Warhammer [539-541] (Patreon)

Chapter 539: Annihilating the Ork Horde

On the equatorial plains, the first wave of surviving Ork drop pods slammed down like meteors, gouging scorched craters tens of meters deep.

Before the hatches had fully opened, the air was already torn apart by deafening "WAAAGH!!!" howls.

Behind a steel wall of more than two thousand Ultramarines, the orbital defense batteries were charging, pale blue ion light gathering at their muzzles.

"First contact!" the Scout's voice echoed across the tactical network.

On the command stood a company captain of the Ultramarines, the servos of his MKX power armor humming with a low thrum. He saw the first greenskin leap from the smoke—a steaming mad brute pounding its rusted cleaver against the metal skullcap on its head.

"Brothers! Open fire!"

Hundreds of boltguns roared like thunder. The first rank of Orks was shredded into gore by a storm of metal, yet more greenskins surged forward, trampling their comrades' corpses.

In the Ork language, there is no word for fear. The concept simply does not exist.

Among them rumbled converted Killa Kans—three-meter-tall war machines of crude make—swinging battleship-turned-mega-dakka guns and hosing the Imperial line with a rain of shells.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

An Ork shell exploded twenty meters to the left of the Ultramarines. Two Battle Sisters were flung away by the blast.

The Sisters immediately raised their flamers; sacred fire fanned out to cover fifty meters to their fore.

The air filled at once with the smell of roast meat. A dozen Orks capered and writhed in the inferno, turning into barbecued greenskins.

"For the Emperor!" the warriors of the Ultramarines' 3rd Company countercharged. Power swords and chainswords flashed with cold sunlight.

The Ultramarines slammed into the Ork vanguard. Limbs and blood flew. One Marine shattered an Ork's bones with his storm shield; another sawed a Killa Kan clean in half with his chainsword.

If it were Firstborn Astartes facing Ork Boyz, they would have some advantage in size, but nothing overwhelming.

If a Firstborn had to face a dozen Ork Boyz at once, he would likely be killed. But Primaris Space Marines are different.

These warriors are taller, stronger, faster, with sharper reflexes—far beyond what mere numbers can overrun.

The Orks were countless, but even so, the Ultramarines were a blue wall of steel, locking the green tide in place and forming an unbreakable cerulean bulwark.

Behind them, mortal Guardsmen and squads of Sisters brought their ranged weapons to bear, steadily mowing the Orks down.

Then more Ork rock-drop pods fell densely from the sky. Even with their main warships blasted apart, more gleeful greenskins were dropping to the surface.

"WAAAGH!!! WAAAGH!!! WAAAGH!!!"

"Second wave of drop pods incoming!" the Scout's voice tightened.

"Multiple Ork Wartrakks identified!"

The ground shook violently as dozens of ramshackle trakks burst from the smoke, each mounted with heavy dakka and crammed with howling greenskins.

At the front drove a one-eyed Ork boss. With a hook for a right hand, it raised a rusted chopper high. "Run down da tin humies!"

"Melta team!" the Ultramarines captain barked.

Three warriors shouldered massive meltaguns, dropped to one knee, and in a blink melted three trakks into rivers of slag.

But the remaining trakks had already slammed into the line. One Ultramarine took a frontal hit; his power armor twisted and buckled under tens of tons of force.

The fighting blazed white-hot. A Battle Sister vaulted onto a trakk and brought her eviscerator down, smashing the driver's head into his chest.

Behind her, Sisters formed mobile firepoints, sniping Orks trying to encircle them with precise bolt fire. Yet for every greenskin that fell, more crawled out of the pods.

The number of Orks on the ground grew by the minute. Some Warbosses even teleported to the surface via the Weirdboyz' sorcery.

Chopper-swinging melee Boyz were already among the Imperial mortal troops. They hadn't breached the Ultramarines' defense, but the wall of 2,000 Marines could not cover the entire front.

And all around, in every direction, there were Orks. This was a grand revel. Their flagship was down? Didn't matter. The Warboss dead? Also didn't matter. As long as there was war, a new boss would rise.

No guns? No cannons? The enemy brings them, or the junk heap does. Scavenge the pile, and soon you've got a working big shoota.

Grab some scrap, bang together a can, stuff a little grot inside.

Shove a grot into a bomb from a junker plane, and you've got a self-guiding grot-bomb.

