Chapter 331: Orders Confirmed
What was the enemy's objective in launching this raid?
Opening a beachhead? Purely seeking glory? Or were their rabble subordinates going mad again?
Romulus didn't wait for an answer. He swiftly issued orders for the Antares Landing Zone to initiate load-shedding procedures. Evacuation manifests were pulled up, with non-combatant personnel transport priority raised to maximum.
Blast doors slid open, messengers ran, relaying orders to every terminal.
Romulus's first reaction wasn't a stubborn defense.
Of course, they still had to defend.
His gaze swept across the strategic map. The defense arrays of the Antares Landing Zone were highlighted, but he was pondering a different question.
How much would the enemy commit? How much could he commit?
Unlike Perturabo, who was attacking as if gambling his entire fortune, Romulus had a high threshold for defending Cadia.
He wasn't overly concerned about holding every inch of the line; he cared more about maximizing the attrition of enemy manpower in each engagement.
The dome of the command center projected the real-time battle situation. Chaos assault troops crashed against the defensive lines like a tide, only to break against the precise web of fire. He had seen too many similar scenes. Every time the enemy was repelled, he chose not to pursue.
Damn it, you are Primarchs! You are beings of incomparable nobility! Why don't you even chase down a routed enemy?
This restrained style of warfare tortured the Chaos commanders. Their traps were laid in vain time and again. Chaos lords often roared over open vox-channels, denouncing his cowardice, but Romulus merely watched coldly.
Similarly, the naval command styles were vastly different.
Alexis Polux, leading a group of Iron Warriors with Imperial Fists gene-seed, commanded the navy with ease. There was no need for the aggressive, trade-at-all-costs tactics of the Heresy era. A slow exchange was fine.
Reinforcement fleets were constantly arriving at Cadia. Ship for ship, how many could Chaos afford to trade?
So Romulus's first thought was how many enemy forces he could pin down, and how many enemy fleets he could bury in the landing operation.
If the number was high enough, sacrificing a landing zone was acceptable.
The enemy had somewhat underestimated their coordination capabilities.
"The plan was proposed by Khârn. The force comprises two Ramilies-class Starforts and a full escort fleet, including the Conqueror."
Ramesses sent back new intelligence, accompanied by the dull thud of debris hitting the hull in the void.
His soul was currently in the warp, shining brightly. But apart from some young daemons who hadn't experienced the harsh realities of warp society, the daemons, including the Four Gods, were no longer taking the bait.
Romulus subconsciously recalled his experience on the Forge World of Cypra-Mundi.
"He wants to drop the starforts directly?"
Almost instantly, Romulus guessed the purpose of the enemy's deployment.
"What is the objective?"
"Sacrifice," Ramesses replied.
The surface and sky of Cadia belonged to the Dawnbreakers. If Chaos wanted to perform a ritual, they could only prepare it in advance and then drop the ritual vessel onto the surface.
"Very determined."
Romulus smiled.
"Let's see how much they are willing to pay."
"Polux, withdraw the fleet and form a defensive line."
The Regent pushed himself up, ordering Polux to prepare the defensive plan.
"Connect me to the Eternal Crusader."
His voice echoed in the comms channel as he contacted High Marshal Helbrecht, who was commanding the Eternal Crusader.
"My lord!"
On the other end, Helbrecht's resolute face appeared. The background noise of a busy bridge could be heard. His gaze upon the Regent was filled with excitement and honor.
They were old friends.
In the projection, Helbrecht unconsciously straightened his back. The scar on his face, left by Arthur in a duel years ago, was stark under the bridge's lighting.
Back then, Helbrecht simply hoped the elders could gain a foothold in the galaxy, so he chose to follow that magnificent Dawn Crusade. He hadn't expected to send the Primarchs directly to the pinnacle of power.
And now, Helbrecht never imagined that after a mere ten years, Lord Romulus would bring them an even more glorious battlefield.
Traitor Primarchs. The archenemies the Imperium had always hoped to eradicate completely. They also represented the shame of the Astartes. The Black Templars' absence from the 'War for Armageddon' where Angron was banished had once made Helbrecht beat his chest in regret.
"I need the Eternal Crusader to descend for orbital defense, along with three sub-fleets, to intercept any potential forced landings by the enemy," Romulus ordered.
"Yes, my lord."
Helbrecht showed surprise and confusion in his eyes, but he nodded in agreement nonetheless.
Frankly speaking, he rarely encountered this kind of slow grinding warfare. For main force units like theirs, pursuing a swift victory was the norm.
