women dying agonising deaths.
‘Be advised, captain, they are coming about.’ Principal Navigator Cronos was eerily calm as his voice came through the internal vox array. Mhotep scrutinised the tactical holo-display above the command console. The Furious Abyss was changing course. It was suffering lance imparts from the Wrathful and was turning to present its heavily armoured prow to the aggressors.
‘What folly from this Bearer of his Word,’ Mhotep intoned. ‘He thinks we will flee like the jackal, but his only victory is in raising the ire of Prospero! Mister Cronos, bring us across his bow. Gun decks port and starboard, prepare for a rolling broadside!’
THE WANING MOON rotated grandly, as if standing on end in front of the Furious Abyss . The Word Bearer vessel had not reacted, and its blunt prow faced the damaged strike cruiser.
Deep scores, like illegible signatures, were seared into the prow armour of the traitors’ ship by the Wrathful ’s laser batteries. An insane crosshatch of crimson lance beams erupted between the two vessels with pyrotechnic intensity as they traded blows, silent shield flares indicating absorbed impacts.
Errant bursts glittered past the Waning Moon as it opened up its gun ports and the snouts of massive ship-to-ship cannon emerged. Behind them, sweat-drenched ratings toiled to load the enormous guns and avenge their dead. They chanted in gun-cant to keep their rhythm strong, one refrain for hauling shells out of the hoppers behind them, another for ramming it home, and yet another for hauling the breech closed.
The signal to fire reached them from the bridge. The rating gang leaders brought hammers down on firing pins and inside the ship, thunder screamed through the decks.
Outside, jets of propellant and debris leapt the gap between the two ships. A split second later the shells impacted, explosive charges blasting deep craters into the enemy vessel.
74
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
THE BRIDGE OF the Furious Abyss stayed calm.
Zadkiel was pleased. His ship, the city over which he ruled, was not governed by panic.
‘My lord, should we retaliate?’ asked Helms-mate Sarkorov.
‘For now, we wait,’ said Zadkiel, content to absorb the punishment as he sat back on the command throne watching images of the Waning Moon ’s assault on the viewscreens above him. ‘There is nothing they can do to us.’
‘You would have us sit here and take this?’ snarled Reskiel at his master’s side.
‘We will prevail,’ said Zadkiel, unperturbed.
Dozens of new contacts flared on the viewscreens, streaking from the launch bays of a ship identified as the Boundless .
‘Assault boats, sire,’ Sarkorov informed him, monitoring the same feed. ‘Escorts are closing.’
Zadkiel pored over the hololithic display.
‘They intend to attack from all angles and confuse us, and while we weather this storm, their assault boats and escorts will pick us apart.’ Zadkiel provided the curt tactical analysis coldly, his face aglow in the display.
‘What is our response?’ asked Reskiel.
‘We wait.’
‘That’s it?’
‘We wait,’ repeated Zadkiel, his voice like iron. ‘Trust in the Word.’
Reskiel stood back, watching the fire hammering in from the Waning Moon , and listening to the dull thuds of explosions from within the Furious ’s prow.
THE ATTACK CRAFT wing of the Boundless swept in tight formation through the veil of debris building up from the damage to the two ships ahead of them. The Waning Moon and the Furious Abyss were locked in the Spiral Dance: the long, painful embrace that saw one ship circle another pumping broadsides into the enemy as it spun. Like everything else in space the Spiral Dance 75
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
had its own mythology, and to a lifelong pilot of the Saturnine Fleet it meant inevitable doom and the spite of one ship lashing out at the enemy in its death throes. It was desperation and tragedy, like a dying romance or
‘Be advised, captain, they are coming about.’ Principal Navigator Cronos was eerily calm as his voice came through the internal vox array. Mhotep scrutinised the tactical holo-display above the command console. The Furious Abyss was changing course. It was suffering lance imparts from the Wrathful and was turning to present its heavily armoured prow to the aggressors.
‘What folly from this Bearer of his Word,’ Mhotep intoned. ‘He thinks we will flee like the jackal, but his only victory is in raising the ire of Prospero! Mister Cronos, bring us across his bow. Gun decks port and starboard, prepare for a rolling broadside!’
THE WANING MOON rotated grandly, as if standing on end in front of the Furious Abyss . The Word Bearer vessel had not reacted, and its blunt prow faced the damaged strike cruiser.
Deep scores, like illegible signatures, were seared into the prow armour of the traitors’ ship by the Wrathful ’s laser batteries. An insane crosshatch of crimson lance beams erupted between the two vessels with pyrotechnic intensity as they traded blows, silent shield flares indicating absorbed impacts.
Errant bursts glittered past the Waning Moon as it opened up its gun ports and the snouts of massive ship-to-ship cannon emerged. Behind them, sweat-drenched ratings toiled to load the enormous guns and avenge their dead. They chanted in gun-cant to keep their rhythm strong, one refrain for hauling shells out of the hoppers behind them, another for ramming it home, and yet another for hauling the breech closed.
The signal to fire reached them from the bridge. The rating gang leaders brought hammers down on firing pins and inside the ship, thunder screamed through the decks.
Outside, jets of propellant and debris leapt the gap between the two ships. A split second later the shells impacted, explosive charges blasting deep craters into the enemy vessel.
74
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
THE BRIDGE OF the Furious Abyss stayed calm.
Zadkiel was pleased. His ship, the city over which he ruled, was not governed by panic.
‘My lord, should we retaliate?’ asked Helms-mate Sarkorov.
‘For now, we wait,’ said Zadkiel, content to absorb the punishment as he sat back on the command throne watching images of the Waning Moon ’s assault on the viewscreens above him. ‘There is nothing they can do to us.’
‘You would have us sit here and take this?’ snarled Reskiel at his master’s side.
‘We will prevail,’ said Zadkiel, unperturbed.
Dozens of new contacts flared on the viewscreens, streaking from the launch bays of a ship identified as the Boundless .
‘Assault boats, sire,’ Sarkorov informed him, monitoring the same feed. ‘Escorts are closing.’
Zadkiel pored over the hololithic display.
‘They intend to attack from all angles and confuse us, and while we weather this storm, their assault boats and escorts will pick us apart.’ Zadkiel provided the curt tactical analysis coldly, his face aglow in the display.
‘What is our response?’ asked Reskiel.
‘We wait.’
‘That’s it?’
‘We wait,’ repeated Zadkiel, his voice like iron. ‘Trust in the Word.’
Reskiel stood back, watching the fire hammering in from the Waning Moon , and listening to the dull thuds of explosions from within the Furious ’s prow.
THE ATTACK CRAFT wing of the Boundless swept in tight formation through the veil of debris building up from the damage to the two ships ahead of them. The Waning Moon and the Furious Abyss were locked in the Spiral Dance: the long, painful embrace that saw one ship circle another pumping broadsides into the enemy as it spun. Like everything else in space the Spiral Dance 75
Ben Counter – Battle for the Abyss
had its own mythology, and to a lifelong pilot of the Saturnine Fleet it meant inevitable doom and the spite of one ship lashing out at the enemy in its death throes. It was desperation and tragedy, like a dying romance or
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