[M] War in the Void - Imperials IC

[Azazeal849]

Spoiler: HDMS Pillar of Intent, HDMS Retaliator, HDMS Resurgent - Baraspine 

HDMS Pillar of Intent

On the tacticae, Aenias watched the red triangles of weapon impacts bloom and burst against the station’s voids. Brief ripples shot out across the hololith as the ramshackle station’s warp-shunts struggled to drain both Pillar and Retaliator’s volleys into the warp - and then another, greater ripple that could only have been the defensive shell collapsing.

“Receiving firing solution from Retaliator!” Marie shouted from the comms shrine.

Gunnery officer Struss, who had been holding Pillar’s torpedoes for exactly this moment, thrust a finger towards the newly pulsing icon on the hololith. “Fire.”

A blaze of ignited gas gouted from the Falchion’s aquiline prow, washing fire back over the frigate. The melta torpedo scored across the void at full burn, riding out the shockwaves of collapsing voids and exploding ordnance - the same shockwaves which now hamstrung the targeting systems of the station ring’s defensive turrets.

Set true by tech-priests passing down coded secrets from the bridge, the torpedo’s machine spirit locked onto the scutarium blister and drove into it with merciless, suicidal intent. A blinding flash lit up the sky above Baraspine, followed by a ripple of smaller blasts as fire leapt from compartment to compartment. Gun turrets blew out or collapsed at canted angles. Towers and spars peeled away as the ring’s own slow turn began to drag at critically weakened structures.

As a great arc of the Glom’s guns fell silent, a curved blade of fighter squadrons from the carrier Resurgent scythed in to intercept the strike craft buzzing from the station’s remaining hangers. Oblivious to the small, swarming battle, the larger Imperial ships continued to trade fire with the defence monitors. One was already plunging towards the atmosphere in flames, torn into ruin by the circling vultures of Harwood’s Sword squadron. The larger cruisers burned steadying retros as they took station. Von Scharn’s Impiger began to arc ponderously round, broadside fire still shattering from both flanks as it latched ventral grav-tethers onto the stricken orbital.

Objective secured: Neutralise Glom defences

+ + + + + +

HDMS Impiger, launch deck

A siren whooped from the overhead klaxons, followed by a clank as the pale standby lights shut off and were replaced by murder red. Commander Banastre Thurlow suppressed a whoop of his own as he slammed down the visor of his cumbersome boarding armour. The icons for his helmet’s vox, air supply and integrated stab-light all lit up and then cycled green. He activated the first with a tap of his wrist panel, and took full advantage of the universal band connecting him to every armsmen standing ready on the launch deck.

“This is it, ladies and gents! You see that lumpy steel ring floating below us? Supposedly that affront to civic planning is a thousand years old. That’s a thousand years of history looking up at you, so let’s give them a fight that’s worth remembering for another thousand! I want to see a battle where you can say I was there, and everyone around you goes holy shit.”

Thurlow glanced over his shoulder, half turning in his integrated cuirass and helmet. Behind him, the Vigil sisters stood suited in black fleur-de-lys armour, far sleeker and more sophisticated than the armsmen’s. They were droning a sonorous hymn, low and ominous beneath the wail of the ready alarm. Every few lines, the hymn would be punctuated by a heavy clack as sickle magazines were charged, bolter slides were racked, and wicked sarissa bayonets were slotted into place. As Thurlow understood it, the Silent Vigil was foremost an order of spies rather than an order of warriors - but the chanting women ranked behind him looked wickedly professional. With their prayer-stitched tabards and jet black sallet helms, they took on the aspect of ancient knights striding out to smite the unholy. Their visor lenses glinted red in the warning floodlights, crescent glass eyes that spoke blood.

Knowing that the sisters would not hear him over the vox, Thurlow had been going to jovially add And anyone who makes one of the Sisters go ‘holy shit’ gets an instant promotion, but the joke seemed suddenly vulgar in the face of such cold, furious majesty. He had no doubt that it would be the Sisters themselves eliciting a few disbelieving oaths from his men before this day was over.

“To the boats!” he shouted instead. An answering roar rippled across the gallery, and half a thousand men began to surge forward through the serried colonnades and through the arched corridors leading to the boarding pods. Scarred veterans stomped forward alongside first-time boarders with fear-wide eyes; pious warriors yelling Ave Imperator! alongside jaded blasphemers who simply cursed the Adrantean Republic’s name; stone-cold killers alongside haunted men chewing tajji root to keep their fear at bay. And with them advanced the sisters of the Silent Vigil, hell-bent on vengeance.

A sudden foreboding dampened Thurlow’s awe as he remembered that, under their knightly armour, the sisters were still just flesh and blood like his own marines. He had seen it himself, on this very hanger deck. He remembered grabbing for the sister’s hand as she crumpled onto the floor.

He wondered why sister Sapphira’s face came to him so clearly in that moment. It wasn’t just that she had been beautiful, for all her scars - although Ban Thurlow had certainly never failed to appreciate a beautiful woman. Perhaps it had been the shocking humanity in her face, abruptly laid bare beneath the silent determination she had displayed before.

A friend, belied by the stricken look on her face as she had fought for her colleagues’ lives, far beyond a medica’s call of duty. A lover too, if his reading of her and the former arbitrator was anything close to accurate. A human, who had wept tears of despair before suddenly collapsing into cardiac arrest.

She was human, and she had despaired, and she had nearly died.

Sisters could die.

He forced aside the borderline heretical thought, using the wailing sirens and slamming hydraulics of the launch bay to focus himself back in the moment. Because sister Sapphira was no doubt many light-years from Baraspine, and he and his marines were going to war.

Mag clamps thunked, rockets roared, and dagger-shaped pods soared free of the Impiger towards their targets.

Towards the Glom.

+ + + + + +

HDMS Impiger, strategium

“First wave of boarding pods is away!”

“Captain, signal from captain Ramazov on Accipiter! Fulmen is under fire on the night side, Bravick has ordered the rest of 4th squadron to support.”

Von Scharn nodded acknowledgement of the message as the battle squadron screening their flank turned and began to flare away over Baraspine’s south pole. It was another frustration of her new rank that it was not a lowly captain’s place to request more information on what was happening on the planet’s dark side.

They knew that a small enemy force had warped in unexpectedly, but that sector was 4th squadron’s responsibility, and Elspeth’s own 5th was tasked with securing the Glom above hive Alda. If commodore Tehrani on Vehemens knew what was going on, she had not passed it down the chain.

“Acknowledge message and return foras admonitio.” Elspeth ordered. Ramazov was an old colleague, dependable if a little old-fashioned, and endearingly well-mannered. She hoped he would appreciate her remembrance of the motto that sat proudly upon Accipiter’s bridge plaques. All Elspeth could do now was trust in Ramazov’s abilities, and in admiral Bravick’s prescriptive contingency plans.

On the tactical hololith, the Imperial fleet continued their slow, lethal ballet, slowly crushing the spasming defences above hive Alda. As Ramazov’s squadron struck away towards the south pole, a new threat revealed itself from the north.

“Who might they be?” Elspeth asked rhetorically, pointing towards the three new blips rounding the planet’s horizon.

“Three Falchion class, ma’am.” an officer dutifully responded. “Emission spectra match the Ancona, the Revenant and the Gladius Nox, all traitor vessels.”

Falchion class. “It’s a torpedo run.” Elspeth surmised. And one that could significantly disrupt their boarding action by forcing them to go evasive. If they couldn't land in force, Thurlow's marines would be stalled and overwhelmed piecemeal. She glanced back at the hololith, at the screen of ships currently guarding the squadron’s northern flank. “Ask Aenias to shoo them away for us, if he’d be so kind?”

