Chapter 207 The Battle of Osiris (1)
For Robert Guilliman, the experience of emerging from the warp for the first time was like rising up after fishing in a pool at the bottom of a waterfall in spring. A rumbling echo and a brief moment of enlightenment.
This state lasted until a few minutes later: the source of the subsequent trance was not the impact of the ripples of the vast ocean, but his deep thoughts triggered by the golden and blue light erupting from the flagship of the Iron Warriors Company. .
That kind of vigorous and incomprehensible energy made the whole world that he thought he was familiar with suddenly become covered with a strange veil. His multi-threaded brain immediately set aside several spare cores to deduce what combinations of conditions could achieve such a miraculous outcome among Macragge's current technology, and even the current level of military technology displayed by the entire human empire. A fraction of the effect.
No, his reason said, there was no possibility.
The theory of energy is being completely overturned, and the existing physical knowledge is completely trampled under that golden-blue light. Extraordinary, majestic, and controllable, this does not belong to the empirical knowledge that humans can use but still cannot be called understanding, nor does it belong to the theoretical basis that has been incorporated into the system of reality and truth. That's...
He almost used the adjective "mysterious" which symbolizes surrender to the unknown and irrationality. In a sense, what really hit Robert was the lack of firmness shown by his sudden abandonment of the search.
"What is that?" Guilliman asked, hoping that his former Legion Commander and current lieutenant, Glenn Vosoto, could give him an answer that decades of expedition experience could deliver, an answer that Psychic Phenomena and Upper Limits Answered.
"A dark shadow with a golden light." Glenn said, "Wearing iron armor."
"What?"
"There." Glenn reminded his genetic father to stop looking out the window, "Captain of the Iron Warriors. Barabas Dantioch."
Robert Guilliman from the window Turning around, his eyes broke away from the dark background of the real universe and landed on the three-color armor of steel and black and yellow stripes that was emerging in the command room.
An image entwined with golden lines appears quietly, just like a photo that has been washed and revealed. The face of the Captain of the Iron Warriors is obscured by a helmet with a vertical breathing grid. Regular beveled yellow and black patterns line the warrior's right shoulder armor and left knee. The serial number of the Fourth Legion is engraved on the left shoulder armor. Several decorative iron chains are added to one corner and the right knee to create a simple and beautiful separation between the layered ring-shaped leg armor and the waist armor.
"Captain of the Seventh Company of the Iron Warriors, Barabas Dantioch." Guilliman said.
"Honored Primarch," Dantioch said, and the golden light faded from his body.
"Why are you here?" Guilliman couldn't help but ask, "We have not received any connection requests. Is this also the Empire's short-range communication imaging?"
"No, this is psychic energy. "The Iron Warrior said calmly, raising a hand. The flowing illusory light loomed in the gaps between his movements, distinguishing his image now from the Astartes' body in reality. "In order to maintain more timely communication, I appear here."
"Psychic power." Guilliman repeated, reluctantly accepting this reality. As long as short-distance communication arrays are connected, contact interfaces and unified locators are built, holographic images can also appear in ways that are more in line with existing physical common sense.
Perhaps one day, the Imperium of Man will also be able to obtain this super-standard means of communication without the use of unanalyzable psychic energy, and then Guilliman will be even happier.
In fact, regaining communication with many countries throughout the vast territory that Ultramar once had has always been one of the highest wishes of Archon Conor Guilliman.
Limited by technological obstacles, they had to choose to focus on reforms within the planet - this was both a skill for picking a breakthrough point when there were many difficulties, and also a last resort.
Guilliman did sometimes think that if the Imperial expedition fleet had not arrived here so early, years or decades later, they might find traces of him among the stars.
"Did the blast just now cause any damage to you, company commander?"
"Under the protection of Artisan Morse, we were fortunate enough to survive that sudden small crisis smoothly. "
"He's a psyker," Robert said, hoping his words didn't sound like a confused murmur. "Is this the power of a psyker?"
