Storm Heralds Reading List

Book1 Maledicti Venator, Serrati Stellas, Tenebris Resurget, Finis Fide, In Tergum Cultro, Omni Honore, Carpe Posterum, Vacuus Cymba, Noctem Oritur

Book2 Umbram Ignis, Ancra Mortis, Fame Cimex, Crux Lapis, Saeva Abyssi.

Book3 Captum Ante, Veneum Filios, Locum Ignotum, Domus Discordia

Book4 Cincere Tempestas, Ignis in Vacui, Indomitus Bellum, Falsa Verum, Redemptio Opus

Extract from Imperial Crusades of the new age: Vol I

Thus was Karthza the Brazen Lady and her Legions of Blood Sworn finally defeated and swept from the face of the galaxy, though the cost to the Indomitus Crusade was more grievous than any had anticipated. Quintus fleet had sacrificed much, and risked all, to destroy this infernal threat and few doubted that to continue their mission would be to court total annihilation. Yet those brave heroes steeled themselves to press on, every last soul among them resolved to complete their mission and drive back the darkness assailing mankind. Defying all projections of impending doom they launched a fresh campaign of liberation, each and every one of them swearing to fulfil the orders given to them by the Living Primarch or die trying.

Throughout the Indomitus Crusade this was far from uncommon, the sheer ferocity of the battles they fought being enough to shatter any lesser force. It is a testament to the genius of Roboute Guilliman that he had anticipated such eventualities and so bestowed the Masters of Crusade fleets Secundus to Decimus with a carte blanche to requisition any and all resources and military assets they required to keep their formations moving. Most Fleetmasters were measured in their acquisitions, taking only what men, materials and provisions they required while exchanging crippled warships for fresh vessels. Others were not so even-handed and took every opportunity to strip worlds bare, leaving many planets in a more desperate and depleted state than when they had arrived.

Thus the Indomitus Crusade was able to continue its campaign of liberation, despite suffering horrific casualties at every juncture. Yet, even with the best will in the galaxy, some damage could not be ignored, especially for the heaviest and most powerful of Battleships, without which the Crusade could not dream to continue. So occasionally the fleets of the Indomitus Crusade were forced to pause for essential refit and repair, delays that frustrated the Primarch greatly but could not be avoided. Such moments of respite were a welcome relief to the soldiers of the Crusade, but they were also dangerous times, for the enemies of the Imperium were not slow to notice the opportunities presented.

This could not have been more clearly exemplified than during the Primus Fleet's scheduled refit at Tectum, primary shipyard and naval headquarters for Battlefleet Karyl. A necessary halting point for the Primarch's personal armada, before pressing on to Tallarn and the scattered sectors of Segmentum Tempestus, but one that proved far more perilous than anyone could ever have imagined

Diem Infamia Chapter 1

"Subitis, Subitis, Subitis," the distress call rang, a plea of desperation and fear in the velvet dark of deep space. The vox sang with the forlorn cry for aid, lost in the depthless tracks of interplanetary space. The source of this call was a small convoy of dilapidated transport ships, barely functional junkers and fat-bellied haulers. Each one was a kilometre long ingot of metal, vast by terrestrial standards, yet they were but tiny minnows in void terms. Around them drifted uncaring asteroids, tumbling endlessly in the zero gravity, the convoy had thought to seek safety by skirting the edge of this asteroid belt only to be cruelly surprised when it had in fact turned out to be trap.

Again the plaintive voice called out, "This is Imperial convoy 453-Juno-Yarick, three weeks out of Dulcis. We are under attack by unknown raiders. Please help us, somebody please help us!" The source of their distress was a half-dozen predatory frigates, hounding at their rear and picking off their paltry shields with carefully placed shots. The attackers were a motley collection of privateers, rebuilt derelicts and captured merchantmen, all fitted with extra armour and weapons: a pirate squadron.

