Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 128 Judgment of Ashes (4)

While the control room of the elevator hub was being relentlessly pursued by the Storm Commando, the six giant elevator platforms were operating day and night, delivering batches of Rellano's combat groups, knight mechs, and ammunition supplies to Upper Nest.

But the orcs reacted faster than expected.

Grom couldn't allow the Imperial Ironhide to gain a foothold in Upper Nest. The Orc fleet on orbit received orders for indiscriminate bombardment the moment the Nexus fell. Shells rained down from near-Earth orbit, slamming into the Imperial assault groups and also into the Orcs' own lines of defense. Grom didn't care. Orcs never cared about friendly fire. Dead Orcs were useless; the living Orcs trampled over their corpses to keep charging.

As the first volley of bombs rained down, Rellano was leading his battle group through an elevated utility tunnel at the edge of the upper hive. Explosions erupted overhead, tearing a hole in the tunnel's dome, sending molten metal fragments raining down. Rellano didn't stop. Neither did the column behind him. The muzzle flashes of the bomb bay rifles formed a broken chain in the darkness; their advance was several minutes behind schedule.

But the number of casualties increased significantly in those few minutes.

Kara was thrown to the ground by a near miss while leading the Stormbreaker team in a flank attack. She scrambled to her feet from the wreckage, her body still trembling from the shockwave. There was no time to check her injuries, no pause. She yelled "Count off!" into the comms, and twelve voices answered in unison, not one missing. She switched to another channel: "Tech Priest, how much longer until the node?"

The answer she received was not a human voice, but a series of steady binary pulses.

As the second wave of shells detached from their orbits, the Void Shield's force field expanded around the node. A blue-white energy membrane surged forth, spreading across the hive's steel skeleton and blocking subsequent shells. Explosions erupted on the shield's surface, creating bursts of blazing white light.

The tech priests didn't cheer. The leader squatted in front of the control panel, staring at the row of green indicator lights on the status panel. After about three seconds of silence, he realized again that the Void Shield components in the warehouse could light up every time, with a precision as if they had been cut directly from the original blueprints. He didn't ask any further questions, wiped his mechanical fingers, which were covered in holy oil residue, on his robe, and switched to the communication channel: "Node lit. Shield stable."

His voice was devoid of any emotion. But there was a moment of silence on the communication channel. Everyone knew what those few tens of minutes of downtime meant—if the components were installed a second later, if the system went online a second later, the second round of bombing would wipe the Imperial positions on the edge of the hive from the map.

Cohen's voice came through the channel, brief and without any unnecessary words: "Stand firm."

Rellano stood on a half-collapsed observation platform on the edge of the Upper Nest. This was once the noble quarter of Invernus, a corridor wide enough for two chimeras to pass side by side. The crystal chandeliers embedded in the dome were mostly broken, the remaining lamp holders casting distorted shadows in the emergency lights. The relief of the Imperial double-headed eagle was covered with orc graffiti, spewing crooked low Gothic script.

Kara emerged from the shadows, her explosive gun muzzle pointing downwards. Several minutes passed, and she still felt completely broken—

That was, after all, the impact of a large-caliber naval gun.

"Grom has begun to consolidate his forces. It's not a rout, but an organized retreat."

Rellano did not answer immediately. His titanium alloy bone plate on his forehead gleamed a cold gray in the emergency lights, and his light gray eyes were fixed on the steel skyline welded shut by the orcs deep within the hive.

"It's stalling for time." The words seemed to be squeezed out from the depths of his throat, as if they were carved from stone.

"The Imperial army has pinned down the Acheron direction and can't get through. The Fire Wasteland and Equatorial Jungle are already on their way. The Wasteland is expected to arrive in less than three thousand days." Kara relayed the information to him quickly, without any unnecessary emotion.

"So we need to address the issue of the nesting process as soon as possible, including the top of the tower," Relano said, not asking a question.

Kara glanced at him. The veteran's face was expressionless, but there was something in his eyes that wasn't approval, but confirmation. Confirmation that she knew what was about to happen.

"We need to do everything we can," she said.

Rellano did not answer. He turned and walked into the depths of the passage. The low hum of the chainsaw sword echoed between the pillars.