+ + + + + +

New objective: Defeat enemy destroyer squadron

The three frigates came on - long, sleek dragon-shapes with macrocannon teeth bared and torpedo tubes ready to breathe fire. They did not intend to close range with the enemy heavyweights, but they did not need to. They moved in a wide triangle formation, ready to send their torpedoes scattering out or converging like a deadly shoal, and ready to shatter any Imperial frigate that flew into their overlapping fire arcs.

Retaliator, Resurgent and Pillar of Intent were the first line of defence, and they had scant minutes before the detached Patriot squadron started their attack run on the cruisers currently pinned against the Glom.

[Jarms48]

Falchion class. “It’s a torpedo run.” Elspeth surmised. And one that could significantly disrupt their boarding action by forcing them to go evasive. If they couldn't land in force, Thurlow's marines would be stalled and overwhelmed piecemeal. She glanced back at the hololith, at the screen of ships currently guarding the squadron’s northern flank. “Ask Aenias to shoo them away for us, if he’d be so kind?”

"Falchion class. Aye." Lieutenant Marie spoke aloud. Her left hand pressing against her headset, her right hand scratching notes to paper.

Captain Aeneas walked over to the comm terminal, he leaded over Marie. Resting a hand on her chair. They were fighting against their counterparts. This wasn't good. Gunboats, torpedo boats, the Falchion could excel at both. Provided the enemy remained in their forward facing fire arcs.

"Marie, let the flotilla know our classes weakness. Tell them to get close, into their broadsides. They'll only be able to present minimal firepower." Aeneas said, as he scratched his chin in thought.

"Pillar of Intent to Imperial flotilla, Pillar of Intent hailing Imperial flotilla. Close into their broadsides. Their strength is in their forward facing firepower. Get close and hit their flanks." Marie relayed.

"Helmsmen Bernd, bring us about. Face the new threat, bring our own firepower to bear. Gunnery Officer Struss dump a torpedo in the turn, I want to launch a spread at the right escort. Put them into evasive maneuvers, it'll delay their macro fire." Aeneas ordered.

It was a gamble, presenting their own firepower would put them at risk of retaliation. They represented the greatest range threat to the enemy squadron, they shared the same class. The traitors knew the strength of their forward batteries.

"Aye!" The deck crew returned.

"Captain!" Marie called, her headseat squawking. "Retaliator is hailing us. Their Captain has an idea. They want us to get between our boarding craft and the enemies torpedo spread. They want us to then dump our own ordnance. We're going to combined arms, Resurgence will launch their attack craft intercept the enemies torpedoes and then move to protect ours. They'll then split off and suppress the enemy squadrons defensive turrets. It'll give us the best chance of a successful hit. Lastly, Retaliator itself will advance at full speed behind our salvo and engage the enemy. Looks like they took our word on the enemies weakness."

Aeneas paced across the deck. Biting his lip. A decade of anti-piracy had let his own strategies stagnate. These weren't unorganized outlaws in antiquated or stolen vessels. These were career men. He had to rely on Retaliator's commander, they simply had more experience than him.

"Belay my last orders!" Aeneas called out.

"Aye." Struss and Bernd immediately stopped what they were doing.

"We'll do as Retaliator suggests. New heading, get us between the enemies ordnance and our boarders. Turn to face. Gunnery Officer Struss, prepare new target lead and get the macro cannons ready to fire." Captain Aeneas went to his command chair, he took a seat and brought up his own terminal. He began punching in command keys, looking over the ships status.

Pillar of Intent shuttered as they moved out of geostationary orbit. It's engines burning hot, sending vibrations across the length of the vessel. Captain Aeneas glaced over to Bernd, the man was working hard on his chadburn sending orders through to the engine decks. Aeneas own terminal lit up as they began approaching burst speed. He flicked his terminal screen with his fingers, bringing up his tactical map. Pillar of Intent's blip was steadily approaching the void space between the enemy squadron and their own boarders.

"Maintain heading. Watch the void shields." Captain Aeneas ordered.

Pillar of Intent shuttered again. It's retro-thrusters bringing it into a tight turn. The bridges view-screen locked onto their quarry and zoomed to get a clearer picture. Gunnery Officer Struss had already taken his opportunity. He hit his launch rune and dumped the first torpedo. His launch rune flashed as the gunnery deck crews loaded another building sized weapon.

"Torpedo, away." Struss stated.

Their port view-screen flickered to life as new contacts approached. Resurgence had already launched their own squadrons of Fury interceptors. Captain Aeneas smirked, they might actually make it out of this after all.

"Second torpedo, away!" Struss called again. "Macro cannons, awaiting order."

"Fire." Aeneas ordered.

The void of space around Pillar of Intents armoured prow flickered like a crackling flame. Macro cannons filling the darkness with devastating firepower.

"Marie, send word to Retaliator. Tell them we've done our part. It's time for them to do theirs." The Captain watched as Pillar of Intents proximity radar came to life, tracking the enemies own ordnance. Their extensive defensive turrets joined in the murderous crescendo.

[Azazeal849]

Spoiler: HDMS Pillar of Intent, HDMS Retaliator, HDMS Resurgent - Baraspine 

“Three enemy torpedoes launched.” Struss reported.

Three. Aeneas knew that meant that the Patriot squadron were holding their second tubes for another angle of attack, instead of rolling the dice on one big salvo.

Aboard Resurgent, the standby alarm wailed. Anchor lines snapped back, fuel lines and telemetry reset cables were disconnected, and the attendant deck crew ran for cover. Aboard Retaliator, officers hung on to pulpits and guard rails as Resurgent’s fighters flashed by, on their way to intercept the incoming torpedoes. Grim crewmen braced themselves as fire from the enemy squadron worried at their shields, and Retaliator lived up to her name by snapping back with her own forward battery.

Aboard Pillar of Intent, captain Aeneas watched the enemy attack run became an arc as they burned engines. At first Aeneas thought they were trying to evade his first torpedo, but then the threat comes on his display swung over Resurgent, and converged. Saving their torpedoes for the bigger ships, the enemy had picked the weakest point in the picket line and were seeking to punch through it. Either they had missed his second torpedo launch, or they were very brave.

Aeneas watched his launched ordnance flare to life on the monitors as it acquired the Falchion at the sunward apex of their triangle formation. He saw the rune flash as the targeted vessel opened up, tearing at the torpedo’s armour with its defensive turrets. As the rune marched inexorably closer, Aeneas saw Struss grinning wolfishly at the corner of his eye.

+ + + + + +

Squadron flagship HDMS Vehemens

The Falchion blew out like a puffball, guns and hull plates spalling outwards, masts and thruster funnels hinging back and collapsing sternward under the ship's momentum as it lost station and began to tumble.

"Gladius Nox going up.” the officer at the tac con reported calmly. “Shift target right."

Commodore Tehrani stood near the sensorium, her long, brown-skinned face reflecting the light of the hololiths, her brown eyes flitting and parsing through the welter of contact runes.

“Good kill, Aeneas.” she offered to the distant frigate captain, nodding towards the tiny icon that represented Pillar of Intent. “Keep them off our backs for a few more minutes.”

The battle was all but over, though pockets of the Patriot fleet didn’t seem to know it yet. Accusator was still trading broadsides with a smaller Adrantean monitor, and Vehemens’ astropaths were picking up the calls to surrender that she was repeatedly beaming towards her outgunned foe. Captain Langsdorf had always been a humane commander, Tehrani reflected. But the Addie monitor was unmoved, and after the fourth refused hail, Tehrani saw a swarm of bomber icons buzz out from Accusator’s launch bays to make an end to it.

“Commodore, another wave of evacuation ships is breaking away from the planet. Three are moving into our sector.”

“Give them a tickle with the lascannons.” Tehrani gave the desultory order. “Once Eppie’s marines are done on the Glom they can deal with them at their discretion. How’s Ramazov doing?”

