//------------------------------//
// Entry V: Fear 
// Story: PonyHammer 40k: Legions At War 
// by Ozone31 
//------------------------------//

ENTRY BEGINS. 2nd YEAR OF THE GRAND AGE OF EQUESTRIA





Private Jock Maintrom was scared. This didn't make him special and he knew it. Every man, woman and underage recruit in this attack force was scared. They had good reason to be. They were minutes away from another hellish deployment, in which they would be fighting against daemons, Astartes and all other manner of horrors from a murderer's worst, most bloody and violent nightmares. On top of this, they'd be doing so without their lasrifles or any of their handheld weapons - for the simple reason that they no longer had hands with which to hold them. 

Some of his fellows, like Private First Class Thorn, had been reshaped into horned equines - a form that possessed abilities that resembled those of a psyker's. Thorn had already been able to master these abilities to an extent where she could lift her rifle without even touching it. However, she and all those like her had been forbade by command from using these abilities until further notice, claiming their lack of knowledge of these powers could prove a danger to them. Most were unconvinced of this, but heeded the order anyway.

Not that any of this really mattered to Maintrom, as he possessed neither a horn nor wings. He was a drab-grey coated, dusty-brown maned earth pony, perfectly reflecting his place as just another blank face in an army of hundreds of millions.

In place of their personal weapons, most of the the Imperial troopers had been paired up and had essentially all become heavy-weapons teams. All those who hadn't found themselves in this role were either assigned as gunners on tanks and aircraft (operating on additional guns, placed on vehicles in response to the bodily changes) or they had been conscripted into close-quarters assault teams. He was glad to have avoided that fate, the casualty rates of those teams were high enough even before the changes.

Instead, he would be operating a field autocannon with with PFC Thorn. There were worse guns to man and worse partners to have, but he would have still much preferred a position as a secondary gunner on a Leman Russ or a Valkyire. His whole body was shaking, causing his jump harness to rattle slightly louder than everypony else's. But, upon taking a glance around the upper hold of the Devourer class dropship he was occupying, he noticed that no pony was paying his terrified shuddering any mind. They were all far too busy dealing with their own fears in their own way - some tending to weapons and ammunition, others huddled in small groups and uttered hushed prayers to The Emperor. 

He looked back to the Imperial pendant he was balancing on his left hoof. They weren't meant to pray to Him, He refused the title and role of a god, but that didn't stop many from treating Him like one, Maintrom included.

"Guide my aim, Lord. Guard me from the temptations of monsters and daemons. By Your light, I am protected." he whispered to the Aquila emblazoned on his pendant, hastily touching it to his forehead before storing it back behind his flak armour carapace.

"Making your final peace, Jockey?" a distinctly familiar voice chuckled, its mockery amounting to nothing more than familiar banter. Thorn smiled at her loader as she approached him, although it was clearly an effort for her to maintain its position on her face and her deep teal eyes gave away her trepidation. She settled into her own jump harness, next to his, and gave the stallion a firm slap on the back, offering him a cheeky grin as she did so. Maintrom was far more reserved than Thorn, so he only returned her boisterous greeting with a small smile, a slight nod and a murmur of:

"Something like that."

"Good man. No point leaving behind regrets." she replied, her smile only continuing to grow as their conversation continued. Being around the withdrawn male never failed to put her in a better mood, as contradictory as that may sound to any outsider to their relationship. Before they could continue their conversation, she caught sight of one such outsider, approaching the pair from across the deck. Her bright grin quickly devolving into a baleful scowl. "Heads up, Private Pissant approaching at two o'clock."

Private First Class Alms Prizant, better known to his fellows as 'Private Pissant', was a hunter-noble from the Knight's Nobilis World Fleet's most prestigious vessel - The Triumph of Dawn. He wore his family's esteemed honour as if it were a badge of office, even going as far as insulting superior officers to their faces and talking down on every last soul who so much as occupied the same room as him. He especially enjoyed flaunting around the two he was now advancing towards, as he knew that his mere presence caused Thorn's cream coloured coat to prickle and that Mainstrom was far too mild mannered to ever allow her to do anything about it.