Those grots just have to fly their little bomb-planes at the enemy. Mission accomplished.

"Third Regiment, report your casualties!" a mortal commander shouted.

"Kars Squad requests support!"

"East line has been breached!"

Calls overlapped on the vox. An Ultramarine split an onrushing Nob in two, then looked up to see the sky glowing red with yet more drop pod exhaust.

Just then, a golden sigil flashed across his tac-visor—an incoming transmission from the Revelation-class battleship in orbit: Calgar.

"Ground forces, hold the line.

The Ork main fleet has been routed. Our ground units will be making planetfall shortly.

Hold a little longer and victory will be ours. I am dispatching King Joe automatons to support you and will commence bombardment of the Ork horde. Hold until we arrive," said the voice of Calgar's hologram.

The King Joe automaton is now the mainline Titan unit of the Imperium—high performance, with a division capability.

One King Joe can split into four independent combat units to saturate targets with concentrated bombardment.

Tokas immediately opened company-wide vox. "All units, heads up! High-altitude bombardment imminent."

His warning was drowned by earthshaking thunder. Ten King Joe units streaked into the battlespace, split into fours, formed a bombing array, and swooped toward the Ork masses.

Their Pedanium beam cannons pre-detonated at five hundred meters altitude, blanketing the field in a storm of flame. The King Joe strike was ferocious.

The sky turned a blinding electric blue. Thousands of Orks ionized to ash. The Ultramarines, braced in advance, avoided being flung by the shockwave, but the exposed plates of their armor still glowed red-hot.

When the light faded, the plain looked as if a god had plowed it with a colossal share.

Two-thirds of the Ork force had been annihilated. The remainder reeled in brief confusion—exactly the opportunity Tokas had awaited.

"Counterattack across the line! For Macragge! For the Emperor!"

The Ultramarines surged from their fortifications like a tide. Bolters thundered, chainswords screamed. Sister Celestine led Purifier squads straight into the enemy heart; flamers turned surviving trakks into rolling fireballs. The Ork bosses tried to rally a counterattack, but without their numbers, the greenskins were swiftly isolated and encircled.

At the center, Tokas met the final resistance—five well-equipped Ork bosses guarding a massive Ork war mech.

The mech was clearly cobbled together from multiple Imperial Knights' wrecks, plus parts of an old Imperial Titan.

Its left arm was a rusted power claw; its right, an absurd rotary cannon—pure Ork style.

"I'm Big Bone-Smasher!" the Ork warlord bellowed through loudspeakers. "Let's 'ave a propa scrap!"

Before him, four King Joe bodies swooped in, combined into a towering golden automaton, leveled its Pedanium beam gun at the ramshackle mech—and fired.

The backfiring gun tore the Ork's right arm apart. The junk mech detonated—boom! boom! boom! The hapless warlord inside didn't even react before he was blown to pieces. The freshly arrived war mech was obliterated in an instant.

The remaining King Joe completed their combinations across the field, becoming a host of golden giants that waded into the Ork horde.

With their warlord down, the Orks finally broke. But Second Company Captain Tokas knew this was far from over—the Ork spores buried in the soil would soon spawn more greenskins. He looked toward the drop pods still falling in the distance and tightened his power sword, slick with green blood.

"Clean the field. Burn every corpse," he ordered over comms. "Do not allow these filthy greenskins to sprout again.

They breed fast. Every Ork body must be cleared. All land tainted by Orks must be purified."

The clouds above were stained dark red by war, as if foretelling more bloodshed to come.

At the muddy edge of the battlefield, a tiny Ork spore began to sprout—only to be incinerated at once by Imperial flamers. The Imperium would give the greenskins no second chance; the Imperium and the Orks are old enemies.

With orbital troops landing, the battle's outcome was no longer in doubt.

Twenty-odd hours later, the last Ork warship was reduced to dust under Imperial fleet pursuit, and all mobile greenskins on the planet's surface were purged by ground forces.

Calgar stood on the bridge, gazing over the now-settling battlespace. This war belonged to the Ultramarines.

Chapter 540: Rhodes's Assignment—Calgar, You're Going Undercover

"Now put all effort into treating the wounded. Eradicate every Ork spore fungus. For the next month, comb the planet day and night. I will not permit a single Ork spore to appear on this world.

Then compile losses. I want casualty reports from every unit," Calgar's voice rang across the Ultramarines' comms.

