After the 43rd saw the Angels, morale rose sharply.
Yet in Arthur's senses, these dutiful soldiers did not look in good shape on the surface.
He was not blind. Even though he himself did not feel any personal side effects from the warp, he could still perceive the severe reality warping here.
Because the outer armor of the strike cruiser had been torn open by the greenskin hulk, the ship now contained more than the corridor's grotesque creations.
The constant warp seepage inside the vessel was affecting the environment and every living thing within.
Even with the Gellar field still running, soldiers under this much warp pressure showed signs of disorientation and involuntary spasms.
Some had it worse. Mutations were visible on their skin. In the rear, the wounded had armor fused to flesh. Medicae staff had no idea where to begin, and in the end could only cut it away by force. Even Arthur felt a stab of pain at the sight of the horror beneath the plates.
Aside from a rough human outline, there was little left that looked like a person.
Worst of all, in the surgery bays, the tissue sloughed off those wounded did not lose vitality. It fused with nearby inanimate matter and grew like tumors on the surface.
Arthur watched with a blank face until, after treating the casualties, the medics picked up flamers and fought a hard battle with those growths.
Once he was certain the medics had burned the mutated masses to ash, he stowed the flamer that he had kept ready and turned his head toward the huge breach at the gantry.
If the ork vessel had rammed any deeper, the steel under their feet might have turned into a living thing.
He could still hear the shouts of the Imperials and their enemies. Even the howl of ripper guns could not drown out the battle cries of the Emperor's loyal soldiers, though there was a trace of fear held at bay.
A moment's contact was enough to twist a living body like this. It was hard to imagine what such power would do to the mind.
After feeling the unique cruelty of Warhammer 40k firsthand, his dread of the warp grew again, and his respect for Guardsmen who could still fight in such conditions increased as well.
He could only hope these soldiers would steady themselves soon, since the success of the next phase would still depend on them holding the line.
Lost in silent thought, he and Romulus reached the improvised command post behind the defenses.
Before they even stepped inside, a woman's voice carried out.
"Are you saying that without confirming enemy numbers, equipment, or deployments, and after losing contact with the Deathwatch kill team, we are to lead our forces to break through to the Gellar field generators"
The voice was full of doubt, not from fear of battle, but from a clear reading of the situation.
"We should wait for that Ultramarine to return. Under his command we should gather the regiment's remaining mobile elements for a concentrated strike, hold key nodes, and build a defensive line straight to the Gellar field that allows mutual support across each point."
"Correct. And we are not committing the entire regiment. I am leading a detachment made of picked troops from several units. Those unknowns are exactly what we must identify. We sacrifice for the Emperor. To return to the Golden Throne is an honor."
Patient in the face of challenge, the commissar explained.
In a place saturated by the warp's malice, any extreme emotion could be turned by evil things. Only calm and unwavering faith in the Master of Mankind would endure.
There were, of course, commissars who ruled by harsh threats and summary executions. That type did not live long in an environment like this.
"But without you, how do we maintain the regiment's morale"
The Canoness looked worried. She had fought on the line and knew its misery.
Against heretics and xenos, veterans like these did not know fear. Even with bayonets at their throats and fire consuming them, they would swing an entrenching tool into the enemy without hesitation.
But in the warp, bodily mutation and the constant whispering in the ears were the real threats to morale. That was not a weight mortals should bear.
"Look around us. The warp's corruption gnaws at you and me without pause. Time is not on our side. Even if we fall, we should fall on the road of charging the Emperor's foes."
The commissar spoke earnestly. Half his face was augmetic and unreadable. Only his eyes showed his resolve. Time was almost gone. Even if they mapped a route and the main force reached the Gellar field generators, their odds of victory were one in ten thousand.
Yet this was clearly the best breaking move he could see.
Sending soldiers to clear unknown passages in close quarters was brutally irresponsible with lives, but war forced such choices.
"As for holding the lift approaches, I believe Colonel Kovek can fulfill that duty."
"But"
A loud clatter cut her off.
Arthur and Romulus stepped into the command room ahead of the runner, breaking the tense deadlock.
Under warp interference, all comms had become conduits for profane noise. The regiment had to rely on flesh and blood runners to pass orders, however inefficient.
The Guard did not reject information systems. In regular operations their level of integration allowed joint air and ground advances across Imperial branches.
But with vox arrays dead and scrapcode infesting the channels, this clumsy method was all reality allowed.
Arthur's gaze passed over those present and he noted how complete the command structure still was. His eyes settled on the silver armored Sister who had been debating the commissar.
The badge over her chest was a blooming holy rose.
Order of the Sacred Rose. No wonder she was so level headed.
The Sacred Rose prized discipline and restraint of the self.
Even the wrath that the Adepta Sororitas so often invoked was delivered with cold control, expressed as bolter fire and flame for the Emperor's enemies. Among the many fervent Orders, they were relatively easy to work with.
"My lord."
