Chapter 13: Macro-cannon Volley

Upon the bridge of the Glorious Knight, Captain Pex's expression was grim. The engagement was not unfolding with the clinical simplicity he had envisioned.

The accuracy of the third macro-cannon salvo had been disappointing. While a macro-shell's yield was cataclysmic upon a planetary surface, across the silent, titan-scales of void combat, it was merely sufficient.

Great blossoms of fire, like predatory glowing mushrooms, erupted across the hull of the Ork vessel. The detonations were as vast and beautiful as pyrotechnic displays. Yet, the Ork ship was a behemoth of crude armor and excessive mass; such wounds were not mortal. Ork vessels were archetypes of their creators: coarse, ugly, and prone to mechanical temper, but terrifyingly resilient and possessed of a devastating punch.

"Order the gunnery decks to increase loading efficiency. I want more salvos!" Pex commanded. "All hands, brace for impact." He knew that if he could not bleed the greenskin's structural integrity before they closed the distance, the Glorious Knight would be outmatched. In a direct broadside exchange, the raw, unsubtle firepower of an Ork cruiser often eclipsed that of an Imperial equivalent.

"Vents 18, 30, and Sector 3 reporting direct hits from Ork torpedoes!" the damage control officer barked.

"Communication lost with Macro-batteries 2 through 5! They are non-functional!"

"Incompetence! Absolute incompetence!" Pex roared. "What is the point of the point-defense turrets if they cannot intercept a few primitive torpedoes?"

"Begin the turn! Bring the starboard batteries to bear! Continue firing!"

The macro-cannons were mounted in lateral arrays. To bring the fresh guns into play required a dangerous maneuver: slowing down to pivot the ship into a 'Crossing the T' formation. Normally, the Glorious Knight would rely on its prow-mounted Lances, but the previous ambush had left the ship's primary energy weapon systems dark. Turning was the only tactical option left to maintain maximum fire pressure.

"Sir, the Ork boarding parties have breached our secondary perimeters. Their leader is pushing toward key bridge access corridors!"

"Void shields in Sectors A3 through A6 are buckling under bombardment of Ork aircrafts! Power output is surging; we are five increments from total overload!"

Misfortunes never come singly. The reports were a litany of cascading failures.

"The engines must hold. Shift void shield priority to the aft," Pex ordered, his eyes darting to his command terminal. "Show me the internal feed. How can a simple boarding action cause such disruption? This is the problem with the Astra Militarum: too bloated, too many 'waste' units."

Pex cursed the resisting guardsmen as he watched the tactical maps. "If we weren't being plagued by these vermin inside my ship, we wouldn't be in this predicament."

"Captain! The Ork ship is accelerating again!"

"What? Put it on the main viewscreen!"

On the azure display, the Ork ship's engines were visibly shuddering, coughing out plumes of greenish-white fire that stretched twice the length of the vessel itself. It wasn't mere acceleration; it was a reckless surge of speed. The ship looked as if it might shake itself apart, a spectral image of a roaring Ork head seemingly superimposed over the prow as it bayed a silent WAAAGH! into the void.

The Ork cannons spoke first. As zealots of the 'Cult of the Multi-Turret,' the greenskins believed that 'More and Bigger' was the only true theology. Even their prows were bristling with gun decks. Ton-for-ton, an Ork vessel typically boasted a third more firepower than an Imperial counterpart.

The bridge alarms shrieked, the lighting bathing the crew in a blood-red emergency hue as Ork shells hammered against the void shields.

"Damn it!" Pex gripped his command throne to keep from being thrown.

Imperial void shields work by shunting kinetic energy into the Warp; the faster an object moves, the more effectively the shield displaces it. But they are not absolute. Low-velocity debris and the concussive shockwaves of near-misses still rattle the ship's bones.

"No... we won't make the turn in time... the firepower disparity is too great..." Feeling the sheer megatonnage of the Ork bombardment, Pex's confidence wavered. His mind raced frantically. If only the Knight were at full strength!

A heavy hand clamped onto Pex's shoulder. The Captain's heart skipped a beat as he turned.

It was Commissar Jappard.

Meeting the Commissar's cold, murderous gaze, Pex nearly collapsed. He felt a sudden, frantic urge to confess every minor transgression of his life.

"I am taking a detachment to hold the bridge access spinal-ways," Jappard said, his voice a low, sharpened rasp. "You will stay here and fulfill your duty." He leaned in closer, his eyes like flint. "Die for the Emperor, or die by my hand. Do you understand?"

Jappard adjusted his collar, his gaze sweeping over every officer on the bridge like a predator marking its territory. I am watching you, his silence screamed.

As Jappard departed with his Kasrkin kill-team, the tension on the bridge dissipated slightly. The Commissar's authority, the power of summary execution, was a Sword of Damocles hanging over every neck. His presence was a crushing weight of dread.

Wiping cold sweat from his brow, Pex stood tall once more, his trembling legs finding their strength.

"Helmsman, continue the turn! Gunnery deck, double the loading rate on the starboard batteries... Prepare to unleash hell." Pex's eyes flickered toward the Geller Field generator status and then toward the slumped, three-eyed Navigator in the corner.

"Engine room, divert all remaining auxiliary power to the thrusters. Pre-heat the main drive."

The crew tightened their crash-harnesses. They had a distinct, sinking feeling that the Captain was about to drive the ship like a madman.

The Glorious Knight swung into a wide, arcing turn. The Ork ship plunged ahead, attempting to cut across the inner radius of the arc. As it closed the gap, the greenskin vessel opened fire with everything it had: ultra-yield cannons, 'splody-kannon' batteries, and erratic missile volleys.

Vast explosions and trails of tracer-fire wove a deadly tapestry around the Glorious Knight. Had there been sound in the vacuum, it would have been a deafening cacophony. Five kilometers of Lunar-class Cruiser became the brightest beacon of fire in the dark.

Fortunately, Ork ballistics were notoriously optimistic. Most shells detonated in the empty void, mere meters from the hull. But the greenskin philosophy cared little for accuracy; if you throw enough lead, the universe eventually gets out of the way.

The Glorious Knight endured its darkest hour. Alarms wailed through every deck, the ship bucking like a wounded beast as fire raked the outer sensors and point-defense nests. Yet, the Imperial vessel's rugged architecture held. Finally, the turn was complete. The fresh starboard macro-matrix was brought to bear, "Crossing the T" against the oncoming Ork raider.

The patience of the turn was rewarded with a sudden, violent release. At such point-blank range, the starboard batteries achieved an 80% hit ratio. The macro-shells tore through the Ork vessel, pulverizing its forward structure and shearing away a fifth of its total mass in a single, devastating volley.

On the bridge of the Glorious Knight, the crew erupted in a roar of triumph.