• Published 20th Oct 2013
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Strange Bedfellows - BRBrony9



MLP/WH40K Crossover- An Imperial Crusade discovers a remote planet and its unusual inhabitants, but it soon becomes clear they are not the only ones whose interests lie in Equestria....

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Fighting Withdrawal

Lances tore through the superstructure of the Emperor's Judgement. Its starboard void shield had gone down under a concentrated pounding from three enemy cruisers and one battleship, all of whom had set their sights upon the Imperial flag vessel. Her own main batteries responded in kind, and in conjunction with the Indefatigable they turned one cruiser into a blazing wreck, gutted by internal plasma fires that even the emptiness of the void could not quench.

Where one fell, however, there were still a dozen more, squaring off against a rapidly dwindling Imperial force. Two whole frigate squadrons had gone, turned to ash and shattered metal. Only half a dozen of the small craft were still fighting, accompanied by a score of the somewhat hardier destroyers. Four cruisers were still operational, the Brigand's Folly, Polaris Maxima, Astra Gloria and the Barnham's Pride. Add in the two capital ships, and that was the sum total of the surviving Imperial battlefleet.

It was a sad moment, to see his fleet reduced to such a shadow of its former self. Lord-Admiral Marcos knew this would probably be his last command, one way or another. It was unlikely he would be sent out on such a grand adventure again even if he made it back home to Hydraphur. Segmentum Command was notoriously fickle in such ways, stripping men of command or reassigning them for the smallest infractions. Deliberately not sending in a report about such a species as these ponies, or indeed the Changelings, and the threat they could pose or the help they could provide through proper Mechanicus investigation, was most certainly more than a minor infraction, depending on how those back at Hydraphur chose to see it.

They would not, of course, understand what the situation was really like out in the field. The reality was the decision had been his to make, as Crusade commander, which was why he had made it. But inevitably if his superiors disagreed with his assessment and his reasoning, which they probably would, then that could be the end of his career as an officer, either forced to resign in disgrace, reassigned to some backwater as a patrol ship commander, or brought before a court martial, tried, and executed.

To reach that point, of course, he had to make it back to Hydraphur in the first place, and the Chaos forces were going to do all they could to prevent that. Heavy firepower was being thrown at the battleship in an attempt to knock out the command structure of the Imperial fleet and make it easier for them to overcome the remaining resistance. The Imperial ships had their main drives throbbing with power, driving them away from the planet, into the relative safety of higher orbits. They had the advantage of speed over the Chaos forces, who were still mostly in the process of turning, bringing their ships about to face them once more, or to bring their broadsides to bear. Even a slight head start was better than none at all, and might allow them to break contact successfully.

Marcos kept a wary eye on the tactical map as the Emperor's Judgement continued to power up and away from the planet. The Chaos forces were in pursuit, starting to come about, at least some of them. Other ships seemed content to remain in place, no doubt to form an inner cordon around the planet in case of any Imperial tricks. They wanted their prize and they seemed determined to keep it this time, not to squander it and be forced away as they had previously, albeit only with the help of Princess Celestia who had broken through the warp storm and allowed the Crusade fleet to strike.

Damage reports from across the flagship continued to stream in from multiple decks, as well as reports on the fight against the boarders. They had been mostly contained, and wiped out entirely on several decks. The second wave of assault boats that had been coming in had been destroyed by the fighter screens, with only a couple of the small craft reaching their target. They contributed nothing to the operation and there were more important things to deal with than a few small scattered boarding parties on board the lower decks. They were being kept in check, away from the important areas of the ship, and no doubt the armsmen would wipe out the remainder sooner or later.

Marcos had to focus on the grander scale, on the battle as a whole and on the disengagement from the fight. They were being overwhelmed and if they had stayed to fight they would not last very long. Even running away might not save them from the overwhelming odds stacked against them. The enemy continued to inflict more damage on the fleeing Imperial ships. More men died.

