Chapter 381 Re-Cleaning
"The person who issues an order must help the person he is ordered to. He does not issue the order out of pride, but out of duty." - "The Book of Lorgar"
846.M30 Imperial Year, 122nd, 00:00
Ninety years have passed since the Luna Wolf fleet left the Randan Empire outpost border, temporarily named the Res-2 star field, empty-handed. An empire day.
An Air Force pilot with the 177th Expeditionary Fleet updated the record of time in his mind when the timer jumped to a new level. This was not the timing of the current planet, and had no direct benefit to his current battle. It even briefly took him away from the mission of dropping bombs for a second.
He moved his dry and flaky lips, and according to the instruction manual written by the Mechanicus, aimed the target selection box at the target below, and gradually lowered the flight altitude of the aircraft.
Multiple battles have proven that their precision guidance system is being seriously interfered by the enemy, so they can only risk passing through the enemy's fire network, hoping that the accuracy of the fire control calculated bomb delivery, And our own radar can give the pilot an early warning before the aircraft is smashed to pieces by enemy shells.
Enemy. He chewed on the word. enemy. Wan Jishen’s electronic saliva, the enemy!
The enemy's orbital air defense system deployed on this planet has been breached by them - the whole process has caused a headache for the fleet. Solving the psychological pressure brought by the former military comrades to the army is second to the key. The Renegades rely on Randan's technology to upgrade and transform their orbital defenses at multiple levels.
They noticed the anomaly too late, leaving enough time for the enemy to make their attack more difficult. The colonel will be punished for this, good luck to him.
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 was made up of flesh and blood and bones could function normally and comfortably in their aircraft. Perform combat missions. Or it's not recorded in the so-called template.
My God, they don’t even have a climate control component. It’s as stuffy and hot inside as Ohm Messiah’s street-stall faux leather jacket, making you sweat like rain.
The pilot counted the seconds. When the radar siren blasted in his ears, he felt an unexpected regret and quickly pulled up the plane.
If his aircraft model is driven by vector thrust, he can make incredible straight turns and hovers that interfere with the enemy's ballistic calculations, but at this moment he can only control the jet aircraft to perform a roll. Get over the elevation of anti-aircraft guns to escape the ever-present danger. But this also meant that his bomb-dropping mission failed.
Failure, failure again. He shouldn't complain, but it didn't please him at all.
Night is approaching, their mission does not include night operations, now is the time to retreat.
Or, he could finally make a bet and bet that the enemy's ground end interception range was wide enough to catch his bomb.
In the darkening sky, the altimeter dropped rapidly. Adrenaline supported him to complete an extremely fast dive, like a small bird flying by in an instant, only about 200 meters above the ground. Reach the low point, quickly flip the switch, and complete a round of unaimed bomb delivery. Did he succeed?
The pilot looked down, orange flames burning in the dim environment, and half of the tower was destroyed by him. The pilots were amused by the thought that the tower had once been their troop mess.
Before the transfer, during the time he served on this planet, the most common thing he did was to scold the canteen with the gunners for the nutritious ointments in the canteen that tasted worse than engine oil. Unexpectedly, he also destroyed the cafeteria at the right time and his long-cherished wish came true.
Other than that, this bombing did not achieve any more tactical objectives. That's it again, he thought, even though it wasn't his thing to worry about. Their stalemate has lasted for a long time, and it is mainly due to their own strategic retreat and transition quickly enough.
Even if he has no military rank, he can still see these most basic things: they lack a turning point.
Then, the auspicious device captured data about the traitors on the surface themselves...
No, his heart was pounding. The command had told them not to pay too much attention to the traitors themselves. Whether voluntary or forced, they had transformed from their compatriots into something specious. enemy. They are the enemy.
The pilot obeyed the order and did not continue to care about the ground problems. He accelerated again, deciding to leave the barrage chasing him behind.
The strong wind roared deep in the rift valley, but was blocked by steel. He managed to get out of the range of the anti-aircraft fire and reported back to headquarters that his attack was complete. Then, suddenly, he received a new order.
"Return to the attack location and cover the ground assault."
The pilot received the order in confusion, not understanding who he needed to cover.
The army was resting at least two hundred kilometers away. They performed very poorly in the last round of offensive. The number of deaths even successfully solved the food supply problem.
Although no one dared to openly confront the command team, the morale of the ground combatants was completely stagnant.
“They are coming,” a voice came from the electronic channel, as a supplement to the previous order, “They are coming back.”