He was near their seat row now, coming down the aisle to the right of them, his smirk was so confident it was physically sickening to Thorn. As he got closer still, her shaggy, amber tail began to curl towards the 3-inch field-autocannon that sat just in front of her and Jock. However, the latter reached over and placed his hoof on her shoulder, fixing her with a firm stare and shaking his head in warning. He was still shaking in terror, but he wasn't going to sit back and watch his comrade do something she might regret, not now.

Prizant noticed him holding her in place, spurring a brief burst of snickers from the high-class recruit. He then took a breath and opened his mouth, to begin his deluge of snide remarks and pompous comments. Maintrom was ready for them, he didn't care, having little self respect to begin with meant that the rude judgements of another mattered very little to him. So, he braced himself instead to hold back Thorn if, no he was almost certain it was, when the need arouse. But it never did. Pissant didn't get to utter a single word.

His voice was stolen by a sudden, explosive roar and the wretched shrieks of tearing metal - emanating from the trio's eleven o'clock. Less than a millisecond later, Alms Prizant was gone. Obliterated by a passing... something. Jock only saw a flash of blinding light, passing from his left to right in an instant - promptly removing everything in its path from existence as it went, the sneering private included. 

No one aboard the dropship had any time whatsoever to react to the removal of one of their own from the mortal plane, for as soon as the flash had torn through the ship its affects could be felt. 

The entry explosion was swiftly succeeded by the uproar of explosive decompression. Troopers, ammunition, weapons and metal scraps were rapidly and violently sucked bodily from the ship, out through the gaping wound in the adamantine hull of the vessel. 

Next came a death howl, the spluttering whine of a failing drive engine. The sound of racing air never faded, even after the ship had completely depressurised, for now they were already falling. 

And above all this reigned the terrible din of battle beginning outside the Devourer's broken form; the sounds of explosions, gunshots, las-screams and missile roars.

Maintrom was lifted up from his seat, his movement only halted by his jump harness, as the ship began its terrible, screaming free fall. His organs leapt up in his chest, his mind spun and raced, his stomach emptied itself as the G-forces pushed the food up through his body and out his mouth. Thorn and every other tied down soldier fared no better. They were all being thrown around in their seats as the huge craft began its death roles and Mainstrom could feel himself being pushed back with more and more force, indicating that their spiralling downward arc was rapidly becoming steeper and faster.

"BRACE! BRACE! BRACE!" the warning klaxons blared over the screaming of the air and the ship's occupants.

Prizant had only been dead for five seconds.





Princess Luna shifted awkwardly in her seat, the hydraulic jump harness almost crushing her in her armour like a tin of peaches. She was sat in the forward hold of this 'Thunderhawk', in the right row of five seats that lined either side of the tight, metal space. The rest of said row was occupied by four of her personal guard, while the other three were located in the main hold - and all of them appeared to be fairing no better in their restraints than she was her's.

The row on the left was also fully occupied, by the two Sisters of Silence and three space marines - all of whom were showing no signs of any discomfort whatsoever. The two mares were sat side-by-side, heads down and eyes closed with the younger of the pair muttering something feverishly in tones too quiet for Luna to make out. This mare she had no problems with, she seemed a bit too timid to truly be a soldier in the Moon Princess' opinion, but overall she was not an unpleasant pony. The sister-commander, on the other hoof, was a different matter entirely. Her presence seemed to drop the temperature of any room she was in by several degrees, her gaze was as piercing as it was cold and she seemed to radiate with killer intent - the need to murder emanating off her in relentless waves. 

Rodrias was dangerous and Luna had every intention of keeping one eye firmly fixed on her, but that made concentrating somewhat difficult as her other eye was firmly fixed on Captain Dragoon. 

