NationStates Jolt Archive

The merchants in the trade city had been growing in power for quite some time now, and despite Movodor's almost overwhelming power outside of the city, have been exerting political power and control to the extent that they controlled virtually all of the military and had many puppets in the administation.

Led by a suitably mad but nonetheless defensively minded baron of sorts, the city was fortified within months into a great sprawling mass of ground to space cannons, trenches, walls, turrets and factories. As the city was the only spaceport, nuclear site and source of many raw materials for the nation, Movodor could let this continue this no longer, even for one possessed of his patience.

He set to gathering what portions of the armed forces were loyal to him and planned for an assault on the city should diplomacy fail. Notably, many of the offending merchants were not of the nations native species, in fact, several were 'mere humans'. And unfortunately for Movodor, Lorain, the countries one source of real applicable policing was nowhere to be found, and indeed, she hadn't been seen for months...

...After several months, many failed siege attempts and even one go at destroying the city from orbit, and, having no real allies to speak of, or any international communications systems left, Movodor was left with one choice, grim though it be, as it would most likely bring about the end of his nation as a sovereign entity, and though he could never actually die, his permanent imprisonment.

His people are his first concern, though, above that of his own life and limb. He could only hope that the nations on his list would not respond with -too- much force. Though that was becoming a more and more likely scenario. He reads through the nations on the list one more time, mentally adding up the amount of punishment he is likely to recieve.

Britmattia...certain outposts of The Ctan...Der Angst, though that's a long shot...New York and New Jersey, possibly the least sane of the lot, though still 'nice' enough to help....and that should be enough. I dont want the whole world crashing down on my head, after all.

Mov collects his things, tries to avoid the rain a little, sorts his papers on the desk and presses the Big Blue Button. Said button was linked to the only semi major thing he had control of in the country, a row of old semimaintained missile silos in the poor part of the now hostile trade city. Something the merchants had thankfully overlooked, as that jutting out part of the city wasn't really in a defensible position and didn't contain anything of economic importance.

The missiles themselves were of low yield and practically soviet in manufacture, and yet they would serve their purpose. The point was that they would be shot down, or diverted so as to provoke a violent reaction from their targets, and most importantly that they would be traced to their origin relatively quickly. Their origin of course being the trade city that is the source of Movodor's woes.

The Siege had of course been noticed, the triple- to quadrupledigits of drones following the events only with mild interest, and usually cheering the city. Still, at the moment, only about three ORDs actively watch TAR, and not too closely so.

A sad thing, or they'd probably have seen a few children from less-than-wealthy families staring at the missiles, perhaps getting a few burns... A city is an odd place to put silos in.

Of course, the drones don't know about the very odd launch preparations in TAR, either, don't know that there is no chain of command, as every reasonable (And, perhaps, slightly unreasonable) nation has it. Just a slightly-insane leaders who just has to press a button... The whole thing is even less secure than DA, and that says a lot.

And why the fuck the connections hadn't been severed would be beyond them, too. And had they know the plot, they'd have wondered why the missiles weren't programmed for detonation immediately after leaving the silo...

And which kind of self-respecting city misses nuclear missile silos within its boundaries?

Well, all this questions would probably be asked later, not now.

A single one of the missiles takes an odd course. Ballistic trajectories are followed, calculated and extrapolated by a few ORDs and OSDs.

Whoops.

The first time that anyone but DA tries to use non-conventional explosives on it. Quite an event to celebrate.

Authorities (As far as the term is appropriate for DA) are contacted, the media starts spreading news, and a couple million people eventually follow the trajectory of the missile through uplinks, soft fields, or by way of watching screens and holograms as it speeds into orbit, heading for Equator, near Weyr.

In orbit, chatter between drones and ships ensues, as both groups watch it, slightly amused, though not particularly scared.

And then, soft fields extend from a variety of sources, effector-equivalents make sure that detonation is no longer an option, surpassing missile electronics on the most basic level, and working themselves up in a matter of milliseconds.

Another few milliseconds later, hard fields follow. The missile is shut down and eventually tugged in, regarded curiously by a variety of sensors on board of the Quietly Confident.

<SEU Quietly Confident> I knew it. Old Earth trash. No wonder we were able to get access this easily.

Sighing all around. A little bit of action would've been appreciated.

<SEU Quietly Confident> Okay. So why did this happen? As far as I know, the city's hardly insane.
<SDU Liberty Above All> Hrm. In any case, I doubt that immediate counterstrikes are going to succeed. The orbital strikes TAR tried vs. the city didn't succeed, and I doubt any kind of more-or-less conventional counter is going to me any more successful than they were.
<TEU Precious Prejudice> In the short term, anyway.
<TEU Poke 'em inna Eye!> Indeed. Nonetheless, I'm curious. Did our dear drones catch any kind of data, re, launching procedures?
<ORD Jeff 147> Nope.
<SEU Quietly Confident> I'll ask 'em, I guess.

Again, milliseconds pass, administrative shrubberies are fought with, confirmation and authorisation is acquired, and then the message is sent.

* Contacting Launch Side/ City Authorities...
* Sending Standard Identification Protocols [Nation = Der Angst; Region = DA Earth; Ship = SEU Quietly Confident]
<SEU Quietly Confident> Ah... Yes. What was this for, again? I suppose that you know what I'm referring to. It's hard to miss a few missiles leaving one's neighborhood.

Recieving the message from the DA ship, the Baron swears.
I godamn knew he would try something like this. I'll have the poverty stricken in that sector relocated, graaaargh. He wont pull anything remotely akin to this again. He shall be DEALT with. I will find and disembowel him a thousand times! He will regret being immortal after I'm through with him.

<<<-Reply to SEU Quietly Confident->>>
No, you do not need to interfere in this. We shall deal with it on our own. You will get a detailed reponse when and if I feel like it.

Now piss off. He grumbles, being immensely annoyed at anything that could threaten his economic superiority. And his former leader throwing missiles at foreigners is certainly be one of those things. He the proceeds to order the methodical search of the surrounding countryside, determined to find Mov and exact his revenge. The ensuing furious military movement is visibile to anyone with a fifty cent camera sattellite. No-one accuses him of being entirely stable.

<SEU Quietly Confident> Why, how nice. And polite. And... Informative.
<OAC Armageddon Aborted> Kill?
<TEU Precious Prejudice> Nah. Though, having read this thing... Their administration sucks.
<SEU Quietly Confident> We don't have the resources, nor the administrative backing to interfere directly, though.
<TEU Precious Prejudice> Indirectly?
<SDU Liberty Above All> That could work. Lemme see... We need to remove this person. We don't know why it fired, but...
<ORD Jeff 147> Yes, yes. Hrm. Quiet insertion. I think I have a few contacts that could be useful.
<TEU Precious Prejudice> Inofficially of course?
<ORD Jeff 147> Of course.
<SEU Quietly Confident> So make sure that all the information regarding this issue stays within this core group.
<TEU Poke 'em inna Eye!> Sure. Aside from invitees, of course.
<SEU Quietly Confident> Of course. Okay, back to organising... I'll take care of politics and 'official' reactions for the general media. The Liberty Above All works out the basics for reorganisation of the target, covering as many scenarios as possible. Good luck.

Real-time seconds passed and responses were prepared: They had to (Officially) urge the other targetted nations to not go and start a genocidal rampage once they'd taken care of the missiles. They had to feed their own media with basic and not entirely contradictional information. They had to feed the 'official' administrative shrubbery some believable lies.

'No clear response', 'Lack of sufficient information from the wartorn zone' and 'Odd possibilities' were the usual excuses. A little more elaborated of course, and adorned with lots of unverifable half-truths and pictures, analyses and the likes.

Meanwhile, drastically more secure communications were opened elsewhere, bitrates were raised by an order of magnitude, and agreements were reached.

In DA proper, a few specialists smiled. They'd probably get something to work with, soon.

Ballistic Missile Tracking Station- Eagle 3

With so many countries on the Earth it was a pain to track all the missiles which launched. Humans couldnt do it without the assistance of the Guardian Computer system, as close to artificial intelligence as people in New York and New Jersey were willing to get without going the extra leap. Thus when Guardian sounded the alarm the two soldiers at their duty stations were surprisingly shocked.

"Corporal Morales, I'm picking up several incoming tracks from the nation of T.A.R...." The main map screen was split into two while existing maps of the now enemy nation were brought up. "The missile tracks are all centering from this region if my calculations are correct, and you know I'm never wrong." On the main screen, the missile tracks continued, heading toward various points within the country, an industrial center, a military complex and two cities. The Guardian Computer system enjoyed touting its abilities to any and all who would listen, as far as it was concerned it was alive, it just didnt let that fact slip out to the soldiers who monitored it and the screens.

"Alright Guardian, begin plotting intercept vectors and take proper secondary measures. Corporal Morales, contact command, inform them of the situation, lets see if their Guardian has picked up on these missiles yet. " Sargeant Henderson was already on the phone, with the Strategic Air Command base on the tip of Long Island. Hours would tick by, long after the missiles had been shot down by the protective grid of anti-missile weaponry designed to handle faster moving targets and easily capable of picking off the slower antiquated junk shot at them. Information gathered, and information obtained were used in formulating a response. Something soon would happen.

Montauk Air Force Base, Eastern Tip of Long Island:

The B-61 Convair Hustler bombers were rolled out storage, and prepared for flight. It was unusal that they would be used but the bigwigs upstairs personally instructed that they be loaded with special cruise missiles prepared for this purpose. A total of four bombers were loaded up with the missiles and away they went on their journey to the offending country. Sticking low to the sea, they burned up fuel and would have to meet up with inflight refuelers twice along the way before they would reach the outer range of their weaponry.

"Jester Flight, this is Jester Papa, break and fire then lets get home before anyone figures where these things came from.." Intelligence had reported of a civil war which was going on inside of the T.A.R. and of the two sides which had formed. Six cruise missiles would be fired toward the city state, and another six would be fired toward those undertaking the siege. Flying low to the Earth they had various targets, none of them military in nature, or even civilian nature, they were targeted toward specific points where they would explode and release thousands of pamphlets done up in a rush.

On the front cover a picture of a nuclear weapon, and on the inside a short message:
We do not know which side committed this suicidal action of firing upon our nation. Nor do we care. From your level of technology we arent even sure if we contacted you, you would be able to understand us..make no mistake though, the next time something is fired toward the direction of our nation we will completely wipe your country off the map. For now, prepare to welcome Federal Peacekeepers.

1st Federal Fleet,"The Homeguard"-High Earth Orbit:

The ships of the 1st Federal Fleet began to shift in their orbit leaving the 4th Battlegroup over the Republic, while the 1st, 2nd and 3rd Battlegroups moved to position themselves over The Atheists Reality. Admiral Fletcher had recieved his orders and was more than happy to finally give his people something more to do than just sit in an orbiting fleet watching the rest of the galaxy move. The 1st Fleet was a cushionary job, and being assigned to it was the military equivalant to being put on easy streak. This would be the fleets first aggressive military manuvers since the navies inception centuries ago.

"Is it trasmitting yet?..okay..ahem..This is Admiral Fletcher, aboard the Federal Republic Stellar Navy vessel Yorktown, to ships belonging to either party in the T.A.R civil war, you are to stand down immediately and prepare for boarding parties. Failure to comply will result in your destruction." Simple and direct Fletcher was hoping no one would try to put up a fight. He wanted to deploy the first marines within the week.

Fleet Base Haven, North-Eastern Coast of The Atheist's Reality.

Fleet bases, are, after the disaster in Panmure, among the most heavily fortified surface installations on Earth, the defence designers having been instructed to look at Ardan nation-forts and mimic them on a smaller scale.
So when the base's dedicated geosynch satellite picks up nuclear launches in the outskirts of the trade city, several layers of defences are activated.
By the time the missiles have reached cruise height the anti-missile batteries are online and tracking, as the thermal bloom of the launches fade into trails of superheated air in the wake of the missiles, computers are calculating launch paths faster than the rockets can fly, and by the time the weapons have hit the edge of T.A.R airspace the battlegroup in orbit have their targeting orders, a single, quick burp of point-defence weaponry from the momentarily low-in-orbit H.M.S Genghis Khan and the designated weapon disapears in a ball of flame fanned by it's own ignited fuels.

