Rogue Trader - TO PRETHIAN

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

[Are we still in 30min ship-combat time, or personal combat time? There's no personal combat going on by the batteries where Andrea is. If the ship combat is finished, I assume the brothers will no longer be needed here?]

Andrea approaches Brother Clabo. "Excuse me, Brother. Is there anything that I can do to assist you and the Emperor in this battle? I have no combat duties, but I find idleness distasteful when my home is being attacked by pirates."

[Salt]

I say to Captain Gauis Trulitch, "We aren't winning here. Maybe we withdraw, let them smell the Void."

[The cargo bay must have a big door to the Void, for the shuttles to use. If we open that, it would vent all the atmosphere. Some of the stuff in the cargo bay could be sucked out. It's being blown up where it is, though.

Maybe we just open the doors a crack. The air would go. The boarders would die. The boxes wouldn't fly away. Our side would have to withdraw first. And someone would have to get to the door controls. GM, before I say any of this to Trulitch, can you tell me if it's possible?]

[Montresor]

I say to Captain Gauis Trulitch, "We aren't winning here. Maybe we withdraw, let them smell the Void."

Salt makes her way between cover while the pirates steadily advance. Addressing Trulitch with her scheme, the captain glares at her in disbelief. 'And risk our cargo?! Retreat if you haven't the stomach for a hard fight, girl!'

Trulitch spits and orders his men to lay down some flash grenades. As blasts go off, blinding some of the nearby pirates, Trulitch and his brutal team of troops charge into the fray. The sound of his chainsword whirring and cutting through flesh is audible where the smoke and fighting is thickest.

[Montresor]

Andrea approaches Brother Clabo. "Excuse me, Brother. Is there anything that I can do to assist you and the Emperor in this battle? I have no combat duties, but I find idleness distasteful when my home is being attacked by pirates."

'Not without word from Zarkov, Andrea. Down here, we have no idea if the fight is truly over. Perhaps you could find out?'

[Salt]

'And risk our cargo?! Retreat if you haven't the stomach for a hard fight, girl!'

I mutter, "'Cause bolters and grenades are good for the cargo. Stupid ass."

"It's all just rotten food anyway, right?"

I keep fighting anyway. No stupid ass telsl the Amphael that the Darksiders were too scared to do the needful.

[Garrius Amphael]

Garrius watched his ship take the big blow on the view screen in front of him. He grimaced visibly at the damage. A lot of souls would join the Emperor today.

Zarkov voxed the transports. "Captain, we have disabled the Havoc, but she got off a lance before the end. Our life-sustainers took heavy damage, and we're fighting unknown numbers of boarders." He paused. "We are still able to pursue the destroyers, however. One Hazeroth is nearly crippled, weapons at half capacity. What are your orders?"

Thumbing the Vox send, Garrius replied with haste. "Engage the damaged enemy vessel with long range fire only. Do not move to further engage. We have won this battle no need to over extend ourselves, if the cowards wish to flee then so let them. Hold out Zarkov, I shall be enroute to you with shuttles of reinforcements shortly." His concern for his stricken vessel evident in his cautiousness.


Turning to Nevou "Captain, the vessel is once again yours. However I must make use of your helmsmen to ensure the safety of The Invictus. If the enemy take her, we are all lost. I am sure you understand. Please inform the other transports to do the same.Also, Fire one last broadside from all vessels on that damaged raider, before we depart, but do not move to further engage."

Making his way to the shuttle bay, Garrius was glad he had worn his official dress for the visit, even if the look was ruined by the bulky padded Flak armour he had borrowed from Nevou. His fine monosword hung from his hip, whilst his more utilitarian plasma pistol sat on his belt in a crossdraw holster. He would see to the defense of his ship.