He and four of his command squad were stood, single file, in the central reservation of the forward hold, performing their final weapons checks - loading wrist mounted 'bolters' and inspecting the functionality of their individual melee weapons. She watched one warrior heft a mighty, metal fist up closer to his face and with a flick of his hoof, ignited the entire metal construct with arcing bolts of electricity.

"Wow..." Silent Arrow, Princess Luna's chief batpony guard and loyal sharpshooter, breathed in awe - halting in her scrutiny of her foreleg crossbows to marvel at the foreign weapon. She even ignored the sideways glare shot at her by the princess, although she could hardly be blamed for this, it was a strangely hypnotic sight. However, all focus was broken away from the arcing gauntlet by a dry chuckle from its wearer.

"Ha. If it awes you now, you should have seen it on the day it was fresh off the forge." came the deep, humoured rumble from the warrior's vox speaker. He appeared to be staring at his weapon, much like the Equestrians - but not with awe as they were, instead he looked upon it in peaceful reverie. Although the roaring image of his golden dragon's head helm made him appear overcome by bestial fury, his voice was calm and flowing, not giving true sound to the age his armour suggested. "It crackles with only half of its original might, like its dusty old wielder." his laugh this time was a tad harsher, almost spiteful. Not like the one that soon followed it;

"Don't not be so harsh on yourself, honoured sergeant." the warrior from the back of the file called to the old knight without looking at him. This stallion's battle plate was far less adorned than that of the ancient sitting before Luna, almost completely devoid of golden pinions and jewelled mantles, he sported only a laurel wreath of shining gold across the brow of his helm, as did every member of the sixth company first squad. On top of this, he also sounded a lot younger - his voice rounding out at a few pitches higher than his veteran peers. "This company would be nothing without you."

The old hero didn't really respond to that, simply grunting and returning to his maintenance.

"Do not take our standard bearer's words lightly, my friend." a familiar voice spoke from the front of the pack, its owner turning his head back to address the sergeant behind him. "Without your brave actions, sixth company would have been annihilated aboard the Pallidus Alpha."

"Actions I would have not been able to perform in the first place if you had not marshalled us so well, especially considering that you had just watched your predecessor get cut down by an Ork." the marines present bowed their heads at this statement, honouring their long fallen leader's sacrifice that fateful day on the lost Battle Barge in orbit over Ullanor.

"What was his name?" Luna asked quietly, her curiosity eventually winning over her resentment of the captain somewhat. Not enough, however, to stop her from glaring at him as she questioned. He turned his head to half-face her, his deep crimson eye lenses staring blankly back at her. Several tense seconds past before he responded in a calm, almost wistful tone.

"Adume. Hacke Adume, was the Dragoon and leader of Sixth company before me."

"The Dragoon before you? You mean to say that your name is not Dragoon?" her question caused the Sixth captain to sigh, as it was a subject he did not often enjoy discussing - to the extent that he often went out of his way to avoid the topic of his title and how it was bestowed upon him. He was not surprised by her mistake though, since he had introduced himself only as Dragoon during their first contact. Thankfully, however, he would not have to answer the query himself.

"The Dragoon is the title given to the leader of House Dragoon, one of the four Noble Houses that our legion is divided into. Twenty-Four companies - each comprised of five thousand Astartes, divided evenly among four houses." the 'honoured sergeant' replied for his leader, knowing how sore a subject it could be for his friend. The equestrians were awed, as (after only a brief touch of mental maths) they realised that the stallion at the front of the aircraft's hold was in direct command of some thirty thousand super soldiers.

"My name, is Ozonus Prowl." the grizzled leader said quietly, looking at Luna straight on this time - speaking only really to her, as the rest of the hold's occupants were now talking fervently amongst themselves. The princess stared quizzically at the Astartes for a moment, searching for any sign of deceit or emotion at all through his glaring visor slits. But alas, the thick, blood red glass pieces blocked her attempts.

"Maybe, once this combat is over..." Luna began, turning away from the hulking warrior and giving her battle claws one last inspection. "... and providing you're able to prove your expertise in it - I might reveal my full name to you."

