Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 203 The Cyber ​​War (12)

The three tunnels, like ribs piercing the chest of a behemoth from different directions, converge in the same cavity. Laser rangefinders indicated that the main tunnel's diameter exceeded fifteen light-minutes—it would take fifteen minutes to traverse at the speed of light. Looking out the portholes, the cold, psionic light emanating from the side walls appeared as two parallel lines, like a horizon frozen in eternity. The three tunnels formed a triangular layout, allowing the Galos fleet to attack from three sides simultaneously, forcing the Dark Eldar to bear pressure on three fronts at once. If necessary, the Galos fleet could retreat back into the tunnels to defend, using the narrow cross-section to offset the enemy's numerical advantage.

The bridge of the Black Pearl continued to shake. Dark Eldar spear beams exploded against the adamantite armor plates, each hit stripping away at the molecular level, the shockwaves traveling through the hull structure to every terracotta plate on the bridge. Marcus's right hand rested on the tactical console, the blue aura around his right mechanical eye shrinking to its smallest size.

"Port, the Shadow Field is being redeployed." The sensor officer's voice was distorted by the echoes of the gunfire. "The enemy's main force is pressing forward to the right flank, attempting to penetrate us before the pincer attack from both flanks can be formed."

Marcus didn't look up. "Tell the damage control team to re-block sections three through seven in port B area. They're trying to tear a gap before they can completely encircle us."

The adjutant's voice came from the flank: "Port B area confirmed, secondary blockade is being deployed."

The vibrations intensified in an instant. It was the recoil from the salvo of the macro cannons. The Black Pearl's broadside plasma macro cannon array had just completed a salvo, the blue plasma plume leaving a trail in the void as it slammed into a Nightscythe-class corvette attempting a frontal assault. The shell pierced the distorted layer of the shadow field, exploding amidships. The corvette's keel twisted and snapped under the impact, fragments scattering to both sides. But more enemy ships surged forward from behind.

Marcus glanced at the tactical projection. In the cavity ahead of the exit, the markings of the Dark Eldar ships were fading and being filled in by new ones. Their numbers were increasing. These were ships further back in the formation moving forward to replace damaged units.

The psionic patterns on the network wall rippled briefly. Hera Worth's voice came in through the interstellar communication channel, its timbre slightly diminished by the attenuation of the psionic conduction, but it was still clearly audible.

"—Glory, psionic signal attenuation. Ship integrity rapidly declining. Second and third reactors shut down in succession."

Main thruster shut down.

Marcus's right mechanical eye shrank slightly. The Glory was the main cruiser on the left flank of the fleet, and the damage had exceeded the damage control range. Hera's voice resumed after a brief pause: "—The hull has broken apart. Approximately one-third of the hull is detaching. Survival compartments are being ejected."

Marcus pressed the communication button: "Honor crew, abandon ship. Evacuation pods eject and regroup to the rear formation."

The adjutant's voice cut in from the flank: "We are coordinating positions and guiding the light cruisers behind to take over the fire support."

Marcus switched to another channel: "The gap in the line of fire on the Honor will be filled by the Dauntless."

"confirm."

Then came the third channel. The ship's damage control team's communication channel blared from the loudspeakers: "Damage Control Squadron 33! What are you doing? The B-sector passageway isn't sealed off yet!"

On the other end came a rough, hoarse voice, distorted by the sound of burning: "We're blocking—section 3 of Sector B. The enemy assault team has cut off the passage, and the damage control team is stuck at section 5 and can't get through."

"Then we'll go through the ventilation ducts! Around from the outside! If the conspiracy's strike force tries to sneak to the bridge through that gap," "Chief Vares is personally leading men to plug the gap—"

The darkness at the end of the corridor changed its nature in that instant. Several piercing assault boats stretched across the Black Pearl's hull, the edges of the cracks melted by the molten cutters still glowing with a dark red warmth. Fully armed Conspiracy warriors poured in continuously from the cracks, while the twisted creations driven by the Bloodbringers cleared the way in front of the ranks, and the ripples of the shadow field suppressed the emergency lights into a thin layer of dark purple halo.

This was no isolated attack. Similar breaches simultaneously appeared in over ten sections of the Black Pearl, and assault boats were attached to almost every hull of all the capital ships in the Garros fleet. Boarding maneuvers erupted simultaneously in the corridors and cabins of every ship. The Dark Eldar disregarded casualties and costs, because behind them lay Gamor. Once the Garros fleet gained a foothold in this passageway, the gates to the Dark City could no longer be closed. They had nowhere to retreat.

