Orks love a strong enemy. They showed particular enthusiasm for the 'tin cans,' roaring and swarming from all sides, trying to overwhelm the Astartes with sheer numbers. But besides the Nobs, the Boyz were no match for an Astartes.
Sigismund personally led an elite squad. His power sword crackled, beheading two Nobs with a single stroke. His brothers, with perfect tactical coordination, reaped Ork lives, their bolters and chainswords carving a bloody path through the green tide.
"Don't get bogged down! To the Primarch's side!" Apius shouted over the comm.
A tide of Orks lay between them and the Primarch, but the Imperial Fists fought through with fearless courage. Yet when they finally broke through to the main battle, it was nearly over. They only saw the Warboss's massive body crash to the floor.
Seeing the two blood-soaked giants, the Imperial Fists fell into stunned silence. They could clearly identify their gene-father, a blood-deep connection etched in their genes. Every scar on his armor seemed to tell of the battle's ferocity.
The Primarch's sword still dripped Ork blood. Shame gnawed at them. They should have been the first to their Primarch's side. Instead, they were late. When their gene-father faced a mighty foe, it was the War-Born, not the Imperial Fists, who fought beside him. They had failed their Primarch, failed their own honor!
CLANG!
When Dorn turned to them, the warriors knelt in unison, a single metallic sound. Apius bowed his proud head, lacking even the courage to meet his Primarch's gaze.
Dorn's gaze swept over every Imperial Fist. "The fight is not over. Rise, my sons. Fight beside me."
The Imperial Fists rose, but shame still lingered in their helmeted eyes.
Dorn asked, "Who is your commander?"
Apius stepped forward, fist to chest. "I am Weapons Master Smith Apius, my Lord."
Dorn ordered, "Apius. Gage. Take your warriors and support the other sectors. Clear the Phalanx of remaining Orks."
"As you command, my Lord." Apius and Gage both struck their chests.
Now, the Phalanx had nearly twenty thousand Astartes from the War-Born and the Imperial Fists. Despite the Orks' numbers, leaderless, they quickly fell into chaos. Their berserk instincts replaced any tactical coordination, leaving only scattered charges and eager infighting.
The Astartes, in small units, coordinated with the mortals, interweaving through the Phalanx's corridors, dividing and encircling the remaining Orks. The Orks, leaderless, still fought on, but their resistance was disorganized. Corpses piled high; blood formed sticky streams on the floor.
With the last Orks cleared, the brutal boarding action finally ended. But in the void, a second, larger Ork fleet approached. The Imperial fleet had just fought one battle; the next was already upon them. The war was far from over. But Imperial reinforcements were coming.
Love's voice trembled with excitement over the hologram. "My Lord, the 8th Expeditionary Fleet has translated into the system. Also, forty-three secondary fleets. They request contact!"
"I am Primarch Perturabo. On behalf of my brother Rogal Dorn and myself, I offer our highest gratitude for your aid."
"In the name of the Primarchs, I am assuming temporary command of the combined fleet."
"My orders, All units, adjust course! Full speed to support the Imperial Fists and the War-Born!"
"Once the Ork invaders are destroyed, my brother and I will personally receive the heroes of the Imperium on the Phalanx!"
The Primarch's stirring declaration was met with unprecedented enthusiasm. Every commander was thrilled. The Imperium was vast. For most Lord Commanders, meeting a Primarch was an unattainable honor. Now, that once-in-a-lifetime chance was before them, earn glory in an epic battle, then meet a gene-Primarch. All the good fortune in the world seemed to be theirs!
On the tactical star chart, dozens of blue identification signals gathered in the void. Each secondary fleet had at least five cruisers; each primary fleet had nearly a hundred capital ships. When assembled, over three hundred capital ships and more than a thousand escorts spread across the void like a giant net, sweeping towards the Ork fleet. Adding the already engaged ships, numerically, the combined fleet nearly matched the Orks.
This was thanks to the Imperium's immense war potential. The Imperium is not perfect; it has many flaws, that's an objective fact. But weakness is not among them. The root of the problem is the Imperium's vast, galaxy-spanning territory. It is simply too large! Each Expeditionary Fleet is a front; the Imperium maintains tens of thousands simultaneously. Internally, hundreds of sectors, tens of thousands of worlds, need fleet defense and patrol.
