by Andy Hoare
A kilometre off the Blade of Woe’s starboard bow lay the Niobe, an Overlord class battlecruiser captained by one Captain Joachim, whom Lucian had met once at council and had taken an instant dislike to. Joachim, it transpired, was the youngest son of the Cabiri dynasty, a rogue trader clan that Lucian’s family had clashed with over trading rights three centuries earlier. Though Lucian bore the man no ill will, Joachim evidently felt that some form of feud existed between the two. Lucian had been in no mood to pander to Joachim’s folly, and had given him no more thought since. He had decided, however, to keep a weather eye out, lest the son of Cabiri decide to renew his imaginary feud at some inopportune moment in the coming battle.
A pair of cruisers, the Gothic class Lord Cedalion, and the Duchess McIntyre, which was commanded by Captain Natalia, lay to the Niobe’s starboard side. Lucian had gained a solid respect for Natalia, viewing her as one of the most proficient and reliable captains of the fleet, and a definite ally in the incessant political manoeuvring that went on, even amongst the ships’ masters.
The Lunar class cruiser the Honour of Damlass, and her consort, the Dauntless class cruiser Regent Lakshimbal rested at a distance, forming a pair of spiked, black silhouettes against the glowing blue backdrop of the region’s nebulae. This pair would form a cruiser squadron tasked with guarding the fleet’s port flank while the heavier vessels engaged the enemy head on.
Lucian’s vessel sat at the rear of the formation, the Rosetta and the Fairlight in echelon to port behind her. Though he could not see her, Lucian knew that his stern was covered by the Centaur, a newly commissioned Lunar class cruiser yet to fire her first shot in anger.
The nine escort squadrons that the capital vessels would rely on to provide close protection against enemy vessels seeking to get in amongst their formation were scattered throughout this impressive armada. Each squadron consisted of three or four sword frigates or destroyers of various types, and each was led by a squadron leader proven in battle many times over.
Yet, even as Lucian looked out at the fleet, each of its vessels bristling with mighty weapons and laden with crew eager to fight for the cause of humanity, his mind drifted back, weeks before, to the encounter he had had with the derelict battlecruiser Ajax. Following Master Karaldi’s prognostication trance, Lucian had been left in no doubt that the vessel was lost in the warp. Yet, when the fleet had mustered at its fourth waypoint during the crossing of the gulf, the Ajax had been there too, intact and fully operational. He had heard tales of such things, read cautionary accounts passed down generations of rogue traders from father to son, but never before had he been so close to witnessing such a phenomenon first hand. Lucian had withheld his account of his encounter with the Ajax, lest the morale of the fleet be adversely affected. He could not, and would not, tell anyone that he had seen the Ajax dead in space, before she had been seen alive and well and operating as part of the fleet, before disappearing once more at the final muster. The warp had inflicted some terrible fate upon the vessel, and he would keep his own counsel on the matter. He knew, however, that the event would stalk him in nightmares for many years to come.
For now, the position in the line normally covered by the Ajax would be covered by the Oceanid and the Rosetta, with the Fairlight in close attendance. Lucian was perfectly able to fulfil the role of a captain of the line, and he had briefed officers placed in temporary charge of the Rosetta and the Fairlight. Both were capable men, eager to prove their worth, and both had served the Arcadius for many long years. Though it pained him to entrust the two vessels to any other than his own blood, Lucian was glad that they were in good hands.
As he watched, Lucian saw the mighty plasma drives of the Blade of Woe flare to life. The armoured glass of the viewing port dimmed automatically, affording Lucian a view of the final jostling for position before the fleet moved to attack the tau world towards which they were ploughing.
‘Any moment now, sir,’ Katona said, anticipating Lucian’s question. ‘All commands have called in their final telemetries.’
‘Well enough, Mister Katona,’ Lucian replied, affording himself a wolfish grin at the prospect of the coming scrap. Turning from the port, he strode the length of the bridge, taking the time to look over the shoulder of each of the Navy bridge crew. All was well, each officer going about his duty as if born to it. They probably were, he mused, knowing that each man would hail from a naval line as old as the Arcadius.
