Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 191

The ion storm was as turbulent as ever. Three moons pulling at each other in an eternal dance as gravitational tides stirred the morass of drifting particles. Erratic energy surges and flaring discharges of static lightning lit up the void. Ice comets collided and shattered into sprays of frozen shards. Solar winds struck magnetic fields and refracted into auroras of colours as radiation cooked stray asteroids raw. Surveyors were blind in that mess, communications barely able to punch through and even then only at short range. For the Imperials hiding within it was both a safe haven and a prison. A place to regroup and count their loses but one they could not leave without confronting the enemy beyond.

Juto Hornan sighed as he turned from the porthole and shook his head. The Carmilla was deep in the ion storm, her hull battered by comets and electrostatic discharges. She had fled here with the rest of the survivors of the battle and taken refuge within. The ship's wounds were considerable but not crippling. She had lost her bridge and her shields had been hammered repeatedly by the Revenge but the worst of the fight had not been directed her way so she had emerged battered but unbroken. Even now teams of ratings sweated under the supervision of tech-priests to rebuild damaged systems, bless exhausted Machine Spirits and soothe tired shield generators. The lances were undergoing a sacred mass to placate their aggression and the hanger bays were packed to bursting with rescued strike craft. The Carmilla was well on her way to recovery but then the question became, what would happen next.

Hornan turned and strode away, heading deeper into the ship. He passed teams of ratings, midshipmen and junior officers. They stood to attention and nodded in respect, Hornan accepted their silent acclaim with a humble nod but in his heart he was bursting with pride. He was a captain at last, master of this vessel and ultimate arbiter of the fates of all aboard. His lifelong ambition was at hand and the achievement thrilled him. Despite all their hardships and danger he was happy with his new rank and the knowledge that the Carmilla was under his authority was a delightful reality. The old saying was true; no one ever forgot one's first command.

Hornan kept his face level as he jauntily made his way to the compartment behind the secondary bridge. He passed through a broad hatch guarded by grim-faced armsmen and found himself entering a briefing room. It was a broad space with a low roof. The far wall was adorned with a fading mural of the God-Emperor leading His fleets through the void, a golden giant standing athwart a battleship with a flaming sword in hand. The reality of such a notion was farcical but the sentiment was clear: the Emperor was with them in all things, steering their course and sharing their dangers. Personally Hornan found that doubtful, the Golden Throne of Terra was far away and it occupant uninterested in his life, but he was pious enough to never say that out loud.

Waiting in the room were the senior officers of the Carmilla. Torhay, Ambos, Gansay, Tinag and a few others he barely recognised as secondary-bridge officer, a cruiser's crew being so numerous no man could know every face on board. Naturally Commissar Landry was also present, keeping a stern eye on proceedings. They were waiting for his arrival and all nodded respectfully at his entrance, save the Commissar who glowered under his peaked cap. Hornan ignored that as he said, "Be seated."

Everybody pulled out high-back chairs from an oaken table set in the middle of the room and sat down. Hornan took his place at the head of the table and smiled as he said, "I called this meeting to discuss our situation. Some of you know me well, others don't, so I will be frank. I am not one of those captains who demand formality and protocol in all things. If you have something to say, say it. If you're right I will give you a medal, if you're wrong I will throw you out an airlock."

Several faces glanced oddly at each other but Ambos chuckled under her breath, lightening the mood as she ventured, "I'll go first then. The hanger decks are overloaded with strike craft. We picked up the surviving Fury squadrons and Starhawks from the orbital dock. An Enforcer is no Emperor-class, not even a Dictator, the hangers were never mean to bear so many craft."

Hornan sighed, "We have nowhere else to send them. We will have to bunk up and make room. Can you draft the pilots to patch up your own squadrons?"

"I could certainly use the numbers, I lost too many good men in that knife-fight," Ambos lamented, "But morale is at rock-bottom, the newcomers won't like being yanked out of their traditional formations and told they work for me."

Commissar Landry interjected, "They are servants of the God-Emperor and must obey. The Acting-Captain has given an order and it shall be so."

Hornan suppressed the slightest twitch at the reminder his rank had not been confirmed and deflected, "What of the ship herself?"

Torhay replied, "The lances were pushed hard, so much repeated firing burnt out several capacitors. We are working to fix them though; they should be ready for whatever comes."

Tinag continued, "The repairs proceed apace. The primary bridge is a write-off but the shields and engines are hale. We are fully capable and ready to fight."

Others chorused similar statements but then Gansay mused, "Surely we aren't planning to fight again?"

Several faces scowled and Ambos barked, "You counsel retreat?!"

Gansay lifted his hands to say, "I merely see the reality of our situation. We have a light carrier, a crippled planetary assault barge and a small cruiser, set against a Battlebarge and her escorts. The Revenge broke our best defences and tore the heart from us. We can't fight her head-on and expect to win."

Torhay thumped his claw on the table and barked, "The Imperial Navy has triumphed over longer odds!"

Gansay retorted, "And for every such victory there have been a hundred defeats. To engage in an unwinnable fight is not bravery but stupidity. We must recognise we are outmatched and summon reinforcements via Astropath, or withdraw with the civilians while we can."

Ambos snorted, "If we try to flee the Revenge will run us down long before we reach the Warp-jump points. Those civilians will die."

"Then let them die," Gansay argued, "There are always more civilians. We need to save what fighting capacity we can, not throw it away with dreams of glory."

Furious mutterings arose as the officers argued in favour of both sides. Yet Commissar Landry leaned in and growled, "I find this lack of conviction troubling. You are officers of the God-Emperor's navy; you should not be contemplating defeat and retreat but searching for a path to victory."

