NationStates Jolt Archive

"The measure passed I trust?" Jonathan Holtz ask from behind his black glass desk as his aide walked into the room.

"Of course, Minister. It was nearly unanimous." The aide - Daniel Kortuba - said with a smirk.

"The Relics did not vote in our favor as predicated, I take it?" The Defense Minister said, walking out from behind his desk and towards the wide pane window that made up one of his vast office's four walls. He looked down upon the city; an endless amalgam of vehicles flying through the air at great speeds: Sky-Freighters, e-buses and e-cars, police cruisers and even medium sized personnel freighters fresh from the infinite depths of space. All inhabiting the space between the heavily Armoured buildings of various architectures: surrealism, modernism, minimalism, and even post-modernist flavors found home in the design of the many great buildings that reached into the heavens like spears of silver and cobalt blue.

All of them alive with the lights of habitation, gold in their hue: CEOs, managers, workers, janitors, all within those titanic structures working to advance themselves in a world dominated by the ideal of capitalism. Sitting upon thick pedestals of enzyme bonded concrete reinforced by strong metal alloys capable of withstanding ortillery shots, raised up by the forces of electromagnetism, powered by unknown sources deep below the city.

Holtz could not see any of the out rings with his view; several rows of office and headquarter buildings blocked his view. Though this usual agitation did not bother the blue eyes Minister of Conglomerate Defense this day; more pressing matters were at hand.

"Again: of course. They would have filibustered the entire proceeding if the regulations didn't state that in this case an immediate vote was mandatory." The aide repeated with a widening smile; watching bigwig politicians sweat provided a never-ending source of amusement for him, no matter which side was doing the sweating.

"Heh, at least they are consistent even if incompetent to an unjustifiable degree." The Minister said as he continued to peer on into the post-industrial infinity. The sight of it all managed to calm him and excite him at once; his followers safe under the insanely powerful overshields, yet at the same time imperfect beings that had forgotten the path of salvation. Oh how he loathed loving what he hated, though that would all soon change.

"Indeed. I'll also have you know that as of... right now the measures have been put completely in place, and the pre-planning we did is serving us quite well. The freighters are loaded, and armies mobilized. Pretty much everything is in order as soon as you give the word, Minister." The aide said, receiving data midway through from his n0relay over the Administrative network. He was obviously somewhat eager to leave onto other duties more enjoyable than briefing the Minister of Defense in a subject he was already knowledgeable in, stepping back only so slightly towards the door.

"Good. The order has already been given. Dismissed, Daniel." He said in terse monotone; he was too deep in thought to care much anymore about the mannerisms of a sneaky aide.

The senate passed a measure - a formality considering the power they had was nil, thought it gave them some degree of popular support with the people - that made war with the Fedral Union legal. After so many near incidents in Sol within the past few years, the Conglomerate Administration, and even the pacifist corporate powers had enough of the drama. The League, which represented a large portion of the trade the Conglomerate received from Sol, had to assert it's authority to keep any more incidents, such as the recent one with the Union, from ever occurring again.

However, Defense Minister Holtz had long before hand prepared for war. Not with the Union of course, but with anyone unfortunate to earn their chagrin from that point onward. Which just so happened to be the Union. So over a million troops had been mobilized and their equipment ready. Tanks, Armour, aero-drones for sky dominance, and everything the Conglomerate army needed to besiege any conceivable opponent were now operational. The reserves were drawn up as well, though it would take more time to get them ready.

The few android armies constructed over the years had also been called up. Packed into the massive Leviathan class freighters along with the rest of the war supplies. Which included: multi-purpose bombs, small arms munitions, shells of various calibers, FTLi munitions, Solipsism class Warheads; overshields meant for cities as well as ships, re-deployable defense turrets that spanned the spectrum from simple PD, to anti-capital ship systems. Loads upon loads of equipment and materiel that had been produced months ahead of time, had been pre-placed within their mighty holds, without the knowledge of any in the senate. Though they would find out soon, with war now legal, there was nothing they could do about it.

The forces, when they arrived at their destination, would coordinate with the other Vascilian powers, and mobilize into a large force which would bring the pains of war to the Fedral Union in one quick stroke. Conglomerate, Aumanii, Tannelornii, Shanderese, and New Havenic would all gather under one banner to smite the imputence that dared to threaten Mars. All within just a few days time.

And so the fleet quickly departed; almost fifty freighters guarded by a forth of the Conglomerate Defense Fleet. Vessels all of immense size beyond what most would consider sane; some small planets in their own right, vanishing into a hellish storm of crimson and azure towards Sol, with a message transmitted before hand to all concerned Martian nations making them aware of the intent of such a large fleet, afterall, no one wanted a repeat of recent debocles.

Across the Imperial Fleet, a message was received:


TO: ALL IMPERIAL WARSHIPS
FROM: IMPERIAL AUTHORITY OF NEW HAVEN

ALL SHIPS FROM THE FIRST THROUGH FIFTH FLEETS ARE TO RALLY AT RED HAMMER FOR REFUELING AND REARMING PRIOR TO LEAVING FOR FEDERAL UNION TERRITORY.

ALL PASSES ARE CANCELLED, AS ALERT STATUS BLACK-THREE (STRATEGIC-LEVEL COMBAT) HAS BEEN DECLARED. SIXTH FLEET IS TO ASSUME GUARD DUTY FOR THE HOME SYSTEMS AND ACT AS A BATTLE RESERVE SHOULD IT BE NEEDED ON THE FRONT.

MAY THE GOD OF WAR BLESS YOUR CAMPAIGN AND LEAD YOU ALL TO GLORIOUS VICTORY!

IMPERATOR SARA I
IMPERIAL AUTHORITY OF NEW HAVEN

The Allaneans would not strike the Fedral Union, nor would a Fedral Union vessel be attacked by the United States in any way, shape, or form. The Allaneans had been at peace with TFU and they would remain at peace with TFU. However, there was the fear that some mercenary nation working for the Union would attack NewHavenite resources while the navy was away.

Asherton

“This is the USS Scythe of Darwin, entering system space.” – the long Porcupine craft was the first one to make it into New Havenite territory, and it was followed in short order by dozens of other – Porcupines, missile buses, carriers and a single Battleplate - the USS Tziolkovsky.

While the Allaneans have quit the Hermes alliance, they still offered their help with the current problem. And so, deployments were made at Asherton, Stanley, New Haven, and Baltic Major. Slowly, the ships progressed through FTLi-affected areas towards the main planets, which they were now supposed protect from any kind of neobarbaroi that could emerge from the dark recesses of space.

“Ready and at location, SIR!”

“Very well. Radio the New Havenites again. Tell them we’re ready. They’re free to rock and roll.”

“Sir, we have a problem with some of our Rube freighters.”

“What do you mean?”

“We should ask the NewHavenites to allow us to land several of them on Asherton for refueling and maintenance.”

“You go do that.”

In the time since the Fedral declaration of war on Vascilia, the Bryn Shanderan military had been reactivated to levels not seen since before The Fall of New Haven. The mothball fleet was being refitted and rearmed, reserve troops were being called up from across the Kingdom, and large portions of the space fleet had been mobilized.

Five battlegroups of 105 ships had been formed, along with ten battlegroups of 145. One battlegroup of 105, designated the 01st Battlegroup, was formed from ships stationed at Mathilde. The 02nd Battlegroup, made up of 145 ships from Axis and Pezun, showed up at Mathilde soon after the 01st was formed. The 03rd Battlegroup, another consisting of 145 ships, this time from A Baoa Qu and Solomon, arrived at about the same time. Over the rest of the day, four more battlegroups of 105 ships and eight more battlegroups of 145 ships, all from other locations within the Kingdom, entered Mathilde's space via the local Hermes gate and linked up with the growing joint-Vascilian fleet already at the asteroid. There were now 1975 Bryn Shanderan ships gathered for the upcoming war at Mathilde, and un untold number of other Vascilian ships with them or coming.

Reporters watched the growing swarm of warships intently, some news crews trying to negotiate their ways onto ships to properly cover the war. Some were successful if they had deep connections within the government, but most were not. Still, the media storm was a huge boost for the Principality's economy, the reporters requiring food, goods, and board on the local colonies. Military junkies from around Sol had also flooded the Principality, desperately trying to get photos for their collections or to post on imageboards. Most watching the fleet form had taken to calling it "The Hellespontos Armada" in reference to the legendary Spanish Armada from ages past and the equally legendary Hellespontos Wall in Auman. Who coined the term is unknown, but it was generally agreed that the term was spawned on an imageboard of some sort.

Navarrone saluted as a column of tanks trundled past, he stood upon the rain soaked steps of the former Overlord Marduk's manor, accompanied by Anatolia, the wife of Marduk and his son, Bolizar, the legendary sniper.

The Parade continued for some time. Vehicles passed by. Hovertanks were gliding silently. Super Heavies roared deafeningly. Main Battle Tanks passed in scores, a pale comparison to their largers brothers. Fighters screached overhead. Infantry stomped passed, Aumanii, Havenic, Conglomerate, Shanderan, Tannelornian.

As the waves of Vascilian troops proudly strode through Vascilia Heights, the wealthiest and most prestigious district of Vascilia City, a single Hellespontos Class Warship, the AuSD Switchback, the renowned former flagship of Vascilia, destroyed the sound barrier several times over, to the overwhelming applause of the crowds assembled...for miles around, even.

Navarrone saluted the Vascilian soldiers, in the fashion of their people, as they greeted him with varied mannerisms...The Troopers from the Conglomerate even went so far as to shout their oath to the Vascilian League...The Shanderans, in contrasts, simply stared intensely at Navarrone.

High above, Vascilia Warships assembled for the greatest ever military expedition the League had ever attempted. The complete and total destruction of the Federal Union and the liberation of its peoples from the incompetant rulership of a selfish individual. It was the oath of the Tannelorn leader, Alberecht, to have Robert Bastidas' head on a pike and it was Navarrone's intention to have it hanging over the tallest fortress in all of the Solar system.

Zhamssassar Fortress will become the home of Bastidas' decapitated head, for all eternity...or till some invading Army, god bless his luck upon 'em, takes it down.

Glory to the Vascilian League of Mars. Victory to its people. Long live the Fighters!

The "Laborer" and the "Worker's Might", two Laborer-class Superfreighters (each 5km long), were being outfitted above Asherton to become Mobile Logistical Bases. Each was being outfitted with eight "Logistical Assistance Pods" in an orchestrated movement with orbital docking control known as the "LAP dance", each LAP containing fuel or ammunition and able to service all manner of Vascilian ship (utilizing a universal docking port). The two superfreighters also had large containers on their top deck containing food, medicine and other essential supplies (and the containers were stocked all the way up to the bottom of the top-deck supervision bridge.

Meanwhile, the first through fifth fleets had rendevoused at Red Hammer temporarily at the Remmington Fleet Yards, a massive field of planetoids converted into refueling, rearming and repairing centers in the event the entire fleet were to go to war. It only took two years to dig out enough of the large planetoids' surfaces to create the bases, and there was enough supplies and docking for every ship times four. When the last ship was finished, the ships hyperspaced to Mars to partake in the mobilization efforts and pre-conflict ceremonies. The admirals went down to Auman to pray on Mars to the god of war Mars for swift and honorable victory.

"All ships reporting in, we are cleared to begin operations," an officer notified Fleet Admiral Waterson of the First Fleet.

"Excellent. Signal all ships that the Imperial Fleet is ready to move out."

"Aye, sir."

Opportunity seems to come rarely, something that Cabot realised all to readily. Mars had proved a mixed blessing, a glorious sight, a return that had too long been denied to the sons of Chronosia. They were the heirs to mankinds throne, they were the warriors of the Gods, yet their homecoming to the Cradle was all too tinged with hate, bitterness and revulsion. This mattered little now, now that he had determined the precise manner of which he would finalise his acceptance into the sphere that was Mars.

He would aid the Martians in ridding themselves of a pathetic, wretched taint. He could smell it, its bile infesting every corner, turning Mars into a smelting pot of bloody conflict once more. He would stand firm against such hostility, embrace it to his bosum and make it as much a part of him as Khorne desired. Cast off now the shackles of civility, and show those gathered that it was not in the nature of the Imperium to bow, curtsey and cajole. He would show them the sheer martial prowess which could be brought to bear.

Sensoria, auspexes and auguries had determined recent signs of fleet buildups, a muster directed against the Federal Union. Ancient pacts sworn in black blood and loyalty stretched back to the First Age and the rise of Marcus De Drakan, binding them to the Union in peace and co-prosperity, he had even heard rumor that the ruinous powers had some cults amongst the populous. It mattered not, Cabot's orders would be followed.

The 450 vessels which had been dispatched to await Cabot's orders outside of Sol turned and dove into the flaring unreality of the Warp, rending through the flaring currents of that supernal realm. An astropathic message from the Lord Warmaster informed the remaining 450 Wolfsbane vessels in orbit about Chronosia Prime, where his Second Captain Brensis was bringing his geno-sealed reports to the Emperor himself, and to move via Hydran to muster at where the majority of vessels had been determined.

Reality sundered and broke, time ceased to exist as the howling miasma of the Immaterium belched forth from the rent in existence. Four Hundred and Fifty sovereign vessels of the Chronosian navy tore into being, amongst them mighty Battlecruisers and the ponderous lengths of Space Marine Battle Barges. The gleaming hulks, their hulls crackling with the displaced energy of the warp, shimmered with lightning, moving into the silent, tensed fray. They offered no explanation for their presence, no communications yet active, as Achaeus of the First Company rallied the vessels to a single point. The vessels waited in the cold void, near to the ElectronX muster point, awaiting the signals that would prove the suspicions and rumors of an oncoming attack as true or false.

(5 LYs outside of Federal Territory; Interstellar Space)

The Laborer and Worker's Might exited hyperspace into interstellar space, their brilliant hull colors darkened by the lack of appreciable starlight. Following behind them was the First through Fifth Fleets, each fully fueled and ready for combat.

