Steel & Oil: Warhammer 32K

Lord High Admiral Lansong and half of his Solar Fleet arrived at Port Sanctus only moments after the Orks' Battle Moon.

When this fleet of four battleships was forced to translate out of the Warp early by anomalous gravity, he found his position slightly off from the navigator's original projection.

Though he was indeed within the Port Sanctus system, he had not emerged at the Mandeville Point closer to Terra, but instead on the system's outer defensive line.

Greeting him was a vast Ork fleet, and cradled within it, the dreadful Battle Moon.

The system's outer defensive array was locked in a fierce exchange of fire with the Ork fleet, and a Lance Battery that grazed past Lansong's flagship gave his fleet—which hadn't yet managed to reboot its void shields—a nasty fright.

"How did we end up here?" Lansong demanded.

"But this is an opportunity!"

Gazing at the Ork fleet locked in furious battle with the Star Fort, the fleet's staff officer advised: "The Orks' attention isn't on us. We only need to regroup, then seize the chance to charge in and tear their formation apart!"

"And throw away all four battleships in the process?" Lansong shot him a glance.

"Only sacrifice is unavoidable," the officer insisted; the knowledge he had gained at the Imperial Naval Academy told him this was an opportunity not to be missed.

"You're right—but the one sacrificed can't be me."

Lansong's fleet took the moment to reboot its void shields and auspex arrays. At his command, the entire fleet moved to withdraw from the center of the battlefield.

When he identified the Solar Fleet's codes, the colonel garrisoning the Star Fort was at first filled with hope, but upon seeing that the Solar Fleet was not reinforcing them, but instead accelerating away from the battle, that hope curdled into an even deeper despair.

He seized the astropath. "You're certain they're still pulling away after we sent the distress signal?"

The astropath nodded again and again, and the colonel roared: "Then send it again!"

"Admiral Lansong, this is already the eighth distress communication we've received. Should we perhaps..." Aboard the Solar Fleet, the adjutant hesitantly sought Lansong's orders. But Lansong's mind was unwavering.

"Send no reply whatsoever!"

And so the only answer the Star Fort's defenders received was a deathly silence.

Realizing they had been utterly abandoned by the Imperial Navy, the colonel furiously tore the naval epaulettes from his shoulders.

"If the Imperium means to abandon us, then it should never have come to Port Sanctus at all! Let them flee—I will fight in the Imperium's name to the very last moment!"

The Ork fleet was led by three Ork-class battleships, each single one possessing the power to annihilate an entire naval squadron—yet the Imperial defenders within the Star Fort showed no fear.

The Star Fort's ancient and sacred machine-spirit seemed infected by their emotions as well, crimson Psychic energy surging across its weapons.

The defenders were astonished to find that the weapons which, under the sapping of the power of "I reckon," had been unable to deal effective blows to the Orks, could now function properly once more.

This phenomenon was interpreted by the accompanying Priest as the God-Emperor's reward to every mortal who did his duty faithfully, and for a moment the blood-crazed defenders grew even more impassioned.

They kept loading munitions with desperate abandon, and the defensive array, spearheaded by the Star Fort, for a time smashed the approaching Ork fleet into rout. Even one Ork battleship was vaporized by the Star Fort's ferocious firepower, reduced to shattered scrap drifting in the void.

But as the Orks' Battle Moon drew near, this ancient Ramilies-class Star Fort faced an ultimately invincible opponent.

The surviving Ork fleet pulled away from the Battle Moon, leaving the battlefield to this armed satellite.

Before the defenders could grasp why the Ork ships were all fleeing so far away, the Orks activated the gravity weapons aboard the Battle Moon.

Each of the Ramilies Star Fort's four arms held an independently powered large void shield generator, but gravity was not something void shields were meant to block. Powerful gravitational waves tore at the Star Fort straight through its void shields. The immense Star Fort was soon thrown off balance by this one-sided gravitational pull.

Everywhere on the Ramilies Star Fort save its adamantium skeleton began to wail under the unbearable strain. Enormous cracks spread across the bulkheads, dense as spiderwebs. Metal plating began to warp and twist, gradually dragged into strange curves.

The Star Fort's life was hurtling toward its end at tremendous speed before the Orks' bizarre weapon.