In the past, naval battles either resulted in the Imperium losing a sector in a day or an overwhelming Imperial victory where Astra Militarum deployment wasn't even necessary.
"Focus on attrition of enemy manpower. There is no need for risky decapitation operations," Romulus said, nodding at the High Marshal's stoic face.
They had brought many changes; patience was one of them.
In the past, the fanaticism for glory among the Imperial Navy and Space Marines, coupled with the dire state of the Imperium, always led them to choose more aggressive measures, making them easier for Chaos to exploit.
Romulus was more focused on the distant future.
If a war started by Perturabo had this level of intensity, what about those slaves chosen by the Gods?
When the Four Gods accepted the result that investment was necessary for return, how great would the pressure be?
This was merely the prelude to countless future wars.
"We have plenty of time," he comforted the Marshal who sought glory.
There would be plenty of battles to fight in the future.
"Understood!" Helbrecht replied solemnly.
Romulus cut the connection and began calculating the details of the upcoming battle.
Countless tactical parameters flowed in his eyes. The lights of the command deck stretched his shadow long against the metal wall.
A game of chess had officially begun.
"I cannot bet all the carriers on the starforts." —
The command throne of the Iron Blood emitted the heavy sound of mechanical operation as Perturabo's fingertips manipulated the tactical panel.
"I cannot guarantee 100% that the dispatched fleet can completely destroy the enemy. The pressure from the Dark Gods must also be considered." —
Inside the bridge of the Dawnlight, Romulus stared at the strategic star-chart, frowning slightly.
This was doubt.
"I need insurance. I must ensure the advantage I create on the surface of Cadia attracts the gaze of the Gods. The sacrifice cannot rely entirely on the starforts for transport. A feint is needed first. While applying pressure, consume those opportunistic ships. The trash of the various warbands are also qualified sacrifices. Daemon engines will suffice for the ritual; my war machines are not so easily harvested." —
The engines of the Iron Blood roared low. Perturabo's metal fingers tapped the armrest unconsciously.
"I need to eliminate enemy manpower as much as possible, forcing the opponent to take more aggressive actions. In this process, I must rely on Arthur and Karna to withstand the pressure. They are also prone to the attention of the Dark Gods, but the C'tan Shards have been equipped. As long as they do not actively enter the warp, the influence will be limited. Focus on surface combat." —
Outside the Dawnlight's viewports, fire surged. Romulus's cobalt cloak swayed gently in his contemplation.
This was the process.
"I must engage Romulus and complete the decapitation operation without losing the majority of the Iron Warriors' strength." —
In the command chamber of the Iron Blood, a crimson light flashed in Perturabo's eyes.
"I must ensure that while Arthur and Karna pin down the vast majority of the enemy, we form a two-to-one advantage against Perturabo, thereby winning the naval battle." —
Before the tactical holograph on the Dawnlight, Romulus's finger hovered next to a golden spear, trembling slightly.
This was their tactical objective.
Almost simultaneously, on two warships far apart, the commanders on both sides gave their orders.
Snap!
Two different hands descended.
In the command chamber of the Iron Blood, Perturabo's metal palm slammed heavily onto the console, making a dull metallic thud.
On the bridge of the Dawnlight, Romulus's hand landed lightly and precisely on the tactical panel, making a crisp click.
On the ground, troops from all sides, composed of countless lives and spanning the entire planet, began to flow like blood in veins. On the surface of Cadia, armored columns kicked up dust, mobile units formed lines, and war cries rose and fell amidst the smoke.
In the void, the steel torrent composed of countless warships surging in the deep space of Cadia also raised their respective waves. Engine exhausts spewed blinding trails, turrets slowly turned to lock onto targets, and carrier-based craft swarmed out of hangars like bees.
"Orders confirmed." x2
"Emergency communication. We need the logistics department to handle the evacuation of the Antares Landing Zone."
A voice drifted into Commissar Alexei Cain's ears.
'Have them access fixed line number four. Assign area N5 of the subterranean fortress to them as office space. Also, transfer the additional supply data processing there.'
Alexei wanted to offer suggestions as usual, but his mouth felt sealed shut, refusing to open.
His Adam's apple bobbed, and he could feel beads of sweat forming on his neck and forehead.
"According to Command's assessment, the Antares sector is about to suffer a concentrated strike. Troops must be deployed for defense."
'The Antares Bastion Zone needs to abandon the shallow defense lines. Forces should concentrate in the orbital cannon zone, relying on heavy anti-ship battery armor for defense, then further control the power sector. We must ensure the long-term operation of anti-air facilities and guarantee their destruction before the area falls.'
