NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC:

By consensus, we (Kalessin, Lord Sauron, Melkor, Menelmacar, Nathicana, Scolopendra) have come up with a plot which makes the major players happy. Now, due to the delicate nature of having a plotline, we have to exercise control over it to ensure its success. You are welcome to post observation tags, but do not post In Character posts without permission from either Melkor or Scolopendra. We don't want to reveal the plot--that'd be no fun for you guys--and we have to make sure that your contribution helps it along.

This thread is IC information ONLY. Very small OOC notes are allowable for extremely short explanations, but the majority of the post must be IC and any long OOC notes should be on this OOC thread (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=124626) and you can link to it. Essentially, this is the story thread, and we want it to flow.

We're going to make this work, and we hope you enjoy the ride.

IC:

Warlord Althalon and his top advisors were planning the upcoming assault in the War room, joined via telescreen by a visibly irate Fleet Marshal and his five Commodores. Titan had offered terms which Althalon knew he could never deliver, and was waiting to hear back from the Dark Lord before issuing the almighty 'Combat Directive,' as the term had become known in the ranks of Morgoth's armies. All across Io, the call had arisen from coumpound after compound to man their batteries, assemble and otherwise mobilize. The Fleets were long ready--waiting almost eagerly to engage, despite the knowledge that they were once again--as always--outmatched. Still, many trusted in the defenses of the massive compounds of the Io Imperium to hold out in one way or another against the battle, which they were certain was to begin at any moment.

For hours the men debated, and at last heard word from their Lord in Angband. He made it quite clear that the Triumvirate was not to order around the armies of Althalon and the Imperium. The terms, unless negotiable, were to be rejected.

The order went out. They were to await Althalon's official communication to the TYCS fleets in the area, wait ten minutes for a response or aggressive manevering, and then fire. All onboard weapons systems aboard the 1st through 5th Fleets were reported online and active.

Targets had been selected, and fighters swept to the rear of the formation in the front two fleets, which spread out before the Ali'Staan. The spearheading fleets flew in a loose fighter screen, and the two on the flanks arrayed themselves in a different formation, with capital craft at the fore, frigates in the middle with Fighter/gunship escort in the back.

The rear Fleet arrayed itself in a defensive, almost blockade-type position and remained close to the moon, behind the other four fleets.

A short while after the conference, Althalon issued his missives:

Cargo Group Lemminkainen is about to leave low Io orbit as soon as possible. We are presently forming up with freighters leaving the Io surface. Final departure maneuvers will commence at 1220 Z. To facilitate a rapid and safe departure we request you pull in your southern screen 100 kilometers by 1235 Z, to maintain a minimum separation of 500 kilometers. Force Commander Rukavindi's compliments to Warlord Althalon. Lemminkainen out.

"Adjusting fleet positions now given your suggested vectors. You'll not be hindred by hide nor hair of my vessels, as they should be maneuvring well outside your requested umbrella. Inform other evacuation efforts on-surface that they'll likewise see no obstacle from the Imperium."

"That is unacceptable. The continued Amarthi presence on Io is an unallowable risk to our holdings."

Sky Marshal M'sha leans forward, lips peeling back in a broad, toothy grin. "You will eradicate the Amarthi or we will be forced to evaluate your tacit approval of their actions as hostile intent against our Menelmacari and Burning Mountain territories. That is an act of war, Warlord, and we will prosecute it as such. It is your mess, and you will clean it up."

Althalon appeared incredulous. "They're no more a danger than the Hordes, who are destroying anything and everything in their path. We won't hinder you from killing them, but gods, man, think! Am I going to pit an Army Group against that many of them? Do you think I can reasonably have any way of knowing where they all are, even if I did? We'll likely kill what we come across, but no more. Hell, sell hunting passes for them, I don't give a damn.

So you can do one of two things, and one of them means a whole lot less dead people on your end. One, you can be an idiot and shoot at us for this.. this 'pissing on the fence' as it were against even your most nominal allies, start a battle, then a war, and kill millions and millions and millions of people. Surely this is worse than the 'genocide' for which you charge us?

Or, you can be rational about it for once in your damned lives. It's not like the things can't be stopped. I'll be more than happy to pass along some coordinates if you wish, but you seem to desire some sort of action now, which I clearly cannot deliver.


Ball's in your court."

Warlord Konrad Althalon
First Advisor for Imperial Armed Forces, Acting Imperial Field Marshal
http://www.zeitgeistfilms.com/current/caravaggio/sean.jpg

The fleets of Task Force Guardian watch as the Melkorian ships go to full battle readiness, their signatures glowing stronger. With Althalon's response, Sky Marshal M'sha shook her head. Her fleets, she knew, were set up in close combat formation, fifty kilometers between ships; Grendels set up to assist in point defense, destroyers to the fore, cruisers and battleships in the inside combat ring, carriers to the rear.

* - * - *

It is unfortunate that you will not clean up your own mess. The Hordes are the result of an assassination. Your choice to unleash the Amarthi was your own. Perhaps you should have thought of that consequences first.

This is your last chance. If you so wish to sue for peace, open fire on the Amarthi.

Sky Marshal M'sha
CO, Task Force Guardian
TYWS-BB Vinegaroon

The blackness over Dor Daedoloth hung ever in the sky as a hood of ashen black fumes over a factory, concentrated in greatest intensity at Morgoth's fortress of Angband. The swirling ash blew across the mountain ranges as advancing gravships began to climb the horizon in the distance, over the icy wind-swept plains of the Grinding Ice--the desolate reaches to the North of the main military stronghold in the Imperium. A rumbling crescendo grew from beneath the earth, and the unmistakable sounds of marching hordes could be heard in earnest as formations marched unseen under the desolate mountains to the south of Thangorodrim.

The three peaks of Thangorodrim burst forth suddenly in great flame as the twisting labrynth of Morgoth's hideous forges and factories were manned to their height, and the production of arms and impliments of war were to be increased greatly by the orcish slaves, for Morgoth was marching at last to war with an old foe. Dragons stirred in their dens at the sounds, and the Dark Lord called his armies to him.

The Contingency was activated. This was the moment the men of the Imperium had been both dreading and preparing for most or all of their carreers, and each [save the Uruks and more primal creatures] knew where their place was. Formations of Men--Easterlings and Haradrim primarily, with Companies from the Dunlanding Men, or what few were marshalled in Angband--assembled such as they were and began the march to fortify key defensive positions in and around the Imperial and Ardan mainland. In towns across the country, heralds announced a decree ordering all able-bodied men to report to the Caves for service. The borders, as they had been, remained mostly closed, with a vigiliant watch on every surround.

And on Io, the Warlord Althalon was wracked with rage. His body trembled with unbridled contempt, his face reddened by his hatred for the Titan scum, who had the audacity to think they could order him around. Deep in the recesses of the Easterling's mind, a tiny voice screamed at him to stop, telling him that he was falling into a trap conceived by a madman. He scowled and set his jaw, slowly rising from his seat. The men in his chamber all turned their heads and watched him intently, as he had finally decided on his course of action. Grimly, he surveyed the room with a steely look, his eyes glowing in the flickering firelight of the chamber. "We fight. Issue your orders and man your stations."

With that, his officers snapped at attention for an instant, trading a collective salute with their Commander before exitting the room in quick fashion, bustling away quickly to their stations, where they would relay the Warlord's orders to the men in the field.

Fleet Admiral Ahadi Il-Amir, it seemed, would get his wish at last: a glorious battle with the men of Titan. He did not trifle to care about the nuances of victory or defeat--the man was simply intent on righting old wrongs. Slowly, he perceived that the fight would claim his life, as he watched the fleets begin the first stages of their attack, as firing vectors were cleared and active targetting begun in earnest.

Althalon's reply was swift and terse.

"I spoke nothing of suing for peace with the Men of Titan. It begins at last."

Warlord Konrad Althalon
First Advisor for Imperial Armed Forces, Acting Imperial Field Marshal
http://www.zeitgeistfilms.com/current/caravaggio/sean.jpg

Aboard Vinegaroon, the chief sensors officer frowns. "We're being painted by active targeting."

With that announcement, Sky Marshal M'sha grins. "Comms, send Missive Zero. Respond in fastspeak that his lack of a solution is unacceptable. FleetCom, get the second section over here. Weapons, full point defense, fire solution against standard targeting schemes. Helm, oblique forty-five degrees to enemy, remain on action plane."

"Prepare for full broadsides."

* - * - *
[code:1:0cc3592d63]PRIORITY TRANSMISSION
LEVEL OMEGA OMEGA OMEGA

TO: ALL TRIUMVIRATE OF YUT FORCES
FR: SKYMSL M'SHA
SJ: MISSIVE ZERO

IT IS ON<FULL STOP>[/code:1:0cc3592d63]
* - * - *
"Comms, tell the Io grid to open fire. Then take advantage."

The first section moves over, approaching on an oblique angle, fighters staying close and point defense emplacements ready for mutual defense. From around the moon, the second section swings over, heading towards the Melkorian fleet's side.

Colonel Kardeman addressed his wing.

"Men, women and Kzin of the First Special Operations Wing. I know that this wing is new, untested, and unproven in combat. I know that our tactics are a far cry from standard TYCS doctrine. I know that there are persons within the command structure that don't believe in our way. But now, we have our chance to prove them wrong. I am sure that you are all aware of the current tactical situation between the Trium and Arda. I also know that you are all aware of Melkie's little pet project out past Uranus. Well, we have just recieved orders to put on a little...demonstration. The 1FSS is currently linking up with one of the Roving Cruiser Squadrons currently assigned to the Great Triangle Run. Once we link up. The Wing will deploy and make the Jump to Horizon. Then it is our turn to shine. You are all recieving detailed mission timelines. Stick to them. Timing is key to this one. You have one hour to get your shit together, lets make it happen people!"

Kardeman releases the transmit key from the comm station of the Osprey, command vessel of the 1st Space Superiority Fleet. He turns to Sky Marshal Zolkin.

"Sir! First Special Operations wing requesting permission to deploy as per TYCS General Order 56903-A."
He snaps a parade-ground perfect salute to the brim of his Campaign hat.

The Sky Marshal grins broadly, the smile seemingly bisecting his face.
"Give them Hell Colonel. Permission to deploy at your leisure."
He returns the salute.

Kardeman does an about face and storms (his normal method of bipedal motion) to one of the Osprey's mammoth flight decks. It is a beehive of activity as each new Fury Assault Dropship is uploaded with 4 massive missiles, fueled, checked, recheked, and checked again. He walks up to Fury-109, his personal ship and runs his hand over the undulating, chaotic seeming skin of the craft.

"We gots us a mission to do. I know you'll get me through this."

He turns around, spots his crew chief, and gets a confirmation that the 1st Squadron is prepped for lift. Climbing in to -109, he acknowledges his crew of 13, straps in, and fires up the systems.

"Kick the fires and light the tires, time to go station hunting."

A muffled laugh is heard from the gunnery compartment as one of the crew loses his composure to the Colonel's bad joke. The laughter spreads until the whole crew is rolling as the colonel maneuvers the ship to the assembly point.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/wargames/btdesigns/thumbnails/tme209fury.jpg

One by one, the squadrons report on station until all 180 Furies are present and accounted for. They form up into a standard jump formation, and suddenly, disappear.

---------------------------
Aboard the Osprey the Sensors section erupts into confused shouts and orders.
"What do you mean they all disappeared?"
"Just that sir, they were there one shake, gone the next! Radar, Lidar, Gravitic, Mass, Optical, everything!"
"Run a diagnostic on your gear, it must be screwed."

Sky Marshal Zolkin strolls over to the sensor pit and puts his hands behind his back.
"Something wrong, Section Chief?"

"Uhh, I think our gear is messed up sir...all the Furies just blinked out of existance."

Zolkin chuckles.
"Missed a briefing did we Section Chief? I assure you, your gear is fine."
---------------------------

On the perhiphery of the fleet, one of the Triumvirate Roving Cruiser Squadrons flickers into existance, flies silently past the assembly point, and just as suddenly stretches back out to infinifty.

Aboard Fury-109, Kardeman stews silently as the RCS they are riding with makes their approach to decel.
'ere little Ardans. Got a yummy little treat for yas!

http://okcac.freeyellow.com/kardeman.gif
Colonel Brüt Kardeman
Commander, First Special Operations Wing
First Space Superiority Fleet
Ordinance Enabled Karmic Hegemony of Karmabaijan
Triumvirate of Yut
Titan

[code:1:a80d6d1739]Confirmed, Group Althalon. Proceeding as specified.[/code:1:a80d6d1739]

The warships keep themselves between the Ardan ships and the Sphere freighters, rolled to allow their weapon blocks to attack the Ardans but the actual blocks rotated well away.

Time passes as the freighters move away for a low-altitude circuit of Jupiter, lightly escorted. The main body of warships take up positions in the terrible hash near the Io-Jupiter flux tube, at long range. Their position is obvious to the Ardans. They're no longer escorts but part of the military effort.

Time passes... the warsats swing below the Dor vessels and recon-configured platforms take up positions.

now recieving confirmation from tycs. combat imminent

rukavindi: all weapons off safe, fire plan tango four. await time on target information

time on target. one minute. issuing final radiation pulse alert to nonhostile io volume involved and tycs.

rukavindi: execute tango four

Great doors flash open in the warships' sides and their side-mounted weapon blocks rotate out as best they can based on passive targeting only.

Massive coilguns begin to fire, the larger ships carrying larger numbers of the great mortars. The shells drift out into space...

chr'rowl diplomacy: squadron ready for overboost

firing

In the altitude band below the Dor Daedoloth ships, hundreds of defense sats flare with megaton detonations, brighter than the Sun seen from Mercury. Immense lances of coherent gamma radiation tear at the warships.

From the direction of Jupiter, half a gigaton's worth of 2-megaton DEAT warheads blaze with the same annihilatory fury, grasers lashing at the ships. Armor glowing from the radiation flux, the Territory ships begin to boos to engage, DEAT mortars firing again, the shells drifting until they separate enough to be fired without mission-killing their parent ships.

Fixed lasers and railguns rave against the enemy ships, and the mighty hellbores hurl their hydrogen packets at the black-armored craft to fuse in thermonuclear fire.

At Callisto, the three hundred and eighteen vessels of Limivourous Galaxy break orbit and begin acceleration on a vector for Io. They spread into a loose battle formation, with weapons hot and targ active. Over eighteen hundred Light Attack Craft fitted with various mission pods launch, along with over ten thousand fighters; thousands of defense drones ring the fleet as well. About the ships, marines and Bolos prepare to land. Behind the Galaxy, nearly a hundred additional warships of the Fleet Reserve remain with the local defenses to protect Callisto.

The great fleet approaches the moon quickly, coming in on a path designed to catch the Imperium's forces between it and the TYCS forces already in place. Even as the TYCS forces engage, the fleet rounds Jupiter and begins hitting the enemy with targetting bursts. A group of ships, comprised of carriers and a few escorts, break off and go into a Jupiter orbit behind Io and just outside of effective missile range, and minutes latter, the rest of the Cetagandan fleet lets loose with a barrage of almost five hundred missiles. Nearly a quarter of those missiles are carrying ECM systems rather than actual warheads, designed to jam point-defense systems and attract fire to themselves. Even as the missiles speed in, the Cetaganda fleet continues to close towards energy range.

(Exact numbers: 8 fleet carriers, 14 fast carriers, 16 escort carriers, 5 dreadnoughts, 13 battlecruisers, 34 CA, 46 CL, 46 destroyers, 109 frigates, <6 monitors, and 10 EI-synch ships. There are a total of 10,680 fighters, 4330 light attack craft (think small Lokis), and 11,190 drones. Keep in mind that this is virtually the entire Cetagandan spaceforce, with only a small fleet left at Saturn.

Missile warheads consist of a mix of bomb-pumbed x-ray laser warheads that detonate several kilometers from the target and contact fusion warheads.>

Flightleader Ryken-Ynti Lyna of the Second Colonial Guard Fleet frowns as the transmission is brought to his attention. With a flourish, the Nekoite male spins around to face his crew, expression solemn.

"All ships of the Amatsu fleet, move to combat alert 3-C, charge and load all weapons. We stand at the brink of true chaos now, and should the fleets at Io fail, we must give our all to the defense of Titan! Send word to the Dosei colony to get all civilians to emergency shelters." He lashes his tail. "Send word to the mainland that Missive Zero has been received and confirmed."

"Men and women of the Amatsu fleet, today is a grave day, today lives will be lost in the name of defending the ideals of the Triumvirate. The Wings of Chaos have taken flight once again, and we must answer the call to battle. May the Goddess smile upon the efforts of our allies, may we all live to greet eachother once more on the ground." His gaze sweeps the bridge of his ship. "Are we ready?"

"RYOUKAI!" A chorus of voices answer the Flightleader. "For the Burning Banner! For the Wings of Chaos!"

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Maximum
Broadcast type: Military-PRIORITY
To: ALL YUT FORCES
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Flightleader Ryken-Ynti Lyna - Amatsu fleet

The Wings fly. We stand ready.
<End Transmission>

((OOC: Thankfully, my Titan fleet is nowhere near Io for all this ^_^; They're on defense duty =p))

(Soundtrack: "The Fields of Pelennor", Return of the King Soundtrack)

...hurled aloft Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld, and swung it down like a bolt of thunder...Grond rent a mighty pit in the earth, whence smoke and fire darted... ~The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien

Task Force Grond... an ironic but appropriate name. Seven hundred ships. Seven hundred ships, mighty engines of death, of Menelmacar, of Reploid Productions, of Sakkra…

And commanded by the Lady Sirithil herself.

"Do we have the feed from the sensor arrays?"

"Coming through loud and clear, milady."

"Status report?"

"All ships report optimal combat status. All weapons charged, ammoed, racked. All targets laid in – military installations, satellites, factories, shipyards, infrastructure, and Angband itself. We are ready, milady. The fleet is yours."

"Excellent… put me through to the fleet – and the world."

"You’re on…"

All ships, this is Lady Sirithil aboard Mormecil. This is the day we have been waiting for for a long time. We are a patient people – we knew that someday the day would come when conditions would be right, when we would have allies at our backs, when we would be ready – and today is that day.

