No sooner had one crisis passed than another arose. The joint Imperial-Inwitan defense fleet was stubbornly holding back the Orks, but an Ork landing on Reach seemed inevitable. The Ork force also far exceeded expectations, over a thousand various hulks, carrying hundreds of millions of Orks.
By the overall scale of Ork-kind, this fleet was not large. The largest WAAAGH!s could include millions of vessels, hundreds of billions of Orks, and even Attack Moons. Yet this scale was still beyond the Inwit Empire's ability to withstand alone.
If the Ork fleet reached Reach's orbit and landed all those Orks on the surface, the defenders' lines would likely collapse in an instant.
Dorn's steady voice echoed in the war council chamber, "The fleet will support my boarding action. I will personally lead the assault on the Space Hulk to decapitate the Ork Warboss."
Love's hologram flickered, his voice laced with concern. "My Lord, this is far too risky. We can wait for reinforcements. We have better options."
Dorn ordered, "We have no better options. General Gutierrez, you're responsible for personnel selection. You have six hours."
"As you command, my Lord." General Gutierrez saluted solemnly. Though equally worried, he knew a Primarch's will would not be swayed by mortals.
Love fell silent. They could use a safer tactic, let the Orks land on Reach, then use Exterminatus, wiping out the Ork threat completely. But the cost was too high. Hundreds of thousands of mortal soldiers holding the line, tens of millions of innocent civilians yet to evacuate, all would perish in Exterminatus' flames. Dorn wouldn't accept that. He preferred to take the risk himself.
It wasn't that he couldn't weigh costs and benefits. To the Imperium, a Primarch's value far exceeded a hundred agri-worlds. But humanity isn't cold calculation. Some costs cannot be paid; some lines cannot be crossed.
If today they abandon principles for victory, sacrificing the few for the greater good, what of tomorrow? Exterminatus is the easiest path, the simplest path, but not the only one. Since his brothers hadn't taken it, neither would he. Besides, he wasn't alone. He had his father, and his brother.
Dorn said, "Father and I will board the Space Hulk. Brother, fleet command is yours."
Love's and the other commanders' holograms flickered. 'Brother? The Primarch had a mortal brother?'
Commanded by a Primarch, they gladly accepted. But handing command to an unknown mortal, even on a Primarch's orders, made them uneasy. They trusted the Primarch wouldn't act without reason; his recommendation must be a fine commander. But they were all elite mortals; even if there were differences, they weren't as vast as with a Primarch. Why him?
Due to the Primarch's size and hologram angle, the commanders initially only saw Dorn. Only when the image expanded did they realize another tall figure stood beside him! All breaths were held. A figure as tall as a Primarch, called 'brother' by a Primarch, the implication was clear. But... when had he arrived?
Perturabo said, "I have no fleet command experience. I also lack familiarity with Imperial ship capabilities. I cannot command. Let me board with you."
"Lie."
Dorn stared at Perturabo, his words sharp and merciless. Perturabo was more experienced in the art of speaking, but they knew each other through and through. Perturabo indeed had no command experience, but he had been studying. His theoretical knowledge was solid. He might not know Imperial ships, but he knew the Inwitan fleet well. From that, he could extrapolate; learning Imperial ship capabilities wouldn't take long.
A Primarch is born a commander. Even without experience, theory can be instantly transformed into tactics. 'Paper command' is a mortal's failing. Perturabo was simply worried about him and their father.
This wasn't rational. Father had taught them that a Primarch must be human. But Perturabo was too human. For all three of them to board the Space Hulk was not the right choice. The Hulk was dangerous in itself, its interior completely unknown. Even Father couldn't protect everyone. An accident could kill them all, maximizing the loss.
Love's voice trembled slightly. "My Lord, you... you..."
Perturabo introduced himself, "I am Perturabo, gene-Primarch."
Those few words made every officer hearing them unconsciously straighten. Inwit had two Primarchs. They should have realized! Fulgrim and Sanguinius; Vulkan and Ferrus. The first two pairs had returned together.
The entire Imperium believed the Mentor had acted. But when had Perturabo arrived? If Perturabo had been there from the start, Dorn wouldn't have concealed him. This was no secret. Every commander was the Imperium's most loyal servant, having dedicated their lives and honor to the Master of Mankind. Another Primarch would only strengthen their resolve!
Perturabo suggested, "Then let's do this differently. Father and I will board. You command the fleet."
"This is your world. Your people need you here in command."
