aircannonsinc Chapter 92 Returning Home 938.M41
Chapter 92 Returning Home 938.M41
Chapter 92 Returning Home 938.M41
As the Black Pearl launched from Mandeville, the star of Garros burned into a bright yellow orb in the distance.
The routine voyage lasted less than a day, and the outline of the spaceport slowly grew larger outside the porthole. Cohen stood at the porthole of the bridge, watching the metal complex anchored in the vacuum gradually fill his field of vision. Guidance lights formed a bright arc in the berth area, service sergeants lined up at the jet bridge, and administrative sergeants were organizing immigrant files to be entered behind the windows of the office building.
But it wasn't these things that made him stop today.
On the outer edge of the spaceport, amidst the greyish-white transport ships and weathered service vessels, twelve hulls hovered silently. Two Luna-class cruisers and ten Cobra-class destroyers. Their armor wasn't the Imperial Navy's dark grey, but a deep red paint, gleaming crimson under the starlight. The surface was evenly covered with micro-meteorite impact craters and faded patches from space radiation—an aging treatment created during the modeling stage—making them look like ships that had served for centuries. The Garros gear and skull insignia on the sides of the hulls were clearly visible in the beams of the guide lights. Adamantite armor was embedded in key areas of each hull—around the bridge, the outer walls of the engine rooms, and the outer layer of the ammunition magazines. This wasn't the standard Imperial Navy cruiser configuration, which only used a small amount of adamantite for reinforcement in the core sections; rather, it was a full-protection solution redesigned from the blueprint stage.
The Cobra destroyers were much smaller than the Luna-class, but their coverage of adamantite armor was equally impressive. They weren't designed to withstand battleship fire head-on, but rather to quickly disengage after torpedo launches and weave through enemy fire. Garros didn't need cannon fodder; it needed warriors who could survive and continue fighting.
The portholes on the sides of the ship were still dark, with no crew assigned, no combat personnel, and not even basic service servitors deployed. They were simply sitting there.
These ships were all sculpted by Enp in the Wangshu asteroid dock during the Black Pearl's return voyage. Ten Cobra destroyers and two Luna-class cruisers.
Marcus walked up behind him, the blue halo around his right mechanical eye slowly expanding and contracting. "Captain. The Garros fleet is now complete."
"Yes, we're finally seeing some progress." Cohen's tone carried a rare hint of excitement. "The backup crew members for key positions at the Moon-class level with Vera Nazari can finally be used. The Black Pearl will fill the core crew positions on the destroyers. We'll just need to replenish the crew to full strength later."
Dome 3 is located on the southeastern edge of the Garros equatorial plain. From space, it appears indistinguishable from the other domes; its transparent canopy, spanning a hundred to two hundred kilometers, reflects a cool, white light under the starlight. Among the ever-expanding dome complex at Garros, it is currently the largest in number.
There are no agricultural areas, no residential buildings, and no administrative center. Beneath the dome, there are only gray armories, silent training grounds, rows of living modules, and a dedicated railroad connecting to the underground logistics network. This is the headquarters of the Garros Planetary Defense Force. Commander Cole's office is located on the third floor of the dome's administrative building, responsible for the overall command and daily defense. Rellano is stationed here as the chief instructor, responsible for the defense force's tactical training and live-fire exercises—from basic physical fitness to power armor tactical coordination, from shooting accuracy to squad-level teamwork.
The perimeter of the dome is manned by the defense forces on a rotating basis. The interior is divided into several functional areas: the core area is the training center, complete with a shooting range, combat training hall, and tactical simulation room. Surrounding the training center is the logistics support area, where countless personnel take turns on duty—for weapons maintenance, ammunition inventory, material handling, and communications.
The living quarters are located at the edge of the dome, with neat rows of gray dormitory modules, their windows emitting cool white light. The armory at the deepest part occupies nearly a quarter of the dome's area, storing hundreds of thousands of CMC-100 power armor suits and various light and heavy weapons.
The terrifying production capacity of the underground industrial base is evident.
After the Black Pearl docked, Cohen officially made the top floor of the Garros Governor's Mansion his office. The office that was originally used by Enpu now bears a plaque that reads "Governor of the Garros Autonomous Dominion, Cohen Severus".
Kara remained commander of the Black Pearl's garrison, essentially the governor's personal guard and the Sage's Guard. Her duty was to directly protect Cohen's safety and command the elite combatants aboard the Black Pearl. Enpu's clone, stationed on the asteroid Wangshu, was responsible for Galos's industrial development and blueprint completion, but did not participate in Galos's daily administrative affairs. Everything in Galos—the dome expansion, immigrant resettlement, resource allocation, and servant management—was handled entirely by Cohen's body. He became the de facto governor of Galos and proclaimed himself the director of the Mechanicus's Galos foundry. Although the Empire never officially granted this title, no one within the Galos autonomous domain questioned it.
