Elizabeth Peschke's Story

Liese Redwing nodded solemnly as the leutnant manning comms informed her and the captain of the vessel of the situation. Threats? Cute. A predictable response, one that was expected, though Redwing made sure that she was to speak with whoever it was who had contacted them. Once the appropriate action had been taken and the line was established, she responded slowly, "Be... at peace, we come not to conquer, lest you would already know such." Smirking, she continued, "We come to talk."

"As for the matter regarding the Coalition, such is not news. The Hegemony has endured a state of war with the coalition for over four centuries." Why she had to speak to these barbarians she knew not, however the will of the Emperor was not one to be disregarded, even considering her position, and as he commanded, she obeyed. For the moment they would await their reply, whether they'd attempt their petty assault or not was yet to be seen.

The region was, for the most part, secured now in the wake of the Aschen's pathetic attempt at interdiction, and such individuals as Commodore Birkhahn were free to go about what their hearts truly desired -- to wipe the Coalition, that conglomeration of mafias that had forced them from their home, from the face of the galaxy. A true shame though, that Elizabeth had to give her life for such, she was a most glorious woman. Gerhardt was sure that she would be honored for her sacrifice and devotion to the Emperor.

In the meantime the lean man rested his weight against the railing present on the bridge, looking with eager eyes to the strategic display of the Coalition's territory, the updated information wrested from their clutches in their recent expansions in the Razorbacks. Slowly, but surely, the blue borders of the map were forced back on themselves, replaced with a creeping golden moss, though the push in the Razorbacks with the third fleet was advancing faster than any other, straight for Beta Hydri. He wished he was with them, instead of the baby sitting fleet, the fourth. While they did hold the honor of crushing the Aschen attempt at countering their invasion, they were relegated, largely, to policing the occupied territory and raiding the fringe powers.

Why, he asked himself, wasn't he allowed to at least strike at the Eastern Republics?

His pining to wage war, however, was interrupted by an ensign, who seemed as eager to report that they had a contact as he was to hear it. Coalition contact. However, the situation and context in which it presented itself was incredibly unusual. Unlike his own Klinge, the vessel before him, from they'd observed, wasn't self sufficient, or capable of deploying a viable supporting force, and it was alone in the Razorbacks. To put it simply, something didn't add up.

Immediately the commodore ordered a scan to be made of the newcomer, and to both his and the rest of his officers’ curiosity, there were only two lifesigns on board. Given, the ship was rather small in comparison to the Reaper of Promises, but surely its compliment would entail more than two individuals. There certainly was something amiss here, and Birckhahn, eager to further prove his worth to his superiors, wanted to find out what was at the root of it.

His raiding group, recovered as much as it could be from the action at Parinag, was spread out by thousands of kilometers in this sector, forming a slowly moving net of sensor arrays to catch any attempt by a foreign power to infiltrate the center of the Razorbacks, the home of the wormhole to the Cluster. If there was anything they wanted no one to know about, it was that. However, for the immediate time being, the commodore, being the patient man he was, decided to watch, his titanic vessel silently drifting between boks as it held off at some distance. They would see what this vessel, which powered its martial systems, would do before they took any action.

For this reeked of a Coalition plot.

Birkhahn, meanwhile, watched the situation with some curiosity. Already two of his Klammer class escorts had been informed of the situation and stood ready to jump to his assistance, though now they stood with their spinal batteries poised to drive into the foe should things prove to go wrong. The commodore, however, had plans of his own as the twenty-seven kilometer beast still lazed into the area, not taking any direct action against the hostile vessel as it entered into a hard burn. There was, as of yet, no reason, and the curiosity of the CO of the 32nd Raiding Group had been piqued. Why was there a Coalition vessel, by itself no less, with only two occupants in what was largely recognized as one of the most hostile sectors of the galaxy? There was more than met the eye here, and he didn’t intend to let things get out from under him.

