Chapter 381 Re-Cleaning

"He who gives orders helps those to whom he is ordered. He does not give orders out of pride, but out of duty." - "The Book of Lorgar"

846.M30 Imperial Year, 122nd, 00:00

Ninety-one imperial days have passed since the Luna Wolf fleet left the Randan Empire outpost border, temporarily named the Res-2 star field, empty-handed.

An Air Force pilot with the 177th Expeditionary Fleet updated his mental record of time as the timer jumped to a new level. This was not the timing of the current planet, and had no direct benefit to his current battle. It even briefly took him away from the mission of dropping bombs for a second.

He moved his dry and flaky lips, and according to the instruction manual written by the Mechanicus, aimed the target selection box at the target below, and gradually lowered the flight altitude of the aircraft.

Many battles have proven that their precision guidance systems are being severely interfered by the enemy. Therefore, they can only risk passing through the enemy's fire network, hoping that the accuracy of the fire control calculation of bomb delivery and the accuracy of their own radar can Give the pilot an early warning before the plane is smashed to pieces by enemy shells.

enemy. He chewed on the word. enemy. Wan Jishen’s electronic saliva, the enemy!

The enemy's orbital air defense system deployed on this planet has been breached by them - the whole process has caused a headache for the fleet. Solving the psychological pressure brought by their former military comrades to the army is secondary. The key is that the traitors rely on Ran Dan's Technology, a multi-level upgrade and transformation of their orbital defense lines.

They noticed the anomaly too late, leaving enough time for the enemy to make their attack more difficult. The colonel will be punished for this, good luck to him.

The crosshair is moving on the screen until it disappears downwards. This means that the time to drop the bomb is approaching.

The pilot adjusted his sitting posture and leaned forward. Everyone suspected that the Mechanicus had not considered how a living person whose main body was composed of flesh and blood could perform combat missions normally and comfortably in their aircraft. Or it's just that it's not recorded in the so-called template.

For God's sake, they didn't even have a climate control element, and it was as stuffy and hot as Ohm Messiah's faux leather jacket, making you sweat like rain.

The pilot counted the seconds, and when the radar siren blasted in his ears, he felt an unexpected sense of regret and quickly pulled up the plane.

If his aircraft model were driven by vector thrust, he could make incredible straight turns and hovers that would interfere with the enemy's ballistic calculations, but at this moment he could only control the jet to perform a roll, over the elevation angle of the anti-aircraft gun, and Get rid of the ever-present danger. But this also meant that his bomb-dropping mission failed.

Failure, failure again. He shouldn't complain, but it didn't please him at all.

Nightfall was approaching, their mission did not include night operations, and it was time to retreat.

Or, he could finally gamble that the enemy's ground end intercept range would be wide enough to catch his bomb.

In the darkening sky, the altimeter dropped rapidly. Adrenaline supported him to complete an extremely fast dive. Like a small bird flying by in an instant, he reached the low point at a height of only about 200 meters above the ground, and quickly Flip the switch to complete an unaimed round of bomb delivery. Did he succeed?

The pilot looked down, orange flames burning in the dim surroundings as he destroyed half the tower. The pilots were amused by the thought that the tower had once been their troop mess.

Before the transfer, during the time when he served on this planet, the most common thing he did was to scold the canteen with the gunners for the nutritious ointments in the canteen that tasted worse than engine oil. Unexpectedly, he also destroyed the canteen at the right time and his long-cherished wish came true.

Apart from this, the bombing did not achieve any further tactical objectives. That's it again, he thought, even though it wasn't his thing to worry about. Their stalemate has lasted for a long time, and it is mainly due to their own strategic retreat and transition quickly enough.

Even though he had no military rank, he could still see these basic things: they lacked a turning point.

Then, the auspices captured data about the apostates themselves on the ground...

No, his heart was pounding. The command had told them not to pay too much attention to the traitors themselves. Whether voluntary or forced, they had transformed from their compatriots into something specious. enemy. They are the enemy.

The pilot obeyed the order and did not continue to care about the ground problems. He accelerated again, deciding to leave the barrage chasing him behind.

The strong wind roared deep in the rift valley, but was blocked by the steel. He managed to get out of the range of the anti-aircraft fire and reported back to command that his attack was complete. Then, suddenly, he received a new order.

