The Forging of the Martyr's Horn (4)

"Barricade's damn well built."

The corridor, once open, was now sealed off by a barricade. Steel plates ripped from bulkheads, overturned furniture, and stacks of empty ammo crates. Half the corridor lights were out, leaving only the red glow of emergency lighting staining the walls. Behind the barricade, soldiers crouched with rifles at the ready. Most of their rifles weren't standard Imperial issue—they were weapons scavenged from Eldra troops.

Using looted weapons was a last resort. With ammo running dry, stripping guns and bullets from dead Eldra soldiers was unavoidable. No resupply meant no choice. Eldra weapons were sleek silver-white rifles, ergonomically designed for their slender frames—thin grips, wide trigger guards that made them awkward in human hands. Uncomfortable, sure, but better than nothing.

Selene reached the forward defensive line at the ship's rear and surveyed the situation.

Eldra beyond that barricade...

A company commander who recognized her approached.

"Admiral!"

"Yeah. Lieutenant Andreas Kröger. Holding strong. You were a gun turret operator, right?"

"Y-yes! Th-thank you for remembering."

He looked sheepish as he thanked her. Selene shook her head.

"If you're giving your life for the Empire, how could I forget? So, what's the sitrep?"

She asked, and Kröger pointed beyond the barricade.

"More enemies than expected, but they don't seem coordinated."

"No coordination?"

"Yes. Looks like something's wrong with their command structure. Attacks aren't organized. They'll push one flank, then stop cold; another comes out of nowhere. Like a headless chicken flailing around."

"Hm..."

Behaviors lingering from the decapitation strike. With the commander and deputy gone, junior officers were acting on their own initiative.

Selene nodded.

"Good work, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Admiral."

Kröger saluted. As Selene returned it and turned to leave, movement caught her eye behind the barricade. A ventilation shaft. Part of Pandora's internal HVAC—about a meter high, 0.8 meters wide. Big enough for an adult to crawl through. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠And about twenty fully armed soldiers were filing in one by one.

Selene eyed them and asked Kröger.

"Those guys?"

"Rear sector's got a cut-off unit—two companies strong. Eldra hit sudden, isolated them. Those troops are bypassing through the vents to support."

For Fifth Fleet soldiers who knew the ship inside out, it was exploiting home turf advantage. But infiltration's big downside: narrow vents meant no escape in a fight.

Selene approached the soldiers crawling into hell. The last one waiting his turn spotted her and saluted.

"Admiral!"

"Where to?"

"Rescuing the isolated unit in C-7! Volunteered! Plan's to swing behind enemy lines via this vent."

Selene peered into the vent mouth. Narrow, dark, condensation beading on metal walls. Facing enemies inside? Nightmare fuel.

"Come back, and His Majesty'll pin medals on your chest for all to see."

Selene smiled.

"Pension to lounge on for life, too."

A spark lit in the soldiers' eyes. Glory hunger.

Selene added:

"If he doesn't, I will. Come back ready. That's an order."

"Ah, haha!"

Exhausted, terrified, tomorrow uncertain—but alive today, so they grinned like men who could. Seeing it, Selene felt a twinge of guilt she couldn't shake.

Haa...

This isn't right.

If she'd stayed an admin drone, these soldiers and officers would be on leave.

"We'll return for you, Admiral!"

The sergeant saluted and vanished into the vent. Twenty soldiers crawled into the dark one by one.

"..."

Selene stared at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sealed vent a moment. Then Korvel murmured low beside her.

"Suicide squad supporting the two-company rear isolation."

Vent infiltration might surprise, but rescue or support? Low odds.

Selene, eyes still on the vent, replied:

"We're all in a suicide defense anyway..."

Her voice dipped, confidence slipping unbidden.

"I boasted we could attack from all sides now, but truth is, we're the most fucked."

Korvel stayed silent.

"No offensive push left... Haha. I'm the biggest bitch in the galaxy."

Selene eyed the barricade troops.

"Need a miracle. Like..."

She glanced out the viewport.

"My little brother pulling one out, dropping millions of troops right here... Or something."

Korvel sighed.

"Still so childish."

"The more childish, the more fun, right?"

"...Enemies keep multiplying. And the fleet won't descend from orbit for some reason."

"Heh... Times like this, think positive. It's a martyrs' horn, yeah?"

"Dunno if you can call this martyrdom. We sacrificed for everyone, crashed yelling ship-killer... But holding on? That's the miracle."

Even regulars were non-combatants—basic training only, no proper drill. Throwing them together made something better than militia, short of real army. A miracle born of will.

Still, need the remaining fleet's support...

Reality: unlikely.

"Heard another Eldra regular fleet's coming," Selene said.

"Gotta hold orbit to stop them."

Understood. Orbit first—strategically sound. Lose it, endless reinforcements; ground forces wiped. Holding orbit saves ground troops. Long-term.

But as the sacrifice? Feels unfair. Dying like this? Resentful. I haven't vented all my hate yet!

"Hold a bit longer."

Selene said—to herself, not Korvel.

