In another year, using the bigger fleet at my disposal and thousands of tech-priests and a million servitors we have constructed a rather solid defense ring around the planet, iron and nickel, even iridium and tungsten filled asteroids dragged into orbit and fortified with spare or improvised weapons.

My on-board forge is churning more missiles and las-cannons now, after it made a thousand plasma reactors to be installed as power sources for the new forts.

Sadly we're on limited supplies of torpedoes, and those need a full Forge World to get produced. I asked Antax's Fabricator to send me everything they can spare, torpedoes and fighters and bombs and perhaps another Manufactorum ship.

Their help doesn't arrive in time.

A small hive fleet descends upon Sotha, possibly drawn by the psychic emitter of the Pharos.

It's only a thousand bio-ships, but they are scary enough. Rose and all the psykers in the fleet are useless now, and some of them faint or gibber in near madness.

I order all of them sedated and kept close to the Gellar fields. Damn Tyranids and their suppressive powers.

Humanity lacks long range FTL communications and depends of astropaths. And while I could fake an astropath, the empathic mind link of the Pharos needs some form of soul connection to the target.

I can barely trust a few people with that, so calling for help from strangers is out. They would probably suspect me of being a demon anyway.

The bio ships warp gravity and move quite fast, although they slow down significantly as they approach the sun's gravity.

I can already foresee how to use this weakness against them, but I don't have gravity based weapons. Not yet.

The savant implant is engaged at full strength as I compile a battleplan in my mind.

"All ships, group in tight formation with escorts as close as possible, just behind our forts. Mars and Light cruisers detach to the left and defend the fort line." I command, while glancing at Wentian.

My uncle is pale white and trembles a little, although the fight hasn't even started. I have two Navy Admirals on my bridge, and they seem just as scared, although they control themselves better.

The auspex crew all look at me with hope in their eyes. Not a miracle worker, guys!

"This horror fights neither for power nor territory, but rather to feed a hunger so insatiable that it will eventually devour the entire galaxy."

00011110000

Yes, I think I even recognize that quote. But thanks.

"Flanking tactics do not work on the bugs, Rogue Trader." one of the Admirals explains in a polite voice.

I nod in acceptance. "Perhaps that's true, Admiral. Still...these Nids don't have a Queen. I would be ashamed if we lose a single ship again." I add with a thin smile.

The crew perks up and the Navy guys blink in disbelief.

My Astartes guard pats my shoulder and points at holoscreen. "Another old Terran history lesson, Lord Pef?"

Sadly yes. I can learn from the bad guys too. Fortifications tend to make troops to squash themselves against the closest defensive barrier, like a wall or road ditch.

But if you have a weapon positioned to fire along that wall or ditch, from the side? It's called enfilade. The cruelest type of massacre.

The light cruisers extend the line to the left, still behind the asteroid barrier, with the Mars cruisers ending the line, almost out of their firing range.

The hive fleet dives straight for the planet, hungry for biomass.

Our fighters hold station to defend the ships from boarding pods and spores. But torpedoes and lance batteries begin wreaking havoc on the closely packed bio-ships.

The frigates and destroyers support the line with close range fire. A barrage of fire and death holds the incoming wave at the fort line, and the forts themselves fire continuously from point-blank range.

The tyranids bunch up yet again, trying to force their way through by sheer numbers. As our torpedoes get expended, they seem to almost succeed.

"Mars cruisers, advance beyond the fort line and execute high energy turn towards the enemy. Fire your Nova_Cannon at optimal range." I command as the Tyranids ships manage to shatter a few forts and break through.

I unleash the Litany's last torpedoes at the writhing swarm of tendrils and hungry mouths. A dozen wounded void organisms explode in a shower of gore and guts and plasma.

The lance batteries finish off the dying bio ships before they can extend harpoons and tendrils to grapple my ship.

"Voids shields to maximum!" I shout of the vox channel.

A blue flare passes over my fleet, and then two blinding lights as the Nova Cannons detonate in the midst of the huge Tyranid swarm.

Our auspex sensors are blinded for a minute, but as the windows lose the protective tint I can simply look out the window. More than half of the hive fleet is gone and the survivors are all bleeding and floating listless.

"Destroyers, target the smallest bioships individually. Capital ships, focus fire on the largest enemies that remain. Frigates, maintain protective cover. Light cruisers, free to engage as well, at high speed." I send on a fleet wide channel.

Without autistic sensors, I do have a much clearer view of the battlefield.

It's almost like playing an RTS. With a bolter to your head if you mess up.

The Litany begs in mind to be sent forward as well and rip the enemy to shreds. Not yet, buddy.

"Long range augury, maximum power to x-ray scanners." I ask my cousin manning the console.

We have the extra 7 percent range and an enemy might not be cautious enough.

"Contact, far range, above elliptic. Eldar ship possibly." the auspex station reports just as the Eldar engage their holographic field and vanish.

I sigh inward. Damn elves with future seeing powers. They may be sneaky and crafty, but the Tyranids are invisible for them just like I am. And soon, their Craftworld will cross the path of the largest tendril from Hive Fleet Kraken.

No need to beg them to help. They will fight or be eaten alive.

I just worry what other foe they might send next. Probably the Orks.

Even with two battleships and the whole supporting fleet it will be bad, since a large Waaagh ignores physical laws.

I just wonder why they are trying to save the Necrons.

Damn it. Xeno minds and xeno reasons. Probably trying to revive some dead Eldar God. Or just weaken the Imperium. Probably both of these reasons and a dozen more.

Thousands of tyranids spores survive our blockade and make landing on Sotha, and I order the nearest ships to fire beam weapons at the landing sites.

It's orbital bombardment and not friendly fire. A quarter of the planet bursts into huge forest fires and volcanic eruptions and a million civilians die.

They won't be eaten alive, so it's perhaps Emperor's Mercy.

Our fighters and frigates strain to contain the invasion, and on the ground the regiments and the marines fight the tyranids organisms in close combat, too close for orbital fire support.

The Litany unloads all the krak missiles and lets them descend through the atmosphere in near free fall, before engaging the long range cogitators and target the biggest bugs they can find.

Like the fists of the Emperor, krak missiles impact the hated enemies at tremendous speed shattering their carapace armor and explode deep inside.

With this final aid, the regiments and the Scythe marines, aided by the tech-priests and servitors have a larger chance of victory, as the tyranid forces are denied their greatest champions.

"You can go, if you want. I'll be in my study room." I tell my guard marines, including Ludvaius.

With a polite nod, the Scythe squad and the Deathwatch marine check the auspex sensors one last time before rushing for an assault shuttle.

Combat is bred into them, and a dozen space marines would turn the tide even more.

Ludvaius pats my head and stays. "Not getting rid of me so easily, sneaky trader." he comments as Minoris glances at me in confusion.

"That was quick, Revelator. Did we lose a ship again?" he asks me with childish innocence.

"Nah. I haven't drank wine for a week. My cogitators worked at full efficiency today, so zero loses." I explain, half-joking.

Then I open a bottle and take a long gulp. The taste is...damn it. Who drugged my wine?

As I fall into my armchair, I see Justine hold her thumb up at Ludvaius.