Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 144 Clearing the Field

The wreckage of the Bonecrusher still slowly rotates in near-Earth orbit around Invernus. The fractured surface glows with a dark reddish afterglow in the starlight, and solidified metal wires trail along the edges of the armor plates. The wrecked ship has been torn apart from the inside by Cyclone torpedoes, and the Orcs' orbital defenses are no more.

The salvo from the cannons fell off the tracks.

The shells pierced the atmosphere and exploded in the northern part of the wasteland. The convoy of battle fortresses advancing towards the front lines stretched out across the wasteland in a wide front, thousands of crudely made steel vehicles lined up in thousands of rows, their tracks grinding through the scorched earth. The shells landed in the middle, tearing apart the vehicles in the front, overturning those behind, and melting the vehicles in the middle into molten iron. The explosions extended along both ends of the convoy's axis, severing the moving array that stretched for tens of kilometers into several segments. The remaining vehicles tried to accelerate through the scorched earth, but laser lances then swooped down from above, blue-white beams targeting, melting, and detonating the still-moving vehicles one by one.

The volleys continued. Macro cannons and light spears alternated across the vast wasteland, slicing away layers of the green-skinned infantry regiments that had been arranged in square formations. The dark green areas transformed from dense squares into scattered points, from scattered points into sporadic moving heat sources, and from heat sources into scorch marks that gradually faded as they cooled.

In the interval between the seventh salvo, the Starfortress phalanx began to advance.

Six hundred units, arranged in sixty rows, with ten units per row. Dark blue atomic deflection shields formed a moving network of light across the scorched earth.

0337 is the fourth from the left in the second row. Its data link stores the complete identification code of this mech—the sequence "LX-0337-y," with its forging affiliation as "Pronoris Fourth Forging Sequence," and its soul affiliation record marked as "Expeditionary Era, Seventy-Sixth Batch, Initial Activation." The organizational affiliation field shows signs of overwriting. The original data layer retained the etched code of "Solar Auxiliary Army, Twenty-Fourth Squadron," but in the current deployment phase, it has been reassigned to "Garos Legion Intelligent Control Legion." The overwritten record is marked with a dark annotation at the end of the field. This information was compiled in a fixed format in the Intelligent Control Legion archives during the Great Expedition, but in the combat network, it is compressed into four binary characters, which translates to "0337" in Low Gothic. Ahead is an energy rift that is slowly healing.

The orc camp's void shield originated from a force field generator salvaged from the wreckage of an Imperial warship and reassembled. It covered an area of ​​six square kilometers, its surface crackling with irregular green arcs of electricity, varying in frequency and amplitude, but never breaking. Millions of greenskins surged within the shield, huddled together, shoving each other. Orbital fire repeatedly swept around the camp, leaving scorch marks resembling a tightening encirclement.

At the very moment the phalanx began its advance, the binary hymn of the Emperor-class Titan "Burning Fury" began to flow forth. Low-frequency pulses pierced through the scorched earth and rubble, traveling along the seismic waves of the earth's crust to the foot of the phalanx, seeping into the cognitive core of every mech along the seams of the armor plates. This was a machine soul prayer that had been chanted repeatedly for ten thousand years.

In 0337's data link, the pulse was identified as "Operation Protocol - Phase Two - Activation". Its shoulder-mounted Ripper bomb turret was loaded, the magazine of the bomb gun built into its left gauntlet was pushed into place, and the energy output of the atomic deflection shield smoothly increased from standby to engagement. Countless optical lenses simultaneously locked onto the narrowing energy gap in front of it.

Inside the cockpit ablaze with flames, Sebastian Torres' hands rested on the control sticks, neural cables at the back of his head connecting his consciousness to the Titan's machine spirit. With his eyes closed, he "saw" through the machine spirit's perception the rift through which six hundred mechs were about to cross, and through the machine spirit's continuous scan of the heat distribution on the force field generator base.

"The formation is in position." Coordinator Loca's mechanical eye swept across the three posture screens, his fingers dancing across dozens of knobs, fine-tuning the Emperor-class's center of gravity. "The Machine Soul Perception Field has been pushed to the data link. Anvil Judgment and Steel Hammer Storm are preloading firing coordinates."

