Emperor's Bane

Chapter 918 The Day the War Begins (24)

"Do you remember clearly?"

"Of course: who would forget that war?"

"That's not the Book of Revelation, but it won't be too far off."

“I remember it very clearly. The Pocket Empire that we were going to attack was a formidable enemy. Even during the Great Crusade, I rarely encountered an opponent of its caliber. It possessed territories spanning several star sectors, a fleet more powerful than ours, and abundant resources enough to fight until the end of the world. According to the rules of the Great Crusade, an opponent of this caliber should be left to the Astartes Legion to deal with.”

"Even so, it would take the combined efforts of several legions to completely subdue this enemy."

"But Terra was unwilling to do so."

Pickman picked up the conversation at just the right moment.

"At that time, it was after the Badab crisis that Terra began to feel the threat from the Primarchs. The High Lords were eager to prove to the whole galaxy that even without the help of the Legion, the Holy Terra and the mortal armies alone could defeat the most powerful enemy in the galaxy."

"Therefore, they willingly watched two thousand warships go to their deaths."

Asir put down his cup and spat.

"Damn political battle."

"I remember that battle lasted a long time, two years?"

"Three years and eight months: and for the first thirty months there was no progress at all."

Pickman's descriptions are always more accurate.

“I remember it very clearly. My fleet and I took it at the end of the thirty-first month. At that time, the lords and generals were already considering retreating or requesting more reinforcements?”

"I support the retreat."

Asir readily admitted it.

"At the time, I thought this battle was incredibly stupid, and we had no hope of winning."

“Until you, Pickman, a mere captain, took your fleet for a spin at the front, fought a few insignificant skirmishes, and then dared to take your plan and convince your superior to bring you before those lords and admirals: you know what? I was there, and I thought you were absolutely insane.”

“I think the lords and generals think so too.”

Pickman smiled.

"That's what they were thinking at the time, but they still decided to listen to your idea: as a last resort."

"And then you convinced all of us, and in just fifteen fucking minutes."

At this point, the admiral suddenly burst into laughter at the absurd truth in his own memory.

“Do you know what? When we followed your idea and the loophole you found, and broke through the defense line that we had been working on for thirty months in just three to five days, I thought we were incredibly stupid: you were the veteran who had fought the whole expedition. We were the rookies who had served for less than twenty years.”

"Actually, I've always found it strange."

The chief of staff stroked his chin.

"I think that loophole is quite obvious, and my tactics aren't particularly outstanding, so why didn't anyone think of it?"

"Geniuses always have this problem."

The admiral said to his chief of staff the words he had said countless times.

"And you, you are a genius, Pickman: you are the most brilliant genius I have ever seen."

"You were born to be an admiral."

“You should be a lord general, a supreme general, or even sit in the chair of a high lord: you have the talent.”

"I'll assume for now that you're really praising me."

Pickman was calm: but his calmness was more like a kind of detachment after despair.

"After all, I am only a lieutenant general now, not a general, much less a lord general or a supreme general."

"Moreover, barring any unforeseen circumstances, I don't think I'll ever become an admiral in my lifetime."

"After all, I was exiled here by Holy Terra just like you, wasn't I?"

"..."

The chief of staff's smile was bitter, sounding more like a self-deprecating joke about his situation, but the same words received a serious response from Asir.

There was another sigh.

“Listen, Pickman, I’ve said it many times.”

“And I will say it again.”

That failure was not your fault.

"You were just a temporary reinforcement, and your suggestions were proven to be absolutely correct in hindsight. It was that idiot above you who refused to take your correct advice and insisted on going it alone. As a result, he not only destroyed the entire fleet and the entire victory, but also lost his own life. God knows why that idiot became a senior admiral."

"It's probably because he shares the same surname as the Imperial Supreme Admiral in the High Lord Council, and also shares the same one-eighth of his bloodline."

Pickman shook his head and poured himself a glass of wine.

"Moreover, someone has to be held responsible for a major defeat and the death of a senior general."

"And the wrath of an entire naval elite family."

At this point, the chief of staff laughed and began to comfort his former superior.

"Don't be so sad, General."

"Think about it, before they decided to bench me here, they at least promoted me from major general to lieutenant general."

"Although that was more than a decade ago."

"Yes."

Asir snorted in annoyance.

"Thank you for reminding me, that made me think of it."

"Before those holy Terra bastards kicked me to this godforsaken place, they even confiscated my position as a high-ranking general."

"After all, your reasons and mine are different."

Pickman squinted.

"You didn't make a mistake: you were sent to this wretched place just to avoid suspicion?"

"Yes, to avoid suspicion."

Ashier sullenly grabbed his glass and downed it in one gulp, wasting the fine wine.

"After all, the relationship between Terra and the Warmasters became increasingly tense after the Emperor left. The Highlords simply regarded the Wolf God as their future rival. And just at this time, they suddenly discovered that there was an unlucky guy on the list of promotions to high-ranking general who was born in Kr'thunia, the homeland of Horus and Shadowmoon Wolves. Moreover, this person is now seeking the position of Sun Admiral who can command the entire Holy Terra fleet."