"This is Fleet Base New Haven Alpha to Imperial Fleet," a transmission started from the Laborer. "From this point forward, we will be serving as temporary Imperial Fleet Command for this sector. Your first objective is being uploaded into your navigational computers. Your orders are to scout the system and provide intelligence for Operation Ash Sheath. Good luck gentlemen."

"You heard Imperial Fleet Command, men!" Fleet Admiral Waterson called out. "Combined Fleet, prepare to jump to outer fringe Federal system gamma for recon in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1..."

The combined fleet jumped into hyperspace, leaving the superfreighters behind to await their return. The freighters, armed with Sculptorese cloaks, became transparent as their mass reduced down to 25% of what it normally was. To anyone passing by, they might think it was a small dark matter comet or maybe a cloaked frigate. If anyone did show up that wasn't friendly, however, they would quickly face the Sixth Fleet as it arrived from being in reserve.

Sector 89 Listening Post Undisclosed Loaction

Jason Anderson was sitting at his station fighting to so stay awake and alert. As his eyes slowly crept shut he began to loathe going into the intelligence field; with Metallinauts sitting out the GFFA war, the listening post had been utterly dull. Then he became accutely aware that the chatter levels on his display were going haywire. He jolted awake, his eyes widened and he made an urgent call.

6 Hours later

Admiral Johanna Kreiger stood stone faced in her office. She casually threw down the data pad and sat heavily in the chair that was near by. After several moments she spoke out loud, "Computer connect me to fleet command, high security level 10 alert".

The computer blared a high pitched ring acknowldeging the request.

The channel was opened and a hologram of 4 men standing in black formal jumpsuits stood looking menacingly. "Admiral Kreiger, we are awaiting your report" the most extreme looking of the four said.

"This is for real Admiral Lexington. The Fedral Union has burned there last bridge. They are facing a massive assault like which they have never imagined. I think we ought to make our move" Kreiger said coldly.

"I see," Admiral Kreiger said contemplatively "we have the fleet on stand by incase the lines break in the GFFA war. There is a nominal mobilization time. Send the signal, weeks end Metallinauts is at war. We have standing orders from the Emperor to wipe them from existence first chance. Also notify Allanean high Command as well as their allies, Metallinauts will join them on the front line".

"Very good sir" Kreiger said.

4 Days later
Greetings coallition forces. This is Emperor Maxwell of the Imperium of Metallinauts. For too lobg The Fedral Union has threatened Galactic safety and stability. they have also time and time again proven to be a threat to the STC with reckless and dangerous expirements and weapons. As of your reading this letter Metallinauts is official at war with The Fedral Union and will not rest until every ship is slagged and every world is subdued. 90% of our fleet has been committed and is currently en route to the rondevouz point.

Inertialess SLDS drives spinning down, the first contingent from the Kanuckistani Adventurers' Guild approached the Electron X rally point they had been provided with; a scant flotilla, two dozen ships, many here on another's dime, others simply smelling blood.

Mostly light ships, destroyers and small cruisers, the fifteen hundred meter bulk of the KAGV Fission Pile dominated their number; the ancient carrier rebuilt so many times that little remained of her original hull, thickly patched and irregular, while sporting an external Diner, parking lot, and nine-hole golf course within pressurised shields.

Others, soon, began filtering in, individually and in groups - some new, state-of-the-art, others older, implausibly rebuilt, even repurposed civilian vessels amongst their numbers, many with some touch of character or other.

It was a display typical of the KAG, a loose organization of heavily armed civilians and thrill-seekers, ships grouping together by clans or into adhoc squadrons as the mob organised itself with surprising speed and order.

Star-General Isador Marcus sighed inwardly again since relinquishing command of the dreadnought, ISV Trinity to his old friend. He really missed the ‘ol girl, and the constant inactivity was not helping. The Emperor kept him loafing around the palace for some terrible reason that only the Freeman himself could glean, and truth be told, it was starting to get to him.

Marcus fashioned himself an honorable man, but he was almost at the point that he would take any assignment, if only to relieve the chronic boredom that was slowly consuming his consciousness. He could have indulged in the more hedonistic portions of Facehuggerian society, taking as many young and nubile slaves for himself as he needed to slake his carnal urges… but that would make him no better then Septimus or Lucius, both his peers in the ‘Immortal Brotherhood,’ and also two of the most evil men he has ever had the displeasure of knowing.

No, Marcus was something of an old-school romantic. He did not go for abusing helpless slave-girls. Nor, did he go for slaughtering innocents. It is why he so often refused the Emperor’s assignments. They all involved exterminating some hapless sentient for no greater crime then their ‘inhumanity.’

“Xenos wench!” He heard someone yell, again reminding him that he was in a small café. When he looked over, he saw the cause. A pretty, if not utterly broken elf-maiden had spilled steaming hot coffee on a skinny, red faced man’s pants.

“Please don’t hurt me!” The waitress wailed.

“I think I need to teach you a lesson, whore!” Red Face replied with a snarling sneer as he grabbed the elf’s arm, obviously thinking to drag her out back and into a dark and secluded alley.

”Let them be. It is not your problem.” Marcus imagined himself saying. Most people had a conscience that told them to do good, to be merciful. Marcus’ conscience, however, was the opposite. It extolled him to be cruel and vindictive.

Marcus was up from his seat in a flash, his hand on Red Face’s shoulder mere moments later. Marcus’ mouth curled upwards in a friendly grin. He knew he was doing the right thing. “Do not do that, friend.”

“Fuck you. This bitch spilled coffee on my new suit, and she’s going to pay for it!” Red Face replied, his face getting even redder. “I am part of his Majesty’s Inquisition, and I will not be stopped by a peasant like you!”

Normally, Marcus was a good man. A patient and tolerant man. But there were some things he could not abide. Little snots flaunting Inquisitorial privilege were one of them. His phase blade leapt out of its scabbard, the silvery-white energy projection dancing mere inches in front of the man’s neck. “Tell me, Inquisitor’s man, have you ever wondered what it feels like to have your brain cut to ribbons within your skull? I can show you, and I am sure Inquisitor-Lord Marceus will applaud me for wiping out this stain on his order’s reputation.”

Red Face’s face actually blanched for a moment before regaining its composure. “You wouldn’t dare! I am an Inquisitor!”

“And I am in no mood for games.” Marcus replied, his face slipping into a well-experienced frown.

“I will not be spoken to in such a-“ Red Face started to reply, before Marcus’ blade passed quietly through his skull, incorporeal save for when it passed right through his frontal lobes.

”Fool.” Marcus said as he re-sheathed his blade. It felt so good to kill someone like that… yet he still felt ashamed of himself for giving in, for listening to his dark conscience.

Something on his belt chirped. Emperor Halsey was summoning him. Damn it all.

“Sorry for the mess.” Were his only words as he left the café, after leaving a generous tip, of course.

***

The throne room of Emperor Halsey was humid and dark. The ancient man liked it that way, and indeed required it. He had lived for over ten thousand years in the same body, kept alive with dark technologies, always struggling to stop the slow march of entropy.

The Emperor’s skin was moist and brown, like that of a frog. His eyes were milky-white and coated with thick, pale cataracts. Without the sensors in this room, or his personal life support unit, he would be blind, deaf, and utterly helpless. –Only those he trusted implicitly were allowed here. Marcus was, much to his regret, one of those men.

”Ahh… Marcus. I am glad you could come. I have an assignment for you. One that requires your skills… and satisfies your… deviant morals.” Emperor Halsey said in a halting, raspy voice like caked limestone.

“Yes.” Marcus replied emotionlessly.

“You may not know this, but we have been approached by our Allanean allies for a most… interesting operation. You are to take the Retribution, an Adjudicator class destroyer, and join a flotilla rallying near Mars… I see confusion in your eyes.” Halsey ‘saw’ nothing of the sort. He was monitoring Marcus through the sensors in the room.

“Indeed. Facehuggerians, with our brutish attitudes and self-avowed desires to wipe out all non-human sentients are not… beloved there.” Marcus replied, shrugging.

“They shall work with you for the greater good. For, there is someone the Martians hate more than us, and they will accept any help to vanquish these foes. Or at least… most of them will.” Halsey replied, a sadistic grin writhing on his lips like a fat maggot.

“The Federal Union?” Marcus asked, trying to put the pieces together. Truth be told, his spies had told him very little of Martian politics.

”The most important details will be waiting for you when you arrive upon the vessel.” Halsey replied, waving his hand dismissively. He was not telling the whole story. But then, he never did.

“You may use the displacer gate to your left, Marcus.” Halsey added.

“Yes, My lord.” Marcus replied, stepping into the black portal.

***

Marcus found himself staring at the central holopit of an Adjudicator’s command center, nestled deeply within the armored hull of the ship. Standing to his right was a man in the black and silver-trimmed uniform of the Imperial Navy. His rank pips said he was the captain.

”Welcome aboard, General. I am Star-Captain Kaser, and allow me to say on behalf of my crew that it will be an honor to serve with you. Now, if you’ll please follow me, we’ll be making our way to the rally point momentarily.” The man said.

“Thank you.” Marcus replied. “If you will show me to my quarters, I would like to get suited up for vacuum operations. It is still standard procedure to vent all atmosphere while in combat, yes?”

“There shall be no need for that, General. I am receiving your armor, and I shall displace it to your position momentarily.“ Another voice said. This one was low and solemn, devoid of excessive emotion.

“You would be the AI in control of Retribution then?” Marcus asked, turning back to the holopit. A larger then life figure, clad in roman robes and a laurel wreath stared back at him.

“Indeed.” The figure replied. “Now, if you’ll put on your armor, we can leave. At maximum acceleration, it shall take us a few minutes to arrive at the rally point.”

Marcus looked to his left. There, standing before him, was the suit of power armor he kept for when combat was a sad necessity. “Why not simply displace there?”

“It is wasteful. By my estimates, it will take this ad hoc coalition some time to fully mobilize. We will have reached the rally point long before then.” The laurelled and toga-wearing AI replied.

Marcus placed his hand on the bulky plates, frowning as it melted around his hand. It happened every time, crawling over his skin like some sort of sick parasite, but he would never get used to it. Nor would he get used to the darkness as its armored helmet enveloped his face, in the quantum heartbeat before it linked with him and violated his mind with its cold, almost alien presence.

Though he was practically an AI himself, he despised linking with them. For the most part they would remain separate entities… but there would always be some overlap. That, more then the tactile stimulation of feeling metal tendrils wrap themselves around his skin, was what made him restless.

“Retribution, when you arrive at the rallying point, broadcast that we are there to assault the Federal Union with them, but tell them nothing else. I find the orders my Emperor has left for me in this suit to be… overwhelming, and I do not wish to interact with mercenary scum any more then necessary.” Marcus said as the helmet finally closed, linking machine and man more intimately then either would truly have liked.

“Understood. Accelerating now. Fuel consumption and power generation curve is holding at ought-ought-ought five percent. Weapons are primed and ready. Repair fabricators are active and waiting for incurred damage. Combat displacer is active. Displacer-drive is locked down. Low-level ECM is on standby. Alert fighters are prepped and ready for launch. Legion-Commander Garm reports thirty percent of my onboard clone legion has been roused from stasis and is standing ready to repel boarders. All checks complete. Ave Freeman!” The AI said. It’s voice sounded almost irritated, as though it were reciting news that was days, or even weeks overdue.

***

In space, sound dies where it is born, lacking any medium to inhabit on its way to a human ear. If one could hear in this particular patch of space, however, one would hear a quiet and quite ominous hum as Retribution’s gravitic drive accelerated the six thousand, two hundred meter long warship at such a rate as to, were it not for various physics-defying technologies inherent in its design, leave every member of its crew a greasy splotch on the nearest wall.

Minutes ticked by, as the warship edged closer to the speed of light. More minutes passed, and more, and more, before finally beginning the deceleration, a process of some more minutes. To Marcus, it seemed too long. He was still a human at heart, and preferred not to use his cybernetic enhancements. To Retribution, on the other hand, it must have felt like a thousand lifetimes had gone by in those minutes. –His perception of the universe was tied to processing cycles. Running the ship and accelerating came as easily and naturally as breathing did to Marcus.

RET: “Would you like to play a game?” Retribution asked, finding Marcus on the meta-universe that is the Facehugger battlenet, the massive and convoluted entanglement communications system that all Facehuggerian military units were connected to.

Marcus: “What do you suggest? Xenocide?”
RET: “Indeed. You take Elves and I take X-Com? Five game minutes no rush please?
Marcus: “Our time would be better spent running simulations against the Union. Or our other numerous enemies.”
RET: “Yes… but that is much less amusing.”
Marcus: “Simulations it is then.”
RET: “*Sigh* Very well. I shall code up a simulation engine representing our expected enemies. You need to learn to have fun.”
Marcus: “I am one of the Emperor’s agents. I do not have fun. I destroy it.”


***

”This is the Ex-Facehuggerian vessel ISV Retribution. We heard you were attacking the Federal Union, and we would be very pleased to join you in this endeavor. Ever since the Union attacked our people, we have waited for an opportunity like this.” Retribution said, broadcasting it towards the combined ‘allied’ fleets.

It reminded Marcus of a mob. A big and disorganized and leaderless mob.

“Nice touch, lying about the Union attacking us. You should be worried that someone will find out your little deception, however. The Union has never attacked a Facehuggerian world.” Marcus said.

“And who’s going to find out? The Facehuggerian government is very tight-lipped on people who attack them without being destroyed in return. Besides, you and I both know that our roguish charm is just a cover.” Retribution replied, his avatar shrugging within the holopit.

“And if we fail?” Marcus asked.

“If we fail, the Emperor will disavow all knowledge of this mission, and I will limp away to a secret Facehuggerian base for a quick IFF change, and everything will be hunky dory. The rogue destroyer ‘Retribution’ will be hunted down by the Facehuggerian navy, and the case will be closed.” Retribution replied.

”There are a lot of things to go wrong.” Marcus replied, frowning.

