by Gav Thorpe
‘And here we all are…’ said Wienand. ‘Veritus sent his thugs to kill me at the offices, then at my apartments, and then chased me to the Cathedral. They seem very keen to silence me.’
She gasped as Rendenstein peeled away her blood-matted shirt to reveal a narrow but deep stab wound in her side.
‘I’ve seen worse,’ said Krule.
‘You’ve inflicted worse,’ replied Rendenstein. Wienand thought she detected a hint of admiration in her bodyguard’s tone and expression. ‘But you’re right. No major internal injury, no arteries or organs damaged.’
‘Amateurs,’ muttered Beast, twitching the curtain to glance outside again. He looked back at Wienand. ‘So what should we do now, ma’am?’
Wienand was at a loss. Stage one was a success. She had survived. Barely. Stage two would be to counter Veritus’ plans to usurp power in the Senatorum Imperialis. Wienand was going to have to call in a lot of favours and the whole matter would surely send shockwaves through the Inquisition. This was potentially a very divisive moment and she would have to handle it carefully. Even if Veritus was beyond caring about the repercussions of his actions – a self-righteousness Wienand had witnessed in other long-serving inquisitors too – she did not want to fracture the very organisation that would be needed at its most united in this time of peril.
‘Aemelie,’ said Rendenstein.
‘What of her?’ asked Wienand.
‘Who is Aemelie?’ said Krule.
‘My body-double,’ Wienand told him. ‘Aemelie is my surgical doppelganger for certain occasions. What about her?’
‘She’s dead, not much use now,’ said Rendenstein. ‘I hid her body with that of the man who killed her.’
‘And we can use her to make Veritus think I’m dead too,’ said Wienand, catching up on her aide’s train of thought. The inquisitor looked at Krule. ‘Do you think you could recover the corpses and stage them to look like it was me?’
‘I’m sure I can manage something, ma’am,’ said Krule. He looked at Rendenstein with a hopeful expression. ‘If I had some help, things would go more smoothly.’
‘Stay here and rest,’ said Rendenstein, looking at Wienand, ‘and I’ll bring back medicae supplies to fix that for you.’
‘Very well,’ said Wienand. ‘I’ll also need to change my appearance. Something cosmetic will do for the moment, we’ll worry about fingerprints and gene-trackers later.’
Wienand took a deep breath and looked solemnly at her companions.
‘Time that I died.’
Nineteen
Port Sanctus – inner system
Glory or death.
It was the unofficial motto of the Imperial Navy and Lord High Admiral Lansung had evidently taken it to heart. The head of the entire Navy was going to return to Terra in triumph or he was going to ensure nobody returned at all.
The Colossus ploughed across the void along with the other launch-capable ships that had broken through the ork line. Behind the spearpoint formed by the carrier taskforce came the other battleships and cruisers.
Lansung’s approach – it would be stretching the word ‘plan’ – was brutally simple. The flight wings – bombers, fighters and assault boats – would precede the main attack fleet with a single massive wave of craft. Intelligence suggested the attack moon’s gravitic manipulation was not advanced enough to target the small attack craft. They were to inflict as much damage as possible, hopefully disabling the gravity beam weapons and shielding, leaving the attack moon vulnerable to conventional weapons.
It was a long shot, Kulik knew, and the battleship’s captain suspected that Lansung knew it too. It was an all-or-nothing gamble that would cost the lives of many men, and see the destruction of many ships, even if they were successful.
Such was the price of victory.
Such was the sacrifice required to bring some hope to the defenders of the Imperium in their dark hour. If such hope needed to be watered with the blood of the Imperial Navy, Lansung was willing to shed an ocean of it.
In his heart Kulik knew the Lord High Admiral was mostly concerned with his own reputation and position. There could be no denying Lansung’s more selfish qualities. Against that, the captain weighed up what he knew of the Imperial Navy. He believed that no matter what Lansung did, or what the Lord High Admiral desired for himself, the Navy was an honourable and good organisation. Even the likes of Acharya and Price, men who reckoned pride and reputation higher than obedience and brotherhood, had in them an intrinsic quality imbued by the best traditions of the Imperial Navy.
