"According to thermal imaging scans, there are at least seventeen infected clusters moving toward the evacuation point, with the total count estimated to exceed five thousand," a Raider scout reported. "Furthermore... we've detected some new mutated variants."
He pulled up footage captured by a drone: a larger type of infected crawling on all fours, its back bulging with several pulsating pustules, seemingly pooling some kind of fluid.
"A ranged spitter variant," Dr. Hanson's voice came through the comms. She had remained in the relatively safe orbital command center to conduct analyses via the data link. "Those pustules likely store infectious fluid or spores. Ensure they are eliminated before they get within spitting range."
Below, Raynor was organizing the defensive fortifications. Automated missile and gun turrets were erected at key wall positions, firebat squads stood on standby behind barricades, and Marines reinforced windows with sandbags and scrap metal.
Tychus's blue power armor was exceptionally prominent in the freezing wind. He was gruffly directing several Raiders to adjust the firing arcs of a few automated turret sensors while checking the fuel pressure of the flamethrowers.
"Get these tin cans and roasting spits in the right goddamn places! When those freaks get close, we're going to give them a warm welcome!"
Valerie calmly evaluated the defensive layout.
With their current troop strength, holding off the night onslaught of thousands of infected would be an immense challenge. Crucially, transport vessels were severely lacking. The refugees currently gathered at the evacuation point exceeded eight thousand, while the available transport ships could carry a maximum of fifteen hundred per wave.
This meant they would need at least six waves, with several hours of loading, unloading, and flight time between each run. During this time, the defensive forces had to hold the line against continuous attacks.
She quickly calculated the difference the newly approved reinforcements would make. At the same time, her gaze swept across several designated areas inside the factory where damaged equipment was piled—containing the wreckage of several CMC power armor suits and broken weapons.
The mission to acquire technical specimens could begin right there.
She located Raynor, who was currently inspecting an automated turret.
"Commander Raynor, I've just received confirmation from corporate headquarters," Valerie said in her usual professional tone. "Given the current situation, headquarters has urgently dispatched a supplementary security team of approximately one hundred and ten personnel. They are expected to arrive in three hours to assist in the defense."
Raynor looked up, slightly surprised. "Over a hundred men? Your company moves fast."
"It's part of our crisis response protocol," Valerie explained. "Additionally, headquarters has instructed us to assist in collecting and repairing damaged equipment as much as possible to sustain defensive capabilities. Our people are bringing specialized tools and spare parts."
This sounded entirely reasonable. Keeping equipment functional was of paramount importance during an evacuation operation.
"That's great." Raynor indeed needed more hands. "Once they arrive, they will be under your unified command. You'll be responsible for reinforcing the eastern defensive line. It's relatively open over there, and the pressure will likely be the heaviest."
"Understood," Valerie nodded. "I will make the arrangements."
As she walked away, she began planning how to seamlessly integrate defensive command, equipment salvage, and sample harvesting. They had three hours. Before the reinforcements arrived, they would have to rely on their current strength to hold off the first wave. And the night was rapidly closing in.
The three hours of preparation time slipped away quickly under the sustained pressure of anticipation.
During this interval, the vanguard of the infected had already engaged in sporadic but fierce skirmishes with the outer perimeter scouts. Although the low temperatures successfully slowed their movements—leaving their joints stiff and their gaits sluggish—it did nothing to diminish their overwhelming numbers.
The ranged spitter variants proved even more troublesome. They could spit highly corrosive, viscous fluid from over two hundred meters away. This not only caused continuous structural damage to the concrete fortifications but also posed a severe threat to exposed weaponry and optical sensors.
The brief and pale "daylight" of the polar region was fading fast, and a heavy twilight fell like a shroud, soon to be replaced by total darkness. Everyone knew that once the last vestige of light vanished, the activity level of the infected would surge to its peak.
Just as the sky hung on the edge of darkness, Valerie's encrypted communicator received the expected transmission: "Reinforcement unit has entered low orbit. Requesting landing coordinates."
She quickly replied with the preset coordinates—a flat ice shelf located approximately two kilometers southeast of the evacuation point. It was relatively level and far from the main convergence path of the infected shown on her sensors.
Shortly after, two inconspicuous pinpricks of light pierced the thickening cloud layer, rapidly expanding. Two transport vessels—their external hulls repainted to obscure any identifying markings—descended onto the ice shelf almost vertically, their engines kicking up flurries of ice crystals that scattered in the twilight.
The boarding ramps slid open, and the troops filed out in silent efficiency.
First to form ranks was Security Team B, consisting of ten soldiers. Their equipment was identical in design to Valerie's direct Team A: dark grey, clean-lined modified power armor etched with the abstract emblem of the "Far Star Alliance" on the shoulders and chests. They assembled with precise synchronization, standing in mute, near-inhuman mechanical order.
Closely following them were one hundred Skitarii soldiers, presenting a different style of rigid discipline. They wore modified deep blue combat fatigues beneath redesigned grey flak armor, and their helmets were styled to deliberately blur their original Imperial features. The painted lasguns in their hands glinted with a matte finish in the dim light.
The troops required no verbal commands upon landing. They automatically fanned out into squad-sized elements, rapidly constructing a defensive ring. The entire process was conducted in absolute silence, save for the friction of armor and the crunch of boots on ice.
Valerie stepped forward to inspect them, flanked by two members of Team A.
"Team B commander reporting for duty," the leading warrior spoke in a flat, synthesized voice.
An officer wearing Centurion markings stepped forward alongside him, his voice slightly muffled by his respirator: "Skitarii Centuria assembled and awaiting orders."
Valerie's gaze swept rapidly over the ranks. The equipment was in pristine condition, the formation immaculate. An aura of "morale"—rooted in absolute obedience and highly efficient execution rather than emotional fervor—permeated the unit.
"Mission briefing." She brought up a holographic map of the evacuation point. "Our unit will be responsible for reinforcing the eastern defensive line of the evacuation point, covering a defensive frontage of three hundred meters. The primary threat consists of nocturnal infected, estimated to number in the thousands, possessing high biological transmissibility.
Core tactic: maintain engagement distance, prioritize the elimination of mutated variants with ranged capabilities, and avoid close-quarters contact at all costs. The Skitarii forces will construct a continuous suppressing fire network, while the security teams will serve as mobile reserves and precision strike elements."
"Understood," the Centurion replied in a low tone.
"Secondary objective: during lulls in combat, systematically collect damaged human standard-issue equipment from the battlefield, with power armor being the highest priority. Frame this as assisting with repairs or battlefield salvage. This task will be primarily handled by Team B."
"Understood," the Team B commander responded immediately.