Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 137 Invernusgrad (Part 1)

941.M41, five months after the outbreak of the Second Battle of Armageddon.

Inside the command post of the Zhongchao Cathedral, markings on the sand table flickered in the cold light, and hundreds of red and blue magnetic markers were pinned to the contour lines of the Fire Wasteland. Nearly a hundred officers were crammed on both sides of the long table and against the walls, the servo motors of their power armor humming low.

Cohen and Cole stood on the north and south sides of the sand table, respectively. The Invernus United Army had grown to tens of millions of people—reorganized from the Garros Legion, remnants of the local garrison, and militia forces. Within the Garros Legion, a set of ranks and positions independent of the Astronautical Army had been established: Brigadier Generals, Colonels, etc., were not officially granted by the Empire, but were job titles created by Cohen to clarify the chain of command.

Cole brought up the holographic projection, and a topographical map of the wasteland unfolded above the sand table.

"The orc vanguard is advancing south in three columns. The western column is advancing along the dry riverbed, the central column is pressing forward head-on along the old imperial highway and is the main force, and the eastern column is flanking along the broken hills. The three columns together number over five million. This is only the first batch. New banners are still emerging from the depths of the wasteland—intelligence estimates that the number is at least ten times that."

Brigadier General Morris placed his hands on the edge of the sand table: "Then, let's take out this wave first."

Colonel Joachim's prosthetic eye shrank slightly: "My three armored regiments, hundreds of Lemanrus tanks, accompanied by a large number of Chimeras—have entered their designated positions."

Cohen's gaze shifted towards the Titan Legion. Torres stood up, his voice steady: "The Titan Legion of Garros has eight divisions. Divisions one through four are assigned to the northern front, one to the western front, and one to the eastern front. Division four is in reserve. Divisions five and six are deployed to the southern front. Divisions seven and eight are on standby in the central nest along with the Emperor-class units. Each division will be deployed as needed based on the battle situation. The Emperor-class units will 'Burn the Fury' as the general reserve."

Cohen nodded and turned to Knight Commander Leonard.

"Three squadrons of Knight Mechs are deployed on the eastern hills. Ranger-types lead the charge, Paladin-types are in the middle, and Priest-types bring up the rear."

The terrain on the eastern route is fragmented, making it a perfect hunting ground.

Rellano sat at the end of the long table, the titanium alloy plates on his forehead gleaming coldly. The Phoenix Battle Group was an elite force he had assembled from elite combatants drawn from various capital ships. Comprising eight independent companies and a directly subordinate elite guard, it still numbered over 15,000 men after several battles of attrition and replenishment, serving as the spearhead of the Garros Legion's mobile assault. As for why it was named "Phoenix," only Cohen and Rellano knew. The name signified its formation; it would no longer be a typical elite infantry force, but would be supported by armored units, air assault forces, and independent ships, organized as a mortal legion similar to the Space Marines.

"The Phoenix Combat Group consists of eight companies. Three companies are deployed in the second-line positions as reserves, while the main force does not leave the shield area."

The rest of the company will remain in the central nest, awaiting orders. Just repel them; don't pursue—pursuing them is suicide.

Kara stood on the flank: "The entire Storm Commando team is on standby, responsible for counter-special operations infiltration, and also serving as a mobile reserve."

Maggie flipped open the data panel: "Ammunition supply. The Zhongchao factory is operating on three shifts, and supplies are being allocated from the Garros depot. The inventory is sufficient to support high-intensity combat for dozens of days."

Cohen turned to face the entire audience.

"Operation Plan: At 2:00 PM, the heavy artillery group will prepare fire first, covering the western and eastern flanks. Subsequently, Joachim's tank regiment will engage from pre-established positions, with the first to third Titan squadrons providing fire support from within their shields. Knight mechs will flank from the eastern flank to cut off retreat. The Phoenix battle group will remain on standby at the second line, not advancing proactively. Intelligent control mechs will accompany the tanks to clear out infantry that have broken through the firing points."

The Stormtroopers served as a mobile reserve. Morris remained at command post to coordinate, Maggie supplied ammunition, and Torres oversaw Titan firepower.

He pressed his finger on the shield boundary of the northern line of the sand table: "The main force should not leave the range of the Void Shield. Just repel them, don't chase them."

At 2:00 PM sharp, the heavy artillery group on the northern front opened fire.

