After receiving Dorn's permission, Caesar joyfully gathered all his kin. Six hundred and sixty-six Jokaeros streamed onto the Phalanx in a single file.
However, these Jokaeros kept their promise, deliberately slowing their pace to allow the human soldiers to keep up. Otherwise, they would have long since vanished into the Phalanx's labyrinthine depths, leaving no trace.
Dorn asked with a hint of concern, "Father, won't the Imperium object to us harboring these xenos privately?"
"The Imperium, while conservative, is not ossified. Personally, what I detest most is racism, along with xenos."
The 30K Imperium maintained an enlightened foreign policy, prioritizing peaceful contact with any civilization encountered. According to Imperial classification standards, xenos fell into three categories: weak and non-threatening; strong but low-threat; and both strong and threatening.
Only the last category was slated for extermination. The first two were usually incorporated into the Imperial colonial system. Weak xenos might be protected as rare animals; those strong but low-threat had high value in the Imperium's eyes.
Collaborating with xenos wasn't a major crime. The Emperor had done it too. Not only had He enjoyed Himself in Commorragh, but He also had a murky relationship with Eldrad Ulthran, the greatest Farseer of the Craftworld Aeldar, and together they had formulated a plan for humanity and Eldar to fight Chaos jointly.
The First Legion had little green-cloaked beings; the Thirteenth Legion had the Imperial Consort. Compared to his brothers, the Seventh Legion was merely sheltering some homeless abhumans.
If anyone raised an objection... Audacious! Who dares accuse a Primarch of colluding with xenos? They are the traitors trying to sow discord!
Caelan's assurance eased Dorn's worry, but a trace of doubt still lingered on his brow. "Father, can they truly complete the Phalanx's restoration within a month?"
Although the one-month deadline was his idea, his intention had been for the Jokaeros to bargain. Who knew these abhumans, their late years unknown, would simply agree?
"Let them try. We have nothing to lose." If the Jokaeros could complete the restoration quickly, it would be a godsend. Even if they failed, the situation wouldn't get worse.
Caelan and Dorn had also considered the risk of the Jokaeros seizing control of the Phalanx. Despite constant protection by numerous soldiers, given the Jokaeros' technical level, they could easily tamper with systems without the guards noticing. It was a gamble.
Dorn chose to gamble because he trusted Caelan. And Caelan trusted his own judgment. These Jokaeros gave him an indescribable sense of familiarity, the same feeling he had perceived from the Eldar who had helped rescue Fulgrim.
Moreover, there were only six hundred and sixty-six Jokaeros. Too few to operate the Phalanx, which relied on a large human crew. The Phalanx also housed numerous Inwitan Phalanx Legions, minimizing the risk.
The Inwit Empire's current situation was dire enough. Better to worry about the belligerent Orks than the docile Jokaeros. The arrival of the Jokaeros wouldn't change Dorn's plan; he would still reinforce Reach.
...
"Eugene, how goes the battle for Reach?"
Asked Aubrey Turner, Lord Commander of the 7232nd Expeditionary Fleet.
In the holographic projection, Eugen Love looked somewhat tired. He shook his head slowly. "Not good."
"Thirty standard Terran days ago, Solar General Norman Gutierrez organized an elite kill team to attempt a decapitation strike on the Ork Warboss."
"But the mission failed. The kill team was annihilated. No survivors."
"Since then, the Warboss hasn't reappeared."
"But the Ork assault hasn't weakened in the slightest. Wave after wave of greenskins crash against our lines. We are retreating step by step."
"I will send you the detailed mission report shortly."
Aubrey Turner frowned deeply. "No other fleets answered the call?"
Love answered, "Six fleets in total responded, including a primary fleet of the Seventh Legion. But you are the first to arrive."
Turner said, "Then let's turn the tide!"
"I've brought twenty Auxilia regiments. They will be under your direct command."
"My fleet is estimated to arrive in the Reach's orbit in twelve standard Terran hours. I want you to formulate a detailed battle plan by then."
"Thank you, Aubrey."
Turner raised his right fist and struck his left chest lightly. "For Humanity."
"For the Emperor." Eugen Love returned the salute.
The communication ended. Eugen Love's taut nerves finally relaxed slightly.
Twenty Auxilia regiments. One hundred thousand mortal Auxiliaries. Though not as famous as the Solar Auxilia, they were still elite forces. There were no slackers in the mortal Auxilia; every unit was elite.
Love instructed, "Contact General Gutierrez."
His aide said, "My Lord, communication established."
In the projection, Norman Gutierrez stood at attention, his carapace armor still showing signs of recent battle.
Gutierrez asked, "Lord Commander, your orders?"
"General, reinforcements from the 7232nd Expeditionary Fleet have arrived. Twenty Auxilia regiments are ready for deployment."
