Warhammer: Filial Piety Makes Power

Chapter 44: A group of stubborn women, tough on the inside and out, who are also very fussy. (3K)

Unlike interstellar wars in other science fiction works, no matter how much advanced technology humanity possesses in the Warhammer universe, it will ultimately devolve into a baffling boarding action to resolve the conflict.

The root cause of this shift in all combat is the warp, which is sister to the real world, or more precisely, the void shield that can transfer all fierce attacks into the warp.

This thing isn't like the Iron Halo worn by Space Marines, nor is it like the Ion Shield on a Knight. As long as the power is sufficient, you can't even blast it with a light spear unless your attack can overload it. Otherwise, you'll have no choice but to board it.

As for those idiots who wanted to bombard an overloaded planet-class void shield with ships, they would have been blown to bits by anti-aircraft fire long ago. What normal person would use a ship to bombard an entire planet?
But the situation is different now. With the explosion of that high-yield hydrogen bomb, the Void Shield, which should have been flawless, was torn open, giving the Atlas fleet a good opportunity to advance unimpeded.

Looking at the massive, heavily bombed city at the edge of his vision, Fourth Legion Commander Fricks sighed helplessly, his eyes filled with regret.

"What a magnificent architectural marvel! It's a pity it can't be used by the Empire, those damned human traitors!"

"Company commander, our mission has been intercepted by Atlas. How are we going to explain this to His Highness Horus?"

Fricks, his face showing displeasure, slowly swung his neck, which was held in place by the quick-setting foam, and reprimanded his adjutant, who was in even worse shape than himself, missing both arms and legs, and having his limbs amputated below the chest, but who had become a strong young man:

"Cole, do you want me to go and argue with Prince Mordred, anger him, get punched in the head like an enemy, and then inherit my command?"

"No, Company Commander, I didn't mean that," Cole quickly shook his head and explained.

“I know you don’t think that way. In this battle, we lost 7000 brothers, and the rest are all wounded. Even if the remaining 5000 or so of us wear down the enemy, it will still be a Pyrrhic victory. Do you know what that means?”

Fricks' voice wasn't loud, but every Space Marine in the camp could hear him, and they all knew the answer.

Seeing that no one spoke, the true leader who commanded the four large camps spoke up:

"This means that we, who have suffered more than half casualties, will be marginalized and sent by Shadowmoon Wolves or Iron Fingers to one brutal battlefield after another, and they will definitely be the toughest worlds to conquer."

Even if we diligently complete every order, we will not receive any honor in the end; at best, we will be given a bone as a token gesture.

Just like our Fourth Legion, where anyone can summon dogs by simply purring them down.

No one spoke up. After all, lies don't hurt people, but the truth is the sharpest knife. Without Primarchs, Legions are like weeds. They're not the First Legion, the most favored son among sons, so who would care?

If their genetic seeds weren't indiscriminate, with this casualty rate, the legion would have long since become a bloodless, extinct group like the Sons of the Emperor.

No, they're not even as good as the Emperor's Son. At least the Emperor's Son has found the Primarch, while theirs hasn't.

But even in the Fourth Legion, where the average person is rigid and inflexible, there are always some spirited young men if there are enough of them, and there was one in the camp at this time.

"But company commander, is it possible that we are not even as good as dogs?"

Um?(._.)
All eyes turned to Cole, the great young man, thinking, "Why don't you shut up if you're so good at talking?"
However, Cole was completely unaware that he had become the center of attention, and continued talking while staring at the ceiling:
"Actually, being a dog is not bad. After all, dogs are man's best friend. Those races that follow behind our cousins ​​and are called dog people are dogs. They are even demi-humans personally certified by the emperor. You just saw it. They live a very comfortable life."

They eat Glocks canned meat, drink fresh orange juice, use sophisticated weapons, and to make matters worse, they even have pocket money.

Before I joined the Legion, I was the son of a planetary governor. Although my father found me 36 stepmothers after my mother passed away, he was truly filial to me.

Not only did they give me a privileged family environment, but they also sent me into the Legion. But who knew that becoming the Emperor's Death Angel would also result in bullying?

"Company Commander, why don't we just not go back? We're all Primarchs anyway, might as well follow Prince Mordred. At least his dogs have more status than us."

What was said in jest was taken seriously by the listeners. Cole's words reminded everyone that they made sense. Wherever they were, they were all participating in the Great Crusade. Why should only the Primarchs choose, and not the other way around?

“But Cole, you know we don’t have Primarchs. Aren’t you afraid things will get even worse if we join Atlas? What if…”

"There's no 'what if'. Our leader is our chief. I even held him when he was a child. He's not that kind of person!"

"Who?" A group of missing limbs and shoddy lads looked around, searching for the source of the sound, and finally their eyes fell on the ammunition box in the corner.

