Chapter 332: We March Together
The tops of the battlements were lined with dense ranks of soldiers. A silver line formed by various patterns of sealed armor shimmered faintly within the staggered defensive positions. The twilight sun bathed the parapets, dyeing the metal surfaces blood-red, while black smoke from burning wreckages rose from the distant battlefield.
The intensity of the Battle of Cadia was unprecedented. In just over a month, countless lives had been lost on both sides. Though no Primarch had fallen, the armed forces under their command had suffered heavy casualties.
Click-clack~
The tracks of Draco armored transports crushed the blood-soaked mud as fully armed sergeants meticulously sorted the dead.
Whenever a Chaos assault wave was repelled, logistics units would work overtime to clear the piles of broken bodies from the trenches and walls.
Enemy corpses were burned on the spot. Friendly dead were collected for processing to prevent Chaos taint. The wounded were transferred to rear medical bunkers or field hospitals based on the severity of their injuries.
The lines of wounded were a bloody blur, enough to make one dizzy.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of disinfectant and rotting flesh. Most of the wounded on stretchers were silent; only occasional groans broke the oppressive quiet.
Clatter~
A young medic suddenly collapsed to his knees, his eyes bloodshot behind his mask, until he was dragged aside by comrades to rest.
Combat medics bustled back and forth, extracting blood and organ tissue from mortal casualties. These samples were then placed into culture vats pre-loaded with gene-sequences for comparison, cultivating replacement tissues to repair non-central nervous system organs.
Those with central nervous system damage would have their nerve functions replaced by cybernetics, then be transferred to the rear to join logistics units.
As for the Astartes.
Current Primaris Space Marines existed in only two states: combat effective or dead. The state of "critically wounded" barely existed.
Even severe injuries would heal in a short time under the constant repair of the Larraman's Organ and rapid regeneration. When the Belisarian Furnace burned out, it marked the end of an Astartes' life.
On the transport platforms, the bodies of heroes, whether Astartes or common soldiers, were neatly arranged in rail cars and heavy lifters bound for the rear.
Medics performed final checks, scanning the bodies with heavy auspex devices to confirm death. Confirmed bodies were sorted by mechanical arms and stacked in designated zones.
All armor and weapons affecting transport weight were discarded and piled in minimum-recovery zones because compared to human lives, these things were insignificant.
Apothecaries from various Chapters were busy recovering gene-seed and Sus-an Membrane implants, as well as any non-necrotic organs, and conducting psychological evaluations on battle-brothers who had been revived from near-death.
As the war dragged on, the mass death of life formed a thick layer of emotional resonance over Cadia.
Psychic detectors in various command centers showed that warp influence across the system was slowly increasing.
The Dawnbreakers weren't crazy enough to try and reclaim souls tainted by Chaos. Thus, in areas gradually influenced by the warp, the boundary between reality and illusion blurred.
Compared to the Four Gods who were still weighing gains and losses, a certain entity—far wealthier than them but hampered by self-doubt and internal conflict (the left brain attacking the right)—seized the opportunity to unify His opinion in this war fought for humanity.
More than once, witnesses reported seeing Astartes who retained only their Sus-an Membrane function fighting on in extreme conditions until mobile units arrived.
Even when their Belisarian Furnace had reached its limit and their limbs showed massive necrosis due to lack of vitality, they could still rise and fight in areas occupied by the Great Enemy.
Even with their bodies destroyed, as long as the head remained intact, they could retain clear consciousness. Once attached to a new body or dreadnought chassis, they could even continue to operate. Such heretical findings made Librarians and Apothecaries suspect daemonic possession.
Hiss~
The sound of gears engaging echoed as the blast doors of the Pyrewing command post slid open.
When Azrael entered the command center with the day's deployment summary, Arthur was there, standing in contemplation before a cogitator.
Azrael subconsciously glanced at the access log.
Empty.
He didn't mind.
Everyone was used to the Prince's elusive nature. The Dark Angels had already summarized their own identification rules to avoid confusion.
In non-combat situations, if he walked through the front door, it was the Prince. In combat situations, if he didn't walk through the front door, it was the Prince.
Anything else was definitely a daemon in disguise.
Azrael's gaze shifted to a golden-red angel leaning against the window.
Karna was there too.
The rest were Grey Knights, most concerned with daemonic events. They all averted their gaze from Arthur, as if the reserved Knight were a blinding sun in their eyes.
They had all heard the strange reports from the front lines and were planning to set a tone for handling such anomalies.
"Can we consider Ramesses's research ahead of schedule?" Karna asked.