"I need you to formulate detailed tactical deployments based on the current defensive line within ten standard Terran hours."
"In twelve Terran hours, the Auxilia will be deployed as a strategic reserve to your most critical sector. Hold the line!"
"Understood, Commander!" Gutierrez struck his chest plate with his right fist. "The Orks on the southern front are massing. We need a new round of orbital bombardment cover. I'll send the coordinates to the fleet shortly."
Love similarly struck his chest with his fist. "We'll enter the Reach orbit in ten minutes. For Humanity!"
"For the Emperor. Until death!"
...
Gutierrez slumped heavily into his command chair, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the holographic tactical map showing the enemy-penetrated defensive lines.
"Camilo, how many men do we have left?"
The chief of staff stepped forward. "The Auxilia are down by more than a third. We have seventy thousand soldiers left, plus four hundred twenty thousand locally raised militia that can be thrown into battle."
The militia, barely trained, served only as cannon fodder. The real main force remained the seventy thousand Auxiliaries.
Gutierrez ordered, "Commit two-thirds of the reserve. Keep only the 17th Regiment as the general reserve. We cannot let the Orks break through!"
"Tell the soldiers, twelve standard Terran hours!"
"Hold fast, and there will be a way!"
"Just hold out for twelve more hours, and twenty Auxilia regiments will be in orbit to support us!"
Gutierrez paused slightly. "Transmit the kill team's final coordinates to the fleet. They will coordinate orbital strikes with us."
Like the Astartes Legions, the early mortal Auxilia were organized according to the Imperial Combat Codex. As the Great Crusade progressed, the 5,000-man regiment proved insufficient for larger conflicts.
A standard mortal Auxilia regiment had a full strength of 120,000, plus several thousand additional staff and logistics personnel. Depending on operational needs, it could be divided into up to one hundred battalion-sized units of 1,200 men each.
Each battalion was divided into twenty Tercio formations, each Tercio into three squads of twenty men. Elite Tercios also had three squads, but of only ten men each, all seasoned veterans. These Tercios also had three affiliated units or armored sections to meet diverse battlefield requirements.
The mortal Auxilia's organizational structure was highly autonomous and flexible, capable of expansion or reorganization based on the tactical situation. Though the Auxilia came from all over the Imperium, their organizational structure was uniform.
Although the Auxilia regiments still used the ancient 5,000-man structure, leading to some command and coordination difficulties, they were still elite among mortal forces. With their support, Gutierrez was confident he could push back the Ork green tide!
But the immediate priority was still to stabilize the line. Their situation wasn't too dire. With reinforcements on the way, now was the time to commit the reserves!
BOOM!
A blinding beam of light descended from the heavens, like a divine judgment sword, striking the Ork massing tens of kilometers behind the defenders' southern line.
The dazzling white light instantly engulfed several square kilometers. Hundreds of thousands of gathered greenskins were vaporized by this devastating orbital strike. The shockwave from the superheated plasma spread in a ring, flinging outer Orks away like dead leaves.
When the light faded, only a glassed crater several kilometers in diameter remained on the blackened earth. Rippling heat haze testified to the terrible power of the orbital strike.
The Imperium generally avoided orbital bombardment; their goal was to reclaim territory, and a world left devastated was worthless. But Reach was just an agri-world; orbital strikes were less destructive. To shore up the defenders' lines, the fleet had to conduct precise orbital strikes to reduce the Orks' terrifying numbers.
...
Thirty veterans of a Tercio advanced in a skirmish line.
Sergeant Avery slowly raised his hand, signaling a concealed advance in tactical hand signals. Sergeant Major Diaz nodded in understanding. The two moved like ghosts through the dense forest, carefully avoiding twigs and leaves that might betray their presence.
Using the undergrowth for cover, they cautiously approached the outskirts of the Ork camp.
Thirty paces away, several greenskins were amusing themselves by hacking at each other with crude choppas. The clang of metal and the Orks' cheerful "WAAAGH!" cries were particularly jarring in the quiet forest.
They were a kill team, operating deep behind enemy lines with the objective of locating the Warboss. They were at least eighty kilometers from the defenders' lines. There would be no reinforcements. Whether they succeeded or failed, their chances of survival were slim.
That was the purpose of a kill team.
"Woof! Woof!"
"WAAAGH! WAAAGH!"
Several Squigs let out piercing howls. These creatures were essentially a blood-filled maw full of jagged teeth on muscular legs, their skin covered in spikes. The fearsome predators were chasing a lone hound, cornering it at the base of an ancient tree.
The hound let out a desperate whimper with its back to the tree trunk. The squigs excitedly circled their prey, viscous drool dripping from their constantly opening and closing jaws.
When a Squig lunged, the hound's whimper was abruptly cut short. The Squig bit into the hound's hind leg, tearing it off with a sickening crunch of bone. The other Squigs swarmed in, pouncing on the hound like starving wolves. Jaws like guillotines crunched its skull, accompanied by chewing sounds.
