Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 198
A rare silence took hold of the bridge of the Wyvern as the pitiful handful of strike craft retreated from their aborted assault. Mortals were left aghast at the sight of the attack being broken. All hopes had been pinned on the bombers reaching the target, a prospect cruelly dashed by the fickle tides of fortune. The Starhawks had been annihilated, the Wrath's beaten back and the Fury squadrons left in tatters. Now the crew sat in stunned silence, unable to imagine what would happen next.
Ferrac shared their woe as a cold pit of dread churned in his gut. He knew better than any how important the attack had been, how desperate their chances were, and the reality of failure gnawed at his soul. He wanted to rant and rage, to scream abuse at the mortals around him but he knew it was futile. Shouting would achieve nothing. Instead he took his anger and hammered into a cold lance of determination, an unbreakable will to end the threat once and for all. He would kill the Heretics, or die trying, no other outcome was acceptable.
"Recall the Wraths and divert power to the main drive, ready all gun batteries and cycle the shields," Ferrac ordered grimly.
Shrios turned to him with alarm and hissed, "You can't intend to close with the Revenge?!"
Ferrac turned his iron-covered face to the Apothecary and snarled, "I have no other recourse, we can't beat this foe without getting into knife-fight range."
"Are you insane?!" Shrios hissed, "Look at our fleet, look at the state of us! Our asteroid failed to break the Revenge, our shots wash off its shields and our bombers are ashes in the vacuum. If we close with that Battlebarge she will rip Wyvern to shreds!"
"We can take her," Ferrac growled.
"For Throne's sake, wake up!" Shrios yelled making the mortals start, "We're outnumbered, outgunned and outclassed. We've lost this battle, it's over. If we want to have any chance of regrouping we need to withdraw immediately!"
"Cowardice," Ferrac growled, "I don't listen to the counsel of fear."
"You'll get us all killed," Shrios snapped.
"This ship and crew are irrelevant; all I need is to get close enough to launch a boarding action. If we can get our squads inside the Revenge we can kill their leadership. Strike off the head and the body will die."
"You'll never get a Thunderhawk through that close-in-defence, let alone two," Shrios protested.
Ferrac barked, "Then we die with our faces to the enemy, a glorious end to our saga, worthy of any Space Marine!"
His words rang out boldly and with confidence, but then a cold voice uttered, "No." Ferrac blinked in surprise and turned to see Inquisitor Markof standing behind him, face set in stern disapproval. The mortal had stood silently throughout the battle, keeping his opinions to himself but now he spoke. Ice was in his eyes and steel in his voice as he repeated, "No, you shall not."
"You dare speak to me in that tone?!" Ferrac hissed.
"I am the Emperor's Left Hand, I speak however I please and I say you shall not do this."
"You think to insult an Astartes on his own bridge, I should kill you for such an affront," Ferrac growled.
Markof didn't sound impressed as he retorted, "I have been threatened by princes and potentates of the Warp, Greater Daemons and Lords of Hell. Your bleatings are nothing by comparison. I have stood back and let you conduct this farce until now, but no more. This fight is over, you have lost. Conduct a withdrawal before you get more Imperial soldiers killed."
"The foe remains at large; the threat to the Imperium is not ended!" Ferrac protested.
Markof scoffed, "Do not pretend you care about the Imperium. I see your mind, your head is filled with nothing but the glory of Ferrac. I care nothing for your dreams of a glorious death, I care only that the mission is completed, a mission you have endangered with your reckless quest for laurels. I will suffer this no more, withdraw immediately. That is an order."
"You have no authority or power to give orders to the Adeptus Astartes," Ferrac snapped.
Markof lifted his chin, revealing his Inquisitorial Rosette as he declared, "This gives me the authority. As an Inquisitor the Emperor himself endows me with the right to compel compliance from any and all loyal servants of the Throne. If that does not convince you then remember I have the full power of the Imperial Regent at my back and he holds your Chapter's fate hostage. If I die the Indomitus Crusade will obliterate your miserable band and the Amber Vipers will be left but a footnote in galactic history. Defy me and Coluber's last sight will be Imperial lances carving your Nest apart piece by piece."