"We tend to consider this mentor of the Primarch Perturabo to be a most special type of psyker. No other psyker on our ships possesses the qualities he exhibits."
"Very polite." Robert paused, finding himself feeling a little guilty pleasure that the average psyker in the Empire didn't have Morse's exaggerated expressiveness.
He glanced out the window again. At the end of the original body's sight, another explosion suddenly erupted. The flammable gas released from the ship's cabin exploded into a string of fleeting orange-red sparks. The pitch-black void swallowed up the roars of both fighting parties, and destruction occurred in silence.
"I don't know enough about the Orks," said the Primarch. "Can you tell me, are they currently engaged in a civil war?"
"In Morse's Listening, yes. I can ask Morse if I want to share it with you."
"I'm not a good translator," a disembodied voice suddenly intervened. "There is no way to interpret the greenskin's modal particles at the same time. Also, they are not exactly in the civil war."
"Please talk to me I share the listening content, Artisan." Robert chose a title that was probably unmistakable. He had little personal relationship with Morse.
“Work harder, boys,” Big Tooth said. Its chariot passed between the orcs, carrying a huge big tug. The bombs smashed the green skin’s flesh and broken iron. Exploded all over the ground together, machetes and cheers shuttled between the heads and disemboweled flying bodies of the same kind that could be seen everywhere. The Grots ran around in panic, which annoyed Big Tooth Boss, and it howled, Hydraulic claws tore the corpses apart, and the internal organs fell off. Some technician boys were bitten off by the influx of crazy similar people. Shock waves from nowhere rolled across the battlefield. Some psychic boys blew themselves up. A man was in a bad mood. A strange green light emitted from the good old psychic boy's hand, and he wildly exploded the psychic chain used to control the enemy greenskins..."
"I can keep translating like this, 伱Do you need it, Primarch? "
" Summarize the situation." After reluctantly accepting several new words and filing them in his brain database, Robert decided to listen to the overall situation. situation.
"To sum up, a group of greenskins discovered that another wave of greenskins were controlled by some kind of psychic creature and were going to attack a group of weak shrimps - our fleet. They thought this was too waaagh, so Go attack another wave of greenskins," Morse said, as a figure in black robes appeared in the command room of the Ultramarines. "They trapped each other, what is your decision, Primarch?"
"I don't know the greenskins." Guilliman said this strange word, "What is the relationship between the Empire and them?"
"It seems that no one has told you that hating xenos is one of the key concepts of the entire human empire. As for the Greenskins themselves, on the whole, we are considered enemies. So, what is your decision? "Mors raised his head and looked at Robert Guilliman calmly, with no unnecessary emotion in his tone.
"Give me a suggestion, Glenn Wasuoto." "Kill them." the deputy commander said briefly. "Both sides together."
"Marius Gage, tell me, based on combat experience, how many units of greenskins do we carry with long-range firepower enough to kill?"
"It's hard to estimate, Primarch." The first company commander replied, "The upper and lower limits of green skin technology fluctuate greatly."
Before Robert asked him, the craftsman shook his head: "I am just an observer. Unless you are on the verge of death, or my shelter is attacked , I will not join the battlefield."
He paused and glanced at a request that was flashing on the data board: "Is anyone going to take care of the Imperial Fist?"
Mariu? Si connected to the signal after getting Robert's nod.
The head of an Astartes appeared on the screen at the same time, as did the middle part of a Primarch's body in golden armor.
After Achamus, who claimed to be the Lord of the Haskar Guard, greeted Robert Guilliman, Rogal Dorn took the communicator and pointed the camera at his rock-like face. Face: "What is your decision regarding these green-skinned orcs, Robert Guilliman?"
"We are discussing." Robert said, "Do you have any suggestions, Rogal Dorn? I I believe it is reasonable for my adjutant to propose killing all the orcs, but this is not our battle goal. We carry ammunition, provide supplies, discuss theories, lay out tactics, and make corresponding pre-war preparations for Osiris. It will disrupt the entire rhythm of the war."