They were somewhat mentally prepared for such anomalies. The people were definitely fine; they just hadn't expected Old Man Gold, usually in a vegetative state, to actually move a muscle.
Of course, everyone preferred He didn't move too much.
History had proven countless times that while the Emperor was gifted with 'astonishing wisdom,' whether it was useful was debatable, but its ability to raise his teammates' blood pressure was guaranteed.
Yes, from this perspective, Magnus was definitely his biological son.
"More or less. We'll discuss specifics after the war," Arthur said. He had first consolidated a brief report based on his own knowledge of the warp and distributed it, minimizing panic within the Chapters regarding 'suspected daemonic possession of battle-brothers.'
Then, he unified these anomalous members, reorganizing them into a temporary structure directly under Command, separating them from their doubtful comrades to continue combat operations.
[Received.]
[Understood.]
[We obey...]
Responses from Chapter Masters and Captains quickly came through the vox-channel.
The icon of the Dark Angels lit up first, followed by the Blood Angels, the Black Templars... Chapter symbols flickered in the projection one after another like a spreading wildfire.
After confirming with each Chapter, Arthur looked away from the screen and closed the last communication window, suppressing the incident.
He always kept his word and had enough patience to explain. Having a full understanding of the powers utilized by the Dawnbreakers, the warriors under his command trusted him implicitly.
"Do you plan to stay on the front lines for a while?" Karna asked again, seeing his partner had settled the unexpected event.
"You go to the Antares Landing Zone first. Take the Deathwing and the main force of the Blood Angels."
Arthur nodded, his gaze sweeping over the hotspots marked on the strategic map.
"I can arrive at any time."
He could not only control the progress of the war as a field commander but also cut into any battlefield at any moment to tip the balance of power.
This was his advantage.
"Alright then."
Karna nodded and left the command center without delay.
The blast doors opened and closed, swallowing his figure into the shadows of the corridor.
"My lord, here is the report from the rear."
Glancing at the meteors rising in the surveillance screen, Azrael distributed the reports before stepping forward.
Arthur picked up the report and scanned it quickly.
The light of the holographic projection cast shadows on his face, highlighting his slightly furrowed brow.
In the roster, he quickly caught a familiar name.
Alexei Cain.
One of the volunteers for the second-line troops.
"Humanity was not born to end like this," Arthur sighed softly.
He returned the report to Azrael, who was still pondering the meaning of the sentence, then walked towards the holographic projection displaying the current battlefield status.
"Connect me to Orlando."
After a brief thought, Arthur turned again in front of the projection and summoned the accompanying Black Templars Marshal.
Orlando, Marshal of the Black Templars Crusade Fleet, and the first Black Templar to journey with them through this universe.
From the beginning of the Dawn Crusade until now, this Black Templar force had remained under the Dawnbreakers' command, always responding to the Primarchs' actions.
Before long, a bloodied warrior appeared in the projection.
"Is there a problem, my lord?" the Black Templars Marshal asked.
Compared to his low emotional intelligence at their first meeting, the Marshal had changed significantly.
Handling internal fleet conflicts, navigating social relationships, caring for the mental health of battle-brothers—after losing his partner, this Marshal focused on war had slowly picked up things he used to ignore.
"Take a look."
Arthur reached out and sent the roster.
In the command center, dozens of officers were busy at their terminals. No one noticed this subtle exchange. Many couldn't understand the weight of this name—
Alexei Cain. Amidst the massive and complex affairs, he was a trivial matter not worth mentioning.
No one in the command center knew.
Looking past countless faces and moving figures, Arthur's gaze returned to Orlando.
The Marshal in the hologram stared at the name, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.
Orlando knew. They had fought side by side, traversing thirty years together, from burning cities to frozen wastelands. Those memories were as clear as yesterday.
At this moment, inside the command center, this Black Templars Marshal was the only being who could understand the meaning of this name.
"Azrael, transfer three members skilled in data processing," Arthur said to his equerry.
Orlando looked up, meeting Arthur's eyes directly.
"My lord?" he asked.
"I speak, you record," Arthur issued his command.
As the convoy traversed the rubble-strewn wasteland, the Guardsmen gained a clearer understanding of the plight facing the Antares sector.
They had never seen such a sight.
The road ahead was cut off. Supernatural flames erupted from a piece of warship wreckage that had fallen from the sky, forming an eternal torch.
It was a fragment five kilometers long, taller than the ground bastions. Its surface was covered in intricate eight-pointed stars, forming a massive blasphemous sigil that drowned an area of hundreds of square kilometers.