The Reaper’s own spinal guns weren’t aimed at the Heimdall, though it brought its bow to face the vessel, the triangular behemoth slowly forming a clear line of sight with the battlecruiser, shifting its angle constantly with its thrusters as it drove its way forward. The commodore smiled, quite pleased that there was some entertainment now to an otherwise dreadfully boring post, moving from the display to the captain’s chair on the vessel, requisitioning it from that very individual, the high-backed chair giving the otherwise slender man quite the air of command and authority. Calmly he continued to command the direction of his forces from the holographic display on the arm of the seat, eventually ordering one of the Klammers to send three unarmed rounds from its spinal cannons into the rear of the vessel. No need to place any of the deadly payload on their munitions if they wished to discover this new contact’s nature.

It was a delay of seconds after the order that the rounds were fired, streaking towards their target at speeds unimaginable to most, one of the light cruisers tossing forth munitions to disable the obviously hostile contact.

[color=black]Two of the rounds collided prematurely, likely a picket force of drones or a GARDIAN network of some kind. The commodore shifted in his seat at such, and though his smile had faded with the loss of two of the rounds it soon was revived with the sight of the third making contact. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to pour rounds into it, the spinal cannons of the three vessels present now poised to begin should the order come. The commodore, however, had no intention of doing so just yet. There was too much left afoot for it to be simply annihilated.

The activation of the meson cannon on board, though, made him consider it.

The captain of the vessel, one Erica Nichols, still sore from the loss of her seat, was more than eager to inform the commodore of the development, even if it was observable from his seat. With a sore glance from the tactical display in the center of the bridge, she informed him, giving the subject as little justice as possible. Gerhardt returned her expression, disliking more and more that he had been promoted to the office he held. Uppity captains were no welcome part of the transition.

However, to coordinate the efforts of multiple vessels in one encounter? Such power gave him some comfort. If anything he could just order her to stand down, nullify the problem with a quick trip to the brig. However, that wouldn’t be needed, as Erica, despite her belligerent nature, wasn’t one to disobey orders. “They’re charging another of their energy weapons, Kommodore.” The close and minimal cut of the navy uniforms were the only things that identified her as a woman, her figure revealing such, as her head was, like many in the military, shaved clean, the visor cap sitting atop her cranium contrasting heavily with the veritably bare skin. “Your orders?” The black clad commander had placed her hands behind her back, clasped as if in parade-rest, it was obvious that she cared little for him. Luckily, though the feeling was mutual, the two recogniz

recognized their common ground and goal,

“... continue vit ze bombardment. See if ve can kripple her.”

No more had the words been spoken than both of the Klammers opened fire now in full force, tossing forth the magnetically accelerated projectiles at rates which would put an Abakan to shame, several of them escaping the barrel in a second. Luckily, perhaps, for the Heimdall, that such a barrage lasted only for three, the number of projectiles released towards it numbering still less than half a hundred. Birckhahn had no intention of placing the Reaper in the path of danger, and he wouldn’t move in without knowing that things were pacified. After all, how would that look on him, as commodore?

Odd was the word that Gerhardt would use to describe the scenario. No Coalition vessel, save for those upon which they held the advantage of surprise, had ever gone down so easily, and on this one they certainly lacked surprise. How it was that the Heimdall was defeated with so little effort escaped him, having read the debriefings and the reports from combat with the Coalition’s Navy. They, even if they were heathen bastards, were a staunch and valiant lot, defending their charge with a fury and venom that was rarely found elsewhere, and such was as it should be. They were, after all, their Scatterran cousins. But this? This was certainly not the kind of action that the precedent would suggest.

It begged investigation.

The commodore’s curiosity, however, was soon put into check by his subordinate, for as he made the suggestion that the Reaper be brought in closer for investigation, she made her stance on the matter quite clear, her vehement words ringing across the bridge in the silence that followed in their wake, “You will not endanger my vessel, Kommodore.” Captain Nichols, it seemed, had a better grasp on the situation at hand than he, unblinded by any desire to be of use, in any way possible, to the war effort. Five centuries of propaganda and warmongering came forth in her simple sentence, the concept of the Coalition as a cowardly and manipulative boogey-man having wormed its way into her mind, as it had many others. Birckhahn, though the words stung, soon acknowledged their validity as he pondered the situation further, the fingers of his right hand soon finding their way to his lip, upon which his index finger soon began to tap, the bristles of a stubble shaved only this morning responding to him. She was certainly right, to maneuver the Reaper closer would put them in quite some danger, and not only present the opportunity to rob the Emperor of a battleship, but also a commodore.

