Delerax moved his gaze to the top of the screen, to the area mentioned. It was pointless, he realised; even his augmented eyes would not spot something before the systems of the battle-barge, especially since the visual display he looked at was itself a construct based on that data. If the Dedicated Wrathcould not see the enemy, neither could he.
‘Tell Industriousto close to within fifty thousand kilometres of the source,’ said Delerax, pulling his eyes away from the screen. ‘Move Justified Aggressorto a triangulating point.’
‘Affirmative, lieutenant-commander,’ said the aide.
The thought that he might have found his prey sent a buzz of excitement through Delerax. He had spent many days fruitlessly searching the outer reaches of the Isstvan system and had almost come to believe that the enemy were not here at all.
His pre-cortical implant responded to his change of mood. With the tiniest of vibrations, the device triggered a wave of chemicals through Delerax’s brain. Immediately every sense was heightened. He could smell the sweat of the men at the consoles, the oil from the machinery. He could taste the static from the display screens and feel the soft currents of air from the overhead ventilators. The blue and white of his armour seemed brighter and every hiss, bleep and breath across the bridge echoed in his ears.
‘ Industriousconfirms contact,’ the aide said excitedly. ‘Positive transmission identification. It’s a Salamanders ship, strike vessel classification.’
‘At last!’ Delerax let out his pent-up frustration with a shout. He turned and stomped across the bridge towards the communications desk. ‘Signal the whole flotilla. Manoeuvre for immediate attack. Transmit the following to the enemy: This is Lieutenant-Commander Delerax of the World Eaters. Stand down your weapons and prepare to be boarded. Non-compliance will result in your destruction. You will receive no further warning.’
‘They’re making a run for it,’ the scanning officer called out. ‘Cutting away from Isstvan VI, gaining speed.’
‘Flotilla move to intercept,’ said Delerax. ‘Target engines at earliest opportunity. If they get away, you will answer to me!’
The World Eater’s implant was in full battle-mode now, sending jolts through his adrenal system, gearing up his whole body for the coming fight. The sensation was a curious blend of clarity and euphoria: a general sense of well-being that pleasantly dulled the lieutenant-commander’s thoughts while his instinctual reactions raced away, filling him with a barrage of sensation.
As the World Eaters flotilla powered up their engines the Salamanders cruiser turned out-system and darted for its next patch of cover – a cloud of asteroids some five hundred thousand kilometres from Isstvan VI. Like a pack of hounds the ships of the World Eaters gave chase, the more powerful engines of the Dedicated Wrathpushing the battle-barge to the front of the pursuit.
‘Prepare warp torpedoes, maximum spread,’ Delerax ordered as the Dedicated Wrathcontinued to close the range. If the strike cruiser was allowed to gain the sanctuary of the asteroid field the less manoeuvrable battle-barge would likely lose its prey; this was a kill that Delerax wanted for himself.
The Salamanders were still several thousand kilometres from safety when the gunnery captain reported that they were now within maximum torpedo range. Delerax held off the order to fire, judging the distance to be too great. He paced back and forth across the bridge, impatiently waiting for the moment to fire when the torpedoes would give the enemy the least time to react but catch the strike cruiser before it reached the asteroid field.
He listened to the range being counted down by one of the aides and occasionally glanced across to the main screen. The strike cruiser’s position was highlighted by a glowing reticule but the ship itself was still too distant to be seen, even with full magnification.
‘Our guest wishes to be updated on the current situation.’
Delerax turned to see his second-in-command, Captain Althix Kordassis, had entered the bridge. His blue-and-white armour was trimmed with gold, his right arm a mechanical prosthetic clad with plates painted to match his powered suit. Most remarkable was the look of disdain on his face as he spoke of the Warmaster’s representative.
‘He can monitor the comm-feed like everybody else,’ growled Delerax. ‘I’m busy.’
‘He wants a personal report,’ Kordassis said with a look of apology.
‘He won’t get one,’ snapped Delerax. With combat stimms flowing through his body he was in no mood for the petty requests of Horus’s ambassador. The thought of even looking at the Space Marine envoy that had been forced upon him made Delerax quiver with anger.
‘What shall I tell him?’ asked Kordassis.
‘Whatever you like,’ replied Delerax, turning back to the main screen. ‘This is none of his business.’
Kordassis waited a few moments longer before realising he would get nothing else from his commander.
‘I might as well stay here and watch the excitement then,’ said the captain.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Delerax. ‘Man the weapons station.’
When the range had closed to the optimum opportunity, Delerax gave the order to loose a full torpedo salvo. The battle-barge shuddered as the gigantic missiles were launched. They appeared instantly on the screen, four flares of yellow plasma against the stars that suddenly winked out of existence as their warp drives engaged.
Skipping in and out of warp space, the torpedoes left a trail of multicoloured flashes in their wake, describing an arc that slowly curved to the right as the Salamanders craft tried to evade them. Then they were out of sight, reduced to warp-echo registers on the scanners.
‘Twelve thousand kilometres to target,’ reported a weapons officer, reading from a glowing green screen. He was Skanda Vior, a World Eater too, and like Delerax and Kordassis was clad for battle in his armour. Unlike the officers, he had painted much of his armour red, a growing trend amongst the Legion; an acknowledgement of Angron’s warrior cult. Vior waited a few seconds.
‘Eleven thousand kilometres to target.’
The countdown continued and Delerax ceased his pacing at seven thousand kilometres.
‘Six thousand kilometres to target,’ said the weapons officer. ‘Switching to onboard data scanners; preparing for spread.’
A sub-screen flickered into life on the main viewer, showing an aggregate view from the torpedoes, rendered in a stark black and red monochrome. Strange shapes whirled and Delerax realised they must have switched view while the torpedoes were in mid-jump. A moment later they rematerialised in the real universe and the strike cruiser flashed into view.
It was long and thin, with a launch bay built on its dorsal superstructure. Pinpricks of plasma erupted like sparks from the flight deck as the Salamanders launched attack craft to intercept the incoming torpedoes.
‘Five thousand kilometres, spread launch,’ announced the officer.
The torpedo-generated image swirled into static for a few seconds as the missiles separated, each disgorging four hundred warheads at the Salamanders cruiser. When the relay returned the view was filled with a cloud of sixteen hundred glimmering projectiles. Explosions blotted out the stars as the Salamanders craft swooped and climbed and rolled through the mass, blasting away with cannons and lasers. As the warhead launchers continued to power towards the strike cruiser – each containing a five megatonne nuclear charge – the defence turrets of the Salamanders vessel opened up. Ripples of plasma blasts and flashes of high-velocity munitions streaked across the view, detonating even more of the warheads.
The torpedoes were close enough now to relay a direct-image. The construct-based picture was replaced by a near real-time view of the strike cruiser. It was dark green and banded with broad irregular stripes of yellow, the badge of the Legion visible against a huge white circle near its prow. Through the haze of detonations, it turned away, the captain trying to narrow the ship’s profile against the swarm of incoming warheads. Plasma engines shone like stars through the fog of explosions, distorted by a shimmer of energy fields.