Chapter 55: Losses and Gains

Chapter 55: Losses and Gains

After two months of hard-burn transit through the Immaterium, Petros was finally satisfied they were safe. The Warp drives of the flotilla whined down as they translated back into the material universe.

The Navigator, his third eye strained and weeping, had used the distant, holy light of the Astronomican to guide them to their destination. A minor error would have cast them into an unknown system, or worse, left them to be devoured by the daemons of the deep Warp.

As the fleet breached the skin of reality, they emerged on the outskirts of the Calth-Loth System. They had, for now, escaped the notice of the "Sensual Feast" warband. Here, in the dead of the void, Petros finally had time to take stock, to review the true losses and gains of their first Black Crusade.

First, the losses.

The armed freighter and the Vagabond-class hauler were gone, along with their 40,000 mortal crew.

The moment Warsmith Valkar "requisitioned" those ships, Petros had known their fate. It was a classic, brutal Iron Warriors tactic: use captured merchantmen as a disposable screen, cannon fodder to absorb the enemy's opening volley. Petros had complied, partly out of a lingering, bitter respect for his former commander, and partly because his other two transports—the Tarasque-class vessels—were rented from Daedalos. Losing those would have meant paying a ruinous price in planetary resources.

The two Tarasque merchantmen were, by contrast, completely untouched. They had no offensive capability and were thus ignored by both sides.

The Ironclad, which had skirted the edges of the battle, had taken several lance-hits. The damage was minor, but she was scarred.

The newly-captured light cruiser, The Judgment's Edge, had fared the worst. She had been savaged by a dozen smaller Chaos ships before Petros's boarding action. Her hull was breached in multiple locations. She was suffering from moderate, system-wide damage. Without months in a proper star-dock, her combat effectiveness would be critically compromised.

The Astartes losses were heavier.

Of the 54 warriors who had embarked on the expedition, twelve were killed in action. Over a fifth of his Astartes strength, gone.

Eight were lost in the boarding action against The Judgment's Edge.

Four were killed on the surface of Cadia.

All twelve had been new neophytes. Their thoracic Progenoid Glands had not had the required ten years to mature. This meant their gene-seed was unrecoverable. A total, irreplaceable loss.

He had also lost 3,000 of his mortal "Spear of Hector" auxilia, half a regiment, who were annihilated by Cadian artillery before they had even fired a shot.

But the gains... the gains were substantial.

From Abaddon's "generosity," they had received 20 chain-weapons, 40 suits of second-hand Mark V 'Heresy' Pattern power armor, and 3 Thunderhawk gunships.

From the boarding action, his aspirant-Apothecary had successfully harvested the gene-seed of all 15 Imperial Fists. Their wargear was also salvaged: 10 suits of damaged power armor, 2 meltaguns, and 3 chainswords. Repairing armor was far faster than forging it from scratch.

And then, there was the grand prize: the Siluria-class Light Cruiser, The Judgment's Edge, and its entire surviving 60,000-man crew, who had been... convinced... to swear new oaths.

The Siluria was a long-range patrol vessel, a support ship. Its broadside batteries and lances were enough to cripple another cruiser, but its armor was, as its "light" designation suggested, thin. It was a glass cannon—why it had been so vulnerable to a mass-boarding assault.

Most notably, deep in her magazines, Petros's men had found two items of immense value: a single Cyclonic Torpedo and one Virus Bomb. The find was not surprising; the Imperial Navy often distributed its Exterminatus-class warheads across a fleet. As the old Terran proverb went, 'Never put all your eggs in one basket.'

They had also captured the cruiser's entire air-wing: 20 Valkyrie transports, 6 Avenger Strike Fighters, and a single Imperial Fists Thunderhawk.

This one prize had elevated the Warband from a minor threat to a true, independent void-faring power. Ship-Master Barnabas had already transferred his command from The Ironclad to the cruiser.

But Petros was not satisfied.

He stood on the bridge of his new flagship, his brothers assembled before him.

"The attack on Cadia has been broadcast," he stated, his voice flat. "The Cadian Gate is the Imperium's highest priority. The response will be a saturation-level reinforcement. They will strip battle-fleets from every adjacent sector to secure it."

He locked his gaze on his sergeants. "This will, in turn, leave those same sectors weak, exposed, and undefended. That is our opportunity."

He activated the hololith. A green, ghostly planet spun in the air.

"This is our target. The Calth-Loth system. Specifically, Calth-Loth Prime."

He let the image hang in the air. It was a single, planet-wide city, its spires reaching into the void, a great orbital elevator connecting it to the heavens.

"A Hive World. With a population of ten billion souls."