He tried to speak again, but his mouth wouldn't obey. The weak sound only transmitted back to his brain through his bones.
Alexei felt covered by something.
Chaos sorcery?
His first thought was images of those evil creatures, and his first instinct was to draw his pistol and end it.
The mental anomaly made it difficult to determine if he or his comrades were affected. But for safety's sake, and the possibility of judging friendly forces as enemies under the influence of sorcery, he had to be the first to be dealt with.
He tried to move his fingers, but found them equally difficult to move.
His body was also pinned down.
Alexei began to struggle.
"..."
Relying on sheer willpower to tear open the glue that seemed to seal his eyes and push aside the coat restraining his body, Commissar Alexei rolled off the chair.
At the same time, he opened his eyes.
The surroundings were busy. Corridors and seats were filled with people. The flow of people moved through the passages like surging blood, exchanging information with the officers around them like oxygen exchange between cells.
At the tactical platform, Lord Castellan Creed, supreme commander of all Cadian Shock Troops, was absorbing and processing the information delivered by these people with a group of Astartes advisors, processing it into orders to be sent out.
Busy as always.
Noticing Alexei's gaze, he cast a concerned look.
The Commissar's nearly three hundred years of military experience allowed him to coordinate supply distribution between units and command local battles with finesse. Many of his suggestions were of great reference value.
Alexei froze.
There was no invasion.
What sealed his vision were his own eyelids. What restrained his body was a military greatcoat draped over his chest to prevent him from catching a cold.
Damn it, he had fallen asleep in the command center!
The Commissar, who had always demanded strictness from himself, turned pale.
This was an absolutely unacceptable low-level error.
"Commissar, you're awake."
An attendant approached. They were responsible for providing food and supplies to the staff, and providing first aid and rest arrangements when necessary.
"Do you need me to take you to the rest area?" he asked.
"No need!"
Clearing his throat, wiping his face, holding the folded greatcoat in one hand, and wiping away the sleep from the corners of his eyes with the other.
Alexei replied with a hoarse voice.
"Apologies. It was a dereliction of duty."
"No need to be too hard on yourself, Commissar."
The attendant brought a cup of beverage meant to maintain normal metabolism and said softly:
"You are just getting old."
Alexei suddenly looked up, his eyes, containing nearly three hundred years of war, meeting the attendant's gaze.
The attendant, much taller than the frail old body, subconsciously showed a look of avoidance, as if facing an aging beast.
Staring at him for a while.
Buzzing—
Tinnitus struck.
Then Alexei turned away, panting heavily.
The truth was like thorns in his back.
He fell into reminiscence.
Recalling the members who first welcomed back the Primarchs.
Colonel Kovek had met a glorious sacrifice.
Canoness Arabella had given up deepening the faith and was now stationed on Dawnstar as an educator.
Archmagos Cawl was still engaged in his scientific research, always acting in pursuit of truth.
Inquisitor Aglaia held great power, not only controlling the high-level intelligence network of multiple sectors but now also leading the Ordo Malleus forces stationed on Cadia, shuttling between fortress cities to deal with local Chaos threats.
And those Astartes, the Emperor's Angels.
Chapter Master Tyberos of the Carcharodons, Marshal Orlando of the Black Templars crusade fleet—honored as the 'Dawn Bringer'—and High Marshal Helbrecht...
Familiar names flashed through his mind.
They had long lifespans. More than a decade was just a blink of an eye in their lives. Now they were still active in battlefields across the galaxy under the Primarchs' orders.
And him?
Alexei clenched his fist. The wrinkles on his skin were so glaring at this moment.
He often mocked his own aging, praying that fate would stop torturing him, an old man. But when those words were spoken by someone else, they were so piercing.
He was old.
He was useless.
Alexei took a deep breath. He looked up, his gaze landing on the troops being prepared for deployment to the Antares Landing Zone under the Castellan's orders.
He stood up and asked about the departure time of the reinforcement troops.
"Three hours," an Astartes from the Dark Angels replied, then continued to focus on battlefield deployment.
Alexei thanked him, then rarely accepted the attendant's suggestion to arrange a rest.
But before that, he needed to do one thing.
The Commissar strode forward, nimbly weaving through the crowd under the attendant's surprised gaze, arriving at the volunteer list for the Auxilia attached to the reinforcement troops. Then, he wrote down his name.
This was his right.
This was what he could still do.
He didn't have much time left.
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