Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 120 Orbital Assault

The bridge of the Black Pearl shook amidst the gunfire.

It wasn't the dull tremor that surged from the depths of warp space; it was the violent shaking caused by the shockwaves from shells grazing the void shield, squeezing the ship's hull. Marcus's right hand was pressed tightly against the tactical console, the blue circle of his left mechanical eye shrinking to its smallest size. On the sensor panel, the signals from the orc fleet were densely packed, like a swarm of exploding bees.

Cohen sat in the commander's seat, not touching the weapons panel. His duty was to command the entire Garros fleet—and the ground forces about to land. The Black Pearl's gunnery was handled by Marcus and his gunnery team.

The massive salvo from the "Hammer of the Divine Craftsmen" had just covered the right flank of the orc cruiser group. The massive shells of the Retribution-class battleships left dark red trails in the vacuum as they hurtled towards the orc ships. But before impact, a blue-white energy barrier exploded on the orc cruisers' armor, crackling arcs of electricity deflecting the shells. The orcs' "customized force field" flickered violently amidst the barrage; two shells were deflected, and the third barely penetrated, exploding into an orange-red fireball on the armor.

An orc cruiser was hit directly, but the force field barrier absorbed most of the shell's kinetic energy at the last moment. The armor plates shattered but didn't break through. A secondary explosion inside hurled debris in all directions, but the ship continued to sail.

The silhouette of the space wreck "Bonebreaker" slowly rotated at the limits of the sensor's range. Dozens, even hundreds, of shipwrecks were pressed together, welded together, and fused together by the tides of the warp. Its surface was covered with layers upon layers of armor plating, each piece salvaged from different Imperial ships and roughly fixed to the wreck's surface with welding torches and rivets. Turrets protruded from every protrusion, varying in caliber and type, but every muzzle was aimed at the Combined Fleet. Several layers of blue-white force field barriers crackled in the darkness on the wreck's surface—Void Shield generators salvaged from Imperial warship wreckage by Orcish Techies were roughly pieced together, covering most of the wreck's area.

"Leadership, this is the 'Hammer of the Divine Craftsmen'." Von Hoffmann's voice came through the fleet channel, somewhat muffled by battlefield noise, but every word was clear. "The Orc fleet is tightening its defenses. The main gun firing windows of the space wreck are about to open. Cobra Squadron, advance and assault. All capital ships, provide covering fire."

Cohen pressed the communication button: "Black Pearl received."

He turned to Marcus: "Marcus, Cobra squadron, advance. Target—flanking fire position on the space wreck."

Marcus's fingers danced on the tactical console, and commands were transmitted throughout the Galos fleet via encrypted channels.

"Cobra Squadron 1 and 2, advance! Fire a salvo of torpedoes, targeting the flank turret clusters of the wrecked ship. Truth, Dauntless, and Glory, advance with the Black Pearl to cover the Cobra's advance."

Ten Cobra destroyers burst forth from the flank of the formation. Their hulls left ten parallel blue trails in the air as their attitude thrusters fine-tuned their direction, their bows aligned with the largest cluster of turrets on the side of the space wreckage.

"First Company, lock on. Second Company, lock on." The Cobra Company Commander's voice came through the channel, calm and composed, without any extra emotion.

"put."

Ten ships, two salvos, twenty torpedoes launched simultaneously from their bow torpedo tubes. Twenty parallel blue streaks of light trailed in the darkness, like a giant comb slicing through space. Orc interceptor fire rose from the wrecked ships, dark red lightning bolts exploding in bursts of sparks along the torpedoes' paths. Four torpedoes were hit, their explosions reverberating in the void. But the remaining sixteen pierced through the barrage.

The first batch of torpedoes struck the force field barrier on the surface of the wrecked ship. Blue-white arcs of electricity exploded on the surface of the torpedo warheads, and the fuses of two torpedoes were prematurely detonated by the force field interference, exploding into ineffective fireballs above the armor. However, the remaining fourteen torpedoes passed through the gaps in the force field. The cobbled-together design of the Tech Master was never perfect; the force field barrier had overlapping blind spots near the turret base.

