Chapter 640: "Brutal and Efficient Combat Style"
The belly armor plates of the Hyperion and the Man-Eater-class cruiser slowly opened, revealing neatly arranged airdrop bay slides.
The metallic "clack" of the hydraulic locks disengaging resonated through the airdrop bays, reaching the ears of the Ranger Marine Corps, Special Operations Teams from the Intelligence Department, and the Man-Eater and Helljumpers troops.
"Airdrop countdown: 30 seconds."
The voice of the ship's adjutant and the smart AI echoed in every airdrop bay.
With a series of muffled booms, a large number of drop pods were launched out of the ships by electromagnetic catapults.
Their deceleration thrusters ignited immediately, drawing streaks of blue in the pitch-black space.
Following close behind were the heavy drop pods deployed by the Man-Eater cruiser—massive, black-gray vessels specifically designed to carry armored vehicles and combat mechs.
Friction from the atmosphere caused the pod exteriors to glow a dark red, forming what looked like a rain of steel meteors.
Inside the pods, Ranger Marines gripped their handholds tightly. The shock absorption systems of their CMC power armor were operating at full capacity. Meanwhile, the Helljumpers were checking the fuel readings on their jetpacks; their hard-light and Gauss weapons were already chambered.
As for the Man-Eaters, they remained utterly composed.
After all, such airborne missions were no more challenging to these Astartes than daily meals are to ordinary people.
Some could even survive atmospheric re-entry alone, wearing only Titan-class armor and without the use of drop pods.
At the same time, various support aircraft began leaving the ship.
Medical shuttles slid out of the hangars in triangular formation, their ion engines trailing ghostly blue flames. Hercules-class transports deployed folding wings, and the cargo bays carried siege tanks and heavy Ranger vehicles securely fastened.
The Man-Eater cruiser launched more transport ships and carrier-based aircraft, ferrying the main assault force to the planet's surface.
Meanwhile, the first wave of drop pods broke through the atmosphere:
"Prepare for impact!"
Alarms blared inside each pod.
Boom—Boom—!!
With thunderous crashes, the first wave of drop pods slammed into the deserts of Planet Xier in "meteor-drop" formation.
The landing was successful thanks to the activation of buffer programs, and the rising clouds of sand and dust formed small mushroom clouds several meters high.
Bang—Bang—!
As the pod doors burst open, the Marines, SpecOps, Man-Eaters, and Helljumpers stormed out. Close behind them came several Achilles assault tanks and a number of Cyclops mechs.
Jim Raynor exited his pod to find the airborne troops had already established a ring-shaped defensive perimeter.
Tychus was adjusting his six-barrel machine gun, its barrels glinting coldly under the starlight. The Intelligence Department's Special Operations Team spread out in a fan formation, their nano-combat suits' optical camouflage automatically blending into the environment.
Dozens of Man-Eaters and over three hundred Helljumpers in power suits left the defensive perimeter established by the Ranger Marines, leaving tanks and mechs behind for support, and split into combat teams pushing into the surrounding desert and rocky terrain.
In front of them, the Mobius Foundation's expedition base lay in eerie silence.
The semi-circular inflatable domes had mostly collapsed. Many buildings had been burned to wreckage, still billowing black smoke. However, on the northern edge of the base stood a massive laser drill, its launch array over twenty meters in diameter, aimed at the ruins three kilometers away.
"Check the area."
Jim ordered the Rangers.
The Marines advanced in standard tactical formation, their metal boots thudding heavily against the ground.
At that moment, Mike was crouched beside a corpse clad in an orange hazmat suit. The helmet's scan mode emitted regular beeping as he calmly reported, "Time of death: approximately 48 hours ago. No external injuries. Nervous tissue has crystallized."
Chris led a Special Operations Team inspecting the drill's control terminal. "System intact. Energy core still holds 78% capacity."
As he spoke, his fingers flew across the keyboard. "Logs show targeting calibration was completed, but the device wasn't fired."
Tychus kicked a nearby corpse. "So these idiots knew the Tal'darim were out here and still didn't prep for shit."
