Marbas was excited. He had been excited since the very instant he had learned that they would be dropping into combat once again. Of course, his excitement amounted to a whole lot of nothing, at least outwardly. Inwardly, he was jumping for joy, happier than a child being taken to a candy store. The only thing that dampened his spirits was the urgency with which the squad had dropped. There hadn't been time to refit with a plasma cannon, there had barely been time to bomb-up the sheer number of magazines he demanded. That was all right, though. He had his bolter, and his righteous rage, and a whole lot of ammunition and grenades. He was not at all worried about the upcoming battles. No, he was happy. Very pleased to rain down fire and brimstone on the enemies of the Emperor. Even if his equipment wasn't ideal. But when he considered the number of enemies they were supposed to be facing, perhaps his equipment was a little more ideal than he wanted it to be.

Either way, there he was, rocketing downward through space toward a planet covered in heretics and xenos, while anti-aircraft artillery batteries stitched up the air around the vessel he was riding in, and there nothing to do but wait. Wait, and check all of his gear for the tenth time. "All callsigns, this is Marbas, vox-check, over." he growled into his helmet. The little sensor pinged positively and he assumed he was good to go. He couldn't remember the last time someone had answered his vox-check, but it wasn't for them anyway. Then, interrupting his thoughts, a line of small-arms fire ripped up the door in front of him, making plenty of noise but not doing any damage. He chuckled at that, readying his weapon. They were getting close, he could feel it. And then he really felt it, when the reverse thrusters kicked in, flaring to violent life. The jolt brought a grin to the marine's face and he hefted his boltgun in one hand, tucking the stock under his arm so he could fire it with just his right hand. His left hand was busy holding two plasma grenades. They were primed and ready to be thrown, only their continued proximity to their owner holding back the violent detonation.

Very suddenly, they weren't just close any more. The pod ended its plunge by smashing violently into the earth. The jarring end to the vicious descent was every bit as satisfying as the warrior had hoped it would be. The doors blew at the same instant they hit ground, and even before the doors had struck the ground, Marbas was lobbing the plasma grenades he had readied, and simultaneously firing his bolter at a completely different target. There were trenches everywhere, all of them full of hostile aliens. He couldn't make out what they were, but it didn't matter. The grey-clad warrior didn't care either. They were the enemy. "For the Lion!" he bellowed over the roar of his bolter. The grenades he had thrown went off an instant later, vaporizing a swathe of ground and xenos, leaving behind only a smoking crater. Meanwhile he had yet to release the trigger on his bolt gun. Being used to handling heavy weapons, the superhuman simply walked his fire from one target to the next, his supreme reflexes dictating when each enemy would be hit by a round, and moving on even as it happened. There was no need to wait. A single, standard bolt round easily slaughtered whatever these aliens were. And even one handed, he had absolutely no trouble with that. But it did help to have two hands guiding the Emperor's fury, and his left hand joined his right as soon as it could.

He didn't bother triggering his plasma gun, thanks to the frailty of his enemies. As much as he liked the stuff, there was no need to waste it. However, there was a need for more firepower. Sergeant Uriel said something about the enemy being off guard, and then he thought he heard Hakael spout something about his position being secure. The marine didn't care. Sure, there might be no aliens within their immediate vicinities, but there were still plenty targets on his heads-up display. He would continue fighting stoically, seeing no reason to distract his battle brothers just yet. Finally, the massive drum magazine he had fitted to his weapon ran dry, and the boltgun made an angry click, reprimanding him for his lack of focus. He dumped the drum and fitted a new one faster than most might had been able to react, reloading as he changed positions. Taking two strides forward, Marbas planted his left foot on a pile of rubble, and deployed the bi-pod on his rifle. Propping it on his knee, the Dark Angel resumed firing, using his more stable perch to reach out further and mow down more of the foul xenos.

"Off-guard, perhaps, brother, but still coming." he observed to Uriel. He didn't know what it was like on the Sergeant's side of the drop pod, but clearly he had gotten the side that faced the bulk of the enemy, a thought that thrilled the warrior to no end. His boltgun roared ceaselessly as a pack of filthy aliens poured out of a trench, rushing the Astartes for some madness-driven reason. Two dozen or so bolt rounds ended that notion swifter than most could think, spraying blood and earth in all directions as the enemy was cut down like grass before a scythe. So violent were the explosions, that despite the distance between the combatants, Marbas still found his grey armour painted with new and interesting patterns in xenos blood. "I think I should have brought more ammunition." the marine observed over the vox. He was only partially joking. He surveyed the rather interesting scene before him, returning fire as he did so. There really were a lot of enemies out here, and that would explain why there was so much difficulty here. Xenos could defeat anything if there were enough of them. He thumbed the selector switch on his botler and shouldered the weapon once more, bracing his left elbow on his knee to steady his grip further. Conservation of the Emperor's wrath seemed only fitting now. As much as he loved the roar of a boltgun on automatic, such a thing could easily prove wasteful until the xenos began to swarm in earnest. Marbas began picking his targets, watching limbs and heads explode as he reacted to each shot directed at him. He was used to being the Emperor's hammer, but it seemed that this time, he would be serving as the very tip of His spear. That called for a change in tactics, but nothing drastic. Nothing that couldn't be fun if he tried...