Imperial Defense Force's Story

Fortunately for the Aschen cruisers, and rather unfortunately for the Oberon rescuers, the Reverences powerful wide spectrum sensor array, and powerful AI began intercepting, and calculating trajectories for the incoming ordinance.

Admiral Whitcomb sneered before she keyed up the three ships, and surveyed them quietly on the large holographic projection in front of her.

"Admiral." Eve reported. "It appears they have launched some sort of boarding system, current trajectory and velocity will enable them to pass through our shields." The AI reported, highlighting the approaching soldiers. Despite the interference they were trying to put out, they could be seen clear as day.

Whitcomb sneered again, and then highlighted one of the three ships.

"Return fire, turbo disruptors, full charge." The Admiral ordered.

"No.." she scowled.

"Wipe them out." She said, her voice darkening.

"All of them."

---

It only took a moment for orders to disseminate across the Imperial fleet, the Drones began to swarm around, moving towards the contingent of armored marines, once within range they would form a defensive screen for the Aschen capital ship, and open fire with the intent of eviscerating the armored Marines.

The attack was two pronged, the last thing the incoming Marines would see as they neared the Reverence were gun batteries discharging, emanating a brilliant green flash that was blinding to those without adequate protection. A stream of brilliant green energy seared towards one of the Oberon ships, boiling away metal, and shields alike on impact, unleashing the equivalent of a fourteen megaton nuke against the hull of the enemy ship should it strike true.

Aschen weapons would reposition to follow up with another attack immediately after.

As the cannons fire into the boarding crew, men and women alike are shredded as they advance.

As soon as the disruptor hits one of the two smaller ships, completely annihilating it, the CU Henderson and second gunship open fire.
They fire large magnetically accelerated and sharpened steel rods, at about 640 miles per hour. As the rods impact, it is not apparent if they pierce the shielding of the ship.

Harry Anderson, also known as SARCL-5674, was hanging back from the front of the boarding group, and wasn't immediately decimated by the force.

After the first pass, the Furie drones swing back wide, while the incoming projectiles strike a milky white curtain of light, and are destroyed just before hitting the ship's hull.

Admiral Whitcomb was amused slightly, surely the opposing forces understood the futility of their situation.

"Eve, target the second vessel, make ready and fire." The Admiral ordered plainly, and without emotion.

Slowly the gargantuan guns of the Carrier began to adjust their trajectory, Anderson would find his course unimpeded as the drones swing back around. With an unusual static sensation, Harry would pass through the ship's shields and hit the smooth hull, which seemed to subtly ripple and deform under his weight, the hull was also non magnetic and he would likely be unable to find a grip.

The three, now two, ships gaze on in horror as the projectile does nothing. In desperation, they fire a full volley, a total of about 70 sharpened steel rods are loaded and fired from both of the two ships. They begin repositioning, trying desperately to find a way to get some distance.

The Oberon are not known for their extra-planetary warfare.

In fact, they are rather unskilled at space combat.

This will likely be their downfall.

Once more the volley of rounds strikes the Aschen warship true, and it was still evident this one massive carrier was the only one engaging the Oberon ships.

With one simultaneous volley, the shields protested violently by flaring up in a brilliant display of white, like a blinding curtain of light, explosions rippled across the forcefield, and caused the energy to ripple across the breadth of the ship in one violent series of shockwaves.

This was evident by a jolt, and a full rumble aboard the CIC of the Aschen warship. Quickly, EVE chimed to life.

"Admiral, shields are down to ninety percent, and holding."

The Admiral frowned, and then shook her head. The technological disparities were stark, and she decided to tap the communications icon within her interface.

"Unidentified vessels, you are outmatched. Surrender now and I will spare your lives."

The voice was stern, albeit stricken with a brief hint of pleading.

The ships do not respond for some time.

"We surrender. That is all."

The crew of the two remaining ships stay at their posts, still in shock that their attacks had done nothing.
They were shaken, for sure, because this technology was on a whole different level. It was hard to understand, but they knew they were almost definitely going to lose.

Nethe, sometime after the conclusion of the operation.