Kara remained where she was and pressed the comms button: "Storm Assault Team, advance across the board. Grom is waiting for us." Brief confirmations came from each squad in the comms. No one was surprised.

In an abandoned utility tunnel on the flank, Valeria led her squad of battle nuns silently through.

They didn't take the main passage, nor did they join any combat groups. The Silver Robe Order's mission wasn't to attack, but to hunt. The walls of the tunnel were covered with millennia of accumulated dust, and emergency lights were spaced fifty meters apart, some on, some off, the light and shadow cutting alternating stripes of light and dark on the metal walls.

The nun at the front stopped and raised her fist. The line froze in that instant.

“Sister, the backup passage to the Governor’s residence is 500 meters ahead. There are three doors, all welded shut from the outside.” She paused, then added, “It’s human craftsmanship.”

Valeria crouched before the welded-on armored door, her fingertips tracing the weld seam. The weld was neat, made with Imperial standard alloy welding materials, not the crudely made sheet metal used by the orcs. Behind the door was the governor's mansion's backup passage, the last stretch of road leading to von Kilska's hideout.

Orcs don't weld doors. They only smash them. The one who welded this door shut was the governor's own men.

Valeria stood up without asking "why." Behind that door, she vaguely sensed something that didn't belong to the battlefield—not fear, not anger, but something older, something that sent chills down her spine—waiting. It was as if something behind the door knew she was coming and had been waiting for a long time.

"Request personnel from the Garros Legion. One hundred Stormstrike Teams. Also, bring the psionic combat squads."

The communication request was sent, and a reply came back in less than fifteen minutes. Cohen only replied with one sentence: "Here's the man. Don't delay the main attack on the nest."

In the medical station on the side of the cathedral, Liz stood behind the sorting table, her surgical gown stained with blood, its original color unrecognizable.

More wounded were brought in during those few tens of minutes of the blind window than at any other time. Some had their internal organs shattered by the shockwave of the orbital bombardment, some had their spines broken by the collapsing steel frame, and some had half their faces torn off by shrapnel—but they were still breathing.

Because the governor has already visited.

At the end of the corridor, an armored door was pushed open. A dozen or so people walked in.

They wore greyish-white robes—not the power armor of combat nuns, but the monastic robes of the Order of the Healing. The collars were embroidered with the Invernus Grail emblem, and the hems were soaked with blood, some patches dried and hardened. The woman at the front was in her fifties, with short, graying hair, a recently stitched wound above her left eye, and a bandage on her left arm. She carried an old-fashioned leather medical case, the gold leaf on the lid of which had been mostly peeled off, emblazoned with a double-headed eagle.

She stopped in front of Liss. There were no pleasantries, no introductions. She looked at Liss for two seconds, then spoke, her voice hoarse, with the calm unique to someone who had crawled out of ruins: "The Healing Order of the State Church of Invernus. We've held on in the lower levels until now. We heard the Emperor's messenger has arrived."

When she read "the Emperor's messenger," her tone wasn't questioning, but confirming. It was like someone groping in the dark and finding a wall, knowing it wasn't an illusion.

Liss looked at her. "Gallos Legion, Medical Director Liss. Assign her to the post-operative intensive care unit. The wounded need to hear the Invernus accent."

"How many people do you have?" Liz asked.

"We found 137. Some were injured but can still move. Many more went to the bottom nest in their panic and are still trapped there. We'll wait for the Emperor's messengers to clear the way down and bring them back."

The nun released her grip, turned, and spoke a few words to the people behind her in a variant of Invernus's local low Gothic language. One hundred and thirty-seven people dispersed into the corridor.

They went straight to the bedsides of the wounded locals from Invernus, took their hands, and said in the accent they had heard since childhood, "The Emperor's messengers have come. You will survive."

The eyes of the wounded in Invernus lit up. Some laughed, some cried, and some simply clung to the nun's hand, refusing to let go.

Cohen appeared at the door.

The atmosphere in the corridor changed in an instant. No commands were needed; it was an instinctive reaction that surged from everyone simultaneously.

The veterans of the Black Pearl were the first to find him. A wounded soldier leaning against the corner—his legs were gone from the knees down—was trying to stand up, but a nurse nearby held him down. He couldn't stand, but his lips were moving.

