The Primarch of Liberty

Chapter 115: Alike but not so



Roboute Guilliman stood at the observation deck of Macragge's Honour, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the impossibly vast form of Sweet Liberty. Even from this distance, the sheer scale of Franklin's flagship was almost overwhelming. His own Gloriana-class vessel, a paragon of Imperial engineering, seemed modest by comparison. Sweet Liberty was no mere warship—it was a floating metropolis, a cathedral to human ambition and ingenuity. The Ultramarine Primarch's mind, ever calculating, analyzed the massive vessel. Its grandiose design, the flying buttresses and spires doubled as defensive structures, while the statues and ornate carvings concealed weapon systems that made even the greatest tools of Ultramar's arsenal seem understated. Form and function intertwined with almost heretical efficiency.

Guilliman could not help but respect Franklin's methods. He had read the reports on the Independence Sector's industry, and the numbers had seemed almost unreal. The fact that it had taken only a year to construct Macragge's Honour within Franklin's domain was as staggering as it was humbling.

As the docking sequence began, Guilliman watched the execution of the procedure with an appreciative eye. Precision and discipline were evident in every movement of the docking crews and automatons. When Macragge's Honour settled into one of Sweet Liberty's twenty-one immense docking bays, Guilliman noted the meticulous planning. Each bay bore heraldry for a specific Primarch or Legion, a subtle but telling gesture. A reserved bay for the Emperor's Bucephalus stood as a quiet declaration of faith in their father. Franklin's attention to detail never ceased to intrigue Guilliman.

When the Eternity Gate opened and Guilliman stepped onto the bridge, his initial impression was one of calculated grandeur. Sweet Liberty's command center was a cathedral repurposed for war, its walls adorned with murals celebrating humanity's greatest achievements. Stained glass windows pulsed with shifting data-an artful display of tactical information. At the center of it all stood Franklin Valorian, his easy smile a stark contrast to the deadly efficiency of his surroundings.

"Bobby G!" Franklin's voice rang out, filled with warmth and a confidence that was uniquely his. He strode forward, his perpetual smirk making him seem almost irreverent despite the gravity of the setting.

"Franklin," Guilliman replied, clasping his brother's outstretched hand. "Once again, you manage to challenge my expectations."

"Good! Keeps things interesting," Franklin said with a grin. "Welcome to Sweet Liberty. What do you think?"

Guilliman let his gaze sweep the bridge before replying. "You have managed to combine the grandeur of Terra's greatest cathedrals with the lethality of an orbital bombardment array. It is... uniquely you."

"High praise coming from you," Franklin said, gesturing toward the hololithic table at the center of the room. As it sprang to life, Franklin began outlining the campaign. "So, here's the plan. Four Ork worlds, one massive Warboss trying to cobble together an empire. We can't let that happen. Sweet Liberty's guns can hit all four planets simultaneously. While they're scrambling to figure out what's happening, your boys and mine drop in to clean up."

Guilliman studied the display, already mapping deployment strategies. "It's bold. Decapitating their leadership while destabilizing their infrastructure could shatter their cohesion. But simultaneous strikes on this scale carry risks. Coordination must be flawless." "Good thing coordination's your specialty," Franklin said with a wink. "I'll handle the fireworks; you handle the details."

Guilliman raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning back to the tactical display. Franklin's methods were unconventional, to say the least, but there was no denying their effectiveness. He suspected his brother deliberately embraced a more flamboyant approach to mask the precision with which he operated. It was not unlike the murals on the walls-what appeared to be art for art's sake was, in fact, a tool of inspiration and morale.

I find myself, yet again, fascinated by the operational methodology of my brother Franklin's Legion. Our third campaign together has proven to be an education in contrasts. Initially, I had assumed the Liberty Eagles would mirror the Ultramarines in their approach to warfare - an understandable presumption given our shared appreciation for logistics and organization. I have never been more incorrect in a tactical assessment.

"Franklin," I began, watching as another convoy of ammunition carriers made their way to the Liberty Eagles' staging area. "Your ammunition requisition for this campaign exceeds standard deployment protocols by a factor of ten."

My brother, lounging in his command throne with characteristic ease, merely grinned. "Can't spell 'freedom' without 'excessive firepower,' Bobby!"

I suppressed a sigh. "I've brought three artillery companies for this engagement." "And I brought a Legion's worth," Franklin completed my thought, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Plus some extras. You know, for emergencies."

"What sort of emergency requires enough firepower to level a continent?"

"Tuesday?" He shrugged, then laughed at my expression, slapping my shoulder with enough force to stagger a lesser being. "Why bring a knife to a gunfight? Or in this case, why bring a gunfight to a nuclear war?"

