After fifteen days in the open Warp, the Terra Incarnadine led her Pathfinder Taskforce through the revision sequence and back to realspace on the outer edges of the Outbound system. Aboard her, Fleetmaster Tristan Von Sebastion could not help but worry.
He remembered the Outbound system, and the planet Vrenna. The lone semi-habitable lump of cursed rock in the system. His augmetic eye and leg ached in sympathetic fashion as he observed the sensor readouts of the system. He had lost both of them down on Vrenna in his earlier days, and they still pained him from time to time, his body periodically becoming 'grumpy' at the metal that had replaced flesh and bone.
But he had a duty this day: Vrenna was threatened by both Chaos cultists and an infestation of Genestealers. The former just wanted to reduce the world to anarchy and bloodshed in the name of whatever dark patrons they served. The latter wanted to spark unrest or revolt as a precursor to the invasion of the world by the all-devouring Tyranid Fleets. Tristan had a duty, alright: command his Taskgroup as the lead echelon of a two-part force, secure the system, and land the forces his ships carried on the planet. The Terra Incarnadine carried a full infantry division, the Muritian 12th light rifles, with the Corbuilt 17th Grenadiers spread across the Olaf Thorson and Terra's Light, and the Orgoth 14th Armored aboard the Skylark and Skyfall.
Three divisions to fight and win a three-sided ground war. Not enough, not nearly enough. Which whas what the second echelon was for. A transport convoy, devoid of proper warships, but headed up by the Ignis, was bringing another eight divisions. Two each of heavy and light infantry, two of mechanized infantry, a second armored formation, and an entire artillery division. Added to the forces aboard his own ships, that was enough to hold out against a Chaos assault, and perhaps a Tyranid Splinter fleet. Against a full Hive Fleet, they would be as dust before a black hole. As would his ships. Powerful they may be, but against the nigh-endless numbers a Hive Fleet could bring to bear? Nothing short of a full Battlefleet had a chance.
Fortunately, Tristan had time for such dark thoughts. It would take his Taskgroup almost two days to settle into orbit over Vrenna. Time enough for the troops to shake down from the transit and get back into fighting shape, dusting off the inevitable sickness and training injuries suffered by troops in transit. He just hoped that the transports arrived in time.
**
Estariss lounged on her command throne aboard the Countess of Sin. Her pleasure-slaves cringed as they watched her gaze wander, wondering which of them might next share her bed... or her torture rack. In reality, she was gazing past them, staring out the armorplast windows at the terrible glory of the Warp, wondering what juicy prizes awaited her at her next destination. Her Reaver Fleet was wandering between raids at the moment, searching for a sufficiently delectable prize after being flung from the depths of the An'sax Warp Storm.
A small flicker drew her eye. Many things flickered in the warp, and the wise paid them no special heed. But this flicker was different. A summoning ritual, pulling one of the Blessed Dwellers back into reality? More flickers followed, a discernible pattern now. A gate had opened briefly, but collapsed at once. An insufficient sacrifice, Estariss thought, Not enough blood on the altar or pleasure/pain in the air. But where there are summonings, there are worlds. And frankly, I'm bored. We could use fresh slaves, more food and fuel. And my minions will relish unleashing themselves against a hapless target. She issued the orders and turned her Reaver Fleet onto the scent of her prey. She beckoned to two of her pleasure-slaves, a pair of brothers. Time to have them play a delightful game of hers. And the winner might actually survive…
**
The Mind heard the call. +Food Here!+ it bellowed. The Mind was always hungry. More food meant more feeding, meant more ships, meant more mouths to feed. It spread its two Hive Ships slightly further apart, the better to triangulate where the signal was coming from. A little to spinward, a little coreward. Not far, but always hard to judge with weaker signals. +Hurry, Food Here, tainted-fleshed coming to take food away!+
Tainted-fleshed trying to take its food? Now the Mind felt a little something besides its endless hunger. Anger. How dare anyone try to take its food away! It turned towards the signal and brought its Brood to full speed. Two of the older drones wouldn't survive such speeds for long, but that was fine. The Swarmer Hive Ship was hungrier than most, and about ready to give birth to a new clutch of drones. The mind directed the old drones into its waiting maw. Nothing could be allowed to slow its Brood! Nothing could be allowed to stop its feeding!
