Serrati Stella Chapter 7
Across the dirty face of the planetoid trailed a shooting star, the dying Kill Kroozer tumbling in the thickening air as it fell. The Greenskins on-board roared defiantly at their fate but there was nothing they could do against the doom coming for them. The burning wreck tore through the clogged atmosphere like a stone thrown in a pond, large chunks breaking off as friction tore it apart.
High above the tiny speck of the Winged Fury twisted and turned in the dark, an infinitesimally small spark of life fighting to survive in an uncaring universe. It was surrounded on all sides by the towering cityscapes of Ork spaceships, pouring turret fire into the void, creating a deadly lattice of tracers and missile trails through which the gunship weaved and dodged. Though small, by star ship standards, each frigate eclipsed the gunship in every conceivable way and a single hit from any of them would obliterate it.
Aboard the Thunderhawk Toran clung to the hatch in the cockpit, just behind Novak and Rickard who occupied the pilots' positions. They fought with the controls, desperately trying to find an escape vector in the medley of streaming tracers. It was obvious that the chances of survival were beyond laughable but they remained Astartes and to lie down and die was not in their nature. So they fought on, despite knowing that it was utterly futile.
Nobody said anything in the cockpit, for there was nothing to say. Toran knew too well that Space Marines were fated to die battle, immortality was not their destiny. Instead they had something of far greater value, the chance to make a difference in the galaxy and die with purpose. In their hearts they knew they had achieved something of great significance this day, possibly averting an entire Waagh, so Toran took comfort in the knowledge that they would die victorious.
The interior of the Winged Fury was a spinning, nauseating nightmare of loops and spins as it flung itself randomly about. All Toran could do was hang on desperately and pray for a miracle, one he dare not articulate even to himself. As the Thunderhawk drew crazy patterns in the void Toran was filled with a growing awareness of something amiss: though the gunship danced madly through space none of the turret fire was coming near them. He tried to look out the viewportal and asked, "They are putting out enough flak to take down a squadron of Marauders, how can they be missing us?"
Rickard eased off the controls a tiny fraction and saw the Sergeant was right, though the frigates poured out fire in endless streams none of it was aimed in their direction; instead it was streaming off into apparently empty space. They stared into the vacuum and suddenly realised it was not so empty after all, for high above flecks of light glinted off incoming ordnance. Powering through the vacuum were six gigantic cylinders, riding tails of rocket exhaust, each one three times the size of the Thunderhawk and bulging with plasma warheads. They bore down with deadly intent for they were Imperial Naval Torpedoes and they were in the final stage of their attack run.
Novak practically leapt out of his seat and yelled excitedly, "Venator squadron, they bring the Emperor's judgement upon the foe!"
Yet Toran put one hand on his shoulder and pushed him down firmly saying, "Brace yourself young one, this is about to get rough."
A heartbeat later the torpedoes tore through the Ork formation, diving hard like hawks swooping upon their prey. The Greenskins' ramshackle vessels intensified their turret fire, throwing out waves of tracers into the void. A single torpedo was caught by the volley, catching it behind its warhead and prematurely triggering the detonation sequence. A brilliant ball of star-hot plasma erupted, followed by a wave of heat and radiation that engulfed another torpedo, frying its guidance system. This one spiralled off course harmlessly, its fury rendered impotent but the rest of the salvo tore onwards unscathed.
The two leading torpedoes smashed into the closest Ork escort, the initial charges blowing holes in the hull, into which the plasma cores were driven before igniting. Two tiny suns were born, tearing the frigate apart and reducing it to a flaming cloud of microscopic fragments. The blast wave spun the Winged Fury like a leaf in the wind and tossed it wildly off course, the Space Marines aboard reduced to clinging onto the hand rails as Novak and Rickard fought to stop the spin. All Toran could see were the blurred stars spinning outside the view portal, with the occasional flash of a metal hull sailing past.
Meanwhile the blast wave carried onwards pounding on the Ork ships like burning rain, their crude hulls were impervious but their shields were overwhelmed leaving them defenceless. The blast also disrupted the remaining Torpedoes and they drifted off course, machine spirits seeking targets all the while. One torpedo failed to find a target and sailed serenely through the formation and on into the endless night sky. But the last torpedo caught a lucky glancing blow on a frigate and detonated outside its hull, the blast not enough to disintegrate the ship but still enough to cripple its drive systems. It sank into a helpless drift, powerless and uncontrolled while its crew were condemned to an eternal frozen hell, as their orbit decayed over the next thousand years.
The Orks were reeling from the attack, desperately trying to get back in formation but it was too late for their doom was already upon them. Down the vertical axis an Adamantium titan entered the fight, gliding inexorably into combat range. The Winged Fury finally stabilised and Toran was startled to realise that he could see the intruder with his naked eyes, in space terms that was absolute point blank range. It was a sleek predator of deep space, with the speed and manoeuvrability of an escort yet the mass and armour of a Cruiser. Massive gun ports loomed open all along its sides and spine, gaping maws promising annihilation to all they saw. Every inch of it was a glorious declaration of mankind's ability to deliver death and destruction.
"It is the Manifest Destiny!" roared Novak in youthful exuberance.
"Look at her, she hungers for the fight!" shouted Rickard his brothers' excitement cracking his normally stoic demeanour.
As they watched the Manifest Destiny swung into battle like a shark diving into a school of minnows, the weapon batteries along her side gleaming with reflected starlight. Swiftly the strike cruiser cut across the bow of one escort, perfectly 'crossing the T' in a textbook naval attack. With a silent flash of incandescent fury the weapon batteries opened up heaving shells, rockets, las and plasma at the foe and at this range they could not miss. Shield less, the escort took every single shot into its hull, carving great rifts into the metal that gushed air and green bodies. On and on the onslaught came, carving deeper and deeper into the frigate and it seemed to writhe in agony as its metal face twisted and distorted in the inferno. Then it finally rolled over and died.
The other Ork ships were rallying, coming about and trying to get their Gunz aligned, but they had run out of time. Ponderously the titanic barrels of the Manifest Destiny's bombardment canons swung around and unleashed hell. Two massive plumes of fire spat out of her spine as a pair of massive shells knifed into the exposed underbellies of two escorts. Magma bombs were city killers, designed to obliterate whole urban centres in one shot, when they detonated the escorts just blew apart, smashed into a billion pieces of blackened metal.
Aboard the Thunderhawk the triumph of victory was infectious and from the troop bay rang the sounds of Chaplain Wrethan leading the Brothers in hymns of praise and gratitude to Him on Terra. In the cockpit itself they regarded the sleek predatory lines of the Strike Cruiser, they had all fought on its decks before but never had they been in a position to witness its destructive fury at such close range. Rickard broke a rare grin through his stoic veneer and declared, "In all my years I have never seen such a beautiful sight."
"A fine ship," agreed Toran unable to resist the heady rush of victory, "And bloodthirsty to boot!"
Toran watched as the crew of the last Ork escort panicked, turning their belly over and running hard to flee from the fight. But points of light announcing Venator squadron was on the chase, their loaded torpedo tubes promising the hunt would be short and bloody. Toran breathed a sigh of relief at their unexpected deliverance then turned to his Brothers and said "Enough naval gazing, lets back into the fight. Plot in course to dock with the Manifest Destiny and signal her bridge to prepare for planetary bombardment operations. Before we return to the Chapter we will first obliterate the Orks' ground installations and make sure this will world will never again threaten the Emperors domains. Be hearty Brothers, this is our squad's first real victory!"