‘Let’s get things moving, shall we?’ Lucian asked no one in particular. ‘Mister Ruuben’, Lucian addressed the seconded navy helmsman, ‘you have control of my vessel. I care for her very deeply. Treat her well, understood?’
The helmsman, evidently a veteran of several calamitous battles by the terrible burn scars that marred his bald pate, turned at his station and bowed to Lucian. ‘I’ll take care of her like she’s my own, my lord. You have my word.’
‘I’ll hold you to it, Mister Ruuben,’ Lucian replied. He liked the man already, though he deeply mourned the loss of Raldi, and above all the manner of that loss.
Settling in to his command throne, Lucian savoured the feeling that few others could understand: to command a warship, to order her into battle, to hold in one’s hand such awesome destruction as she could unleash, and to bear the responsibility of thousands of lives. It was his birthright and his burden, and he would not trade moments such as this for all Macharius’s gold.
‘Signal from fleet command,’ Mister Katona called out.
‘Patch it through,’ Lucian ordered.
The bridge was suddenly filled with the open master command channel, the echoes of a thousand communications bleeding through the signal to produce a cacophonous riot of distorted and unintelligible noise. Then, the channel cleared, and a single voice rang out.
‘Masters and officers of the Damocles Gulf crusade fleet.’ Lucian smiled, recognising instantly Admiral Jellaqua’s proud and authoritative voice. Gurney might exercise control over the council, but out here, in the cold of space and the heat of battle, it was Jellaqua and the ships’ masters that wielded true power. ‘We have come a long way, all of us together, but we now stand at the point of decision. Soon, we shall do battle with the tau. Where previously these xenos have infiltrated our systems and skirmished with our patrols, now we shall truly show them the might of the Imperial Navy. We know not what we might face here, but I know this: every one of you, I have no doubt, will give his all in the service of our cause. Whatever they throw at us, we shall counter them, with fire and shell, with blood and honour, with hatred and bile!’
Lucian saw the men and women of the seconded Navy bridge crew smile, as he had a moment earlier. Though they maintained an appropriate formality and discipline, he saw in the eyes of each a heartfelt respect and affection for the admiral, a genuine love of their master and commander. Such a thing was rare indeed in a Navy that relied as much on indentured or outright press-ganged labour as it did on the noble lines from which these officers were drawn. Many a ship’s master was a figure of hatred and fear amongst his crew, and admirals even more so, for they wielded, and frequently exercised, the power to condemn thousands of souls to cold oblivion with but a word.
‘The order is given, loyal servants of the throne,’ Jellaqua’s voice continued. ‘I charge each of you with this sacred duty. Bring the tau to heel. Show them the fire in your souls. Do so with nobility. Be glorious in victory, and show honour to the defeated. Do this, and live forever at the right hand of the Emperor!’
‘And one more thing,’ Jellaqua continued, just as Lucian was sure he must be done, ‘good hunting.’
The bridge crew erupted in cheers, even old Batista, Lucian’s ordnance officer, joining in the impromptu show of emotion. Lucian caught Batista’s eye, and the old man appeared suddenly guilty. Lucian smiled, and the man nodded. It was not Lucian’s place to share in the moment, but he welcomed it nonetheless. He realised with a heavy heart that it
had been too long since such a crew had served on his bridge. Over the past decade he had become too used to a station occupied only by mute servitors.
‘Now then!’ Lucian said, raising his voice to restore order to his bridge. The bridge fell silent. ‘Jellaqua might be the master of this fleet, but I am master of this vessel.’
Lucian watched with a glint in his eye as the crew returned to their stations, each with a face stricken with guilt, apart from old Batista, who was clearly well aware of what his captain was up to.
‘If we’re to get through this, we all need to understand one thing. I’m in charge here, and you do as I order, the instant I order it.’
Lucian looked to Mister Batista. ‘My Master of Ordnance here will tell you what happens to bridge crews on the Oceanid when they fail to do as I say. Mister Batista?’