"captain."

The sound was very soft. But it exploded in the air of the medical station.

The soldiers of the Galos Planetary Defense Force looked up. "Governor."

The Invernus call him "the Emperor's messenger".

The voices poured forth from the half-open door of the prayer room, from the beds in the post-operative intensive care unit, and from the still-breathing mouths of every Invernus. Scattered, weak whispers, converging simultaneously from different directions.

Cohen strode in.

He walked past the first row of beds. The patient whose chest cavity had been torn open by shrapnel had his cardiac monitor jump from agitated to stable. The nurse stared at the monitor, her hemostat in her hand paused for a moment, she didn't speak, but simply crossed out the "red" on the data panel and wrote "green".

He walked past the prayer room door. The door was ajar, and inside were hundreds of people. The monitors flickered in the darkness. The moment he passed, all the waveforms jumped simultaneously. A hushed sob rose from inside the prayer room.

He didn't linger; he merely glanced at her, nodded, and turned to leave.

Liz lowered her head and continued sorting.

The deepest part of the nest.

Grom sat on the throne that had once belonged to Governor Invernus. The throne was welded with armor plates, and explosive guns salvaged from Imperial Knight armor were embedded in the armrests. Its iron chin gleamed a rusty red under the emergency lights.

The master welder walked in from the doorway, his welding torch still smoking.

"The tin man is coming up. From the elevator."

Grom didn't move. "Where's the shield?"

"It's been fixed by the shrimp. The second wave didn't blow it up."

Grom stood up. The hydraulic pushers of the power gauntlet hissed briefly. It didn't care that the shield was repaired, or that the orbital bombardment hadn't stopped the shrimp. It used WAAAGH! The signal summoned the entire subcontinent—the stragglers marching south from the Fire Wasteland, the savage tribes advancing west from the Equatorial Jungle. The Fire Wasteland forces were already moving, and the Equatorial Jungle forces were on their way. Those further away would take longer, but would flank them.

"Where are the reinforcements?"

"Acheron is blocked by the shrimp's ships. He can't get through. There's movement over in the Fire Wasteland. There's movement over in the Equatorial Jungle too."

Tech Master hesitated for a moment, then added, "Over at the official residence—that bastard has sealed himself inside. Three doors, welded shut from the outside. He had them welded himself."

Grom grinned, revealing fangs stained black by mushroom sap. It couldn't understand why that little devil would seal himself in. But orcs disdained to comprehend human madness. It only knew the thing was disgusting, but Gorilla and Mao didn't care.

"Let it go. Have the boys bring up the last few cannons. No need to defend anymore. Let the shrimp in. When reinforcements come from the north and west, these shrimp will be pinned down here. The battles we can't win are the ones worth fighting."

Tech-Master turned and left. Grom sat back on his throne, the rusty red light on his iron chin flickering slowly in the darkness. He waited for Shrimp to come in on his own.

Cohen stood in front of the sand table.

The dark red markings on the upper nest looked like a clump of congealing blood under the cold white light. Rellano's signal was at the forefront, with Kara close behind.

"Where is Sister Valeria?" he asked.

Cole retrieved the tracking signal. On the holographic projection, an isolated blue dot moved slowly along the edge of the upper nest, deviating from the main attack axis and traversing northeastward along the trajectory of an abandoned utility tunnel.

"She has her own mission."

Cohen was silent for a moment. He looked at the point of light—isolated, slow, hovering at the edge of the dark red enemy-occupied territory.

"Don't block her way," he said.

He pressed the communication button. "Rellano. Kara. Three days."

There was a two-second silence on the communication channel. Kara's voice rang out, short and crisp: "Understood."

Rellano didn't reply. His signal was on.

Cohen withdrew his gaze and landed on the wasteland surrounding Invernus on the sand table. Those empty areas would soon be filled with green—scattered troops marching south from the Fire Wasteland, and savage tribes advancing west from the equatorial jungle. Grom was right; taking Upper Nest was just the beginning.

The cathedral bells rang out amidst the intense gunfire. Cohen watched the moving blue dots on the sand table. The war bells had only just begun their heaviest toll.

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