Strange Bedfellows

by BRBrony9

The Best Laid Plans

The deck armoury had been rapidly turned into the temporary fortress it was meant to be. That was its secondary purpose, behind being a storage site for ammunition and weapons; to hold up an enemy attack and act as a strongpoint for the defenders to rally to. That was exactly what had happened on Deck 28. Armsmen had come from several directions as they were pressured by enemies who had breached the deck at several points, though all on the port side, which was some consolation. The armoury had numerous approaches, from different sections of the deck, but all had long, open lines of sight, allowing for the defenders to get clear shots at any enemies that might be coming their way. Men and women lined the railings and barricades, crouching low in anticipation of an assault, perhaps from several directions at once. The likelihood of reinforcement was low, as the enemy had made landings on other decks as well, forcing breaches in multiple places across the ship and tying up the mobile forces of armsmen who were on standby during combat in case of just such an incident.

Nevertheless, the armoury was well prepared and well defended. The two combat servitors stood silently, waiting to unleash hell on the enemy when they came. The automatic stubber turrets swung slowly through their firing arcs, tracking and scanning for targets. They could be left on automatic operation using their slaved machine spirits, or switched over to manual remote operation from a station inside the armoury. Marcallas and his squad waited, and soon the enemy came at them again.

There were only a few men at first, coming through the hatchways from the section Marcallas had retreated from. Autoguns opened up on them, and the servitor with the assault cannon blazed away, throwing hundreds of rounds downrange and slicing into the unfortunate scouts. More men followed, now coming from two directions, evidently coordinating their attacks at least somewhat. A large number of infantry were pouring out onto the open deck space around the armoury; the enemy had seemingly landed on Deck 28 with numerous craft to have delivered so many men, either that or they were coming up or down from other decks, which would be a worrying development as it would mean the internal security between decks aboard ship had been breached and the enemy were roaming free.

Shouted warnings came from other sides of the hexagonal armoury structure as more enemies appeared, and soon they were charging in from four sides at the same time, dividing the attentions of the defenders. The automatic turrets tracked and fired in short bursts, while the armsmen took careful aim with their autoguns. Most of those who had been armed with shotguns had been able to swap them out in the armoury for autoguns, far more suitable for engagement at range, and the open spaces around the armoury provided it.

Gunfire rippled across the chamber from multiple sources. The enemy flooded into the area, ducking behind what little cover they could find. The approaches to the armoury had been designed deliberately to be spartan and offer no cover to attacking forces, but there were some small sections of catwalk behind which a few enemies could hide, crouching low out of the streams of bullets that were coming their way. It did not help several of them, who were struck fatally anyway, and crumpled up in small, pathetic heaps on the deck. A missile streaked out from near one of the doorways and burst against the structure of the armoury, ripping one of the turrets away and sending it clanging onto the catwalk, ammunition spilling out of the busted belt-feeding mechanism. Another rocket from the other side of the chamber tried to target one of the servitors, but missed wide, smashing into one of the barricades and cutting down three unlucky armsmen with shrapnel and blast.

The enemy closed in, getting picked off by long-range fire from the defenders. The assault cannon of the servitor rained down shells on the charging masses, ammunition fed constantly to the rapidly spinning barrels from the hopper mounted on its back. More targets presented themselves, and it continued to blaze away, the six barrels glowing red hot from the constant fire. Several dozen enemies fell before the mighty firepower of the assault cannon, combined with the remaining stubber turrets and massed autogun fire from the crouching armsmen.

More missiles streaked in from several angles and tore another turret away, shattering it and killing several men with the shrapnel, sharp metal shredding their flesh and cutting through their vulnerable bodies. When the shrapnel came into contact with the servitors, it mostly bounced off, as they were more metal than man thanks to their extensive surgeries and replacement of body parts with machinery. When a rocket struck, however, the results were different.

A missile spiraled in and this time it struck its target. The servitor with the assault cannon was hit bodily in the chest, and the warhead detonated, knocking it down, torn to pieces by the blast, most of its metallic chest cavity ripped away and its few surviving internal organs pulped, turned into a chunky soup on the deck by the explosion and shrapnel. The assault cannon blew itself apart as at least one of the barrels was deformed by the explosion and shells detonated inside it, ruining the firing mechanism. No man could lift it, but if it had been intact, the armsmen might have been able to fire it from the ground or set it up against a barricade. As it was, the precious firepower of such a potent weapon was now denied to them at a crucial time.

