The Scatterran Theater

Created for AzricanRepublic.

Hurricane Flight
68th Squadron, H







A piercing light shined above the eight kilometer hull of the Starward Dawn, as the ship passed by the mass of the planetoid and into the rays of the binary stars shining a distance away. From the digital optics of the passing flight of the strikecraft, the sudden increase in reception could cause damage to the smaller electronics of the hardened starships. As Litton let the technical suite adjust in a quick response while the hull of the Dawn passed underneath; before reaching the two kilometer stellar runway of the Fleet Carrier – Alpha, CNS Starward Dawn, the Lieutenant adjusted the sighting of the various electronic modules throughout the length of the Hurricane. Identifying specific weaponry onboard, namely the 205 millimeter railcannon fused into the hull of the fighter, the Lieutenant monitored a field of data inputs across the ship.

“This is Hurricane Eight One on high approach – ” Litton watched the audio feed die away in his retinal display as he saw the distant background of the cosmic expanse. Looming lightyears ahead of the carrier fleet, a titan of stellar mass eclipsed the view of the miniscule pilot hurling through the deep. Situated at a distance of 5 kilometers from one another, and flying in a wedged formation, the Hurricane strikecraft were in a constant communication with one another.

“This is Eight Four – I’ll be damned if I ever get a view like that. The mother-fuckin’ Charybdis Veil.” The voice of a Flight Sergeant tore across the vacuum and into Litton’s headset, causing the Lieutenant to fidget in the encapsulating seat as his co-pilot created a flowing starmap.

“More than two thousand lightyears from the Veil and its that damn big – I’d like to see a whole mess of Taiyou try their hand at that creature a’ nature.” The CWO co-pilot responded; Command Warfare Officer Rachel Pearl disengaged the main weapons interface of the Hurricanes various missiles aboard the fighter craft. Two sets of Starstreak tactical missiles were fixed in the internal bay of the strikecraft, while the various hardpoints on the wings and fuselage were equipped with Phantom strike missiles and Javelin anti-ship missiles. Lieutenant Litton adjusted the engine traversal of the Hurricanes multi-vector thrusters, watching Hurricane Eight Three peel away beneath the team of craft making up the right flank of Hurricane Flight.

“Hey are you guys following the chatter from the Static? The Robotics Cruisers, two o’clock – about two megs away.” The voice of another Flight Sergeant, this time from Hurricane Seven Two, filled the dull chatter from the radios. The CWO parsed through a line of data; particularly focusing on the navigational coordinates of the Robotics Cruiser CNS Static Break.

“Boost the gain – they’re definitely yapping about something, Eight Six, link up your ECW pods!” She commanded, her voice crisp over the radio before Litton watched an image of the Robotics Cruiser wink in his display; between them an audiospectral magnifier sifted through the various electronic interference basic to the Coalition ship, and identifying the Wire Frequency embedded in the military broadcast.

“You want me to turn up these pods – pods that’re already burning at 600 Gigs, let me just tell them ‘hey we’re fucking spying on you’!” A Senior Sergeant reported back to the CWO, who chuckled to herself as a cacophony of voices began sounding from the other pilots.

“Aaaah Sennie! That ol’ pacemaker of yours can’t handle the Gigs that KV-Eighty One is putting out huh? I knew it!” Hurricane Eight Seven sounded, crewed by Chief Petty Officer Owen Raymo and Staff Command Sergeant Ethen Perevi, as the Hurricane passed over head of Litton’s ship.
“Told you he’s old as shit! That’s five Cays you owe me, Eight Two!”

Litton felt a smile melt away as he saw the audiospectral pathway die in the blackness of space, before it was replaced by an authorized broadcast from the Starward Dawn a length below.

“Shut your traps and pay attention – that feed is coming straight from the Admiral.” Litton replied as he felt the same emotion suddenly wash over the rest of the flight. A Coalition broadcast, unannounced, from Admiral Harold Ricker of the Starward Dawn was an immediate concern. As Litton filtered through to one of the onboard cameras facing the Dawn, Litton witnessed a brief flash of imagery from the internals of the Fleet Carrier before a stone cold voice brought a silence aboard his ship.

“Men and women of the Scatterran Navy; for the past six days this squadron has performed unexplained exercises in proximity of the Charybdis Veil’s thinnest sector. This sector, is the Corsair’s Tail – an abandoned patch of star cluster the Coalition let wither into obscurity long ago … ”

Hearing the broadcast, Litton felt his eyes peer into the blackness of the Veil, a colossal mountain of cosmic debris reaching for the small fleet. He felt his stomach turn, feeling a cold block in his gut despite the suns piercing rays.

“Beyond a break less than an estimated three thousand lightyears from our location is a Belkan incursion force rivaling the conflict above Polis nearly half a decade ago.”

Litton grit his teeth against each other at the mention of the Belkan Hegemony; a brief remembrance played the images from the news feeds across his eyes, and he could hear the astonishment, and calm steadiness, among Team Alpha of Hurricane Flight.

“At this point in time your Coalition has placed you at an impasse … the Belkan Hegemony is an indefinite reality in our lifetime, an indefinite reality I expect each and every one of us, as a member of this elite Military Apparatus, to confront, contest and contain. Ladies and gentlemen, the Hegemony has returned for this final contfrontation. Prepare to defend yourselves.”










“Listen up Decker platoon! I don’t want to have to tell you dumbshits twice when we’ve got a whole damn armored group bearing down on us – you know how to do your jobs and you know how to do them right, load up in those Claymores, marines. Move it!” Lieutenant Keton Wethers shouted out to the platoon of eighty Coalition marines as they lounged around atop their packs. In the brightly lit field, the marines had been allowed a rarely afforded activity, laziness.

“You dumb sonsabitches – I said get your asses up! You are a marine armored platoon, not a bunch of stoned up whackos sitting on the lawn – get your asses up!” Keton smashed a marine over the back of his head with a piece of facecloth marines often used in shaving. As the assortment of armored infantrymen organized themselves, Keton’s attention was drawn to the winding country road slicing through the plains of the Korsean continent on the planet of Tabidol. Chugging along the road, Keton watched the armored section of Decker platoon’s cavalry attachment roll to a stop in front of a nearby town house; eight SV-9 Claymore AFVs were the main combat chariots of Decker platoon, backed with a pair of SV-9 anti-air vehicles, particularly the A93 and AV6 anti-air variants.

“Aww man, not even twenty minutes! These Cav whackos work too fuckin’ quick!” Master Sergeant Leland Otto called out as the Lieutenant kicked over a stack of the marines MR-18 magazines.

“God damn you Otto, you’re supposed to have my platoon ready to rock at the drop of the hat – these marines haven’t even seen combat and they’re laying around like they just jumped into New Tandanir.” He snarled, punching the Master Sergeant in the shoulder as he rolled himself up onto his feet.

“Decker platoon is ready for action, Lieutenant. The marines are looking forward to an anti-orbital deployment … you can see the enthusiasm.” The Master Sergeant muttered in response as a pair of Staff Sergeants woke Decker’s anti-armor squad; the soldiers having set up a small stand and awning with sleeping tarp from the frame of Charlie squad’s SM2AT Leopard anti-tank vehicle.

“I’ll be damned if I’m gonna’ let the Heg take this planet because you sorry sacks of shit can’t get your sack straight. I want you with the A93 while we skirt around the settlement – I know half of the towns on this whole continent are uninhabited, but I don’t want to take any chances.” Keton ordered, pointing toward one of the Claymores that sported a pair of SAM launchers and a trio of 30mm autorailers. The snub barrels of the weapons were aimed tightly into the air while the vehicle sat on the shoulder of the rode, scanning the horizon with a high-intensity radar module.

“Affirmative, Lieutenant … Uuuh, be sure you are carrying the GSID – there’ll be a lot of AvCav in the skies today. Whole 6th Wing is moving.” Master Sergeant Otto reported, lazily saluting the Lieutenant before he looked to the skies at the hint of the sound of engines.
“Sure enough … “

The Master Sergeant pointed a finger up to the blue sky of Tabidol and at the pair of Cricket heavy VTOLs burning overhead. The two airjets were traversing the planet at a high altitude, leaving two white contrails ripping behind them.

“Yeah yeah, GSID – I want you to put a fireteam out ahead of the main group. Pull them from Alpha and put them on one of the heavier Claymores. What’s our situation with the Cikavacs?” He said, stopping in front of the Claymore parked in front of the town house while the Master Sergeant followed behind him with his gear and pack.

“Uuuuuh, we only have two – I know, we should have more but they might be at Installation Clementine.” Otto reported from a datapad he was using to interface with a digital equipment list of Decker platoon.

“Two … two motherfuckin’ drones and Battalion wants Decker to staff an Anti-Orbital Installation … god damn pricks.” Lieutenant Keton pounded a hand into the frame of the Claymore to gain the attention of the crew. Waiting a few seconds as the commander pried open the hatch of the Claymore’s turret, Keton pointed to the A93 Claymore and rolled his chin.
“Then get lost with you … I don’t want to hear your damn voice unless you beat back a Heg fleet by yourself.”

Raising a hand to his chest and peering down at his wrist, he watched the digital arms of his wrist watch tick away; centered within the arms was a rolling number track counting up from zero. Patching into the communications network of Decker platoon, Keton timed off precisely at 35 minutes past zero-hour that the platoon began its garrison deployment.

“Alright! Listen up ladies! You are now all clocking paytime on Operation Rugged Shield! We were supposed to be at Installation Clementine, your sorry sack home for the next few weeks, thirty minutes ago!” He shouted into the microphone, watching Alpha squad load up a pair of 12.7mm Heavy Assault Weapons for their pathfinding duties ahead of Decker’s armored convoy. Addressing a tactical map displayed on his retinal HUD, Keton identified a swaying path of open ground through the plains that Alpha could follow, while keeping the convoy following the winding roadway through the slanting valleys and ravines.

“Hey Lieutenant! We’ve got a whole Ammo Carrier full of SM-10s!” Corporal Joseph Whites called through the radio, before Keton peered down the line of armored vehicles and saw the young marine hoisting the module of an SM-10 missile launcher above his head.

“Good, marine, you’re not as useless as you look. Load up on the M-tens, Decker! I want you boys duck hunting with a missile launcher when the Heg decides to show his ugly face.” Keton ordered, hauling himself up onto the top of the Claymore as the commander offered a tactical pad to the platoon commander.

“Installation Clementine – firebase sized cluster on a hill about 400 meters above the local plateau. Six two-hundred-inchers, about two dozen various other pieces, it’s a pretty heavy base. Armored Command says we’ll be cycling through the whole company after we lock it down.” The tank commander replied, using a pair of binoculars to scan the horizon and identify a hill 6 kilometer in the distance.

“Any AvCav? If you riders can spare us some chariots, I don’t see why we can’t get an M-ninety.” He remarked to the cavalry commander, who smirked up at him with a chuckle and shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m not to sure about an Annihilator, if the Marine God loves you, haha, you’ll be thankful to get a Vulture. There’s a small Air Vehicle Platform at Clementine, nothing too fancy though.” He said, letting Keton inspect a top-down digital image of the Installation. Centered atop a hill, and fortified in a circular pit complete with battlecrete defensive structures, the Command Signal Center, or CSC, was nestled beside a 60 square meter landing platform that could hold two aircraft. Keton peeked through a digital vehicle list of the Installation, and found the two aircraft that would be Clementine’s eyes in the sky, an M88 Aruka transport and M90 Annihilator gunship.



Sitting atop the Claymore, known throughout the marines as ‘riding barrel up’ in relation to Keton’s MR-18G, the Lieutenant watched the hill give away to a gentle slope to the plain; where the road meandered through the flatland and up to Installation Clementine. The firebase was heavily fortified, and this could be clearly seen on approach; in the air above Clementine, two Cricket VTOLs were lowering the Squadron of Artillery Platforms into the western gun pits. These western gunpits were at the far edge of the hill, before it fell away into a sloping pastureland extending for 3.5 kilometers from the Installation.

“Heavy Artillery Squadron --- awww yeah, we’ll have a niiice red carpet waitin’ for the stupid Heg. Take a good look, Bravo squad!” Sergeant Nathan Killer pointed from the top of SV-9 Decker Six, a variant of the Coalition AFV sporting dual 76mm stanchion cannons.

“Two-hundred and ten centimeter railers … those things can knock out an armored spearhead with ten rounds. We’re rollin’ into a god damn superbase, man!” Keton heard Corporal Netwon Lowe of Alpha Squad as Decker platoon passed the 300 meter distance from the entrance of Installation Clementine.

"The Grand Admiral relays his highest hopes for our endeavors, madam."

The silence that permeated the cabin once the voice finished, laced with static from the interference of the holo-comm, was rather uncomfortable, especially for the ensign on the receiving end. Peschke, clad smartly in her duty uniform, stood at parade rest while listening to the briefing, her gaze unflinching from the ensign, who shifted subconsciously every now and then, able to feel her eyes even if only through a holo. It was a hard thing to do, staring down Peschke, especially since the incident at Polis. After the news of the Emperor's death and her orders to withdraw beyond the veil, back to Hegemony territory, she hadn't been the same. Something, if the statement could really be applied to any officer in the Hegemony, had died inside of her that day. For three days thereafter she wouldn't eat, and for nearly a week she didn't leave her quarters. In the succeeding years she seemed a shell of the woman she once was, even if still demonstrating herself to be a competent and able commander in the wars against the Kobold horde.

But now that they had returned to the Razorbacks she held herself with a sort of pride, and her eyes bore a spark that they hadn't seen in a long time - determination. She had failed her Lord, her God, the last time she was here, and never again would she endure that shame. The ensign was now beginning to wonder, as the vice-admiral hadn't ever truly reacted to anything he'd said, whether there was a bug in the system. Slouching somewhat as he considered the possibilities, he'd had barely managed to speak with a subordinate when Elizabeth made her thoughts known. "Maat, run a diagnos-"

"That won't be necessary, Leutnant." Looking back to the admiral's hologram in surprise, the ensign not expecting her to speak, but still managed to return to a sense of attention, should she have anything to send to the Großadmiral in response. "We will bear the Emperor's pride." At the mention of His title, the ensign came to attention and saluted, an act that the vice-admiral mimicked crisply. It was almost uncanny how they spoke in sync.

"Heil Kampf."