For death and glory! For our people! For Menelmacar! A new sun rises, and the shadow flees before the light! Fell deeds awake… now for wrath, now for ruin, for a red dawn…

This day we push back the darkness, and we shall not falter! This day we put an end to fear, we destroy terror, we annihilate evil, and we shall not fail!

TO WAR!

Tesseracts flared, ships jumped, and Task Force Grond, the greatest fleet in Menelmacari history, blazed into being over Arda itself…

...right in front of a Veganan fleet, one larger than anticipated.

"Where were those ships?"

"The junk belt must have messed with our sensors, milady. There are roughly fifty percent more Veganan ships than anticipated. Projected losses increase likewise."

"We need time. Send them a message stating that we have misjumped and did not expect to appear over Arda, and pull back to over Menelmacar. Charge the drives... be ready to jump out again, we can either move on Horizon or pincer Morgoth's ships at Io... and we can come back for Vegana with the TYCS backing us up."

"Very well... sending transmission."

Attention Veganan fleet. We have misjumped; sorry to have startled you. We are withdrawing immediately. Menelmacari fleet out.

True to their word, the fleet turned, making for Menelmacar...

OOC:

Fleet Assets:

Menelmacar: sixteen standard battle groups, 30 ships each, and all that comes with them, plus ten Grendel-class missile cruisers and 100 StarLancer-class ramships
Sakkra: Fleet Epsilon, 55 ships of varying class
Reploid Productions: one Hand of God-class flagship, 10 Tenmou-class battleships, 8 Archangel-class thaumaturgic attack carriers, 240 Elite Victory Mk-II fighters, 140 Fyuta-class missile gunships, 100 Sidali-class gunships

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
High Queen and Lady-Protector of Elvenkind
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

The spinning space station, New Babel, was the first to register the coded signal that came in on a beam of light from a satellite drifting within the area of Io.


"I spoke nothing of suing for peace with the Men of Titan. It begins at last."


It was not encrypted, the satellite transmitted the response as it had been received: wide open. Within moments, the harsh sounds of klaxons could not be heard in the area surrounding New Babel - but only because it was in far orbit. Inside, their drone was grinding like fingernails on blackboards. In the rooms of the hard of hearing - the very old, the occasional foreigner - the beds began to vibrate. War between Arda and Yut was a matter that none would be able to sleep through.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Commissar Mevyn saluted, her squat form resplendent in all the medals of her office. The bulldog-faced woman, medals decorating the cloth over the sagging mass of her left breast, kept her eyes low in deference.

On the video screen in front of her, the dark-haired Crown Prince Rhys stared at her with stern resolution. To the left of the screen, the commander of the station - Lord Michael Valacroft - watched her like a hawk.

"Your scientists are ready? The time has come, it would appear, where we must be prepared to defend ourselves at any cost." Rhys' voice was smooth, musical, and bored. He could as well have been asking about the weather.

"Yes, your Royal Highness. The research has been completed: for months, now. The drones are moving into position around the Kuiper station. The 'Seventh Trumpet' will be ready for use within hours."

He nodded, waved a hand, and dismissed her. As she left the room, she heard the words of her commander: "The fleets are preparing, your Royal Highness. Lord Commander Blackdon has sent word to DAMOCLES, raised it to highest alert."

And then the door closed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"All hands to Flight Deck 2. All hands to Flight Deck 2. All hands ... " the calm female voice was almost drowned out by the sound of boots clacking against the metal of the floor, each with a slight hiss as the magboots drove the air out from between their soles and the ground. Sergeant Meurhalte, like the sailors, carried a light 'manstopper' pistol, and he ran with them along the central corridor that linked the personnel module to the carrier module. There was no shudder as the lumbering thing broke away from its docking spike and drifted out. He pulled himself up onto a ladder and clipped his safety harness to the rung, rapidly descending into the bowels of the engine room.

His team barely noticed him, as they made preparations for maximum acceleration.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

<ENCODED TRANSMISSION>
All forces raise red alert.
<END TRANSMISSION>

On Dor Firniguinar, the island joint held with Menelmacar once known as the 'Corpselands', all Whispering Voices expeditionary forces were withdrawn to hard points of defence.

Beneath the ocean waves, forty miles from the Knootian coastline, a steady stream of small, sleek torpedo-shaped submersibles were vomited from sinkholes before all turning to move south-west.

Within the lands of Whispering Voices itself, all active personnel were being recalled. In the orbital area above the Devil's Desert, already cleared out of satellites for the installation of DAMOCLES, tiny hunter-killer satellites began tracing transmissions and monitoring identity markers, destroying non-Devil's Desert installations.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

<ENCODED TRANSMISSION>
<Allies of Whispering Voices>

As you will be aware, recently Titan issued an ultimatum to Melkor Unchained relating to a conflict upon Io.

This war could be one that threatens the stability of our region, with the weapons they use perhaps even the environment of our very planet.

Be prepared.
<END TRANSMISSION>

Mikhael shook his head as several pieces of news popped up onto his screen like shoddy internet advertising on crack. He was getting reports from all over the place. The proverbial shit had hit the fan, and was splattering all over nations across the planet. Across the system, even. He grabbed the 'red phone', his direct line to the president.

"Victor, it's happening."

"Re-allocate our assests to monitoring the situation. Alert embassies in participating nations. Do not place them on high alert, yet. Just let them know that things may be getting... difficult."

"Yessir."

Fleet Admiral Stojanovic got the signals of the approaching ships and gave the firing order with no hesitation, there were bloody elfships approaching! With Guns blazing the pattern suggested, well they had been waiting for this and they were prepared. The great cannons of the warships would begin pounding away as soon as they came within range.

Stojanovic looked determined as he watched the ships, he sure wished they should have brought more david's needles considering the size of some of them ships. But the david's needles were pretty useless so close to ground and in these ranges.

He barked the order in the com unit: "Set to receive charge!" and awaited the rumble that usually came from the weapon systems as they sang their murderous concerto. But nothing came... what had happened? Treason? Stojanovic watched the data screens. The enemy fleet had fled the field. They had jumped away as they had seen the size of the Reich fleet. Stojanovic shook his head, he suddenly became aware of the red signal lamp blinking. Had it been blinking just a second ago? He checked the message panel:


To:Fleet Admiral Stojanovic
From: High Inquisitor Devon Roittar,

Leave Arda territory and set course for Io. Allied fleets under fire. Move to destroy hostile fleet

Stojanovic Swore under his breath. New orders to move again? Well he couldn't leave Arda undefended? He gave the order to leave a battleship and two destroyers and started to give orders for leaving towards Io. He would leave some defense to make sure that the elves got a warm reception if they decided to come back. The lionpart of the mighty fleet moved towards their new destination.

OOC: after discussions about fleet sizes and such I decided to post some here.

The Ardian Fleet contains of the following:

30 Kirigo Carriers, each having 42 fighters
400 Star Spears (destroyers)
8 David's Needle (special)
400 Saltshakers (frigates)
8 Battleships (Bruiser class)
60 Cruisers (God's Wrath Class)
10 Transporters (Pilgrim class)
60 support ships (Samarian Class)
1 Flagship "HMS Grom" (Crucifixion Class)

Left above Arda:

1 Battleship (bruiser class)
2 Star spears (destroyers)

The Whispering Voices Second Space Fleet began to accelerate away from distant Earth, outwards and away from Sol. Ponderous, clunky, and embarrasingly slow, mounted spherical modules on each pumped out fusion debris to allow them to accelerate.

OOC:
Excuse for posting numbers of the 2nd Fleet in case it becomes relevant since there's been so much bitching about numbers.

It consists of:
100 x (1km x 300m x 300m) ships
200 x (500m x 250m x 250m) ships
1,000 x (300m x 200m x 200m) ships

The ships are uniform in shape - boxy metallic, with spherical modules strapped onto their sides that are propelling them. There is slight distortion around them which makes it hard to get exact maps of their surfaces.

In the event anyone scans them please say with what kind of sensor and at what range and I'll give more details.

There is a reason they are so long, too =)

Thanks.

This is the only fleet that is currently moving. It's moving outsystem, and slowly.

*Meanwhile, Just outside Io space*

The Comms Officer alerts Commander Twaarl. "We have transmission of active hostile status." The Commander turns in his command chair.

"Confirm that."

"Confirmed. Althalon has ordered a full state of hostilities. Orders?"

Commander Twaarl sends orders for the 2nd Sakkran Fleet. "All hands, alert priority red. Not a drill. Load all Brilliant Pebbles missiles with SPORE warheads, and set targetting AI to Friend or Foe recognition. Emission-guidance systems, paint me a picture! Cycle charges for all Hard Beam weapons. Ready all fighter groups, and armor assault pods. All point defense craft, form up around the heavy hitters. All warships and battleships, delta formations; diamond pattern. All cruisers, form up around the carriers. Prepare for combat speed. Spin generators for shield power; full strength. Upload all hostile ship signatures to targetting systems. Command crew, to the pods."

Immediately he turns, as do several of the command staff, and heads for the neuro-shunt pods. Using this, they will gain a field of view that is 360 degrees. Also, all commands and communications are conducted and carried out at the speed of thought. Missile batteries are loaded with the SPORE anti-capship missiles. Hard beam turrets activate and do a series of test-rotations, as well as the gauss turrets. All is in order.

Warships begin powering weapons and activating shields as they form up into a V-shaped delta formation. Destroyers and corvettes flanking the warhips and battleships; cruisers flanking the carriers. The carrier formations hang about 25 km behind the warship formations.

All fighter wings begin reporting in with their 'ready' status, and launch protocols are finalized. In the neuro-shunt pods, communications via boosted chem-axon means are sent in rapid succession.As all ships begin burn to combat speed, the crews in their gel-cushion chairs relax, and let the majority of the inertia be absorbed by their seats. After a few moments, the inertia stabilizes, and a flurry of activity is under-taken.

In his pod, Commander Twaarl is messaged by his fire officer. "We got positives about 50,000 km. Uploading targetting priorities?"

The Commander takes a gander at the info relayed, of the different available targets. "All missile batteries will concentrate on their capitol ships. I know some of their blockade and point-defense craft will be in the way, but so be it. Fire on my mark, then all battleships and warships, fire when in range with spinal-mounted weapons. Tight-beam the Scolopendrans and coordinate maneuvers. Let's give 'em a hot-foot."

(late post.)

Panic, Hargraves thought, is the bane of human existance.

By orders from CINCSFA, Third Jupiter had long ago withdrawn from it's outer position, moving closer to Ganymede. Let the Triumvirate handle this one, the reasoning went, but offer to be open as a staging area. Konania had nothing to lose by removing Ardan forces from Io.

And so, such a message was sent away.

[code:1:b080f66329]
[open GlobalSTAR Encrypt lev7]
[c: encrypt7]

<Arriving Fleets:

Continuing Ardan presence in the area of Io has long been a worry of ours on Ganymede. Previously we had not the resources-- nor the will-- to attack their holdings nearby. The Jovian Fleets, while strong, also fear to take the wrath of Arda alone.

However, we have no intentions to sit idly by. The Protectorate has many facilities which may be of use to you in your fight, and are protected by the Jovian Fleets.

Please consider.

<Malcom Raugher, CINCSFA

[close encrypt7 pw: n231o7]
[/code:1:b080f66329]

"When it rains, it pours," Abadas said, realizing the cliche. "What's the damned status on the pods? I told you those things were a bad idea."

"The, uh, diplomatic pod is still on Morion. Apparently the commander there is unable to speak on behalf of Melkor. We could send it back to Angband, where I believe Lord Alkanphel would-"

"No, no. We don't have time for it, I don't care how fast that sucker is. Transmit a message directly to Arda, encrypt it and let's hope our exceptionally advanced infotech prevents anyone from just reading it as if it were on an open forum!"

"Saying what?"

Abadas grunted. "Same thing as always. We demand an explanation for the minor attack, blah blah blah."

"And what of this Titan war? We can't just stand aside and let them all kill each other...."

Abadas slowly smiled. "Yes. We could. Unfortunately, we have allies in the Reich, and thus an obligation to defend them should they come under attack. And if we are going to be fighting Yut... at last... we might as well try to maintain those relations and make the enemy of my enemy my friend. In the meantime... transmit a public message to all parties involved declaring our neutrality. No sense in playing our hand til the cards have been dealt."

So many cliches, but he spoke the truth as well. The secretary scampered to his VCM.

----------------------

Encrypted message to all Allied Nations
[code:1:d090629f81]ITDO Forces have been on partial mobilization for some time. We are now stepping up to wartime mode and preparing for the worst. We suggest you do the same, that we are not caught with our pants down.[/code:1:d090629f81]

Encrypted message sent to Angband
[code:1:d090629f81]ITDO Forces have registered and investigated a minor attack by your forces on our Martian colony. We require an explanation.

We are dubious as to your possible goals in attacking in such a manner and time, but we will tolerate no aggressions.

We believe that with this situation, you simply cannot afford to make an enemy out of Santa Barbara and her many allies, some of which are in your own ranks.

We believe also that if you force our hand, we will be obligated to side with the Triumverate and the tides of this war will quickly change, and that we do not wish to help the Titanites consolidate and protect their little empire.

We won't attack you if you won't attack us. Deal?[/code:1:d090629f81]

[OOC: Forces immediately pertinent to this war are my 42 warships in Mars orbit. None of them are greater than a kilometer in length. Relevant stats will be revealed when they become relevant, so far no one's so much as looked their way so... oh yeah, and then there's those 800,000 troops or so I have on Mars.]

Killthanus felt his heart storm within his chest. A gentle murmur grew to a hideous thumping that seemed to boil the blood that ran in his veins to a painful scald. From his position on Europa, ice world of Jupiter, he oversaw all that needed to be supervised. Aside him, Melyanna stood with resolution. Only the thrum of barely repressed energies, reverating within the reactor almost at the opposite end of facility broke an eerie silence that seemed to call each Kaeneian in turn, and assess the stoutness of heart and mind that lay within.

Monitors displayed glypths and icons not seen since the invasion of the world they now sat on. Each fleet marker indicating the marbled forms that hung menacingly over the terraformed deserts of the red planet, mars. Casting a glance to Melyanna, he whispered.

"Remember this Melyanna, for should you have children, undoubedtly they will wish to hear of the coming tale many times."



High above depleted atmosphere of Mars, the Seven associated fleets of the Defence Solarri, waited, and watched. Great Homeless Star cruisers slowly slid past massive Khandriayata warships. Vorsatin Interceptors darted gracefully between the hulking starships, but in all, the near entire cultimation of the Kaeneian star fleet remained still. They would wait, around the nearest habited neighbour of Earth, and be ever ready.

Onboard, souls numbering thousands scurried, and worked. Their attentions were not, could not be on the circumstances evolving and occuring outside the hulls of their charges. Instead, they would carry the flag of the Triumvirate onwards, and the honour of the Serene^Union into battle once more.


They would not fail.



From elsewhere, deep within hardened catacombs, and abandoned street habitation centres, within the borders of Kaenei itself, a comm was dispatched, though it was doubtful that it would be recieved and acknowledged, and quite possibly drowned out completely by the cataclysmic amount of companions it journeyed with.



>>>Transmission to: [Melkor Imperium] VIA {Trium DataNetwork[s]} <<<
||From: Administration One, Diplomatic Juncture C/o WorldDisc Transmission Redundencies||
||Re: DELCARATION OF WAR ||

In accordance with its ties and responsibilities to the Triumvirate of Yut, and acting in what it believes to be the rightious course of action, and true path, the Serene^Union of Kaenei hereby declares an armed state of conflict with the Imperium of Melkor, and subsequent allies should they choose to likewise engage in hostilities, or fail to aceede to later negotiations.


May our cleansing fire bring about forgiveness for our deeds.



Minister Killthanus
Acting First, Aengelistorium Ministori.

Most Serene Union of Kaenei

100,000 kms away from Titan proper, 50 Terrapin-class minelayers, escorted by Caiman-class corvettes, are programming and laying out a massive score of Brilliant Pebbles anti-warship missiles. Profiles of ships from the Arda, Reich and all other groups allied to Melkor Unchained have been uploaded and deemed as hostile.

All power is inactive while dormant save for passive sensors such as radar locators and power-signature sensors, making them difficult to spot. FoF targetting systems will paint capitol ships who come too close (25,000 kms), and speed towards them when in range. These are shaped-charge MIRV warheads, filled with gelignite. Nasty stuff that burns for a long time without oxygen.

250 BP Missiles have been laid out and are now active in a 100 km spread, and another 350 will be laid out in 12 NS hours.

OOC: Just so folks know.

Horizon Station

As had been the norm for some time now, the Roving Cruiser Squadron at the Melkorian Horizon Station formed up and jumped out. Ten minutes later, as had also been the norm, another squadron jumped in. The cruisers formed up and began to run mock engagements. Unlike previous times, however, was the First Special Operations Wing, hidden under the veil of their KSPA stealth suites.(OOC: These are full gravitic, optical, mass, radar, lidar whathaveyou. There is a way to spot them, but youssa gonna hafta figure that one out.)

There are no communications as the wing deploys. They have practiced this operation for weeks, and don't chance giving themselves away with any emissions. The Furies move to their attack vectors, splitting into 9 groups of 20 ships. Each group moves to a seperate point on the 3D 720degree sphere around the station. Each group reaches the 50Km mark, waits for the appropriete time-index, and launches, a mix of 200Mt contact fusion warheads, and multiple warhead kinetic missiles. The missiles come out of the tubes, almost the same length as the Furies themselves. The Furies break their formations and scatter back towards the RCS, as watching the missiles go in is a moot point, seeing as how they are also protected by KSPA stealth systems. As the missiles streak gravitically towards Horizon, the RCS suddenly begins massive jamming on all frequencies and bands.

And then, the 1TSSF streaks in from infinity.

http://okcac.freeyellow.com/kardeman.gif
Colonel Brüt Kardeman
Commander, First Special Operations Wing
First Space Superiority Fleet
Ordinance Enabled Karmic Hegemony of Karmabaijan
Triumvirate of Yut
Titan

(Soundtrack: Rob D - Clubbed to Death (kurayamino mix), highly recommend listening to it.)

It was time. Soldiers and citizens of Wretchengard crammed into Invincible Square of Vhaldruin. The Overlord was about to address the nation, one of the rare occasions in which civilians were allowed in Invincible Square. Thousands upon thousands lined up in rows, waiting for their Overlord to appear.

