I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 252 Rest Between Two Wars
With a hoarse scraping sound like an old man's violent cough, a heavily armored Leman Rustank slowly came to a stop. The roar of its engine gradually subsided, until only the hissing of steam from the vents remained.

The players clinging to the tanks jumped down swiftly and skillfully. An Astartes technical sergeant in power armor, his shoulder insignia emblazoned with gears and skulls, stepped forward with the accompanying technical priest and immediately began repairs. They wielded various strange tools, sparks from holy oil and plasma welding flashing in the dim light. Clearly, this wasn't the first time this had happened; everyone was adept at it.

The crew members opened the tank hatch, poked their oil-covered heads out, and asked anxiously, "How is it? Can it still move?"

The mechanic player in charge of the main diagnosis, his right arm, now replaced by a mechanical prosthetic, was entangled in cables. He slowly shook his head, his voice sounding somewhat stiff through the vocal cord modifier in his throat: "The situation is not optimistic. The engine spindle is severely worn, and the transmission system has been operating under overload for far too long. Even if it's repaired now, I estimate it can only go a few dozen kilometers further, and it could be completely scrapped at any time."

He paused, looked around at the lush yet unfamiliar surroundings, and said, “I think it’s time for us to stop. Our relentless assault has already penetrated thousands of kilometers into the Tyran-controlled territory. Eighty percent of our armored forces have either been destroyed by the enemy or rendered useless in this high-intensity assault. I think we should stop, or even retreat a distance, build a defensive line, make proper repairs, replenish ammunition and fuel, and then consider continuing our advance.”

"We can still hold on!" The crew member who poked his head out wiped the sweat and oil off his mask and said, "I can still fight, I'm full of energy right now!"

“We feel the same way.” A startled warrior, armed with a bomb musket and his armor stained with the marks of battle, stepped forward. “We are still capable of fighting, and I oppose retreating. I am unwilling to give up the gains we have already achieved, much less give those despicable aliens a chance to catch their breath. I think the others share the same opinion as me.”

He glanced around at the Astartes brothers and received several affirmative nods.

“You can hold on, but your equipment can’t!” the mechanical priest emphasized. “If we go any further, our vehicles and weapons will be completely paralyzed on the battlefield, turning into piles of scrap metal. Our strategic material reserves have also dwindled to a dangerous level, and the surrounding environment is completely unfamiliar, unreconnoitered. Rushing in will only leave us isolated and helpless. In short, I strongly suggest that we halt our advance now, build defensive lines, consolidate our gains, and develop a new operational plan based on the new situation.”

"Alright, there's no need to argue here." A commander dressed in the uniform of a soldier going to his death walked by. "This isn't something a few of us can decide by arguing. It's time, so I'll go and notify the executive committee members to hold a meeting on this matter and then submit the results. Until then, stay put and reinforce the temporary positions."

Soon, an emergency meeting was convened in the makeshift command post. Commanders from Astartes, officers of the Mortal Death Corps, and mechanical priests gathered around a simple table covered with holographic maps, taking turns to express their opinions.

Among them, the most opposed to continuing the advance were undoubtedly the Mechanicus priests. They believed that the equipment had been worn down to an unsustainable level. One Mechanicus priest warned, "The flesh is fragile, but even steel is not eternal. Our sacred artifacts—the Lemanrus main battle tank, the Chimera troop carrier, and the laser guns, automatic weapons, and grenade launchers in the soldiers' hands—have all been under immense pressure in this endless assault. Ammunition reserves are running low, fuel consumption is enormous, and more importantly, we have lost the ability to repair these sacred machines. If we continue, we will only be handing these precious creations over to the Xenomorphs, allowing them to desecrate them."

Although the Astartes expressed deep hatred for the Xenomorphs and despised any form of retreat, they generally supported the Mechapriya's stance. An Astartes company commander said in a deep voice, "The Xenomorphs must be purged; this is our mission. However, a force without supplies and heavy weaponry, even with the strongest will, can hardly maintain an effective front. We must acknowledge reality, halt the offensive, regroup, and only then can we deliver a more effective and decisive blow to the enemy."

Only a few Astartes felt they could persevere, but despite expressing their stance, they failed to gain much support.

However, to everyone's surprise, the most radical group was actually a group of ordinary people—the executive committee of the suicide squad. At the meeting, 80% of the executive committee members demanded to continue the attack, to actively seek out Tyren and fight without stopping for even a second. If this were just a force composed solely of suicide squad members, then they could simply continue the assault; there would be no question about it. They could rely on the system shop to acquire equipment out of thin air, exchange death for resurrection, and fill any void of reason with fanaticism. However, the team also included Astartes and normal Mechanicus priests. They couldn't conjure supplies out of thin air like players, nor could they treat life as a resource to be consumed at will. For them, every bomb, every drop of holy oil, every fallen brother was a real loss, one that couldn't be easily compensated for.

However, such strategic decisions at the macro level ultimately depend on the orders of the supreme command, who will decide whether it is a short pause like before or a long period of rest.

Reports poured into the highest command like water flowing from all directions. Although these reports came from various units, they generally conveyed the same message:

The Mechanic, whether NPCs or players, strongly opposed continuing the assault. Their reports were filled with data on wear and tear, malfunctions, ammunition shortages, and fuel crises, emphasizing that any further advance would be self-destructive.

The Ultramarines and their Astartes, though burning with hatred for the Xenomorphs, were guided by strategic thinking and an assessment of the battle situation, favoring a defensive posture. They acknowledged their significant gains, but also clearly recognized that with supply lines stretched and heavy equipment severely depleted, continued advances would only isolate the forces and ultimately lead to failure. They advocated consolidating the existing front and awaiting reinforcements and supplies.

Those who were going to their deaths, however, remained radical and demanded to continue.

In the conference room of the supreme command, after a heated debate and careful deliberation, the final decision was finally made:

Stop advancing, build a defensive line on the spot, and resist a possible Tyrannical counterattack.

After all, the success of this raid was so significant, it severed a large portion of the Tyranids' advance and opened a passage deep into enemy territory. The Astartes deserve immense credit for this; it was their superhuman strength that ensured humanity's continued triumphant advance.

If the assault continues, the massive reduction in their armored forces will likely make them prime targets for the Tyranids. Once those seemingly indestructible Space Marines lose the cover of their heavy armor, their casualties will inevitably increase significantly.

Unlike the Leman Rustank, Space Marines cannot be mass-produced. Each Astartes is a precious asset forged through a long and brutal process of genetic modification and training. They are not like those who go to their deaths, able to die and be resurrected, and could be deployed to the battlefield in near-infinite numbers. The sacrifice of every Space Marine is a tremendous loss. After weighing the enormous risks of continued advance against the necessity of protecting these precious warriors, the High Command ultimately chose a more prudent strategy.

(End of this chapter)