This strains logistics and deployment. Vast strategic depth forces fleet dispersal, indirectly causing occasional local numerical disadvantage. But once the Imperium concentrates, its fleet can crush any enemy. And this was far from the Imperium's limit. More fleets were converging on Reach!
The Segmentum Tempestus alone had at least a hundred primary expeditionary fleets and over two thousand secondary fleets, exploring the vast galaxy. Even with astronomical distances limiting response to only local fleets, they could still assemble at least two hundred expeditionary fleets, ten primary fleets!
Since the Great Crusade began, this was arguably the first time the Imperium had assembled such a vast fleet in a single system. Before such power, the Ork fleet seemed insignificant. Before this steel tide of dozens of fleets, the once-menacing Ork fleet suddenly appeared overmatched. When the Imperial fleet completed its tactical encirclement, achieving numerical superiority, each macro-cannon and lance salvo was a death scythe, reaping hundreds of Ork ships, leaving gaping holes. With multiple such salvos, the greenskin fleet that had once threatened Reach would be completely annihilated. Before absolute power, even tactics seemed superfluous.
Perturabo stared at the tactical star chart, dotted with countless Imperial icons, and murmured, "So this is the Imperium of Man?"
Not long ago, he was hand-crafting tanks on Olympia. Now, he commanded thousands of warships in a grand void battle. Even for a gene-Primarch, this was a marvelous experience. Caelan had described the Imperium's power to him countless times, but only now, with dozens of fleets assembled by a single astropathic message, with thousands of warships aiming their guns at the enemy, did he truly understand the meaning behind those numbers.
Just as a mortal cannot understand the thrill of battle through film, only real combat matters. Only witnessing the Imperial fleet's assembly made one grasp the Imperium's terrifying scale.
Caelan's gaze held expectation. "Under your leadership, the Imperium will become even stronger."
Dorn asked, "Father, is that your promise?"
"Even if it is, isn't that a promise you should be making to me?"
Perturabo said, "If that is your expectation, then I promise, I will build for you a stronger, more prosperous Imperium! Humanity will achieve unprecedented glory!"
Dorn nodded, "Same for me."
Caelan shook his head. "Not my Imperium. Humanity's Imperium."
Equality for all exists only in utopias. But at least the Imperium can shelter mortals in this cruel galaxy. Mortals are the teeming multitudes.
Perturabo said, "Whatever you desire, I will obtain it for you."
"Same for me."
Dorn was not good with words, but he felt his brother was right. He merely needed to agree.
The battle was nearing its end. Only a few Ork ships remained in the void, the most problematic being the three massive Space Hulks. These conglomerations of space debris were as large as moons; conventional macro-cannon and lance fire couldn't kill them. Facing such troublesome targets, the Imperial fleet used an unconventional but more efficient method, first, concentrating firepower to destroy the Hulks' engines, then dozens of vortex torpedoes. These deadly weapons tore Warp rifts in reality, swallowing the Hulks and their Ork crews, erasing them from existence.
The Imperial commanders had no desire to linger. Rather than waste time on Space Hulks, they were desperate to reach the Phalanx and meet the two legendary Primarchs! Soon after the battle, dozens of Lord Commanders and Astartes officers from the primary fleets all hurried to the Phalanx on shuttles.
The Phalanx's damage from the void battle was negligible, but its decks and corridors showed signs of fierce fighting. Millions of Ork corpses lay in piles. Left alone, spores would feed on them, growing mushrooms. Inwitan phalanx soldiers moved through compartments, pressure-washing coagulated blood and pushing piles of greenskin corpses towards airlocks. Each opening hurled tons of remains into the cold void.
This was the scene that greeted the fleet commanders as they walked the Phalanx's blood-stained corridors.
Perturabo chose the grand domed council chamber to receive the expeditionary fleet representatives. Entering with awe, the commanders were surprised to find a seemingly ordinary mortal on the dais, while the two Primarchs stood like loyal guards on either side. But this unexpected scene drew no objection. All had heard of the Master's legendary deeds. The Primarchs' returns were all thanks to his guidance. Besides, if the Primarchs themselves served him, who were they to object?
"My Lords!" They knelt, offering their highest respect.
Perturabo raised a hand. "You are all heroes of the Imperium. No need for ceremony. Please be seated."