‘They get turned into servitors,’ Batista grinned.
‘Aye,’ Lucian said, nodding his thanks to Batista, pleased that the man had discerned his intention so well. ‘And what type of servitor do they get turned into, Mister Batista.’
The ordnance officer’s face twisted in grossly exaggerated concentration. ‘Waste ingestion servitors, my lord.’
Very good, thought Lucian, very good indeed. ‘So, any of you wishing to avoid such a fate had better ensure that your station is one hundred percent battle ready.’
Lucian leaned back in his command throne, enjoying the scene on the bridge before him. The Navy crew were all veterans, and set to their task with efficiency bred of endless hours of training. Outside, he watched as the Blade of Woe’s plasma drives flared to full power, and the massed banks of manoeuvring thrusters that lined her cliff-like flanks brought her to her final heading. Within minutes, the other capital vessels of the line were orienting themselves to Jellaqua’s flagship, whilst the escort squadrons of smaller vessels moved to their own positions around the armada.
‘Helm,’ Lucian said. The bridge went silent in anticipation. ‘You have your course laid in?’
‘Aye, sir,’ Ensign Ruuben replied, ‘awaiting orders.’
Lucian grinned, letting the moment stretch out. Then, ‘All power to mains, Mister Ruuben, ahead full at best speed.’
The Navy helmsman worked the mighty brass levers, opening up the plasma core and bringing the main drives to full output. As the power mounted, the deck plates beneath Lucian’s feet vibrated jarringly, then settled as the drives stabilised. With a shudder that passed down the length of the entire vessel, the Oceanid came around, taking her position in the fleet.
‘Incoming signal,’ Ensign Katona said. ‘It’s the Nomad, sir. Patch through?’
‘Please do, Mister Katona,’ Lucian replied.
‘Gerrit?’ asked the unmistakable voice of sergeant Sarik of the White Scars.
‘Go ahead, Sarik,’ replied Lucian. He recalled the last time the Oceanid and the Nomad had fought side by side, and wondered whether Sarik would warn him off or welcome his presence in the line. You could never tell with Space Marines, Lucian thought.
‘Lucian,’ Sarik continued, ‘I owe you a debt of honour for your aid at Sy’l’kell.’
Lucian was surprised to hear a Space Marine make such an admission. He allowed Sarik to continue.
‘Should you find yourself in a position whereby I might repay that debt, you have but to ask, whether in the coming battle or at any point in the future.’
Lucian felt deeply honoured by Sarik’s words, knowing that they bore the weight and authority not only of Sarik and his small band of Space Marines, but of the entire Chapter of White Scars.
‘Brother Sergeant Sarik,’ Lucian replied, ‘you have my word that I shall do so.’
‘Good then.’ Lucian detected a shift in Sarik’s tone, as if the Space Marine’s mood had lifted. ‘With that out of the way, we have some fighting to do.’
Lucian chuckled. ‘Aye, Sarik. I’m with you. Just try not to find too much trouble!’
The bridge crew went silent at Lucian’s words, but he felt an understanding with Brother Sergeant Sarik. He knew he could say such things, where other men might fear terrible retribution.
‘Lucian,’ Sarik’s voice came back, rough humour evident in it, ‘what you and I consider trouble might differ considerably.’
Lucian laughed out loud as Sarik terminated the communication. He saw the Nomad heave into view through the forward port, before the smaller craft veered across the Oceanid’s path and powered on towards the fleet’s very spear tip.
‘Holo,’ Lucian ordered, and the holographic came to life as the bridge lights dimmed. The revolving globe of green light mapped out the immediate area of space, each of the fleet’s capital vessels clearly visible as glowing white icons, the names of each projected nearby. Lucian saw that the fleet had spread out in a broad and shallow arrowhead formation. The escorts and destroyers screened the larger cruisers, which in turn were to protect the Blade of Woe. The rogue trader flotilla, the Oceanid at its fore, was positioned to the rear of Admiral Jellaqua’s battleship, from where Lucian’s vessels could respond to the situation as the battle unfolded.
