Chapter 361 The Battalion Commander's Return
Roger Dorn spent a certain amount of time taking a short transport boat to return to the Phalanx.
For safety reasons, the small, unfamiliar model of ship has not yet been approved to enter the huge hull of the Imperial Fist mothership; although at this moment, the war taking place in the Satrada Abyss seems to have ended It came to an end, but no one dared to risk sending an unknown enemy ship into the Empire's military aircraft hub.
Dorn entered the communication workstation. After the busy signal debugging and other work of the mortal crew, the two sides could already hear each other's voices, and the shape of the weird boat floated in the form of holographic projection. The side of the console rotates quietly.
Donne was in no hurry to speak. He observed the small ship, analyzing the parts that seemed to have been pieced together from all the civilizations in the universe.
Its outer shell alone is made of three different metals. Just from the appearance of the short-range defense missiles and naval guns, you can tell that they come from two unrelated societies and were forcibly created by a certain master craftsman. Stuck inside the same boat. Such a work of incredible craftsmanship can actually remain intact in a complex cosmic environment. This is a strange thing that can make many Mechanicus frown with their natural eyebrows.
What's more, the broken rams and the black burn marks on the surface of the armor plates are even revealing to Rogal Dorn that this strange ship has even penetrated into the battlefield more than once and participated in the battle without being damaged. sink.
However, if those dissonances are ignored...
Donn pressed a button to let the mottled color fade from the surface of the boat model. Next comes the simplification of shapes and modules, and the abstract and standardized presentation of each hull component. When all this was completed, what was left in front of him was a small assault boat that could almost be said to be built according to the standards of the Human Empire.
To be more precise, if he makes his guess even bolder - a small warship in the shape of an Iron Warrior.
Rogal Dorn stopped delaying. Although it was difficult for him to come up with a final hypothesis, his attitude towards this small ship added a deep tolerance.
“I am Rogal Dorn, one of the commanders of the Imperial Expeditionary Force of Mankind, and the Primarch of the Emperor. If you maintain a friendly and peaceful attitude towards the Empire, please tell me where you came from and your names. . ”
He heard a brief silence, and then a voice came from the other side. The voice was rough and harsh, mixed with the hissing sound of the armor's operation. Although the speaker was trying his best to maintain the stability and power of his words, his attempt could only show the pathetic futility.
"Dear Primarch, I am Barabas Dantioch, Commander of the Eleventh Battalion of the Iron Warriors. Please allow me to apply to join my Primarch with the Legion. Perhaps. It sounds incredible, but there is no deception in it."
Roger Dorn silently assessed the authenticity of the words of the man who called himself Dantioch. The place where he and his team members were recorded to have died was far away from the west side of the Satradar Abyss where the Imperial Fist fleet was located, and until the planet was destroyed by the storm of Time, under the strict monitoring of the Iron Warriors, there was no trace of anyone there. Any survivor escapes from destruction.
"Where did the crew of this ship come from?" the Primarch continued.
"Now...there is another psyker Madoc here who met by chance in the conquered world of 12-5. He is now in a coma due to the exhaustion of long-distance navigation. Apart from this, I am the only one. "
Roger Dorn's jawline tightened, "I give you permission to board the deck of the Phalanx."
After the communication was terminated, the original body's eyes crossed the meditation in the workstation. The reader and numerous data arrays looked at the galaxy outside the narrow porthole, paused for a few seconds, and then turned around and left.
When he arrived at the port of the fourth quadrant, the man who called himself Dantioch was slowly walking down the sloping platform alone, his steps unsteady.
If the man in iron armor could straighten his back further, he would match Rogal Dorn's impression of the height of the battalion commander whom he had met several times - unfortunately, he was overdrawn The body seems unable to do this.
Although the armor was broken and mostly repaired, the remnants of the Iron Warriors Legion's emblem and color still remained on his shoulder armor, stubbornly residing like a background that had not been washed away by time.
The warrior bowed slightly to him, and then slowly raised his body.
"Lord Rogal Dorn," the warrior said, "it is an honor to meet you. I have brought some navigation star maps of the galaxy, resource distribution statistics and humanistic information integration, as well as ore samples, Alien weapon trophies, regional historical narratives and other resources are expected to be submitted to the Iron Warriors."
Roger Dorn nodded: "Why come to me and not Perturabo?" Because the temporary navigator is trying his best to do this, sir. He is not professional.”
Rogal Dorn looked at him, his marble-carved face had almost no extra expression. To those unfamiliar with him, he often appeared to be close to cold, just like Perturabo.
But Dantioch is familiar with his genetic father, and even though more than two thousand years have passed, he can still remember Perturabo's words and deeds in his heart.
Therefore, his sight could slightly penetrate the stern face of the original Imperial Fist and explore Rogal Dorn's hidden emotions.
“My lord,” he smiled, “I thank you for your trust.”
Dorn waved his hand, causing the two Imperial Fist warriors beside him to step forward and surround Dantioch on both sides.
"Lord Primarch?" The Iron Warrior was a little surprised.
"Take him to the medical bay," Dorn ordered, "go now."
——
"...The Imperial Fists examined Barabas· Dantioch's condition and verifying his genetic identity..."
He closed his eyes and lay face up, with his back pressed against a bed. His nerves were soothed by the medicine, which relieved him of some of the pain he had accumulated over the years. Some liquid was slowly injected into his body through some thin tubes. The nutrients and therapeutic drugs carefully prepared by the pharmacist flowed in his weak blood vessels, stabilizing his vital signs and better maintaining his life.
"...But his aging has become a fact. It is not caused by abnormal toxins or psychic curses, but a physiological phenomenon brought about by the normal passage of time..."
A voice came from above him, floating and distant. Roger Dorn, his brain gave the answer.
So, who will be the person who is talking to the Primarch of the Imperial Fist?
The pull of his blood told him a name.
"...I didn't ask about his experience, and he hasn't clarified it yet. He just said that he brings you a certain amount of strategic resources. When the pharmacist asked to examine him, he was interested in taking off his armor and showing his body. situation, showing obvious resistance, therefore, we had to take moderate and moderate measures..."
The other person said nothing and just listened. Dantioch felt his eyes resting on his face, and he was not sure whether this was an illusion caused by his longing for it.
Until then, he realized that he did not dare to open his eyes. His heart of steel is not as indestructible as he thought.
Then he heard a sigh.
"You're awake," said Perturabo. "Thank you, my warrior."
The long river of time seemed to stop flowing for an instant, and then the spring of life began to flow again.
(End of this chapter)