Even from a great distance, the heat wave was unbearable.
Through the observation ports, the convoy commander could see daemons taking form within the sea of fire.
They did not attack the nearby convoy but watched greedily from afar before rushing into the flames enveloping the wreckage.
They were frenzied, like hyenas starving for a long time fighting for food with their own kind, dragging billowing smoke behind them.
At the edge of the ruins, smoking corpses were everywhere.
White ash and oily rain fell together.
Ahead, through brown and yellow smoke, they saw a massive structure with extensive outer bunkers and defense lines. Some wondered if that was their station; others quickly identified it as a large supply distribution center.
The Eastern Distribution Center, one of the eight hubs of the Antares Landing Zone, was mostly engulfed in a sea of fire.
As an adjutant, Alexei heard the report from the survivors after the commander accessed the field comms.
The defenders had faltered in the face of a sudden Chaos assault. The commander misjudged the enemy's main attack vector, placing too many troops in the outer perimeter, allowing the anti-air facilities to be breached by a concentrated attack from nearly three thousand Astartes.
Then the air defense network failed, and a fragment carrying immense Chaos power fell.
The defending commander couldn't be blamed.
Compared to the bastions covering the planet that made enemies despair just by looking at them, the advantage of Chaos was their ability to concentrate massive forces on a specific vector at any time. The existence of small warp portals also greatly enhanced their tactical mobility.
In the constant push and pull, it was understandable that the bastion commander gradually couldn't keep up with the enemy's movements, leading to a massive buildup of troops on the front lines.
Simply put, he was outmaneuvered.
Alexei could see the problem, but even if he were in command, he would inevitably make mistakes due to lack of energy.
They were only mortal.
"Change route," he suggested when Chaos influence rendered long-range communications completely ineffective.
They couldn't see the true size and shape of the building they were approaching. Smoke filled the air and covered the entire sky; everything except the fortifications and the turrets in front became blurred.
Most terrifyingly, there wasn't much sound of combat.
This meant the hundred-thousand-strong force might never return.
"We'll go around from the west."
Alexei had reviewed the deployment of the Antares Landing Zone; he remembered a squad of Astartes was stationed in that sector.
Their unit wasn't a frontline combat unit either; in terms of troop quality, they couldn't go head-to-head with daemons and Chaos traitors.
"Yes."
The commander gave him a deep look and quickly accepted the suggestion.
They took a detour, advancing along a new transport route, passing through looted or abandoned warehouse districts.
Shells began to fall two or three kilometers east of the convoy, kicking up rubble. The void shields installed on the train protected it from being annihilated by the bombardment.
Every tremor of the ground was accompanied by deafening explosions and flying dust and debris.
But this hammer-like bombardment reassured everyone.
The fight was still on.
[This is the outer defense zone of the Southeast Distribution Center. Please verify.]
Before long, a notification entered the train's cogitator.
The commander quickly submitted the verification code at the Commissar's signal.
[Next group information assessment complete. Please wait.]
As the train approached, the towering bastion gates soon opened.
Finally, they saw the defenders: fully equipped Astra Militarum regiments, a Mechanicus Skitarii cohort, and a company of Argent Consuls.
Their defensive fortifications were well designed.
Support weapons were placed behind dug-out firing pits and ceramite bunkers. Wooden stakes pinned down razor wire and scattered caltrops, with mines underneath to stop approaching armored targets. Promethium pipes ran along the edge of the wall to underground cavities, ready to deal with subterranean attacks.
The commanders of the armed forces inside the bastion came out to greet them. Upon noticing Alexei's identity, they asked the unit to wait a moment.
This made the reserve unit commander even more certain of the Commissar's special status.
Less than half an hour later, he saw a Stormbird descend from the landing pad and another squad of Space Marines appear.
Black Templars.
The commander judged.
The leader wore no helmet, his head shaved. He walked up to Alexei, saluted, and shook hands.
Although they began to talk, the distance was too far for the commander to hear what they were saying.
"I know what that expression means, Orlando," Alexei said.
"Give it up, my lord. My mind is made up."
"I know."
"My deployment is complete. They gave me command of a sector. I am deeply gratified and will not retreat. That is where I want to be."
"I know."
"To return to the front lines, to fight in person... Before the war burns me out completely, I want to taste action one last time. Marshal Orlando, I have nothing else to offer humanity."
"I know that," Orlando nodded, clearly expecting the Commissar's words.
"Then what are you doing?"
