AuthorJake Ball Commander Falco of the Endeavour class light cruiser Enceladus picked an invisible mote of dust from his otherwise impeccable Ultima Segmentum grey uniform. His fine features would be called weather-beaten were it not for the fact that he had spent much of his adult life in the artificial environment of Imperial starships. The crags and lines of his face were not caused by wind, rain and cold, but by the relentless pressure of command, and the unceasing vigilance of patrols that stretched for years. Falco was not tall, but had a wiry build typical of his birth world of Kyrinov. His eyes were a steel grey, piercing as he looked through the forward bridge windows down the long, glacial white fore section of his command; to the blood red and beaten gold of the prow. She was a modification on the standard Endeavour design; lengthened slightly to allow her to carry more supplies for the more extended patrols typical in Battlefleet Valhalla’s patrol fleet. As a matter of professional pride he kept her a gleaming white, like the ice and snow of her namesake, a small moon in mankind’s very home system itself. His fastidiousness with this ship also had a practical benefit too. It did no harm for the population of a remote planet to see the first visitor from the Imperium of man as a pure, mighty, shining pillar in the heavens. In fact, on the feral world of Garok, she was known as the sky spear, and believed to be the weapon of a great Ice giant, who brought woe and wrath to those who were led astray by daemons.
For this mission, the ship’s additional storage space was being used to carry supplies to the navy squadron fighting out of world Ianthe. The bulk of the cargo sat on the two boxy navy transports, one either side, both slightly behind his ship. Their functional forms were a sharp contrast to the lithe splinter of ice of the Enceladus, but the supplies they carried were vital to continued resistance to the Chaos tide threatening to swamp the Ianthe system. It was so important that some supplies got through that each ship was carrying a mix of stores, to ensure that a little of everything would get through even if ships were lost. The escort should have been heavier, but because the fleet was so thinly stretched, his ship was the only warship available, and on his shoulders laid the fate of the Ianthe system. The small convoy had dropped out of the warp 12 hours ago, as all ships making this journey did. Nobody knew why they had dropped out of the warp except for the navigator, and he would not elaborate on the subject even when pressed by Inquisitorial agents. Falco never liked coming through here, four days at least skirting around the infamous Diemos nebula to port, hemmed in to starboard by a huge and unexplained asteroid field. The region hid pirates, smugglers, Orks and worse, as they knew the route as well as merchant captains did. In this dangerous area the ship was at defence watches, half of the crew at their action stations, the other half sleeping or on other duties. The ships were moving at an economical cruise speed, at 50% power. How he could have used his counterpart ship Argus, a Defiant class light cruiser, and her attack craft to scout the deceitful swirls of the nebula ahead! As he looked at those crimson mists, his eye was drawn to a patch of gas up ahead...why was he looking there? Was that a movement? He turned to his first lieutenant, lieutenant commandeer Horrocks, a granite like presence next to him, almost seeming to mirror the mining world of Felspar that was his sire. “Horrocks, cast your eye fine off the port bow, can you make anything out?” Horrocks snapped his head to face the bearing and stared. Hard. His mouth was just opening as Falco saw the movement again, definitely motion this time! “Action stations” barked Falco, the command sending electricity though his bridge crew. The sounds of blaring horns rang out across the ship, accompanied by thudding and excited voices as those of the crew not at their battle positions sprinted into position. “Captain! Threat red 020! By the Emperor, they’re right on top of us!” Shouted the sensor operator; Ensign Wilkins. “I see it Mr Wilkins, steady yourself” The young man’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, contrasting sharply with the slate tones of his uniform. He was from the agri world of Freya’s Gift, and was painfully inexperienced-only 6 months with the ship, and it showed. “Make to the transports: change course, 30 degrees to starboard, threat to port bearing 020” snapped Falco. “Helm, bring us between the threat and the transports.” Falco studied the tactical cogitator’s display. The ancient device identified the threat vessels as three Ork Savage class ships, approaching in line abreast formation. He had dealt with these before-they could be deadly in ambush situations such as these, their prow heavy gunz being deadly at short range. To his bridge crew he said “they