Shrios stepped up and placed a hand on Ferrac's pauldron saying, "Brother, it's over, we must withdraw." Ferrac wanted to rage and shout at them but knew he could not. The fleeting chance for victory had vanished and all that was left was shameful defeat. The Amber Vipers were no strangers to bitter truths and hard choices, cold calculations made to ensure they survived another day. For the first time he grasped the weight of Coluber's burden, steering a course between honour and survival, and it was a yoke he had no wish to bear.
Ferrac looked into the Hololith and uttered, "The Revenge is coming about, her escorts are moving to flank us and cut off any escape. They'll box us in so she can finish us off. We can't get out without suffering more losses, but we can disengage if we are willing to shed our blood in the process."
Markof stated without a hint of mercy, "Do what you must, so long as the prisoner remains in custody."
Bitterness clawed Ferrac's throat as he ordered, "Signal Jormungandr to run straight and disappear into the mists until she can affect repairs. Carmilla is to recall her Furies and break to port, they can both rendezvous with us with at the civilian ships. Helm, bring Wyvern to course 000 mark 090, then accelerate at maximum thrust. Comms, get me a link to Myrmidon squadron."
A Hololithic image of Commander Blayim appeared; his uniform regulation perfect. Yet tension was evident in the tightening of his jaw and the worry in his eye. Ferrac wasted no time to say, "Blayim, I am ordering the fleet to disengage. For that I need Myrmidon squadron to cut across Revenge's flank and draw her fire."
Blayim didn't so much as blink as he replied, "You understand what that means for our frigates."
Ferrac replied stonily, "I do, but the fleet can't get away otherwise. Some must die, so others can live.
Blayim nodded once and said, "As the Golden Throne wills. I shall address my crews and tell them that the Emperor expects to see them all at His table before the day is out."
The image snapped off and Ferrac was left speechless. He hadn't rated Blayim as anything other than a regulation-obsessed martinet, yet he had accepted an order that would send him to his death without a qualm. Ferrac was forced to admit he had underestimated both the commander's grit and loyalty to the Throne.
The bridge swayed as Wyvern turned hard, testing her artificial gravity to the limit with the sheer of the violent manoeuvre. The hull groaned as the ship came about, diving out of the horizontal plane of battle and running for the cloying mists of the ion storm. If she could get far enough away the disruption would hide her energy signature so she ran for all she was worth. Behind her Revenge came under fire from Myrmidon squadron, three sword-class frigates cutting around her port flank with laser-batteries thundering. Sheets of las swept over the reinforced shields, making them shine opaquely but once more they proved inviolable. The tiny frigates could make no impression on the Revenge's defence yet they refused to break off. They pressed their attack, firing ceaselessly, their courage never faltering.
Almost lazily Revenge answered, her port side rippled with discharge as stacked weapon batteries made her contempt known. The first sword struck lasted almost five seconds in the deluge of firepower, her shields collapsing swiftly and her length chewed apart by macroweapon fire. A turbolaser dealt the deathblow, carving her in half across the spine and leaving two shorn lengths of ship tumbling away into the void. The second fell prey to bombardment cannons, a city-killing shell ripping out the lower decks and letting loose an inferno within. Commander Blayim died on his bridge, his regulation-perfect attire flash burnt to ashes around his charred bones as he drew breath to utter a final epithet, his stalwart commitment to the calling of the Imperial Navy never faltering even as death claimed him. The last sword fell victim to a lucky shot that took out her drives, leaving her adrift in the void. Waves of boarding pods followed soon after, leading to a vicious boarding action that would see thousands of loyal souls dragged away in chains to sweat over Revenge's guns in misery and defeat.
Mymidon squadron was dead but Wyvern had problems of her own. The vessel tore away from the fight, racing to break free but her path was blocked by the two frigates of Scorpio squadron, looking for vengeance. There was no time to evade or reconsider; Wyvern could only plunge onwards, trusting to speed to see her through. Scorpio squadron however was not willing to let her go so easily, their torpedo tubes slid open and from each shot forth a deadly projectile, warheads armed and seeking targets.
"Torpedoes in the void!" Ferrac shouted, "Where are the Wraths?"
"Two minutes out!" a crewman shouted in dismay.
"Too far," Ferrac spat, "Order defence turrets to fire, then all hands brace for impact!"
The crewmen raced to obey but servitors wailed in denial, refusing to divert power from essential systems. A mortal yelled, "The Machine Spirits are offended by the demands of our manoeuvres, those sharp turns have strained the plasma relays beyond tolerance!"
