Intro:
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He looked upon the lush sphere of Vesta VI as it hung peacefully in the center of the main view port of his bridge. Commodore Brock never grew tired of such sights. Only this time the peace was an illusion, yet another Imperium World defiled by the touch of the cursed Greenskin hoards. Vesta VI was classed as an Agri-World; the food stuffs grown here were of vital importance to hundreds of planets in the surrounding sectors. If this world fell then billions would starve… “No, by Throne! That will not happen if I have anything to say about it.” The Commodore thought to himself.
“Sir, we are at the drop point. The Fleet reports all is ready.”
“So, it begins. Thank you Commander, have all ground commands report status.” Brock said as he turned to the Hololithic device in the middle of the Bridges Compit. Almost instantly a series of faces appeared to hover like ghosts before the Commodore.
The first visual was plagued with static interruptions and the sound of horrendous explosions in the back ground. “Lt. Wynters, Vesta 9th Rifles PDF, here sir. We are currently holding the Bellerophon Line, for now, but are taking heavy causalities. We could sure use some help.”
“Help is on the way Lieutenant.” Brock assured the young officer.
The next face to appear was the heavily augmented visage of Princeps Maximus Alexyandir. The booming voice of the Princeps filled the bridge. “Legio Rapax walks on Vesta VI.”
The next visual was filled with static; “The Space Wolves have just hit Atmo, sir. They will be out of Comms for several minutes.” A Bridge Officer reported. The Commodore nodded his acknowledgement.
Finally, the screen was filled with a face that showed almost as many years as that of Brock’s. “General Markis, Cadian 71st Division awaits permission to begin drop operations.”
A slight smile broke the Commodore’s face; “Permission granted, old friend.” The General nodded and slammed the roll cage of his drop station down with practiced ease. “The Emperor protects!” The channel closed.
The Commodore watched as the gold sigils, marking the Imperial taskforces, spread across Vesta VI heading for their pre arranged targets. “Commander, once drop ops have concluded begin the blockade, I do not want any of that Greenskin filth to escape.”
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Please keep in mind, while reading this, I am not a writer, and don't usually run a narrative campaign.