The threat dealt with, doctrine clicks over into rote reactions, with the state of emergency in T.A.R, F.B Haven had already been on high alert, with the Marine Corps aero-carrier H.M.S Johan the Wily idling high overhead.
With the report of the missile's destruction comes instructions for the Colonel commanding her, and she glides down toward the city, Hammerheads and Akulas screaming off her decks, even as her turrets pan around and the main spinal mount begins to loft 16" shells towards the city's air defence points, Akulas howling in behind them to hammer more mobile defences as the aero carrier moves through the corridor cleared in the defences, escorting Hammerheads weaving around the multiple kilo-tonne bulk of the Johan as she moves over the silos.
As the monster air vessel slows to a halt, dominating the city sky, Vulture gunships, Chariot IFVs and Thunderhawk transports begin to move out of her, Vultures seeing off nosy armour and infantry as the Thunderhawks disgorge Champion MBTs, the Chariots gliding down to join them as they set up a perimeter around the silos.
This does look like bolting the stable door after the horse has fled, but that's not the intent of the effort. Instead, there's a stable start point for investigators moving to locate any other little surprises, and for the troops moving out to locate the heads of both sides and ask them some very pressing questions about why nuclear weapons are being lofted at the Kingdom...?

~ ~ ~ Earth Space ~ ~ ~

The cargo vessel was a Thalassan Inter-System Special, and had since very first launch hoisted the public logo of This United State itself, and it had been making a course to the surface of the planet, when the disturbance had begun. Average, merchant grade, sensor systems watched the drama unfold, and a " G5 consultant " who just happened to be on-board thus snagged a copy from the ship systems and, on the quiet, squirted it via tight-beam link to a friendly passing exploration ship on the way back to Mars.

The captain of the exploration ship, a T.U.S. citizen, had had his child-hood dream of stepping out into the wilds of space realised, thanks to 5 years in the T.U.S. Civil Space Programme, and it was his first job placement as C.O. with which to feed his massive wander-lust. He felt no small amount of loyalty to the system that made it possible, and so decided to make a contribution towards it, what-ever such was to actually be worth.

Over Earth, a trip-field generator on the exploration ship pulled apart the very fabrics of reality ( Mostly a very loud print lycra and some cheese cloth ), and the exploration ship slipped into it.

~ ~ ~ Mars Space ~ ~ ~

When it re-appeared over Mars, it communicated privately with the Battlestation in orbit above New London before it continued regular flight operations.

~ ~ ~ Neptune - Thalassa ~ ~ ~

The Sunflash class Corporate Cruiser was the first production model put into service by T.U.S. and was the pride of the Thalassan Yard and the parent company, This United State. Multiple Heavy guns, both fo'ard and reverse, several Light gunnery systems, and numerous Multi-Purpose Missile Systems, not to mention a heavy set of ship armor, gave it the fire-power to stand off against the biggest of common pirate battle-wagons, and most national navy vessels in the same class, too. With 200 % extra engine systems than the base-line model, it was also built to chase down such law-breakers and contract breaking scum. It was also atmosphere enabled despite the most un-aerodynamic build, thanks to heavy-duty gravitics.

No one at the Thalassan Yard was exactly sure just where the plans had come from, but with a " spacedy floating anti-shipping battery on crack " like this, they didn't all that much care ...

On board, over 200 PADRE's, Power Armor, Drone-Ran, version E's, - automated battle units, and their back up, in the form of ten ZMI Scuttler drones.

The first of five ships, I am Ozymandias which until recently had been nested in an armoured construction bay, broke the horizon of the Canyonade lip, and clawed for hard space. Engraved in corporate used script under the fo'ward logo, were the telling words of ;

" My name is Ozymandias, king of kings : Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair ! "

After a short distance, the trip-generator tore a temporary hole in space, and the I am Ozymandias broke into it.

~ ~ ~ Earth Space ~ ~ ~

High above T.A.R. and at a range clear of any likely anti-orbital defences, I am Ozymandias broke back into reality. It, and the crew, began to watch the events unfolding below and around them.

The field trials had begun and the crew was eager to test every system they could safely do so. They wouldn't mind though if any actual need to say, test the escape pods, wasn't required of them.

Earth Orbit

<OAC Armageddon Aborted> Oh, how do I hate thee...
<ORD Jeff 147> I take it you're watching channel eight, right now?
<OAC Armageddon Aborted> Quite so, though my contacts in the agencies are quite helpful as well.
<TEU Precious Prejudice> Well, it's not like the Britmattians are particularly subtle... Or our americans.
<SEU Quietly Confident> Who would have guessed. Anyway. This changes things a little.
<TEU Poke 'em inna Eye!> We should still go on.
<SEU Quietly Confident> Certainly, though the mission parameters have changed. We'll have to be flexible.
<OAC Armageddon Aborted> Indeed. I'm presently in contact with a few friends... Ah, yes. All clear.
<SDU Liberty Above All> Good. I hope we're not stepping on everyone else's toes?
<OAC Armageddon Aborted> Only lightly.
<SDU Liberty Above All> How polite.

Haven

Katarina shivered. It was cold. So very, very, very cold. Apparently the plane didn't believe in internal heating, due to its desire to keep its emissions as minimal as possible. While they were flying over the arctic, no less.

She pondered for a moment where the others were. Most likely a few kilometres to the east. Alas, no window to look through, and communications were strictly forbidden.

Josef was sleeping, much to her annoyance. Eventually she leaned back, looking over what little equipment they had with them.

Not too impressive... Well, it should work out, somehow.

She was one of those who hadn't fled from the memory of death. Instead, she embraced it. She wasn't quite as nutty as some of her fellow comrades, but still... She smiled, touching the edge of the knife she held in her left hand. She had tasted violence... And unlike most other Angstians, she wanted more.

Soon, they'd slip in between Goobergunchia and Atlantic Island (Tarasovka). Usually they would have cooperated with Taraskovyan intelligence, to make sure that no questions were asked. In this case, however...

Well, damned inofficial actions, again. So they stayed in the middle between the two, roughly 200 kilometers from each, almost hugging the sea below them, near-perfect black-body surfaces reducing EM emissions and reflections to the bare minimum, velocity down to perhaps 720 km/h...

It'd still be a good while until they'd arrive.

The ships and various craft above the important sectors of the city and in space shifted into formation and powered up what weapons they had. Anyone with a half decent techy radio could pick up the comms chatter spewing forth from them.
Noone paid too much attention to the britmattians, with only the occasional fanatic firing the odd missile at them. Noone of any rank in the city proper cared about those unable to buy their wares, and as such said poor were outside the shield and most defenses.

The head of the fleet already in orbit, the somewhat less of a ship and more of a station, the positively ancient /Divine Dragon/ transmitted only one message to the NYNJ fleet, and that was something along the lines of Bite me!, though only slightly less crude, and in their native language.

They then opened fire, not one at a time, not in a paced volley, but all at once, targeting one ship at a time before moving onto the next: assuming that their target was destroyed or sufficiently damaged, of course. Individual losses would be waved off, the survival of their command ship and the fleet as a whole their only priority.

The troops outside the city, then alerted to the Britmattians presense would move in, one massive wave at a time, what armour they had caring little for the infantry behind them, and the aircraft caring even less about the armour. They werent concerned for the poor, -they- would just be trampled beneath the mechs, and their houses that contained any enemy troops would be annihilated with no thought for those inside. The soldiers inside the city would wait patiently for their moment, when either the shield failed or they were ordered to assault the enemy. For now, though, they just watched the carnage outside.

The Der Angstians, if they were spotted at all, would be largely ignored. The Baron had bigger things to worry about than a lone foreign ship. If the TUS ship was detected at all, noone would care. it was the britmattians and the New York and New Jersey fleet that everyone actually cared about.

Earth Orbit

<TEU Poke 'em inna Eye!> Now look at this...
<SEU Quietly Confident> It's certainly... Impressive.

The ships and drones watched, passive and active sensors acquiring data, be it moving masses, pulses of radiation, trails of charged particles or something else, as shells of destructive energies bloomed up in orbit over TAR, the DA ships carefully making sure that they weren't caught in a crossfire.

<TEU Precious Prejudice> Now that's... well...
<SDU Liberty Above All> Braindead. They're all braindead. I wonder if mindflaying them all would be acceptable...
<ORD Jeff 147> Unlikely.
<SDU Liberty Above All> Damn.

Well, at least they got some detailed data about the present combat capabilities of Britmattian, NYNJ and TAR ships. Military intelligence wouldn't be disappointed, which was better than nothing.

Haven

So boring. So horribly, horribly boring. Katarina muttered to herself. Well, at least they'd soon arrive... After WAY to many hours in the air. She wondered a little what they'd have to expect... This part of the coast was supposed to be barely inhabited, and close enough to the city to reach it within a sufficiently short timeframe.

The plane was still swallowing up most of the radiation that could possibly target it, RADAR, LIDAR, the likes, reflecting next-to-nothing (Which also meant that there were a few indirect methods to detect it, but well... Nothing is ever perfect), now eventually crossing the coastline. A few minutes later, and close enough to the city while still avoiding to be seen, it landed, together with its partner craft.

"Hey, wake up!" Katarina threw an empty tincan at Josef, who awakened slowly, but eventually started doing what he was paid for.

Getting all the equipment out of the two planes was simple enough, and quickly done. In a few hours, they should reach the city... Unfortunately, the battle in orbit made proper coordination to avoid patrols and hostile fire a little harder.

Eventually, they were on their way, utilising simple-enough motorcycles.

Nettranscript, Farragut, FADM, MD2, Cortana, Dir, ID1

"Admiral?"

"Yes, Cortana?"

"Have you seen those reports I forwarded to you about missile launches from TARget?"

"Yeah, I caught the briefs, but I haven't had time to read the full report."

"Well, there's not much more than the briefs, really, except background information."

"Mmhmm. What are you suggesting?"

"Well, The Federal Republic might as well be our allies, and the Britmattians are."

"So you think we should declare Foxtrot Alpha?"

"If the President approves, we at least ought to, express our displeasure."

"Good point."

Nettranscript, Excerpts, Smith, IPFSP, Farragut, FADM, MD2

"So, what do you think, Mister President?"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

"Always one more, Mister President."

"Fine. Do it."

* * * * *

In high orbit, the ships waited silently. After all, it was impossible to wait noisily in space. No air, no sound.

They had their orders, but there was no particular need to hurry to carry them out. After all, the city was hardly going anywhere.

A message speared out on frequencies known to be used by Atheist Reality government and military agencies, as well as being echoed on major frequencies of the Federation's involved friends.

"To all concerned parties: Any further action taken against the Kingdom of Britmattia or the Federal Republic of New York and Jersey will be viewed as an act of aggressive war, and responded to appropriately as suits an ally of those nations.

~Fleet Admiral Anson Farragut, Commanding Officer, Federation of Sentient Peoples Space Naval Forces."

SCVN-2802 FRSN Yorktown

Each flagship of the Federal navy carried with it an embedded reporter. Things occured with such frequency on the warships that it would have been a poor idea not to have at least one or two on the major warships of each fleet reporting and sending dispatches back home or the nearby relay stations. The Yorktown was no exception and thus when the firing started a reporter was right there sending a message in real time back to earth.

"Outside of the ship, the Federal Forces have currently engaged by ships of the now enemy T.A.R fleet...moderate losses have been reported on each vessel and in space, the fighter and bomber forces of the combined navy are currently engaging enemy units of superior numbers.." The camera shakes as the reporter is jostled slightly from one side to another. "You can hear the metal buckling in the bow of the carrier.." The camera shook again and the reporter lost his balance being sent from side to side as a stretcher was carried past with a wounded crew member.

