‘What are you turning around for, Price?’ Lansung demanded. ‘The route to the ork star base is open. You will rendezvous with Commodore Semmes and continue the attack without delay. That is my command.’
Price stepped back as if struck, brow knotted. He signalled for the comms officer to switch to transmission.
‘This is Admiral Price. If we abandon the rimward fleet now, they will suffer badly at the hands of the orks. They’re taking on pretty much all of the enemy on their own at the moment. We must provide assistance.’
The admiral turned away and started to pace while he waited for a reply. Kulik stopped him at one end of his perambulations.
‘Sir, I think the Lord High Admiral is right,’ the captain admitted. ‘We have to push home the advantage while the attack moon is virtually unguarded. The orks have been trying to keep us away from the base as hard as they can, and I don’t think it’s as invulnerable as they want us to believe. The flight wings of the
Before Price could answer, Lansung’s message arrived through the aether. He looked calm, but his voice was edged with rage.
‘Admiral Price, I have given you a direct order.
‘Ignore him,’ snapped Price. ‘Continue to come about.’
‘Belay that!’ Kulik felt Price’s glare like a slap across the face and flushed red with shame, but there was no other option. ‘Admiral, we must obey and join the attack.’
‘Officer of the watch, have the armsmen attend to the bridge and place Captain Kulik in custody. He is under arrest for insubordination.’
‘Belay that order,’ growled Kulik. The officers around the bridge looked on, horrified as they watched their two commanders arguing. The captain laid his hand on the hilt of his sword and stared at Price. He was shaking, scared more by this confrontation than by the bloody fight with the greenskins. ‘This is my ship, admiral, and I have received a direct order from the Lord High Admiral. You will remove yourself from my bridge and remain in your quarters until such time as you have recovered your composure.’
Price bridled, lip quivering with indignation. Kulik leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper.
‘For the sake of the men, do not require me to summon the armsmen, sir. Let us act like officers.’
Kulik’s words seemed to strike a chord somewhere in the admiral’s mind and a hint of realisation crept into his expression. He nodded mutely, confused, and then shook his head. Kulik thought Price was going to argue again, but the admiral’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
‘I… I am feeling… indisposed, Captain Kulik. I think it better if I retire to my cabin at this juncture. I do not feel well at all.’
‘That would be for the best,’ Kulik replied gently. ‘I will have the surgeon send an orderly with something relaxing for you. Mister Crassock, please assist the admiral to his quarters.’
Price nodded dumbly once more, looking every bit the old man he was becoming, frail and uncertain. Kulik could not understand what had happened to his mentor, his friend, and it cut him deep to see Ensign Crassock helping Price off the command deck. When the door closed behind them, Kulik drove the image from his thoughts.
‘Signal to fleet. All vessels to make all speed possible to the flagship for immediate attack on the objective.’
Kulik realised he was still holding the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white with strain. He released his grip and flexed his fingers, forcing himself to relax. Emperor protect me, he thought, from orks and admirals.
On past occasions Wienand had lamented the sheep-like mentality of humanity, and in particular their desire to crowd onto Terra in their tens of thousands to pay homage to the God-Emperor of Mankind. Even amongst the Inquisition such thoughts were becoming heretical, but Wienand had read the ancient records and knew, or at least had a semi-educated inkling, just how ‘godly’ the Emperor was. There were some, like Veritus, who had embraced the teachings of the Ecclesiarchy and openly supported the organisation. Wienand remained unconvinced of the necessity for an Imperium-spanning church, but she could certainly see that it might have its uses.
At the moment its greatest use came in the form of a queue five miles long, winding back and forth up the Avenue of Martyrs towards the Cathedral of the Saviour Emperor. Having cut and double-backed through the crowds at the transit station several times to confuse any potential pursuer, eventually emerging out of the southern gate, Wienand had plunged straight into the milling tide of humanity.
