Capio Dominatus
"Increase fire from the starboard batteries!" Captain Erathor roared, "Whip the ratings until they bleed if you have to but keep those guns firing. Where the hell are my bombardment cannons?!"
"Magma bombs loading," Brother-Lieutenant Hodds replied smoothly, "Salvo ready in sixty seconds."
"Too slow," Erathor snarled, "Tell them the Throne will cast out any soul who doesn't double their efforts."
"Aye Erathor," Hodds replied with a snide hint of scorn to his tone.
Erathor gritted his teeth at the implied disrespect but he needed to be above such petty jibs. He cast his eyes across the bridge and saw hundreds of serfs and servitors labouring in orderly pews. Like all Imperial capital ships the bridge resembled a Cathedral, from the stacked pews to the ordnance pulpit and enignarium pits. The walls were covered in glorious renditions of famous victories and the roof was painted with a fresco of the Emperor addressing his Legions, the warrior-god holding his flaming sword aloft as he bellowed exhortations to stacked ranks of Astartes, their banners and laurels flying proudly.
This was the bridge of the Thunderlord, the Storm Herald's most potent and revered warship. A classic Battlebarge, Mars built and with a history that stretched over four thousand years of victory. Heavily armoured and with a punch that would rival a Battleship's the Thunderlord was a fearsome opponent. She was Erathor's to command but only begrudgingly so and with great rancour.
Erathor was a proud marine, in glorious plate. His face was regal, a heritage bequeathed to him by his blood. Hailing from the finest nobility of Lujan II Erathor was born for greatness. This vision of splendour was marred by his augmetic legs, wounds taken in a shameful civil war among the Storm Heralds. Erathor had been on the wrong side of that war, the losing side, and had endured a Penitent Crusade as punishment. He had returned redeemed only to find his presence most unwelcome, his kin thinking he should have died on his quest. Still a laurel of forgiveness could not be argued with, so the Chapter had made him Master of the Fleet and tasked him with securing the fringes of their protectorates. An inglorious mission but one he embraced gladly.
The bridge rocked again under his feet, making Erathor's piston legs wheeze as he swayed. He gripped the rail tightly and snarled, "Sixty seconds are up, where are my guns?"
"Stand-by," Hodds replied, "Stand-by… ready!"
"Fire!" Erathor cried with relish.
The Thunderlord spoke and space was rent as fat Magma-bombs shot from the emplacements on her spine. City-killers and world breakers, the munitions were equally deadly to warships and Erathor lifted his eyes to the Hololith to watch their progress. The shells tore across space, closing upon the Fra'al battlecruiser hanging off their starboard flank. The craft was a strange conglomeration of hexagonal modules, bolted together in ways that made no sense to human sensibilities. Plates were layered on top of each other, pointless spars and towers stuck out of it at random and the prow had a distinct trident shape.
Imperial ships were looming fortresses, covered in armour and cathedrals to the Imperium's glory. By comparison this was so spindly that it should shake apart with every turn, but that ungainly appearance was deceptive. The vile Xeno craft could out-manoeuvre any Imperial cruiser and had a weapon system that would make an Eldar weep with jealousy. Massing no more than an average line cruiser the contest should have easily gone to the Thunderlord yet the Xenos' energy barriers had already soaked up a full broadside and her strange Ethercannons punched through shields like they weren't there. She was indisputably a dangerous foe, but she had yet to taste Magma Bombs.
Erathor watched as plasma, missiles, shells, las and grav hammered her barriers continuously. Then the Magma bombs struck. A fat round slammed into the barriers and blew them out in an electro-static bang. The barrage had been timed to perfection, each shell hitting a second apart. The next bomb glanced off an ablative plate, blowing it to shreds but doing no further damage. Yet the next two slammed into the cruiser's aft and plunged deeply within before exploding, tearing vital drive modules to splinters like a bolt round detonating inside a body. Spilling drive plasma into the void the Fra'al cruiser wallowed in agony, her ability to fight crippled beyond repair. She turned her bow to the stars and limped away, retreating as fast as she was able.
"Energy emissions falling," Hodds declared coolly, "She's crippled and running. Permission to heave about and finish her off?"
Erathor could see the opportunity before him but declined the kill and ordered, "Negative, come to course 128 mark 000, maximum thrust."
Hodds blinked in surprise, "We're not claiming the glory of the kill?"
"We cannot waste effort on personal glory," Erathor retorted, "Not while Brothers are dying."