Her XO grimaced. “Not well. The enemy squadron warped out and Accipiter is burning in space from a nova hit.”

Tehrani’s jaw tightened, but it was not her responsibility. Admiral Bravick would dispatch a closer ship to assist. Their job was here - to capture the Glom.

+ + + + + +

HDMS Pillar of Intent

“Two more torpedos running, remaining destroyers have launched again.” Struss reported, the smile of victory quickly falling from his face.

There it was, the second salvo.

The surviving destroyers were burning hard to establish an escape vector, but the momentum of the two fleets now made a close pass inevitable. Resurgent had taken a pounding, and no longer had enough guns operational to block them. Retaliator on the other hand was streaking into the fight with murderous abandon, knifing between the two Patriots and hammering each one with a full broadside.

“Strike leader to Resurgent. Resurgent? Damn it! Strike leader to Pillar of Intent, do you copy?”

Marie cupped her hand around her headset to shut out the background noise of the bridge. “Pillar of Intent to strike leader, copy!”

“Retaliator is reporting another torpedo launch from the enemy destroyers. Do you want us to intercept, or keep to the plan and suppress the enemy ships’ turrets? Be advised we are running low on fuel and ordnance.”

It was also a question relevant to the Pillar itself, Marie realised. They could add their own turrets to ensure destruction of the enemy torpedoes, or trust Impiger’s protection to the fighters and rush in to aid Resurgent and the outnumbered Retaliator.

[Azazeal849]

Spoiler: HDMS Pillar of Intent, HDMS Retaliator, HDMS Resurgent - Baraspine 

HDMS Pillar of Intent

Aeneas took the proferred vox from Marie just in time to hear another man’s voice cut across the open channel with Resurgent’s strike leader. It was a resonant baritone, one meant for commands whether they were sent by vox or shouted across a warship’s bridge. He tried to place the accent and thought that it might be Tranchite; it had the same truncated th and the same lack of long vowels.

“Strike leader, Retaliator Actual.” There was something strained about the voice too, like a scholem master who found themself forced to answer a gratingly stupid question. Aeneas surmised that this was a captain who did meld easily with Bravick’s strict hierarchy of order confirmations. “You are ordered to break off and intercept t’ose torpedoes.”

The fighter commander picked up on the tone as well. “Acknowledged.” he stated brusquely, and signed off.

“Pillar of Intent,” the authoritative voice continued without pause. “You are advised to maintain a defensive posture t’roughout the boarding action.”

At least he had the courtesy to say ‘advise’.

“Retaliator,” Aeneas licked his lips. “Pillar Actual. You’re very exposed out there. Suggest Pillar heads to intercept the torpedoes with defensive turrets, while also bringing our main batteries against the Patriots?”

“I will have to insist that Pillar of Intent maintain a defensive posture, 'Eneas.” the voice replied sternly. “Retaliator’s complement will not abide the Silent Vigil and Impiger’s marines being endangered on our behalf.”

Aeneas exhaled down his nose. No doubt canoness Kiana would be pleased to know that the loyalists of Battlefleet Adrantis were almost as determined as her Order to avenge themselves on the so-called Republic Navy, but Aeneas knew the downside of being bloodthirsty in the knife-edge calculations that made up void combat. So is this really about protecting our allies, or does he just want to kill every Throne-damned Patriot himself?

“You are outnumbered two to one, Retaliator. Please confirm.”

“The odds are not in the mutineer’s favor, as we have not yet begun to fight. Ave Imperator.”

With that, the vox went dead. Aeneas huffed. Killing every Throne-damned Patriot himself it is, then.

“All turrets stand by. Plot an intercept course with those torpedoes. And if one of them locks onto us, tell the gunners that they’d better bloody well shoot it down.”

As the Pillar heeled away, the lethal frigate dance continued - the enemy Falchions skidding into their escape vector as fast as their lateral thrusters would allow, Retaliator coming about to cross behind the trailing Revenant and engage her again. The Sword’s captain might be an abrasive bastard, but Aeneas had to admit that he knew void warfare - aligning his ship on a plane with Revenant so that it blocked the broadside of the more distant Ancona, and following every shield-breaking volley from its las batteries with a hull-pummelling salvo from its dorsal macrocannons.

A warning rune pinged into life on the bridge tactical display.

“Second torpedo has acquired us.” Struss warned.

Aeneas rubbed his chin, channelling his tension into the gesture so that it wouldn’t come through in his voice. “Light it up.”

It seemed to take an agonisingly long time for the torpedo to burn into range of the autocannons and hunter-killer missile batteries, but once it did the void around Pillar lit up with burning streaks of ionised gases. Aeneas held his breath - those torpedoes were heavily armoured, and once locked on their thrusters would correct for any deflecting impact. Not to mention what the cruiser-wrecking plasma warhead would do to his smaller, lighter frigate.

“Target acquired.” Struss reported, as the missiles and shells began to find their mark. “Target is tumbling...target destroyed.”

Aeneas let out his breath as a brief whoop swept across the bridge. On the tacticae, the other torpedo icon winked out as Resurgent’s fighters fired the last of their ammunition into the leviathan missile and broke it apart.

Further out of Baraspine’s gravity well, the Revenant was dying - its acceleration tapering off as generators and enginariums were smashed, and as perforated thruster cones wasted their sputtering output on random vectors. When a Pyros macrocannon shell pierced a fuel tank and began to send fire washing through the decks, the frigate’s lifeboats started adding their own puffs of flame as they launched clear of the stricken vessel’s flanks. Still gaining speed, Retaliator knifed past the burning hulk and began to pursue Ancona, but the third Patriot’s lead and undamaged engines saw it clear with only minor damage from Retaliator’s vengeful firepower.

+ + + + + +

HDMS Ancona

The action stations alarms still spun their red circles across the vaulted ceiling, and the air from the ventilators was circulating an acrid smell of sweat and overheating electronics. But it had been ten minutes since the last salvo, and the frigate’s stressed and sweating bridge crew were just beginning to come down from their tight-wound combat high.

“Two minutes until translation, captain. Navigator Cassius is standing by.”

Captain Detmer nodded, and allowed herself a small sigh of relief as her more nimble ship pulled away from Retaliator and out of its effective weapons range. They were diving spinward and out of the system plane, towards the jump point to Tranch. They would have to link up with the rest of Thark’s squadron later. Running the gauntlet of the Imperial crusade fleet a second time to get back to the Centrum jump point was not an option that appealed, unless Detmer’s objective was to see her crew turned into particles of frozen meat drifting above Baraspine. She glanced sourly at the globular warp-hololith, which showed the boiling warp’s nest of Imperial vessels behind, and a solitary hornet buzzing round a stung maggot at the fringes of the solar system.

Glad to see you’re enjoying a bit of piracy while we rescued the ground forces, Elle.

“Captain.”

The faint whisper drew her eyes away from the distant Imperialist and onto the astropath slumped against the back of his interface throne. The gaunt young man seemed to be sinking into the wards and purity seals that studded his chair. In truth, he was probably more overtaxed than any other crewmember aboard the destroyer, after Tierce had requisitioned all of Ancona’s other astropaths to plug gaps aboard other ships, other stations, other planets.

Even if we win this war, it could be communication that kills our Republic rather than the Imperials.

“Yes, astropath?” Detmer answered, trying to ignore the haggard look and sickly smell of the man as she turned towards him.

The psyker rubbed at his blind, rheumy eyes with a pale fist. “Captain, Retaliator’s astropath is calling out to me. She says that captain Machado wants to speak to you in person.”

From his command lectern, Detmer’s XO shot the astropath a hostile glance. “What words of worth could he possibly have?”

“We’d have to lower the voids for that.” the scutarium officer warned, frowning skeptically. “It could be a trick - give them an opening to fire a long range macro volley on the off chance it’d cripple our engines.”

