Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 792 08.791: "The Results of Training"

Benedict! Benedict!
Two heavy and suppressed knocks on the door echoed at the end of the quiet corridor.

"Colonel Horatio Cochrane, salutations to you! His Excellency General George Anson!"

A steady, powerful male voice with a hint of sharpness that was hard to conceal came from behind the double doors that were carefully crafted from mahogany and oak and engraved with the imperial double-headed eagle emblem.

Then, the heavy door was silently opened from the inside, leaving a gap just big enough for one person to pass through.

Colonel Horatio Cochrane's tall figure appeared in the light and shadow of the porch. He walked into the room with a calm look.

He saw the familiar figure—standing in front of the huge reinforced glass floor-to-ceiling window with his back to the door. Outside the window was the leaden gray sky of Zhongsi Academy and the neatly arranged training ground below.

The man rested his hands on the edge of the large ebony desk, his eyes were closed, veins on his forehead were slightly exposed, and his whole posture revealed a deep fatigue.

The air in the room was filled with the musty smell of old parchment scrolls, a faint aroma of Amasek wine, and a faint scent of metal cleaner.

Compared with four years ago, when Horatio was a "troublemaker student" who was released from the Lower Nest and was not favored by the public at Zhongsi Academy, the scene when he first met the admiral in this office was completely different.

Although Admiral George Anson was old at that time, his eyes were as sharp as an eagle, his spirit was vigorous, and his every move exuded the demeanor of an elderly commander who exuded majesty without even being angry.

At this moment, Admiral George Anson was like a battleship that had been fighting in the endless sea of ​​stars for too long. Although the main structure was still intact, it had already revealed a frightening sign of fatigue.

The once black and white hair color is now almost completely covered by the paleness of frost and snow, with only a few stubborn gray and black remaining at the weather-beaten temples.

The wrinkles on his face were like gullies deeply carved by the plow of time in the weather-beaten land, and each one seemed to carry an unspeakable burden and endless worries.

The knuckles of those hands, which had commanded countless fleets and signed countless life and death orders, were somewhat deformed from years of tightly grasping scepters or weapons. Although the skin looked old and dry, it was still tightly clenched, supporting his head with an almost stubborn strength that seemed like it would droop at any time due to being unable to bear the weight.

[How could a lion that once dominated the Gothic Sector and frightened the enemy become so old in just four years?] Horatio stared at the admiral's slightly hunched back, and an indescribable sense of loss and heaviness welled up in his heart.

As if sensing the visitor's scent, or perhaps breaking free from his brief meditation, Admiral George Anson let out an almost imperceptible sigh. He took a breath slowly, and the air entered his lungs with the unique smell of the office, a mixture of power and dust.

With some difficulty, he straightened his once straight pine-like back and leaned back into the large, worn black leather-covered command chair. The seat made a slight, teeth-grinding friction sound due to his body weight.

Then, he exhaled deeply, as if he wanted to let go of some of the fatigue and pressure accumulated deep in his soul.

"Colonel Cochrane."

The admiral's voice still carried the same strength and majesty as before, but with a hint of imperceptible hoarseness and fatigue, like a huge bell sharpened by stardust.

"I am very happy to see you again. The astral sea is ever-changing. I believe you have gone through unforgettable hardships in the flames of war and gained valuable and rich practical experience in fleet command and the organization and coordination of ground operations."

"Yes, Lord Anson."

Horatio took a step forward, and the heels of his specially made military boots made a slight but clear tapping sound on the hard alloy floor.

"The second Damocles Gulf expedition gave me a deeper understanding and appreciation of the complexity of large-scale fleet coordination, the dueling skills of a single ship in an extreme environment, and the high-risk infiltration raids and tragic port sieges. Those cruel battlefields were full of unknown variables and bloody sacrifices at every moment, but it was also there that I learned how to find opportunities for victory in despair."

He paused for a moment, his eyes sweeping over the mountain of star maps and battle reports on his desk, and continued, "On the harsh planet of Carpathia, in those muddy trenches and dark and depressing tunnels, I fought side by side with the warriors of the Astra Militarum of the Krieg Death Legion, and personally experienced the tenacity and sacrifice of the ground forces under extreme conditions.

These experiences gained at the cost of life have been recorded by me one by one. They are invaluable assets for the future establishment of our Imperial Navy's exclusive forces capable of carrying out high-intensity landing and special operations.

