Hiss!
The heavy transport's massive thrusters belched violent ion afterburners, plunging headlong into the planet's atmosphere like a colossal drop pod.
According to historical archives, this world was once teeming with lush forests and exotic fauna, inhabited by a massive human colony that lived alongside planetary aborigines. Together, they had developed a singular branch of "magical technology," a tech-path born from the fusion of primitive psychic runes and human engineering. Most of their creations were as visually dazzling as they were lethal.
During the Great Crusade, the locals and the human enclave had resisted the Imperium, spurning the Emperor's benevolence. Ultimately, they were systematically purged by Ferrus Manus and the Tenth Legion. Amidst the "strenuous" resistance of the foe, the entire planet was unfortunately scorched into a blackened husk by several experimental weapons newly forged by the Gorgon.
After cleansing the planet of insurgents and xenobiotic life, Ferrus reclaimed a portion of the alien runic-tech. However, the Emperor deemed Ferrus's experimental armaments too devastating, and their application insufficiently humane, and counseled him against their continued use. Consequently, Ferrus chose to establish a clandestine vault on this newly-made dead world, interring the experimental weapons used in the campaign alongside a stern warning to his scions: the fate of this world was the direct result of the weapons stored within.
As the Great Crusade progressed, Ferrus continued to forge new engines of war, establishing similar vaults on other shattered worlds to house the "culprits" of their destruction. Some of these were Ferrus's own masterworks; others were bizarre technological artifacts unearthed or manufactured by xenos and rebels.
Ten thousand years had passed. The once-charred world was now a barren wasteland, cloaked in eternal, swirling sandstorms. Grains of grit hammered against the transport's hull in a deafening, rhythmic percussion. Despite the millennia, no plant life had ever returned, though the subterranean depths had birthed strange, hardy organisms.
Amidst this hostile environment, a twelve-man squad of Iron Hands stood at the edge of a mountain range, enduring the abrasive sandblasting as they awaited the arrival of the Iron Men.
The silver-white transport, gleaming with metallic reflections, streaked down like a missile, wreathed in the atmospheric friction-fires as it slammed toward the Iron Hands' flank. A vertical downdraft, far more violent than the natural storm, struck the earth. Even the Adeptus Astartes were forced to raise their gauntlets to shield the sensitive lenses of their helmets; a pebble hitting an eyepiece at supersonic speeds could shatter the tactical display, even if it failed to penetrate the ceramite.
As the transport stabilized, the rear armored hatches hissed open.
A densely packed unit of Automated Sentry-Troopers marched out in perfect unison. Their movement left the Iron Hands momentarily bewildered. The Sentry-Troopers stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, their motions so perfectly synchronized that three hundred mechanical units produced only a single, unified footfall. Once clear of the ramp, however, they became fluid and reactive. Their rigid formation expanded, like a compressed wafer suddenly absorbing water, transforming from a silver block into a staggered, interlocking skirmish line.
Following them, two long-range Armored Wardens stepped out of the hold. These mechanical constructs, rivals to the Dreadnought in scale, strode on clawed limbs that reminded the Iron Hands of Necron Skorpekhs, though these machines possessed far smoother, more sophisticated contours, with high-slung shoulder cowls.
Once four automata carrying specialized, sealed canisters exited the craft, the massive silver transport ignited its thrusters and vanished back into the void.
A single Sentry-Trooper detached from the formation, approaching the Iron Hands to deliver a blunt greeting.
"Light Assault Detachment arrived. Integrating into data-link. Unit Designation: KR-883."
Additional HUD overlays flickered within the Iron Hands' helmets. Below their squad status monitors, an entire auxiliary battle-group appeared.
"This detachment will escort you to the storage objective. An unknown item at the target site may be linked to the Master Control Core; its data will be scanned and recorded. Are there inquiries? This unit will provide answers where possible."
An Iron Hands warrior, his pauldron adorned with gold filigree, spoke up.
"You only require a data-scan? For this much force?"
KR-883 nodded. Once a machine captured material data, it could replicate the target at will; the physical vessel was unnecessary, especially when the signal bore signatures of the Federation. Xenos tech might require effort to decipher, but Federation technology did not.
To the machine-mind, three hundred Sentry-Troopers and two Armored Wardens truly were just a "detachment," scarcely a hundred tons of metal.
The Iron Hands did not press the matter further. KR-883 turned its metallic head toward the distant peaks, its ocular sensors contracting. Though the planetary interference was severe, the machine's algorithms easily filtered out the white noise.
The two Armored Wardens activated their heavy projectors and took point. Though they were long-range marksman platforms, their shields were exceptionally dense. The remaining Sentry-Troopers split into ten squads of thirty, advancing in a fanned-out sweep. The four automata remained at the rear, flanking the Iron Hands.
The drop zone was not far from the mountain vault, scarcely fifteen kilometers. Yet, those kilometers had become an impassable killing zone.
The mountainside was bristling with automated defense grids controlled by ancient cogitators. An earlier Iron Hands vanguard had been torn asunder when the hidden defenses suddenly flared to life. Though their fire-support teams had neutralized many outer turrets and recovered the broken remains of their brothers, sending them back to the Strike Cruiser via Thunderhawk, it meant that twelve new Dreadnought-interments would soon be required.
This had revealed a deeper problem. Through the hardlines of the destroyed turrets, the Techmarines had attempted to use ancient bypass codes to deactivate the grid, only to be rebuffed by the machine spirits. In the face of security protocols personally laid down by a Primarch, the Techmarines' data-shunts were useless.
Furthermore, to preserve the precious legacy of the Gorgon, they could not resort to orbital bombardment or heavy saturation fire. They had been contemplating the deployment of Malcador tanks or Knight suits when Axion arrived.