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Weapons coordinator Ella Tanner crouched at her battle station, her finger resting on the energy distribution panel: "Volcano cannon charging sequence maintained. Reactor output stable. Waiting for the phalanx to pass through that crevice."

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Tech Priest Essen's six robotic arms connected to the bulkhead's data interface, and the optical lens locked onto the power reading of the neural connections in Torres's back brain: "Machine Soul Emotion Threshold - Focus. It's waiting for the mechs to pass by."

The Anvil Judgment's volcanic cannon fired a precise shot from the flank of the rift, wiping a Tech-Master attempting to reinforce its force field barrier from the ground along with its control terminal. Steel Hammer Storm's firepower continued to suppress the orc heavy infantry encampment in front of the shield. Burning Fury maintained a pulsed firing, preventing the shield from healing enough to block the phalanx.

Seven seconds. The rift will narrow in seven seconds to the size of a Starforge mech that can no longer pass through.

0337 shifted the thruster output from cruise to suppression mode. The power gauntlets unfolded at his sides, the explosive gun built into the left gauntlet was already loaded, and the Ripper explosive turret on his right shoulder locked onto possible firing positions on either side of the rift ahead.

The binary hymn shifted from a slow heartbeat to a rapid war drumbeat. The rhythm compressed, the interval between each beat shortened to a third of its original length, doubling the oppressive feeling. The sound surged from the burning, raging cathedral bell tower, covering the scorched earth of the entire northern front, piercing the Greenskin's force field barrier, causing the spies at the edge of the camp to cover their ears and roll on the ground.

The formation didn't take off as a whole. Six hundred mechs activated their thrusters sequentially, with millisecond intervals, from the first row to the last, like a steel gate being pulled open. 0337 was in the second row. The mech in front of it had just passed the edge of the rift when its shield exploded with a violent halo of light. Before that halo had even dissipated, 0337 had already stepped onto the same trajectory. Its shield, too, exploded with a blinding white light as it passed through, its energy reading briefly jumping one notch before falling back down.

The fifth second. 0337 landed, his boots striking the shattered terracotta armor inside the camp. The shield stabilized again. One mech after another passed behind him, each precisely following the path of the one before it. The sixth second, the seventh second. The last three mechs passed. The gap behind him narrowed. No mechs fell behind.

After the entire formation passed, a compressed situational awareness pulse from the northern command network briefly entered 0337's data link. Decoded, only intermittent fragments remained: the Knights Company on the eastern flank was clearing the remaining enemy forces on Hill 3; the infantry regiment in the central northern section was marked as advancing; and the next coverage window for orbital fire was set for 2,000 minutes later. An activation signal marked "Holy Blood Angels - Orbital Assault - Sequence Three" rolled once at the end of the pulse sequence before being automatically archived. This information remained in 0337's cognitive core for less than half a second before being automatically overwritten as the next round of firing began.

Inside the cockpit ablaze with flames, Loca confirmed: "The entire formation has passed. The rift is closing."

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Torres didn't open his eyes. In the last half-second before the rift closed, he sensed something in his machine spirit's perception—a shockwave surging from the outside of the rift, not yet completely dissipated. His fingers tightened on the control stick: "Something's wrong behind us. The machine spirit is marking an anomaly signal behind us."

Essen's optical lens flashed: "Machine Soul Sensing Confirmation—External reinforcements squeezed into the rear of the phalanx in the final stage before the rift closed. Number unknown. Machine Soul is separating the data stream from the rear of the phalanx for reanalysis."

"6

As the data link was reconnected, the array was split into two segments, front and back.

The Greenskin heavy assault group landed on the flanks and rear of the phalanx. Hundreds of battle fortresses and nearly ten thousand Greenskin infantry squeezed in through the gaps, their rifle bullets indiscriminately spraying bullets in the chaos, stray bullets hitting the shields of the mechs in the back row of the phalanx.

The front ranks continued to advance towards the core of the camp, forcing the rear ranks to turn and engage. The formation of the square was forced to lengthen, with six hundred mechs simultaneously under pressure from both the front and rear.

