Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 199

Carmilla sailed into the ion storm and left the battle behind as the cloying surveyor hash made her disappear. The cruiser limped away, nursing terrible wounds and keening hard as her flanks spluttered sparks into the nothingness of space. Outside the damage was considerable but inside it was a nightmare. Corridors were choked with bodies, compartments were aflame and blood washed walls crimson. Smoke filled the air, the nauseating stench of roasted flesh clinging in the nostrils and gravity swayed as misfiring generators frizzed randomly.

On every deck weary and shell-shocked crew went to work. They began the laborious process of shifting debris from blocked corridors, often grimacing as their boots crunched through dead bodies. Sparking power lines were isolated, fuel pipes shut off and leaking compartments sealed to keep air from evacuating. Welding tools blazed, pneumatic hammers rang and buzzsaws screamed as fallen girders were sliced in half. Tech-Priests roamed the damaged sections, intoning laments as they prised ruptured circuits from walls and carried them away on velvet cushions, stepping over dead men and women without concern as they mourned the relics of the Omnissiah. Crewmen strapped on vac-suits as they prepared to step onto the hull, to begin repairing auspex arrays and shield emitters that had been damaged in the fray. The Carmilla was filled with busy industry and the hanger decks were no exception.

Juto Hornan kept his face stern as he stepped into the bay. Before him the cavernous chamber stretched, filled with the loud clatter of ground-crew at work. Servitors whined as they dragged parts and tools along in carts, men shouted instructions at each other and incense lay heavy in the air as cyber-cherubs floated overhead, spraying sacred scents over weary machines. Hornan could not help but note the bay was considerably less cramped than it had been before the battle. The Starhawks were gone, not a single man making it back alive and the Fury squadrons had been cut to ribbons. So many brave souls lost in battle, so many lives cut short, all for the vanity of one arrogant Space Marine.

Hornan spied Ambos leaning against a crate and breathed a sigh of relief, it was hard enough to face their losses, to know she had been killed too would have been a knife in his heart. The pilot was resting against the crate, her flight-suit half undone and was smoking an iho-stick very slowly. Her eyes seemed far away and she stared at her Fury, as teams of workers sawed into the scorched mess of the nose turret.

Hornan wandered over to her and called, "Ambos…. Ambos!"

Ambos reacted slowly, turning her head about with a bleary gaze then blinked and said, "Oh, Captain… sorry, I should have noticed you earlier."

"Don't worry about it," Hornan demurred, "How are you doing?"

Ambos sucked on her iho-stick then muttered, "I'm breathing, which is more than can be said for most of my flight."

"I saw the losses," Hornan consoled, "They were harrowing."

"Deathbirds everywhere," Ambos spat, "So many they filled the void with their wings. My pilots were dying before my eyes and I couldn't help them. Where were the damned Space Marines, that's what I want to know. Where were they while we bled and died?!"

Hornan sighed, "Trying to lead an attack on the Revenge, they failed."

"I know," Ambos spat, "Not one Starhawk came back, not one. I drank with those men and women, they were brave and fearless. They deserved better than to die pointlessly!"

There was a sharp cry from the Fury and Hornan saw the turret open up, hands reaching in to pull out a body: Ambos' turret gunner. He had been sawed in half by an unlucky las-shot and then flash-frozen in the chill of space. Even as they watched the warmth of the air began to thaw the corpse and drops of blood dripped from the truncated torso as it was dumped into a black bag and zipped up. The crew left a servitor to drag the corpse away as they turned their attention to the damaged fighter, beginning to make good its wounds.

Ambos finished her iho-stick and drew another saying, "Want one?"

"I don't, but after today I think I need one," Hornan shrugged as he took one.

He stuck it in his mouth and had it lit by a click-lighter. He noted the way Ambos' hands shook as she lit it but said nothing. He breathed in and felt rich smoke biting his throat, then he coughed as the unfamiliar burn scored his larynx. The taste made his eyes water and his sinuses itch most unpleasantly. He took the stick out and coughed phlegm as Ambos smirked, "Careful, these things will kill you."

Hornan dropped the stick and stubbed it out with his heel spat, "Why… why do you… do it then?"

Ambos shrugged, "I'm not likely to live long enough for it to matter. That's the deal for Fury pilots, a fast life, glory in battle and an early death. We all knew the score when we signed up. Strange it never mattered to me before, but today it sticks in my craw."

