Herbert even thought, how wonderful it would be if all Imperial citizens had the same resolve as the Helldivers.
Just think, in this dark and vast galaxy, how many humans struggle in sickness, old age, and endless pain, ultimately dying a worthless death in some dark corner, instead of gloriously falling on the battlefield like true Imperial subjects?
Whenever Herbert thought of the workers who lost their lives in factory accidents, the bottom-dwelling residents of Hive Cities rotting in sickness, and the nameless who silently perished in famine, he felt a tremendous pity and regret.
What a waste that was. A tremendous waste of the Empire's most precious resource—human life and soul. Every soul that could have died for the Emperor ultimately vanished in meaningless suffering, which was a blasphemy against the Emperor's glory.
And the Helldivers, they view death as their ultimate destination. This is the proper attitude for humanity when facing this cruel universe.
Just then, a figure descended with the hiss of a grav-chute, landing in front of Krona and Herbert.
It was a Helldivers paratrooper. He didn't even salute, merely scanning them through the lenses of his gas mask before stating bluntly, "Prepare to board the Valkyrie. We're assaulting the next warboss. You two can still fight, right?"
"This intensity of combat is just a warm-up for me," Krona grinned, the blood on his great axe not yet dry.
"Me too," Herbert nodded, his psychic energy still flickering at his fingertips.
The Wolf Guards behind them responded with a chorus of howls, the Fenrisian wolves' eagerness for battle.
The paratrooper gave them a thumbs-up, then turned to activate his grav-chute and fly off.
However, just as he was half a meter off the ground, his body suddenly went limp, as if all his bones had been removed. His thrusters immediately lost power, and he crashed heavily to the ground, no longer moving. Perhaps the stimulants injected during the battle had worn off, or perhaps the accumulated nuclear radiation had finally reached a critical point in damaging his cells.
The Space Wolves and Herbert froze for a moment.
Herbert instinctively wanted to step forward to check the situation, but just as he took one step, a slender red laser beam descended from the sky, precisely hitting the fallen Helldivers' head.
The shot came from another Helldivers paratrooper still circling in the air. He seemed to have merely spotted the situation on the ground while patrolling the battlefield and immediately provided a follow-up shot without hesitation.
Well, no need to check the situation now.
Herbert stopped, knowing that the person under the helmet was absolutely, thoroughly dead.
Just then, a Valkyrie assault transport roared down, its heavy fuselage hitting the ground, and the rear ramp slammed open. To ensure the battle wasn't delayed, everyone quickly suppressed their astonishment and boarded.
The gunship vibrated violently, then ascended again.
Inside the cabin, a Wolf Guard looked at the rapidly receding ground through the still-not-fully-closed hatch and finally couldn't help but mumble, "I still can't get used to their view of life and death... Just a moment ago, they were comrades in arms, fighting side by side, but then they turn around and act more decisively than against xenos?"
No one answered him.
A silence fell over the cabin, with only the roar of the engine echoing. The Wolf Guard seemed to realize he had said something foolish, and he too closed his mouth, saying no more.
The Space Wolves' lightning-fast raid only took two Terran days.
Within these two short days, all reasonably sized warbosses of the feral orks were decapitated, and their massive hordes completely disintegrated. Of course, behind this glorious victory was the carpet bombing of countless nuclear bombs, the perfect cover provided by the fearless Helldivers paratroopers on the flanks, and the overwhelming torrent of the main Helldivers forces on the front lines.
This operation did not attempt to exterminate the orks. Firstly, it was simply unrealistic. Thanks to the previous thirty years of inaction, the total number of orks on Perditia had reached an alarming level, and cleaning them up quickly would probably only be possible with Cyclonic Torpedoes.
Secondly, Robert had no intention of cleaning them up completely. It's important to know that no matter how complex the hive city terrain, once the Helldivers had concentrated all the population, the cultists and genestealers would lose their ability to replenish their forces, and eventually, their numbers would be reduced to a point where they couldn't satisfy the needs of new players.
That's right, Robert planned to use the orks as a training ground for new players. As for the risk of losing control, he was a bit worried before re-establishing contact with the Imperium, but now it was irrelevant—after all, Perditia would still be a major taxpayer, only the original tax items would become the Helldivers Legion. If contact was lost, the Imperium would certainly be the first to panic.
With the players' infinite resurrection ability, even if they were all new players, holding out for a year or two wouldn't be a big problem. What's more, new players would become veteran players after dying three or four times on the battlefield.
Getting back to the topic, without the help of the Helldivers, two hundred-odd space marines alone, even with a supremely powerful Wolf Lord among them, would likely only be able to request orbital bombardment from the Imperial Navy to quickly resolve such a large-scale ork disaster in two days.
And Robert—now both Herbert and Krona recognized him as the undisputed supreme commander of Perditia, both administratively and militarily—had expressed his strong desire to them before the operation began: the situation would absolutely not escalate to the point of requiring Naval orbital bombardment.
After all, if the Imperial Navy were to engage in large-scale ground fire, there would most likely be only one scenario—an Exterminatus order for that planet.
The Helldivers merely used tactical nuclear bombs frequently; their goal was to purge xenos, not to turn Perditia into an uninhabitable death world.
Although in the cold and cruel forty-first millennium, many believed that harsh death worlds were conducive to tempering human will, and many space marine Chapters even specifically recruited new recruits from the worst backgrounds and most heinous criminals, believing that only in the darkest mire could the most resilient souls be forged.
However, Robert, from 21st century another universe, clearly did not agree with this social Darwinism.
The environment of Perditia and the living standards of its people should be as good as possible.
Moreover, this social Darwinist viewpoint also has clear counter-examples in Imperial history. Just like Macragge, where the living standards are exemplary in the Imperium, and civilization and order shine brightly, yet the Ultramarines' fighting spirit has not been weakened in the slightest. They remain among the Imperium's most steadfast and powerful defenders.
Perhaps this is precisely because the builder of Macragge, the great Primarch Roboute Guilliman, was one of the rare few among the twenty-one superhuman guys who had mortal foster parents and received a quality and normal education from them.