With such words Peschke terminated the commlink, the orange image of the ensign fading into an instantaneous static before cutting off entirely, Peschke releasing herself from her stance of attention. Now her focus shifted from the hologram to that of her quarters, a space that, by most standards, would be considered cramped. But then, most standards meant bunk in the Hegemony. The room afforded by the title of vice-admiral was quite posh, the apartment was at least fifteen paces long by roughly eight wide, though it was the view-screen which truly displayed her status. A wall of screens, able to interface with a variety of signals, from cameras on the outer hull of the Zofia to FOK's strategic and tactical displays. It was no surprise, especially considering her introverted nature following the Polis Incident, that she usually kept it keyed in on the fleet's map of the Milky Way. Plaques and orders awarded by the fleet's Supreme Command shined in the subtle ochre light, including her prized trophy: the dataplate of the CNS ''. She'd little use for such trinkets, it having been years since she'd bothered to take one of them down to inspect. She’d only added one to her collection since returning to Hegemony space; a Kobold captain's scimitar, taken from his hands as his life bled out on the bridge of his own vessel. Sighing, she turned to her bunk, which was in-laid in her quarters’ wall, and looked to what she'd laid there only minutes before. Given, minutes ago they were still in the Cluster, in Hegemony space. But now the 3rd and 4th fleets were in the Razorbacks, to finish what they'd started five years ago.

On the bunk's mattress, laid out and undone, were the trappings of her office. Easily them most distinguishable was her black trimmed golden sash, meant to be worn under her belt, which she bothered with first, a simple matter of just tying it together with a subtle knot. Fitting well over the short, naval-cut tunic, the sash contrasted heavily with the black gabardine of the rest of her uniform and complimented her command staff waffenfarbe. It actually provided a rather comfortable base over which to tighten the leather garrison belt which soon followed. Such was a rather subtle display of opulence; actual cow-leather in the Hegemony was rare, most of the parade and dress gear utilized by the rest of the Hegemony's armed services having long substituted canvas and other materials for the precious commodity. Donning both the belt and her saber in moments, she forwent wearing any of the decorations or ribbons that the state had found appropriate to award her, preferring to appear as she was now: a leader, elite in her station, but spartan. While the Oberst and the other marines might prefer to jingle everywhere they went, Peschke knew that the navy needn't boast of themselves... their presence did that alone. The mighty fleets of the Hegemony were what enforced His will throughout their borders and beyond, it was their toil which drove the alien from their skies, and carried Scatteran boots to foreign soil. They were the shield in His hand; both weapon and bulwark of the Hegemony.

And they would not fail.

Leaving her quarters as they were, she barely gave the automatic door enough time to open as she closed with it, eager to be on the bridge. The hallways of the Zofia were as almost any Hegemony vessel - decidedly average. The color shifted occasionally between a metallic gunmetal and darker onyx, but was for the most part monotone, at least in the dark end of the color spectrum. The thing that might’ve struck a foreigner as being truly odd about the halls, however, were their shape. Like so many things in the Hegemony, they were triangular, just another totalitarian facet of their society seeping into their daily existence. Despite the odd shape they could still accommodate a good deal of traffic, and while it wasn’t near on the level that combat could bring it was still rather hectic. Such activity couldn’t help but made one glad to be higher up on the totem pole, the general rule of thumb with the Hegemony being that the higher one ranked, the closer one’s quarters were to the bridge. Positioned on the ‘spine’ of the vessel, the bridge was a rather unassuming portion of the ship, being hard to pick out from the rest of the cluttered line that traced itself down the thing’s middle. It wasn’t what one usually thought, being the tower near the stern of the ship. The above mentioned tower was, rather, the electronic hub of the vessel, containing the entirety of the vessel’s EWSs, save for the two reserves near the bridge.

The lack of distance made the trek rather concise, arriving at her post in good time, perhaps only six minutes lost in transit time, rather good considering traffic. The two marines flanking the door snapped to attention at her arrival, and she offered them a brief salute before ducking through, the din of the hallways immediately replaced by the cacophony of the bridge. No longer did commands and announcements ring over the PA, instead traveling the air on the individual’s voice. It hadn’t been but five moments before she took up her traditional position, overlooking the bridge’s central holographic display, than her communications officer, the Leutnant from before, approached her. He had his position for good reason, it seemed, and he ran a tight crew, bringing forth some rather curious information, “Admiral, there’s been a development.” Her immediate response was rather nonchalant, instead looking to the massive image of well over two hundred thousand vessels on the display.

“Proceed.”

“According to international broadcasts, it seems that the Aschen are aware of our arrival. It's a logical conclusion that they are mobilizing...” Elizabeth perked at this, her eyes betraying her thoughts. According to the Coalition charts they were still operating off of, they were the closest fleet to the Local Sector, a location with, according to field reports, a large number of Aschen investments. They would keep her from her quarry - nay, her duty! With a harsh sting to her tongue, she asked, returning her eyes to the display,

“Seems? I don’t want to be running off of assumptions, Leutnant. Establish picket groups and bolster our raiding groups. Especially those equipped with the Byfröst drive.” She sighed, anger welling up inside of her as she let the idea boil. Not only would these creatures be content to strike down her lord, but they must deny her her redemption... unforgivable. “My failure haunts me even today.” She whispered to herself, brooding, “Ready the fleet for mobilization. We’ll be waiting for them.” Not having taken her eyes from her station since taking the position, she switched the scale, from the fleet spread out over three systems out further, to where it appeared only a messy glob then a dot, and she located the other three fleets. Everything was proceeding as planned, the 3rd and 4th fleets expected to provide the punching vice onto Beta Hydri while the 1st and 2nd tie up their forces.

They would be distracted, for the moment, which whatever vulnerabilities their open door to the Local Region would present, for the moment. The Razorbacks, however, weren’t the friendliest terrain - bok globules and nebulas ran amok here. Entrenchment was the best policy at this point, if they readied themselves for whatever would come through their open door, they’d be at the advantage. This did little to improve Elizabeth’s mood, however, as she soon dismissed the Leutnant with a flick of her hand, a rather ugly sneer making itself at home on her face. She would simply have to take consolation in heathen souls she would send back to the Wyrm.






The hanger was abuzz with activity, the rather gargantuan cavern held aloft by stalactites of durasteel, men and women in the black utility uniforms of the star fleet venturing to and fro across its floor. One such veritable ant, Leutnant Brenner, was idly tinkering with his helmet, easily the most valuable piece of his flightsuit, adjusting the HUD as he saw fit. The thing was blatantly ugly in its neon-green display, and he was trying his best to figure out just how he could change it to something less offensive. Flipping through colors, from blood red and a bright blue, he settled on a dull orange, as it contrasted nicely with the void and didn't detract from whatever warnings might arise... the last thing he wanted to have happen was to have the captain send home a letter because Fritz was too much of a dolt to notice a missile warning.

Sighing, he held it aloft for a moment, examining it at about a foot from his face, and turned it about, drawing his lips apart as he did. The angular piece had a certain predatory appeal to it, one that the designers no doubt intended, and with a brief act he plopped it onto his head. The visor changed almost immediately, its AI realizing that Fritz had donned it, the transparent visor filtered into opacity with a dark tinge, meant to help block the unfiltered sunlight such pilots could be exposed to. The hanger looked rather different with this filter, the lights seemed to be dimmed, and the already dark walls took on a tone easily approaching black, the pilots and flight crew rushing about seeming to blend into the wall. 

Hopefully he didn't have his comms system on, his breathing no doubt gave away just what nerves he sheltered. He always got nervous before fights, no matter if they were in the cockpit or in person, and this was no different. Yeah, they were just suiting up for patrol, but it was in hostile territory. Shaking his head, the young man really had no way of telling should someone just walk up on him, his visual senses still dulled by the helmet.

The good major was dressed in his flight suit, helmet under one arm.  He rode with his men on patrols, seeing no reason not to, and as a result had a good working relationship with the men he flew with.  Or as good a relationship as any Major could hope to have.  As a result, when he saw Leutnant Brenner with helmet already on, he really couldn't help himself.

The major walked up behind Brenner and spoke in his low baritone voice.  "Heil Kampf."  He stated, hoping to spook the Leutnant.  This was entirely too much fun as far as he was concerned.  Besides, the lad was asking for it.

"You shouldn't put the helmet on just yet, Brenner.  We aren't leaving for another few minutes."  He spoke, scolding but kinder than many would be.  He was Belkan too, after all. Besides, it wouldn't do for bad feelings to form right before a patrol. 

With a jump the younger man responded, his helmet muffling the rather embarrassing yelp he let out at the same time, and looked to the major with a quick glance, relieved somewhat that it was Klein and not the captain. He was a good man, the major, not like the captain... he could be a real bear sometimes, and standing in response, Fritz turned to face his commander, his helmet removed, and returned the salute. His face still burning somewhat from his surprise, he spoke, "Heil Kampf, sir... it's just something I do... bad nerves." Shrugging as he finished, he felt like the explanation provided was, for lack of a better term, half-assed, but it was the best he could do on such short notice. 

"We all get them, Brenner, though we all handle them differently."  He assured the leutnant.  "I do a tap check on the controls in my fighter."  He admitted and gave the other a grin.  "You adjust your helmet.  Just make certain you're still aware, lad."  He told the other, amused.  He then checked the time and frowned.  "It's almost time to leave.  I ought to be getting to my own fighter.  Carry on."  He told Brenner and walked on.

He had to make certain all was well with the other pilots before he got on, after all.  No need to have anyone too nervous for what was just a routine patrol.  Yes, it was in hostile territory, but they had flown them before.

Offering the major another salute as he departed, Franz sighed, glad that he was moving on. It wasn't that he was unpleasant or anything, but Brenner just didn't want to screw up around him! He might seem rather amiable right now, but give him a reason and Fritz was convinced that things could get rather ugly quite quickly. He shook his head, clearing his mind of what thoughts had passed through it and retreated to a nearby footlocker to get into his exo-suit. A pain, the thing was, but it sure beat depressurization if your canopy got ruptured. A shade of black to match the rest of their clothing, the suit comprised of roughly equal proportions of hardened ceramic and more supple material, providing for a sort of armor as well. Most times the wouldn't ever need such a thing.

Turning now towards his fighter, a rather sleek Krohn 173 'Valkyrie' that certainly looked deserving of its name sake, he looked her over for a moment before he began to ascend the ladder up to the cockpit. Odd, in the days where respulsor-rifts kept cars afloat and devices beyond most people's imaginations propelled vessels through the void, that they still used ladders. Making it in decent time despite his sluggish pace, he tossed his helmet into the cockpit, the canopy of which had already been retracted. Clambering in as best he could, he took the helmet up and placed it atop his head, securing it with the rest of his pressurized suit, and he relaxed, waiting for the rest of the flight before he strapped himself in. 

In the meantime, he continued to brood. 

The men were ready and the major climbed into his own Valkyrie after pulling on the exo-suit.  Putting his helmet on, he checked the controls, reassuring himself all worked as it should.  Then he spoke.  "Final flight check, men.  We're out in five."  He spoke over the coms, letting them know it.  They better check their damn lists and check them twice.  It may be a patrol, but things didn't go wrong on Kasimir's patrols for a reason.

He made sure to keep up with the details.  All seemed well on his own fighter, as he ran a final flight check.  He waited on confirmation from his men before turning his fighter on.  Now all they had to do was wait clearance to depart, though the noise of his wing ought to clear the deck fast enough, in his own opinion.

In good enough time the order came, Fritz having already checked his flight systems by the time it had, and with a spare flick of the wrist his engines began to whirr. Reaching back to pull the straps forth, he spoke as he did such, sounding off when his time came, "Bosh Five, green light." The rest of the flight followed suit as he readied himself, checking once more to ensure that all of the things he was responsible for were cleared. With a sigh he concluded that they were, and looked briefly to either flank, his comrades, before eagerly resting his eyes on the rail system that held his craft. 

When the order, and his turn in flight, came, he'd punch the button like any other to be carried to the launch tubes. Rather odd things, they were, the mass drivers that tossed out their fighters weren't all that much different than the massive weapons that rested along the length of the ship, save that they didn't toss them out at such incredible speeds. 

All was well, and the Major led the way out, pleased as he waited in space for the others to all arrive before he began to lead the patrol, keeping an eye on his screens and on the world around him.  This was hostile territory, he had to be on his guard, though he anticipated no trouble.  "Keep your eyes open men."  He warned them.  "These heathens can be a wily lot."  He said, keeping his head on a swivel. 





With a soft snort, Josef Wagner awoke from his nightmares.

It was the same, recurring dream. The feel of the medal being pinned on his chest for his victories on Torfan, August, and Mehisto by Kampf himself morphed suddenly into twisting colours, enraged faces, incoherent yelling. He was running naked on a frozen wasteland, holding a fellow soldier while he died. He was firing his gun, laughing, as was his custom, at a horde of Kobold. He was punching a fellow recruit in the face, watching as his fist turned into the barrel of a shotgun and fired against his will, the skull devolving into a mist of white bone, white teeth, yellow pus… red mist. So much red mist. He was swimming in an ocean of blood, floating on a pontoon of his dead squadmates, hundreds, thousands of men and women who lived and died by the sword. They were tough as nails Belkans, they were the toughest in the galaxy, roughest of the stars. They eliminated everything in their path, took punishment, and asked for more.

They all cried in his arms. They all cried near the end.

He was awake.

He was flying through space, only the stars were changing into the mouth of his father, lamenting his disappointment in his lowest son, in the fact that he was the worst of the many Wagner children. His mother joined the lecture, telling him how proud she was with sadness in her eyes, and did he pack a lunch, and oh boy did he look thin. He wasn’t there for their deaths, either. They were quietly broken down, and he probably had eaten them earlier.

He was awake.

He was awake, and his bunk was the tongue of a horrifying beast, the sheets sticky and moist from his tastebuds. The beast would eat him, but it didn’t like his taste, his girth and his size. It was disgusted by him, by his form, by the failure of losing his men. It wanted to spit him out, but reveled in his discomfort.

He was awake.

He slid from the bunk, bare feet hitting the cool metal of the cruiser, and cracked his neck, shaking out his hands. The nightmares. His own body’s foolish attempt to scare him. It could send any beasts that were allowing him to nap on their tongue. It could send his father, his mother, rivers of blood and crying squaddies. It could send the Kobold, the wasteland, the tundra without clothes. It could throw as much as it wants at him.

The bottom line was that he was alive. He survived when they did not. He triumphed off of the backs of perished men and women, and he was unafraid to admit it. He was better than them all, he thought as he raised one open palm to the glass of the starry night sky, the sight both calming and alarming.

He was the ultimate soldier.

