On Planet Five, the command fortress was incredibly noisy. With the central command dais as its core, four major command sectors extended outward.
The command fortress was colossally vast, with data directives and human voices tightly interwoven.
Hundreds of thousands of military orders were issued every second—and that was merely the deployment of legions numbering over ten thousand men. If one factored in logistics allocation and defensive line relocations, the volume of commands reached into the hundreds of millions.
Not to mention, the intelligent computing core processed "rang-level" (Note: a Chinese numeral representing $10^{28}$) computational directives every second, orchestrating the operations of the combat automata and maintaining the functionality of continent-scale fortresses.
"Order the left-flank forces to advance five kilometers, threatening the battlefield in a 'scythe' formation."
Junior sat high upon his anti-gravity command throne, overlaid by the projection of the planetary front line. Pointing his finger at the left flank of the battlefield, he issued directives to hundreds of millions of troops: "Employ radiation missile bombardments to eliminate the xenos forces on the grandest scale, forcing the Rangdan commanders to reinforce."
He raised his arm, projecting light and shadow from his fingertips as he intercepted data from the intelligent computing core, condensing it into an image within his palm.
The Grand Archon was naturally well aware that the Rangdan were reinforcing Planet Eight; the system was densely saturated with auspex arrays belonging to both sides.
Within the J-11 system, any movement in the void theater would be displayed within the command data-links of both factions the very next second.
To pin down the Rangdan legions, Junior proactively launched an attack, compelling the Rangdan headquarters to divert reinforcements to Planet Five.
Though the Rangdan possessed reserves numbering in the hundreds of billions, the effective transport and deployment capacity of their fleet was finite.
Planet Five was of paramount importance. The moment the battle lines there fluctuated, the Rangdan would absolutely abandon reinforcing Planet Eight to maintain the front on Planet Five.
"Ah..."
Junior sighed silently to himself, crushing the holographic projection in his palm and lowering his gaze to the tactical sandbox.
This was a classic strategy of "besieging Wei to rescue Zhao." He was utilizing a compensatory tactic, hoping to pull the Rangdan back and forth.
The Salamanders Legion was ill-suited for this kind of bitter war of attrition. It wasn't that they were weak; rather, their benevolence would become a vulnerability for themselves and even their brother legions in such brutal combat.
The legion best suited for an attritional war was the Imperial Fists.
However, Rogal Dorn had to garrison the outermost perimeter of the Imperium to lock down the flank gate, leaving him unable to extricate himself to join the frontal war.
As the military orders were transmitted via quantum communication, the flow of material on the left flank of the front line suddenly surged, and the offensive preparations were finalized.
The mobilization of human resources and military strength instantly triggered the Rangdan's alarm, causing them to rapidly reinforce the right flank of their front line.
In the war against the Imperium of Man, Planet Five endured the greatest pressure.
The elite cohorts of Nur were exceptionally well-equipped and possessed supreme combat proficiency. They constantly threatened the defensive lines with absolute violence, drawing multi-faceted attention at the slightest movement.
Two days later, the elite cohorts of Nur launched their assault from the left flank, blitzing the Rangdan's right!
Five seconds before the charge resounded, intelligent bombers flew low to the ground, launching an assault under the protection of their shields. They breached the Rangdan lines at the absolute threshold of their shields' interception speed.
"Bomber squadrons, completion rate at five percent."
Inside the command room, the artificial intelligence of the intelligent computing core reported, while real-time battlefield footage materialized.
Tens of thousands of intelligent bombers flew into the enemy ranks. Ninety-five percent were intercepted by anti-air fire, leaving only five percent to complete their mission.
Junior narrowed his eyes. Five percent was more than enough!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Ghastly green radiance flared up, lighting up the artificial atmosphere like an aurora, visible even from orbit.
Contained within the bays of the bombers were lethal gifts—radiation bombs.
Intense radiation detonated instantly. Wherever the ghastly green light swept, the flesh and blood of the xenos army collapsed, dissolving into puddles of putrid meat.
"For Humanity! For the Stars of Nur! For King Nowick!"
Roars of charging soldiers echoed through the communication channels. Miles was the first to leap out of the trench. Shouldering a man-portable nuclear missile, he pulled the trigger on the wailing Rangdan line.
The nuclear missile streaked out, trailing a tail of flame. He tossed aside the launcher tube, hoisted his electromagnetic nail gun, and surged forward.
Behind him followed automatic combat drones in close succession, as the elite cohorts swarmed out of the trenches, pressing forward.
The nuclear missile detonated a kilometer ahead, raising plumes of mushroom clouds, plunging the Rangdan lines into a storm of fire and radiation.
"Radiation levels dissipating... Radiation levels dissipating..."
The notification chimed inside his power armor. The rudimentary internal intelligence quickly gathered battlefield data, displaying it on his enclosed helmet visor.
With see-through radar, real-time vision, and motion trackers working in unison, his vision remained exceptionally clear even amidst the nuclear soot and dust.
Almost purely by instinct, Miles raised his electromagnetic nail gun and pulled the trigger.
Zzzt— Zzzt— Zzzt—
The sound of the electromagnetic nail gun was minimal. As supersonic spikes shot out, the air at the muzzle ruptured, flashing with bursts of sparks.
The alloy steel nails traveled at two thousand meters per second, possessing terrifying destructive power. The airflow and kinetic energy generated by the armor-piercing tips punched gaping holes into the xenos bodies.