At that moment, Chris suggested, "This drill can still be used. It's strong enough to blast open the entrance to the ruins."
Jim nodded. "Engineering team, get it running. Everyone else, reinforce the perimeter."
He glanced at the ancient ruins looming in the distance. "No matter how the Tal'darim react, we're getting that artifact."
The Rangers' combat engineers sprang into action. Heavy welding torches spat searing blue-white flames. The drill's base was reinforced, and its energy conduits were realigned.
The whole base rang with the sound of metal cutting and occasional tactical chatter. The air was thick with tension. Once the drill started, the Protoss would no doubt retaliate fiercely.
Meanwhile, the Man-Eaters and Helljumpers who had left the defensive line earlier had quietly reached the outer edges of the base.
At the desert's end, winds kicked up sand, faintly revealing the silhouette of the Tal'darim camp two kilometers away.
A Man-Eater scout lay prone behind a weathered rock, adjusting his helmet's imaging system to zoom in on the camp, its layout clearly projected on his HUD.
It was a large, temporary Protoss outpost.
Dozens of floating energy spires formed a circular layout. Their ethereal blue shields shimmered under the starlight.
Tal'darim zealots moved about, carving obscure runes into the sand with their psionic blades.
High Templar stood silently in the camp center, arcs of unstable energy crackling around them.
Further back, several Immortals were being calibrated, their heavy particle cannons shifting ever so slightly—already targeting the human base.
Rough estimates placed the Tal'darim elite force at over 400 Zealots, 40 High Templars, six Immortals, and numerous large airborne ships and vehicles.
Beyond a distant sand dune, the massive silhouettes of several Colossi loomed. If they fired their thermal lances, the entire desert could be turned to glass.
"These lunatics really went all in," the Helljumper captain muttered under his breath, fingers stroking the trigger of his hard-light rifle.
The Man-Eater scout didn't respond, calmly transmitting the data back to the cruiser and sharing it with the Rangers.
Soon, both the Rangers and Man-Eaters were aware that the Tal'darim were amassing on both the eastern and western flanks of the base.
"This isn't good," Jim muttered as he stared at the tactical holomap on his helmet display, brows furrowed. "Their numbers far exceed our projections. We need to pull back and hold the line until the drill breaks through the ruins."
"Hold the line?" A raspy voice crackled through the comms—Cass Rory: "No. The best defense is a good offense."
Jim was stunned. "Are you serious? On paper, we're not even half their numbers—and they've got multiple motherships!"
The mention of motherships made Jim visibly uneasy, clearly loathing those massive Protoss vessels.
"Data is just data," Cass said coolly. "The Tal'darim haven't moved yet only because they're wary of the artifact. But once we fire up that drill, they won't sit still."
"Heh heh..."
Tychus chuckled, flicking ash from his cigar inside his helmet. "I'm with the big guy on this one. Better to punch first than get punched!"
He slapped the shoulder of a nearby Warthog merc. "Time to stretch those muscles, boys!"
These dozens of Warthogs were elite mercs Tychus had hired using the Rangers' "public funds" while the Hyperion was undergoing maintenance. They were more experienced and better equipped than standard Marines.
Before Jim could stop him, Tychus was already leading his new crew toward the eastern front to join the Man-Eaters and Helljumpers.
"..."
Watching this, Jim opened his visor, rubbing his temple with a sigh.
Leon stood nearby, speaking calmly. "The Man-Eater squads are always like this—unpredictable. But they truly are among the Empire's best at fighting outnumbered and leading frontal assaults, even if it's not typical for their legion."
Jim took a deep breath and reluctantly gave in. "Fine. Let them raise hell. We'll hold the drill and open that damn door."
He turned his gaze back toward the ancient ruins in the distance, his eyes heavy. The real trouble, he feared, was yet to come.
On the eastern battlefield, heatwaves twisted the air as sandstorms swirled.
Tychus and his Warthogs arrived to find over a dozen Man-Eater Astartes crouched behind a sand dune. These towering giants, clad in black-gray power armor and standing over two and a half meters tall, knelt in formation with their bolters firmly gripped. Nearby, over a hundred Helljumpers kept watch from scattered positions.