Around the Yorktown, the entire fleet had responded in kind firing back with every last weapon they had. Those T.A.R ships in lower orbit were the real unluckly ones. As the large rail guns aboard the Battleships began to fire. The earths gravity causing the large rounds to speed up and impact with greater force whenever they hit a target. which wasnt hard in the target rich enviroment. Of course Admiral Fletcher was no fool, while the ships of the Federal Navy were well built and sturdy they were still out numbered by nearly 3 to 1. It came as little surprise to anyone on the bridge when Admiral Fletcher gave the order to pull back to the otherside of the planet. And slowly the main capital ships began to turn and proceed away from T.A.R. taking and exchanging fire as they did so.

The ships closests to the T.A.R. fleet faired worse than the others, the Heavy Cruiser Astoria disappeared in a fireball as a lucky shot struck her missile bays while they were turning active and getting ready to fire. The explosion and resulting debries peppered two nearby Frigates damaging them moderately but enough so that after several more hits they were knocked out of the fighting. As the ships began to pull away from the planet the losses became obvious, seven Frigates had been reported lost, escape pods were reportedly touching down in the Atlantic with rescue craft on their way. Four light cruisers were destroyed and a pair of heavy cruisers were knocked out action. Dozens of fighters and bombers were lost as they were the last ones to retreat from the battle, sacrificing themselves to buy time for the outnumbered fleet to pull back to the otherside of the planet.

From Chimera Naval Station and Hope Point Naval Center, the 6th and 7th Fleets were ordered to make underway for Earth, a journey of four days for both fleets. The entire 1st Fleet would need those four days. Replacement fighters, and bombers would head up from the planet below and the dead and wounded would return to terra firma..for the next four days the ships of the first fleet would repair and rearm. Some ships would need greater repairs than others, the Yorktown had took a fair beating causing Admiral Fletcher to transfer his flag from the Yorktown over to the Battleship Tanager. A small group of destroyers from the 1st Fleets 3rd Battlegroup were so badly damaged that they were to be scuttled after parts were removed. All in all, it was not a pleasent way to start a conflict, and it was a hard lesson learned for the inexperienced fleet.

Carnage..Absolute carnage was all it was. And sensing victory, parts of the fleet ignored reason and pursued the NYNJ ships, acting as much as the predator as they were born to be. Those aboard the /Divine Dragon/ knew this would happen ahead of time... and brought up what armed civilian and half completed ships they could from the city below. The rogue ships were left to go to their deaths. Their leaders may be insane and definately not stable, but they werent -entirely- stupid. Before their enemies reinforcements arrived the wreckage of most of the destroyed ships and other debris would be cleared to provide a level field of battle. The battle between them and the britmattians on the ground would still be ignored. The soldiers inside the city would ignore the ones outside as well. It was all just entertainment for them.

"Now, that was an easy trip." Katarina sighed, still bored out of her mind, looking around. "Nasty."

The shanty town they were in, right next to the besieged city, was considerably, well... Unpleasant. A lot of humans were lying, standing, sitting and walking around... Mixed with surprisingly few cats (Those were scary, anyway, what with being almost twice as tall at Katarina).

Okay. So... You two- She looked, or rather, glared at two males next to her, pale skin, black clothing, a few things that could probably count as weapons, a few others that definitely were weapons, size below 180cm, identical twins. You wait here. Might need you to check for the missile silos, later.

Bah.

Or now, if you must. Though I'm not sure what for. Anyway. I and Josef are going in. I suppose that there's some way into the city, and given the excessive incompetence we've seen so far - In fact, I've never seen a so poorly secured and executed siege - I wouldn't be surprised if we'll have it easy.

I suppose that there's some underground entrances. Technically, they should be secured by both sides. Practically, I'm not so sure. In any case... She smiled sweetly, almost showing her teeth. You're of course perfectly free to look through some minds to figure out when, where, and how we can get into the city. We have a Baron to find.

Through the whole conversation, the four had kept up some pointless chatter, essentially playing a group of vaguely well-off, though by no means rich, TAR citizens. And given that cybernetics and genetic modification were actually quite common in TAR, they had no problems fitting in.

And within a radius of perhaps a hundred meters, small, smaller, and really tiny 'insects' were flying about, as was to be expected from a shanty town.

Nevermind them being an extension of the 'visitors'.

“Attention Atheist Reality Forces. This is Admiral Katelyn Turabian, commanding the Federation of Sentient Peoples Second Battle Fleet. You have continued to engage Federal Republic and Kingdom forces, ignoring our warnings.”

At this point in the message, the Federation fleet vanished behind a cloud of both electronic and physical countermeasures, decoys deploying in rapid shells, with the EM spikes of small craft launching barely visible through the haze. At the same time, in a much higher orbit (between the TAR fleet and free space) sat the S.P.S.S. Anglothel, a fifty kilometer battlestation and shipyard. The LIDAR and RADAR coming of it might have well as been blinding, in what was an obvious display of massive amounts of fire control.

“Cut all drives and shields, deactivate your weapons, and surrender your ships. Furthermore, drop city shield below immediately and surrender all ground based military assets to the Britmattians. You have ten seconds to comply or be destroyed.”

Which is when the Federation First Battle Fleet came over the engagement horizon of the planet Earth, already, like its sister, cloaked in a defensive haze.

CentGov Buildings, Royesse, Britmattia.

Modern military commanders do not make major policy decisions autonomously and declaring war on a sovereign state does count as a major policy decision, despite evidence to the contrary from Mars and Haven.
Thus, even as the Johan had moved out, orders were flying elsewhere from the Duke of Edinburgh's office in the CentGov tower.
The kilometre-high spire, polished black surface glittering in the weak winter sun was home to all the offices of the various portions of His Majesty's Government, including His Majesty's.
So by the time the orders have reached the Minerva Station task group Owen has already reached Andrew of Edingburgh's office and is watching as his Chairman of the Joint Chiefs orders the 18-strong minifleet to support the Federation efforts, under Admiral Turabian's command, the effort serving as a small exercise in allied cooperation.
His orders given, Andrew considers the situation in T.A.R, tugging his pointed beard in thought, endeavouring to be seven steps ahead of the opposition as is his wont.
Owen, booted legs crossed, does nothing but watch the displays and toy with his boot knife, this is not a situation for the King's interference, it's the commander on the ground who controls it, all he can do is watch Andrew move strategically and the Marine colonel tactically...

The Merchant City, T.A.R.

The T.A.R shielding of their city was obviously regarded as a counter to anything which could be thrown at it, and probably would have been against their Havenite neighbours.
Against a proper military, all it does is buy the troops inside some time before fire support can be brought to bear...
The Johan the Wily's commander, a seasoned old dwerry from Poitiers in Birmingham leans back in his chair, satisfaction evident on his smooth face, the only sign of age his pure white hair.
"Ah. Gotcha you sloppy bastards."
His X.O, who is essentially a slightly younger, female version of him, grins like a shark. "Nice to have Intel be right isn't it sir?"
The Colonel, nametag reading "CARCASSONE", thumps a fist on his arm-rest.
"Too right Catriona. They told me those stupid furry sods would do this and I didn't believe them, no-one who fights like that could survive in this third-world craphole of a continent, or so I thought."
He smiles wider.
"It's so good to be wrong."

Down below, the Marine Battalion commander is already dispersing his men, it's easy to prepare positions with advanced cybernetics (manjacks) and entrenchment-charges (fox-holes).
The Marines drop into their trenches, heavy weapons teams scuttling into the more defensible buildings, the armour that's so far been landed nosing off to the flanks, the IFVs following.
As the mob of T.A.R forces emerge from the cover of the shield, the alert among them would, if given sufficiently good sensors, spot a few seagull sized (and shaped) drones lurking overhead.
What these portend is...

Carcassone smiles cheerily, toggling the gunnery push "All turrets, independent rapid fire."
Even dozens of stories from the dual turrets on the aero-carriers underside, the vibration of the guns spinning up translates to a thin whir audible at the edge of human hearing, in the turrets themselves the noise is tremendous, defeaning to unprotected crew as the ammo feeds into the gattling-cannon, spitting HE shells out into the vast tide of infantry, the mechanised units ignored for now, the Johan's guns chewing up that most belov'ed of artillery targets, massed infantry in the open. Well. What *will* be the "open" after a few minutes bombardment.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. The rate of fire does not slow, does not stutter. The crews are drilled, the technology is solid and a Sovereign Class Aero Carrier mounts four such turrets.
And then there's the thundering "BOOM!" of one of the 16" guns firing on the infantry.
Carcassone is content. The Marines can handle the armour by themselves and the infantry have been taught the folly of assaulting into artillery fire.
The shield however, remains up, and the silos are yet to be secured totally, the breaching teams delayed whilst the Marines hunt the un-escorted armour in the rubble...
Carcassone simply waits, his attack craft secure within the Johan's hull whilst the Hammerheads lurk outside, waiting for the inevitable attempt to down the aero-carrier as it lurks outside the shields.

"A unruly mob is no more an army than a heap of bricks is a house" ~ Socrates

Though annoyed with these new arrivals, central command was far more concentrated on restoring cohesion to the unruly mob on the ground, a seemingly impossible task at this point in time. Said unruly mob was being taken apart piece by piece, and some would inevitably try to flee. The ones that actually stood and fought, even scoring kills would only aggravate the britmattians further: for one little tendancy of the cats was to eat the bodies of their fallen enemies, doubly so in an all out massacre such as this, being overcome by greed and their baser instincts.

The two twins muttered a little about the constant fire all around them, Britmattians vs. a mob, but then, they didn't really care as they were making their way to those missile silos that had been identified, usually hiding in between the general chaos. Shanty towns were good for this kind of thing.

Granted, they had to avoid the occasional problem - Be it the mob or nosy Britmattians - but given their generally generous use of microdrones and soft fields for reconnaissance, this wasn't really a problem. Whenever things got really problematic, they just 'convinced' the problem that it was heading in the wrong direction. Also granted, it took a few moments, and in the general chaos, not everything functioned as good as it should, including their manipulative abilities, but that couldn't be helped.

The silos themselves weren't too interesting. They sat there, unguarded, a few kilo-or-megatons worth of damage, but that was it.

The next thing they did - Before anyone else could arrive and interfere - was inspecting circuitry and communications. They simply wanted to know where the red button was that sets them off.

---

Elsewhere, Katarina and Josef were going through the pain of a badly-maintained tunnel to the city, evading or ignoring its present occupants, and generally keeping a few dozen minis ahead and behind them, just in case.

I can't believe this sloppiness. How the hell could they fail in taking the city?

Stupidity?

Well, it's kinda hard to believe that the countryside is even dumber than our city dwellers here... Oh well. Perhaps they'd just collapse the tunnels when someone serious entered them.

That's always a possibility. Anyway-

Ah, yes. Light at the end of the tunnel. Finally.

And then they were in the city. Now, they had to find the 'Boss'... It'd probably take a few hours.

Or minutes, assuming that the general level of security was as poor as the rest of what they'd seen.

In any case, insectoid drones - Some of which had been lost by now, but said losses were still insignificant, though this would probably change, later - and sheer force of mind now began with the next step.

In the vacuum, ten seconds is a long time. It is enough time for light to travel nearly three million kilometers, or make the round trip from the Earth to the Moon nearly four times.

On the Flag Bridge of the S.P.S.Acamar, it is not very long. In fact, Admiral Turabian silently mouths the countdown as the holographic numbers floating above the battle plot cycle downward.

At nine seconds remaining on the clock, the ships of both fleets spread into a bowl formation, sweeping out to envelop the Atheist starships. And joining the bowls together was the massive bulk of the Anglothel, fifty kilometers of deadly threat, able to take on entire fleets on its own.

