Chapter 202: Codex Astartes vs. Codex Bellum
It had to be admitted: Romulus, or rather, all four of the Dawnbreakers, had been somewhat pessimistic about the Tyrannic War.
After all, their understanding of the destruction wrought by the Hive Fleets was largely based on written records of events that had not yet occurred in their timeline. In that future, the Ultramarines would be pushed all the way back to their homeworld of Macragge. The entire planet would be on the verge of falling, with only two polar fortresses holding on by a thread. The First Company would be annihilated, and the Honour Guard would be decimated. It would be a hundred years before the Ultramarines' strength returned to over eight hundred battle-brothers, and that was only during the campaign to quell an Ork empire that had risen in southern Macragge.
But after the Tyrannic War had begun in earnest, even though the Imperial Navy had suffered its share of major defeats, Romulus had felt surprisingly little pressure since taking command.
Once the various scattered problems concerning the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Dark Angels, and Chaos had been dealt with, the Crusade Fleet—composed of Black Templars, the Nemesis Chapter, and other Imperial forces—had easily compressed the Tyranids' operational space, gradually herding the hunger-driven xenos towards the fortress world of Boros Minor.
In the ensuing battles, the Hive Fleet tasted the true vastness of the Imperium of Man for the first time. No matter where it extended its tendrils, a fleet would be there to sever them, and then push back along the path it had come.
Yes, the Imperium's reaction time was slow. But the Imperium had ships.
Its domain spanned nearly the entire galaxy. Its upper and lower classes lived in constant turmoil. Its social contradictions were sharp, and the external threats were immense. And yet, it had stood for ten thousand years. That was a testament to its sheer, unyielding mass.
If someone could unite that strength into a single fist and strike, there would be nothing in the galaxy that could withstand the destructive torrent—except, perhaps, the Imperium itself.
And the Imperial military forces, fully mobilized by the Dawnbreakers, were very real indeed.
The Hive Fleet now found itself in a dilemma. It could either continue to expend biomass in the cold void, waiting for the intensity of the war to decrease and the Crusade Fleet to disperse so it could find something to eat. Or it could go all-in, concentrating its forces to shatter the defenses of Boros Minor.
Watching the xenos fleet being systematically forced into a meatgrinder against the fortress world under Romulus's coordinated command, the various splinter fleets of the Crusade began to converge on Boros Minor. The decisive battle here would determine their ability to inflict maximum casualties on the Hive Fleet and reduce its threat.
The Hive Fleet's unique command structure and regenerative capabilities meant that the Crusade had to concentrate on eliminating the Hive Ships to truly pacify the entire Realm of Ultramar.
Marneus Calgar was confident he could hold against the xenos. The iron fortress of Boros Minor would ultimately break the Hive Fleet's fangs.
And for the xenos, only by shattering the defenses of Boros Minor and consuming this meatgrinder that sustained the entire Ultramar front could their hungry tendrils hope to touch Macragge.
And so, on this world reshaped by war, a five-year-long battle of attrition continued to rage.
The world's face had long been changed by blackened ash. Mountains of incinerated remains were whipped up by the raging monsoons, forming black dust storms that blotted out the sun. The sound of sand scouring the fortress's armour-plating was like the ceaseless wailing of the dead.
Lava flows, deliberately triggered by the Adeptus Mechanicus, oozed from the planet's core, forming fixed fortifications on the surface. Not even the Hive Fleet could cross the super-heated magma, rich in iron and nickel.
Viewed from space, the planet was a ball of soot, constantly radiating its inner heat.
BOOM—
An unnatural green light tore through the sky, a twisted rainbow that ripped through the black mist.
A Librarian threw up a psychic shield at the last possible second. The sickly green beam slammed into the pale blue barrier, and the resulting ripple of energy exploded in a blinding shower of sparks.
A second later, the shield shattered like glass. The beam of light then struck a storm shield, vaporizing the adamantium and rendering its power field useless. The Ultramarines First Company elite in his suit of Indomitus Terminator armour dissolved in the dazzling energy before he could even scream, like frost in the midday sun.
The beam of destruction cut a black scar across the entire battle line before finally dissipating in the distance.
At the other end of the line, Captain Cato Sicarius, who was locked in combat with a Tyranid Prime, whipped his head around. He saw a path to hell carved through their defenses. Flesh and steel within the beam's path had been completely melted.
The headless torso of the Librarian crashed to the ground, his ceramite armour kicking up a cloud of ash. The inside of his body had been completely incinerated by the psychic flames, leaving only a charred, empty shell. The wind howled through it with a hollow moan.
A Zoanthrope. A psychic battlefield unit that had evolved for unknown reasons after the Tyranids entered the galaxy. It lacked the typical狰狞 carapace and claws of the swarm. Instead, its misshapen body was a mass of nerve ganglia, every inch of its flesh designed to channel ever-stronger psychic powers. For the sake of this extreme evolution, it had even abandoned the physical resilience that was the hallmark of the Tyranid race.
Captain Sicarius's mind instantly identified the culprit. Ignoring the piercing whine in his own skull, he roared into the comms.
"All units, be advised! Zoanthrope on the field! Requesting immediate support from the Chief Librarian! All combat units—increase dispersal! Repeat, increase dispersal immediately!"
Sicarius's tactical instincts were sharp. In the face of a psychic threat of this magnitude, pointless sacrifice was meaningless. No sane commander would allow his soldiers to bunch up and become living targets.
Just as the combined-arms force was rapidly pulling back, a distorted ripple of psychic energy exploded from the Zoanthrope. Several mortal soldiers who were lagging behind were caught in the aftershock and instantly fell, their bodies seizing up. Their flesh bizarrely shriveled and charred, and the nauseating smell of cooked meat filled the air.
BZZZZT—!
A beam of deep green death suddenly lanced across the battlefield, striking the writhing neural mass with perfect accuracy. Before the Zoanthrope could even scream, it spontaneously combusted under the high-frequency pulse of a neural shredder, instantly becoming a twitching lump of charcoal.
After insta-killing the Zoanthrope, Titus, standing within the dissipating psychic field as if nothing had happened, immediately aimed his neural shredder at the next target.
The main force of the Crusade Fleet had gathered at Boros Minor. His small squad could not be of much help in the space battle, so they had made planetfall to assist in the defense. With their long experience fighting the Tyranids, they had significantly eased the pressure on the defensive line.
"Titus."
Marneus Calgar's voice came over the comms, a clear and unmistakable warning. The reminder from the overall commander of the surface defenses made Titus pause, and the muzzle of his neural shredder drooped slightly.
"Your method of engagement is not in accordance with the Codex Astartes."
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