[Montresor]

[We can assume that the Nevou has a suit of Guard Flak Armour given to Garrius for the fight (since your own armour would probably be in your personal armoury on the Invictus). Several transports are despatched from the transports, carrying their own contingents of armsmen. These troops aren't plentiful, but they may swing the battle. The problem is, they will have to dock at the top of the cargo bay, where the shuttles usually do. This means a fierce fight as you are getting off. I will give Salt a chance to make this easier]

Salt leads her troops into the smoky confusion of battle - bullets and las-blasts scream from the din, cutting the unwary down. Pausing to try and see the best approach, Salt's train of thought is interrupted by her micro-bead.

###Sub-Lieutenant Salt, this is Lieutenant Peraton. Garrius is returning to the Invictus with reinforcements. I am leading an armed force to the docking bays above the cargo hold. Bring twenty of your ganger scum and help me clear the way for the Lord-Captain. Don't fail me, Salt. Peraton out###

[The easiest way to the cargo docking bays would be to ascend through the gantries and sub-levels. This may expose you to fire. You could also pull back from the Cargo Hold and go a safer route through the ship's tunnels, though this will significantly delay your arrival]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

"Engage the damaged enemy vessel with long range fire only.

[By this, I will assume that the Invictus will continue to fire. Extrapolate from there to the assumption that it has been steadily firing this whole time.]

Andrea looks to the ships guns all around her, feeling the shell launches in her feet and her lungs. She mouths to Brother Clabo, "If they're still firing, the battle must still be going. The crew still have need of your ministrations, Brother. Therefore, I will stay here with you, and with them, and give what aid I can."

Andrea looks for ways to be helpful, making a point NOT to interrupt anyone actually doing a task in order to ask. But if she sees someone injured or causing an obstruction, she'll try to pull the person out of the way.

[Salt]

###Sub-Lieutenant Salt, this is Lieutenant Peraton. Garrius is returning to the Invictus with reinforcements. I am leading an armed force to the docking bays above the cargo hold. Bring twenty of your ganger scum and help me clear the way for the Lord-Captain. Don't fail me, Salt. Peraton out###

[The easiest way to the cargo docking bays would be to ascend through the gantries and sub-levels. This may expose you to fire. You could also pull back from the Cargo Hold and go a safer route through the ship's tunnels, though this will significantly delay your arrival]

###This is Salt. Copy that.###

I call to my people. "Hey, Darksiders, listen up. Amphael is going to be docking in the shuttle bay with reinforcements for this fight. That man loves his ship, and he wants these pirates the hell out of his cargo hold. I need 20 of you sons of bitches to come with me. We're going to the shuttle ports, and we're going to greet Amphael in proper Darksider style. The rest of you dirty bastards will give us cover fire while we get up through the gantries and sub-levels."

"Stay safe! When Amphael and his fresh troups come back this way, you ganger scum be providing cover fire for them too. And if so much as a scuff gets on that man's boot, after what he's done for us... we've failed. Even the Emperor himself couldn't save the lot of you from what I'll do to you then."

The Darksiders cheer. "Protect the Amphael!"

I pick the 20 men with the best armor. They'll be getting shot at. Armor is good. The rest start cover fire while we start going up.

If I find a good spot where I can use my bolter on the pirates, I'll stay and snipe. For a little while.

[Montresor]

Salt watches a burning armsmen sail past her from a level far above, flailing and screaming before dissapearing into the swirling mists below. Somewhere above, the sounds of a flamer filling the tightly packed levels with fiery hell is audible. Bullets whizz by, impacting the walls around Salt, and sending one of her darksiders plummeting to his death.

Once on a suitable vantage point, the young ganger watches the battle below. She sees Trulitch, surrounded by his own men and a hundred more Armsmen , directing a strategic withdrawal to a more defensible line of crates. The pirates, swathed in their ragged clothes and armour come on. Though some of their number fall, they are undaunted, and they kill more of the ship's crew than are slain of their own.