Seeing that she had been exposed, a female dog-person with a black and white coat crawled out of the box and staggered to the group.

Holy crap, that's a dog showing off!

Looking at this strange-looking dog dressed in a suit of high-end custom power armor, Fricks was very curious about how such a big dog could hide. It was simply not scientific.

"What are you looking at, you shorty? I am one of the Eight Dogmen, known as the Shadow Hunter, Casca. But I prefer to be called Lady Pirate Dog."

"What? You ignorant little can of a are you going to join us at Atlas?" Fricks didn't answer immediately, but instead looked towards the door, and only after confirming that no one was eavesdropping did he reply:

"I have this plan."

"What do you mean by having this plan? If you do, you do; if you don't, you don't. Why are you being so indecisive? It's a good thing my clan doesn't have someone like you, or we'd be a disgrace."

Casca snatched Fricks's precision-engineered explosive pistol from the hospital bedside and smoothly slipped it into his pocket, completely ignoring the other man's increasingly dark complexion.

"Nice gun, consider it a gift from you. But I won't take it for nothing, I can tell you some good news in advance."

Faced with the choice between his sidearm and intelligence, Fricks decisively chose intelligence, and casually snatched Cole's sidearm from him. Anyway, this kid was probably going to join the Dreadnoughts, so he might as well get it for free.

"How to say?"

"The boss came here for you guys. Once this sub-sector is reclaimed, your entire fleet will be under the command of the clever kid Goff."

Upon hearing a new name, Fricks wanted to ask who this clever boy was, but the dog-man guessed he would be puzzled and simply brushed him off with a single sentence.

"Goff is the second company commander of our legion. Don't ask why the second company commander commands the Primarchs. We at Atlas have our own national circumstances. Just know that you'll be working for us from now on."

But our boss believes in mutual consent and never forces anyone. He's having a great time chopping people up right now and doesn't have time to come over.

Perhaps remembering something, the dog-man took out two parchment letters from his pouch and handed them to the hesitant old man, the civil engineer.

"The top one is the benefits and perks of our legion, and the bottom one is a letter that a man named Kyle asked me to deliver to you. Since you are all Space Marines, as long as you join, you will enjoy all the basic recruit benefits."

What? A new recruit! Who do you think you are? We are veterans of the first battalion, we are the elite!

Casca glanced at the Space Marine who had spoken, lingering particularly on his severed leg for a moment, and snorted coldly:
"You still have the nerve to call yourselves elite? You fought this lousy battle without any art of war. You are Space Marines, why did you have to go head-to-head with those stupid heavy artillery pieces?"
"I've never seen anyone as rigid as you guys. I've seen your match records; your tactics are completely outdated, from thirty years ago. Times have changed, kid! Even I, a dog-man, know how to learn new things."

"Listen up, as long as you join the boss, not only will you have all the food and lodging provided, but you'll also have plenty of weapons, be allowed to attend all military conferences, receive disability leave, and various free medical treatments. There's just too much to list, you can see for yourself."

After saying that, the dog-man turned and left, disappearing the moment he stepped into the shadows, and left the camp.

With no outsiders present, the missing space soldiers felt much more relaxed and began to browse the so-called benefits description.

A minute later, the soldier who had spoken out earlier scratched his head, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Well, on the other hand, everyone has been a recruit once. I think this treatment is pretty good."

It's not just good; because of the small number of people, Mordred, who has some family wealth, directly copied his military career from his previous life, creating an extremely realistic recreation, even including a weekly dinner every Friday.

Not to mention that Atlas aspires to become a global behemoth, so they have no shortage of weapons and equipment. They are simply waiting for their equipment to arrive. Even the mortal auxiliary troops are treated better than those of other legions.

Fricks wavered, but his pride prevented the scales from tipping completely to one side. Just as he was hesitating, he opened the letter Kyle had sent him.

He was consumed with jealousy after reading just half a page. Kyle, that bastard, was living the life he had always dreamed of and had even become Atlas's chief engineer.

They say the Primarch wants to erect a statue of him on Starport. Everyone else is suffering, but how come you're living such a comfortable life?
"No, we absolutely cannot let this kid eat all the food himself."

"Brothers, assemble the troops quickly! I must show His Highness Mordred our capabilities! We are the elite battalion! We are the best!"

Just as the boy began to work hard to compete for the meal replacement, a big guy far away in Olympia suddenly felt empty inside, with a strange feeling that the toy that should have belonged to him had been taken away.

This sudden change momentarily distracted him, and he accidentally crushed the stone statue's arm in his hand, causing his brother to worry:

"Brother, your stone statue."

But this concern did not ease the giant's emotions; instead, it exacerbated his mental exhaustion. He roared:

"Shut up, I don't need your reminder. Do you think you've won?"

"Impossible! I am Peturabo, I will not lose!"

(End of this chapter)