Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

"He who issues orders should help those who are ordered. He does not issue orders out of pride, but out of duty." - "The Book of Lorgar"

846.M30 Imperial Year, Day 122, 00:00

Ninety-one Imperial Days have passed since the Moon Wolf Fleet left the border of the Randan Empire's outpost temporarily named Res-2 Star Field empty-handed.

An air force pilot of the 177th Expeditionary Fleet updated the record of time in his mind when the timer jumped to a new grid. This is not the current planet's timing, and has no direct benefit to his current battle, and even briefly pulled him away from the task of dropping bombs for a second.

He moved his dry and flaky lips, and according to the instruction manual written by the Mechanicus, he aimed the target selection box at the target below and gradually lowered the aircraft's flight altitude.

Many operations have proved that their precision guidance system is being seriously interfered with by the enemy, so they can only risk passing through the enemy's firepower network, hoping that the accuracy of the fire control calculation of the bombing and their own radar can warn the pilot before the plane is blown to pieces by the enemy's shells.

Enemy. He chewed on this word. Enemy. The electronic saliva of the God of All Machines, the enemy!

The enemy's orbital air defense system deployed on this planet has been broken by them-the whole process has caused a headache for the fleet. Solving the psychological pressure brought to the army by former military companions is secondary. The key lies in the multi-level improvement and transformation of their orbital defense line by the traitors relying on Ran Dan's technology.

They noticed the abnormality too late, leaving the enemy with enough time to make their attack more difficult. The colonel will be punished for this, wish him good luck.

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The crosshair is moving on the screen until it disappears downwards. This means that the time to drop the bomb is approaching.

The pilot adjusted his sitting posture and leaned forward. Everyone suspected that the Mechanicus had not considered how a living person whose main body is still flesh and blood bones should perform combat missions normally and comfortably in their aircraft. Or it was not recorded in the so-called template.

Emperor, they don’t even have a temperature control element. It’s as hot as the faux leather jacket of the Ohm Messiah on the street stall, making people sweat like rain.

The pilot counted the seconds, and when the radar alarm sounded in his ears, he felt an expected regret and quickly pulled up the plane.

If his aircraft model was driven by vector thrust, he could make a straight turn that was incredible enough and hover to interfere with the enemy's ballistic calculations, but at this moment he could only control the jet plane to perform a roll to cross the elevation angle of the anti-aircraft gun to get rid of the danger that was following him like a shadow. But this also meant that his bombing mission this time had failed.

Failure, failure again. He shouldn't complain, but this didn't make him happy at all.

Nightfall was approaching, and their mission did not include night combat. Now was the time to retreat.

Or, he could still take a final gamble, betting that the enemy's ground terminal interception range was wide enough to catch his bombs.

In the gradually darkening sky, the altimeter dropped rapidly, and adrenaline supported him to complete an extremely fast dive, like a small bird that flew by in an instant, reaching a low point at an altitude of only about 200 meters from the ground, and quickly flipping the switch to complete a round of unaimed bombing. Did he succeed?

The pilot looked down, orange flames burned in the dim environment, and half of the tower was destroyed by him. The tower used to be their troop canteen, and the pilot found it funny to think of it.

Before the transfer, during the time he served on this planet, the most common thing he did was to curse the canteen's nutritional paste that tasted worse than engine oil with the gunner. Unexpectedly, he would destroy the canteen at the right time and in accordance with the law, and his long-cherished wish would come true one day.

In addition, this bombing did not achieve more tactical goals. This is the case again, he thought, although this is not what he should worry about. Their stalemate has lasted for a long time, and it is mainly due to their strategic retreat and rapid transition.

Even if he has no military rank, he can see these most basic things: they lack a turning point.

Then, the auspicious instrument captured the data about the traitors on the ground themselves...

No, his heart was pounding. The headquarters told them not to pay too much attention to the traitors themselves. Whether voluntarily or forced, they have transformed from their compatriots to something else that seems to be true. The enemy. They are the enemy.

The pilot followed the order and did not continue to care about the problems on the ground. He accelerated again, deciding to leave the barrage of bullets chasing him behind.

The wind howled deep in the rift, but was blocked by steel. He barely left the range of anti-aircraft fire and replied to the command center that his attack was completed. Then, he suddenly received a new order.