Cohen sat at his desk on the top floor of the Governor's Mansion, several data panels in front of him scrolling through immigration data and supply lists for the various domes of Garros. The Planetary Defense Force had expanded to nearly 400,000 men and was still growing. 400,000 was nothing in any densely populated world of the Empire—those hive worlds had PDFs in the millions. Outside the domes lay endless wastelands, and in orbit, pirates and aliens could appear at any moment. This force couldn't even fill every exit of the dome complex. One million was just a base number, far from the peak. This also absorbed a large amount of labor from below the domes. Although food cultivation and food processing industries themselves required a lot of manpower, there were plenty of young people below the domes willing to take up arms. Expansion, and continued expansion—this was the main theme of Garros' future, and perhaps also the main theme of the Empire.
He turned off the data panel, stood up, and walked out of the office. The corridor lights shone with a cold white light in daytime mode. He walked through the busy passageway of the administrative servants and headed towards the bridge. Marcus was standing in front of the holographic projection table, the star map in front of him marked with the routes of Garros, Lucis, and Armageddon.
"Captain," Marcus turned around, "Lady Vera's fleet will arrive in two weeks. I've already checked the Moon-class crew roster; nothing's missing. What about Cobra's core personnel roster?"
Cohen pushed the data panel forward. "Choose from the Black Pearl. The younger batch. Those petty officers in the garrison who performed well on the wrecked ship, and those bridge officers who graduated from the Imperial Naval Academy. You decide."
Marcus nodded.
On the training ground of Dome 30, the smell of gunpowder and the acrid odor of exploding bombs lingered in the circulating air.
The 1,200 people Kara had carefully selected from the Black Pearl garrison and the Truth combat guard had begun undergoing minimally invasive neuro-interface surgery at the medical center beneath the dome. Dr. Liss's team had established a dedicated neuro-interface surgery center on Dome 30, and the surgical procedures had been refined to be extremely efficient—from anesthesia to suturing took less than forty minutes, and patients could get out of bed two days after the surgery. They had even trained hundreds of auxiliary medical personnel locally in Garros, and a large number of medical servants had begun to be involved in equipment delivery and postoperative monitoring.
Rellano wasn't wearing power armor. He stood in the center of the training field, gray combat uniform, arms crossed, light gray eyes fixed on every movement. His voice wasn't loud, but every word pierced the trainees' nerves like nails: "Too much stride! Power assist isn't for hurdling!"
"Aim with your mind, and the neural interface will transmit the signal."
"One more time. One more time. One more time."
The CM-C300 power armored vehicles, each 2.5 meters tall, charged across the training field, the hum of their joint servo systems and the electrical hum of their miniature reactors blending into a deep background sound. The golden double-headed eagle on their helmets burned under the lights, and the gear and skull insignia on their chests flashed a dark red luster with each turn.
A trainee was stopped by Relano, took off his helmet, his forehead was covered in sweat, but his eyes were bright.
"Instructor, will this suit be suitable for me to fight against Astartes?"
Rellano looked at him and paused for a second. "No. But I can prevent you from being shot dead. I can get you to shove your molten gun into his stomach before he kills you."
The trainee grinned. Several soldiers around him, who had also removed their helmets, laughed as well. There was no fear in their laughter, only a burning, primal desire.
The news spread like a plague across Dome 30. Then it reached the other domes, reaching everyone wearing CMC.
100. In the ears of the defense soldiers who practice shooting day after day at the firing range.
"I heard that people who wear that kind of armor can withstand explosive bombs."
"Not only that. That kind of armor has neural interfaces, so you can point the gun wherever you want."
"A hole in the back of your head? Does it hurt?"
"What nonsense are you talking about! This is nothing compared to being alive, which is better than anything else."
"When can we wear them?"
The discussion spread from the mess hall to the training ground, from the training ground to the dormitory, and from the dormitory to every corner where soldiers gathered.
Privately, some people have started calling those who wear CMC-300s "little Astartes." It's not mockery, but envy and longing.
It's that kind of irrepressible, fiery impulse that wells up from the bottom of your heart when you see someone stronger than yourself and know that you might become like them.
Kara stood on the observation platform of the training ground, watching the hundred-plus soldiers in Type 300 power armor repeatedly charge, roll, and fire to Relano's roar. Her face was expressionless, but her fingers tapped a light rhythm on the railing.
Cohen stood behind her without saying a word.
"Captain," Kara said without turning around, "after all 1,200 people have completed their surgeries, will there be enough armor?"
"That's enough," Cohen said. "The CMC-300A production line is being set up, and mass production will begin soon. Within a few months, all capital ship combat crews will be equipped with it."
Kara's face lit up with delight. "So, the entire garrison will have to undergo neural interface surgery next?"
"Yes. We'll wait for Vera and the others. Currently, we have a total of four capital ships and over 40,000 combat personnel, all fully equipped." Cohen paused. "As for the 1,200 we selected, they will be equipped with CMC-300E—full adamantite armor, with the same coating as the Type A. Remember, this is classified. The armor is the man. These people will undergo further deep human modification later. Including you."
Kara's smile was wide and unstoppable. "Yes, Captain." In this universe, the acceptance of human modification has always been very high, especially among people from the Forged World.
On the training field, Rellano roared again. The soldiers turned simultaneously, their explosive rifles aimed at the targets, muzzles exploding in an instant, smoke billowing in the cold white light.
>