A battalion of the 12th Regiment's Guardian Corps blocked the intersection of the passageways. Blast shields formed a three-tiered horizontal line in the middle of the corridor, and heavy explosive rounds continued to fire over the shield edges, piling up a thick layer of spent casings at their feet. Servo-controlled skulls hovered above the shield wall in two rows, laser arrays precisely sealing every penetration window. Binary pulses exchanged target data between the skulls at a fixed frequency, weaving an invisible, coordinated network behind the shield wall. Four men from the two forward squads fell in the first wave of attack; venomous crystal beams pierced the seams of their neck armor, but the shield wall did not retreat an inch. Regimental Commander Vareski led his men at the forefront, each burst of explosive gun fire creating a cloud of blood mist, each swing of his power sword cleaving a body through the gaps in the shadow force field. The defensive line remained, though it was thinning every second.

Marcus pressed the ship's communication button, his voice low but drowning out all the shrieks and hisses in the background: "Twelfth Regiment. Hold Section 3 of Block B. If the Conspiracy Group's assault team crosses that line, your retreat will be cut off. How you fight is up to you. If you lose the line, there's no need to retreat."

There was a moment of silence on the channel. Then the voice rang out again, shorter and faster than before: "We're doing everything we can." A burst of even more intense short bursts of gunfire erupted in the background. "—I'm requesting the reserves. The brothers are almost all gone."

Marcus didn't hesitate: "The Third Regiment is already moving. Your task now is to hold out until they reach their positions."

At the same moment, he sent instructions to the standby sequence: "Third Regiment, your First Battalion, advance to the rear of Section 3 in Area B. Second and Third Battalions, move towards the outer perimeter of the bridge. The general reserve remains stationary."

"Third Regiment, receive the order." A powerful voice interrupted, then was cut off.

"Bacchus, the Black Pearl's defection is now under your command. Don't interfere with my fleet battle." Marcus's voice was icy.

The Black Pearl's first mate responded loudly, "Confirmed."

In the corridor, the sound of heavy-explosive gunfire pressed in from the intersection of the passageways, the intervals growing shorter and shorter. The shrill whistling of a chainsaw sword slicing through terracotta...

The hiss of toxic crystal beams tearing through the air, the muffled thuds of explosives detonating on the surface of power armor—all these sounds clashed, overlapped, and reflected repeatedly within the narrow passageway. The Twelfth Regiment's riot shields formed a horizontal line in the middle of the corridor, heavy explosive rounds continuously firing over the shield edges, a barrage attempting to pin the surging Conspiracy Squad warriors to the point of convergence. High-speed figures were almost impossible to spot with the naked eye in the emergency lights. Toxic crystal beams shot from the edges of cover, those hit falling silently, or worse, still standing, their bodies losing control under the influence of neurotoxins, fingers loosening triggers, breathing becoming shallow and erratic within seconds.

But the shield wall did not retreat. Service aircraft emerged during lulls in the fire, grabbed the rear edges of the wounded soldiers' armor plates, and dragged them toward the rear passage. Those "corpses" could still be recovered; as long as the wet components remained, the Type 500 power armor had already activated wet component mode and was waiting for their return in the medical bay.

At the ventilation duct opening behind Section 3 in Area B, a damage control soldier crouched at the edge of the inspection hatch. Behind him was a newly welded explosion-proof plate, the welding torch still smoking, the sealant cooling. He heard the footsteps of the 3rd Regiment's forward advance team through his headset; they were still several corridors away, advancing in this direction. He didn't speak, but simply pressed the pulse button on his communicator: Sealing complete, he's still alive.

The adjutant's voice came through again: "Sir. Combined Fleet report: The White Scar destroyer group is rapidly approaching from behind and is expected to arrive at the battlefield within minutes. The Calithis fleet is close behind."

Marcus's right mechanical eye was locked onto the tactical projection. On the right flank, the Dark Eldar cruiser squadron was advancing from the enemy's side. Centered around five Sunset-class battleships and twelve Torture-class cruisers, and supported by dozens of Nightscythe-class frigates, the assault squadron attempted to seize a flanking position and use its maneuverability to cut in from the Imperial fleet's flank and rear.

Once the deployment is complete, the main force of the combined fleet, both in front and behind, will be exposed to their longitudinal fire.

He switched to the command channel of the Netway Fleet: "Tell the barge bombardment squadron that it's worth it even if we lose all fifty barges, pin them down. I need ten minutes of breathing room."

Henri's reply was brief and forceful: "The bombardment barge squadron is adjusting its firing range, and I will make sure they cannot move."

Marcus switched to another channel: "The right flank must not be lost. It's the best position to suppress enemy mobility. It's worth it even if we lose it all."

