The four thousand Abyssal Praetorians did not hesitate.
When the Terrestrial Void commanded them to crack the permafrost, they did not formulate a tactical descent plan. They simply stepped off the jagged, smoking rim of the massive impact crater and hurled themselves directly down the throat of the twenty-mile vertical missile silo.
It was a catastrophic, completely silent waterfall of pitch-black density.
Deep beneath the shattered ice shelf, inside the heavily fortified subterranean command center of the Winter Coalition, absolute panic was overriding decades of Old World military discipline.
General Volkov, a massive, heavily augmented veteran clad in a localized thermal-combat exoskeleton, stared at the massive orbital telemetry screens. His cybernetic eye whirred frantically as it processed the impossible data.
