‘Don’t you worry, shipmate, Kron’ll see to ye.’
‘L-Luminen!’ Nathan gasped.
‘No,’ Kron whispered.
Nathan’s body was trembling uncontrollably as shock set in. His vision had almost dimmed completely, apart from a harsh, red light floating nearby.
‘Not that at all.’
A helmet clamped down over Nathan’s head, dimming the light and bringing a welcome darkness.
Nathan awoke on the floor of the hidden cutter. His arm was in a sling and a bandage covered one of his eyes but he otherwise felt rested and healthy. Kron was sitting in one of the narrow pews, watching him.
‘How de ye feel?’ he inquired with genuine concern.
‘Good,’ Nathan grunted as he sat up. ‘How long was I out?’
‘Five hours. I took time to fix ye up, an’ me too, and rest some ’fore we go back up to the gunroom.’
Nathan felt a sense of relief. He had feared Kron would ask him if he wanted to jump ship. The aftermath of a battle offered the best chance Nathan would likely get for an escape to go unnoticed. But somehow the prospect seemed a lot less appealing now he had seen what was out there waiting for mutineers and faithless men to fall into its clutches. In fact Nathan was feeling an unfamiliar amount of regard for the God-Emperor after his experiences, a craving for the protection the ecclesiarchs promised could be gained from the blessings of the Holy Master of Mankind.
But that left him in here with Kron, not-a-Luminen Kron who could defeat a champion of the mad gods with his own lightning. No ordinary gunner, for sure. A servant of the Emperor? Somehow Nathan didn’t think so. If anything he really did look like a gargoyle in this setting, a red-eyed piece of malevolence that had detached itself from the stonework and come down to blaspheme among it. Perhaps someone hiding out then, disguised among a faceless mass yet always moving from one world to another. It would be a superb cover. Unremarkable, beneath attention and yet guarded by the awesome might of an Imperial warship. Ultimately, whatever other misgivings Nathan might have, Kron had saved his life and that put him firmly in Kron’s debt. He began to say so but Kron waved his thanks away.
‘Don’t be too thankful, lad. I had to fix your eye with what was to hand down here. I’m ’fraid I might have made a terrible job out of it. Take the bandage off. Tell me if ye can see.’
Nathan knew what was coming even before his fingers brushed cold steel around his eye. The lens of it was hard and slightly curved to the touch. He bore the metal-sealed scars of his first engagement as part of the Emperor’s Navy, but his vision was perfect. Nathan shuddered as he recalled Kron’s unnerving personality shift after the fight with Kendrikson, when he had seemed like a slave desperate to escape his inactive bionic eye.
‘Kron?’ Nathan began tentatively. ‘Who are you really?’
Kron chortled. ‘A princeling who was stolen by gypsies.’
‘Don’t start that again.’
‘Very well, I’ll put it this way, lad… Cross the stars and fight for glory…’
RAPTOR DOWN
Gav Thorpe
The flight deck was a hive of activity. The murmuring of tech-priests resounded off the high gantries amongst the chatter of rivet guns and the clank of ordnance loaders. Welding torches sparked bright blue-white in the yellow glow of the standby alert lighting and figures hurried to and fro. The Marauders of Raptor and Devil squadrons were arrayed herringbone-fashion along the length of the maintenance bay as tech-adepts and servitors crawled across them, repairing battle damage and loading new ordnance. Flight Commander Jaeger stood and watched it all with a faint sense of satisfaction. Everyone was performing well today – the pilots, their gunners and bombardiers, and the bay crews were all operating like a well-oiled machine. He cupped his hands to his mouth to shout across the din.
‘Ferix, how are the repairs going?’ he bellowed across the decking to the robe-swathed tech-adept monitoring the maintenance on Jaeger’s own Marauder, Raptor One. Ferix hurried over with short, quick steps and nodded curtly. Over the adept’s shoulder, Jaeger could read the insignia that he himself had painted onto the nose of Raptor One after their last mission. It was the Raptors’ motto – Swift Justice, Sure Death – in bright white against the dark blue paint of the Navy colours. Underneath was the squadron emblem, an eagle rampant in shining gold. It was reassuring to Jaeger, the familiarity he now shared with Raptor One after their bloody baptism together a year and a half ago.