Alexei noticed the calm Orlando and didn't think the other would do something bastardly like packing him up and sending him to the rear.
A Black Templar who valued honor extremely would not do such a thing.
"Walking with you," Orlando said.
Then, under Alexei's astonished gaze, he presented an appointment order.
There was no appropriate way; any other choice would be an unforgivable insult to Alexei's pure heroism.
"Lord Arthur believes that commanding a reserve unit is a waste of your talents."
He handed the paper appointment to Alexei.
"I think so too," he muttered to himself.
Alexei looked up and scanned the content of the appointment.
It was the command of the entire southeast sector, thirteen anti-air facilities, and twenty-two bastions.
Alexei Cain.
The first to welcome back the Primarchs.
The crimson of the Broken Sword and the sacred silver of the Sacred Rose would accompany the Dawnbreakers forever.
He participated in the first joint operation between mortals and Astartes in ten thousand years, led an entire unit through transformation, and was responsible for weapons handover and training with Astra Militarum units along the way during the Dawn Crusade.
He was part of it.
He walked the whole journey.
No one had richer experience than him, having experienced hundreds of years of campaigns and personally participated in the changes brought by the Primarchs.
In those battlefields where Astartes hogged all the attention, it was these mortals who led other mortals in silent dedication and sacrifice, consolidating gains and constantly adapting to joint operations with Astartes.
He was not weak.
He was very strong.
He just lacked energy.
So he just needed a little help to make up for the lack of energy brought by aging, allowing him to use his full experience to guide a war to victory with that help.
Instead of so-called partiality and inexplicable concern.
Arthur knew it from the start.
In their lives, generations were born, lived, and died of old age, yet the war remained.
War was their everything.
"Commissar Alexei Cain, by appointment of the Lord of Knights, Arthur Pendragon, leader of the Wardens of Steel, you will serve as Commander of the 6th Defense Force, responsible for the defense of the central bastion of Apus in the eastern and southern sectors of the Antares Landing Zone."
The order Orlando received was never to persuade a brave warrior to leave the battlefield that needed him, but to allow this warrior to fully exert his abilities.
He raised his hand in salute.
"Marshal Orlando of the Black Templars 13th Crusade, attached to the 6th Defense Force, awaiting orders."
The Commissar fell silent. His hand trembled as he raised it, returning the salute to Orlando.
Then he took the appointment.
His body straightened as if injected with unprecedented strength in that instant.
Summoning the unit commanders.
Alexei quickly dictated his responsibilities, then gave the list, completing the handover of tasks.
Then confirming with Command.
Alexei picked up the hard-line handset from the hook, the long cable slapping against his chest armor.
Confirmation complete.
Finally, boarding the gunship.
The bottom ramp of the Stormbird heavy transport slid open, inviting the warriors forward. The void shield generator and adamantium frame structure could give anyone an unparalleled sense of security.
"Wish you victory," Alexei murmured, taking a last glance at the window edge, reviewing the battlefield data handed to him, figures flashing in his eyes.
"May you display your might on the battlefield, and may the glory of humanity last forever."
"You too, Commissar," Orlando replied. He turned and walked to the large bench at the rear of the cabin for Space Marines, strapped himself in, and ordered departure.
The gunship took off.
Heading towards the structure connecting heaven and earth.
At this moment, there was nothing else but the hot and noisy dark night.
The Central Bastion of Apus was a dazzling area on the Antares Landing Zone, facing north, eleven hundred meters high and four hundred meters thick, like a natural moat between the salient of the landing zone and the lines of the Chaos horde.
Despite the intense flashes and distant roars of endless bombardment echoing in the burning night sky, the anti-air artillery bulwark facing the fires of Khorne still stood tall.
Debris falling constantly from the sky ignited a wall of fire, covering the entire horizon under the gloomy sky. A shadow as deep and heavy as a storm shrouded the bastion.
Amidst the roaring fire, the temperature had exceeded forty degrees and was still rising.
Steam laden with ash rose from the black, smooth barrels and armored shells of the bastion's macro-cannons.
Void shields running at maximum power shimmered and shifted in the night sky.
The Chaos horde surged before it. Countless scattered corpses piled up at the edge of the bastion. The anti-air array continued to fire violently into the sky, shattering fragments carrying Chaos sacrifices, reducing the offerings bought with the deaths of countless Chaos dogs.
Sky, earth, everyone saw the salient of the Apus Bastion.
It was a curtain wall, a fortress, a resistance forged of countless bodies of flesh and blood so desired by the Chaos Gods.
Impenetrable.
Standing tall.
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