Detmer chewed the inside of her cheek. Machado was of the battlefleet once, even if he chose the old, doomed order over something new.

“Lower the shields.” Detmer decided. “Watch the warp sensors for any blooms that could indicate a weapon charge.”

The scutarium officer hesitated a moment, but complied. “Aye, captain.”

“Maser link coming through now, captain.”

Detmer straightened, clasping her hands behind her back as a servo skull whirred down from the ceiling and beamed a hololithic projection onto the overseer platform where she and the senior officers stood. The image hazed for a moment, distorted by angled lines like rain falling across a street lamp, and then resolved.

“Jessika.” the man in the hololith greeted her tonelessly.

“Joao-Paulo.” Detmer returned, her own voice guarded.

He was just as she remembered him - sparely built, bald and broad-nosed, with a shadow of stubble darkening his chiselled jaw. Hard as the ship he captains. Retaliator had been one of the Nebula’s premier training vessels, and many of the Republic Navy’s current officers, Detmer included, had learned the ropes on its grey, brooding command deck. She still remembered the ominous phrase that had been engraved in iron letters above the frigate’s bridge.

Your revelation or your damnation
Either way I bring you death

“A different outcome from t’e wargames, eh?” the servo skull projected. Under Ancona’s bridge lighting, the hololith’s eyes looked almost black.

Detmer ground her teeth, slowly. After Tierce had promoted his good friend Edmond Deladier to oversee Adrantis’ new generation of frigate officers, he had indeed wasted no opportunity to test the budding Patriots against Imperial Navy ships under the guise of training exercises. Detmer had always known that when the secession came, some of the battlefleet would cleave to the old order. But she had not expected the ship that had been one of Tierce’s own flagship escorts to refuse the call.

“The first battle never decides the war, Joao-Paulo.” she responded coolly.

Machado raised a dark eyebrow. For a moment she thought that he was smiling, but it must have been just a trick of the flickering hololith - Detmer couldn’t recall ever having seen Joao-Paulo Machado smile.

“T’ey were happy enough to call you a hero after t’e first battle at Soryt’, I recall.”

Detmer heard her XO curse quietly from his lectern. She remembered that shameful mess as keenly as he did.

Two of your frigates, and the lynchpin cruiser of the Soryth garrison, all lost because you fools didn’t think to hail and ask if you were on the same frakking side.

The situation was confused, admiral. Bastion had their shields up, so we couldn’t hail them...and every astro was telling us something different. It was the fog of war.

It was an Emperor-damn disaster, that’s what it was. Fortunately for you, the brass won’t admit it was a disaster, so instead of punishing you we’re giving you a promotion.

She wasn’t going to let that traitor Machado intimidate her. This wasn’t about the past - any more than this battle was about turning back the overwhelming force of the crusade fleet. It was about getting as many men as they could out so that they could continue the fight. Detmer hoped that the men lost with Revenant and Gladius Nox would rest at the Emperor’s side, faithful in their sacrifice.

Joao-Paulo wouldn’t think so. But then, he thinks the Emperor is as much a bloodthirsty asshole as he is.

“Did you have anything important to say, captain?” she asked the hololith, pointedly.

“Only t’at I’ll be seeing you again soon, Jess. And t’at in t’e meantime, I will be entertaining t’e survivors from Revenant in your stead.”

Detmer’s expression darkened. “They launched lifeboats. Those men are prisoners of war.”

Machado’s eyes were as black and emotionless as a shark’s. “T’ey are mutineers, Jessika. You know what t’e punishment is.”

Detmer was vaguely aware of her hands snapping down to her sides and clenching into fists.

“You’re a bastard, Machado. You always were.”

“Your revelation or your damnation, Jessika. Either way, I bring you death.”

“Cut the transmission.” Detmer ordered, slashing her hand at her comms officer. Machado’s shark face pixillated, and vanished.

“Warp engines are fully spooled.” a red-robed priest reported from below. “Translation in ten seconds.”

Detmer clenched her teeth. “Get us out of here.”

+ + + + + +

Objective secured: Defeat enemy destroyer squadron

HDMS Pillar of Intent

“So what do we do about them, sir?” Struss asked, indicating the tacticae. On the green-hatched display, Revenant’s lifeboats were arcing slowly as they used their limited fuel to try and bring their passengers back into stable orbit above Baraspine.

“Retaliator’s moving to pick them up.” Aeneas observed, watching as the other frigate’s icon heeled reluctantly away from the warp corona where Ancona had been a few minutes before.

“I don’t think the prisoners will be in for an easy ride from those guys.” Bernd commented from the dirigarium station.

No. Aeneas agreed privately. But we’re not close enough to stop them.

“Captain?” Marie piped up, “Retaliator is broadcasting something.”

Aeneas frowned. “Let’s hear it?”

With a few rune-strikes on Marie’s console, a starched Tephainian voice came flooding from the vox casters studded around the bridge.

“...is acting captain Maximilian Thark of the Mors Indecepta. This is a priority one astropathic communique, repeat, priority one. There has been an insurrection at the Perinetus shipyards. Dozens of Navy assets have been captured or destroyed. This heresy cannot stand. It will not stand. As the highest ranking officer remaining in the Perinetus defence squadron, I am instructing all vessels loyal to the Emperor and His imperium to rally to the Ice Belt jump point over Coseflame…”

“Who’s that?” Struss asked, looking at the captain.

Aeneas’ frown deepened. “That’s the recall order that the Patriots used to trick most of the remaining loyalists into an ambush at the start of the war.”

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

+ + + + + +

Imperial boarding party, fugitive Baraspini shuttle
Leading officer: commander Banastre Thurlow

Beyond the pressurised hull, the void was alive with smaller craft - fighter craft, escaping orbiters, boarding pods chasing them down. Ban Thurlow’s world was much smaller, narrowed to the spinal corridor of a crippled orbiter as he led his squad along. There were times when taking a step back to survey the bigger picture had its uses, but Ban was a front-line leader at heart, no matter how many times his family had told him that such a trait was wasted in a Navy man.

They had been studious, his family, but too serious; too charmless. Always harking back to his famous grandfather’s Navy legacy, but never actually having the courage to build on it. Ban was the one who had struck out and made his own bright future, or so he told himself. If he had shown no aptitude for command after turning up at Ichabarr - with only a purchased commission to his name, having frittered away the rest of his family inheritance - then no doubt he would have died penniless on the streets of some backwater planet, and had his name stricken from the Thurlow genealogy records to boot.

Ever since he had stepped off that transport, with half the possessions he had embarked with, and a legendary reputation among the ship’s casino goers, Banastre Thurlow had felt at home in the Imperial Navy. He had always been good at motivating people - and as it turned out, that was a useful skill for a junior officer to have. The rest had come with time...as had the promotions. But even now, nothing beat the rush of leading men - his men - over the bodies of an enemy crew.

Ban had a simple creed for command: give the men tough love, give them a bit of rope on shore leave, and most important of all give them victory. Well they had a victory now - as clean a start to the campaign as could be wished for.

“For Adrantis!”

He ducked aside just in time as a defender’s shotgun savaged the wall, spalling off chips and ricochets. He flinched as a shard of metal whined off his armourglass visor. The offending Patriot went down bracketed by three shots - one Ban’s own, the others from the two men either side of him. Ban stooped to police the corpse, and was astonished to see governess Yennifer Vel-Cyvasse’s personal heraldry emblazoned across the man’s blood-spattered void suit.

“Bloody hell.” he said, gesturing to bring the platoon’s attention to his discovery. “I think we hit the jackpot, lads!”

The revelation galvanised the boarding party’s efforts. They met resistance from more bodyguards determined to die rather than abandon their Tarot-ordained leader, but these were men trained for ground combat, and Ban’s numbers, armour and boarding drills steadily swept them aside.