[An opportunity arises for Salt to make a small but crucial contribution to the ebb and flow of battle. This was based off her making an extremely difficult shot - considering the short range nature of her bolt-pistol]

Salt spies a squad of the enemy, decimating Armsmen cut off from their main battle-lines. The pirates have a heavy-stubber, and are hauling it into position to unleash a deadly barrage of fire. Taking careful aim, she spies the gunner of the crew, steadying her arm and exhaling slowly. Just before the stubber can fire, Salt cooly depresses her trigger. There is a loud retort, and a bolt flies though the air. An instant later, crimson mist, spray, and reddened bone erupts, and her target dies convulsing. Suspecting a sniper, the gun crew take cover, allowing enough time for the Armsmen to rush through to Trulitch's defensive line.

But all around, across multiple levels, the battle rages. From her position, Salt can see the full scope of it. Though she had witnessed much gang warfare on Delta-X-7, she had never seen anything quite on the scale of this slaughter. Hundreds of pirates engage more than a thousand of the Invictus's crew. Almost as many dead and wounded are scattered all over the cargo hold, and the smell of smoke and blood hangs thickly.

Wasting no more time, Salt continues her ascent. Minutes later, she meets with Lieutenant Peraton, who leads another dozen men - most of whom are junior officers keen for glory. Their stark dress-uniforms seem out of place in the battle, though Peraton evidently is not - his elegant mono-sword already being washed with enemy blood.

Enemy raiders cling to cover between shuttles and crates, opening fire and causing Salt, Peraton and their men to duck for cover. Peraton smiles with savage glee, a look which only seems to complement his usually cold and well-ordered appearance.

The raiders are few on this level, perhaps numbering only a dozen, but they hold good ground and avenues of fire.

'Sub-lieutenant,' Peraton calls across to Salt, his wicked smile not diminishing, 'let's see if you ganger-scum can act like warriors. You're our cover. Charge them head on - you and all your rag-wearers - and be our cover. Get us close enough and we'll put these dogs to our swords'.

[Salt]

I call out, using our own dialect, "Darksiders, this man wants us to go first and protect his soft bellied nobles. Then he's going to follow behind us and welcome the Amphael to the ground our blood took. Let's just do it without him, and welcome the Amphael ourselves, eh?"

I switch to low gothic, and I say loud enough that all of Peraton's nobles can hear "Aye, your Lordship. You and your pretty boys stay here and hide behind me and mine. We'll go take that position for you, no problem." I snear, "When we've done that, you can follow behind and finish off the wounded with your swords, if it'll make you feel like real warriors."

Before Peraton can respond, I turn to the kill zone. I fire off three shots with my bolter for cover and shout "For the Amphael!" We all rush the pirates, killing and dying in equal measure.

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

Thumbing the Vox send, Garrius replied with haste. "Engage the damaged enemy vessel with long range fire only. Do not move to further engage. We have won this battle no need to over extend ourselves, if the cowards wish to flee then so let them. Hold out Zarkov, I shall be enroute to you with shuttles of reinforcements shortly."

"Roger that, Sir, Zarkov out."

"Tyor, bring us around out of the arc of the transports fire. Keep a tight turning circle. Once we have made the turn, we are to remain in a defensive position...do not pursue them."

He turned back to his gunnery crew. "Bohn, be prepared to fire as soon as they are within our firing arc. Target the damaged Hazeroth."

He addressed the bridge staff. "Break out the emergency weapons. Defend the bridge at all costs. I will take volunteers down to the cargo hold. These pirates will not claim our ship."

Bohn stabbed a few buttons on his lectern. "Targets in sight. The enemy is at range, still fleeing Sir."

"Tyor, all stop."

"Fire."

[Zarkov orders Tyor to Adjust Direction, then fires the macrobatteries and lance at the damaged Hazeroth, in line with the transports. Then he Adjusts Speed to All Stop. If the destroyers do not alter course, Zarkov will take a few armsmen from the bridge and head to the cargo hold, collecting crewmen as he goes.

[Montresor]

As the battle in the Cargo Bay intensifies, the Invictus comes about, describing a great arc to bring the fleeing enemy vessels in her sights. By the time the frigate is prepared to fire, the raiders are speeding away. The consequent batteries of the Invictus do slight damage, while the prow lance misses its mark.

.... .... .... ....