"You're not the only one," Hornan sighed, "My first command looks likely to end in failure. Defeat is a bitter pill to swallow; no officer wants to contemplate such a thing, yet here we are."

Ambos' face crinkled as she hissed, "They should have listened to you. If it weren't for those miserable Amber Vipers the fleet would have broken out and reached safety. They were idiots to push for this battle and they got half of us killed in the process."

"The Imperium places little value on our lives," Hornan sighed, "We are expected to serve and die as Terra requires."

"Frak Terra," Ambos spat, "What's it ever done for us, save send out endless demands for us to die?!"

Hornan glared at her and snapped, "That's enough! I know you're hurting, I know you need to vent, but there's griping and then there's sedition. I'll overlook it this once but watch your mouth in the future. If commissar Landry heard such talk he'd put a bolt-round in your head."

Ambos didn't sound chastised as she looked over his shoulder and groaned, "Speak of the Daemon and he shall appear."

Hornan twisted to look behind and saw the glowering face of Landry bearing down on them. The commissar looked irate, but then he always did, and closed in barking, "There you are!"

Ambos made herself scarce as Hornan faced the Commissar and replied, "Landry, how may I be of service?"

Landry pulled up, his face red under his peaked cap as he spat, "You need to be on the bridge, overseeing repairs."

Hornan shrugged, "Torhay is on it, I needed to tour the ship and comfort the crew."

"The crew needs to see you in command, why not an hour ago we nearly had a cascade overload in lance three. It would have blown the ship apart had we not locked it down in time."

Hornan shook his head and said, "I have every confidence in the officers under my command. The crew needs to see me out and about, bolstering morale and firing their spirits."

"That's my role, not yours," Landry hissed.

Hornan sighed, "They need both of us. Defeat weighs heavily upon them, keeping their spirits vital may mean the difference between life and death in the next engagement."

Landry's eyes narrowed as he growled, "They should obey orders, no matter their state of mind. Obedience to the chain of command is obedience to the God-Emperor."

Hornan stepped closer and whispered, "Landry, have you never felt doubt or dismay?"

"Never," Landry retorted.

Hornan scoffed, "What, did the Schola Progenium beat it out of you?"

Landry replied, "I lost such things long before the orphanages took me."

"Really?" Hornan asked in surprise.

Landry sighed, "Of course, I never told you of my life. I was a child in the camp following of the 45th Jurdian Fusiliers. We were besieged at Krakenhold, the last bastion of Jurdia against the Heretics during the Noctis Aeterna. Three years we held that snow-covered peak, three long years. Supplies ran out in the first year and we started eating mastiffs and felines, then the rats, after that we were down to licking moss off the walls. Yet we held true, sure in our faith that the God-Emperor would provide. And so He did, in the bodies of our fallen comrades."

Hornan's stomach flipped as he gulped, "You… ate the flesh of the dead."

"We followed orders, eat to live, live to fight," Landry proclaimed, "We lasted another year on the meat of our fallen. We kept our faith and so deliverance came as our reward. On wings of fire the Primaris Marines of the Indomitus Crusade fell upon Jurdia and ended the war in a day, a day I tell you. Less than one man in fifty who had sworn to defend that peak came out again but the Flag of the Aquila yet flew over the mountain. On that day I learned no matter how cruel or sickening our lot may appear, it always serves a greater purpose."

Hornan gulped, "You were a child."

"I was a warrior of the Emperor, always and forever. Nothing shall sway me from my faith, not even death. Those whose faith is weak deserve to be exterminated."

Hornan stepped back and said, "I see, well perhaps then it is best you share this faith with the crew. While focus on fixing the Carmilla and getting back to the rendezvous with the fleet."

Landry nodded and said, "You attend to the ship, I shall get the crew back into line."

With that the Commissar turned and marched away, glaring fiercely at the passing labourers. Hornan groaned to himself but knew there was no point moaning. He had a thousand concerns to attend to and they all demanded his immediate attention. There was still an enemy at large and a convoy to see to safety and a mad Space Marine trying to get them all killed. Wearily he went back to work yet he could not help but think that the life of an Imperial Captain was proving a lot less glamorous than he had thought it would be.