Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 198 Garros Shipyard

947.M41, Garros Orbital Dock.

Phyllis stood on the observation platform. The adamantine railing gleamed coldly, extending along the edge of the platform and casting a uniform, cool white halo over the metal grille beneath her feet. Dozens of ship platforms stretched out in the vacuum, each a separate steel skeleton, ranging in length from several kilometers to tens of kilometers, casting parallel, continuous shadows in the dim yellow light of Galos.

She recalled her days as a logistics officer on the Black Pearl. When she first arrived in Garros, there was only a rudimentary spaceport with a handful of ships docked there. The spaceport contained only immigration quarantine facilities and warehouses, and from orbit, Garros was just a scattered dome. Now, she stood amidst forty-seven simultaneously operating shipyards, facing an entire industrial chain stretched to its limits.

The air was filled with the scorched smell of metal after it had been cut by high temperatures, mixed with the sweet smell of coolant evaporating and the grease smell seeping from the hydraulic pipe seals. It was pushed up from the depths of the slipway cavity by the circulating wind and spread out an invisible film on the observation platform.

Vito Castello stood to her left. His prosthetic eye was slowly adjusting its focus, and the voice generator in his throat emitted a very low electrical hum in standby mode. He tilted his head slightly towards the slipway.

"All 47 slipways are under construction. That's 16 more than three months ago. This has been recorded."

Phyllis didn't speak. She remembered the number was thirty-one three months ago. But her gaze wasn't drawn to the new slipways—the empty foundations did indeed have keels laid, but the hulls were growing slower than she'd expected. The skeletons of the dozen or so Hector-class Luna-class ships were erected, the outer hull plates mostly closed, but the propeller nozzle mounting positions were still empty, like a shell awaiting organ implantation.

Her gaze lingered for a moment on the side of one of the Hector-class ships. The robust plasma macrogun bases had already been pre-fitted during the welding process, and the dense arrangement of the heat dissipation grilles meant a sustained firepower projection far exceeding that of the standard Luna-class. She hadn't pressed the fire button herself, but she had seen their test data in battle reports: the firepower density of a single-side salvo was close to 80% of that of a battlecruiser, while their tonnage was only half that of a battlecruiser. They weren't standard Luna-class ships, or even refined versions in the ordinary sense. They were the best solutions that Garros could reliably produce at the "general-purpose capital ship" level, a specialized form of the Imperial Navy's Luna-class concept, packing all the light lances and torpedoes into the macrogun array.

Castello clearly noticed her gaze: "There are two more on the ship's foundation. If the shipyard is completed on schedule, the keel can be laid next week, bringing the total to forty-nine. Those are also Hector-type. Confirmed."

She looked away. "What about the accompanying package?"

"With forty-seven shipyards under construction simultaneously, the shortage of supporting components goes beyond mere 'tightness.' Sparks are flying from the meshing gears of the new refining line on Garros VI, but the ramp-up of basic metal ingot production can't keep up with the shipyard completion speed—it's a matter of 'quantity' not being met. Meanwhile, at Wangshu's precision casting component plant, the Void Shield core, the shipborne light spear resonator cavity, and the heavy-duty drive shaft are already booked until the end of next quarter. It's not 'slowness,' it's that the manufacturing cycle for precision components is inherently long, and demand has exceeded the current production line's capacity."

"What about a Hector-style set?"

“Even worse.” Castro made no attempt to hide it. “Its macrogun base requires high-density energy conduits, and the precision requirements for the plasma confinement chamber are two levels higher than those of the standard Lunar-class. Those components are scheduled later on the Wangshu precision casting line than the standard Lunar-class parts. The network-specialized ship type and the Space Marine orders are ahead of them. Currently, the average waiting time after the Hector-class hull is completed has already reached—four to five months. Confirmed.”