All relevant battle records, tactical summaries, and personal insights are here, please take a look."

Horatio held a thickly bound hardcover notebook in both hands, walked with steady and powerful steps to the large desk of Admiral George Anson, and handed it over respectfully. The cover of the notebook was made of plain black synthetic material without any extra decoration. The corners were a little worn due to countless readings, and exuded a faint smell of gunpowder and sweat.

The admiral nodded slightly but did not immediately reach out to take it.

His one intact eye was as sharp as an eagle's, but it was bloodshot.

The other blind eye is now completely covered by a milky white cataract and has obviously lost its ability to see.

However, it was these nearly blind eyes that seemed to be able to see through people's hearts at this moment, emitting an invisible, heart-pounding majesty and an almost unbearable sense of oppression.

As the principal of Abridar Academy of Loyalty, this slightly terrifying appearance did not weaken his authority. Under his operation, the entire academy was as well-organized as an extremely sophisticated imperial machine, cultivating generation after generation of pillars of talent who were infinitely loyal to the Emperor.

This "terror" that came from countless baptisms of war and the sedimentation of long years has been sublimated into an indisputable and awe-inspiring dignity of an elder with the blessing of his identity as the principal.

"Colonel Horatio Cochrane."

Anson finally spoke, his voice was calm but carried unquestionable weight, like a giant ship breaking through the waves in the sea of ​​stars.

"Recently, I have heard some voices. Some say that eight hundred years after the tragic victory of the Gothic War, our proud Gothic fleet has become an old lion with blunt claws.

Its fangs are no longer sharp, and its roar has lost its former deterrence. It is gradually losing its core position and irreplaceable role in the sacred strategy of the empire. Do you agree with this alarmist statement? "

The old man stretched out his still strong hand covered with age spots and took the heavy war history record condensed with blood and fire from Horatio.

The pages of the notebook were written in a rigorous and meticulous High Gothic standard military font, densely recording the key data, tactical gains and losses, logistical supply conditions, and shocking casualty reports of a Star Legion in a brutal battle.

"Excuse me, sir, but I absolutely do not agree with this!"

Horatio's voice was as decisive as a hammer striking steel, with unshakable faith and heartfelt loyalty.

"The soldiers of the Gothic Fleet, from the highest commander to the most basic gunner, are always on high alert, alert to any potential threats from the subspace rifts and unknown dark star regions!
Every officer and soldier has high morale and determination to win, and is ready to meet any challenge that may come, even when facing the most desperate enemy!

This is not my subjective assumption or empty talk, but a deep understanding from the bottom of my heart after I personally participated in countless life-threatening battles, exchanged with blood and glory! "

He slightly straightened his chest, which had become particularly tough due to his long military career, and continued with a burning gaze, "The officers and soldiers of our fleet are well-trained, highly efficient in combat, and possess strong battlefield initiative and creativity under extreme pressure.

In countless battles in the past, they have relied on their extraordinary wisdom, fearless courage, and infinite loyalty to the Emperor to complete difficult tasks that seemed impossible to succeed in the eyes of others or even in terms of tactical regulations!"

"Well said, Colonel, very well said."

An imperceptible, fleeting arc of approval seemed to pass across Anson's mouth, but it was quickly replaced by deeper worry.

"However, you must remember that once an apple begins to rot from the inside, even just a little bit, the borers will quickly breed and spread. Even if it still looks shiny and delicious on the outside, it will eventually become rotten inside, shrunken and withered."

Admiral George Anson's gaze, like the most sophisticated scanner, slowly scanned the cold words written in standard High Gothic in the notebook, recording the glorious achievements and tragic losses. His turbid eyes were filled with indescribable complex emotions, as deep as the sea of ​​stars itself.

Hearing this, Horatio's heart suddenly shuddered, as if pricked by a cold needle. He keenly grasped the unfinished, heavy meaning in the admiral's words.

It was obvious that this old man, who had devoted his entire life and political resources to promoting the establishment of the Imperial Marine Corps, had already seen through the latest decision of the senior bureaucrats in the Ministry of Military Affairs - to choose the notorious and corrupt planet Sintira as the key source of troops for the formation of the first Imperial Marine Corps.

This decision is tantamount to planting an unknown time bomb in the heart of this new force.

(End of this chapter)