And appear he did. Overlord Bradley Steelblood descended the great steps of Blackstone Fortress into Invincible Square, and then stood atop the stone dais from which he had traditionally given his addresses. He was truly a commanding figure, wearing a great cloak made from some rare and terrible monster, with his legendary sword at his belt and the iron crown of Wretchengard atop his head.

"Fellow Wretchans!" the sovereign boomed. "Now is the time that we have been preparing for! Our great ally Melkor as been forced into war by the cursed nations of the Triumvirate of Yut, and we shall once again hold true to our alliance."

The crowd stirred in a clamour of speech, but the Overlord silenced them by raising his hand.

"You must understand, my people, that I do not want this war any more than you do," he continued. "Melkor didn't want this war either. But the enemy has forced our hand; we must honour our commitment to the alliance. Never forget the importance of honour my people, for it is what seperates proud men from the dregs of the universe"

The crowd reacted more positively to this. Honour was all-important in Wretchengard.

"Loyalty, honour, and wrath everlasting!" the Overlord cried, raising his mighty sword into the air and stirring the crowd to a thunderous roar at the reciting of their mantra. "TO WAR!"

The sound was deafening as the crowd thundered out of Invincible Square to prepare themselves for the coming storm. Come what may, Wretchengard would be ready.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

If Wretchengard was considered a highly industrious nation during peace-time, one observing the nation during times of war would be startled. It could be compared to a large ant hill that had been stabbed with a pointy stick; there was movement everywhere in an ordered-chaos, if such a thing could exist. Factories belched out even more and more fumes as workers and machines alike were pushed faster and faster. All to feed Wretchengard's war machine, which hungered for material like some great beast.

But the great beast could not live on machinery and weapons alone. It hungered for flesh, as well. Wives and mothers held back tears as they parted ways with their husbands, sons, and even daughters, knowing that they may never see them again. Career soldiers and reservists reported to their stations to await assignment, and officials began to search through the citizen database and select those who would be suitable for conscription. If the war was as bloody as expected, they would be needed.

Overlord Bradley Steelblood observed it in Vhaldruin from atop the Blackstone Fortress, and was pleased.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Throughout Vhaldruin, and all of Wretchengard's major cities, huge cannons and SOM systems became more active than ever before. Wretchengard had been aware of Menelmacar's fleet appearing over Arda, and it was safe to assume that they would be back. Although Wretchengard's space fleets were not yet completed, the nation did have plenty of defense against orbital bombardment. If the enemy fleets returned, they would fall burning from the sky like Icarus...

[Edited on Feb. 18, 2:18am to add some flavour text and improve structure.]

Terence hmmed and hawed as he circled the newly-promoted officer in front of him, a young lad barely over seventeen. Noble blood, obviously, to have been promoted so fast. The boy stood with his chest puffed out, bright red shirt like a robin's breast.

And a pin here ... and there ... and done.

"Please breathe out, milord. It won't help any if the uniform is too loose. I need to get measurements for a man, not a statue." The customer scowled, but loosened up. Skilled tailors were rare enough that they could get away with small impertinences to distant relatives of their patrons.

"There we go. It will be ready within the day, milord. Colours of your House and the Seventh of the Third, yes, sir."

What is the world coming to, when war is so imminent even the nobles are being pushed hard to get through officer training?

Wondering about the exact colour match he'd need on the filigree to set off the boy's eyes, Terence wandered off to design the garment on his CAD interface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ARES system/creature/thing slumbered in its vat of ammonia sulphate, the giant electronic brain soaking in optical information relayed from the satellites in orbit above. Protein amylases reacted, as it used its computational DNA to predict engagements, record weapons ranges and impacts, ship speeds and tactics, maneouvers, co-ordination, encrypted broadcasts. It knew - or at least, not being truly sentient - it factored in the time delay in the non-FTL communications relay. But it could analyse and test and map patterns to nigh on infinite complexity as it pulled the puppet-strings of the war machine: and so, it did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OOC:
Just to publicly resolve some questions raised in telegrams so I don't have to go over them again ...
a) I am perfectly well aware that if I attack someone I accept their tech level, and will need to find IC ways of beating it, not ranting about it's OOC impossibility;
and
b) I'm trying to intercept any communications between members of Yut, and members of Arda, that are ongoing on earth (the ones in space won't reach me for ... about a half hour of in game time). DNA computers are perfect for cracking codes - being capable of incredible numbers of simultaneous computations. Optical and radio transmissions are the ones currently being tracked. In addition, assorted satellites over various areas are trying to pin down which countries are mobilising for war (preferrably this war). Primary arcs for sensor data recording are Lodoss and Tareldanore: far, far distant the Kuiper belt (with a much smaller, not-as-good-at-cracking-codes version of ARES).

"So, what should it be? Horizon or Io?" Sirithil looked very annoyed at the fact her party has been crashed.

"Neither, milady. We should return and smash Arda - the Veganans are leaving." Warlady Naurelin pointed at the holo... and sure enough, there was the Veganan fleet, breaking orbit save for a token detachment of three ships.

"Well I'll be damned... give them a couple hours... don't want them turning around, after all. Now why would they leave? Especially now that we've basically tipped our hand?"

"Melkor needs help desperately on Io," Naurelin replied.

"Desperately enough that they'd pull the whole fleet off? No, something doesn't add up. He can't get to Io in time."

"It matters little, milady... he's exposing our objective."

"Quite so. As I said, give them a couple hours, then head back..."

-----------------
A couple hours later...

Task Force Grond moved north once again, the great fleet, the greatest fleet in Menelmacari history arrayed across the sky like a vast flock of birds, each one ready to unleash death.

"All shields to full!" Sirithil ordered. "Destroy the Veganan ships first... and then any Ardan satellites in orbit, swat down anything they throw at us! And I want the surface molten! Open fire! Repeat, all ships, fire at will!"

And the sky was filled with fire.

Over a hundred ships broke off, including three of the ramships, making straight for the Veganan vessels, their weapons thundering... the three ramships blazed forwards, one towards each enemy ship.

Aided by the massively powerful sensor arrays assembled far below only hours before, Angband and its surround was lit up and laid out before them despite the mystical Vala-wrought smog that wreathed it. Cannons blazed, inverse-pulse missiles thundered, and anything of the Enemy or his allies that was unfortunate enough to fall within the sights of the ships or even to wander into their engagement envelope was met with withering and terrible firepower… it was horrifyingly massive bombardment on a nation-wide scale, and with seven hundred ships, the fleet had the firepower to do it.

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/sirithil/sirithilnosfeanor.gifLady Sirithil nos Fëanor
Elentári of the Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar
High Queen and Lady-Protector of Elvenkind
"We have known freedom's price. We have shown freedom's power. We will see freedom's victory."
~US President George W. Bush
We Love the Iraqi Information Minister (http://www.welovetheiraqiinformationminister.com)
Clicky-clicky!

"Wait, what's going?" demanded an impatient, twenty-something blonde college kid. He floated idly, trying to 'swim' in free fall despite his thorough orientation.

Doctor Kylo sighed. Newbies. They were all the same. He wished the PCC didn't force an endless parade of students on the poor OMF. Kylo could hardly do research at all these days, having to answer idiot questions and go over the same routines, like a magician or clown.

The loud clanging sound continued. It was alarming, Kylo admitted, that is if one was a newbie. He wasn't, though, and recognized the familiar sound of reinforced fuel hoses latching, or attempting to, onto the nozzles on the outer edge of the hydrogen storage compartment.

Kylo flipped the initiation switch. Besides a non-active researcher forced to entertain college flunkees, he was also a part time gas station serviceman.

"Are we being attacked?" the brat demanded, seemingly more excited than alarmed. Idiotic.

Dr Kylo sighed. Maybe the damn ship would explode, or get reassigned to a different OMF. Maybe the kid would accidentally get sucked out the airlock.

He grinned inwardly, not bothering to offer the boy a response. One could always hope...

----------

The St. Denis, having been loaded with her full compliment of 800 SKEP-13's, assorted other munitions and enough propellant for the mission and plenty to spare, disconnected from the creaking OMF modules which clung to it's docking ports.

The OMFs were old by now, 1st generation PCC construction; dense, strong, solid, and not very pretty. They hovered in free fall, numbering in the thousands across Earth orbit, no longer concentrated into OMF "Cities" as they once were.

But they, like everything, had their roles to play. No complaints or arguments came from them, and their tiny crews faithfully serviced the ITDO-OOTG vessels which had cradled up against them, like miniscule, loving mothers nursing a gangly child.

The captain of the St. Denis, a somewhat portly Tactical Commander by the name of Hugo Stevens, pointed and clicked his way out of orbit.

The 181 other members of the OMI-55D craft displayed the real effort and did the real work, however. Officers barked down obscure orders relating to the thousands of major pieces of equipment aboard the destroyer. Petty officers barked at the enlisted crew. Crews barked at the computers. Computers barked back.

She initiated a full burn, then, and spat out a dirty exhaust of hydrogen plasma after orienting for the now well-travelled brachiostrome course from Earth to Mars.

Twenty two thousand tons of tooth and nail made it's way, slowly at first but increasing velocity at a steady, slightly uncomfortable rate, for the home of the God of War.

TacCom Stevens checked his console. The disposition display was good. Thrust was optimal. Brennschluss was ticking away-- it had a long way to go. So did the ship.

And he didn't have to look out any viewports to know that the 6th Destroyer Group, which he commanded, was also travelling a similar path, several hundred kilometers distant along a rough plane.

--

Over the next two and a half hours, the 2nd Destroyer Battle Group, the 3rd Merchant Cruiser Battle Group, the 2nd Merchant Cruiser Group and the 2nd Logistics Group-- a total of 46 vessels, including the entirety of the 2nd Battle Squadron and the 2nd Mobile Logistics Group-- followed suit, heading off to the Red Planet to join SCC Cheng's fleet already there.

Imperial Palace, Arpia, Reploid Productions

Firefury reads the printout of the message, an extremely dire expression on her face. Her ministers sit around the table, expressions solemn.

"So it's begun, then?" The orange reploid says in a low voice.

"Combat is apparently commencing according to Ryken. The Amatsu fleet has gone to full alert, and we've received word from Sirithil." Tiffany nods.

"Then let the homeland not fall silent." Firefury stands up, fists banging the table. "All fleet assets with Menelmacar are cleared to open fire- the Peace with Conviction should already have targeting information. All units go to imminent deployment status. Get the press- I've a statement to issue!"

Task Force Grond

"We have firing confirmation! All units, open fire!" Tenchuu fleet Flightleader Oramos Altana bellows. "Apocalypse Cannon, Spirit Hammer cannons One and Two- FIRE! Fire on Angband! Maximum thaumaturgic charge! Gigaton Buster cannons One and Two- Standby!"

There was a wide space in front of the massive Hand of God class ship's prominent main cannons. The Peace with Conviction hung silent in space even as the rest of the task force begins to rain fire on Arda far below. Silent for but a moment, before the three thaumaturgic cannons sing out, beams of black energy wreathed in blue fire lancing to Earth from the 2.1 kilometer long ship.

http://rpstudios.ian-justman.com/junk/CGgoods/ORT-small.JPG

Tiny Fyuta class gunboats spread out, a systematic sweep, missiles lancing out at Ardan satellites and anything else that comes near the fleet's defense perimeter.

The Tenmou battleships power up their main guns, adding their own music of destruction to the ortillery raining down, while the Archangels launch all fighters and maintain their vigiliance over their flagship.

Imperial Palace courtyard, Arpia, Reploid Productions

The orange reploid stands at the podium, armor gleaming, helmet fixed into place, combat visor down, the image broadcast to all corners of the Arpean nation as well as the Shogunate's neighbor and ally of Sneaky Bastards.

"People of the Shogunate! For too long tension has brewed, a long road that leads to one final conclusion! Today, forces from Melkor Unchained have opened fire on Titan fleets near Io. Even now, a counterstrike is beginning- we join with our allies, our friends, to stand tall against the darkness, to press on, though many of us may fall." She sweeps the area with a serious glance.

"Yes... I speak of the unimaginable. War. Yes, war! The forces of the Triumvirate of Yut standing as one, decrying the lies of Arda in one final showdown, the likes of which may never be seen again! We stand on the brink of the greatest battle of our era, of this Age! We cannot sit idle as our friends and allies give their all for their ideals. We cannot, and we will not! As we rose to overthrow the darkness of our own lands on the eve of the Dividing War, again, we shall rise! With wings of steel, breath of flame, and courage steeled with hope, we shall rise to the challenge, answer the call to battle, and fly to victory on the Wings of Chaos!" Firefury raises a fist to the sky.

"The chains of order are wrapping tight- the order of destruction, such as Arda would bring, threaten to bind us all, to choke us to nothingness. But we will not be cowed! We stand as one, the golden axe of Chaos, of free will, and at our hands, these chains of Arda will be shattered, turned to dust and scattered to the winds!"

"Rise, my people! Rise!" The reploid whips out her beam saber, pointing the gleaming red blade toward the heavens. "For the Burning Banner! For the Wings of Chaos! For the glory of the Goddess and those who believe in freedom! Rise, and fight!"

The gathered crowd stands in dumbfounded silence for a brief moment as the realization sinks in. Before long though, the throng has taken up the cry, hundreds of thousands of voices throughout the Shogunate, raised as one. "For the Burning Banner! For the Wings of Chaos!"

Government District, City of Avalon, Konania

Executive Avinn closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, releasing the stress, after the reading a transmission from Ganymede. Multiple fleets were entering Jovian space, setting up weapons, taking positions... He didn’t like it. He frowned. As of yet, no one had responded to their message.

To many, Io would be another battleground in a fight between two of the world’s vast alliances. To the Konanian citizens in the area, Jupiter was home.

It would be something akin to having a world war in one’s backyard. If there simply must be war, he said silently, half wondering, half praying, why, oh, why must it be so close?

Ganymede Orbit; Konanian Ganymede

Four things began happening at the same time: First, the AIDSAT grid, much like the one that protected Konania on Earth, activated to protect the Protectorate from stray objects and fire. Second, construction on another starbase, one which would be Petros’ sister in the sky, ceased, and the barely-begun skeleton was moved nearer to Ganymede and in close protective range of Petros’ guns. Third, the fighters of the Jovian Fleet began to arm and fly sentry missions around the rock.

Finally, the army of the Jovian Konanian States as well as many evacuation ships quietly prepared themselves as a precautionary measure for what seemed an unthinkable possibility.

Piotr's Dancers, offshoot of the Kuiper Belt ... approximately 30 AUs from Sol ...

The hulking body of the asteroid was deadly silent, as for the first time the entire length of the weapon it concealed - based on prototypes tested on the Funfair Island - powered up with intent to fire. Gleaming metal tubes, five hundred metres wide, stretched back into the dark cavernous depth of the hollowed-out chunk of rock where massive fusion batteries - charged over successive months - waited to pour their energy into expressions of twisted hatred.

Deputy Commissar Tyler shivered with anticipation. The transmission from the Legacy had been hoped for, but not expected. Now seven years of the work of himself and his scientific team would be put to the test.

"The drones are in position?" he asked a nearby scientist for the third time. The man nodded, face grim.

"The calculations have been made?" He nodded again.

"All hands, prepare for final countdown. Take up safety positions."

The vastness of the Seventh Trumpet was shielded by huge layers of ice, metal, rock and vacuum from the rest of the station, but nevertheless caution always paid off.




"10."




Within the bowels of the asteroid, Chief Engineer O'Brien finished running the fusion battery diagnostic for the ninth time. The main batteries were fine, the tertiary defences also fine, and the fusion plants switched off. Sweat dripped from his forehead liberally as he stood up to walk away from his instrument - no need to risk being fried by a powersurge through the instruments, after all.




"9."




Captain Erherz smiled wanly as her targeting calculations, once again, proved accurate entirely. Everything had been taken into account. Everything. She looked up at the yellow Firing Procedure notice, which she hadn't really paid attention to before, and - without running - calmly began to follow the painted stripe that led her to her firing position.




"8."




Dr Ravishadi grimaced at the back of the Deputy Commissar. His overactive imagination was already playing tricks on him, and he kept envisioning the impact of the Hammer on a populace.

Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Please forgive me, oh Lord, for what I have wrought ...




"7."




Onboard the distant Legacy, Rhion Aegewain watched the holographic display with vague interest. He didn't really care what happened, but he knew at what point he would step in: and there did not seem to be any need to or likelihood of that point occurring.




"6."




Tyler fidgeted, hands in his pockets, and




"5."




O'Brien joined his team of engineers in a Blastroom, and




"4."




Erherz turned the lock of the vault door behind her, and




"3."




Tyler gave a nervous laugh, and




"2."




O'Brien put down his coffee, and




"1."




Erherz kissed her lieutenant, and --

As the Menelmacari fleet appeared, Prince Solyan al Vvishiak, Lord of Orm Embar, stirred in his sleep, and leisurely stretched out with his mind. What he saw threw him into full wakefullness, and all-consuming anger.
How dare these petty Young-Kingdom fools disturb his slumber? First on Mars, and now right next to his own home? On his own lands? And how dare they come bearing weapons into his sovereign territory? He pulsed a thought straight down at the Imperial palace below to warn his lord, and then looked out again.

And his anger grew, swelling like an terrible winter storm on the oceans of Sakrea, the water-planet of the Leauni. His fury was like that of a raging fire, and his eyes blazed like those of a demon from the furthest depths of hell, as his bull-like bellows caused the corridors of his shining palace to reverberate with rage.

And, as his mood grew towards something more akin to that of his brother, who's tormented mind was the heart of Orm Embar, the Palace itself reflected his anger, and the shining gold took on an eerie crimson sheen, glowing like a monstrous fountain of blood, and runes covering its surface turned to purest scarlet, searing the eyes of all who looked upon them with their intensity.