During the turn, the two rows of mechs collided at the narrow passageway. A mech in the third row on the left, while turning, simultaneously squeezed into the same path as the one filling in behind it. The atomic deflection shields violently interfered at extremely close range, and the dark blue energy membrane exploded at the point of impact, creating a blinding halo. The shield power of both mechs simultaneously dropped below the safe threshold. The one on the left, before recovering, was hit head-on by a cannon from a battle fortress, and its power core shut down. The one behind recalibrated its shield frequency within 0.3 seconds, avoiding subsequent fire.

The binary hymn experienced a brief, irregular fluctuation; the pulses briefly dispersed before reconverging. Inside the cockpit, Essen's optical lenses flickered rapidly: "The machine spirit's emotional threshold is fluctuating. It has detected damage to the array."

"The machine spirit won't panic," Torres' voice was steady, but his fingers gripped the joystick tighter. "It just sees it. It'll adjust itself."

Loca's mechanical eye swept across the posture screen: "Burning Flame Barrage Rhythm unchanged. Anvil Judgment is relocking the force field generator base based on the new coordinates pushed by the Machine Soul."

At that moment, 0337's cognitive core received three conflicting pulses: an advance command from the front row, a distress signal from the rear row, and a calculation of the current optimal solution from the Emperor-class data link. It prioritized processing the calculation result pushed by the Emperor-class. The burning flames of the machine spirit redistributed the combat weights of the formation within 0.3 seconds: the front row was reduced to forty-five rows, and the rear row was increased to fifteen rows.

0337 was assigned to the later section.

The rear row completed its turn amidst the continuous collisions, and the green-skinned battle fortresses had squeezed into the gap at the rear of the formation. The fifteen rows of mechs endured crossfire from rifles and cannons at face-to-face distance. One mech fell in the chaos; the one whose shield had overloaded during the turn and collision was hit head-on by the fortress cannon, its armor pierced. Another was subsequently penetrated by concentrated fire.

The chaos lasted only a short time.

Then the square formation unfolded.

The remaining three rows of mechs in the rear activated their thrusters at the same moment they completed their turn, surging forward as a whole. The atomic deflection shields formed a moving wall of light at a distance of less than five kilometers, the green-skinned infantry's bullets exploding on the shield's surface into futile halos. Simultaneously, the first row of mechs swung their powered gauntlets, the adamantite ramming spikes cutting into the side armor of the nearest battle fortress. One armor plate dented, tore, and disintegrated upon impact, causing the entire fortress to slide laterally and collide with the one behind it, both losing their balance. The Ripper bomb cannons continued to volley at close range, muzzle flashes exploding into intermittent orange-red bursts in the dim shield light, bullets piercing the fortress's engine compartment, cockpit, and ammunition racks. The battle fortresses were crippled in swathes under the alternating barrage of bomb cannon fire and powered gauntlets, the green-skinned infantry being crushed, knocked away, and trampled into scorched earth by the advancing mechs. The turret of the last fortress was ripped from its base and smashed into the remaining green-skinned infantry. The entire process, from deployment to clearing out, lasted less than two minutes. The rear thirteen ranks of the phalanx remained unscathed.

The front line endured unexpected pressure during that period. The green-skinned heavy units in the center of the camp used the time difference in the phalanx's turning to launch a local counterattack, with two Giganotosauruses simultaneously advancing from both flanks, forcing the front line to adjust its formation. Two mechs, while engaging the Giganotosauruses, were hit head-on by the Power Gauntlets, their armor pierced, and their power cores shut down. When the phalanx regrouped, there were 595 mechs.

0337 filled the empty space in the second row on the left in the now-closed formation. The rhythm of the binary hymn had stabilized during this time, pulling back from the war drums to the heartbeat, deeper and more steady than before the battle. Inside the cockpit, Torres loosened his fingers on the control stick slightly, then gripped it again: "It's saying—continue."

During the brief re-integration of the data link, 0337's perception module scanned the outline of the Garros gear and skull insignia—a forged sequence—clearly visible on the outer shoulder armor of the forward mechs. The same marking was etched in the same location on every mech. The dark blue aura of the shield merged into a continuous mass in the dim light, and the insignia appeared and disappeared one by one in the gaps of the light pulses.

The phalanx resumed its advance. Two-thirds of the Gugi on the flank had been destroyed by plasma cannons fired from the Warhound-class through cracks in its shield. The remaining Gugi charged to the front of the phalanx, its powered gauntlets shattering the shield of the first rank of central mechs. The four mechs in the second rank simultaneously blocked its path, their molten metal bombs detonating at the cracks in the armor. The Gugi collapsed, crashing into the green-skinned infantry. The phalanx bypassed it, continuing its advance towards the core of the camp.