Dorn's reply was firm, "They are your people too!"
Caelan said, "You don't have to fight over it. Since it's decapitation, why not let the Warboss come to us?"
The two Primarchs' gazes met, then both looked down at Caelan. A flicker of hesitation crossed Caelan's eyes. "No?"
Perturabo aggreed, "No, it's very good."
The situation on the Hulk was unknown. A decapitation strike was extremely risky. But if the Orks came to them, the situation would reverse. They might still risk decapitation, but at least they wouldn't have to worry about their ship suddenly exploding. On their own ship, they could simultaneously command the fleet and defend against boarders.
Dorn asked, "Which ship should we choose?"
Love was about to volunteer, but Rahn beat him to it, "My Lord, the Phalanx has reached the outer system."
Before leaving Inwit, Dorn had ordered the Phalanx to proceed immediately to the front once repairs were complete. It had taken the Jokaeros only 28 standard Terran days to restore the Phalanx. The Old Ones' reputation was well-deserved!
Dorn's eyes hardened. "The Phalanx it is. How do we lure the Orks to decapitate us?"
Caelan suggested, "Why not a public broadcast? If the Orks are coming for you, they won't refuse the chance to fight you."
Orks crave a good fight. They don't care how it happens or where; they only care if the opponent is worthy.
...
"WAAAGH! Crank dat engine! Loudest! Biggest! Fastest!"
Grakgul kicked a Mek Boy's backside, staring excitedly at the emerald jewel in the void. "She'z so green! So big! So bootiful! Dis planet's got da proppa Orky look."
"Dis world's perfect for us!"
"Dey say dere's endless Ummies and a golden big 'Un!"
The Boyz waved their arms excitedly, eyes shining at the verdant planet. On this vibrant world, Ork spores would grow like wildfire, soon spawning countless Boyz. And there were fighty Ummies and a golden big 'Un waiting, a feast prepared by Gork and Mork themselves!
"Wot do we do wiv dis hunk of junk?"
The Mek Boy scratched his green head, slapping the console, trying to turn off the red warning light. Ork tech, usually only its creator knew how it worked. But the Mek who'd made this thing had gotten too close trying to fix the shield generator and got zapped.
His replacement knew nothing; no manual left. What to do? The Mek Boy looked at the colored buttons on the console. An idea struck him. Red makes it fast. Blue is lucky. Yellow makes it explode. Black has power. Green is Orky. Don't know what to do? Press blue!
"Mork above! Me fink dis'll work!"
The Mek Boy slammed his big wrench on the console.
CRACKLE!
A hologram flickered to life amidst static. Grakgul's eyes held innocent confusion. "Wot's dis junk?"
A communicator? What did Orks need that for? When the golden big 'Un's figure appeared, the bridge erupted. Orks crowded together, waving weapons, roaring "WAAAGH!"
"I am Rogal Dorn, gene-Primarch, bane of Gobjaw. Name yourself, Ork."
Grakgul leaped from his throne of scrap, skulls, and teeth, beating his chest excitedly. "Me is Grakgul! Big 'Un, me likes you!"
"Let's have a proper fight! Gork above, dis'll be da most WAAAGH! fight ever!"
"Come find me. I await you on the Phalanx."
"Only the biggest, greenest, most WAAAGH! Ork may board my ship!"
"DAT'S GOTTA BE ME!" Grakgul waved his arms, but the projection flickered and died. He shouted at the empty space, "BIG 'UN, YA WAIT FER ME! YA GOTTA WAIT FER ME! I'z da biggest, greenest, most WAAAGH! Ork dere iz! Don't go WAAAGH! wiv nobody else!"
Grakgul turned, glaring at the Mek Boy. "Where's da big 'Un?"
"Me don't know." The Mek Boy hid his wrench behind his back, his green face innocent.
"Get da big 'Un back! Me don't know where da Phalanx is!"
The Mek Boy declared confidently, "Da big 'Un's da biggest, most WAAAGH! Ummie! His ship gotta be da biggest, loudest, toughest!"
Grakgul soon found the ship. He looked disgusted. "Gold. Ummie taste in color's awful."
"When me take it, me gonna paint it green!"
....
Dorn turned. "Will they take the bait?"
Caelan said, "It's a cheap trick, but Orks fall for it."
"Orks worship Gork and Mork, and they share their traits."
"Gork is brutal but cunning. Mork is cunning but brutal."
"Orks are both brutal and cunning, cunning and brutal."