The torpedoes burrowed into the blind spots. The first wave struck the cluster of turrets on the flanks of the wreck, tearing the crudely made turrets from their bases. The second wave followed closely, penetrating beneath the armor layers through the cracks created by the first. The secondary explosions inside ripped tens of thousands of tons of armor plates off the wreck's surface, sending debris flying.

The spaceship's firepower briefly eased.

But the orcs' counterattack did not cease. An orc cruiser emerged from the shadows of the wrecked ship, its force field shield gleaming blue-white in the starlight. The massive cannon at its bow was aimed at the Cobra Squadron.

"Cobra III, hard port!" The squadron leader's voice boomed across the channel.

It was too late. The orc cannons fired, the massive shells leaving dark red trails in the vacuum. The captain of the Cobra III swerved with all his might, but the shells grazed the stern, blasting off the port propeller nozzles. The ship lurched violently, its speed plummeting.

"Cobra III, thrusters damaged, power lost." The captain's voice came through the channel, tinged with suppressed gasps. "No hull breaches, still engaged. Point defense turrets are still spinning."

"Cobra III, withdraw from combat formation and maneuver towards the Fireseed," came the order from von Hoffmann.

"Cobra No. 3 received."

The special service ship waiting in the rear sped up, braving the gunfire to launch a giant gravity suction device to firmly fix the destroyer in place, and then dragged it slowly away from the battle line.

"Aircraft, sortie!" Captain Edric's voice echoed from the bridge of the Fireseed throughout the entire formation.

The first squadron of Thunderbolts launched from the hangar of the "Unyielding," their thruster exhaust trails leaving blue streaks in the vacuum. They quickly formed up around the "Fireseed," spreading out in a fan shape. The second squadron slid out from the belly of the "Courageous," following closely behind. The third squadron established a patrol perimeter around the fleet, intercepting any Orc assault boats attempting to approach from the flanks.

"Thunder Squadron, this is Fireseed Air Control. Priority cover for the orbital airborne troops. Airborne pods are launching. Maintain clear airspace on the flanks of the flight path."

"Received." The voice of the first company commander came through the communication channel.

At the very moment the Thunder fighter group turned, the airdrop pod launch array on the belly of the Black Pearl opened.

Twelve drop pods, propelled by electromagnetic catapults, were launched sequentially from the ship's hull. Trailing blue flames in the vacuum, they streaked across the darkness like burning meteors, hurtling towards the grayish-yellow planet with unstoppable force. Inside the pods, one hundred elite Stormtroopers, clad in 300E power armor, were magnetically secured to their seats. Kara sat at the very front of the first drop pod, her helmet visor displaying altitude, speed, and landing point coordinates. Her right knuckles tapped lightly twice on the armrest—not out of tension, but to count the seconds. Behind her, the drop pods were arranged with precise spacing, all locked to the same coordinates—the eastern air defense array within the middle layer of the Invernus hive.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Black Pearl's belly, the launch hatch of the heavy assault boat opened simultaneously.

A Stormbird heavy assault craft slid out of the Black Pearl's belly hatch. Several times larger than the drop pod, it was heavily armored, and its twin laser turrets beneath the bow rotated slowly from their standby position. Four main engines spewed blazing blue exhaust plumes as it cut into the atmosphere at a speed slightly slower than the drop pod. Its target—the critical node of the Void Shield Generator on the western side of the Invernus Hive.

Rellano sat by the Stormbird's hatch. The seats folded down from the bulkhead, five rows of which were crammed with a full hundred elite Stormstrike Force warriors. Rellano sat in the first seat on the side of the hatch, his left hand resting on the handle of the hydraulic release valve. The titanium alloy bone plate on his forehead gleamed with a cold gray metallic sheen in the dim red light of the cabin, and his light gray eyes were half-closed.

Behind him, a hundred soldiers sat silently in their chairs, some whispering the Emperor's prayers, others repeatedly checking the magazines of their explosive pistols. No one chatted.

"Enter the atmosphere in sixty seconds," the pilot's voice came through the cockpit intercom.

Rellano opened his eyes. He didn't turn around, but simply clenched his right fist and tapped it lightly twice on his knee. All one hundred people simultaneously stopped moving. They ceased reciting prayers, stopped checking magazines. A hundred pairs of eyes stared at the back of his head.