At seven seconds, Turabian spoke. “Kill the warships in the first volley.” The order sped through the fleet over TacNet at the next best thing to instantly. At this range, the ansible communication network bound all seven hundred and forty ships of the two Battle Fleets, along with the station, into a single entity for combat purposes.

At five seconds remaining until the time limit expired, targeting established firm locks on the more heavily radiating warships of the now declared enemy fleet.

When there were only two of the ten seconds left, Turabian spoke her last words within the time limit. “Anything yet?”

At one second, her communications officer shook his head grimly, and the Admiral, Commanding Officer, Second Battle Fleet, sighed heavily. “Only the dead…” she whispered, referencing an old Greek.

At zero seconds, there was no response, and Katelyn Turabian gave the order. “Fire.”

In space, energy is silent. But inside the ships, thousands of capacitors discharged in fractions of a second, and the wail of the breath of God spoke to those within their hulls. Many a sailor was heard to mutter the ancient prayer… “Lord, prepare us for what we are about to receive…”

On Earth, there are sensitive telescopes designed to search the skies for the tiniest little bursts of gamma radiation, searching for stars and their deaths. Any of those looking through the portion of the sky at the moment the Federation fleet loosed its wrath was instantly ruined merely from the beam scatter as thousands of beams powerful enough to shatter asteroids lanced out from both Federation fleets and the battlestation.

Being energy weapons, of course, there was no way to tell they had been fired until impact, but the Atheist forces, at orbital range, would not have to wait very long. Even the explosion of kinetic death charging on the heels of grasers at a hundred thousand gravities, would take just under a second to arrive.

Once the grasers were on target, of course, they fired for the full seven seconds it took for the huge banks of capacitors which fed them to discharge, during which they could turn through a three hundredths of a degree rotation…

…which at this range meant nearly a kilometer of hull plating and shielding on the other end could be torn apart. But mostly, they concentrated on punching all the way through their targets… Few ships were, after all, big enough to warrant that kind of attention.

Five seconds after the grasers ceased firing, another salvo of missiles lanced out, and as all the launchers dropped into their maximum rate of fire with the third salvo in thirty-six seconds, the grasers fired again.

Several great explosions and various tingling was all it took to bring about the fleets death throes. It was the end, and the /Divine Dragon/'s Central Intelligence knew that. Even the strength boost from the newly converted civilian ships or the various protective systems of the /DD/ would not save them now. And thus, one last act before going out in a literal blaze of glory.

The ships main spinal weapon, a massive energy cannon usually used on cities and planets, would instead be turned on itself, the great heatsinks being simply turned off before the full firing procedures had been completed, which could only end in an explosion so catastrophic that anything within a vast distance would be swallowed in a great flash.

Those inside the city would be safe: though the shield would be undoubtedbly comprimised. Outside the city, ground forces of all sides would be in major trouble, having to find sufficient cover to avoid being blinded from the flash alone. The veritable rain of everything from small ship parts right up to entire(though disabled) warships was another thing entirely. The foreign ships in orbit above the city would be swallowed, their ability to survive depending on everything from armour to quick thinking by their captains. Though it WAS a last ditch move, and it wasnt expected to kill enough enemy soldiers or ships to be in anyway battle tide turning or significant.

...And upon the disabling of the shield, once the commanders inside the city had stopped reeling from the blast, the only option available to them would be excercised fully, that being full weapons release. The possibility of them surviving before this was shaky at best, now there would be no doubt in anyones mind that they would not live out this day.

<SEU Quietly Confident> Seeing what happens up here, i strongly suggest regular backups, boys and girls.

"Bah. Okay, if we have to..." Katarina muttered, frustrated and not at all pleased at the whole situation, and did as suggested. So did Josef, and the other t-

Then there was a blinding light, barely compensated for by quick internal reactions, and then there was death, and destruction, and a flickering, failing shield...

The twins survived, if weakened, their eyesight compromised, though not gone, thei bodies suffering a number of considerable - Though not lethal - injuries.

In orbit, the ships in question started discussing the TAR issue in greater detail.

Eventually, they came to a decision.

<SEU Quietly Confident> Get the fuck out. TAR's as good as dead, and I'm not sure this geniuses can be helped with anything but complete reprogramming on a genetic and meetic level. Which we could do, but honestly... They wouldn't be themselves. f you have somethign to get a ride with, use it. We may be able to get you out by using Taraskovyan assets nearby, wherever you may be.

Needless to say, after the latest events, Katarina & co were quite easily convinced to do exactly what had been suggested. There was fun to be had in violent encounters, sure.

But when it was starship vs. humanoid, the odds were a little too extreme to seriously consider staying.

Soon enough, they left the city and its surroundings, as far as they possibly could.

The first salvo of missiles only tore apart a handful of ships, but between them and the grasers, many more were brutally ravaged. At the center of it all, of course, was the Divine Dragon, targeted by an entire dreadnaught squadron.

Admiral Katelyn Turabian watched the visual repeater as it was pocketed by brilliant bursts of fusion fire, ships exploding in the night against the green-blue backdrop of the motherworld. She watched as the smaller ships nearer the edges of the formation burned away like chaff, death stalking inward along three lines of advance…

When the display went suddenly black.

For a second, she thought the massive, four kilometer Acamar had been disabled as the entire Atheist fleet vanished from the holographic plot fed by the gravitic scanners. At this miniscule range (as fleet combat went), the scanners were barely faster then those operating on electromagentics, and her face paled at the size of the blast wave rushing outward…

The visual display came back almost instantly, revealing the boiling portion of the sun spread across the Earth, the atmosphere energized to the point of plasma, streaming away into space with the huge energy release…

The S.P.S.S. Anglothel turned a brilliant blue, the closest element of the Federation military to the explosion, its drive field trying valiantly to shunt the energy away…

The explosion passed over it… and Turabian stared in utter shock as the drive field pierced the final dragon flame with a rapier of brilliant blue-white, the cascading of a shattering, failing drive field…

Hundreds, if not thousands, of personnel had to have died aboard the massive battlestation when uncontained energy arced through her systems, destroying her drive nodes, shrapnel and debris exploding into her battlesteel walled corridors, turning them in death traps…

But the station was still in orbit, fortunately, its original momentum restored to it as it swung sedately about the planet below. She tore her gaze away to do her duty, wondering what had happened to the poor Britmattians on the ground when the atmosphere had turned to plasma around them, the blast wave that close powerful enough to bring down the city shield.

All she knew now was that there was an opportunity to finish her mission. “Fleet orders,” she snapped, springing to her feet out of her shock frame. “Rotate to bring all missile batteries to bear on the Atheist Reality. Begin immediate kinetic suppression of all of their ground installations, starting with the shield generators. I will not have that shield come back up. Initiate under engagement pattern Golf-Sierra-Papa once those generators are gone.”

It took twenty five seconds to reorient the fleets to allow both broadsides and forward missile batteries to bear on target, and another ten to acquire specific targets. Furthermore, just under a second was required for the combined Electronic Intelligences of both fleets to decide on a targeting arrangement for all the ships (generators, then surface to orbit weapons, then defensive emplacements, then surface to air weapons, then surface to surface), under the orders specified, and to load the proper weapons, since they were under no particular inclination to hurry.

Exactly two minutes after Katelyn Turabian had given the ultimatum to the Atheist Reality fleet, both Federation Battle Fleets opened fire on the surface of the country that had at one point been defended by what was now a rapidly spreading ring of debris and finely sifted atomic matter…

Skies above the Merchant City, T.A.R.

There is no time. The explosion occurs and a wall of heat and force hit the Johan and the forces deployed around her almost instantaneously, the silhouette of the huge vessel black against a stark white sky as the explosion lifts her nose, tearing away the bridge in picto-seconds, heartbeat by heartbeat, even as the immense forces snap her back.
There's just time for her to flip over before the ever-growing strength of the light wipes away vision from those still watching in a blaze of incandescent light and the Johan tumbles away from sight.

CentGov Spire, Royesse, The Kingdom.

There're reasons why all telemetry from a multi-kilotonne aerocarrier would abruptly vanish. Not many, but there are reasons. There're even reasons why that telemetry would not be re-established as soon as possible.
None of these reasons however, are going to apply when nearby recon satellites offer a startled squawk and images of a ball of plasma big enough to swallow an elf's ego ripping it's way from sky to ground, the video stripped of colour, washed out by the intensity of the monstrous explosion tearing the sky asunder above the city.
Owen sits and watches open-mouthed as the ball of super-heated gas roils outward, the real-time images catching the tail of the Johan being swallowed as the globe blooms outward, outward and then fading.
A dust-cloud swirls around where the Marines had been deployed, hiding the ground effectively from the low-orbit satellites Owen and Andrew are watching through, but the two don't decieve themselves for a moment. The Johan and her complement are dead, were dead in the instant of the explosion, and when the dust enough to show the shattered ground outside the city, they're proved correct.
No visible trace remains of the aero-carrier, even as the dust recedes further back there's no sign of the big ship, further back and still nothing, and then further, kilometres from the city and there is the shattered and burning hulk of His Majesty's Sovereign Class Aero-Carrier, H.M.S Johan the Wily.
An abrupt "crack!" sounds in the small room, jarring the two men from their state of shock. Owen looks down at the splintered arm of his chair, crushed by the augmented muscles of the King's anguished grip. He gives a long, juddering sigh and, grinds his teeth, the already splintered arm compressing further under the steel-hard skin of his inhumanly powerful hands.
"Fuck."
He spits the word, frustration vibrating off him, snapping to his feet, clenching and unclenching his fists, before whirling and shattering the heavy oak of the chair with a snarl of rage.
Andrew, older and less given to episodes of rage anyway, says nothing, watching the monarch carefully, face still and unreadable, even as his hands dance over the keyboard of his console, eyes flicking from Owen to the holographic screen even as the rage lifts a little from the younger man's face. Eyes so dark grey they're edging on black Owen turns to his supreme commander and waits.
Andrew looks back calmly, too calm, green eyes just a little flared and white and auburn beard twitching ever-so slightly.
"I've dispatched the rest of the aero-carriers not otherwise engaged, in addition to the Airborne and the Raven's Own." A little emotion shows and his neatly trimmed moustach droops as he sighs.
"What a waste. Carcassone was with me in the Islands you know. A damned waste."
The Duke shakes his head, dispelling his grief for a moment. "In addition to those forces the Marines on board the Minerva station taskforce will be dropping shortly, just as soon as the Federales finish their bombardment."
His face goes grim and hard, the usually relaxed Duke replaced by the man who crushed a well organised and equipped opposition in the Civil War, using a force he built as he campaigned.
"Make no mistake Sire, The Atheist's Reality will be brought to heel. I give you my word on it."
Owen nods gravely. "Very well Andrew. I shall leave you to it, I, for my part, have nine thousand letters of condolence to get done."
The Duke sighs, reaching up to grip Owen's shoulder. "Not your fault lad, not your fault."
Owen nods. "No, not my fault. But still, my responsibility."

~ ~ ~ Earth Space ~ ~ ~

While the battle had gone on, I am Ozymandias had since stuck to the original position it had taken since arrival above Earth, a decision that saved the lives of the crew members and meant that most of the extra-thick plate that covered it was still intact, if just a little scorched.

As the incredible explosion rolled out across local space, view-screens dimmed automatically, or were quick to snap to dead-black, extinguished to preserve the insanely high-definition pixels from burning out, as a few sensor plates on the external-hull were simply charred away under the force of the energy from the not-too-distant-enough-for-comfort wave-front. The ship computer had time to engage an emergency reverse thrust, but that was about it. If not for the distance it had stayed at in the first place ...

Mere micro-moments later, before the full force of the explosion was even fully spent, new sensor plates came up to replace the ruined ones. Gunnery systems re-aligned quickly on the " most-possible " anti-attack vectors, if anything else nominally hostile had survived and was ...

It ... hadn't, anyway.

