"Lord Regent, the rebels have retreated. We held the Solar Sanctum. Now is the time to pursue them."
The Imperial Navy, the Imperial Guard, Space Marine Chapter Masters... a whole crowd surrounded Guilliman, clamoring for a counterattack. The Imperium had gathered so much strength here. What was there to fear?
Guilliman's head throbbed. Did these people lose their minds the moment military honors were mentioned? The enemy had retreated. That enormous Hive City warship had not crashed. It could still blast them to pieces.
Then the mortal advisers began offering their own analyses: insufficient ammunition, fear of the Emperor's might, a shortage of resources to repair their warship...
They could hardly be blamed. None of the warriors who had taken part in that horrific defensive battle would believe that the enemy had not yet used its full strength. Faced with such terrifying bombardments and wave after wave of adamantium Centurions, even the Departmento Munitorum's staff officers could not imagine a more powerful offensive.
The psykers' analysis was somewhat more plausible. They believed that, having failed in its attempts to attack the Solar Sanctum's eight crucial warp routes, the Crimson Tide would certainly seek support.
The fleets roaming Segmentum Pacificus might merely be a smokescreen. Their true objective was to isolate the Space Wolves' Expeditionary Force and catch them between themselves and the enemy within the Eye of Terror, opening an outward invasion route from the Eye.
Thus, these psychic advisers kept considering the possibility of the Crimson Tide coordinating with Abaddon to attack from both sides. A renegade Chapter that had not embraced Chaos still had common ground with Abaddon when it came to overthrowing the Imperium.
Guilliman was exhausted. He summoned his innermost circle for a meeting, and they could practically fill every seat at the Great Round Table.