After reviewing the base construction, Blazkowicz asked, "What is the status of the fleet supplies?"
The ground forces were the rivets, driven deep and hard into the world; the fleet was the cornerstone, ensuring those rivets held firm. Without the cover of a powerful fleet, ground forces operated in a harrowing environment, constantly vulnerable to orbital bombardment.
"Fleet supplies are secure," Junior reported, pulling up the data. "The Nur cluster's output is reaching peak capacity. We are averaging production of one medium-sized fleet per day."
"The only problem now is not a shortage of ships, but a shortage of personnel to crew them."
"The solution I have devised," he manipulated the holographic display with one hand, opening a contingency proposal, "is to adopt the 'Loyal Wingman' model."
The image illuminated, showing unmanned warships orbiting manned vessels, forming "control clusters." These clusters were coordinated and operated by the command ship, expanding the fleet's scale and enhancing combat effectiveness.
"By using manned warships as the core, supported by combat-AI processors, we can form a node-command system. This will multiply our fleet scale several times over in a very short period."
"While combat effectiveness rises, we avoid sacrificing sailors and captains, allowing us to continuously train new naval talent."
Blazkowicz flipped through the proposal, evaluating its tactical feasibility. In terms of grand strategy, Junior's proposal was sound. In the Golden Age, the Nur cluster had already achieved near-total automation; the ancestors needed only to issue a single command and await the news of victory.
Junior's proposal was a clumsy imitation of that ancestral technology, utilized through "swarm communication."
"Proceed. Implement this plan," Blazkowicz agreed with a nod. Nur favored a strategy of elite forces, but when faced with an overwhelming tide of enemies, adjustments were necessary.
"Based on your framework, I will add a few stipulations." Blazkowicz's tone was calm. While consolidating Junior's authority, he outlined his own requirements. "Nur will guarantee our own supply, but we will also dedicate surplus capacity to produce Imperial-pattern warships for the rest of the Imperium."
"You are to submit an application to Ferrus Manus; use the Gene-Primarch's authority to request the standard fleet-supply protocols."
"Also, notify Lady Victoria Regna. Have the Rogue Traders mobilize transport fleets to extend the shipping lanes toward the front, carrying supplies and materiel."
"This is not a negotiation," Blazkowicz said, his voice hardening. "Tell the merchants to set aside their petty, mercantilist outlook and dedicate themselves to this racial war. If the war is lost, they will be nothing more than rootless debris drifting in the void."
"Are we tapping into our total war potential?" Junior's expression was solemn as he rapidly recorded the Primarch's orders.
"Yes!" Blazkowicz swiped through the holographic projections, shifting the perspective from the fleet to the wider theater of war. "We must make full preparations—the first battle is the decisive battle!"
He straightened his back, his towering silhouette taking in the entire scope of the operation. His majestic voice carried the weight of absolute resolve: "In this first decisive engagement, humanity must consume more than half of the Rangdan Empire's total military strength!"
"Every deployment Ferrus has made is designed to project the attitude of a decisive battle, baiting the Rangdan into continuously pouring reinforcements into J-11."
"The Rangdan are thinking the same thing. They hold a firm, unshakable determination regarding this battle."
"Once they crush the Imperial front, the Rangdan fleet will be free to drive deep into our territory. Resistance within the Imperium will be too fragmented to pose a serious threat."
As the Primarch spoke, the holographic projection sketched out war-game scenarios on the sand table. Every step was incredibly perilous, enough to break out in a cold sweat for the assembled commanders.
"Have the Titan Legions of the Imperium leave the system." Blazkowicz pointed to a corner of the holographic table. Ferrus had deployed ten Titan Legions to this planet as support for the Doom Marines.
"They are a powerful force, but they are difficult to integrate into our specific combat sequence. Dispatch them elsewhere; their combat effectiveness will be better utilized elsewhere."
"..."
Within the command room, Blazkowicz's voice continued to echo, meticulously optimizing the defenses of his sector. For six months straight, he walked the surface of J-11-5, deploying his forces with rigorous precision and engaging in the preparation alongside his Legionnaires. As time passed, Blazkowicz's frequent presence on the front lines made the Rangdan wary, and they eventually dispatched one of their own Overlords to hold the line.
The two could often see each other through the void shields, and at times, they would even exchange words. However, this particular Rangdan Overlord was not as cunning as the Creator; it spent its time posturing and bellowing about how it would crush the Imperium of Man with its sheer force.
Skirmishes remained constant on the real-space front, but overall, the situation was eerily quiet. Both sides exercised extreme restraint, desperate to avoid accidentally triggering the "fuse" before the time was right.