It took a peculiar and particular sort of man or woman to command a starship. In defeat, death was almost certain. Unlike the Imperial Guard officer, the Navy lieutenant and captain rarely had opportunity to retreat or regroup. Reinforcements were very rarely on hand. Independence of thought had to be chained to rigid discipline, for years at a time could pass without contact with higher authority. Only a man or woman absolutely committed and self-confident could ever hope to tame the beast that was a warship.
It was no surprise that there were those who fell prey to hubris and arrogance. To be a captain of a cruiser or battleship was to hold absolute power over the lives of thousands of men and women. Power could corrupt, and in Lansung’s case it certainly had. But at the start, many years ago, even Lansung had been a fresh-faced officer stepping aboard a starship for the first time.
No matter how cynical or vain that young officer must have been, Kulik believed that even the most selfish and hardened heart could not be totally immune to the romance and glory of the Imperial Navy. Young Lansung had dreamed of honour and prizes and perhaps fame. Kulik believed – had to believe, for his universe to have any meaning at all – that there was still an iota of that young officer somewhere deep inside Lansung. If he did not think that, it would be impossible for the captain to lay down his life, and the lives of his crew, upon the altar of the man’s ambition.
The ships of the Imperial Navy cruised towards the attack moon. The ork star base lived up to its namesake in size, being several hundred miles across, though in shape this particular example was more rectangular than others. Mile-high outcroppings speared from its crater-pocked surface and with the scanners on maximum Kulik could see that it had probably once been an actual moon of some kind. Like the rock forts, it had been mined from the inside out, creating a vast network of caverns within its interior.
A few ork ships had turned around to chase the Imperial vessels back towards their base but these were easily held off by squadrons of frigates and destroyers. The ships of the line formed up into their battlegroups while the carrier force plunged ahead.
Kulik felt his breath coming shorter, his chest tight as his flotilla sped on towards the attack moon. It defied belief – had not similar creations all across the outer Segmentum Solar devastated systems, ravaged fleets and wiped out whole worlds?
He suddenly felt ridiculous, charging towards the immense battle station like some knight of old charging at a hive city with a lance. Kulik swallowed hard and looked at Shaffenbeck.
The first lieutenant was back at his customary place, having handed over leadership of the ork hunt to Lieutenant Hartley. Kulik was glad to have his second close at hand. The lieutenant was fixed on the screen too, hands clasped behind his back, knuckles whitening from the pressure. He sensed his captain’s attention and shot a glance at his superior that conveyed a mixture of dread and fatalism.
The best traditions of the Imperial Navy, thought Kulik. We don’t show it but everyone on this bridge, everyone on this ship, is quietly terrified. We tame it like the plasma in a reactor, channelling that fear into discipline and courage.
There was a deeper sensation than mere fear for his life working in Kulik’s gut. The greater part of the fleet was here, attacking a single ork moon. If they failed not only would Port Sanctus be lost, it would signal that the orks’ stati
ons were impervious to the Imperium’s counter-attacks. He stepped closer to Saul as he considered that this battle signified the future of mankind. Failure here meant the orks would probably not be stopped. Never. Even if they were halted in one final battle, the rest of the Imperium would be drained dry of resources, ships and soldiers from other segmentuns drawn from their duties to combat the rampaging greenskins. Even if Terra held – as it had held in the Heresy War – the rest of the Imperium would fall prey to renegades, eldar, and sundry other dangers that threatened the existence of mankind’s dominions every day.
Glory or death.
Not at all. This was raw, primal battle for survival against one of the primeval forces of the galaxy. It was a test of the Emperor’s servants. If they could not crush the orks they did not deserve to rule the galaxy.