While Garrius and reinforcements from the transports begin to dock with the Invictus, Salt leads a charge against the raiders entrenched in the shuttle bay. Several of her Darksiders are gunned down as they close the distance, and Salt takes a searing blast of las-fire herself, but a savage melee is joined.

[Salt did very well here, taking only minor damage. The Darksiders, Salt, and Peraton and his men overrun the raiders in short order - with time to spare for Garrius and the reinforcements to disembark unmolested]

'To me, men of the Invictus!'

Captain Gaius Trulitch takes the top half of a cloth-robed raider's skull with a sweep of his chainsword. Blood, brains, and bone fly in splinters as a wave of piratical murderers charge Trulitch's defensive line. Men and women fight with anything to hand - swords, knives, the butts of their las-guns . . . availing themselves of every instrument of slaughter they can find. Frag grenades explode at close range and the dead mix with the dieing in indistinguishable heaps.

Fighting a fevered rearguard action, Trulitch and the few hundred crew around him prepare to sell their lives dearly. Trulitch himself fights with grim determination - his own kills made almost mechanically, rehearsed in a hundred other battles. He does not cheer, or go to battle with the glee of the raiders before him, but methodically kills, bellows orders, and grits at his own wounds.

Forced to the very rear most ground of the bay, leaving a trail of crimson and smokey ruin, Trulitch and his makeshift defense line is set to crumble. But startled yells and curses are voiced from the raider's battlelines. Surging from the higher levels of the cargo hold Garrius Amphael, Sub-lieutenant Salt, and Lieutenant Peraton lead two hundred white-uniformed armsmen down towards the fray. A fury of las blasts and bullets answer their challenge, but their approach is inexorable.

As the Amphael's assault clears ground, Lieutenant Commander Zarkov rushes through to bolster Trulitch's battered and blodied lines with over a hundred armsmen, officers, and miscellaneous crew.

The raiders, knowing their chances are slim, throw themselves into battle with abandon - heedless of their own risks and injuries. The Cargo Bay becomes a maelstrom of death.

[The raiders were tough, hard fighters, and they killed more than they lost. However, their defeat was almost inevitable. After the battle, little more than three-score of them surrender, while scores more are wounded, and hundreds dead. The crew of the Invictus, however, has a much more serious death toll from the boarding action alone. Rough estimates will put the death toll at about 1,000 - of which nearly half were Armsmen.

As for the individual battles, I would prefer for you to do your own write-ups. Everyone suffered wounds, though none were critical. Garrius and Salt's descent was costly, and it stalled at one point, but they eventually were able to flank and entrap the bulk of the raiders from above and the sides. Zarkov's arrival was timely, and meant that the final line of defense held. When Salt and Amphael flanked the raiders, Trulitch and Zarkov would have been able to counter-attack.

I'll give everyone 72 hours to post before moving things on]

[Salt]

"For the Amphael!" I shout. The Darksiders and I jump out from behind our cover and rush the pirates. We run hard, shooting as we go. Our aim is bad from running, but maybe it keeps the pirates ducking instead of shooting us. I hear Dirt scream next to me, but I can't stop to see if he's okay. Behind me, other screams come, sometimes followed by bodies hitting the ground. My Darksiders are dying for that ass Peraton. I'm over halfway to the pirates, my bolter is nearly out of rounds, and only then do I hear the Ass Brigade start their attack. Now that we're closer to the pirates, and our shots are hitting better, they're staying low. And the Ass gets to stroll up the aisle like it's a parade in his honor. Twenty-one gun salute over his head, walking on the red carpet of Darksider blood.

Peraton, I will end you, if it's the last thing I do.

I run up to the crate where I saw a pirate's head just a moment ago. I jump around it, and fire my bolter. I'm screaming my rage. The bolter is just another way of expressing myself. The pirate who was there explodes. His blood and parts splash onto his buddy next to him. That guy even takes a little damage. But there are more. Three other pirates turn to me and open fire. One beam singes my armor. My shoulder feels a little warm but I'm not hurt. One is totally off the mark. It didn't even come close to me. But the third guy scored me good. I think his eyes were shut. It must have been a lucky shot. But it hurt like a bitch. Went in right over my hip bone. Through the meat, thankfully. Damn, it hurt. But at least I could still walk.