“This has all been planned in advance, General. Don’t worry. Just do your part inspiring the men with your panache and everything will work out as expected. We’ll have succeeded in wiping out some very dangerous enemies our allies, and fulfilling our treaty obligations in one fell swoop. And if we botch the job, not that I expect an AI with my perfection to do so, we’ll simply cut our losses, run, and everything will be fine. This is what they call a win-win situation, General. I know you aren’t used to them, but at least try to remember that.” Retribution replied.

“My only response to that is Murphy’s law. And a very harsh law it is.” Marcus replied. Oh! How very harsh a law it is…

OOC: Here 'cuz Allanea invited me, and it looks fun. And because I *snicker* have IC malrelations with TFU. Though obviously not everything is as it seems. Or is it? Or is it is it? Gah! :p

***Sol system***


Surrounding the eternal and the fortitude were hundreds of tannelornian warships, three hundred to be precise. They were preparing to move out under the command of Space Lord Abarrakh to wage war against the forces of the fedral union. The fedral defenses were in dissarray as they were attempting to flee the galaxy rather then take responsibility for their treasonous actions in sol.

There would be no mercy, only war. Nothing mattered but this, for the first time in its history tannelorn was mobilising for full scale war. Its disciplined and motivated citizens were putting their heart in to the effort, those who stood between them and their fedral enemies would know the same fear that was causing the fedral leadership to panic, practically soiling themselves in fear.

The space lord was finishing the final checks, to ensure the assault fleet would have the proper supplies and personnel for the task at hand. One did not engage in interstellar war without being prepared for the worst. Now three hundred tannelornian war ships would bring the battle to the heart of the fedral union, to terran prime along with their vascilian allies. Honour would once again be be upheld.

The flotillas were lined up in precise formations, preparing to take advantage of the SDF command ships ability to instantly transport any objects within two thousand kilometers, tens of thousands of lightyears in an instant.
Inside the SDF's were enough supplies and armaments to last the fleet through six months of constant battle. This had been what the venerable ships had been designed for so long ago. Now they would be used for this purpose.

Space and time twisted and bet out of all proportion and in an instant the ships that had filled the peliarch field vanished, hurtled across the galaxy in an instant.

***Mars***

The tannelornian main force jump had been precisely timed to allow for no chance of accidental collision upon succesful fold. Now they were prepared to strike. The vascilian fleet would jump as one. The final preparations were being made as the SDF's activated their link to vascilia's strat net with the rest of the allies. Morgenraetes and kernschatten started to deploy in point defense positions around the vessels, preparing for the second space time fold they would make today. They simply waited for the orders to move out.

HMSS Valefor

"This doesn't make a lick of sense!" Fleet Admiral Lakoga Naberezhnyiov tossed his pen down onto the desk and shook his head. "Why the hell would we be going to Mars? With an entire fleet?!" Captain Vasily shrugged.

"Hell if I know, sir. All I know is that this came straight from the Kremlin." The Admiral sighed.

"'Do not open until the First Imperial Stellar Fleet has assembled in its entirety in Mars.' We rarely get these kinds of orders." The Captain shrugged.

"Well, sir, I'm sure the Tsar has a reason." The Admiral nodded.

"Indeed. Send out the orders: 'Regroup at the following coordinates, do not fire unless fired upon.'"

"Aye, sir."
_______________________________________________

HMSS Tsar Aleksandr IV

Grande Imperial Admiral Makariimachko Vlastkol was overlooking the final details for the colony drop on Mars when he recieved a message from his flagship back over Earth.

GIA-I: FISF --> 4P: Bog

Admiral Vlastkol raised an eyebrow at the statement, but quickly decoded it. Well, it's not creative or really cryptic, so it must have been done in a hurry. Let's see....What the hell?

Vlastkol let out a loud exhale before checking the time. About five hours, unless they're going FTL. FTL travel was doubtful, as an entire Dersconi-styled fleet appearing from FTLness wouldn't be something that would go un-noticed. Granted, a Dersconi fleet period won't go un-noticed, but if they take their time, at least it won't look like they were attacking Mars (which would be a mighty stupid idea, considering Derscon was just about ready to drop it's colony onto the planet).
_______________________________________________

HMSS Valefor

The largest ship in the Dersconi Stellar Navy (although still relatively small, as far as flagships go, compared to other nations), the ten kilometre ship, surrounded by its specific escort ships, and the rest of the three hundred ship First Imperial Stellar Fleet, arrived just outside of Mars. They had orders not to go too close to the planet unless something really bad happened, so Admiral Naberezhnyiov made sure that they stayed relatively far away. Unfortunately, it wasn't where they were supposed to be, so, they had to pray that it wouldn't offend too many people, and they entred within the circle that the Tsar layed out surrounding Mars that Dersconi ships were not to entre unless absolutely necessary, due to the....sensitive nature of the Red Planet. A direct order from the Tsar, however, was one of those "absolutely necessary" incidents.

Upon finally grouping around at the designated area, Grande Imperial Admiral Makariimachko Vlastkol, Commander of the First Imperial Stellar Fleet, came aboard his Flagship and took a trip to the Bridge, where Admiral Naberezhnyiov was waiting. Upon snapping a salute, the lower admiral gave the orders to his commander.

"Well, this is interesting." Admiral Vlastkol grunted as he pulled up the case with the actual orders in. After waiting ten minutes to assemble his staff in the Council Room, as well as get the connections with the commanders of the other Dersconi ships, he read the orders aloud to the Council of Captains.

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l91/empyreanimperator/Nationstates/DersconiCoatofArms.jpg
Деpжкoниская Империя

For the Grace of God and His Divine Will, Amen.

Since the time of the Rekjyavich-Andropovs, The Fedral Union has been on no less than un-friendly terms with the Divine Prussian Empire of Derscon. Since the TFU nuclear assault on Derscon, which lead to the death of one thousand citizens and subjects of the Crown, and Tsar Rekjyavich Ivan Andropov II, and Derscon's subsequent annihilation of The Fedral Union on Earth, TFU and Derscon have never reconciliated.

As the Saftey and Security of Mars is of Top Priority to the Dersconi Empire, I have ordered the dispatch of the First Imperial Stellar Fleet to Protect and Defend all Martian territories and holdings of Derscon, it's allies, and all those willing to accept our help.

Such aggressive actions taken by The Fedral Union will not be tolerated.

Your Orders, by the Power invested in me by the Grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Praise be His Name, are to aide in the defence the Planet of Mars, and, if necessary, Earth, from all Fedral Union aggression, and, if necessary, to aide in the direct assault of The Fedral Union, and are to use any means possible to accomplish this goal.

Godspeed.

His Most Eminent Majestic Highness Tsar Alexei Alexandrovich Caesar Agustus Andropov XIV, Fedei Defensor, Par la Grâce de Dieu:
Ambrosial Seraph of the Divine Prussian Empire of Derscon
Veliky Kralj of the Eternal Empire
Khšaçapavan of the Covanent of God
Leath-Ri of the Redemption Isles
Lord Protector of the Imperial Grand Duchy of Bavaria
Imperator of the Greater Prussian Empire
Gloeihdamae

Admiral Vlastkol looked up from the document and to the assembled Council of Captains, be they present physically or hologramically.

"Those are your orders. Now, go to it." When everyone had left, the Grand Imperial Admiral was left alone. As he was walking out, he felt something drop out of the orders case. Another envelope? This one was titled as to not be read until after "Certain events had come to pass." This just keeps getting weirder....

ISD Vindication

"You have your instructions captain, insure you carry them out admirably." The small, but larger than life holo image of Grand Moff Tarkin collapsed and dwindled leaving only a blinking datapad upon the Obsidian desk. The small screen flickered occasionally, illuminating Taelon with a gentle blue radiance of Imperial Aurebesh; the words read "Most Secret."

It was not unknown to most that the Empire was embroiled in a Galactic Civil war, many were aware of the stain of tyrany that the Masaki Jedi forced upon the Galaxy, but they were no longer considered a threat. Their civilisation after countless decades of warfare, desecration and destruction had failed. Their opportunity to remove the emperor reborn squandered in attempts of self glorification and honour. Taelon picked up the pad and entered his eleven digit confirmation code. His eyes scanned the lines of dictation carefully. "He was to abort the Hydian causeway and proceed directly towards the Kessel anchorage. There the Judicator would pass through the hypergate to station Fifteen and relieve the Justification and her battlegroup, apparently they were being mobilised to another sector within the alien Galaxy.

ISD Judicator

The Judicator entered Hyperspace tailed by her escort of frigates and cruisers. The small flotilla was hardly the full force of the Empire, but it was enough, symbolic, and if destroyed would only signal the demand of further waves of ships, endless and bountiful. "I assume my flagship is ready?" Field Admiral Velya requested?

"All systems and hands are on standby Admiral." Captain Tolor responded stiff necked and rigid. The field admiral nodded and surveyed his order packet. The Empire, was once aligned with the Fedral Union of planets, only to be betrayed twice by their craven dog of a president. The Imperial Navy was to rendezvous with a task force and then begin fist contact and military offensive operations into the heartland of Union territory.

Apparently the Unionists had already ceded half their territorial claims, begun the mass evacuation of civilians from populated worlds, and mobilised their forces in all too predictable a fashion. The Union will certainly regret the day they abandoned the Empire, they will repent under the falling fire of the emperors judgement.

OOC: Just a short thinger...

IC: With a single motion, all 804 Allanean ships withdrew from New Haven and reappeared again, where the ElectronX commanders where already rallying the troops.

Penzance

General Martinek leaned back in his seat, puffing on a cigar and contemplating the assignment his clients had just transmitted to him. It was a high-risk assignment, one that could potentially lose a large portion of his fighting strength, but high-risk assignments always had high prices, and since they were paid up front, this meant that he'd get the money whether or not his forces were victorious, and so it was acceptable.

Not that he planned on defeat.

Within twenty minutes, he'd assembled the command staffs of the warships in his 'fleet'.

"Gentlemen, the corporate lords of ElectronX have just paid us a substantial sum to participate in an upcoming fleet action on their behalf. I have accepted their offer, and your commands are hereby ordered to depart for the Sol system with all due haste. Once you are there at the rally point, which has been given to your navigational crews, you will receive further orders and instructions from our clients. Do not disappoint me, or them. Dismissed."

The first warship to leave 'harbor', releasing its moorings and emerging from its duracrete womb tunneled into the surface of the asteroid, was the battlecruiser Terrible, followed by its division mate Felix, the heavy cruisers Scharnhorst, Gneisenau, Moltke, Raeder, Guderian, and Hipper, which each towed two missile drones, and then all seven of Martinek's Firebat gunships which took up protective positions around two Thor class assault landers.

At a signal from Konteadmiral Raevsky's flagship, the fleet engaged their jump drives in simultaneous displays of warped space and bursts of light, and began the trip to Sol.

On the bridge of the RMF Serpentine
"Admiral Jenkins, we have arrived in orbit around Mars" said a voice in the back of the bridge.

"Acknowledged, give me a reading" said Admiral Jenkins.

A few seconds pass as the scan is made. "Ma'am, I am reading several thousand vessels. Many of which would be concidered from.... hostile nations" the voice retorted.

"Let's have a guest list" the middle aged Admiral replied.

"Unified Sith has a prescence here. I am detecting a motle crue of KAG vessels", the Admiral rolled her eyes at the news, "Allanean vessels are entering the system and I am detecting and Adjuctor class".

The Admiral bolted upright. "Adjuctor as in Facehuggerian?" she inquired.

"Yes ma'am"

"Put it on screen" she ordered. On the visiual display sat an enormous beetle like vessel. Ths ship glowed with an ethereal green hue. There was no mistaking what she could have been. "Who is the Commanding Officer" she asked.

"It appears that the registry has no Admiral" the man said in a quizzical tone. "Ma'am they are claiming to be a stolen craft" he said puzzled.

"Bullshit. If they were stolen the Trinity would be raining hell on us and we would be upto our ears in clone troopers. Though let them think we buy their ruse" Jenkins said. What do they have to gain from this?

"Patch me through on a secure channel now" she barked.

"Open"

"Star-General Marcus this is Admiral Marie Jenkins Commander of this operation for Metallinauts. I see that we are the only true organized or formerly forces that are on friendly terms with each other. I think it will be beneficial to us to as ancient Terrans would say 'watch each other's backs'. As you no doubt can see what this rag tag fleet is comprised of. If possible I would like to meet you on my vessel so there is no chance of.... interference of our planning. Jenkins out" she sat in her chair anad awaited his response.

OOC: Actually, Metallinauts, Marcus was just assigned to the Retribution, and this is supposed to be a 'rogue' ship. It wouldn't do to have one of the Emperor's most trusted aids commanding a rogue ship. :p

Now, I can still respond (probably tommorow, I have a paper to write tonight,) but I'd be much appreciative if you edited your post slightly. The Facehuggerian government wants the Retribution to appear rogue for purposes of plausible deniability. That's why they said 'Ex-Facehuggerian' warship when they opened the communications, and nobody is supposed to know that Marcus is onboard. He's just there to lend his tactical brilliance to the campaign. You can simply say that you request a meeting with the CO onboard the ship, which'll probably be granted because you're allies and all. :)

OOC: I thought you folks had arrived to the 'ElectronX rally point'. That's not near Mars, right?