He lifted his eyes to the Hololith and saw the battle raging. The Thunderlord was sailing off the edge of a gas-nebula, one of the many anomalies that dotted the Serrati Stellas, that perennial blight on the Saint Karyl Trail. The battlebarge's taskgroup had been undertaking a routine patrol cruise through that den of iniquity when they had been jumped by a pair of Fra'al vessels. Those noxious alien raiders and pirates of the space lanes, ever ready to prey upon Imperial shipping and raid isolated colonies. Running into them was a battle unlooked for, but one Erathor was determined to win. Unfortunately saying it was far from making it so, and right now it looked like the Fra'al were winning.
Off the port bow the Strike Cruiser 'Hundred Centuries' was trading fire with another Xenos Battlecruiser, the Storm Herald's vessel raked by repeated Ethercannons salvoes. Nearby the frigates of Grendel squadron were beset by swarms of strike craft, five Gladius-class escorts filling the void with tracers as they tried to fend off clouds of Clawcraft. Thunderhawks chased the Fra'al through the void but the Xenos pilots were good, damned good, and kept skipping through the defence to carve craters out of the frigates. The battle hung upon a knifes edge and the slightest thing could turn it either way. Oh, for a single Company of Space Marines on board, Erathor lamented. With such might he would break this foe but there were none to be had, he hadn't been trusted with such power. All he had were guns, so he would have to make do.
"Grendel squadron is overwhelmed, launch the Overlords!" Erathor ordered. From the Thunderlord's launch bay soared arrowheads of gunships. They were new technology and Erathor loathed using them, he'd intended to leave them in reserve, but he had nothing else left so into battle they went. Erathor could only trust his pilots were the Xenos' equals and turned his attention to the bigger ships. He spent a second calculating vectors then ordered, "Steer course 018 mark 345, reload all guns and stand by to engage. Signal the Hundred Centuries to hold course."
Hodds spun about, broad face filled with shock as he said, "They can't withstand that barrage long enough for us to get there!"
"Obey my order," Erthaor snarled, "Send the signal. The Hundred Centuries will draw their eye then we cut across their stern and rip their guts out."
Hodds looked like he was going to argue but sullenly turned and said, "Complying."
Erathor gritted his teeth at the disrespect but knew it was merited. Hodds had been on the other side of the civil war, the winning side. Hodds was firmly of the opinion that Erathor should have found an honourable death instead of returning to trouble the Chapter, but they were lumped together and the Captain was not blind to the opportunity. Erathor needed to prove himself in the eyes of his Brothers. He needed to prove he deserved his place in the Chapter. If he could convince Hodds, then he could convince anyone.
In the Hololith the Hundred Centuries was wallowing in agony. Her shields were useless and her hull ravaged by Fra'al Ethercannons. This battlecruiser was twice the size of her companion and carried a far heavier broadside. Imperial gundecks spat defiance but Hundred Centuries was outgunned thrice over and her struggles grew feebler by the second. Great gouges were being ripped from her spine, leaving bleeding wounds as the proud strike cruiser wailed. Plasma, air and struggling bodies were sucked into the void, crewmen dying by the hundred as the Xenos smote her most cruelly. Erathor ached to intervene but the vectors were not forgiving, he needed more time to get into position.
Seconds passed like eternity as the Thunderlord closed, weapon batteries loaded and ready. She was bearing down at maximum acceleration, heading to cross their sterns at point-blank range but it was taking too much time. More firepower rained on the Hundred Centuries but Erathor could only wait until the port gun decks were aligned and he roared, "Divert reserve power to weapons, lock-on target. On my mark fire everything…. shoot!"
The Thunderlord roared and the decks heaved as stacked ranks of macroweapons let fly. Turbolasers, missiles barrages, Macrocannons, Grav-projectors, plasma annihilators and bombardment cannons lit up, flinging out a torrent of destruction. The Barrage smote the Fra'al cruiser across her rear, slamming into her shields with overwhelming force. The Hexagonal craft was well-protected but the Thunderlord was at point-blank range and had diverted reserve power to her guns.
The shields blew out in the first wave and the subsequent barrage raked her aft with deadly force. Shells breached compartments, grav-blasts crumpled energy conduits into scrap, turbolasers sliced open her drives, missiles exploded in power relays and rivers of plasma melted whole sections into slag. Twisted alien bodies were sucked screaming into the void, as the ship was struck, her stern ripped to shreds. The cruiser was wounded grievously and broke off her attack on the Hundred Centuries as she turned to engage the new threat.
"We hit her hard!" Hodd cried in elation.
"Not hard enough," Erathor growled, "Bring us to port, hurry before they get in behind us!"
The crew leapt to obey but Hodds called up, "The Hundred Centuries signals they have lost all weapons and shields… Brother-Commander Inater requests permission to ram the enemy and take them with him."
"Denied," Erathor spat, "Tell them to cut power and disengage. Pretend to be a hole in space and live to fight another day."