I scream out and stumble into a crate. I point my bolter and pull the trigger. Too bad I'm out of ammo. I'd used it up on the run up here, I guess. I shove myself away from the crate, just before more las-beams burn into its side. The pain starts to get worse. So I think about Dirt and Torch, lying back there bleeding on Peraton's shoes. I get mad. I reach for my cutlas. I'll have to kill these bastards the hard way. When I grip the handle, hot power rushes down the blade. I always thought it made me look really scary when the light from the blade shines up on my face from below. These guys thought so too. They tried to bring their guns to aim at me, I guess. They must have missed, though. I didn't get shot any more, and they were dead right after that.

I don't really remember the order of things after that. I cut pirates down. I remember each one dying. But it's like flipping through a set of shots on a picter. One image of the tall guy with no teeth. Another image of the short guy with the missing eye. There's no sound in my memory. But I remember at the end, when we ran out of pirates to kill. I was looking around for something to cut, and I saw the Ass. He was standing there with a big dumb smile. I hadn't noticed him for the whole fight, and somewhere behind him was Dirt and Torch and all the others. And sure enough, the ass had blood on his shoes, but not much anywhere else. I came this close to swinging for him. I even took a couple steps that direction. But then he started giving orders about securing the area and preparing for the Amphael.

So instead of disappointing the Amphael by destroying his favored pet monkey, I put away my cutlas and went to help my Darksiders. Dirt was gone. Las-beam straight through the eye. At least it was quick. Torch got hit in the knee. Pretty much cut him off there. The only good thing about lasguns is that they burn the wound. So he didn't bleed out. He just lay there in shock, staring at his foot next to him. I think maybe he hit his head when he fell, too. He'd need a machine foot, now, for sure. Almost all of my Darksiders were hurt in that rush. Fully half of them were just dead. The only one to come out without a hurt... we call him Lucky now.

And then the Amphael arrived through the doors. Like a god, he was. He walked onto his ship as a savior, with a floor of clean, unhurt armsmen behind him. And that ass Peraton stood up first, all attention and salutes, not a hurt on him. All of his ass brigade snapped to attention behind him, and the Darksiders were too busy trying to keep Joe's guts inside him to look smart like that. The Amphael saluted back to the ass and his brigade, and they started making plans to rush downstairs. And never a glance to the Darksiders. No notice of how we'd bled and died for him and his ship, our new home. I think the most he said about us was, "Lieutenant, you and your men, and these ratings here who aren't too hurt to keep fighting, let's go rescue my ship!" Something like that.

It's all that ass Peraton's fault. He poisoned the Amphael against us.

[I thought I'd let Garrius and Zarkov cover the later parts of the battle. So I only wrote this part.]

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

Andrea moves away from the macro-batteries, and up the long tunnel through which the ammunition will arrive. The renewed sound of cannon fire caused her to just disable her cyber-ears, and now she was left in a peaceful surreal place. There were no windows down here, and no light except for the red spinning battlestation lights. In the silence, she imagined that they were the visual equivelent to a claxon, harsh and jarring, impossible to ignore. She also noticed that there were hundreds of little colored lights spread around the place. They weren't strong enough to be used for illumination, but they were spread liberally all over the place. She found herself captivated by them, flashing on, then off in seemingly random patterns. In the peaceful silence and the near darkness of the claxon-lights, they were like some kind of strange xenos insect dancing on a summer night. Add to that the steady vibrations of the cannon's fire, which was unheard and so pervasive as to feel more like the quiet hum of Father's old touring flier. In spite of the harsh and often violent end of those around her, Andrea felt so calm and at peace here.