Solyan did not even need to seek the depths of his soul, for his anger was already present, and, for the first time since assuming his throne, he joined himself fully with the mind of his brother, and their combined fury was a hundred times more powerful that either could have been alone. And this rage swept through the runic networks of the palace, where it swelled up into a great tidal wave of anger, or rage, and of hate, gushing out into the world beyond, where it remorselessly poured out over the minds of those manning the fleets above Arda, causing them to lose all restraint and self-control. Across the entire planet of Nationstates Earth, men and women, dwarves and elves, found themselves irritable, as smiles turned to frowns, and laughter died. But in the vast fleets of Reploid Productions and Menelmacar, the effect was much more dramatic. Some weaker minds, blinded by rage, could barely manipulate their complex controls, while others wished only to ram their vessels into the cities below. Some even felt unholy urges to turn against their own officers, or to aim their weapons at the other ships in their own fleets. These were extreme cases, but throughout, men and elves were filled with a need to kill, and to destroy, their natural sense of self-preservation and caution ripped away and scattered out into the void.

Horizon Station

As the Karmabaijan Furies swept down upon the Horizon, about a third of the ship just...vanished, each great chunk of metal and plastic fading into nothingness, as if they had never existed, and the missiles flew out into space, their warheads unused.

The Emperor rose, as Solyan's warning reverberated throughout his mind, and from his mind a series of orders poured forth:

Rouse every Dragon that can be roused. Wake every mage, gather every demon. These Young-Kingdomers have had the gall to attack us! Let us show them why we once ruled an entire dimension!

Across the entire planet of Nationstates Earth, men and women, dwarves and elves, found themselves irritable, as smiles turned to frowns, and laughter died.

The wave was strong. Too strong. Although DA, as well as the six islands around the world, were far away, far enough to make sure that most defences weren`t overrun by the wave... It wasn´t enough.

Protected areas, they were safe, and the depots didn´t suddenly end in a telepathic lightning... Well, with that one exception...

But on the streets, people just collapsed, dozens, hundreds...

The message of hatred reached them, overwhelmed them... Riots started, people begun to randomly assault each other...

Slowly, the defences they had uploaded in their brains took over, defeated the wave of anger coming from Orm Embar... Although in some cases, the defences failed completely, and it would be a long and painful way for the people that suffered this fate, a long way to be saved from their misery.

Of course, the damage differed from area to area. The island closest to Orm Embar, the damage was horrible. Thousands where hit, their defences failing... Dozens died or were wounded in the rage of Orm Embar.

In DA itself, the damage was... proportionally less massive, but still massive enough, while on the island far away, on the opposite side of the earth, the damage done by the attack was minimal.

But The Eye`s awakened. They felt the wave, and they started to reach out with their wings, embracing the people they were meant to protect, strengthening their defences...

This wouldn´t happen a second time.

Then they reached out again, following the way of the wave, backwards, searching for it`s origin... With the time delay, as short as it was, they could calculate it easy enough...

And then they prepared to reach out again, to infect what had attacked them... It would just have to fall for their teasing...

The Baron grimaced as Solyan's anger washed over his psyche, and hurled up his mental walls, before striding down the stairway to the base of his tower. Opening the door, he shook his fist at the distant palace of Orm Embar, and headed down the hill toward the village.

Accursed child needs to get some self-control. These emotion-leaks of his are getting....inconvenient. Oh well...maybe if I reach the village fast enough, I might be able to stop the brawl before they burn the whole place down...again.

"Fire."




There was a whine, and silence. Nothing happened. With a face like thunder, the Deputy Commissar glared at the scientist.

"So. What happened?"

Deep within the bowels of the Sketchian Ministry of Peace, a solemn meeting took place.

The Triumverate of Yut moves once again.

Yes, this time on Melkor.

This is none of our business. What happens to Melkor is of no concern to us.

What the Triumverate does is always our business.

What of the others?

They will do as they see fit.

We must take steps to contain the situation.

We cannot interfere.

We shall watch.

Their ships surround us. We must protect our interests.

They won't dare provoke us now.

What if they do? It is time to call her back.

It is not neccessary.......

Do it. Bring her home.

===============================================

Floating in the vast darkness of deep space, a gargantuan vessel and her caretakers comes to life. Running lights flicker on, weapon systems run calibration checks, system diagnostics give all clear signs. With a surge of power, ancient engines once again flare up with fiery brilliance. An automatic navigation computer methodically counts down the seconds to the FTL jump; no one is around to witness it. With a silent flicker, the majestic vessels of old disappear from realspace.

Justice shall return to Sketch

edit: permission received to make ic post

#tag#

EDIT: TGed Siri ICly, and contacted Nath about joining. She'd pass on the request.

#Tag#

Tag.

A very wary tag.

The usual tagging device was activated, sending a homing beacon to keep trace of the incoming conflict...

#Tag#

You're it!

Deputy Commissar Tyler stared at the stoney-faced scientist for several moments, noting the set of his jaw, the pattern of his breathing under his uniform. His augmented eyes picked out the slight narrowing of the corneas as the dark-skinned man stared back at him.

"Security, arrest Dr. Ravishadi." Two faceless figures in an armoured carapace that flowed and matted the harsh white lights of the room glided forwards, and the scientist offered no resistance.

"Engineering," barked the Deputy Commissar. "Go over the firing channels. Check for recent program alterations. Have Captain Erherz begin recalculating firing position. I want a full security lockdown on this station, I want everyone searched."

He nodded his head to his private offices, and the soldiers carried his scapegoat in ... .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ravishadi felt the cool metal that held his wrists behind his back. His mind danced along a knife's edge, frustrated still that his heart had thrown away his life for nothing.
But Tyler is not sitting down, like a man in control of his actions. He paces, like a man controlled by his actions ...

"What did you do?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I sound confused ... I thi ...

"Lie to me again, and I'll have your wife killed." Tyler spat onto the grilled metal floor, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Livia ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The church was solemn, the grey stone walls unadorned, the cold of the floor seeped upwards through his new shoes. Isn Ravishadi bit his lower lip nervously as he waited, as the silence grew more intense. Father Immerson looked at the ground studiously. His best man fidgeted with his hand in one pocket. Isn turned around, studied the faces. His mother looked thunderous, his father contemptuous. "Don't marry a woman from Still Water," she had said. "They are flighty, and quick to plead for seperation. They will not keep to our ways." But he needed a work visa to enter Whispering Voices from its colony of Murderous Tendencies, and marriage was a sacred vow. Not that he disliked Livia - he was fond of her. She was everything he was not - carefree where he was dutybound, easygoing where he was meticulous. Amoral where he believed the tenets of the New Testament with every fibre in his body. And then she came in, and the organ player breathed a sigh of relief, and rose petals - an extravagance in a country with few hotgardens - showered from the balconies, and ...


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My wife. My child ... she would not understand. She would never understand what I do.

He stared back at the Deputy Commissar, the gold stripes on the man's shoulders, the anger pouring from his commander like a seething sea of hatred.

"I don't know what you mean, sir."

Tyler shrugged, smiled, sat down. His fingers played a rhythm on the surface of his desk. A fugue. He frowned, sat forward, picked up a stylus. With a look of concentration he began writing on his pad.

Ravishadi heard one of the two men behind him run a diagnostic. The bizarre ghostly sounds scratched at the edges of his hearing, as the armourgel suit tested its systems.

The door hissed open, and his heart sank. He could smell her perfume - vanilla essence. The swishy sound her clothes made, rare Aran wool that took a lot of his pay to import. And the smell of antiseptic, and nervous breathing. His son, Thomas, too.

And through me shalt ye find salvation ...

Tyler was not a man to waste time. The door hissed shut, and the Deputy Commissar spoke before it did. "What did you do?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Another security guard - bodily carrying Livia - moved into Isn's sight. She looked at him pleadingly, her blue eyes damp with tears.

"You know better than this, Ravishadi. You know what will happen."

The worm is safe in its hole. They'll not find it ... if I am strong. Livia, or thousands, maybe millions of lives?

Isn did not bother responding. The security guard removed his hand from Livia's mouth and let her go. Grabbing Thomas, she rushed over and knelt beside him, what's going on, what's happening, why are we here, what have you done, please God, she whimpered.

And let me not stray from the path ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It was a proud moment. All the long days, late nights, overtime worked to get money. Isn had lived without friends, without luxuries for close on three years, as had Livia. She had coped well with the hardship, understanding his goal, and now they had it: a house. Their house. Built into one of the more luxurious of the subterranean suburbs of Still Waters, it boasted everything - panic room, hardline nerve connection, projecters built into the walls that imaged the pristine, beautiful surface world so the ants belowground could forget the hardness of their lives.

He looked over at her, and smiled, and smiled more as she smiled.
Now to save up for a child ...


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What is going on?" she sobbed, covering Thomas with her body. Tyler glared at Isn, glared murder.

Of course. A noble blood will not relish the execution of a pure citizen just to make an immigrant talk. He will make it painless, at least. God send he make it painless ...

"ISN!" Livia screamed and her voice was ragged. She knew, he knew. That he was putting others ahead of her life, and her son.

But does she know how many others? Ah, why did I accept the offer of bringing my family with me, just because otherwise I would not see them for ten years? Did they think, then, the architects, that this would come about? Did they foresee a scientist breaking ranks?

The security guard dragged her up, leaving Thomas cowering against his father, gripping tightly onto Isn's leg. Livia's pleas filled the room.

"What did you do, Ravishadi? What did you do?"

I love you, Livia. But for a million lives ... I must do this. Forgive me ... He looked at her, trying to tell her his thoughts, but she stared back at him confused, uncomprehending, sixteen years of being the perfect wife between her and the truth.

It was quick. The security guard stepped back, a blade retracting into his matte-black armour, the blood absorbed. Livia collapsed onto the table, her eyes resting on his.

"Your son is next, man. Tell me what you've done!"

Only a halfbreed, but children are sacred. He cannot go so far ... but then, he is in command of a weapon he intends to fire at a populace: he can go so far. Am I mad? I cannot sacrifice him ...
His son's tears and cries permeated the cloth of his trouser leg, tore into his heart.

But so many others ... so many others. Other children. Other Thomases ... oh God ...

"Last warning, Ravishadi. I will do whatever it takes to see the Seventh Trumpet fire. Believe me, Ravishadi. Your son does not have to die. Those people will die. Is a life worth your stalling? Do you measure the value of your own son's life in hours?"

Ah, but I know something you do not, sir. Ravishadi touched the cap of his upper left molar with the tip of his tongue, wiggled it slightly, and set his jaw. Bit down hard, and felt the bitter taste of castor-flavoured powder on his palette.

"Daddy! DADDY!"

"I love you, Thomas. I love you so much ... " Isn looked up at Tyler. "I'll ... tell you. Don't kill my son." How long until the ricin kills? Ten minutes? Twenty? Is it enough?

The Deputy Commissar breathed out, relieved, then stood stock-still. "Tell me, then."

"I severed six of the firing neurons, in the tertiary ancillae. They're seperated, a simple graft will restore them."

Tyler tapped out again on his stylus, reverently moving the body off the woman so the blood would not cover that part of the desk. It was already seeping through the grilled floor, forgotten. Just more waste to be converted. At least her body would get a Christian funeral.

Tyler swore. "You're lying. Tell me or your son dies. Now." Thomas was ripped away.

"Alright! It's the hippocampal lobe ... "

He knows it is not. They must have diagnosed that area of the mechanism already. How long does it take to die? It should be faster ... but I feel weaker. Not long, surely.

Thomas howled, and howled. "The half-caste will die slowly, Ravishadi." He shook his head.

It's funny how some things come back to you ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The colour of the grass of the artificial football field, the teamwork of the game. Rising to cheer as the Hush Ups' best striker looped a long curve into the back of the Silencers' goal net. Thomas on his shoulders, drinking a NutriDrink, laughing and cheering with the others.

Thomas in the cablecar, suspended over a sea of swirling snowflakes, on his first skiing holiday.

Thomas falling from his bicycle, grazing his knee, but trying again.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The boy whimpered, his face pressed into the stickiness of his mother's blood, the metallic tang on his lips, the copper-iron smell in his nose. Isn wept openly as the Deputy Commissar broke his six-year-old's little finger, but did not speak. The man howled as he drew his pistol, but did not speak. He choked as the hammer clicked, but did not speak.

It wasn't his son's death that really made Isn lose his faith, though. It was the water poured into his mouth, and Tyler's gutpunch that threw him, vomiting, across the room. No ricin. No release.

Pain of the flesh, much like pain of the spirit, can be endured - but only by heroes. And Isn was no hero, just a man with a moral conscience.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The neurosurgical computational analyst hummed as he finished regrowing the braincells that had been damaged by Isn's saboutage to be refitted into the mechanism.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The men and women - the crew, at least, of the station - gathered by the loudspeakers as Tyler began his speech.

"Friends. Countrymen. Today a grave treachery was committed by a man trusted by us all: one of ours. His actions could threaten us all, and our children. I remind you why we are here, crew of the Seventh Trumpet. The Triumvirate of Yut consort with the Blighted, with the most loathesome of all creation: the artificial men, the replicants, that claim to have souls. Worse yet, they corrupt humans - people - and make them into machines. This insidious evil is ours to stop, although it seems with the most bizarre of allies. Melkor is a servant of The Adversary, it is true: yet he endangers lives, but not eternal life. The soulstealers must be brought to justice. We know the price: and if there is a one amongst you who will not pay the price, let them surrender themselves now. The rest of us: we are sacrifices to the Lamb, and shall serve him as he wills it."

Tyler switched off the microphone, looking at Isn's shredded, breathing corpse, uncomfortable with his newfound knowledge, that ... some sacrifices truly were worthless.

Still. That was what being a military man was. "Fire up the ghost-condensate Jameson drones," he ordered. "And initiate the dimensional wells. Let's not let them wormhole here, please. At least make them fly the long way."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OOC:
Well, I took the firing post down due to a member of Yut complaining that I'd fired way too fast, and it was an excuse for being ignored, etc etc. So I took it down in order to show a little 'give' and just be nice. After I took it down I took such a hefty session of bitching, I'll change things so I can fire after all. Oh and Karma's polite request =) I can only assume that me not firing would obviously have ruined some plan, I guess we all get to see soon.

This thread ends for reference purposes ~ seven ingame hours after the hostilites actually started on Io (when the fleets opened fire). That gives Melkor and others time to post, since he pointed out to me he hadn't got to open fire yet, even.

Anyway I wrote a huge long IC post so I could have an OOC post. Yay me. I demand a scoobiesnack.

OOC: Throws a scooby snack to WV, also known as a #tag#

[ (ss) (ss) <--- scoobiesnacks for WV. ]

All I want is for every to return to normal with as little misery as possible. Is that so much to ask?

Executive Avinn was hoping for a limited conflict, but realized there would be no such luck when a report came in from the two Konanian Earth Battlegroups, who were busily attempting to stay out of the way, while praying that their own satellites didn't get shot at. Exactly, Avinn added to himself, as stated in the orders Raugher had given.

Years of silent hate, and was it all going to end now?

No. Not for the Konanians. They would stay out of this, if they could get away with it.

***

Hargraves, however, needed to know what in the world was going on. From his current venue, he could not see what he wanted.

He found it rather frustrating. And yet, he was content here, because -here- was not -out there- where the war was. Where people, inevitably, would die. A little twinge reminded him that this was no small thing.

How can you sit idly?

Because if they need help, they will ask.

The Triumvirate may lose. If they do, Ganymede may die, the voice pressed on.

And Hargraves had no answer.

#detecting increase in boson particle activity#
#multiple contacts emerging from hyperspace#
#initiating automated defense systems lockdown#
#sending IFF challenge to contacts.....
[You are entering Sketchian controlled space, indentify yourselves immediately or be destroyed//You are entering.....]
challenge response received.....
SSD Justice
SD Avarice
SD Torment
SD Foe
SD Stormbringer
SD Gorgon
SD Turok
CV Odyssey
CV Atlas
CV Orion
confirming IFF codes.....contacts confirmed
[Welcome to Progenitor station LILITH]#
#initiating docking sequence#
#initiating sleeper reactivation sequence#
#activating cells 000-100.....
activating cells 101-200.....
activating cells 201-300.....
activating cells 301-400.....
activating cells 401-500.....
activating cells 501-600.....
activating cells 601-700.....
activating cells 701-800.....
activating cells 801-900.....
activating cells 901-999.....
all cells activated#
#time until completion.....14h 42m 04s#
#engaging environmental controls.....
setting optimal conditions=human#

#sending data to Sketch Prime.....
max encryption set.....
[01010000 01110010 01101111 01101010 01100101 01100011 01110100 00100000 01000111 01000101 01001110 01000101 01010011 01001001 01010011 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100101 01101110 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01100011 01110100 01101001 01110110 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100100]
message sent.....
data recipient acknowledged#

===============================================

It is done.

Justice shall return to Sketch.

GENESIS was shut down for a reason.....

It cannot be helped.....

We shall see.

edit: aiya! misspellings.....

Brigadier Kozlowski stared at his orders for a second longer than he should have and the entire control room grew nervous with anticipation... it was a good thing, it was a terrible thing: Activation. It had to be.

The silence spread outward, as each station in turn hushed and looked to him for confirmation. Comms was first and time seemed to float by until Defence and Capacitance followed suit. Primary Engineering took it up a moment later, followed closely by Phobos Relay and Deimos Relay. The small group of staff officers gathered around the 3D plotter display were the last to cease their discussion of deployments and look expectantly at the Brigadier.

He let the silence grow... and used the time it bought him to think franticly of the words to say. Eventually, the words came out with a firmness that shocked only him. "Comms, get me Phobos and Deimos commands on screen and prepare for a fascility-wide anouncement. Jensen, step up the defence grin activation times to Amber. Engineering and Relays... I need current status reports asap. Capacitance: we'll cut off from the main grid shortly, get ready to handle the strain."

A chorus echoed "Yes, Sir!", drawn out of their curiosity by the instinct to obey orders that underlined the discipline and skill of the Brigadier's command. Waving over his staff officers, he entered into a hushed discussion while Comms did their work. The cheerfull "Whats up, boss?" of Tech Commander Levy revealed that her attitude could not be repressed by mere interstellar war, a counterpoint to TComm Ryven's dry and serious "Reporting, sir."