The enemy assault continued unabated, seemingly undeterred by their heavy losses. Chaos troops had never been renowned for having regard for their own safety, and they charged forward across the open space. It seemed suicidal but it was the only way they were likely to take such a fortified position. The armoury provided an essentially limitless supply of small arms ammunition for the guns of the defenders, they were in cover, had turrets for backup and armoured positions to hide behind. Sitting back and trying to pick them off from the vulnerable open areas was not a good plan, and so the Chaos forces continued their traditional method of engagement; a blind charge, running into the teeth of the enemy's guns, because it was the only way they might succeed. Getting closer to the armoury got them out of the line of fire of many of the armsmen's guns as the angles were no longer right. However, it also took them within range of another weapon.

The second servitor lumbered into action. Its flamer arm swung up and ignited with a hiss, a powerful jet of Promethium fuel gushing out like a fountain, engulfing a squad of Chaos infantry in a heartbeat. Their wicked screams filled the ears of defender and attacker alike as they flailed about helplessly, their skin blackening like meat on a grill. Another gout of fire incinerated more men as they tried to turn and flee, but running back just put them into the sights of the armsmen gunners up on the armoury's superstructure. More of them went down to that source, while some tried to charge the servitor, get into close combat range with it. But close combat against a flamer-wielding seven foot tall metal monster was not a good place to be, and those that attempted it burned alive, rolling around on the floor in a futile effort to put out the flames.

Another missile tried to strike the servitor, but it missed, only killing more Chaos infantry. On the other side of the armoury, the turret guns chattered, mowing down the onrushing targets who offered little in return, scattered small arms fire killing a couple of armsmen here and there, but having little overall effect on the course of the battle. Only the missile teams had any hope of altering the outcome for the boarding parties, but they were steadily picked off by good, distant shots from the autoguns of the defenders. Still they came, but Marcallas, his squad, and his fellow armsmen resisted with everything they had, throwing back each wave as it came at them with ever increasing losses for the boarding party. Eventually, something snapped, or some order was issued, or some key leader was killed, and the survivors on the sternward flank began to turn, to break and run.

A minute later, the forces on the other side, towards the bow of the ship, also broke. As the tide had come in, so it now receded, and in a few moments, the enemy fled, running from the chamber, carried by the heels of their comrades. As soon as one company ran, others followed suit, either out of loyalty, or because they thought some order had been given that they had missed, or simply because they did not want to be the only ones still there facing the Imperial guns.

Marcallas watched as they ran. he kept his autogun raised, just in case any of the boarders had the guts to turn back, but none did. They were in the clear. The enemy had retreated. Marcallas slumped down against the barricade, resting. His hands were numb from holding his weapon for so long. There were still Chaos soldiers out there, but they had pulled back, to regroup or lick their wounds. They would be dealt with in due course, but the result of the enemy attack on the armsmen was clear. They had held Deck 28.

The fleet was slowly breaking up. Formations were being stretched as the Imperial ships tried to drive for a higher orbit. Faster ships pulled ahead of slower ones, or those damaged by enemy fire. Several more escorts had been destroyed outright, and another half dozen rendered combat ineffective, sitting ducks for Chaos bombers or the secondary batteries of enemy capital ships. Even the Emperor's Judgement and the Indefatigable were taking heavy fire, suffering punishment at the hands of the Chaos forces who were sweeping in to try and deny them of their prize, to take this planet from under there noses for a second time.

Lord-Admiral Marcos was determined not to let that happen. His fleet and its men were suffering, suffering greatly, but they were still in the fight. Two Chaos cruisers had gone up in blinding detonations, and one of the battleships had been struck a series of heavy blows by lance fire and Imperial bomber wings, tearing open much of its underside. They were still heavily outnumbered in terms of both capital ships and firepower, however. Imperial escorts continued to launch torpedoes, but they were running low. Resupply had been cut off by the battle and the flight of the support ships into deep system for their own protection, and even if they had been present, stocks were running low after several years of the Crusade, as was, truth be told, the morale of the fleet.

Even discounting the strange nature of this planet and its inhabitants, and disregarding the fact that this was the edge of the galaxy, where the light of the Astronomican was dim, the Crusade had been marching across the stars for so long that men who would normally be mildly homesick were longing, desperate, to see their families and their homes, or even just their starbase or garrison planet, again. It had been so long since they had left Hydraphur, to track through uncharted territory, places barely featuring in Imperial histories, perhaps taken once long ago by an Explorator fleet or some enterprising Rogue Trader, but forgotten for millennia. That was the kind of space they had been travelling through for month after month, to end up here at the end of the galaxy, in such a confusing place, only to find that, yes, the Archenemy were here also, and they were not going to simply leave this place for the Imperium to take.

