On the battlefield, War Band veterans led the Neophytes, surrounded by the Mortal Auxiliary of the Spear of Hector, with the Dark Mechanicus' auxiliary forces behind them.
They stepped over the white ashes that had burned to the ground, advancing one step at a time and squeezing the Chaos Cultists' room to survive.
The Mortal Auxiliary kept firing Stasis Shells from their Grenade Launchers toward the back of the crowd. At the front, the fighters greeted any enemy who dared approach with laser fire and solid rounds.
The bravest among the countless Chaos Cultists charged desperately, hurling spears and javelins and firing arrows from a distance. But it was all in vain. Countless tribespeople behind them inexplicably fell unconscious, while enemies ahead routed them with some kind of ranged weapon. Their numerical advantage had vanished. They could only retreat again and again, suffering defeat after defeat.
All the mortals wore gas masks. The Space Marine Neophytes and Dark Mechanicus personnel were unaffected by the anesthetic gas. Like a slowly tightening fishing net, they gradually drew in the Chaos Cultists around the Pyramid.
Yet among the light infantry of the Spear of Hector, who had only light transport trucks, one unit stood out: cavalry mounted on Rift-Hoof Beasts. They, too, wore gas masks, and carried Stasis Grenades, Laser Pistols, and Hunting Spears fitted with directional charges.
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The creatures locals called "Rift-Hoof Beasts" were much like the horses of Old Terra, but their hooves were split like a cow's, clearly making them even-toed ungulates. After studying them, the Biologus Sages on Daedalus determined that they were the result of human Gene-Modding during Old Night. The Imperium had many similar breeds.
Unfortunately, centuries of domestication by the locals had emphasized docility and obedience, diminishing the creatures' size and courage. For now, they would have to make do with them as they were. Later, the Sages would use drugs and Gene-Modding to make them stronger and more fearless.
As the army closed in, countless Khorne and Tzeentch Cultists fell unconscious or collapsed after being hit by las-fire and bullets. The soldiers in front ignored those who had fallen and continued advancing, while those behind methodically picked out the strong and suitable, shackled them, and dragged them back.
The Dark Mechanicus priests receiving the captives behind the lines remained expressionless, but inwardly, they were delighted. There were no cloning facilities in this star system, and after these people were modified, they would make excellent Servitors, filling the resource-gathering stations on Limnos III, Limnos IV, and Limnos V. Their superiors had ordered them to focus on developing Limnos IV first, since that planet belonged to them. As for Limnos III, they still had more than forty years. So long as they finished within fifty years, it wouldn't count as a breach of contract.
Freddy rode his Assault Bike with two Neophytes, crushing his way over hundreds of people as he swiftly inspected the front he commanded. Everything was in good order. Tzeentch Cultists and Khorne Cultists alike faced only slaughter or capture. If they didn't need to slowly gather raw material for Servitors, they could have simply charged through and killed every last one of the Chaos Cultists.
After several years of training, the Spear of Hector had become barely adequate. Unfortunately, they still had no artillery or armoured vehicles to speak of, and only a few aircraft.
But things would gradually improve. With support from the Daedalus Forge World over the past seven years, the Homeworld could now produce civilian transport trucks, shoddy Flak Armour, and low-grade Laser Guns. They could also ensure every soldier had a powder-fired Autogun. The Forged Steel Lord would lead them to ever greater strength.
Once, he had been no more than an ordinary soldier in a legion, forced to obey orders alongside Captain Peter. Over a hundred years of service had meant nothing but boarding actions, drops, battles, casualties, replacements, and the same cycle repeated over and over.
He had never even piloted a Space Marine fighter or driven an armoured vehicle. He could tell that the legion's veterans never considered them one of their own. Their Neophyte band were merely durable Ogryns to be used without regard for losses.
Freddy didn't resent his company commander, because the Battalion Commander above him had treated them the same way. That was how the entire legion operated, from top to bottom.
But now Freddy felt uneasy. He had noticed that not a single wizard had appeared in the northern encirclement under his command. It was normal for Khorne Cultists to have no wizards, but there not being a single one among the Tzeentch Cultists was deeply suspicious.
Freddy knew the Lord intended to promote him. With Captain Anthony becoming the War Band Champion and bodyguard, the War Band was about to expand to half a company, and many middle-ranking officers would surely rise. The squad leaders would come from among the veterans.
Freddy didn't want to disappoint the War Band Leader. He wasn't very confident in his command abilities, so he was even more cautious when giving orders.
Freddy stopped his Assault Bike, half-dyed red amid a pile of corpses, and relayed an order through his helmet comm:
"Everyone, halt. Hold the line. Wait for the trucks from the rear to bring weapons and ammunition, then load up."
This wasn't a war that called for speed. The goal was to kill or capture every last one of these Chaos Cultists and leave them with clean land. The best plan was to proceed steadily, step by step.
The biggest problem now wasn't weapons or ammunition. The Dark Mechanicus could no longer keep up with the work. Their transports and Servitor-modification equipment were running at full capacity. As a result, sometimes they had to halt the front and wait for aircraft to become available, or for more Servitor-modification operating tables to open up.
During this unexpected break, the Mortal Auxiliary soldiers split into Groups A and B. Some stood guard, while others sat on the ground, took out ration bars and canteens, and replenished their energy. The Dark Mechanicus had no such problem. They fed nutrient paste down their throats, sometimes even inserting tubes directly into their stomachs—assuming they still had one.
Freddy looked at the strategic map displayed on the screen inside his helmet. From the four directions—north, south, east, and west—the armies led by Lord Peter, Captain Wonaby, Brother Ivan, and himself gripped the enemy's throat like four huge hands. They only had to tighten their grip a little to choke them to death.
Freddy looked at the two Neophytes straddling Assault Bikes behind him and suddenly asked,
"Do you know why we stopped?"
The two Neophytes were clearly taken aback by the sudden question.
One of them let out an "Uh" before answering,
"Are we not waiting for the mortals to rest?"
The other thought for a moment, then replied,
"The mortals aren't that tired yet. I'm guessing you're waiting for the enemy to regroup. If we rush in and scatter them all at once, they'll flee in every direction, and then we'll have to chase them all over the place like rats."
Freddy nodded appreciatively.
"Valentino Rossi, you've got a bit of talent."
Freddy pointed at the other Neophyte.
"As for you, I'm punishing you. Go to the supply truck in the rear and get some Promethium. Fill up all three Assault Bikes."
The Neophyte looked resigned and could only accept his fate.
"Yes, Captain."
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