Campaign season has arrived! The final battle for Heavensreach is upon us!
See you in the trenches!
Once the centre of Imperial culture in the Pegasus Gulf, with lush forests and rolling oceans. It was a beacon of hope to the goodness of mankind.
It is now a desolate ruin. The war and its preparations have turned the planet to a brown husk.
The surface is scarred by nuclear attacks – the oceans drained away and evaporated under the constant bombardment. The dustbowls left in their place are now trench fields the size of continents, creating such an elaborate honeycombing network that no Imperial officer knows even a tenth of the terrain under his command.
The Kasrs, once proud hive cities, have been turned into massive fortresses. Every man, woman and child have been press-ganged to shoring the defences and operating the munitions factories, subsisting on corpse-starch cut with sawdust. There is a thriving market for “real” meat.
The great defence cannons fire non-stop. All non-essential piping and ferrocrete in the hab blocks and streets is torn up and melted down to create new shells for the ceaseless pounding of the artillery.
Everything is grey and brown. A thick green fog clings to every boot step. Soldiers in the trenches wade through the sticky mists at waist-height.
Down in the dustbowl seas, soldiers are forced to live, fight, and sleep in hazard suits, with very few and very small envirohabs setup in the trench bunkers. They fight completely submerged in the flesh-eating virus mists, the fog floating a few feet above sea level, which, in some cases, is now kilometres above them. A breach in a hazard suit takes days to kill, often times with the infected parts being amputated, and the solider decommissioned for corpse-rations.
New off-world recruits spend the first months seasick, as the planet does not stop shaking and vibrating from the continuous bombardment. The trenches are wet the blood and chemicals, which do not try due to the constant acid-rain and vibrations. Any misstep risks being sucked down. And down. And down. A death in the trench mud is written up as dishonourable and selfish, as your corpse cannot be processed into fresh rations.
The situation on Heavensreach is impossibly bleak. But despite it all, it is the last bastion of hope for the Imperial forces in the gulf. For if they are defeated here, Imperial Power may be shattered forever.