With targeting assistance active, the accuracy rate exceeded ninety percent!
The elite legions operated with superb discipline. While the first echelon engaged the enemy, the second echelon pressed forward, then halted to provide cover for subsequent troops.
In a repeating cycle, they utilized alternating cover to rapidly advance.
Projectiles clattered against the surface of his power armor, and the electronic fibers twitched continuously, absorbing the impact of automatic fire.
Though mortal power armor was somewhat thin compared to that of Space Marines, it was more than sufficient to block radiation and ignore small-to-medium caliber automatic fire.
Even when facing large-caliber rifles or a Space Marine's boltgun, it could withstand several direct hits from heavy rounds before the armor plating shattered.
Thud—!
A heavy round blew apart the skull of a nearby shock trooper. Under the cover of an automatic drone, Miles executed a slide, seamlessly ducking into a Rangdan trench.
Stepping into a viscous slurry of flesh and blood, he quickly scanned left and right, using his helmet marker to designate automated turrets and other heavy firepoints for his squadmates.
The Rangdan lines possessed potent firepower, featuring a dense grid of emplacements. Even though the soldiers were dead, the automated guns continued to fire.
The power armor of the shock troopers clattered, and the displays inside their helmets updated the status of their squadmates in real time.
Automated recovery machines had already arrived, dragging corpses or wounded personnel across the battlefield to transport them to the rear for processing.
"Shock troopers, take cover! Missile incoming!"
Hearing the incoming attack warning, Miles disregarded the filth of blood and flesh, quickly crouching low in the trench while commanding several automatic drones to shield him.
He heard heavy footsteps—fast and powerful. A single-pilot mech was sprinting through the fray!
Swoosh—!
The screech of a heavy electromagnetic gun was teeth-gritting. Supersonic projectiles punched holes through the dust and smoke, detonating a Rangdan slave war-wagon.
Immediately following came a rustling sound as dozens of missiles streaked over the trench, flying toward high-priority targets.
Miles saw the external oxygen levels inside his power armor plummet rapidly. With a dull boom, the ambient temperature spiked instantly, and his air filters delivered a nauseating, copper stench.
A thermobaric micro-munition!
Watching the bloody filth boil on the surface of the trench and feeling rhythmic vibrations through his palms, Miles quickly stood up.
A heavy mobile shield was on the move, deflecting incoming fire for friendly forces.
Ultra-massive tracks propelled a steel behemoth forward. Equipped with a dozer blade in front of its shield generator, it plowed through the rubble, burying and leveling the Rangdan trench.
Relying on his rejuvenated body, Miles acted swiftly; he had no desire to be buried alive under the debris of the Rangdan trench.
By the time he climbed out, the area ahead had turned into a sea of fire. Following the thermobaric detonations, nothing remained but the scorched, dried corpses of the xenos.
Looking left and right, shock troopers were surging forward everywhere.
These were true warriors!
Fighting for the survival of their species, fighting to eradicate the xenos! Advancing without fear of life or death.
Compared to a real war like this, what did that past conflict on Pandora even amount to, where a high-tech military was left completely hamstrung by natives using bows, arrows, and wild beasts?
"Squad replacements have arrived. Rejoin the assault formation."
The intelligent notification snapped Miles back to reality. Two comrades closed in, reforming their fireteam.
"Advance," he commanded, ordering the soldiers under his purview to keep moving. "We need to move faster. Don't let others rob us of the honor of being the first to breach."
The three-man cells pressed onward once more. The electronic fibers of their power armor energized rapidly, providing strength to the wearers as they continuously charged forward.
Along the five-kilometer assault route, every inch of soil was soaked in blood, and countless warriors collapsed along the path of the charge.
Under the ferocity of this assault, a butterfly effect was finally triggered. The Rangdan dispatch center on Planet Six halted reinforcements to Planet Seven, turning instead to pour troops into the theater of Planet Five.
The Nur army's offensive was ferocious. While it might carry the suspicion of a pinning action, they had no choice but to deploy reinforcements.
Along the human left-flank assault vector, hundreds of thousands of slaves perished every single second.
The entire front line pushed forward on a massive scale, the offensive intensity skyrocketing dozens of times over, rapidly vaporizing the slave hordes.
"Convey my gratitude to your brother."
In the holographic communication channel, Vulkan's dark countenance was filled with appreciation as he let out a long sigh of relief.
In just two short days, the pressure on his front line had suddenly eased, and the rising casualty rate among the auxiliaries had been curbed.
"I shall convey the regards of his brother to the Primarch," Junior stood on the steps before his command throne, bowing respectfully to the Lord of Drakes.
Vulkan's image raised a hand in a gesture of virtual support, a gentle smile on his face. "In a personal capacity, I express my gratitude to you, Grand Archon Junior."
"Thank you for drawing the Rangdan's attention."
"Be careful from now on." The gentleness faded from his pitch-black features, replaced by an exceptional gravity. "It seems Moribas Solas has arrived."
"I will be careful," Junior replied with equal solemnity. "I will report this to the Primarch."
After bidding each other farewell, both sides severed the holographic link. Junior immediately contacted his genetic father.
Meanwhile, Blazkowicz was a hundred kilometers deep underground, stripped to the waist, swinging a pickaxe to dig a tunnel.