Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 189
Ferrac couldn't believe his eyes, he stared in shocked silence, even his tongue given pause. The crumbling remains of Veritas spun into the void, shrugged aside as her killer drove on. The bow began a terminal decline into a degrading orbit, one that would take thirty years to conclude, while the stern spun away as flaring drives misfired. Angel's Revenge left the corpse in her wake, contemptuously turning her stern to the kill as her shields flared with reignition. The cream of the Imperial fleet lay broken, Admiral Belliad was dead and the defence left as ashes.
Ferrac replayed the last moments in his mind. Veritas had pulled off a text-book manoeuvre and crossed the T, but the enemy had produced a totally unexpected response. No seasoned void commander would have attempted it, they would have pulled away, brought their guns to bear or try to match velocities for boarding. A ramming action was so foolhardy even an Astartes wouldn't have tried it. It shouldn't have worked; in any other class of ship it wouldn't have worked. No strike cruiser, line-vessel or battleship could have succeeded, they would have been left crippled by their reckless action, but the Revenge was a Battlebarge, built to bludgeon her way through orbital bastions and planetary defence grids. The Imperium built Battlebarges to be nigh-indestructible and that resilience had spelt Veritas' doom.
Ferrac's hearts were heavy in his chest but his mind was Transhuman, immune to shock and hesitancy. When others froze, Space Marines acted. In a second he assessed their remaining forces and saw the heart of their defence was torn out. Their remaining ships were crippled, scattered and leaderless. The Revenge had broken through their barricade and the shattered splinters would be no match for the evil queen. To fight on would be suicide, Ferrac knew it in his bones, but that had never stopped him before.
"Helm, point us at that monster and prepare for maximum acceleration," he commanded.
"What?!" Inquisitor Markof yelped, "You can't be serious!"
"I am deadly serious," Ferrac growled.
"You can't do that!"
"I can and I will," Ferrac hissed.
To his surprise Shrios turned to him and said, "Ferrac, he's right. Wyvern is no match for the Revenge. We don't stand a chance."
"All I need is to get into boarding range," Ferrac retorted, "If I can close the distance and recall Torvus and Anaxar squads, we can get inside and wreak havoc."
Shrios snarled, "We'll never get close enough. One full broadside from those gundecks will obliterate us The Wyvern is no strike cruiser and you can't sail her like one!"
"Dammit, I won't be questioned on my own bridge," Ferrac snapped.
"If you try this we will all die," Shrios hissed.
"I do not fear death," Ferrac uttered, "For the glory of the Chapter I would gladly give all our lives."
"And what about failure?"Markof interjected, "Do you not fear failure?"
"What?!" Ferrac snarled in anger.
Markof stood his ground and stated, "This is not your mission, you were not tasked to seek glory and personal kills. Your mission, as given to you by your Chapter Master and the Imperial Regent, is to deliver the prisoner to the Crusade. They speak with the authority of the Emperor, to defy them is to rebel against His command. If you charge off heedlessly and get us killed you will have failed in your mission. Think for once and see that you must withdraw immediately, else be forevermore named a Traitor and a fool."
Ferrac was forced into silence by the blunt truth, he hated every word but knew it was irrefutable. His mind was a Transhuman cogitator, he knew exactly what would happen if the Wyvern charged at the Revenge: those sweeping broadsides would blow the scrappy ship to bits before they got halfway. It would be glorious and epic and utterly futile, a failure of his mission and a pointless waste of Space Marines. To die for a cause or principle was the essence of the Astartes, death in victory was the dream of every Space Marine, to die in meaningless defeat was not. Ferrac wanted the glory of killing the Revenge, even at cost of his own life, but to fail was not an option. The only way to triumph, as distasteful as it tasted, was to withdraw and regroup, saving what assets he could for the next fight.
Despite every instinct screaming in protest he ordered grimly, "Helm steer course 245 mark 050, take us away from the fight and skirt the enemy's gun range. Recall Wraths, and contact the boarding party, tell them to finish up quickly and get back here. Contact all civilian ships and tell them to follow us, anyone who doesn't comply will be left to die."
Shrios blinked, "You're pulling out the civilians too?"
"Surprisingly generous of you," Markof commented.
"If they're truly looking for their leader then one ship running looks suspicious, but covering a civilian evacuation is believable," Ferrac replied, "If we do run into trouble we can always use them as human shields while we disengage."
In the Hololith the flurry of icons began to shift. The Wyvern came to a new heading, tracking a course along the perimeter of the battle that would see her achieve escape velocity and break out into the stars. In her wake the milling cargo ships, forty of them, fell into a loose formation trailing her path. A few lagged behind, shouting furiously over the vox-waves but they soon fell into order when they saw they would be left behind. Amid the crowd the three mass-conveyors loomed, each ten times the size of a cargo ship and they drove lesser breeds before them as they powered away.
Meanwhile Angel's Revenge continued her course for the orbital dock, torpedo tubes looming open. Her intent was plain but she did not miss the flight of the civilians. She rolled forty-five degree to port, bringing her gundecks to bear. The range was extreme and a Battlebarge's reach did not quite match a Retribution-classes' but her weight of firepower was not to be discounted. A wave of destruction ran down her flanks as guns fired on a rolling sequence and a torrent of destruction lit up the void. Two of the cargo ships were caught by the salvo, their paltry shields flashing out of existence in moments and their flimsy hulls punched clean through. One was vented bow to stern by a hole the size of a building running straight through her, the other suffered catastrophic plasma venting as ill-maintained relays overloaded, spilling star-hot material into the crew spaces and vaporising all aboard before they even knew they had been hit.