Hornan argued, "We are merely discussing possibilities, nobody has made a decision yet."

"It should not even be an option, Acting-Captain," Landry hissed.

Uncomfortable faces ringed the table at the rebuke but Tinag spoke up, "Surely that is a question for the fleet commander. Who is in charge anyway?"

"Unclear," Hornan confessed, "Technically Captain Anthor has seniority but he's not sent a word since the fight, busy fixing up his ship I presume."

Torhay rubbed his jaw with his one hand and muttered, "There may be more to it, rumour has it Anthor has political problems at home."

"Oh?" Hornan pressed.

Torhay elaborated, "It's only rumour, but he had an unfortunate incident during the evacuation of Gortuenda decades ago. His being stuck on the Jormungandr isn't just a retirement jaunt, it's a way to disappear into obscurity. He may not want to stick his neck out and draw attention."

Hornan brushed that off saying, "By rights Captain Yarret would be next in command after him, but she's dead. Without an inarguable successor to Admiral Belliad we have no clear chain of command."

"Maybe you should take charge," Torhay proposed.

But Landry scoffed, "He's too junior in his position to lead, Blayim is too low-ranked and the Astartes are Astartes. We have no superior officer and naval protocols fail us in this regard. I am given to understand there's an Inquisitor on the Wyvern… perhaps he can assume command."

"Inquisitors!" Ambos spat, "They're never anything but trouble."

Hornan grimaced, "The surviving Captains have agreed to a Holo-conference in six hours. We'll thrash out a chain of command then. For now we concentrate on fixing the Carmilla. Mr Tinag, I am appointing you as my executive officer, see the work continues around the clock. Mr Torhay, Gansay, I'm sorry, I know you have more seniority but with the loss of the primary bridge crew I can't spare you from your posts. We have six hours to get this ship fighting fit so do what you can. Everybody dismissed… Commissar a word if you will."

There were a lot of unhappy faces as the officers filed out. All of them were disgruntled but knew there was little to be done. The needs of the service came above their personal issues. Hornan waited until they were alone then faced the stern visage of the Commissar and asked bluntly, "Landry, do we have a problem?"

Landry's eyes were shadowed as he replied, "Defeat is always a bitter pill to swallow but this situation is an outright mess. We have no clear commander and are outmatched by a superior foe."

"I thought you wanted to fight on," Hornan commented.

"Strategy is your arena," Landry replied, "Morale and loyalty are mine. Whatever plan the Captains come up with it is my role to make sure the crew is ready to carry it out, regardless of cost. We need decisive leadership, from a commander they will follow without question."

Hornan caught the rebuke and snorted, "Which you don't think I am."

"Your family history calls doubt on your record. Your bloodline has already proved unsound, liable to treachery and sedition. The crew knows this and question your right to lead."

"You question my right, you mean," Hornan sneered, "Can you not judge me by my service and not my family name?"

"The history of the Imperium is littered with corrupt bloodlines," Landry spat, "The smallest seed of doubt blooms into Heresy. Sedition must be burnt out, root and branch."

"You think I should have been culled, even though I was but a babe-in-arms," Hornan pressed.

"I do," Landry stated bluntly.

Hornan gritted his teeth and said, "Then we do have a problem. I can only suggest you concentrate on your duties and I shall focus on mine."

"Do so," Landry replied, "I shall be watching you."

The Commissar took his leave, departing without another word. Hornan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed as he saw this was looking to be trouble. A commissar and Captain should have a tense relationship, but this was a step beyond that. Landry was looking for an excuse to put a bolt round in his head and would seize any chance to make it happen. Hornan would have to work tirelessly to prove his worth, put every morsel of energy into playing his role. Unfortunately he was utterly tired. He glanced at a chronometer and realised he had been awake for thirty hours straight. He had led his ship through battle, defeat and retreat, and had an important conference to attend in six hours. He decided he needed to rest and sleep, else be useless for anything.

Hornan stood up and made his way out of the room and headed for his quarters. It wasn't far and he passed various crewmembers without a thought for their status. He soon reached the blank door and the hatch slid open to reveal his chambers. All was as he had left it, utterly familiar yet changed too. He had left a commander but returned a Captain. He supposed he should move to the Captain's quarters but that was a problem for another day and he shrugged off his jacket as he stepped within.

His manservant Vigoro emerged as he did so. A lank individual with straggly long grey hair falling around his shoulders and too few teeth. He bowed slightly and called, "Master, you require me?"

"I'm going to rest, prepare a light repast and awaken me in five hours."

Vigoro asked, "Shall I draw you a bath first?"

"No, I need to sleep."

Vigoro paused then and remarked, "I hear you are Captain now, your family would be proud."

"I don't care what they would think," Hornan retorted, "I earned this through merit, not my family name."

Vigoro replied, "Still there are certain responsibilities that come with such a lauded rank, none of your distant relatives has risen so high since the sedition. There are household concerns to be addressed and important matters you need to be made aware of."

Hornan scoffed, "My relatives are scattered and dissolute, penniless beggars or hiding under marriages into other bloodlines. They have nothing for me, nor I for them."

"But…" Vigoro protested.

"Whatever it is it can wait, I am going to sleep," Hornan announced. He left the manservant behind and strode to his bed-chamber. He kicked off his boots and dumped his sword belt, then threw himself into bed. After a moment he arose, muttering curses to himself as he retied his laces in the quick-draw fashion, in case of emergencies and placed his belt the right way to grab in an instant. Then he returned to bed and was asleep moments after his head hit the pillows.