After they had left the Flagship of the Scourge Eagles flotilla, Constantine had much to do. It was during the proceeding hours that, with as much effort as both his staff as well as what energy he could exhaust without rest, they had devised a plan that would, effectively neutralize any weak point that would be seen as a strong point for the enemies advancement. After being in constant communication with the Mechanicus, as well as the Astartes flotilla, he had decided to take a direct descent onto the planet, landing at least four ships at a time to disembark its payloads, of which the worker gangs, servitors, and guardsman would unload them and begin the construction of the outer perimeter walls. Things had been set into motion that, would, Emperor willing, provide them with an assured victory over this entire mission.

This thought had occurred to Constantine as his hand moved over the strategic holo-table that had projected a three-dimensional image of Nixagris Starport. The cold temperatures would provide a subtle advantage, however he would have to make note that at every interval of at least a standard terran hour, that all equipment should run a diagnostics check so as to be sure nothing freezes solid. He however would have to leave this particular duty to his Techpriest Xith.

“What are the weather reports around the Starport?” Constantine gruffly said

“Appears that snowfall is an everyday occurrence. It will provide no visual line of sight for our pilots, however, our auger arrays will be able to see through the snowfall as if it hadn’t snowed. Everything should be fine upon our descent, General.” said Xith, whom was connected via mechandrite to the holo-table.

“Good. The snowfall will act as our camouflage. We need to make our defensive perimeter just North of the Loch Solitude, but the border shall run the northern length of the River Dis. We will build sea-batteries along with a defensive wall, stretching until it meets our perimeter at the end of the trenches, near the Loch. We proceed any further, we lose our camouflage. We will not proceed further unless I give the order to. If we would proceed into the forrest, we would be at a disadvantage. Too much foliage, we might as well have asked the Catachan to join us, However, we entrench, we hold the line. The starport is what needs to be secured, if we cannot secure it, our ground forces cannot advance. The Astartes will also land in full force if need be at the starport, alongside with Mechanicus contingents. Make the trenches come at least a mile from the forests barrier. No further. I want heavy bolter turrets entrenched alongside the front of the trench line, and then consecutively at every 3rd row. We want to grind our enemies chances of ever breaching the defensive line on the ground. Our valkyrie squadrons will take to the air, but I want Hydra cannons stationed selectively throughout the trenchworks, only heavily station them around the Basilisk cannon emplacements, and along the entrance, and runway of the port. I dont want any of those bastards getting to us through the air.”

“Very good general. Our forward base is ready for deployment, once it lands, my brothers shall begin the proper rituals of assembly as well as completion when we land. We will further guide the assembly workers. We estimate we should be done within at least eighteen hours.” Xith chimed

“Be careful, we are here to be on the defensive, we are not to harm the civilians, but I want extreme security check-points established down the entrance for at least six-hundred yards. I want to know what those bastards ate for yesterdays breakfast for all I care.” Constantine said, as his hands would move to motion to zoom to an arial view of the starports entrance, tracing his fingers of which laid out red lines that would make it easier for directional models.

“We should place Skitarrii at these checkpoints. I will allow a small detachment of tech-guard at these points whilst your men focus on the defense lines.” Xith had droned as his four arms would move to intricately trace lines and figures along the display.

Hours had passed before the first small glint of what appeared to be meteors had screamed through the atmosphere, approaching at a fearsome velocity before the landing thrusters would roar and thunder to slow the decent. As the enclosed structures had landed in their respective places, the triggering protocols for detachment and structural assembly would begin. The mechanical arms would grasp the materials, tightly packed inside the large containers, placing them at their destined areas. About half an hour later, faint glows of communication arrays would pierce the cloudline as the first of the transport began to descend onto the starport. Their titanic landing gears would groan as they extended, allowing the ship to land. The behemoth would lower its boarding ramp, allowing vast contingents of Guardsman descend the ramps, along with utility equipment, heavy operations machinery, as well as the red robed mechanicus squads. Following of this disembarkation, followed close behind was a second, and a third transport, allowing them for their ramps to disembark its cargo. Hundreds of guard and servitor bodies would descend the metal walkways onto the metal and tar surface of the starport.

Any who would look upon this, would seem almost as though it were an invasion, the impending doom of an entire world as its very surface could be enveloped within the fiery hellstorm of laser fire, or clouded with the soot and smoke of bombs detonating at their targets. Such cargo that descended and were offloaded with the small landing force, could only herald the thought of a long, bloody, and drawn out war of attrition. Provisions and tents were set up, as the worker gangs and servitor crews would begin busying themselves over the amassed slumps of buildings that were being already constructed by the servo-arms. Within the next five hours, the Command post had already been established, alongside with Infantry command, whilst several vehicle sheds were emplaced. The four transports were beginning their departure back into high-anchor before yet another set of transports began their descent, as if the gods themselves were sending down aide and bodies for the grinder.

Aboard the ship, Spear of Vraks, Flagship of the 901st’s regimental fleet, Constantine wiped his brow with the cuff of his fatigues. He had left his armor as well as his respiration mask and helm within his quarters. It was too damned hot within the strategum. He stared at the hololithic display of the disembarkation. The green blips on the map of the area itself designated friendlies. His communications officer stood near him at all times, ready to relay any and all orders in a moments notice. Kaff would stare at the general, he looked rather concerned about how weary he looked.

“You alright sir?” He asked

“Im fine, Kaff. Im handling glass while walking a tightrope across a pit of spikes while wearing lead covered boots. Very tricky is all.” Constantine had said tiredly

“Dont go off killin’ yourself before the end of the misson. We need you. Hell the Imperium needs you. Dont you go dyin on us you tough bastard.” Kaff said with a smirk and a chuckle. Likewise Constantine had chuckled, clasping hands with a frim grasp at the humor. After the small banter, Constantine would turn to the Coms officer “I need you to send comminque to the worlds loyalist contingents. I need to coordinate with the government on the ground to be sure that operations run smoothly. I do not want, however, any of their staff or military units to be anywhere near the starport. Emperor damn me if I have a double-agent infiltrate my perimeter. Damned spies would be everywhere, cannot have that weakness.”

The Communications officer established a connection on the ground, of which he would then make sure that the message would be sent in the direction it was intended. “I will be setting foot on the ground within the hour to oversee operations. My men will need me down there.”

Kaff nodded as he said “I will stay up here and keep the fleet locked down.”

“Precisely why you are where you are now, Kaff.”

The Valkyrie Transport of the General would begin its atmospheric entry, screaming through the ozone as it makes its landing vectors. The cabin would rock and vibrate as turbulence began to pick up. He held onto the overhanging chain handle to stabilize himself, as so did the rest of his security detail. It had been a mere thirty minutes before his Valkyrie would touchdown onto the tarmac. The assault ramp would slam down, allowing the bone-chilling air to gust into the compartment, causing them to fix their masks over their faces, and tighten their stormcoats about them. Constantine’s boots hit foreign soil, his lenses would gleam in the twilight of the stormy weather that trampled over Nixagris. He merely smirked behind his mask as he said “The Emperor’s Will be Done.”