Suffice to say, Dragoon was more than little confused by this statement. What possible impact could her full name have on him? Why did she believe it was important to him that he know it at all? All mundane questions to be considered at a later date, for now... he thought as his vox link began to beep, informing him that someone was trying to make contact with him over a frequency that he currently wasn't active on - an Imperial Army command frequency. For now, we go to war.

With a thought, he connected to the channel and was greeted by an ear-full of gunshots, explosions and screaming. Definitely an Imperial Army frequency. He had absolutely nothing against the 'Un-augmented', as the humans were known as by the Swords, but he was certainly very aware of their flaws - with low pain tolerance being a common weakness shared by most of them.

"You have reached Dragoon, captain of the Sixth company." he spoke evenly into the vox, unfazed by the horrific symphony of war in the background. "With whom am I speaking and why have you contacted me?" he found himself waiting an irritatingly long time for a response, hearing only the din of combat with a voice frantically yelling orders over it all.

"Shore up those barricades dammit, the bastards are getting through! Leman Russ Iron Throne, advance! SHIT! INCOMING!!" once again, the channel erupted with sound - howls of pain, shearing metal and monstrous roars filling the captain's ears, but still failed to even cause him to flinch. He was used to this. "PUSH THEM BACK, YOU BLOODY COWARDS! Hello? Lord Dragoon?"

Finally

"This is Dragoon, my force is a matter of minutes away from the landing zone. What is the situation at the front, trooper?"

"My Lord! Thank the Emperor, you're almost here. It's looking pretty grim down here though, sir." the stallion on the other end of the channel almost laughed into the vox, before his voice turned as grim as his news. "That be damned destroyer is holding position just above the city's skyline, making it near impossible to get any transports in close. Only my Devourer was able to reach the LZ intact, all the others had to put down further away."

"I can confirm that, sir." the Thunderhawk's pilot briefly cut in. "We have just passed over the main army landing force and the city is still just out of sight.

"Get us low, pilot." Dragoon commanded quickly. Even though their craft were smaller, faster and more manoeuvrable than the Army dropships, they would still be easy pickings for that destroyer's defence guns at high altitudes. The effects of his order were immediate, as the 'Hawk lurched into a shallow dive. "What else have you to report, trooper?"

"Well sir..." the soldier began, but was swiftly cut off by a tremendous *BANG*, that sounded remarkably close to the trooper and was accompanied by a cry of "The track's been blown off!". "Damn. The city is built upon an island, connected to the land by a number of bridges. All but one of those were destroyed by a local military group, so we've been able to hold the enemy at the last remaining bridge."

"There are survivors from within the city?" the Sixth Captain asked incredulously, as a daemonic onslaught was a very hard event to walk away from both alive and sane. He felt the tingling sense of suspicion begin to crawl it way up his spine, as the prospect that these 'survivors' might in fact be traitors entered his thoughts. He would need to inspect them thoroughly himself when they arrived.

He was broken from his thoughts as the Thunderhawk levelled out and a klaxon gave out a loud squawk as the lights within the transport all went out and were replaced by the dim, crimson glow of the imminent deployment signal.

"Landing zone in sight, all troops prepare to disembark." the pilot's voice echoed through the transport from several vox speakers mounted around the holds. Following the announcement a quiet shuffling began in the rear hold and a quick glance to her left told Luna that this was the sound of the Astartes in the back removing themselves from their harnesses and taking up standing positions, ready to exit the craft as soon as it touched down.

"Princess." the sergeant called out to her. When she turned to face him, she found him extending his left hoof to her and in its centre was a rounded, cone-shaped, metal object. It was around the size of a gobstopper and one side was made up of a criss-crossing mesh tiny of metal wires, while the other was adorned with a simple button. She was given no time to theorise as to what it was, however, as the armoured stallion informed her before she could ask. "It's a vox earpiece. It's connected to the Sixth's command frequency, it'll make it easier for you to communicate with us in the field. You'll hear anything transmitted by any command squad member or any of the other squad leaders and if you want to impart something; just press the button on the outside and speak."