Confirmation pulses from the artillery barge squadron were transmitted. On the right flank exit, dozens of artillery barges were advancing in dense formation, weaving a wall of fire across the enemy cruiser formation's course with a continuous barrage from their macro guns. On the tactical projection, the blue markers of the artillery barge squadron began to go out in patches. Each extinguished dot signified that one of the fifty barges had fallen silent.

They didn't turn or retreat; they simply continued forward until the marker disappeared. The Dark Eldar ships were forced to slow down to evade, disrupting their flanking maneuver.

The adjutant's voice cut in again, half an octave higher than before: "Sir, from the front and rear, the sensors have detected a large number of fast-moving ship signals—the formation is precise and is rapidly advancing towards the exit."

Marcus watched the blue markers surging in from the rear on the tactical projection. They completed a precise formation deployment the instant they reached the front lines of the battlefield. White paint, prairie crescent insignia, and the ion trails left by the sterns drew a sharp arc in the cold psionic light—White Scar's destroyer group had arrived.

On the right flank, on the side of the Dark Eldar battleship formation, the first wave of torpedoes streaked across the darkness. The Whitescar destroyers opened fire simultaneously during their high-speed dive, dozens of blue streaks of light trailing through the void.

The Dark Eldar's shadow field distorted and flickered as torpedoes approached. The distorted light and sensor signals created a fog that deflected some torpedoes, but nearly half still managed to penetrate the blind spot and hit the ship. Several torpedoes detonated on the side armor of a Sunset-class battleship, tearing the armor plates open; a second wave followed, penetrating the interior through the breach. The battleship's midsection shattered in the secondary explosion.

After completing its first salvo, the White Scar destroyer did not stop. During the turn, it recalibrated its torpedo tube loading and formed a cross-formation with the approaching Calissis destroyer group, deploying into a double-layered torpedo launch position on the right flank.

Meanwhile, from the shadows of the Spirit Bone Vault above the passageway, dozens of black dots silently slashed into the battlefield—Raven fighters of the Dark Eldar. Using the cover of their shadow fields, they bypassed the Imperial fleet's outer perimeter. The lead six Ravens simultaneously unleashed Dark Spears during their dive; the eerie beams swept through the void, precisely striking a Calithis light cruiser that was adjusting its position in the middle of the formation. One Dark Spear melted a massive gash in the bridge armor, while another pierced the engine exhaust at the stern. The light cruiser's speed plummeted, followed by a violent explosion. White Scar's interceptor squadron, having just finished ejecting from the rear hangar, turned and charged towards the enemy aircraft. A barrage of fire from their twin laser cannons tore two Ravens apart in mid-air, but the remaining black dots had already risen again, disappearing into the shadows of the cold psionic light.

The second wave of the Calithis destroyer group directly attacked the enemy cruiser formation. More than ten destroyers, in a loose wolfpack formation, flanked the enemy cruiser formation, simultaneously launching torpedoes. The first wave of attacks tore open the outer edge of the Dark Eldar cruiser formation. One Nightscythe-class frigate was hit by a torpedo and broke off mid-ship; the shadow fields of two other ships overloaded and malfunctioned under the sustained impact, and their armor was subsequently penetrated by a salvo of macro guns. The remaining ships were attempting to regroup and converge on the main fleet, with the remaining Nightscythe-class frigates re-establishing a sparse perimeter around the formation.

Nearly forty minutes have passed since White Scar arrived. The markings of the artillery barge squadron are mostly sparse on the tactical projection, but the breach on the flank has not been torn open.

Marcus switched to all channels: "Eternal Fortress One, take your positions."

The outline of Eternal Bastion I emerged in the cold, psionic light emanating from its frontal exit. The pale golden behemoth, thirty kilometers in length, advanced, and the moment it appeared, the Dark Eldar fleet unleashed its firepower. The sacred bones and outer membrane shattered and crumbled under the continuous hits, revealing the thick lining of adamantite and terracotta beneath—the sacred bones were fragile without the infusion of psionic energy.

The Dark Eldar fleet concentrated and turned after the Eternal Bastion I entered effective firing range. Dark spear beams exploded on its armor surface, each one stripping armor fragments at the molecular level. Wire-wound explosive rounds followed closely behind, and electromagnetic pulse clouds exploded on the boundary membrane surface, attempting to disrupt the transmission waveform of the main gun's fire control link. However, the core command link of the Eternal Bastion was reinforced with adamantite shielding, filtering the interference signals layer by layer, and the fire control link did not experience any substantial interruption.

Eternal Fortress One continued forward, passing through the enemy formation's fire coverage area, and began to decelerate at a point several thousand kilometers from the intersection of the right and left flanks. The thruster exhaust flames subsided, and the ship slowly sank, approaching the net wall.

