It was a race. The Witnesses, as the winning bidders were being called, rushed to their waiting flagships and burned to the edge of the Furibundus system. None of the ships sailed on their own, each of the four dynasties had escorts and transports in tow.
Anton admired the vessels, rare and common alike, as they began to overtake his own convoy. The proud cruisers, the sleek forms of escort ships. They were all a welcome sight.
Perhaps there is a chance we can fight the Midnight’s Lair.
The Blessed Enterprise burned at sixty percent of its full military power so as not to tax the gaggle of merchantmen it was preceeding. The three transports rescued and salvaged in the Svard system followed directly behind in an approximation of a reverse chevron. Each lead two more freighters. These burned at three quarters of their full power, straining their enginariums, but otherwise maintaining pace.
All six belonged to a host of trading concerns, merchant guilds, noble houses that had a sudden change of heart the previous day. He trusted them little, but accepted them anyway.
The first pack sped past their formation after half a day’s acceleration, the sharp-edged frigates, raiders, and clippers bore the colours of House Arcadius. Somehow, Goddard Thraves recognized the ships at port and conducted all the niceties required when two ancient dynasties met.
Lord-Captain Strom ordered the running lights on the Blessed Enterprise to activate in an ancient sequence, a greeting. The gesture was returned with just a small delay, the sequence repeating in reverse order.
One scion in a frigate with two raiders for escort, and a pair of star clippers gathered on the way from the Eastern Rim. It was difficult not to feel envy at what the Gerrits could muster. All I can arrange for our own scions are officer berths in other dynasties’ fleets.
Hours later, the Arcadius ships broadvoxed a warning, ghost returns on their auguries, and they requested secondary verification. Anton gave permission from his quarters and all ten ships of the convoy swept the void with their own augurs and shared the results. The approaching Arrowhead and Buckler destroyers likewise did the same.
The other Witnesses did not deign to respond.
The first torpedoes struck the Arrowhead minutes later.
One and a half kilometres long, double-prowed--a catamaran to voidfarers, the Arrowhead and Buckler once belonged to pirates that plagued the stars near Svard. They were known by the free captains that littered the area. Only, they were not pirates but privateers. Battlefleet Calixis was directly interfering in the area of operations for Passage Watch 27-Est, or “Battlefleet Koronus”. Anton didn’t know why, only that the re-classified destroyers would only bring trouble.
The original plan was to press the ships into the dynasty fleet. All the Writs had been prepared. Under the guise of requiring extensive work, and the need for his experienced officers elsewhere, the two ships Arrowhead and Buckler were refitted in Svard. Other officers were transferred aboard, people Anton knew had loyalties to Stroms other than he.
He had the two ships crewed with the scum of the Svard system, virtually emptying the moon Geijer and its fungal-like dockyards. When those ran out, criminals and deserters were pressed into service.
They were always meant to be expendable.
Lord-Captain Anton Strom strode angrily onto the bridge, not quite running to the command throne. “Report!” he yelled as the throne rumbled to life. The scream sent servo-skulls and cherubs fluttering away.
“The Arrowhead is abandoning ship,” Ensign Arrys said, leading the aetherics station in this watch. “Lt. Cmdr. Donnar was reportedly killed by the first torpedo.”
Anton slammed his right fist onto the throne. It was the first display of anger he’d made on the bridge, not counting the few times it had been breached.
“Another salvo!” A pause. “One torpedo,” the ensign continued shakily, “struck the Buckler’s aft sections. Lt. Frya is reporting massive casualties and believes she has found the attackers. She’s opening fire now.”
The holodisplay above the bridge shimmered, showing the two destroyers aflame, runes tattooing every surface to indicate damage. The Buckler was listing to the side, its dorsal macrobatteries already firing.
“Track their solution. Tell me what they’re firing at,” Anton ordered and leaned to the fluted pipe on the throne. “Enginarium, I need full military power. Helm, full speed when you can.” His senior officers arrived one by one, taking their stations, seeing to their duties.
“Combat void patrol reports no hostiles,” Commander Iosef reported.
“Very good, double the squadron strength.”
“Aye sir.”
“Guns?” Anton asked the lord-seneschal. They did not look at each other.
“All weapons reporting ready, lord-captain,” Goddard said formally. “Awaiting targeting solutions.”
The lord-captain nodded. “Be ready to shoot at anything,” he said gravely.
“Yes, lord-captain!”
Lt. Miri entered the bridge and walked quickly to the aetherics den, relieving the grateful ensign. Anton nodded to her. “Get me Lord-Captain Gerrit, if you please.” He activated a well-used rune on the throne, and a privacy field settled around it.
“Lord-Captain Strom, do your ships require assistance?”
Anton nodded. “I would be most grateful, Lord-Captain Gerrit,” he said. “But I would be more grateful if you can find what’s doing this.”
“Eldar, lord-captain. We can’t track them, can’t tell how many of them--Brace for impact!”
“Lord-Captain!” Anton yelled as the tridlink faltered.
The image slowly returned as the master of aetherics struggled to maintain the connection. “--I’m here, Lord-Captain Strom. We’ve been hit. The Gambit is on fire and… we lost... the Jennared. No.”
Anton looked up into the holodisplay just as it updated with a torpedo launch and the confirmed destruction of one of the Arcadian clippers. The lead ship had been unharmed, though a raider was blowing out plasma from a wound to its side.