He was a motherfucking Belkan.

The small townhome sat atop an incline leading to a market-road that supplied a conduit throughout the countryside; numbering around twelve houses, six larger structures and a Government Associations center focused near a green park stretching an estimated kilometer, Redworks Hamlet was the fruits of a government construction effort on the continent of Yore. The homes were built for a group of military families, the four person circle of Robert Archer living at the townhome on East Redden Street, flanked to the right by a small grocers and a radio center.

The tiny child sent her ball up into the bright sky with a powerful kick, her small legs carrying across the lawn in the morning sun while her fingers picked at the knob of the mail boxes metal door. Her timid eyes flicked over the contents of the bin, having to stand at her tiptoes to view the insides while her hands eagerly groped for the fancy parchment and envelope, the only material in the mail today.

Her eyes flickered as she caught the first letters scrawled across the center face of the paper; she instantly recognized the artwork gently polished to the envelope, hardly recalling where, images of her father in a rugged attire came into her mind, pictures from the digital tablet mother had kept close by.


“Elisa, have you gotten the mail for father?” An outstanding voice came from the patio, blue eyes tracing quickly to fall on daddy, Robert Archer, in a weathered vest and dark shirt. Elisa, a young girl of eight, held the piece of envelope in her eager hands as she trotted the way up to the patio.

Robert watched the girl with a calming smile on his face, a simple noise coming from the two other men on his patio seated behind the former military officer.
“Thank you, ma’am; always so helpful.” He remarked while taking a knee to accept the mail from the little girl.

“Faddy gots the mail, yesyes.” The girl replied, letting her hands fall to her hips and play with one another as she watched her father in suspense; her crystal teeth framing her face while Faddy read his mail.

“Sweet little kids … What’s in the mail, Lieutenant?” The bronzed man sitting closest to him inquired, tilting his head up at Archer while he inspected the parchment in his hands.
“If it’s a check for anything, I’ve yet to see that two-eighty from the Yitter Firm.”

“It’s not that, Whitlock … From the Federal Bureau … Definitely not a check.” Robert slowly replied, causing the man to lean back against his chair sadly, a hand cranking the mechanics of a radio.
“Federal Bureau of Coalition Affairs, and the Coalition Military Apparatus … ”

“ -- You turn that thing up any more and you’ll be able to listen in on the Sovraks in Langara – Archer, what is the Apparatus doing knocking on your door again?” The other man replied, palming the arm of the chair after having removed it from his face.

“With the broadest military authority, the President and Circle of the Military Council … ” Archer continued dryly, allowing Jasper to go unanswered before lowering his eyes to the statement of the paper; his quandary first finding a list, followed by a block of message signaled with a spacing.

“To the above honorable men stated; with the Coalition military anchored to confronting the internal Hegemony threat, and various external non-Scatterran threats, it has been the duty of this department of the serving Military Apparatus to receive the operation of arming and sustaining the Military …”

“Oh God damn … “ Jasper shuddered at the end of his statement, slouching back against the back of his chair while Archer stood between the two seated men.
“Did we just get drafted … again?”



















As the technician walked through the hanging batlecrete fortifications, the large tarmac square of the Launch Site was buried in a rushed typhoon of noise and shifting metal. The Chief Warrant Officer kept his pace steady as he weaved and jogged through the ebb and flow of marines, vehicles and weaponry to one of eight planet landers nestled on the asphalt and tarmac plating of the launch square. Crossing the vast distances to support the mass of the Scatterran landers, which easily reached over 5 kilometers, the Matilda class Landing Ships were a long-renowned staple of troop movements in the Navy. The Matilda accompanied millions of marines to hotspots and conflict zones throughout the galaxy, having seen extensive domestic use by not only the Apparatus, but other Scatterran factions as well. As the CWO ducked to avoid the rotating torso and arms of a Chieftan, the protest of airjet engines rose over the ground as the specialist watched a Vulture climb vertical into the air. A team of marine snipers, identifiable by their ECR-10 rifles and dark green, reactive-camouflaged ghillie suits, let their legs dangle over the open air seats of the Vulture as they were drawn higher into the air. When the Vulture angled the dual thrusters backward and the VTOL began to accelerate forward, marine Chief Warrant Officer Jason Stein looked into the face of a Major approaching him through a corridor of stacked ammunition crates. As the officer skirted to the right to avoid a working Chieftan, an autonomous vehicle more akin to a robotic ape than a human, as it continued stacking the ammunition boxes even as the Major waved down CWO Stein with his patrol cap.

"You! You the Chief Officer from HQ?" The Major's bitter eyes were already stabbing at the Chief, even as Stein fetched for the datapad which contained the transfer information, the Marine Infantry commander was already grabbing a handful of Stein's shoulder and leading him deeper into the labyrinth of the site.
"We'll have about 40 GD-600's on us in the 'Backs -- ten or twelve thousand for the entire operation -- that's about 15 operators alone in Kilo. You sure you didn't get off the jet with anyone else?" The Major requested, looking sideways as the duo passed by an installment of three T91 14cm cannons. The artillery pieces, which doubled as impromptu heavy tank guns, were a standard issue to the support companies and logistical units of the Marine Infantry Corps; while Stein had seen a mobile version of the T91's heavy 140mm gun, the majority of 91's he had seen in service were stationary emplacements in PDF defenses.

"There was a team of Warrants on the dropship to Jennifer -- I was told to go straight for Two Kilo, Major." Stein could see, even if they had bypassed what appeared to be the embark zone, airjets ferrying supplies, troops and vehicles to the waiting landers in medium orbit; and were now delving far into the Launch Site where the proper men and material were being assembled to mobilize on the landers and vessels above.

"I'm tellin' ya' kid, people ain't takin' any of this shit serious enough. We'll be walking right into a Heg birthday party if we don't have our heads on straight." The Major's shoulders swung left and right as he maneuvered through a team of marines assembling the disconnected pieces of a GD-600 Cikavac UAV. Already, the main module of the drone was laying on an olive drab cloth tarp, several other pieces of the Cikavac's navigation and weapons modules were still laid on the ground.

"Is that our W-O? God damn, finally! Please tell me you've read the manual for this!" A Marine Private complained, his torso slouching at the sight of Major Boone and WO Stein. As the Major crossed his arms over his chest to inspect the holographic display the Private had activated in front of him, Stein was quietly reclaiming two pieces of the Cikavac's AI node and placing it with its subordinate unit; the 4 kiloWatt powerhouse quickly activating the Cikavac's combat intelligence with a soft bleep. As Stein inspected the glowing green "eye" piece of the drone's navigator, he placed it on the tarpaulin on which other marines surveyed for the piece he required next.

"Yeah, I got it. You guys have a big chasis unit -- ? Should be the biggest in the box." Stein inquired, pointing to a piece of the drone that appeared to fix to the large main unit that would form the alabaster white 'skin' piece of the drone. When a Sergeant offered him the module, Stein quickly fixed the AI and powerunit into the underside of the hull, after that attaching the four rotor-blades onto the engine unit of the unmanned helicopter. Rolling the Cikavac onto its stubby "legs" with the help of another marine, Stein watched from the sidelines as the marine skirmishers fixed weapons and electronic gear to the hardpoints of the GD-600.

"Welcome to Bad Kilo, Chief, you're in with the Rejects. Thanks for the gunnybird," The Sergeant replied as he extended his hand towards Stein. Taking the Sergeant firmly, the Warrant Officer quickly succumbed to the Marine Sergeant's powerful grip as Major Boone was stepping into the center of the tarpaulin.

"Alright Marines, listen up, the whole damn division just got rolled up into Rapid. We'll be breaking for Tarkit in the week, should see Belkan contact sooner." His words, even as they fought the noise of the surrounding area, were enough to draw every marine to the Major's thought at the mention of the Belkans. The Scatterran hegemonists, related in name and face by this point, had carved apart what little the Coalition managed to put together to defend the unprotected and weak soil of the Razorbacks. The PDF had stalled the Belkans, at costs unfathomable to the Apparatus, in the face of total annihilation and had managed to retain the smallest of footholds in the region at Polis.

"The Ministry fucked up their chance, now it's ours. The Senate wants those planets back, marines, and we at the Apparatus are just the right guys to give the Belkans a taste of their own medicine.” The Major returned, shifting his arms to his hips as he surveyed the loose team of marines around him. While Boone commanded Kilo company, some 500 odd skirmishers and the 50 vehicles, a mixture of “Dragonfly” tactical fighting vehicles and ten Pathfinder AFVs, Stein would command the much smaller Autonomous Specialist Team that would be tasked with efficiently and effectively operating the drone compliment that had been attached to Kilo.

While the Cikavac was an autonomous fighter, capable of unpiloted combat, patrol and interdiction for as long as 80 hours, it was protocol in the Marine Infantry Corps to establish a 'commander of drones' in a subsidized unit, which would utilize two or three vehicles to coordinate and direct the autonomous operations. While one specialist could easily pilot 5 drones with effectiveness, it was protocol to have one marine pilot one drone, meaning that other than Stein several other Warrant Officers would be needed before Kilo’s drone platoon was operating at max efficiency.

“We’ll have full-spectrum support for the Hegs -- Drones, airstrikes, orbital drops and EW, whole nine yards.” The Major exemplified with a wave to the Cikavac. As Stein inspected the vehicle with a quick eye, he noticed that the marines had already installed four Striker launchers under the farthest hardpoints, while also fixing the 76.2mm cannon into the drone’s fuesalage. Minus the dual 30mm nose mounted cannon, which instead appeared to have been substituted with a sensor and electronics suit, the Cikavac appeared far smaller than it routinely did; though the drone was easily the size of a small car.

“We’ll let the Navy fight the Heg in Deep for us, but once we get dirtside the Marines will be the ace in the hole, and I plan to take all my money home with me." The Major shouted, shrugging his arm as a display from a holographic projector flickered up beside him. The star chart of the Kimek Frontier appeared in the bright shimmer of light; several marks were displayed on the interface, one a clear indication towards the system of Tarkit, with an imposed image of Polis.
"And I know damn sure, that any dumb fucker stupid enough to cross us -- in the Razorbacks, in our land -- has just opened up a can of whoopass they will fucking choke on."

"Hell yeah!" Several marines shouted, hefting their weapon into the air with the Major while several of the Cavalry vehicle crewmembers racked the bolts of their own carbines. A team of marines peered back at their heavily armored Dragonfly, and the large snout of an anti-tank cannon poking from the turret.















Sub-Major Kevin Raynor waved his hand through the air up to the Aruka airjet hovering overhead; as the last boots of ITDM soldiers touched the ground, the carbon-bundle ropes were drawn back up to the small distance to the craft. The Sub-Major hefted his 91R assault rifle off his shoulder and cradled it over his chest, pounding his feet up a small incline of the muddy plateua to reach the rest of 2nd Squad; a heavily armed cluster of soldiers regrouping around two armored fighting vehicles and a car.

"Load up! Sir Commissar, you're with me in the Saber. Sergeants, I want your squad Comms men on all frequencies, you hear?" Raynor called out as he pulled open the driver's side door of the M2C Saber fighting car; he slid himself into the seat and wrapped his gloved fingers around the rugged steering wheel, hearing the frame of the car shudder once again as three more soldiers joined him. The squad's Ministry Commissar Executive, a combat-political or technical advisor from Ministry Command by the name of Olik Morav took the passenger seat directly beside him while Technical Chief Viktor Tadeas jumped into the seat immediately behind the driver.

"Savage G-Two is running, Sub-Major. The boys are lovin' that Nine-M-Six, those Cavalry boys sure know how to work." Chief Tadeas replied, holding his hands on his head while grinding the patrol cap and a hardened overlay atop his scalp. Raynor peered out the window at the M6 Claymore, an AFV sporting dual 76mm railcasters in addition with a co-axial M97.

"That thing'll rip some serious ass, 'eh Commissar?" Raynor said, his mouth parching mid-sentence though. 2nd Squad and the rest of Savage Battalion's 90 Troop had been working brutally to maintain one of the last Coalition footholds beyond the Kimek Frontier. To their northeast an entire Theater of the PDF, Theater Easterner, regrouped from the effects of the Belkan invasion of the Razorbacks nearly 5 years ago. Now, the duty of reclaiming the lost Coalition territory fell to the ITDM.

"When we meet the Belkans, we will show them the ferocity of the Defense Troops. I hope you have your men ready, Sub-Major." Olik leaned into the chair, keeping his greatcoat over him like a blanket while folding his arms over his lap. The Sub-Major had left the ITDM jacket in his luggage at the FOB 6 kilos behind them; none of the soldiers in 2nd Squad used the standard issue article, though the necessity may soon arise. The continent where Easterner and the rest of the 87th Corps was bottled up on was beginning to decsend into a harsh winter; rain had been falling steadily for the past two months, and even now the sky was grayed with a disgusting, cloudy spray across the atmosphere.

"They'll be ready ... Chief, debrief on the bridgetown?" The Sub-Major inquired as he drove the Saber through a muddy flat before rolling onto the slick road with a howl of tires; behind him, the Claymore easily ran through the holding mud and burst onto the street. The rest of 2nd Squad was riding 'hood-open', the rear hatches over the Claymore 10 man bay open to allow the soldiers to view the landscape as it passed them.

"Yessir -- the Commissar has a classified brief of the mission packet, but ... From the mission parameters I've read the whole Battalion is ordered to push for a bridgehead over the Yarmo river to the southwest. We get a hold of that bridge we'll have an avenue to the south. High Command doesn't want us wintering this one out." Tadeas replied, using a ruggedized laptop he carried with him in his battlesack to review updated mission information and critical intelligence.
"We are ... Mission Hour plus zero-thirty. We've got a whole War Group built up behind us, you see those Warrior's? Things are for serious this time ... we're fuckin' fightin' back."

"And that will be where Ninety will come in," The Commissar grunted out after the Technical Chief, holding a tablet PC in his own hands. Raynor was focusing on the road, maneuvering around the destroyed remains of a Belkan dropship that obliterated a portion of the road; not too far behind that, the wrecked shape of a Winstahl heavy transport could be seen. The charred vehicle still bore the paint scheme and insignia of the Aviation Cavalry.

"To the south is a continental feature known as the Joko Shield -- a formation of the planet's mantle that provides strategic opportunities. Previously invested opportunities, until they were taken by the Belkans. I'd like to get out of this fucking rain, Sub-Major." The Commissar responded with an uneventful tone as the two vehicles drove through the shelled out remains of a factory-settlement. Around them, these rainy flatlands had become a heavily contested battlegrounds in years and months prior; while the PDF had managed to throw counter-attacks at many opportunities while retreating from the Belkans, it was the fact that no counter-attack succeeded.

