'A vortex?' the young Space Wolf asked. 'You mean, like a whirlpool?' He knew them well from the craggy coastlines of Fenris, and understood the danger they posed.
'Perhaps,' she said tentatively. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. 'I've never encountered anything like it. It took everything I had to guide the ship past the tidal forces. A lesser Navigator wouldn't have stood a chance.'
Ragnar chuckled quietly. 'My lady has spent too much time in Haegr's company, methinks.'
Gabriella smiled up at Ragnar. 'Save the wry humour for Torin,' she said. 'But what troubles you, my Wolf? There is a fey look in your eyes that I've never seen before.'
Ragnar paused, recalling the wolf dream. What could he tell her? What would she believe? He didn't understand it himself. Before he could answer, however, Sigurd's angry voice brought Ragnar's head around.
'Flee? You expect me to turn tail and run from the enemy?' the Wolf Priest snarled. Sigurd loomed angrily over Wulfgar and his officers. 'Where is your honour, Shipmaster Wulfgar?'
Wulfgar's men bristled at the insult. Though not Space Wolves, they were men of Fenris still, and such talk did not go lightly with them. But Wulfgar, the veteran shipmaster, was unmoved. 'There were no reports of an enemy fleet at Charys,' he said. 'The ship is not battle-worthy. Most of our repairs are temporary, lord. A single, well-placed hit could cripple us, leaving us almost helpless.' The old bondsman leaned forward, his expression intent. 'We must disengage now, while we still can. The charts show an asteroid field nearby. We can hide there and try to come up with another approach to the planet.'
'And spend days skulking like a whipped dog while the Thunderfist's company is ground to pieces on the planet's surface? No. I swore an oath to Logan Grimnar that I would deliver our reinforcements to Charys without delay, and I will do so if I have to fight my way through hell itself!' The Wolf Priest glanced coldly at Ragnar. 'I'd sooner die than be called an oathbreaker.'
Once again, Ragnar fought to contain a flash of murderous rage. This was not the time or the place to issue a challenge, but for a brief, dizzying moment he found that he did not care.
His hand drifted to the hilt of the frost blade at his hip, but Gabriella gripped his fingers instead. The slight pressure was enough to shock him back to his senses. Ragnar took a deep breath. 'The Wolf Priest's words are ill-chosen,' he said to Wulfgar, 'but nevertheless, he is correct. Our reinforcements are desperately needed on Charys, and even a single day could make the difference between victory and defeat.'
Sigurd gave Ragnar a brief, appraising look, as though surprised at the young Space Wolfs backhanded show of support. Wulfgar listened, and his wrinkled face creased in a deep frown. 'If we must fight our way through then so be it,' he said heavily. 'Load your warriors aboard their Thunderhawks, lord. If our engines fail you may have to launch quickly and fly the rest of the way in.'
The Wolf Priest nodded solemnly. 'Russ is with us, Shipmaster Wulfgar,' he said solemnly. 'Let us bare our blades and begin the battle song!'
'I hear you. Wolf Priest,' Wulfgar answered, and seemed to draw strength from Sigurd's iron conviction. He turned to the officer of the deck. 'Ahead two-thirds!' he ordered. 'Bring us two points to starboard and charge the dorsal mounts! Gun crews fire as you bear!'
Thousands of kilometres distant, the black-hulled raiders shook off the grip of Charys's gravity with a flare of plasma drives, and swung their rakish bows towards the oncoming Imperial ship. Their hulls were matte black, like dark iron, etched with foul mnes that had been sanctified in blood and blessed by the dread hand of Chaos. Gargoyle figures of verdigrised brass crouched atop squat turrets or leered from the armoured mantlets of their towering superstructures, their mouths gaping hungrily. Their viewports gleamed balefully with pale, eldritch light. They leapt from their parking orbits like a pack of jackals and scattered into a loose arc in the path of the oncoming battle cruiser, scanning the void with uncanny augurs and looking for signs of weakness. Gun turrets squealed ponderously on their corroded mounts, training upon the Fist of Russ as the range between the two sides decreased.
In response, the distant Imperial ship swung to starboard, showing the raiders her battle scarred flank and her broadside of heavy guns. Along the battle cruiser's dorsal hull, two massive turrets slewed to port, bringing their energy projectors to bear on the incoming enemy craft. Arcs of cyan light crackled and seethed within the huge accumulation chambers of the lance batteries, gathering intensity with each passing moment until the blunt projectors were shrouded in a haze of voltaic wrath. Though the Fist of Russ stood alone against the raiders, and her hull was battered and broken, the reach of her guns was longer than most other ships in the Imperial fleet.
