Chapter 143: Tactically "Damaged" Ordinance
Kian Voss didn't waste time. He rounded up a few of the veteran laborers—men who had spent their lives working the illegal machine shops of the Sump—and handed them a pristine PDF autogun. He stuffed a roll of scrips into their pockets and pointed toward the back workshop.
"Study the geometry. Analyze the action. See if your lathes can mirror the 'Machine Spirit' of the Spire-dogs. If we can print our own triggers, we stop being a gang and start being a manufacturer."
While the smiths went to work, Kian turned his attention to the high-end hardware he had stripped from the Tox-Mother's private laboratory. He hauled the crates into his Sanctum to begin the next phase of his bio-alchemical evolution.
[SANCTUM UPGRADE INITIATED: MEDICAE STATION (LVL 2)]
Requirements: 1x Large-scale Gene-Incubator, 1x High-Precision Chirurgeon's Table, 1x Alchemical Extraction Matrix, 1x Industrial Ventilator.
Status: Components verified. Sanctifying the circuitry...
The Mother's lab had been a treasure trove. These were high-tier Spire relics that Kian hadn't been able to find in any market. With the station leveled up, the "System" unlocked a new tier of combat pharmaceuticals.
[NEW RECIPES UNLOCKED]
Mega-Strength Injector: +10 Strength for 24 hours. (Requires 4x High-Grade Precursors).
Mega-Endurance Injector: +10 Endurance for 24 hours. (Requires 4x High-Grade Precursors).
Sanctified Purgation Salve:
Effects: Pain Suppression, Mental Clarity +10, [Emperor's Benediction], Force-Purge Warp Corruption, Immunity to Mental Domination.
Durability: 20/20 uses.
Input: 1x Sanctified Spirits, 1x Sanctified Oil, 5x High-Grade Precursors.
Output: 2x Salve Tins.
Kian whistled. The injectors were straight "Tier-Upgrades," but the Purgation Salve was a game-changer. It was a multi-buff utility item. Before, Kian had to haul around bulky bottles of "Voss Reserve" moonshine just to get the Sanctity effect. Now, he had a pocket-sized tin of what looked like industrial Vaseline. A quick dab on the temples or under the nose, and his soul was shielded, his pain was gone, and his mind was a razor.
He immediately set the vats to "Overdrive," stockpiling the Mega-Stims and the Salve.
Simultaneously, his Machinist Station was churning out rifles. He checked each frame as it emerged from the press, looking for those elusive "Special Traits." Weapon affixes were rare—maybe one in twenty rolls—but his persistence was paying off.
He'd already pulled a few "Blues":
[True-Flight Pattern]: +15% Accuracy.
[Sunder-Point]: +10% Armor Penetration.
[Omnissiah's Kiss]: 0.00% Jam Probability.
They weren't "War-Enders," but they were solid buffs for his lieutenants. He distributed them to Shiv and the Joels without much fanfare and returned to the grind.
Kian was mid-workout when his tactical vox crackled. It was Major Rudolphson.
"Voss. Get up to the camp. High Command has sent a 'Discipline Auditor.' We're having a battalion-level briefing, and your 'Corporal' ID needs to be verified in person. Move it."
Kian grunted, grabbed his gear, and accelerated up the ventilator in his survey crawler.
When he rolled into the PDF camp, the atmosphere had changed. The lazy, drunken apathy was gone, replaced by the sharp, electric tension of High Purgation.
Thousands of soldiers were standing in formation. Ammo crates were stacked like mountains on the parade ground. Heavy weapons were being unlimbered and polished. Kian saw the usual Chimeras and heavy stubbers, but his eyes were drawn to the rear line.
Heavy Field Ordinance.
A row of eight massive guns sat there, their 150mm barrels pointing toward the sky like the fingers of a vengeful god. These weren't the Hive's "Fortress Cannons," but they were the heavy-weights of the land war. Each shell could level a hab-block.
"Throne... are they finally launching the full-scale purge?" Kian whispered.
He found Rudolphson at the battalion HQ. The Major was in full combat gear, looking stressed. He waved Kian over.
"The Spire-Lords are having a fit," Rudolphson hissed. "The 'Discipline Auditor' is doing a head-count. If you aren't in line when he calls 'Corporal Voss,' he'll start digging into the payroll. Just stand there, look heroic, and keep your mouth shut."
Kian nodded, but his eyes kept drifting back to the row of eight 150mm guns in the courtyard.
"Hey, Rudy," Kian said, nudging the Major with his elbow. "Those big girls over there... are they part of your motor pool?"
Rudolphson's chest swelled with pride. "My personal pride and joy. Usually, they stay in the deep-vaults wrapped in oiled parchment to keep the rust off. I only brought them out because we're at Grade-1 Combat Readiness."
In the 41st Millennium, the Imperial military was structured with a specific, paranoid logic. Following the Great Heresy, the military was broken into pieces to prevent any one commander from having too much power. An infantry regiment had no tanks; a tank regiment had no scouts; a heavy artillery regiment had no infantry. It ensured that if one man rebelled, he lacked the tools to actually win a war.
But this was the PDF—the "Pseudo-Army" of a backwater Agri-World. They didn't follow the high-tier regulations. Major Rudolphson commanded infantry, armor, and heavy artillery. He was a regional warlord in an Imperial uniform.
Kian stared at the cannons, his "Hoarder-Rat" soul aching with desire. He nudged Rudolphson again.
"You know, Rudy... I've got a real sharp eye for 'Machine Spirit' fatigue. Those guns look a bit... 'damaged' to me. Maybe they need to be 'decommissioned'?"
Rudolphson recoiled, moving several steps away from Kian as if he were contagious. "Throne's blood, Kian! Don't you start! My cannons are pristine! They are blessed! Not a single bolt is out of place!"
Kian began reaching into his pouch, pulling out a thick roll of high-value scrip.
"Your vision is failing you, Major. Look closer. That barrel? It's warped. The breech? It's rusted. It's a safety hazard. It needs to be 'recycled' via the Voss disposal route. I'll send a 'specialist' to help you with the paperwork..."
Rudolphson clamped a hand over Kian's money-filled fist, his eyes darting around to see if anyone was watching.
"They are NOT broken! Stop being a lunatic!"
Kian looked the Major dead in the eye, his voice as serious as a death-sentence.
"Rudy... these guns can definitely be broken."
Rudolphson took a deep breath, his grip on Kian's hand tightening.
"They are staying. On. The. Line!"
☆☆☆
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