Chapter 52: The Battle of Cadia

Chapter 52: The Battle of Cadia

Petros stood on the bridge of The Judgment's Edge, his boot resting on the corpse of its unyielding captain.

With the command center secured, he voxed First Squad. "Thor, this is Petros. We hold the bridge. Six casualties. Report."

Thor's voice crackled back, broken by static: "...secured... Enginarium. Two casualties."

"Acknowledged."

A third voice cut in. It was Ship-Master Barnabas from The Ironclad. "My Lord. Fleet-Master Valkar's orders. Scuttle the engines and return to the flagship. We are needed for the next assault."

Petros's reply was instant. "Scrap. I've taken this ship. He wants me to scuttle my own prize and go back for another boarding action? He can dream on."

We're all foxes on the same hunt. Petros knew exactly what Valkar was thinking. If he abandoned this prize, let it drift dead in the void, it would be claimed by another warband before the battle was even over. Besides, the engines were intact. From this very bridge, Petros could order the ship to disengage and simply leave.

He thought for a moment, then replied to Barnabas. "Inform the Fleet-Master that we have seized the vessel intact. She is now an asset of the Forged Steel. Requesting friendly transponder-codes. We are rejoining the line."

Aboard the Vengeful Spirit, Valkar He'en was dealing with this exact problem on a fleet-wide scale.

He had just ordered one squadron to advance, and they were crawling at half-speed. Their excuse? "A blessing from Nurgle."

Other warbands had captured their own prizes and simply... stopped. They were holding their new ships, refusing to re-commit their Astartes to the main fight. The minute a target was identified as a "hard-bone"—a ship with its own Astartes defenders—the other warbands would suddenly find excuses to hang back.

They were all selfish, cunning, and cowardly, unwilling to take a single loss for the greater victory. Valkar now understood, with chilling clarity, why Chaos, despite its overwhelming numbers, so often lost to the disciplined, unified forces of the Imperium.

Still, their numbers were massive. In a disorganized, brawling melee, they would still win.

Valkar gave his next command: "All ships in range, concentrate fire on the Retribution-class Battleship, the Indomitable. Destroy the Admiral's flagship."

Dozens of Chaos ships turned their batteries. But a loyalist Lunar-class Cruiser surged forward, deliberately placing itself in the path of the barrage. Its void shields overloaded instantly, and the ship was torn apart, sacrificing itself for its flagship.

Even so, the Vengeful Spirit's long-range batteries hammered the Indomitable, its shields flickering wildly. The blow had done its work. The Imperial fleet was wavering, their formation breaking as they fell back.

Seeing the enemy break, the Chaos fleet suddenly found its courage. The warband that had been "blessed by Nurgle" was suddenly advancing at full, furious speed.

Valkar cursed under his breath. "Mad dogs. The moment they smell blood, they're suddenly cured."

The Imperial line was shattered. The battle was lost; all that remained was to see how badly.

But then, a new, insane variable. A dozen Imperial ships broke from the retreating formation and charged forward. They were all marked with the Black Templar's cross.

Sigismund, the High Marshal of the Black Templars, was leading the charge from his own flagship, the Eternal Crusader. He was ignoring the fleet battle and making a direct, suicidal run at the Vengeful Spirit. He was attempting to decapitate the entire crusade by killing Abaddon.

Valkar looked at the Warmaster. Abaddon turned from the tactical display and began walking off the bridge. "Prepare my transport," Abaddon commanded.

Valkar was stunned. "Warmaster, stay on the flagship. It is safer. We have—"

"He will not come to me," Abaddon's voice was low, filled with a strange gravity. "So I will go to him. I will make him see the truth. The False Emperor betrayed us all. He should be at our side."

"And if he refuses?" Valkar asked.

Abaddon did not answer. He just left the bridge.

Meanwhile, Petros, now in command of The Judgment's Edge, was loitering at the edge of the battle, firing a few token shots.

They had full control. Sergeant Vornab had even consumed the ship's captain's brain, absorbing his command-keys via his Omophagea. The ship's mortal ratings, deep below, were still dutifully following orders, loading the macro-cannons, unaware that their new masters were traitors and their guns were now aimed at their former comrades.

The Imperial fleet was broken. Victory was certain.

Then, Barnabas's voice came over the vox: "My Lord, new orders from Fleet-Master Valkar. The Warmaster is boarding the Eternal Crusader. All ships are ordered to cease-fire on that vessel."

"We're too far to hit it anyway," Petros replied. "Wait..."

Petros's mind raced. This is madness! We have the advantage! Why would the Warmaster risk everything on a personal duel? If he's killed, the entire fleet will scatter.

He immediately voxed Barnabas on The Ironclad. "Barnabas. Pull the fleet back. Loiter at the edge of the engagement. Wait. If Sigismund kills Abaddon... we run."

And Petros was not the only one. Across the battlefield, the Chaos fleet hesitated. Warband leaders, hearing their commander had boarded the enemy flagship, pulled back to "watch." The entire Chaos offensive stalled, giving the shattered Imperial fleet a precious moment to breathe.

Aboard the Vengeful Spirit, Fleet-Master Valkar slammed his fist onto his command throne. "Cowards!" he roared. "They are all cowards and fools! With allies like these... we will never burn the Imperium."

But it was useless. The warbands were not his subordinates. They obeyed when it suited them, and now... it suited them to wait.