will try to close and blow us away at close range. Let’s see if we can discourage them shall we?! Tactical. Launch torpedoes!” “Torpedoes away sir” said the dour faced lieutenant Parkes, leading his gunnery department. The gigantic missiles surged away, two flaming man made comets disappearing off into the distance. Falco didn’t really expect the small torpedo salvo his vessel carried to discourage the Ork vessels given their known aggression levels and heavy frontal armour, but perhaps it might cause a course change and buy the transports a bit more time to get clear. “They’re coming in hot!” reported Wilkins. So, the foul beasts were going all ahead full and damn the torpedoes?! Falco could hardly blame them. Even as that thought crossed his mind, the pinprick blossom of a torpedo impact twinkled like a distant ruby as the Enceladus’s torpedoes hit one of the Ork vessels. “Wilkins, any damage?!” “I can’t see any sir, they’re going straight for the transports at maximum speed, no deviation.” Falco took in the scene, weighing the odds. Was it better to keep the transports close to the flagship, or should he try to occupy the brute Xenos whilst the transports escaped? He made a snap decision. He turned to his the communications officer, the tall, spare ensign Barrows: “Send to the transports: make for rally point gamma at flank speed.” Barrows complied, then, a matter of seconds later, “Transports acknowledging sir, I’m reading energy spikes consistent with maximum power” As the transports drew away the Orks curved slowly round, trying to track the transports but failing, and seeming to settle for a head on pass at the Enceladus. This was what Falco had been trying to engineer...the closing target would make things easier for his gun crews if he could time the turn... He counted down in his head. Three, two, one... the Orks surged closer, growing larger on his display. “Engines to 75%, Starboard 30. Guns, train prow batteries to port.” A beat of time passed, a silent eternity passing in that final moment as the Xenos closed the final few clicks. “Fire!” barked Falco, the tension of the wait over in an instant. The Enceladus’ Aquila pattern macrobatteries belched fury towards the hated foe, fire erupting from the mighty weapons as one concentrated wavefront. The shells engulfed the crude vessels in a focused cataclysm of explosions. In the midst of that rolling ochre flurry a crimson light bulb popped, signifying the destruction of an enemy vessel. “A hit!” exclaimed Wilkins excitedly, his wide eyed face now showing a tense joy through a light sheen of sweat. Falco’s pride in his crew surged. “Good shooting port broadside, an extra half day’s rations for every man, Parkes!” Did he detect the ghost of a proud smile on the usually grim faced man’s lips?! Wilkins interrupted that whimsical thought: “Remaining enemy ships still closing sir, estimated enemy firing range in one five seconds.” Falco took a deep breath. He knew these vessels were very heavily armed for their size and could cause considerable damage to a ship such as his...and he had just deliberately placed her squarely in their path. “Prepare to receive fire” said Falco. “Enemy firing range in three, two...” An uneven ripple of smouldering flashbulbs erupted on the enemy ships, as they interrupted Wilkins’ countdown and surprised him for the second time in the engagement. There was a tense, tight moment as the crude enemy projectiles closed the gap between the vessels, and then the torrent of fire impacted the Enceladus. The ship shuddered, her pristine white hull pockmarked by a slash of ugly dark splotches, like a sack of coal split open onto virgin snow. Falco steadied himself on the arm of his command chair, somehow having risen to his feet in that interminable second without consciously doing so. A deadpan machine voice cut in as the servitor manning the damage control station reported. “Shields overloaded. Hull damage. Hold 3 open to vacuum. Port antenna array offline. ” “Damage control parties to compartment six’’, intoned Horrocks, calm and unflappable as ever. Wilkins piped up; his young voice a striking counterpoint to the sober tones of the first lieutenant. “Enemy still accelerating sir! No sign of course change!” Falco frowned. So the damned greenskins were after the transports after all. He supposed they must be after the supplies they carried, as it was not like them to pass up the opportunity for a “good scrap” with a “proppa ship” such as his. They were trying to surge past him, the canny sods. If they got at the transports the valiant defenders of the Ianthe system would be left with nothing. “Make to the transports, continue to apply emergency power towards the rally point” If he were not careful the damn Xenos would have a clear run at the ships he was escorting and their vital cargoes of munitions and stores. He had to keep them in firing arc! “Helm! Emergency turn to port, on my mark........3, 2, 