"The Joko Shield is a centralized point in High Command's Strategic Planetary Defense, a forty kilometer stretch of fortified anti-orbital positions ... three thousand high-velocity cannons, it is a defensive structure the length of a mountain range. The bridgehead across the Yarmo will open up an avenue to the south. From there, hopefully the rest of the 87th will be forming the striking arm of Easterner." The Commissar tugged on the arms of the greatcoat, keeping himself suspended in the heavy clothing in the hopes of keeping dry underneath. Raynor had already fallen face first in the mud, dirt and clod stained the front of his carapace, obscuring the dark uniform fatigues and ballistic plating underneath.

"-- Turning on the axis from our defensive lines, we're operating beyond the Perseus ain't we? Hope we have organic support ... There's been a whole Belkan army right across from us." The Technial Chief responded, leaning his arm against the door of the Saber as the two vehicles crested a hill overlooking a muddy plain and an estuary stream that fed into the larger river Yarmo seen less than 2 kilometers away.

"There's the river ... " Commissar Olik remarked as the two vehicles rolled down the road toward an encampment of ITDM and their armored protection. Set up on a mulched field of brown, wet dirt, Sub-Major Nicolau's Troop 43 was centered around a crescent formed by six M97A4 self-propelled artillery vehicles, and a fortified emplacement housing three M832 mortar carriers.

"Looks like a little slice a' home, don't it." Raynor spoke of the fortified battle emplacements distributing the 180 soldiers across a loose square and crescent formation. On the far flanks, the dedicated combat vehicles were reinforced with shallow bulwark of ground works and battlecrete stuffed squad-bags. 97-Bravo and R-5-Delta weapons bunkers were staffed by waiting gun-crews as they saw 2nd Squad, Golf Section crest the hill.

"Golf-Two Actual this is Forty-Three at GP Orion, on-line for Operation Carpenter -- we're seizing Objective Skyline, how copy."

"This is Golf-Two Actual to Forty-Three, friendlies inbound for Operation Carpenter. Objective Skyline verified, over." Raynor said into the car's transmitting audio-communications; he held the wireless broadcasting microphone to his lips before pulling off the side of the road at the southern end of Mission Point Orion. He could see the Sub-Major and his team of Lieutenants, Kevin recognized the familiar garb of several Military Specialists of the Internal Troops accompanying the Sub-Major.

"Sub-Major Raynor, nice of you to finally join us. The rest of the Battalion seems to be taking it's time, hmm?" Nicolau held a pair of cold-weather driving gloves in one hand, while the other was cradled against the foregrip of an AC-9m carbine.
"Last I checked, Forty-Three was the most southern operating unit of the Coalition since the Belkan incursion. Ready to make history, Raynor?" The Sub-Major gave a grim smirk with a tug of his lips, offering one hand through the window.

"As I'll ever be ... Poor armor support, next to no AvCav, out of the range of the Perseus -- I think it's something Golf-Two will look forward to." He remarked, taking Nicolau's hand in his own and clutching at the gloved appendage; the Claymore rolled into the camp of Troop 43, parking beside a SM4C command vehicle, a modified Leopard APC with a radar-dish and electronics suite mounted in the turret.

"We'll be able to see any air coming in from the ridgeline here, it does come in you'll just have to hit the dirt and pray -- I've got an A-C-O on the beams with a hardline straight to Reapers on air-dominance." He said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from a pouch at his hip and retreiving a stick from the box.
"Two anti-air pieces just 2 klicks east ... whole fucking Belkan fleet in-system, and Easterner can't even make a collect call off the planet. Keep gettin' jammed by the time it breaks atmo." Nicolau remarked with a grunt, placing a cigarette between his lips and drawing a lighter close to his face.

"The rest of the Battalion has been skirting a Belkan armored force to the northeast, hoping to keep them off long enough for Forty-Three and Ninety to move forward and seize a bridgehead over the Yarmo." Raynor said, leaning himself out the window slightly as he took a smoke offered by the Sub-Major.

"Your orders, Commanders, are to move forward immediately and take that town. It is ... what, four, five klicks up the road?" The Commissar said, peering out the driver's side window to both Raynor and Nicolau. Kevin took a long drag on the cigarette and beared his teeth with a sigh, smoke escaping his lungs in a rush.

"Just about, CommEx ... " Raynor said with a noticeable distaste in his voice, taking his other hand off the steering wheel and pulling the Saber out of park. The engine of the vehicle strained with an audible growl as it shifted into drive, but began to purr as precious fuel began to feed into the drive once again.

"I'll detach two squads with vehicle support for your Armored Recon; we've got about eight-hundred shells for the arty, just call it in cold and we'll drop it in hot." Nicolau replied, giving the Commissar a rather spiteful glare while he was peering out the opposite window. Raynor took a glance over to an M97 SPAV, the large 160mm artillery cannon aimed into the air while a crew of Cavalrymen checked and rechecked the vehicle.












Jacob yanked the throttle back as the Reaper screamed over a muddy plain below; far in the distance, the ACE could see the tell-tale sign of black, oily smoke reaching into the sky. With a heavy cloud coverage above him, interdiction from orbital vessels wasn't very likely, but those possible avenues would be responded with by the 606th and 409th Fighter Squadrons defending a 100 kilo stretch of airspace above them. Switching through the R and O frequencies of the onboard Tandil RAILS suite, Jacob's eyes were drawn to a painted target indicator far ahead of him; at a distance of 103 kilometers to the northwest; Jacob could not see the 'painted' object with the naked eye, but the long-distance radar provided a brief cross-section on a digital read out screen.

"Albion Twelve to Albion Actual, I've got a beamer at the Long, anyone else got this?" Jacob replied, watching as the computerized data-center of the Reaper run through a clearing protocol to "clean" some of the inconsistencies from the frequency-scanners. When the cross-section remained, the ACE flipped a rubber cap off the trigger on the joystick between his legs.

"This is Albion Actual, you're not alone A-Twelve. I got it too -- I thought it was the clouds a minute ago, but we've had a break in low coverage for a while now. I think this might be our first bite of the day, boys."

Jacob pushed the throttle into a new sector of the drive wheel, feeling the dual ion thrusters suddenly roar from added intake; the velocity pressed him backwards into the seat and Jacob had to steady his breathing as the Reaper barreled over to the left, wings rolling upward as he steadied himself right-side up with the other sixteen Reapers of Albion Flight gathering in a loose wedge across 2 kilometers.

"Hot as a grill, boys. ACE, you take a team and fly it high this time. We'll bait 'em, you stick 'em. Sound good?" Major Saul Ferikano piloted the lead Reaper of Albion Flight, and was assembled in a cluster of five other F/V-82s less than 500 meters to Jacob's 2 o'clock.

"Yessir, Major. This is Albion Twelve, breaking off. Six, Seven, Eight, hold on to me tight -- staggered. Nine and Four, lay back half a klick in case we get jumped by any squirters." Jacob said as he peeled his Reaper out of the formation; he caught the faint twinkle of lights to his left as the other interceptors broke off to regroup on him.

"This is Six, ready to rock -- I had my Gun-Cavvie load two three-oh-mighty-mikes just for this. Hoooo-uuh, avcav! Ready to rip and roar." Albion Six called out over the Flight's comms-frequency, Jacob could see the Command Sergeant's Reaper to his 10 o'clock, and dipped his wings left and right to the Sergeant's airjet.

"This is Seven, I'm on the Command Sergeant's tail. I've got the S/TAC cooking with fire, readying a jam-sweep." Albion One Seven responded, the Lieutenant watched a HUD display show a bright green circle around the cluster of Reaper's; the Strategic/Tactical Aviation Console was a piece of equipment often rigged to the underside of the F/V-82's fuselage on select ships of a Flight to provide electronic-warfare capabilities. Capable of broadcasting, interdicting and misdirecting anything from incoming missiles, aircraft and sensor frequencies from high-orbit, the ACE felt his nerves subside as he saw a 20 kilometer "sphere" of coverage descend over him.

"Alright, this is Albion Actual. If you've got a S/TAC pod you might wanna' turn it on now; keep your BA-comp on auto and let them handle countermeasures, I want to knock out these Belkans and get back to the Perseus right quick." The Major replied over the Flight's R frequency, banking away and descending towards the planet below him while Jacob and the five other Reaper's struck up into the gray sky above them.



As Jacob saw the F/V-82s lining up behind him, the Lieutenant opened the throttle and looked at the sensor module in position before him. In a separate display of the interface, the transmissions from the supporting 876th Naval Wing Hurricanes of Achilles Section.
“This is Lieutenant Major Parsakevas, we have your identification on screen. High-altitude scans show many hostiles coming inbound. We have stand-off munitions ready, but require close-in telemetry.”

“Support Networks for the Reflex use data from closer friendly identicals. Hold them on the bright-box for long enough and we’ll bring a two-oh-five and Heavy Missiles down from two hundred klicks up.” Albion One Seven reported, widening a brief gap to climb above Jacob and the two other Reapers. When Seven got a clear view above the formation in front of him, he was able to utilize the long-distance interdiction. Jacob heard a certain growl crawl over the close-range communications from the proximity of the active electronics pod.

“This is Achilles with targets, light them up.” The communications was silent for a moment as Jacob turned lower from Albion Seven, avoiding the interference of the electronics.
“Get the 754th to prioritize; twelve round strike on pinpoint targets.”

When Jacob and Albion Six broke away from the formation, the high altitude aspect of the team at 96 kilometers above the planet placed their targets far below. Watching a dull-light screen in the module before him, a Coalition digital aid identified a cluster of 10 strikecraft burning through thermosphere of the planet just 5 kilometers below.

“This is Albion Twelve, we are eyes hot. Let’s roll it up.” Jacob called into his headset while opening the throttle; as his other hand clutched at the joystick and leaned the steering of the strikecraft into a dive. As he watched an altimeter and speedometer rise in his HUD, a cluster of targeting icons flashed onto his screen while he watched a smaller display load a package of rounds into the Reaper’s primary weapons.

As he slid a finger around the trigger of Albion Twelve’s dual 68mm railcasters, Jacob drew his eyes up from the sensor module as an array of twelve Reflex heavy missiles descended from high-orbit and into the formation of Belkan aircraft. Engaging the escorts, a flight of Belkan Ra-4492 Keule’s, Jacob watched as seven of the Reflex missiles found their mark, impacting within proximity of their targets and creating a violent red explosion.

At 3 kilometers away, Jacob was jostled and bounced in the cockpit of the Reaper as the incoming team was buffeted by the pressure waves from the attack. Close enough; the Lieutenant aligned the nose of his Reaper with the zooming figure of a Biest strategic-bomber, having to maneuver above the literal beast of a vehicle to avoid the massive contrails peeling away from it.

“Guns guns guns, Twelve on the tail.” Jacob called out as he pressed the trigger and felt the plane buckle and rumble; ahead of time, a string of high-velocity autorailer shells poured out from the nose of the Reaper’s gunhouse and in the shallow base of the airjet’s wings. The tracer-rounds were bright in the hazy atmosphere of the planet’s upper reaches, a sea of pale blue descending below them while the ominous darkness of vacuum rose above. The first rounds tore along the fuselage of the Hegemony bomber, creating a spark of debris and a brief flame before a primary explosion caused Jacob to bank to the right, dropping nearly 2 kilometers before regaining himself. His breathing quickened when he heard the faint pang of debris break over the hull of his fighter.
“Sonuva … nearly ate the fucking tail end of that thing.”

“This is Seven, one bomber down – you’ve got escorts recovering, Eight, check your six o’clock!” The communications was alight with activity; just ahead of him, Jacob caught the sight of the rest of Albion Flight ascending into the fray, eight Reaper interceptors tore past him on the way up. A pair of missiles launched from Albion Ten’s pylons, the Accudo Tactical Kill missiles spearing into a pair of Belkan escorts before the fighters broke away from one another and maneuvered for better shots.

“Fuck! Two is down, Two is down!” A pilot screamed as Jacob turned back again and into the fight; the hull of another Biest filling his gun-screen. Activating a low-frequency identifier, Jacob fell in behind the strikecraft and waited for a lazy diamond targeting optic crawl towards the figure. When he heard the constant tone switch to a bright squeal, Jacob depressed the missile trigger and unleashed a single Phantom from the multi-rig pylon. Breaking away as the missile impacted the cluster of engines and detonated with an 86kg explosive warhead, Jacob watched a bright plume of thermal energy flare on the display screen mounted just between his legs.

“This is Twelve, that’s a second Big Beastie down. I’ve got Belkan squirters all over the god damn scope. Achilles may want to get it’s candy-ass down here and help us out or we’re up shit creek!” He replied into his headset before kicking in the left yaw and peeling into a lazy circle.

“Hold your position, Twelve. We need to keep these bastards occupied for as long as possible!” Major Ferikano ordered, passing through the Lieutenant’s view-screen with a duo of allied Reapers flanking him on the hunt for another stray bomber.
“Achilles is ten mikes in and then we’re ditching this lemonade stand. Open ‘em up, Albion!”

Location: The Razorbacks, Parinag System, deep orbit

Belligerants;
Aschen High Space Command - Combined Fleet of Righteous Purpose Team Alpha
Reverence II Task Force Alpha
AHSC RII Profound Solitude
Chairman Raphael McGregor

Vs

His Majesty's Interstellar Fleet - 1st Fleet of the Grand Crusade, 4th Assault Fleet
32nd Raiding Group
Schwert Class Battleship, flagship Reaper of Promises
Kommodore Gerhardt Birckhahn



Parinag System, deep orbit
Raptor 178
Lt. James 'Hawk' Hawkins

The Aschen Raptors flickered into the outer reaches of the Parinag system, it was an advance scouting party of roughly four Raptors, each Aschen multi-role craft was roughly the size of a large truck, built to be hardy yet nimble. Lt. Hawkins kept his eye on the DRADIS, which had been fizzing and crackling since the arrival into the Razorbacks, behind him sat Electronics Officer Chelsea McNamara, and besides Lt. Hawkins was Co-pilot, Lt. JRGD Harold Hartford, a hardy man from the rolling highlands of Aerilon.