Local garrisons and the Imperial Navy likewise received Calgar's signal and began tallying losses immediately.

"You heard Lord Calgar! Treat the wounded, count losses, and carry out post-battle protocols. All Orkoid threats must be eliminated," the Ultramarine herald shouted across the Vigilus.

Though many company captains had already ordered mortal auxiliaries to clean up Ork remains, Calgar's edict was carried once more to every corner.

One could imagine how seriously the Ultramarines took the greenskins.

"In a few months, the Father will arrive on this world. I will tolerate no mistakes. When the great Guilliman arrives, I want a clean, holy Vigilus," Calgar said.

He had come ahead to this war-torn planet to put its disorder to rights—surely the Emperor's will.

It was to secure this world, to ensure no strange powers claimed it.

After the fighting, Calgar went to the High Council's reception hall to await reports on losses.

In the meantime, he summoned the local nobility, the Ecclesiarchy, and the Adeptus Mechanicus.

"I've heard ill news. Before I came to the Vigilus, I was told you harbor heresy," Calgar said.

"Slander—pure slander, my lord Calgar. Our Vigilus is a prosperous Imperial planet. We have always served the Imperium.

We produce fortress-grade power shields sold to many Imperial worlds. There can be no heresy here," the local noble Planetary Governor said, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Is that so? My information says otherwise. I am told there are vile Genestealers on this world.

I fought the Tyranids centuries ago, when they first set foot in our sacred galaxy.

I know how terrifying they are. Now, summon all nobles, high and even middle ranks of the Ecclesiarchy—everyone—into this hall. Remove your hats. Strip away all disguises," Calgar said.

Before leaving Macragge, Calgar had gathered intelligence on the Vigilus. One item stood out: there might be Genestealers here.

For ten thousand years, the greenskins were the greatest scourge of the galaxy—until a few centuries ago, when the Tyranids arrived and changed that.

Now the greatest scourge is not Orks, but the dread Tyranid swarms.

So Calgar took any Tyranid report with utmost gravity. There could be no slipups. Should a major Hive Fleet arrive, the Imperium would be locked in a grinding war.

On the fringes of the Baal system, Lord Sanguinius's sons were already battling the Tyranids; their power was horrific.

Only Lord Rhodes had maintained an unblemished record against the Tyranids.

"That's impossible, Lord Calgar. We—there have never been Tyranid infiltrators here. How could those foul bugs pass among humans?" the Governor said, dabbing at cold sweat.

He knew the truth of the Vigilus better than anyone. Deep in the underhive, a cult called the Pauper Prince had been attracting many followers these years.

But they also worshiped the Emperor—albeit their "Star Children."

Calgar narrowed his eyes and fixed the Governor with a hard stare—one wrong word and he looked ready to draw his bolt pistol and blow the man's head off.

"I'm not here to bandy words. Summon every noble—high or low. Every last one. I will ensure this planet is untainted," Calgar said flatly.

"Y-yes, Lord Calgar. I—I will see to it at once." The Governor dared no further excuse and scurried out.

Lord Calgar's presence was simply too imposing. Rumor even had it that Lord Guilliman meant to pass the mantle of Chapter Master of the Ultramarines to him and assume the role of Lord Regent of the Imperium himself.

When the others had gone, Calgar sat and allowed himself a brief rest.

"Calgar. It's Rhodes. I'm speaking to you via psychic link. Do not act abnormally. Let no one sense anything amiss," a voice sounded in Calgar's mind.

"Lord Rhodes—you—how are you here?" Calgar bolted upright, looking around in confusion.

A wash of golden light blossomed from nowhere, and Rhodes stepped out—from it, with Tartarus at his side. For now, Tartarus retained a human guise.

Only when alone with his master and summoned allies did he reveal his true form.

"Lord Rhodes, Lord Tartarus—why have you come to the Vigilus?"

"Tartarus and I are here to handle certain matters—Imperial top secret.

At present only the Emperor and Guilliman know I am here," Rhodes said.

"Have you orders for me, my lord?" Calgar asked at once, sensing the moment.

"Are you not curious why you arrived on the Vigilus suddenly? Because I knew the wastrels here could never hold against the Ork horde.

So I moved your fleet directly here to purge them. You have done well—crushed the greenskins in days," Rhodes said.