"Goddamn..."
Tychus whistled as he peered over the dune. His helmet display lit up with data that made him flinch.
The Tal'darim encampment was much larger than expected. Numerous psionic towers surrounded the central area, and Zealots moved like wraiths between them.
Even more surprising were the Man-Eaters at his side—up close, they were even more intimidating than in vids. Even kneeling, their pauldrons were level with the standing Warthogs.
Just then, the radar in the top-left of Tychus' screen flashed—transport reinforcements would arrive in five minutes.
"Alright, boys..." Tychus patted his gun. "Let's wait until—"
"Cruiser, this is Squad Nine."
The Man-Eater squad leader beside him opened comms, ignoring Tychus completely. "Requesting target strike. Coordinates uploaded."
Moments later—
Several beams of ghostly blue light rained from the sky, striking the Tal'darim psionic towers dead-on. Shockwaves blasted sand into the air.
Screeeeeee—!
Next came the ear-piercing screech of missiles streaking across the sky, followed by a barrage saturating the western camp.
"..."
The orbital bombardment's tremors made Tychus instinctively squint. His tactical visor tracked the explosions in real time.
When the smoke cleared, his frown deepened.
Despite the seemingly fierce bombardment, only the outer structures were destroyed. The main Tal'darim force was untouched, and their psionic shields, though flickering, quickly stabilized.
"What kind of shitty bombing run was that?" Tychus spat.
The Man-Eater squad leader rose slowly. The servos of his armor hissed.
"This..." came the raspy voice from beneath the helmet, "is how you kill... and loot."
Before Tychus could react, the Man-Eaters charged from cover.
Their speed was astonishing. The black-gray power armor left blurry trails across the sand.
Over a hundred Helljumpers followed suit, launching white-smoke missiles from mini-tubes mounted on their backs.
Boom—Boom!
Explosions ripped through the Tal'darim front lines, creating cover for the Man-Eaters.
"Damn it!"
Tychus cursed and waved forward. "Move, boys! Follow those maniacs!"
His rotary cannon spun up, and the Warthogs advanced in a staggered line.
The Man-Eaters had already entered the enemy ranks.
Their captain smashed a Zealot shield and all into the ground with a single punch.
Another tore through psionic barriers with a chainsword, sparks flying from the clash with Protoss armor.
Tychus finally understood what "looting" meant—these maniacs didn't care about killing enemies. They were after intact psionic weapons and tech.
One Man-Eater was disassembling a Tal'darim turret by hand. Another ripped out a High Templar's energy core.
"Goddamn looters!" Tychus yelled with a grin as his cannon spewed fire.
Warthogs spread out beside him, their Gauss rifles forming a lethal web of blue projectiles.
The Tal'darim retaliated fiercely.
Psionic blasts tore through the air but were absorbed by the Man-Eaters' Titan-class energy shields.
Chaos erupted across the battlefield. Explosions and psionic blades screamed through the desert.
Tal'darim Zealots charged, their blades trailing eerie blue arcs.
Twang—Twang—!
But the Man-Eaters responded with coordinated bolter fire, shredding the shields of five attackers in the first volley.
One Zealot leapt high, slashing down with his blade.
The Man-Eater captain didn't dodge. He punched straight into the strike.
The instant psionics met plasma fields, the Zealot's shield shattered. His chest was pierced, and his head was blown apart by a close-range shot, his body forcibly "phased out."
A High Templar tried to unleash a psionic storm but was quickly surrounded by three Man-Eaters in triangle formation.
The first blocked the lightning with a stolen psionic shield. The second sliced through his barrier with a chainsword. The third crushed his head with a power fist.
It took less than two seconds.
Elsewhere, two Man-Eaters fought back-to-back.
One suppressed charging Zealots with a heavy flamethrower. The other picked off flankers with precision shots.
"Sweet mother of God..."
Tychus watched in awe.
These giants fought with brutal efficiency, completely overwhelming the agile Protoss.
(End of Chapter)
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