Four to five months. Phyllis did the math in her head. It would take several months for the hull of a Hector-type Moon-class ship to take shape on the slipway, but it would take another four to five months for the core components to be in place. This meant that the slipway would be occupied by empty hulls for longer than the effective construction time. And those empty hulls, standing there, looked like a complete warship, but in reality, they were just containers waiting to be filled.

"Then we can only let it wait," she said. "Specialized ship types take priority; this order cannot be changed."

Castello's prosthetic eye twitched, and his voice lowered: "The fleet is waiting for reinforcements outside Gamor. Space Marine orders are awaiting delivery. They all take priority over the Hector type—I know this order was personally decided by the Director General."

But a four-to-five-month wait is too long. You've seen the battle reports for the Hector-class destroyers; their single-side salvo fire density is close to 80% of that of battlecruisers. If they could be delivered on time, the Garros's deterrent power would be completely different.

“I know,” Phyllis said, “but the demand for its precision-cast components is too high. The Netway Fleet is prioritizing Netway ships and navigation ships, while the Space Marines need strike cruisers, all of which are using the same precision-casting line from Wangshu. The Hector-type macrogun mounts and power conduits—have to be postponed.”

She paused, then added, "The Hector type is indeed the best choice in terms of performance. But in terms of resource allocation, it can only be ranked lower. This is not a performance issue, but a priority issue."

Castello paused for a moment, the light from the optical lens shining steadily in the dim light. "In other words, these hulls will have to wait until the Wangshu casting line frees up capacity. They are already the optimal solution, but even the optimal solution has to wait in line."

Phyllis's gaze shifted from Castello to the cable extending from the orbital port, landing on the space elevator's base. Rising abruptly from the equatorial surface of Garros, it had undergone its third expansion since the base's initial construction—layers of metal shell encasing it, industrial facilities being progressively installed, its circumference and height continuously increasing. Now, only the final gap remained between its top and the orbital dock platform; the elevators were shuttling between that gap, transporting the last batch of prefabricated components to the closure point.

The Garros Technical Committee already has a tenth version of the plan: a pyramid-shaped rail-mounted elevator platform directly connected to the rail dock. The elevator platform will move through the surface and interior, with industrial, military, and residential facilities filling the gaps. If Cohen hadn't intervened with the bottom line of "not compromising Garros's habitability," this would have become another nest city. Now it is strictly limited to industrial and defensive facilities—the artery of resource transportation, the fulcrum of rail defense, and a mega-structure on the Garros skyline.

Her gaze swept across the dense network of slipways and landed deep within the dock. A silhouette unlike any standard ship was undergoing its final sealing under the spotlight.

Castello's voice came from behind: "Spirit bone implantation progress 100%. Recorded."

Phyllis didn't turn around. She looked at the ship—flat and low, like a small spaceport fitted with thrusters. Four mechanical arms retracted to either side of the hull, casting parallel shadows under the spotlight. The spirit bone implantation of three of the mechanical arms was complete, their pale surfaces gleaming coldly against the adamantine skeleton. The curved segment of the fourth mechanical arm's spirit bone had just been implanted—the technical priests were directing the servants to embed the final set of spirit bone components into the adamantine cavity.

The skeletal components were supplied by the Wangshu Deep Forging Hall, their origin need not be investigated. They cannot be analyzed or reverse-engineered; the Tech Priests could only embed them into their designated positions. A visible seam existed between the curved surfaces of the skeletal components and the straight lines of the adamantite skeleton, like a living body embedded in a steel shell.

Phyllis stared at the seam. She remembered that Cohen had passed by this very slipway before setting sail again from Garros Netway Port. He stood outside the fence, not entering the work area, but merely glancing through the adamantite railing at the ship undergoing the implantation of spirit bones, before turning and leaving. There was no pause, no explanation, no words spoken to any of the technical priests. But that single glance was confirmation.

"Those robotic arms," ​​she said, "how large can they extend?"

"Five kilometers." Castellon paused for a moment. "Enough for a capital ship to pass. Confirmed."