"I see..." she muttered as she lift the piece up to her face with her magic, to inspect it further. Finding nothing to be suspicious about, she then placed the little device in her left ear and was soon greeted by the sergeant's voice once again, but only in that ear this time.

"The Captain thought you should have one, easier than screaming across the battlefield at you. Good luck down there." with that said, he turned away from her and stood up, ready to go. 

No sooner than he had done so, the entire transport was rocked by a tremendous explosion. The members of the Night Guard screamed and clung to their harnesses for dear life, as the dropship shuddered and banked hard to the right. Even Luna gasped and clenched her teeth as the aerospace-craft entered a 60 degree bank and shallow dive. But what shocked her more than the manoeuvres themselves; was the sight of the Astartes remaining standing throughout them. They clung to the floor-turned-wall like hulking armoured insects, seemingly unfazed by the wild and erratic flying.

"Incoming flak fire, everyone brace." the pilot ordered, however late said order may have been. The 'Hawk' levelled out  again and the pilot called over the vox once more. "Igniting afterburners for final approach."

With a *boom*, equally as thunderous as the anti-aircraft fire, they shot forward towards the front line. The procession of Thunderhawks had been forced so low by the destroyer's defensive fire, that they were practically skimming the grass as they screamed towards the Imperial Army rear lines. The Arc Phantom spat furiously at them, trying desperately to down them before its tainted weapons were blocked by the city's skyline, but to no avail. 

The six transports all made it, relatively, unscathed into the cover provided by Manehatten's tallest buildings and immediately after they had, dropped their throttles, deployed air-brakes and began to slow rapidly as they were now inches away from skimming the helmets of the army troopers with their landing skids as they went. With only tens of yards left to go before they reached their designated LZ, the pilots flared their craft and seconds later set down hard. 

A tense few moments passed inside the hold of the lead Thunderhawk following the landing. All there was to do for the several precious seconds before all hell broke loose was to wait and listen to the horrific din of battle howling from outside the transport's armoured walls. The Equestrian soldiers were quivering a little, this war had already almost killed them and they hadn't even seen the enemy yet. The Sisters of Silence sat, completely motionless and eyes closed, in their harnesses - but Rodrias had deployed a set of hooked battle claws from her gauntlets at some point during the hellish approach. The Astartes stood firm and ready, silently awaiting yet another call to battle. The call of humanity, of their legion, of their Emperor, the call of...

The klaxon let out its final, demented screech and the ready lights flashed green. With a heavy clunk the ramp was unsealed and released, hitting the soft ground with a sodden thump. But this sound was drowned out by the deafening cacophony that flooded into the hold from outside.

"BROTHERS, CHARGE!" Dragoon roared as he bolted from the transport, with astounding speed for a stallion of his size and mass, and disappeared from Luna's view, into the blinding light beyond. His call was answered by the furious shouts of his fellows as they thundered after their leader. When the last hulking warrior had exited the vehicle, the two mares rose from their reveries and barrelled right out after him, with Tolm offering the Equestrians a brief nod and a mouthed:

"Good luck" before following her mistress out into battle, foreleg blades glinting in the light.

Luna removed herself from her own harness and stood briefly in the isle of the forward hold, staring out into the glaring light beyond the hull of the craft. She was quickly surrounded by her own soldiers, each one looking expectantly to her for orders. She looked back to each of them, taking note of the fear in their eyes, the trepidation in their bodies and the determination in their spirits.

"Know this, all of you..." the Princess of the Night began, taking a step or two back so she could see all of her audience as she spoke. "I will not force you to follow me out there." she said with a grim nod to the shining exit behind her, as screams and explosions filtered in through it. As if cued to help emphasise her point, a particularly loud shriek echoed from outside as a silhouette shaped like a distinctly non-pegasus pony flew past the opening. "Beyond these metal confines, will be untold horrors in untold numbers and forms. You will be fighting daemons, super-soldiers and possibly even your fellow Equestrians - driven mad by these Ruinous Powers. This battle will be dangerous, bloody and I cannot guarantee your safety."