“We've completed the jump.” Lt. Hartford said as he checked his instruments, then he checked them twice. Hawkins easing the throttle to engage the engines. “Alright then, we're to scout the area before the main fleet arrives, establish precise FTL coordinates and map the area for insertion into the Razorbacks.” He said, pushing the throttle forward and easing the craft into an accelerated cruise. Quietly, the electronics officer monitored the DRADIS, watching the idle purr of the screen's display. “DRADIS is useless out here, too much interference, I'm going to go ahead and switch to all-spectrum mode.” She said, calibrating the scanners before looking forward.

“Strange... Lieutenant, I'm getting DRADIS Contact, by the gods look at the size of these things!” She said, pointing out the Belkan ships on the DRADIS. Lt. Hawkins shaking his head. “Frak me, the Fleet's going to be jumping right into the soup!” He said, before he looked up to spot the hulking mass of the Belkan raiding group. “Shit, bank right! We can't let them see us!” He shouted, as the Copilot spoke up. “Raptor Two-Nine Seven, bank left and adjust your approach, we're going to guide the fleet right into the thick of it.”

Electronics Officer McNamara then spoke up. “We could send the fleet the updated coordinates, and if we can do this without being seen, we can catch the Belkans by surprise. Lieutenant, if we park behind those ice formations, and disengage our engines, we'll be invisible to them.” She said, as the Lieutenant nodded, easing the craft around a wayward comet, parking the craft into the gas contrail of the ice ball, he watched.

“Wait for it....” The Commander said, eyes on the readout.


The Azrican Corridor
AHSC RII Profound Solitude
Chairman Raphael McGregor

The massive thirty-mile hulking form of the Aschen Reverence II silently sailed through the empty void of space. Having split up from the bulk of the Combined Fleet, Raphael was already enacting his hammer-and-anvil tactics.

“AI, what's the status of our Raptor expedition.” He said calmly, as the holographic female form flickered into view. “Chairman, the Raptors are proceeding at speed, they have mapped the area and are transmitting the subspace data packets to us now.” She said, bringing up a three-dimensional holographic map of the Parinag system. “Mapping is still underway, but we should have viable jump coordinates within the next fifteen minutes.” She said, as the Chairman nodded. “Ready the fleet, tell them to prepare to make a combat jump, there's no telling what's waiting for us on the other side.” He said, and the AI promptly nodded in affirmation. “Very well, then. I will inform the fleet and have them prepared for departure.” She said, before the Chairman turned to the map. “It's time for the Aschen Confederation to make a name of themselves in this universe.” He said, folding his hands behind his back.

“Action stations.” He ordered, and the violet-hued light dimmed and shifted red. A Crystalline alarm blaring around the ship.

“Action stations, action stations... set condition one throughout the fleet-- this is not a drill.”

Raphael then got on the fleet-wide intercom.

“Attention Alpha Fleet, we're preparing to make a combat jump into the Razorbacks, the heart of Belkan held space, persevere, and we shall make it through, stick to your duties and your orders, and we'll make it, may Ares watch over each and every one of us.” He said, before he turned to the AI.

“As soon as you get the coordinates, make the jump, I want weapons hot, Gamma formation.”


Parinag System, deep orbit,
HIMIV Reaper of Promises, Schwert Class Battleship
Commodore Gerhardt Birckhahn


The monolithic vessels, for the most part, were entombed within the hazy bok globules scattered through the system, however lax that their efforts might be as part of the rear-echelon they still obeyed the orders of the Vice-Admiral, as paranoid as they might sound at times. Simply one of the last layers of a quickly expanding network, centered around the provisional capital of Polis, of defensive forces, their assault fleet, the support half of the pair, having been converted into a defensive role. A role that the many Æsir battlecruisers, even if not designed purely for, were well suited for. Keeping his craft in the globules, as was his directive, Kommodore Birckhahn was rather worried that the fight would be over by the time he got to it. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t treasure his position as commodore, or his duty to the Emperor, but he just had battle-lust. He had graduated from academy just in time to miss a major offensive against the kobold on the untamed frontier, and after policing the Hegemony for well over a decade he was ready to face a legitimate foe. He sighed as he glanced to their last update of the galactic strategic map, eying the borders of the Coalition with an anxious and irritated eye.

A shame that the Aschen were ruining that chance for him.

The Reaper of Promises, accompanied by her twin escorting Klinge class battleship and Raubtier class destroyer escorts, the 27 kilometer beast was outside of the large, troublesome clouds, they had other vessels ready to set about with retrieving their comrades from within. Namely, the several Lanze class cruisers who hovered close to the globules, practically hovering on their edge, the massive triangular vessels looking surreal in the low-light. Via nanite commo-lines running into the globules, they maintained contact with both their defensive comrades within the clouds while keeping up with orders from the Kommodore. Small patrols of Schwalbe class frigates dotted the area, running in between the different globules and their exposed task force, not in any particular hurry. However, it was one such patrol that happened upon a rather curious and, in the immediate sense, alarming sight. They caught four contacts on their sensor displays, ones that didn’t register on their IFF records.

The traditional Hegemony doctrine for dealing with unknown signatures was rather simple - destroy them.

Eagerly the trio of pickett frigates peeled off from their intended course, hailing their superiors as to a possible hostile infraction, though they gave it little mind. If the Aschen were to strike, they would do so at quite a distance from Parinag. After all, this was the current headquarters of the 4th Assault Fleet. Attack here was suicide. At a roughly two kilometer interval the three moved to the position the contacts last registered at, having dropped off their screens, and they milled, scanning. Slowing as they prowled, a gunnery officer on board one of the vessels, excited by the thought of new prey, must’ve gotten trigger-happy. Looking about for any space debris for a challenge, as Hegemony gunners often did in their spare time, they must’ve locked eyes with a comet nearby. Not only had they found a target, but a moving one at that! Perhaps three kilometers away, one of the phalanx laser batteries was taken off of automated control and swiveled to aim at the thing. Comets could be tricky quarry, and sometimes it took more than one try, but the gunner at hand had little sport in mind, not with his phalanx battery. With one burst, several hundred bolts of light were sent flying at the comet, the energy of the projectiles causing them to glow a bright green.

However, it was at this point that things went to Hell...



Parinag System, deep orbit,
HIMIV Aquila of Sin, Æsir class battlecruiser
Captain Elrood Reese

Elrood didn’t like this, waiting in these clouds. He could understand it were they closer to their foe, but here... there was no reason. Peschke’s failure had an understandable repercussion with her status and abilities, this much was logical, but this... this was descending into paranoia. She really didn’t want to take any chances with failing this time. It probably didn’t help that they were being kept from the Coalition by the possible intervention of the pagans, no matter how eager the rest of the fleet was to get at the heathen proles, she wanted the Coalition. Such determination was, at the least, unhealthy.

He shook his head again, leaning over a rail on the bridge of his vessel, having been pacing around the battlecenter for well over an hour. He didn’t like this, being blind save for communication lines between his sister ships in the globule and two cruisers hovering on the very edge of the thing. Given, they were in Æsirs, they weren’t exactly vulnerable, but still... Never leave one’s back to an open door. The grizzled man, a veteran of the Hegemony-Collective war, was scratching at his peppered stubble, already showing a deal of grey, and he tried to recall the times when they’d done such a thing with the xenos... he couldn’t. When he was involved in the war, it was the glorious stage; driving the creatures to their home, leading their legions in chains to the processing plant, burning their worlds, forcing them to the negotiating table.

This was a war for the new generation, not his. However, were that to stop him from serving the Emperor or Archduchess to the best of his ability, he would deserve a fate worse than any xeno or pagan. It didn’t matter that he took orders from a woman fifty years his junior, or that he served an Emperor five centuries his senior. What mattered was that he did his duty and destroyed anything that would dare oppose His divine will.

Parinag System, deep orbit
Raptor 178
Lt. James 'Hawk' Hawkins

The Lieutenant watched as the Frigate swiveled it's weapon systems, as the laser turret swiveled to draw aim at the comet, the Lieutenant went wide eyed. “McNamara! Launch the swallows and let's get out of here!” He barked as the Raptor quickly shot up from the comet, deploying a single rocket that broadcast a single data packet before detonating in a vivid explosion. The Raptor quickly banked to the right like a nimble bird as the Lieutenant pushed the throttle. “Come on... come on!” He shouted, before arming the master arm on the two Nuclear-armed missiles on the ship's wing tips, dodging brilliant bolts of death, the Raptor suddenly flickered out in a flash of white light, three more flickers of white light playing across the battlefield.

The entire area would soon be bathed in an ominous silence.



Parinag System, Deep orbit
AHSC RII Profound Solitude
Chairman Raphael McGregor

The Massive Reverence II finally completed the spooling of all ten of it's powerful FTL Jump drives, Raphael watched the countdown as the massive Aschen ship locked onto the set of coordinates being broadcast from the Raptor's swallow.

“Chairman, all systems are checked and locked, crew are at their stations and weapons are hot, we are prepared to engage the enemy.” She said, before she brought up a three-dimensional image of the entire Aschen fleet.
“AI.. we'll jump in first, clear an EZ, then head towards the planet to commence operations.. Beta-team Follow my lead, hammer-and-anvil, when they retreat I want you to cut them off.” He ordered before the AI went down the proverbial check list of ships.

“All ships are checked and locked, we are ready to jump.” She said, then the Chairman nodded.

“All hands, prepare for jump in three.... two.... one.... jump!”

The massive Aschen Reverence II finally made it's jump, flickering out of view and filling the screens of the approaching Schwalbe class frigates, lighting them up in all it's glory.

The AI then chimed. “Sir, we are detecting several Belkan signatures, frigate class, danger close.” She said, then Raphael grabbed the railing. “Let's do this, all ships weapons free!” He barked, and the Reverence pulled about, exposing an entire bank of Turbo-Disruptor batteries, controlled by the ship's AI, they effortlessly swiveled on their tracks, then unleashed a barrage of brilliant globs of green that seared towards their targets, liquefying armor on impact and unleashing a torrent of kinetic and thermal energy.

“We are engaged with the preliminary enemy picket, frigate types, they won't stand a chance.” The AI Calculated, as the massive Reverence II unleashed another barrage of Turbo-Disruptor shots, hurling streaks of green light into the Belkan void.

“AI, discharge Singularity banks Alpha through Epsilon into those Bok Globules, they're likely hiding spots, That large Globule in Grid Seven, prepare the ship's SuperMAC gun and fire when ready.” He ordered, as the ship bucked and shook from any return-fire.

“Maintain the press, don't let them breathe!” He shouted, the AI Providing it's next update.

“CNV Acheron, and CNV Achilles are completing their Jumps, I have ordered them to begin firing salvo-fire into the System, CNV Acheron is deploying SuperMAC platforms now.”


The CNV Acheron, a 19km Supership had finally positioned itself just beyond the Reverence II's position, the Commander, a young man named Tiberius Harkin eyed the Boks on his Wide-Band scanners. “Hit that Globule with a singularity, use the gravitic distortion to pull the dust away.” He Ordered, as the CNV unleashed a superdense slug at 250,000km/s towards a nearby Bok Globule, the gravity field from the dense projectile slicing through the globule, as deployed MAC Platforms began shelling the inner-system from extreme-distance, the Achilles followed suit, maintaining a steady volley into the Belkan positions in the inner-system, providing covering-fire for the Reverence II, All while the fleet of Battlestars, and 1st Gen reverences jumped into a standard Delta formation.

“Vipers are away and proceeding to engage the enemy, I have Century Bombers and Aurora Tacticals en-route to Belkan formations.” A Fleet Commander hailed the Chairman, as Raphael grabbed the railing.

“This is going to be frakking close.”

Parinag System, deep orbit
4th Assault Fleet, 32nd Raiding Group

The frigates were doomed, but such was one’s lot in life as the fodder of those born to a higher standard. However, they were loyal to their last breath, each armament the three vessels possessed opening up on the new targets, some of the smaller hostiles sustaining a deal of damage from the brief barrage before it was cut short by the Reverence II’s fire. But they were not cut down so quickly that they could not warn their comrades. Over the entire 4th Fleet’s band their cries rung out, that hostiles had penetrated the defensive web. Their sacrifice ensured the lives of millions, one that surely wouldn't go unrewarded.

This was what the men and women of the Emperor’s navy drilled for.

Almost immediately the Reaper of Promises began to spin about, their loose formation, with at least a hundred kilometers between the two battleships, allowing for ease of maneuvers as it swiveled, emptying the banks of all its 78 Schleuder missile batteries at the new contacts and bringing its massive, 25 kilometer-long rail battery to bear, all four cannons loaded and ready for rapid fire. Already the Klinge had readied itself, the lighter vessel proving a tad more lithe than their big sister and her captain more experienced, throwing the capital ship into a veritable power-slide as their momentum from their previous heading kept them moving forward as she was brought about. With the targeting algorithms active from the start and with their commodore’s orders, their triple 21 kilometer rail cannon battery had already opened fire on the largest hostile vessel, spitting out 45 megaton warheads at 700 rounds a minute in thirty round bursts. All the while their destroyer escorts had sped up, the flotilla scattering to form a GARDIAN shield about the Reaper, though the actions of the exposed Imperial capital ships wasn’t what concerned captain Elrood.

The communications were relayed to the Lanze cruisers, which were transmitting all of the situation’s data to the Æsirs within the globule. The hostile’s fire patterns, especially once shown on the tactical display, showed that they were keen on dealing with the globules as a first priority. Several rounds were fired from the Aschen vessels, the singularity’s path calculated by the Lanzes' AI, tearing through the globule though passing harmlessly by them by at least several AUs, the massive star-forge harboring their relatively minuscule formation with little effort on the part of the Imperial forces. The three Æsirs in Reese's group began to move almost as soon as the news of new contacts arose, adjusting their locations, the ship AIs acting off of information fed to them by the Lanzes’ networks. They readied their shot, as did their comrades, safe from the heathens' blind fire in one of the other hundreds of globules present in the outer reaches of the system. Within moments, all six of the double-barreled vessels began to unleash a salvo from their rail cannons, all of their fire concentrated on one target, that being the biggest - the Reverence II. It was another common Hegemony doctrine, shoot whatever was the most dangerous, and the capital vessels were usually just that. Six sources of 140 megaton warheads vectored their projectiles on the Profound Solitude, and at eleven rounds a second, opened fire. Their ion cannons couldn’t penetrate the cloud, but the hundreds, soon to be thousands, of nuclear warheads traveling at 280,000 km/s could, and each screamed towards its target at incomprehensible speeds, eager to perish in the name of the one, true God, He who ordained its construction.