Catching the gaze of an Angel of the Emperor, the Canoness showed a trace of shame.
She had good reasons to urge caution. Yet in the Imperium there was no excuse to avoid battle. Sacrifice should never be feared.
Arthur shook his head lightly to signal it was fine and kept quiet.
His command of Low Gothic was still not fluent.
He had no ill will toward the Sisters' caution either. The Ecclesiarchy, who dealt with the Inquisition often, knew the warp better than a Schola Progenium commissar.
Arthur had seen the carnage on the line. In this environment, not only cultists and xenos were threats. The fleshy walls, the sharp growths, even the ship itself could become the weapon that killed you.
If you sent mortal squads to blaze a trail, they would not live long. They would never last to reach the Gellar generators.
"My lord."
Colonel Kovek, who had been directing the battle and had not joined the argument, saluted. His distinctive violet eyes marked his origin.
"Cadian 43rd, Broken Sword, salutes you"
Arthur and Romulus returned the salute with a fist to the chest.
Neither put on the airs of Angels. A few hours ago, both had been ordinary humans of the third millennium.
Their arrival dissolved the dispute in the room.
All the prior debate had been framed around the Angels not yet being present. Now that they were, those plans would be overturned.
Even the morale worry no longer mattered. An Astartes simply standing there was more effective than a commissar shouting a thousand times on the line.
Everyone's eyes gathered on the two Angels. They were the backbone the weary had been seeking. In their eyes, the Astartes would surely lead them to win for the Emperor.
Such was the weight of the Astartes in the hearts of Imperial citizens.
Arthur met Romulus's gaze and both felt the pressure in the other.
This life was nothing like before. In a crisis, they were now the ones expected to hold up the sky.
"My apologies, my lord."
The commissar bowed to the Angels.
"Thank the Emperor for guiding me before I made a wrong choice."
Arthur stepped slightly aside. He still did not fully grasp the situation. Romulus was clearly the better one to work with these soldiers.
"No apology is needed, Commissar. I spent too much time finding my battle brother and delayed the preparations you made to slay the Emperor's foes."
Romulus nodded gently. His tone was solemn and steady, which calmed the room.
He reached out and smoothed the folds on the map, waiting while eyes behind him swept the carefully plotted routes. A projection inside his helm brought up pathing.
"Hm"
The accompanying Tech-priest looked at the projector under the map. Surprise showed behind his goggles.
The machine spirit that had been infected with scrapcode seemed to be stirring back to life.
The command team's tactical discussion flowed into Romulus's mind. In moments he built an optimal structure. The image in his visor resolved into the best route.
"Colonel Kovek, can the command post's augur still function"
To mortals it was a pause of three seconds. Then Romulus rose.
The colonel reversed his grip on his chainsword and lifted the auspex from his belt.
"It is operational."
He gave a firm answer.
"Then the Emperor is watching us."
Drawing his attention back from the auspex's data feed, Romulus seized the moment to lift spirits.
"The Astartes will spearhead a fast strike to draw nearby enemies to us. The Sisters of Battle and Guard fire teams will clear and build defensive nodes."
He looked around the room.
"Now follow us forward. My brother and I will be in front and open the road that leads to victory."
No florid speech. Though new to a real battlefield, Romulus had learned his lessons well. Action is the best example.
The resplendent warrior with a golden laurel took up his heavy bolter once the objective was set.
A crisp clack sounded.
A round chambered.
"For the Emperor"
Standing tall among them, the commissar spoke the oath that every Imperial citizen holds close.
"For the Emperor"
The assault elements had already formed up. They gripped their weapons and answered with all their anger for the foe.
They had sworn to the Emperor. Today they would kill every cur who dared defile the honor of mankind.
Failure
Arthur scanned the soldiers burning with fighting spirit.
They did not look pristine. The intensity of the war had stained even these assault reserves with blood. Filth filled the seams of their armor. Dark undersuits were washed in red.
But he could clearly feel how different they were compared to when he first entered the camp. In this short time, the pressure that had seemed to press around them had lifted.
In the dim light, only their keen eyes and the Aquila on their chests still shone.
The haze was gone. Only courage remained.
Even Arthur, meeting them for the first time, could not help but be moved.
He turned and took the lead into the previously sealed passage, moving along a corridor that had once been covered in fine engravings and sculptures, now defiled by heretical sigils and masses of fused flesh.
His Lyman's Ear and the pickups in his helm caught the faintest sounds. Quick and jumbled, with many footfalls, they sketched one clear silhouette after another in the dark.
Steel hissed.
A blade chopped. A body hit the deck.
It had been a statue possessed by a daemon, packed with pulped meat inside.
A rustle rose behind him. Drawn by the sudden noise, the enemy was already swarming.
Arthur did not look back.
Las and bolter fire streaked past him. The twisted heretics lunging forward were erased as fast as fingers could pull triggers.
For those blessed by Chaos to shrug off gunfire, Arthur spoke in a low voice.
"Only victory"
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