"I cannot force you to fight horrors that even Discord himself couldn't dream up, monsters that you were never trained to fight and your own fellows in the Manehatten police forces and guard. But... I am asking if you will. If you will stand, charge and fight with me against this new threat to our home. Will you defend your homes with all your might? Will you stand against giants, with giants?! WILL YOU BE THE HEROES EQUESTRIA NEEDS, HERE AND NOW?!!!"

"AYE PRINCESS!" her Night Guard yelled in response, thrusting their hooves into the air and flaring their leathery wings. Sure they were scared, but that was no excuse to back down - not in the face of a threat such as this.

"THEN COME, FOLLOW ME! FOR EQUESTRIA!" Luna's battle cry echoed throughout the ship as she turned and stormed from it. Her own determination burned bright in her eyes and she had to admit, a small part of her was pleased to be back in the fight for her home. Even she could not help but feel some trepidation as she exited the Thunderhawk, but unlike most, she had the resolve to not let it show. She could hide her fear.

"FOR EQUESTRIA!" her warriors repeated her cry in kind, charging with their princess into battle.





"Bloody hell, someone sure up those damn barricades!" First Lieutenant Bailey Enart yelled from his crippled Leman Russ, firing its pintle mounted stubber on full-auto, unleashing streams of metal death into the seemingly endless tide of corrupted ponies advancing inexorably toward the Imperial Army's fourth and final defensive line. He was absolutely terrified, but he did not let that stop him from screaming his orders, nor did he stop shooting the Emperor be-damned creatures before him. His fear did not make him special, so he did not let it consume him. He fought on as he always had, despite his unfamiliarity with his current form.

It felt odd, operating the heavy weapon with hooves - the trigger guard had to be removed so they could pull the trigger with their finger-less appendages. But Enart was just glad to be operating the device at all, it had saved his life when a group of screaming pegasi had dived on them from above. They were little more than stains on the tanks and ground now, first shredded mercilessly by a storm of stubber rounds then the rest splattered against the layered adamantite plates and unforgiving floor.

He was also thankful that they hadn't been transformed and resized into the ponies found in their home realm, as in that case, this tank would be quite a bit too big for them to operate. Or had they? Maybe they had, and their equipment had simply been rescaled to work best for them? 

"Ah, who gives a shit?!" he yelled to himself just as the battle cannon roared and spat it's fury, as the machine spirit of the Hell Raiser agreed with him - the mighty battle tank was far more concerned with the foe it was facing down and the repair of its tracks, than it was with the great philosophies of this world.

The other tanks surrounding them agreed with the lead tank's sentiment, adding their own voices once more to the symphony of cannon fire, heavy-las discharges and plasma screams that rended the air and harmonised perfectly with the screams and cries of those they targeted. And yet, even as the blistering barrage poured forth nonstop from the battle line and into the Chaos' lines, their enemy continued on - making constant, inching progress towards the waiting army troopers. Hundreds-of-thousands of ponies, their faces contorted into horrific, simultaneous expressions of joy, pain, terror, pleasure and many more ever-contradicting emotions. They were screaming, crying, laughing and moaning all at once, in a terrible orchestra whose volume almost matched that of the roaring Imperial guns.

Their daemonic chorus was backed up from the other side of the "Herdson" River by Traitorous artillery fire, their own cannon fire roaring against the loyalists' guns. 

The daemonic assault poured, non-stop, over the last of Manehatten's great bridges and out onto the flat lands beyond. Had one lone Imperial dropship not dropped in a suicide dive under the Arc Phantom's guns as Enart's had, then the heretical tide would have spread out too far for the small Army force to effectively contain. And the loyalist Equestrians would have surely been doomed.

The Lieutenant dared to take a second to glance back and observe said ponies, nodding with satisfaction as they were tended to by medics and the loyalty masters. His eyes settled on the unicorn leader of the pony troop; Guard Captain Dusty Skies, the closest thing these ponies seemed to have to a grizzled veteran. His coat was a pale blue, darkened in places by sweat and dry blood. His mane and tail were a stark hue of white, protruding from his head as a tight mohawk and from his rear end as a short, spikey tuft.

