Serrati Stellas Chapter 3
Everybody knew Orks could not shoot straight, since the first human explorers first met first greenskins it had been known that they simply sprayed ordnance randomly and hoped to hit something. It was taught to children at their mothers' knee and repeated to Guardsmen on their first day of basic, it was a universally accepted fact and it was also utterly wrong. Space is vast beyond the ability of the human mind to encompass, mankind tried to tame it with charts and Warp Routes and Navigators but the deep dark of space was beyond any such feeble attempts to master. Starships commonly fought at distances of tens of thousands of kilometres, shooting at targets smaller than grains of sand and even Orks needed targeting solutions to hit anything.
Aboard the Kill Kroozers, Mekboyz kicked Grots to do strange tasks and pounded upon Logic engines with spanners until somehow they vomited out targeting algorithms. Across the bows of the ships fat guns were lined up and huge shells were levered into place with crude rods and brute strength. In one gun several Grots were trapped on the wrong side and locked into the barrel, while their overseers laughed to hear their pathetic wails echoing through.
Their target was closing rapidly, a mobile fortress of flying buttresses and void hardened armour. The Manifest Destiny was sailing alone in the void and it was utterly helpless before them. Even closing at an incredible pace the strike cruiser was still barely bigger than a speck against the planetoid behind and the gunz were aimed with careful skill, that no human would credit an Ork with. Gunners fretted and picked their noses as they waited impatiently, yet some primal instinct held their hands back from the firing pins: then the moment was right.
The bows of the Kroozers lit up with a crescendo of light, Heavy Gunz and Mega Shootas hurling shells into the vacuum, rokkets firing off in salvoes while Zzap canons burped rays of green energy. The void was filled with destructive power, the onslaught so thick a man could walk across it and it flew through space like a tidal wave of death. However at the exact moment the Orks fired the Manifest Destiny surged forward, soaring on a comet tail of plasma. The ship's velocity radically changed and it no longer occupied the same position the Orks had fired at. With the targeting now useless the vast majority of the destructive barrage sailed past the Manifest Destiny, barely a handful of shells and Rokkets impacting on the hull. They blew deep impact craters into the hull but this vessel had been built for war and she weathered the punishment even as she dived onwards. Before the Orks could reload the Manifest Destiny was hurtling through their formation. One Kill Kroozer was directly in its path and the Strike Cruiser bore down upon the vast monstrosity, revealing a fanged metalic jaw emblazoned across its prow.
On the Manifest Destiny's bridge the crew pounded consoles futilely or bowed their heads in sacred observance while Chaplain Wrethan boomed out prayers of deliverance. Only the three battle brothers stood resolute amidst the bedlam, setting an example for the mortal crew. Sergeant Toran was standing on the command Dais, eyes fixed upon the Hololith as he did his best to look confident. He knew he was taking an immense risk with the lives of all on board and yet he was certain that this course was their best hope of survival. Now he only had to communicate that confidence to the crew.
Standing just below the Dais Brother Furion said with cool resolve, "Your tactic worked Sergeant, but we have no helm control, logic engines predict impact in ten seconds."
Novak tried to match his brother's steadfastness but asked, "Should we not Brace?"
Toran kept his head held high and responded, "It is too late for that, hold fast and trust in the ships' spirit, she has been true thus far she will not fail us now."
Through the great armour-glass viewportal they could actually see the Kroozer with their naked eyes, they fixed their gazes and refused to blink in the face of the foe. So great were their relative velocities that one second it appeared the size of a penny, the next second it was the size of a house and on the third it was a mountain of plasteel falling upon their heads. Then they collided with the force of an atomonic bomb.
The Manifest Destiny's reinforced bow tore into the prow just above the Kroozers' serrated jaw, crushing and obliterating dozens of compartments. Metal was torn asunder, conduits shattered and hundreds of Ork were instantly liquefied amongst the compressed debris as the Manifest Destiny tore onwards. Hangers and magazines and galleries were ripped apart, the friction generating such heat that Grots were instantly vaporised to leave flash shadows etched into walls. On and on the bow tore, ripping through bizarre machines, workshops and barracks, leaving nothing but compressed wreckage in its wake.