"Return to the attack location and cover the ground assault."

The pilot took the order confused, not understanding who he needed to cover.

The army was resting at least 200 kilometers away. They performed very poorly in the last round of offensive. The number of deaths even successfully solved the food supply problem.

Although no one dared to openly confront the command team, the morale of ground combat personnel was completely stagnant.

"They're coming," a voice came over the electronic channel as a supplement to the previous order, "They're coming back."

"Astartes!" the pilot shouted almost simultaneously with the message coming from the internal communication. The aircraft turned quickly, as fast as if a vectoring system had been installed. Besides him, several aircraft belonging to the same formation as him also turned around from various parts of the sky, drawing exciting arcs.

At the other end of the silver-gray mountain range, the Land Raider, painted pearl white, poked its head out of the upper edge of the mountains in the dull sunlight, biting towards the mountains like the snow-white fangs of a wolf.

Several new Sikaran tanks, jointly developed by the great Tenth and Thirteenth Primarchs and the Adeptus Mechanicus, advanced at high speed towards the enemy base. She is equipped with two accelerated automatic cannons and laser cannons, which can make any machine-loving person enchanted, and her beautiful posture of accurately killing enemies is enough to permanently silence those who are dissatisfied with her.

The warriors of the Astartes, the vanguard, backbone and rearguard of the Emperor's crusade, determine the direction of the battlefield and the outcome of the enemy like the hammer of heaven's punishment. Their overall numbers amount to a teaspoon of water in the lake compared to all the military personnel the entire Imperium can mobilize, making the opportunity to fight alongside the Astartes a rare one among non-Legion auxiliaries and mortal servants. An unforgettable moment of glory.

Of course, the prerequisite for enjoying honors - regardless of those beautiful propaganda slogans, it is better to enjoy honors while alive than to be promoted after death.

Pilots have seen some planes emitting thick smoke and falling downwards against the gray-black sky with distant explosions.

He sniffed the scent of promethium, pulled down the control stick, and dodged a string of missiles biting his wing.

The world fell around him, then rose.

The bright warriors were approaching, like stars, like moonlight, with pearl-like colors, connecting constellation-like lights on the burned iron-gray earth. Just behind them, the shadow of the crescent moon hung in the sky.

The Emperor's Expeditionary Force, the pilot thought, they are coming.

——

Perturabo followed Horus Luperkar into the opponent's strategy room, feeling unfamiliar with this experience.

In many cooperative operations, the Iron Lord often plays the leading role, and if the combat meeting is not held on the ground, it will be on his Queen of Glory or the space fortress.

He had not paid much attention to this before, until the son of the first return waved his cloak, naturally assumed the responsibility of commander, and invited everyone to sit with him on the Vengeful Spirit.

The strategy room of the Vengeful Spirit is made of unexpectedly simple steel, focusing on its own practicality and serious characteristics of war, rather than being piled on gorgeous patterns and exquisite silk curtains. It is embedded in the center of the main bridge, just as the Vengeful Spirit itself is the central core of the entire expedition fleet.

"I thank you for your willingness to come here and participate in this battle against the aliens. May the glory of the Emperor be with us." Horus simply finished his opening remarks.

If anyone else had said these clichés, it would have added formalistic hypocrisy to that person, but the bright eyes and confident demeanor of the Shepherd God made everything feel extremely sincere. Just one look at each other, and the energy would flow around him. The hearts of people who meet each other's eyes spontaneously arise.

"In the past few days, we have recaptured several planets that were lost in my absence," Luperkar announced, adjusting the holographic projection to ensure that everyone could easily see the information he needed to display. "For this, I still need to express my gratitude to the troops who never gave up on retaking the position."

"In just three imperial months, five new renegade positions have appeared on the front line. Everyone in the mortal fleet and defense force is now in danger because they don't know how this happened. We can only maintain strict communication and A review mechanism to extinguish the fire of rebellion before its unintended consequences spread.”

"Let me get rid of them, Horus." Lorgar Aurelion said with a solemn expression, "The person who gives the order is obliged to keep the souls of those who are ordered pure, so as to avoid the guilt of committing suicide."

Leon Al'Jonson's expression was unpredictable. He was the most unpredictable Primarch Perturabo had ever encountered, and at times the Iron Lord even felt that the Lion of Caliban was thinking in a different way than the others.