"Then they brought you here: even though you've never known anything about Horus."

“I’ve never even seen him: I’ve only caught a glimpse of him from afar on Ulano.”

"The day after he was taken away by the Emperor, I joined the Imperial Navy."

Asir sighed.

"Throughout the entire Great Expedition, I only cooperated with the Shadowmoon Wolves three times: God knows it would turn out like this."

After saying that, he started drinking again, but this time, instead of savoring it slowly, he seemed to be getting drunk.

Even so, some deeply ingrained biological clocks still faithfully reminded the admiral.

"It's strange."

Asir muttered something.

"I remember that at this time of year, shouldn't the communications room have sent me a daily report?"

"What? You really have no information to report today?"

"Perhaps something has gone wrong: I'll send someone over to take a look later."

Pickman blinked more than usual and enthusiastically poured Asir another full glass.

“But don’t be too sad, sir.” He picked up where he left off.

"Putting everything else aside, if you hadn't come to the Belis Coronary District first and established yourself, I'd probably be unemployed at home right now."

"It was you who took the initiative to suggest to Terra that I be transferred to your office as chief of staff, allowing me to continue staying in the Navy: I will always remember this kindness."

"There's no such thing as gratitude or not."

Asir waited contentedly for his chief of staff to pour him a full glass of wine, enjoying the simple pleasure any father would appreciate, even though the two men were not actually related by blood. The admiral had long regarded his chief of staff as his son, as the heir to his wealth and life's work: although it was hard to say whether this semi-exile position truly constituted a work.

"Ultimately, I just don't want to see a genius wasted by them."

"And I happen to still have some power: those high lords also know that this is not your fault."

The admiral picked up his glass and took a small sip.

"Besides, it's also to satisfy my little hobby: you know."

"Of course I know."

The chief of staff watched silently as glass after glass of fine wine was poured into the admiral's stomach, while he himself hardly touched a drop.

"Everyone in the base knows."

"General Asir is a stamp collector."

"But what he collected was not stamps: he collected every genius that delighted him."

“You’re the best I have, Pickman.”

The admiral made no secret of this.

"Not just you, but also the Political Department, Logistics Department, Equipment Department, and all the offices under the Command, as well as the command headquarters of each fleet, the coastal defense forces, service forces, engineering forces, and communications forces, even the armed riot squads, medical departments, and various fortresses stationed abroad: almost all the leaders and subordinates here are geniuses."

"And you are the most talented."

"Maybe: but in essence, I'm not really any different from them."

Pickman nodded, his gaze somewhat gloomy.

"We've all lost our future, abandoned here to die by the High Lords of Holy Terra, haven't we?"

"..."

The admiral remained silent.

Because that is indeed the truth.

This is also the most distinctive feature of the Belize Coronary Zone base.

Since Admiral Asir was kicked out of the main force of the Imperial Navy by the Terra High Lords because of his identity as a native of Ksenia, and came to this remote port area to become a local tyrant, collecting geniuses from the outside world has become one of the few pastimes for the admiral.

But it's obvious that no promising genius would willingly come to work in this godforsaken place; that would be tantamount to murdering their military career. So, the admiral had no choice but to take a different approach: he began to pay close attention to those geniuses who had been forced to retire or sidelined by higher-ups due to mistakes or bad luck, and he would actively bring these people to his base.

While this behavior may sound like going against the will of Divine Terra, the reality is far from it.

After all, Admiral Asir was not sent to this semi-exile post as punishment, but merely as discrimination due to his background. In addition, he had indeed accumulated a wealth of connections during the Great Expedition, with colleagues and predecessors throughout the naval system. Therefore, the high lords mostly turned a blind eye to his behavior.

Furthermore, the high lords also knew that a considerable number of the "criminals" were indeed wronged. Although these people had been sentenced to no promotion due to political reasons and other shady dealings, sending them to an insignificant naval base to make the most of their remaining time was a good thing that could be considered as increasing revenue and reducing expenditure.

Life is the emperor's currency: but as everyone knows, employees cannot squander the boss's money.

This sounds incredible: but the Imperial Navy has never lacked geniuses.

Geniuses in the conventional sense emerge like a geyser every year, with thousands or even tens of thousands of new naval officer candidates. Or rather, being able to stand out from a whole world of potential competitors, successfully graduate from a brutally selected military academy, and stand on the top deck of a warship is something only geniuses can achieve.

Before joining naval academies, every graduating student is a peerless genius in their own world.

This is why neither the High Lords nor the Navy place too much importance on so-called geniuses: the number of geniuses who die each year due to war or disaster is more than the number of stars that the human empire can control. Before these geniuses can truly realize their talents and become powerful figures, they are nothing more than a resource that can be consumed or even squandered, and they have no special value whatsoever.