Thirty seconds.

Rellano untied his restraints and stood up. His two-and-a-half-meter-tall adamantite armor almost touched the ceiling in the narrow passage. He walked to the hatch, gripped the hydraulic release valve with his left hand, and placed his right hand on the hilt of the chainsaw sword at his waist.

Behind him, a hundred people stood up simultaneously. The folding seats automatically retracted, and the aisle inside the cabin was filled with an impenetrable wall of people.

"Fifteen seconds. Landing point—the rooftop of the annex building, 400 meters from the target."

"Five, four, three, two, one—"

'

The hatch exploded open. Hot air from Invernus, carrying gunpowder smoke and the smell of burning, rushed in, and the flames turned the interior a dark red. The Stormbird's twin laser cannons fired two blue-white beams at the orc anti-air positions on the ground, exploding into two molten fireballs on the orc turrets.

Relano stepped out of the hatch and plunged into the flames.

Behind them, a hundred figures filed out. This wasn't a passive ejection like from a drop pod, but a deliberate, conscious assault; they began aiming as they fell. Bomb guns fired mid-fall, bullets tracing dense, dark red paths across the night sky before crashing into the orcish front line.

The First Squadron of Thunder did not charge into the deepest part of the Orcish defenses. Instead, they positioned themselves on the flanks of the drop pods' flight path—six Thunders deployed on either side of the drop pods' trajectory, their laser cannons aimed at any interceptors that might emerge from the gaps in the wrecked ships. The drop pods roared past beneath them, like twelve sharp blades piercing Invernus's heart. Only after confirming that all the drop pods had passed safely did the First Squadron turn towards the Orcish orbital defenses and begin clearing out anti-aircraft turrets and interceptors.

"Thunder Squadron 1, turn to the eastern rail defense line. Prioritize jamming anti-aircraft turrets," the air traffic control voice from the Fireseed rang out again.

Orc interceptors poured out from the cracks in the wrecked spaceship. They were crudely made contraptions piloted by ghouls, with asymmetrical wings, armor plates pieced together with rivets and sheet metal, and turrets haphazardly protruding from under the fuselage and wings. But there were too many of them. Hundreds, thousands, emerged from every crack in the wreckage's surface.

The first squadron of Thunderbolts rammed into them head-on. Twin laser cannons fired at close range, the blue-white energy beams accurately severing the wings and piercing the engines of the Pseudo-Spirit fighters. An air-to-air missile penetrated the center of the Pseudo-Spirit fighter group and exploded, scattering fragments everywhere.

But the numerical advantage began to show. A Thunder fighter was simultaneously pursued by several P-type fighters from different directions, and machine guns tore holes in its tail. The pilot pulled the control stick, and the fighter rolled away to break free.

"Unit 3, tail section damaged, engine output reduced by 15%." The pilot's voice came through the channel, muffled: "Continue the fight."

He shut down the damaged left engine, distributing all thrust to the right. Lightning traced an irregular arc as the nose of the aircraft locked onto the nearest enemy fighter. Laser cannons fired, and the enemy fighter tumbled and plummeted into the atmosphere.

The second squadron flanked the enemy, splitting the enemy fighter group in two. Their machine guns strafe at close range, wiping out the poorly made aircraft one by one from space.

On the hangar deck of the Fireseed, the engines of the Avenger attack aircraft began to warm up. They were larger, heavier, and slower than the Lightning. But their mission was not air superiority, but ground destruction. The six barrels of the Gatling guns slowly rotated beneath the nose of the aircraft.

They wait for the lightning to knock down the anti-aircraft turrets of the rail defenses, then swoop down and smash the orcs' ground armor into scrap metal.

In the four Odysseus-class submarine holds, more Thunderbolts and Avengers are on standby. Service sergeants flit under the wings, loading ammunition boxes into the racks.

The air traffic control voice from the Fireseed blared again: "Thunder Squadron, the anti-aircraft turret cluster on the east side of the orbital defense line—60% cleared. Numerous targets remain on the west side. Second Squadron, turn west. Third Squadron, relieve the east patrol."

In the ranks of the Lucis field fleet were two Mars-class large cruisers—the Hammer and the Steelwall.

