Saeva Abyssi: Chapter1

996.M41

The alarm was a cacophonous wail cutting into the ears of every man who heard it. It shrieked on and off, over and over filling the bridge with a sense of urgent danger and peril. The long nave of the bridge was choked with bodies of men, tripping over each other as they sought to do their duties but only managing to get in each other's way. Men in the blue tunics of Chapter Serfs raced to their stations and hastily took up their posts, trying to understand the threat approaching them

At one end of the bridge was an elevated command dais, surrounded by a recently installed railing. Standing upon that dais was a Space Marine in the blue and grey livery of the Storm Heralds Chapter, one whose face was lit by a red augmetic eye and boasted twin diagonal scars upon his cheeks. At his belt hung a Relic blade while his armour bore a golden chain of rank and a long red cloak, his name was Toran, Captain of the Third Company and he was yelling, "Situation report!"

From the Sensorium station Brother Persion replied shouting to be heard over the din of the alarm, "Auspex detects hostile Strike Craft inbound on an attack run!"

Toran looked at the Strategic Hololith projection over his head and saw the red icons of enemies closing fast, he assessed the situation and ordered, "Helm come to starboard, present weapon batteries."

"Aye, aye Captain" called Sergeant Furion from the helm as he attempted to direct the serfs to enact the order. Sadly he was stymied by the confusion all around and the serfs were slow to comply. There was a heavy stomp as Chaplain Wrethan approached, his black armour and skull mask bestowing a fearsome visage as he bellowed angrily at the serfs, "Move it you dogs, you should have been at your posts a full minute ago! Any man not at his post in ten seconds will be flogged!"

The crew rushed to obey and slowly the ship came to order, Serfs finally getting themselves in gear. Toran gritted his teeth at the delay but Chaplain Wrethan was haranguing them already and he could only make things worse. Finally the ship came to its new course and Toran called, "Gunnery officers, prepare a broadside to scatter the Hostiles. Ordnance, where the hell are my Thunderhawks?"

From the Ordnance pulpit Novak, the Company Champion called, "Second and Third squadrons will launch in thirty seconds!"

Wrethan growled loudly, "Too slow, too damned slow."

Toran saw that he was right, the Thunderhawks were launching too late to intercept the attackers, their acceleration would not match the hostiles in time to prevent the attack run. Toran called, "Theres not enough time, gunnery open fire now."

Amongst the gunnery pews Brother Jediah had a predatory glint in his eye as he yelled, "Shooting now."

The Hololith lit up as the ship's guns opened fire, flinging waves of las, missiles and plasma into the void. It was a potent broadside, able to gut a frigate but the targets were miniscule and began dodging and weaving in random patterns. The Hololith flared red as a region of space was engulfed in explosions but the tiny little strike craft flittered between blasts and emerged totally unscathed. Toran gritted his teeth and forced himself not to show his irritation, the chances of ship-killing weapons hitting diminutive strike craft had always been low.

Brother Persion called, "Hostiles are commencing their attack run now!"

Toran roared over the alarm, "Point defence turrets, why aren't they firing?!"

From the Engineerium pit Brother Bylan called in the harsh rasp of Augmetic implants, "+Sir, the gunners are having trouble coordinating their shooting solutions +"

Toran barked, "Fire anyway!"

Toran watched as the Hololith shrank to encompass the immediate space around his ship and he saw the tiny tracers of the close defence guns rising into space. Instantly he could see that the patterns were too broad and widely spaced, each turret firing individually and not creating the web of death they desperately needed. The hostiles easily evaded the incoming fire and swooped down upon the ship with weapons building in power. Persion cried, "Incoming, Incoming!" as the Hololith blazed with the icons of unleashed Turbolasers and waves of wing mounted missiles leaping forth. Multitudes of screens around the bridge flashed red as damage was registered and Brother Bylan called, "+Multiple hits, massive damage to the dorsal compartments, estimated repair times two weeks+"

Toran sighed and ran a hand over his face and then he drew himself up and said, "Alright, that's enough, let's call it off. All hands back to stand-by posts, reset Logic Engines and somebody cut off that damned alarm."

Quiet descended on the bridge and after a minute Chaplain Wrethan called, "All stations report stand-by condition, simulation terminated, I repeat simulation terminated."

Toran nodded as he received the report and said, "Well that was hardly our finest moment, we just broke the Chapter's newest ship. We will just have to keep trying until we get this right. Reset all posts and somebody contact First Squadron, pass on our compliments on a perfect attack run. Have them come in to refuel and have their Thunderhawk's Turbolasers blessed and consecrated. Second Squadron can be the hostiles next time."

The crowds of Serfs milled about, looking dejected and disheartened as they shuffled back to their original posts. Toran let them move for a moment, then stepped off the dais calling out "Brothers, a word." The various Space Marines came together and followed Toran as he wandered up the length of the bridge. It was a curiously clean space, lacking the ornamentation and history common to Astartes vessels. There were no murals of famous victories, no banners of glorious triumphs or inscriptions of traditional litanies, only a freshly-painted Aquilla overhead to honour Him on Terra. Everything about this space screamed its unbloodied nature, its virgin status and lack of history. Toran came to halt before the great Oculus, which was slowly opening as the armoured louvres peeled back. Revealed beyond was the kilometres long length of the ship, Thunderchild, the Storm Heralds Chapter's newest acquisition. It was enormous, dwarfing a Strike Cruiser yet at the same time it was sleek and fast, able to easily outpace a Battlebarge. In every way it was a unique vessel, unlike anything else in the galaxy, which unfortunately was proving to be quite a problem.