"Frak," Ferrac spat, "Hold on, this will be rough."
Towards the bow hurtled a pair of spinning torpedoes, drawing near with terrifying alacrity. Webs of tracers rose to meet them but Wyvern was no battlebarge, her close-in defence was lacking and missed entirely. Before they could recalibrate the torpedoes slammed home, spilling plasma over the prow. The first punched a crater into the prow, incinerating a half-dozen macrocannons in a moment and killing hundreds of men chained to the weapons. The other struck at an angle and sent waves of plasma down the port gunwales, that spilled into the open and inviting hanger deck. The atmospheric integrity shield proved no barrier and all within were incinerated in a moment: men, machines and servitors reduced to ashes and slag. Blast doors slammed shut to cut off the fire but in the port hanger there were no survivors.
"Impacts! We've lost the port hanger bay!" a crewman wailed, "The Machine Spirit is in agony!"
Ferrac heard the ship's distress but had no time to mollycoddle weak mortals as he snarled, "Steer course 035 mark 025, ready all guns to fire."
"You're taking us at them?!" Shrios yelped.
"The only way out is past them," Ferrac growled, "Ready prow and starboard guns to hit the nearest as we pass, let's remind them why the enemies of man fear the Space Marines!"
Wyvern tore towards the frigates, bearing down like a meteor falling to earth. The pair had no time to reload their torpedoes but met the charge with their guns, throwing a salvo of shells and missiles into the closing ship's path. Wyvern's shields took the blows across her prow, shunting megatons of explosions aside as she charged. They buckled and strained under the onslaught but held true, the extra protection added to the ship proving their worth once more.
Ferrac held onto the rail as the deck heaved and shook under his boots and yelled, "Come on you ugly old scow, it will take more than this to kill you!"
"Shields are buckling," Shrios hissed.
"She'll hold long enough," Ferrac snarled, "Give me one more moment, just one more... now: Fire everything!"
Wyvern passed across the bow of the nearest frigate and her gun decks opened up. A torrent of las, plasma, grav, shells and missiles flew across the gap, slamming into the pointed bow of the foe. Her shields writhed in the onslaught for a moment then gave out, overwhelmed by the tide of explosions. Yawning cracks were carved into her prow, missiles dove into her stern and las burrowed through her hull to slash vicious wounds deep within. The Frigate wailed as plasma melted her superstructure and grav-blasts crumpled compartments into rubble, killing hundreds with every shot. The Frigate screamed over the vox and she vomited air and energy from her terrible wounds as the fusillade tore her apart and overloaded her reactors.
The Frigate detonated like a demolition charge going off, sending out a wave of plasma that expanded in a sphere of brilliance. The wave washed over Wyvern's shields, testing them to breaking point, but they held firm. The same could not be said of the last Scorpio, her shields failed and she was doused bow to stern in plasma. Armour peeled from her flank and her entire left side was burnt to a crisp, leaving her a charnel house of ashen corpses. Wyvern disdained the corpse as she tore on, diving into the storm beyond and disappearing.
There was no cheering, the mortals sitting and shivering at their narrow escape as they retreated. It fell to Shrios to say, "Ship-kills confirmed."
"A small token of vengeance for the loyal lives lost this day," Ferrac intoned, "May their shades rest easier for knowing they were not alone in death."
Markof didn't sound moved as he said, "Make sure we are lost in the storm then fall back to the civilian ships."
Ferrac rounded on him and snarled, "We stand defeated and that all you have to say?!"
Markof replied coldly, "Do not blame me for your mistakes. You forced an unnecessary battle and proceeded to lose it. Do not compound your error with useless moaning. Your only concern from this point on is to deliver the prisoner to the Crusade. See to it."
With that Markof stomped off, leaving the bridge behind as Shrios mustered, "Don't listen to him, it was a hard call and you made it as best you could."
Ferrac snapped, "Don't coddle me, I know what I did, I know what mistakes I made. He's right; all those lives lost are on my head. And it falls to me to make it right."
"How do you plan to do that?"
Ferrac sighed, "By doing the only thing I can do, obeying orders and getting us out of here. We fall back, make repairs and then flee in disgrace. It is the only course we have left to us."