Studying the fleet’s disposition and composition, Lucian was convinced it would take a major tau presence in the system to challenge it. His only concern, which he had expressed to Jellaqua at the crusade’s outset, was the fleet’s comparative lack of attack craft. It could not be helped, the admiral had responded, explaining how the only carriers within three sectors were laid up for major refits, or otherwise engaged in long-range patrols. Lucian reached up to a data-slate suspended from the ceiling above his command throne. He depressed a control stud, and the slate’s pict screen came to life. The text of Korvane’s hasty report was displayed upon it.
Although he had done so a hundred times, Lucian read over the report once more. The system into which the fleet was attacking was host to a small tau outpost. Korvane’s scout wing had located this presence, before coming under attack by a small force of tau patrol vessels. Korvane was convinced that no major tau forces were in the system, and before moving on he had recommended that the fleet move in to consolidate and stage for the next phase of the campaign. The council had agreed, deciding that a hammer blow assault upon the small tau presence would serve as a suitable demonstration in the fleet’s power, and intentions. If the tau mounted a defence of the system, or decided to counterattack, then they would be drawn into a war that they were ill-prepared to fight, one mounted entirely on the Imperium’s terms.
Lucian sighed inwardly as he read over his son’s words. Korvane was certain that the system was ill defended, yet Lucian knew better than to rely on such assumptions. As far as he was concerned, the fleet was moving into hostile territory, and should be prepared for any eventuality. Fortunately, Admiral Jellaqua was of the same mind, hence the fleet’s disposition as it ploughed on towards its target.
That target was the small satellite designated KX122/13, a moon of a larger, though reportedly unoccupied body. Even as Lucian watched, the planet appeared at the very edge of the globe, projected into the centre of the bridge by the holograph. Very little of its nature could be discerned at this range, and no enemy activity could be detected. The task of flushing out and engaging enemy vessels would go to the Space Marines of the various chapters that accompanied the fleet, from the Iron Hands in their strike cruiser Fist of Light, to the varied escort and destroyer equivalents of the Scythes of the Emperor, Ultramarines and White Scars Chapters.
‘Signal from 27th Squadron,’ called out Ensign Katona. ‘They have a sensor return on KX122/13. Standby.’
If all was well, thought Lucian, it should be the tau outpost that Korvane had reported. He watched the holograph as the three Sword class frigates of 27th Squadron peeled off from their position ahead of the line.
‘Confirmed,’ continued Ensign Katona. ‘The 27th reports corroborate the scout wing’s report. Fleet has ordered 27th to locat
e and engage tau outpost. Remainder of fleet to continue on present heading.’
‘Well enough,’ replied Lucian. ‘If we continue on our current heading we’ll pass by the satellite and skirt KX122. I want every station ready for anything.’
Lucian felt the old, familiar tension that had preceded every space battle he had ever been engaged in. The bluster was passed, and total concentration was required lest the enemy gain an advantage that proved fatal. He watched the holograph as 27th Squadron bore down upon the small moon, before disappearing amongst the background noise of the satellite and its parent world. He traced the fleet’s course forward, guessing that Jellaqua intended a slingshot of KX122, a manoeuvre that would flush out any enemy vessels lurking in the lee of either stellar body. Reaching for the control panel mounted in the arm of his throne, Lucian adjusted the holograph, panning forward, zooming in on the area between the satellite and its parent. The image blurred for a moment, before resolving once more, focused on the two planets and the static laced area of space between them. Something itched at the back of Lucian’s mind. It was a feeling he had experienced before in similar circumstances, and one he had long ago learned not to ignore.
‘Comms, signal the Blade of Woe,’ Lucian said, his suspicions mounting as the fleet ploughed on.
‘Sorry, sir,’ Ensign Katona replied, ‘receiving a signal from 103rd Squadron.’
It took only a second for Lucian to locate 103rd on the holograph. The two Sword class frigates were running seventy-five thousand kilometres ahead of the fleet’s spear tip. With 27th dispatched to deal with the outpost, 103rd was the leading escort squadron.