In the red flashing light, she watches as one of the gunners slips on... probably blood... and tumbles into the path of an oncoming ammunition train. There isn't even a body when the metal beast has gone past, just a shiny black section of ground in the matte black darkness. The horror of the scene is somehow lacking, and she just feels odd. One moment there's a person there, a fellow servant of the Emperor and the Amphaels, and the next moment, there isn't. No scream, no sign of pain... just gone. Her mind wandered then, thinking of having seen info broadcasts of battles in other sectors, or holo-news of ships lost to the void. And always, it was just an abstract... vague knowledge that somewhere people you never knew and didn't even really think of as being real... they were gone. But they'd only just come into being a moment before, when the person told you there were people. It's like they only existed so that their deaths could occur. And sometimes, she'd tried to imagine that those were real people in those stories, tried to give them faces and names, so that their ends would mean something. But that was always just a game. And now, here she was watching it happen in real-time, and it was still the same. Some rating who only existed so that Andrea could be aware of her passing. No name, no story. At this distance, in this light, not even really a face. Just a vague concept of being human-shaped. And the clear understanding that whoever it was, it wasn't anymore.

Another ammunition train went past, the wind tugging at her clothing in the tight tunnel. She glanced at it's passing, and saw something else. Across the tunnel, there stood a person. The person was watching her. From here, she couldn't see any details, just a pale white face above dark clothing. The red of the claxon-lights turned the face almost the color of blood. The blood of her imagination, anyway. This red-lit white face was nothing like the actual smear of blood on the ground in front of her, the last sign of that unnamed rating from before. And yet, the pale red against the darkness of the tunnels gave the image of blood. She stared at the face as it stared at her, and recognition dawned. The face. The face from the Warp! For almost a minute she stared, in the peaceful silence of the battle. Feeling the warmth and soothing vibrations of death all around her, she locked eyes with this face from her dreams. And then the next train went by, blocking her view. When it was past, the face was gone. Perhaps it was another smear on the far side of the tunnel now, or perhaps it was never really a person at all, and she had just imagined the whole thing.

[Lt. Commander Zarkov]

As Zarkov made his way to the cargo bay he voxed Andrea, his orders clipped and blunt. "Seneschal, the missionaries work in the batteries is done. You should return with them to defend the chapel, and pray for our victory. Out."

Already more than fifty crewmen followed Zarkov through the darkened halls, emerging wordless from corridors clutching ancient laspistols, slug-throwers and other, more primitive weapons. All had the cold look of revenge in their eyes.

By the time they arrived Zarkov’s force had swelled to over a hundred men and women, but faced with the chaos in the cargo hold Zarkov wondered if that would be enough. Bodies, whole and in parts, lay everywhere, and the air stank of blood and steel. Zarkov saw what he took to be Trulitch, covered in gore and leading a fighting retreat towards their position. He could see that the pirates had gained much ground, and Trulitch’s line was thinning badly. Even as he retreated, however, the captain sowed death amongst the pirate’s ranks. His chainsword came down to remove a pirate’s leg above the knee, and Zarkov winced despite himself. Rallying his force around him, he bellowed orders from the front.

“Forward! We must support their defensive line! Kill the raider scum!”

As they charged, Zarkov saw more fighting on the upper levels, Garrius and his men. They were leading a fight down towards the raider's flank, and Zarkov saw instantly how the battle would pan out, if they could just make it to Trulitch in time. “Forward, you dogs! Faster!” he cried.

Finally, they reached the melee. Before they could link up with Trulitch, however, a group of rag wearing scum fell upon them. A tattered raider came screaming at Zarkov, some sort of axe raised over his head. The tip of Zarkov’s sword pierced the raider’s eye socket, driving the eye from its orbit. The man’s nonsensical shriek was silenced as Zarkov removed the sword from the man’s skull horizontally, the mono-molecular blade slicing through brain and bone with equal ease. A spatter of arterial blood brought colour to Zarkov’s otherwise pallid features. He grinned, raising his bolt pistol and firing into the melee. One raider took a bolt shell to the abdomen, mangled entrails adding to the mess of blood soaking the deck. His gurgling screams were silenced as he was cut down by another officer, one Zarkov recognized as a mild-mannered ensign from comms. The man’s eyes were wide with righteous fury, and he disappeared into the chaos.