The equipment differences between our forces are particularly striking. During my inspection of the Liberty Eagles' armory, I noticed their preference for energy-based weaponry - a departure from traditional Astartes armaments. The design of their powered armor caught my attention, particularly the apparent absence of standard power packs.

"Franklin, regarding your Legion's power supply..."

"Ah, spotted that did you?" He interrupted, materializing beside me with impossible stealth for someone his size. "Zero Point Energy cores, right by the spine. Tiny little things, infinite power. Very classified, very cool. The Mechanicum would kill for this stuff - literally, they've

tried."

The casual way he revealed such revolutionary technology was quintessentially Franklin. I noted how he skillfully mixed truth with humor to deflect deeper inquiry.

"Theoretical: Such technology would revolutionize the entire Imperium's military capability."

"Practical: That's why it's classified," he winked, using my own analytical method playfully. The Liberty Guard passed by next, and I found myself reassessing everything I knew about military organization. These weren't merely well-equipped soldiers; they represented a fundamental reimagining of human military potential. Each warrior carried the Liberty Pattern Combi-Bolter, a streamlined version of their signature weapon that combined bolter and pulse capabilities in a compact frame. On Their Shoulders were retractable shoulder mounted mini-turrets. The precision of their movements and the confidence in their bearing spoke of enhancements far beyond baseline humanity. They were living embodiments of efficiency, adaptability, and overwhelming firepower.

"They're all transhuman," I stated, not really a question.

"Got it in one!" Franklin beamed like a proud father. "Their Design dates back to the Age of

Strife"

The Liberty Eagles' arsenal defied conventional military doctrine. Their Astartes carried an impossible array of weapons - Disintegration Rifles, Heavy Bolters, Railguns.

"Your troops carry enough firepower to level a hive city," I observed.

"Exactly!" Franklin beamed. "One-man artillery batteries. Very efficient. Saves on transport

costs."

Their vehicles proved even more outlandish. Grav-tanks with extinction-grade weaponry, Super-Heavy tanks that could Fell Titans even with their Shields On, and the Armored Cores - Knight-sized units that moved with Eldar swiftness.

The Castigator Titans stood as testament to the Dark Age of Technology's heights. Studying their schematics, I realized these were to Imperator Titans what a master-crafted power

sword was to a simple gladius.

"Original pattern," Franklin confirmed, noting my interest. "From back when humanity really

knew how to party. I mean, wage war effectively."

Initially, I found their combat doctrine puzzling. The Liberty Eagles consistently position

themselves in supporting roles, allowing the Ultramarines to claim the glory of primary objectives. This seemed at odds with their overwhelming technological advantages.

During our current campaign, as my sons executed precision decapitation strikes against Ork leadership, the Liberty Eagles provided what could only be described as excessive fire support. The Orks, despite their impressive size, found themselves unable to mount effective counterattacks under the sheer volume of firepower.

"Brother," I finally asked, "why such overwhelming force? Surely a more precise approach would be more efficient?"

Franklin's response was characteristically succinct, delivered with that ever-present smirk: "It's not about overkill, Bobby. It's about sending a message."

After careful consideration, I believe I understand the Liberty Eagles' approach. Where the Ultramarines adapt our tactics to each situation, seeking the most efficient solution, the Liberty Eagles force the enemy to adapt to them - or perish in the attempt. It is our doctrine turned up to eleven..." If the enemy is still returning fire then you aren't giving out enough freedom", as Franklin might say.

Their supporting role is not born of humility or lack of ambition, but rather a deep understanding of their strengths. They create environments where their allies cannot fail, using overwhelming firepower to eliminate variables rather than adapt to them. Franklin's humor masks a brilliant strategic mind. He understands that true victory lies not in

glory or recognition, but in the achievement of objectives with minimal friendly casualties. His "sledgehammer" approach, while seemingly excessive, consistently produces results with remarkably low casualties among allied forces.

Perhaps most importantly, I've come to appreciate that Franklin's philosophy extends beyond mere military doctrine. The Liberty Eagles don't seek to prove themselves superior - they simply ensure conditions where victory is inevitable, then step aside to let others claim the glory. It is, in its way, a more subtle form of superiority than mere combat prowess.

Yet there's more to it. Franklin's willingness to let others claim victory while his Legion provides support speaks to a deeper understanding of human nature. He recognizes that sometimes the most effective way to lead is to enable others' success.

"You know what your problem is, Bobby?" Franklin said during our last strategic meeting,

feet propped irreverently on the hololithic table.

"I wasn't aware I had one," I replied dryly.

"You think too much. Sometimes you just need to trust that your brother knows exactly what

he's doing, even if what he's doing looks completely insane."

