"Hey, see anything?" Tur whispers to his comrade; the stillness of the night meant that even a wisp of sound seemed louder than a Basilisk firing.
"Eeyup." Reth says casually while peering through his binoculars across the long bombed out field full of craters and mangled green bodies. "Looks like some Astartes are coming this way. I guess Mittvoch finally got through to the Governor-Militant." Reth hands the glasses to Tur who instantly snaps them up to his own eyes and looks in the direction Reth was.
"Those aren't ours." The statement is flat; without conviction or fear or worry. Just emotionless. Reth instantly casts a glance at his comrade and grabs the binoculars.
The Astartes are large; two or three full heads taller than even Goethers and seemingly as wide as a man is tall. Their armor is a grayish black that seems to absorb the early evening twilight. The crest etched onto their shoulder pads mean they're of the Dark Angels chapter; a sword piercing a wing. Reth spends a full minute looking at the helmets the Astartes have: The eye slits seem to radiate a menace that Reth can't understand.
The movements of the marines are the most strange. They're jerky, as if they were puppets and pulled by strings. The legs rise up quickly and come down even faster; not walking, but stomping like a mad child. The weapons in their hands swing around like a drunken man aiming at anything that moves and occasionally firing. The heads bolt around constantly scanning the horizon.
"They're gorgeous if a touch terrifying." Tur mumbles before grabbing his lasgun.
The lead marine's head snaps around to gaze in Reth's direction before raising his weapon and firing.