Snippet #2763286

The holy screech of a Thunderhawk, every engine burning brightly at full tilt shattered the chaotic noise of battle. Just as Cain inacted his retreat, and the malicious "Shards" of the arrogant heretech creature began their assault, help had arrived. Splitting the clouds, Josephus' Lance descended in a feigned strafeing run, all four twin-linked Heavy Bolters roaring with the Emperor's fury. The flakk was merely suppression, vaguely aimed towards the machine-aggreasor. The pilot's actual intent became clear once the massive grey gunship dipped closer to the ground, unleahing two Hellstrike missiles directly in front of Alpha's path to the Guard in attempt to clear some breathing room.

Regardless of its effectiveness the Thunderhawk's secondary payload would be delivered post-haste.

At the lowest dip in its arc the rear-bay doors flew open, and a small Veteran Iron Hands marines contingent leaped out. Armed with Heavy Bolters, Plasma Rifles, and even a single HAVOC unit, the highly bionic marines were ordered to give no quarter. These stalwart champions of the Imperium fearlessly hit the ground, Power Armor creaked, and whined, organic knees buckled on impact, but the Astates never missed a beat. As soon as each recovered from the jump they attempted to coalesce into the traditional, calculated serried ranks of their Chapter. Notably maneuvering their imposing figures between the threat, and Cain.

"The flesh is weak!"