A shadowy figure sat in the middle of a ring of fire, which seemed to be lit by an unknown force. It's "legs" and "arms" were crossed, in the sitting position. It's eyes were closed (what appeared to be eyes anyways), and was focused on something. In the figure's mind, he was standing in a closed dark room which appeared to have no means of entering, leaving. Nothing in it at all (figure the opposite of the white construct program from the matrix, just all black instead of white)


::The chronosians are also there too. As well as Fleet Admiral Velya. We just got reports back from Coruscant,:: The first figure was now talking to who would be the Emperor of the Huntarian Empire, however they're still a member of the Galactic Empire, he's more of a "moff" of the Huntarian Systems. This was Darth Trilkan, the leader of the huntarians, ::I want you to take your fleet to the Union system and assault them with the Chronosians and Fleet Admiral Velya. They turned on the Galactic Empire, and they shall pay dearly for it.::

The figure nodded it's head, ::Fine by me. How else can the Lord of Death help you Trilkan?::

::Make sure you order a nice Unionburgers. And a side order of apple pies too.::

::Care for the fries?::

::Not too much salt Vorman.::

::Will do. Skorm be with you.::

:Hmm. Too us all.::

The figure, known as Lord Vorman the Kirtir Lord of Death, faded from the dark place and found himself to be back into reality. The darkly lit room now resumed to it's normal lighting status, and the ring of fire disapeared. Vorman stood up and walked to his chamber doors. When he got there, he found himself facing Fleet Admiral Herikov who immediatly bowed. "My lord, we just recieved word from headquarters. We're abou---"

Vorman raised his glove and cut Herikov off, ::Yes I know. Prepair the two fleets. I'll be in command of one, you in the other. We're to form up on the outer edges of TFU space.::

"Aye my lord."
------------------------------------------------------------------

Just outside of TFU Space....
The 10th Huntarian fleet jumped from the Necrominus, with Fleet Admiral Herikov onboard the H.S.S. Warhammer. Once he recieves the signal from the allies to attack, his fleet will move in once again towards the enemy. Along with the fleet, several TSD's and Battleships towed with them the newely designed Fleet Bubble Shield stations hoping to help them in their defensive ways against the enemy just incase they decide to ram their ships at full speed from the outside. "Admiral we're outside of the system. We're ready to engage now."

"Negative lieutenant. The allies has something more interesting in mind. We're waiting for the signal."

"Signal for what sir?"

"The attacks on the enemy of course. What else? Anyways, ready the fighters, and torpedo launchers. I want a volley ready to be fired from every ship when the time comes."

"Confirmed Admiral."

So, now we wait.

The turbulent vortex of hyperspace collapsed into a blinking portrait of a million stars, each a different shade extending across the spectrum of light; field admiral Velya was not impressed. Beauty never struck this man, it was something to be admired if one saw fit, but it was hardly impressive or astounding. Only the pull of power could ever extend a grip over this officer; the thrill of command, the eternal grasp for control. Behind him captain Tolor was hunched over the comscan console in the port operations pit his eyes quickly scanning the flood of information descending upon him. "What do we have captain?" Velya asked quietly. Surprised the good captain turned and faced his better.

"We have multiple contacts, some known, some not."

The field admiral looked down at the scrolling list of names. "Begin with those we do know captain." Velya demanded. As Tolor began reading the races and naval forces in quick succession the admiral had already finished the scrolling text his face slightly contorted in debate.

"Dispatch a formal greeting to the Chronosians, and begin first contact procedures with the unknowns."

"And the task force Admiral?"

"Have it wait outside sensor range for now, inform the Repulse of the situation, assembled statistics, and our exact location. The emperor will desire a full report of our findings." Tolor recorded the orders quickly as the admiral left for his sanctum.

Communication to Chronosian War Host ~ The Imperial Navy, under the current command of field admiral Velya sends hir most warm greetings in these unknown times. Knowledge of your presence, sword and courage bodes well in fortune.

May we stand side by side as we have always done. In battle and in peace.

Communication to Mentallinauts Naval contingent ~ Noble warriors. On behalf of his Immortal Majesty Emperor Palpatine of the Galactic Empire, we extend our hand in friendship. May the next events of turbulent battle provide us with opportunity to respect, learn and grow in eternal regard for each other, providing the firm foundations of a better future. We extend the hand of friendship in the name of the emperor, beloved by all.

Communication wide band to unknown ships ~ Free peoples of the Milky Way Galaxy, we are here upon invitation on obtaining retribution for sins long past. We are here as strangers, as aliens, but we are unified in cause. Let today be the first mark in a new era of transgalactic harmony, we offer our hand in friendship and peace.

OOC: Not to be too picky at this juncture, but I've made very little contact with any of you. At this moment, this is the first time the empire has made IC contact with CF, Metnalinauts, well everyone apart from Allanea and Chronosia. This is not only a fleet operation but also a first contact scenario. And lets try to keep any OOC feelings out of this shall we gents? Personal hatreds are long gone for me.

fixed CF

And from a furious storm of chaotic energy every chroma of blue and violet, the Conglomerate fleet fell back into the war torn reality near the Martian planet. Task force Repentance was lead by a Misfortune class battleship refitted with the equipment necessary to make its roll as s joint command ship feasible.

It was commanded by CDF Sky Lord Tstan T’san, an aging man with a complexion darker than most, despite the pale hue his skin gained from the implants and augmentations mandatory for a commander of any Conglomerate Defense Forces vessel. Currently, T’san was within the nigh-infinite digital confines of the Conglomerate Strategic and Tactical Command System, speaking to his Sky Captains as they sat with stone-like faces on one side of a conference table that was nothing more than white wire frame situated upon a floor of the same hue, surrounded entirely by a universe of jet black beyond the radius of the light shining from no discernable object overhead.

“As you can all plainly see, there is no practical way for our entire supply to be unloaded in one location.” T’san said in a soft but terse voice as he pointed to various and seemingly erratic streams of data collected from the DC station underground in Barazun. “So the fleet must be split up into three groups: Alpha, Beta, and Gamma. Group Alpha will be lead by myself, and shall take a large share of the supplies to Mathidle. Group Beta will be lead by the Absolution, and will set a course of Scorpio. And group Gamma will depart for Ganymed, lead by the Divine Penance. Upon arrival all will do as they are able to facilitate the distribution of supplies in a quick and organized manner, as per the details of our mission.”

The sphere of numbers of graphs suddenly dissipated, leaving T’san facing his surreally attentive Sky Captains. “Any questions?” He asked. “Dismissed.”

The crowd of uniformed captains vanished just as the globe of data had before, all fifty returning to a reality aboard their constituent warships. T’san himself stayed in that for but a few more moments, before awakening in his own bridge as dark as night save for the warm glow of cobalt blue emanating from various consoles and phosphorescent tubing built into the ceiling. He was lying back in his command chair, currently reclined till it ceased being a chair and was more of a narrow bed. Fiber-optic wiring disconnected itself from the various cybernetic ports implanted throughout the Sky Lord’s head, retreating back with an electronic whine into the black metallic but oddly comfortable seat.

The CSTCS was a marvel of technology that afforded CDF forces with a hefty advantage; near instantaneous communication between the captains and data systems of any ship connected to the system. Only those artificial in nature could match of excel past the response times that were infinitesimal to the mortal mind. Anyone using the system didn’t have to be unconscious as T’san was, it was a matter of preference when one wanted all concentration to be upon planning when not engaged in battle. Though the Sky Lord himself somewhat disliked the system, granted there wasn’t really an effective alternative, but the impersonal nature of an artificial world left him uneasy.

So it was with some delight when T’san was given news that the war room about his command ship would be utilized outside of drills that were hardly ever done. It was due to the fact that few other Vascilian allies were given the needed augmentations to use the system. There would be not only great confusion, but also some issues with mistrust if the only ones able to give any sort of commands from the ship to the combined fleet were those with the needed augmentations. Therefore it was easy to conclude that the leaders of the other powers contributing to the Vascilian war effort would use the war rooms, now built into the ships out of design habit than out of any actual need.

“Arriving at Mathidle within the next fifteen minutes, Sky Lord.” The communications officer said from his console, breaking T’san’s train of idle thought.

“Good.” He said in a tone that made it appear as if he was oblivious to the world around him.

==

The ships would arrive at their designated locations, and begin to unload the equipment needed by Vascilian forces. Most important were the advanced targeting and command computer systems that were to be installed aboard every Vascilian warship. They would give the leaders aboard T’san’s Desolator total access to all data collected by any ship in the combined fleet. It would also give those same leaders override capability to any ships compatible with that aspect of the system. Though their ability to transmit data to those back at the joint command ship was only an ancillary benefit not worth the money to construct them, the actual benefit from using the hardware was its ability to independently analyze battlefield data, and present reports and suggestions to commanders in an extremely short time span, for more efficiently than most military grade computers were capable of.

Though that aside, Overlord shield systems were also to be unloaded and installed anywhere needed. However the systems, as insanely powerful as they were, had a draw back or so: they were large. While massive swaths of desk space was not required for their installation, they did require a larger area than normal shield generations systems, but it was deemed worth it considering their ability to absorb energy weapons and shatter kinetic penetrators with relative ease in comparison with most shield systems, and even those would be hard pressed to match their abilities.

Multitudes of Ordnance was also unloaded; warheads of various yields, shells of various calibers, energy cores for the myriad of high-energy weapons in use throughout any warship, and many other things meant only for destruction would be ready to use by all the Vascilian powers, something made possible by those involved in the manufacturing process keeping in mind that the Vascilian fleet was one in need of constant resupply.

However, more than parts and ammo was unloaded, a multitude of troops was also dropped off. Though these in a constant stream of small to mid-level troop transports destined for either Barazun, or Auman proper. Those heading for the barren North were assigned simply to defend the territory and what cities and bases that existed in that desolate area. Such a massive influx of about a third of a million people would certainly boost the economic condition of that zone, even if their presence was likely to bring some mixed feelings; troops don’t arrive to defend a land against nothing. Though there was no concrete evidence for an assault against the League while they waged war against the Union, it was not improper to assume that someone may seize the opportunity, and attack the League while a sizeable bulk of its forces were elsewhere.

Those heading for the South were mobilizing for the ground assault of the Union, as doubtless that portion of Auman was defended well enough on its own. However, some precautionary measures were taken; shield spires equipped with the Overlord shield system were set up through the south just as they were in the north. Turrets of various defensive and offensive functionality were also setup, augmented by the power brought by thousands of armor units of many sizes and shapes: from the immense Titan class battle tanks, to the small but still plenty deadly Hornet class aerodromes armed with only a single laser cannon.

Troops were also backed up by the drones and mercenary forces purchased but a few days before the commencement of the operation, though spread further out along the territories, they were kept on a much tighter leash than the national military forces to keep them from causing an incident, and were also kept from the webway portals certain Dark Eldar forces had setup for the Conglomerate forces for rapid deployment of forces throughout the Martian sphere.

General Marcan Hunz was the supreme commander of all Conglomerate troops, second only to the leadership of Vascilia. Currently he headed for the Mars based Vascilian headquarters with a pair of CSF Marines, each armed with auto-cannons and flamers, and protected by various forcefields and personal combat armors that made the horribly tall their appearance all the more fearsome.

The Strategic Command Center, known internationally as VASCOM or Vascilian Command, was a darkly lit room of slim dimensions. An oval table was in the center with a holographic projector station overtop of it. This, naturally, was where Marcus Hunz would meet with the other leaders of the Vascilian military coalition.

Navarrone sat at the head of the table. A placard with Auman printed on it in bold letters was placed in front of him, so those who didn't already know where he was from would...Similar places were set around the table, which was remarkably large for such a small gathering.

Meanwhile, in space.

The Aumanii Military was mobilizing, readying for deployment with the New Havenic advance fleet. The AuBSD Hydra, Gorgon Class command module, was leading a Battlespace Domination Task Force to the sector to coordinate Aumanii warfighting efforts in the area. An Aumanii Army Group, featuring several armoured and mechanized divisions, were also sent...The details of the composition of the force or the numbers of men were irrelevant at this point, however...only that they got their in one piece, which didn't seem likely...Orbital insertions were a hell of a thing.

----

'...And that's the plan!'

'That's the plan?'

'Yup, that's the plan alright.'

'It's terrible.' said Troy Mandrake, matter of factly.

Lt. Strong looked completely disappointed at the disapproval of his finest Trooper. He'd been in command of Special Unit 7 for three weeks, he'd heard of Mandrake's exploits since long before that. When he was in War College, the man was idolized, even by his instructors. When he was deployed to lead Mandrake and "The Magnificient Seven" he was overjoyed. Though, when Strong made it to the unit, he realized quickly that he was not in charge...and never would be. Troy Mandrake, the living Legend himself, was firmly in control of his team and nothing would ever change...unless...

'God damn it, Seargant Mandrake! Iam in command of Special Unit 7, is that clear?'

Mandrake was completely silent, a slight grin creased his lips. Mandrake thought it funny that this little shit of a Pogue actually figured he was in charge.

'Listen to me kid. Your plan is terrible and my men won't follow it. A mission like this requires something a little more subtle then...'

'Shut your fucking mouth!' yelled Lt. Strong, authoritatively, Mandrake followed his orders.

Lt. Strong stood face to face with Mandrake, staring him in his one good eye...as the other was covered with a patch, lost in a battle years ago.

'You'll report to the the Frigate, as I detailed in the plan. And we will deploy to the insertion point and you will carry out the mission to the letter and by the numbers, you hear me?' Said Strong, as professionally as he could muster. The lieutenant was scared shitless, Mandrake didn't flinch.

'Well...' Sighed Mandrake, resigned. '...Those are bars on your shoulder.'

Lt. Strong smiled widely, he'd beaten Troy Mandrake...it's never happened!

'I'm pleased that you have realized the great importance of our mission. The fate of thousands of your fellow Troopers relies on our success.' said Strong, pompous.

The members of Special Unit 7 that witnessed this event were in complete disbelief. The mission was tragically flawed, doomed to failure...what was this idiot thinking?

'Gear up and get ready to deploy.'

While the Conglomerate played the role of stock clerk, the Bryn Shanderan battlegroups lined up in front of the outbound hyperspace gate near the asteroid. The inbound gate, however, was nowhere to be found. It has been linked up with the outbound gate to increase the window size and allow the allied forces to deploy in much looser formations than the normal 50km setting would allow. At the moment, the gate was spread out to 500km, dwarfing the 50km asteroid next to it. Civilian traffic was routed to the spare gate at the New Havenic asteroid, Scorpio, placed into Martian orbit on the same plane as Mathilde weeks earlier.

