters charging at the very forefront. He and his battle-brothers had already broken through a position held by mortal auxilia.
Even by his standards, those mortal soldiers had truly done their best. To pull out that troublesome nail from the battlefield, the warriors under his command had paid seventeen lives.
Volkite guns, melta bombs, plasma guns... those damned mortals were armed to the teeth. Comparing them to the mortal soldiers of his own Legion, they looked like beggars scraping out a living.
These Amatarans possessed iron resolve. They would rather charge while clutching melta bombs than become prisoners begging to live, though the World Eaters generally took no prisoners.
Kharn would never forget the gaze of the final veteran in that position. It had held fearlessness and mockery. They believed the invaders would be buried on