The situation was perilous, and Marcos knew it. The fleet at full strength as it had been when it arrived in the Kuda system would have found itself on an even keel with this Chaos force, and they were very much not at full fighting strength now after two battles. This third fight could well see the end of the fleet as any kind of fighting force, the end of his command, and perhaps, the end of his life.

The enemy force which had boarded his vessel did not overly concern him. They were few in number, a small party compared to the crew he had on board, even on those lower decks which had been made bridgeheads for the Chaos troops and where relatively few men were stationed at any given time, even during combat. It was the tactical situation at large which worried him. Each glance at the tactical displays showed exactly why. There were fewer blue sigils each time he looked; escorts being snuffed out by the immense firepower hurled their way, even as they tried to protect their capital charges, in some cases. A red wave spread out across the map displays as the Chaos fleet maneuvered to get better firing positions. Their full broadside armaments were in play now, and inflicting heavy damage to the Imperial ships. The Emperor's Judgement shuddered as more shots struck it, the enemy clearly unconcerned about their own boarding party, perhaps keen enough to see the flagship's demise that they were willing to utilise both attempted methods at once to bring about its destruction or capture, whichever came first.

A message came in from the Indefatigable that their starboard void shield emitters were failing. Another vox call from the Brigand's Folly told him that they had lost their last lance turret. Destroyer section Quintus had been all but obliterated, those brave men and true that had raised the initial alarm about the arrival of the Chaos fleet. Despite their successful flight from the deadly danger, they had succumbed to it anyway, only buying themselves another half hour or so of life. The Crusade fleet was steadily falling apart against the overwhelming odds stacked against them. Two dozen capital ships against eight, with only one battleship among them? Those were long odds at the best of times. Clearly, the Imperial ships had been dealt a bad hand, and despite Marcos's clever initial maneuvers, there seemed little prospect of anything other than total destruction if they stayed where they were.

Reluctantly, with a heavy heart, Marcos made his decision. Perhaps it would be final, or perhaps fate and the Emperor would conspire to allow them to return again at some point, to recover those left behind, if any had survived. Marcos could only guess at what might happen in the coming hours, days and weeks, but almost every day since they had arrived in the system had thrown up new twists and turns for them to overcome and deal with. The arrival of the Chaos fleet was only the latest in a succession of problems, but it might prove to be one problem too many. They had to retreat, or they would burn. That was the simple calculus of war, the arithmetic that the Lord-Admiral performed all the time during battles.

Perhaps they could return to Hydraphur and obtain reinforcements, or at least wait in another nearby system for them to arrive. But that seemed highly unlikely to ever happen. This was one single planet, and so far as Segmentum Command knew, there was nothing here worth the expenditure of any more lives. Marcos had yet to make his report on the planet and the nature of its inhabitants. It was a report that might never be sent at all, depending on how well their disengagement went.

'All vessels, this is Lord-Admiral Marcos,' he began, speaking into the vox mounted at his command lectern. 'Break contact. I say again, break contact. Fall back to line Alpha at the edge of the system. Regroup with the transports. Maintain formation, escorts to cover. All attack craft to be recovered on board.' He repeated his orders again, broadcasting them loud and clear to every ship in the fleet. They were pulling out.

Twilight had returned to the top of the Lunar Tower, voluntarily, and accompanied by all three Princesses. The human spotter team had accompanied them; perhaps they could give some insight, however minor, or at least they would be able to relay any messages coming in from their fleet above.

Twilight trained the telescope on the sight of the battle in the heavens, which had moved somewhat from where the telescope had been pointing when she had left it before. The planet continued to rotate even while momentous events were going on, and the ships up there were clearly moving about as they fought. The glow of their engine exhausts could be seen, as well as flashes of weapons fire, indicating the battle will not yet over.

Apart from the initial call through the vox, Atter and Mons had not received anything else from Fleet Command since the start of the battle. The net had been silent, with the efforts of all aboard the ships directed towards the defense of the fleet and the repelling of the Chaos attack. How the battle was going could only be guessed at, especially by the ponies who knew nothing of space combat. The liaison team were not much wiser than them, as they were from the Imperial Guard and not representatives of the Navy. The intricacies of the fine ballet performed by two fleets, moving and positioning around each other, could only properly explained by someone well versed in choreographing such a performance, especially to creatures who had no space travel of their own and thus could hardly be expected to understand everything they were looking at or being told.