Most of the passenger cabins they encountered were empty, but one was conspicuously locked. As soon as one of his sergeants voxed the finding, Ban headed straight for the offending cabin. Like the other cabin doors on the orbiter it was hinged steel panelled over with wood, more suited to a pleasure cruiser than a military vessel. He regarded the gold-filigreed panels for a moment, then thumped on them with his armoured glove.

"Good morning, madame governor!” he called out, in his best Baraspini gothic. “Can I trouble you to come out?"

"I demand parole!" a shaky, muffled voice replied.

Behind his visor, Ban pressed his tongue against his teeth. "We can talk about that in a moment. Do you have any guards in there with you?"

"Just one."

"Would they kindly slide any weapons they might be carrying under the door?"

"And leave me defenceless?" Vel-Cyvasse protested.

"I understand your concern, ma’am. But I have concern for my men as well, and I'd rather not have to burn a hole in this door and lob a grenade through it to ensure their safety, if you see my point of view?"

Ban heard footsteps and a brief scuffle, and an immaculately tooled flechette gun came scraping out through the gap between the door and the floor. A scavenged fire axe followed it.

“Wonderful.” Ban said, as one of his marines stooped to recover the weapons. “If you’d unlock the door and come out now, please?”

There was a clack as the bolts were drawn back, and the door clicked open. A bent-backed old woman shuffled out, weeping and covering her face - from the shame of capture, Ban thought, until he remembered the cultural hangups the Baraspini had around showing their faces to anyone but the Emperor.

The poor bitch must have left her mask behind when they pulled her out of bed. Or maybe she lost it on the way to the starport.

Ban looked around, and saw a dead bodyguard slumped against the wall nearby. He unhooked the mask from around the dead man’s head, cuffed the blood spatter from its copper face, and held it out to Vel-Cyvasse.

“Here.” he said, but as her spidery fingers clutched the mask the Baraspini governess only began to sob harder.

She was followed out of the room by an equally decrepit old man, and a copper-masked guard who stumbled out after them as if he were walking through a dream.

“Emperor’s teeth.” one of Ban’s marines commented as the old man shuffled past him, leaning heavily on a silver cane. “What does she see in that old husk? He looks senile as frak.”

"Show respect, armsman.” Ban chided, then clapped his fellow boarder on the shoulder plate. “Besides, if she wanted quick wits she'd have married me."

+ + + + + +

HDMS Damnatus, Baraspine orbit
Six hours after hive Alda surrender

The flagship’s praetorium was more a palace than a living quarters. The nahlwood table in its grand dining room could seat twenty, and the curved sweep of the wall mounted a vast pict-skin array, showing the view from the ship’s ventral hull cameras as they hung in geostationary orbit above hive Alda. The Baraspini high command had capitulated within hours of the fall of Kephistron starport, though isolated pockets of Divinatory Guard who trusted their Tarot prophesies more than their generals had continued resisting long into the night. No doubt some would burrow away into the underhive before they could be disarmed, and plague the Imperial reclaimers for years to come.

Now that night had fallen, the destruction wrought in the brief invasion was evident - though webs of orange light still winked from the eastern crescent of hive Alda, much of the western sector was black shadow. Above the planetary disc the Glom was uglier than ever, its scars from the orbital battle far more evident.

We’ll have to rebuild, and soon. commodore Tehrani mused. Not just so that the ongoing crusade would have the functional base it needed, but so that they didn’t create an army of sick, starving hivers who would try to overthrow the Imperial garrison once again as soon as the main force had departed.

At least they wouldn’t have to worry overmuch about the rest of the Patriot military. Alda might be only one hive, but it was the largest of the Baraspini cities, and the only one with a starport. Five hundred miles of craggy, storm-blasted wasteland separated Alda from its nearest neighbour, making an effective counterattack unlikely before the Militarum could regroup, remobilise, and besiege the other cities at their leisure. The Crusade’s data analysts predicted that the capital continent would be back in Imperial hands within six months, and the rest of the planet within five years.

“It’s up to the Guard now, I suppose.” she said aloud.

“We’ve cleared the first hurdle without stumbling, yes.” admiral Bravick agreed.

In opposition to his flagship’s opulent praetorium, Tehrani was struck by how unassuming the fleet admiral was. He stood at only average height in his green Ixaniad uniform, which contrasted with his terracotta skin and wispy white hair, and he often looked down his long tapir-like nose as if lost in some thought. Unlike the bombastic crusade Warmaster, he spoke sparingly, and when they entered the dining hall he had greeted the usher lieutenant at the door by name. Bravick had seemingly shared Tehrani’s preference for being half an hour early for every engagement, and so for now they had the whole room to themselves.

“But,” the admiral added, looking down, “A lot of good men paid for it.”

Tehrani could tell that he was thinking of 4th squadron. Bravick had ordered Ramazov into battle with the Patriot relief fleet, and although the outcome was not of his making, it was still clear that he felt the deaths aboard Fulmen and Accipiter keenly. Perhaps the admiral sensed that he was being morose, because he looked up a moment later and met Tehrani’s eyes.

“You did well, Nasim. You took the orbital in four hours despite the Republic mercenaries stationed there.”

“Eppie’s armsmen did most of the heavy lifting.” Tehrani said, fairly. Well, them and the Sisters - but her former superior aboard Impiger needed the credit more. “And the youngblood Aeneas gave us the breathing room to do it.”

She paused, thinking on the reports that she had been handed after the action.

“Captain Machado co-ordinated our other frigates well. He might be worth considering for a squadron command.”

Bravick massaged his cleanshaven chin, frowning. “I’m not sure I’d be wise to give a man like Joao-Paulo more ships. The more powerful I make him, the more likely he is to try and take on the whole Republic Navy by himself.”

[Azazeal849]

Spoiler: Campaign 2 preview 

Squadron flagship HDMS Vehemens
Two hours after stand-down from action stations

The boarding pods returned raggedly, some sprinting ahead to bring wounded armsmen aboard, others limping behind from damage. Enginseers made tallies; ratings strained to haul in the guns; and medicae staff sweated over the long lines of wounded. The shift bells chimed, and the battle-weary crews who had been on duty longest slumped off gratefully to the inner decks. Some dropped into a dead sleep as soon as they reached their berths. Others, those with some spark of energy left, used it to shout and cavort and drink themselves blind in celebration of surviving one more battle.

In the commodore’s praetorium aboard Vehemens, the senior officers of the 5th cruiser squadron and their attached escorts also celebrated, in an only slightly more decorous fashion. The grand, vaulted hall of the triclinium was achingly familiar to Elspeth von Scharn, but the exuberant energy surrounding her helped to keep the smile on her face. She shook hands with the captain of the Resurgent, shared a drink with the young devil Aeneas from Pillar of Intent, and managed to make her way through a conversation with commodore Tehrani before she departed for the admiral’s flagship. The most valuable output of that conversation had been a hint towards their next operation - it seemed that Tarpeian and Albinius were leaning on admiral Bravick to detach part of the fleet to Coseflame, to take back the symbolic shrine world. It reeked of a political decision, not a military one.

That's what worries me.

It was hardly the first political manoeuvre it had become necessary to accommodate today. Her Impiger was currently playing host to a familiar band of inquisition agents, who had decided that her ship was the safest and least spy-infested place to operate out of while the Guard finished pacifying the surface. Throne agents...how I do seem to collect them. At least this time they were making themselves useful. Elspeth twirled her cigarette holder between her fingers, thoughtfully.

“Smoke?” a Tranch-accented voice asked, and Elspeth glanced round to see Retaliator’s captain Machado offering her a lho.

“I suppose we did just win a victory.” she allowed, with a flicker of a smile.

“On t’e dayside at least.” Machado’s tone was as blunt as his angular face.