1, mark” whipped Falco’s voice, tone of terse command running through his bridge crew like a static charge. The ship’s compensators whined as the ship answered the helm. In the gun decks those of the crew who had not made it to grav couches were thrown around, some pulped against the unyielding bulkheads of their action stations. Many of the crew had still not regained their positions when he gave the next order, but no matter. “Port weapons batteries, fire as you bear!” A stuttering broadside streaked out from the ship, detonations bracketing the Ork craft. Falco didn’t need the Enceladus’s usually impressive, but now damaged, sensor array to tell that there was no damage, as the alien ships sailed sedately though the ragged bubbles of the explosions. Falco slammed his fist down on his command throne. ‘’Emperor damn them!’’ He was helpless to intervene as the pair of pirate vessels began to overhaul the fleeing transports and cruised into range of their heavy gunz. The incongruous silence accompanying the staccato crimson flashes of the volley of fire made it almost hard to believe that very probably thousands of humans had just perished. He peered at the display, searching desperately for the transports. The imperial transport Empire Fidelity palpably staggered, shields totally overwhelmed, compartments sliced open to the uncaring vacuum, fires blazing out of control. It was never known if it was the overloaded engines, pushed beyond their redlines and then heavily damaged by crude Ork projectiles, or whether it was a sympathetic detonation as the fires surged into the cargo spaces holding reload torpedoes for the embattled squadron. The ship was ripped apart by a cacophony of overlapping explosions, flowering angry red and orange into the void, interspersed with tiny vivid flashes of other colours, here topaz, there jade, as the trace elements in the ship’s cargo combusted in the fury of the ships death. Falco made himself watch. His fury rising and threatening to melt the ice of the battle calm he held in his head. By the Emperor, these foul creatures would not escape, he swore it! “Hard a starboard, prow weapons train to starboard!” boomed Falco, louder than he intended. His bridge crew focused ever harder on their consoles, exchanging furtive glances as the unusual fury of their captain registered. As the ship came about again, creaking and protesting like a sailing ship of old earth, the starboard broadside came screaming around towards the line of enemy ships, striking the nearest ship firm and true. The fire overwhelmed the shield generators and knocked visible pieces from the crude craft, which spiraled away in a ragged halo as the vessel was split into several fragments like a brown apple hit with a baseball bat. Falco felt a surge of fierce elation rise in him as the Ork vessel perished. His blood was up now, and only the total destruction of the enemy would suffice. The souls of the crew of the Fidelity demanded it! The remaining Ork vessel continued to chase the Empire Diligence, paying no need to the loss of their comrades, or to the Enceladus. Another chugging volley from the heavy gunz was fired at the transport but the cone of scrap and munitions went wild. The projectiles disappearing off into the velvet depths of space with but a tiny sulphurous shimmer as the fuses on the explosive elements of the salvo timed out. “Helm, bring us around to starboard, we shall rake them.” Said Falco, mastering his battle fury. The Enceladus curved around once more, her sleek, powerful form gliding up behind the remaining Ork vessel with the graceful purpose of a tiger shark to a stray seal. Falco felt no elation, only a grim, empty satisfaction as the port batteries came into fire arc. “Fire.” Said Falco, contempt in his voice. The Enceladus’ final broadside ripped through the remaining Ork ship from end to end, projectiles perpetrating the weaker rear armour, warheads detonating deep in the vitals of the Xenos craft and blowing it apart. Falco turned away from the tactical display, satisfaction and sorrow, warring within him. Losses had been anticipated, but that didn’t seem to help right now. The remaining transport, added to the supplies carried by his own ship, would be enough to allow the garrison of Ianthe to hold out a while longer, but probably not to mount a major offensive effort. After a second he trusted his voice. “Right. Launch shuttles to search for survivors, we have half an hour before we leave the area, I don’t want to hang around here if we can help it-there will be more scum about. Make to the Empire Diligence, and master at arms... hands to paint ship. I’ll have no foul Xenos marking my paintwork.”
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AboutTales from within the sector written by me (Turbidious) or other contributors. These are based on games we have had of BFG and 40k Archives
March 2021
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