The lance batteries fired half a second apart. Twin beams of irresistible force crossed the black gulf in the blink of an eye, converging on the foremost raider in the pack. The first energy lance crashed against the raider's void shield, blazing white at the point of impact and shooting arcs of cyan and magenta lightning across its curved surface. For perhaps a millisecond the powerful shield held, but then the semi-invisible shield flickered and flared as it struggled to dissipate the lance's tremendous power. It failed in a spherical flash of light, like a bursting bubble, and then the second lance beam struck home. It tore the raider open from stem to stern, ripping open its flank like a fiery talon until it penetrated the small ship's reactor decks. The Chaos ship disappeared in an incandescent ball of plasma and radioactive vapour, wreathing its fellows in streamers of purple and magenta fire. The Fist of Russ had claimed first blood.
Thrusters flaring, the rest of the pack raced on, plunging through the expanding cloud of debris. Though their main guns were still out of range, the raiders were far from toothless. Three of the Chaos ships surged ahead of the rest, ordering themselves into a rough line abreast. Blackened, pitted blast doors drew back from launch tubes recessed into the ships' angled bows, and a pair of powerful anti-ship torpedoes, each more than forty metres long, streaked towards the battle cruiser on boiling plumes of fiery gas.
'Torpedoes incoming!' shouted one of the tactical officers from his station on the command deck.
Ragnar caught sight of the tense expression on the man's face as he glanced towards Shipmaster Wulfgar.
'Lance batteries switch to antimissile targeting,' the ship's master declared. 'Portside batteries lock on to those torpedo ships and fire at will!' Wulfgar turned to a trio of officers clustered around a set of consoles to his left. 'Ordnance officer! What is the status of our close-in turrets?'
'Defensive guns at sixty per cent to port,' the senior ordnance officer replied.
'Very well,' Wulfgar said gravely. 'At this range they're not likely to miss. Damage control parties stand by!'
The six torpedoes fanned out in a broad arc, blanketing the area around the Fist of Russ . The weapons were powerful but unguided, their trajectories planned by the infernal logic engines aboard their parent craft. Swift as thunderbolts, they streaked towards the battle cruiser's kilometre-long flank. Though her thrusters were roaring at near full power, for all intents and purposes the Imperial ship might as well have been standing still.
Twin cyan beams lashed through the darkness at the oncoming torpedoes, detonating four of them in globes of nuclear fire. The final pair of deadly missiles slipped past the raking beams and plunged towards the Fist of Russ.
At fifty kilometres the battle cruiser's defensive turrets clattered into action, hurling a torrent of energy bolts and explosive shells into the path of the oncoming weapons. A close burst from one shell punctured the fuel tank of one of the enemy missiles and the resulting explosion blew it apart. The second torpedo flew on unscathed, flying by unholy luck through a gap in the ship's flak coverage. It struck the Fist of Russ just forward of the portside hangar deck, its nuclear warhead detonating like the hammer of an evil god.
The ancient warship shuddered beneath the blow, and a roar like thunder reverberated through the battle cruiser's hull. Men were thrown across the command deck by the impact. Gauges burst and sparks erupted from power conduits on the port bulkhead. On instinct, Ragnar gripped the hololith table to steady himself and wrapped a protective hand around Gabriella's waist. On the bridge deck below, wounded men cried in pain, and a tech-priest cried out a prayer to the Omnissiah.
'Damage control report!' Wulfgar roared from the command pulpit.
'Hull breach from decks thirty-five to thirty-eight at frame 412,' the damage control officer reported. Blood flowed freely from a cut on the bondsman's scalp, and he wiped it away with a savage swipe of his hand. 'Fire on the flight deck!'
'All available crew to the flight deck and commence firefighting procedures,' Wulfgar ordered. The master of the ship turned and addressed Wulfgar. 'I advise you make for the starboard hangars at once, lord.'
Ragnar shot Gabriella a worried glance. The Fist of Russ was hit hard, and the battle had only just begun. The Navigator caught his eye and gave a stern shake of her head. The young Space Wolf nodded and raised his head to Wulfgar. 'We stand with you, Shipmaster Wulfgar,' he said. 'Fight on, in Russ's name!'
The ship's master turned back to his task. Ragnar caught Sigurd glancing his way, and was surprised at the Wolf Priest's approving nod.
Off to the right, one of the ship's gunnery officers looked up from his data screen. 'Enemy ships in range of our broadsides!' he said with a vengeful snarl. 'All gun decks report weapons lock!'
