The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 61: Armstrong



The void of space erupted in a kaleidoscope of destruction as Rear Admiral Richard Gomez's lander approached the Dominance. Q'orl chainships, their biomechanical forms glinting ominously under the stars, swarmed in a desperate bid to intercept the small craft. Their attempts were futile; the Dominance's escort fighters cut through the enemy like swift predators guarding their prey.

"Incoming fire, port side!" the lander's pilot called out, banking sharply to avoid a burst of bio-plasma.

Gomez gripped his seat, his eyes locked on the approaching hangar bay of the Dominance. "Steady, Ensign. Our boys won't let us down."

True to his confidence, a squadron of fighters screamed past, their advanced weaponry carving through the Q'orl vessels with surgical precision. The lander slipped through the storm of battle and glided into the hangar bay of the Dominance, safe at last.

As Gomez stepped onto the deck, the ship's intercom blared: "Admiral on deck!"

The bustling activity paused for a heartbeat as crew members snapped to attention, then resumed with renewed vigor. Captain Valerius, a stern-faced man with cybernetic augmentations visible at his temples, approached with quick strides.

"Welcome back, sir," Valerius said, falling into step beside him as they headed for the bridge. "The situation has... evolved in your absence."

Gomez raised an eyebrow. "Don't sugarcoat it, Captain. Give it to me straight."

Valerius nodded, his augmetics whirring softly as he called up a holographic display. "We're holding, sir, but the odds are not in our favor. Current estimates put us at a 3-to-1 disadvantage in ship numbers."

As they entered the bridge, Gomez surveyed the tactical displays, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Then it's an even fight."

Valerius blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by the Admiral's confidence. "Sir?"

Gomez turned to a nearby console. "Tactics, give me a rundown on the Q'orl's technological capabilities, focus on FTL and maneuverability."

A smooth, genderless voice emanated from the ship's speakers. "Certainly, Admiral. Analysis of Q'orl naval tactics indicates a surprising lack of advanced FTL utilization. Unlike the Aeldari with their Webway portals, or even standard Imperial warp jumps, the Q'orl show no signs of using FTL for tactical advantage. Their bio-mechanical technology is highly advanced, but their faster-than-light capabilities appear primitive by comparison."

Gomez nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. "Interesting. That limits their options significantly."

He turned to the hololithic display, his fingers dancing across the controls as he manipulated the fleet formations. With Tactics' assistance, two primary strategies emerged.

"Option one," Gomez mused aloud, "continue with our carrier group attacks. Our voidcraft outclass theirs in every way. We could grind them down through superior dogfighting and strike craft assaults."

Captain Valerius leaned in, studying the projected outcomes. "It's a solid plan, sir. But it could be costly in terms of pilots and craft."

Gomez nodded, then shifted the holographic pieces again. "Option two: We bait them into chaining their ships. If we present a significant battleship threat, they'll likely respond by linking up for increased firepower. Once they're chained..."

"We hit them with everything we've got," Valerius finished, a glint of understanding in his eyes.

"Precisely," Gomez confirmed. "We create a three-dimensional kill zone, saturate it with torpedoes and battery fire. It'll take longer to set up, but should result in fewer casualties on our side."

The bridge fell silent as Gomez contemplated the options before him. The lives of thousands of crew members hung in the balance, their fate resting on his decision.

After what felt like an eternity, but was merely moments, Gomez straightened. "We'll go with option two. Tactics, begin calculating optimal positioning for our fleet. I want every angle covered."

"Understood, Rear Admiral," the AI responded. "Calculating optimal fleet positions for maximum engagement efficiency."

Gomez turned to his bridge crew, his voice carrying the weight of command. "Listen up, people. We're about to engage in a complex series of maneuvers. I need everyone at their best. Helm, prepare for precision burns. Weapons, I want loading crews working double-time - we'll need every torpedo and macro-cannon ready the moment we spring our trap."

As the crew scrambled to their tasks, Gomez focused on the hololithic display once more. The representation of space around them came alive with swirling eddies and currents - the complex gravitational interactions of nearby celestial bodies that would influence their coming battle.

"Sir," Tactics chimed in, "I've identified an ideal killbox location. There's a confluence of gravitational forces here," a section of the chart pulsed, "that will limit the Q'orl's ability to disengage once they've chained up."

Gomez's eyes narrowed as he studied the location. "Good work, Tactics. That's where we'll make our stand. Captain Valerius, signal the fleet. I want our battleships to take point, carriers hanging back but within strike range. Let's make ourselves an irresistible target."