Curiously, Enart had noticed, the Equestrian ponies all had far more colour and variance in their coat and hair than the Imperials did. All his troops possessed very drab, dulled hues of basic colours - while the natives had far more deviation of their personal chroma. It was intriguing, but far from his highest priority thought at that moment.

The Hell Raiser's main gun roared again, it's massive APHE shell cutting a swath through the approaching enemies before detonating in their midst, showering those not caught in the blast with a downpour of crimson viscera. But the gaps in the advance were filled in near instantly, as they continued to flow through the devastated first Imperial line of defence with vile purpose. They were so close now that some of the flying gore splattered onto the lead trooper's face as he opened up once again with his stubber, focusing down the lead ponies - some part of his mind quietly hoping that their allies would trip on the maimed corpses.

No such luck. The survivors ploughed on, unconcerned for those who they had to trample to advance their charge. They were within spitting distance of the tank battlefront, close enough for him to smell the wretched stench of the decaying ones and the horribly sensuous perfumes of those who'd fallen to the Dark Prince of Pleasure. Soon enough, he'd probably be cutting them from his command hatch with his sword, not that he could wield it very well anymore. He was no unicorn. Just a beige coated Earth pony, with a dull blond, shaved mane and tail. He'd be near to useless in melee in this form, his las-pistol and power sword rendered unusable by his lack of hands and fingers.

But he'd be damned if he would let that stop him from serving his duty to The One. By the Emperor's mighty name, he'd gnaw the bastards to death if he had to. So;

"LET THEM COME BOYS AND GIRLS!!" he yelled, shredding his lungs as he loosed his rallying cry into the open vox. "THEY MAY BE NUMEROUS, THEY MAY HAVE THEIR 'GODS', THEY MAY BE ON THEIR HOME TURF! BUT THOSE ADVANTAGES DIDN'T SAVE THE CALIPSIAN SYSTEM'S DEFENDERS AND IT SURE AS HELL AIN'T GONNA SAVE THESE GORMLESS GITS NOW!"

The heretic ponies began vaulting the wire traps, plunging into the trenches to engage the melee teams tooth and hoof. Enart wracked them with stubber rounds and they leapt, causing many to flop lifelessly into the combat or simply explode mid-jump, raining blood and shredded organs down onto the soldiers and the damned clashing below.

"WE WILL GUN THEM DOWN WITH OUR BOLTERS!" he continued, as some of the mindless pony husks began leaping clean over the dug outs and onto the heavy weapons teams behind them. The pegasi travelled even further, slamming into the hulls of the Leman Russ tanks with sickening crunches.

"WE WILL GRIND THEM TO MULCH BENEATH OUR TREADS!" the tank crews took this statement as an order, and the freshly retracked Hell Raiser lead a thundering counter attack - skewering equines on its spiked battle plough and pulverising them under iron tracks.

"AND WE WILL CRUSH THEM WITH THE STRENGTH OF OUR FAITH AND BELIEF! BROTHERS! SISTERS! COMRADES!" he maintained his strong voice and level tone, even as a demented unicorn mare bounded clean over the tank and straight at him, jabbering madly as her hooves, teeth and misshapen horn all honed in on the Army Lieutenant. He had no time to turn the stubber against her. He wouldn't be able to reach his sword in time either. He only had time to finish his call to arms."

"FOR THE EMPEROR!!!!" he barely had time to sign off from the vox before a massive shadow eclipsed him, a hulking form passing over head devoid of all sound except for a quiet;

"Well said." then the shadow passed, its owner careening into the bloodthirsty female and breaking her against its indomitable metal bulk.

Captain Ozonus Prowl, the Great Beast; Dragoon - was not afraid. This made him special. This made him mighty. This was what made him a proud member of The Emperor's finest.

This is what made him a Space Marine.