Calgar understood. No wonder he had reached the system early—it was Lord Rhodes's doing. If it was Rhodes, it made sense; Tartarus possessed terrifying spatial teleportation that spanned the entire galaxy.

Then why had his gene-father escorted that so-called Emperor Avatar here? Why not have Lord Rhodes open a transit gate directly? If Rhodes could arrive, he could surely open one from the Vigilus, no?

"It seems you've guessed some of it, Calgar. You are very clever. The Emperor, Guilliman, and I have laid a great net here—one that concerns the future of all humanity.

If the plan succeeds, mankind will be saved. If it fails, a new Chaos God will be born in the Warp, and humanity's souls will be devoured, as happened to the Aeldari—perhaps even birthing a new Eye of Terror," Rhodes said.

"What!! My lord—can this be true? Is it truly so grave?" Calgar was shaken.

"More than you think. Which is why your next task is crucial. You must do exactly as I say—you are a keystone of this web.

No one may know of this conversation but you—not a single brigade commander or Chapter Master," Rhodes said.

"I understand, my lord. I will keep this secret. What task do you command?" Calgar knelt on one knee.

He had never imagined a seemingly routine escort mission would touch the life and death of all humanity. He dared not be careless.

"Here is what I need you to do…" Rhodes began.

"Th-this—Lord Rhodes, are… are you certain?" Calgar stared, incredulous.

"I don't like it either, but it's the only way to draw that one out," Rhodes said.

"B-but will it even work?" Calgar asked, troubled.

"Calgar, this is your test. Are you willing to sacrifice for the Imperium—even to bear infamy for a time?" Rhodes asked.

"I—I will, my lord. I would die for the Imperium. But—but—" Calgar stammered. The request truly was outrageous.

"Think of it as an assignment. Afterward Guilliman and I will restore your name. It's just undercover work—hardly difficult," Rhodes said.

"But, my lord, even if I'm willing to pretend to defect to Chaos, Abaddon the Despoiler will never believe it," Calgar said.

Lord Rhodes was asking him to defect to Abaddon?

Absurd.

Abaddon was no fool. How could he believe it?

"Be at ease. The real Abaddon is already in my custody. The Abaddon over there is an impostor—ours," Rhodes said with a smile.

"…" Calgar.

Chapter 541: Calgar Refuses; A Traitor in the Legion

Calgar tried to find excuses, but none would do. Abaddon the Despoiler—secretly captured by Lord Rhodes!

More absurd still, the one impersonating Abaddon was a subordinate of Rhodes—an Imperial asset.

When had this happened? It wasn't that he lacked composure—the day's revelations were simply too outlandish.

"My lord, I… I don't think I can do this. I cannot face my battle-brothers," Calgar sighed.

To be frank, undercover work was not for him. And given they already had Abaddon, what difference did Calgar make?

"Are you sure you refuse?" Rhodes asked.

"I'm sorry, my lord. If it were anything else, I would go through fire. But to pledge to Chaos, even as a ruse—I cannot cross that line.

If you insist, I will obey—but afterward, please assign me to serve interred in a Dreadnought," Calgar said.

"Dreadnoughts are being phased out. With med-bays now, who remains mortally wounded? The old Dreadnoughts will all become exhibits," Rhodes said.

Asking to be sealed in a Dreadnought?

That was obsolete. Since Rhodes had introduced the miracle med-bay, beyond saving was rare: either you died on the spot or you lived to be healed.

"My lord, if you would have me go undercover, at least tell me whom we're baiting.

The Despoiler is handled. The Chaos Gods can't manifest in realspace. What enemy requires me to go undercover and both you and my father to act?" Calgar asked.

"That is an Imperial secret. I cannot tell you," Rhodes said.

"My lord, I beg you—assign me another task. Anything but this.

If you need a decoy to lure them, I can serve as a sacrificial target," Calgar said.

"It's not that simple. The avatar's body is the key.

He is the bait. We aren't sure he can draw the fish. Even your father, Guilliman, is bait," Rhodes said.

Rhodes had been monitoring the Warp. Fulgrim had indeed dispatched some Slaanesh daemons and mortal cultists, but no main force—Fulgrim himself remained holed up. The Emperor was right: drawing him out would not be easy. Hence Rhodes's idea to corrupt Guilliman's favored son, Marneus Calgar.

Let Fulgrim decide there was no trap and come for the ace avatar.