Clearing his through, Kozlowski began in a manner that could have been written into any drama... "Phobos and Deimos commands, Engineering, Capacitance and Defence; I will explain the situation precisely in my fascility-wide address, but for now we are facing activation. I need power at 75% from each reactor, and preparatory threading of the Alpha relays. Capacitance, I need maximum capacity: open vaults 7 through 10. Defence: Amber status. 1 hour launch readiness from the fighters. Guards to their GQ posts, run prelimanry on the Gears, bring them up to 1 hour after you have the aircraft ready. Engineering: ready the chamber for maximum power, ensure the feeds are 100% tuned. Dismiss, but keep an ear on the intercom."

The Kozlowski sighed and tripped the screen for a base-wide assault. Deep in the heart of a mountain, monitor after monitor snapped into life as the rebuilt ruins of an old city were shaken by a sound that had never been heard before. The General Quarters alarm, dimmed as the calm voice echoed throughtout the top secret base.

"As of today, open hostilities have broken out between the Melkorian alliance and the Triumvirate of Yut. The space fleets of the Devils Desert have been deployed to the conflict and DAMOCLES had been placed on priority alert. Whispering Voices is going in all guns blazing and its almost inconcievable that nobody would try a retaliatory strike. You know what both of those mean... we're going to Activation and it looks like we might be used in anger," his face reaches a wry grin "or at all for the first time. We don't know who is comming. We don't know when they'll come. But I do know this: whoever they are, whenever they come... you and Project Longinus will give them a welcome they'll never forget."

"In the sky lies our foe, and we are the lance that will keep them from our families and friends. We are the shield of the people, with the Testers blessing. I wont ask you to do your best, because I never seen you give less than that. Do your duty and all will be well."

And as the broadcast fades, telemetry panels spring to life all throughout the base. And in the depths, the roar of contained stars grows heavier as the fusion reactors Phobos and Deimos begin to do what they were made for...

<tag>

[Observation tag :) .]

*Tag*

(*Tag*)

<Tag>

(OOC: Yep. The megacorp is back. Howdy, all)


Sehndem sat back, fidgeting with a slight bout of impatience as he read the Turcano Autiva, the Financial Herald, and grunted.

It came as no surprise to anyone, Sehndem included, that the Branch Offices of Xaosis would go down the crapper after the Company's unpleasant decision to take sides in the Menelmacari/Imperium cold war. Xao-Angband has been nationalized on the spot, though since ownership of it had passed to Resi just weeks before, it was no great a loss.

What did come as a surprise was the Triumvirate of Yut deciding to sell out the Company in the name of principle. Well, true, it was more complex then that, but it was a nasty surprise. The result? The Company being run by a junior Board, Sehndem and most of the Xaosis leadership placed in "protective custody" (a euphemism for house arrest, if Sehndem ever heard one), and nearly all the Branch Offices bankrupt. Oddly, the main Office itself wasn't doing too bad, though it had seen much better times.

Sehndem sighed and put down the paper and rubbed his temples in irritation. He had known, just as much as the rest of the Board had known, that the uneasy peace between the two alliances could not last. It was the impetus for abandoning neutrality in the first place.

Sehndem picked up a fresh copy of the Elensicil Vinyatírioniva (Vinyatirion Daggerstar) and frowned grimly.

Melkor, you slavedriving bastard. You nuked Mars! NUKED! Do you have any idea how much that place is worth in pure real estate alone? In development? Mining?

Sehndem shook his head. Things were gonna get worse, no two ways around it.

"Well," Sehndem murmured. "Thank God for Araman."

*****************

"What did he say?"

Mardil Haradeldar looked up to the moniter. It displayed Sehndem's filthily lavish apartment suites.

"I don't know," he answered his co-worker.

The other security officer, some techie who's name Mardil had already forgotten, scowled. He was fairly new to this line of work and tended to compensate by finding plots in every pizza order and every email. "He was saying something about Araman? Why would he be talking about Eldarin history?"

Mardil rolled his eyes. "Look, it's not our job to think, it's our job to watch this guy. Now why don't you go outside and get me some coffee?"

Immediatly, the subject changed to an annoyance filled debate and the subject quickly forgotten


****************************************************

"Shit."

Nordanl Bay scowled as he regarded the latest figures from the Private Security Corps. "This company is going to hell in a handbasket, Heimdall."

Seated opposite from him, in front of his desk, the Dwarf fidgeted. "I don't care about your company," he grumbled. "I AM interested in money."

"Now, now," Nordanl chided. "You'll just have to wait. In fact, that is why I called you here."

Nordanl Bay was the "Special Projects" Exec for the Company. He had, of course, arrainged the Tiamat fiasco and organized some of the quieter and more secretive Company operations. Ironically, he was one of the few Board members who hadn't been grabbed when the Trium decided to investigate Xaosis for terrorism charges. Nordanl had simply made sure to be far, far away when that happened.

He turned and regarded the view from his office (if it could be called that) window. The vista outside reminded him chillingly of Dor Daedoloth, though it was not nearly as industrialized or as.....foul looking. Rather, the wilderness of planet Araman had a rugged beauty to it, the kind you see in the mountainous crags of, well, Mars, or the Himalayas.

Araman was a small, rocky, and damnably cold planet who's chief advantage was that it was far, far, very far away from any Menelmacari, Melkorian, or just about any settled planet.

Xaosis had been, in it's early days, a sort of stellar real estate firm, though during the time it was still a state owned corporation for the Imperium, it had been mainly used to scout out land for Imperial takeover. Shortly after becoming private (and neutral), Xaosis had finished wrapping up deep space probes that returned very bleak results....except for Araman.

Araman was mineral rich, astoundingly so, but it had been discarded as a place for colonization because it had already been inhabited. Not that it had mattered to Melkor, of course, but when the data for Araman first came in, Xaosis had just become private and as a result were able to use that as justification for putting the data in the old, musty file cabinets.

When Xaosis was preparing to side with the Triumvirate, however, Nordanl had discovered the old file and immediatly saw the planet's immense value in its isolation and distance from just about anywhere. Sehndem, Othey Selim, Kathdug, and even that mindless twit Ygorl saw it's usefulness shortly afterword.

When the shit hit the fan, Nordanl immediatly came here.

"Listen," he said to the dwarf. "I need you to talk to the locals."

"I'm a scientist," the Dwarf replied gruffly. "Not a diplomat."

"You ARE a Shubastani native, are you not?"

Shubastan. The dominant military power of Araman. By the standards of Arda and Titan, it was a podunk backwater barely worth notice. But around here, the Shubastani Sultanate was the going concern. An austere authoritarian monarchy with a cold appreciation for expansion, Shubastan was currently engaged in what had to have been three, maybe four wars at once with surrounding smaller, weaker nations for territory and influence. Shubastan was getting hurt in these fights, not because of any military weakness per se, but it's enemies were just too many. It was only a matter of time before the Shubastani found themselves retreating from the territories they had conqured in the last eight years.

When the dwarf didn't reply, Nordanl resumed speaking. "Look, you're the best scientist in Shubastan." This was certainly true. "And you know military hardware better then any of them."

The Dwarf nodded slightly, his ego forcing him to pay attention.

Nordanl turned and smiled with immaculate white teeth that contrasted with his almost pitch black Haradrim skin. "I understand that the Army wishes your expert opinion on weapons of war. Now, you've seen Xaosis harware. You know what we can do for your military. I want you to tell them your opinion on Xaosis weapons."

"Why?"

"Because," Nordanl answered. "Xaosis is having some problems back home. We may have to make Araman our base of operations very soon. When my superiors get here, there going to want to see profits. See what I mean?"

There was more, of course, but Nordanl decided it would be impolitic to mention it just yet. Xaosis was going to need to set up shop if, no, when it arrived. A working relationship with the Shubastani would help supply the Company with needed manpower and materiel.

With Shubastan fighting a two front war on its own continent and another front overseas, it would love to get it's hands on some of the high grade weapons that the Company would most definatly bring with it when it arrived.

Which, Nordanl thought sourly, was liable to happen very very soon.

The Battle of the Burning Sky

The Imperial Fleets had to move. They had to move becvause they were between Io and they Yut ships, and Ahadi knew that in order to win, he must open firing lanes from the moon--which were understandably much more limited in scope than it would be on earth. They had to move to spread out the Yut ships. They had to move because the Commodores would be damned if they'd just sit there and let the Yut bastards hammer away at them. Already, in the course of modern Imperial history, Morgoth's fleets had been annhilated to the last ship in previous engagements. Twice.

Warlord Althalon would not let that happen again. A shrewd, caculating man with a vicious battle instinct, had taken command of the fleets, using his Warlord status to delegate Fleet Admiral Il-Amir's duties to that of a Fleet Overlord/ He ordered the fleets around from deep inside the Imprial fortress on Io, standing before his Command Station, hastily making his moves. Engagement had begun in earnest not but a few minutes ago, and already he could tell this wasn't going to be pretty. He was outmatched, isolated from the homeland, and backed into a corner, much like Imakarum had been on Mars. The strength of Io, however, was still great enough to repel the would-be attackers if he played his cards just right. He peered intently at the holographic display, watching to see how his ships fareed against their Triumvirate counterparts.

Ultimately though, in the long run, it never matters who fires first in a standoff. Each side will inevitably claim whatever side of the story makes them look better than the adversary; real evidence such as gun-camera footage, sensor data, and timetables are either rigged or accused of being rigged, whichever supports the favored hypothesis of those trying to win the battle of history.

All Althalon or M'sha knew is that their boards lit up. So it begins, Sky Marshal M'sha thought with a preternatural calm even as her gravely voice blared across the utilitarian command room of Vinegaroon; as she ordered death dealt and pain brought upon those who would so shamelessly defy what she thought was right and threaten the safety of civilians under the Triumvirate banner. Beams of heavy naval-grade particle cannon, combined with the invisible energy of lasers and scores of multiple-warhead missiles from the Triumvirate fleets mix with the notably fewer heavy fusion missiles, naval lasers, and heavy pulse weapons of the Melkorian fleets. Point defense on all sides chatter away at the missiles, detonating fuel and castrating warheads long before they reach their intended targets, and yet a few get through.

The Triumvirate assault concentrates mostly on the Melkorian missile frigates; several of them glow hot with the repeated bombardment of the arsenals of multiple warships before either drifting off as shelled hulks or vaporizing in a single explosive flash, their reactors cored and reaction mass detonating with a silent fury, beautiful in a sick, detached way. Likewise, the Melkorian fleet concentrates on its biggest threat, the bombarding cruisers and battleships in the central combat ring of M'sha's section. Passing through the overlapping fields of point-defense fire offered by the Grendels, only two missiles find their mark on opposite sides of Vinegaroon's shields while lasers and pulse beams rake over her front, the fast-moving energy of the shields dissipating and spreading the force of the blow over wide sections of her thick armor. Deep inside the armored hull, the universe seems to shudder around the commanding kzinret, causing her to only grit her teeth more, curl back her lips tighter in a parody of a human grin.

"Ma'am," the fleet command officer aboard Vinegaroon announces, "the battleship Daito and cruisers Boxelder, Elimaea, and Kai-Gunto are taking hits!" Kilometers away, millimeters of armor vaporize over square meters of hull in incandescent clouds under the shimmering distortions of the shielding.

Althalon's fighters spread out, lance fighters and gunships to the fore, followed by the bombers, trying to spearhead through the picket. They are answered by Lokis sporting gunship pods and Excalibur aerospace superiority fighters, outnumbered more than ten to one. The lancers fire their accurate armor-piercing beams at the Lokis, scoring hits that tear scars into the sides of the dropships, some exploding spectacularly with reactor critical hits and ammunition explosions that the armored storage cells simply cannot take. The gunship Lokis with their senselessly thick arsenals regroup and avoid the lancers, skirting around the rear of the Melkorian formations, taunting the lancers to follow through only to be cut to shreds by the dedicated space-superiority Excaliburs. The gunships do their best to fight off the swarms around them, but having to split their fire two hundred ways is their downfall, set upon from every concievable angle. Particle cannon blazing, anti-fighter-configured MAMRAAM missiles slipping from their wing hardpoints, and pulse lasers tracking as per the direction of their advanced targeting computers, the Excaliburs mow through the gunships in an odd repeat of bomber formations in years long past, eliminating the concussion missile-launching ships first and then concentrating on the hopelessly outgunned laser gunboats. Each bomber also has ten fighters gunning for it, making for a short dogfight. Melkorian missile frigates let loose concussion missiles in an attempt to support, but the fighting is so thick that it does equal damage to each side, if not more to their own. After a few minutes, the Melkorian small-craft line is broken and retreating back to its fleet, chased by the aerospace forces of the Triumvirate.

Konrad swore loudly. The Trium fleets knew what they were doing. Lance fighters couldn't stand up to their traditional fighter counterparts, and had to be withdrawn back to the relative safety of the Flak Frigate line, trusting in their AA prowess to knock the pursuing fighters off his Lances. His glance slid over a few feet as he watched the Trium Fleets start picking apart his Missile Frigates. Those were grouped behind the AA frigates as well, consolidating themselves between them and the massive Destroyers which loomed behimd, spewing salvo after salvo of heavy fusion missiles at the Triumvirate capital craft in groups of four per ship.

Here the Phantom III fighter-bombers, held in reserve, come into play, streaking out from inside the Triumvirate fleet and moving in the swath cut by the Excaliburs. The Phantoms' mission-adaptable missiles are loaded with anti-capship warheads, and they disperse formation as they begin their attack runs, waiting for their clear-tone lock on cues to fire.

And even so, the other half of Task Force Guardian barrels in from the side, naturally orbiting Io to attack the Melkorian flank.

The fleets of Melkor begin to move, more missile frigates flaring up from the redoubled firepower of the Triumvirate forces. Pushing their engines to the utmost, they respond as they can, switching from the extremely well-protected Triumvirate center ships to the forward picket, trying to take out or harass as many destroyers as they can, buying themselves more time to make it for cover. White Fire and Divine Spite take it in the chin, missiles bursting and overwhelming the shields, the well-built ships refusing to explode but their shelled hulls no longer useful to the fight. The destroyers congregate for self-defense, the damage spreading out amongst them. Pseudoscymnus is next, exploding spectacularly.

Silently, Althalon continued his work. The Fleets made for Jupiter post-haste, elements of the Third forming ranks to deal with the flanking attack, as the First, Second, and Fifth wheeled around in a massive arc, brining most of their firepower to bear on Task Force Guardian. In order to get to Jupiter, they had to cut through it or drive them back.

"We can't let them escape," M'sha hisses. "FleetCom, order the Tigers to prepare for a strategic run on those battlecruisers. Time to go for their throat."

The faster medium cruisers form up and begin to take the fight back to the Melkorian fleets, concentrating on the heavier capital ships while the bombarding fleet switches to the point-defense frigates. The spear-like Tiger medium cruisers rake through the fleet, their heavy weapons blazing, making them priority targets for return fire from the Melkorian battlecruisers and destroyers. They hit hard, destroying three and severely damaging seven battlecruisers and four destroyers, but the already damaged Elimaea vaporizes from a missile hit and many of the other cruisers have to fall out from damage, their hulls raked with the scars of enemy fire.

"Ma'am, Yorktown, El Alamein, Shiloh, Suburito, Shoto, Odonata, and Magni reporting heavy damage!"

The kzinret growls. "Pull them out and return them to Io. We cannot afford permanent losses."

Missiles flare from the Phantom IIIs, scoring more hits on the Melkorian point-defense frigates just before the Five Fleets enters the safety of the upper Jovian atmosphere. Disappearing from sight, their signatures masked by the mass of the planet and the interference of the powerful Jovian magnetic field, the Melkorian fleets disperse, keeping a careful eye for any signs of Triumvirate movements, staying silent themselves. Running silent, running deep.

Looking up at the strategic indicator display, M'sha grumbles to herself. "Ch'rowling asymmetrical warfare. We cannot plow in to follow, because that would give them opportunity to escape; our only option is to blockade..."--the word comes out with a sneer, then M'sha curses shortly in her native language before growling in a low voice to the fleet command officer. "FleetCom, break the task force into squadrons. Bombard any signs of enemy activity. Ships are authorized to fall out if they take too much damage." Most of the ships damaged earlier fall out to join the wounded of the medium cruiser pass, and then the waiting game begins.

Tense minutes become hours of waiting, cut only by the terror of Melkorian ships finally aquiring a target and firing what they can at it, Triumvirate guns speaking back in an area-directed fury, blows glancing off the hidden Imperial assets. As Triumvirate ships take too much damage, they back off, regrouping. As Melkor's ships take too much damage--rarer now, given their relative safety--they sink deeper into Jupiter, only to have their hulls crushed.

Over the space of six hours, the battleship Gila Monster, heavy cruiser Tree of Liberty, medium cruiser Hope's Descent, frigates Newt and Viper, destroyers Diamondback, and Gecko are forced to fall out of formation, slow attrition. Most fall in the first few hours; after that, they congregate for defense and become more accurate in their evasion and return fire, noting the additional ionization of the atmosphere that immediately precedes an attack.

[ooc: post collaborated, of course, with Scolo and co.

Ships reduced to 50% combat effectiveness and below:
Triumvirate: 16% or 24 ships 3 BB, 3 HCR, 11 MCR, 2 FF, 5 DD
Melkor: 10% or 27 ships three battlecruisers, twenty-four frigates eighteen missile and six anti-aircraft
Behold the possibility for both sides to claim victory. Muahahaha.]

Melkor, Lord of Darkness
He who Arises in Might
Emperor Eternal of the Imperial Dominion of Melkor Unchained, Lord and Master of Arda
http://people.vanderbilt.edu/~darion.c.smith/melkor.jpg

[ooc: ^postTAG *points up to important post.*]

Akhen, Konania, Earth

"Live fire, " the aide reported, peering at the screen next to him. Malcom Raugher, CINCSFA to the Konanian National Defense Force, looks up from a console across the room and walks to the center, rotating the hovering image of Jupiter. It swiveled a few degrees, flickered, and zoomed in on a particular point, replacing the floating sphere with an open space. Various bits of light denoted different ships, their affiliation, and their names, if known. The transmission flickered on and off again, finally blurring every few moments from overload and lack of coverage.

Raugher frowned. "Cut the smaller weapons, I only want to see the heavy stuff." Another nearby aide flipped a switch, without looking up-- Raugher could care less about military protocol at the moment-- and the screen sharpened once again. They weren't killing eachother; no, they were too well armed for that, and were defending rather well. The irony of it was such a volley of fire would've torn up most other fleets.