He’s not commanding from the frigate?--
“My son was aboard,” Abel Gerrit said suddenly. It was almost a question. His scarred face stared into the void.
The rogue trader’s heart clenched. He met the man’s eyes that were slowly widening in horror and pain.
What have I-- Anton cleared his throat.
“We’ll kill them for this,” the rogue trader promised hoarsely. He could feel his seneschal’s eyes on him. “Abel. Abel, listen to me: We’ll make them pay.”
Lord-Captain Gerrit grit his teeth, shaking his head. “I will hold you to that… Anton. We’re coming about.”
The Buckler continued firing at the blurs of red and gold. A deadly, curved ship of the Eldar flitted in the void around it, appearing and disappearing hundreds of kilometres from where it had been. Maybe the macroshells were hitting it, maybe the Buckler was swatting at ghosts. Lt. Frya was determined to ruin the guns to find out.
Three precise pulses of light ended the Buckler’s service to the Strom Dynasty. It died only one hour after the Arrowhead had come apart, tortured by the catastrophic damage the torpedoes had dealt it.
Already, scavenger ships from Footfall raced for the tattered pieces of the two. Intra-system monitors, halo barges, even a salvage ship undocked. Anton saw their returns through the cloud of transports behind the cruiser.
The Blessed Enterprise had raced ahead, leaving behind its convoy. Anton had made a show of ordering his three transports, as much as they were his, to protect the other ships. It was a broadvoxed order, all of Furibundus heard it.
Then they all saw the other six ships turn on his three.
Even the meanest transport in the Imperium carried macrocannon to swat entire cities from orbit. A slow-moving and large target in close proximity was almost too easy even for the inexperienced gunners. The Toriah, a carrack of greatly expanded girth, bled fire from its insides as the two freighters that trailed it attacked. It listed to the side and began to signal its surrender as its engines faltered.
The Vivat and the Lord Hantel fared better, their shields holding just long enough to absorb the greater volleys. The Lord Hantel, no more than a Jericho-class pilgrim ship, followed the Vivat into an arc to bring their guns to bear. It faltered in the turn and the combined fire of three transports killed most aboard.
Anton screamed into the void.
No! He slammed both fists into the throne. He turned to an armsman. “Ready my armour!” he ordered, then to Commander Iosef. “Launch bombers. Bring those traitors down. No matter what.”
The broadvox rune on the command throne was still active.
The Vivat was not a threat. It was big and well-made, but it was also clearly unarmed. The conspirers clearly hoped to capture her mostly intact. Why it was turning about, as if to present non-existent guns, was clearly the reaction of the fool lieutenant in command. There must have been some damage as great slabs of voidsteel and ceramite fell away from the ship.
Minutes later, the heavy-bore macrocannon on the Vivat’s dorsal spine spat shells, each embedded with dozens of massive melta-charges. The kinetic impact of the first salvo was enough to shatter the leading traitor’s void shields, but the shells, robbed of their momentum, detonated on the transport’s armoured hull.
Instead of plunging deep within, the melta-charged shells gouged molten craters on the freighter’s prow large enough to fly halo barges through. The second and third cycles of fire detonated the shells deep within the ship. The freighter’s mangled keel tore free in its dying moments, tearing the ship into pieces as the superstructure’s foundation melted.
The Vivat was not done killing.
Its prow cannon bore fire as it came about, catching a second traitor amidships. Its void shields lasted much longer, but the prow batteries wanted blood. Instead of dying to the third cycle, the reeling freighter died to the fifth, thoroughly and utterly blasted apart.
Anton watched the Vivat’s last moments. It had killed two of the six ships in just under twenty minutes of fighting. The Q-Ship lost power as it was trying to kill its third; the panicked survivors poured all they had into the roaring lion in their midst. Their screams of triumph lasted another thirteen minutes as the Vivat burned and tumbled away.
Then the Starhawks arrived.
Stubby and brutish, the bombers had been the Blessed Enterprise’s main weapon since it had reborn into a carrier. Anton used them sparingly lately, aware of the damage his orders had done to the flight crews’ morale and materiel. Their time in Svard, after the fighting, replenished both. It was time to renew their edge.
Four transports survived. Four bomber squadrons were launched.
Deathspike Squadron was the first to arrive. Veterans of the Imperial Navy, veterans of the Blessed Enterprise. They bypassed the freighter’s turrets easily, firing their upgraded weaponry into the ship’s hull. Melta and plasma cannon carved holes for the guided plasma bombs as the squadron swept past and came about to sting the kilometre-long ship again and again. Its innards melted and broke apart as the plasma bombs detonated within, setting off generatoria and munitions
Anton kept an eye on the attack craft as he ordered the Blessed Enterprise to slow and come about. The Vivat was crippled and they could still render aid.
The Emperor’s Messengers attacked next, killing the Vagabond’s partner much the same way. An hour later the recently recruited bomber crews of Squadron Three and Squadron Five, both not serving long enough to earn names, killed the fleeing traitors.
The cruiser completed its turn, earning the helmsman Anton’s compliments as the cruiser slowed, slewed, then burned on a return vector in precisely timed bursts. Ensign Kem was not on the bridge, and Anton spared no attention for the man.
House Armelan’s ships were approaching from the port. House Ma’Kao’s ships were racing head-on towards them.