Quickly agreed, the ship-board expert systems consensus was that the T.A.R. Divine Dragon had self-destructed in order to precipitate such an awesome blast. Once the glare died down a bit, the results were ... fully visible to the small command crew.

Far beneath the I am Ozymandias for example, was the loss of the Kingdom Aero-Carrier vessel, for example. A sorry business, that. Without a doubt, the crew of I am Ozymandias felt more than just a whisper of their own personal contact with finity under the terms of their mortal existence, in that terrible loss.

After a long minute since, the duo of Federation Fleets were seen to start their responsive fire towards the mostly ruined surface below, much of it all-ready a smoking wound upon that supposedly cursed continent.

The guns of I am Ozymandias remained silent, still. However, that could change at any moment and it remained on full alert. It was for the moment, by virtue of loose orders, a free agent of the Corporation. But it was not a position to risk any abuse of lightly, after-all. The monolithic vessel ignored the faint traces of heavily carbonised space dust around it and the atomised remains of T.A.R. rogues now being scattered by the solar winds as it floated, a stoic edifice in the face of so much wanton destruction.

Also considering the Commander had been about to order a cautious approach near what had ultimately been an absolute death-trap ...

The ground to space cannons began firing on the enemy fleet, even as they, and most military installations around them were destroyed one by one in truly massive explosions that rocked the foundations of the city itself. And all the while the baron taptaptapped on his throne, becoming increasingly paranoid. Boomboomboom, there they go again. And they think they can just roll in here and take over the place like nothing ever happened? Not going to happen, one.little.bit. He slides another slab of meat into his mouth, and then(slightly sloppily) contacts his missile control officer. You fat sack of crap, the time has come. Fire ze missiles! as they say. -All of them-.
Sir are you quite sa-I said ALL of them, disobediant scum. Silo lids slid open, missile trucks rolled into place, and underground missile storage tanks burst into life, filling the sky and the space beyond with truly incredible amounts of firepower, blotting out the sky for most of the cities occupants. This carried on for quite some time, becoming an explosive airborne river of death. -All- the missiles capable of hitting space and other-side-of-the-world targets were fired, the majority being well into and above the megaton yield range. This totalled well into the millions, given the vast stockpiles the merchants had built up during the fortification process. This, of course, left the forces below with nothing to defend themselves with but the rapidly disappearing GtS cannons..., their only option now being brutal street fighting, and relying on the solidness of the buildings around them...and all that time, Movodor and the rest of the nation hid in the jungles and in the forests, away from such catastrophic displays of desperation.

As streamers of energy state weapons rocked the foundations of the Haven region, shattering, liquefying and resolidifying stone instantly, along with pretty much vaporizing whatever happened to be at the ground-side end of the corona of superheated atmosphere that so resembled the aptly named ‘death ray’, the return fire of the Merchant City was not quite a surprise.

It had been assumed, all along, that the Atheist Reality possessed ground based anti-space weapons, but their failure to intervene earlier in the conflict had led the computers to reason that their presence would be insignificant; otherwise they would have acted to save their fleet from destruction.

This is, after all, what any sane military would do. Use all the resources available to it rather than be defeated in detail. For whatever reason, the Atheists had chosen not to do this, and Katelyn Turabian was extremely grateful.

Especially when the first salvo leapt from the ground into orbit as the first Federation missiles headed in the opposite direction. Humans, after all, have a very slow reaction time, when it comes down to it, and so Admiral Turabian was still staring blankly at the screen as the electronic intelligences began to engage the oncoming missiles.

There was no time for counter missiles, they were far too close to the planet, and so it was all up to the laser and autocannon clusters, which began to spray out walls of coherent light and millions of rounds of hopefully kinetic death for the oncoming hordes.

True, the electronic countermeasures and physical countermeasures had been running since the beginning of the battle, some three minutes earlier, but many of them had been burned away or lack coherency due to the earlier massive explosion of the Divine Dragon. The combined passive defenses of the two battle fleets sucked nearly thirty percent of the missiles off target, and another forty plus percent were stopped by the active defenses.

The final layer of the defenses, the drive fields and the armor, was forced to absorb the hammer blow of over sixty missiles per ship. Fortunately, as could be expected, more of the missiles were targeted on the larger, heavier ships, the ones more able to take the damage, but even still, the visual holographic display, merely for entertainment, most of the time, was pocketed by the searing blue-white flame of failing drive fields, though none of the bright orange of uncontained fusion…

It was about this time that Admiral Turabian found her voice. “Go for higher orbit!” and her crews responded as instantly as possible. Drive fields merely reversed their direction of acceleration, the advantage to the drive bubble over the one directional gravity wedge instantly obvious, pushing the ships higher, away from the planet, giving them more time to engage the oncoming missiles.

Capella-class dreadnaughts, able to spare the power and the acceleration, their heavier armor and drives able to take a far more brutal beating than their smaller comrades, speared out tractor beams, snaring the damaged and disabled ones, rolling and drawing them in closer, pulling them to the safety of distance as well.

The Federation’s own missiles lashed back at the surface, massive salvos screaming through atmosphere and space in opposite directions, tearing into their targets, salvo density and quantity slowly decreasing on each side, though, unfortunately for those on the ground, at a much higher rate…

It took seven minutes and two and a quarter million missiles before it was all over. The Federation had lost five destroyers, two light cruisers, and a single heavy cruiser, but over fifty more ships were crippled, and a hundred more had serious damage. This by no means counted the heavy damage to the massive S.P.S.S. Anglothel, unprotected by its drive and unable to move away, but even so heavily stricken, the battlestation was more than willing to continue dealing out punishment.

The undamaged portion of the fleet resumed a slightly closer stable orbit over the now defenseless Atheist Reality and bombardment recommenced, continuing until every visible piece of vaguely military hardware on the ground was destroyed, and anything likely to cause a problem, likewise.

Combined Services Homeland Defence Facility, Anjou District, Bathame, The Kingdom.

What looks like a dark-haired young man is laughing almost raggedly, hysteria of some ilk edging into the sound. His uniform is crisp and his face is bare of any physical sign of stress, but there's still an air of exhaustion and worry around him, a feeling of unsleeping restlessness.
The personnel around him, in the Navy's blue and Army's green, edge away as he keeps laughing and laughing, a Lieutenant scuttles off to fetch more senior officers to confront the disturbing laughter.
By the time those senior officers are fetched, the laughter has ebbed away and he's calm again. Deathly calm.
The most senior of the officers examines him worriedly and queries his health.
He looks back and smiles.
"I'm fine ma-am. Fine. Just laughing at the organic condition is all."
The smile is profoundly unnerving now.
The officer, a Rear Admiral and head of the Facility, smiles back uncertainly, unconciously smoothing down the seams of her dress pants.
"Uh, yes Pendragon, but..."
Pendragon looks momentarily contrite. "I apologise ma-am. I forget somtimes. I was laughing at the efforts of the Athiest's Reality over Haven and our own defence priorities."
That disturbing grin. "All our missiles are targeted at the Iraqstanis, our nominal ally. Not at our *other* nominal ally T.A.R."
The Admiral looks worried. "Why would we target them Pendragon, what's happening?"
His eyes flicker, and a hologram springs into life above a nearby console, clustered with red lines, each terminating in a tiny nuke symbol. The lines are uncountable to a human, and hundreds flare out of existence every second as they flare up and engage the Federal fleet.
"T.A.R. has attempted to nuke it's way out of it's impending occupation. Unfortunately for them, the majority of their weapons seem to be targeted on the Federals, so they're being dealt with the rather excellent defence systems onboard those ships."
A group of green dots spring into life above the red lines, the red lines arcing up and ending around them. Occassionally a green dot flashes or disapears entirely, but compared to the red lines, it's a paucity. Further along, a tiny group of blue icons spring into existence, and the red lines also converge on them.
"Also, they're targetting the Minerva Station task force, which have the advantages of being further away, a smaller target and not having to re-organise their firing pattern on the fly." Pendragon wipes his grin away.
"And our allies have soaked up a huge portion of the missiles already."
An other group of blue icons appear, but no red lines intersect them. Still, again the threads of scarlet decrease in number.
"Fleet Base Haven is also attending to the launches, they are however proceeding at a lower rate of fire due to their earlier engagement. Even so, the expected percentage of missiles I will have to engage is well within parameters for a extrapolated 100% knockdown rate."
The smile flickers back onto his blank face.
"They're not Iraqstaniis after all. There's no doctrine here. It's as though someone bellowed "Fire the missiles!" and that's all they've done."
He sniffs, an affectation for someone who doesn't breathe.
"However, this is a high-level strategic attack on the Kingdom and, I having briefed you, it's now up to you to brief his Majesty on whether we respond in kind."
The group of officers ripple in shock, and turn to discussion amongst themselves, while Pendragon stares at nothing at all, saying nothing as a large blue blob appears on his hologram, the remaining crimson tracks all aimed at it. They start to disapear at an incredible rate as Pendragon quietly goes about his business. The business of the Kingom's first and thus far only self-emergent Electronic Intelligence. The business of the ultimate controller of the huge defensive net, which, embedded on the borders of a nation thats not that long ago didn't feel keen on life outside of walled settlements, was appropriately wall-like.
The business, in other words, of protecting all that lived on Kingdom soil.
And he was very good at it.

Of course, the I am Ozymandias and crew was still in a higher orbit than most other vessels in the theatre, and as such didn't have to worry as much about the wall of missiles and what-not being flung up at the sky as the others had to. It did how-ever have to worry about a priority signal from London Wall back over Mars.

Before a hole was torn in trip-space, two drum-sized canisters were blown out of twin hatches and slightly away from the I am Ozymandias and the hole it then tore into trip-space.

As the I am Ozymandias " fell " from view, the two canisters transmogrified into two small observation sats ...

When the bombardment eventually concludes, the residents of the merchant city below might be given some cause for hope in the two days that followed it, in which no further disaster, military or otherwise, befell their city. There was no doubt even further relief when the Federation fleets resumed their normal orbital patterns, and the Britmattian ships, while still sitting watchful, seemed to draw further away.

All that changed on the third night since the bombardment, when lightning began to shake the sky. Lightning cracked the sky and thunder assaulted the ears, but there was no rain. None at all, as the air began to stink heavily of ozone, no doubt particularly noticeable to the extra sensitive noses of the ligerpeople below.

Those two days had been full of high level discussions, and of planning, and deployments of the resources needed to commit to the plan which had been agreed upon. The small drones ionizing the atmosphere to force the production of lightning were cheap, stealthy, and invisible to mortal or electronic senses at their twenty kilometers of altitude over the country they were in place to terrorize.

While the constant lightning and rolling thunder were likely bad enough, the eerie silence of no wind or rain from the storm no doubt made it even more frightening. Among flashes of lightning, though, it was slowly becoming obvious that a massive bank of clouds was forming overhead, and even simplistic weather radar could read the storm which formed out of nowhere, high in the atmosphere.

Amongst the white and yellow flashes of natural lightning, there were smaller bursts of blue-white that struck at very precise points in the city below, shattering any attempts to rebuild their defenses.

After the visual and aural bombardment had continued for nearly an hour, perhaps the most intense many had ever seen, in terms of a storm, still without rain, a massive glowing ball began to form above the city, gradually growing in intensity, while a high pitched keening filled the air. Painful enough for humans, who would likely have a headache within seconds, the ultrasonic frequencies inaudible to humans would no doubt be inflicting even greater punishment on the kitties they lived among.

It took only about five minutes, but the light slowly resolved into the massive form of one of the native residents of the Atheist Reality. His countenance was frankly, godlike, his fur ruffling slightly in an non-existent breeze, his eyes blazing with fire, and his voice shook the heavens, echoing even over the tumult of the constant thunder as he spoke in a slightly archaic, formalized form of the ligermen’s native tongue, his mouth a kilometer over the top of the tallest buildings.