"Kill them." Leon said, his voice neither high nor low. He had shaved once on his way here, and his hair was held back by a golden ring given to him by Horus.

"Is there any news about the Second Legion?" Perturabo asked.

"It's a pity," Horus's eyes darkened, "I asked them to pay more attention when I left, but the news that even my Luna Wolves didn't get, how could it be easily passed on by the mortal legions guarding the periphery? What about getting something? If they gain something, it may not be Ran Dan’s conspiracy, even if they haven’t revealed their true identity yet.”

He cheered up, "The newly updated intelligence is still being integrated and analyzed. If you are willing, I can also provide the raw data."

"Give me a copy," Perturabo said naturally, "and I'll analyze it."

"Of course - I have always been curious, can your data cable be connected to any interface of matching model? If the answer is yes, you can try the Thinker here." Horus asked.

"Unless your cogitator is fully personalized and heavily protected, like Ferrus Manus did with his flagship, my built-in program will be compatible." Turab replied.

Horus smiled back, "Please." He moved the Thinker placed next to the main seat slightly to the side. Perturabo stood up and came to Horus' side, found a suitable interface, and temporarily closed his eyes in the ocean of data.

The Wolf God continued: "Maybe just this once, Lorgar, I will not question your Word Bearers' extermination actions against the enemy. But if possible, please leave a few subjects for interrogation to crack the puzzle of their betrayal and take precautions. Leon?"

"Hmm?" The lion snorted softly, turned his head, and looked at Horus.

"I want to know if the First Legion has the corresponding technology for more efficient interrogation." Horus' tone was gentler than when facing Perturabo. He knew what each of his current brothers needed, and also knew their bottom line and principles. But for Leon, he was not so sure.

"You want to give the interrogation work to the Dark Angels." Leon said softly. "You are assigning tasks to each of us."

Horus was slightly surprised and quickly adjusted his attitude.

"Will you allow me to do this, my brother?" he said with a little apology. "The four legions are located in the same sector. If we fight together, we will need a chain of command; if we decide to fight alone in the next war, I will apologize for inviting all of you here today."

Lion did not answer, but looked at him quietly with his naturally cold green eyes, which gradually made Horus rarely doubt whether he had not made his words clear.

The air in the room seemed to solidify. Lorgar became a little worried. He never wanted any of his two brothers to get into a quarrel; and before things changed, Perturabo opened his eyes and tapped the table with his fingertips.

"Before sharing the database with me next time, cut off its internal connection with the entire fleet, Horus," he sighed, "Don't use the entire database of the Shadow Moon Wolf to challenge my self-control."

The atmosphere returned to normal, Horus shrugged, and some decorative medals swayed with this action: "You are right, I will pay attention next time, thank you, Perturabo."

Perturabo nodded: "Also, there is a document worth noting. This is the intelligence obtained by the Dark Angels, which shows the rotten bones on the beds in the abandoned medical wing."

Lorgar shook his head reluctantly and moved his lips slightly. Judging from his lip shape, he was wishing the souls of the dead to return to the throne and the spiritual resurrection in High Gothic.

Perturabo refused to think about how many Terra days it would take for a human soul to travel from here to the Terra Throne World at the general navigation speed.

He looked at Horus: "I put the picture on the homepage of the Thinker, you can project it here."

"Of course," Horus nodded gratefully. Without Perturabo's assistance, they didn't know how long it would take to find a single image from the ocean of countless data, not to mention that he didn't find any abnormality in the picture at first glance.

"There are traces of aliens here," Perturabo continued to say to the picture, he stood up and pointed to a corner in the shadow of the picture. It was an arm hanging outside the bed, with withered muscles and peeling skin.

Leon saw the problem Perturabo was referring to at a glance: "The level of neural decay is lower than the overall decay of the body."

"It seems that you know a lot about this, brother," Horus praised, observing attentively, "That's true. But how did the aliens cause this effect? ​​It's impossible to perform neural surgery on each defector separately. Also, in the previous autopsy, the pharmacist did not find this difference in the degree of decay."

"This is what we will find out later." Perturabo said, "Before that, I need to ask my assistant."

Horus was stunned for a moment, then reacted: "Are you talking about my father's old friend? Is he here too?"

"No, he can be." Perturabo replied.