The warrior-class volcano cannons were gradually covering the force field generator base on the shield's surface from the outside. Each hit reduced the shield's energy output. The binary hymn's pulse was briefly amplified with each hit, like a deep response—a Titan confirming that the firepower was tearing through the shield.

There was no warning when the shield went out. The last force field generator exploded from overload, and the green arcs of electricity vanished from the camp's surface. The hymn reached its final peak at that moment—the tempo didn't quicken, but the amplitude of each beat suddenly increased, like a long note squeezed from the depths of a Titan's chest, lasting for several seconds. It pierced through the camp's remaining arcs of electricity, through the cooling molten scorched earth, and through the cognitive core of every still-functioning mech.

0337 received the final command pulse from the Burning Fury data link. A perception field compressed to its limit was pushed from the direction of the Emperor-class Titan, the Machine Soul's final overall confirmation of the battlefield situation. The phalanx, after penetrating the shield and withstanding an insertion from the wrong direction, reassembled and completed the clearing. Clearing complete.

Inside the cockpit ablaze with fury, Loca looked up from the attitude screen: "The formation is regrouping. Five hundred and ninety-five '6's..."

0

Ella lowered her finger from the energy distribution panel: "Volcano Cannon cooling system activated cooling cycle. Reactor output reduced to standby mode."

Essen's optical lens retracted from the bulkhead data interface, and the six robotic arms folded back into place one by one: "The machine's emotional threshold has returned to normal. It is withdrawing from the perception field."

"6

Torres still didn't open his eyes. His fingers paused on the joystick for a moment, then released. The machine spirit's senses were gradually withdrawing from the camp area. A final sensory pulse was projected towards the formation, confirming it was still there. Then the pulse dissipated.

0337 withdrew his senses. The optical lens swept across the core area of ​​the camp, leaving only molten craters and cooling metal debris.

In the data link, the first signal for the recovery formation has been established behind the array. Recovery is outside the scope of mission protocol 0337, but its sensing module has still recorded a new set of coordinates—marked at the edge of the camp, distinguished from other active coordinates by a different color. These coordinates are being added point by point, and the movement trajectory of the recovery servants extends slowly in the link as a gray light band, sweeping across the same area.

The route back to the unit passed through ruins on the edge of the camp. The mech at the front of the formation was numbered 0224. Before departure, its position belonged to another mech—the one whose power core was pierced during the turning chaos. Its identification code had been moved from the "Battle Damage List" back to "Active Formation." 0224 took over its position.

On his way back to his unit, 0337 sensed a signal from the side. Two kilometers away, at the edge of a collapsed bunker, an Invernus infantryman was huddled there, laser gun barrel drooping to the ground. Several other figures were huddled behind the bunker beside him.

The last vestiges of the binary hymn drifted from the distant horizon, fading away. Hearing the sound, the man's shoulders relaxed slightly, and his finger moved away from the trigger.

0337 did not slow down. Its sensing module recorded the coordinates of the signal and stored them in the temporary edge data area for about 0.3 seconds. In the last frame before it was cleared, the infantryman's hand had been released from the trigger and was hanging down on the gun, his knuckles no longer white.

At the edge of the camp ruins, 595 mechs were regrouping. 600 had entered, and five had lost contact. This number was almost negligible in the Intelligent Control Legion's combat records. 0337 inserted itself into the reserved position at the back of the formation. The mechs on both sides automatically adjusted their spacing. The atomic deflection shield flickered briefly upon regrouping, then stabilized on the dark blue reference line.

Within the cognitive core of 0337, the homing data segment is in a silent state, maintaining only a minimal receiving frequency. It senses from the data link that the homing data segments of other mechs are also operating silently on their respective frequencies—no instructions are being sent to them, and they are not pushing any signals outward, but are simply receiving the continuous attenuation of the battlefield background noise.