Elspeth hummed in agreement, and leaned forward to allow Machado to light her lho stick from a gold-plated igniter. Barely 20,000 km away, above the planet’s tidally locked darkside, they had lost almost the entire 4th squadron to the Patriot ambush fleet. A planetspan away. Barely a mid-range macro shot. And they dived in and out while we were still brawling with the monitors.

It was an ugly scar on an otherwise hard-won victory. Ramazov’s squadron should have been able to recover the situation and sweep the unsupported enemy cruisers out of existence. Instead the Nebula frigate had appeared to free up its flagship for vital minutes, and a single nova shot had done the rest.

Elspeth thought of the void outside, still clogged with broken metal and broken bodies. It might be weeks before the corpse scows and debris shunts cleared them all, and Baraspini scavengers would no doubt be picking skyfall out of the deserts for years to come.

“Any news of Ramazov?” she asked. All she had heard so far was that frigates had been dispatched to grav-tether the crippled Accipiter, Fulmen and Scimitar back into high orbit until the mechanicus could arrive to begin repairs.

“I hear he lost an arm and half his face.” Machado said.

Elspeth nearly winced - she had liked the genial old commodore, despite his fox-hunter tendencies. He had even remained on her side after the Coreltis debacle. This time though, it seemed that he had pressed his quarry too hard.

“Tapken was more lucky.” Machado went on. “Barely a scratch on him, unlike the rest of his bridge crew.”

“Thank the Emperor for small mercies.”

Machado grunted. “Perhaps.”

Elspeth tapped ash into a glass tray on the neighbouring table. The loss of two of the crusade fleet’s line cruisers would mean an inquiry by high command - and an enquiry would mean recriminations. The Navy needed a single face to blame for incompetence, or else the general populace might begin to think that the Holy Fleet itself was fallible. Elspeth had experienced that logic first hand, and she had a sinking feeling that her old friend Ramazov was about to as well. Unless they decide that putting a badly wounded man on the propaganda reels is too much - which would leave Tapken in the firing line.

“They warped in when Fulmen was pinned against the orbital ring.” she said, shaking her head. “There was little he could have done.”

Machado shrugged. “When a ship goes down, t’e captain is always responsible.”

Elspeth frowned. “Indeed.” Or the commodore. She would have suspected an insult, if she hadn’t known Machado’s own history. His own commander...and in full view of the crew.

Seeking to steer the conversation away from uncomfortable territory, she gestured with her holder towards one of the tables. “I see that my XO has met yours.”

Ban was making introductions with a tall, clean-cut man in an impeccably tailored dress uniform. As Elspeth might have expected, her commander already had a sizeable drink in hand as he leaned on the table. The governess might have been on any one of those escaping starships, but good fortune was good fortune, and Ban Thurlow was not a man to pass up celebrating such.

Machado was less impressed. “To look at t’ose two you’d t’ink we already won the war.”

“Your name’s Thurlow?” Retaliator’s XO was blurting. He looked like a scholem boy on excursion, his eyes wide in the middle of his handsome, clean-shaven face. “As in Linebreaker Lazarus Thurlow?”

“My grandfather.” Elspeth caught Ban replying, and distinctly saw him exhale. “As my parents were never tired of bringing up at parties.”

“Wow.” said the other XO. He did not seem to catch the hint that Ban himself was apathetic about bringing his famous ancestor up at this party.

“Wow indeed.” Ban agreed. “I’ve been trying to step out of his shadow.”

If he had been hoping to nudge onto the subject of the governess he was disappointed - again, his counterpart missed the point. “So he inspired you to join the Holy Fleet?”

“After a fashion.” Ban evaded. He lifted his glass to his lips and downed the dangerous concoction in a single swallow.

“How strong is that stuff?” Machado’s handsome XO inquired.

“Pretty strong.” Ban seemed glad of the change of subject, because he visibly brightened. “Last time I had three glasses and got into a heated argument with lieutenant Volta’s cat.”

The other man chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Then I’ll match you for four and watch you finish the argument!”

“Geil.” Ban agreed in distinctly Axinite slang as his opposite number strode purposefully off towards the drinks stand. He looked around for reinforcements, and managed to lasso one of Impiger’s’s bridge lieutenants.

“Scarlet!” he hailed her. “You see the unreasonably handsome XO standing at the bar? He’s about to get horrifically drunk. Can you keep an eye on him please? He seems to be a fan of family history, so maybe you could distract him with that story about your aunt Kristie and the Hrud.”

Thurlow caught Elspeth’s eye as he extricated himself, and she had to smile.

“You know you don't have to drink to have fun, Ban.”

“I know, ma’am. I drink so that everyone else seems more fun.” He turned to her companion. “Would this be captain Machado?”

Retaliator’s captain seemed to be sizing the younger man up. “I am he.” he said, stiffly.

“Then I owe you a debt of thanks, sir. You kept those Patriot frigates off our backs long enough for my armsmen to do their job.” He extended his hand. “Banastre Thurlow at your service, sir. My friends call me Ban.”

Machado did not proffer his own hand. “I’m sure they do.”

Thurlow’s smile wavered. He hovered for a moment, and then managed to convert the hanging handshake into a vague sort of wave. “I’ll leave you to it, sir. Ma’am.”

He sketched a stiff little bow and hastily withdrew.

“That was a little bit harsh.” Elspeth opined. “Do you hate to see the men enjoying themselves that much?”

Machado weighed his answer for a moment. “I have a skepticism for charmers. And someone young, wit’ a good family name, man of t’e hour after finding t’e governess...an ambitious man in t’at position might start getting ideas.”

“He wouldn’t.” Elspeth refuted calmly, and realised that it was true - she had suspected Ban herself when he first tried to befriend her, but over time she had come to realise that he was more a social butterfly than a social climber, and that maybe all that time he spent with the junior officers wasn’t just to avoid the scandal of getting some admiral’s daughter pregnant instead. A rating at heart. If he hadn’t been born into old money, Elspeth had come to believe that he would have been just as happy as a sergeant.

“You know your officers better t’an me.” Machado tactfully retreated. “But if I may advocate for Horus, I do find it beneficial to suspect everyone of treachery, even just as a t’ought experiment.”

“I can understand why you’d think that way.” Elspeth allowed. She puffed thoughtfully on her holder, and tilted her head back to blow smoke towards the ceiling. “Very well. What’s your thought experiment concerning my executive officer?”

Machado didn’t hesitate. “Even if a man doesn’t play t’e game, he can be pushed around by people who do. If someone t’ought it was beneficial to t’em for t’e crusade’s new hero to be in command of Impiger, I’m sure t’ey wouldn’t hesitate to have him step over you to get it done.”

“Step over figuratively or literally?” Elspeth asked, with a wry smile. “I suppose you’re right. However, I’m not sure that it’s healthy to be focusing on possible traitors within when we’ve got very obvious traitors without to contend with.”

“I disagree.” Machado said, putting down his glass. “Fighting against other humans wit’ an idea as powerful as t’e Adrantean Republic is exactly when we should be most vigilant.”

Something in his voice gave Elspeth pause. Oh dear. she thought grimly. Wait until this one hears that we’re headed for Coseflame. Coseflame, where the self-proclaimed Republic had lanced the Vigil convent and slaughtered the loyal ships of Battlefleet Adrantis piecemeal.

The only motivation worse than political. Personal.

[Azazeal849]

CAMPAIGN 2

Spoiler: HDMS Pillar of Intent, HDMS Retaliator, HDMS Resurgent, Shepherd of Light - Coseflame 

HDMS Vehemens, flagship, Coseflame relief fleet
Imperial objectives: Break Patriot blockade and support loyalist ground troops

Commodore Tehrani blinked, resisting the urge to rub at her itching eyes. She shouldn’t have been tired, but something about the warp made sleep unrefreshing, and made a half-hour’s work ache like a full day’s labour. But they were here now, and rest before the battle was not a luxury that the Guardsmen on the surface of Coseflame could afford. The entire crew of the Vehemens had been standing-to ever since the warp transition alarms had wailed through the decks.