“I am most disappointed in you, my children. You have abandoned the old ways, from greed and a desire for power. You have abandoned your heritage, the jungle from which I brought you forth. In your pride and arrogance, you abandoned ME, and I do not forget such.”

The terrible majesty of the voice rolled over and penetrated every body below, the bass reordering heartbeats, the higher pitches clawing painfully at eardrums…

“You attempted to harness the powers of a god, a mistake you shall rue this very day. Invincibility, immortality, death itself, all these you sought to master, and you have seen the futility of your efforts.” The only lighting was coming from the city itself, but was well outweighed by the brilliant glow of the being which rose as a titan above it.

“Pride and arrogance are the downfall of so many, and I had such hopes for you, my children, hopes that your abandonment of the old ways have destroyed. And now your arrogance has forced my hand. Your civilization cannot continue along its present path, and so I have no choice but to change it through force.”

Lightning, which had stopped briefly as the image had listed off the sins of those in the city, flashed on the last word, thunder rolling in a continuous crash for a full ten seconds, loud enough to shatter ear drums and cause ears to bleed in a few cases, mostly those outside…

Tears larger than the kitties below rolled down the cheeks of the being which spoke this terrible judgment, falling to splash heavily against buildings and the streets between them. “I am sorry, my children.” The being waved its hand, and from Federation fighters deployed and hovering silently and invisibly under the cover of the storm, a ring of plasma fire exploded into existence, racing around the edge of the vast clearing which held the merchant city.

Streaks of fire began to rain from above, descending towards the city in burning sheaths of orange red, far slower than the lightning and the bombardment earlier enacted. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, streamers of fire descending with the burning glow of death, falling around the city in a massive circle, enclosing it in a death grip.

“I bring you those who will complete my work, for as you have abandoned me, my children, I shall now abandon you…”

The flash of light was the brightest yet, and many of those who looked upon it would be permanently blinded, but it filled the sky, and the city below, with brilliance, lighting corner, eliminating every shadow, so that nothing was hidden.

And when it passed, high over head, hung the warships of the Federation and the Kingdom, well more than a hundred of them, serried squadrons of Federation Air Combat Vessels, massed ranks of Britmattian Aerocarriers, and above it all, twenty massive Federation Space Navy Warships, dwarfing everything else that lay below them.

And thousands of Marines began to deploy from those ships, joining those already on the ground, brought in on streaks of fire, as fighters began to swarm about them.

And at the same time, over every radio frequency, in a massively powerful burst, along with through the same audio equipment that had carried the ‘god’s’ voice, though toned down, came the demand. “Surrender immediately.”