The torpedo alarm went off again as another wave of projectiles hurtled in toward the rear of the Emperor's Judgement as it tried to flee. Point defences engaged the torpedoes as they drew closer, knocking most of them out, but three of them smashed into the rear hull of the ship. Mercifully none of the engine exhausts were damaged and the main drives remained fully operational. An Imperial destroyer section moved in astern of their flagship for extra protection in case any more torpedoes were launched during the retreat.

Other destroyers unleashed their own wave of torpedoes toward the Chaos forces in retaliation before turning to flee with the rest of their comrades. Several impacts were made on the Chaos capital ships, but no major damage was done, and it did not slow them down at all. They continued to turn, and engage their main drives, perhaps to pursue the Imperials to destruction or simply to shepherd them away from the planet so that they could turn their malevolent intentions onto it. The Imperial ships still had a head start, and they managed to get into formation, protecting the flagship as their top priority.

The transports and the tankers were well away into deep system by now, and clearly they had not been a priority for the enemy to intercept. Their focus had been on the warships of the fleet, the threat to their own vessels that had to be wiped out if they were to establish dominance over the planet. Their focus did not shift, even as the Imperial fleet turned to run. Fire was poured into their aft void shields, with lance and las-blast alike pummeling the protective barriers in an attempt to break through. More torpedoes came in, and were swatted down by the rear guard of destroyers, who were willing to sacrifice themselves to protect the much larger ship.

The Emperor's Judgement was still fully operational, with the vast majority of its smaller batteries still intact, and its main lances functioning at peak efficiency. Their barrels glowed white hot with each blast, able to cool only through the venting of large heat sinks into the void, as operating in a vacuum meant that there was no atmospheric media for the heat to propagate into through radiation, as it would if such a weapon were to be fired on the surface of a planet.

The flagship's most deadly weapon, its waves and squadrons of bombers and attack craft, had been recalled. The smaller vessels did not possess warp drives, and if a total retreat became necessary they would end up being left behind if they were still fighting. Instead they made landings or were recovered aboard the docking bays by magnetic grapple, safely ensconced within the ship's hull, and protected, if needs be, from the perils of the warp by its Gellar field.

Throwing a fleet into a full scale retreat was not an easy proposition at any time. It required coordination which was all but impossible to achieve successfully in the heat of battle, where vision was dimmed, sensors could be jammed, and bridge crews very much had other things on their mind that took priority over accurate station keeping. Yet without precision, an orderly retreat would be impossible. A fleet had to maintain whichever formation it had been ordered to take, in order to provide protection against the enemy, from whichever direction they may attack. If ships got too close, they would impede each other's ability to fire freely and engage the enemy, cutting off firing arcs or resulting in friendly fire. If ships drifted too far apart, enemy vessels could slip in between them and break up the entire formation, or launch torpedoes at close range.


The Imperial ships managed to keep station relatively well. The sensors registered the tankers and transports as being some five hundred million miles ahead, well out into the system, far beyond visual range and only detectable as glowing icons on the tactical displays. They were clear of the planet and running as hard as their tired superstructures and overworked drives could carry them. Their crews, and especially their passengers, must have been gripped with fear every time the alert sirens sounded. Transports were all but defenceless against even the smallest aggressor, with only a few point defence turrets and sometimes a single battery of macrocannons to try and dissuade pirates or smaller escorts such as corvettes and light frigates. The crew, at least, had action stations to take up and tasks to perform during an attack, something to occupy their mind. But the Imperial Guard passengers, stuck in cramped and crowded holds and bunk decks, had no such function. If an enemy boarded a transport loaded with guardsmen, then they would find themselves in for a very nasty surprise, but if the ship came under attack by torpedo, lance or bomber, then the passengers were totally helpless, like a newborn. There was nothing they could do to influence the situation at all. The only thing they could possibly do was pray to the Emperor for salvation.