As the Independence Sector fleet began to move into position, the Q'orl reacted predictably. Their bio-ships, sensing the approaching threat of massed Imperial firepower, began the process of chaining together. What were once hundreds of individual vessels slowly coalesced into massive, writhing super-structures of chitinous armor and pulsing weapon-growths. Gomez watched the enemy's movements with a predator's patience. "Hold," he commanded as some of his captains began to signal their readiness to engage. "Not yet. Let them commit fully."

Minutes felt like hours as the two fleets maneuvered in their lethal contest. The Q'orl, emboldened by their sheer numbers and overwhelming firepower, advanced relentlessly. Closer and closer they pushed toward the invisible line that Gomez had drawn in the cold expanse of space.

"Sir," Valerius said, tension evident in his voice, "they're entering the killbox."

Gomez's hand tightened on the railing of his command dais. "All ships, execute Attack Pattern Gomez-Alpha. Carriers, launch all strike craft. Battleships, fire for effect. Let's show these xenos the fury of the Independence Sector!"

The void erupted once more, but this time it was a carefully orchestrated symphony of destruction. Torpedoes streaked out from hidden launch bays, their payloads designed to puncture the Q'orl's organic hulls. Macro-cannons roared, their massive shells creating expanding spheres of plasma as they impacted their targets.

From the carriers came swarms of strike craft, their pilots executing complex attack runs that took full advantage of the three-dimensional battlefield. They dove and weaved through the Q'orl formations, exploiting gaps in their defenses that their chained configuration had

created.

As the battle raged, Gomez stood at the center of it all, calmly issuing orders and adjusting their strategy as needed. The Q'orl fought back fiercely, their bio-weapons spitting globs of corrosive material and beams of concentrated solar energy. But they were trapped, unable to utilize their superior numbers effectively in the confines of the killbox.

Hours passed, and slowly but surely, the tide turned. The massive Q'orl chain-ships, once so intimidating, began to break apart under the relentless Imperial assault.

The jubilant cheers echoing through the Dominance's bridge died as suddenly as they had begun. Rear Admiral Richard Gomez's eyes narrowed as he studied the holo-display, its red warning indicators flashing ominously.

"Report," he barked, his voice cutting through the stunned silence.

A young sensor officer cleared her throat. "Sir, long-range scout drones have detected another Q'orl battlefleet. Estimated strength... over 300 ships." She paused, swallowing hard. "ETA is 5 hours, sir."

The bridge erupted into a flurry of worried murmurs. Gomez raised a hand, instantly silencing his crew. "Status of our fleet?"

Captain Valerius stepped forward, his face grim. "We're down to 100 ships from our original 130, sir. Most losses were among our cruisers and destroyers. Battlecruisers are operational, and the Dominance is still fighting fit. Carriers have taken some damage, but they're combat- ready. Voidcraft squadrons have sustained losses, but not enough to significantly impact our strike capabilities."

Gomez nodded, his mind already racing through possibilities. "And Captain Armstrong's

battlefleet?"

"ETA 10 hours, sir," Valerius replied, his tone conveying the grim implication. They would be

on their own for the opening stages of this fight.

For a moment, the only sound on the bridge was the soft hum of equipment and the occasional beep of a console. Then Gomez straightened, his eyes blazing with determination. "Alright, people. We've got five hours to prepare for the fight of our lives. We're outnumbered, outgunned, and our reinforcements won't arrive in time for the opening salvo." He paused, letting his words sink in. "So we're going to bloody their nose so hard they'll wish they'd never entered this system."

He turned to the holo-display, manipulating the controls to bring up a tactical view of the system. "Tactics," he called out to the ship's AI, "I need guerrilla warfare scenarios. Give me everything you've got on hit-and-run tactics, ambush strategies, and asymmetrical warfare

in void combat."

"Analyzing, Rear Admiral," the AI responded. "Compiling data from historical battles, theoretical models, and contemporary engagements."

As Tactics worked, Gomez addressed his crew. "Listen up. We're about to engage in a type of warfare that goes against everything in the Imperial Navy playbook. We're going to be fast, we're going to be unpredictable, and we're going to make these xenos regret ever picking a fight with the Independence Sector."

He pointed to different sections of the holo-display. "I want minefields here, here, and here. Not just standard mines - I want gravity mines, EMP mines, everything we've got. Make this system a deathtrap for anyone who doesn't know exactly where to go."

"Aye, sir," the ordinance officer responded, already coordinating with the fleet's mine-

layers.