Toran looked out across the Thunderchild's length, taking in its spinal battlements and rows of guns, glinting greenly under the reflected light of a Gas Giant. His eyes rose up to take in that immense planet, seeing the thick bands of hydrogen clouds and swirling storms below and the distant glint of orbiting moons. This was Astu, the sole planet of this stellar system, a rich Imperial world famed for its cloud-scoop harvesting operations and the numerous Agri-dome farms that bedecked its moons. It had also been chosen to be the Chapter's proving grounds for its new ship, a supposedly quick and easy mission that was in fact turning out to be anything but quick or easy.

The various Brothers gathered around Captain Toran and he said softly so the Serfs wouldn't hear, "Well, what shall we make of this?"

Wrethan went first saying, "This was an absolute mess, the Serfs were tripping over each other's feet. It took eleven minutes and three seconds for the ship to come to battle stations, which is totally unacceptable."

Persion shook his head and said, "In the Imperial Navy anything under twelve minutes is considered a good time for a ship of this displacement."

Wrethan countered, "This is not the Navy, we are Astartes. Excellence is not optional, it is mandatory. We will have to drill the serfs over and over, I will not be satisfied until the clock comes in at under ten minutes."

Furion spoke up to say, "These are not raw recruits, these are seasoned void-farers drawn from the Chapter's fleet. The problem stems from the ship itself, her systems are unfamiliar and that causes delays and confusion. Her Spirit has also yet to make itself known and that unsettles the crew, void-farers are a superstitious lot. We simply need more time to form proper routines and practice our drills."

Toran shook his head, and said, "Time is one thing we don't have, Chapter Master Gorgall granted us three months for this shake-down cruise and we are already half-way through that."

Jediah interjected, "We can't wait forever, war rages across the galaxy and a Battle Company is an asset the Chapter cannot afford to have out of action for long."

Furion sighed and said, "The Thunderchild is not ready for battle and neither is her crew."

Novak said, "They better get ready, we will be called back to the fight before long."

Toran remarked, "What we really need is a victory, an easy victory. Something to put steel into the crew's spines and unite them as one body of men."

Persion commented, "It would help if the Tech-Adepts would show their faces, where are Magos Castabore and Techmarine Hevostan?"

Bylan answered, "+Castabore is locked away in her chambers, she still thinks that she can get those wretched Reflex Shields working. As for Hevostan he is in the Engineerium again, tending to Plasma-Reactor eight+"

That brought loud groans of frustration from all and Novak said in exasperation, "Number eight again?! What is it with that one, how many times has it refused to awaken? I've never heard of such a cantankerous and tetchy Machine Spirit, it's as stubborn as an Onager.

Jediah agreed saying, "We already have serious power issues, every time we push the drives hard we loose shield power. The Cogboys should just rip out that accursed reactor out and replace it."

"Careful," cautioned Toran, "The mysteries of the Omnissiah are not ours to know, but I'm sure Hevostan knows what he is doing. Doubtless he will keep performing the proper Blessings of Appeasement and Sacred Masses until he calms the reactor's Spirit. The question is what are we are going to do about the crew."

Wrethan said, "Drill them again and again until they get it right."

Furion countered though, "It won't help, they are only mortals and we've been running them ragged. Tiredness leads to mistakes and they haven't had a bit of rest for weeks."

Wrethan snorted contemptuously at the frailties of men but it was Persion who said, "There are other issues, Third Company is going stir-crazy below decks with nothing to do. They crave a taste of the action."

Toran knew how they felt and said, "Yes Space Marines are not built for peace, we should provide them with something strenuous to keep them occupied. Whilst we train, the Serfs can stand down and recuperate. Go tell the crew to start resting by shifts while I contact Mylos, Matheus, Lorath, Zeax and the other Sergeants; they will leap at the chance for some counter-boarding drills."

Persion commented, "Good, I could use something to hit, Lorath's thick skull will do nicely."

There were chuckles from the gathered Marines and Toran waved them back to their posts. He watched them go and appreciated their simple camaraderie. Then he turned and looked out of the Oculus at the distant stars and he wondered where war would take them next and if this ship would be ready to face it in time.

...

Far away in the cold depths of the void something stirred, the slightest twisting of the stars in a bare and unremarkable part of space. Unseen and unwitnessed a shimmering distortion came into being, the smallest blip in reality that hinted of a confluence of the mundane with a Labyrinthine dimension, creating a portal where none should exist. There was no great ripping of space, no screaming of Daemons as reality was torn asunder to allow wallowing barges to break back into Realspace. The universe merely blinked and seven dark shapes were suddenly present where none were before.

The intruders immediately spread dark wings out from their hulls, drinking in the distant starlight and then with a speed no Imperial vessel could match they darted away. They were on the hunt and they were confident that their prey would never see them coming.