The ships were performing flank cover missions. Their hulls were a full size larger than the Gothic-class cruisers, and their broadside gun emplacements were much denser. At that moment, the broadside gun emplacements of both ships opened fire simultaneously, shells exploding amidst the Orc destroyer formation.

"Iron Hammer, port side, three orc destroyers are approaching at high speed."

"Steelwall, CRUD. Crossfire, cover."

The two Mars-class destroyers unleashed a barrage of fire. The first destroyer was hit directly, its hull breaking in half. The second destroyer was penetrated, veered off course, and collided with the side of the third. The two ships became entangled, tumbling and plummeting into the atmosphere.

On the other side of the battle line, however, the Lucis light cruiser "Vigilant" was hit three times in succession by the main guns of the Orc cruiser. The first shot tore through the Void Shield, the second shot penetrated the side armor, and the third shot exploded inside the hull.

"The USS Vigilant has sustained multiple damages to its hull, and its No. 2 reactor is shut down. It is still at sea."

"Vigilant, withdraw from the battle." von Hoffmann's voice was unwavering.

The Vigilant, trailing thick smoke and debris, slowly disengaged from the line of fire.

Behind the Black Pearl, the Indomitable's macro gun crew opened fire. Every barrel of the Odysseus-class was thicker and longer than that of the Luna-class. All six main guns fired simultaneously, shells exploding into six blue-white arcs of electricity against the Orc cruiser's force field barrier.

"Unyielding, second salvo. Force field still active," came the gunner's voice.

Hawke stood on the bridge of the Indomitable. His adamantite prosthetic left arm rested steadily on the tactical platform, his mechanical eye zoomed out to its minimum, watching the force field strength reading slowly decay.

"Unyielding, third salvo. Concentrate fire, same coordinates."

The six main guns fired again. Shells repeatedly struck the same spot. The force field barrier overloaded and flashed; the fourth shell penetrated the barrier, blasting a crack in the armor. The fifth shell went in, detonating the internal ammunition magazine. The orc cruiser broke in half from the middle.

Marcus turned to Cohen: "Captain, the light spear is fully charged."

Cohen didn't touch the weapon panel. He nodded.

Marcus's finger landed on the fire button. The Black Pearl was a precision-engineered modified ship, with a hybrid configuration of macro cannons and light lances, far exceeding the performance of a standard Gothic-class ship.

"emission."

A blue-white energy beam shot out from the Black Pearl, drawing a straight streak of light in the vacuum, and pierced the side of the orc cruiser that was turning.

The beam struck the force field barrier. An electric arc exploded at the tip of the energy beam, and the force field flickered violently. Two seconds later, the barrier collapsed. The beam pierced through the bridge and exited from the stern.

The orc cruiser began to veer off course, skimming past the surface of the wrecked spaceship before crashing into a surviving turret.

Marcus's finger switched targets on the weapon panel. "Second round. Target: wrecked ship flank, large turret base."

.

"emission."

The blue-white beam shot out again. The force field barrier evaporated under the continuous burning, the adamantite armor melted, the base deformed, and the giant macro cannon that had been taken from the Imperial battleship detached from the base and tumbled in space.

"Light Spear, third round, charging." Marcus's voice came from the tactical console. "Reactor output is stable, cooling system is normal."

The Black Pearl's macro cannons continued firing during the intervals between the recharging of the light spears.

The Pravda's ship-mounted light lances fired simultaneously, creating a crossfire with the Black Pearl's. The two beams converged on the armored surface of the space wreckage, exploding into a cloud of incandescent white plasma. The force field barriers overloaded, and armor plates were ripped off.

The light spears of the Dauntless and Glory then fired. The combined firepower of the four precision-engineered warships tore a deep gap in the orcs' orbital defenses.

But the orcs' counterattack was equally fierce. A shell grazed the edge of the Void Shield on the port side of the Glory, and the shockwave made the ship shudder violently.

"Glory, the port side Void Shield is overloaded and needs to be restarted." The captain of the Glory's voice was calm. "Restarting, estimated forty seconds. Port side armor slightly damaged."