"Valerius," Gomez continued, "I want our destroyers and light cruisers formed into wolfpacks. They're to operate independently, striking targets of opportunity and then fading back into the void. Priority targets are their supply ships and any vessels that look like

command and control nodes."

The captain nodded, already drafting the necessary orders.

"Carriers," Gomez said, turning to another section of the display, "you're our ace in the hole.

I want strike craft loaded for extended operations. They're to use the system's celestial bodies for cover, popping out to launch hit-and-run attacks before disappearing again."

As the bridge crew rushed to implement his orders, Tactics chimed in. "Rear Admiral, I have completed my analysis. Based on historical data and the current tactical situation, I have several suggested strategies."

"Let's hear them," Gomez said, his eyes never leaving the holo-display.

"Strategy One: The Fabian Approach. Avoid direct engagement, focus on attrition warfare. Use superior mobility to wear down the enemy over time."

Gomez shook his head firmly. "The Fabian Approach won't work here, Tactics. We don't have the luxury of time." He gestured to the holographic representation of Calligar Alpha. "If we pull back and play it slow, the Q'orl will seize orbital control. Our ground forces would be

sitting ducks for orbital bombardment."

Captain Valerius nodded grimly. "We simply don't have the numbers to maintain control of both the void and the planet's surface, sir."

"Exactly," Gomez agreed, his face set in determination. "We need to strike hard and fast,

keep the fight in orbit and away from our people on the ground. Tactics, what else have you got?"

"Strategy Two: The Hornet's Nest. Concentrate our forces in a defensible position, lure the enemy in, then strike from multiple angles simultaneously."

"Better, but still too passive. We need to be proactive here. The longer this drags on, the moreNôv(el)B\\jnn

likely they'll break through to the planet."

"Strategy Three: The Hydra. Divide our forces into multiple independent groups, each

capable of striking and fading. When the enemy focuses on one group, the others strike at their exposed flanks."

A slow smile spread across Gomez's face. "Now that's more like it. This keeps the fight spread out, makes it harder for them to concentrate on pushing towards the planet. Tactics, start running simulations on Strategy Three. I want to see how we can optimize it for our current force composition and planetary defense."

As the AI began its work, Gomez turned back to his crew. "Alright, people. We're going to become the Hydra, but with a twist. Our primary objective isn't just to survive - it's to keep the Q'orl away from Calligar Alpha at all costs. Every ship captain needs to be prepared to operate independently while still coordinating with the fleet as a whole. We're going to hit them from every angle, never presenting a clear target, always striking where they're weakest, and always keeping ourselves between them and the planet."

He pointed to the communications officer. "Get me a line to every ship in the fleet. They need

to hear this directly from me."

Moments later, Gomez's voice echoed across every vessel in the battered Independence Sector

fleet. "This is Rear Admiral Gomez. In five hours, we face an enemy that outnumbers us three to one. They think they have us cornered, that victory is assured. They are wrong."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "We are the guardians of the Independence Sector. We

are the shield that protects humanity's frontier. And today, we will show these xenos why the Emperor himself saw fit to grant us our autonomy."

"Each of you will be receiving new orders shortly. We're about to engage in a type of warfare

unlike anything you've trained for. Trust your instincts, trust your fellow soldiers, and above all, trust in the strength of humanity."

"The enemy thinks they're hunting us. We're going to show them what it's like to be the prey. For the Emperor, for Franklin Valorian, for the Independence Sector!"

A roar of approval echoed across the comm channels, the determination in the voices of his

soldiers matching Gomez's own resolve.

As the transmission ended, Gomez turned back to the holo-display. "Tactics, show me the

latest simulation results."

The AI obliged, and the display came alive with swirling patterns of ship movements. Gomez studied them intently, making mental notes and occasional adjustments.

"Sir," Valerius said, approaching the display, "the fleet is ready. All ships report they're

prepared to implement the Hydra strategy."

Gomez nodded, his eyes never leaving the tactical display. "Good. Now we wait, and we

system, laying

prepare. When those Q'orl bastards arrive, we'll give them a welcome they'll never forget." As the hours ticked by, Independence Sector fleet dispersed throughout mines, setting up ambush points, and preparing for the fight of their lives. On the bridge of the Dominance, Rear Admiral Richard Gomez stood tall and ready.

The bridge of the Excelsus hummed with activity, a symphony of beeps, clicks, and murmured

reports. At its center stood 2nd Captain Steven Armstrong, his massive frame dwarfing the mortal crew members scurrying around him. He took a long drag from his cigar, the ember glowing as bright as his transhuman eyes.

"Status report," Armstrong growled, his voice a gravelly bass that seemed to vibrate through

the deck plating.