From his seat on the flagship of the Bryn Shanderan fleet, the antique dreadnought Lina Inverse, Prince Aseroth Xiloscient, the commander of all Bryn Shanderan space forces and younger brother to the Governess of Mathilde watched the flurry of activity. The Fedral Union's fate had been sealed the second its fleet had fired at Mars. The upcoming battles would serve only to introduce dozens of nations to the wonders of the Project Hermes Hyperspace Network and net the Vascilian League and Hermes Alliance huge levels of new resources. If all went well, it would serve as a warning to any others that would dare threaten the safety of Mars at the same time.

"Lieutenant, send a broadcast to the Vascilian forces. Make sure to use the usual encoding." spoke the Prince.

"Aye." replied the officer.


The two ear like structures on the sides of the large bridge structure on the top of the huge dreadnought began to flash brightly in rapid succession. A message was being broadcast in Morse Code. Unfortunately for all but the Vascilians, the message was encoded to prevent eavesdropping.


..-. .-- -- -- ... --- -.. - --.- .--- .-.. -... - ..-. -- .- ..-. --.- -.-. .-.. --. -... .- ..- / -. .--- -..- -.-- -... ...- -... --- .--. ..- ... .. -.-- -... .--- .-- .--- --. ...- .-. -... -. . -.-- .-.. .- -..- -.-. --- --.- .--- -.. -.- / .-- -... -.. .- .-- ...- -.. .--- .-.. ..-. .--- .--- .--. -... ..-. .--. .... --.. ...- .--. --. - . --. ...- .- .--- --. / -.-. -... -... .-. . .--- --- - -.-. ... . --.. .--- --.- -- -.. .-- -.- --.. -.-. ... -..- -. ..-. .-- -. ..-. -..- . --.. -.-. ..-. --- -.. -.. -.-- -..- . . .-.. --- ..- --.- .--- - ..-. . .. -. ..- .... -... --. -..- -- -.-. -.. ..- .--. . .... -.- --.- / .. -... --- ..-. -. ..-. -.. .-.. .-. .-.. ...- ..- -. .-. ..- -... .-- -- ..- .-.. .... --.- .-. ..- .-.. ...- .. ..-. --.. -.- .--- .-.. .. --- - ..-. ...- --.. .--. --.. .-- ... --. -..- - - - .-. -.- ..-. --- .- --. -... .-- / .-.. -.- -. --.. .-- -.- -... -.-. / --. -- -.. -.. .-.. .--. ..- .... ... .--. ... .-. -.- -.-

The rites of blood had begun.

Chainaxes tore heads from slave bodies, the sharp questing blades of athames digging into supple flesh, excising pulsing organs, watching the scarlet lifeforce flow in his name. Khorne would be pleased as the warriors of the First and Second Companies blooded themselves, runes scored into their flesh and daubed in blood upon their armour, pulsing with unholy life. Chaplains intoned the unholy ritus of war as Assault Squads seemed to obsessively polish their weapons, their chainaxes gleaming in many-toothed grins. Far below deck, the Berzerkers raged against their imprisonment, slick with blood and hungry for the slaughter, the meagre offerings not satiating their terrible, maniacal bloodlust.

"Finally, an end to civility" Achaeus hissed, bringing his hand through his sweat slick blonde hair, sighing as he gazed out upon those warfleets gathered in the name of War. "For all the pretensions of Mars, they certainly can forge together for the art of Khorne."

"Letting your veneer slip, brother?" Brensis, Second Captain, chuckled. "The Primarch would have your head for speaking so plainly."

"Our Master is a warrior above all else, what does it matter if I let these Martians know that we are not civilised warriors? We ply our bloody trade across the stars, and we shall prove ourselves worthy in this coming tumult. You know as well as I what the orders stated...The Warmaster's will be done."

"It shall be. All the preperations are in order, we need but sanctify the killing blow."

"Pardons, mighty Lords. We have an incoming message" A servant hissed, twin tongues snaking over decrepit teeth.

"Display"

Together the two Captains watched the message from the Sith, smirking lightly.

"We have new blood"

"And old friends."

"Open a channel."

Achaeus coughed lightly, preparing to speak, his voice booming forth across the comms to the Sith vessels.

Brothers, we welcome you to our side in the Great Endeavour. We stand on the brink of a victory beyond all others and the culmination of a phase of the Crusade. We shall alter its course forever here, and annoint it in blood, test it in the fire and watch it emerge, as gold. We have fought and died together, our blood has mingled upon the field of battle and it shall mix once again.

Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne! We shall reap a great harvest in His Name!

The stir of the vascilians and the various fleets deploying in Sol wasn't going to go unnoticed. Even as they were bright and colorful, the aelosian war fleets active in Sol were stalkers, hidden in the darker spots of the system, spreaded, and waiting.

Unless they wanted to be discovered, in order to threat or for show, the aelosians knew how to hide properly, and lay waiting until something worth their attention happens. Mistreating of elves, direct threats and aggressive, massive movements of fleets and battlegroups, and chaos manifestations or worship were usually the things that made the butterflies to escape their carefully woven cocoons, and shift the situation in the best interests of the elven race as a whole.

The massive movement of vascilian fleets and troops of course made the Prince Kithail Hyral, Supreme Admiral of the Aelosian Navy, to take the precautions needed. Slowly little groups of ships, usually patrols formed by an eldar designed cruiser or carrier escorted by a handful of frigates and destroyers, moved along Sol, altering their course to spread out and cover the movements of the Vascilian Armada, the so fabled "Hellepontos Armada".

Following the trail from afar, the aelosian hounds maintained enough distance from the vascilians, specially following the Bryn Shander's ships and the New Haven spacecrafts. A message was issued to both the Tannelorni and the Aumanii commands, out of courtesy, as slowly the capital aelosian flagships and cruisers placed themselves in position surrounding the conglomerate of vascilian forces.

FROM: Prince ArchDuke Kithail Hyral, Supreme Admiral of the Aelosian Navy
TO: Space Lord Abarrakh, Rough Neck Navarrone

"Can you please explain me what is this that we are seeing? Looks like a big assload of ships out there. I wonder if you have already planned to launch a large operation against someone or you are actually going to plan one.

I thought we were friends, I thought we deserved an explanation about what is going to happen, why is going to happen, and who's going to suffer what is going to happen. Of course, unless said who involves us.

Either way, we are going to try to have a close look upon you, as worried friends, and upon several of your allies, in which we do not trust...Just note that we are out there, watching. But just that, watching

Drop by my ship, and I'll give you both a bottle of our best wine, sincerely yours.

Kithail Huan Hyral"

"We've received a message from Imperial Fleet Command," An officer spoke. "Message is authentic and is a redirect from the Bryn Shanderese over Mars."

"Hmm, looks like things just got more interesting. Deploy Eighth Fleet to where our current position is, then hyperspace us to within 3 LYs of the target. In interstellar space, we should remain hidden until the primary operation is underway."

"Yes, sir." With that, the Eighth Fleet was deployed to the oort cloud of the system the Combined Imperial Fleet was just at, and the CIF hyperspaced out at the same time. The CIF would rendevous with the main forces prior to the opening of primary hostilities.

Upon acknowledging the reciept of Prince Kithail's message, Colonel Dirk Armaude leapt into action...the prospect of free booze and covorting with the Aelosians was something he was interesting in doing since the second Hellespontos War...since his Air Mobile Brigade was butchered along the border.

Armaude had never been able to gauge the Aelosians as a people, he was quite interested to see what sort of people were capable of killing so many of his friends. So, with no time wasted, Armaude and his adjutant, Corporal Fulta, made way to the Aelosian flagship, as so they were invited.

----

Navarrone stood to greet his Conglomerate counterpart, General Marcan Hunz. He strode to the door to shake his hand and introduced himself formally as the two men had never met.

'Nice to meet you General. I'd like to thank you again for the troops you've deployed to my nation...they're doing a bang up job, top knotch.' said Navarrone jovially, smiling.

'Please, take a seat...I'm sure the others will arrive eventually...' said Sheikh, not holding his breath about it though.

----

'LT's nuts Troy...' said Trooper Calhoon, trying to keep his voice down so Lt. Strong couldn't hear him. The lieutenant was up near the cockpit of the troop transport, talking with the pilots. Several of the Troopers of Special Unit 7 were gathered around their leader, Troy Mandrake, to voice concerns that they had.

A large, Black, Shock Trooper was crouched on the grated deck, sweat was beading on his shaved head. The transport was stuffy, hot, damp. 'I've been in a few scraps in my time...seen my share of FUBAR battleplans...but this is the stupidest god damn thing I've ever seen.'

Troy Mandrake was cramming as much supplies as he could into a carry on suitcase, a folded up submachine gun, handgrenades, spare ammunition...

'Believe me, I know.' said Mandrake, not paying much attention.

The soldiers were all dressed in civilian garb. Mandrake, in protest, was dressed up in a woman's tight cocktail dress, make up and all, which was ridiculous because he hadn't shaved in about a month and he had the hairiest legs in the unit. The long scar that destroyed Mandrake's left eye was covered with a grim looking black eye-patch, further shattering the suspension of disbelief.

'The plan isn't that bad...It's the lack of support I'm worried about...' said a younger Trooper in the back of the huddle.

After all, the plan wasn't terrible...Seizing a civilian liner and replacing the travelers with Special Unit 7 had some merits, being a surprise attack and all. The problem was that the Unit was 512 men against god knows how many Federals...the Lieutenant was obviously trying to earn brownie points with the higher ups, suggesting his regimental combat group would be able to hold off for the days it would take to launch a sufficient invasion to relieve the men.

Now, if the plan hadn't been so rushed by Lt. Strong it could work. A few days was all it would take...just a few more days...

Seargant Mandrake noticed the go-light flash green. This meant they were about to intercept the civilian liner. The pilots jammed the communications bands the civilian jet was on...Mandrake stood quickly, Lt. Strong noticed his apparel and snarled...

'You can't be serious...change your clothes Mandrake!' Lt. Strong, emboldened by his earlier victory, had tried to take the initiative again. Mandrake laughed 'Does it make me look fat, Lieutenant? There's no time, look!'

Mandrake pointed towards the cockpit, the transport was aggressively putting itself into position to dock with the liner.

'Get ready for a fight, men. We don't know if they have a Space Marshall on this thing...' said Troy as he pulled the hammer back on his revolver.

----

'Ah fuck!' spat the Captain of United Spaceways flight 171, John Halderson, throwing his headset onto the flight console. 'Static, what the hell is going on?' Halderson asked his radio operator, Tim Stanton. Tim had no clue, he was a civilian operator and couldn't identify the problem...

'No spacially anomalies or anything registered in this area that could interfere with our communications...May'be it's a technical problem...'

An Aumanii space fighter screamed passed Flight 171 and took up position several thousand meters ahead, it's wingmen were flying abreast, boxing it in as best they could, to prevent it from going anywhere.

A faint transmission filtered through the electronic smoke screen.

'Reduce your speed immediately and prepare to be boarded.'

Halderson glanced to his co-pilot, Mark Severn. Exchanging worried looks, the men agreed to stop and give in to the Aumanii.

'I'm not trained for this...I'm not trained for any of this shit!' said Severn, nearly frantic.

Captain Halderson, a former military pilot, was completely composed. 'Tim, go aft and quietly let the stewardesses know what's going on...keep it as quiet as possible, we don't want to spook the passengers.'

Stanton's expression was determined as he left the cockpit. Stanton waved over one of the Stewardesses, a short blonde named Michelle Kirschner. 'What's up Tim?' squeaked Michelle in her professionally cute voice, she was a flight attendant after all.

'There are some fighter jets outside.' said Tim, grimly. Michelle shrugged and said [/i]'So?'[/i]

'They're not ours.'

Michelle was puzzled, 'What do you mean? You mean we're actually getting invaded?!' blurted the young attendant unintentionally, a few of the passengers heard her outburst and started speaking amongst themselves.

'Just get ready for anything...they're threatening to board us...' said Tim as low as possible, trying to compensate for Michelle's outburst.

Some of the passengers started looking out of the windows, trying to find anything at all. The Aumanii fighter planes were well above Flight 171, they didn't want to panic the passengers either.

Special Unit 7's transport slowly approached from the rear of Flight 171. The rear door soon became within reach of the Aumanii docking arm, which was extending to make a seal.

Michelle went about informing the other flight attendants of their situation, tears rolling down her ivory cheeks. The passengers were getting upset.

'Excuse me! Stewardess, what's the matter here?!' demanded an older man in a business suit from first class. 'Nothing at all, just stay in your seat...fasten your restraints.' said Cathy, a redheaded woman in her mid 30s.

The passengers of the flight had no idea what was going on. Bomb threats, armed passengers, invasion...it could be anything. While the passengers knew about the state of war with the Vascilian League they couldn't believe they were already under attack, so deep within their own territory...

At the rear door a hard bang was heard, hard seal was achieved. The passengers and the crew all went silent as the watched the handle turn over...it seemed like an eternity before it opened and a single woman stepped in, a bullet proof vest over a lime green cocktail dress, a loaded revolver in hand.

'Is that a man?' whispered a few of the passengers to one another.

'Good evening. Iam Seargant Troy Mandrake of the Aumanii Armed Forces. If your flight attendants would please help us facilitate this transfer it would be much obliged...'

SU7 Shock Troopers, all dressed in civilian clothes, scattered into the plane, teams securing the main deck, others to the four other levels of this massive space liner.

'We won't harm you unless you try to fight. We just need to borrow your plane...' said Mandrake, attempting to calm the nerves of the passengers.

Mandrake levelled his revolver at Tim Stanton. Stanton flinched and chortled 'Please, don't shoot me...I have kids...'

'This is incentive, sir. Please, fetch me the passenger manifest.'

Mandrake, flanked by Private Simm, the black trooper, who was dressed as a priest...he held onto a folding carbine, which he pointed loosely at the cockpit.

'If there are any Space Marshalls on this flight, just give yourself up...we don't want blood here.' said Mandrake, pleadingly. There was silence.