**
Tristan stood at his viewport and watched the shuttles dropping away to the planet below. All of the guardsmen had been briefed on what to expect, what their objectives were. Vrenna was in their hands now, and he was free to guard the system. There was an itch between his shoulder blades that he couldn't quite scratch. Tristan trusted that itch. It had saved him before, and would do so again. He gave the orders for all of his ships to maintain a heightened state of readiness. The 'Stealers had probably gotten a call out, and no-one could see a Tyranid fleet coming until just before it dropped out of the warp. When they arrived, he intended to be ready.
Tristan wasn't surprised to see a series of warp-rifts open. It was the usual precursor event to ships leaving the warp after all. The problem was that they were too many of them. The Transport Echelon only had three ships, but there were seventeen rifts opening. He gave the needed orders: all hands man battlestations. No point in hiding if this was a Splinter Fleet, they would go right for the planet anyway. And it was his job to stop them, however he could.
**
Estariss was not pleased. This is a hapless frontier world, right enough, but that fleet! Well perhaps I can take some of them intact... Eh, not worth my time. Typical Imperial designs, slow and lumbering. Not even their cruisers can keep pace with my Countess of Sin. And those two slave-brothers couldn't even stand my little game. Ah well, at least the surviving pleasure-slaves ate well last night. Perhaps that will motivate the next one. She caressed the head of a pleasure slave curled up at her knee. "Lick me slave, I desire pleasure to accompany the pain we will inflict on our foes this day. Signals, array the Fleet for the spearhead, and try to keep MurderBoat from slipping the leash this time. I'll let it loose when the time comes."
Signals went away to yabber and poke at its box of toys. Estariss leaned back to consider how best to destroy the faithless servants of the corpse-throne before her. And also how to reward the slave licking dutifully away. Perhaps the slave might survive a Blessing from the Prince of Pleasure? It may earn it yet, if it performs well enough, and wins the next contest in celebration of my imminent victory...
**
The Mind was confused. This was not something that happened often. The signal had called out of imminent danger and opportunity, then gone silent. But the Mind shrugged off its confusion. This had happened before. A piece of food had fangs, and had gotten lucky enough to silence the signal. Too late. The mind new where the signal had come from, and could smell the Tainted-Fleshed on the wind. They would die first, then the Mind would feast on the food-orb and flesh they wanted. It dropped from the spinning un-space back to hard-space, spawn streaming after parents, drones sliding free of motherships. There! The Tainted-Fleshed in their iron skins, then more flesh in more iron-skins, and the food-orb beyond them. The Mind was pleased, it would not have to fight the instincts of its Brood. They streamed forward, the Swarmer Hive ship shedding its hundreds of breaching-spores and hurling them at the iron-skins. Fang and claw would run red this day!
**
Estariss' head snapped around in confusion, a moan slipping past her painted lips. Signals had just burbled out a warning, jabbing claws at a display showing a new fleet chasing hot on the aft of her precious Reaver Fleet. "Signals, let slip MurderBoat and her cronies, they can tie up the imperial dogs we slip away from these Bugs on our backsides. Helm, full power to engines. We'll rake past the fools before us and leave the bugs to chew on them. If the MurderBoat falls behind, leave her. Slave, a little lower, the other entrance. And press yourself against the ridge, feel the shudder of the engines, you've earned that much. Weapons, engage the enemy at will."
**
Tristan watched the two fleets react to the presence of the other. He nodded, unsurprised by the turn of events. "Communication to the fleet: Olaf Thorson, Skylark, and Terra's Light to form line of battle between the Terra Incarnadine and the incoming hostiles, Skyfall to form up on Terra Incarnadine’s flank and prepare for long-range bombardment. Escorts to picket positions, we'll have torpedoes incoming soon enough."