It was not long before the lead elements of the fleet came within range of the attack moon’s gravitic pulses. Strange arcs of green and blue energy flashed between ramshackle pylons studding the base’s surface. Their pulsing matched Kulik’s breathing, quickening with the passing seconds.
Like the mass ejections of a star this energy lashed outwards across the void, spitting green fire and flame, twisting the fabric of space-time around the fronds of energy. Kulik could not suppress a grimace and there came cries of dismay across the bridge as the Heartless Rogue was engulfed by a tendril of power, which seemed to wrap around the heavy cruiser like a tentacle. Impossible forces constricted, crushing the ship as void shields turned into red lightning, crumpling yards-thick hull like paper until the reactor containment fields ruptured and the heavy cruiser was swallowed by an expanding ball of plasma.
The corona of energy that had surrounded the moon dissipated, expended by the gravity-warping lash. Kulik had no idea how long it would take to recharge, but realised there was a window of opportunity to get close enough for the launch before the devastating weapon could be unleashed again.
It was a slim hope, but he was prepared to grasp anything that would make this seem like less of a suicide mission.
‘Colossus, this is Agamemnon,’ came a transmission on vox-only. ‘We are preparing to launch.’
‘Not yet, Agamemnon,’ Kulik replied swiftly, the order issued with gritted teeth. He knew that Nadelin didn’t want to get any closer to the attack moon; none of them did. But they had to put their heads into the dragon’s mouth if they were going to rip out its guts. ‘We have to all be within launch range and send the attack craft as a single wing. If we do this piecemeal they’ll be picked off before they ever reach their targets.’
‘Negative, Colossus. We can’t risk getting that close. That gravity whip will tear us apart!’
‘Damn it, Captain Nadelin, you will follow orders!’ Kulik snatched the comms pick-up from the arm of his command throne and his voice dropped to an angry whisper. ‘Emperor help me, Nadelin, if I see you launching your wings now I’ll blow you out of the stars myself!’
There was no reply, but the Agamemnon continued on course a few hundred miles ahead of the Colossus and showed no signs of slowing for a launch.
More conventional weapons opened fire from batteries cut into the surface of the attack moon and turrets mounted on the jutting edifices. Shells and energy beams spewed across the void, too far for any kind of accuracy.
‘I do think they might be worried, sir,’ Saul said. ‘They’re trying to scare us off!’
‘You might be right, Mister Shaffenbeck,’ said Kulik.
They were only a few thousand miles from optimum range when the crackling field of gravitic energy plumed outwards from the pylons again.
‘Emperor’s arse,’ muttered Shaffenbeck as a green tendril of fire filled the vid-display, seeming to head directly for the Colossus.
‘Don’t blaspheme,’ said Kulik. He winced as the display was filled with the static of the energy surge.
The gravity lash hit Agamemnon and Crusading Ire, tearing apart both ships like the shoddily-made toys of some enraged infant. Debris was scattered across the void, clouds of gases and rupturing corpses sprayed over the heavens as if by the hand of an uncaring alien god. Colossus’ void shields flared from the backwash but the battleship plunged through the expanding debris field unscathed.
‘Launch all wings!’ bellowed Kulik. ‘Signal to flotilla, all attack wings to launch now! Let’s get our pilots away before that thing is ready to fire again.’
The batteries and laser cannons were starting to find their mark as a dozen warships spewed wave after wave of aircraft from their launch bays. Glittering like ice, the attack craft sped across the void towards the ork star fort. Those ships capable of launching torpedoes added such ordnance to the mass of objects flying towards the attack moon. Turning broadside on to their target, the carrier craft formed a standard line of battle, their turrets and gun decks responding to the fire coming from the greenskins. Void shields burned bright and power fields protecting the attack moon flared with spits of orange and red.