And Emperor-forbid that he was lost!

“... ve vill send one of ze Klammerz.” Erica was eager to relate such an order, as she surely figured that her superior intended to approached the crippled beast with her Klinge. The thought! No. The Klammers would do quite nicely, and thus they did, the first of the pair arriving three hundred kilometers off of the Heimdall’s starboard bow, the Baleful Domination soon, after scanning the vessel again, began to deploy boarding parties. Twelve of the Baleful’s Grauhund dropships descended from her angular form, the small specks of light looking to be little more than stars falling from a mass of darkness in the void of space, silently speeding towards the now-derelict Heimdall. On board them were a deal of the Baleful’s marine contingent, the scans of the Heimdall showing such to be something the Coalition vessel lacked, eager to finally be of some use. Too many marines had died at Parinag with too little to show. No, this time they would prove their worth to their Liege-Lord.

Or so they thought.

Birckhahn, meanwhile, was quite content, after examining the situation as a whole twice more to confirm any plans he had in his mind, to lazily assign the other Klammer, the Spirit of Averik, to approach and, once the situation with the Heimdall was resolved, begin collecting the drones for examination. Who knows what advantages might lie in acquiring a wealth of examples of such things? More than enough room for experimentation with the devices, and plenty of chances for R&D to work their way into their digital minds.

The Spirit had deployed her Valkyrie squadrons to begin with the collection of the drones, which, unbeknownst to them, were a deadly package waiting to be unwrapped. The two squadrons of fighters, their multirole forms bearing forward-swept wings even in the vacuum of space, set about their task as they were ordered, one of the groups beginning to circle the situation at large whilst the other began on the approach to the drones. The graceful craft drifted among the seemingly dead contacts, though the peace of the scene was disturbed as one, the pilot of which proving a deal more skilled and deft than his comrades, of their number made contact with the craft, and upon a magnetic seal was soon destroyed in an ensuing detonation. The chaos that resulted from such an act was exemplified largely in that squadron’s initial order following such, “Scatter!”

The grey craft did just that, pulling away from the trap that awaited them, though some had already managed too close, and on passing contact with the hostiles were lost themselves. Frantic were they to withdraw, and already they cried to their mother, the Spirit, warning her of the threat that lay before them. A few moments of silence passed as the Imperial strike craft withdrew, the Spirit’s five kilometer length remaining unmoving as its black form awaited orders from its master. The lapse in action lasted not but a moment however, as soon several flashed of green light erupted from her body, several of her GARDIAN phalanx batteries striking out at the remaining contacts, the energy weapons wiping them from the face of existence without discrimination, save for one.

There was an anomaly, it seemed, among their number. Whereas the others were keen to remain unmoving, this one flew, albeit badly, about, the initial burst of its thrusters propelling it quite far from the others with its momentum.

The fighters were informed of the anomaly, and the already wounded squadron, eager to avenge their comrades, turned about on itself, adopting a heading which allowed them to intercept the rogue drone. With a whir made silent by the vacuum of space, their mass drivers spun up, ready should it prove that this contact be hostile, and the lead craft of the formation attained a solid lock on the vessel with his torpedoes’ guidance as he ordered one of the outriggers to secure it.

It was worth the chance of losing a man if the possibility of recovering it remained.

The Grauhunds, meanwhile, ran across the Heimdall’s hull, finding the hatches which the crew would utilize to board the vessel, and soon began to cut them open with the fusion torches the beasts held on their bellies. Before long the Belkan marines stood aboard the hostile vessel, their jet clad figures navigating the halls with ease, if not caution. Though their sealed suits and HUDs provided a clear picture, they took no assumptions with the ship, checking every corner and having every hallway secured before advancing, after some time, on the bridge. The door, like the others, slid open with little effort on the part of the boarders, and after assessing the situation, trained their weapons on the single individual they had yet run across, the comms of the starcorps revealing that, thus far, only one of the two contacts found on initial scans were accounted for.