The Primarch's praise made the mortal commanders involuntarily puff out their chests. Only a few Astartes remained kneeling, their heads bowed. When Perturabo walked towards them and stopped, one warrior spoke bitterly, "My Lord, we were late."
Perturabo said, "Warrior, tell me your name."
"Cadmo Frex."
"Then rise, my son."
Perturabo took Frex's shoulder guards. "Do not be ashamed. No one blames you. If you wish to atone, then find my homeworld. Before anyone else."
Frex's breath hitched. "My Lord, I... I don't understand."
Perturabo clarified, "Inwit is my brother's homeworld. Mine is in the Segmentum Ultima. Olympia."
"And she is in danger. I need you, my sons!"
Frex's mind went blank, not with joy, but with urgency. Only one thought remained, the Primarch's homeworld was in danger! He nearly ordered his fleet to leave immediately, but the Primarch's presence stopped him. What made it worse, he didn't know where Olympia was. The Segmentum Ultima was the galaxy's largest. How could he find one world among so many?
When all commanders were seated, Perturabo began, "First, allow my brother and me to reiterate our sincere thanks for your reinforcement."
The mortal commanders swelled with pride. A Primarch's praise was the highest honor for a mortal, second only to the Emperor himself. But the Astartes showed mixed feelings.
The hologram showed the Imperial fleet's deployment, three primary expeditionary fleets, like three swords, guarding the Phalanx; forty-five secondary fleets scattered around like stars around a moon. The three primary fleets belonged to the War-Born, the Imperial Fists, and the 4th Legion.
The 4th Legion's fleet arrived after the fighting on the Phalanx had ended. They had only participated in the final mop-up. Such meager honor did little to wash away their shame at failing to protect the Primarch. The Imperial Fists' situation was also awkward. Though they'd arrived for the Phalanx's final battle, they hadn't fought beside their Primarch.
Vosotho's gaze lingered on the War-Born's insignia, then he bowed his head. The two Primarchs belonged to the 4th and 7th Legions, not the 13th. The War-Born had been first to reinforce the Primarchs; they'd earned more honor than the Primarchs' own Legions. The 13th had not wasted its journey, but Vosotho's eyes still held a lingering sense of loss. Other Primarchs had returned. Where was theirs?
The mortals shared the same honor. But the Astartes' bitterness was personal.
Caelan said, "Frex."
"My Lord." The Astartes bowed. His reverence for the Master matched his loyalty to his gene-father. Though the Master rarely appeared in public, his contribution to the Imperium was second only to the Emperor.
"Find Konrad and Mortarion. Have them calculate Olympia's coordinates."
Apius had already confessed how they found Dorn. If prophecy and numerology worked, finding Olympia shouldn't be hard.
Frex's head shot up, face bright with joy. Beside him, Vosotho was visibly startled, then stared at Caelan with childlike longing. And me?
Caelan read his mind. "You cannot go."
Vosotho's head fell. The Emperor had forbidden Legions to search for their Primarchs. With the 13th's still absent, they shouldn't seek him. Then Caelan's tone changed, "Go to Nuceria. Find Angron. Have him arrange expeditionary duties for you in the Segmentum Ultima."
'Lord Angron?' Vosotho's spirits lifted. 'The Mentor's guidance was never random. Did this mean their Primarch's homeworld was near Nuceria?'
Perturabo kept a straight face. 'Father doted on his 'grandchildren' too much. Was this favoritism?'
At least Caelan didn't elaborate. These clues were enough as rewards for the two Legions. The Imperial Fists had Dorn; they needed no other reward.
As Caelan finished, Dorn spoke, "You are all heroes of the Imperium. I will remember the honor you brought here today."
"But this is no time for celebration. A full Ork empire lies outside the Inwit Cluster. The fleet we destroyed was just the vanguard. My homeworld is still under threat. Greater challenges await."
"We must immediately prepare for the next phase of operations."
"This concerns not only Reach's safety, but the survival of Inwit itself."
"I order all fleets to begin combat repairs. Dispatch reconnaissance fleets to comprehensively explore surrounding sectors. Find the Ork empire."
Perturabo glanced at Dorn, a hint of helplessness in his eyes. Who asked you? What would Dorn do without him and Father?
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