Lansung and the main battle line were committed to the attack. There was no time to wait to see if the bomber wings were successful, so dozens of Imperial ships forged ahead, engines trailing plasma across the blackness of space. The Autocephalax Eternal led the charge, the bright gold of her eagle-headed prow gleaming in the light of the system’s star. Vessel after vessel followed the massive flagship, the schematic of the strategic display so crowded with identifier runes that it was a mass of incomprehensible blue.
The gravity whips powered up again before the first wings had reached their target. Kulik realised that Colossus was now the closest ship. He watched with morbid fascination as coils of energy coruscated up the pylons, building in intensity. The captain turned to his second-in-command and spoke quietly.
‘This is very likely going to destroy us, Saul,’ said Kulik. It took every effort to sound conversational. No stranger to battle, Kulik was nevertheless convinced for the first time ever that this was the end. The attack moon was too powerful. The orks were too powerful.
‘Very likely, Rafal,’ replied the lieutenant.
‘If I am to die I would like to go to the Emperor knowing one thing.’
‘What is that?’
‘Why did you never take your captain’s exam?’
Saul laughed, long and hard; so long that Kulik feared the attack moon would rip them to pieces before he had his answer. After what seemed like an age, the first lieutenant composed himself enough to reply.
‘I can’t stand to take another exam, sir. Captain Astersom, he terrified me at my lieutenant’s exam. I mean, actually terrified me. I wanted to kill myself. The thought of going through that again, the fear of failure, the scorn, the worry… I’d rather face a hundred attack moons than another board of examination.’
‘That’s it?’ Kulik was not sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He turned his attention back to the alien base filling the screen. The energy flow was almost at the tips of the pylons and sparks were starting to fly between the jagged metal spires. He looked back at Shaffenbeck. ‘Really, that’s it?’
Saul shrugged.
Kulik almost cried out in surprise when the first torpedo hit the surface of the attack moon. A cluster of warheads tore apart one of the pylons, causing green energy to flare outwards in an uncontrolled burst that spat uselessly past the approaching bomber wings.
More torpedoes hit home, though most impacted harmlessly onto the rocky surface of the base, creating fresh craters but doing little else. Close-range defence weapons opened fire with bolts of laser and streams of tracer shells as the Imperial Navy aircraft dived down towards the attack moon’s exposed gun batteries and turrets. Blossoms of incendiary and high-explosive fire raked across bunker-like extrusions and detonated inside yawning caves that scarred the base’s outer crust. More wicked green fire spewed in all directions, slapping aside a squadron of Cobra destroyers like a man swatting flies, four s
hips turned into slag and plasma in a few seconds by the writhing energy plume.
The Colossus poured out what fire it could with the rest of the carrier flotilla, until the flagship and the rest of Lansung’s fleet arrived. Nova cannons and mass drivers, cyclonic and atomic torpedoes, plasma blasts and melta-missiles ravaged the attack moon as ship after ship closed in, unleashed its fury and then turned away, broadsides thundering as the line passed through the manoeuvre.
Kulik did not think it was going to be enough, even the combined firepower of half the segmentum fleet. Void shields overloaded under the barrage of shells and torrent of energy bolts disgorged by the attack moon’s fury. Half a dozen cruisers were broken in half by sporadic flails of the gravity whip while huge rockets and crackling particle accelerators tore apart the battleships Restitution and Almighty Deliverance, their void shield detonations sending out shockwaves that batted attack craft across the ether.
Kulik saw something in the depths of the attack moon. A green glow was brightening from within, starting to gleam out of launch bays and vision ports. He saw the flit of fighters and bombers silhouetted against the light, inside the ork base. The pilots were guiding their craft into the heart of the star fort, no doubt sacrificing themselves to launch their attacks against the unprotected innards of the gravitic generators.
‘That’s going to overload, sir,’ said Shaffenbeck.
Kulik didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They were going to destroy an attack moon! Whether they would survive or not, he was not sure. Lansung must have felt the same.
‘General order to fleet, withdraw with all speed, captain,’ announced the comms officer.