‘All craft are battle-worthy, Flight Commander Jaeger,’ Ferix told him, his hands concealed within the voluminous sleeves of his robes. ‘Raptor Three should be decommissioned for several more hours preferably, but is operational within tolerable limits.’
‘Good. Let me know as soon as weapons load and check is complete. I’ll be on the bridge.’ Jaeger dismissed Ferix with a wave of his hand and turned away. As he walked across the flight deck, he cast his gaze around him, looking at the bulky shapes of the Marauder bombers in the gloom and the smaller Thunderbolt interceptors in the launching alcoves on the far side of the massive chamber.
All this is my domain now, he thought, not for the first time. It had been eighteen months since Raf’s death had left Jaeger in charge, a year and a half of responsibility to command and lead nearly a hundred pilots and flight crewmen, to mould them into a fighting team worthy of the Imperial Navy.
He could see the men of his own squadron, the Raptors, taking a well-earned meal break at the battlestation mess tables on the starboard side of the flight deck. He saw the veterans – strong, disciplined men like Marte, Arick, Phrao and Berhandt. But there were too many new faces for the flight commander’s liking, men untested in the heat of battle until today. For a year the cruiser Divine Justice had continued her patrol, unable to replace the losses she had suffered at the hands of the orks. Only three months ago she had returned to dock and new crews were drafted in from the flight schools. Unlike the ratings, flight crews needed to be trained professionals; you couldn’t just send a press gang onto some Imperial world and see what you dredged up. For a year the Divine Justice had been home to only half the aircraft her holds could carry and launch. Jaeger was glad that they had seen no serious action during the rest of the patrol – a few skirmishes with outclassed pirates, the odd smuggler, but nothing like the baptism of fire and death that had been the duel with the ork hulk.
Jaeger realised he was at the lifter now, and stepped into the small chamber. He cranked the dial to ‘Bridge deck’ and slammed the grating shut. A moment later he was swiftly ascending amongst the clatter of chains and gears, the floor of the lifter shaking gently beneath his booted feet.
Untried boys! he cursed to himself. But for all his worries, the operation was proceeding with little difficulty. Having barely had time to refit and re-crew at Saltius, the Divine Justice and her three frigate escorts, the Glorious, the Apollo and the Excellent, had been despatched with orders to support the Imperial Guard invasion of the Mearopyis System. Even now, they were in orbit over the third world of the system, running escort to the drop-ships and making ground attacks against enemy supply bases and communications centres.
They were here to fight the noctal – spindly, insectoid aliens who had conquered Mearopyis and enslaved its human population several thousand years ago. Finally, the Imperium had arrived to take it back and once more bring the light of the Emperor to the people of the subjugated world. Casualties had been light so far. Admiral Veniston’s rites of engagement had been very specific. The noctal fighters were incapable of orbital flight, unlike the Thunderbolts and Marauders of the Divine Justice. The squadrons were hitting hard and fast, dropping from orbit, bombing and strafing their targets before powering back up to the ships waiting above, safe from harm. The enemy fighters were swift and agile, but they couldn’t be everywhere at once and only a single Marauder had been lost, and no Thunderbolts had yet been taken down. Jaeger had heard that th
e squadrons from the other ships of the fleet were having similar successes.
Perhaps this is not such a bad time to test out the new hands, Jaeger considered. No massed air battles, strict orders and a safe haven would allow his men to settle, with enough risk to keep them on their toes, but also safe enough that they’d survive to learn from the experience. Survival was the key, in Jaeger’s mind. No flight commander wanted a continuous draft of newcomers flying his craft; he wanted experienced, dedicated crews who would return time and again, their mission complete.
With a thunk, the lifter reached the top of its shaft, eighteen decks up from the flight bays. Jaeger pulled back the door and stepped out, swapping a salute with a gunnery lieutenant who stepped past him. He marched up to the double doors leading to the bridge and nodded to the shotgun-wielding armsman standing guard. The armsman turned and activated the comm-set on the wall behind him, announcing Jaeger’s presence. There was an affirmative and several seconds later the bridge doors swung back with a hiss of hidden pistons. Stepping through, Jaeger saw the bridge was in its normal state of organised confusion. Tech-adepts scurried to and fro, augur and surveyor servitors announced target dispositions in monotonous drones, officers snapped orders over the comm-net, and flunkies and menials of every description hurried here and there taking notes, making reports or simply repeating messages from one officer to the next.