In the supernatural realm, however, the war was escalating. The Emperor sat upon the Blackstone Throne, constructing psychic barriers with His Librarians to prevent the conflict in the Aether from spilling over into the material universe. Two vast, titanic wills clashed within the Warp, triggering countless waves that drew swarms of daemons to witness the spectacle. The daemons sharpened their claws, carving out nests amidst the turbulence, hoping to intercept a portion of the spoils once the battle between the two Great Entities reached its conclusion.
As the scope of the total war took shape, Khorne grew increasingly powerful; deep within the Warp, his roars echoed frequently, impatient to feast on the inevitable slaughter. The other three Ruinous Powers lurked in the shadows, observing the battle between these two transcendent beings.
All of this had little to do with Blazkowicz. Where he stood, the Warp remained unnervingly still—no daemon dared approach him. He completed his daily duties, then rested in his quarters, playing with retro electronic games in his leisure time.
"My Lord." The holographic projector on his desk flickered to life. Junior's image appeared. "The Lord of the Fire-drakes has arrived."
"Understood."
Blazkowicz stood from his bed, removed his retro headphones, and draped his robe over his shoulders to leave. He looked up at the stars, his exceptional vision functioning like an astronomical telescope. He saw reality tearing open as Vulkan's flagship, the Flame-forged, led its fleet into the system. The Salamanders had completed their defensive deployments and, with the battle looming, were moving into the staging sector.
He shifted his gaze to another corner of his vision: the orbits of the sixth and seventh worlds, designated as the main battlefield, had drawn closer still.
"Brother," a deep, heavy call echoed in the room. Blazkowicz turned to find a projection of the black giant forming on the table.
"Vulkan." Blazkowicz smiled, greeting his dark-skinned brother. "Welcome to the main theater of war."
The black giant's eyes lit up with joy. He beckoned toward another projection. "My apologies, I must depart to finish my work first."
"I am deploying to J-11-8 to cover the flank of the main battlefield."
"You go on, then." Blazkowicz nodded with full understanding. "You have your work cut out for you. With Junior handling the initial deployment, integrating J-11-5 took me quite a while as well."
"I will pay you a visit another day."
The Lord of the Fire-drakes waved his hand, turning his focus toward his defensive deployment. In a battle of this scale, Vulkan dared not show the slightest slack. Soon after, the Salamander Legion approached the eighth world, dropping into the Imperial-controlled zone.
[Dark Angels will replace Iron Hands in J-11-7]
[Iron Hands to redeploy to J-11-9]
Vulkan's projection vanished, replaced by two new command orders. Blazkowicz frowned at the contents. He felt a hint of regret, though little surprise. Since returning from Rangdan space, the Dark Angels had laid low in the dark void while the Lion refitted the First Legion. During that time, the Lion had repeatedly petitioned the Emperor for the right to deploy his Legion to the seventh planet—to exact vengeance upon the Rangdan Empire and wash away the shame of the First Rangdan War.
Out of respect for Ferrus, and because the refit of the First Legion was incomplete, the Emperor had not initially yielded. Changing the deployment at this late hour meant the Lion had finally convinced both the Emperor and Ferrus.
Mainly Ferrus. If he had not relented, the change would have been impossible, regardless of the Emperor's respect or other factors.
Blazkowicz crossed his arms, rubbing his chin, which was covered in a light stubble. He pondered what price the Lion had paid to win over Ferrus. As he pondered, the Dark Angels' Blackstone Fortress moved into the system, heading toward the seventh planet to assume the Iron Hands' defensive line.
That was fine as well. The Dark Angels were a powerful force; their assumption of the seventh planet would be a liberation for Ferrus. Previously, Ferrus had been forced to focus on both the main theater and the coordination of the entire front—a crushing burden. With his Legion now moved to the outermost periphery, he would have more energy to command the big picture.
Blazkowicz shrugged, lay back on his bed, and slid his retro headphones back on, pillowing his head with his arms as he closed his eyes to rest. He had no more energy to worry about it.
The fifth planet, where Nur was stationed, sat at the very heart of the battlefield; its geographical importance was paramount. If it fell, the Rangdan could mass their heavy forces and sweep across the field like a scythe.
It must not fall!
When Blazkowicz had departed the Iron Hands' Blackstone Fortress, Ferrus's expectations had been heavy—that was the fundamental reason he had remained stationed on the fifth planet for so long.
Lying on his bed, retro rock music playing in his ears, his brow furrowed, then relaxed again. The Warp was surging violently, and the Rangdan armada had arrived.
The storm was upon them. The J-11 system was packed with fleets, and the two empires faced off, their armada scale blotting out the light of the sun!