Phyllis's gaze lingered for a moment on the pale, skeletal surface. She recognized it as the Gate-class, the first-generation Netway Ship of Garros. When its four mechanical arms unfolded, the embedded skeletal structure would assemble into a five-kilometer-wide circular gate, activated by the accompanying psionic team. Less than three kilometers long and less than two kilometers wide, its flat silhouette stood out low and distinctive among the ships in Garros's shipyard.

She withdrew her gaze and returned it to the slipway.

The Hector-class Moon-class ships, their hulls arranged in an arc, silently awaited under the ship's lights. These meticulously crafted vessels, still awaiting their core components, each represented the pinnacle of Garros's "general-purpose capital ship" capabilities. Their plasma macrocannons boasted firepower approaching that of battlecruisers, armor thickness exceeding that of standard Moon-class ships, yet their tonnage was only half that of battlecruisers. Costs were more controllable, construction cycles predictable, and maintenance costs far lower than battleships. If Wangshu's precision casting line could keep pace, they would form the backbone of the entire fleet, unleashing combat power far exceeding design specifications on the scale of standard Imperial cruisers.

But at this moment, they are just empty shells, standing there, waiting to be filled.

There were more light cruisers, distributed along the outer edges of the slipways on both sides of the Luna-class ships. They were shorter, and their turret bases were already in place. The slipways for frigates were on the outermost edge—they had the smallest hulls and were the most numerous.

The ships already in service in the network are operating on the back of their pre-existing spare parts inventory, but new batches can only be launched when the new parts arrive. She thought about how the losses on the front lines were still ongoing, and how the replenishment speed was being slowed down by this extended chain.

The dark gray silhouettes weaving between the ships of the Garros fleet were also growing. The crimson stripes of the Blood Angels had been etched onto the bow armor plating of three strike cruisers, the U-shaped insignia of the Ultramarines were being welded piece by piece by servitude on another slipway, and the Salamander emblem gleamed with a somber sheen on a slipway further away. Each strike cruiser was custom-built for a specific chapter, about 70% the length of a Luna-class cruiser, but with thicker armor and a weapon configuration more geared towards orbital penetration.

On their flanks, two larger slipways were laying completely different keels. The standard tonnage of the Vengeance-class battlecruisers was nearly twice that of the Moon-class, and the density of their broadside gun arrays far exceeded that of the Imperial Navy's standard ship type. But their internal layout was completely different from that of military ships: cargo space accounted for nearly 60% of the total volume, and the living quarters were deliberately enlarged. It was a mobile palace and trading platform for the merchant ronin dynasty.

Castello turned a page of the data panel. "Trade orders have been reduced to less than 20% of the total. Many orders from wandering merchants are already waiting for components—they're pressing for them urgently—but the supply of components can't keep up, and we can't deliver the ships. This has been recorded."

"That's enough." Phyllis didn't stop. "Trade orders are taking up space on the slipways, but the real bottleneck is refining and casting capacity. The slipways can be expanded, but the furnaces at Wangshu and the refining lines on the Garros VI can't be strengthened in a short time. The hull can be completed on schedule, but the core components will have to wait. To those waiting for the ship, tell them that Garros is doing everything it can, please be patient."

"At the fleet's highest command—"

"I will negotiate with Marcus; the current operational sequence cannot be changed. Cyber ​​warfare formations take priority. Cyber ​​warfare ships, navigation ships,..."

The Sword-class corvettes will receive priority in component allocation from these three types of ships. This priority is higher than trade orders. Space Marine orders will remain at their current pace. The Hector-class Luna orders will continue to be delayed.

Castello's optical lens shrank slightly. "There are only so many precision casting lines for components, and every schedule is waiting for Wangshu to free up capacity. Confirmed."

"The most crucial thing, of course, is to protect Galos' own fleet, but we also need to consider the balance of interests among all parties. Currently, 80% of the precision casting production capacity is flowing to Galos itself, and there is no surplus after allocating 20% ​​to orders from other parties. This is not a matter of allocation strategy, but rather that the production capacity itself has reached its ceiling."