In the middle of it all stood Captain Kaurl, like a rock amidst the swirl of a rising tide.
The stocky, bearded officer had his hands clasped behind his back, his feet spread as if braced on a buffeted drop-ship rather than a stately cruiser. He nodded as a lieutenant passed on some piece of data and then looked at the main viewing screen. It dominated the centre of the bridge, five metres high, and twice as long.
The main picture showed a duel between three Imperial cruisers and two noctal superdestroyers. Cannon fire and missiles streaked from the Emperor’s vessels, flaring into bright green flashes as they impacted on the energy shields of the alien ship.
Bright white las-fire erupted from one of the superdestroyers, a flickering coruscation of energy bolts that impacted on the void shields of one of the cruisers, their energy dissipating harmlessly.
Various sub-images charted fleet positions, drop-ship manoeuvres and sundry other details. In the bottom left, a tracker field flickered on and off in one of the Divine Justice’s docking bays, drawing a supply shuttle down onto the armoured deck, heat wash from its engines causing the image to waver on the screen. To the top right, a spread of torpedoes rocketed across the void. As they neared a noctal vessel the front of each peeled open, ejecting a storm of plasma and fusion warheads which rippled across its silver-grey hull in a riot of orange and red. Along the bottom of the screen, wings of Starhawk bombers manoeuvred between the las-fire of a superdestroyer’s defence turrets, the armoured surface of the alien ship splintering into a shower of shrapnel as their bombs punched deep inside before exploding.
Jaeger turned his attention back to the main image and watched as retro thrusters flared into life along the length of one of the Imperial cruisers. Slowed in its course, it began to sweep to starboard, turning slowly at first but gathering pace as its forward momentum slowed. Another jet of engines halted the turn and the main engines increased to full. Its broadside opened fire again and this time the noctal shields failed, missiles and plasma blasts raking into its engine decks.
Fires blossomed and spread, burning white-hot as air rushed out of the punctured hull of the enemy superdestroyer in explosive bursts.
‘Jacques!’ Kaurl called out, snapping Jaeger’s attention from the ongoing space battle.
‘Sir!’ he replied crisply, saluting formally. The captain responded with an equally formal nod.
‘How are things going?’ Kaurl asked, taking Jaeger by the arm and leading him into his personal cabin off the main bridge. It was fitted out in wooden panelling, a deep red grain that lent an air of calm. He sat beside the captain on a long sofa whose plush covers matched the rich décor of the room.
‘I have made post-mission reports, sir,’ Jaeger replied with a frown. ‘Everything is in there.’
‘Not everything, Jaeger,’ smiled Kaurl. ‘Numbers, yes, but nothing else. They don’t tell me how you feel the invasion is progressing.’
‘Everything seems to be going smoothly, exactly to plan I would say,’ Jaeger told the captain after a moment’s thought. ‘Better than planned.’
‘And that worries you?’ Kaurl seemed to read Jaeger’s thoughts.
‘Every plan is perfect until it makes contact with the enemy.’ Jaeger recited the line from the Navy battle dogma. ‘Then it usually falls apart – it doesn’t exceed expectation.’
‘Emperor’s blood, man!’ cursed Kaurl, standing up and glowering at his flight commander. ‘Are you never happy?’
‘No, sir, I’m not,’ Jaeger replied solemnly, looking back up at Kaurl, his face impassive.
That was slightly untrue, he thought; I’m happy when I’m flying. That’s the only time. A thought occurred to him then. There was someone he hadn’t seen over the past twelve hours since the attack had begun. ‘Where is Admiral Veniston, sir?’
‘Admiral Kright has been recalled to sector command. Veniston has taken command of the fleet and transferred his flag to the battleship Holy Dignity,’ Kaurl answered. ‘I’ve got my own ship back, thank the Emperor,’ he added with a conspiratorial grin.
