Warhammer: Start with a dog

Chapter 616: Dantioch and the Changing Fate

When the Primarch's order to retreat immediately was delivered with difficulty to the fortress where the 51st Expeditionary Fleet was stationed, Barabas Dantioch was still bitterly counting all the remaining personnel in his expeditionary fleet alone.

Just now, he had argued with Sergeant Zoran, an upright veteran whom even Dantioch secretly respected.

"We can't hold this place! It's impossible to hold it!" Sergeant Zoran concluded decisively. "Warsmith, we have to retreat and pray for Perturabo's mercy. Although it is rare, it is better than having no hope at all."

"There are too many Hrud in this damn place. Too many. Warsmith, we only have two battalions of warriors, which are not enough. If we really want to completely uproot this place according to Terra's order, we will need at least 300,000... no, at least 500,000 Astartes, not counting the number of other servitors and equipment. And the most important 'time' is not on our side at all! So we must retreat, my lord. These days, the reconnaissance and fighting against these Hrud have shown that they just want to migrate from here. After they leave, these worlds will become harmless, and we can send troops to re-station them. Whether we want to build a fortress or use this place as a supply station for the exploration fleet route, it is not a problem! But not now! Confronting them head-on now will only consume ourselves in vain! You and I have seen how steel turns to dust under the erosion of time!"

The sergeant was pointing to a section of the wall of their fortress as he spoke.

Dantioch knew of this wall, which had been built to block the Hrud's treacherous and stubborn migration routes.

Like other Iron Warriors buildings, it was cut from local stone and joined and stabilized with the metal they brought with them. It was graceful, solid, practical, and full of ergonomic beauty.

But the city wall now seems to be full of problems caused by the passage of time. It is like a five-thousand-year-old ruin that has been in disrepair for a long time. It is breathless, fragile and in urgent need of reinforcement - but they all know that they watched this section of the city wall being built.

They had just arrived here at that time and still retained a little of the confidence at the beginning of a new battle, thinking that the annihilation of the alien pest race in this remote place was just a familiar repetition of every identical extermination operation they had ever carried out under the orders of Terra.

Encircle, blockade, attack, land, clear out, and kill, then build new fortifications, defense facilities, and contact points on the conquered or cleared worlds, and finally send out a small team to garrison or directly hand over the built contact points and fortresses to the reception personnel of the Mechanicus and the Empire who followed later.

Zoran has probably done these things from Terra to the universe, he has done them hundreds of times, and Dantioch has done them a hundred times.

But now they all knew that the time, life and other deeper things spent here were increasing each of their frustrations, fears and...despair.

"It's like..."

"What? Warsmith? I repeat, we must retreat. Look at these walls! The number of Hrud increases every time they pass through. We can't hold on any longer!"

From the cutting of the rock here to the completion and installation of the turrets on it, this section of the wall could not have been more than seven months old, and yet it was now shedding dust under the sergeant's fingertips.

The few remaining legion servants with gray skin and white hair, and the equally old and dilapidated servitors and equipment groaned like dying patients with tuberculosis, and were struggling to repair it once again before the next wave of nighttime offensive by the Hruds arrived.

And Dantioch knew that in just one more night, it would return to being almost a ruin, perhaps even more vulnerable than it was now.

This is the terrifying enemy they are facing, and this is the great force they are fighting silently on the unknown border.

The Hrud were by no means the insignificant wandering pests of the universe as described in the reports of Ministry of Internal Affairs officials or other expeditionary documents - the innate power of this group made them so mysterious that even at close combat distance, it was impossible to fully see the faces hidden behind their innate time entropy stance. Once they died, their corpses would immediately begin to dissolve into acidic mucus without any anatomical structure or meaning. They were very powerful and very mysterious, and no one really understood them or wrote targeted combat plans and reports for them.

But one thing is certain: the number of Hrud in this gathering place has changed from quantitative to qualitative. Any scholar who has studied their nature will definitely seriously and clearly point out in his report that the number of Hrud gathered is absolutely crucial in the war against them.

But no one warned them or Perturabo.

The Iron Warriors were sent in without any preparation.

"Warsmith, I'm done. What do you think?" Sergeant Zoran had finished his analysis of the battle situation and was waiting for his reply.

He gathered his thoughts and looked at the square face in front of him with wrinkles and obvious bags under the eyes. The skin was beginning to become loose and hung on the skull where the fat had disappeared. Only the eyes under the thick eyebrows were still firm and shining.

Sergeant Zoran's manner was just like the language he was speaking, cold and square like steel. That was why he remained at the position of sergeant and had not been promoted to a higher officer position or even to the Primarch's presence.

Therefore, although his opinions are always very straightforward, very correct, to the point and extremely practical, the number of people who can hear them is always very limited.

Because his words were too practical and too upright, such truthfulness sounded like a lack of aristocratic refinement, too much like an inferior, rude and very harsh, and was always disliked by the noble officers of Olympia.

Dantioch knew in his heart that Zoran was right, although he also felt a little ashamed in his heart that he did not promote him, but only let him stay near him so that he could give advice.

But he kept these emotions well hidden. He never mentioned them to anyone, and no one knew what he was thinking in his heart.

Now, these originally insignificant shames are turning into more worry, despair and fear.

These fears came not only from the foreseeable bad outcome of the war, but also from the constant death of comrades and soldiers around him due to aging, and from the constant dull pain coming from the bones deep in his own originally young body. When he woke up this morning, he noticed that there always seemed to be excess fluid in his trachea and deep in his lungs, making his throat itchy. He could only rely on his willpower to suppress the urge to cough, and his own black and smooth hair had begun to turn gray at the temples.