Castello made a note on the data board: "The demand for Hector-type components will be uniformly included in the next round of capacity allocation. Recorded."

Phyllis turned and walked off the observation platform, her boots landing on the metal grille of the slipway.

The work platform beneath her feet was suspended between steel frames hundreds of meters high, with ship hulls under construction on either side. The massive shipyard cavity stretched overhead into the depths of the dome, its adamantine framework converging upwards in a cold light. She walked along the platform, passing a Hector-class Moon-class shipyard—its hull already plated. Teams of engineering servitude, under the direction of the technical priest, were installing the bases for the broadside macrocannons, but the macrocannons themselves were not yet in place; the bases were open, the interfaces sealed by dust covers. These bases were reserved for the Hector-class plasma macrocannons; once the components were in place, their firepower would be more than twice that of a standard Moon-class, but until then, they were merely empty shells welded to the hull.

A heavy engineering machine, carrying a high-quality gold cannon barrel, slowly moved overhead, its thruster nozzles leaving long, thin blue trails of flame, casting a moving dark shadow across the hundreds-of-meters-wide work surface. The threaded connector at the end of the barrel gleamed coldly in the beam of the searchlight—it was a piece of equipment brought from the foundry in Wangshu, but the turret base needed for this cannon was still awaiting another batch of more critical precision components.

She continued walking, passing a light cruiser's slipway. The hull was closed, but the armor plates behind the bridge were open, revealing exposed power conduit interfaces covered with dust covers. The technical priest squatted beside the interfaces, clutching a data board, waiting for the next batch of cable assemblies to be transported from the Garros VI.

She walked across the slipways of four frigates. Two of them had empty propeller nozzles, one had only fixing bolts on the turret base without gun barrels, and the other had its outer armor plates covering only half of the side, waiting for the next batch of armor castings.

She walked across the slipway of the Portal-class ship. It hovered within a specialized adamantine restraint frame, its skeletal components coldly embedded in the hull's spine. Weapon arrays, void shields, Geller's Field, and various other facilities were being fitted out. She didn't stop as she passed, but her peripheral vision lingered for a moment longer on the four retracting mechanical arms—the visible seam between the curved surface of the skeletal components and the straight line of the adamantine frame was more conspicuous under the spotlight than any welding mark.

She walked to the end of the passage, stopped, and turned her head to the side.

"I personally went to urge the expansion of the refining line on Castello. As for Wangshu, which is directly under the Industrial Technology Committee, they are even more anxious than I am, and I can't get involved even if I go there. For shipyards that can't keep up with the supporting facilities, it's better to leave them empty on schedule than to force substandard components into them."

Castello's optical lens flashed. "Understood. Confirmed."

Phyllis turned and walked along the passageway toward the shuttle berth. Her pace was slow, but each step carried a calculated precision. The hulls awaiting assembly on the slipway, the core components slowly taking shape on the Wangshu casting line—they all stretched in the same direction, pointing to the same destination: Karasta, the burning battle lines, the ships standing guard deep within the network, unable to receive supplies.

As she stepped through the shuttle cabin door, she glanced back one last time at the dock. Forty-seven slipways stretched out in the darkness, with the Hector-type Luna-class ships standing prominently, their massive cannon pedestals open, awaiting the day the Wangshu precision casting line would be vacated.

The hatch closed. The thrusters ignited. As the shuttle glided into the path of the guide beam, the communication panel flashed with a priority signal relayed by the Star Language Relay Tower, from Holy Terra. Phyllis glanced at the first line of the decoded text: Guilliman's order, Calithis fleet assemble, proceed to the Shattered System.

She turned off the panel and leaned back in her chair. The Emperor was adding the Imperial Navy's weight to the net, while she could only let the empty Hector-type hulls continue to wait.