Imperial Command FOB.

The Ruins of the Nethe Pyramid stadium provided the perfect place for the Imperials to set up their encampment, and through the din of the Reverence II's gravity lift, personnel, and equipment were coming and going. Hundreds of pallets of food, medical supplies, and various other tools were making their way down from the overhead Reverence, which was looming over the coastal district of the city, and out into the water. It was an unusual sight, the massive ship's weapon batteries were retracted into their armored sheathes, and she sat quietly, even as Apparatus AvCav, and transport units moved in and out of it's auxiliary bays to rearm, and refuel, dropping in and out, and offering a backdrop of bustling military activity to what was going on the ground.

Among the unwashed refugees, of which there seemed to be innumerable numbers of them. Admiral Éclaire Hanley was busy dishing out a thick, hearty stew one at a time to struggling refugees, Aschen, and Scatterran alike as they shuffled through the queue. Hanley kept an upbeat demeanor, in an attempt to inspire her troops, who were somewhat unsure of what to do. The Imperials had set up the encampment, and did not expect to be rather swarmed with refugees.

Hanley took a moment to move away from the large soup pot, and smooth down her navy blue duty uniform, while moving among a group of Imperial Soldiers talking among themselves in Anquietas.

"Ad Victoriam, Admiral." One of them said, offering a salute, while he slung his MC1 Carbine across his other shoulder. "With respect, shouldn't we be out there rooting out insurgents?" He inquired, while Hanley frowned.

"Admiral Nagala instructed us to support the Apparatus, and refrain from unnecessary combat." Hanley said, somewhat defeated as the soldier shot her a quizzical look, and then shrugged, turning to face a group of Technicians assembling a wide-spectrum scanning station, and she cast her attention to a small Mechanic Pool, where a Taiyou technician on loan from the Cooperative was screaming at the Aschen technician, tossing a wrench at him, and screaming some more.

Hanley frowned, he was screaming something about the machine spirit. She simply shrugged and dismissed it, ducking just in time to avoid another thrown wrench.

"You Aschenu rack dissiprine!" He bellowed, before he stormed off.

Hanley sighed, and then stepped up to the Moluk rebel that had been providing intel for the local area, the Rebel turned to Hanley, as the two of them passed a pallet of MC1 Assault Carbines, and Betelgeuse DMRs.

"There's still some pockets of resistance that we're designating for Apparatus neutralization." Hanley's XO reported with a brief salute.

"I don't like working with them." Hanley remarked.

The XO Shrugged.

"After everything they've done to our people." She said, and the XO Shrugged again. "We don't have a choice, Admiral. I fear the institutions of Aschen power, and prestige are waning, we are living the twilight of our civilization."

"Update me if anything changes." Hanley said, turning to enter her command barracks.

The dull hum of the UMOL’s six atom drive turbines was enough to blare out whatever the Imperial was gibbering away about in broken Communia as Captain Stelter laid with his head resting against the hull of the troop bay. Transit to Nethe was on a constant, rotating flight cycle - a long hop from orbit, to the Reverence, and then dispersed amongst the Exogarden’s facilities and operations zones.

The small force of Imperials and host-nation advisors of the Exogarden Peacekeeper Force were in the relatively quiet, combat wise, Capital Sector. The city was, largely, peaceful due to the Authority’s rapid management of infrastructure - or for the unawares, the Exogarden had seized water, power and city systems from the onset. Host-nation advisors and Exogarden gendarmes like Stelter were mainly there to oversee the Imperials, ensure the natives were effectively trained and empowered, and keep an eye out for the armed gangs like the Red Halos or OPA.

“Cap, this is your stop: have fun with the Chimps.” The Captain heard a condescending chuckle from the pilot, and he perked his head up from his seat. The young Imperial rifleman across from him still watched the man with bright eyes: it was odd how fascinated the Edenites seemed to be in the presence of their Gardenite brethren from the ancient end of the galaxy.

“Vidisti Galacticai, procopulus?” The young man jibbered, one hand patting at the patch on his tactical back that bore a warship from an old tele-show, famous Aschen cinema. Stelter very well may have seen it, watched out of boredom between patrols and operations across the Local Region: still, he didn’t speak a word of Anquietas either.