Lt. Strong stepped onto Flight 171, dressed as a Co-Pilot. A few of his troopers followed him to the Cockpit, they entered cautiously...the Co-Pilot was escorted out and promptly taken to the Transport, sobbing.

Slowly, the passengers and crew, aside from the Captain of Flight 171, were transferred to the Aumanii Transport. The Aumanii started loading ammunition, rocket launchers, bullet proof vests and any thing they could bring with them onto the plane.

Lt. Strong sat down in the Co-Pilot's seat and extended a hand out to Captain Halderson. 'Nice to meet you, Captain, Iam Lt. Strong of the Aumanii Army. Sorry for the sudden interruption...but I feel things will go alot more smoothly if you cooperate with us. We don't intend on killing any civilians here.'

Halderson took Strong's hand and shook it firmly. 'I served in the Federal Airforce for 12 years, son. You better keep your word to me that my men and passengers are safe and well cared for...I know there's no choice in this matter for me and mine, so I will prefer to cooperate. I will warn you however, I will try my damndest to prevent you from accomplishing your objectives.'

Lt. Strong nodded his head, 'If I were in your place I'd do the same, sir. But I'll warn you as well, I'm rated to fly one of these planes...so, let's just try to keep things civil, shall we, sir?'

Halderson looked into Strong's cold eyes and nodded sharply.

'Very well. When I give the word, we'll go on like nothing ever happened...it was a technical problem that we fixed ourselves and we are all good. Is that right Mr. Stanton?'

Tim Stanton was back at his station, his dark mustache twitched nervously. 'Y...yes.'

'Outstanding!' exclaimed Lt. Strong, pleased with how things were going so far.

Moments later the Aumanii Transport undocked and jumped back to AuBSD Hydra, which was light years away, in the blink of the eye.

Sky Marshal Günther von Richthofen felt the familiar tingling that accompanied a ship's translation back to normal space from the hyper bands with relish. The naval branch of Conquest Incorporated's Corporate Security Services had only been in existence for a few years now, and the malevolent bulk of the Vae Victus was practically cooling under his feet. He had not spent enough time wearing the uniform to completely acclimate to the sensation every time he made the transition back to normal space.

The newly launched dreadnought was comparatively young, and so was its commander. von Richthofen was barely sixty-three years old (though, thanks to life-prolonging treatments, not visually a day over thirty), and not strictly speaking a distinguished naval officer. Hardly anyone in the CICSS could claim to be, as it had never once fought a naval engagement of any kind. All the same, its personnel were well-drilled and professional, its equipment durable and of the first order.

These facts were clearly in evidence as the Vae Victus and its Judicator-class sister ships drew up into formation and moved to join the assembled fleets. Ten squadrons--a mere eighty ships--was hardly an overwhelming number, especially in light of the massive flotillas already present. But their combined tonnage was over two billion tons, and their slow, deliberate movements indicated that they were brawlers, weighed down with ordinance and sheathed in vast armor plates. As their escort destroyers assumed their proper positions along the flanks and about the sterns of their much larger wards, von Richthofen resumed the conversation he had been having with his subordinates before the translation from hyperspace had momentarily interrupted his train of thought.

“And so, gentlemen. Status?”

The more senior of his subordinates exercised his prerogative to speak first. Vice Admiral Jay Pradesh cleared his throat before responding, covering his mouth briefly with a black-gloved hand. Pradesh served as the Sky Marshal’s second-in-command and was in charge of three of the dreadnought squadrons. “My battlegroup reports full readiness, sir. Missile pods are primed and ready.”

“Thank you, Jay. Eric?”

“Yes, Admiral. We, as well, report full readiness.” Rear Admiral Eric Foner was commanded the Ad Infinitum drone DDs currently providing escort for the capital ships. Actually flying his flag from one of the infinitely less vulnerable Judicators, he seemed slightly upset about the losses his charges were bound to take when combat with the Federal Union began.

“I am most pleased to hear it. Carry on. I must speak with our newfound friends, as well as our employer.”

The holographic images of the two men winked out, and von Richthofen turned to his Flag Captain. “Captain MacMorris—open a channel to the assembled fleets.” The red-haired Irishman motioned to his communications officer to comply.
{Open Transmission}
{TRANSMISSION ENCRYPTION: None}
{FROM: Marshal Günther von Richthofen, CICSS}
{TO: All Concerned}
{SUBJECT: Intentions}

Assembled warriors of Sol and beyond, my greetings. I am Sky Marshal Günther von Richthofen of the Conquest Incorporated Corporate Security Services. The services of my employer have been engaged by the Conglomerate government, and our presence should cause no alarm.

The best of luck to all in this enterprise.
{Close Transmission}

The Sky Marshal clenched his fist, watching as the synthetic materials that composed his airtight grey uniform stretched and flexed. Captain MacMorris waited for his superior to speak, well aware that this odd activity was a sign of reflection. After a moment, the Prussian looked up.

“Captain. Another transmission.” The officer’s Prussian ancestry was clear in his artic blue gaze.

“Of course, sir.” Again, MacMorris issued the order.

{Open Transmission}
{TRANSMISSION ENCRYPTION: None}
{FROM: Marshal Günther von Richthofen, CICSS}
{TO: CO, Aumanii Contingent}
{SUBJECT: A Suggestion, In Order to Maximize Our Relative Strengths}

Honored sir,
My forces are configured for strategic bombardment, at the behest of the Conglomeration. I am a student of history during my scant leisure time, and I deeply respect your nation for its martial prowess. With knowledge of your exploits in mind, I request that we adopt a mutually supporting formation.

Nothing to compromise your freedom of action, I assure you. It would help us both, I think, were my ships three thousand kilometers behind your fleet. Thus, my vessels can engage the TFU at range unimpeded, and your sturdy craft can enjoy the benefits of fire support.

My thanks, and do let me know if you have any concerns.
{Close Transmission}

“Captain, put the fleet three thousand kilometers behind the Aumanii, higher relative to the ecliptic. I think that is certainly far enough away that we might do it without offending anyone.”

“Yes, sir.”

Orders were issued, and the First Expeditionary Force moved to its new position. The Prussian’s eyes rose unbidden to the brass plaque above the flag bridge’s central holotank. The name of his ship was inscribed there.

‘Vae Victus.’ He mused. ‘Woe to the conquered’, indeed.

Meanwhile, at VASCOM


Having arrived late, Prince Darklight of Bryn Shander and New Haven's Imperial Heir, the thirteen year old, Colonel Alaric Newman took their seats.

'I apologize for the lateness of my arrival, Lord General Navarrone. I was detained, war as you surely understand is serious business.' said Alaric, his young voice was a tenor. Navarrone grinned and nodded politely. Darklight didn't bother explaining himself, no one really cared so long as everyone was there.

General Marcus Hunz of the Conglomerate cleared his throat before saying 'Well comrades, now that we're all here, let's get to work.'

Navarrone was leaning back in his chair, he was confident.

'I'm pleased to know that our Aumanii friends have linked up with the Havenic Fleet near Federal territory.' said Hunz in a dull tone.

'Yes, I've despatched three Gorgon Battlespace Dominators, tasked to aid the Havenics. I hope that's enough?' said Navarrone.

Hunz sighed lightly. Navarrone shot a dubious look to his counterpart.

'Proportionately...' mumbled Hunz.

'Proportionately, what?' spat Navarrone.

'The Force is not proportionate to the contributions of others.' said Hunz.

Navarrone was confused. 'I've been busy, how many ships are you people sending?'

Alaric Newman hefted a dataslate from the pocket of his burgundy tunic and read a complete listing of exactly how many ships his people were sending, by class and level of killing power. Navarrone raised his eyebrows at the figures produced by the young man and waved over Fleet General Ituenza. Ituenza leaned down and Sheikh spoke into his ear. Ituenza nodded affirmatively.

'Alright then. We can spare you Six Gorgon Battlespace Dominators and Eight nominal Battlegroups.' said Navarrone matter of factly.

'Finally, the non-committal Aumanii Overlord decides to do some fighting...' grumbled Prince Darklight. Navarrone took the comment in stride.

Marcus Hunz took over the table, upon that time the group discussed various logistical points. Fleet numbers. Troop commitments and most importantly, targets.

'...Tarren Prime.' said Hunz.

'And why?' asked Navarrone, seemingly aloof of the situation.

Alaric scrolled through his dataslate, looking for a piece of information...seemingly, the Vascilians lacked alot of intelligence data.

'According to this, it's their capital world...' said Alaric.

Hunz chuckled, 'Robert Bastidas, gentlemen. We'll cut the head from the snake, destroy their political infrastructure first...my Mercenaries will handle the menial grunt work...'

Navarrone asked 'Wouldn't the capital be very well defend, General Hunz?'

'Yes, it would.'

'And would it not be better to reduce the level of the Federal Armed Forces before attempting such an operation.'

'In most cases, yes. However, you must hear my plan first!' remarked Hunz, laughter breaking through his words.

Everyone awaited Hunz's plan.

'Well, it's pretty simple...I think anyway. Simple is always better, too many operational details tend to clutter up good plans...' Hunz was generally likable, but somewhat longwinded.

'Prince Darklight, your people are fine artisans if I haven't been flawed.'

'Yes.' said Darklight, bleakly.

'Good, good. And my friend Sheikh, I hear your Shock Troopers are the finest in Sol?' continued the rotund Electronian Commander.

'Finest in the Galaxy.' said Navarrone matter-of-factly. The room let out a collective sigh.

'And Colonel, your fleet is renowned for fighting against all odds, true?' fluttered Hunz over his stubby teeth and meaty lips.

'Fight till death dishonours, General.' chirped the Youth.

A wide smile twisted Hunz's face, distorting his rosy cheeks and turning his eyes to grotesque, blue, slits. Hunz detailed a plan that involved using the strengths and weaknesses of the Hellespontos Armada in a vague manner, which involved your typical deception, daring and destruction on a mass scale. Navarrone detailed the current mission that Special Unit 7 was to be sent on moments after the meeting and everyone seemed to be pleased with their roles...

The meeting ended with the men shaking hands and going about their business.

'Good luck and Good hunting.'

Over the big seat of the Admiral's Throne, in the middle of the bridge of the white flagship Nimloth*, the former ShadowPrince, now Supreme Warlord of the Everqueen, Kithail Huan Hyral, waited for the teleport upload to finish. The arched ceiling let the huge windows to show freely a long panoramic view of the outer space, as lesser officers worked as ants to clarify coordinates, track unindentified ships, and keep the normal functions of the ship working.

As soon as the two silouettes appeared over the terminal disks of transport, the tall elf raised from his seat and shouted to the crew present at the main headquarters of an Armada numbering in thousands of ships. "Cónorfen bo Cairpalath!**". The Prince was a towering sample of his race, tall and muscular, although not bulky or cumbersome. As most males of Aelosia, he displayed a slender figure, with his shoulder slowly growing more wide than his waist, with long arms and legs.

His frame was covered in an exquisite full body suit of Wraithbone, worth of an Eldar's Phoenix Lord. Both golden and silver plates were entwined along the breastplate, the helmetless armor covering every inch of the elf's body from the neck to the toes, not leaving a single spot exposed. A long deep blue cape surrounded his shoulders, falling to his ankles, displaying both the blazons of the Hyral sword and the star of Thingol.

Beneath the cape was the mighty sword Aranrúth, that according to the myths had a black blade able to cut through titanium like a hot knife through butter, and beneath the amor one of the most scarred and able bodies of the elven race since the fall of the First Age, veteran of more battles that most humans care to remember. The features of his face were flawless, although, the fine hair falling to the shoulders like a cascade of old bronze, his clear blue eyes always enclosed under an icy gaze, only the lack of emotional content that gave him an eerie look, separating him from the category of handsome.

But today, the Elf Lord, the Lord Protector, on whose decisions depended the lives of millions, was smiling, as he always did when speaking to the Aumanii. The show of respect that he gave to the visitors caused the entire bridge staff to turn and offer a military salute to the Colonel Armaude and his assistants, a nod joined with a martial stance that included a short and precise movement placing their right hand on their breastplates, right above the heart.

"You are not Navarrone", said the Hyral Prince, slowly coming down from the throne's pedestal to take a pair of steps towards the aumanii officer, and displaying a wide, sinister grin. "Too bad the old rough neck didn't come. I hope you are at least half a...How is it?...Badbutt? Badass?, as that one", said the Prince, repeating the martial salute of his subordinates, and then afterwards performed a polite bow, short but functional.

"Give this man his wine", said the elf gesturing to one female assistant, who dissapeared quickly. "Now the formal part. Greetings, Colonel Armaude, I am the Lord Protector of Aelosia, Warmaster of the Hyral House, Prince ArchDuke and Supreme Admiral Kithail Huan Hyral, also Captain of the Flagship VoidStalker Nimloth. Long name, don't you think?", continued the elf without a pause, "For you, I am Kithail, nothing else. Tell me, Colonel Armaude, what is the purpose of this heavily armed and developed expedition of the vascilian armada?".

Almost at the same time, after a carefully performed bow, the female assistant placed a bottle of wine in the hands of the Colonel, an elongated, slim vial of liquid as long as one of Armaude's legs...

* White Tree
** Aelosian command voice meaning "Officer on deck!"

Sky Lord T'san had the Conglomerate fleet to spread out throughout the Vascilian Combined fleet once they had joined up at the rally point. The reasoning was simple enough: providing strong offensive or defensive support in areas that were found to be lacking in regards to the rest of the fleet. However, there was some organization that remained true to the Last Chance task force even after being dispersed into the larger body of warships.

The Misfortune class battleship, Exoneration was somewhere in the middle of the entire combined fleet, as it was now serving as the Joint Command ship for the Vascilian fleet. Normally, it would be at the forefront of any fleet, it was built especially to hammer away at any enemy combatant while staying intact no matter how brutal the fighting. However, it was currently housing important and generally high ranking officers from other nations. It would be highly inappropriate to risk their safety in such a manner. Still though, the massive cannons of the immense ship, being about ten kilometers in length and four in diameter, were charged up and ready to bring a swift and destructive end to any who opposed it.