Ork hounds patrolled the forest. These scout hounds had keen noses, able to smell strange scents from a kilometer away.
In a nearby bush, the veterans held their breath silently.
Their Solar-pattern Void Combat Armor was fully enclosed. It integrated a complete life support system, a multi-functional carapace armor designed for extreme environments. It also incorporated a servo-driven exoskeleton frame, not only supporting the armor's weight but also significantly enhancing the wearer's combat effectiveness. Its seal could protect the wearer in a vacuum and completely block their scent, ensuring concealment.
Though inferior to Astartes power armor, the Solar-pattern Void Combat Armor still represented the most advanced standard equipment available to Imperial mortal forces. The Solar Auxilia, equipped with this armor, were the most elite mortal warriors, second only to the Old Hundred.
But the Old Hundred could hardly be considered mortal. These warriors, who had followed the Emperor from the beginning, boasted a history even older than the Thunder Warriors. Before earning the honor of the Old Hundred, they were known as the Geno Legions.
Every Geno warrior was a gene-enhanced soldier, the prototype for the Thunder Warriors. Though not as powerful as Thunder Warriors, their toughness and strength still far exceeded mortals, and they were more stable and safer than Thunder Warriors.
The Solar Auxilia had no enhancement surgeries; they were pure mortals.
"WAAAGH!"
Squigs patrolled the forest like lions surveying their territory, their grating howls rising and falling.
This noise finally angered a resting Ork. It leaped up with an ear-splitting "WAAAGH!" and brought its rusted choppa down on the nearest Squig. The unfortunate Squig was decapitated on the spot. The others immediately tucked their tails and fled.
The victorious Ork smugly dragged its kill back to camp, roughly throwing the entire Squig corpse into a bubbling pot. The moment the unprocessed Squig hit the pot, hot broth and mushroom chunks splashed everywhere, scattering around the fire.
Several nearby greenskins yelped as they were scalded, provoking even more excited laughter from the others.
"WAAAGH!"
The Ork cook, enraged by the splashing broth, let out a deafening roar. Grabbing the boiling pot, he swung it at the offender's ugly mug. The pot connected with a sickening thud, splashing hot meat broth over both enraged greenskins. The two Orks immediately fell into a brawl, dueling with a rusty choppa and a battered pot.
The surrounding greenskins formed a circle, cheering on the impromptu fight with excited "WAAAGH!" cries. Soon, more Orks with itchy fists joined the fray, the simple fight quickly escalating into a chaotic free-for-all.
The farce would likely continue until the participants were exhausted or someone was killed.
However, the savage revelry was ended by a crimson beam of light.
Smack!
The Ork cook's ugly head vaporized under the precision laser shot. The headless body swayed for a moment and crashed to the ground.
Then, a hail of laser beams screamed from the deep forest, reaping greenskin lives like a scythe of death. Each crimson beam found its target. Some severed Ork arms at the shoulder. Others punched through muscle-bound chests, leaving charred fist-sized holes in their backs.
Within seconds, the Ork patrol was annihilated.
The stench of scorched blood wafted from their mangled corpses, mixing with the humid forest air to form a nauseating smell.
The newly dispersed Squigs caught the scent. They turned hesitantly, but the fear of being chopped kept them fleeing into the forest.
Ork brawls with casualties were common. The Orks killed today would spawn a field of mushrooms tomorrow. In two days, more Orks would emerge from those mushrooms, and the brawling would begin anew!
Diaz lowered his voice. "Sergeant, it's not here."
"No sign of a Warboss, no Nobs, either."
Warbosses were Ork leaders. Nobs were their mid-level officers. Mortal Auxiliaries dealt with these xenos regularly; distinguishing Ork ranks was basic knowledge.
"The last kill team's final signal originated in this area. Even if the target isn't here, it's certainly in this forest. Continue the advance. Maintain concealment."
He made a tactical gesture. The thirty veterans fanned out again, their green-painted armor blending perfectly with the foliage.
"Remember mission priority," Avery emphasized on the squad channel. "Find the Warboss. Mark the coordinates. Get the intelligence back to command."
...
The aide's report was notably urgent, "My Lord, a new warp translation has been detected at the Mandeville Point!"
Love asked, "Which fleet?"
His aide answered, "Scan results show its fleet identification doesn't match Imperial or known Ork vessel signatures."
Love immediately straightened. A fleet neither Imperial nor Ork, the most likely allegiance was the Inwit Empire, which ruled the Inwit Cluster! He had assumed this pocket empire had abandoned Reach. He hadn't expected them to send reinforcements. This immediately biased him in their favor.
"Open all communication channels. Transmit standard identification codes and peaceful contact protocols. Have the diplomatic corps prepare for contact."
...
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