“Still no clue what you’re fuckin’ talkin’ about bud, haven’t for the past six hours.” Stelter only shrugged his shoulders as the UMOL touched down on those stubby landing struts, and the soldiers began disembarking. On the soldiers dispersed from the Intruder and onto the fields, Stelter was greeted by a Gendarme, a palm resting on the handgun at his waist. Stelter narrowed his eyes on the CWO, though brought his hand up to shake with the Chief’s.

“You Captain Stelter? I’m Chief Brotton, Gendarme Security! This is EPKF-12 - I still haven’t figured out exactly how the Imps pronounce their name for it yet - most of ‘em are illiterate, y’know? Some barely even speak anquietas fluently. Well, from the Garden’s perspective.” The Gendarme bellowed over the engines as the Intruder lifted up towards the Reverence once more.

“Yeah, Stelter, Interior Troop.” The Captain replied, his eyes squinting through the drive-wash as airjets landed and departed. “Command is processing into phase two - I need to see the Chimps' chain of command right the fuck now! The Juniors want the whole Capital Sector to be green and blue!”

A small, cardboard box, about the size of a human hand, enters the atmosphere, inexplicably not burning up in the immense heat. It was too small to be picked up any radar, but it was likely that some other, more advanced sensors that certain groups or powers on this planet or above it had the ability to to discover this small object's entry.

As the object closes in on the ground, it slows down, and at about forty feet above ground, it opens and a small white bar falls out. The box still zooms across the street, hitting a wall and clattering to the ground, undamaged but stopped in its momentum.

The small white bar of soap hits the ground roughly and bounces a couple feet before coming to a stop. Anybody in the 82-yard radius, excluding the psychically deaf and machines, can hear a loud Oh Great Heavens! in their minds as the soap scrapes across the pavement. The sudden voice was so jarring that it was unlikely to go unnoticed.

The small bar of soap, dirty but undamaged, begins to take a mental (It doesn't have a brain, can it do that?) inventory of itself. All of it's parts, which were few in number, well, actually one in number, were present. It observes it's surroundings, scanning the assorted rubble. It notices something laying overturned on the ground a couple inches away: A miniature bowler hat. The soap begins to panic.

My hat! Oh, oh, my hat! Good Heavens, I can't be seen without it! Please, may somebody assist me? Is anybody there? Please, this is a matter of utmost urgency, I simply must have my hat!

This can be distinctly heard in the minds of anyone nearby, in basic mentalese, so despite language barriers, he should be understood. It could easily be mistaken for something not projected, but heard, although that shouldn't be of much consequence.

The soap does not understand entirely where he is, or what's going on, but he can sense the smell of gun-smoke and blood, and from the rubble and shattered glass, he can assume that he's in a combat zone, which is unfortunate, as he is in the most basic of explanations, completely, utterly defenseless apart from the ability to speak.
He thinks to himself,
Oh, good night, I hope a stray bullet or explosion comes may way, I don't want to become liquid soap. I hope somebody can assist me, as my hatless situation is most dire.
The soap shudders, somehow, at the thought of being abandoned in the street, left to sit there, and the even more horrifying prospect that maybe he would be separated from his bowler hat for even longer than he initially thought, or maybe even it become lost.
In fearful desperation, he cries out again, Please, anyone, help me!

Imperial Forward Aid Post
Nethe

Hanley was squared away in her command tent, going over some paperwork when she was somewhat rudely interrupted by one of the Imperial adjutants on station.

"Admiral." He said, pulling the flap aside, and offering a brisk salute. "A Captain Stelton, from the Interior Troop is here to see you." He reported, while Hanley quietly rolled her eyes.

"Send him away, I'm busy." Hanley retorted, and then went back to looking at her paperwork. After a brief pause, she heaved a heavy, and audible sigh, before she smoothed down her uniform, and pulled her peak officer's cap over her head, smoothing, and straightening the auburn locks that had been pulled into a tight bun.