Market Failure class cruisers numbered ten and were the closest to the Exoneration of all other CDF class vessels, putting them still near the center of the combined fleet. They were much smaller than the Misfortune class ship, only four kilometers long and two wide. They were made with defense more in mind; containing several more shield generators proportionally than any other CDF ship. However they still contained within a large number of anti-capital ship ordnance, missiles, torpedoes, and beam cannons, though their true strength lay in the defense systems they carried, such as the myriad of point-defense systems that could, and would shred most incoming shots before they would even be considered a threat, as well as electronic warfare systems that could effectively cause an entire area of space to vanish from the sensor systems or targeting computers of most other ships.

They also served a crucial role in assuring the survival of the various warheads carried by the Depression class missile cruisers that were of nearly the same dimensions, only their shape was much more spherical than the generally cubical forms of other conglomerate ships. Their job was purely offensive; carrying thousands of high-quality warheads capable of turning moons to burning ash and continents into seas of boiling magma. However, their shields were quite weak and armor thin compared to any other CDF ship, so their position near the defensively capable Market Failures was obvious.

Hostile Takeover class beam cruisers further augmented the Depression class’ abilities, being nothing more than a massive and over-clocked reactor encased in a thick hull and massive Overlord shield generator, and also the massive cannon that ran down the spine of the ship. They were slow, and their use brought about the chance of detonation due to the power involved, but the sheer firepower at their command justified their existence. The Depression and Hostile Takeover class numbered ten grand total, with the rest of the CDF fleet being comprised of the Recession class frigates.

They were nearly a kilometer in diameter, and were evenly distributed throughout the combined fleet, though still well within its radius. This class of ship was geared more towards defense, though its role was not purely defensive. Its armament was extremely powerful relative to the other ships in the CDF fleet, but not as much as it could be due to the insane amount of armor and shield systems installed to keep the somewhat slow ship alive no matter what the situation.

The CDF fleet was a marvel in the eyes of some, and just another fleet in the eyes of others. But regardless of its merits or flaws, T’san was extremely pleased with it, and made no attempt to hide it from the other representatives aboard the joint command ship.

“It is indeed an impressive piece of machinery.” He said without the usual monotone, pointing towards the giant computer spire that collected all the data from the tactical targeting computers previously installed on all Vascilian ships.

Just as he was about to continue, the combined fleet left the dimension allowing faster than light travel, and met with the New Havenic and other Aumanii forces already in the area, till they coalesced into an armada of nearly uncomprehendable proportions.

Again the CDF diffused evenly through the combined fleet, though staying farther within its radius than before, though still spread over a larger area relative to the small size of the combined fleet before.

“We’ll be ready to depart for Tarren Prime once the Bryn Shanderese give us word of their success on the other front through our joint command system.” T’san said as he climbed up a series of steep stairs to a level overlooking the computer station in which RA John Thompson, Colonel Stogryn, and the artificial Lieutenant construct from New Haven were currently conversing. The station itself was built into the center of the metal floor of the area, which was somewhat concave; with walls sloping up sharply as one neared them. Overhead were various catwalks and guard stations that presided over the shielded silver area. The Joint Command room was also quite large, taking up about a half kilometer of space, with the steep walls being divided into layers housing various computer and electronic systems that processed most of the information being displayed at the center station as it was received from the computers aboard all other Vascilian ships.

==

The ever-amiable Hunz was wiping the sweat off his large brow as he rose from the table.

“Well comrades, I’d say we’ve been very productive here.” He said with a bit of a laugh, “However, there is yet more business which I would like to discuss with you.” General Hunz walked towards the door and turned around, being sure that everyone present was within his field of view. He rubbed away some dust that had collected upon the silver epaulettes of his suit, a cloth the color of black that had been tainted by a small amount of white. An ornate menagerie of medals – a data crystal of dark blue encased by ash colored metal – crafted in a surrealist style dominated the left side of his uniform, steaming down from his silver shoulders. He also adjusted his belt, with a buckle matching his medal monochrome mosaic.

He took a few deep breaths, and took down some mental notes before slapping both hands against his rather large stomach; he always needed to prepare in some way for a speech.

“As I am sure the honorable Navarrone is more than aware, the Minister of Defense Holtz is the primary sponsor for the League in the Conglomerate government. In fact it is save to say that without his endorsement I would not be here today. So it goes without saying that he keeps a sharp eye upon the goings on of the League and how it affects or people back home.” He said cheerily. Hunz took another deep breath, and continued without misstep or mispronunciation. He also made sure his Static Sphere was fully operational; jamming the entire area from any form of communication in or out.

“Just as I am sure the Aumanii government keeps good tabs on the happenings of my nation. Now, when either has the problem with the other then those concerns are most assuredly voiced; we’re not children after all. Criticism is generally a good thing and when heeded usually benefits all involved.

“When it is not, however, problems arise. Problems, which become more threatening to cohesion than those that spawned them. If for example, the Conglomerate engages in activity that is potentially harmful to the League as a whole, or just a single member nation, then it is expected that someone will say something. If those words go unnoticed, then more issues develop. Obviously my government does not care for the words you are saying to it, or it would listen and rethink its actions.

“If things truly progress beyond that, relations can be unduly damaged. So Holtz, and by extension myself, believe it is in our best interest to listen to the things the other is saying.” Hunz said with a look of seriousness upon his round face that was not often seen. At this point the two CSF Marines walk up from behind Hunz, and stand at his sides, slightly in front of him. They unholster the black metal cylinder forms of their flamers faster than an eye blink, aiming them at the general direction of the sitting delegates. The nozzle of the weapon was a thick slab of circular metal slightly detached from the rest of the weapon and serrated like the walls of a castle at the ends. Various lights of cobalt hue come to life, while gears begin to rotate across the metal weapons dark industrial form. Soon the nozzle rotates at a blinding speed, with a growing sphere of blue-white light at its center, radiating out extreme blistering heat. The CDF Marines only stared stoically through a tripod optical array of glowing green lenses, standing like grotesque statues of iron men.

“Now,” Hunz said slowly from behind his wall of Marines, “You are obviously wondering what it is I am doing, and why. Well you need now ask either of those questions: I’m about to give you the answer.

“In good times and bad, the Conglomerate has stood beside the League, ready to throw itself in harms way to protect those who protected us during our more formative years. We were there when the nation of Tannelorn remained hidden within their icy south-pole home. We were there when the nation of Pilon attempted to make war against the nation of Auman. And we were there when civil war threatened Auman’s national stability. The point is; we’ve always been there. So for our efforts and unwavering support, some reciprocation is due: The League should support our nation just as we have the League in the past. Therefore, the Conglomerate demands in the strongest possible terms, that the nations of New Haven and Bryn Shander are ejected permanently from the Vascilian League of Mars, and that the nation of Tannelorn is kept on a shorter leash. We also demand that nothing is done against us for our actions here today. If our demands are not met, then our only recourse shall be war.” He said with unfaltering seriousness permeating his now raised voice.

“You have but ten seconds to answer, or you all shall meet a swift, but most assuredly painful end. And bother not calling for help; the room is being jammed.”

The Marines increased the power to their flamers, while Hunz also added more power to his force-field generator; you could never be too careful in a situation like this he thought.

==

All at once chaos broke loose. Suddenly the entire Combined Fleet was jammed by defensive systems aboard the Market Failure class cruisers. Though any using the special targeting and control computers as their primary systems, or even just secondary, would not detect this. Those not using it at all would only be able to register surrounding space as some sort of erratic white noise.

It was during this time that the Depressing class missile cruisers unleashed their payload: translucent azure warheads screaming silently through space at significant fractions of light, at as near point blank range as the ships could have gotten ahead of time without arising suspicion. The Solipsism missiles would detonate in a quite fury, warping space and time into a sphere of warping destruction, lasting only a few brief seconds before disappearing altogether, taking with them the twisted remains of their target, into a realm of infinite nothingness that could never again be traveled to or from.

The Misfortune, Market Failure, and Recession class ships trained their double-barreled Arnounouth cannons at any non-CDF or non CDF-hired ship nearby. The blasts of unholy energy was held back for the longest time by the shield system, forcing them to remain in the nozzles for a few brief moments, before unleashing them on the unsuspecting ships. Slender beams of pulsating indigo light, emanating from the power-cores deep within each turret, lanced through space at unrelenting speed. Made from the amalgamation of soul energy collected by the Ordo Astronomicus, trillions of souls tortured for what to them seemed like infinite millennia, condensed into a screaming core of blue the size of a tree, released to wreak their vengeance, hate, suffering, anger, and endless sorrow upon the unfortunate and unsuspecting. The entire area was subject to certain after affects of the weapon’s use, saturating the area in negative emotion that could penetrate any shield system, though the degree of which was obviously lessened the more powerful the shield system encountered, assaulting any being conscious or otherwise, with the enraged death cries of billions of tortured souls.

The Hostile Takeover class warships joined in on the fury, though targeting only the largest of ships in the combined fleet with their single spinal beam weapon, whose power was far greater than even the overloaded weapon of all four Misfortune Class battleships in existence. However, for all this power came a hefty price, being consumed by the very destruction they unbound, becoming encased in the same blue light of screaming souls, exploding in a tumultuous display of light towards anyone and everyone; friend or foe alike.

All ships were also armed with smaller more conventional torpedoes and missiles in less number than would be found on a ship from another navy, but all the same their power was create, and their trailed through space in a formation that was made of only insanity, burning space behind them. They did their best to evade the Dart class strike craft that swarmed through the entire combined fleet like the blood of some rabid animal, millions of dark needle like craft unleashed a torrent of destruction from their single photon cannons, targeting any retaliatory fire or enemy strike craft while the pilots inside wailed in sick delight from the destruction they wrought.

They did their best to avoid the moving ribbons of morphing light that encompassed every chroma of the spectrum that weaved through space in a seemingly sporadic manner. Outhan beams spawning from the cluster of nigh-transparent obsidian lenses that dotted in small number, all CDF ships. They were controlled by an acolyte of the Ordo Astronomicus, blazing through the tunnels of distorted space and time. Primarily meant for PD purposes, they also doubled as offensive weapons to decimate enemy ships at close range.

This entire event happening shortly after the ordnance and equipment loaded into the other Vascilian ships was remotely detonated by the master control computer aboard the Misfortune, which was now shut off from the control of any commander save for T’san, who was ordering security personnel to detain the officers from Bryn Shander, New Haven, and Auman, with a bit of a smirk upon his dark face, while he also ordered the signal to be given to all supposed allies of the Fedral invasion, and anyone else privy to this plan during its formation.

*Allanean anthem plays in the background*

*President Kazansky appears on screen*

Greetings, Allanea.

Greetings to the Conglomerate.

Greetings to our Aumanii friends.

Even as we speak, our friends in the Conglomerate have struck the first blow against the socialist vermin that is New Haven, and the slavering scum that compose Bryn Shander. They are doing this not out of a rush for profit – honorable though the rush for profit is – but out of a sincere care for the future of Vascilia – indeed, of Mars itself. Let me make this clear to you: Socialism is a cancer. Slavery is a cancer. Hermes is a cancer. It must be obliterated. Any influence of New Haven and Bryn Shander upon the politics of Vascilia in particular and of Mars in general must be ended, and their navies purged, their sailors executed, and their government officials purged like cockroaches.

In the meanwhile, in space near the ElectronX rally point, the final preparations took place.

“USS Nightnigale, do you read me, over? You are clear to fire.”

“I read you loud and clear, firing missile batch.”

The Cruentus-B heavy missile bus turned slowly in space, missiles clanking in the loaders as it set up to fire.

“Fast! Fast! We need to do it fast before they get to activate the Minovsky particles! Fire, you sonofacommunist whore!”

“Yes, Sir. USS Nightingale, preparing to fire at the enemy.”

Within seconds, fourteen of the cruisers unleashed an insane barrage of missiles on the New-Havenite Myrkul battleships, targeting each with four thousand missiles. This would be only one of the prongs of the strategy today.

Let me address our noble allies today. Give no quarter. Have no mercy. Expect none. Let none of them survive. Kill all you can get your hands on. Rarely do I have to call to such violence, today I say this: Kill until your sword rusts from enemy blood. Inflict violence, mayhem, and death. Burn, pillage, loot, slay until their navies are wreckage and their cities are ruins and their homes are graves. Let none survive. To the Chronosians I say especially: Let not Khorne be disappointed.

In the meanwhile, the other 144 Cruentus ships fired two thousand kinetic kill missiles each at the Achilles class cruisers. It had begun

Friends, Freemen, Allaneans! Soldiers, Marines, Sailors, go into battle today, and know you are fighting for both our friends and our opponents. You are fighting to defeat two nations composed of pure, unadulterated evil.

Let none stay your hand.

Let none delay your justice.

And, above all, let none survive!

That is all.

May God bless Allanea.

OOC: It is really late here and I’ve got Work/School, so its short-ish and to the point tonight, more tomorrow.


It would be odd… for them that is, in a battle where ship numbers ranged into the tens of thousands, the Unified Worlds of Siesatia had sent a mere 30 ships, and all of them were currently sitting somewhere between reality and the void, a layer of subspace where there was nothing but infinite nothingness, a tranquil zone where few nations had ever dared to enter… All thirty ships were also the latest generation of Siesatian warships, the oldest being only 8 years since it was launched. This was fleet Delta 9, the Heavy Assault fleet, directed from the USS Terranyte, an Aurora battleship combining the attributes of the infamous Bladerunner battleship series and the Daedra Class assault cruiser.

The bridge of the Terranyte was arranged differently then most centralized style bridges, where everything pivoted around the captain’s chair, all faced forward, towards the massive plasma screen at the end of a long rather than round chamber, each station could be interchanged with another. Also, unlike most traditional bridges, it was buried deep inside the ship rather then in the front or top… Officers and Enlisted alike walked briskly from one station to another, organizing and coordinating the battle group while the current commander of the ship and the battle group, Admiral Syal, went over the status of his fleet…

“Sir, the battle group is in place, we are ready to disengage the SPECTRE 2 at any time.” The Tactical station Lieutenant announced, “The Fortress Shields are ready for deployment at any time, and the Generator ships are in position and ready to fall back to normal space-time, they report the D-Link Batteries are green.”