Ahohoho, what an entertaining spectacle, though I suppose we cannot let this continue, especially as the merchies have been right royal arseholes about getting us to participate in their accursed war. Mov isn't that bad of a guy,after all, despite going to the length of nuking people to get attention. Thought the commander of the kitties part of the martian Resolute military base.
This calls for a particulary flashy show of force. Even though we lack the numbers for a full on army here, we can certainly pull off something or other once in a while. He makes his way down to the grunts quarters(which in fact more resemble mansions than a basic soldiers hut) and taps on the door, causing a loud Whaddahelldoyewant? To rise from inside. Get your lazy arses up, you lot. We've got work to do, a change from your usual booze filled rampages.
Yes sir!....fatass.

~~~~

And thus, after a long and boring meeting concerning plans for the coming operation, the siege infantry, as they used to be called, all gathered around their high grade teleport generator. One of them shifted on the spot, and thought to himself, Sentient whatsit is not going to like this at all..., just as the generator kicked in and sped them across the system in the space of a second, all the way through to the baron's chambers, indeed, next to the baron himself...
...They appeared in a great flash, arranged in a circle around said baron, and lacking any power for their rifles and armour, simply retrieved single iron swords from their backpacks. Shit! Was all the baron had time to exclaim as they, combined, and with single strokes cut him to ribbons.
Bloody, but victorious as the alarms began to sound around them, the head kitty said Care to do the honours, one who fights with wooden teeth?
Screw you too, fatass.
Then get on with it!
Through all the almost aumanii level of arguing, the cat barely managed to sever the baron's head well enough and afix the little letter to its face before the generator kicked in again and sped them along to their next stop, the office of the FSP ruler. This stop being substantially shorter than the last, he only had time to drop the head on the desk before the gen. kicked in for the last time and sped them back to their base on Mars...
~~~~
..The letter contained the words Ze Baron's cleanly sliced off head, a little present from your friends on Mars.
~The Martian kitties.
~~~~
The barons death would soon bring ruin to his followers morale, with many dropping to their knees and surrendering on the spot. Others only took it to be an assassination by the invaders and fled to the underground parts of the city, in a desperate hope to avoid their fate.

They were weapons that had not seen action since the Allanean occupation, but now, they came forth again once more into their own. Fighters equipped with stun bombs and ultrasonic screamers as the flew over head circled above the merchant city, slowly tightening the noose as the Marines moved inwards.

There was, of course, some resistance. In these cases, the Marines merely pulled back and watched with a half-hearted contemplative smile as one of the warships overhead would rotate its massive bulk slowly, or occasionally one of the Raptor ACVs, to bring capital level particle weapons to bear on the offending structure.

Resistance was just slaughtered. Marine casualties were light as a result. The Ligerpeople were given the option of going into the jungle on their own. If they refused, they ended up there anyways, tranquilized and dropped off in clearings well away from the city.

Non-ligers were rounded up as well. They were given the choice of going into the jungle, which, undoubtedly, very few chose. The Britmattians worried about those that did not.

Of course, it would hardly do for the city to be left intact once a section of it was cleared, and as such, each building was destroyed as it was cleared, either by cannon blast, missile, heavy kinetic round, or high explosives inside, depending on who got the call to destroy it.

A heavy pall of dust hung over what had once been a massive city weeks later. The Marines had been in no real hurry to advance, as it was not like their prey could escape them. And the city was bloody huge.

No records were kept of how many they killed, only who died. And being heavily armored, this number was very, very low.

Near the center of the city, of course, there were still buildings, though not for long. The larger, heavier Federation warships moved into position until they could completely zone the spires of civilization with their tractor beams…

And ripped them free of the ground intact. Five or six buildings, just pulled up by the foundations, and then the Federation ships drifted upwards, towards space, taking their spoils with them.

A quick bombardment flattened all that remained as the Federation and the Kingdom began to contemplate their next move, which looked to be some sort of massive tunnels under where the once proud city had stood.

Demi-Human Processing Centre 32, Axis-controlled portion of the City.

"Take a tag, move to the left. Take a tag, move to the left. Take.."
Lines. Lines upon lines of trudging, dispirited looking humans, elves and others shuffling through processing, watched over by dispassionate M.I.Rs and armoured Marines, scarcely more human themselves in blue battle armour.
The 'processing centre' was simply lines painted on the blackened ground of an area cleared of rubble, the lines weaving through dozens of desks, gradually funnelling back outward into the city, heading towards zones where shuttles and transports drop out of the sky and tear back into it every few seconds.
Every non-liger male, female and child that can be gathered is being loaded onto these transports, consent not required, the Marines not inclined towards patience with a nation which murdered the entire crew of a Sovereign.
Gravguns and heavy anti-armour railguns track the refugees as they slowly file through the desks, their citizenship being established, their skills and reliability being evaluated and their financial straits considered. The clerks, aided by bored E.I. with too little to do other than respond to fire-mission requests, are processing individuals and groups swiftly. But there are millions to process and ship out to Dardanelle, Panmure and all the other Kingdom holdings where extra hands and skillsets will be appreciated.
No one will remain in T.A.R.
Fleet Base Haven is being reduced in importance, personnel drawn off and dispatched to other, more reliable, allies.
Trudge, trudge, trudge.
The people are grey. Grey from fatigue, grey from hunger. Few sleep well to the bark of field artillery, the freight-train rumble of main gun rounds or the descending whistle of kinetics, and food has been scarce outside Axis areas since the early days. Not least because any un-armed private transport is bounced by Changeling IFVs and searched thoroughly.
Armed private transport is destroyed out of hand.
Grey with the dust of shattered buildings. The city is a ruin, and various foreign pundits had loudly asserted that a new Stalingrad was afoot.
Stalingrad however, had been fought when air support was in it's infancy. Not delivered by the kilotonne. If a position looked like it would offer sufficient resistance the marines called up whatever air support was on call and blew it into dust.
Any survivors of this were dumped in the jungle where they belonged.
Then the marines would move on.
People weren't all that was gathered. Shield generators, teleportation equipment, whatever technology that had been left was gathered up and shipped out.
The Kingdom would have the price of it's spilt blood, one way or an other.

~ ~ ~ Earth Space ~ ~ ~

Up in orbit, the twin small, remote observation satellites which had been ejected by the I am Ozymandias were getting ... bored. The joint Kingdom / F.S.P. forces had in near every encounter made mince-meat of anything that got in the way and the whole operation looked to have come to nothing more than a large-scale mop-up.

The only possible source of real difficulty to the two forces were the ...


Sat 1 : I think it is, having had a closer look.
Sat 2. So ...
Sat 1 : So ?
Sat 2 : So ... what ?
Sat 1 : So ... should we you know, make a call ?
Sat 2 : Nrrr ... prolly, I guess.
Sat 1 : Well, it does say so in the programme that in the event -
Sat 2 : Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, okay.
Sat 1 : * signals home *
Sat 2 : Oh, and don't forget to tell them -
Sat 1 : I all-ready did.
Sat 2 : Smart arse.
Sat 1 : ^_^ Yup !

~ ~ ~ T.U.S. Mars - New London ~ ~ ~

" Hmmm, I suppose it would be a ... nice good-will gesture. "

"Yes sir. That was our thinking when we came to you about it. "

" And yes, we are neigbours with the Kingdom out at Neptune now ... "

" Exactly sir. "

" Okay. I condone this ... project of yours. Diplomacy is just as important in business as in state-hood. When we must do both as one I suppose it is twice as important. "

" Excellent, sir ! We'll contact them with all due speed, I assure you. I ... took the liberty of all-ready arranging armed transports for the prospective cargo. 2000 PADRE's, and 200 Scuttler drones. I've also had weapons pulled from storage for them both. We've replaced the older 40mm Grenade Guns with the new, improved version. They should have no issue dealings with these, ummm, large felines, even if they are in power-armour as we suspect. I've also sent along 500 mini-bots with both armoury sets, lethal and not, to be fitted on arrival, if the Kingdom and F.S.P. give us a green light, that is. "

" ... Do not presume to take so much upon yourself in future, if you please. You may one-day find such assets as those have been previously ear-marked for other, more important projects and you should know by now that we will brook as little disruption from within, as with-out. And the consequences of such. "

" Yes, yes, of course, sir. I, I'm very sorry sir. I realise I've forgotten my - "

" Okay, it is ... okay. You didn't do any harm this time, so we'll chalk this up as a tick rather than a cross in your records, hmmm ? Now go and finish your work. I'll personally see to an increase in your pay-voucher if this is a success. Make sure you re-advise the Defense Directorate before you start. "

" Yes sir, thank you very much sir. I'll be sure to - "

" Go. Good-day. "

The young office-suit virtually shot from the pent-house / office suite and T.R. Kom sat back in the imposing leather chair behind his desk,

Attn : Kingdom and F.S.P. Joint Force @ T.A.R. Zone of Recent Disturbance.

May we first offer our most sincere condolences for your losses during this most tragic series of events in that region. We applaud the decisive response of the forces under both your commands to punish the criminals responsible.

Our tactical analysis of the situation at the present time indicates your forces have a definate upper hand on the ground, and of course in the air. How-ever we have also observed some evidence of a re-inforced tunnel system built under the city and / or remains of which, - as we've activated a pair of sophisticated planetary observation satellites placed in the area when it was decided to deploy our vessel previously in position there to another operation.

Because of the cost of lives this disruption has caused to both your forces and what we presume was the civilian population of this T.A.R. place, and the danger of sub-surface combat where the natives are expected to know the lay-out better than your response forces, we have an offer to make to you.

We would like to offer to deploy to your present area of combat 2,700 intelligent, automated assault systems. This will include 2000 PADRE's, " Power Armour - Drone Ran, version E's " programmed for clearance and counter-terrorism as well as front-line combat in urban theatres. These are based on what were originally Sunset designs. There would also be 200 ZMI " Scuttler " drones. Finally, we would send 500 " mini-bots " with both lethal and non-lethal armament for use as check-point security in the tunnel system. The other two component units, the PADRE's and Scuttlers, would both be armed with lethal ordinance. We have taken into account the prospective physiology of likely targets.

These forces would be suited to spear-head any assault against any hold-out force within this suspected tunnel system.

As a back up, we offer to deploy a new MK III Corporate Cruiser, which is armed with a clean, kinetic ground bombardment system to mimic tectonic activity in a localised area to collapse or seal any such tunnel system, even if it is located some distance under the surface and of very sound construction.

This offer is free of charge to you and we seek your mutual agreement to the deployment of our forces.

We reserve the right of salvage of opposing forces material and remains where possible and when our forces are directly involved.

- The Office of Directorates, New London, This United State, Mars.

For lack of better terms, it was a " We feel bad about what we saw happen, even though we couldn't do anything our-selves, and since we feel your asses may get kicked just a bit again, we'd like to kick some arses and take some names for you, as long as we can take a bit of loot back with us for our troubles, is all ". Or something like that. One the whole it was a good will gesture, and T.U.S. was of the opinion it could actually do some good for the Kingdom and F.S.P. forces there, too.

That and they really wanted to get their hands on some loot for R&D to toy with. Kitty D.N.A. and some of that teleporter-wang would be a good start, heh. Who knew what could be in those holes in the ground. Pirates burried treasure, so the stories go. Maybe these so-called merchants took a leaf out of the history books ...

Indeed, their progression through the city would have been far more difficult and stalingradesque if it werent for the Axis air support. The same airsupport pushing the people and soldiers underground, the underground containing the last amounts of the merchies leadership. The leadership mostly consisting of one man, one human who had purposefully stayed out of the way of the Baron, and the one responsible for the building of the underground in the first place. He was a far more hands on leader, and quite more sane and stable, at least by their standards, than the Baron. He would bring an end to this, one way or another, at least in his mind. And so he set about refusing access to any more people without complete and proper protection against certain unconventional attacks that they expected against their refuge, and sent out a visual broadcast on every screen in the city that would accept it.

"Soldiers of the Axis, You have come to our home, our doorstep and fought us house to house, street to street, losing precious soldiers along the way. How can you expect this to end well for either side? This war will end now, by my hand. And you will all be witness to what happens when foreign aggressors threaten our homeland. From here on till you leave the city, and this nation, in full, we will drop the very earth from beneath you, such is our power."

He demonstrates the meaning of his words when a small, uninhabited part of the city simply collapses into the earth, the ground beneath the buildings quickly sinking into nothingness.

"That, my friends, was a small demonstration of my power. Not to worry your leaders back home, safe in their fortresses, I, and the soldiers under my command are fully willing to negotiate, short of you not leaving this city.
Any prisoners we have taken will be treated with the dignity that their new status dictates. Any comments are to be directed straight to me, the Duke."
The image of the Duke vanishes from the screens as quickly as it appeared, nothing more than a menacing phantom.

Briefing Room 04, CentGov Spire, Royesse, The Kingdom.

A light sculpture floats in the centre of the long oak table nearly filling the narrow briefing room, identical to any other dozen such rooms in the spire. Number four however, belongs to the Diplomatic Corps, so it is without much surprise we find the head of that service seated at the table's head, tapping red lips with a stylus, staring thoughtfully through the light sculpture.
The young woman eventually stops her tapping and speaks, breathy voice seeming to caress the blunt tongue of her adopted homeland.
"They're not actually Concordat members."
One of the other people in the room purses his lips, neat moustaches twitching as he does.
"Close enough as to be no different perhaps, good lady. 'owever, if you believe it the best course.." He waves a hand, smoke trailing it lazily after the cheeroot held between index finger and thumb.
The woman nods. "I do. And I've checked with the Federales, they concur."
A third voice comes from a man in neatly pressed dress Greens, his insignia of a solitary crown by itself naming him just as easily as the green eyes and red beard of an Edinburgh.
Andrew, Duke of Edinburgh and Commander in Chief of His Majesty's Armed Forces speaks levelly, calm as he has to be at all times. "The additional troops will be helpful in more than a purely numerical basis. An other nationality makes us look less like thugs and more like a reasonable occupation force."
He smiles vulpinely. "And if the P.A.D.R.E.s die killing ligers, nothing anyone will miss is gone."
Nods ripple round the table and the young woman stands and nods to the two men. "Thank you for your time Arlois, Andrew. I'll get our reply dispatched as soon as my office get a formal workup of it done."
The Field Marshall nods. "Not a problem Arwen." He bows at the waist, mimiced by the other man and the three exit, the lights snapping off and briefing materials wiping themselves as the Spire's A.I. cleans up after them.

Communique to the Office of Directorates, This United State ~

Your missive and offer are both appreciated and welcomed by His Majesty's Government, and by our allies in the Federation of Sentient Peoples. Thus, we formally accept the offer of PADRE's and their other component units. However, in the interests of security and safety, we must regrettably decline the offer of space naval units for the interim. It is no comment on the crews of these vessels, more that given the overwhelming presence of Federation vessels in orbit and the proliferation of our own hover-carriers in atmosphere, they would endanger themselves for no gain to our effectiveness.
As for the issue of salvaging the former regime's technology, what your scientists can safely retrieve they are welcome to, with the attendant caution that the majority of the most useful techno-data is now in insurgent hands. We expect you will find ways around this.

In thanks,
Her Majesty Arwen Warwick,
Head of the Diplomatic Corps and Queen-Consort of Britmattia

The City

Panic.
The news that there is a man in the caverns below who is willing to murder everyone above rather than be reasonable ripples out from the working recievers.
In it's wake, emptiness. The liger civilians flee into the jungle, and the others, hearing rumours that this Duke refuses those who don't conform to his standards, surge towards the already-swamped processing areas.
Some attempt to swarm transports, trying to claw their way aboard Turtle Heavy Lifters, struggling desperately to get away from the madman beneath their feet.
The Marines are swamped, these are civilians, and while they hold no T.A.Rite in high esteem, they refuse to gun them down out of hand. There is limited success in some areas with non-lethal munitions, but those are swiftly exhausted. Stampedes are not easily stopped, even were the authorities willing to use lethal means.
The transports are launched as the unit commanders struggle for control, Vulture attack craft doing tear-gas bombing runs, tangle-webs and capture fields popping into life as terrified civilians cascade into processing areas.