"Send him in." She said, sitting back down at her desk.


Somewhere in the city

An Aschen Soldier peered down on the street, letting his disruptor rifle hang loosely from his sling. Was that a bar of soap? He raised his eyebrow, and reached down to pick the soap up, examining it in his hand.

Soap likely startles the man by quickly stating,
"Hello! This is the soap speaking. Hey, can you pick up my hat? Sorry to be a bother, but I really do need it. You see, it's right there. Are you a soldier? That's a funny-looking rifle, y'know."

Soap vibrates a little bit to let the man know that he is, indeed, alive.
"Hey, I'd be careful, you know. I don't know, but I think this is a combat zone of some sort, and I wouldn't want you to get shot or blown up. You gotta be careful, y'know? So, yeah, can you please pick up my hat?"

The two men strode down the halls and laneways of the Imperial facility, sticking to the middle of the hall, while Aschen gave wide berths to them on either side. Like a pair of predators stalking through a herd of phytophages, the Apparatus personnel talked quietly amongst themselves as they were waved through a checkpoint.

“So what’s this about - if you can spare some intel, Cap?” The Warrant Officer inquired, Brotton flashing the ID badge that was attached to his ballistic vest. The Captain didn’t respond immediately, instead only showing his own badge and then returning to an internal pod bay on his wrist-mounted tablet.

“Word from on high, soldier. That’s all you and your little Chimp buddies here need to know.” The junior officer remarked curtly. Turning his wrist over, he was then greeted with the chilling blue light of the tablet screen: emblazoned on the loading screen the insignia of Supreme Command, a blazing eagle stretching wings out into inky space, dominated the view.

“On High - Supreme Comm - ISAAC? How the fuck did we get comms back across the Veil?” The Gendarme whispered quietly, even stepping closer as his brief word seemed to catch a curious look from an Imperial soldier or two nearby.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.” Captain Stelter offered, waving his opposite palm across the screen to turn his tabet blank. “You know how Command works, we all know what we need to know - first time for everything though, have you ever met ODIN before?” The door to the elevator opened with a ding, and the two soldiers promptly entered.

As the pair of soldiers approached Hanley’s office, Chief Brotton exchanged a brief few words with the Imperial guards, who quickly then dispatched to the Admiral of the pair’s arrival. Brotton, being a Gendarme of the EPKF Security Forces, was one of the liasons that was in constant contact and cooperation with the Imperial detachment that occupied the Capital Sector alongside the rest of the EPKF. Waved on after the Admiral waited in her office, Brotton entered before the Captain, and stood at rest beside the door after a sharp salute.

“Admiral Hanley ma’am, I have a Captain Stelter from military intelligence.” CWO Brotton introduced, his arm dropping to his side as Stelter pressed his heels together with a quick nod.

“Thank you, Chief - Admiral, I’m Captain Stelter, EPKF intel-jaeger.” After the brief introduction, he was prompt to let his orders speak for themselves. Flashing a palm back across the blank face of his tablet, it winked to life with a chime. “I have a message from KYZAGHAN.” Was all he offered before the microproject of the warpad glimmered, an interface springing to life in the air as the same emblem floated in the aether. As the datalines began to download terabytes of intelligence to Hanley’s systems, the emblem shuddered just slightly before a chilling, modulated voice sounded throughout the room.

The admiral stared quietly at the interface while EVE began collating the massive swathe of data for ultimate dissemenation among the Imperial systems scattered throughout the planet.

“Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice.” Hanley lamented as she watched the intelligence play out before her. So it appeared they were planning on securing the rest of the planet.

“So you want out help then.” Hanley remarked, she decided she was going to requisition some more equipment to further aid them in the offensive. She shook her head in silence. They were massacring Imperials en masse along the borders, Hanley had spent days reading the casualty reports as they continued to pile up, and now Nagala had ordered her to collaborate, and cooperate with them, while they still murdered her countrymen in droves. She grimaced at this thought, there was a day that the Aschen would stand up to the wiles of barbaric foreigners, and yet now the Empire was a shadow of it’s former self.


