Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 67: This is War!

"This is not a sustainable solution."

Swinging his power maul to crush the head of an Aberrant, Orlando frowned as he watched the seemingly endless tide of creatures pouring upwards.

They had landed on this planet for various reasons: to exterminate Chaos, to investigate this semi-Forge World, to eliminate a rogue mentor. But the moment they had landed, they had seen no sign of Chaos, their investigation hadn't begun, and they had no leads on their target. Instead, they were pinned down in a Mechanicus Temple by a horde of fearless xenos.

"Almost there," Romulus said, a massive amount of data flowing through his lenses. The computational model he was building was rapidly calculating the shadow-magnitude of these Genestealers.

As the vanguard of the Great Devourer, aside from their excessive self-awareness due to being spawned from infected local lifeforms, these Genestealers were not fundamentally different from the gestalt-consciousness of the Hive Mind. To stop their relentless charge, they had to kill the psychic node-units that served as their command centers. And the psychic network of the Great Devourer's spawn, much like that of the Orks, was a local area network. In a daemon's vision, they appeared as shadows of varying sizes. The stronger the node, the larger the area its shadow covered.

"Ramesses."

Ramesses understood and stuffed a few more daemons into the daemonhost in the coffin. The range of the "Imperium-scope" expanded dramatically, its resolution becoming sharper. Romulus carefully identified the differences within the psychic landscape, gradually overlaying it with a hive-model built from the ship's maps, and finally locked onto a place where the shadows converged.

The Imperial Administratum Sector. The core administrative agency for Imperial rule on a planet.

"...These Imperial officials are basically NPCs," Romulus muttered. He wanted to rub his two aching hearts, but all he could feel was a thick plate of steel.

"Arthur, you lead the breakthrough. Ensure the decapitation of the node-creature. The Carcharodons will accompany you. The breakthrough routes for each squad will be commanded by the veterans."

The hive environment, even the Spire, was too complex. Romulus could only manage the general direction based on the maps—blueprints they had pulled from the Adeptus Mechanicus databanks before landing. And there was a reason he was sending Arthur to assassinate the psychic unit; after all, he was the one who could withstand Ramesses's full psychic output and bring him to his knees.

"Same rules as before. No more than five men per squad. Breakthrough via jump packs."

A returning Stormbird opened its troop bay, revealing racks of old-pattern Seraphim jump packs. Based on the plasma thrusters of a fighter jet, they were smaller and lighter than the jump packs used in M41, with a higher thrust-to-weight ratio, allowing for short-distance flight.

"First and Third Companies, select personnel and re-equip," Tyberos commanded, expertly relaying the order. With the help of a Tech-Priest, he fitted a jump pack onto his own back.

"My Lord!" Orlando said, a hint of grievance in his voice as he watched the Carcharodons re-equip. The Black Templars were also very skilled at breakthrough operations.

"The Black Templars will break through the temple interior with Karna. We need to secure the key chokepoints and conduct a timely cleansing of the xenos after they fall into disarray," Romulus commanded.

"Yes!" Orlando replied, quickly falling in with the Imperial Fists who were departing with Karna. Now both sides were taken care of.

Arthur subconsciously touched the gene-seed repository on his lower back. After confirming everything was secure, he leapt into the open sky.

[740.M41-P | AM 11:32 | Location: Pierdra Prime - Upper Hive Administratum Sector]

[Mission Objective: Hunt and kill psychic node-creature.]

In the sky, over a hundred Astartes adjusted their forms like extreme athletes in freefall. As they plunged into the cloud layer, their power packs began to glow with a faint blue light. Then, they began to fly.

"Marking the area. Glaive, prioritize the target. Air-support squadron, deploy melta charges afterwards."

Logically speaking, their current combat doctrine was highly non-Codex compliant. But coincidentally, none of the three Chapters present gave a damn about the Codex's restrictions.

BOOM!

The volkite carronade of the Glaive, firing from the Spire-Hive, punched straight through the Administratum building's armor, which was as thick as a cruiser's hull. Melta charges, each requiring an Astartes to carry with one arm, were programmed with their detonation sequences and then unhesitatingly dropped.

BOOM—

The bombing was instantaneous. Over a hundred melta bombs plunged into the breach one after another. The continuous explosions brought death. A surging torrent of molten metal collapsed more than half the building, destroying the entire perimeter of the vital department. The shockwave caused by the temperature difference, like a tsunami, tried to rush outwards, but was contained within the building by the thick walls.

Before the xenos within could even react, those on guard at the perimeter were turned to dust. The collapsing structure fell, completely crushing the xenos who had been so diligently working inside.

SQUELCH—

The shadow of death descended in their wake, forever mixing these tenacious lifeforms with the melting concrete and plasteel.

PEW, PEW—

The Leman Russ Executioners, having repositioned their turrets, fired from their high ground, the thick plasma bolts carving blade-like arcs through the atmosphere. The Ryza-pattern plasma destructors entered overload mode, their Machine Spirits cheering as they projected a dense hail of fire, drawing a blockade of death around the towering buildings and intercepting the Genestealer army that was trying to reinforce the Administratum from the surrounding Spire.

"Perimeter has been breached. Psychic unit has not moved," Arthur noted, committing the map in his vision to memory one last time.

WHOOSH—

The Seraphim jump packs entered a low-power state, beginning to vent a large amount of exhaust. The gas, mixed with a large amount of plasma, completely neutralized the surrounding optical and thermal sensor systems. The figures of the squadron, now shrouded in mist, became hazy, almost invisible to the naked eye.

"..."

Their link to the main force was completely severed.

Fortunately, every Astartes, from the moment of his creation, was a warrior capable of fighting alone.

The black-armored warriors began to move first. In the mist, the Sharks, guided by their elders, began the hunt.

The knight, riding the clouds of smoke, charged through the corridors. An unseen blade swept past, leaving only the mangled corpses of the decapitated in its wake.

CRUNCH—

The teeth of a chainfist sparked as it pulverized a Lictor from head to toe with unparalleled brutality. Tyberos continued forward with heavy yet silent steps.

Behind him, lasers and bolter rounds converged on the kill-zone. He casually raised a hand, and his lightning claws shredded a xenos hiding in a ventilation shaft.

FWOOSH—

The dense plasma exhaust filled the corridor. The xenos caught within were left with nothing but a final scream as they were consumed.

The Sharks were like fish in water in this environment.

Tyberos's expression was grim. His heart, which had long remained in a state of cold stillness, now beat with a fiery rhythm.

To tear the battlefield apart with overwhelming firepower, to charge into the enemy ranks with the fury of a wildfire, and from the smoke of the burning flames, to launch a scorching and deadly assault on the enemy's weak points.

This was the signature breakthrough tactic of the Firewing, one of the six wings of the First Legion during the Great Crusade.

An almost limitless projection of firepower, and technical equipment that was perfectly in sync with the Astartes.

The Sharks had always calmly accepted any and all changes, but this battlefield... it truly made his blood boil.

Something, something deep within their genes, had been awakened.

This was war without limits, war without any concern for the rear. A war where an Astartes only needed to complete his order to kill the enemy.

CRACK!

Flesh burst, blood sprayed.

The teeth of the great shark chewed their prey. Claws crackling with lightning tore through walls. The crimson path led unhesitatingly into the next room.

This is war!