Eldra charge roars beyond the barricade. All grab rifles, fight. Ground shakes like more coming.

"Just... hold... and we're good."

Brother's coming. Or sending help. Kid always sees the big picture.

"Move. Lots to do."

"Yes, Admiral."

And worst always hits last.

Blood streamed from her left eye, down jaw to chest-soak. Right arm gone below elbow, yet a lieutenant's insignia gleamed as the female officer charged toward Selene.

Selene recognized her.

"Major Rita Bender!?"

Pandora's tactician, sensor analyst from the bridge. Volunteered for forward line inspection three days ago—never returned. Till now.

"You..."

"A-Admiral!!"

Rita rushed up, gasping like lungs failing, propping on her remaining left hand against the wall to stay upright.

"Massive enemy offensive launched!!"

"What...?"

Her words synced with warning beeps from the pad on her right arm.

"Forward lines... already breached! Reports pouring in as I returned—B-4 fallen, C-2 in melee, D-7 silent, enemies flooding in everywhere, numbers growing!"

"..."

Red tears from Rita's last left eye. Not fear—rage at no longer slaying elves with this body.

Pad alarms unrelenting.

Selene sighed.

Med bay too. The one where she'd just handed Hanna Reiter her canteen.

"Major Rita. Can you handle a pistol?"

"I'll fight for His Majesty and you till I drop."

"Good. Take one of mine."

Handed her one from her hip holsters. Then Selene, Korvel, Rita trailed.

Not to bridge—to outside.

Stepping out, Selene froze.

"...Heavens are heartless."

Forge's sky, cleared by prayer moments ago, now choked again. Black shapes: ships. Hundreds clashing in orbit, nukes and lasers flying, kill-or-be-killed.

Imperial blue shields mixed with Eldra silver-white, painting the sky dual hues.

Eldra reinforcements arrived.

"Fuck. Governor bastard. Motherfucker. Tear him apart. Rage-quit cunt bitch fuck... ARGH!! Haa..."

Ranting changed nothing. Another Eldra alliance fleet, post-platinum rout, come to help. Victor Grayburn warned: lots coming.

"...We have to win."

But visually? Fleet losing.

And dropships descending to ground.

"Landing craft...?"

Exploiting orbital chaos for ground reinforcements.

In this mess, more of them...?

Thousands to millions more Eldra troops, clone factories still churning. Ground enemies endless.

Selene watched, guts twisting. No vomit left.

Ground: thousands of Terminators swarming. Not just trench giants—smaller, faster raptor-types mixed in. Silver-white metal wolf packs surging like waves over red earth, Eldra armor vehicles in wedge behind, infantry safe rear.

"...Ha, haha."

Couldn't help laughing.

"Hahahahaha!!!"

Was this what she craved? Crises before, but nothing this epic. Behold the wave! Spectacle alone!

Orbit pushed back, endless ground adds, no resupply, ammo gone—despair everywhere. But one thing: sacred, noble Imperial loyalty.

Ragged breath escaped Selene.

Not despair. Word absent from her dictionary. Fifth Fleet knew none. Only "untried methods."

Selene raised her tac-pad. Opened comms to all—every sector, line, trench on Pandora.

Inhaled deep.

"Snnniff!"

Inhaled Forge's spicy, acrid blood-reek.

"Hoo. Yeah, this. Years endured for this smell... Great War showed why I live. And today, I live. For this brutal war again."

Then spoke.

"To all hands."

Voice steady? Harder than thought.

"All... prepare to defend your lives."

"Fix bayonets."

"Prepare to embrace death."

Comms cut.

Selene drew her last hip pistol, gripped right-handed. Left: greatsword.

"Aide. Prep yourself."

"!!!"

Korvel replied:

"Always ready to die with you, Admiral."

Rifle up, rack clacked.

"M-me too! Honored to stand with you!"

Major Rita Bender gripped pistol left-handed, one arm and eye gone.

Battle joined.

First raptor wave slammed Pandora's hull—thousands of metal wolves climbing, leaping shattered windows, mauling humans.

Vent hordes shredded ambushers; all ploys crushed by numbers. Like leaves in gale.

710k to 700k, 690k, 670k, 600k.

Selene fought Pandora's upper deck. Pistol headshots on raptors, greatsword cleaves on leapers, repeat. Korvel covered rifle-side; Rita one-handed pistol guarded flank.

Still endless.

Perimeter shrank. Pandora mostly lost, surroundings too. Allied zones dwindling. Hangar fully enemy; central half gone. Allies squeezed to 2km bow sector. All prepped for death.

Pad hit 500k. Selene sighed resolve, bit lip.

Circle tightened; lines broke, fall back to next bulkhead, next, peeling onion layers till gone. Endless enemy adds: worst.

Already millions foes.

God... what sin these kids commit to die like this?

Despair crept. Then—sight: bow upper deck, pre-crash bridge mast still stood. Tilted, half-broken, but up. Fifth Fleet ensign flew: black ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠field, silver skull over crossed swords. Gold below: Fifth Fleet (QUINTA CLASSIS).