His Taskforce swept majestically into position, and Tristan nodded. "Orders to Guns and the Skyfall, engage the Chaos fleet. Aim for their engines, we'll cripple them and let the Tyranids chew them over. If we can detonate one or two of them in the Tyranids' faces, all the better. All other ships, hold fire until the enemy reaches optimal engagement range."
"Sir, the Skyfall reports her Nova Cannon only has six rounds remaining. She's requesting permission to hold her fire until she can detonate crippled targets."
He considered this for a moment. "Permission granted. Open fire." The Terra Incarnadine twitches as her Damocles opens fire, sending a round screaming into the void. At such extended ranges, physics play a major role in scoring hits. Only the Chaos Fleet's predictable course makes hits probable at such extended ranges. This was why Tristan granted the Skyfall's request: with such little ammunition for the Nova Cannon, wasting it would almost be a crime. The first Damocles round would take almost ten minutes to reach its target, by which time another nine would be in-space.
**
Estariss hissed in ecstasy as her slave continued its valuable work. This slave is definitely receiving a Blessing! "Mmmh, Helm, evasive course. I don't like the look of those Nova Cannons. Let's get the dogs to shoot the Bugs off our backs for us. Weapons, full spread on the torpedoes. If the dogs are just going to sit there, then they'll be easy meat. Anything that misses will just hit the planet, which doesn't bother me at all." Weapons compiled, and nine great ship-killers belched flame and rushed away from the Countess of Sin. The dogs would see them coming of course, and get out of the way, but that was the point. The planet couldn't dodge, so they wouldn't be wasted.
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The first Damocles rounds come in almost unnoticed: without an energy signature from the projectile itself, sensors were all but useless at picking the flying lumps of metal out of the background radiation. The Slaughter-class cruiser MurderBoat found that out the hard way when her void shields imploded one after another under their impact. the threat had barely encroached upon the frenzy-whipped mind of its captain when the third round tore the aft third of the ship away. MurderBoat spun on for a while longer, and unintentionally saved its squadron-mate BloodDream by taking the rounds intended for it. BloodDream sailed through the cloud of plasma and wreckage before slewing onto an evasive course with the rest of the Chaos Fleet. The Infidel-class escorts Ur-Slime and Ur-Ooze weren't so lucky: their evasion paths took them right into rounds meant for their larger brethren, and they joined the MurderBoat in death.
**
The Mind felt something tear into one of its immature Hiveships. Its flank was ripped asunder and spilling blood into the void, soon it was dead, food to be consumed when the fight was done and the feasting could begin. It assessed the situation. The Tainted-Fleshed were running faster, and three of their iron-skins had come apart. Food wasted, but not really, because the Tainted-Fleshed weren't edible. And they were still running towards the food-orb. If they stopped there, then the Mind would destroy them with its brood. If they didn't stop, then the Mind would let them go and eat the food-orb in peace, drinking it dry and listening for the next signal. A drone imploded under another of the projectiles flying past the Tainted-Fleshed. The Mind pulled the drones around in front of the Hive Ships and their immature offspring. They couldn't go faster, not in hard-space, but a drone was easier to eat and birth again than a Hive Ship.
**
Tristan watched the first of the Chaos ships vanish into the incandescent blooms of plasma-drive detonations. The stray Damocles rounds were slashing into the Tyranids, so no ammunition was being wasted. "New orders to Skyfall. Target the Hive Ships, if she can slip a round past the damned Chaos ships." Communications reported confirmation, and the Skyfall belched her first round moments later. Slower than a Damocles round, but packing enough of a warhead to have a worthwhile area-of-effect in a Void battle, it would arrive in the vicinity of its targets in three minutes. In the meantime, there were still eight Chaos ships in the fight. "Weapons, Focus the Terra Incarnadines' fire on the cruisers, let's get them put out of their misery. Escorts, intercept the torpedoes." The next salvo went out on the surviving Slaughters. Even with their evasive courses, some of them would take hits.