First Lieutenant Samuel Rodrigues, a lithe figure next to Armstrong's bulk, stepped forward. His augmetic jaw clicked as he spoke, a souvenir from the day Armstrong had "recruited" him. "Compliance Fleet #69 is holding, but they're outnumbered. The Q'orl are proving to be...

resilient."

Armstrong scoffed, a plume of smoke escaping his nostrils. "Resilient? Don't make me laugh, Sam. They're fucking insects. We've stomped bigger bugs than this." Rodrigues allowed himself a chuckle. "True enough. Still, their hive mind makes them an

interesting opponent, tactically speaking."

"Interesting?" Armstrong's Transhuman eyes flashed. "The only interesting xenos is a dead xenos, Sam. Making the mother of all omelettes here. Can't fret over every egg."

"Of course, sir," Rodrigues nodded, his hand unconsciously moving to the hilt of his hyper-

phase blade. "Gene-Father Franklin would be proud of your approach." Armstrong's face split into a wide, predatory grin. "Oh, he is. But you know what'll make him

even prouder? Us erasing another xenos infestation from this galaxy. It's all part of the plan." He turned to the massive viewscreen dominating the bridge's forward section. It displayed their fleet - 400 ships strong, a "patrol fleet" by Liberty Eagles standards. Each vessel was a demonstration to the sector's might, bristling with weaponry that could reduce worlds to ash. "You see this, Sam?" Armstrong gestured at the fleet. "This is the future. Not weak-ass

diplomacy or 'tolerance.' Raw, unfiltered human dominance." Rodrigues raised an eyebrow. "Some might call this overkill for a simple patrol, sir."

Armstrong laughed, a booming sound that echoed across the bridge. "Overkill? There's no

such thing. When you've got the strength, you use it. That's how we'll drag the Imperium back to its golden age."

He clenched his fist, nanomachines rippling under his skin. "The Independence Sector will be

the Iron fist. And the Emperor? He'll be the guiding hand. Together, we'll purge this galaxy of every last xenos scum."

Rodrigues nodded, a savage grin spreading across his face. "And the weak will be purged along with them. Survival of the fittest, right boss?"

"Damn straight," Armstrong agreed. "No room for weakness in the new order we're building.

Father understands that, even if he's a bit soft on some xenos. But hey, that's why he's got us, right?" The two shared a laugh, the kind that would send chills down the spine of any who truly understood what it meant.

Armstrong turned back to the tactical display. "Now, let's talk strategy. These Q'orl think

they're tough shit because they've got numbers? Let's show them what real strength looks

like."

Rodrigues leaned in "Their hive ships seem to be the lynchpin of their strategy. Take those out, and the rest will fall into disarray."

"Good eye, Sam," Armstrong nodded approvingly. "We'll punch right through their front

lines. Their puny bio-weapons won't even scratch us."

He turned to the weapons officer. "I want every macro-cannon, lance battery, and torpedo

tube loaded and ready to fire the moment we exit the Warp. We're going to hit these bugs so hard, their ancestors will feel it."

"Aye, sir!" the officer responded, a hint of fear and awe in his voice.

Armstrong grinned, taking another puff of his cigar. "You know, Sam, in my old life, before

the Liberty Eagles, I had a dream."

"Oh?" Rodrigues raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Yeah. A dream of a galaxy where every human being is free to fight their own wars, to die for

what they believe in. Not for money, not for oil, but for themselves!" Rodrigues nodded slowly. "And now?" Armstrong's grin widened. "Now? Now I've got a better dream. A galaxy purged of xenos filth,

where humanity stands unopposed. Where we can build a future with our own hands, free

from alien interference."

He clenched his fist again, veins pulsing with nanomachine-enhanced blood. "And anyone

who stands in our way? Well, they're in for a world of pain."

Rodrigues matched his grin. "Couldn't have said it better myself, boss."

The Warp alerts began to blare, signaling their imminent arrival in the Calligar System.

Armstrong stubbed out his cigar and cracked his knuckles.

"Alright, you sons of bitches," he roared, addressing the entire bridge crew. "It's time to make the Independence Sector proud! It's time to show these xenos why they should fear the name Armstrong!"

As the Excelsus and its fleet prepared to burst forth from the Warp, ready to unleash hell upon the Q'orl, one thing was certain: The galaxy was about to witness the awesome, terrifying might of the Liberty Eagles, personified in the nanomachine-enhanced form of Captain Steven Armstrong.

And may the Emperor have mercy on anyone - human or xenos - who stood in their way.