Hundreds of petrified lizard self-propelled cannons roared simultaneously. Plasma bombs exploded in the dry riverbed and hilly terrain, hurling rubble and green-skinned limbs into the air. The artillery preparation lasted for an hour. But there were too many orcs; those in front were blown to pieces, while those behind continued to surge forward, trampling over flesh and blood.

Joachim ordered over the command channel: "Get closer and fire."

Hundreds of Leman Russ tanks deployed in three lines within their pre-arranged positions. Chimeras roamed the flanks, and spent shell casings from their vehicle-mounted explosive guns bounced off the roofs.

The orcs' first charge unfolded simultaneously on both flanks. The chariot column on the west flank advanced at high speed along the dry riverbed; the infantry on the east flank surged forth from the gaps in the hills.

Torris oversaw the entire operation from the command platform. In the central area, the first squad's Warrior-class volcano cannons locked onto the Ancient Giant cluster, destroying the largest unit in the first salvo. In the western area, the second squad's Warhound-class units rapidly advanced from both sides of the dry riverbed, alternating fire with plasma blast cannons, while the Marauder-class units provided suppression from the rear. In the eastern area, the third squad, coordinating with the Knight mechs, pinned down the orcs' flanking maneuvers in the hilly terrain.

But there were too many orcs. Before the first batch of ancient giants had even finished burning, the second batch burst out of the smoke and dust.

Hermann's "Iron Hoof" was sandwiched in the ranks of the 3rd Tank Company. Through the commander's peephole, two Gugis were bursting out of the smoke and dust, and the force field barrier was flashing violently in the explosion of plasma bombs.

"Armor-piercing shell, the one to the left front, left leg joint." The gunner's voice boomed in the headset. The vehicle shuddered as the armor-piercing shell hit its target. The Gujuki knelt down on one knee, its combat cannon aimed at the "Iron Hoof".

"Reverse! Reverse at full speed!" Hermann roared.

The shell struck less than ten meters in front of the vehicle, sending shrapnel and debris clattering against its armor. Two Casterlan mechs followed up from the flank, their molten metal beams piercing the Gugi's torso. It collapsed with a deafening roar.

The Orcs' counterattack began after the Imperial armored forces came into range. Tens of thousands of modified tanks unleashed their rapid-fire guns simultaneously, sending plumes of bullets exploding across the battlefield. More than a dozen Lemanrus tanks were hit by the Gugi's combat cannons; some were disabled, others had their turrets blown off. Joachim roared into the channel: "Damage control teams, tow away the damaged vehicles! The rest of the crews, keep firing!"

The Casterian mechs deployed behind the armored forces, their heavy artillery barrages overwhelming the Orc infantry attempting to break through the gaps in fire. The intelligent mechs precisely picked off any stragglers that slipped through the Titan and tank fire.

The battle raged until dusk. The defensive line repelled seven massive orcish charges, but they were unable to break through.

Before nightfall, the orcs' offensive rhythm changed significantly—no longer a continuous, tidal wave of attacks, but rather intermittent probing.

Joachim said on the channel, "They are retreating. Not collapsing, but withdrawing completely from their structure."

Torres confirmed: "The Greenskins are disengaging. All squads cease fire."

The knight mechs withdrew from the east wing, with the ranger-types covering the rear. Leonard's voice came through: "At least a million more are waiting in the hilly areas of the eastern route."

Cohen's order was brief: "Proceed as planned. Do not pursue."

Summary of results: Over five million Orc vanguard troops were routed, with nearly one million annihilated on the spot. The Allied forces suffered over a thousand casualties, with very few from the Garros Legion; the vast majority were junior infantry of the Invernus Allied forces—over ten thousand were wounded. Tank and armored vehicle losses were kept to double digits; two Knight Mechs and six mechs were lost. No Titans were lost.

Those wounded were carried off the front lines still alive—and once they reached the medical station, they were virtually guaranteed survival. This is why the Garros Legion's casualty rate was consistently far lower than that of the Imperial regular forces.

Cole updated the sand table markers, moving the blue warning line forward several kilometers. His voice was low: "The main force of the northern orcs is still deep in the wasteland. The camp is at least three times larger than before the war. They are still gathering. Intelligence estimates that the entire subcontinent's orcs are gathering towards us, numbering in the hundreds of millions. What we have repelled so far is only the vanguard."

Cohen's gaze swept over the scattered green markers on the northern front, his brow furrowing slightly.

"They retreated too quickly. Five million vanguard members, and they started to rout after losing less than 20%. This is not the style of the Greenskins. They were testing our firepower density and reaction speed, preserving their strength, and they have a unified command chain."