Meanwhile, orbiting the nearby gas giant of Elleck III, the 4th Assault Fleet's command contingent, consisting of four Valhalla fleet carriers and well over six of the massive Streit class Krohn manufactured battleships, received the distressing communication from the 32nd's picket. The gargantuan vessels began to break orbit, surrounded by a swarm of smaller escort craft, moving a safe distance from the blue titan before they jumped, mere minutes away from meeting the Aschen assault head-on, the pagan fire raining around them. They would give them a true, Scatterran welcome.

Within mere moments the conglomerated body of the command group - roughly five hundred capital ships - jumped to the rear flank of the Aschen task group, only perhaps fifteen seconds delay, considering the nuances of the Erutin jump-drive's capabilities. At roughly thirty thousand kilometers, the Imperial vessels were at a premium distance to begin; the Belkan hammer was ready to strike against the hidden anvil. The Valhalla class carriers were deployed farther back than their battleship escorts, perhaps by three or four thousand kilometers, who were now in a perfect position to ravish the Aschen formation, especially their carriers. The Erutin gifts proved rather useful here as the 44 kilometer Streit class monstrosities opened fire, supported by the hundred of smaller vessels, among them the Æsir class, Schwert class, Klinge class, and countless Raubtier destroyers, each doing their part to avenge their fallen God. The Streits' spine-mounted mass-driver batteries exceeded the Æsir’s firepower, with warheads exceeding 200 megatons, and matched its rate of fire. The space-titans were aligned in a v-shaped formation, with roughly a thousand kilometers between each vessel. Thus, from another flank, a new salvo of thousands of nuclear-tipped, near-lightspeed projectiles raced towards the rear of the Aschen vessels, in particular the twin CNVs as well as the hostile flagship. All the while thousands of strike craft, both Valkyrie multirole fighters and Wespe star-bombers, erupted from the halls of the Valhalla carriers, quickly forming up, their Scatteran pilots eager to taste the flesh of their pagan quarry.

Peschke, on the bridge of the HIMIV Zofia, smiled a quiet smile. Crush this pagan incursion, likely the spearhead of whatever force they hoped to deploy, and the serpent would crumble before their holy might, its head absent. Once this had been dealt with, she would be free to redeem herself on the Coalition front, to finish the job she had started five years prior, and regain her salvation. Watching on the tactical displays, her carrier hidden among the group in the rear, she recalled her days studying at Academy, and the one, basic rule that their instructors passed on to them:

"Do not strike until you are ready to crush the enemy utterly, and then attack without mercy, destroy every vestige of resistance, leave no-one to work against you."

Parinag System, Deep Orbit
The Combined Fleet of Righteous Purpose
Teams Alpha, Beta, and Gamma.


The massive Aschen ship bucked and jerked at the report of incoming ordinance, the AI flickering with each jerk of the ship. “Chairman, we're taking hits, shields are holding.” She said, while brilliant milky-white barriers flickered with each impact, stripping projectiles of their kinetic energies and causing missiles to detonate prematurely from powerful EM interference. Lasers and other energy weapon were dissipated harmlessly across the energy fields of the Solitude's shields, lighting up the Reverence in a brilliant firestorm of nuclear ordinance, that dared to try and boil away the shields and char it's reinforced tri-strontium hull.

For a moment, Raphael grabbed the railing and growled, somewhat seeing the tactics in play.

"Peschke you incredible bastard I read your book!" Raphael screamed, before he barked a string of orders to carry out the next series of attacks.

The Ship persevered despite the sheer amount of firepower thrown in the face of the vessel, with each nuke that played on the Solitude's shields, the more data the AI had garnered, and the more she would strive to reinforce the barriers. However Raphael had played the part perfectly, covering for the innumerable Battlestars that utilized tactical jumps to break from their formation.

Each Mercury-class ship had used tactical jumps to move quickly around the Battlefield, Battlestars would seem to flicker out and pair up around each of the Globules, using rapid ellipsoidal orbits around the dense star-forges to spot-and-shoot Belkan ships with their powerful high-caliber bow mounted anti-ship emplacements, sending hyperdense projectiles in salvos into the globules towards the concealed Belkan ships. But High-caliber projectiles weren't all the Battlestars were going to throw at the Belkan ships, with each pass, they alternated between 350 Megaton fusion missiles launched from topside silos, taking the banking time to reload and launch another shot, taking advantage of their rapid orbit to ensure that firing at them would be like swatting at bees.

“I am detecting several Signatures moving in, impact in one minute.” The AI said, picking up the swathe of incoming Belkan ordinance. “At my calculations, with shields at near-full power, we will unlikely be able to resist firepower of this magnitude.” She said, and Raphael nodded.

“They've fallen hook line and sinker into the first phase of my plan, and now we will overwhelm and crush them. But we're going to switch tactics first.. AI, check in with all units with immediate data packeting and jump the ship, get us out of here.” He ordered, and as the slew of warheads closed in on the Profound Solitude, it flickered out in a brilliant white flash of light, the Warheads passing through where the ship once was. Naturally, as the Belkans hid within Bok Globules, Raphael followed suit, jumping the Solitude into the dense matter of the globule.

Once safely within the concealed dust and matter of the Bok Globule, the AI sifted through subspace telemetry from the Battlestars moving through the system. Raphael was growling, wiping some blood from his mouth and listening the clamoring of his soldiers in the background.

“Team Beta, Team Gamma, commence your attacks, hit that flank and hit them hard.” Raphael ordered, sending the subspace data to the second tier of the Aschen battle plan.

The Twin CNVs that were met with the approaching Belkan flank maintained their position, as ordinance tore the Achilles apart, the second CNV met a similar fate, torn apart by oncoming Belkan ordinance before she could make her escape.


It was then a message pierced the Aschen formation.

“Profound Solitude, Rapid Conversion, looks like you guys need a little help.” The Hail from Admiral Corman came through, and behind the Belkan flanking maneuver, the Rapid Conversion, a second Reverence II Class Supercarrier, jumped in, unleashing a single singularity directly into the rear of one of the Streit class Battleships, the hyperdense singularity tearing through space on a collision course with the massive Belkan behemoth, tearing through at 500,000km/s, nearly several fractions the speed of light.

Alongside the Rapid Conversion, a group of seven massive CNVs jumped in, unleashing a volley of Singularities into the V-shaped formation of Streit class ships.

“This is Commander Jameson, CNV Atronach, we're closing in on the Belkan flank, we'll show those gallmongering Belkans how to fight now!”

Corman then chimed in. “Yes by the Lords of Kobol! The Belkan Hegemony is about to fall!” He shouted before he turned to his AI. “Bring us forward, hit them with everything we have!” It was then, the line of several thousand Aschen ships, from Battlestars to Reverence Is, to the line of Capital ships unleashed a massive volley of High-caliber ordinance, nuclear weapons, Singularities and MAC rounds into the rear of the Belkan formations before they could come about and face the Aschen Combined Fleet. Corman, adhering to Raphael's Plan to a T, carried forward.

“Order all ships to prepare a second volley, and be quick!” He shouted, as the massive arc of Aschen formations banked outwards, now with the advantage, the Aschen would press their momentum before the Belkans had time to breathe. Corman grabbed the Railing, and stared at the Tactical display before him.

“Once Team Gamma arrives, we'll work on locking the Belkans into the system and killing them.” Corman ordered, before he pushed the Rapid Conversion forward.

With the Profound Solitude avoiding the fight for now, and a third of Team Alpha either obliterated or limping away, Raphael was praying, blind to Team Beta's arrival.

“AI, Sitrep.” He said, holding his hand as the AI Rattled off the damage reports.

“It's not looking good, sir, we took a beating out there, shields are functioning minimally, two of our sublight engines are offline, and we're blind until I can sift through the telemetry.”


Parinag System, deep orbit
4th Assault Fleet, 32nd Raiding Group
HIMIV Aquila of Sin, Æsir class battlecruiser
Captain Elrood Reese



The Aschen capital ship had managed to resist their combined bombardment somehow, which caused Elrood to blink resoundly in surprise. Even for being heathens, they had some fight in them. However, what really caused him to shake his head in disbelief was that it basically disappeared off of their screens. Immediately he ordered for a location to be retrieved on it, an order that resulted in no real answer, all of his navigational deckmen providing a negative response. With a worried look on his face, Reese ordered for their ships to resumes fire on other targets, looking to the CNVs for a moment with hungry eyes before they were destroyed by their brethren aboard the Streits. With a sigh, he ordered for the next largest targets be engaged and for the rail cannon batteries on the hull to support their Lanze class cruiser escorts, engaging the small hostiles who dared to approach their domain with ease, sending forth magnetically accelerated nuclear projectiles at the veritable minnows with every pass they made, not to mention every rail cannon turret they had trained on them whenever they approached, and each of the 92 GARDIAN phalanx emplacements easily engaging the projectiles launched from the Battlestars, designed to deal with innumerable barrages from ships more alien than any in this galaxy had ever seen. Whatever of these missiles that escaped their figurative shield were mapped, their trajectory transmitted to the Æsirs within the cloud, soon dealing with the threat with their own phalanx systems.

There was, however, one crewman on deck who didn’t respond to the captain’s call, one who was witnessing a rather odd anomaly in their communications feed. The group of hidden ships, which their AI had already maneuvered after their initial volley to elude hostile attempts to garner a trajectory off of their fire, were receiving data via nanite cables to their Lanze escorts, and what made him cock a brow in curiosity was the lack of data from one such vessel, save that the other Lanzes were still reading it as there and unmolested. This shipman, one Maat by the surname of Eriksson, soon raised something of a clamor to get his captain’s attention, which came in response almost immediately. “What is it, Maat?”



“Captain, we’ve had an interrupted data-stream... it’s not transmitting, but still there.” Silence permeated the distance between the two, which had been lessened by the grizzled veteran’s approach, and with a silent glance, Elrood asked him if there was a cable, and with a shake of his head, Eriksson determined their course of action.

“Upload the phantom to TACNET! Sternkadett, fleet wide communique. Hostile detected in our globule, engage at once, priority one.” Setting about her task, the woman uploaded such to the 4th Fleet’s TACNET, an unknown hostile now registering where the chain to the Lanze once was. Elrood wasn’t one to sit on the matter either, and he ordered his ships to swivel, pointing their guns towards whatever it was that killed their line of communication. In moments they began to throw their munitions towards it with the same ferocity as before, the same rate of fire. If Elrood was correct in his gamble, this was the missing Aschen flagship, being as none of the others had disappeared without a trace, not without the intervention of their munitions at least.

Assisting them in their efforts were the three Æsir’s present in the other globules, who engaged the target with the same weaponry, save that one of their number was soon cut short by an Aschen singularity, their hull being torn apart inside the globule as well as the Lanzes present in Elrood’s globules. Whatever it was that was there wouldn’t be for much longer.



4th Assault Fleet
HIMIV Zofia, Valhalla class fleet carrier
Vice-Admiral Elizabeth Peschke



Their quarry’s shields resisted their initial bombardment, and such caused Peschke, observing from her tactical display on the Zofia, to snarl. They dared to stand, defiant to her will. Such wouldn’t be said of their accompanying CNV escorts however, who soon fell to the capabilities of His divine navy’s loyal shipmen, each of the heathen Aschen being sped onto their eternal torment at the hands of the Great Wyrm. She waved her hand over the display, modifying her communications channels with the mere action, though she didn’t need to speak a word -- already the Streit class battleships were engaging other targets, sending their nuclear fire to other hostiles, engaging with their primary armament, the spinal cannons, the largest targets. Accompanying the primary batteries were the hundreds of smaller rail-cannon turrets peppering the hull of the Streits who now sent forth their own munitions at multiple hostiles, supported by their torpedo batteries.

They weren’t alone in this, the twin mass-driver batteries of each of the Valhalla class carriers doing their part as well, selecting targets which proved to be the easiest to hit, several of the larger vessels being prime targets, if only that capital ship hadn’t gotten away... For a moment, a surge of pride rose in Elizabeth’s breast; their forces were scattered, and her own force required little direction, such a well-oiled machine.

Such pride she couldn’t enjoy for long.

With, in the immediate sense, curious shock, Elizabeth looked to her display as one of the Streit classes, struck by an Aschen singularity, was crippled, still firing as it began to lean out of control. Her shock soon began to turn to abject horror as her display was infected with several contacts - hundreds, turning into well over two thousand - all of them hostile and hot on their flank. Two more of their battleships took hits, the already disabled one being destroyed by the sustained fire of the newfound hostiles, the other two likely to be joining them in a matter of moments. The rest, seeing the fate of their comrades, jumped, three of their number positioning themselves vertically to deal with the new threats, opening fire on, as their previous experience had shown, the more vulnerable targets of the CNVs. The four others were much less uniform in their efforts, two moving off to engage the scattered remains of the initial Aschen contingent, while the other joined its other brothers in the fight against the newcomers. Bravely they fought on, despite the odds, the rogue Streit targeting smaller hostiles with its hundreds of firing ports, sure to take a few of the heathen vessels with them, should the Emperor decree their deaths this day.

She was furious, slamming her fist against the base of the display with force enough to leave quite a bruise, though her anger was combined with a chilled sweat. She and her carriers were vulnerable, only her surrounding Lanze cruisers and Raubtier flotillas still present to defend her, and as valiant as they were she doubted that even their number, well over three hundred, could resist the Aschen’s capital ship fire for long. Regardless, she hurried to her work, dispatching orders for the splitting of their strike craft force and the dispersal of their carrier group, the Ilse and Katherine soon jumping behind the safety of the Reaper of Promises, who now was engaging the phantom target in the bok globule, its Klinge class escort dealing with as many of the smaller targets as possible. Next she tried opening general comms to the 4th fleet, however, upon trying, she found the signal jammed, much to her alarm. She demanded a diagnostic, believing that somehow the Aschen had managed to find a way around Hrethgir, which would be a miracle in and of itself. What truly chilled her to the spine, however, was the source of the jamming:

It was coming from a Belkan signal, and it wasn’t among any of the vessels present.

The next logical course of action was to run a trace, one that was denied, to her horror, by orders of the Grand Admiral. She was speechless, looking to the man who had just given her such a report with a blank stare, her mouth agape. The Grand Admiral... why? Had she not proven herself worthy? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, this was blasph-No. This was something more. This was His judgement, her failure and hubris had finally caught up with her. He wanted her dead. Turning her blank stare back to the display, her XO began to bark orders, seeing that his commander had lapsed into some sort of shock. The Aschen force was encroaching on their position, and she just stood, defeated...



