"Ugh..." One of the Helldivers players leaned against the track of a disabled Leman Russ tank, his helmet tossed aside to reveal a face caked in mud and blood. He slowly munched on half a ration bar, his tone heavy with complaint.
"I thought after all that trench warfare and sniping against the Tyranids, we were finally going to have ourselves a big ol' throwdown. Instead, we stop and start digging trenches again. When is this going to end?"
"You call that 'a little while'?" Another player, busy cleaning the barrel of his lasgun, couldn't help but retort. "Dude, do you have amnesia? We went full throttle for a month straight, barely sleeping, and covered over a thousand kilometers! You're still complaining that wasn't a big enough fight?"
"A thousand kilometers, huh?" The complaining player counted on his fingers. "That's not exactly fast, is it? We averaged only 30 kilometers a day, just a bit over a kilometer an hour. That's slower than I can run."
"Are you kidding me right now?!" The player cleaning his gun nearly threw the ration bar. "We're fighting the Tyranids, man, not on a cross-country jog! You think this is a leisurely stroll?!
Didn't you notice the Tyranids were getting shell-shocked by our charge? The last few days of the push, the Xenos' resistance clearly dropped off. Half the time, we just charged straight through—they couldn't even organize an effective defense!"
"Huh, I guess you have a point," the complaining player conceded, scratching the back of his head with a flicker of realization.
"Aw man, so if we stop here, aren't we just giving the Tyranids time to get back on their feet? Does that mean we won't have any action for a few days? That would be such a buzzkill."
A fully armed squad of Astartes, on their way to construct the defensive line, happened to overhear the Helldivers' conversation. Their steps were heavy and disciplined, yet agile.
Through his helmet's comm channel, one Space Marine quietly murmured to his battle-brother, "The Helldivers truly live and breathe war. It's no wonder they ultimately succeeded on Perditia against the Orks, Chaos, and Dark Eldar."
"I can sense their joy; they thrive on conflict," another Space Marine agreed. "To them, whether they kill the enemy or the enemy kills them, it's no big deal. As they say, one kill is breaking even, two is gravy."
"Watch your tongue, brother," the Ultramarines Squad Leader, whose helmet bore the markings of his company and rank, warned sternly.
"It is best not to casually judge our allies behind their backs. They are not merely bloodthirsty fanatics. When Plantidium was destroyed early on, I saw genuine regret in many of the Helldivers.
Their combat will stems from their piety to the Emperor and loyalty to Humanity; the expression of that faith is merely... different."
"My apologies, Captain," the first Space Marine replied, a note of self-correction in his voice. "It is just that the Helldivers are so incredibly resilient.
Their sheer hunger for battle caused me a moment of indiscretion. Perhaps this is merely another extreme manifestation of mortal faith."
In that fleeting moment of strange tranquility, the ground suddenly began to tremble. In the distance, the horizon—previously shrouded only in a lead-gray cloud cover—was now overtaken by a colossal, rolling purple spore cloud.
The mist billowed like a living thing, rapidly spreading toward the human lines, dimly revealing the indistinct outlines of countless Xenos within.
"Alert! All hands to battle stations! Massive Tyranid counter-attack!" A piercing alarm instantly shattered all complaints and casual chatter across the temporary perimeter.
The two players who had just been complaining about "no fighting" instantly sprang into action. They slammed their helmets on, grabbed their weapons, and a look of pure ecstasy bloomed on their faces.
"Holy cow! We've got a fight!"
"Hahaha, I knew the Tyranids wouldn't let us down!"
They screamed in excitement, adrenaline spiking. For them, battle was the best reward, and death was merely a brief pit stop.
The Astartes' reaction, however, was completely different. They swiftly moved into position, bolters chambered, the joints of their Power Armor whining softly. Yet, a strong sense of suspicion welled up in their minds.
They knew what the two Helldivers had been talking about—it was no secret that the Tyranids were struggling to organize effective defenses against the prolonged human assault. Resistance had notably weakened in the final days of the push.
So why, the moment the humans stopped, had the Tyranids launched such a massive counter-attack, almost as if it had been planned all along? It just didn't add up.
The Ultramarines Captain, the moment he heard the alarm and saw the surging tide of Xenos, was the first to put two and two together.
His voice, though his expression was hidden, carried the heavy weight of realization over the comms channel:
"No wonder we met with such light resistance in the final days..."
His voice was clear in the ears of his squad members.
"The Tyranids realized that any force they hastily threw together couldn't withstand our concentrated spearhead. So, they deliberately gave up those sectors, put up token resistance, and used the ground to buy time.
They've been consolidating the swarms we scattered, regrouping their forces further back. They control most of the planet anyway; they have all the strategic depth they need to amass a new army."
At this revelation, the other Astartes instantly grasped the truth. Their minds flashed back to those "easy" breakthroughs, the casually abandoned Tyranids, and the seemingly "lame" resistance.
It wasn't that the Tyranids were burnt out; they were consciously luring the humans deeper, preparing a devastating counter-punch in the rear!
A mix of terror and profound relief washed over every Space Marine.
They stopped, and the Tyranids immediately counter-attacked. This clearly meant the Tyranid swarms were nearly fully organized and combat-ready.
Had the High Command not made the call to halt the advance, and had they continued to push forward—with the Helldivers' armor capacity nearly exhausted and the supply lines stretched to their absolute limit—the Tyranids' premeditated strike could have thrown the human forces back a considerable distance, or even led to their total annihilation!
"The Emperor protects..." an Astartes whispered.
"All personnel, take your designated positions!" The Ultramarines Captain ordered, his voice laced with icy determination. "They brought the fight to us. Now, let these Xenos bugs taste the steel of our defensive line!"