It was days like this that he doubted how well his own fleets would perform. Best to never have to use them, he thought.

The battle continued to its end, recorded from every angle that could be managed by the thinning Jovian-AIDSAT skygrid, and beamed to Petros. From there, a copy would be sent to both Aedato, on Ganymede and Akhen on Earth, to be analyzed by those who the KNDF paid to be tactical "experts" later.

Within the neuro-shunt command pods, Commander Twaarl confers briefly with the captains of the other vessels in the 1st fleet.

Twaarl, aboard the Impetuous Guat: "The battle is joined. Triumvirate crafts have engaged Melkor's fleets, and the battle has been pushed into Jovian space. Currently seems to be a stand-off, with casualties on both sides."

Primal Order: "We have yet to get into firing range. Do we have directives?"

Tortuu: I suggest that the defenses of Io, especially the holdings of our fellow Triumvirate members, is uncomfortably vulnerable and undefended at this time."

I.G.: "Noted. Here are the orders. Take position above the Trium space of Io, and take defensive. Keep all fighter and bomber squadrons on stand-by. Keep the pilots in their ships. All weapons will remain hot and ready."

Vengeful Deity: "For what estimated time?"

I.G.: "Until we hear otherwise from Command. Get to your ships, people. No slouching."

With that, Commander Twaarl disengages the ship-to-ship secure comms, and engages the in-ship comm. "Send comm to all navigationals. Form up diamond delta pattern, two split. Secure positions over Io Trium space. Unknown ships will be hailed once, and fired upon if they do not respond."

The 55 ships of the Sakkran 1st Fleet engage their thrusters and pull up in synchronous orbit over the Io space designated as Trium. Their sensors starin at their furthest levels of sensitivity to gravitational disturbances, hyper-spatial anomolies and active power-source emissions. Nothing will escape their attention.

Several squadrons of Anole-II Long-range fighters leave their bays and fly sorties around a 50,000 kilometer range, keeping eyes on suspicious debris, and looking for ships attempting to take advantage of the temporary lapse in security. On board their assembled carriers, over 1200 fighters are ready to launch, in their appropriate order, and engage.

Deputy Commissar Tyler stood, once more, on the command post of the Seventh Hammer. His face grim and his eyes shadowed, he clutched a cup of styrofoam filled with grainy coffee as he waited impatiently for events to continue. He had had an uneasy sleep, premonitions of doom and the guilt for a murdered woman and child preying heavily on his mind. And the events with the good Doctor had not boded well ... .

"Final check. Are the Jameson Interdiction satellites ready?" His voice was harsh, and he checked himself afterwards. The atmosphere was not calm - it was tense, electrostatic hanging between each and every operator.

"Yes, sir."

"And the Blind Men?"

"Yes, sir."

I need to stop sounding doubtful, he thought idly. When he spoke again, he was somewhat calmer. The image he conjured in his mind of his superior officer's pugly face helped somewhat.

"Then ... on my countdown, fire."

The countdown proceeded. His knuckles whitened, until the burning sensation of hot coffee reddened his fingertips and, biting back a curse, he dropped the ruined cup into a recycling shute.

"One. Fire."

A vibration shook the entire asteroid. A five-hundred metre diametre beam of concentrated hydrogen atoms was vomited insystem at nigh-on the speed of light. It pulsed, each pulse lasting several seconds, and it pulsed again.

"The morse code of an angry God," one army technician had described it as. The pulses lanced out, and in, and on. Many of them ... oh so many. One clipped a huge chunk of ice and rock, a drifter from the Dancers, and the drifer was simply ... gone ...
the energy of the particles in the beam passed on to the atoms of the target much like a cue ball would break apart a racked group of billiard balls.

Tyler wiped the sweat from his brow. "All hands, return to positions."

The asteroid bustled back to life, as the fusion plants were powered up to begin recharging the batteries.

Beckoning to his Senior Analyst, he walked back into his office.

"Coffee? Tea? Cocoa?" The man shook his head, looked somewhat nervous. The bloody smears had been cleaned away, of course, but rumours spread fast in space stations.

"So, Tompkins, let's go through this one more time ... "

Pity the man sounds as interesting as a wet day in Brighton ...

With a clearing of his throat, Tompkins dragged out a PDA and began drawing sketches.

"Well, sir. The pulses will intersect the ringworld around Titan, as shown - it is an essentially static object, our shot is only fractionally slower than the speed of light - there will not be much opportunity to dodge even if it is capable of movement. Now, the plan is that they will hit as so:"

He pushed the PDA across to allow Tyler to look at it.

PDA Display (http://www.angelfire.com/rings/fyad/ringworldshot.jpg)

"The method of particle beam weapon we use is the neutral particle beam, as you know - charged is better in an atmosphere, but out here the beam would have a far shorter collimation because its particles would push each other away. That - and the diameter of the Trumpet determined by its length - gives us the range. The fusion reactors working to fill our Heaviside batteries gives us the power, although obviously we'll suffer some bleed from hydrogen atoms and imperfections in our manufacturing technique before the beams hit. When it hits, it will be distributed along the mass line as shown - I don't know if the ringworld has energy shields, but due to particle passthrough it wouldn't really matter. Mass is all important. There will be a lot - you know, the whole shielding from cosmic radiation thing is pretty important, there will be some of that. Sadly - from one point of view - the ringworld has a lot of mass. I mean, a lot. It's not going to be a case of shooting the thing just blows it up. So what we're doing is carving slices through it. The section our beams cut through - pulsed, so in different areas - should suffer massive structural damage and complete vapourisation along those lines - enough pulses to effectively weaken the structure so that part shears off. Actually, sir, I think I'll get myself a cocoa if you don't mind - this could take a while."

Tyler nodded, and the analyst went over to the machine. Glared, when it filled his styrofoam cup with coffee. "Always coffee. ALWAYS." He mumbled something about maintenance men, and went back to sit down.

"Anyway. That part should shear off, and any ... er ... structural forcefields, if they even have them, will be overloaded. Should be overloaded - don't know how strong they are. This will leave gaping holes in the side. Obviously, it's in a vacuum. Huge amounts of matter will blow out of the holes left, and the rapid vapourisation of so much material will cause vast damage in the sections nearby. This will cause a lot of tension on the ring - the two broken ends should essentially be pushing against each other, stretching the ring out. It may, or may not, be flexible enough to cope with. Given the intricate and complex detail to even create such a thing and keep it stable in this fluctuating universe, our scientists estimate that it will cause parts of the ring to slowly shear off. And we also get this other interesting effect - imagine that in this display, the ringworld is a ring of ferrous iron, and Titan a magnet. On a flat plane. If you position the ring exactly so, then it will be pushed and pulled equally - so remain stationary. Once part of the ring is moved, then there is less attraction on that side of the ring. So once part of the ringworld shears off, the side that hasn't will be pulled into Titan's gravitywell."

"But Titan uses gravimetrics for everything. Surely they'll be able to stop that?"

The analyst shrugged. "Possibly. It would require a vast amount of power to maintain, or even slow down. We're talking counteracting the gravitational pull of a moon and Saturn. Titan alone is estimated to have a mass of 1.35e23 kg, Saturn is like ... 5.68e26 kg. I don't know, sir, to be honest. What we think is more likely is that crucial parts - possibly large civilian concentrations, possibly large military ones - will have mechanisms whereby they break apart from the main structure and use reactionary drives to "push" themselves away from the ring. If we had such a place, it would be the Cathedral area and the military area."

"Why don't we have a ringworld, anyway? That must make production of spacefleets very easy - labour and facilities so close."

"Quite simple, sir. We couldn't afford to build one. We have gravimetrics - courtesy of Menelmacar, and now other sources, but we don't really use them - not for travel. But just like Melkor has vast ground forces, and the Triumvirate has vast space fleets that are amazingly fast, have FTL travel, and the facilities to build a ringworld - well to be honest, we've blown most all our time and money on guns, meaning our ships are slow, but our weaponry fantastic."

Tyler looked somewhat aggrieved, then shrugged and looked around the facilities of his office, built on a giant NBPW in the Kuiper Belt asteroid CA-4043, and shrugged. "Fair point. Well made. Pray continue."

"Aaanyway ... now, what we can't estimate is the amount of time this would take. Our calculations - although we don't know the exact composition or density of the ringworld - indicate strongly we'll get the shearing. What with that, and the gravitational pull from both Titan and Saturn taking up resources along with the massive blowout of mass from the broken ends, physics may or may not do the rest. I think it's a case of, if we're really lucky, yes. Otherwise it could take a very long time - outside the operational scope of the war, certainly - or simply not happen at all. As I said, sir, we don't really know what they've got built in there."

"Why would people live in a ringworld, anyway? Since space combat is entirely about mass, surely living on a piece of tin foil - when compared to a planet at least - surrounded by an actively hostile environment is madness?"

The analyst shrugged. "Well, like you said, sir, it does make for an amazing staging point for fleets. It's a case of you chooses your tune, and then you pays the piper. The tune is mass fleet production, the piper demands it's at the cost of any form of safety. Although I wouldn't like to live in space mysel ... " He looked around, again, at the office. "Yea. Moving right along ... actually, I think that's about it, sir."

Tyler smiled. It was starting to make some sense. "Alright. Dismissed, Tompkins."

He accompanied the analyst outside.

"Right. The Legacy is on standby, in case. Get the FTL wells activated after ... hmm ... an hour. We'll probably have closer to two and a half hours before anyone can discover the shot, since it travels at almost the speed of light and is focused in one direction, and information exchange such as heat and gravity only travels at the speed of light, but no point in leaving it too late. And the Blind Men set to activate on my command. Get the fusion batteries recharging, too, since we've just drained the significant majority of the power reserves. Stations, people. Let's see what happens."

OOC: There is some confusion as to if this the actual firing or yet another test. Please clarify.

Previously drifting peacefully in the black darkness of space, progenitor station LILITH was now a bustling hive of activity. Tens of thousands of stasis-bound humans, all who had been asleep every since the station was abanddoned before the Euro-Tito war, awakened to fufill their sacred duty to Das Sketch. Automated hypnotherapy and psychoconditioning systems infused the crewers with knowledge necessary execute their mission. Datalinks pulsed with information, bringing commanders up to date on the latest tactics and technology. Automated station supply stores filled the warships with material. Endless streams of shuttles provided the warships with experienced hands. Slowly but surely, the Lost Fleet was readied for its final mission.

Overseeing this all was Captain Tycho. During the decision to scatter theSKetchian assests, Captain Tycho and his command corps volunteered to be interned at LILTIH for an indefinite period of time, as a guarantee, he stated, against the future. His jaw set, he contemplated the situation, *apparently we weren't quite as successful as we thought we were going to be. The Trium forces were more powerful than expected..... No matter, this time we shall succed. Where once we were alone, we now have the company of comrades. The glory of Sketch shall be reborn!* Shrugging off his silent reverie, Captain Tycho orders the communication officer to prepare a message for Sketch Prime, announing their imminent departure from LILITH and subsequent arrival.

#communications lines opened#
#max encrytion set#
#sending data to Sketch Prime.....
[01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110011 01101000 01100101 01100101 01110000 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100111 01100001 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01100100 00101110 00100000 01000010 01111001 00100000 01100100 01110101 01110011 01101011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110011 01101000 01100101 01110000 01100001 01110010 01100100 00100000 01110011 01101000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100001 01101100 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101101 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110011 01110100 00101110]
message sent.....
data recipient acknowledged#

===============================================

The sheep have gathered. By dusk the shepard shall herald the coming of the lost.

And so it is said.

And soon we shall see.

Let it be done.

Amen.

===============================================

#time left: 00h 00m 05s.....
00h 00m 04s.....
00h 00m 03s.....
00h 00m 02s.....
00h 00m 01s.....
00h 00m 00s.....
countdown complete#
#FTL drives engage#

With a silent whisper and a wink, the Lost Fleet vanish from existence, as if they were never there. LILITH once again drifts into the cold dark depths of space.

TAG

OOC: There is some confusion as to if this the actual firing or yet another test. Please clarify.



"One. Fire."

A vibration shook the entire asteroid. A five-hundred metre diametre beam of concentrated hydrogen atoms was vomited insystem at nigh-on the speed of light. It pulsed, each pulse lasting several seconds, and it pulsed again.

"The morse code of an angry God," one army technician had described it as. The pulses lanced out, and in, and on. Many of them ... oh so many. One clipped a huge chunk of ice and rock, a drifter from the Dancers, and the drifer was simply ... gone ... the energy of the particles in the beam passed on to the atoms of the target much like a cue ball would break apart a racked group of billiard balls.

OOC: I deleted this post because I was convinced by your side of the fight, that it was just another test fire. Oh, I'm fully aware where you were trying to hit.

IC:
It was a cold night, the sky above thin and sparse, only wisps of clouds dancing slowly in the winds above. Liberty lay silent, traffic still ran about the city, but most people had retired for the evening, be it in the apartments of the upper city or domiciles of the Caves of Steel below.
In the center of the city, stood the tallest building in all of Berserker, a massive spire, grandiose in its size and intentions. Hope To The Stars as she was named, was built for of Berserker’s first steps onto this world, via help of her neighbors, a celebration of progress and hopes for the future.
Below the city, the Caves of Steel provided a larger, but unseen contribution to the city. Built in the early stages of habitation, while the atmosphere was still being worked, they provided a more habitation than the city above, beautiful underground archeology’s kept the network of tunnels from seeming too cramped.
Most of the city’s 40 million inhabitants slept, those who weren’t were either off working or enjoying one of the many hotspots of the city, none of its inhabitants aware of the stream of death racing towards them from far above.

Approx. 1.5 light minutes away from Titan, sensors picked up something, something powerful racing through Saturn space. Quantum Entanglement comms. began yelling their warning to the system, automated Morse code instantaneously sending the first parts of their info to the system, and awakening klaxons in the major establishments. Calculations and measurements were already beginning, trying to trace the beam’s origins. People began stirring, but for Liberty it was too late.

A little girl stood out on her family’s low balcony, on the outskirts of Liberty, blue velvet pajamas twisting slightly in the wind. As her father rushed to gather his second hand armor and guns (as most would do at the sounding of the Klaxons, joining the Civil Defense corps. was highly encouraged), she craned her neck to see past the overhang above. As her father had told her the other times the Klaxons sounded, danger, when it finally came, would come from above. She didn’t know how such a beautiful sky could prove dangerous, and she never would.

Beginning to the fore rotation area of Liberty (ahead of Liberty in terms of Titan’s rotation), massive pulses of energy slammed through the atmosphere, punching a hole in the thin atmosphere and slamming into the ground, spewing its ill will and hatred into the ground, the pulses tracing a short path towards Liberty.

If you could slow down time, to the point of seeing light as it progressed, the sight would be disturbingly beautiful. Starting at the highest points of the city, buildings would seem to dissolve in a harsh pink glow, slowly being consumed by an angry sky.

To the casual observer though, a massive swath of the city was simply consumed. The energies of the beam were transferred into the air, into the buildings, and into the ground itself, burrowing into the Caves of Steel themselves. The heats generated were enormous. Matter expanded at a furious rate, molecules flying apart.

The rapid and sudden expansion of the air, and even parts of the city, created a massive concussive force that leveled the rest of the city, and gutted entire portions of the tunnels below only stopped after multiple bulkheads sacrificed themselves to deaden the force.

The little girl’s only saving grace was that death came swiftly, faster than the nerve conduction velocities of her small body. Her apartment was torn apart, her family dispersed like ashes on a strong wind, as the concussive blast tore everything asunder.

In mere seconds, a city that had been built for years, was thrown to the ground, and 30 million lives ended in a heartbeat.

But even its death provided clues. The time of the strike and angle of entry through the atmosphere, all recorded by orbiting satellites, combined with Titan’s orientation and location would shortly provide an approx. trajectory of attack.

Now moving along at breakneck speeds-- literally, if not for the full use of acceleration couches for each of the 18,367 crew-- the combined OOTG fleets rendezvous for a second past Mars.

But the faster one from earth overtakes SCC Cheng's fleet, which has only just started accelerating in the direction of the Kuiper Belt, by over a hundred km/sec.

The 1st Battle Squadron, 1st Carrier Battle Group, 1st Destroyer Battle Squadron, and 1st Mobile Logistics Squadron will at their present velocity rendezvous with the WV fleet within hours, not days-- but they are oriented backwards, ready to counter-burn and slow down at a moment's notice. The 2nd Battle Squadron and 2nd Mobile Logistics Squadron will get there later than they, limited by the lack of acceleration head start.

And aboard the Atmos, SCC Jerry Cheng is reading his orders and wondering if any of it-- the mentoring, the guilt from killing the mentor, the constant discipline and effort-- would matter to him after this mission.

A brief message is lased to WV's fleet ahead--

[code:1:5bb7b3c49e]
Plans received and acknowledged. Proceeding on course to rendezvous with Seventh Trumpet's current position. Radio silence maintained; only tightbeam comms from now on.[/code:1:5bb7b3c49e]

-and 7.9 million tonnes of ITDO warship heeds the call of the Seventh Trumpet.

OOC:
Occuring before the impact of the shot ...

IC:

"Engage the Wells," Tyler barked. In the three-dimensional area of Piotr's Dancers, compact military drones began to engage their power sources to fulfil their primary functions. Ghost-condensate helixes bubbled inside high-energy tubes, clunky creations bearing little resemblance to true ghost condensate - little, but enough. Enough to twist and swirl the dark particulates, which in turn repelled their genuine counterparts in and around the areas of the drones - scratching on the surface of space, ruffling it, and scrambling it. Rendering it random, and unpredictable.

"Prepare the Blind Men."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"This is the control station of the HCSS Alias to Santa Barbaran fleet of SCC Cheng. Your assistance is acknowledged. Strategical and tactical data is being relayed now."

OOC:

The Wells act as 'jump'-style FTL interdictors, making dimensional connections in an area too unstable to use. This is such things as involve wormholes, tesseracts, hyperspace, warp drive. It does not effect such things as Alcubierre warps, Karaznikov tubes, or any other form of FTL that doesn't involve changing dimension.

Approximate area covered gives a 10 million km radius around the Seventh Trumpet, however the effect is reduced the further out you go. I.e. certainly fatal to jump in at 1 million km, 40% chance to survive at 5 million km, 90% chance to survive at 10 million km.