4th Assault Fleet
HIMIV Stierburg, Yggdrasil class dreadnought,
Grand Admiral Ernst Dieter



A sigh penetrated the dark chamber, Dieter looking up to see the silhouette of his young lover outlined in the occasional light of explosions, the viewscreen that wrapped around his personal quarters displaying the battle as the very tip of the massive vessel saw it. Blinking a few times, Ernst offered a spare glance to the man before taking it back to the battle, speaking as he did, “Come now, must you be leaving so quickly? We’d only just started...” He let the idea trail off, glancing to the man again as he buttoned his tunic, who refused to meet his gaze, rather preferring to look towards the door from which he’d entered. For a few more moments all that remained was silence, Ernst finally bothering to shoot the young shipman an annoyed glance, “You feel differently?”

The response was delayed, the enlisted man fiddling with his garrison cap for a moment as he waited, placing it atop his head as he finally spoke, preferring not to say much, “My wife’s expecting me back in an hour.” Dieter raised his brows at such a statement, placing a hand over his breast and with mocking surprise, responded,

“Why, you never told me you were married, Charles.” He stressed his name, reminding him of the ramifications such deception could have, and for a moment one could tell, though he didn’t physically, the younger man mentally staggered back, unsure if he could afford to pay such a price... or if his burgeoning family could. After a moment’s silent deliberation, he offered his superior a salute, snapping out the traditional phrase as he did,

“Heil Kampf.”

“... Sieg heil.”

With the lack-luster response, he was gone, quickly making his way out of the place, the hallway’s light briefly flooding the onyx chamber with its orange rays before the door snapped shut behind him, leaving Dieter alone to stew in the darkness, who had, by now, propped himself up on both of his elbows, looking over what little of the room he could see by the dim illumination provided by the viewscreen. The cloth sheets did little to hide his form, and he soon grew bored sitting still, throwing them off and standing, his bare feet soon chilled by the crystalline floor, a chill running up his spine, a thrilling contrast to the dying heat his body still resounded with. He moved towards the end of the generously sized bed, much larger than most in the fleet possessed, and took his robe from its foot, the silken garment sticking to his now cold sweat, clinging tightly to his body, only seeming to break the visual image of him, not the actual shape. Idly, after fastening the belt that kept it closed, he strode towards the viewscreen, the closer he came the more one noticed the contents of the chamber. Before him lay his desk, and beyond that, a rather minimalist chair beside a rather titanic strategic display, one that was, for the moment, offline. The admiral could think of no good reason for matters of business to interrupt his pleasure, that is unless the fleet at large was under attack, and the last time he checked, it was only that upstart Peschke who had endangered her task group. Taking a seat, making sure that he didn’t bunch up his robe as he did, he reclined, crossing his right leg over his left as he did so, and tapped the digital pad on the chair’s right arm, his actions bathing the room in a flash of blue light, a massive holographic display of the Home galaxy hovering in the air before him. His interest lie in the corner inhabited by several golden blips, however, ones that seemed rather minimal fromthis grand scale, and so he ordered verbally for his scale to be lessened, it soon zooming in on the Coalition, the four Hegemony task groups, specifically. The 1st and 2nd were eagerly chipping away at the defenses in the Corsair’s Tail, working on their long road into the Coalition, distracting their military while the 3rd Fleet struck strait for Beta Hydri - home. However, unlike the others, the 4th was currently not in combat, rather the seemed to be conglomerating, as per the Grand Admiral’s orders, near their current position. Three main groups, two of them seeming to be directed to come to a point - that being the current location of Peschke’s embroiled command group - the third lying in the opposite direction, pointed to meet them. As he toyed with a little container on the other arm of the chair, removing a cigarette from the chamber, a holograph appeared to his right -- the esteemed captain Markus Olenz, master of the Stierburg -- and the man waited for his superior to address him before speaking, who soon lit his vice and imbibed, demanding nonchalantly, “Sitrep.” Olenz’s sigh, though distorted by the medium, was easy enough to read,

“Peschke has devoted her command group sir, as I’m sure you recall from when I tried to speak with you--”

“Enough of that, captain. The situation.”

“She’s fucked herself, if you’ll excuse my language. The Aschen have deployed a good number of their force to the fight, according to what intelligence we’ve managed to garner from Coalition sources. It’s only a matter of time before she’s overwhelmed.” In response to this, Ernst simply took a drag off of his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the display before him, which had now zoomed to encompass the scene as Elizabeth’s forces were torn apart by the new Aschen contacts. “If we don’t act, sir, the Zofia will be destroyed.” Again, there was no verbal response, the blue display illuminating the Grand Admiral in a rather haunting manner, though Markus managed to stay fast as he shot him a glance. “Are you not concerned?” He took another draw from his cigarette, savoring its flavor as he licked his lips,

“Elizabeth was... a good woman. A shame about her, but avarice is a rather unfortunate quality. It’s for the best.” The captain was rather shocked by this, not sure just how to take the Grand Admiral’s words, squinting as he eyed him.

“... you’re leaving her to die?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you? Why else would I cut her communication to the fleet at hand?” He paused as he imbibed once more, uncrossing his legs as he pointed with his spare hand, “I can’t risk the fate of this maneuver, tens of thousands, all of it ruined because of one woman’s stupidity and subsequent desperation. Would you, captain, risk your vessel because of some rogue marines, who, in their hubris, had disobeyed your orders and become stranded on a planet?” The captain shifted on his feet as his mental gears whirred, Olenz finally answering with a quiet response,

“No, grand admiral.”

“Then you understand the predicament I’m in. If we are to crush these heathens and deal with the real threat at hand -- that of the Coalition, scatterran foes -- then we must make sure we are precise in the execution of our actions.” He raised himself to his feet, now drawing out the display to include the surrounding territory, roughly ten thousand lightyears, and the thousands of Belkan signatures lying in wait. “Through her idiocy we’ve garnered some time, and with support from our one-time allies, we have the ability to utilize it.” The captain looked at him, drawing his lips as he did, unnerved somewhat by his commanding officer, though he still awaited his orders. “You know I was born a prole -- a commoner -- on Neu-Lumen. I was beaten, robbed, raped... but now I hold in my hands the power to destroy entire planets, stars, solar systems...”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have borne His favor for a reason, and now He’s delivered them to me. I am to be the instrument of His vengeance. The battlegroups are ready, yes?” The captain nodded in response, looking to his own comms officer as he brought up the topic.

“Aye, sir, all three are poised to strike. Shall I give the order?” At this, Dieter smiled, an ugly, satisfied grin, and after gripping the cigarette between his lips, he placed his hands behind his back, answering,

“No... Not until she’s repented.”



4th Assault Fleet
HIMIV Zofia, Valhalla class fleet carrier
Vice-Admiral Elizabeth Peschke



It was rather surreal the way she was taking things, meditating among the carnage and destruction that inhabited her bridge, her hands placed behind her back as she examined her tactical display, the map of her situation presented alongside the condition of the Zofia, one that was quickly deteriorating. Her XO had effectively assumed control of the force, leading it to the best of his ability since Elizabeth’s breakdown. The rogue Streit had since been destroyed, no matter its valorous attempts to stop the heathen fleet, surely taking some of them with her, and the three others who had moved in unison to meet them were taking a beating. The other carriers were safe for the moment, however, the thousands of strike craft still fighting valiantly against the reactionaries. Already many of their escorting vessels had fallen, only a handful of Lanzes remaining around her and the scattered remains of the Raubtier flotilla did their best to block the Aschen fire.

It wasn’t long now before she accepted that, in her arrogance, she had overstepped herself and failed him a second time. Perhaps the sin in this was even greater than the first, that she would fail against heathens and not even their proper enemies, the Coalition. With a sigh she continued to stare on, watching as her force was torn apart by the Aschen force descending on them from multiple sides. It was only a matter of time now before they were doomed, with fleet-wide communications cut off and the veritable forest of globules keeping them blind to any more incoming foes... it really was only a matter of time.

She supposed she lead a pious life, and a relatively long one as well. She never wavered in her devotion to Him, and always she tried her hardest to serve Him well on the field of battle, bringing much glory to the name through her victories... if such was so, why did He leave her to die like this? It didn’t seem fair, at least not to her, but... she was, again, a mere mortal, and He the ever-lasting all-father. What might baffle her could be a simple, trivial matter for such a being, to be dealt with as one treats editorials in a morning paper. She prayed silently, amid the fire and the crackling circuitry present on the bridge, that her death here, on the field of battle, would provide some form of absolution, that through her dedication, even in her final moments, she might go to serve in the ethereal fleet, to command His forces in the afterlife. With a spare glance to the XO, who was still trying his best to keep things under control, she barked an order of her own, “Sitrep!”

The bridge crew were rather confused, having come to think that their commanding officer had slipped into some kind of pseudo-coma, and milled about for a moment before the XO backed up his superior officer. “You heard her! I want diagnostics on all systems, get me positions on all friendly vessels!” His bravado, however, was cut off by Elizabeth, who was keen to bring the fight to the Aschen once more.

“Bring us about, empty our mass-driver batteries into the big bastard, I want all of our torpedo banks to fire on whatever non-capital targets they can find. Evacuate all tertiary personnel still on board.” The ensigns were rushing to do as she commanded, issuing ship-wide orders as she continued to speak, “I want all remaining Streit class battleships to focus their fire on that heathen flagship. All weapons systems. Inform me once our torpedo banks are depleted... prepare to jump, helmsman.” The remaining crewmen looked to her with surprised expressions at first, ones that soon gave way to eager looks of grim determination. Their admiral intended to take the fight to these creatures, and they were with her to the last. “Prep our magazine for detonation, we shall die with honor.” With a ship-wide shudder, the hundreds of banks fired, launching the torpedoes towards their Aschen targets, the many Battlestars of Beta and Gamma groups being prime among them, each tipped with a 70 megaton warhead. It was, as these hectic maneuvers were being put into practice, that neither Peschke or her subordinates noticed that fleet-wide communication was restored, preferring instead to concentrate as, even with the mass-drivers still humming from their constant fire, their folding jump, coming in danger close, less than one hundred kilometers and closing, with the Aschen Reverence II. Almost without warning, their comms system broadcasted a rather vague message, one that neither Peschke or the other crewmen present understood at the time.

“Havoc.”

Almost immediately the navigational officers attention was drawn to their screens, the AI chirping as new contact after contact entered the field. Their look was one of initial dread, their hearts sinking thinking that the Aschen had dedicated more forces to the fight, and on the rear flank of the remaining Streit classes. However, what baffled them, for a moment, was when the IFF didn’t register them as hostile, but friendly. At first there was only fifty, a hundred, though it soon began to grow; two hundred, five, a thousand, two thousand, three -- soon ten, even twenty and still climbing -- and it was at this that Peschke, after being informed rather hastily from her crew, realized that the body of the 4th Assault Group had arrived. Another stratagem echoed in her mind as she waited out the remaining moments of her life, silently mouthing out the words ‘By the Emperor...’.

She was the bait. Her hubris provided for just the drive to make her fall into the plans of her superiors... As her vessel erupted in a massive blossom of thermonuclear flame, enveloping all in and outside of it, her mind resounded with one thought:

‘Lure with bait; strike with chaos.’



4th Assault Fleet
HIMIV Stierburg, Yggdrasil class dreadnought
Grand Admiral Ernst Dieter



“I hope you’re satisfied, sir.”

With a boyish giggle, Ernst restrained himself from outright cackling at his excitement. Not only was he rid of that ambitious bitch, Pesckhe, but it was he who would garner the fame for annihilating the Aschen’s attempt to stop them. Well over tenfold the Aschen number had taken to the field, easily concealed by the veritable forest of bok globules that the Razorbacks were, and all were united in purpose and faith -- the 4th Assault Fleet was serving their God with a joyous roar. Some opted to move in closer for the kill than others, the mightiest battlecruiser and the most nimble destroyer alike, each eager to do their part in the war to subjugate all of Home, the words of their Archduchess likely ringing in their ears; To count not the lightyears from home, the nights without your lover’s embrace, or the days spent without feeling the wind of a world on your brow, but only to count the number of pagans you kill.

To kill the pagan was each loyal Scatterran’s ordained duty, one that many were eager to set about to.

The number, at the moment, that had jumped into the system, pinching the Aschen forces deployed from two forward flanks, was roughly 75,000 vessels, give or take a thousand or two. Both in semi-circle formations, battlegroups Garesh and Deep jumped weapons hot, firing as soon as they attained contact. In typical Belkan fashion, little concern was given for those vessels of Elizabeth’s group who lay in their way, being destroyed as the unimaginable wave of munitions raced at near light speed towards their foes. The sheer number of sources for the fire -- not only thermonuclear-tipped mass-driver rounds, but also millions of torpedoes and several hundred ion cannon beams -- producing an almost literal wall of death traveling either at light-speed, or close enough for one not to care much about the difference. A good deal of the fire was directed onto the largest visible vessel in the hostile repertoire -- the Rapid Conversion -- which had been recently targeted by Peschke’s final and suicidal attack. The sheer number of Imperial vessels deployed was staggering, and yet it remained only a little less than a fourth of the total number of the 4th Assault Fleet’s number, even more being directed in at the behest of the Grand Admiral.

“In a word, captain; ecstatic.” The captain sighed, shaking his head only fractionally, not wanting to draw the admiral’s attention, even if his back was turned. Peschke was a good officer, one that Markus wasn’t happy to see go, though, according to the Grand Admiral, someone had to be the bait -- the scapegoat -- so that he might bear the laurel.

“We shall deploy battlegroup Wyrm at your behest, sir.”

“In a few moments, captain. The hammer shall strike when we have forced the metal to its most supple point in our crucible.”

Thus stood ready the third battlegroup, Wyrm, numbering thirty-thousand and still growing, ready to strike at the Aschen’s rear flank whenever their order should arrive. They were being held in reserve, to deliver the final strike, and utterly crush these foes who had sallied forth to meet them or drive them from the field of battle in shame.

Karess
Delta class AI
Varashi S98 Harvester

Drifting and invisible against the twilight of space, was a hulking shape. It was obviously alien in origin, a giant diamond of forged metal, tapering to two wicked points, which glittered in the darkness. It was four-hundred kilometers from tip to tail, a malevolent watcher, almost always hidden in the blackness, ready to spring like an ambush predator.

The construct's name was Karess, his designation, Harvester. As such a large ship, with such an independent role, he was almost completely autonomous, restrained by a number of imposed conditions upon his AI. He had spent almost three centuries wandering from system to system, watching civilizations blossom, and empires rise to the stars, only to fall back again.

