Warhammer 40: Doom

Chapter 47 What is he going to do?

The sensor is attached behind the ear. Ancient artifact technology converts the wearer's brain activity into signals, which are transmitted to the central holographic console to manipulate images, allowing them to follow the commander's line of sight.

After a minor modification, it is now directly converted into a digital signal and transmitted to the frontline guards.

When Doom received the sword seal in the royal council chamber, he had already sketched out the blueprint for this war in his mind and was gradually turning it into reality in his own way.

Nur's Night Guards were unaware, and even he himself was unaware.

Created by the Emperor and the Warp, the Primarchs are adapted to any form of warfare. When they engage in war, their innate and extraordinary understanding of war surpasses that of any other life form.

"start."

As the first order was issued, the fortress command room fell into an unusual silence, and the usual sound of orders being relayed completely disappeared.

Relic Technology takes the targets and conclusions calculated in Doom's mind using nanosecond, or even picosecond, reaction speeds, and adds the brain's computing power like a supercomputer, and puts the entire war into "motion" through digital commands!

The battlefield, spanning nearly 300,000 square kilometers, is characterized by complex personnel figures and simple terrain lines.

In the eyes of the Night Guardians, such a complex combination of numbers brings about a huge number of variables that are almost uncontrollable.

The vast battlefield is dotted with numbers representing the orcs. Under the continuous attacks of the Night Guard, their main forces have been scattered, and now only countless small groups remain.

Groups of three or five, or more than ten, were scattered everywhere. Hundreds of orcs led their own groups, and thousands gathered in tribes.

The current situation is the most troublesome. Orcs are roaming around spreading genetic material. If it is not stopped in time, the elite Night Guard will once again be caught in an endless war of attrition.

Exhausted from putting out fires everywhere, they became mired in an endless quagmire of war, ultimately facing another siege.

The Night Guards are even more scattered. Their numbers are less than 10,000, consisting of companies of a hundred, squads of ten, groups of two or three, and even a large number of solo hunters.

As Doom began to take control of the battlefield, the Night Guards started to move in accordance with the instructions of the digital commands.

Although some of the orders were completely useless, the loyal Night Guard chose to execute them unconditionally and arrive at the designated location at the scheduled time.

The exquisite personnel deployment, the coordination of supplies at every step, and even the calculation of each soldier's physical strength were all kept at the absolute limit.

The once quiet air in the command room gradually became suffocating.

With no other staff members present, they slowly gathered around the central table, watching the holographic projection sand table, where the numbers and lines changed and jumped wildly.

"What is he doing?" Erica asked through the communication channel, not daring to disturb him. She didn't understand the details of the handling, but she knew that the overall situation was changing.

"It should be a net!" Harlan's vision and command ability are not bad, but his personal strength overshadows it. He can understand the situation to some extent.

Intuition told him that Doom was using the Night Watchers as a net to catch fish and shrimp in the water.

Doom remained expressionless, like a cold, impersonal command-issuing machine. Every second, thousands of commands appeared in his mind and were then sent out digitally.

This wasn't his limit, but rather the limited battlefield resources imposed many constraints on Doom's mobilization and integration.

Even so, such incredible battlefield maneuvering left the senior officers in the command center feeling powerless.

If the enemy commander is like this on the battlefield, how can you defeat him?
Doom was feeling rather bored at this point, and didn't even exert his full strength—he designated a specific area in his left brain specifically for battlefield command and calculation.

Everyone assumed that such intense command would require complete focus and complete concentration by shutting down external communications.

More often than not, Doom's attention is not on the battlefield. His super-sensitive perception allows him to hear the faint sounds on the communication channels inside his subordinates' helmets, listening to them discuss him.

Weave a fishing net?
Doom shook his head inwardly. Harlan only saw the surface; the deeper things were difficult to understand.

However, it's not surprising that he couldn't understand; their physical and mental functions were on completely different levels.

Fishing nets have holes, and many fish escape. He wouldn't let a single orc escape, leaving behind endless troubles.

Doom preferred to see himself as a "farmer," meticulously cultivating his own backyard. To him, orcs were pests swarming from the land, impossible to eradicate.

If one is missed, it won't be long before more multiply, continuing to devour the fields and harm crops.

What Doum has to do now is to use a plow and a rake in his hand to thoroughly turn over the land, carefully break up every piece of soil, find every pest, and then gather them together.

"What should our war lords do?"

One of the night guards, panting heavily, asked his companions how their ten-man squad had been advancing continuously for four hours at a speed of fifty kilometers per hour.

During this period, several scattered orc groups were eliminated, while avoiding those orc groups that were large enough to be wiped out.

"I don't know! But talking less and conserving energy is the right thing to do."

His companion was shaking his head, also panting heavily.

Every command from the war lord pushed them to their physical limits, leaving them no time to rest.

But they could all sense that the battlefield deployment had improved several levels, with all personnel and war machines working non-stop.

All the tactical instructions completed by everyone were aimed at a single strategic goal, and the results were remarkable.

"Run three kilometers to the right and eliminate a hundred-man orc squad within one minute of engaging the enemy."

The captain's voice rang out, and new numerical instructions arrived. The interpreted instructions were read aloud:
"By the way, avoid our current route. The Rangers' anti-gravity motorcycles are towing a thousand orcs through here."

Such scenes occur almost throughout the entire battlefield, with instructions being transmitted rapidly and precisely every second.

The Night Guardians don't need to worry about anything else; when their stamina reaches its limit, the rest order will come immediately.

When supplies are needed, Rangers will fly low over on anti-gravity motorcycles, drop off the supplies, and hurry away.

No need to wait, no need to ask.

Even heavily armed war machines sometimes receive inexplicable orders.

What is the reference point? What is the direction in front of you? How many degrees is the muzzle raised? How many inches is it moved? What type of shell is used and how many rounds are fired?

After completing a series of actions and continuing on their way, they received thanks from friendly forces a few minutes later, having received precise fire support in the battle just now, with the shells landing perfectly.

Such meticulous attention to detail on the battlefield is both incredible and exhilarating for the soldiers.

With such superb command, how could victory be expected?

The Night Guardians were incredibly excited. They only needed to focus on the enemy in front of them, wield their swords, and advance according to their orders.

In the command center, the officers who had been overseeing the entire situation stood there like wooden figures, completely stunned.

In the battlefield sandbox, scattered orcs are driven and lured, and then gradually converge towards a small plain.

Seventy thousand orcs!
Doom glanced at the sand table, cutting off scattered small groups of orcs and guiding the large settlements in the right direction, with the aim of gathering the orcs together.

The number was close to the estimate. Doom's eyes narrowed. The first phase of the plan was complete. It was time to start the next phase!
"Champion Swordsman, Harlan Oglieve!"

For the first time, twenty hours had passed since he began commanding the battlefield, and Doom spoke, calling for his guards.

“My lord!” Harlan knelt on one knee, ready to accept any command from his master.

“In past battles, you have achieved countless victories and earned the title of champion.” Doom looked at his most loyal servant and made an unexpected request: “Now, I want you to lose!”

(Sorry, I had a lot to do today, it's getting late.)
(End of this chapter)