“Astartes!” The pilot said almost simultaneously The message from the intercom shouted, and the plane turned quickly, as fast as if it had actually installed a vector system. 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 in 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. Come.
Some new Sikaran tanks, jointly developed by the great Tenth and Thirteenth Primarchs and the Adeptus Mechanicus, were advancing 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 amidst distant explosions.
Smelling the scent of promethium, he pulled down the control stick and avoided 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 him 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 anyone else 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 vitality It will arise spontaneously in the hearts of those who meet his eyes.
"In the past few days, we have recaptured several planets that were lost in my time away," Luperkar announced, adjusting the holographic projection to ensure that 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 taking back 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 betrayal before its unintended consequences spread."
"Let me eliminate them, Horus." Lorgar Aurelion said with a solemn expression, "It is the duty of those who give orders. The souls of those who committed suicide should remain pure 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 was thinking in a different way 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 it? 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 information is still being integrated and analyzed, if you guys. If you like, I can also provide the raw data."
"Give me a copy," Perturabo said naturally, "I will analyze it."
"Of course - I have always been. I'm curious, can your data cable be plugged into any model-matching interface? If the answer is yes, you can try the Thinker here.
"Unless your cogitator is completely personalized and heavily guarded, like Ferrus Manus did with his flagship, I have built-in programs It's compatible," Perturabo replied.
Horus smiled back, "Please." He moved the meditator placed next to the main seat slightly to the side. Perturabo stood up and came to Horus's side, finding a suitable interface, and in the ocean of data Close your eyes temporarily.
The Wolf God continued: "Perhaps just for once, Lorgar, I will not question your Word Bearers' extermination actions against the enemy. But if you can, please leave a few. The objects available for interrogation to solve the mystery of their betrayal and prevent it."
"Huh?" The lion snorted slightly and turned his head to look at Horus.
“I would like to know if the First Legion has the corresponding technology for more efficient interrogation.” Horus’ tone was gentler than when facing Perturabo. He knew that every one of his existing What brothers need and know their bottom line and principles. But with Leon, he wasn't so sure yet.
"You want to hand over the interrogation work to the Dark Angel." Leon said softly. "You are assigning tasks to each of us."
Horus was slightly startled and quickly adjusted his attitude.
"Do you allow me to do this, my brother?" he said with a slight apology. "The four legions are in the same sector. If we join forces to fight, we will need a chain of command; if we decide to fight alone in the rest of the war, I will 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 spoken clearly.
The air in the room seemed to start to solidify. Lorgar became a little worried, he never wanted any two of his brothers to get into a quarrel; but before things turned, Perturabo opened his eyes and tapped the table with his fingertips.
"Next time before you share your database with me, cut it off from the entire fleet, Horus," he sighed. "Don't challenge me with the entire Luna Wolves database. Self-control.”
The atmosphere returned to normal, Horus shrugged, and some decorative medals swayed with this movement: "You are right, I will pay attention next time, thank you, Perturabo."
Perturabo nodded: "Also, there is a piece of information worth noting. This is the intelligence obtained by the Dark Angels, which shows the rotting bones on the hospital bed in the abandoned hospital wing."
Logar He shook his head unbearably and moved his lips slightly. Judging from the shape of his mouth, he was wishing in Gothic that the soul of the deceased would return to the throne and the spirit would be resurrected.
Perturabo refused to think about how many Terran days it would take for a human soul to travel from here to the Throne World of Terra according to the normal navigation speed.
He looked at Horus: "I put that picture on the home page of the Meditator, you can project it here."
"Of course," Horus nodded gratefully. Without Perturabo's assistance, they didn't know how long it would take them to dig out a single image from the sea of countless data, not to mention that he didn't notice anything unusual about the image at a glance. .
"There are traces of aliens here," Perturabo continued to say to the picture. He stood up and pointed to a corner of the shadow of the picture. It was an arm hanging outside the hospital bed, with withered muscles and peeling skin.
Leon could see at a glance what Perturabo was referring to: "The level of neural decay is lower than the overall level of decay of the corpse."
"It seems that you know this aspect very well, brother," Horus praised, observing intently, "In this way, it is indeed true. But by what means does the alien cause this effect? It cannot be that each apostate has undergone individual neurological surgeries. Also, in the previous anatomy The apothecary did not find this difference in the degree of decay."
"This is something we will find out later," said Perturabo. "Before that, I need to ask mine. Facilitator.”
Horus was stunned for a moment and then realized: "Are you talking about father's old friend? He is here too?"
"Not here, you can be here." Perturabo replied.
(End of this chapter)