Eventually, as hours pass from the first threat and demonstration, calm slowly seeps back, order is restored.
Not without cost. Thousands are injured and hundreds are dead, trampled or crushed by the hordes. The transports return, and more join them, thundering in direct from the Kingdom itself.
The mission has changed now, the Marines instructed to leave no one who will come behind, these people do not deserve the murderers that seem to hack their way to the top of what passes for the local power-structure.
Murderers in fact as well as name, for to destroy the city would be to wipe out the hundreds of thousands still living within, something even the righteously angered Axis has considered and discarded. So the marines work on, work faster, more and more people gather, fear on their faces, flooding in to the processing areas with whatever they can grab.
The Marines draw in, circles around the processing areas, abandoning the city to aerial and orbital bombardment. No-one is there to be swept out now, they're fled to one refuge or the other.
The work continuing, the officer in command, the General of the Marine Corps Alvaro Vasquez, takes the time to respond in clear to the Duke.

To the so-called Duke:
You have taken no prisoners but in your imagination. No Federal or Kingdom Marine has been abandoned like your vermin master abandoned you.
As for your offer to negotiate, I spit on it.
The Kingdom does not negotiate with terrorists, and that is all you are. We shall continue our work even as you strive to murder all who live above, for we are soldiers, not scuttling cowards who start wars then flee their consequences like roaches from the light.
When we have collected those who seek our protection, then, only then, shall we leave this place, this ruin of rubble, not on your demand, cur.

~ Alvaro Vasquez, General of His Majesty's Marine Corps

~ ~ ~ T.U.S. Mars - New London ~ ~ ~

The 2000 P.A.D.R.E.'s had been taken out of storage, storage being the standard nitrogen filled bunkers found on T.U.S. Mars and else-where, tested here and there with this and that to make sure they were still in good shape, and were then kitted up for duty. Then " Brain " programmes were installed from data-stacks deep in New London. They were then sent to the respective transports to await take-off.

Much of the same was the case with the 200 ZMI built Scuttler drones, as well as 500 " mini-bots ", a smaller version of the P.A.D.R.E.'s with a reduced range of armament and reduced scope of duty. These were designed for non-lethal police action and check-point / corporate facility guard duty, but could be, as they had been in this case - fitted out with some very lethal gear. Non-lethal gear, usually just ammunition, was crated up, just in case. This was because the situation was very fluid and if they did need to not kill folks, it'd help to have the stuff to not kill folks with at the ready.

The whole force was backed up by something like five dozen techs and their field repair gear, a plethora of various weapon types, and of course many re-loads for which, as well as a small self-contained barracks for said techs and gear. There were also 100 or so automated gunnery units which could be used to secure any taken ground, be it above or beneath the surface of T.A.R.

All this, and more, made up the T.U.S. Task Force, which was then packed into a total of a half-dozen of some, previously modified, light-traders, now with better Point Defense systems. These were then sent to -

~ ~ ~ T.A.R. Earth Space ~ ~ ~

It hadn't taken long to get there. The Trip-Drive took care of that. Right now, the small fleet of ships had to signal the Joint Forces of the Kingdom and F.S.P. which they were getting closer to every second, and double check on just where was safe to land, set up and then move out.

Especially in light of recent matters noted in communication between T.A.R. forces and the Joint Force, which the two satellites had sent back to T.U.S. Mars. These, as well as a certain ... large surface activity observation had caused T.U.S. some concern for their pricey gear ...

As well as the staff, of course !

~ ~ ~ T.A.R. " Green Zone " ~ ~ ~

At the edge of the the mostly secure area of the Kingdom - F.S.P. Joint Forces held ground, the T.U.S. task force had set up shop. One of the transports was deployed with the base-cargo in it, the result being a fire-base that could take off in a hurry. Considering the recent activity, this could be useful if the world fell out from beneath them any time soon. A distinct possibility. As soon as they'd arrived, several strike-teams of P.A.D.R.E.'s had been sent into the city to acquire, well, spoils. Several security-crates had since returned. Lacking any immediate directives other than land and set up, several ZMI built Scuttler drones had been sent out to scout the area around several known and suspected tunnel entry points. They soon returned, while plans were devised by a tactical computer. Until they got the go order, they'd sit tight. The other transports hung in low orbit until their armed cargo was required.

Ultimately, the decision was made to hold tight, just in case any shit hit the fan.

~ ~ ~ T.A.R. Earth Space ~ ~ ~

As a pre-caution, an MK III Corporate Cruiser , the Eloquent Hammer was sent along.The new Dedicated Ground Bombardment systems mounted in the lower hull could prove useful, even if the Kingdom had denied them entry into the more immediate theatre of operations for the time being. The Eloquent Hammer could take up station where the last Corporate Cruiser had been. There was nothing wrong with that.

Evacuation Area 01, The City, T.A.R.

A flounder-shape cruises a thousand metres above the ruin that used to house a billion people, cameleoline-painted underbelly camouflaged against the sky as the Boar gunship drifts across the city, engines almost idling. The two stubby-gunned plasma cannon ball-turrets mounted either side of the hull twitch now and then, but the longer, dual-155mm cannon mounted further back are locked in place, and the tail cannon is also motionless.
Inside the armoured, grey hull of the gunship things are also quiet, a faint crackle of radio chatter in the cockpit and quiet conversations between gunners with nothing better to do than shoot the shit.
So they continue their slow laps of the evacuation area, which is now nearly empty in comparison to the crowded slums that it and it's fellows were a few weeks ago, when the Duke's threats packed millions into spaces designed to handle thousands.
However, with his silence since General Vasquez's broadcast, and a few interceptions of explosives-laden liger insurgents by Allied forces, things calmed down enough that the evacuation, a monumental undertaking by anyone's standards, is now virtually complete.
The Boar, who's traditionally elaborate nose-art names her The Fluffy Hate Kitty, is hovering over the last operating processing centre, and her crew are looking forward to finishing their deployment within the hour.
And then..

"Tiger 2-6, this is Zoo, hold for instructions."
"Ah fer fucksake." The Kitty's commander swings booted feet off the deactivated console they're resting on and glowers at the radio his co-pilot, a terminally underfed-looking black man in Marine Corps-blue coveralls is thumbing on.
"Zoo, this is Tiger 2-6. Go ahead." His accent is pure Panmurese chop, a sharp comparison to the Sea Islands drawl of the captain.
"2-6, we're vectoring you off to support some Utlanning in sector 34-J, they're pulling out of a raid on one of the tunnels and the locals need to be discouraged from following."
"Have that Zoo. Moving out." Matching word to deed, the co-pilot, nametag reading "BROWN", the Panmurese hadn't been a very imaginative bunch when it came to last names, pushes the throttle up and banks the Kitty out of her oval track as the commander, a Lt.J.G who's nametag makes him an unlikely GIULIANI drawls "Stahnd to all gunnahs." into the ship-push.
The sound of chairs sliding back echoes from the small galley as the cannon crews head to their positions, abandoning the poker tournament that's been keeping them busy on and off since leaving their base in Dardanelle a month ago.
The ugly aircraft keens in low, heading like an unfeasibly-shaped arrow towards the Utlanning.

Ground level, the City.

Some days Fain Cloudmallet became convinced he'd gone mad some time ago and merely hadn't noticed.
After all, what else but madness could explain staying with the Utlanning when he could've had a nice, quiet berth back in Royesse with the Queen's Own. Alright, so it would be less interesting and require him to be polite to foreigners, but considering his current situation, how could a rational dwarf say it was the worse choice?
Behind Cloudmallet and his sprinting charges, a liger roared, waving it's weapon furiously overhead and the junior man in the ten-person Utlanning group half-turned, before Cloudmallet shoved him back.
"Nae lad, ye'd get the daft moggit but the rest ae' the bastards'd catch yeh."
"Sorry Sarge."
Cloudmallet grinned under his rebreather. Of course, leaving the Regiment'd mean leaving his lads and working with amateurs again. Anyone who wasn't Regiment was an amateur, aside from a few groups who were honorary members. They could probably muse and run away from crowds of baying lunatics at the same time too.
A calm voice broke in on his thoughts.
"Uniform-3, this is Zoo, we've vectored a Boar over to your location, I'm putting you on direct link to them now, callsign is Tiger 2-6."
Cloudmallet scowled as the toot pulsed, if biotechnics weren't compulsory in the army, and even more so in the Regiment, he'd never have had them.
"Uniform-3 tae Zoo, Ah hae that." 'Fockin nancy-deskdrivers that yeh are.' he only added in the privacy of his head.
Aloud, he bellowed "Boar incoming, get tae cover."
The squad peeled apart and dived into shattered buildings as the Boar's call-sign flashed and it's commander drawled a notification of incoming fire, his targetting data relayed from the Utlanning's sensor implants without any concious effort.
Cloudmallet rolled through a shattered window, trained muscles dropping him neatly into a prone position next to the squad's sniper who grinned at him from an open helmet.
"Sahge, one ah these heah dahyse y'all gonna have to quit workin with tall fellows such as mahself, y'alwahys look so damned tahred when we has to run."
Cloudmallet flicked his rebreather open and scowled at the grinning Sea Islander. "That kindae cheek, Hendrix, is why you're still ae E-6 as opposed tae mae own exalted rank ae E-10, yeh wee human bastard."
Hendrix kept grinning. "Sure tis your RSMness, but ah still say y'all need to switch services. Sappahs maybe." He winked, before licking his thumb and swiping it across the sight of his pseudo-Winchester.
Rubble shifted as an other two Utlanning joined them, a huge man clutching a rotary shotgun to him and an inescapably weaselly looking one carrying a plethora of knives and submachine guns.
The huge one nodded equably. "Sergeant Major, Slim." His smaller counterpart hissed something and Cloudmallet grinned.
"What wae that Valentinian? Son't like "Fuck slow dwarfs."
The huge man smiled happily as he flipped open the cylinder of his shotgun and replaced spent shells. "Surely couldn't have been Sarge, must have been "Buck flows North", though why he'd be talking about a river in Edinburgh at a time like this I don't know...a strange one is our Valentinian."
Valentinian hissed again, but whatever he said was lost completely as the Boar rocketed into earshot overhead, plasma cannon spitting blue fire into the pursuing insurgents, who abruptly turned into retreating insurgents. A few with shoulder-weapons opened up, and then abruptly disapeared as a 155mm shell targetted on the first to start shooting impacted, rubble and dirt and other, more organic things burping upward in a plume of debris.
The surviving ligers, sensible creatures, legged it back to the tunnel, the Boar flaying them with plasma cannon fire whenever they slowed, dropping an other shell onto the tunnel's mouth when the last insurgent scuttled in.
"Unifawhm 3, this is Tahger 2-6, looks like your insurgent problem is all done in. What were y'all doin' down theyah anyway?"
"Ah, wheeell..."

An hour later, 10,000 feet above the City, observation bridge of H.M.S Magnus the Great

General Alvaro Vasquez folded his hands behind his neatly pressed dress Blues ands smiled beatifically at the landscape below, continuing to smile as his glance traced the pillar of light that is the last transport climbing up, followed by a cloud military shuttles and support craft, escorts twirling round the formation, herding the T.U.S PADRE transport in as it edges out.
Still beaming, he fishes a cigar case out of his pants pocket, pops it open, and snips the end off with the tongs he unclips from one side of case before placing it carefully in his mouth. This little ritual completed he pulls a Zippo with the Corps insignia on one side and a socialist star overtopped with a raven on the other. He snaps the lighter open and aflame, applying it carefully to the end of the cigar. A contented sigh later, and he turns to the other person on the bridge, which is Cloudmallet, much cleaner and in the dress Greens of the Army.
"So. Do you want to do the honours Sergeant Major? You and your lads did all the spelunking to get this set up after all."
Fain smiles back, lifting a glass half-full of good Dwarven whiskey. "Ah no sor, your wee blue lads did all the sweaty stuff, it'd be a slur on thae Regiment tae take the fun a'e from the Corps nae."
Vasquez nods. "Thank you Sergeant. May as well get it done then." He opens a radio link to a reciever sitting by itself in the empty square of ground that used to be Processing Centre 01. The reciever sits quietly for a moment, re-broadcasting codes across the empty city, picked up by dozens and dozens of other recievers emplaced by Utlanning and Feep special forces on caches of explosives. Caches of explosives wired by the Duke to bring down the tunnels beneath. Caches of explosives that the Utlanning and their brethren had spent weeks indentifying and carefully coopting the detonators of.
Caches of explosives which do what they're designed to do.
Explode.
Thousands of tonnes of rubble sprays up into the air as abruptly the majority of the city drops into the tunnels, dirt and debris making clouds hundreds of metres high as to the viewers on the observation deck, dark patterns appear in the city, racing after the collapse of the tunnels like dominos collapsing, zooming around the city as bomb after bomb goes off and more and more of the vast metropolis is swallowed up by the earth below.
Here and there the bombs have been deactivated, or the signals don't reach the detonators or there were simply no explosives in the tunnels to begin with, but even with these factors, well over 80% of the remaining city is destroyed in a few moments.
The scale of destruction may well be staggering, but there's no regret on the observation deck as Fain takes a swallow from his glass and murmurs the ancient closing address of a Kingdom capital trial.

"And let that be a lesson to you."

~ ~ ~ T.A.R. Earth Space ~ ~ ~

The Mk III Corporate Cruiser Eloquent Hammer had been acting as a communications relay between the Kingdom forces and the Directorate back on Mars. Since, that is, surface combat operations by T.U.S. mechanised infantry ( Infantry who were actually mechanical, mind you ! ) units had began. Not that such operations had amounted to much more than a few skirmishes before the order to pull back out had been sent to the Directorate, and in turn sent back ground-side to the T.U.S. task-force. With the Eloquent Hammer caught in the radio-traffic-analogue middle, heh. With the permission of the Kingdom sought and granted, a single order of two words was displayed on the central display upon the small bridge of the Eloquent Hammer ...

" Quake them "

Now at some two thousand kilometers above T.A.R. the Eloquent Hammer began a swoop-dive across the target. There was a total of sixty-three ordinance cells, in seven groups of nine, installed on the lower spine of the Corporate Cruiser -which began to release their pay-load. The pay-load was the core part of the new Dedicated Ground Bombardment systems mounted on the MK III Corporate Cruisers. Ejected from their cells by compressed gas, originally they'd been designed as individual strike devices to neutralise hard-to-kill, under-ground targets like command bunkers and armour-protected communication relays. However, side effects of the initial testing had proven them suited to something ... less traditional. They were long, heavy and sleek kinetic spears, and focused most of their inertia forwards. There was a simple pre-programmed guidance package fitted that would control a few stream-lined fins at the rear to keep the devices on-course once they were in the atmosphere. When they impacted the ruin that was the remains of the city below, they would penetrate clean into the ground. They would continue on at terrible speed until they struck bed-rock, at which point the horrific potential for destruction that was their burden would be realised in a most shocking fashion. Above the impact site, the ground would heave up as though trying to give birth to a new volcano. However, most of the energy of the weapon would project out into the surrounding earth and rubble. The effect would be a perfect simulation of normal tectonic activity upon the surface. Apart, that is, from the fact that the wave could be shaped how-ever the weapon launcher may choose ...

~ ~ ~ T.A.R. " Green Zone " ~ ~ ~

The recent, more traditional destruction of the city would make the job easier. With most of it a pan-caked building paradise ruin, it was anticipated that every device would penetrate to at least 95 % optimal depth before the penetration energy was transferred into tectonic-like activity. Before the dust had even begun to settle from the last blasts by the Kingdom and F.S.P. joint force, the first concentric rings of plasma-contrails from the kinetic-spear atmospheric entry would be visible to those lucky numbers of native who'd escaped to the jungles.

Quite simply, what happened was, as the first trio of the spears struck the centre of the former city, the first wave of destruction and earthen turmoil spread out like a ripple from a pond, then fed by a surrounding circle of devices entering the earth. So, while they fed the ring of destruction that spread out from the initial strike, they would also generate waves heading back in towards the initial strike - all from each new ring of strikes. Virtually everything above ground that had once been the city was torn apart and mixed together. Virtually everything underneath the city found itself in an environment that was akin to the most vicious kitchen blender ever known. Survival of anything was ... most unlikely.

The quakes went on for several minutes. Here and there, a few caches of un-detonated explosives went off but these were nothing in comparison to the wider scale of destruction. After-shocks may be triggered by the events over the next couple of hours. Even those away in the deeps of the jungles would feel these, though at that distance, and the fact the after-shocks would be far weaker than the actual faux-quake generated, meant that they wouldn't be much more than a slight hazard.

~ ~ ~ T.A.R. Earth Space ~ ~ ~

Attn : Kingdom Forces : As a parting gift in return for your permission for us to join in the hunt, we ask you to consider this bowl of ... party mix.

Eloquent Hammer and T.U.S. Task Force, moving out ...

The Eloquent Hammer and the transports it now escorted set course back towards Mars.