Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 194

Juto Hornan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He was so weary from staring at parchments and data-slates that his vision was starting to swim. His back ached and his head throbbed from trying to reconcile contradictions in the texts and he was starting to think there was no clear answer. He'd slept for four whole hours then risen to eat, wash and make ready for the conference. His manservant had been instructed to bring out naval regulations for him to revise, a command he was starting to regret.

Hornan was dressed in his shirt and trousers, jacket and boots laying ready for him to grab. In the corner Vigoro waited upon his master's pleasure, always ready to serve. By Hornan's left hand lay a plate of cold meats and vegetables, rich fare only an officer could enjoy aboard ship. By his right a half-drunk cup of standard-issue Azureberry juice rested, universal rations even for the lowest rating, on a starship scurvy and rickets was an ever-present danger and fortified juice was the cheapest way to stave off the threat.

Hornan dropped his hand and groaned, "This is useless."

"Master?" Vigoro enquired politely.

"I thought I'd find a clear answer in the regulations but this is only making it worse," Hornan griped.

Vigoro stepped up and said, "Surely the Imperial Navy has clear and inarguable directives regarding the succession of command."

"You'd think so," Hornan sighed, "But ten thousand years of regulation-writing has turned it into a quagmire of legalese and contradicting directives. I'm starting to suspect most of these protocols were written by adepts who never once set foot on a starship in their lives. Not all of it comes from Terra either, every sector has its own traditions and customs, all differing from the next and the Indomitus Crusade has inducted ships from hundreds of them."

"I don't follow," Vigoro stated.

Hornan gestured at a pile of parchments and explained, "This declaration says: in conditions where Captains of equal rank have no clear leader among them authority shall lie with the officer holding greatest seniority, calculated sidereal. However this one says seniority must be calculated according to days served, subjectively."

"Makes sense," Vigoro mused, "One bad warp-time slip and an officer barely able to shave could end up with seniority over a two-hundred year veteran."

Hornan sighed, "That's just the start: this one says authority shall rest with the commander of the ship with tactical superiority. This one says the officer with the most recent contact with Terra or Segmentum command shall be appointed to lead and this one says any officer with an immediate family member on the council High Lords automatically supersedes all others. There's even a precedent of a freshly-appointed captain taking charge over several veteran officers, because his sector practised strict caste-law and he was born from a marginally higher social station than anyone else."

"How'd he fare?" Vigoro idly asked.

"Better than some, worse than others," Hornan confessed, "He ended his career as an admiral so he can't have been a complete fool."

Vigoro shook his head and said, "I'm amazed the Imperial Regent hasn't laid down strict rulings on the Crusade's operation."

Hornan sighed, "He has, unfortunately he's only one man… err Primarch, and there are ten million strategic decisions, diplomatic affairs and legal rulings requiring his personal input. He simply hasn't had the time to sort through every single paragraph of Imperial law."

"So what does that mean for us?" Vigoro asked.

Hornan explained, "The chain of command was Admiral Belliad, Captains Anthor then Yarret, then about twenty senior officers on the Veritas in succession. Most of the people on that list are dead and the one survivor is dodging taking up the reigns of command. Unfortunately below that it gets murky. Blayim is a frigate commander, he ranks under us all and I've been in my post all of two days and none of the civilians have any military experience."

"What of the Astartes commander?" Vigoro asked.

"Throne no! Not him, he's an unthinking brute, all aggression and bloody-charges. He'd get us all killed in a week."

"But there is a precedent of Space Marines assuming command over various branches of the Imperial military."

Hornan admitted, "True, but only in emergencies or by higher appointment. No, there's only one choice left: I shall assume command of the fleet."

Vigoro eyed him cautiously and said, "Is that possible?"

Hornan gestured at the piled documents and said, "What all this boils down to is anyone with the clout and charisma to wrest command, can keep it. I may be new at this, but I will make it happen."

"In that case hadn't you better get moving?"

"Emperor Wept!" Hornan yelped as he glanced at a chronometer. He jumped out of his chair and into his boots, tugging them shut and grabbing his jacket and belt. He hastily shrugged them on then ran from the room, jogging down the corridors. He had no time to spare for the crew of the Carmilla as he raced past, heading for the comms-room. He was desperately afraid he had missed the opening of the talk and dashed through a waiting door, finding three glowing figures waiting for him. As he suspected he was the last to arrive, but not my much, it seemed the commanders had only just finished announcing themselves.

Hornan stepped past a gaggle of tech-priests labouring over consoles and tangled wires and stepped onto a glowing circle. Nothing happened for a moment, then a Tech-priest dived under a lectern, banging and clattering around for a moment as another struck the panel with a silver hammer. Suddenly a column of light enveloped Hornan, casting his projection to the other ships. The others saw his image form and Ferrac snapped, "You're late."

"Apologies, the Machine Spirit were slothful," Hornan said as he berated himself for starting off by making excuses.

Ferrac turned his head to the other two and said, "Now we are all assembled I shall lay out my plans for the coming battle."

"Hold on," Hornan protested, "We haven't agreed who is our superior commander."

"Surely that is obvious," Commander Blayim asserted, "Captain Anthor is the natural successor to the Admiral."

Anthor looked worried as he evaded, "Jormungandyr is in a sorry state. It's taking all my attention to make good her wounds. She needs me; else we lose our heavy hitter. I have no option but to defer command so I can concentrate on repairing my ship."

Hornan knew a dodge when he heard one and wondered what could be so terrible in the Captain's past that he'd be so desperate to avoid drawing attention to himself. Whatever it was must be dire to pass up a chance at fleet command. Perhaps being posted to the Jormungandyr was more a punishment than anyone had realised. Anthor was no coward, whatever he afraid of had to go beyond personal reprisals, probably into the sphere of enemies who could obliterate his entire family line, if they wanted to.

