03 - Savage Scars Read Free

his mighty brass
control yokes, setting the vessel to come around to the new heading.
    “Intercept at seven zero delta by five nine sigma,” Sarik snapped, before
addressing Conversi Loccum. “Do we have resolution yet?”
    “In-loading now, brother-sergeant,” the serf replied, his face underlit by
his readout and his eyes flicking impossibly fast as he rapidly scanned the
reams of cogitation script passing across its glowing surface. “Enemy vessels
appear to be pickets, sir. Light displacement only.”
    “Thank the primarch,” Sarik breathed. While the alien vessels might prove
superior to the pathfinders, they would hardly be a match for the Nomad .
That left the three defence platforms to face. Sarik determined to worry about
those later. Right now, his attention was focussed on closing the trap without
the loss of any Imperial lives.
    Even as Sarik watched the icons swarming across the lectern screen, another
bright blue pulse illuminated the bridge. Silence followed, during which Sarik
fixed his gaze on the icons representing the pathfinder vessels. Far from
machine phosphorescence, each was a crew of dozens of brave men and women.
    Then one of those icons turned red. Involuntarily, Sarik held his breath.
    “Pathfinder Nova-zero-two hit, brother-sergeant,” Conversi Yosef reported
grimly.
    “Damage?” Sarik replied, fearing the worst having seen all too closely the
potential of the alien weapons.
    “Port drive disabled,” the serf said. “Reading grievous reactor failure.”
    I’m sorry, Sarik said inwardly, no doubt in his mind as to what would happen
next.
    A second bright flash illuminated space, and a small sun flared into
existence thousands of kilometres away, before collapsing in upon itself within
the span of a second. The icon representing Nova-zero-two blinked once, then
vanished. Sarik mouthed a silent Chogoran prayer to ease the passage of the dead
into the halls of their ancestors, before resuming his duty.
    “Helm, open her up,” Sarik ordered. Flicking a switch on his lectern to
activate the internal vox-net, he said, “Fire control?”
    “Brother Qaja here,” the reply came back. “Go ahead, brother-sergeant.”
    “Qaja,” Sarik addressed the Space Marine who supervised the gun-serfs, a
warrior Sarik had served alongside for decades and counted amongst his closest
of brothers. “I want your crews to concentrate fire on any enemy vessel that so
much as thinks about breaking off from the decoy group to engage
Nova-zero-zero. Understood?”
    As Brother Qaja signalled his understanding, Sarik turned to Conversi Nord,
the bridge-serf manning the shields station. “Nord, we’re about to draw a lot of
fire, from the enemy scouts for certain, but possibly from the defence platforms
too if they have the range. Be ready.” The conversi nodded his understanding,
and Sarik turned his attention back to the screen on his lectern.
    The tau pickets were closing on the bulk of the pathfinder squadron. The Nomad ’s projected course would bring her into weapons range within minutes.
The tau vessels opened fire on the scouts again. The scouts had scant point
defence capability, but what few weapons they did have opened fire as one,
stitching the void with streams of bright fire.
    Screaming silently in, the tau pickets swept directly through the
pathfinder’s formation, reminding Sarik of a pack of silversharks attacking a
shoal of moonwyrms. The brave pathfinders ploughed on, relying on their speed to
push through the enemy. The tau vessels were fast, as Sarik knew they would be,
but they were also supremely manoeuvrable, each vessel selecting a victim and
latching onto it whatever evasive actions the pathfinder attempted. Just hold
on, Sarik thought, counting down the seconds until his own weapons would be in
range to intervene.
    “Nova-zero-three’s in trouble, brother-sergeant,” a crewman said. Sarik
glanced upwards through the armoured portal, but besides the