At the same time, the "Iron Hammer" was hit by two Orc shells simultaneously. The first shell struck the ship's armor, creating a crack; the second shell pierced the base of the secondary gun turret on the side, disabling the turret.

"Iron Hammer, bow armor damaged, No. 2 secondary turret disabled. Void Shield stable. Still engaged in combat."

Von Hoffmann's voice came through: "Iron Hammer, withdraw from the front line and maneuver to the rear of the Fireseed. After deployment, temporary maintenance will be carried out in the Fireseed's repair bay."

"Hammer received."

The Mars-class large cruiser began to turn, slowly disengaging from the line of fire.

Cobra 7 was hit in the tail thruster by debris, causing its engine output to drop sharply.

"Cobra 7, thrusters damaged, speed reduced by 30 percent."

"Cobra Seven, withdraw from combat formation and maneuver towards the Fireseed," von Hoffmann ordered. "Once the Fireseed completes its deployment, prioritize dealing with your damage."

"Cobra 7 received."

The maintenance bay of the Fireseed is already being prepared. Service servitors are retrieving spare parts and moving them to the maintenance platform.

The air traffic control voice on the Fireseed called to the Unyielding. Thunder Squadron has cleared the eastern channel.

We can begin the first wave of ground deliveries.

Hawke pressed the communication button: "Unyielding received. Devourer, release."

The stern cargo door of the Unyielding opened. A massive "Devourer" transport ship slid out from its hull. A second and third wave followed closely behind. Simultaneously, the four Odysseus-class cargo doors opened, and dozens of large transport ships surged out, forming a dense column in space. Their exhaust plumes merged into a sea of ​​light in the darkness.

The Thunderbolt fighter jets swept overhead, their wing lights tracing a bright path. The transport ships then cut into the atmosphere along that path.

Captain Edric's voice came through the gun: "The Gunsling is calling the Combined Fleet. The first wave of ground deployment has begun. Armored forces will establish a landing site on the surface. Titans will be deployed after the landing site is confirmed to be secure."

von Hoffmann confirmed: "Received."

In the ranks of the Lucis field fleet, the turrets of the Ironwall opened fire simultaneously. Twelve macroguns fired in alternating bursts, creating a continuous wall of fire. Shells struck the orc cruisers' force field barriers with precise intervals—the first round weakening, the second penetrating, the third piercing. One orc cruiser was severed in two. The force field generator of another was directly hit, and the barrier vanished.

Eisenhorn stood on the bridge of the Ironwall, his red optics glowing steadily. His mechanical fingers tapped twice on the edge of the table—counting hits.

The Steelwall continued its barrage, six shells simultaneously striking the side of an Orc cruiser. The force field barrier collapsed, the armor tore open, and an internal explosion ripped a gaping hole in the hull.

"Steelwall, hit confirmed. Target is stalling."

Von Hoffmann's voice came through: "Cobra Squadron, return to reload. 'Hammer of the Divine Craftsmen,' advance. Retribution-class battleships, fire from all gun emplacements, target: the main gun mount of the space wreck."

The ship "Hammer of the Divine Craftsmen" emerged from the center of the formation. The massive gun arrays of the Retribution-class battleships spread out on both sides of the ship, and dozens of giant cannons fired simultaneously—the entire battleship shuddered violently, and a row of orange-red halos exploded on its sides.

The cannonball slammed into the main gun pedestal of the wrecked spaceship. In the first round, the force field barrier flickered violently. In the second round, a force field generator overloaded and exploded, creating a gap in the barrier. In the third round, the cannonball drilled through the gap, shattering the armor plates, and the massive macro cannon detached from its pedestal, tumbling through space before crashing into another turret.

The fire window of the wrecked spaceship is now completely closed.

Von Hoffmann's voice rang out again: "Combined Fleet, break through the near-Earth orbit defense line. Fireseed, prepare to move into delivery positions. Thunder Squadron, orbital clearance progress 75%. Continue to suppress the remaining anti-aircraft turrets."

Cohen pressed the communication button: "Fireseed, follow behind the Garros fleet. Maintain a safe distance."

The Black Pearl's light lance has completed its fourth charge. Marcus's finger is on the fire button, the target locked on the still-rotating turret base that has just emerged from the wreckage of a space ship.

