"Where exactly are we driving?" Commissar Brooke sat in the bumping Taurus All-Terrain Assault Vehicle.
His voice sounded muffled through his gas mask as he tried to sound less than entirely bewildered.
"We're heading to the airfield," the Helldiver driving the vehicle replied without looking back, his tone as casual as if they were going on a picnic.
"The Colonel-General is at the airfield right now, checking on how the modifications for the new planes are coming along."
There were far too many points in that sentence to nitpick, but during Brooke's long career as a Commissar among the Krieg, he had long since been infected by those taciturn soldiers' habit of silence.
Feeling he had already spoken too much today, he stopped asking and simply watched the desolate landscape roll by outside the window.
After a while, the Taurus finally came to a halt. Brooke hopped out, and as he took in the scene before him, the Commissar—who had thought he was done speaking for the day—couldn't help but blurt out: "This is an airfield?!"
What lay before him wasn't so much an airfield as it was a patch of wasteland that had been roughly leveled.
A few mottled iron sheets had been haphazardly welded together to cover a section of the ground, serving as the "tarmac."
There were no control towers, hangars, or navigation facilities—only some simple tents and tools scattered about.
"What else did you want?" the Helldiver shrugged, his tone matter-of-fact. "Building a well-equipped facility is just a great way to get the Necrons to blast the crap out of it with anti-matter bombs."
Brooke frowned. While he understood the enemy threat, the sheer crudeness of this place exceeded his imagination.
"But an airfield this primitive... it can't possibly handle the take-off requirements for aircraft like the Valkyrie, can it?" he asked.
"That's why I told you earlier," the Helldiver jerked his chin toward a busy area up ahead. "The Colonel-General is working with the cogheads to figure out how to build a new plane that fits the battlefield's needs and this specific situation."
Brooke walked in the direction indicated. As he drew closer, he saw an aircraft that barely resembled its original Valkyrie prototype.
It had been stripped to pieces; all weapons were gone, and the external armor had been mostly removed, exposing the internal skeleton and wiring. A few Helldivers and several red-robed Tech-Priests were huddled around it, seemingly engaged in a heated debate.
He heard the Colonel-General—wearing the same carapace armor as the other Helldivers—pointing at the wreckage and saying in a deep voice:
"Hmm, let me see... the cockpit needs to be shrunk. There's no need for internal cabin space; change it to be more aerodynamic for better maneuvering and speed. Remove one of the fuel tanks—our warriors won't live long enough for the fuel to run out anyway.
Get rid of the navigator's seat; the pilot only needs to know how to fly forward. Alright, this is a good plane now. It's enough to transport paratroopers."
Brooke felt his eyebrows twitching uncontrollably under his cap. This wasn't a "modification"—it was a dismantling!
Then, the red-robed Tech-Priest followed up, his voice a mechanical, synthesized hum: "The materials for the main structure can also be changed. There's no need for expensive composite metals.
I suggest wood; it's lightweight and can be sourced locally. We can drill a few more holes in it to reduce weight. The weight saved can allow us to cram in another aerial bomb. If the pilot is skilled enough—and with a bit of luck—this could even pose a threat to Necron fighters."
"Excellent, a fine suggestion!" The Colonel-General's eyes sparkled with excitement. He nodded heavily as if he had just heard the most beautiful concept imaginable. "Fast, easy to produce, highly maneuverable... and once the paratroopers jump, it can be used as a guided missile. Very good!"
Brooke stood by, stunned. A wooden plane? Used as a guided missile? This defied every piece of Imperial military common sense he possessed. He couldn't help but speak up: "The Valkyrie's original role was transport. If you strip out the entire cabin, how are you supposed to carry the paratroopers?"
The Colonel-General turned and scanned Brooke's uniform, his eyes lingering on the greatcoat for a few seconds as if identifying him. "Kriegsman? You've arrived?"
"Yes," Commissar Brooke nodded, then repeated his question. "And why such extreme measures to save on materials and defense? You're treating these aircraft like disposables. The original Valkyrie, with its thick armor, can return safely after a sortie. Isn't that a form of saving as well?"
"I'll answer your first question first," the Colonel-General pointed at the Valkyrie's wings, his tone as calm as if discussing the weather. "First off, we didn't touch the wings. A Valkyrie has a 17-meter wingspan. If planned correctly, combined with the fuselage, you could hang 20 people on there, never mind the original capacity of 12.
When they reach the drop zone, they just let go and fly down. It's much faster than lining up to jump one by one from a cabin."
This answer left Brooke completely speechless. His mind went blank, unable to process this unheard-of "airborne" method. Before his brain could reboot, the Colonel-General continued.
"As for the second question," the Colonel-General shook his head. "You know the Aeldari, right? Their agility and speed are unmatched in the universe, and much of that was driven by the Necrons.
In the face of the Necrons, no matter how thick your armor is, it's meaningless. It's better to reduce weight and chase extreme speed and maneuverability."
He paused, his tone becoming more fervent: "Besides, the cost becomes dirt cheap! The main structure is made of wood! While there's a risk of it spontaneously disintegrating mid-flight, even on Amarah, the Tech-Priests can hand-craft a mountain of them.
We can win with numbers. Imagine tens of thousands of these planes carrying hundreds of thousands of Helldivers falling from the sky—the Necrons might not have enough firepower to kill us all!"
Brooke took a deep breath after hearing this. These people... these lunatics! Their disregard for death and their pursuit of the extreme had reached a level that was almost appalling.
And yet, Brooke felt no fear or discomfort. Instead, a strange sense of understanding and resonance welled up in his heart. Was this not the very creed of Krieg? To pay for victory with life itself!
He took a step forward. The Colonel-General instinctively thought the man was about to lecture him for disrespecting the lives of his soldiers. Instead, Brooke grabbed the Colonel-General's hand in a crushing grip.
Brooke's voice trembled with excitement, carrying the zeal of someone who had finally found his own kind: "You... when you launch this operation, you must call upon us Kriegers!"
The Colonel-General froze for a moment, then erupted into a roar of ecstatic laughter. He gripped Brooke's hand back with enough force to nearly crush bone.
"Hahaha! Fantastic! In the past, whenever we did something like this, no other Imperial Guard regiment could keep up. Finally, someone understands us!"
The two men looked at each other and smiled. Hidden behind gas masks and the brims of their caps, those smiles were exceptionally grim—and exceptionally sincere.
"It was the Emperor who brought us together! This must be the Emperor's divine power!"
"Indeed! For the Emperor! For the Emperor! Hahahaha!"