Facing the overwhelming barrage of destruction, Grendel, who had been absolutely furious, miraculously calmed down the moment he realized they were in a desperate situation.
As a son of Perturabo, the most important lesson he had learned through countless sieges was this: when emotions cannot solve a problem, let cold logic take command of the brain.
"Listen, Izkala." Grendel's voice was low and steady over the communication channel, carrying a bone-chilling coldness. "An ambush of this scale, this kind of coverage without a single blind spot—the Imperium is aiming to annihilate us all right here.
That bastard Huron is definitely hiding in some dark corner watching us bleed. As long as we remain on the defensive, he won't show his face until we are all dead."
The Thousand Sons sorcerer on the other end fell silent, with only the crackling of breaking psychic shields echoing in the background.
"I will create an opportunity for you." Grendel stared at the seemingly impenetrable encirclement on the star map, his finger pointing to a relatively weak point on the flank.
"Next, I will concentrate all the Iron Warriors' firepower and launch a suicide assault in that direction."
"You are going to break out?" Izkala asked in surprise.
"No, I am going to pretend to break out," Grendel said coldly. "Only when we show the posture of trying to tear through the line to escape will the Imperial fleet panic; they will be forced to redeploy forces to block the gap.
Such large-scale fleet maneuvers will inevitably expose their command nodes and even force Huron's flagship to reveal itself to plug the vacancy."
"Once that moment comes, once Huron shows his head, you will immediately activate that teleportation spell, take your strongest guards, and go over to decapitate him. Do you understand?"
Seeming to fear that this Tzeentchian follower might try to pull another trick, Grendel added a grim threat: "Also, don't even think about using that spell to run away during the chaos. Since the Imperium has set such a web, there must be a second or even third blockade line on the periphery. Those minefields are proof.
Only by working closely together, surviving by walking through death itself, do we have a glimmer of hope! If you run, you can just wait to be picked off like target practice by the Imperial Navy in the void!"
Although Izkala was arrogant, he was not stupid. He weighed the pros and cons and finally gritted his teeth, saying, "—Deal. I will keep an eye on the psychic fluctuations of the battlefield; as soon as your target appears, I will move. But you had better survive until that moment, Blacksmith."
"Worry about yourself."
After cutting the connection, Grendel took a deep breath. He looked at the burning friendly ships around him, his heart actually feeling cold. He knew very well that the so-called "glimmer of hope" was nothing more than a pipe dream used to fool an ally; the odds were that they were truly doomed this time.
But the Iron Warriors never wait for death.
"All ships, hear my order," Grendel issued the final command, his voice as hard as iron. "Target: that weak area on the right flank composed of only a few light cruisers and strike cruisers. Full speed ahead, and destroy them for me!"
On the other side of the battlefield, the right flank.
Joker was sitting boredly in the command chair of the temporary flagship, holding a cup of freshly brewed recaf.
As a "pendant" for this operation, Joker was very self-aware. While the Helldivers had a loud reputation, they mainly focused on land and boarding warfare; their ships were few and their guns poor.
As long as they could scrape some assists in this grand space battle, gain some merit, and salvage a bit of wreckage to analyze technology, it was considered a victory.
"This Imperial Navy firepower is fierce, tsk tsk. Look at that lance beam, it's really something," Joker said while chatting with the adjutant beside him, watching the fireworks in the distance on the main screen. "Let's just fish here, and when the main force finishes the heavy lifting, we'll go up and fire a few shots—"
At that moment, the radar operator's shrill scream shattered the serenity of the bridge: "Commander! Over—over there! The enemy is coming!"
"What's coming? Stragglers?" Joker turned his head nonchalantly.
"No—not stragglers! It's a school of sharks! It's the whole damn ocean!" The radar operator's voice was breaking. "At least half of the enemy's capital ships are turning! The Iron Warriors' ships—they are all charging toward us!!"
"Pfft—!!"
Joker sprayed his recaf all over the display. He didn't care to wipe it, staring wide-eyed at the tactical map.
The red dots that were previously entangled with the main fleet had suddenly gone mad. They were charging through side fire and ignoring everything, even using the wreckage of their own allies as shields, converging into a steel torrent.
They were storming with murderous intent, heading straight for their humble little corner.
"What the hell?! What is this situation?!" Joker was stunned. "Weren't we just supposed to be side-characters? Is this necessary? Huh? We didn't even paint any anti-Chaos symbols on our hulls! Why is half of the Chaos fleet ignoring Huron's main force to come and charge our few scrap heaps?!"
It was as ridiculous as playing a MOBA game: you, as a support, are just placing a ward in a bush, and suddenly five huge dudes from the other team burn all their flashes and ultimates to rush over and kill you!
"Commander! Thirty seconds until contact! Should we retreat?!" the adjutant asked anxiously.
Joker looked at the menacing bows closing in, his mind racing.
Retreat? Where the hell to?
This was a legion-level engagement; for the Helldivers, there was no option to flee in such a massive battle. Besides, their ships weren't fast enough to outrun those madmen with overloaded engines. Once they showed their backs, they would be vaporized by the enemy's firepower instantly.
Stay and trade fire?
Don't joke. With the firepower of these few ships, going toe-to-toe with half a Chaos fleet? That was no different from hitting a tank with a water pistol.
A desperate situation. A true dead end.
But in that instant, the "player" genes within Joker awakened. He quickly calmed down, a grin appearing on his face that was even more ferocious than the Archenemy of Chaos.
"Don't panic! Retreating means certain death, and trading fire is also certain death!"
Joker suddenly stood up, pulled the power sword from his waist, and pointed at the massive strike cruiser on the screen: "My order: all ships, not one step back! Engines to full, meet them head-on, Roman style!"
"Since we can't win on firepower, we'll play close-quarters! Bring the distance to zero! Lure them into boarding us! The Chaos forces are poor; they won't give up the chance to capture these ships, at least.
Once we're in a boarding fight, I don't care if they are Space Marines or Khornate maniacs—in the ship's corridors, everyone dies all the same!"
"What if they don't board?" someone asked instinctively.
"I'll turn into space junk right along with you!"
A gambler's gleam flickered in Joker's eyes.
"Tell the others to ready the melta-bombs! Since they want a fight, then we'll break their teeth! CHARGE!!"