When its hull touched the surface of the sacred bone wall, a continuous, low vibration was transmitted along the wall to the entire battlefield—it was the resonance produced when the thirty-kilometer-long steel behemoth came into contact with the ancient sacred net framework.

Eternal Bulwark One began to settle. The bottom structure was intertwining with the mesh framework, and a pale golden membrane spread outwards from the point of contact between the hull and the wall. Shattered sacred bones grew inch by inch along the edges of the fractures, and the membrane spread inwards from the damaged area, covering the exposed adamantine lining, reconstructing at a visible speed in the cold psionic light. Repair had begun, but was slow.

The Dark Eldar fleet commander, unaware of why the colossal ship had halted during the battle, instinctively concentrated his firepower at this stage, attempting to completely destroy Eternal Bulwark One before it could fully settle. More dark spear beams and entangled explosive shells detonated on its sacred bone and adamantite surface. But the moment it touched the wall and began to mesh, all damage was gradually repaired inch by inch by the influx of psionic energy from the net channel, unable to halt the settling process. The psionic energy from the net channel continued to flow in along the guiding patterns, stitching together the shattered boundary membrane inch by inch, and the sacred bone surface of Eternal Bulwark was healing at a visible speed.

As Eternal Bastion I settled into its final position, its thrusters switched to low-power standby, the plasma reactor's power distribution was recalibrated, and the main output shifted to the weapon array. The plasma macro-cannon array began charging and firing, while dozens of turrets on both sides of the hull simultaneously turned, locking on and firing, creating a continuous net of blue-white plasma energy in front of it. The light spears also began charging at the same time. It withstood the relentless, costly concentrated fire of the Dark Eldar fleet, continuously repairing and maintaining its output. This was an anchored fortress; its existence signified that the Imperium's battle lines had taken root.

Behind it, Eternal Fortress II and III also began to deploy. The Combined Fleet began to rely on them for tactical adjustments, and the initial assault began to shift towards consolidating the defensive line.

Marcus's right mechanical eye was locked onto the tactical projection—the Eternal Bastion-class destroyers were advancing towards their designated positions, while the White Scar and Calithis destroyer groups were continuously pressuring the enemy formation's flanks from both directions. The right flank of the Dark Eldar battleship group was being fragmented into isolated, unsupportive squadrons. The left flank of the cruiser group began to contract its formation, adopting a defensive posture.

The Black Pearl's vibration frequency decreased somewhat. The port-side damage control team reported that Section 3 of Block B had been resealed, and the 3rd and 12th Regiments were still engaged in a brutal strangulation battle with the intruders.

Marcus pressed the communication button: "All units. Eternal Bulwark One has landed. Two and Three are moving into position. All ships, stabilize the defensive line and prepare for the second wave of attack. The balance is tilting in our favor."

The confirmation pulse is transmitted sequentially.

On the sensor screen, dark green ship markers were pouring in from the depths of the tunnel, their density steadily increasing. This indicated that a well-organized fleet formation was advancing towards the battlefield.

Marcus watched the spreading green patch of light. The chief of staff's voice came from the flank, low: "They're bringing up every movable ship they can from the rear."

Marcus didn't look away. "Once we force them to retreat to Gamor, the nobles and the conspirators will wear each other down in the power struggle and won't be able to mount a counterattack. So they won't retreat."

He paused, and the blue halo around his right mechanical eye shrank to its smallest size.

"This is all the power Gamor has at his disposal. They've staked their last trump card on this."

In another direction of the tunnel, hundreds of billions of kilometers outside of Gamor, another fleet is silently sailing amidst the cold, psionic light of the network.

They also flew the White Scars' banner, but their paint scheme was far more worn than that of the active White Scars fleet. Their armor plates were pitted and cratered, and the prairie crescent insignia on their sides had been repeatedly repaired, with the welds clearly visible. They were the White Scars' fleet, which had entered the Webpath ten thousand years ago and never returned—each scar corresponding to a battle with the Dark Eldar.

Ten thousand years ago, Chagatai led his people into the Webpath, believing it to be a brief hunt—to defeat the Dark Eldar who had plundered Chogris and then return to the Empire. But the Webpath's path was more complex than anticipated, and the Dark Eldar's retreat route more cunning than he had expected. By the time he realized he had gone too far, the return route had been cut off. They were lost—unable to find their way back, nor able to leave through the Webpath nodes controlled by the Dark Eldar.