"Erathor…" Hodds said as he prepared a counter-argument.
But Erathor cut him off, "There's no point, she can't make any difference, not anymore."
Hodds nodded and turned back to the helm but Erathor knew it was his fault, he had sacrificed the Hundred Centuries for his strategy and he would bear the consequences. In the Hololith the Fra'al were coming along the portside, burning hard to get behind them. The Thunderlord was turning hard but the Battlebarge was no dainty waif, she was a colossus of the void, made to hammer through anything in her path with sheer brute force. Manoeuvrability was not among her assets.
The portside gundecks were firing but it was a paltry barrage, the guns took too long to reload and the few shots bounced off the Xenos' barriers like rain. In return Ethercannons spoke, disgorging lethal packets of energy. A battlebarge could shrug off a broadside of any equal vessel but these Xenos weapons cut through shields effortlessly and carved through the hull below. Now it was the humans who suffered, dying in droves as the deadly energy slashed into the ship and plunged deeply within. Men who through themselves safe behind thick armour died screaming as alien blasts bored through deck after deck. On the bridge the gravity rocked, sending men sprawling and voices cried, "Hull breaches, decks one through seventy… Nine hundred dead in the portside gundecks… plasma leak deck thirty, seal it now or we lose half the ship… the secondary Chapel-barracks has been gutted, may the God-Emperor forgive this affront."
Erathor heard their distress and yelled, "Hold steady sons of the Imperium!"
On the barrage came and Hodds yelled, "They're pulling behind us!"
It was true, the Xenos were slipping into their rear arc, where the guns could not reach. The Thunderlord couldn't turn fast enough to target them and the Fra'al had a free shot at their stern. Erathor gripped the rail of his Command Dais tight and muttered, "We can't outmanoeuvre them and those Ethercannons have the spread of a broadside but they cut like lances… they'll tear us to pieces. "
He spent a second calculating strategies and saw in conventional battle they would lose. There was only one possibility, he would have to risk everything with the most desperate gamble. "Steer course 000 mark 000, let her run straight and true," Erathor ordered.
Hodds spun about in shock and cried, "What?! No, that will give them a free shot at our stern!"
"You heard me," Erathor barked irately.
"You're handing victory to the Xenos!" Hodds shouted.
But Erathor yelled, "I have given you an order and you will obey!"
Hodd's face with scorn but he was an Astartes, obedience was hammered into his soul. He relayed the orders and Erathor watched as the Thunderlord accelerated in a straight line. The Fra'al turned to follow, trailing her wake and the Ethercannons ripped across the Battlebarge's stern, tearing armoured buttresses away and smashing thrusters to slag.
The bridge heaved as Hodds cried, "We're taking fire!"
"Hold course," Erathor ordered.
Hodds barked, "We're losing engine power, one more hit and we lose helm control."
Erathor's eyes were fixed on the Hololith and he saw the Fra'al following them exactly. He drew in a breath and ordered, "Set prow torpedoes for thirty-second burn, timed delay explosion: two minutes."
"But that won't get them clear," Hodds barked, "We'll run over our own torpedoes."
"Do it," Erathor snarled, "Launch on my command… mark! Now pull up hard, full dorsal elevation, fire ventral thrusters and open drop-pod tubes. Climb, climb for all you're worth!"
In the hololith the torpedoes shot forth, burning hard for thirty seconds before cutting power and drifting on inertia. The Thunderlord's damaged superstructure groaned as her prow rose, climbing laboriously out of the horizontal. Slowly she pulled up, so damned slowly, but with barely a score of metres to spare her keel slipped past the torpedoes and they fell behind. The Fra'al weren't so lucky, slow to respond and not seeing the danger they sailed on, ploughing straight into the drifting torpedoes.
Erathor had timed it to perfection and the warheads exploded just as they made contact. Six shining spheres of plasma erupted across the Battlecrusier's prow, destroying everything behind. The Fra'al ship shuddered as her bow was obliterated, plasma gushing through her compartments like a river. Fires erupted throughout her interior as the damage spread, screaming Xenos choking on smoke and burning alive as the flames spread out of control. Stricken to the heart and bleeding flames from every hatch the battlecruiser rolled over, spinning into a death twirl she would never recover from.
Cheers erupted across the Thunderlord's bridge, mortals yelling in joy at the sight and Hodds breathed out, "Ship-kill… I don't believe it."
Erathor let out a sigh of relief and let go of the railing as he ordered, "Secure the ship, all hands to damage control efforts. Contact Grendel squadron and see if they need assitance. And Hodds…"
"Yes Erathor?" Hodds asked.
"Never again question me in battle," Erathor uttered firmly.
Hodds paused slightly, then his head rose as he accepted, "Aye… Captain."