"emission."

A blue-white energy beam sliced ​​through the pedestal. The turret slid off, tumbled in space, and crashed into another armored protrusion on the wrecked ship's surface.

Marcus reports: "The Light Spear's cooling system is overloaded and requires cooling. Estimated time: 90 seconds."

The Black Pearl's macro cannons continued firing during the cooldown period.

The light spears of the Truth, Dauntless, and Glory completed their fourth volley. The light spear fire from the four precision-engineered warships tore a fourth gash in the surface of the space wreckage. The firepower density of the Orc orbital defense line had decreased to a level that the Combined Fleet could withstand.

The Thunderbolt fighter squadron conducted its final sweep in near-Earth orbit. Six Thunderbolts from the Third Squadron swooped down from high altitude, their twin laser cannons exploding on the armor of the Orc anti-aircraft turrets. One turret's ammunition magazine was hit, and the explosion ripped the entire turret off its base.

"East side of the rail defense line—anti-aircraft turrets have been cleared," the voice of the first squadron leader came through. "West side—three remain. The third squadron is handling them."

Von Hoffmann's voice came through the flagship channel, carrying the long-awaited instructions from Cohen: "Breach confirmed in the orbital defenses. Fireseed, Garros fleet, armored delivery group, proceed in sequence. Titan delivery windows will open once the landing zone is confirmed secure. All ships of the Combined Fleet, provide covering fire to clear the way for the landing forces."

Cohen pressed the communication button, connecting with the commander of the Fireseed and the armored delivery group: "Edric. Fireseed, advance. Thunder Squadron, provide air cover. Armored delivery group—begin surface assault."

Hawke's voice was calm and concise: "Unyielding received. Devourer formation has entered the atmosphere. Armored forces will land in twenty-five minutes. Ground target—highlands surrounding Invernus Hive. The advance force will establish a landing zone to create a safe area for Titan deployment."

The Fireseed's thrusters ignited. The steel behemoth, twenty kilometers in length, slowly advanced from behind the Garros fleet.

On the transport ship, ten squadrons of intelligent control mechs were on standby, their optical lenses glowing with a dark red light, and the ammunition belts of heavy explosive guns hanging from their shoulder-mounted ammunition boxes.

In a cabin on the upper deck of the Fireseed, Sister Valeria opened her eyes. A chainsaw sword stood at her side, the rose emblem on its hilt gleaming dimly. Her time had not yet come.

The tail flames of the first batch of "devourers" drew bright arcs in the darkness above the Invernus hive, while hundreds of armored vehicles bounced on their fixed frames inside the belly compartment.

Cohen stood at the Black Pearl's porthole. On the sensor screens, the Storm Commando's identification signal was already flashing towards the eastern air defense array—Kara's first wave had landed. To the west, Rellano's Stormbird signal was rapidly moving towards the Void Shield generator. Twelve drop pods and one Stormbird, like burning meteors, tore through the darkness above Invernus.

The Fireseed's heavy-duty elevator platform has already pushed the first Warlord-class Titan onto the delivery deck.

The damaged ships Hammer, Vigilant, Cobra III, and Cobra VII are maneuvering toward Fireseed. Fireseed's maintenance hatches are open, service crews are lined up, and technical priests are calibrating maintenance equipment.

White steam billowed from the light spear's cooling vents. Less than three thousand seconds of the ninety-second cooldown remained.

Cohen pressed the internal communication button: "Kara. Storm Commando, target anti-aircraft array. Assault immediately upon landing, do not linger. I am establishing a command post at the landing zone and will be available for your updates at any time."

Kara's reply came through the communication channel, intermittent due to static interference, but those two words drowned out all the noise: "Received."

Cohen disconnected communications and turned to walk towards the hangar. The airdrop pod launch array had been shut down; all twelve airdrop pods had been safely delivered. The Stormbird had returned to base and was flying towards the Fireseed, preparing for the next wave of deliveries. The resupply pods and communications relay pods were being loaded.

The orbital drop has begun. The Stormstrike Forces are engaging the Orcs from the east and west. Armored units will land in twenty-five minutes. Invernus's lair is still signaling, but the Empire has returned.