A great gouge was ripped right down the length of the Kroozers' spine but the Manifest Destiny did not escape unharmed herself. The ventral hull was torn open end to end, venting chambers into space and hundreds of crewmen were blown out into hard vacuum. One man managed to hold onto a girder to prevent being blown out but was left gaping like a fish as he suffocated in the vacuum. Astrogation blisters, magazines and machine workshops were exposed to the freezing cold of space, leaving a grizzly scene of men frozen at their stations. The great keel of the Manifest Destiny was torn off and was left sticking out of the Kroozer like some great fin on an ocean predator as the Strike Cruiser tore free and sailed on into the void.
Three seconds had passed since first impact, just three.
The Manifest Destiny hurtled past, inertia carrying it far past the Orks in a heartbeat. Trailing fire the Strike Cruiser soared off into open space, leaving the Kroozer foundering into its wake; its spine ripped open to spill green bodies into the void. With oxygen and fire cascading out of every conduit a series of eruptions tore through the Kroozer, exploding compartment after compartment and killing all in its path. Fires spread everywhere, consuming everything they touched and grower ever fiercer. Then the explosions surged into the Enginarium and melted every regulator, magnetic bottle and cooling device, destroying the containment fields on the reactors. A single second later incandescent fury ripped through the Kroozer and it blew apart as a star formed in its heart.
Clouds of radiation and wreckage engulfed near space, swamping the other Kroozer, who was desperately trying to turn to give chase. It was futile anyway, no manoeuvre was more time consuming in space than directly reversing direction and the Manifest Destiny was already moving off into deep space, beyond their top acceleration. Massive sections of the dead Kroozer slammed into its twin, tearing fearsome wounds into the hull and crippling its ability to turn. The Orks fired off one more volley into the void but it was just empty spite and nothing could touch the Strike Cruiser as it rocketed out of range.
The Manifest Destiny plunged into the deep void, thrusters desperately firing as they tried to restore helm control. On the bridge Toran was holding onto the command Dais' rail as the crew fought to restore critical systems breached and casualties are heavy. We have lost contact with decks one-forty through one-sixty-five and we are bleeding plasma and oxygen from ruptured conduits. The Enginseers report they must perform the Rites of Slumber upon reactors two and five before they explode!"
Torna fought to keep a grimace off his face, that was bad news, yet he summoned his resolve and stated for the crew's benefit, "The Manifest Destiny's heart is tenacious. As long as she can give us some manoeuvring capability then inertia will carry us out of orbit."
Suddenly Wrethan stamped forwards and opened a private channel to the Sergeant so the crew could not hear him as he spat, "Disengage?! Blood has been shed and the enemy is reeling we must turn and finish them off!"
Toran turned face to face with the Chaplain and replied, "With all due respect Father, we have taken heavy damage ourselves, it will take time to repair the critical systems. We are still heavily outgunned by that Kroozer and have Ork escorts burning hard to close on our stern. Without a battle company aboard, we cannot defeat them in a conventional naval engagement."
"You spurn the glory of a noble death? snarled Wrethan his voice loaded with menace "Could it be that you Know Fear?"
Yet Toran wasn't about to be browbeaten or seconded guessed on his first command and rallied, "We shall continue the battle, but not this way."
Wrethan snarled and stepped forwards raising Redeeming-Flame between them, "The God-Emperor commanded Suffer not the Alien to Live!"
Toran felt like a raw-scout novice to be addressed so by a Chaplain but he was surprised by the steadfastness of his own voice as he replied, "I understand my duty Father; our purpose is not only to fight the enemies of the Emperor but to destroy them. To turn about now gives the Orks all the advantages, to meet brutality with brutality only plays to their strengths. Yet there are other strategies to which they are vulnerable, it is written in the Codex Astartes Volume I, Chapter IV, Verse XVI: So in war, the way is to avoid what is strong and strike at what is weak."
Wrethan stood staring at Toran for long seconds, his thoughts impenetrable, then he lowered his Crozius and said, "Indeed, Roboute Guilliman himself wrote that an imprecise strike is a wasted strike. Once more I must commend your keen grasp of the Codex Astartes; you may enact your strategy."
With that, Wrethan stepped back and said openly so the whole crew could hear, "Carry on, Sergeant."
Filled with relief Toran turned to face the bridge crew and ordered, "Lay in a Translunar trajectory and signal Venator squadron to rendezvous on the far side of this planets' satellite moon. We shall reunite with the rest of IXth Squad and together teach these Orks that one does not challenge the Emperor's Space Marines and expect to live!"