“Translation complete, commodore! Impiger and Accusator are reforming on us and standing by!”

Behind the knife-grey flagship a tear in space imploded, throwing out a final starburst of un-light that crawled across the hull until the void shields lit and cast it back with ripples of force. Behind the flicker-field, thrusters flared to correct the axial roll imparted by the warp currents that had tossed them back into realspace.

As the warp augers cast their eyes out across the surrounding void, contact alarms began to flash.

“Alright.” Tehrani said guardedly as she paced to the observation pulpit and stared down. “What are we dealing with?”

An aide detached himself from the circle of tech-priests praying around the auger hololith and hurried up the mason stair to the pulpit.

“Two cruisers and six escorts ma’am. Range twenty thousand.”

That was close - damnably close. The bastards had been waiting in force right by the jump point.

This was not the kind of fight most void captains preferred, and no doubt the Patriots had been banking on that fact. Void war was by convention a slower war, taking all the frantic adrenaline of ground combat and drawing it out. On orbital approach, a captain might see the outcome in the opening maneuvers, but then have to wait half an hour for the inevitable, withering lance fire to tear their ship apart. Combat in low orbit, or at a jump point ambush was, by contrast, the exact opposite - a messy, close-range brawl. But Nasim Tehrani had cut her teeth on three planetary invasions, not including the recent victory at Baraspine. She thrived on messy.

“Punch straight through.” she decided. “On the return pass we can split and flank them once our escorts have drawn off the Cobras.” No captain wanted a volley of torpedoes up their tailpipe while they were making a return arc. “Signal Pillar and Retaliator, tell them to go snake-hunting. And tell Aeneas and Machado to watch out for those cruisers.”

Aeneas she could trust to be cautious, but she still wasn’t sure if Machado wasn’t the type of man to charge right through a battlecruiser’s fire arc if it lay between him and his prey.

And Chao... Well, the mechanicus were a law unto themselves - and that went double for their Titan legions. The Shepherd was the one element in her squadron that she knew next to nothing about, and had no official control over. Not that Chao’s snub-nosed brawler of a ship looked like it needed much of her help.

“Keep Shepherd covered.” she ordered towards the helm. “Let’s see how they enjoy her popping out and serving them a bombardment cannon straight to the face.”

+ + + + + +

HDMS Impiger

Aboard Impiger, the deck vibrated with transferred force as incoming fire bloomed like white-hot flowers across the void shields.

"Turn off the arming delay on the torps.” von Scharn snapped at her weapons officer. “We're right on them."

The officer saluted an acknowledgement and jammed his eyes back against the scopes. “No kidding, ma’am.” he called back. “We don't so much need to fire the main battery as throw something out the window at them. Bridge to main director, fire as you bear!"

Around them the Impiger rumbled as its decks of macrocannon fired at point blank range, puffs of plasma exhaust jetting from the flank turrets like a rain of signal flares. Another enemy salvo battered the shields in return, and deflected energy spread across the warp sensor map.

“Frakking hell.” Thurlow muttered as he gripped a polished guard rail for support. “Are they never going to get tired of shooting us?”

“Maybe they heard about you and the governess, Ban.” von Scharn offered. She had meant it facetiously, but realised she might have hit a raw nerve when her XO’s lip twisted.

“I was trying to help her, damn it!” he cursed, though his gaze drifting off to the side told Elspeth that the rebuke was directed less at her than at the Patriot propaganda machine that had spread the tale far and wide. “I knew the Baraspini don’t like showing their faces, I didn’t know one bloody mask from another.”

He caught himself and straightened.

“Sorry captain, this isn’t the time.”

“The fault was mine.” Elspeth apologised in turn. “I-”

The deck shuddered, and warning alarms began to chime.

“Portside voids are overheating, captain.” a tech-adept on the lower deck warned. “Scutarium cluster B is currently venting and recycling. Backup voids are at 50% capacity.”

Elspeth was tempted to order a 180 portside roll, but that would leave only the dorsal turrets to harry the enemy until the starboard battery could be brought to bear. The Patriot cruiser could have pumped three more salvos into them by then.

What on Terra are they hitting us with? she cursed inwardly. “Augers, get me a bloom analysis on the enemy weapon batteries. And as soon as Accusator has fighters in the void I want their visual report!”

+ + + + + +

Imperial objective: Disrupt enemy escort screen

“Enemy squadron on attack vector.” a junior officer reported from Pillar of Intent’s sensori station. “Two cruisers, possibly battlecruisers. Six Cobra destroyers supporting.”

“The commodore requests we engage the enemy escorts, sir.” Marie added from the vox. “Audax is awaiting attack plan.”

Awaiting attack plan. Gunnery officer Struss caught the captain’s eye across the strategium and grinned. The fleet had stopped short of granting Aeneas and Machado squadron leader status, but they had designated them the lead vessels in their picket pairs, which was the next best thing. Commander Harwood on Audax would look to them to steer their course into the enemy fleet, and likewise commander Sheldrake on Defensor would be looking for Retaliator to lead.

“Captain!” the sensori reported, looking up from his array of green-hatched screens and spinning hololiths. “Emission spectra on the capital ships suggest the Exitus Est and the Corrino, both Chalice class.”

“Chalice class?” Struss creased his brow. “Our heavy hitters might be better staying in close rather than making a flyby.”

He saw Aeneas cocking an eyebrow in his direction and elaborated.

“The Chalices are down-armoured for speed. They can shoot those overcharged plasma batteries of theirs all day at long range, but up close they don’t take return fire so well.”

“I never heard about that.” lieutenant Horst frowned.

Struss shrugged. “The Navy and the mechanicus don’t like to advertise that their prize pet has a design flaw. From the fact they were lurking so close to the jump point, I’m guessing some admiral started believing his own hype.”

+ + + + + +

HDMS Resurgent

As attack craft began to swarm like angry hornets from the flank launch bays of Accusator, a smaller nest of Furies was breaking free from Resurgent. Commander Nials felt a familiar falling sensation as his interceptor dropped beyond the home ship’s arti-grav generators, a feeling which became a force pushing him back into his seat as the thrusters engaged. He clenched his jaw against the acceleration and turned his eyes to the screens, projectors and transparisteel windows englobing him. Some said that a star pilot had to look in six directions at once; Hector Nials had perfected the art.

With no enemy attack craft in the void yet, he and his squadron had comparative freedom of operation. They could be the eyes of the fleet, or its shield: screening the Imperial ships from incoming torpedoes. They could even be the tip of the spear, linking up with Accusator’s bomber squadrons for their attack run on the enemy battlecruisers.

[Derpnaster]

"Alright boys let's give em hell. Spearhead pattern, give those bombers a screen and open a hole for them. "
Nials and his squadron formed up. keeping just behind and above the bombers, ready to intercept and remove any threat to them.

On board Resurgent command and control Captain Flint stood firm.
"Furies keep those bombers clear. Deck crews get ready to receive ships. I want maximum turnaround. Voidsmen arm up and get ready."

[Azazeal849]

Spoiler: HDMS Resurgent, Coseflame 

IFF signals pinged back and forth across the auspex net as Resurgent’s fighter wing took up position.

“Good morning!” a jovial voice crackled across Nials’ headphones, roughened by interference and what he suspected might be an augmetic throat implant. “Glad to have you guys with us. Keep vector one seven five minus forty, no sense in us running through the destroyers’ point defence grid.”