There was a moment of silence in the command post.

Cohen withdrew his gaze, issued an order for a temporary rest, and then demanded that the second-line fortifications be continuously reinforced.

He stared at the troop markings across the entire war zone on the sand table. Hundreds of millions of orcs on the northern front were still stirring in the rear, and reinforcements in the equatorial jungle were still creeping in. He turned and walked back to the sand table, his finger landing on the mark of the equatorial jungle—just a light tap.

Then his gaze shifted to the dark red markers on the northern front where people were regrouping.

The orcs will not give Invernus any time to breathe.

Just a few days later, the main force of the orcs deep in the wasteland left their gathering place and marched south across the board.

The reconnaissance plane captured the final images at the edge of the fiery wasteland: a gray-green tide filled every dry riverbed, stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. The silhouettes of ancient giants merged into a moving steel forest amidst the smoke and dust, ranging from small hunting machines a dozen meters tall to colossal siege fortresses fifty or sixty meters high, a mixed bag of sizes and heights. Their numbers were impossible to accurately count; all that was known was that the entire northern horizon was moving.

Cohen stood before the sand table once more. Cohen's finger traced three thick red arrows on the wasteland marker.

"The millions we repelled earlier were just their initial probes. They withdrew after that, and now their main force is here. They're advancing in three directions: southwards, westwards along the dry riverbed, centrally along the old imperial highway, and eastwards along the hilly terrain. They've mobilized all the troops they can from across the subcontinent here, gathered them for several days, and are only now pressing forward."

He paused for a moment, then drew a large circle on the edge of the map with his finger.

"The pre-war intelligence estimates of the total number of orcs on the subcontinent are now meaningless. All we know is that Invernus is facing the entire force that the subcontinent can mobilize. Judging from the footage sent back by scouts on the northern front, reinforcements are still pouring out of the depths of the wasteland without end."

Brigadier General Morris's voice came from the northern command post: "Governor, the main orcish vanguard is less than forty kilometers from the first line of defense. They will be within heavy artillery range before dawn tomorrow."

"How are the positions prepared?"

"The reinforcement of the second-line fortifications is still underway, at 70% completion. Anti-tank firing positions are in place. Minefields have been laid to a depth of three kilometers. However, the quantity difference is too great."

"Hold on at all costs," Cohen interrupted him. "Reinforcements are on their way."

Von Hoffmann's holographic projection switched in from the fleet channel.

"Sage Cohen. The warp storm is weakening. Scouts report that the frequency of fluctuations at the storm's edge is decreasing. This is the trend. The storm is receding. Theater Command has issued mobilization orders to all standby forces. The advance teams of Blood Angels, Ultramarines, and Salamanders are waiting in the assembly and standby airspace outside the storm. The frequency of fluctuations in the warp storm is decreasing, and the passage may open at any time. Once the window appears, they will arrive within tens of days."

Cohen remained silent for a few seconds.

"What's the situation on track?"

Von Hoffmann switched the scene. In Invernus's near-Earth orbit, dark green dots were densely packed, arranged in a loose attack formation.

"The Orcish fleet has completed its assembly in near-Earth orbit. It consists of dozens of cruisers and larger, hundreds of medium and small ships, and two space wrecks. They are not actively attacking the Combined Fleet; their target is Invernus. The Combined Fleet is currently patrolling the perimeter, containing their flanks."

"Don't force your way in," Cohen said. "You just need to hold them back, preventing them from unleashing all their firepower on the ground."

He cut off the communication and turned to face Cole.

"Order. Garros Legion, move to front-line positions. Titan detachments advance, armored groups deploy, Phoenix Combat Group and Storm Assault Team stand by. Invernus Allied Forces are responsible for second-line defense and casualty evacuation. All units, high alert."

At daybreak, soldiers on the northern front of Invernus saw the changes on the horizon.

The entire northern horizon was darkening, turning into a dark green line. It looked like shadows cast by clouds; this was a green ocean.

Leo Ku's silhouette rose from the horizon in the morning light. In the front row were light, agile hunting vehicles, several meters tall.

The middle row consisted of medium-sized rocket launchers, thirty to forty meters tall, their rocket launchers barely visible in the smoke and dust. The rear row was a true behemoth, a massive ancient colossus fifty to sixty meters high, its entire body covered in crudely made armor plates, the electric arcs of the force field barrier crackling on its surface. They didn't walk over; they surged forward, like a gray-green tide, slowly and irresistibly sweeping across the wasteland.