Ferrac gritted his teeth at the kills, but at least the Wyvern had gone unharmed. Yet the vox lit up with cries as the other ships began to bleat in distress. "Tell them to shut up," Ferrac snapped, "I have no time to comfort wailing fools."
A chattel cried, "Signals from the Navy ships, they demand immediate Holo-conference!"
"Put them through, face-to-face," Ferrac allowed.
The air around his dais shimmered as a group of men appeared, the commanders of the surviving Naval vessels. Anthor, Hornan, Blayim and Governor Grenzel. They looked irate and flustered, clearly distressed by the loss of their admiral and Anthor's image was fizzing and jumping as his crippled ship's Machine Spirits struggled with their injuries.
"Where are you going?!" Hornan shouted.
"We are conducting a tactical withdrawal," Ferrac stated bluntly.
"You abandon the battle!" Hornan accused.
Ferrac growled back, "This battle is over, we lost. If you wish to live to fight another day then follow us out."
Blayim protested archly, "We have been given no orders to withdraw."
"I am giving you such orders," Ferrac spat.
Blayim stiffened as he retorted, "The Navy does not obey Astartes blindly."
Ferrac snapped, "You will obey me, or I will shove my boot so far up your rear you will taste Ceramite!"
Blayim paled but Hornan protested, "With the Admiral's death Captain Anthor holds seniority."
"Frak seni..." Anthor's jumping image barked, "We're up sh... reek without a paddle. The Viper is right. Unless we... that monster will tear us a... hole."
The Captains fell quiet in acquiescence but Hornan dared to ask, "We won't get far dragging civilians along, where shall we rendezvous?"
Ferrac replied, "Steer for the Ion storm, we can regroup there and make repairs. Hornan, grab all the Furies and Starhawks you can on the way out. Blayim, can you break off from Echidna?"
Blayim gulped, "It will give her a clean shot at our sterns. We'll make it, but it will be a rough ride."
"Do so," Ferrac ordered, "Grenzel, while we withdraw I need you to keep the Revenge occupied. Hit her with everything you've got, hell throw the kitchen sink too."
The Governor nodded as he said, "I'll tell the gunners to keep firing till the last moment, while you swing by and pick me up."
Ferrac stared blankly at the man and quiried, "Why would I do that?"
Grenzel's jaw dropped as the realisation spread through him, "You're... you're leaving me here? You're leaving me to die?!"
"Naturally," Ferrac replied, "Accept the glory of death in battle as a just reward for your service to the Golden Theone."
"No!" Grenzel screamed, "No, you have to come get me! I can't die like this; I can't die at all! I am a rich man, my family holds a seat in the Senatorum Imperalis, I demand you rescue me!"
Ferrac was disgusted by the man's pathetic wailing and hissed, "Craven whoreson clerk, better men than you have died today. You are nothing special."
"Please!" Grenzel begged, "Please save me!"
Inquisitor Markof stepped up and commanded, "Cut that coward off. He has no place among the worthy servants of the God-Emperor."
Grenzel's image flashed off as Anthor spat, "Frakking coward, I should have... useless streak of yellow piss from the start."
"Forget him, he's dead already, he just doesn't know it," Ferrac said as the rest of the captains cut transmissions.
In the Hololith the Revenge was closing on the orbital dock, her vicious prow looming evilly. Guns flared around the dock's perimeter, flinging out last gasps of defiance but to no avail. Macroshells deflected off reinforced prow shields, doing nothing more than making them ripple. In return six torpedo tubes yawned wide, then plumes of exhaust signalled ordnance deploying. A desperate burst of turret fire lashed the void but missed utterly as six torpedoes struck the station, burrowing within before exploding into brilliant orbs of plasma. Fuel ignited, munitions detonated and air caught alight as the violence of the strike bit deep, adding to the devastation. The Orbital dock was ruptured along its length, rippling explosions spreading through the ring, then it disintegrated, reduced to a trillion pieces of flaming metal that spun away into the night.
Ferrac watched the death of the dock as the Wyvern limped away, dragging the civilians along as a cover. Carmilla and Jormungandr vectored onto her course, angling to meet up at the distant mote of the Ion storm. Mymidon squadron broke off from the Echidna, their shields taking a lashing from her prow guns as they extended and ran for deep space. Meanwhile Viper's Bite and Poisoned Fang broke off from the dead frigate, bringing Torvus and Anaxar squads back to the Wyvern. The planet was lost, given over to the Heretics once more but it was of no consequence, the enemy was hard up against the gravity well and would take time to come about, giving the Imperials plenty of time to get clear.
"So much for Grenzel," Shrios muttered.
"Worthless coward," Ferrac hissed, "We lose nothing by his death."
"It's not over yet," Markof interjected, "Look, Echidna and Revenge are sending Deathbirds after us, all of them."
"Looks like they aren't willing to let us go so easily," Shiros lamented, "How many reserves do they have anyway?"
Ferrac growled, "Doesn't matter, contact Reddam and Arcaka and tell them to move to intercept. We're going to have to fight our way out!"