Inside the frontline army command post, the air was thick with the stench of cheap tobacco and frayed nerves. Multi-colored indicator lights flashed wildly across the holographic sandbox as red blips signaling enemy attacks spread over the defense line like spilled paint.
Sweating profusely, the army commander gripped two comms receivers while three other phones on his desk rang incessantly. He felt like a chef trying to cook ten dishes at once in a burning kitchen.
"What? Too many dead to hold out?" the commander roared into the phone in his left hand, spittle flying across the table.
"Hold it even if you can't! I don't have a single reserve soldier left to give you! Every one of you has that overpowered buff active. If you lose that fortress complex, wait until I track down your IP and settle the score in person!"
He slammed the receiver down. Before he could catch his breath, a desperate plea for reinforcements came through the line in his right hand from a division commander.
"Commander, can you approve 127 Leman Russ tanks for me? Even Chimeras will do! Give me that armored strike force, and I can launch a counteroffensive to retake Position 257!"
The army commander glanced down at the blindingly red munition stock report, so furious he laughed. "127 tanks? Do you think I'm a Forge Master? I can't even piece together 127 wheels right now! I'll give you ten—that's stripping my last pair of shorts! You better take back Position 257 and retake Position 258 while you're at it! Fail, and bring me your head!"
Beep— Beep—
He slammed the phone down again. Just then, the red emergency hot line rang, its shrill tone drilling directly into his skull.
At his limit, the commander snatched the phone and barked, "Damn it, what now?! Didn't I say there are no reserves left!"
Silence hung on the line for a second before a calm voice replied: "It's me."
The commander's expression froze. His face went from enraged bull to polite professional in a fraction of a second. "Ah, Governor Baratheon! Hahaha, apologies, apologies! I didn't realize it was you, sir! The frontline is too loud, the artillery almost deafened me—"
"The battle is fierce, I understand," Governor Robert's voice came through. "I have good news. Captain Cato Sicarius has arrived in the war zone with his Second Company and is heading to your command post."
"What? Sicarius is coming with the Second Company?" Overjoyed, the commander nearly jumped out of his chair. "Thank you so much, sir! That's a lifesaver! That's why you're the Governor—what immense influence!"
With the elite Ultramarines Second Company on the field, this battle would be far easier to manage. Patting his chest, the commander guaranteed, "Rest assured, sir! With the Astartes assisting us, I will hold this canyon without yielding a single inch! Even if I have to use my teeth, I'll bite down on this position!"
His eyes shifted, and he probed tentatively, "By the way, Governor... what's the situation with the Martyr Chapter?"
That was an elite Astartes Chapter composed entirely of veteran players, possessors of undeniable combat prowess.
"You want them too?" Robert said. "Pushing your luck, aren't you?"
"No, no, I'm just an honest guy," the commander chuckled. "I just wanted to ask about their situation. If they happen to be free, could they come along too? More power means more certainty."
"They have another assignment," Robert rejected flatly.
"Ah, I see. Got it. I won't bother you further then, sir. Signing off."
Hanging up, the commander let out a long sigh of relief. Even without the Martyr Chapter, securing Sicarius was a massive win.
Before long, heavy, rhythmic footsteps vibrated outside—power armor crunching against the ground. The tent flap lifted, and an aura of divine authority filled the command post.
Cato Sicarius, Captain of the Ultramarines Second Company, strode inside clad in Artificer Armor. Unhelmeted, his resolute face radiated contempt for the enemy and hunger for victory.
"I am Cato Sicarius," he announced briskly, his voice booming like a bell.
The commander snapped a salute. Sicarius bypassed pleasantries and asked directly, "Have the Helldivers spotted the Death Guard? I hear those damned traitors linger here. The Second Company will execute them personally to cleanse their filth."
Pointing to several blurred markers on the holographic map, the commander explained, "We have scattered reports. But these Death Guard are cunning. They blend into the undead horde, burst out to take down mid-level officers or destroy heavy weapon nests, and rapidly disengage back into the toxic mist. Our scouts struggle to track their exact movements."
Frowning at the sandbox, Sicarius murmured thoughtfully, "They are gathering strength, waiting to launch a true assault. A horde of this scale is abnormal; they are doing more than draining your ammunition."
He circled a region on the sandbox shrouded in the fog of war. "We cannot let the horde engage the Helldivers in a war of attrition, or the zombie plague will snowball out of control. Since the Death Guard haven't appeared in force, the Second Company will initiate the strike."
"We must find a way to destroy their sorcerous core," Sicarius stated with certainty. "The Death Guard must be using an unholy artifact or maintaining a large-scale summoning ritual to sustain a horde of this intensity. Destroy it, and the undead army crumbles."
Turning to the commander, Sicarius looked at him with piercing eyes. "This assault will push deep behind enemy lines and carry extreme risk. Do the Helldivers possess elite units capable of matching our pace? I require a vanguard unit to provide cover."
The commander immediately thought of a specific group.
It was a special unit of roughly five hundred men drawn together—veterans of veterans who had fought in every major campaign the Helldivers had ever joined. Their combat ability was supreme, their resolve unwavering. They were the ideal candidates for a strike team.
Except... they were on the verge of turning into Chaos Spawns.
Looking at the Ultramarine Captain who valued honor and purity above life itself, the commander felt his heart sink. This could never be revealed to an ally, least of all an Ultramarine. If Sicarius saw these men suddenly sprout tentacles and mutate into grotesque masses of flesh mid-battle, the Second Company's bolters would turn on the Helldivers instantly.
Before fighting the Death Guard, they would end up slaughtering each other.
However, just because he couldn't tell the Ultramarines didn't mean he couldn't send support.
The commander's mind raced. Dispatching a dozen men to follow stealthily keeps the footprint small and undetected. In a critical moment, having a dozen walking Chaos Spawns detonate inside enemy lines could turn the tide. As long as they mutate far enough away from Sicarius, it should work out.
Assuming a difficult expression, the commander shook his head with regret. "Captain Sicarius, I am deeply sorry. Our defense line is hanging by a thread, and all elite forces have been committed to the trenches. I cannot assemble a proper unit to accompany you into enemy territory. At most, I can order nearby sectors to offer fire support as you pass."
Sicarius showed no disappointment. Instead, he raised his head proudly. "That is enough. The Ultramarines do not require mortals to absorb casualties on our behalf. The Second Company shall claim this honor alone."
"We shall strike like a blade into the enemy's heart," Sicarius said, turning toward the exit. "Hold your positions and await good news."
Watching Sicarius depart, the commander snatched the phone and lowered his voice. "Get me the Special Operations Company... right, the guys who are about to 'ascend.' Pick fifteen of them and have them shadow the Smurfs quietly... Remember, don't get caught. When the time comes, make sure you 'bloom' right in the Death Guard's faces!"