But in truth, this step was optional. The crux was making Fulgrim believe there was no ambush—especially after the Imperium had just fought Orks here.

"Since you refuse, when our Abaddon arrives, you can fight him. One of his objectives is to burn through his Black Legion's corrupted Chaos Astartes," Rhodes said.

"That, I can do. The Ultramarines take joy in slaying traitors. If they show themselves, we'll meet them head-on," Calgar said.

As long as he didn't have to pretend to join Chaos, anything was fine. Fighting the Black Legion? Their specialty—old enemies, after all.

"Wait. In your Legion, the Marine who trained under Titus and then served as Chaplain—where is he?" Rhodes asked suddenly.

"You mean Leandros, my lord? He was punished and stripped of the Chaplaincy, but after distinguished service he now serves as an executive officer to a company captain," Calgar said.

Leandros was undeniably talented in war. But he was fixated on the Codex Astartes. After Guilliman's rebuke, he seemed to change, focusing on battle.

"You're saying he's safe—and even an XO?" Rhodes asked.

That made no sense. By his reckoning, Leandros's faith should have collapsed. How had he become an XO? Something was off—very off.

"Leandros is an Ultramarines veteran. He once served as Chaplain. After the Legion's reorganization many posts went vacant, so I promoted him to XO under a regiment-level Chapter," Calgar said.

In today's Ultramarines, ranks were plentiful. Under the Vice Commander were brigadiers, under them Chapter Masters, then company captains.

Leandros had a proud Ultramarines pedigree. Though he once defied the Primarch and caused trouble at the ceremony, decades of penance had seen him right. Serving as an XO in a reconstituted successor Chapter seemed fitting—even as a captain.

"Did he come here with you?" Rhodes asked.

"He did. During the spaceport fight, he even joined a strike team, boarded an Ork ship, and killed dozens of greenskins," Calgar said, doing his best to list Leandros's merits, hoping Rhodes would overlook the man's former stubbornness.

"Don't overthink it. I'm only asking his status. If he's reformed, good—let him stay that way. Prepare for your battle with Abaddon.

Remember—tell no one about Abaddon. Just fight as normal," Rhodes said.

"I understand the gravity. I will die before I reveal it," Calgar said solemnly.

Rhodes nodded with satisfaction, patted Calgar's shoulder, and vanished into a golden gate.

Leandros as an XO?

Definitely wrong. Something was off with that one.

"Come, Tartarus. Let's observe this Leandros," Rhodes said.

Not long after Rhodes left, the officer tallying losses arrived with a report.

"My lord Calgar! We lost three escorts; two cruisers heavily damaged. Ultramarines: 28 KIA, 45 wounded. Adepta Sororitas: 1,711 KIA. Mortal regiments: over 200,000 KIA. Civilian casualties on the Vigilus likely in the millions," the adjutant reported briskly.

 "But the Ork fleet has been annihilated. The Vigilus is secure and ready to receive the Lord Regent."

Calgar nodded. "Begin repairs at once. Lord Guilliman will arrive soon—we must ensure security. Alert all units to maintain vigilance. I have a sense more enemies are coming."

Though Abaddon had been replaced, the Black Legion's Chaos Astartes were still traitors—and they must be destroyed.

"Yes, my lord. I'll relay the orders. The Ultramarines will not slacken."

"Monitor Warp flux closely. Report any anomalies to me immediately," Calgar said.

The adjutant saluted and withdrew.

…

In an Ultramarines barracks, Leandros removed his helmet and sat alone in his cell.

During the last Chaos assault—when even the Emperor's Custodians were slain—he had stayed a step apart, received boons from Chaos, and helped them seize Primaris gene-organs.

Afterward, Calgar had elevated him to XO in a newly raised Chapter. Having served as a Chaplain, he occasionally filled the role—the new Chaplains had yet to be selected. Some captains and Chapter Masters had even proposed petitioning Calgar to reinstate him as Chaplain.

At that prospect, Leandros was thrilled. As a Chaplain, he could better corrupt his brothers, turn them from the false Emperor toward freedom.

"Wait for me, Guilliman, Rhodes, and False Emperor. One day I will have my revenge," Leandros muttered.

A black miasma of Chaos seeped from him. Clearly, he had already turned.

Rhodes and Tartarus watched it all.

"Master, you truly foresaw it. The wretch is compromised. Shall we inform Calgar?"

"Of course," Rhodes said with a cold smile.