'Then give the bastards a taste of hell,' Wulfgar replied.
The flank of the battle cruiser was limned in red from the molten wound of the torpedo hit. Jets of burning atmosphere vented from the hangar decks aft of the impact site, casting a flickering glow over the dozens of huge gun turrets that swung into action. Macro-cannon barrels elevated into position, aimed by complex gunnery rituals performed by machine-spirits on the battle cruiser's bridge. The enormous weapons fired in sequence, hurling shells the size of land raiders at the oncoming Chaos ships.
Salvoes of explosive shells bracketed the three oncoming torpedo ships, hammering relentlessly against their void shields in staccato bursts of fire. Without warning the shielding on one of the raiders faltered, and a cluster of shells erupted on the warship's rune covered bow and superstructure. One shell tore through the iron decks and found the raider's forward magazine. The resultant explosion ripped the traitor vessel in half.
Half a second later, another raider succumbed, its hull pierced in a dozen places and its superstructure ablaze. The last remaining torpedo ship continued on, its shield overloaded, but otherwise unharmed… until a cyan bolt from the battle cruiser's lance batteries tore the raider apart.
Nearly half of the raiders were gone, but the rest plunged ahead. They were less than fifteen seconds from entering gun range.
'Two of the raiders are angling aft!' the senior auspex officer declared. 'They're going after our engines!'
'Hard to port!' Wulfgar ordered. 'Show them our bow!' The ship's master chuckled bleakly. 'Maybe if we're lucky one of the blasphemers will try to ram us!' He turned to the gunnery officers. 'Port and starboard broadsides, stand by for salvo fire!'
With a tortured groan of metal, the command deck angled beneath Ragnar's feet as the huge ship swung onto its new course. He could see streaks of red and yellow through the tall viewports as the first enemy shells began hurtling past the struggling warship. Once again, he looked to Gabriella, but her eyes were closed, as though deep in thought or prayer. He thought to ask her once more if she wished to head for the hangar bay, but after a moment's thought he chose to hold his tongue.
The battle would be decided in the next few seconds. If the battle cruiser was doomed they would never reach the hangar deck in time.
Slowly, streaming a trail of frozen oxygen and melted debris, the Fist of Russ turned to face her attackers. Wulfgar had timed his move carefully, bringing the warship's heavily armoured prow into position just as the enemy ships hove into range. Macro-cannons and magna bolt projectors spat torrents of fire at the oncoming Imperial ship, bracketing her void shields with an unrelenting storm of explosions. The first layer of shielding failed. Then, seconds later, the inner shield gave way as well. Fierce blasts pummelled the battle cruiser's bow and superstructure, leaving scorch marks against fifteen-metre thick adamantium plate.
Moments later the raiders were plunging past the warship like burning meteors, their weapon batteries still blazing away at their foe. The Fist of Russ answered, her broadsides roaring to port and starboard at the swift moving Chaos ships. The nearest raider to port flared cyan under the lash of one of the battle cruiser's lance batteries, before a salvo of macro-cannon shells blew it apart.
Scores of explosions ravaged the Imperial ship's flanks. Many were turned aside by the vessel's armour plate, but here and there the enemy shells struck home. One of the battle cruiser's huge lance turrets blew apart, its massive power capacitors detonated by an enemy shell. Hundreds died on the Imperial ship's gun decks as armour piercing shells opened airtight compartments to space.
A raider on the starboard side of the ship was struck by a salvo of heavy shells that collapsed its shields and tore into its thruster banks. The small ship spiralled out of control, trailing a blazing wake of plasma and molten debris until its reactors overloaded moments later in a spectacular burst of light.
Then the surviving raiders were gone, hurtling aft of the Fzst of Russ and opening the range while the battle cruiser's beleaguered crew struggled to keep the ancient vessel alive.
Flames billowed from the bridge, sending clouds of dark smoke roiling over the command deck. Men screamed in terror and pain as the emergency lighting flared to life. Officers picked themselves up off the deck and staggered back to their stations. Ragnar held on to Gabriella and peered warily through the smoky gloom, wishing to the Allfather for a foe he could come to grips with.
The senior damage control officer sang out through the smoke. 'Hull breaches on multiple decks! Dorsal lance battery out of action! Starboard gun decks report heavy casualties. Shields at fifty per cent. Our reactors are stable, but power output is limited.'
'Very well,' Wulfgar replied as he staggered back up to the pulpit. 'Helm! Can we still manoeuvre?'