Chapter 5: Respect the Judgment
Fully armed, the Emperor's Angels—colossal and god-like—strode down the starship's corridors. Behind them, the formations of Astra Militarum and Battle-Sisters advanced with disciplined purpose.
Shield held high, Arthur used the sacred relic, Storm's Heart, to block incoming enemy fire. Through the gaps in the living wall he created, bolter shells and las-beams shot forth with astonishing efficiency, shredding the charging cultists.
The traitors were torn to pieces by the storm of weapons, their flesh mangled beyond recognition. Severed limbs flew through the air as if flung by an invisible mop.
SQUELCH—
Arthur kept his power sword tucked behind his shield, its edge lashing out without pause to decapitate any heretical horror that managed to weather the storm of fire and press his position. He would then raise an iron-shod boot and, without hesitation, stomp the mutated, blasphemous bodies into paste.
With every step Arthur took, the ventilation grates on the deck—long since clogged with gore—oozed a foul, viscous ichor.
Behind him, Romulus maintained fire support. After passing each intersection, he would slap a bright yellow glow-stick onto the bulkhead to mark their path.
After advancing only a few sections, the supporting fire from behind them grew sparse, then ceased altogether. The two Astartes had no choice but to halt at a critical junction.
It wasn't that they didn't want to press on. It was because of the Imperial Guard behind them.
Stomping on the head of a struggling cultist, Arthur found a shattered section of the ceiling to use as cover. He raised his flamer to purge the heretics down the branching通路, while Romulus locked down the other approach. By controlling the key junctions of the area, a small amount of firepower could suppress the enemy within a confined space.
The Astra Militarum's task was immense. While following the Astartes' breakthrough, they had to continuously establish defensive nodes along the route, intercepting enemies pouring in from other corridors. Compounded by the lag in communications, even Colonel Kovek's masterful command could not overcome the time required.
And in any case, the top running speed of an Imperial Guardsman couldn't match the speed of a Space Marine breaking through a heavy weapons kill-zone.
Inevitably, the Guardsmen would be left behind in a rapid assault led by Astartes.
A dozen seconds later, Arthur's flamer ran dry. As he was reloading the canister, a bolter round zipped past his pauldron. The power-armored Sisters of Battle had reached their position.
Another dozen seconds after that, Colonel Kovek—his own armor stained with blood—and his elite company finally arrived, lagging behind.
"My Lord!"
Colonel Kovek flicked the crimson gore from his chainsword, his face a mask of shame.
Reclaiming the Gellar Field Generator relied on the Space Marines' breakthrough, but now, his Imperial Guardsmen had become the weak link in the operation.
The Astartes were simply too fast. They moved like hurricanes.
"We will wait after every five junctions we secure," Arthur announced. He understood why the Guard was falling behind. It wasn't that the soldiers weren't trying; every one of them was pushing their body to its absolute limit, squeezing every last drop of value from their lives before offering them to the Emperor. But the vast physiological gap was ultimately impossible to bridge.
"My Lord, there is no need to wait!" Colonel Kovek urged, forcing himself to keep pace with the two Angels who had deliberately slowed their advance. "Please, press on! We will face the heretic's challenge, but we can take care of ourselves!"
As a veteran who had fought on more than a dozen worlds, Colonel Kovek felt a strange discomfort at the Angels' "down-to-earth" demeanor. In a way, it fostered a sense of inferiority—who was he to deserve such consideration and tolerance from the Emperor's own Angels?
The core of their mission was to relieve the lost Deathwatch Kill-team at the Gellar Field Generator. Only by securing the generator would the strongpoints they were establishing have any meaning. If they failed to annihilate the invading Chaos Space Marines before the field collapsed, then no matter how perfect their defenses were, no matter how few casualties they took, it would all be for naught. The price of failure was the loss of everyone on the ship.
He had gone into this operation fully prepared to accept massive casualties. But now, the Astartes were deliberately making a racket to draw the enemy, methodically clearing each junction, and even thoughtfully leaving glow-sticks to mark the path. And now they were willing to halt their advance for them.
As a result, the mobile assault force had yet to lose a single soldier during the breakthrough!
A hot flush of shame spread across Colonel Kovek's face. He felt as though he and the soldiers behind him were nothing more than infants swaddled in cloth, being coddled and protected.
"You mean to tell us to disregard your safety and prioritize the advance?" Romulus clarified, his tone sharp.
The simple values instilled by a peaceful era placed a high premium on human life, and more than that, they were now Space Marines. Steeped in the unique military culture of their new reality, both of them instinctively believed that in their current roles, prioritizing the safety of these mortals was the correct course of action.
"Yes," Colonel Kovek replied without hesitation. "The security of the Gellar Field is paramount." He knew full well that his Guard troopers could never match the physical prowess of the Angels or the Battle-Sisters in their power armor. He understood triage.
"Are you certain?" Arthur asked, tilting his head slightly.
Astartes were transhuman, but they weren't omnipotent. If they focused solely on the breakthrough, it meant the Astra Militarum would inevitably have to face some of these nightmares alone.
"We will bleed," the Colonel declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "But we will not let the glory of victory slip through our fingers."
The Astartes' breakthrough was enough. They were the tip of the spear, and they needed to lead the Battle-Sisters to relieve their comrades. The mere aftershock of their storm-like passage had already bought the Guard an invaluable window of opportunity.
And that was enough.
To consolidate their gains, establish defenses, and ensure the Angels had no concerns for their rear—they would accomplish it. They were mortal, yes, but they were also a pillar of the Imperium.
And the Emperor's Angels, in their pursuit of victory, had no need to halt for mere mortals.
The power of this faith is terrifying, Arthur thought. It allows men to hold their own lives in contempt.
He fell silent for a moment, experiencing for the first time the clash of values between two worlds. He looked at Romulus.
"What's the call?"
"Trust the professional."
If being constrained by the situation put them in an awkward position where they had to make the choice, then Romulus felt the best option was to respect the Colonel's judgment, complete the mission as quickly as possible, and then return to support them. After all, they both knew what a shithole the Warhammer universe was. As transmigrators, they were self-aware enough to know that their own wishful thinking could easily make a bad situation worse.
Simultaneously, the two of them nodded.
(End of Chapter)