Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 199 Echoes of Fury Harbor

947.M41, Misty Starfield, Golegenna Frontier District, Fury Harbor.

Furyport is a city welded into the void. Its core is a hollowed-out asteroid, over four hundred kilometers in diameter, its surface covered with layers of armor plating and weapon platforms. Dozens of tentacle-like skeletons extend outwards from the asteroid's surface, each hundreds of kilometers long, flanked by hundreds of berths, docks, storage modules, and residential domes. These skeletons intertwine in the void to form an irregular net, the gaps filled with transit facilities for civilian merchant ships and logistics platforms requisitioned by the navy. The lights of ships in orbit and the signal lights within these facilities merge into an eternal starry sea in the darkness. It is the heart of the Calithis fleet and the fist of the Empire in the Golegena frontier.

Joachim von Strasser stood on the observation platform of the flagship's bridge, watching the berth lights spread out in the darkness. He was 137 years old, and it had taken him nearly a century to go from graduating from the Imperial Naval Academy to becoming an admiral. His face, weathered by time and voyages in the void, had become as hard as steel. His short, grey hair was shaved short, gleaming dimly under the spotlights of the berths. A vintage naval mechanical prosthetic eye was embedded in his right eye, its focus occasionally making a very faint click as it adjusted—that prosthetic eye had been with him for more than half a century, longer than the service life of most of his captains.

He was the commander of the Calicus Fleet. This title meant he had to maintain a fragile balance between the Empire's war needs, the administrative pressures of the sector, and the fleet's own readiness. The fleet was never truly at full strength; every commander signed off on an inexhaustible list of replenished ships. Green-skinned pirates drifting from the Halo Cluster, unclassifiable creatures occasionally emerging from the depths of Hazelos—they took turns consuming the fleet's manpower and patience. Joachim never once loosened his grip during his tenure.

The communications officer strode quickly from the side of the bridge, his pace a beat faster than usual. Joachim noticed the change in speed. In Furyport, on the naval bridge, any unusually rapid footsteps meant that things had crossed the line of routine.

The communications officer stopped two steps behind him, his right fist pressed against his chest: "General. Urgent communication from the Star Language Court, from Holy Terra, encryption level monarch-level, sender directly identified as Imperial Regent Guilliman."

Joachim turned around. His prosthetic eye briefly lost focus upon hearing the name "Guilliman" before locking on again. "The contents."

The communications officer handed over the data panel. Joachim took it, swiped his thumb across the sensor area, and the screen lit up. The command text was in the highest-level standard format of the Imperial Navy, with complete sender identification and encrypted signature, showing no signs of forgery.

He read it once—to confirm the format and authorization level of the instruction.

Second time—confirm coordinates and assembly window.

The third time—to make sure I didn't misread the sentence.

"Prioritizing the Galos fleet."

The Calesis fleet was heading to an unnamed star system, under the command of a frontier forging world. This statement carried more weight than any directional parameters. He knew who he was accountable to—every single one of those hundreds of ships. He set down the data panel and turned to the communication terminal on the side of the bridge: "Notify the Chief of Staff and Fleet General Staff. Everyone present."

Forty minutes later, the war room at Furyport Fortress was brightly lit, with nearly a hundred naval officers and staff standing in several layers around the central holographic projection table. The coordinates marked "Shattered System" were glowing a dark red in the holographic projection, while the surrounding star field was blank. Joachim stood at the head of the projection table, his hands resting on the tabletop.

Chief of Staff Major General Melbourne von Wald was the first to speak: "Your Excellency, the coordinates are not on any known route. From Fury Harbor, the warp travel will take approximately four to six weeks."

Before he could finish speaking, a voice rang out from the right side of the conference room. It was heavy, with the slow, undeniable rhythm characteristic of someone who had commanded battleships for years to project fire.

"Four to six weeks, good." The speaker was Vice Admiral Erich von Breslau, commander of the battleship squadron, whose service was thirty years longer than Joachim's. His face was marred by old wounds and mechanical implants, obscuring most of his expression. "I have another question. When did the Calithis fleet begin to obey the commands of a frontier forging world? I've guarded Gorgena for eighty-three years and have never heard of such an order coming from Terra."

The air in the conference room seemed to drop half a degree.

"Gallos. A frontier forging world. They fought a tough battle at Armageddon and evacuated tens of millions of immigrants—that's certainly an achievement." Breslaw's right hand pressed against the edge of the projection table, his knuckles white. "Guilliman wants us to hand over our fleet to them? Primarily the Gallos fleet—"—I read it three times to make sure I wasn't mistaken. We only have one battleship. One. We've guarded the entire Calicus sector for thousands of years, accumulating just this one. Now we're going to send it to a star system without even a name, handing it over to some unknown forging world to command?

Joachim did not answer immediately. He waited a moment, making sure Breslaw had finished speaking, before saying, "Breslaw, you've read the battle reports of Garros, and you've also read Garros' current assessment report. The Imperial Regent's order comes from Holy Terra. If you disagree with this order, you can discuss it with me, or you can write a report and submit it to Terra, but you cannot question the order itself in front of me."

Breslaw was silent for a moment. He took half a step back and returned to his position. He obeyed, but not the fact that he was being "commanded"—he obeyed the order itself.

"I will remember this order," Breslaw said, his voice regaining the calm expected of a battleship squadron commander. "I will remember what it requires us to do. This is not personal, Admiral. It is an entry that needs to be recorded."