The Star Fort still fought back with all its might, but the Lance Battery it fired was actually stopped by a shield deployed on the planet—clearly, after capturing the Imperium's void shield generators, these Orks had cobbled together something similar.

This meant the Star Fort could no longer pose any threat to the planet.

The Orks leisurely dialed up the output of their gravity weapons; possessing bubble shields (the Ork version of void shields), they dealt with the Star Fort as easily as eating or drinking.

To employ only this gravity weapon in a slow-simmering torment felt like mockery of the Star Fort defenders' overreach. At the thought that their final death throes could end only in this fashion, despair welled up in the colonel's heart.

But just as the gravity weapon reached maximum output, the colonel suddenly recalled the words a certain Mechanicus sage had once imparted.

When the gravity weapon's power was at its peak... that was their only chance!

The colonel no longer cared how that sage had known the Orks would use gravity weapons; right now he leapt up as if his life depended on it and patched into the fort-wide vox array...

"Channel all power to the main cannon. I repeat, abandon every defensive system—I demand all power be concentrated on the main cannon!"

Every plasma reactor aboard the Star Fort roared, pumping their last reserves of energy into the main cannon, and the Star Fort's plasma macro-cannon began to gather a terrifying blue glow.

In the second before the gravity weapon tore the Star Fort completely apart, this colossal plasma beam pierced through the bubble shield—weakened because all its power had been diverted to the gravity weapon—and sank deep into the surface of the Battle Moon.

After a moment's silence, a horrific explosion erupted on the Battle Moon.

The never-ceasing Green Tide across the Battle Moon's surface was even interrupted by the blast. The Orks' Mekboys were plainly thrown into panic.

Brandishing their gear-wrenches, they charged clamorously into the Battle Moon's subterranean structures to begin emergency repairs, but were soon reduced back to spores by a string of explosions.

This was the most serious damage the Battle Moon had suffered since it began its march on Terra. The Battle Moon did not collapse from this attack, but its already sluggish advance grew considerably slower still.

Sadly, the Star Fort's defenders could not witness the fruit their heroic feat had borne. The colonel and his soldiers slept forever together within the shattered Star Fort, becoming a frozen monument.

Fortunately, the outcome of the battle was taken in fully by the departing Solar Fleet. On the strength of others' sacrifice, Lansong had gathered a piece of crucial intelligence.

"The Orks' void shields weaken when the gravity weapon is activated..." He realized this might be a way to deal with the Ork Battle Moon.

As long as one could pinpoint the Battle Moon's vital spot, a single broadside from the main fleet ought to be able to write off this armed satellite the moment it activated its gravity weapons.

But the intelligence the Star Fort's defenders had bought with their lives clearly could not be put to use right now. Lansong waved a cold hand and issued a new order: "Advance. We make for Port Sanctus first."

Unexpectedly, the Ork fleet did not pursue the Imperial fleet. As if they had received some message, they returned in unison to the orbit above the wounded Battle Moon, scheming who knew what.

The Solar Fleet, far swifter than the Ork fleet, seized the chance to shake them off and pressed rapidly toward Port Sanctus.

But just as they passed the shipyard industrial satellite—now shut down and idle—an unexpected visitor called upon his fleet.

"Inquisitor Pavonis?"

Looking at this Martian grease-monkey who bore the title of Inquisitor, Lansong furrowed his brow. After much deliberation, he decided to meet with this oil-guzzler after all: "Permit him to dock with the fleet. Tell him I'll be waiting for him on the flagship's bridge."

It did not take long; granted passage, Pavonis soon arrived on the bridge, and the moment he came, he spoke words that did not surprise Lansong.

"Rebels have appeared on Port Sanctus," Pavonis said.

"There are always those of weak will who betray the Imperium in times of peril," Lansong replied, sizing up the Inquisitor across from him. "I only wonder in what capacity you bring me this news? As an Inquisitor belonging to the Imperium? Or as the other side of the double-headed eagle?"

This question mattered, for it was only after being coerced by a representative of the Inquisition that he had marched toward Port Sanctus at all.

Even though the Inquisition had in fact pulled him out of dire straits amid the Ecclesiarchy Pontiff's aggressive pressure, he remained displeased that the Inquisition had required him to dispatch half a fleet to Port Sanctus as a token gesture.