Hornan drew in a breath and declared, "In that case the burden of command must fall to me."

"You?!" Ferrac snorted, "A snivelling boy?!"

"I am the most senior officer left," Hornan argued, "The Imperial Navy has its pride, we will not bow to an Astartes so long as there is any other option."

There was a soft cough as Blayim interjected, "Can we not send a message to a higher authority, seeking clarification?"

"We already have," Hornan replied, "But Astropathy is unreliable at the best of times, there's no telling when a response will come, if ever. We have to sort this out between ourselves."

Blayim proposed, "Well if there is a conflict of personality then a compromise candidate may be required. I am willing to…"

Anthor butted in to snap, "Blayim, stop talking right now before you make more of an idiot of yourself!"

Blayim went red-faced as Ferrac confronted Hornan and growled, "You haven't the experience or the fire to lead this fleet. You must stand aside and let me assume command."

"I will not," Hornan retorted refusing to be intimidated, "What would you do, throw everything we have left at the Revenge and see us dashed to ruin on her guns?"

"I would fight and win," Ferrac snarled.

"You see?!" Hornan called to his fellow Captains, "All he thinks about is his personal glory. He ignores the fact that our mission was to reclaim the wealth of Lutum and return it to the Crusade. The cargo ships and the mass-conveyors are the priority here, not killing one rogue battleship. The Imperial Navy teaches that the Captain who forgets his assignment and thinks only to fight the enemy has already lost. But he doesn't care about the mission or the civilians; only that Ferrac of the Amber Vipers claims another laurel for his banner."

Ferrac hissed, "What would you do then, run?"

Hornan didn't blink as he stated, "Yes, that is exactly what I would do. Withdraw the civilians under escort and make for the warp-translation points. I would place duty above glory."

"Foolishness," Ferrac uttered, "The Revenge won't enter the Ion storm, she could spend months blindly wandering this murk while we slipped away, but if we break for open space she will run us down before we can get out of range."

Hornan replied, "Only if we travelled together. The Revenge is powerful, but yet one ship. If we split the fleet into three subdivisions, and headed in different vectors, she can only chase one of us. Wyvern takes one group, Carmilla the second, Jormungandr and Myrmidon squadron the third. Her escorts alone aren't enough to break our defences and the Revenge can't be in three places at once."

"We'd lose a third of the civilians and whichever escort she goes after," Anthor argued.

"But two-thirds would get away," Hornan stated, "I'm willing to put my life on the line to save the mission. Are you?"

Ferrac countered, "Your plan has a cowardly degree of logic, the clerks of the Administratum would approve, but wars are not won by caution and hedging your bets, they are won by bold strategy and courageous action. We cannot run, not from this foe. You speak of duty to the Crusade but what of our duty the wider Imperium, if we let the Revenge roam free there's no telling what she will do. Any Chaos Lord in the galaxy would thirst to claim such a flagship; she could very well become the spearhead of a new army. Even alone there's no telling how many convoys she will ravage, how many isolated worlds she will invade, how many millions she will capture and enslave. Our oaths to the Golden Throne demand we end this threat, here and now. We must stand and fight, win all or nothing."

"You would gamble everything on one roll of the dice," Hornan scoffed, "Idiocy; we already know we can't beat the Revenge. The Imperial Navy favours the bold but one can only fight battles you have a chance of winning."

Ferrac raised his hands and said, "I do not call for a death and glory charge but a sneak attack. We cannot beat Revenge's guns but there are other ways to fight, other resources and weapons we can use to destroy her. Cunning, speed, deception, flanking manoeuvres and a bitter venom in the fangs, these are the weapons of the Amber Vipers."

"Is such a strategy possible?" Blayim asked.

Ferrac elaborated, "I have interrogated captives from Lutum and learned the Revenge is crewed not by experienced void-farers, but by conscripts taken from the planet. Ground-pounders and mud rats, commanders who think only in two dimensions. They can be outwitted, if we are cunning enough."

"I would hear more of this," Blayim conceded.

Hornan was alarmed by the suggested allegiance and protested, "Anything we throw at that monster will be shrugged off with ease. You are tossing all our lives away for nothing!"

"Blood-vengeance is a cause all its own," Ferrac retorted, "The Revenge killed Admiral Belliad, and all the crew of the Veritas. She killed your own Captain. Does the Imperial Navy not yearn to avenge these losses; will your nights not be haunted by their shades if we fail to exact justice?"

Anthor slapped a fist into a palm and cried, "By the Throne he's right. I want a piece of that bitch and I will be damned before I run from this fight!"

He had them, Hornan realised, Ferrac had turned the others to his side. Without admitting it they had chosen their new commander, even though he was an Astartes they would follow him into fire and death. Hornan had failed to claimed leadership and all he could do was accede, "What is your plan?"

Ferrac grinned around his iron mask as he said, "We need some supplies from the cargo-ships and twelve hours for the tech-priests to make some explosives. While they work we position our ships to lay out the snare. I have examined the local lay of the storm and found the perfect sting for a trap. The Carmilla will be the key, her speed and manoeuvrability are essential to pull this off. Prepare yourselves, this will be dangerous indeed but with daring and skill we can end the Revenge and claim justice for our dead!"

The other officers grinned fiercely in approval but Hornan was not so pleased. Hornan had achieved his lifelong dream of ship-command, only to find himself stuck in exactly the same position he had always been, passed over as another ascended. Not only had Ferrac usurped command but he intended to use the Carmilla as bait for his trap. It seemed more than likely the Astartes was going to get Hornan killed before this was over.