"Return to the attack site and cover the ground assault."

The pilot took the order in confusion, not understanding who he needed to cover.

The army was resting at least 200 kilometers away. They performed poorly in the last round of attacks, and the number of deaths even successfully solved the problem of food supply.

Although no one dared to openly confront the command group, the morale of the ground combatants was completely stagnant.

"They're coming," a voice came over the electronic channel as a supplement to the previous order, "They're coming back."

"Astartes!" the pilot shouted almost simultaneously with the message coming from the internal communication. The aircraft turned quickly, as fast as if a vectoring system had been installed. Besides him, several aircraft belonging to the same formation as him also turned around from various parts of the sky, drawing exciting arcs.

At the other end of the silver-gray mountain range, the Land Raider, painted pearl white, poked out of the upper edge of the mountains in the dull sunlight, biting towards the mountains like the snow-white fangs of a wolf.

Several new Sikaran tanks, jointly developed by the great Tenth and Thirteenth Primarchs and the Adeptus Mechanicus, advanced at high speed towards the enemy base. She is equipped with two accelerated automatic cannons and laser cannons, which can make any machine-loving person enchanted, and her beautiful posture of accurately killing enemies is enough to permanently silence those who are dissatisfied with her.

The warriors of the Astartes, the vanguard, backbone and rearguard of the Emperor's crusade, determine the direction of the battlefield and the outcome of the enemy like the hammer of heaven's punishment. Their overall numbers amount to a teaspoon of water in the lake compared to all the military personnel the entire Imperium can mobilize, making the opportunity to fight alongside the Astartes a rare one among non-Legion auxiliaries and mortal servants. An unforgettable moment of glory.

Of course, the prerequisite for enjoying honors - regardless of those beautiful propaganda slogans, it is better to enjoy honors while alive than to be promoted after death.

Pilots have seen some planes emitting thick smoke and falling downwards against the gray-black sky with distant explosions.

He sniffed the scent of promethium, pulled down the control stick, and dodged a string of missiles biting his wing.

The world fell around him, then rose.

The bright warriors were approaching, like stars, like moonlight, with pearl-like colors, connecting constellation-like lights on the burned iron-gray earth. Just behind them, the shadow of the crescent moon hung in the sky.

The Emperor's Expeditionary Force, the pilot thought, they are coming.

——

Perturabo followed Horus Luperkar into the opponent's strategy room, feeling unfamiliar with this experience.

In many cooperative operations, the Iron Lord often plays the leading role, and if the combat meeting is not held on the ground, it will be on his Queen of Glory or the space fortress.

He had not paid much attention to this before, until the Son of the First Return waved his cloak, naturally assumed the responsibility of commander, and invited everyone to sit with you on the Vengeful Spirit.

The strategy room of the Vengeful Spirit is made of unexpectedly simple steel, focusing on its own practicality and serious characteristics of war, rather than being piled on gorgeous patterns and exquisite silk curtains. It is embedded in the center of the main bridge, just as the Vengeful Spirit itself is the central core of the entire expedition fleet.

"I thank you for your willingness to come here and participate in this battle against the aliens. May the glory of the Emperor be with us." Horus simply finished his opening remarks.

If any other person had said these clichés, it would have added formalistic hypocrisy to that person, but the bright eyes and confident demeanor of the Shepherd God made everything extremely sincere. Just one look at each other, and the energy would flow around him. The hearts of people who meet each other's eyes spontaneously arise.

"In the past few days, we have recaptured several planets that we lost in my time away," Luperkar announced, adjusting the holographic projection to ensure everyone could easily see the information he needed to display. "For this, I still need to express my gratitude to the troops who never gave up on retaking the position."

"In just three imperial months, five new renegade positions have appeared on the front line. Everyone in the mortal fleet and defense force is now in danger because they don't know how this happened. We can only maintain strict communication and A review mechanism to extinguish the fire of rebellion before its unintended consequences spread.”

"Let me get rid of them, Horus." Lorgar Aurelion said with a solemn expression, "The person who gives the order is obliged to keep the souls of those who are ordered pure, so as to avoid the guilt of committing suicide."

Leon El'Jonson's expression was unpredictable. He was the most unpredictable Primarch Perturabo had ever encountered, and at times the Iron Lord even felt that the Lion of Caliban used a different mindset than the others.