In other words, even a trivial political maneuver between two elderly admirals can affect hundreds or thousands of high-ranking officers and geniuses, tarnishing their futures or even leading to their expulsion from the navy. There are many such unfortunate individuals among the admirals' subordinates, the most outstanding of whom was recognized for his exceptional talent and was originally considered a promising candidate to become a high-ranking admiral.

Now, the guy who was almost forced to retire is the commander of the port armed forces under Asir: this is the sharp blade the admiral points inward, stationed only 500 meters away from the headquarters, equipped with the best combat equipment in the entire naval port, and always guarded by tens of thousands of experienced veterans of the Great Expedition.

The duty of this unit is to suppress sailors' riots or even mutinies in naval ports. Such incidents are not uncommon. The armed forces are the admiral's last resort to use an iron fist to suppress the soldiers on the ships whose minds are often not working properly due to too long a period of subspace travel.

There was no other way: the Belis Crown District wasn't important enough for a squad of Astartes warriors to be stationed there.

Although this place is actually quite dangerous.

Conversely, this also granted the Navy near-dictatorial power. In this base, and even throughout the entire sector, he was the undisputed overlord. He could generously bestow the most important positions upon those who had been nominally expelled from the Imperial Navy long ago, and he could use various means to evade the inquiries from Holy Terra and the increasingly frequent investigation teams in recent years.

It's ridiculous that these officers and experts from the capital, instead of inspecting the increasingly tense front lines, are deliberately causing trouble for these disillusioned people.

Fortunately, just like any small matter he delegated to his chief of staff, Pickman always managed to get rid of these investigators unscathed: after having more than a dozen successful cases, the recent delegations sent by the High Lords themselves, which the admiral was too lazy to entertain, were all handled by Pickman.

He's getting a bit old: too old to take care of such delicate things anymore.

As for rejuvenation surgery?

He'd already done it once, and frankly, he didn't really want to do it a second time: there weren't any new goals for the general to strive for for decades to come.

This is the current state of the Belize Coronary Zone base.

A listless and unambitious naval admiral, and a large group of fallen geniuses who were gathered by the navy out of his personal preferences and their own inevitabilities.

Perhaps they made mistakes they shouldn't have made during a war, or perhaps they simply affected the mood of a high-ranking figure on Terra. Or perhaps it was a conflict of interest that had nothing to do with them personally, or even worse, they were simply scapegoats for the failure of a high-ranking figure: every high-ranking officer in this base has a similar story. They are all people abandoned by Holy Terra.

"Just like the base itself."

The admiral shook the empty bottle, his slightly tipsy face reflected in the heavy glass.

"Nobody cares about us."

“Our ranking in the supply sequence is even behind Fenris’s legal department.”

"Fenris has a legal department?"

"This is where the problem lies."

Asir yawned, and he began to feel a little dizzy.

"Actually, deep down, I do like this place a little bit."

"Did you know that in the early decades of the Great Crusade, the Belis Corona was a very important large naval port? I served here for a while and saw it built with my own eyes: at that time, the Belis Corona was a necessary route for the expedition northward from Terra. The fleets of the Emperor and the Primarchs had all docked here, and most of the advanced equipment was built during that period."

"Later, as the Great Expedition progressed, this place became a major rear area, transforming from a frontline base into a transit station in the rear, its status declining again and again. When Terra kicked me to this godforsaken place, I realized that the equipment and infrastructure here were no different from when I served here before. The only advantage was that it retained the status and structure of a large naval port from back then."

"No matter what, this is a major naval port."

"I see."

The chief of staff nodded.

"Is this why we've always had a large fleet that's not quite commensurate with our status?"

"You think our fleet is too large?"

"Compared to public security work, it is indeed quite significant."

"That's true."

As he spoke, the admiral looked out the window.

What he loved most about his office was that he could see the fleet in the port at any time.

That is the source of power.

Although a significant portion of the fleet had departed just a few days prior to carry out patrol and security duties, the remaining fleet anchored in the naval port remains a formidable force: hundreds of massive warships resemble ancient beasts slumbering in space, their densely packed cannons and gleaming scars of honor, polished through repeated cleaning, sending chills down the spines of every observer. Even the most insignificant of these corvettes is a sight to behold, requiring even a land behemoth like the Titan to look up in awe.

Standing before them, even an illiterate person would understand a simple truth.

Compared to the navy, the army will always be a bunch of tiny little guys.

The greatest achievement of those pathetic army idiots in their lives was nothing more than dealing with the remnants of defeated soldiers that the great navy fleet couldn't be bothered with.

Even more so, the Astartes Legion, which is like the angels of the emperor and requires everyone to look up to them, is pale in comparison to the absolute power wielded by the space fleet.

The greatest Astartes warrior might boast that he could slay any enemy, lead an army to destroy a knight, or even devise a plan to take down a Titan; but even the most audacious of the Astartes would never dare to claim that he could challenge a warship, let alone an entire fleet of steel destroyers.

(End of this chapter)