The convoy was helpless before these predators, too slow, too ungainly and too poorly armed to resist as the pirates closed in. Volleys of macrocannon shots blew out shields as fast as they were raised, followed by volleys of missiles that crippled drive thrusters. One merchantman took a hit to its drives and fell behind to be pounced upon by a pirate ship, it's boarding claws already extending. Meanwhile the other five kept harrying the remainder of the convoy, determined to seize as much booty and as many slaves as they could. The voice on the vox rose to screams of terror, crying, "We're being boarded! For Throne's sake somebody help us!"

Suddenly, as if in answer to their prayers, another force entered the fray. From behind the cover of two parting asteroids came another ship, moving fast on a comet trail of plasma wash. She was immense, ten times the size of any other ship present and hungry for war. Her prow was a wedge of armoured bulwarks, dappled with torpedo tubes while her flanks bristled with weapon batteries and lance turrets. Countless scars mottled her hide, each one patched up in a different style, making her look like an old war dog, mauled by a life time of brawling. She was a fierce and deadly pugilist, a scrapper through and through, one that could take immense amounts of damage and give back twice as much in return. She was an Imperial Lunar-class cruiser and her name was Averof.

On the Averof's bridge the crew attended to their duties, operating the ships' systems with the experience of lifelong void sailors. Servitors chattered ceaselessly as they communed with the Machine Spirit while Tech-priests chanted solemnly and swung incense braziers as they marched up the cathedral like length of the bridge. Stern faced Commissars prowled the nave and transepts, while high in the rafters a choirmaster directed young choirboys to sing praises to the distant emperor, seeking divine favour.

It was a picture of the Imperial Navy at war, resolute and determined and none more so than the Captain. On the raised Command dais stood a man with an eager face. He was in his later years, though frequent Juvenant treatments meant he had the vigour of a man a third his age. He eschewed the traditional heavy braiding and tight buttoned coat of a Captain, favouring a plain shirt and black trousers tucked into sturdy boots. He bore a notched cutlass at his hip, secured within a golden sash that was his one concession to naval uniform regulations. His name was Georgios Mandas and he was a sailor's sailor, a tough as nails void-dog, ever ready for the fray.

Captain Mandas looked over his bridge with his hands gripping the rail around his dais and was satisfied all was in order, then he looked up at the strategic Hololith projected over their heads and called, "Someone get a hold of that damned coward clogging our communications and tell him to stop fashing his britches, the Imperial Navy is here to save the day! Now, report time to weapon range."

On the deck an older woman with grey hair and a First Officers' ranks pins turned about to face him and replied, "Two minutes to contact, sir!"

Mandas grimaced and barked, "That's too long Commander Grenfeld. Helm increase speed five percent!"

From the packed ranks of the bridge a bulky Tech-Priest lifted his voice in protest, "Captain, the reactors are at maximum recommended output already! The ship's spirit will be offended."

"The Averof will be more offended if we let our targets slip away, Magos Vista," Mandas snapped at the chief engineer, "So increase reactor output."

The Magos turned to obey, muttering under his breath about organic disrespect, but the Averof's speed did increase. Mandas watched the icons crawling closer together but at his side a portly Commissar sniffed, "Are we sure these are the last?"

Mandas glanced at the Chief Commissar, Kaath-Dousmanis, the only man on board who could step onto the dais without asking permission. The man's face was jowly and his gut hung over his crimson sash, the result of too much fine dining and not enough exercise, for he was far more interested in his next meal than performing his duties. Mandas drew in a breath and said, "They have to be, we've spent a year burning out pirate enclaves from the fringes of the Tectum system. We've smashed their bases and torched their hiding holes; trust me when I say these are the last pirates left in the system."

Suddenly there was a cry of alarm as the Master of Auspex called out, "Energy spikes, targets are changing vectors. They've seen us!"

"Thank you, Mr Avergis," Mandas replied smoothly, "Are they far enough away from the convoy for a torpedo salvo?"
"Negative," Avergis replied, "Signals are merged, we will surely hit the convoy."