Dantioch was not a very senior veteran of the Iron Warriors. He was drafted in Olympia, so his rapid promotion was more due to his talent and Perturabo's favor. Sergeant Zoran was in his prime, but Dantioch could also feel the fear of such an apparently indestructible veteran of steel.

Somewhere in his heart he knew that their fears were the same.

In front of the gathering of the Hrud, which was probably the largest gathering in the entire galaxy, they clearly realized one thing: the Space Marines were not as immortal as they thought, and could fight for a long time as demigods.

At least not as long as they were advertised to be.

Even if they are the best and lucky ones who have passed the strict selection, survived the painful operations and brainwashing, and were promoted from mortals to new and more powerful bodies, they will still die of old age.

The Hrud's innate ability dragged this fact out from hundreds or thousands of years later and placed it right before their eyes.

That is to say.

In the face of such an otherworldly and eternal weapon as "time", the distance and class between the Emperor's angels and ordinary mortals are infinitely shortened.

This made those who were the calmest and most thoughtful among them suddenly become philosophers.

Therefore, he knew in his heart that what Sergeant Zoran said was right, and he also knew why Zoran had come to him so desperately for so long, but he still decided to give him a very apologetic answer.

Zoran was a senior sergeant leading his own team. Dantioch had seen them before and knew that they were an elite team whose members were healthy and strong, each with their own strengths and perfect division of labor and cooperation.

They had a full staff of twenty people seven months ago, but today he only saw six green runes indicating survival in the bio-marking in the helmet, still flashing under Zoran's name.

"You are well-liked by Perturabo, Warsmith." There was a rare pleading in the old soldier's voice. "Perhaps you can speak to the Primarch. He will listen."

Dantiochus took a deep breath, which caused the dry cold air of Gorkys to invade deep into his trachea, making him want to cough even more. His throat was so itchy that it was almost unbearable.

But he held back, and he slowly answered Sergeant Zoran.

"Keep holding on." He said word by word, with the same firmness and unquestionableness as his genetic father. "Perturabo wants victory, we cannot retreat."

The veteran's face was distorted violently, and the mixture of anger and other emotions was so obvious that it looked like he would draw his bolt pistol at the next moment, but he didn't. He raised his hand, placed it on his chest, and saluted his superior.

"As you wish, Warsmith. May your heart be as strong as iron."

"And IRON WITHOUT you, Sergeant."

Then Sergeant Zoran left in a gloomy manner, with an obvious sense of exhausted anger.

Dantioch knew what this was, because this war, which had no possibility of winning and no practical significance, but kept devouring their familiar comrades and replacing them with new recruits who were quickly replenished, had made them lose the ability to treat other things with emotion, not only towards the war, but also towards humanity. When your comrade is added to your team and he may not survive the third day, even a mentally tenacious Astartes would find it difficult not to look at them with a digitized eye.

——Otherwise they will go crazy, especially their commander.

In his heart, Dantioch almost blamed Perturabo for their current situation, but he couldn't help but think that as the commander-in-chief who commanded more Iron Warriors to guard this line of defense, would Perturabo have the same psychological pressure? Or... even more serious...? Would he?

He thought so. He secretly worried about his father, even close to worrying about him. But he was not promoted to his presence now, so he should not worry about him, let alone challenge him. Zoran was wrong about one thing. Even he could not shake Perturabo, because he knew how unpredictable the Iron Lord's temperament was.

Out of the corner of his eyes he caught the faint afterglow of the distant, cold stars of Gorkys sliding towards the horizon. This meant that night was about to fall and the next wave of offensive by the Hruds was about to begin. He wondered how many soldiers in his camp would be alive after tonight?

His thoughts inevitably slid to the other parts of the 51st Expeditionary Fleet. Captain Chalkes was stationed on the planet opposite Gorkis on the other side of the Star Gorge, and between them was the troops of Warsmith Korkon. Both of them used to report to him regularly on the movements of the Hrud, but Dantioch had not received any new reports from these two places for several days.

Perhaps this was the end for all of them, death in battle or dying of old age on this desolate planet that would remain unknown for hundreds of years until Perturabo or Terra achieved their goals, or perhaps something worse, but Dantioch no longer wanted to think about it.

Suddenly, he heard a series of rapid footsteps beneath the severely weathered graystone wall.

Dantioch drew his weapon alertly.

Sergeant Zoran's face appeared again on the steps of the battlement, but unlike when he left, this time the old face was full of uplifting hope, which was truly precious in these few months.

"Warsmith!" he cried joyfully, "We can retreat!"

"What?" Dantioch blinked.

"We are allowed to retreat in an orderly manner!" Zoran couldn't hide the joy on his face, and at the same time, Dantioch could hear the enthusiasm that was suddenly ignited in the entire fortress. "We can finally leave this damn cursed place!"

"Who? Who allowed us to retreat?"

"It's Perturabo - it's the Primarch! It's a direct order from our beloved Primarch!" Zoran ran over and grabbed Dantioch.

"Hurry up! Warsmith! Night is about to fall! The Hrud will start to act soon, and I don't want to stay here for a second longer. Let's get on the Stormbird quickly."

He paused, "...Anyway, there are definitely enough empty seats on the Stormbird for all of us to leave immediately with our important equipment and documents."

A sour and itchy feeling once again surged into Dantioch's throat.

This time, he didn't try hard to hold back the feeling.

The war blacksmiths of the 51st Expeditionary Fleet and the 14th Company began to run towards the central control tower along with the veterans, hunching over and coughing heart-wrenchingly, almost coughing out tears.