Twilight looked through the telescope, and each Princess took their turn in peering skyward at the massed ships above. The two fleets were in amongst each other now, all mixed up, and without an expert eye to distinguish them from one another it was very difficult for the ponies to make out exactly what was going on or who was who. Twilight thought she could tell a few of the ships apart; some had the more curved look she had seen from the new arrivals, while the huge bulk of the Imperial flagship, or at least what she assumed to be the flagship, could still be distinguished from its smaller escorts. She could not be one hundred percent sure, however, as there were now several more ships of equal or greater bulk that could be picked out against the backdrop. The sun was not helping in their efforts to observe, but the ships were large enough and close enough, in cosmic terms, to the planet for the telescope to still prove an effective tool for watching the battle.

With little concrete idea of what exactly was going on and whose side each vessel belonged to, it was hard to guess who had the upper hand. Celestia's astral calculation spell had reported one hundred and eighteen Imperial vessels at last count. She tried the same trick again, and now there were a total of one hundred and thirty five. That did not add up with the numbers Twilight had seen arriving around the planet, but Celestia had no doubt that her spell had been accurate. There were one hundred and thirty five ships now in orbital positions above Equestria.

There had most definitely been more than seventeen new arrivals, however, so what accounted for the discrepancy? Even if some of the ships had been destroyed already during the fighting, surely there should be a higher total? Perhaps some of the Imperial ships were defenceless transports and had been ordered away from the fighting, or perhaps some portion of their force was waiting as a reserve elsewhere and would strike at the enemy at any moment from an ambush position, near the moon possibly.

The spotter team could offer no likely insights into the mind of the Imperial fleet commander. Though they spoke to Lord-Admiral Marcos through their vox, they exchanged neither pleasantries nor information on tactics for fleet engagements. In fact, both Atter and Mons agreed, Princess Celestia likely knew the man better than they did, for she spent more time talking to the Admiral and learning about his personality. What was he likely to do in a situation such as this, confronted, perhaps, by a superior force?

Nobody could say for sure. Celestia did not think the Lord-Admiral would abandon them unless it proved absolutely necessary to save his ships, but even then he would be leaving behind thousands of his own men, stranded on the planet with no transport off-world and at the mercy of the Chaos fleet which would no doubt remain in orbit in order to carry out whatever nefarious plans they were here to attempt. That perhaps meant pounding the surface with deadly fire from orbit, or landing more troops to recapture the cities and towns of Equestria. Unless that eventuality played out, there was no way of knowing for certain as to what they wanted this time.

From what the Princesses had learned about the Chaos enemy, it was clear that there were many factions within their ranks, those who followed different gods or simply had different approaches to how to worship them properly and carry out their schemes. It was always possible that this new fleet was actually a rival of the previous invasion force, come to steal it out from under their noses and finding Imperial interference in their way. Or they may have been rivals to the Daemon which had appeared, come to drive it away in the name of their own particular god. Tzeentch had been the name of the deity the Daemon purported to follow; perhaps this god had a particular rival that this fleet represented?

More likely, however, was the simple and most obvious answer. They were not rivals, but reinforcements for the original fleet, both Daemon and ships alike come to assist those few scattered remnants that still clung to small areas of the planet. The Daemon had appeared in Fillydelphia, after all, the site of the largest such holdout group. Though Twilight knew that radio waves, if that was indeed what the vox system used, could only travel at the speed of light, and thus communication with it would be very slow over the extreme distances between star systems, she also knew that magic could break those laws of physics that seemed so fundamental to non-magical races. There was no reason to believe that human or Daemon psychic abilities, as they referred to them, could not accomplish some similar feats and perhaps enable interstellar communication with ease, and thus allow the original fleet to have called for aid when they came under attack after the warp storm had been breached.

It was all speculation, but speculating was all they could do at this stage. They most certainly did not have a clear picture of the situation, or of the battle as it unfolded far above their heads. Reality was hazy and their knowledge limited. The liaison team had been in contact, via skywave bouncing of the vox signal off of the planet's ionosphere, with several of the units stationed far to the south at Fillydelphia for the attack. They all reported to be in retreat, as ordered by Fleet Command as the battle in space began.

All those men could do, all the Princesses could do, and all Twilight could do, was to sit and wait and wonder, looking to the skies with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Would the Imperial fleet prevail, or would it be destroyed? Would it flee, or would it stay? Would those watching on survive whatever was to come, and live?

Or would they die?

Comments

[Booster Spice]

Depeends which is heavier, the moon or one of those ships, or the moon is manipualted by guide spells and not direct action, otherwise Luna, by mass distance, could start grabbing those ships, even the smallest ones make decent bullets when fired at moon accelerating power levels into targets?

Magic. When Murphy meets Newton.

Pinkie Pie. When Magic just looks at the script, and gives up.

[RDDash]

Celestia's spell is like watching at the radar without using transponders.