The flag lieutenant, alarmed, spoke up. ‘Sir, do you mean to go to battle stations?’
‘Not yet, lieutenant. We have too many key personnel scattered about the ship – it’ll be mayhem down on the decks if we go red right now. But as soon as they are in place I want battle stations sounded.’
‘Is it a drill, sir?’
He looked at the vox panel. No word yet from Arbion.
‘This is no drill, Rob. Vox, get me Captain Kerne on the planet.’
The servitor trickled its metal fingers over its board. Then it did so again. There was an edge of almost human puzzlement in its voice as it spoke.
‘Shipmaster, vox is… ineffective. There is considerable interference. Will attempt again.’
Massaron leaned over the console. ‘What kind of interference?’
‘Shipmaster,’ Miranich spoke up. ‘Massive energy bloom detected eleven thousand kilometres off our port side.’
Lieutenant Gershon was peering at the cascading figures on the screens in front of him. He cursed, and looked up with wild eyes.
‘Ship coming out of the warp right on top of us, sir. She’s got to be–’
The entire massive length of the Ogadai shuddered and shook, groaning, the ship’s ancient frames creaking under the impact of a massive ripple in space.
‘Augur, tell me what it is,’ Massaron said. ‘Rob, sound battle stations.’
‘Sir, an Oberon class battleship of unknown origin has materialised out of the warp eleven thousand kilometres away and is now launching torpedoes. I count fifteen – twenty – twenty-five inbound at eleven thousand kilometres and counting.’
‘He has Voidsunders in his broadside – they’re powering up,’ Gershon said. His voice was shaking with shock.
Emperor’s blood, who could that be?
‘The enemy,’ Massaron said grimly. ‘Con, bring the ship about ninety degrees to port – get our own lances pointing at the bastard and reduce our profile. Port broadside torpedo bays – do you read me?’
A voice on the shipboard vox. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Launch them as they bear, Lieutenant Tribo. Every tube you’ve got.’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Put me shipwide.’ Massaron cleared his throat.
‘This is the shipmaster speaking. We are being engaged by a capital ship at ten thousand kilometres. Enemy torpedoes are inbound. All stations and compartments, do your duty to the Dark Hunters and to the Emperor. My comrades, it is for days like this that we wear Hunters blue, and it is for days like this that we have trained all our lives. I know you will not let me down.’
He clicked off the receiver himself, and then elbowed a servitor aside and punched up the inter-ship vox. ‘Beynish, do you read?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The other Dark Hunters destroyer was on station fifty thousand kilometres out, on patrol.
‘Clem, take to the warp at once. Get back to Phobian. Let them know that it was a trap. We have an Oberon class to fight here, and Emperor knows what else is coming.’
‘Sir, I will not–’
‘You will obey orders, Clem. Get out of here, back to the Chapter. They must know of this at once – do you hear?’
‘Torpedoes at four thousand kilometres,’ Gershon was saying. Sweat was pouring off his face as he scanned the readouts. ‘Countermeasures launched.’
‘Good luck, Clem,’ Massaron said. ‘Above all else, you must get through – do you–’
The vox link was cut with a squawk of piercing static. Massaron winced. ‘Miranich, what just happened? Get me linked to the Beynish again.’
The enginseer was curt and emotionless. ‘The vessel Beynish has been lost on augur, but there are now three sword-class signatures at its last known location. The new signatures do not possess Imperial codes. Energy readings from that area of space suggest that the Beynish has been destroyed.’
Massaron staggered slightly, and steadied himself by holding onto the console.
‘Torpedoes two thousand kilometres out, impact in fifteen seconds.’ Gershon sounded as hoarse as a crow. ‘Countermeasures away.’
‘Ogadai, this is Arbion – come in, flag!’
‘Yes, Diez,’ Massaron said, calmly, but with eyes shut.
‘Sir, a massive enemy fleet has come out of warp eighteen thousand kilometres from the Dardrek moon. I am seeing heavy cruisers, Mars class battlecruisers, and dozens of transports. It is a Punisher fleet, sir, an armada the likes of which I’ve never seen before.’
‘Save yourself, Diez. Get home if you can,’ Massaron said quietly.
And then: ‘Voidsunders, fire one and two.’
‘Torpedoes – brace for impact!’ Gershon shouted, eyes wide.
The Ogadai bucked under their feet, and there was a series of titanic echoing booms that carried clear through the four-kilometre-long hull of the ancient ship. All over the boards, the scarlet lights began flashing up, a constellation of disaster.
‘Voidsunders have fired, sir,’ Miranich said, as serene as ever.
Gershon studied the monitors. ‘One tracked on target. We have hit the enemy ship square on the bow – major damage. The other beam went clear.’
‘Recharge. I want every torpedo we have in the air. Fire every ton of chaff we possess, Miranich. I want a cloud around us.’
‘The flight deck took three torpedoes,’ Gershon was saying. It’s totally destroyed, sir. Damage control teams are sealing off the section.’
‘How’s our power?’
‘At sixty per cent. A lot of broadside batteries are out of action – we took eight direct hits.’
‘Enemy Voidsunder beams inbound,’ Miranich said.
‘Evasive action,’ Massaron snapped out, anger burning in his face now, doing away with the confusion, the fear, the beginnings of despair.
‘Sealing off sections thirty-six through forty-five,’ Gershon was saying. ‘Sir, there are fires in the manufactorium, and in crew quarters port side aft. Damage control cannot approach, and they warn that the munitions stores in the manufactorium are being destabilised by the heat.’
‘Seal them off and blow the hatches,’ Massaron said.
‘Yes, sir,’ Gershon’s voice was thick with the responsibility as he punched the necessary orders into the command frame. He was blowing many hundreds of crewmates out into the void to die, so that the ship might fight on.
Another almighty crash and jerk. Massaron was knocked off his feet and smashed his head on the corner of Miranich’s console. He rose streaming blood. ‘What was that?’
‘A Voidsunder beam has struck us directly amidships, shipmaster,’ the enginseer said. ‘Damage is extensive. Power-lines forward have been severed. Am attempting to reroute. Auxiliary systems are being brought online. There will be a minor interruption–’
The lights on the command dais flickered as though to lend credence to his words. Then they went out entirely, and for some three seconds the bridge crew of the Ogadai were in complete darkness, save for the stars glittering coldly in the viewports above. They might as well have been standing in some darkened metal sarcophagus adrift in the void.
Then the auxiliaries kicked in, and power was restored. But the lights were dimmer now, and many of the less vital systems had been shut down. The forward sections of the Ogadai were now running on battery power alone.
‘Damage control, I want all power conduits amidships repaired, as a priority,’ Massaron said, thumbing the shipboard vox.
‘Con, give us all the speed you can. Take her away from the planet.’ They could do nothing here now except die. The Ogadai was badly hurt, facing a foe twice its size. There could be no victory here, and the survival of his beloved ship itself was at stake.
‘Gershon, try and get me Kerne on the vox.’