Orks aren't brainless. They don't just charge. They have endless inventive ideas; they can be clever tacticians. Most just don't like using their brains.
They prefer a good fight. Their cunning and brutality serve that purpose. Even if they see Dorn's trap, they'll spring it. Why fight Ummies when you can fight something big? Gork and Mork won't bless you for beating up Ummies. They'll only be pleased if you defeat a mighty foe.
Dorn, the golden big 'Un, was the Orks' primary target. As long as he was on the Phalanx, the Orks would swarm, and the Warboss would come himself. They don't care about anything else. And Orks love wonders; even without Dorn, they'd try to take the Phalanx.
Perturabo watched the tactical screen. "They're coming."
The Ork fleet, originally heading for Reach, had turned and was now swarming towards the Phalanx like hyenas on a kill. The Imperial fleet, like agile bees, harried the edges, their lances picking off weak points on Ork ships.
Ork hulks might look like garbage, but they performed well. Their shields rivaled Imperial void shields. They had thicker armor and more guns than comparable Imperial ships. But their aim was atrocious, and they lacked long-range weapons like lances. So, long-range engagements favored the Imperium.
The Imperial fleet wasn't suited for this. Imperial ships are versatile, decent against anyone. But they lack specialization, making them vulnerable to specialized opponents.
Caelan reminded, "Against Orks, you should build ships specialized for long-range fire. When you return to the Imperium, suggest it to the Mechanicum. Used right, you could destroy Ork fleets without loss."
Perturabo nodded, "We'll remember, Father."
Dorn, beaten to the punch, was silent. His brother could be very sneaky.
On the tactical screen, the stalemate continued. The Imperial fleet picked on smaller ships, cruisers on frigates, battleships on cruisers. Very effective. The Orks lost many small vessels. An Imperial cruiser could fire 3-4 lance salvos a minute, enough to destroy an Ork frigate.
Imperial ships occasionally sparked as their void shields overloaded. The Orks had five times their numbers; their sheer volume of fire compensated for poor accuracy. But void shields had a key advantage, as long as the power system wasn't damaged, an overloaded shield could restart in under a minute.
As the battle progressed, the Phalanx closed with the Ork fleet. When the tactical screen flashed a warning that enemy ships were in range, Dorn ordered, "Lock targets. Full salvo!"
Though repairs were less than 10% complete, with less than a tenth of its power, shields, and guns operational, the Phalanx unleashed terrifying firepower. Hundreds of macrocannons and lances fired simultaneously. The searing energy briefly illuminated the entire starfield. In one salvo, twelve Ork capital ships were reduced to space dust, like paper toys.
In that moment, the Phalanx, silent for millennia, showed its true horror, a pinnacle of human technology.
But this didn't deter the Orks; it excited them. The more powerful the Phalanx, the more valuable it was to capture! The Ork fleet's return fire rained down on the Phalanx, but only made ripples on its shields, causing no damage. The Phalanx continued its devastating salvos, each tearing a gaping hole in the Ork fleet, crippling or destroying dozens of capital ships. But the Orks learned. They hid behind the Space Hulk, using it as a shield.
When the range closed for boarding, the Ork fleet erupted.
"WAAAGH!"
Millions of Orks, in various landers and assault boats, swarmed towards the Phalanx like locusts. The craziest tried to use their hulks as battering rams, suicidally crashing into the fortress. But the Imperial fleet, forming a tight screen around the Phalanx, stopped them. Boarding allowed; ramming did not!
The Phalanx's tens of thousands of point-defense guns wove a dense web of death, turning approaching Ork craft to dust. But the Ork assault seemed endless. Despite horrific losses, they broke through. The first wave of thousands of Ork landers slammed into the Phalanx's hulls. Hatches tore open; green tides surged out. They were met by Inwit's most elite phalanx soldiers.
Before restoration began, Dorn had stationed 1.2 million trained warriors on the Phalanx. They were 'country bumpkins' from a pocket empire, their gear inferior to the Auxilia. But they were no less brave!
"For Dorn! For Inwit!"
...
"My Lord!"
The void at the Mandeville Point rippled. A massive primary fleet tore through the Veil, translating from the Warp. The bridge's hologram showed heavy fighting in the system. The captain saluted the armored giant. "We've made contact with the defenders. They are heavily engaged with an Ork fleet!"
The Astartes raised a hand, stopping him. "Skip the briefing. Just tell me, which Primarch?"
...
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