Looking back on that decision to pursue the path of the internet, he knew it was impulsive and arrogant. But he never regretted it. That hunt was, in fact, also an exploration and attempt at the path of the internet—and then the door opened there, and he walked in without hesitation, at the cost of ten thousand years.

Without the large number of accompanying Mechanicus priests, this fleet would have long since perished. The White Scars' chapter's master forgers, Astartes' technical sergeants, and Mechanicus monks—they sustained the fleet through millennia of voyages. They salvaged usable parts from the wreckage, scavenged resources from the battlefield ruins. The Dark Eldar plundered humanity; the White Scars plundered the Dark Eldar. Plundering was not merely a means of survival—the Chagatai viewed it as a way to maintain their fighting spirit; it was the nature of nomadic peoples, and the White Scars were no less patient than any hunter.

Despite their best efforts to maintain order, nearly ten thousand years of warfare had still cost the First Brotherhood's warships more than half their strength—many were destroyed in the fighting, dragged into chaos by the collapsing Web. The number of Mechanicus was exhausted with each generation's replacement; knowledge diminished layer by layer in the isolation, and the ancient technology's isolation of humanity was stronger than imagined. Many succumbed to madness in this utter isolation, only to be buried by their comrades amidst the ruins of the Web.

His flagship, the Storm Spirit, was a cruiser that had undergone countless repairs. Its original paintwork had long since faded, and the hull was covered with armor plates welded together at different times. The crescent moon emblem had been repeatedly etched, the underlying patterns now blurred and indistinct. He had long since lost his flagship from the Great Expedition, the Bladestorm—a ship used as a trap in the Battle of Catallus to secure Mortalian's defeat. He later found the cruiser's wreckage in the net tunnels and towed it back to usable condition. In the initial repairs, he rebuilt the propellers, narrowed the hull to accommodate the winding tunnels, and layered and replaced the armor plates. It became longer and narrower, allowing it to maintain its pursuit speed in the narrow passages of the net tunnels.

Over the next ten thousand years, he continuously salvaged parts from the wreckage of battles to repair the ship. No one remembers the ship's original name; "Spirit of the Storm" was renamed during its voyages. Fuel was obtained from plunder, but the damage to the ship's structure could not be restored by looting. Each repair consumed limited material reserves, and each voyage pushed the ship closer to its structural limits.

Chagatai stood by the porthole. Beside him, a mechanical priest squatted in front of the interface panel on the wall, his red robe worn dark brown by millennia of navigation on the network, calibrating the fuel injection sequence of the reactor—a fleet that relied on plasma reactors for propulsion.

In the space before him, a golden psionic projection condensed from the resonance of the sacred bones on the bridge wall, its edges pulsating continuously in the cold light of psionic energy.

"The warriors of Chogris have finally driven away the winter." Chagatai's voice carried the composure that had settled after sitting in meditation for millennia.

The golden projection remained silent.

"I have hunted them in the Webpaths for nearly ten thousand years," Chagatai's tone remained unchanged, but something ignited in his deep brown eyes. "I have seen the walls of Gamor, and I know the routes the Dark Eldar emerge from the depths of the Webpaths. I have mastered many Webpath paths, but I could not master the gates. Now, with that man—the Grand Master of Garros—he has filled the last piece. The Webpaths are now fit for our use."

Behind him, the mechanical priest completed the transfer, disconnected the cables, and stood to the side and rear. The bridge lights brightened slightly, a sign that the power transfer had been successful.

The Emperor's golden psionic projection was dissipating, and the syllables were decreasing: "The Net... Master... Remember the covenant with Him."

The projection receded, the golden light slowly faded from the wall, and the last ray of light seeped into the air.

Chagatai watched as the light completely dissipated, then slowly performed a steppe salute, placing his right fist against his left chest and nodding slightly.

He lowered his hand, turned around, and looked again in the direction that stretched out in the cold psionic light. There was Gamor, there was the position where the Garros fleet was advancing, there was the place where the Calithis fleet and his offspring were fighting a bloody battle.

He had paid a heavy price for this day—his brothers, all his ties to the Empire. But the price never equaled defeat. The walls of Gamor would finally fall before him, and he would once again stand shoulder to shoulder with his legion. The surviving brothers in the fleet were now making their final preparations, cleaning their weapons, checking the seams of their power armor, and adjusting the scopes of their explosive muskets. The Terminators of the King's Guard stood silently in formation in the darkness, their energy broadswords gleaming pale in the cold light of their psionic energy.

They had waited too long for this moment.

Behind him, in the net-like channel, the thrusters of the "Storm Spirit" left a steady blue trail. The exhaust plumes of dozens of warships formed a long chain of light behind it. They navigated through the net-like channel, advancing silently along a precise course.