"Kill them." Leon said, his voice neither high nor low. He had shaved once on his way here, and his hair was held back by a golden ring given to him by Horus.

"Is there any news about the Second Legion?" Perturabo asked.

"It's a pity," Horus's eyes darkened, "I asked them to pay more attention when I left, but the news that even my Luna Wolves didn't get, how could it be easily passed on by the mortal legions guarding the periphery? What about getting something? If they gain something, it may not be Ran Dan’s conspiracy, even if they haven’t revealed their true identity yet.”

He cheered up, "The newly updated intelligence is still being integrated and analyzed. If you are willing, I can also provide the raw data."

"Give me a copy," Perturabo said naturally, "and I'll analyze it."

"Of course - I have always been curious, can your data cable be connected to any interface of matching model? If the answer is yes, you can try the Thinker here." Horus asked.

"Unless your cogitator is fully personalized and heavily protected, like Ferrus Manus did with his flagship, my built-in program will be compatible." Turab replied.

Horus smiled back, "Please." He moved the Thinker placed next to the main seat slightly to the side. Perturabo stood up and came to Horus' side, found a suitable interface, and temporarily closed his eyes in the ocean of data.

The Wolf God continued: "Maybe just this once, Lorgar, I will not question your Word Bearers' extermination actions against the enemy. But if possible, please leave a few subjects for interrogation to crack the puzzle of their betrayal and take precautions. Leon?"

"Hmm?" The lion snorted softly, turned his head, and looked at Horus.

"I want to know if the First Legion has the corresponding technology for more efficient interrogation." Horus' tone was gentler than when he faced Perturabo. He knew what each of his current brothers needed, and also knew their bottom line and principles. But for Leon, he was not so sure.

"You want to give the interrogation work to the Dark Angels." Leon said softly. "You are assigning tasks to each of us."

Horus was slightly surprised and quickly adjusted his attitude.

"Will you allow me to do this, my brother?" He said with a little apology. "The four legions are located in the same sector. If we fight together, we will need a chain of command; if we decide to fight alone in the next war, I apologize for inviting all of you here today."

Leon did not answer, but looked at him quietly with his naturally cold green eyes, which gradually made Horus rarely doubt whether he had not made his words clear.

The air in the room seemed to solidify. Lorgar became a little worried. He never wanted any of his two brothers to get into a quarrel; and before things changed, Perturabo opened his eyes and tapped the table with his fingertips.

"Before sharing the database with me next time, cut off its internal connection with the entire fleet, Horus," he sighed, "Don't use the entire database of the Shadow Moon Wolf to challenge my self-control."

The atmosphere returned to normal, Horus shrugged, and some decorative medals swayed with this action: "You are right, I will pay attention next time, thank you, Perturabo."

Perturabo nodded: "Also, there is a document worth noting. This is the intelligence obtained by the Dark Angels, which shows the rotten bones on the beds in the abandoned medical wing."

Lorgar shook his head reluctantly and moved his lips slightly. Judging from his lip shape, he was wishing the souls of the dead to return to the throne and the spiritual resurrection in High Gothic.

Perturabo refused to think about how many Terra days it would take for a human soul to travel from here to the Terra Throne World at the general navigation speed.

He looked at Horus: "I put the picture on the homepage of the Thinker, you can project it here."

"Of course," Horus nodded gratefully. Without Perturabo's assistance, they didn't know how long it would take to find a single image from the ocean of countless data, not to mention that he didn't find any abnormality in the picture at first glance.

"There are traces of aliens here," Perturabo continued to say to the picture, he stood up and pointed to a corner in the shadow of the picture. It was an arm hanging outside the bed, with withered muscles and peeling skin.

Leon saw the problem Perturabo was referring to at a glance: "The level of neural decay is lower than the overall decay of the body."

"It seems that you know a lot about this, brother," Horus praised, observing attentively, "That's true. But how did the aliens cause this effect? ​​It's impossible to perform neural surgery on each defector separately. Also, in the previous autopsy, the pharmacist did not find this difference in the degree of decay."

"This is what we will find out later." Perturabo said, "Before that, I need to ask my assistant."

Horus was stunned for a moment, then reacted: "Are you talking about my father's old friend? Is he here too?"

"No, he can be." Perturabo replied.