Omake: To Think Like the Enemy
If there's anything that the Imperium has learned about Orks, it's that nothing they use makes any real sense. There are dozens of reports on Orks somehow firing guns with empty ammunition canisters, or driving oversized tanks that fall apart the moment someone who isn't an Ork tries to take the wheel. The point is that Orks are basically magical bullshit, and not in the way that Psykers are magical bullshit. This is the kind of magical bullshit that drives men genuinely mad, not 'infested by demons' mad.
Which is, perhaps, why these ships are so damn hard to kill.
Captain Wilhelm Ramius contemplated this and many other thoughts, slumped as he always did in the seat of power that was his chair. The sounds of the battleship Titan hummed all around him, as familiar a noise as his own heartbeat- he barely even heard it, anymore. And yet the energy in the room was palpable. Discipline held the fury of battle at bay, and early successes against the Orkish menace seemed to have bred a sense of confidence amongst his bridge crew. But the Captain knows better than to allow zeal and overconfidence to overwhelm good sense.
The last seven bombardments had expected results against the three greatest Ork vessels on the battlefield. That is: middling to barely any at all. The monstrosities were simply too large. Too ramshackle in their construction; any points of weakness that they might find seemed to be hidden behind layer upon layer of twisted metal and half-rotted Tyranid carapace. It's like the foulest kind of onion imaginable. Or perhaps like a walnut, except the outer shell is made of Adamantium and the core is nothing but an enormous green bogey.
Unpleasant, of that there is no doubt.
There had to be some way to crack it. Some secret hidden in the incredible mess of spikes, space rocks and poorly-drawn facsimiles of heathen, Orkish gods. Captain Ramius sat, and he thought. As another bombardment began, he felt himself give the order to fire, though he did not think to give the order. Training. Discipline. Those sorts of things just came naturally to a man in his command.
An order is given. Retreat. Fire. Retreat. Fire. Always the same cycle. It was routine by this point. His crew was a well-oiled machine; they knew what they were doing, and he had faith in their abilities. There wasn't much thought required in it at this point-- which gave him time to consider other matters.
Other, potentially dangerous matters.
Ramius stared at the enormity before him. A monster the size of several command battleships bootstrapped together. Even the smallest one was larger than almost any ship he had ever laid eyes upon. And all of them a chaotic hodgepodge- a construction that discerning nodes to any individual system was nearly impossible. But still, the thinking man in him wanted to find a weakness; it was sure that one existed, that one needed only to FIND it.
He knew very few things about Orkish construction. He knew they were durable, he knew they were damn-near unkillable. He knew that every single attack on a subsystem that looked important only led to disappointment and some dented armor. Of course they would protect the most important parts of the ship, the thinking man thought, everyone knows that the first things that need to go are the weapons, the engines. Protecting them only made sense.
…
'So,' a totally different part of his psyche answered, 'Why not try to attack some place that seemed… unimportant?'
Wilhelm tapped at his armrest. Tap. Tap tap.
Could it be that simple?
The order for the next bombardment came like clockwork. He knew the crew would do their duty, that firing solutions were already being lined up. But… that nagging feeling wouldn't leave him. And so he raised a hand, "Belay that," he said, fully himself once more, "Adjust firing arcs to target… that bit there." He indicated with an immaculately gloved hand towards a bit that he idly recognized as the port side of a Universe-Class Mass Conveyer.
His second gave the captain a look like he had grown a second head. Clearly he hadn't, really, or someone would have shot him by now. "Sir, with all due respect, the auspex indicates that that location does not appear to have any significance—"
"Call it a hunch, number two," Wilhelm said with a mild smirk. "Only a madman keeps trying the same solution when he knows it won't work. You know, I have been considering scripture as of late. Are we not taught that sometimes tradition must be tested? Perhaps it's time for… a small change. For at least one bombardment."
The second stared at his captain a moment longer, before turning to his gunnery crew, "You heard the man. All available guns, open fire at point alpha-three-six-two on my mark."
"Mark."
The ship rocked with the thunderclap heartbeat of gunfire. He felt it reverberate in his bones with a vigorous, bassy note. Either he's right, and this will actually do something for a change, or he's wrong and someone on the chain of command will be mildly nonplussed that the Titan had erred in its firing solution.
In either case, Captain Wilhelm Ramius of the Titan felt that, at the very least, his soul was just a little bit safer from something far worse than a mere Ork. In the end, isn't that what matters most?
And who knows? A little madness might just do the trick.
Edit: Damn! A bit too late, I guess. That's what happens when my internet goes out for a bit, I forget to update the page. Ah well!
