Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 206

"I'm not looking forward to this," Ferrac confessed grimly.

"Which bit?" Shrios queried, "Facing men you led to defeat, admitting you were wrong or telling them we have to run?"

"You're not helping," Ferrac snapped.

"Wasn't trying to," Shrios retorted, "You made this mess, now it's up to you to fix it."

Ferrac eyed the snide Apothecary irately. He wanted to berate him but knew it was pointless. Shrios was right, Ferrac was faced with the consequences of his mistakes and would have to accept the responsibility. He wished he didn't, but there was no one else to blame. He had wrested command and with it the onus of duty, trying to pretend otherwise was futile.

Ferrac shook his head as he reflected on the last few days. The Wyvern had picked her way back to the rendezvous via a circumspect course. It had taken longer but Ferrac was in no hurry. While they had drifted back he had reconsidered their situation and weighed their options, none of them good. By his reckoning the chances of the battered Imperial fleet escaping unmolested were laughably low, the odds of prevailing in a fight even worse. There was no two ways about it; the Heretics had the loyalists by the balls. Thus he had been forced to take extreme measures to ensure their escape.

Ferrac muttered, "At least the refits proceed apace."

Shrios replied, "Fitting out those cargo ships was a good idea, it might even work. But they'd better hurry."

"Why the haste?" Ferrac asked in confusion.

Shrios answered, "I've been checking in on Maru and the prisoner, they don't look so good."

Ferrac felt a thrill of alarm in his guts as he pressed, "She isn't about to break out is she?"

Shrios didn't look confident as he replied, "Not yet but Maru looks tired, at least as tired a Dreadnought can get. His reserves are finite while hers grow. He muttered something about her being fed vitality from somewhere. Mystical claptrap to my ears, but I think the sooner we get her to the Crusade the better."

Ferrac couldn't argue with that, the time had come to make their exit. He drew in a breath and stepped onto the Hololithic projection plate, waiting for the arcane mechanisms to awaken. He was in a communication suite while around the edges chattels sweated over bulky devices that whirred and clanked ominously. Nothing happened for a moment as the chattels began shouting at each other. One man showering the logic engine with blessed unguents while another dove under a cogitator and began fiddling with wires. Meanwhile a man swung a silver hammer to bang on a cogitator as he chanted the most ancient litany of Enginseers, passed down from adept to adept from the distant mists of proto-history: "Work you bloody stupid piece of crap! Why won't you work?!"

Nothing happened and Ferrac bit down on a curse as the chattels resorted to desperate measures. From the rear of the room a chattel in a long red robe stepped forth, this attire laced with binaric equations. His beard was long and his eyes rheumy and he had to be led by the hand by child, who was shaved bald and inked with cogs and skulls. All made way in reverence as the venerable enginseer proceeded to the control lectern. Silence fell as all watched in awe as the ancient reached out a liver-spotted hand to a panel marked ON/OFF and switched it to the off position. Every soul held their breath in rapt attention as he ceremonially recited a ritual plea to the Omnissah for favour, then flipped the switch back to the on position.

Suddenly the cogitators engaged, humming loudly as a column of light engulfed the platform. Two other figures emerged from that light, Captains Anthor and Hornan, wavering slightly as the ion-storm's interference marred their signals. Ferrac hadn't seen the two men in days and they looked as tired as he felt. Anthor was haggard and had bags under his eyes. It seemed the flight and frantic repairs had worn the old man down badly. Hornan looked fresher but he was standing oddly, his right hip clearly pained. He must have suffered some wounding in the battle, but Ferrac brushed that off, if the man could stand he could fight.

The pair blinked as Ferrac's image was projected into their ships and Anthor snapped, "Finally!"

"Why have you kept us waiting?" Hornan hissed.

Ferrac knew he should soothe their feelings but that was not his way, instead he growled, "I appear when I mean to, not a moment before."

"Typical," Hornan sneered.

"I agree, this is an affront," Anthor added.

Ferrac's thin patience ran out and he snapped, "We are soldiers of the Emperor, not children who need their hands holding. Put your grievances aside and focus on the danger before us!"

The pair didn't seem mollified and behind him Ferrac heard Shrios mutter sarcastically, "Great start Brother."

Ferrac gritted his teeth, knowing he was getting this all wrong so covered, "I know you have each suffered grievous hurts, we all have. The battle against the Revenge went poorly and left us bloodied."

"It left piles of dead in our wake," Hornan sneered.

"Yes," Ferrac admitted, "And strategically weakened. It's time to face facts; we no longer have the means to defeat the Heretics. We have no option left to run."

"Wait," Anthor yelped, "You counsel disengaging?"

Hornan too seemed surprised as he said, "I never thought I'd hear you say such a thing. You seemed determined to throw everything we had at that monster."

