Half a Terran day into the war, Stinger's side had already descended into complete chaos.
The Psykers responsible for communications reported the situation from the front lines, while Stinger processed the information in his mind, doing his best to reconstruct the current battlefield.
In the end, only one impression of the war remained in Stinger's mind.
Chaos.
The mutual cover provided by their retreating forces was utterly useless. The enemy seemed to be everywhere. Each unit was barely able to fend for itself; some had even confused the direction of their retreat and, in their panic, rushed toward the blocked passageways.
Stinger wanted to mobilize four or five regiments to establish defenses on the spot, at least opening a safe evacuation route for his trusted subordinates, but that was simply impossible.
The enemy might appear in front of them or behind them. They might vanish after a single volley. Entire masses of enemies might even appear right in the middle of several nearby regiments, batter them senseless, then flee again. The defenses those regiments had established were completely useless.
Stinger had little time to adjust his deployment, because an even more urgent problem had arisen.
"My lord, we must deal with the enemy artillery immediately! By the time I finish reporting to you, thousands may already have been blown to pieces!" A Psyker turned to Stinger, urging him to react quickly.
Stinger rubbed his head, swiftly devised a countermeasure, then picked up his communicator. "Ailin, I need you to lead your mobile force to the location where the enemy artillery has appeared immediately. It's in the northernmost part of Sector Twelve, only a thousand meters from your current position."
Ailin was the commander of a mobile regiment within the Tyran II Planetary Defense Force. None of his men traveled on