Mandas grimaced but Kaath-Dousmanis chortled, "You don't fancy eyeballing it?"Mandas snorted, "Not this time, let's do it the old-fashioned way. Mr Fotrum, weapon status?"

From the gunnery pews the Averof's Master of Weapons reported, "Gun decks primed, lances are charged and torpedoes are in the tubes. My boys are braying for a taste of the action, just let us at them!"
Mandas smiled, heartened by the aggressive outburst and said, "Worry not; there will be plenty of kills to be had this day."

Suddenly Avergis started and called, "Captain, we are crossing into gun range… Warp hells! They're firing, impact in thirty seconds!"

Barrelling right at the pirates the Averof couldn't respond, her guns were all mounted on her flanks and panic stirred among the crew, the lowly ratings all too easy to spook. Yet the senior officers stood firm, as did the patrolling Commissars who kept them at their posts. Seeing their worry Mandas lifted his voice to call, "Brave hearts my lads, we have faced down worse than this sorry lot and gone on to rip the ugly curs faces off. Every soul in Battlefleet Karyl knows the Averof is one ornery bitch in a scrap!"

The ratings were relieved by their Captain's boisterous display but Commissar Kaath-Dousmanis eyed the Hololith and asked, "Shouldn't we brace?"

Mandas suppressed the urge to snap, while it was personally convenient to have a lax Chief Commissar on board, his lack of fire sometimes grated. Still the man had high family connections in the admiralty, very high, so the Captain explained, "No, we need the power for our return volley. We'll take the hits on the prow, where our armour is thickest."

Mandas' eyes rose to the Hololith and he saw enemy's shots begin to land. Waves of deadly firepower rocked the ship and he clung to the rail as the Averof lurched in space. The shields crackled as they laboured to hold back the tide but it was too much and they blew out in an electrostatic discharge, allowing shots to strike home. Sunbursts of light and fire spilled over the prow of the Averof, searing the outer layers away, yet the prows of Imperial ships had the most potent armour imaginable and the layers of reinforcement beneath held true.

Mandas was rocked back on his feet by the violence of the impacts and he shouted, "Damage report!"
Commander Grenfeld sounded unflappable as she coolly reported, "Prow armour is holding, we've got some new scars but no serious damage was inflicted."

Mandas slapped the rail in triumph and called, "See my lads, I told you the Averof is too tetchy to die. Mr Avergis, where are my targets?"
Avergis responded, "They're trying to scatter, but they left it too late."

Mandas saw the pirate vessels cease firing as they tried to pull away but they had underestimated his willingness to face danger, a fatal mistake. As the Averof dove into the midst of the formation Mandas grinned wickedly and ordered, "Magos Vista, transfer power to the weapons. Mr Fotrum lock on target, then on my mark give them a double-sided broadside. Wait for it, wait for it… Mark!"

The whole ship shook violently as waves of macrocannon shells, turbolaser fire, missiles, grav-shots and plasma blasted into the void. Space erupted around the fleeing pirate ships, inundating them with explosions and their feeble shields buckled in the onslaught before collapsing, blowing out to leave their hulls unprotected. Storms of annihilation swept over them, smashing armour to bits and blowing out compartments and severing energy conduits while bodies spilled out of the great rents in the hulls, kicking feebly as the cruel embrace of death took them. None of the pirate ships escaped damage but two of them lost power, their poorly maintained reactors faltering and leaving the pirates to die slowly in the cold of space.

Mandas saw their icons go dark but he wasn't done yet and roared, "Lances, fire!" From the Averof's flanks spat four las-beams, each as thick as a building. Three of the shots found their targets and punched through hulls with ease, burrowing deeply within. One pirate ship was gutted stem to stern, cored through like a rotten apple. Another suffered a catastrophe feedback pulse to the reactors, normally this would trigger an immediate shutdown but the pirates had neglected their rituals of maintenance and paid for their slovenly behaviour when their ship transformed into an expanding ball of plasma. The third pirate was struck amidships to be neatly bisected, causing the prow and engine decks to drift away from each other, two neatly shorn halves of a complete whole.