At the moment, that was something the entire fleet needed to do. They were being hounded all the way by heavy enemy fire, even as they attempted to disengage. The enemy were sending a portion of their vessels in pursuit, including half a dozen cruisers and two of the battleships. The other battleships had taken heavy damage and remained in orbit, but the force that was following the Imperials was more than sufficient to destroy them, if that was their objective. At the very least they had succeeded in forcing the Imperial ships away from the planet. Perhaps they would erect another warp storm to defend the planet from any more attempts to retake it, as they had done before, or perhaps their task would be completed quickly enough that such actions would not be needed, if they were here to destroy the planet rather than capture it.

Marcos urged his ships onward, needing to get every last drop of speed that they could from their drives if they were to outrun their pursuers. Lances played out across the void in both directions, with those aboard the Emperor's Judgement and Indefatigable acting as stern chasers, trying to harass the oncoming enemy and inflict damage here and there if possible, in the hope of slowing them down. It was not as effective as the gunners would have hoped, and the Chaos ships continued their pursuit eagerly.

How far they would follow remained to be seen. Would they hound them and pursue the Imperial fleet until they could surround and destroy them completely? Would they pursue until they overhauled the slower transports and break off to destroy them instead? Or would they only follow until the Crusade had been pushed sufficiently far from the planet for the Chaos forces to complete their objectives?

Marcos did not want to find out, but he had very few viable options. The transports had to be protected, as they were defenceless. The planet was already lost to them, at least for now, and Marcos knew there was nothing else he could do about that. If the planet was gone, then it was gone, and the focus had to turn to the defence of the fleet.

'My Lord!' The sharp voice of General Jahn cut across the bridge as the monocled man strode over to the Admiral. There was an unusual look of anger on his face, and Marcos was sure he knew exactly why.

'You cannot simply abandon the planet!' Jahn began, once it had become clear to him what was going on. His attentions had been focused on the battle below against the Daemon, even when the fleet came under attack. That was, after all, his duty as commander of ground forces. Lord-General Galen, his predecessor, might well have had a similar reaction, as both officers shared the uncommon trait among those of high rank of caring for the lives and the wellbeing of their troops.

'We have no choice, General,' Marcos replied simply and directly.

'But you cannot abandon my men! Why was I not consulted about this?' the General raged. 'There are thousands of them down there and you are willing to leave them to die at the hands of the Archenemy?'

'It is not a case of being willing, General,' Marcos answered. 'As I said, we have no choice. Under normal circumstances then you would of course have been consulted over any such decision. But this is very much not normal. If we stay and fight, then we all die, both my men and yours. If the fleet is destroyed, then your men down on the planet will die as well. I will not sacrifice my ships and their crews for no purpose.'

'But...but...' Jahn sputtered, though Marcos could tell that he already knew and understood the reality of what the Lord-Admiral had said to him. Losing the fleet was a pointless endeavour as it could not save the guardsmen on the ground unless it could wipe out the Chaos force, which it simply did not have the strength to do any more. The General nodded. 'You are correct, of course, My Lord, but...there must be something we can do. There has to be some way we can get back to them, to rescue my men.'

'If there is any opportunity to do so, General, then you have my word that we will take it,' Marcos assured him. 'But such a chance seems to be remote, at best. For now, all we can do is to regroup with the transports and protect them. There are many more of your men aboard those ships who cannot defend themselves.'

'Yes, My Lord. Any assistance your ships can provide to them will be appreciated, both by myself and my men,' Jahn nodded. 'I believe we still have sufficient forces aboard those transports to retake the planet from scratch, if we must. Am I correct in saying that the Chaos fleet appeared to have no transports of their own?'

'Yes, General,' Marcos informed him. 'You are correct. Our sensors detected only warships. While it is entirely possible that their ships may well have some troops aboard, they do not have any dedicated transports among their ranks. What that tells us about their intentions, I can only speculate.'