Almost the instant the blast hit Titan, Ganges had a comm channel open to PANTOCLES, while Shem began relaying data to and from Iapetus.

"WHADDAYA MEAN YOU DIDN'T SEE IT?"
"Sorry, sir, we weren't looking that way."
"Sorry? SORRY! Who knows how many people just died, and all you can say is SORRY I WASN'T LOOKING? Do the words PEARL HARBOR mean anything to you?"
"Sir, please. This isn't my fault and you know it. It's the fault of whoever fired that thing. Take out you anger on a punching bag or something. We're doing our best to go through the background chatter and try to isolate usable data, but understand that you and Down Below both thought that we'd be getting shot at from further in system."
"Aaa... sorry, captain. This is just... frustrating. Keep relaying to Iapteus and Ring Control, and I'll go look for a punching bag. Ganges out."
"Copy. Pantocles Control, over and out."

Deputy Commissar Tyler stood, once more, on the command post of the Seventh Hammer. His face grim and his eyes shadowed, he clutched a cup of styrofoam filled with grainy coffee as he waited impatiently for events to continue. He had had an uneasy sleep, premonitions of doom and the guilt for a murdered woman and child preying heavily on his mind. And the events with the good Doctor had not boded well ... .

"Final check. Are the Jameson Interdiction satellites ready?" His voice was harsh, and he checked himself afterwards. The atmosphere was not calm - it was tense, electrostatic hanging between each and every operator.

"Yes, sir."

"And the Blind Men?"

"Yes, sir."

I need to stop sounding doubtful, he thought idly. When he spoke again, he was somewhat calmer. The image he conjured in his mind of his superior officer's pugly face helped somewhat.

"Then ... on my countdown, fire."

The countdown proceeded. His knuckles whitened, until the burning sensation of hot coffee reddened his fingertips and, biting back a curse, he dropped the ruined cup into a recycling shute.

"One. Fire."

A vibration shook the entire asteroid. A five-hundred metre diametre beam of concentrated hydrogen atoms was vomited insystem at nigh-on the speed of light. It pulsed, each pulse lasting several seconds, and it pulsed again.

"The morse code of an angry God," one army technician had described it as. The pulses lanced out, and in, and on. Many of them ... oh so many. One clipped a huge chunk of ice and rock, a drifter from the Dancers, and the drifer was simply ... gone ...
the energy of the particles in the beam passed on to the atoms of the target much like a cue ball would break apart a racked group of billiard balls.

Tyler wiped the sweat from his brow. "All hands, return to positions."

The asteroid bustled back to life, as the fusion plants were powered up to begin recharging the batteries.

Beckoning to his Senior Analyst, he walked back into his office.

"Coffee? Tea? Cocoa?" The man shook his head, looked somewhat nervous. The bloody smears had been cleaned away, of course, but rumours spread fast in space stations.

"So, Tompkins, let's go through this one more time ... "

Pity the man sounds as interesting as a wet day in Brighton ...

With a clearing of his throat, Tompkins dragged out a PDA and began drawing sketches.

"Well, sir. The pulses will intersect the ringworld around Titan, as shown - it is an essentially static object, our shot is only fractionally slower than the speed of light - there will not be much opportunity to dodge even if it is capable of movement. Now, the plan is that they will hit as so:"

He pushed the PDA across to allow Tyler to look at it.

PDA Display (http://www.angelfire.com/rings/fyad/ringworldshot.jpg)

"The method of particle beam weapon we use is the neutral particle beam, as you know - charged is better in an atmosphere, but out here the beam would have a far shorter collimation because its particles would push each other away. That - and the diameter of the Trumpet determined by its length - gives us the range. The fusion reactors working to fill our Heaviside batteries gives us the power, although obviously we'll suffer some bleed from hydrogen atoms and imperfections in our manufacturing technique before the beams hit. When it hits, it will be distributed along the mass line as shown - I don't know if the ringworld has energy shields, but due to particle passthrough it wouldn't really matter. Mass is all important. There will be a lot - you know, the whole shielding from cosmic radiation thing is pretty important, there will be some of that. Sadly - from one point of view - the ringworld has a lot of mass. I mean, a lot. It's not going to be a case of shooting the thing just blows it up. So what we're doing is carving slices through it. The section our beams cut through - pulsed, so in different areas - should suffer massive structural damage and complete vapourisation along those lines - enough pulses to effectively weaken the structure so that part shears off. Actually, sir, I think I'll get myself a cocoa if you don't mind - this could take a while."

Tyler nodded, and the analyst went over to the machine. Glared, when it filled his styrofoam cup with coffee. "Always coffee. ALWAYS." He mumbled something about maintenance men, and went back to sit down.

"Anyway. That part should shear off, and any ... er ... structural forcefields, if they even have them, will be overloaded. Should be overloaded - don't know how strong they are. This will leave gaping holes in the side. Obviously, it's in a vacuum. Huge amounts of matter will blow out of the holes left, and the rapid vapourisation of so much material will cause vast damage in the sections nearby. This will cause a lot of tension on the ring - the two broken ends should essentially be pushing against each other, stretching the ring out. It may, or may not, be flexible enough to cope with. Given the intricate and complex detail to even create such a thing and keep it stable in this fluctuating universe, our scientists estimate that it will cause parts of the ring to slowly shear off. And we also get this other interesting effect - imagine that in this display, the ringworld is a ring of ferrous iron, and Titan a magnet. On a flat plane. If you position the ring exactly so, then it will be pushed and pulled equally - so remain stationary. Once part of the ring is moved, then there is less attraction on that side of the ring. So once part of the ringworld shears off, the side that hasn't will be pulled into Titan's gravitywell."

"But Titan uses gravimetrics for everything. Surely they'll be able to stop that?"

The analyst shrugged. "Possibly. It would require a vast amount of power to maintain, or even slow down. We're talking counteracting the gravitational pull of a moon and Saturn. Titan alone is estimated to have a mass of 1.35e23 kg, Saturn is like ... 5.68e26 kg. I don't know, sir, to be honest. What we think is more likely is that crucial parts - possibly large civilian concentrations, possibly large military ones - will have mechanisms whereby they break apart from the main structure and use reactionary drives to "push" themselves away from the ring. If we had such a place, it would be the Cathedral area and the military area."

"Why don't we have a ringworld, anyway? That must make production of spacefleets very easy - labour and facilities so close."

"Quite simple, sir. We couldn't afford to build one. We have gravimetrics - courtesy of Menelmacar, and now other sources, but we don't really use them - not for travel. But just like Melkor has vast ground forces, and the Triumvirate has vast space fleets that are amazingly fast, have FTL travel, and the facilities to build a ringworld - well to be honest, we've blown most all our time and money on guns, meaning our ships are slow, but our weaponry fantastic."

Tyler looked somewhat aggrieved, then shrugged and looked around the facilities of his office, built on a giant NBPW in the Kuiper Belt asteroid CA-4043, and shrugged. "Fair point. Well made. Pray continue."

"Aaanyway ... now, what we can't estimate is the amount of time this would take. Our calculations - although we don't know the exact composition or density of the ringworld - indicate strongly we'll get the shearing. What with that, and the gravitational pull from both Titan and Saturn taking up resources along with the massive blowout of mass from the broken ends, physics may or may not do the rest. I think it's a case of, if we're really lucky, yes. Otherwise it could take a very long time - outside the operational scope of the war, certainly - or simply not happen at all. As I said, sir, we don't really know what they've got built in there."

"Why would people live in a ringworld, anyway? Since space combat is entirely about mass, surely living on a piece of tin foil - when compared to a planet at least - surrounded by an actively hostile environment is madness?"

The analyst shrugged. "Well, like you said, sir, it does make for an amazing staging point for fleets. It's a case of you chooses your tune, and then you pays the piper. The tune is mass fleet production, the piper demands it's at the cost of any form of safety. Although I wouldn't like to live in space mysel ... " He looked around, again, at the office. "Yea. Moving right along ... actually, I think that's about it, sir."

Tyler smiled. It was starting to make some sense. "Alright. Dismissed, Tompkins."

He accompanied the analyst outside.

"Right. The Legacy is on standby, in case. Get the FTL wells activated after ... hmm ... an hour. We'll probably have closer to two and a half hours before anyone can discover the shot, since it travels at almost the speed of light and is focused in one direction, and information exchange such as heat and gravity only travels at the speed of light, but no point in leaving it too late. And the Blind Men set to activate on my command. Get the fusion batteries recharging, too, since we've just drained the significant majority of the power reserves. Stations, people. Let's see what happens. "

OOC: Just a little record keeping. Font size reduced to reduce space taken. No "Last Edit" date noted. Number of times Post editted =0

Unleashing the Dogs of War,

The Indomitable Borderlands of the Grendels are throwing its renowned industrial and military might behind our ally: Treznor. The Grendels are not only one of the largest industrial powers in the Nation States World, but among the leading Arms Manufacturers in the Nation States World. We stand beside Treznor and will fight to protect the interests of the Triumvirate of Yut.

The Grendels will commit 4 Naval Battle Groups (each with two aircraft carriers and all ships powered by nuclear power); a “Wolf Pack” of 12 Nuclear Submarines; 12 Air Force Squadrons of Super Bugbear air superiority stealth fighters, with snap-on moveable airstrips for support; hundreds of attack helicopters of varying sizes and armaments; as well as 250 000 Gnoll Soldiers from the Grendel Expeditionary Forces, with most Divisions fully mechanized; plus the full logistics required to support them in the field. Obviously, this mobilization will be in stages, to keep from degenerating into a mob. Advance parties of thousands of Special Forces, will of course lead it: the notorious Kill Packs.

The Grendels make heavy use of IMP burst ordinance to neutralize circuits and chips, of enemy machinery and computers; have developed high yield illumination rounds and sensitive seismic detectors for any interference by borrowing units known to exist in Arda; we will be launching micro spy satellites and hunter killer micro satellites over the conflict zone from Star City; and the Grendels will of course also make sparing use of our new Scram Strike Jet for selected missions. The Grendels will also make sparing use of their new scram jet missile batteries. We are prepared to commit further forces should the conflict escalate or, as they are needed.

Yarooo, Gnoll Warleader and Dictator for Life

The Indomitable Borderlands of the Grendels

Unleashing the Dogs of War,

For future ground offensives, the Grendels are pleased to be able to offer to the Triumvirate of the Yut, the latest in Main Battle Tanks, from the Grendel Motor Corporation: the Demon16. This monster of the battlefield works well when combined with the Sabre7. The Sabre7 Infantry Fighting Vehicle carries a full section of infantry into the battlefield and then fights along with them to the objective, making use of improved arms and armour, unlike inferior troop carriers that turn and run after disgorging their troops.

The Demon16's Main Gun is 125mm and capable of accurately engaging targets on the move, up to 5000 m. away, with a computer targeting system to compensate for vehicle movement when firing. As well as rifled barrels, to make it the most accurate tank gun in the World, they are equipped with a coaxial 30mm cannon (for lighter targets or simultaneous firing), and a full assortment of .50 caliber machine guns.

It is also fitted with a flamethrower and small mortars, with a three shot phosphorous shower launcher, scorching everything within 100 meters, to deal with close proximity Infantry threats.

It has state of the art Night Vision Equipment and makes use of two infrared searchlights, mounted on either side of the main gun, to allow it to drive at full speed at night, without use of normal lights. The Demon16 also makes use of electro-optical countermeasures system, a metero-logical sensor, laser warning receivers, and thermal sights. This system consists of a laser warning device, remote aerosol formations system (81mm smoke mortars), and electro-optical jammers, allowing the Tank to make it difficult for enemy rockets to lock on.

It is also fully equipped with an overpressure type NBC protection system (Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical). The Demon16 has a low silhouette and makes use of composite armour to give it increased protection, while lightening the strain on the 1200hp Power Pack, so that it can dedicate itself more to speeds of well over 50 mph (80 km/h). The tank has a toothed shovel/dozer blade on the front of the hull beneath the glacis. There are attachment points beneath the blade for a mine-clearing plow. They are optionally fitted with reactive armour (blow away first line protection) and They are even equipped with a snorkel pack, which when set up allows your Main Battle Tank to cross rivers, while underwater. The best thing is that they don't require diesel or gas, like most Tanks, but instead are powered by shielded, stacked hydrogen fuel cells, backed up by a shielded atomic rod, which put out quite the mileage before they need replacing. Like all of our Weapon Systems, the Demon16 is built for battle, with its system able to take a beating and keep on fighting.


Yarooo, Gnoll Warleader and Dictator for Life

The Indomitable Borderlands of the Grendels

<TAG>

Glad I'm out of space. Still, might bear watching.

Saturnian Space

Fleets of satellites sporting telescopes of both the radar, optical, and gravimetric varieties continue on in their lazy orbits around the moons and gaseous body of Saturn, idly ticking off the massive IR and radio spike and transmitting their findings to their owners. Dumb machines fulfilling a simple purpose. Observe and send, observe and send.

* - * - *

TYCS-DSCNC Commander's Vigil 1
Triumvirate of Yut Headquarters, Mobile

Loaded up immediately after the reciept of Missive Zero, the command-and-control Loki Commander's Vigil
speeds off to a predetermined polar orbit around Saturn. Hacked into the civilian YutLink, the TYCS communications mesh, and all of the various member-state military networks, it--along with its sister ships 2 and 3--makes up the pinnacle of the chain of command if the TYCS headquarters in Port Aurora were ever hit.

Which, as it seems, may not be as improbable as once thought.

"We've lost all contact with Liberty in Berserker, sir. They had just gone on red alert before everything went pear-shaped."

The Commander-in-Chief, Triumvirate of Yut Combined Services, folds his hands as he looks at the map of Titan across his table. "More information?"

"Radar, infrared, and ground-imaging weathersats are picking up a massive temperature spike over the whole of Liberty, sir. Imaging is having trouble peering through the debris but it looks like it may be a total loss. Resultant ionization and heat signatures makes it look like a PPC hit, sir."

"Point of origin?" The CINCTYCS's voice is slow and measured, intoning each syllable with what seems to be the utmost care.

"Unknown. PANTOCLES reports not being pointed in the right direction; we're currently working with both TDF and private telescopes to collate the data through both the brains at TYCSHQ and Zero-One."

After receiving a short nod in response, the adjutant frowns in the momentary silence. "Shall I appraise our Task Forces of the situation, sir?"

The CINCTYCS shakes his head. "No. Not while we do not have a target for them. Call an emergency media blackout to prevent panic; Contingency Red procedures."

"Acting, sir." The adjutant nods to the rest of the command staff deep within the armored hull of the highly-modified dropship.

* - * - *

On all Saturnian System broadcast stations...
WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING

*ten second tone*

WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. ALL STATIONS GO TO HIGHEST LEVEL OF ALERT. EMERGENCY SERVICES STAND BY FOR COORDINATION FROM TYCS. MEDICAL SERVICES STAND BY FOR CASUALTIES AND EMERGENCY DEPLOYMENT. ALL DEFENSIVE HARDPOINTS AND ACTIVE STATIONS ON FULL ALERT.

NONCOMBATANT CIVILIANS STAY IN EMERGENCY SHELTERS. STAND BY FOR REQUESTS FROM EMERGENCY AND MEDICAL SERVICES.

ALL CITIZENS ARE TO MAINTAIN SITUATIONAL AWARENESS AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION FROM TRIUMVIRATE COMMAND AND CONTROL.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

*ten second tone*

WARNING WARNING ... *message repeats*
* - * - *

Armored Bunker in an Undisclosed Location, Scolopendra

Supreme Emperor Speaker-to-Animals grins. "Is this Morgoth's doing?"

"Don't know, sir," Foot-to-Ass Advisor Hawke says with a death-warmed-over grimace, "but my money says no. He's never been much on particle weapons of this magnitude, and he simply doesn't have the space infrastructure to work on Horizon and whatever did this, most like. Still, it's just speculation at this rate; first priority is to find this thing and kill it."

"Yes." Speaker grimaces, then snarls, picking up a book from the shelf behind him and throwing it across the room before slamming a fist on the desk before him. The sheet metal buckles a bit. "This is your domain, Advisor Hawke. Do whatever the TYCS needs you to. The Defense Squadron will provide immediate aid to Berserker."

"What if we are attacked again, sir?" Hawke looks at the strategic indicator map of Titan on the wall. "We need the Defense Squadron to defend us."

"Then have it ready to provide whatever aid it can." Speaker hisses through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed shut his breathing careful, desperately trying to control his anger. "Inform the police districts on the Berserker border to coordinate with Berserker authorities. The..."--he pauses to think for a moment--"the reserve elements of the CDC are now active, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Send a contingent over to aid in rescue operations. However many we can spare."

"Yes, sir." Hawke's face, remarkably, lightens up just a shade from its usual mask of grim darkness. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

The kzintosh looks up, grinning fiercely with his lips pulled back over clenched teeth. "For your own safety, get the hell out." Beat, swallowing of air. "Close the door after you."

WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING

*ten second tone*

WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. ALL STATIONS GO TO HIGHEST LEVEL OF ALERT. EMERGENCY SERVICES STAND BY FOR COORDINATION FROM TYCS. MEDICAL SERVICES STAND BY FOR CASUALTIES AND EMERGENCY DEPLOYMENT. ALL DEFENSIVE HARDPOINTS AND ACTIVE STATIONS ON FULL ALERT.

NONCOMBATANT CIVILIANS STAY IN EMERGENCY SHELTERS. STAND BY FOR REQUESTS FROM EMERGENCY AND MEDICAL SERVICES.

ALL CITIZENS ARE TO MAINTAIN SITUATIONAL AWARENESS AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION FROM TRIUMVIRATE COMMAND AND CONTROL.

THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

*ten second tone*

WARNING WARNING ... *message repeats*

"Oh, fuck. Se Cyng is not going to like this." The squire watches the news channel in the communications room of the winhal. He doesn't even need to look at the other terminals, he knows what will be coming across them. Freod just shut down. What was worse, was so did he. Ethelred was new to this job, and just finished training a week earlier. "It's easy," he was told, "You just need to keep an eye on things and keep it running. Freod's the backwaters of the Trium. You got nothing to worry about." Ethelred looked up at the flashing message in front of him and tried to block out the tone. Nothing to worry about, right.