With their bullpup ‘192 assault rifles trained on Grove, their leader, his voice distorted by the helmet he wore, made a singular demand, “Hands behind your head.” Given, they largely didn’t expect the pilot to already be in such a passive state, but such was procedure.

The Baleful, meanwhile, still drifted off of her starboard, waiting for her contingent to return with whatever they found. Little did it or its captain know the bounty that awaited however, and as such they delightfully informed their superior, the commodore, of their success thus far, who was in turn delighted to hear it. Erica, all the while, remained appropriately skeptical. It was too easy, and she knew that Gerhardt knew it, save that he was too eager to see things otherwise to acknowledge it. All that remained was to wait and see how things would transpire.

The marines, of course, only had a moment to themselves to think before the woman’s command struck for the ship’s AI. The squad leader was perhaps the most confused of all, though he had little time to react, much less give orders for his subordinates. The men and women on the bridge, however, had some initiative about them still, and opened fire on the seemingly hostile contact. A shame that they were obliterated mere seconds thereafter, though their souls could rest easy knowing that they served the God-Emperor, even in their final moments. None of the others present on the ship, roughly one hundred marines, or any of their dropships, knew what it was that awaited them, and thus were ignorant of the instantaneous death imparted to them, and the nearby cruiser, the Baleful Domination, wasn’t unaffected by the blast, its shields rippling a violent emerald green as they resisted what initial energy they could before buckling, exposing the black hull underneath to the devastating effects of the Heimdall’s detonation. The hull, armored as it was, was super-heated and began to warp, well over half of the vessel deformed by the time the blast was over.

Crippled, but not destroyed, the Baleful immediately began to broadcast a distress call, worried greatly for the sake of her crew who, the captain of the vessel prayed, were protected by the lead layers of the armor. The Reaper, however, didn’t immediately respond, still several thousand miles from the location of the now vaporized Heimdall, its commanding officer rather surprised by the final act of the Coalition captain. Commodore Birckhahn sat, unable to make any sort of reaction to the whole ordeal besides blinking, hardly suppressed rage flowing underneath his otherwise calm visage. Whatever profit this situation had presented the Hegemony, and by extension him, was now gone. Erica, meanwhile, was wearing a slight smirk. Perhaps this little scenario would impart some humility on the arrogant bastard, or at least get him off of her ship. The last thing she wanted as for, down the line, the Reaper to be in the Baleful’s shoes. Thus she sat on the bridge and watched as other vessels in the picket approached, answering the latter’s distress signal, and allowed a rather content, if not regretful, sigh to pass from her lips. A shame that men and women had to be lost for this. She did jump slightly as Gerhardt forced his fist into her chair’s arm, his anger finally allowing him some form of response.

She’d remember that.

On the other side of the commotion, the members of the Valkyrie squadron shifted their gaze in amazement at the act, the bright flash shielded from their eyes by their COFFIN’s filter, and for a moment hesitated in their pursuit of the pathetic drone, unsure whether this development affected their situation. The flight leader soon righted that nonsense, and they continued, the outrigger craft of the squadron approaching, with some caution, the drone, eventually managing to spin about it until it ceased moving and closed with it. The pilot of the vessel cringed as it made contact, the magnetic seal soon established between his fighter and the drone, but was soon relieved as the lack of an explosion heralded that his life was spared for today. He’d be sure to thank Kampf for such, and to offer his lost brethren a prayer, as they surely were more worthy than he to be called to his side sooner. In the immediate sense, however, he set about his duty, brining his craft about to face the Spirit and haul their quarry in. Relaying such to the captain of the Spirit, it was soon broadcast over the group’s comms that the incident wasn’t in vain, and such likely brought a glimmer of curiosity to the commodore’s face, one otherwise flushed now with the products of his hubris.