**
The Mind considered the positions and speed of its breaching-spores. Not near enough to the iron-skins, not moving fast enough. It pulled them back along the Swarmer Hive Ship's flanks, there to unleash as a massive swarm on anything that came within its reach. The Instincts of its Brood were to surge forward, but the Mind Held them back. Better to keep the Brood together than to have the immature Hive Ships rush ahead and be hurt alone. It would be patient. The food-orb wasn't going anywhere, and the two Broods of Iron-skins were hurting each other.
A sun-bright storm of pain tore into the Mind. one of its drone-swarms was dead, and the Spitting Hive Ship was hurt. The iron-skins by the food-orb had brought a big projectile launcher into play, and it hurt. The Mind spread the drones a bit further forward, allowing the Hive Ships, mature and otherwise to fall back and spread out some. Only drones, but more food to be eaten, and more drones to be birthed later.
**
Tristan considered his plots once more. The Tyranid fleet was in optimum Damocles and Nova Cannon range, but the Chaos fleet was getting too close for comfort. "Orders to the fleet, Terra Incarnadine and Skyfall to join the line of battle. All ships, form line abreast of the Terra Incarnadine and prepare to engage the Chaos fleet. Escorts, get those torpedoes out of the void!"
The Aegis led the Firestorms of Vector squadron forward, nipping out under the cover of the guns of the fleet to close on the torpedoes. The Aegis struck first, paring away two of the nine: one hit directly, the second taken out when the wreckage of its slain salvo-mate crashed into its detonator. The Aegis and Vector squadron got off a second salvo as the torpedoes bored in, striking three more from the void. The remaining four took what targets they were offered and bored in on the Firestorms. Their point-defense turrets threw up a wall of flack and las-fire, knocking down two more. But the last two shook of the near-misses and claimed their targets in mutual-suicide pacts of nuclear fire. "Aegis to Terra Incarnadine. Vector-three and Vector-five destroyed with all hands. Returning to formation."
Tristan grit his teeth. "Understood Aegis. Take up picket positions and concentrate your fire on the escorts." The loss of two escorts was painful, but far less so than letting those torpedoes loose amongst his Taskforce. "Orders to Olaf Thorson, Skylark and Terra's Light. Fire Torpedoes, center-mass on the Chaos fleet. The Tyranids will backstop anything that overshoots." Eighteen Torpedoes slid into the void in obedience to his orders.
**
Estariss moaned in over-stimulated pleasure-pain as the bug escorts came apart under the stray fire from the dogs. The loss of the two Infidels and the MurderBoat was offset by the relief at not having to deal with the inanity of the MurderBoat’s crew anymore. "Down slave, kneel at my feet. Signals, fleet orders. Countess of Sin, Havenfall, and Anarchy's Child will break port and engage the dogs at nine thousand. BloodDream, ScarMaker, GoreSmith, and the Infidels will break port and engage at six thousand." The slave kneeled, Signals gurgled away. "Yes, I see the torpedoes. Our flack will knock them from the sky with ease. All ships, Weapons free, fire at will."
Estariss was almost right in her prediction. As the Chaos fleet steadied down for their attack run, the trailing edge of the last Damocles salvo was able to find victims in the ScarMaker and BloodDream. Both ships died with all hands, leaving a hole in the point-defense protecting the ships behind them. The torpedoes from the Olaf Thorson arrived first. Of the six that it had launched, four were shot down, and the last two took out the remaining two Infidels. The salvo from the Skylark tore through the debris field left by the ScarMaker and BloodDream. One of those six torpedoes died on scrap metal, but the other five made it through and found the Havenfall at such a range that its point defense had little time to react. Its point defense did its best, but its best was not good enough, and the Acheron-class heavy cruiser died with the scream of reality tearing as its Warp drive imploded, condemning all aboard her to the Warp. Of the salvo fired by the Terra's Light, they found only the waiting point defense of the Anarchy's Child and the Countess of Sin. None of them inflicted any damage.