He looked about him, panicked. What should he do now? Contact the Cyng, call up the militia, go hide under the bed? Fortunately, before he took the last course of action (which was his current favorite), he noticed the large manuscript, bound in bright red vellum that simply said, Emergency Procedures Fortunately, it was well indexed he came upon the secion labled "Attack against Triumvirate Holdings -- Highest Central Alert".


Activate General Alarm
Notify Superior
Notify Þeoden
Activate any resources requested by Triumvirate Command and Control


This he could do. He slammed the large red button so hard he bruised his hand. Alarm bells cried out across the land. He looked at the list of supervisors, and realized that none were available, so he grabbed a messenger and sent a copy of the dispatch to the King by runner at once. With that taken care of, all he had to do was call up the chirurgeons to be ready should the Trium call for them.

With that taken care of, he fell back into his chair, mind racing. Why him? Why couldn't this have gone to a more experianced secg? He was too new, too young, too unready.

OOC: Yes, there is a joke in here, I hope someone catches it.

“What the hell just happened?!” Zell demanded, rising immediately from his chair. All he saw was a massive impact on Titan on the main viewscreen. It happened so quickly, that he saw the impact just as he heard the warning klaxons going off. Immediately, he surmised, it wasn’t good. “Please let that be just an empty swath of land.”, he thought to himself, knowing that with Titan as densely packed as it was, the chances of that being the case were slim to none.

Lieutenant Cioldor Elaramir, a young, newly promoted elven Science Officer, frowned, his expression a near tell-all. “Sensors are confirming massive impact on Titan from what appears to be a mass of charged particles—possibly hydrogen. Unable to tell the precise size of the impact at this time, too much interference in the area, but it was a… considerable portion.”

“Any reports of civilian casualties?” Zell began to fear the worst.

“Communications traffic is pretty high. According to scans, the…beam hit a densely populated area of Berserker. Possibly a major city.”

Zell forced a large lump in his throat down as he heard the word ‘Berserker’. “What portion?”

Elaramir furrowed his brow. “Sir?”

Zell’s voice sounded very troubled, now. It was a bit unnerving to the rest of the bridge crew, hearing the uncertainty in the voice of a man who exuded so much confidence. “What city in Berserker was hit?”

Elaramir quickly consulted his instruments. “Scans show…the city of Liberty. Approximately 40 million inhabitants.”

Gabriel sat down, his mouth suddenly dry, until he noticed that nearly every eye on the bridge had turned to him.

“Calm down, Gabe, she leaves the city on business all the time. She was either not there, or safely in the Caves of Steel.”, he thought to himself, attempting to repress the thoughts of concern quickly rising in his mind. Though when you discover that the City where one’s wife resides has just been attacked by a massive discharge of energy, one cannot help but be concerned.

“Elaramir, I want you to trace the trajectory and speed of…whatever that thing was. Pinpoint where it was fired from. I want a full analysis of what it was, how much damage it did, and how we can prevent it from happening again.”

”Aye, sir.”

“Alana,” he began, turning to his communications officer. “Contact the office of the Prime Minister, Khenalian Military Command, TYCS Command, and apprise them of our situation. Give them any sensor readings we have. And contact the government of Berserker. Let them know we can render any assistance necessary.”

Linnea Westerback, his first officer, turned to him privately. “I’m sure she’s fine, sir. The Caves of Steel are pretty damned tough.”

“I hope you’re right, Linnea. By the Suns, I hope you’re right.”

Commander's Vigil 1
Saturn Polar Orbit

"Sir, we're getting trajectory results now. The results from both Zero-One and the Port Aurora brains check against each other; we've narrowed the origin down to a volume of about a billion cubic kilometers in the Kupier Belt."

The CINCTYCS nods slowly from his chair, elbows on the armrests, steepled fingers gently tapping against each other as he looks over the strategic indicator now showing the whole of the Solar System. "Guardian is engaged with Melkor over Jupiter; Grond is being dispersed over Arda; Sentinel is over Mars. What is Sentinel's current situation? The Voyeur net indicates that Mars has gotten rather more toxic as of late."

"We've just recieved word that Sky Marshal Yamanouchi has pledged our support for cleaning up Mars."

A sigh. "Noble of her, but her timing is off. The Space Superiority Fleet is engaging Horizon, I know, with limited success, and I do not believe the cruiser squadrons have the necessary firepower. If we pull forces away from Mars, it will be a political nightmare. If we pull forces away from Titan, we open ourselves to more conventional attack. If we do not send sufficient force... we fail."

The adjutant nods, quietly tapping the databoard he holds lightly in his hands. "The Cetagandan fleet and a Sakkran battlegroup are around Io at the moment."

"I know. That is why you are to inform Sky Marshal M'sha of the casualties on Titan and the origin of the strike."

"Orders for her, sir?"

A pause. "She is kzin. She will do what needs be done."

* - * - *
TYWS-BB Vinegaroon
Stationkeeping over Jupiter

[code:1:4082e0a443]URGENT URGENT URGENT

TO: TYCS FORCES IN AREA
FR: CINCTYCS, TYCSHQ
SJ: STRIKE ON TITAN

TITAN HAS BEEN HIT <STOP> THIRTY MILLION CIVILIANS ESTIMATED DEAD <STOP> SOURCE OF PARTICLE STRIKE APPEARS TO BE WITHIN VOLUME [coordinates] <FULL STOP>

THIS IS A PRIORITY TARGET <FULL STOP>[/code:1:4082e0a443]
M'sha grins fiercely. If they harmed a single hair on my wtbech, I swear... She crumples the printout in her hand. "HELM," she roars, turning quickly back to her seat, "set a course to the coordinates being fed you by Comms. FleetCom, direct the fleet to break blockade and follow our lead."

The helmsman nods, then frowns at her console. "That's odd... we're not getting a clean pilot hole. There must be some sort of interdiction near the center of that volume."

"Then find us a clear point, relay it to the fleet, and jump!" M'sha throws herself into her seat, looking grimly at the strategic indicator board.

Shaking her head to herself, the helmsman taps in a few coordinates into her console and pushes forward a lever, bringing Vinegaroon full-astern, leaving Jupiter behind as the rest of Task Force Guardian follows her.

"I'll deal with you later, Althalon. Helm, jump at minimum safe distance."

"Minimum safe distance ack, ma'am."

The ships power away from the angry red-orange mass of Jupiter, then suddenly seem to disappear into the distance no matter which way one looks at them. Inside the red-lit command-and-control center of Vinegaroon, time stops...

The Kupier Belt

...and restarts in an entirely different location. "Sensors, spatial awareness sweep. Now."

The sensors officer checks over his displays, looking up at the updated strategic board showing the rest of the Solar System astronomical units away. "Local space is rather chaotic... looks like active FTL-denial systems."

"Who is interdicting?"

"There doesn't seem to be anything in the area. It's bleed-off, like there was some sort of active system up and it just suddenly stopped."

"Hrr. I do not like it." M'sha frowns. "Tell the fleets to form up in a defensive sphere, damaged ships in the middle. Damage control teams are to get us as close to full combat readiness as they can. Launch fighters and probes on reconnaissance missions. If there's anything in that brick of space a thousand kilometers across, find it."

"Acting, ma'am."

Excalibur aerospace fighters stream out by twos, following the automated probes launched from missile tubes and autocannon barrels. A sensor net grows like a cloud around the loose sphere of vessels, constantly sweeping the area for anything about the aggressor, using every scanning technique at the disposal of the TYCS.

And yet... there is nothing to be seen.

<belated tag>

Exiting hyperspace in 5.....4.....3.....2.....1.....

Twenty thousand kilometers away from the fourth Jovian moon, Europa, Justice and her escorts wink into existence. Although relatively old by current standards, the massive warships were still a force to be reckoned with. With a slow, methodical deliberance befitting of such monstrous vessels, the fleet orientated themsleves towards their goal - Sketch Europa.

Catain Tycho stood on the bridge, taking in the grandoise view, many times enhanced and magnifide by the viewscreen. It felt good to be back among the living. Walking over to the communications station, he peered over the tech's shoulder. His forehead creased in deep thought as he analysed the many communications wavelengths emmanating from Europa, not all of them of Sketchian origin. *How far has Sketch fallen since I left? What happened all these years? This is.....unacceptable.....*

Gesturing to the communications officer, Captain Tycho directs him to port all communications with the Sketchian Heirarchy through his readyroom. Giving a final set of instructions to his first officer, Tycho leaves the bridge to address the hierarchy of Sketch directly, from the privacy of his readyroom.

#open commucations to Sketch Europa#
#communications priority alpha#
#redirect to Sketch Prime#
#redirect to Central Management Bureau#
#redirect to Council of Sketch#
#comunications open#
#voice only#

*Central management bureau? When did we ever have one of those? Council of Sketch? Since when did Das Sketch require a council?*

Immediately taking a knee and bowing his head when the communications line opened, Tycho addresses his audience reverently.

My lieges, I, Johannes Tycho, commander of the Lost Fleet, whose sacred obligation it is to uphold the duties passed unto him by he who is Das Sketch, has come to answer the call. Of what service may I be?

From the darkness, a voice issued forth - deep, booming and utterly penetrating, echoed thoughout the room.

[i]We who rule Sketch from the shadows call forth the warriors who sleep to defend the realm from those who will see us fall. Arise, ageless warrior, and repeat your sacred vows of loyalty.

Hesitantly captain Tycho rises to his feet. Then, staring defiantly at the blank screen, he blanky stats

I have already sworn loyalty to Das Sketch, my oaths are not so simple to dissmiss as that. What is this that you will have me do?

A long pause, deafening in its silence, permeated the room. Tycho could only hear the slightest thump of his heart beating against his chest as he waited for his answer.

The Das Sketch whom you swore fealty to, is no more. Das SKetch as you know him is no longer among us. We await the next coming of Das Sketch. It is imperative that you swear loyalty to Realm in Das Sketch's steed. Do we have your pledge?

His mind swirled from the implications. Assassination? Civil war? Was Sketch even what it was beore he slept? How long has he been asleep? Through the torrent of thoughts a single one shone true - he will see Sketch rise from the ashes. Making up his mind, he once again knelt on one knee, into the ritualistic position.

I, Johannes Tycho, do swear my loyalty to the realm of Sketch. Let my hands be the hands of Sketch, to bare the sword of Justice and the shield of Truth. For the glory of Sketch, may my soul be dedicated to the eternal service of Sketch. Amen.

We of Sketch accept this pledge of loyaty in the name of he who is Das Sketch. May the fates smile upon Johannes Tycho, and he have the strength and preserverance to prevail against those who oppose Sketch. Amen.

Arise, son of Sketch. And welcome home

Captain Tycho raises to his feet, and bows, giving the Roman salute as the communications terminate. Still reeling from the sudden revalations, Tycho stumbles over to his desk. Sitting down, he reaches over to a drawer, and pulls a bottle from the compartment. As he pours himself a glass, a light blinks on the desk, signally a message from the first officer. Pushing a button, he answers Yes?

Sir, we are entering orbital holding pattern around Europa. What are your orders?

Continue holding and await further orders from ground command. They will telling us what to do shortly.

Aye aye Sir.

With a small sigh, captain Tycho puts the bottle away, glass still nearly empty. *Well, might as well drink this little bit*

edit: form fixing

http://www.angelfire.com/psy/kaenei0/images/fleet.JPG

And now, they moved as one. A dark group of spectres, merging between the small, yet astronomically intagible gaps of the void that billowed between them. Marbled hulls of green and black pointed to a deep unknown that seemed to epitomise their form.

And now, after a time that had gone beyond reckoning, did those responsible for the deaths of so many Kaeneians, and caused a rend in the unblemished terran memory, return.

Now, after blood and fire had cleansed their war machine, and left them without the abilities to wage war effectively once more, did they seemingly move to strike against those who purged.

Her form, a winged insect clad in an armour all to burned and seared against the rousing cold of deep space, was sorrounded by a myriad of companions. Various shapes and sizes dictated alternate function. But they could be united, and were, by the appearance of the destroyers of old.

All so long ago, had many Kaeneians perished in both initial betrayal, and furious retribution, on the ice world Europa. Long ago had provisions been in place, and penance placed apon the dominin of Sketch, and watched, to ensure a repentance of sins committed.

And now, after this time and more, did an ominious shadow appear once more. But they would take no chance, and be fooled not one more time.


They powered on, closing to an uncomfortable proximity, and slowing to a halt.


they waited.


And did they transmit, a single, non-repeated message of hidden warning.



>>>Transmission to: [Sketchen Diplomtic redundencies] VIA {Trium DataNetwork[s]} <<<
||From: X^icriyax orbitalJuncture C/o WorldDisc Transmission Redundencies||
||Re: Threat withdrawl ||



The Serene^Union formally reminds the Sketchens of the treaty of Honoured Blood, and its binding legislation.


>>>Go now in peace, and may you be looked apon with favour.


Minister Killthanus
Acting First, Aengelistorium Ministori.

Most Serene Union of Kaenei

Once again captain Tycho's reverie was interrupted by the insistent blinking light. Yes? What is it? he hissed, the threat in his voice very unsubtle. Sir....I think you should come out and see this..... The quavering in his first officer's voice gave gave him no room to question as he lept out of his seat and scrambled to the bridge to see what was going on. Upon entering the bridge, he sees the massive fleet gathered before him......floating in Sketchian space, or so he thought.

Weapons, raise those shields and power up the weapons! *aye sir!* Comms, get me ground control, NOW! I want to know what the hell is going on *aye sir!* Get me targetting solutions on those ships. When the hell did they get here? And where the hell did they come from?

Umm, sir?

What?

I have ground control sir....

Move aside.... Ground control, what the hell is going on? Whay was I not informed of the alien presence over Europa?

Justice, this is ground control, the Kaenei forces are to be considered as non-hostile. Powerdown your weapons and stand by for further instructions.

What are you talking about "non-hostile"? They're Kaeneians, they're obviously hostile.....

Justice, repeat, the Kaenei forces are to be considered as non-hostile. Powerdown your weapons now and standby for further instructions.

Order received......

Choking back his rage, captain Tycho obediantly gave the orders to powerdown the weapons.

Send the message to the other ships to powerdown. We might not be able to do anything now, but I want everyone to be ready at the moments notice. First officer *yes sir* you have the bridge.

Gritting his teeth, Tycho stalked back to his readyroom. The councilers have much to account for.....

Solar Orbit 6, One Radian Ahead of Jupiter, S.P.S. Dragonstar, 1st Task Group, I+ 00:04

Sensor Technician Second Class Kristin Yammataci glared at the display. That can’t be right. That power level is way too high. “Sir?”

Her lieutenant stepped over, and bent over her display. “Yes, Kristin?” She pointed at the power reading. “Holy god. Can you plot that?”

She shook her head. “No, sir.”

“Damn. I better report this in.”

Solar Orbit 6, One Radian Ahead of Jupiter, S.P.S. Dragonstar, 1st Task Group, I+ 00:39

“I know we’re at war, Admiral, but we must be able to help them?”

“Commodore, I do not believe there is anything we can do. If shots of that firepower did strike Titan, I don’t think there will be anyone left to save or help.”

“But, sir, look at the message traffic. Someone is still alive down there. Even kinetics or nukes don’t kill everyone.”

“Dan, we have our orders.”

“Our orders didn’t expect a situation like this, sir. Respectfully, I don’t think Lost Americans has any assets that we need to watch for. Everything they’ve got is in the inner system being systematically annihilated by the rest of the Fleet.”

“I know, damn it. And I don’t want to sit here doing nothing. I just don’t think there is anything we can do. And I don’t want to involve the Federation in their war, if this is a result of that.”

“Admiral. Jack. Shouldn’t we at least ask?”

“You’re right, Dan.” Jack Colinati, Rear Admiral, FSPSN, turned to the captain of the Dragonstar. “Send a transmission, Rob. Offer to help, if we can.”

This is the Sentient Peoples Space Naval First Task Group to Triumvirate of Yut Officials on Titan. We have registered a massive energy pulse, and from the timing of transmissions detected in Triumvirate controlled Saturn Space, we assume there has been some sort of incident. Are you in need of assistance?

~RADM Jack Colinati, FSPSN.

Day broke to the remains of Liberty, or rather, it crawled.
The light clawed and struggled its way through the thick haze, giving the air a faint glow. The damage was visible only because of it's size.

High above a satellite focused on the damage below, its camera remaining unzoomed. It didn't need to, the damage was visible from even here.

A scar ran for multiple kilometers, as if an angry God had reached down and dashed away a portion of Titan.

Search and Resue efforts were begun, the central command limiting searches to the outskirts, as the inner most sections of Liberty, those closest to the crater, were completely gone, no one could have survived.

A lucky few, those close to the outskirts, stumbled out from under the cloud of dust, covered in dirt and grime, barely able to take a breath.

Drones of various sorts scan the rubble. Some crawling through the rocks, others pushing through the cloud, sensors straining to pick up signs of life, a few succumbing to the dust cloud and failing, plummeting to the ground.

Few of the organic searchers can function fully, unable to act for long without having to stop to fight the tears, others simply let them come.
Perhaps the most horrendous discovery came after a few hours of searching. A searcher spotted a piece of blue fabric and went to investigate, only to find it was connect to a small body. A young girl lay, partially buried, battered and broken, life having long left her. The searcher gathered her up, and marched, (or stumbled as he could barely see from the dust and tears) back to the base camp, other's stopping and hanging their heads in solem respect.

Yet a small sign of hope remained. In one area a corner of building still stood, shielding tatered flags, one of Berserker, and the other of the Trium. The wall containing a section of mural, reading "...But for all Justice." The remains of an embassy, or perhaps a reminder off what the people of the city stood for.

Millions of kilometers away:

A task group of ships patrolled the border, weapons hot, tempers hotter.
Aboard the lead ship, "Sir we're recieving an incoming transmission."

This is the Sentient Peoples Space Naval First Task Group to Triumvirate of Yut Officials on Titan. We have registered a massive energy pulse, and from the timing of transmissions detected in Triumvirate controlled Saturn Space, we assume there has been some sort of incident. Are you in need of assistance?

~RADM Jack Colinati, FSPSN.



ooc: I'm away from my ship lists, so I'll wait to finish this response up.