The Iron Dominion hit the canyon floor like a dropped hammer, and the whole gorge rang with it.
Maxwell von Pontes was thrown the length of the drive bay and through a bulkhead that had been rated to stop artillery. When he got up, there was golden blood running from a cut along his hairline and the deck was tilted thirty degrees to port. The ship was groaning around him, a long low animal sound of metal settling into stone.
An Immortal-ranker did not die in a crash. It was merely undignified.
He climbed out through a split in the hull and stood on the twisted plating, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His emergency comm crackled.
"...eastern squad gone, sir, completely..."
"...ice, there's ice everywhere, we can't move..."
"...shadows, they're coming out of the shadows..."
