[@agentmanatee][@BCTheEntity][@Wraithblade6][@Klomster][@Sophrus][@Necroes]


The Viper-class Sloop [i]Macharius' Pride[/i] weaved in and out of the surrounding fire-fight with an ease of movement that was uncommonly seen among the vessels of the Imperial Navy – their ships more commonly used as gun-toting battering rams against their many enemies – indeed, the craft of Captain Ahab Isaiah moved in a way that even the fleeter and less glimpsed Eldar vessels were having a hard time keeping track of. This was not to say much, as their advanced technology found him and his ship soon enough, beams of pure energy having disabled its shields and scoured its limited armour during the early moments of the running space battle; only the churning plasma engines of the ship having kept them alive this long.

It was only as the ship passed between two larger ships, the after effects of a missile impact blooming before them, that one of the Naval crew spoke up from his station, the highly attuned Auspex and Auger array of the ship having picked up [i]something[/i] out there.

“It appears to be a ship, Captain.”

“A ship?” Questioned the incredulous Captain, his one good eye glancing to his own command console for but a second, “smaller even than our own. Quaint, very quaint.”

Ahab was known as a brilliant ship commander, but also as a one-eyed bastard of extreme arrogance and high-handedness. Since taking command of the [i]Pride[/i] he had demanded absolute obedience from his crew, not disliked by the men per se, but gripping them in an iron-like fist for sure. Only the presence of Fleet Commissar Glanville and his multiple spies throughout the decks had assured that fears of a mutiny had been put to rest.

“Wait...” Stuttered the bridge crewman for a moment, “the ship has gone.”

“Destroyed?”

“There is no debris, but it must have been.”

A snort of air was all that the rather broad analysis conjured from the seated Captain, a gesture of his hand showing that the man should simply ignore it.

“Get us back to the fight, I see we've slowed slightly, and if we keep at this speed then the perfidious Eldar are sure to catch us. Go, go, go!”



[hr]



It had been hairy alright, and for more than a few moments the Emperor's Child was convinced that they were all dead men. As it happened that had not been the case, the Viper slipping from the cloud of wreckage that was a part of his own ship and presenting an opportunity which they would not get again.

With what limited 'piloting' skills he possessed, Vedius had deployed the landing gear and mag-lock clamps, the minuscule box of bodies and spirit stones – in comparison to pretty much any other ship present – thumping down onto the rear hull of the Raider-type vessel as it began to speed up once again.

Such a disappearing act would not work forever, other ships bound to see them clinging to the [i]Pride[/i] like some form of ugly limpet before long, and so they had to work fast. This meant, as far as he could ascertain, cutting through the metal skin beneath them and escaping into the ship of nearly eight-thousand souls. At least that would have been, had it not already suffered damage itself, casualties mounting and whittling down the numbers before they even arrived; a Viper-class ship was not suited to battles such as this, no matter how good their speed or scanners.

“We have landed,” declared the Decurion, finally unbuckling himself from the command-throne and gripping his weapon before turning to face the others, “but we cannot remain here for too long; the lander is clamped to an enemy ship, one we must enter in haste and with some force I imagine. So-”

Bodies had been tossed here-and-there during the contact with enemy ordinance, even more so when the mag-locks had nearly been wrenched from the underside of the Lander – like a drowning man gripping hold of a speedboat – but in spite of this Vedius could tell (mostly from the dead Ogryn and multitude of drawn weapons) that [i]something[/i] had happened while he had been 'flying'.

Immediately on edge, he raised his bolter and swept it over the mass gathered at the rear of the craft, waiting either for an explanation – by way of motion or verbal account – or a sign that they were getting off this soon-to-be wreck.