'Nothing good, I am certain,' Jahn replied, drawing the obvious conclusion. If the fleet had no transports, then they were not there for conquest, but for destruction. They may or may not bother extracting their own troops- concern for one's subordinates was not a renowned trait among the officers of the Archenemy- but regardless of whether or not they decided upon a rescue operation, what must surely follow would be Exterminatus, or perhaps worse than that. Perhaps some twisted Chaos version of the same principle, that would see the planet turned from lush, verdant garden world not into barren rock as it would be after an Imperial bombardment, but into a maelstrom of the bizarre, a house that Daemons built.

There had been reports gathered from across the galaxy by particularly brave or foolhardy Rogue Traders, or by hardened Astartes or Daemonhunter strike teams, of planets whose very essence had become Chaos. Ruled by a Daemon, perhaps similar to the one that had been struggling against the pony Princesses. Perhaps that was why it had come- to conquer the planet and bend it to its will, reshape it in the image of its patron god, Tzeentch- what better way to declare its allegiance to the god of change than to transform a natural paradise into a great shrine to the Dark Powers? Such planets were few and far between in realspace, thankfully, but such places were rabidly quarantined by the Inquisition and Imperial Navy patrols, for even a moment's exposure could drive an entire ship's crew insane.

The thought of this planet, Kuda Prime, becoming one of the Daemon Worlds made Marcos angry. Not just angry, but almost frothing at the mouth, apoplectic with fury about the desecration of such a place, and that in turn made him concerned. Why did he even care? It was just another planet, one among millions. Other than the inhabitants there was nothing special about it. But there was the very reason. The inhabitants. Yet again, he found his judgement clouded by his awareness of the existence of the ponies, and specifically the Princesses, Celestia in particular. No matter how hard he tried, he could not stop thinking about her as being more than a mere Xenos. She was not one to be classified in such a way. She was something more, but even as he thought those thoughts, he knew it was dangerous to do so. After all, she was just a Xenos, no matter how powerful she may be. Yet it was not her power that made him feel that way. It was her inherent goodness, or something equating to it. As insane as that would sound to the inevitable court martial panel, or potential Inquisitorial hearing, that was why he had not submitted his report to Hydraphur. That was why he did not want to reveal the existence of such creatures to the Imperium as a whole.

Everything mankind touched, it burned. Everything good became bad under their auspices, no matter how well-intentioned people may be. Eventually, even the greatest triumphs would become disasters. It seemed to be the fundamental crutch of humanity, the weight it had to bear upon its very broad shoulders, and the very reason why it struggled so hard and so desperately against Chaos. Chaos represented the ultimate failure of mankind, because Chaos was the lack of order, and order was what kept the Imperium together. Order was what kept humanity functioning. But every time the Imperium had tried to impose that order upon other species, it had failed miserably. That was why mankind was at war with almost every species in the galaxy, and that was why Marcos wanted to protect the ponies from such a fate. They did not deserve to be enemies, they deserved to be friends, allies, or at the very least, a subject of scientific study under controlled conditions. They did not deserve to be destroyed and wiped from the face of their own planet, and Marcos knew that, if he transmitted a full report to Segmentum Command, that was the most likely result.

One did not have to be a pessimist to see the problems facing the fleet, or the planet if they did indeed abandon it to the enemy. The stark reality was that they were now fleeing for their lives, and leaving behind thousands of men and women to die, or worse, at the hands of Chaos. Yet as Marcos had insisted to General Jahn, they had no choice. Marcos, however, still had plans.

At his command, every ship in the fleet cut their main drives. Inertia continued to carry them onward through space, but then in unison the ships fired their port bow thrusters and aft starboard thrusters, which began to spin them about their axis even as they continued to move forward. The sudden act caught many of the Chaos ships by surprise, and as the broadside guns of the Imperial ships came to bear, they opened up on their pursuers.

Explosions rippled across the bows of the Chaos ships. Heavy firepower from the macrocannons of the Emperor's Judgement tore open the prow of one Chaos cruiser, while torpedoes from Imperial escorts struck hard blows against one of the battleships that followed on. Return lance fire blazed against the bow shields of the Imperial capital ships, but the Chaos forces had been caught out again.