As Zarkov’s line came level with Trulitch’s the pincer was complete. The raider force was now fighting on two fronts, and turned to meet the attack from above. Zarkov turned to Trulitch, who was rallying his men. “We must push forward!” Trulitch spat a gob of blood on the floor and nodded. “The best defense is a good slaughter.” he intoned. Zarkov raised his bloodied sword and let out a rousing battle cry.

“Attack men! Grind them into the deck!”

With a furious yell the defenders charged the battered raiders, ad hoc fireteams moving up from behind to support those like Zarkov and Trulitch who waded head first into the bloodshed. Zarkov could hear the Guard captain's chainsword scream beside him as it tore through armour and bone. Zarkov's own sword was bloodied again as he forced off frenzied attacks from the increasingly desperate raiders. One man ran at him holding a primed frag grenade, but he went down under concentrated fire from the defenders. The grenade exploded amongst the pirates, sending white-hot shrapnel through the rabble. An autogun burst stitched the rating to Zarkov's left with ragged bullet holes from chest to groin.

Through the haze of battle Zarkov spotted what might have been Peraton, the young officer leading a group of other youngbloods, all prim and proper in immaculate dress uniforms. Zarkov grimaced and concentrated on the task at hand, a rather large brute with a meat cleaver advancing upon him. So, Eyre's boy wants to get his hands dirty. Zarkov's sword took the giant in the chest. Probably putting on a show for Amphael again. He pulled the sword free and separated the man's head from his broad shoulders. Impudent noble boy.

"Behind you, Zarkov!" Trulitch's bellow made Zarkov flinch, an action that saved his life. The raiders cutlass swept down through air and clanged against his bionic leg. Trulitch's chainsword caught the man in the ribcage, tearing through his chest cavity and covering both officers in blood and gobbets of lung tissue. Zarkov turned to fire back into the fracas, but his bolt pistol dry fired on an empty chamber. Grabbing a replacement magazine, he rammed it home, looking at Trulitch. The captain was firing at a group of raiders attempting to break through the right flank. His face was a mask of silent, cold determination. Zarkov threw himself back into the fray, the distinctive roar of his bolt pistol audible even over the din of combat.

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

The shelling had stopped. The vibrations were gone, and Andrea had turned her ears back on.

As Zarkov made his way to the cargo bay he voxed Andrea, his orders clipped and blunt. "Seneschal, the missionaries work in the batteries is done. You should return with them to defend the chapel, and pray for our victory. Out."

"Of course, Lt. Commander." Andrea relayed Zarkov's suggestion to Brother Clabo, and then followed him back to the chapel. Her arms were still secured in Drak-Kung's armory, so she wouldn't be terribly helpful defending the chapel. But she could pray.

She could try to pray. Images of the face in the darkness of the tunnel kept intruding, however.

[Garrius Amphael]

"Lieutenant, bring your men, and any here who aren't to heavily wounded and let us fight for The Invictus!"

There was still much fighting to be done. Garrius looked down upon the carnage below. He could see that the battle for the cargo holds had been a bloody one. Wounded and dying from both sides lay everywhere.

A stray las round passing by his face brought him back to the moment.

"Peraton, you will see I have brought the white clad men of Deltael. Let them aid us in clearing the blight from our cargo holds. Men to me! For The Invictus!"

Charging down the gantries towards the pirates, the fire intensified as they neared their position's. Bolts, lasers and slugs threw up hell everywhere, with men falling on either side. Garrius's own plasma pistol spat hot death in every direction, super heated plasma making a mess of whatever it hit.

But soon he was amongst his enemy, in melee where he felt more at home. His monoblade swung in an ark of death, with pirates falling to his blade. One large brute came at him with a part of machinery in his hands, forming a brutish club, toothy cog on the end covered in gore. The man swung clumsily for Garrius, who quickly stepped aside and bought his own blade to bare, but the massive man showed little reaction to the gash in his shoulder. But Garrius was quicker, and he raised his blade for a second swipe just as his world moved sideways.