“I’ll redirect the seventh regiment to your service, but I cannot spare any more men beyond that, You’ll have to make due.” Hanley said, going over the troop manifests listed on a file folder in her office.

“Try not to get them killed.” Hanley remarked, turning away from the captain, to sit at her desk, opening it up and pulling out a bottle of Victory gin, pouring herself a glass, and taking a swig.

“Do you require anything else from us?”

The data sprawling into Imperial intelligence circuits would have been something Imperial command could have only dreamed of, the vast infow of information capable of “mindflaying improperly tethered human minds (and R&D was still, centuries later, frustrated with understanding the “empyrean” nature of Gardenite intelligence and information), the reason why these operations were done at light speed between two autonomous entities. While KYZAGHAN and EVE had their digital dance, Hanley was given an approval briefing of the mission: it was custom for the High Officers to, personally, sign off on every operation.



As the AI explained, schematics and log forms scrawled past, detailing the various coordinations between the military units and civilian organizations across Hadriatica. Many Aschen names appeared throughout these lists, achieving more for the safety and prosperity of the Aschen people through the Coalition than the Empire had ever hoped to achieve. It wasn’t Aschen civilization that was waning.



For the human intelligence though, it seemed that someone, or something rather, had picked just the right person to give the … Aschen element needed to motivate them. Captain Stelter kept his hands wrapped behind his back, empty face staring blankly into the wall while the faintest prick of a smile tugged at his lips. He loved putting Aschen in their place.

The sleek customs desk was manned by several well dressed women tapping at holographic screens, working in unison as if they were a well oiled machine.

One of them looked to Carlo and offered a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Welcome to Langara." She said in a heavily accented voice. "Please approach."

Carlo stepped up to the sleek customs desk with pep in his step. He aimed his smile at the customs woman who addressed him.

"Thank you, a pleasure to be here. Truly," He swiftly fished a gray leather fold from the pocket of his blazer. Inside were all of his papers, so to speak. Carlo waited for the next step. He'd never been through customs here. On Terra they seemed to not even have them, which was concerning.

It would have been an arduous six months of interviews, background checks, constant surveillance, paperwork, visa applications, visa fees, and a bothersome maze of bureaucratic red tape. Fortunately his information was accessed quickly.

"Business visa... Let's see under review, approved by the Ministry of Plenty.."

She craned her neck to peer closely at the screen.

"Your visa has been denied by the Ministry of Defense." The woman said with her sickening smile not missing a beat.

Carlo's smile dropped to the pit of his stomach. Denied? By the Ministry of Defense? It had taken forever to get this far! Forever and a probable mountain of paperwork. So much had been done for this moment... Denied?

"I'm sorry," He shifted from one foot to the other, laughed nervously, and asked, "What?"

The customs agent checked again and then craned her neck. "It was discovered you have an association with a Carmen Dellevon, who was deemed an enemy of the Empire, and has an active warrant of arrest for charges of crimes against the people of the Empire." The agent explained. "The denial was also recorded at the highest echelons of Imperial Government. Fleet Admiral Nagala." She added.

A few more key strokes and she pulled up another dossier.

"You can always appeal. I can grant a temporary visa and schedule a Triad hearing." She entered a few more keystrokes. "You'll just be barred from leaving the city."

"Carmen," Carlo hissed. He hadn't heard that name in ages. He had presumed her to be dead! It would figure she was wanted by the Aschen Empire, of all people. That girl didn't know how to stay out of trouble, did she? Older cousin - and none the wiser!

He barely registered the latter of the custom agent's commentary. Leave it to Carmen to resurface and fuck it all up the literal moment it was good and going.

"Yes, please- is there anything necessary to appeal, that I haven't already provided? Surely," Carlo said with a tight smile, "All can be sorted. I have no association with that woman. Thank you, ma'am. Truly."

Surely there was a way to fix this. Screw Carmen! He'd strangle her himself if he ever got close enough. Carlo was less concerned for her safety and more for his livelihood. Things were going good. He did his best not to crane his neck or appear impatient and stuffed his hands in his pockets, wishing for a nap.