Colonel Joachim pressed the all-channel communication button in the tank command vehicle: "Attention all personnel. They're coming."

The first wave of orbital strikes landed before the orc ground forces could even get within range.

The orc fleet had begun its orbital assault on the Imperial army. The main cannons of the wrecked spaceships unleashed a barrage of fire from orbit onto the wastelands north of the hive capital, clearing a path for ground troops. Macro-cannon shells slammed into the flanks of the orc vanguard, creating massive craters. The orcs seemed unconcerned about friendly fire.

Brigadier General Morris's voice came through the communications channel: "Governor, the first line of defense on the northern front reports that the orc vanguard has entered heavy artillery range."

"Fire."

The entire heavy artillery barrage roared simultaneously. Plasma bombs exploded among the orc vanguard, blue-white plasma clouds wiping swathes of green hide from the ground. But those behind continued to surge forward, trampling over the corpses of their comrades. The bombardment lasted an hour, each cannon expending its ammunition. A brief gap appeared in the orc line, but it was filled within seconds.

Joachim ordered over the command channel: "Let them get close and attack. Take out the larger ones first, and let the infantry handle the smaller ones."

Hundreds of Leman Russ tanks deployed in three lines within their pre-arranged positions. Chimeras patrolled the flanks.

The Orcs' first charge began after the tanks came into firing range. It wasn't a probing attack; it was a full-force, reckless frontal assault. Large ancient colossi led the charge, their force field barriers flashing violently in the plasma explosions. Following them were medium-sized ancient colossi and rows of battle fortresses. Behind them stretched an endless tide of infantry, with smaller hunter-type ancient colossi weaving rapidly through the ranks.

Torris oversaw the entire operation from the command platform. In the center, the first squad's Warrior-class volcano cannons locked onto the largest ancient giant, the first salvo destroying its force field barrier, the second salvo piercing its torso. In the west, the second squad's Warhound-class cannons rapidly advanced from both sides of the dry riverbed, their plasma cannons firing alternately, specifically targeting the leg joints of the medium-sized ancient giants.

On the eastern route, the third squad, in coordination with the knight mechs, used the high-speed mobility of the ranger-type mechs to entangle the light hunter-type mechs, and used the chainsaw swords of the paladin-type mechs to dismember them one by one.

But the orcs outnumbered the defenses several times over. Before the first wave of ancient giants had even finished burning, the second wave surged forward, stepping over the wreckage.

By the third hour, the first line of defense had been breached in several places. Orc infantry poured in through the gaps, their rifle bullets ricocheting wildly behind the lines. The Invernus Allied Forces' nascent infantry companies were mowed down in those breaches. Some threw down their weapons and ran, only to be killed by the sniper rifles of the overseers. They had no choice but to turn back and continue their desperate fight against the Orks.

A soldier crouched behind a collapsed section of fortification. His left leg had been grazed by shrapnel, the cut sealed with styptic agent from his armor. His laser gun's charging case had only one bar of battery left. He didn't replace it. He lay prone on the rubble, aiming through his scope at the orc charging towards him. He pulled the trigger. The laser beam struck the orc's shoulder armor, melting a small hole.

The orc didn't stop. He fired a second shot. A third shot. The charge pack was empty.

He didn't run. He threw the laser gun aside, pulled a fighting knife from his belt, and gripped it so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Then the orc's head flew off his neck. Ulf stood on the other side of the collapsed fortifications, smoke still rising from the muzzle of his slug gun. He glanced at the soldier, said nothing, and turned to walk towards the next section of the defensive line.

Three companies from the Phoenix Battle Group advanced from the second line, filling the gaps in the defenses. Lars's company burst from the flank ruins, their chainswords slicing through the leading orcs. Carlos's company met them head-on, their bombardment blasting through the orcs. Coleman's company established a firing stronghold in the rear, their heavy bombs providing continuous suppression.

Relano stood on the top floor of a partially collapsed industrial building. He didn't fire. His finger was on the communication key.

"Let them get close and engage. Use crossfire to block their routes. Don't chase them, don't scatter. Leave the big ones to the Titans and Tanks, the smaller ones are yours."

The casualty figures on the northern front continued to fluctuate on Kohl's data panel. Tens of thousands were falling, and many more were being carried off the front lines. The vast majority of the casualties were junior infantrymen of the Invernus Allied Forces—they filled the defensive lines, bearing the brunt of the orcish main force's fiercest attacks.