Looking at the perfect execution of our joint campaigns, I had to admit - perhaps he had a

point. Addendum: Must investigate why Franklin keeps referring to me as "Bobby." Theoretical: It's a deliberate attempt to provoke an emotional response. Practical: It's working.

The holovid played in Sweet Liberty's strategic command center, showing a Neo-Atlan

warrior repeatedly striking Captain Armstrong, who stood unmoved like a statue before casually crushing his opponent. Franklin Valorian let out a low whistle while Rogal Dorn watched with his characteristic stoicism and Roboute Guilliman analyzed the footage with

keen interest.

"Well, would you look at that," Franklin grinned, pausing the footage. "These guys are like mini-Supermen. Super-speed, super-strength, can tear apart tanks... too bad this isn't a comic book where the hero wins by punching harder."

"That is incorrect," Dorn stated flatly. "This is not a comic book at all. This is a tactical

briefing."

Franklin turned to Roboute with an exaggerated wink. "See what we have to work with here,

Bobby?"

"Brother, must you persist with that diminutive?" Guilliman sighed, though a slight smile

tugged at his lips.

"Bobby?" Dorn's brow furrowed. "Your name is Roboute. This is a fact."

"Thank you, Rogal," Guilliman replied dryly. "I hadn't realized." Franklin leaned back in his command throne, feet propped irreverently on the hololithic table.

"So, we've got 400 planets of super-powered xenos who think they're hot stuff. Their tech is basically ancient Terra with better comm towers. Thoughts?"

"Their communications network is their weakness," Dorn stated. "Destroy the towers, their

empire fragments."

"Always straight to the point, aren't you?" Franklin chuckled. "But you're not wrong. Sweet

Liberty can start sniping their fleets from across their solar system. They won't even know what hit them."

Guilliman stepped forward, manipulating the tactical display. "Their empire's infrastructure

suggests they've never faced a serious external threat. Their worlds are poorly fortified,

relying primarily on their species' natural capabilities for defense." "Which would be impressive against most opponents," Franklin nodded. "But unfortunatelyn/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

for them, they ran into us instead. I can have their fleets deleted in a few solar days. Bobby,

you can do your fancy beheading thing-"

"Tactical decapitation strikes," Guilliman corrected.

"That's what I said. And Rogal can... well, be Rogal."

"I will be myself, as I cannot be anyone else," Dorn confirmed. "This is logical."

Franklin threw his hands up. "See? Perfect strategic planning right there" Guilliman studied the empire's layout carefully. "In theory, they could have become a significant threat to Imperial expansion if left unchecked. Their physical capabilities combined with their territorial holdings could have served as a foundation for a major xenos

power."

"Theory, meet Sweet Liberty's main guns," Franklin gestured grandly. "I can delete their

species from quite literally the other side of a solar system. Remember what I always say?" "It's about sending a message," Guilliman and Dorn spoke simultaneously, though Dorn's tone suggested he was simply stating a fact while Guilliman's carried a hint of fond

exasperation.

"That was disturbing," Franklin blinked. "Never do that again. But yes! Though in this case,

the message is pretty simple: don't be xenos. Actually, that's not very nice. The message is 'compliance or deletion.' Much more diplomatic."

"Your definition of diplomacy requires examination," Dorn stated.

"Your face requires examination," Franklin shot back cheerfully. "No, wait, that doesn't work

on you, does it?" Guilliman intervened before the conversation could derail further. "The strategic approach seems clear. Franklin's fleet eliminates their space assets and priority targets, I'll coordinate precision strikes against their leadership and command structure, and Rogal can secure and fortify our gains as we advance."

"Fortification is necessary," Dorn nodded. "Their infrastructure is inadequate." "Everything's inadequate to you, brother," Franklin laughed. "But you're not wrong. These guys built their empire on individual strength rather than proper infrastructure. Probably seemed like a good idea until they met someone who could shoot them from the other side of

their solar system."

"Their reliance on individual martial prowess while neglecting strategic defense is both illogical and fatal," Dorn observed.

"What he means," Franklin translated unnecessarily, "is that being really strong and fast

doesn't help much when your planet gets shot from really, really far away. Right, Bobby?" Guilliman, despite himself, found he had grown accustomed to the nickname. Looking at his brothers - one irrepressibly jovial, the other immovably literal - he realized that despite their distinct personalities, both were supremely capable in their own ways. Franklin's apparent frivolity masked a keen strategic mind, while Dorn's bluntness carried deep tactical wisdom.

"Indeed," Guilliman finally replied. "Shall we begin the compliance action?" "Operation Superman Gets Deleted is a go!" Franklin declared. "That is not the operation's designated name," Dorn pointed out.

"It is now!"