"While there was a chance at victory I was," Ferrac stated bluntly, "But we are reduced to three middling cruisers. All hurt, all weakened. Another engagement with the Revenge will be the end of us, we must evacuate."

"Aren't Space Marines supposed to fight to the death?" Anthor pressed, "No step backwards, and all that stirring stuff."

"Only when there is a wider strategic goal to be fulfilled or a point of honour to be upheld," Ferrac replied, "We do not throw our lives away without good cause. We fight bravely, not stupidly."

Hornan rubbed his jaw and said, "So we run… the question is how do we get away?"

Anthor agreed, "Breaking up our forces is no longer viable, we can't risk it. The best we can hope for is to wait until their back is turned and then run as fast as we can in a straight line and pray to get clear."

Hornan shook his head and said, "The civilians will never make it, they're too slow. Even if we put ourselves in the Revenge's path we would be brushed aside with ease. Maybe it's time to admit the civilians will never get out and take the warships without them."

"Abandon the convoy?!" Anthor spat, "Discard the reason we came to Lutum in the first place, all to save our own hides!"

"Preserving military assets for the next engagement," Hornan argued, "This world is only one of a million. That convoy can be replaced; warships are more valuable to the Crusade. I say we spilt up and head out in different directions, while the Revenge picks off the civilians."

Ferrac held up his gauntlet and said, "There is no need for that, I have a plan."

Anthor snorted, "I doubt we will like it."

Ferrac grunted agreement then explained, "I have passed orders to the civilians to refit three cargo ships. Tech-priests are working to rig their reactors to overload on command and we are transferring as much fuel and combustibles to their holds as possible."

"Fire ships," Anthor concluded, "You're making fire ships to blast us a path out of here."

"I am," Ferrac agreed, "I don't know if it will be enough to destroy the Revenge but they should distract her long enough for us to disengage. The explosions will buy us time to reach my Chapter. They are still closing from the outer system, if we can get to them we will be safe."

There was a snort of derision from Hornan as he growled, "For a second there I almost believed you were concerned about our lives. But no, you plan to throw more men into the meat grinder, spending blood like it was petty coinage. The crews of those ships will be doomed."

Ferrac's lip curled as he retorted, "It has to be done. If we try to save everyone then we all die. The Fire Ships will be run on minimal crews, with volunteers drawn from the fleet who are oathed to give their lives for the Emperor. They will die knowing they have served the Golden Throne well."

"More blood spent for the cause of Ferrac," Hornan sneered, "You won't be happy until you get us all killed."

Ferrac hand twitched over his axe-rake as he growled, "Were you in my Chapter I would rip open your throat for speaking to me thus."

"Then it's a good job I am not in your Chapter," Hornan retorted, "I am a naval officer, I do not answer to you. Word will be reported of this affront, you can be sure of it."

Anthor stepped in to say, "There's no point squabbling. We are all loyal souls here, we must stand united or die. The plan could work and it offers the rest of the fleet the best chance to escape. We must accept lives will be lost in battle, they always are, and focus on our duty to the crusade."

Ferrac settled down and acceded, "It will take two more days to complete the refits. Make good use of this time to effect repairs, I will need Jormungandr and Carmilla at peak status to pull this off. Even with Fire Ships I doubt the Heretics will make our exit easy."

"We stand with you," Anthor agreed.

Hornan's lip set into a cold line as he stated, "I'll be there the time comes. Until then Carmilla will watch the perimeter. I don't want to be too close if you slip up and set off the Fire Ships early."

"Do as you will," Ferrac allowed, "So long as you are ready to act when the time comes."

"When the moment comes I'll be right behind you," Hornan stated, then the images blinked out.

Ferrac stepped off the platform with a sigh as he grumbled, "That could have gone better."

"A diplomat you are not," Shrios agreed, "Still at least they agreed to the plan."

"Begrudgingly, but aye, we're all agreed," Ferrac concurred, "We can only trust we have the skills and daring to pull this off. I wasn't lying when I said this wouldn't be easy."

"Nothing worth doing ever is, yet once we're out we can link up with Coluber and regroup. He can worry about the Revenge while we head on to the Crusade."

Ferrac sighed, "The sooner the better. I have no idea how he balances these concerns. Honour, strategy and survival, it makes my head ache. Give me a straight-forward battle and a foe I can slay with my axe-rake any day."

Shrios snidely agreed, "And to think the lower ranks dreamed of you being Chapter Master one day."

"I killed the last Marine who said such a thing to my face," Ferrac growled, "But you are right, it's not for me. Let Coluber worry about grand affairs, so I can fight and kill and bleed in the mud. For today our only concern is getting out of here. Let us get back to work; I don't intend to stay in this storm an hour longer than necessary. But at least we can be sure of working uninterrupted in this muck; they'll never find us in here."