...Why despair? Why seek God? We are gods. Death-worshipping war maniacs, angels of death. Fifth Fleet: heaven of death. Brother Emperor: god of death. I: archangel. Subordinates: angels.

Flag through every battle since founding—today too.

Fifth ensign fluttered in Forge wind. Torn, scorched, holed—but fluttering.

Selene's feet moved instinct.

"Yeah. Better die like this...!"

Ran to mast. Two raptors blocked—two pistol shots, down. Reached it. Wiped bloody greatsword on right forearm, sheathed. Empty left grabbed mast.

Left: flag. Right: pistol. Climbed highest deck spot.

Screamed throat-shredding loud for all:

"Fifth Fleet!! In His Majesty's name, hold this position!!"

Fierce wind whipped flag like cue.

"Show how tough we are!!!"

Troops echoed instant:

"""His Majesty forever!!!"""

Cheers amid gunfire, blasts, screams. All converged on fluttering flag where Selene stood.

Retreating troops reversed—not fleeing, charging flag.

From shattered halls, collapsed bulkheads, vents: riflemen, looted-gunners, bayonet-only, pipe-wielders.

Even Giant's pilots, troubleshooters. 7m mechs flanked Selene's flag.

Center: torn flag, pistol-grip, blood-dust face grinning Selene.

This. Liberation...

Die, sure. But see the end.

Gunpowder, lead scent battling deck-rush foes. Blood-reek follow. Proof of life—thrilling.

Selene raised flag, yelled:

"No retreat!! Make this their grave, not ours!! Let them die for homeland, offer their skulls to His Majesty!!!"

Roars, renewed desperate resistance.

But cheers thinning—Selene felt it.

Unbidden, sought brother.

Brother.

Pistol-shot raptor, inner cry.

Didn't think I'd die missing your wedding. Should've admin-slaved together.

Flag higher, yell-think:

"We fear no death! Elves!!!"

Why'd I do this? Scared to die.

Laugh escaped. Flank mechs shattered, troubleshooters dog-dead, troops wave-swept, last mag empty—Selene's final thought:

Haa... Still far off. Embarrassing death—not reaching admired one's toes.

Eyes clenched.

Kuuuung—!

Ground quaked.

Quake...?

No. Footsteps. Heavy ones.

"Huh...?"

Selene turned to sound. Horizon: something approaching.

"Giant...?"

Bigger. Dust ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cleared, silhouette: 120m bipedal machine giant charging. Building shoulders, blunt helmet head, huge flamethrowers hands.

Kuuung—!

120m titan stomped, ground shook, raptor packs froze instinct.

Kuwaaaang—!

Flamethrower muzzles swung to Eldra assault—fire spewed. 200m wide, 500m long inferno swept earth.

-Kieeeek!!

-Kuaaaak!!

Hundreds raptors torched—screams flooded ears.

"...Sweet screams."

Music. Behind: Eldra troops roasted—ghastly, no need describe. Ash piles or molten sludge.

Selene's eyes widened watching. Flame-glow orange in pupils—then sky drops began.

Another drop-pod, but not Eldra, not Imperial. Crude, blocky—not sleek.

Kwaang—!

Pod hit ground, ramp dropped.

From slant door: weirdos.

"WAAAAAAAGH!!!! Finally fighting xenos!!!!"

"Secretary-General lets us spill blood!!!! WAAAAAGHHHH!!!"

"Elf ears long!!! Long means many!!!! Many good!!!!"

Earth-shaking bass roars no human throat birthed—orcs opened fire. Bigger calibers than Imperial, insane recoil, shit accuracy—but destructive power god-tier. Heavy weapons blazed: Eldra infantry dropped, Terminators smashed, armor pierced.

"...Admiral. Who do we shoot?"

Aide asked. Selene chuckled dry.

"Dunno? But let 'em have fun?"

"...Oh."

Second pod, third, fourth—dozens of Krogan drop-pods slammed Pandora perimeter. Hundreds orcs per, pouring out.

No hesitation—charged nearest Eldra, fought.

Selene gaped.

Orcs here, seem friendly...? Why? How? Who?

Then woman's voice behind:

"Didn't expect His Majesty to flip even orcs to our side."

"?!"

Selene turned: white hair, red eyes.

"You... IndyneXo?!"

Kaiya von Essenbach. IndyneXo lead researcher, duke's daughter. And that titan maker, probably.

Kaiya smiled.

"IndyneXo special dispatch, Kaiya von Essenbach. Admiral. Sorry late. Ah, didn't wanna be this late, but... timing good?"

"...Huh."

Behind: IndyneXo mercs. Titan flames incin Eldra, orcs WAAAGH-rush Terminators, Kaiya confident smile.

Selene thought one thing:

Brother.

Watching titan pyre, orc melee, Kaiya poise:

Found your bride.

Brother suffered alone. Suffer together now.

Ah. Spare me though...

"Fifth Fleet!!! Charge with me!!"

"""His Majesty forever!!!!"""

Damn. Brother. I like you.