The wounded were dragged from the front lines by stretcher-bearers and transported along the passageways through the ruins to the medical station in Zhongchao. Liz, commanding the medical personnel and medical nuns, oversaw the overall situation and made crucial decisions for the medical station—everyone with detectable brainwaves, whether near-death or critically injured, was placed one by one into a life support pod specially designed by Cohen. The Zhongchao factory temporarily switched production and directly manufactured tens of thousands of life support pods, their standby indicator lights glowing deep within the medical station. The pods closed, and the life support system took over the biological brain activity, freezing that last vestige of consciousness on the verge of death.

When Cohen took a moment to enter the medical station, he simply walked through it. From the first life support pod to the last. Inside, the monitors of the dying wounded jumped from erratic to stable. Then, the medical station staff removed the stable wounded from the life support pods and transferred them to the aftercare area.

The battle raged until nightfall. The defensive line repelled countless orcish charges and never retreated.

Joachim said in the channel, "They're adjusting their tactics. They're not just charging in blindly."

Torris confirmed: "The main orc force is redeploying. All squads remain on alert. The large ancient giants have been withdrawn to the second line, leaving the smaller ones to wear down our ammunition at the front."

The holographic windows of Von Hoffmann, General Parol, Commissar Arreek, and the Armageddon theater command simultaneously lit up, filling the space of the Garros Legion command post to capacity.

Admiral Parol spoke first, his voice hoarse: "The Ork's attack intensity is escalating rapidly in the Archeron direction. We deployed nearly a million Astral Army soldiers and a large number of AI-controlled mechs to Archeron in the early stages, and in less than half a month, according to the information we've gathered, the survival rate is less than half. Moreover, the Orks are still pouring into that direction like madmen, and the casualties of the defending forces are impossible to count. Everyone in the hive who can carry a gun is on the front lines. They won't be able to hold out for much longer."

Von Hoffmann nodded: "The combined fleet is also facing increasing pressure on the periphery. The orcs have detached a fleet to counter-restrain us, while their main force remains stationed in the Invernus orbit. Admiral Parol, can your Amighiddon naval fleet still spare ships to support the Invernus orbit?"

Admiral Parol shook his head, lightly tapping his fist on the table: "I'm more eager than you to concentrate the fleet. But which of the tracks—Acheron, Tempestora, Hades—isn't being watched by orc fleets right now? The Armageddon fleet is less than 40% operational; all its existing ships are maintaining guard lines along the tracks of the various hives, and not a single one can be spared. Tempestora, Hades, Acheron—every track needs someone watching. If we move the ships away, the orc fleets can bombard those hives directly from the tracks at any time."

A staff officer at the theater command pulled up a star map: "The situation in Hades is stable, but all available forces are already deployed to the defensive lines, and not a single regiment can be spared. Tempestola is in a stalemate, with both sides waiting for the other to make the first move, and similarly, there are no spare troops available. Now, there are only two places in the entire theater that need reinforcements—Acheron and Invernus."

Admiral Parol tapped his finger heavily on the star map: "Acheron—the eastern flank fortress of the subcontinent. It guards the core defensive line of the Empire in the eastern region. Without Acheron, the orcs could encircle the entire subcontinent from the northeast, at which point the Empire would lose its most important strategic foothold in the east."

"I disagree," Commissar Arek's voice broke through the window, the red spot of his mechanical eye glowing steadily. "Acheron is indeed important, but that's conventional assessment. The orcs are launching a fierce attack on Acheron, holding their ground in Tempestora, and remaining inactive in Hades—all to get you to send reinforcements to Acheron."

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across all the windows.

"The real target is only one Invernus. I've commanded most of my life in wars against the Greenskins, and I've never seen them mobilize so many troops for a single objective, and even know how to divide their forces to contain other directions. This isn't just Orcish tactical skill; something is orchestrating things for them. Something on a higher level."

There was a moment of silence in the command post.

Cohen didn't speak. He stared at Invernus, surrounded by layers of dark green markings on the star map.

"How long can Acheron hold out?" he asked.

General Parrol paused for two seconds. "I don't know. The defenders are still holding on, but nobody can say for sure how many days they can last. Maybe a week, maybe it'll break through tomorrow. The Blood Angels and Ultramarines are still waiting in the airspace at the edge of the storm. They can come in as soon as the passage opens, but nobody knows when it will open."

"Invernus can only rely on himself," Commissar Arek's voice calmed. "Holding on is victory."

Cohen cut off communications.