Dorn listened quietly. Half a second after Robert finished speaking, he opened his mouth: "Your opinion is that you want to kill the orcs. But hesitating because of lack of preparation, right?"
"Yes," Robert admitted, although he seemed uncomfortable admitting it, "I can't bring twenty-nine thousand without getting it. Soldiers who know enough to accomplish mission objectives..."
"Thirty-three thousand." Rogal Dorn corrected, "My heirs and those of Perturabo are currently on secondment in your hands, and their lives belong to you."
"We will detour." Robert didn't hesitate any longer.
He doesn't need to fill up the Empire's medals of honor with bullets and lives, not to mention that the orcs are just a dense fog used by their real enemies to cover. The real enemy is and will only be the enemy commander who exists in the military order, and they have exposed part of their ability before causing any damage-the mind-playing psyker.
Great. Robert thought. Whatever psionic beings were, he was about to kill a group of psionic users.
"Thank you for your advice, Rogal Dorn." Robert said.
Dorn responded with a simple nod, then handed the communicator back to his heir. The White-haired Primarch has little need for praise from his brothers.
Acamus took over the communication device, "The Fourth Company of the Imperial Fists will follow the Ultramarines. If there is any accident, contact us," he said, cutting off the communication.
"I really wish Perturabo was here," Mors whispered. "In fact, I think he's starting to feel pity."
He disappeared. It must be earlier than his floating voice.
The last stop was Barabas Dantioch. Separated by an iron mask and the actual barrier caused by space, Robert could not judge the emotion of this steel warrior. But before leaving, Dantioch gave him a message: "Thank you, Primarch Robert Guilliman."
He did not specify what he was thanking, but Robert Guilliman hoped that the Captain was thanking him for his wisdom.
Dantioch. Well, he remembered the name.
——
“Check the missile racks, brother.” Valentus Doro said, “We are scouts, but we are not going to die.”
< br>The display on Caspian's helmet informed him that all the pylons on the Stormbird were in good condition. He informed Valentus of this. "I've checked many times, sir. And it's not even time for us to land yet."
"Don't call me sir, Varus Caspian." Valentus jumped out of the Stormbird's cabin, "We are not that unfamiliar."
"I'm sorry, Valentus, But to be honest, you and our father suddenly became somewhat similar." Kaspien shook his head, "It makes me a little nervous - and, God, I still only dare to call him father in private. . He doesn't seem to like this very much."
"Stop talking," Valentus said. "Watch your language."
"Yes, sir. ”
The process of waiting for the ship to approach the Osiris star field is long. In order to avoid disturbing the orc groups that were fighting with each other and to save their own ammunition and energy, Robert Guilliman's Goliath-class battleship led the fleet to take a long detour.
They gradually drove into a chaotic area filled with burning debris, dangerous gunpowder and radiation. The range of eleven stars had been filled with traces of battles distributed extremely widely in three-dimensional space; the orcs and some vaguely identifiable planets belonging to the Empire The wreckage of the ship floated in the deep night sky, spinning endlessly under the influence of gravity, scattering steel wreckage and debris.
The debris that covered the entire star system plunged the Space Marines into silence. Judging from the battlefield situation, these countless orcs actually occupied a position of assistance in this operation of the empire: if this team of more than 20,000 ultramarines broke into this star area, they would undoubtedly pay a heavy price. The price is heavy, not to mention that there is a race using psychic powers hidden behind the scenes, waiting for opportunities.
The aphrodisiac scanners of the Imperial Expeditionary Force have begun to operate, and countless pieces of data are rolling in front of the Astartes Commander and the mortal crew.
A new command was sent to the ears of the Ultramarines through the built-in sound transmission device. "Reconnaissance team, prepare to enter the Osiris Star Cluster."
"Reconnaissance team received." Valentus replied, once again scanning the Storm Bird parked in the reconnaissance ship, and then turned around. "Follow, Kaspion, and Iote Capa, come here. Go to the cockpit, we need to adjust the route and alternate routes in real time."
(End of this chapter)