allowing the Savior and the Imperial Emperor's strike forces to penetrate toward the very heart of the projected zone.
Booming thunder rolled across the sky.
Dropships dozens of meters long screamed down at high speed, burning in their tumble through the atmosphere and detonating in mid-air.
They were the Storm Army Group's troop carriers, and hundreds of similar pods dotted this airspace.
Inside one of them…
The entire pod shook violently as row upon row of armored infantry sat strapped into benches along both sides.
Each soldier in powered armor stood a bit over two meters tall, equipped with all manner of energy and bolt weaponry.
They looked brutally capable.
Their armor was fully sealed, designed by the Savior after the "fifty-credit troopers" from his previous life. The shell was somewhat rounder than Astartes power armor and cheaper to produce.
The plating of every suit was coated in a special paint, sprinkled with faint, mottled black specks.
It contained powdered Blackstone, providing limited resistance to the corruption of Chaos.
Enough to buy the troopers more time on the field.
Humanity had lost so many wars against Chaos for one simple reason: mortal armies could not stay long on such battlefields.
The warp-tainted energies saturating the front lines could make a mere half-day's fighting enough for a mortal to sprout twisted limbs and for his sanity to crumble.
But with Blackstone-infused coating and anti-corruption drugs, these soldiers could now fight for at least several days.
That dramatically increased humanity's ability to wage war against Chaos.
So this technology had been applied first to the armored corps.
These armored troopers were vastly superior to ordinary Imperial Guard, with genuine capability against daemons.
The atmosphere inside the pod was heavy. The troopers were all somewhat tense.
A drop like this was dangerous. If the fighter wings in the atmosphere failed to secure the airspace,
daemon flyers could slip through and the pods might be shot out of the sky.
"Huff…"
"Savior above…"
Old York drew in a deep breath, fingers gripping his dog-tag tightly to steady his nerves.
This veteran who had re-enlisted had been assigned to the 13th Armored Regiment and was about to step onto the most dangerous battlefield.
He was not afraid of dying.
If he had chosen to enlist again, he had already accepted that he might fall on the front lines.
His only worry was not racking up enough kills.
That would be worse than dying.
"Wonder if that brat back home is going to cry when I'm gone… if he'll miss this old fossil."
Old York suddenly thought of his grandson.
Yet he did not regret coming back to war.
After all, he was here to protect that little grandson and countless other children like him.
If he ended his days in a hospital bed in some convalescent zone, the comrades who'd gone before him to the Throne would laugh themselves sick.
"Ah… radiant in holy light, blade of the divine, he marches without fear at our head and leads us to the far shore of the dawn…"
Outside, the roar of artillery and the stirring hymn of the Savior's litany could now be heard faintly, the chant resounding with sacred power.
The sacred music instantly shattered the gloom inside the pod,
and one could not help but feel inspired.
It cut off Old York's wandering thoughts. The other armor troopers also came back to themselves and began to ready their gear.
Hearing the hymn meant they were nearing the battlefield.
"Listen up, lads. This is the first time our squad has faced those heretic abominations, and it might also be our last battle as a bunch of old relics."
Old York racked his heavy bolter and grinned.
"Even if you have to use your teeth, you make sure to tear down as many daemon bastards as you can.
Don't you dare get scared and disgrace this squad. If you do, when we all return to the Throne, I won't let you off."
Old York was this squad's leader.
The Storm Army Group's armored troopers had all undergone full simulation training.
They had studied the fighting styles and weak points of various daemon breeds, along with the proper counters.
But this was still their first time on a real Chaos battlefield.
As soon as the words left Old York's mouth, the pod filled with rough, hoarse laughter.
"We fought through the Apocalypse battlefield together, you think we can't handle a few daemon whelps?"