Mandas saw his targets destroyed and the bridge crew erupted into cheers, celebrating their success but his eyes were on the lone remaining icon which was fleeing at top speed. The Captain yelled, "Silence you void-dogs, we're not done yet! Come to a new heading, I want that last pirate!"

The crew hastened to obey but Commander Grenfeld scowled and said, "They're heading into our rear quadrant. We can't turn fast enough to stop it; they will be out of weapon's range before we can target them."

"The hell they will," Mandas snarled, "I haven't spent a year ferreting out every last pirate in the Tectum system to let one go. Get us turned the hell about!"

Crewmen hastened to obey but from the helm consoles an older man called out, "Captain, I suggest we steer course zero-one-eight by zero-zero-zero."

Mandas snapped, "Explain your reasoning Mr Rondis."
Briskly the Master of Astrogation replied, "That big asteroid off our bow has significant iron deposits, its gravitic mass shadow is abnormally high. We can turn in half the time if we attempt a slingshot manoeuvre."

Mandas saw the icon in the Hololith, a floating rock ten times the Averof's size. He wasn't convinced by the vectors, but he trusted his officer's assessment. Mr Rondis had been trained at the Salamis naval base, the finest academy in Battlefleet Karyl, a force legendary for the skill of its Astrogators. If Rondis said the manoeuvre could be done that was good enough in Mandas' book. The Captain wasted no time to bark, "Quickly, get us onto that heading."

Ponderously the Averof came to bear, her immense prow sluggishly turning. Mandas watched with bated breath as the icons crept nearer, keenly aware that the last pirate ship was slipping away. He felt each second crawl by torturously slowly and he whispered to the ship's spirit, "Come on old girl, you can do it, I know you can."

Suddenly the deck lurched under his feet as they hit the gravity well of the asteroid and he yelled, "Faster my void-dogs, turn!" The Averof groaned as it pulled off a hairpin turn, far faster than any ship of her displacement should be able to. The deck leaned at forty-five degrees as the artificial gravity struggled to compensate and Mandas held on to the rail as his ship skidded about the asteroid. Cries of distress broke out and the choir above sang in trembling voices but the crew drew on their captain's indomitable spirit to give them courage. Mandas held his nerve as the Averof pitched violently once more and then suddenly righted itself, breaking free of the gravity well and heading back the way it had come.

Mandas saw the distance the pirates had fled and ordered, "Quickly Mr Fotrum, torpedoes, as fast as you can." The Averof rumbled as six cylinders launched out of her prow, chasing the distant target with astonishing speed. The vox crackled and Commander Grenfeld called, "Signal from the target, they want to surrender."

Mandas let a feral grin creep onto his face as he stated, "The admiralty ordered us to destroy the pirate scum, not to take prisoners. Let our torpedoes be our answer."

Realising their entreaty had fallen on deaf ears the pirates fled for all they were worth; pushing their drives hard, but it was no use. The salvo crossed the distance at startling velocity and bore down like mastiffs after a fowl. The pirates barely had time to let off a desultory burst of turret fire before a torpedo stuck them and blew their craft into its constituent atoms.

The Averof's bridge erupted into cheers as the last pirate vessel died, the crew punching the air as the choirs sang hymns of thanksgiving. Mandas let go of the rail and stepped back, breathing easier as the adrenaline of battle retreated. He let the jubilation ring for a minute then called, "Congratulations lads, you've done the Averof proud. Especially you Mr Rondis, that was a beauty of a manoeuvre."

Commander Grenfeld straightened her collar and asked, "Orders Captain?"
Mandas smiled as he replied, "We've completed our mission, signal the convoy to form up on us, we will escort them the rest of the way. Look lively my lads, we're going home!"