All air was knocked from his lungs as a slug impacted like a sledge hammer into the flak armour he had borrowed from Nevou. The world has gone into slow motion as he was thrown back, through the swath of combat. His back slammed into the decking and he watched, seemingly helpless, as the big brute advanced on him. The man was cocky, raising his makeshift club for the coup de grâce. But his own sureness in victory would be his end. As the man approached, confident that you had won, Garrius was able to scramble his left hand, looking for his sword. His hand gripped the hilt as his enemy raised his weapon. Garrius let out a yell of defiance as the monoblade lanced upwards, piecing the mans groin with satisfying squirt of arterial blood. As if in slow motion the pirate dropped his weapon, and crumbled to the floor next to the Lord Captain in obvious agony. Agony that was ended when Garrius placed the hot mouth of his plasma pistol to his face, pulling the trigger had the effect of turning the pirates head into a mess of melted mush.

Peraton pulled the Captain to his feet. "Come Lord Amphael, we near the end of this battle." Ahead of them, Garrius could see the group of pirates diminishing in numbers rapidly, soon to be completely surrounded as Garrius and Peraton linked up with Zarkov and Trulich.

Clutching his bruised stomach, Garrius pushed the men forward to victory.

[Andrea Chan-Gauthier]

Andrea and brother Clabo, with the rest of the Ecclesiarchy, are in the Chapel, waiting tensly while the claxon-light shines. They are quite glaring against the stained glass window covering one wall, though she suspects that whichever unnamed artist designed that great depiction of the Emperor himself watching from his Golden Throne... he must have considered how it would look even under battlestations. In this harsh red glow, the Emperor's normally stern features take on an angry cast, as if whatever troubled the ship were a personal affront to the God Emperor himself.

Standing there, Andrea felt her emotions shift from worry about the ship and the cargo to... cold hatred. These pirates came aboard her ship, her Lord-Captain's ship, the Emperor's ship... intending to subvert the Emperor's will to their own foul ends. Now she knew that whatever the cost, these pirate scum must be erased. No more thoughts of if Garrius and his men would succeed, but only a grim satisfaction that her Amphael family was willing and proud to pay any price to insure that there was nothing of the Unholy left in the galaxy.

When the lights returned to normal, and the sirens stopped, she only smiled. Relief was only for those who doubt. She turned to Brother Clabo, "Brother, as always I am honored to have been able to assist you with your holy works. I feel especially priviledged to have been allowed into this holiest of chambers. I feel almost as if I can glimpse just a sparkle of his Divine plan for us, and my drive to carry His light into the darkness of the Expanse is renewed."

Andrea then returns to the Librarium to check how her precious books fared during all the commotion.

Later on, she'll supervise the cleanup of the Cargo Bay, including a full inventory to be sure what supplies may have been lost. Any of the spoiled food that's left, she'll either have jettisoned or used to feed the prisoners until they're executed. As mentioned in the OOC thread, she'll keep informed as to what can be salvaged from the Havoc, and what can be made of the Havoc itself.

[Salt]

After the battle, once I've had first aid and a night's sleep, I'll take a shuttle and my Voidsuit, and some Darksiders with Voidsuits, over to the Havoc.

We'll start with doing fly-byes to inspect the hull damage. We'll look for good places to dock. If the sensors in a shuttle are good enough, we'll scan for survivors and areas where there's still atmosphere. We'll scan for reactor leaks or other dangers from the damage.

If there's an easy path to the Havoc's cargo holds, we'll try to go there to see if any supplies survived.

[I wouldn't have thought of survivors, or of them attacking me. But you posted about it. So maybe they'd surprise us? We might be a little bit armed, but not a full combat kit. But maybe the scanners picked them up?]

We'll look at the assault shuttles when we fly by. If there's enough time, we'll do a detailed analysis on our way back.