Far ahead, distant scatters of light against the black marked the furious broadsides of the enemy cruisers. Closer at hand, the Patriot destroyers traded volleys of fire with their own frigate screen. Nails heard a soft rattling against his cockpit canopy - micro debris, he knew; kicked out by ordnance breaking against void shields. His Fury’s armour was designed to shrug off such high-velocity shrapnel.

“Commander!” a pilot off to the left of his escort line voxed in warning. “New contacts at ten o’clock high, moving fast.”

As Nials re-tuned his augers, he saw them detaching like seed pods from the fins of the enemy Cobras - four from the closest, another four from the one behind.

Clever bastards.

The Patriot destroyers had mag-locked a handful of Fury interceptors to their airlock collars. Probably no reloading infrastructure, and probably not even any way to re-dock without a servitor shuttle to guide them in, but enough fuel and ammo for one sortie. Enough to maul an incoming bomber wave into shreds.

“Enemy fighters.” Nails heard the bombers’ flight leader warn as his own augers pinged the threat.

“The frak did they come from!?” another bomber voxed, breaking radio discipline out of shock.

“Cut the chatter, Blue Six!” the flight leader snapped back. “All Starhawks maintain formation, maximum flak! Resurgent squadron, we need you guys up there right now!”

[dakkagor]

"Keep us in formation, and maximum power to fore voids." Chao barked as the forward shields of the Shepherd rippled under fire. "Sensori, liaise with archives. I want a full rundown of capabilities of the two capital craft. Signal to Tehrani that I will follow her lead and orders."

She focused on the tacticae plotting, as sensor data scrolled in, and around her tech priests and servitors scrambled to follow her orders. Something crossed her mind and she opened a channel to the midships barracks.

"Domina Rackham. Boarding assessment please."

Rackham was one of the subordinate Domina aboard. Rho had ground command, but the Skitarii functioned best with direct oversight from a priest. Rackham, and a small conclave like her, provided that oversight. Her monstrously augmented face appeared on the screen, a mass of optics on one side, and sensor spines, cables and plates covering the other. The overall effect was like a weapon turrets sensor skull, and considering Rackhams experience as a Secutor, it was entirely possible that was what she had remodeled her skull on.

"Ship-mistress" Rackham wheezed. "We are under supplied for a boarding action. Rho retained 75% of the remaining skitarii with the Titans. I can hurry along the re-processing of our wounded and recyclable, but it won't make much difference"

"Defensively?"

"Defensively we are better positioned. The Shepherd of Light itself will aid in our defense, and our troops can better withstand hard vacuum than baselines."

"Understood. Stand your troops too and prepare for further orders. Ave Omnissiah."

"Ave Omnissiah, Ship-mistress."

The image dissolved into fuzzy light as another techpriestess trundled towards her. Trailing purity seals, with golden thuribles smoking with incense hanging from articulated racks mounted to a crooked back, Mistress of Archives Dehl Koudrakis was a distinctive and revered figure aboard ship. She turned her gilt-and-stained glass face to Chao and her long, branching mechanical fingers formed a perfect cog and skull before her.

"Ship mistress, as requested I have archives analysis. The two ships are Chalice Class Battlecruisers, a local design native to the Calixis Sector." She gestured to the tactical display as the bridge lights dimmed and the Shepherd shook again. The tactical map dissolved into a spinning schematic of the elegant warships.

"Capabilities?"

"3.4 max gravities acceleration, thin armour, long range super-fired plasma batteries. Sustained fire from the batteries can trigger catastrophic plasma leaks. The Chalice was intended to be swift, hit hard at long range, and flee anything it could not immediately overpower."

"A very focused design." Chao mused, before starting. "It reminds me of the old Carnage class cruisers. We need to close the range." She wheeled and raised her voice. "Signal to the Impiger that we will close with the one on our left flank. Tell them I have a plan to reduce their incoming fire, and request permission for us to break formation and engage. Armoury, load proximity blind barrages for the bombardment cannon. Set the fuse at twenty thousand k, and warn our fighter escort to stay clear of the bastards prow, then prep for close in fire."

"What about the destroyers?" Her gunnery chief queried. "There are still six damn cobras out there."

"Damn the cobras. They'll be busy with our escorts. You have my permission to use the broadside guns for any target of opportunity."

She listened to the affirmatives and waited for Tehrani to give her the permission she needed.

[Azazeal849]

Spoiler: HDMS Retaliator, HDMS Resurgent, Shepherd of Light - Coseflame 

HDMS Vehemens

Tehrani’s comms overseer frowned at the missive from the Shepherd, even as he read it. “That’s…” he hunted for the right word. “Bold by mechanicus standards.”

The commodore offered him a wolfish smile. “Call it what it is - it’s a mad frakking plan. The kind I like best.”

And the kind we need right now.

The two fleets were raking through each other's paths, the two enemy battlecruisers diverging slightly as they sought to keep optimal weapons range. The one on the right flank had focused down Accusator, and the carrier was taking a hammering as it sought to scramble and organise a fighter screen on its unengaged side. Impiger was being hit hard by the other Chalice, and Vehemens itself had been forced to turn away by a torpedo volley from three of the Cobras, while the other three sought to screen out the imperial squadron's own escorts.

It looked like everything would hinge on the next few minutes: whether Resurgent’s fighters would punch a route for the bomber wave, and whether that combined with Shepherd’s maneuver would be enough to take at least one of the enemy cruisers out of commission.

“Sensorium reports torpedoes passed to starboard, commodore!”

Tehrani snapped her hand in a circle as she pushed away from the comms pit. “Bring us around! Get my ship back in this fight!”

+ + + + + +

Shepherd of Light

Chao saw Impiger’s voids fail: a storm of impacts that started at the bow with bursts and flickers of un-light, and ended at the stern with slivers of plasma spilling white fire across the drive section. The cruiser yawed slightly as sections of armour and gun turrets were gouged away and spat across the void in molten shards. It replied with another rolling barrage from its own portside battery.

“Flagship confirms, ship-mistress.” the comms chief reported. “Also, a message from Impiger. Message reads, So is it time to execute your very bold, deeply insane plan, then?”

+ + + + + +

Retaliator

If the cruisers were the lions, growling and circling as they tested each other’s defences, then the frigates were the jackals darting around their feet. On the right flank Pillar of Intent and Audax were maneuvering to ward the Patriot destroyers away from the flagship, while around them the Patriot’s surprise fighter element had unfolded like a steel claw to rake through the Imperials’ own attack wave. On the left, the cross-hatching volleys of capital grade weaponry were mirrored on a smaller scale as the two frigate screens crossed.

The Cobra at the far end of the Patriot formation took up evasive maneuvers as it was bracketed by Defensor on its right and Retaliator on its left, Machado’s heavy frigate spreading wings of light as it unleashed both of its flank laser batteries. The unengaged Cobra at the other end of the line was forced to check fire and shift targets as Retaliator steered skillfully to put the centre Cobra between them.

Still, engaged from two sides, Retaliator’s voids began to blister and fail. Its heavy armour plates withstood the battering as the bracketed Cobra’s shields also collapsed. Dorsal macrocannon turrets on the frigate tracked, glowed, and spat flares of plasma. The star-bright pyros rounds flashed away into pinpricks, vanished, then lit again a thousand kilometres distant as they cored through the staggering Cobra. The destroyer spat fiery exit wounds from its starboard flank and began to spin end over end, a lethal rotation that would eventually shear off most of its superstructure and kill all of its crew as the gravitic compensators lost power.

The two squadrons completed their pass and began to turn, nipping at each other with ventral and quarter-mounted turrets as they drew apart. The imperial Swords arced up and over to re-engage. The nimble Patriot Cobras hooked left. Leaving their stricken comrade to twirl away into the void like a burning catherine wheel, they skidded round and, with veteran precision, aligned their bows with the flaring stardrives of Shepherd and Impiger. Four torpedoes speared into the void, trailing wakes of plasma light.