But then it was the Chaos Fleet's turn to strike back against its tormentors. The Countess of Sin, Anarchy's Child, and GoreSmith all came to port and opened their broadsides, venting their fury upon their foes. There was no discreet co-ordination of fire, which was the only reason that the Imperial Task Force took so little damage. GoreSmith, with most of the Imperial line of battle still out of reach, targeted the survivors of Vector squadron. The Firestorms were elusive targets, hard to lock onto, but the GoreSmith didn't bother with sensor locks. Anything that missed the destroyers might hit the Ships of the Line, or the planet behind them. So it opened up with everything in its starboard broadside, and reduced Vector squadron to wrecks and ruins, burying their evasive maneuvers under indiscriminate salvos of macro-cannon and lance fire. The longer-ranged guns of the Countess of Sin and Anarchy's Child latched onto the Imperial line of battle, scattering ruptured shields and buckled armor all down its length.
**
But the Imperial line had kept its heavily-armored bows toward their foes, and reloaded their torpedoes in anticipation of the moment. Close as the range was, it was still just outside of minimum Nova Cannon and Damocles range, and just beyond the arming distance of their torpedoes. Tristan gave the orders "Terra's Light, lock your torpedoes on that Slaughter-class. Skylark and Olaf Thorson, the Acheron. Skyfall and Terra Incarnadine, spinal mounts fire on the Despoiler. Fire!"
The results of such point-blank fire were fatal. The GoreSmith took three torpedoes directly amidships and a fourth to her bridge, leaving her broken in half and drifting clear of Vrenna. Anarchy's Child takes six of the twelve torpedoes aimed at her and dies, shattering as her spine breaks apart. The Countess of Sin takes the Nova Cannon round on the prow, altering her course by almost seventeen degrees as her void shields blow out hard. The three Damocles rounds following on its heels crash into her weapons decks, going in the starboard side and exiting the port accompanied by massive sprays of shrapnel and gun-components. One of the three passes through a magazine on it way through the ship. The resulting detonation leaves little more than the few lifepods, already fired and heading for Vrenna, intact. The Imperial Ships’ Point Defense uses them for target practice and strikes down all but one.
**
Estariss had dragged her one worthwhile slave into the lifepod before pulling the release lever. "Worthless minions, they can't even die properly. But you, slave, you showed some spark of promise." She strips off her ruined uniform. "Come then and please me more, we have several hours before we make landfall." The slave kneels obediently, but Estariss has missed the small pointed shard of metal that it picked up, broken off from the weapon impacts. As Estariss leans her head back the slave kisses its way up to her throat and cuts it.
**
The Mind considers the sudden death of the Tainted-Fleshed's iron-skins. It is still some ways out, and the signal has not re-appeared. The food-orb is well defended indeed, and the local flesh has sharp fangs indeed. The Tainted-Fleshed iron-skins ran quickly, almost twice as fast as the Brood can, and were destroyed before they could harm the other iron-skins. The Mind does not like these odds. It is not as great as it once was, does not have unending Hive Ships to simply bury sharp-fanged flesh under their bulk before birthing new ones. It calls the drones back to their motherships, discards the boarding spores, and slips back into un-space. It lost some of its Brood today, but there will be other signals, other chances to feed. The Mind must nurture its brood carefully, find another food-orb without such sharp fangs and feast before it tries to claim this one again.
**
Tristan leans back in his command throne, watching the Tyranid ships slip away into the warp short of the planet. They'll be back at some point, and must be dealt with. But for today, he has a world to re-conquer in the Emperor's name. He notes with some satisfaction that the second echelon arrived just before the Chaos fleet was completely destroyed, and that they had the good sense to stay well away from the fight. He passes the order for them to head in-system and unload their cargoes. Vrenna will be returned to the Imperium, under the boots and treads of the Imperial Guard.