Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 597 Rescue
The interior of the STC Temple is revealed as a mechanical landscape torn apart by violence.

Twisted metal support structures hang from the ceiling, with broken cables dangling and swaying like nerve bundles.

Broken machine parts and fragments of cooling pipes were scattered on the ground.

The emergency light source flickered erratically, its rays forming faint beams of light amidst the dense smoke and blue ozone fog generated by the energy leak.

These spots of light danced across the charred control panel and the broken walls, reflecting the bloodstains splattered on the walls and the scorch marks left by the energy weapons.

The air was filled with a mixture of various smells.

The burnt insulation material emitted a pungent smell of smoke.

The leaking hydraulic oil and coolant had a sweet, metallic smell.

There was also the smell of rusty congealed blood, the stench of burnt human tissue, and the primal body odor of orcs, a mixture of musty smell and sweat.

These odors intertwined to form a pollutant so strong it was almost palpable.

Various sounds continued to come from afar.

The deep rumble of the explosion echoed through the spacious hall.

The rhythmic three-round bursts of the bomb gun.

The high-frequency humming sound when the energy weapon is charging and the tearing sound when it is released.

And the orcs' savage war cries and howls.

These sounds propagate and reflect through a complex network of channels, creating a chaotic sound field.

Company Commander Kyle walked through the ruins, his armor covered in a fine layer of dust and splattered blood.

He led the original casting squad, the Gorgon Fist, in a standard mopping-up formation.

Each soldier maintained appropriate spacing and crossfire coverage; their movements were precise and coordinated.

Sensors inside the helmet continuously scan the surrounding environment, marking the source of heat signals and the location of sound sources on the retinal projection.

The data stream continuously updates in the form of calm blue text and icons.

The rhythmic bursts of short bursts from the bomb gun rang out.

Each sharp crack was followed by the orc's scream of pain and the sound of his body exploding as he was shot.

The shell casings made a crisp metallic clanging sound as they hit the ground, which was particularly clear during lulls in the fighting.

"Area cleared." A soldier's voice came through the squad channel, his tone calm and devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

"The left corridor is safe. Three remains of the Guardians of the Faith have been found, suffering severe physical damage. May the Om Messiah accept their souls." The soldier's report contained standard ceremonial language, but his voice remained mechanically calm.

"The main database access point ahead is partially blocked by collapsed structural components. A faint life signal has been detected behind the obstacle. It is speculated to be from technical slaves or priests, and there may be survivors."

Kyle's response maintained his usual calm style, but his actions revealed a quality that went beyond pure tactical calculation.

As he stepped over the corpse of a tech-priest, cleaved in two by a crude orcish cleaver, his gaze lingered for a long time on the torn red robe and the scattered Mechanicus emblems.

His newly formed left hand tightened slightly as he gripped the explosive gun handle, the servo motor between his knuckles emitting an almost inaudible whirring sound.

"Team A, clear obstacles and establish a safe passage. Team B, control the flanks and maintain high alert. Team C, continue advancing with me, prioritizing the elimination of all enemies on the path to the core template library." As he issued the orders, his fingers rapidly operated on the control panel on his wrist, uploading the life signal coordinates to subsequent rescue units. "Remember, efficiency is life, hesitation is blasphemy."

They soon encountered an orc force surging in from the flank.

About twenty green-skinned beasts howled and pounced, among whom three Stormboys equipped with makeshift rocket backpacks stood out.

They are trying to use jump packs to leap onto higher platforms to gain a firepower advantage.

In the past, Kyle would have first conducted a full tactical assessment.

He calculated the most efficient elimination path, ammunition consumption ratio, and potential risk factors. But this time, his enhanced senses immediately detected the endpoints of the Stormboys' jump trajectories.

A semi-open corridor structure, with a closed safety gate at the back.

But behind the observation window, several terrified faces flashed by.

Those were refugee technicians, guardians of imperial knowledge.

"Prioritize taking down Stormboy. We must not let these filth get close to the Beta-7 corridor." Kyle's voice suddenly rang out in the communication channel, carrying an undeniable sense of urgency.

Almost at the same instant, the precision-engineered explosive gun in his hand fired.

The enhanced nerve reflexes and shooting accuracy of the original casting make each shot extremely precise.

Three explosive shells simultaneously struck a Stormboy who had just landed on the edge of the corridor, blasting him into a splattered mess of flesh and metal fragments.

The other one was completely vaporized by the incandescent electric charge fired from the plasma gun during the jump, leaving only a wisp of burnt stench and scattered ashes in the air.

The operation was carried out with the efficiency characteristic of the Iron Hand.

The Orcs' counterattack was quickly thwarted by the Space Marines' discipline and superior firepower.

Fifteen green-skinned corpses and various mechanical wreckage were left on the ground.

“The corridor is safe,” a soldier reported, his helmet sensors carefully scanning the gate area. “Approximately twenty human vital signs were detected, with heart rates generally between 120 and 140 beats per minute, indicating a state of high panic, but overall physiological indicators are stable.”

Kyle stepped forward and struck the heavy gate with his brand-new metal gauntlets, producing a deep, reliable metallic echo.

"Attention, insiders. We are the Steel Hands Chapter, the Emperor's Angels of Death. External threats have been temporarily eliminated. Hold your positions, remain silent, aid is on its way. Faith is your shield."

A suppressed sob and a relieved gasp came from behind the door.

There were also fragments of whispered prayers and mechanical hymns.

Just then, Technical Sergeant Charon arrived with a rescue team.

His robotic arm is equipped with various tools.

Medical kit, structural scanner and cutting tools.

Servo skeletons followed behind him, their metal limbs humming softly as they moved.

“Company Commander Kyle.” Charon’s voice was mechanically hoarse, yet urgent. “The scan shows that the load-bearing structure of the lower archives is severely damaged. The maximum stress point has exceeded 87% of the design limit, and a structural collapse is imminent. But I have detected a stronger life signal inside. I fear that a large number of people are still trapped. We must reinforce and rescue them immediately, otherwise the knowledge carriers of Om Messiah will fall silent forever.”

Kyle did not hesitate at all.

"Team C will escort Technical Sergeant Charon to the entrance of the lower-level archives, providing full fire support. Teams A and B will continue their advance toward the core template warehouse, eliminating any enemies along the way. Notify the subsequent engineering units to immediately proceed to the archives area to carry out emergency structural reinforcement. Knowledge is power, and protecting it is our sacred duty."

"Yes, sir. For the Emperor and the Lord of Steel!" The soldiers responded without hesitation.

Kyle turned and led the remaining warriors to continue their advance into the deepest part of the temple.

The roar of the slug gun rang out again, its rhythm cold and efficient, as always.

But beneath this almost mechanical rhythm of killing, there seems to be a new quality surging within.

A steadfastness that does not stem from pure logic and calculation.

It is the will to fight for the lives and knowledge that survived behind the ruins and should be protected.

Every step taken is both destruction and protection.

It is both death and preservation.

In this dark fortieth millennium, perhaps this is the closest thing to hope.

(End of this chapter)