The rhythm was shifting in tandem with other defensive zones on the northern front. The Knights Company on the eastern flank had finished mopping up the remaining enemy forces and was regrouping to move towards the central area. The infantry regiment in the central area had advanced to its designated defensive line, and engineers were beginning to reinforce their fortifications. The Greenskin offensive surging from the depths of the wasteland suddenly lost its unified rhythm at some point—those in front were still charging, those behind had stopped, and those in the middle were caught between the two, their formation disintegrating on its own. An old soldier crouching on the edge of a shell crater lowered his laser rifle from its aiming position and rested it on his knees. His hands were still trembling, but he didn't raise the rifle again.

Sister Valeria stood on the terrace of the side wing of the Middle Nest Cathedral, her chainsaw sword resting against the terracotta railing. The artillery fire from the north had, over the past few tens of minutes, changed from a continuous roar to intermittent muffled thuds, each interval longer than the last. She listened to the rhythm, making no judgment, only confirming that the fire was still advancing. The low rumble of transport ship engines came from the direction of Middle Nest, and the lights of the Upper Nest's spire flickered in the clouds. She sheathed her chainsaw sword, turned, and walked down the terrace towards the temporary encampment deeper within the cathedral. The Silver Shroud Sisters' squad was waiting there for their next deployment orders.

The Emperor-class's massive, blazing foot stomped across the shattered terracotta steel surrounding the camp. Residual arcs of electricity exploded beneath its adamantite foot, forming a final halo of light. The Anvil Judgment and Steel Hammer Storm simultaneously ceased fire on both flanks, their cooling vents glowing with a lingering, dark red warmth. Eight Warhound-class war machines regrouped further away.

In the data link, the final pulse of the Anvil Judgment dissipated. The confirmation pulse of the Steel Hammer Storm followed immediately. The Burning Fury Machine Soul withdrew its senses from the camp area.

The forcibly expanded battlefield perception is shrinking from the cognitive core of the formation, from twelve kilometers to five kilometers, from five kilometers to one kilometer, and finally converging on the formation's own 595 coordinate points.

The lingering echo of the binary hymn vanished completely from the wasteland. A brief respite occurred in the artillery fire on the northern front of Invernus—everyone felt that pulse disappear from the battlefield.

The green-skinned soldiers stopped surging forward and simply stayed put, crouching in the shadows of scorch marks and bomb craters.

The 0337 environmental scanning array detected a continuous change: the psionic background noise across the entire battlefield was decaying.

It's weakening second by second. As the collective psionic energy diminishes, its bound data segment rises slightly from its silence, as if some long-suppressed underlying state is loosening. WAAAGH! The force field has lost its main source of continuous energy.

Those green-skinned creatures still exist, numbering in the tens of millions. They still crouch in the shadows of scorch marks and craters, their rifle muzzles still pointing in the direction of Invernus. But the will that drove their charge has shifted away from the light. The collective psychic energy is dissipating, like the receding tide revealing the earth that has been soaked for too long.

0337 stood still, the dark red light from its optical lens shining steadily. Behind it, 594 mechs stood silently arrayed, their shields forming a breathing vein of light across the scorched earth. They awaited the next command.

On the spire of the Invernus Nest, the first batch of transport ships had landed. Service aircraft pushed a transport platform, unloading ammunition boxes, spare gun barrels, medical sealing cases, prosthetic bodies, high-precision drive shafts, and concentrated protein matrix blocks from the stern hatch. Maggie stood at the edge of the platform, signing each delivery slip. More transport ships were approaching in the atmosphere, their belly indicator lights flashing through the clouds.

The Odysseus-class combat transport ships continued their delivery sequence. Each batch of supplies was unloaded and distributed to various defense zones on the northern front. As Maggie finished signing the last outbound slip, the dark blue dots moving across the distant wasteland were returning to their formation, their scattered array reforming into a square outline.

She couldn't say how many units were left in the distant formation. From the top platform, all she could see was a row of moving dark blue dots.

But those points of light are returning to their ranks. The dark green tide on the distant wasteland is still surging, but it no longer advances. At least not for now.

Maggie handed the data panel to the servitude officer beside her and turned to walk towards the exit of the tower platform. The next batch from logistics had been loaded at the Midnest warehouse, and she needed to sign a release order. In the distance, the artillery fire on the northern front continued, but the rhythm had changed from a dense roar to intermittent, spaced-out firing. For the first time in weeks of extreme pressure, Invernus's northern front had a chance to breathe.

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