Pavonis's voice was laced with binary code: "No need to complicate matters. I act merely as a mouthpiece, appealing to Admiral Lansong for aid on behalf of the Governor of Port Sanctus."

"An Inquisitor, playing messenger for a mere governor?"

"Of course. He offered reasonable compensation—dispatching a ship to bring me to your fleet." The oil-guzzler made no attempt to hide his true purpose. "First I must confirm one thing: will the Solar Fleet answer Port Sanctus's call for aid?"

"So long as it is reasonable, the Imperial fleet would of course not stand idle while the Emperor's subjects are engulfed in the flames of rebellion. But as for how to define what is 'reasonable'..."

"Seventy-seven percent of Port Sanctus's production lines have already ground to a halt, and its warehouses have been emptied—it cannot meet a fleet's repair needs."

Pavonis cut Lansong off, presenting the Port Sanctus data he had gathered before Lansong's eyes, having flagged a key detail on one file provided by the Governor.

This image had been provided by the Governor via his steward while persuading him, and it had become one of many pieces of evidence that convinced Pavonis—who already harbored other designs—of his own course: "The crux of the matter is that there are traces of traitor Astartes activity on Port Sanctus."

Lansong stared at the image; in the footage he could faintly make out a Night Lord slaughtering wantonly in the shadows—as Lord High Admiral, he of course recognized this most terrifying of foes to any mortal army.

The complicated situation on Port Sanctus made Lansong draw a sharp breath. He no longer thought of what supplies he might scrounge from Port Sanctus; instead he began to consider whether the current Port Sanctus might, in turn, bring some harm upon his fleet: "Is there any chance Port Sanctus has fallen to... corruption?"

"The Imperial Fists and their allied forces are on Port Sanctus now, and a 'colleague' from the Sacred Hammer Chapter is also operating freely there."

Lansong let out a breath, his brow smoothing: "Then it seems this rebellion requires no intervention from us. The Imperium's loyal subjects will naturally deal with those traitors."

Pavonis laughed low; he was not surprised by Lansong's decision to simply abandon Port Sanctus.

The Imperial Navy had its own infantry: the void-troopers who garrisoned the ships, repelled boarders, and put down uprisings were an armed force under the Imperial Navy's direct command.

If these men were organized and sent to the surface to aid the defense, the Port Sanctus rebellion ought to be quelled soon enough.

But how could the Navy possibly use its own armed strength to assist a mere planetary governor when there was no profit in it?

That Port Sanctus had defensive forces of its own already satisfied Lansong's requirements—so long as Port Sanctus wasn't seized by traitors and then turned against him before his fleet withdrew, he cared not at all what became of the place.

Wanting reinforcements? Not a chance!

Yet Port Sanctus being unable to provide any supplies was a problem too.

Terra was the Throneworld—the title might be sacred, but the planet's interior had long since rotted and run dry. Its splendor was built upon countless worlds serving as its lifeblood.

When the Beast severed the flow of resources from other systems to the Throneworld, Terra fell almost instantly into a resource crisis.

The half-fleet on this sortie carried only the most basic reserve supplies. Never mind weathering repeated brutal battles—if circumstances shifted, they might not even get the chance to withdraw back to Terra.

Frowning, Lansong began to ponder countermeasures. He wanted to pull up the entire fleet's supply reserves on the cogitator system for reference. Only, the Inquisitor was still planted here, with not the slightest intention of leaving.

Such classified fleet information certainly could not be shown to outsiders. Lansong signaled his adjutant with a look, and the adjutant, understanding, stepped forward and politely invited the Inquisitor to the ship's luxurious lounge. But Pavonis declined the offer, staring straight at Lansong: "I know what you're worried about, Admiral Lansong."

Lansong lifted his head to look at him: "Oh?"

Pavonis walked to the viewport: "Look at those factory worlds belonging to the Imperial Navy. Those long-idle worlds still hold no small store of basic resources, but their halted production lines cannot convert those resources into the supplies your fleet needs. By the Omnissiah, I can even hear the lament of those production lines."

"You mean..." Lansong murmured thoughtfully.

"I can set these assembly lines running once more and meet your need for supplies."

Pavonis turned back to Lansong; the Inquisition rosette at his chest had, at some unnoticed moment, already been removed: "This is a deal I offer in the name of the Adeptus Mechanicus."

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