And yet again, it was not enough. The ships continued to rotate through a full three hundred and sixty degrees, permitting them to unleash their bow armament and both broadsides before they resumed their course and cut their thrusters, rapidly firing the reverse combination of jets to stabilise themselves as their main drives kicked back in at full power. The Chaos forces had taken more damage, but they were still in pursuit. They had not slowed down, save for those ships which had been heavily damaged, but that left plenty more which were still coming.

The Imperial ships accelerated again, resuming their attempts to get away from their pursuers who were still firing and moving. The trick had caught them by surprise but had not been a crippling blow; Marcos had not expected it to, but every little helped, chipping away at their forces at any opportunity. It was the only way they were likely to escape, and certainly the only way they were going to ever retake the planet. If the enemy fleet remained at its present strength, that would never happen.

'Distance from the planet?' Marcos asked the Auspex crews.

'One hundred million miles, My Lord,' came the reply. 'Pursuing forces are four million miles astern. The transports are fifteen million miles ahead.'

'Very good. Helm, continue on present course,' Marcos ordered, hands clasped behind his back. 'Once we come within five million miles of the transports, all ships are to turn and engage the enemy.'

The transports were much slower than the warships now coming up on them from behind. Even a battleship was faster than most of the ungainly supply ships, but even the fast attack transports had to move slower than they could in order to keep station with the rest of the support vessels. As a result, both the Imperial and Chaos fleets were closing in rapidly, and the Imperials would be forced to defend the vulnerable transports. They could not simply overtake them and continue to flee, even if it might make the enemy change tack and allow the warships to escape. That was not what Marcos wanted. As he has said to General Jahn, they would protect the transports. They had to. There were tens of thousands of soldiers still aboard, maybe more.

The Crusade fleet continued to close in on the transports, trading fire with the Chaos ships. A last stand was surely coming. They had fled far enough from the planet that they were now approaching the system's star, which lay some fifty million miles distant. Getting too close would be dangerous, but It could also interfere with the targeting sensors of the pursuers, who were aiming into the sun. The Imperial ships were not, instead firing to their rear, where their sensors were scanning against the emptiness of space, unaffected by the intense radiation and heat output of the sun. Just like all of Marcos's fancy maneuvers, it would not be enough to stop the enemy, but it might give them the slightest edge that they needed, which could be the difference between life and death for the men of both the fleet and the transports.

'My Lord, we are five million miles astern of the transports,' the Auspex officer called across the bridge. It was time to make a stand, to turn and fight once again, not just for a moment this time, but to fight until the end, one way or another.

'Very well,' Marcos nodded grimly. 'All ships, form line abreast. Engage pursuing craft with all available weapons,' he ordered.

The fleet did as commanded, swinging about and slowing down, thrusters blazing against the blackness. The radiation from the sun interfered with the sensors of the Chaos ships, enough to give the Imperials a few seconds advantage as they rotated through the void. Again a hail of broadside fire struck the pursuers, who also began to slow, sensing this was the end of the pursuit, that the Imperial fleet would stand and fight here. The transports continued their lumbering progress onward, desperately running for safety in the outer system. They would go to warp if given the command by Marcos, heading back to Hydraphur to explain what had happened, how the fleet had given their lives to keep the Chaos forces from pursuing the defenceless transports and annihilating the guardsmen carried within. There was nothing else the transports or their passengers could do, except to watch with bated breath, with prayers on their lips and fear in their hearts. If the line held, they would live. If it failed, they may well die, as warp engines took time to spool up. The jump to the Immaterium would not be instantaneous, and no ship's captain wanted to be responsible for abandoning his fellows with a premature jump. They would wait for the Lord-Admiral's order. If it came, then it came, and they would run. If it did not, then they would stay. It was as simple as that.

To the rear of the transports, light flashed across the void, and battle was joined.

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