Joachim looked at Breslaw. The shackles of the order were already locked. Breslaw stepped back, and Joachim knew that from this moment on, his questioning would not be repeated—not because of obedience, but because the record was complete, the procedure finished. Breslaw was a man who valued written records highly. He obeyed, but he wouldn't forget.

Joachim turned to Melbourne: "Fleet readiness?"

Melbourne flipped to a page of the data board: "If the mobilization order is activated immediately, approximately 120 ships can be assembled within three weeks. As for capital ships, there is one battleship—HMS Steadfast Fist—and approximately twelve to fifteen battlecruisers."

There are approximately thirty to forty heavy cruisers, about twenty light cruisers, and the remainder are frigates and destroyers. However, some ships need to be recalled from remote patrol areas, and it may take longer for all ships to be in place.

"Activate the Novallo, Urkan, and Hercules from the overhaul sequence immediately and add them to the fleet. Move the movable parts first, and fill the rest en route."

Melbourne made a note on the data board, then looked up, his voice lowering slightly: "Your Excellency, there's one more thing. The Inquisition is also assembling simultaneously. A small fleet is approaching Fury Harbor and is expected to arrive within a few days. They've requested to accompany us. Their ships aren't large, and their authorization is directly linked to Terra."

The atmosphere in the conference room tightened again. The Tribunal's interstellar communications were independent, not relayed by the Navy, and did not report to Joachim. They arrived silently, formally, and with an undeniable air of authority.

"I'll go with you," Joachim said.

Melbourne confirmed: "Three ships, with a total capacity of tens of thousands, and a core team of judges numbering in the hundreds. The report only mentions 'a senior judge of the Alien Tribunal'—a high-ranking official, but without giving his name."

The operational meeting began with the technical details of the assembly plan, continuing in silence about "who commands whom." Breslau's questions were suppressed, but no one forgot their presence. It was like an invisible layer of dust settling on the floor; no one stepped on it, but everyone couldn't avoid it.

Several days later, the Inquisition's ships arrived at Fury Harbor. Three ships, painted dark gray, lacked the Imperial Navy's double-headed eagle number on their sides, only a silver "i" etched on the armor plating below the bridge. They did not enter the berth area, but remained in a standby position on the outer rails, like three buoys submerged below the waterline. No officers went to headquarters to report, no captains submitted rendezvous plans. They simply arrived and remained there.

Joachim stood at the porthole of the flagship's bridge. He knew the Inquisition was there—they would be following the Calithis fleet to the Shattered System. They wouldn't speak in the war councils, only pull out their data tablets when needed to take notes, speak when judgment was required, and draw their guns when conviction was needed. On the flank of the control console on the flagship's bridge, an additional communications terminal was being installed. Its cables didn't pass through the bridge's main array, nor did they connect to the navy's command link, but only led to the three silent, dark gray ships at the stern of the formation.

Over the next few weeks, the fleet gradually took shape. The lights in the berth area stayed on all night. Joachim made a visit the following week, walking through the gangways and passageways of the berth area, past ships loading supplies. He stopped at the gangway of a destroyer and overheard two young officers talking in hushed tones—one checking a manifest, the other asking, “Gallos? Where’s that?” The first didn’t answer. Perhaps he didn’t know either.

Joachim continued walking without stopping.

The engines of the Novallo were reactivated from the overhaul sequence, while the aft power conduit of the Urkan was still awaiting replacement components. The dry dock supervisor decided to prioritize ensuring the bridge and main reactor were ready. The weapon systems calibration of the Hercules was not yet completed, but Joachim requested that it join the formation and be adjusted upon arrival.

More ships returned from their patrol positions and reconnaissance routes around Fury Harbor. Each return meant a further strengthening of the fleet. The density of the dots on the sensor screens increased daily, each update more intense than the last. Those dots slowly converged in his field of vision, pulled back from their scattered patrols and rest periods, regrouping between the framework of Fury Harbor into a fleet that could be deployed in any direction.

At the end of the formation manifest, the logistics officer added a note: "The tribunal liaison officer is required to sail with the flagship. Communication lines are independent of the naval command structure and are not subject to the Chief of Staff's approval."

Several weeks later, the formation completed its assembly.

Joachim stood on the observation platform of the flagship's bridge, watching the ships line up in departure formation under the guide lights of the berth area. The spotlights on the sensor screens had stabilized at 117, with HMS Steadfast Fist standing like a silent steel mountain in the center of the formation. Its broadside turret array cast shadows covering the entire berth under the spotlights, the outlines of those turrets larger than the hull of any cruiser. There was only one of it, but that one standing there was worth half a fleet.

He pressed the ship-wide broadcast button, and his voice, transmitted through the ship's communication array, reached every ship in the formation: "Callicis Fleet, formation set sail. Destination—Shattered System. Rendezvous with the Garros Fleet." He paused, then added, "Execute orders."

The thrusters ignited. One hundred and seventeen ships slowly glided out of the berths in Fury Harbor, and the formation began to advance towards Mandeville Point. Behind them, the guide lights of Fury Harbor changed from blue to green, and the framework of the berths slowly closed in the darkness, like a giant closing its eyes.

At the stern of the formation, three dark gray Inquisition ships turned in unison toward Mandeville Point.

Joachim watched the fleet spread out outside the porthole. He didn't know what the Shattered Galaxy looked like, what the Garros fleet was waiting for, or what the Inquisition was recording. He only knew one thing: an order personally signed by the Regent of the Empire, requiring him to take this fleet to that coordinate.

That's enough.

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