‘Not meaning to be rude, sir, but the Raptors will be ready to launch any minute.’ Jaeger fidgeted with the collar of his flight suit and glanced at the chronometer that sat on the desk behind Kaurl.
‘Of course, Jacques, you get out there and bomb them to hell and back.’ Kaurl nodded towards the door. Jaeger nodded thankfully and hurried out on long strides.
‘I almost feel sorry for the noctal,’ Kaurl muttered to himself as the door closed behind the eager flight commander. ‘Almost.’
‘Targets all stored, weapons ready to go,’ Berhandt announced gruffly. Jaeger glanced to his right across the cockpit towards his bombardier. He opened the comm-channel to the rest of the Marauders. Both the Raptors and the Devils were in on this one, escorted by the interceptors of Arrow and Storm Squadrons.
‘Everyone has their orders, let’s make sure this one goes smoothly,’ he told them.
‘They won’t know what’s hit them!’ crowed Phrao’s tinny voice in Jaeger’s ear.
‘We gonna make a fireball so big they’ll see it back on board!’ chipped in Logan, squadron leader of the Devils.
‘Let’s cut the gossiping. Prepare for atmospheric entry. Let’s not lose our heads,’ Jaeger chided them. In the last twelve hours they had flown five missions with nine-tenths of their targets utterly destroyed. He wasn’t about to lose a craft because some hothead forgot their procedures.
‘Raptor Leader, this is Arrow Leader, moving ahead to intercept positions.’ Squadron Leader Dextra’s voice was quiet and distant over the comm-link.
‘Raptor Leader, this is Storm Leader, taking position on your rear quarter,’ Losark added as Jaeger watched the bright spark of the Arrows’ engines forging ahead towards the world below.
It nearly filled the cockpit: a yellowish globe swirled with orange-and-red dust clouds. Down there, three-quarters of a million Imperial Guardsmen were forging their way across the plains, in a massive strike determined to seize the noctal’s capital within a day. The Imperial strategy relied upon a single swift hammer blow that destroyed the noctal’s command before their reserves could react and bring superior numbers to bear on the Emperor’s soldiers. And so far it seemed to be working – resistance was scattered; the noctal seemed to have had no warning that the Imperium had arrived. The first the aliens had known of the attack, Imperial drop-ships had already touched down.
The Marauder began to shudder as it entered the upper atmosphere of Mearopyis. The control
stick in Jaeger’s hand started to judder as the air resistance strengthened. Thermals and turbulence began to make the massive aircraft dip and weave as it streaked down towards the clouds. Ahead Jaeger watched the shapes of the Thunderbolts commanded by Dextra disappear into the cloud cover, slipping silently from view. As air pressure built, Jaeger disengaged the attitude jets along the Marauder’s wings; it would fly like a conventional aircraft now. As the first few wisps of cloud began to coalesce across the cockpit windows, Jaeger turned the comm-link dial to talk to the Divine Justice.
‘This is Raptor Leader. Entering cloud cover now. What’s the latest on enemy craft?’ he reported.
There was a pause, and Jaeger could imagine the bustle on the bridge as a lieutenant sought out the information and relayed it to the comms officer.
‘Raptor Leader, this is the Divine Justice. Small enemy interceptor patrol last reported one hundred and fifty kilometres to local west. Larger concentration, approximately fifteen craft seen over target area at zero eight forty-four ship chronology.’
Jaeger absorbed this news without comment. As the air campaign had continued, the enemy had responded and now there were fewer targets left, it was inevitable that they would receive better air cover. Jaeger had argued hotly that the noctal airbases were the target of the first strikes, but Kaurl had informed him that priority had been given to targets that stood in the path of the advancing Imperial army.
‘Time to target?’ he asked Berhandt. The bombardier glanced at a screen to his right.
‘About twenty minutes, depending on headwind,’ Berhandt replied with a shrug.
Jaeger thought this over in silence. The last report had been thirty minutes old, plus another twenty minutes until they arrived. Would the enemy aircraft still be there? Would there be more of them or less?
‘Divine Justice, this is Raptor Leader. Please inform me as soon as new data available on target’s air cover.’
On Wings of Blood Page 39