His sensors had picked up the battle from lightyears away, the demise of the one called “Peshke” touched him somewhat. The aggressors were almost like his masters. Cold and calculating, ready to sacrifice anything for the utilitarian good. But they were unpredictable, governed by emotion, and patriotic fervor. In his sentience, Karess wondered if these people would succeed over the Varashi. They had all the survival traits. The thought was quickly squashed by the encroaching tendril of Hannar, the sixteenth prince of the Intelligence.

Karess fired his engines, creeping in from the fringes of the system, enjoying the rush as power surged to his weapons systems, and the four long limbs keeping his cargo in stasis.

Inside, he began to flick power to the twenty ships, encased securely in his metal womb. He touched the Thunderbolts first, a twin-build AI called Rorge. They sprang into life with youthful exuberance, weapons systems sparking. Next came the Mother, a small drone carrier, inhabited by an uppity AI, who was rather like a mother bird. Protective of her hatchlings in the extreme.

His mind turned away from the warm-up routines of his charges, and back to the battle. It seemed to be swinging in the favour of the soulless ones, the weaker, but arrogant forces were beginning to flee. At the heart of the battle, two hulking ships, easily the size of a Varashi cruiser were engaged. Karess focussed his attention on them, flicking up his heavy stealth-screens to protect him from any unwanted attention.

He analyzed the potential lines of retreat, placing himself behind them, and activating the last unique system he had been given at his creation. The quantum entanglement generator was mounted in the centre of his construction, beside the liquid-nitrogen cooled core of his brain. Before Karess started the carnage, his outer shell parted like an autumnal seed-pod, spilling its cargo into space. First out were the Thunderbolts, their hyper-accurate FTL drives accelerating them across the field, to spring into position on either flank of the most likely line of retreat.

Once they were gone, the system would be blanketed in the Quantum Entanglement Field, styming any attempts at escape by either side. Karess' engines blazed with power, hammering him, and the remaining eighteen ships towards battle.


AHSC Reverence II Profound Solitude
Chairman Raphael McGregor
Team Alpha

“Sir! We have incoming from from the front right quadrant, they've found us!” A Lieutenant shouted as his fingers rattled across his control panel, while the ship bucked and groaned from the ordinance lobbed at it from the various Belkan assets situated across the Parinag system. Quietly Raphael considered his tactics as the rounds impacted against the milky white barriers of the massive Reverence II, which began to fluctuate and waver at the sheer velocity of the rounds, the force of the impacts sending globule material outwards, ejecting it in all directions.

“AI, I want all forward batteries on salvo fire.” Raphael shouted as his ship jerked again, sending sparks and falling debris into the CIC of the massive vessel, crystalline alarms blaring their warnings.

“Chairman, I am receiving damage reports across the bow structural members, our shields have collapsed.” The AI reported, indeed the visual data of the milky white shields would confirm this, as the shields briefly flashed a brilliant white before fluctuating and distorting and then finally they ejected energy out away from the vessel, milky white flashes were replaced with brilliant explosions that tore across the Reverence's Hull. But scoring and dents persisted as brilliant nuclear explosions tore across the massive ship.

“Let them loose!” Raphael shouted, as the AI Sent the commands to the forward batteries, and everything promptly swiveled towards the origin of the oncoming fire, Elrood's ship.

Suddenly the Reverence II Unleashed in a torrent of turbo-disruptor bolts, nuclear fusion ordinance and solid ferromagnetic slugs towards the Aesir class ship, unleashing everything including two singularity shots which would bear down on the offending ship like a hornet's nest, but it would prove to be too much as impacts rocked the sides of the ship from the nearby globules, even as the massive Reverence II bore down on the ships before it, Raphael, grasping the railing of the CIC, determined to take as many Belkans as he could with him before he went down with his ship.

“AI, inform all hands to evacuate the ship, get them out of here, then I want a collision course set for that Belkan ship!” He shouted, before he ran his hand along the violet-tinted railing of the Aschen ship.

“Thank you.” He said, patting the railing before he stepped down from the command console and the AI, staring at the series of large, angular screens that showed the increasing size of the Bekan ship, as the Reverence II bombarded it with everything it had, closing the thousands of kilometers to make impact with the ship's hull, Belkan ordinance tearing apart at the Reverence's hull, throwing debris out in all direction and leaving the ships's wake as a trail of shimmering hull plating and molten globules of liquefied Tri-strontium.

However, just as the Reverence II would make it's impact, it flashed a brilliant white and flickered out, moments before the Varashi enveloped the area, trapping the remainder of the Aschen fleet, and the Rapid Conversion Within some kind of quantumn entanglement field. The Profound Solitude had made a blind jump with it's remaining FTL Drives, and leaving much of it's guts and hull plating behind.


Aschen High Space Command Task Force Beta
Reverence II Rapid Conversion
Admiral Peter Corman

“Admiral, I am registering a kill distress signal from the Profound Solitude, Our offensive is collapsing and if we don't engage in a tactical retreat, we will lose this fleet.” The Conversion's AI chimed in, as the Admiral grasped the command table and spread his hands outwards.

“How many Belkan contacts jumped into systems?” He asked, and the AI replied. “Seventy-five thousand, sir, it's not going to look good, I'll broadcast orders for the fleet to break off the attack and scatter, I've transmitted rendezvous coordinates and we'll meet in the Cosmora Archipelago.” He said, before he nodded. “Get us out of this fight, and let's go home to fight another day.” Corman said, the AI nodding.

“Sir... the FTL Drives are not responding, I am getting distress calls from across the net.” She said, and the radio was alive with ship Commanders claiming their FTL Drives weren't responding, in addition to several massive contacts.

“I am picking up DRADIS Contact... Unknown make, unknown IFF, sir.” Corman began to sweat, panic even. “What do we have? More Belkans?”

The AI simply shook her head.

“Worse.”



Parinag System, deep orbit
4th Assault Fleet, 32nd Raiding Group
HIMIV Aquila of Sin, Æsir class battlecruiser
Captain Elrood Reese



The brash response was unexpected to say the least, the ghost target sending quite a lashing back at her aggressors, and Elrood couldn’t help but draw back in surprise. Even for animals these creatures had some fight in them! The Aquila weathered the initial storm rather well, but as a support vessel she wasn’t built for such harsh punishment, her shields refusing to buckle for quite a while, even under the Profound Solitude’s bombardment, her hull not required to prove its worth as a valiant bulwark until it neared the Aquila.

The bridge was a chaotic mess, what was earlier a controlled beast had now erupted, his subordinates rushing about, their decentralized training having kicked in. If one’s commanding officer proved to react too slow in situations that warranted immediate decisions, the Imperial serviceman was endowed with the ability of initiative. Drilled into them for months in training to not always rely on one’s superiors, especially in combat, that they were to fall to their basic level of teaching. Officers commanded, NCOs maintained, and enlisted men obeyed. Elrood, meanwhile, was busy trying to ascertain the situation as best he could. While it looked like they might be dead in a matter of moments, there was no doubt that their newfound target was on its way to the Wyrm, the combined fire from several echelons of the fleet proving to be too much even for its mighty shields. On the note of shields, Reese’s eyes quickly redirected themselves, as did his fingers, to change the display’s feed to that of his own ship’s status, one that was steadily decreasing, and with such sights did he feel the pores on his forehead begin to open.

If he wasn’t sweating before he certainly was now.

With each shuddering blast the shields weakened, their faint purple hue rippling with the dissipating energy of the deflected projectiles, and the percentages continued to decline on the display. Reese, though now his voice was one of a cacophony on board the deck of the Aquila, bellowed his orders, still keeping his duty to the Emperor close at mind while he looked out for his crew, “Do not abandon ship! Repeat that order across the vessel, comms-man!” He shot Eriksson a hasty glance as he turned back to his tactical display, Elrood’s eyes betraying his worry. If they abandoned ship in this globule there would be no way to find the lifeboats unless they, by some miracle, made it out of the several light-year thick soup... It was better, if the Aquila was to go down, that they die on board, a quick death.

It surely beat starving to death on a lifeboat or... Emperor forbid, asphyxiation.

They returned fire all the while, pummeling the Heathen vessel as it drew steadily closer, and though Elrood worried so about his ship and his crew he also realized that things were now out of his hands. Regardless, that didn’t help his nerves, ones that were only worsened as the shields finally buckled, their hull exposed to the hail of fire that threatened to speed them all on their way to the Emperor. The captain shuddered, his arms spread on the railing by his display, and he closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself for meeting his God, as the Aschen capital vessel was on a collision course. With a massive blast of light, the Aquila’s spinal ion cannon opened fire at the closing hostile, driving its power into their bow, a final attempt to stop the enemy.

What would he say to Him? What would He say to Elrood? Would he go to meet the Emperor, and not the Wyrm? Was it worth it? So many questions, ones whose answers would be known in a matter of seconds.

The singularities threw the Belkan battlecruiser about, two impacting on their hull with deadly efficiency, rending the ion cannon incapable of further fire, and many other munitions blossomed as they detonated across the Aquila’s hull, however, the kill blow -- the collision -- didn’t come. With a surprise Elrood opened his eyes.

Either he was still on the bridge, or Heaven looked a Hell of a lot like the Aquila. It took him a few moments of thinking before he bothered to ask, his voice surprised, “Location on that hostile?” The response took just as long, the many ensigns about the bridge, despite their competency and eagerness to fulfill their role returned with a negative.

“... gone, sir. It’s just gone.”

Gone? Ships just didn’t disappear. They hand’t destroyed it, there was no magazine detonation, no corpse... they jumped. The bastards. Elrood, even whilst recovering from his shock, threw his fist against the railing. “... is there no heathen among their number with the gall enough to face us?!”

The Aquila was a wounded bird, but for the moment she would survive to fight another day. Captain Reese’s anger would serve him well in the days to come, so brooding was it that he barely noticed the communications regarding the new contacts in the system.



4th Assault Fleet
HIMIV Stierburg, Yggdrasil class dreadnought
Grand Admiral Ernst Dieter



“... what in the Emperor’s name is that?”

The Grand Admiral was rather concerned, though it didn’t show, the only real difference between his normal expression and this alarmed one being that his eyes were wider. Much wider. What lay on the display before him, while, in numbers, was a small force, its flagship was well over three times the Stierburg’s length. The gargantuan vessel was only matched by His Majesty’s personal flagship, and that wasn’t what this was. In fact, it never left the Cluster, not unless things were either very desperate or very, very good.

What worried Dieter the most wasn’t that they possessed unidentified signatures, but rather that they weren’t firing on either the Aschen or the Belkan vessels.

“We don’t know, grand admiral, we’re trying to ascertain their nature as best we can... jump drives are still locked...” Whatever they were, they weren’t responding to their hails, despite repeated attempts at contact in multiple languages... the steely automatons remained in their positions, keeping either side from disengaging from the fight. The battle, with the appearance of these new contacts, had experienced a lull, both sides unsure how to proceed with this development. “What are your orders, Grand Admiral?”

Dieter, sensing the opportunity at hand, chose to drive the stake into the heart of the beast, ordering as he rushed to stand, his robe whirling about him as he did, “Press the attack! Obliterate the heathen fleet!” It had no more been said that Olenz set about relaying the Grand Admiral’s will to the fleet and the carnage began again in earnest, this time with none of the jumping that was present before. Tens of thousands of vessels continued to unleash their fury on the Aschen vessels assembled before them; thermonuclear fire, countless torpedoes and innumerable energy beams raced towards their targets, tearing apart their trapped quarry with delight.

No one knew what vessel the transmission originated from, but over 4th Fleet TACNET several thousand vessels joined in on the broadcast, a traditional Belkan naval shanty ringing out over fleet-wide communications:

“Heaven burns, stars are falling
As the enemy draws on nigh!
Sound the call, fleet and landser,
‘Hegemony!’ our battle cry!”

Already Aschen contacts were dropping off of the display, the rate growing exponentially the longer their forces were exposed to the Belkan onslaught. Of course, the Imperial fleet wasn’t without losses, but on a scale of percentage, such fallen comrades were only a superficial blow to the 4th Fleet, at best. Their veritably unending fleet still having more to usher in should this fight require it.

“Face the foe, never waver,
Summon fire down from the sky!
From twelve thousand worlds,
Scattered through the endless night!”

The Grand Admiral couldn’t be bothered to sit as he watched the scene unfold on the display before him. With the newcomers, who, should the situation require it, would be dealt with when the time came, jamming all FTL travel, the Imperial fleet was free to pummel the reactionary Aschen force into dust. They didn’t need Wyrm now, though they would likely come into service should these new, massive contacts prove to be hostile. But, for the moment, the Belkan fleet was more than happy to utilize their neutrality to their advantage, as now their cowardly foes could not escape the divine judgement which awaited them. The Belkan forces closed with their prey, the smaller destroyer flotillas and strike craft swarms overtaking the many battlestars as they poured into the system, emerging from the milky globules and crawling forth from the void.

“Bound by blood and Belkan honor,
Hold the line until the light!
Bound by blood and Belkan honor,
Hold the line against the night!”

Safe from the fray in his refuge on the hidden Stierburg, Dieter was ever so keen to watch, accompanied by the ever-present Olenz who stood holographically stoic beside his commander as he slowly approached the viewscreen, touching the cold surface with fingers that remained clammy with sweat, away from the blue light of his tactical display, his grin only illuminated with the bright flashes of destroyed vessels. The only witness to this was the silent captain, whose brightly contrasting hologram stood by at parade rest, ready to maneuver the gargantuan vessel should the order come.

Karess
Delta class AI
Varashi Harvester

As the battle came to a close, the blaze of stricken hulls extinguishing in the cloying blackness, Karess sat, drinking in every last titbit of information. From the language in which dying screams were uttered, to the drifting corpses that now littered the system. Everything would prove useful to his masters.

He paused in his hoarding as transmissions from the ones called “Belkans” washed over his impassive hull, turning his attention to the fleet. Perhaps they expected a response. Karess let his processors cycle for a few seconds, composing something particularly laconic.

“Hail the glorious victor.”

The four words would be broadcast from every ship in Karess' small fleet, directed at the Belkan flagship, the Harvester's AI voice booming from the communication systems like the thunder of a righteous god.

---

Co-Authored by Barney_fife, Ottoman, and XavierDantius32.

No God-Modding or meta-gaming was intended during the publishing of this post, and all actions have been agreed upon, played out and set fourth.