Early morning, on a road winding through the Norscan mountain forests.
"This is Alpha 3. We are concluding our patrol."
"The road is clear. No Norscan activity for the past several days. It seems today will be much the same."
A squad of Streltsi, accompanied by their Astartes superior, moved along a concrete road recently refurbished by the Fourth Legion. One of the soldiers keyed his vox-unit, reporting back to the rear fortress.
"Understood, Alpha 3. Complete your route and return for breakfast," a relaxed voice replied from the other end. The recent stability had caused a slight dip in vigilance. Under the "Iron Cage" strategy devised by the Tsar, it seemed the Norscan barbarians had run out of options.
Perhaps the campaign here would end soon. Then, the Fourth Legion and the Streltsi would move on to other theaters of the Great Crusade. For now, the operations on Norsca felt like a final moment of relative ease.
That ease ended abruptly.
"Kill! Kill these Imperials!"
From both sides of the forested mountain slopes, a massive force of Norscan barbarians erupted. These warriors were visibly well-prepared, clad in the finest armor and wielding the best weapons their tribes could provide. They looked as though they had come specifically to hunt Astartes.
"Fall back! Fall back! Engaging Norscan tribal forces! Requesting immediate support!"
The Streltsi accompanying the Astartes showed momentary panic, but years of discipline took over. They quickly organized into a fighting retreat, laying down suppressive fire as the Norscan tide surged toward them.
The Fourth Legion Astartes leading the squad raised his bolter. He fired rhythmic, devastating shots to cover the mortal soldiers' withdrawal.
"Calling Fortress! Calling Fortress! We are heavily engaged! We need reinforcements!" the Astartes shouted into the vox-unit on his vambrace, expecting a swift response.
"Negative, Alpha 3. We are currently under siege by a combined tribal force. You are on your own." The reply from the fortress was thick with a sense of desperate helplessness.
"Damnation. Are these barbarians attacking every fortress simultaneously? Do they intend to break the Iron Cage Lord Perturabo placed upon them?"
The Astartes froze for a fraction of a second as the realization dawned on him.
"My Lord, what do we do? Their numbers are growing!"
"Can we get help from the fortress? We can't handle this many on our own!"
The frantic questions of the Streltsi snapped him back to reality. He looked around; the Norscans were pouring out of the woods like an incoming tide. His squad could only fire and retreat step by agonizing step.
"The fortress is under siege. We stand alone. We must hold these barbarians for as long as our strength lasts until Lord Perturabo initiates a counter-strike."
He looked at his men and issued his command.
"Remember: Iron leads to Strength. Strength leads to Honor. Honor leads to Faith. Faith leads to Iron."
He began to recite the litany that had become popular within the Fourth Legion since Perturabo's return.
"..."
"Understood, My Lord. We will not bring shame to the Tsar."
Fourth Legion Temporary Command Headquarters, Norskajek.
As fortresses and patrols across the road networks were besieged by the gathered Norscan tribes, the command center had fallen into a state of controlled chaos.
When the reports first arrived, the officers thought it was merely the death throes of a few desperate tribes. But as the number of besieged locations climbed, the shocking truth emerged: this was a coordinated, premeditated offensive. The Norscans sought to paralyze the Fourth Legion by attacking everywhere at once, forcing the Iron Cage to disintegrate.
Perturabo stood at the hololithic table with Forrix, Suvorov, and several other officers. The holographic projection before him was a sea of red markers indicating fortresses under assault. Nearly every outpost in the tribal territories was being attacked at the same moment.
"My Lord, how shall we proceed? It seems these barbarians have devised a tactic specifically to counter your plan," Forrix said. Despite his immense reverence for his father, he did not sugarcoat the reality of the Norscan strategy.
"Indeed, Forrix. I did not expect the Norscans to be capable of such a maneuver."
"I expected even less that these barbarians could demonstrate a level of synchronization rivaling trained Imperial armies, launching an assault at the exact same hour."
"This exceeds my initial projections. I must re-evaluate my opinion of this rabble."
Perturabo nodded. While Forrix's words bordered on being blunt, they were accurate. The Norscans had found a crack in his grand design.
"My Lord, we need a plan to break this siege. If we leave this unchecked, the system we built with such effort will collapse, and all our work will be for naught," Suvorov added, his voice low and urgent.
"Yes. I need a plan. A plan to crush the Norscans," Perturabo agreed, his eyes never leaving the map.
"However, this mass exodus from their dens is also an opportunity. It spares me the time required to root them out one by one. I can sense it—this is their desperate, final gamble. If we defeat them here, this war is over."
Perturabo spoke slowly, his voice carrying a note of arrogant confidence.