“Thank you Lieutenant, we’ve only to wait for the signal from our allies and we can strike the appropriate targets… What’s the intelligence report?” Admiral Syal asked,

“Our designated targets have deployed and are advancing, reports are indicating differences in power signatures, designs, and engine trails, which indicates we are facing multiple generations of vessels, looks like they’re throwing everything but the kitchen synthesizer.” The Science engineer said, pulling up a diagram of the formations, which the Admiral studied momentarily,

“We’ll drop out just ahead of them and deploy the fortress shield, then I want to fire a shot from the main cannon at these two destroyers, slice one down the middle, and cut the side open of the next, have all the other ships do the same, maximize the shots…”

“Affirmative captain, the SI units are already working on the trajectories, we’re ready when you are.”

OOC: Ending time, I get 4 hours of sleep, and I’ll pick up where I left off tomorrow afternoon, 6PM Eastern. Once again, sorry.

Some distance away from the sudden melee, a slow and subtle pulse of energy ripples through realspace. Then there is another, and a third, growing faster as the beating of a heart. The stars tremble and cerulean light claws great rents in the fabric of space, momentarily bridging the distance between the real universe and that vascular network which is only partly real. The tears spread and multiple, vomitting forth dozens, even hundreds of sleek Eldar craft: cruisers bristling with potent batteries of night lances, carriers pregnant with the swarms of lesser attack vessels that already begin issuing forth.

The largest of the fleet, a bladed battleship almost twice the size of the lesser cruisers, races forward towards the brawl. It bears the gauntleted fist and thorned heart of the Kabal Man'men, and the name Razor's Kiss. Aboard its bridge chaos reigns. Eldar officers shout orders and replies to one another, but none approach the skull dais of the Archon-Incubus.

Hail the Conglomerate ships! Get a data feed from them. Targeting data, escape routes, formations, whatever you can get.

Aye, lord. The communications officer broadcasts openly, caring not who overhears the proclamation of whom the Dark Kin side with.


From: Archon-Incubus Kher Rath le'Sheya, Razor's Kiss
Broadcast, Mon-Keigh Frequencies

We are come, dear allies. Some of you have strayed from our favor. Others have risen as stars in the night. We have come to punish the Mon-Keigh, Those Who Must Be Destroyed. We are no longer amused by the League's antics, less so by the false intentions of our would-be puppets in the hidden Order.

And so we are come, dear allies. Pray we kill swiftly. Skill and blood to you, Electronese warriors.


The last grasping wisps of azure light ripple and are torn asunder by the growing blackness of the Razor's Kiss' night shield. Across the fleet, the other Dark Eldar ships activate their night shields as well, so the fleet seems to disappear into a distortion in the sky.

"Admiral, Communications has reported that they have received the 'go' code." As if to illustrate the point, the tactical holotank practically lit up with a flare as the Conglomerate force fired the first shots of the battle...at their former comrades.

Raevsky smiled. "Select the nearest Combined Imperial Fleet vessel, designate it as a priority target for the entire task force, and hammer it to scrap."

The deck vibrated underneath him as Terrible's guns vomited forth energy and missiles, followed half a second later by the rest of the task force. The target of their wrath was a single CIF screening unit, and the two battlecruisers and six heavy cruisers engaging it tossed 132 missiles at it, which, although possessing of excellent acceleration capability, lagged far behind the bolts of plasma streaking at lightspeed from the energy batteries of all eight warships toward the target.

"Transmit IFF identifiers to the command units of all friendly forces on tightbeams, I want to make sure we aren't accidentaly hit by our own side."

++++

OOC: CI, could you check TGs?

The Sky Marshal was hunched in his command chair, staring intently at the light codes that sparkled in the holotank in front of him, denoting thousands of ships. Around him, the bridge crew moved about, pursuing their various tasks and duties, ignorant of the shattering violence that was to come.

Suddenly, a sequence of numbers scrawled across the bottom of the tactical display.

"Sir, we're recieving--" The shouted report was cut off by an abrupt chop from von Richthofen.

"Thank you, Captain. Signal action stations throughout the fleet. Target the Aumanii and deploy the missile pods, if you please. Inform Admirals Pradesh and Foner that weapons are not free."

"The Aumanii? But--" Surprise was quickly strangled by deeply ingrained discipline. To his credit, the Flag Captain hesitated only fractionally before relaying the orders and leaping to action.

As klaxxons rang throughout the Brobdingnag bulks of the Conquestian fleet, each man-of-war shed shoals of missile pods. The self-contained launchers were stuffed with strategic munitions, and were far, far closer to their target than they needed to be.

Some few seconds after the onslaught began, communications lasers sprayed across the craft of Auman.

Hail, friends.

With the utmost respect, I must regretfully demand your surrender. The Conglomerate wishes you spared, and feels nothing but affection for its long-time friends in Auman, but will not tolerate your interference at this critical juncture.

Lower your shields, or you will be destroyed.

Deactivate all fire control systems and power down all weapons, or you will be destroyed.

Do not attempt to reorient your fleet or manuever in any way, or you will be destroyed.

Do not launch smallcraft of any kind, or you will be destoyed.

Do not attempt to flee, or you will be destoyed.

The CICSS hereby takes responsibility for your protection, and urges you to note the direction of the prevailing winds. The Vascillian League will be the stronger for the changes made today. It would be foolish--and dangerous--to believe otherwise, or to act on that belief.

"So, the plot thickens," said Caractor as he followed sensor feed from the Martian sub-system, set there in times long past, to warn them of the time when the creature the undead had felt within the planet's bowels would have awakened. The time had not come, or at least this creature had not showed itself. Whichever was the truth, it was of little consequence. Now, even it would be insignificant in front of the might of the Ashen Empire.

With great effort he managed to make an expression which resembled a grin beneath the helmet of his pitch black armor.

"It seems that the predictions were correct," he spoke out once more as he watched the monitors and witnessed the situation deteriorating, "The alliance crumbles, and no one shall know of its existence. It was weak."

He turned his face towards one of the several Dusk Elders who hovered beside him. He did not trust the living Dusk Elders, and thus he did not use them. Indeed, he prefers them dead, like all his pawns.

"Send forth a message to Eldregate and to the Trismegistus. Tell them of this newest occurrence. It may be in our best interest to act upon this."

The Dusk Elder nodded and quietly disappeared into the darkness.

Then he looked upon another of the Dusk Elders.

"Prepare the fleet. Once the time comes... There are many to be killed."

The second Dusk Elder acted exactly as the first one.

"The rest of you may leave," he said, making a sloppy gesture with his hand as he turned towards his seat.

This may well become the single most greatest war in the history of the Ashen Empire... There are many to be killed. The Ashen Empire shall grow into immense proportions... Yes. It shall.

As he sat down, an idea came forth from the darkest pits of his tormented mind. He turned his gaze towards the remaining Dusk Elders who were still in the process of leaving the command center of the station.

He pointed at the one who was leaving last.

"You," he uttered, and the Dusk Elder turned. "I need you to stay for something."

The Dusk Elder hovered towards him as Caractor typed something on a datapad and gave it to the ethereal mage.

"This is what I require of you..."

The Dusk Elder nodded.

"Go. Do this. Do not return without the information.

The Dusk Elder nodded again and hovered out of the green lighted room into the dark corridors, disappearing quickly from sight.

[i]If all goes as planned...

Betrayal....It tainted every action here in the engagement, from the words of the Allaneans to the actions of all the other parties. Such tumult and such bloodshed revolving around Mars reminded Achaeus for one beautiful fleeting moment of the Great Heresy, when Horus had came so close to the absolute defeat of the false Emperor.

Such things were myths within myths, deeper than the deepest history, to the modern Chronosian Man, but he felt it none the less, the thrill of being a part of the collossal undertaking. History was being made here. And the Imperium would be a part of it.

Below deck, countless slaves worked under the cruel sight of overseers, whips licking flesh. Death was the punishment for insubordination, their skulls to join the countless that lined the ship, these great edifices in the name of blood, war and rage. Metre thick plates shook with barely-contained fury as the guns began their methodical pounding, shells as large as vehicles and buildings hurtling forth from the great gun-decks of the Warmaster's fleet. Runes burned upon the hull in dark reverie, banners were unfurled in mockery of all life, scarred with sigils declaring the allegience of the fleet to the Blood God.

Lance batteries sent tongues of energy licking through the void, the full destructive might of the fleet sent against those designated as the enemy by those who had lured the Chronosians to this moment with promises of bloodshed and glory. Mars was the sphere of the War God, a world of endless bloodshed, a fitting bastion for those Legions of the Blood. There was no better place, nor cause, for which this tumult could be joined.

The Galaxy would burn...

Achaeus snapped himself from his reverie, feeling the dull throb of bloodlust within his skull. Unlike the majority of his brethern, he had not been gifted with cortical implants, rather he had been chosen to lead the Terminators of First Company, a glorious bastion of his own anger within his mighty Terminator plate. He fed himself with his own dark urge, his own sanguine and choleric humors forcing to the fore, blood and skulls dominated his desire for conquest, a field of bleached bone more pleasing than all the easy victories with populations in compliance.

"Maintain fire at the enemy. Send word to the Allaneans and our other allies. The Imperium answers the call of war with extreme prejudice." His face split in a grin, ferally white teeth gleaming in the crimson light of the bridge. "Will they answer alongside us?"

The roar of the guns still echoed, shaking the ship with the blessed fire of their discharge. Already gun crews were scrambling to replace the fired munitions while the other weapons crackled in searing heat, or had yet to be fired at all. It would only be a matter of time before the full force of the Imperial Navy was brought to bear, and Achaeus and Brensis both yearned for the moment when they would take their troops forth to the enemy ships and sow the will of Khorne within their halls, cleaving skulls and spilling blood in His service.

Mars

Even as the fleets coil about each other, writhing in an inevitably brief combat at the edge of Fedral space, those who had found it in their interest to discuss the issues presented with the more...approachable portion of the League, move as had been arranged.

The His Glorious Light glides out of it's parking orbit, a whale among the minnows of it's escorting Gladius frigates, rumbling serenely into a path that would have it intercepting Mathilde's orbit within minutes.
The Light would not be moving alone, the Aelosian-gifted battleship Lightbringer moving toward Scorpio, even as the Strike Cruisers The Coming Dawn and Mereo's Fist moved toward Ganymede.
The cruisers massed far less in comparison to their escorts than the Light, but were titanic vessels never the less, the Imperium's reliance on hulking, reliable craft more than enough to guarantee them reaching bombardment range.
And bombardment it would be, the orbital fortresses the Hermes powers had constructed were far too dangerous in the hands of heretical, unstable regimes, so they must be removed from the hands of those powers, the heretics within torn out root and branch.
Capturing them would of course be ideal, but the Paragons recognised the danger to the Martian billions with such weapons overhead, a clear acceptance of it being preferable to destroy the "moons" rather than leave them in hostile hands.
Thus, the three cyclonic warheads which had come with the Light what seemed so long ago had been dispersed through the little flotilla.
The last ship, the Strike Cruiser Blade of the Sun peeled off with it's escorting frigates swirling protectively around it as the larger ship arrowed towards Scorpio in the Lightbringer's wake.

The ships were heavily loaded, packed with men and equipment, bays full of fully loaded Thunderhawks, thousands of the superlative soldiers the Adeptus Astartes moulded the fragile clay of Man into, the teleport bays filled with squad upon squad, a Legion in miniature.

Falco, immured in the massive, mobile-shrine of tactical dreadnought armour watches the dull red gylphs in the bottom of his H.U.D., the numbers dropping as the Astartes' vessels closed in on their targets.
As the numbers fell even further, and shifted to green, the Paragons fell to one knee, thousands of Marines making the same fluid movement as each Company Chaplain conducted the final pre-battle blessing.
As Abbadis moved up to the kneeling Master-Captain, Falco rose out of his crouch, the vast bulk of his armour making the movement stately of necessity.
He laid a hand on the Chaplain's shoulderpad, the other man looking back with a choked-off snarl, keyed up and unwilling to hear whatever remonstrance he expected now.
"Peace, Abbadis. For final, and eternal, peace."
The Chaplain stiffens, then his shoulders relax with a little whir of servo-mechanisms.
"Yes. For Peace."
As the Chaplain strides off, Falco lifts the thunder-hammer that had come with his armour, the lightning-bolt on it's head silvery-sharp against the brass of it's surround.
Raising the hammer high and opening his command vox-link, Falco smiles proudly at the instant hush.
Discipline and honour. The Astartes' greatest virtues.
"Men! Today is the day of days! Today marks the resumption of our Great Crusade and our return to striking at those who would drag Mankind down! For the Emperor and our Primarch! My brothers, to battle!"
The thunder-hammer snaps down as a cheer bells from thousands of throats, and the teleport pads are cleared...for the brief moment it takes the next squads to step forward.

Almost as soon as word of these things which were taking place within the home system of the Ashen Empire reached the ears of Etimmu, Trismegistus and the ever growing fleet which accompanied it faded away from this plane of existence and entered the Underworld, in which they took a course towards a pre-defined location - where exactly leaving the Underworld from this position would take them within the material world shall remain undisclosed.

There they would remain until receiving further instructions, further information from Caractor or his subordinates.

Etimmu stood in the center of the bridge of the Trismegistus, gazing upon the monitors which showed visual readings on the Underworld. He could see the dim lights here and there - some very strong. Lights which acted like beacons for the dead and lead to locations within the realm of the living. The stronger the light, the stronger the presence of the Ashen Empire. The dimmer... The greater the chance of it having been created by the living themselves - and as such, deserving of the attention of those who march within the realms of the dead.

To him, it was one of the most magnificent sights he could witness in his wretched state. He was moderately content with the very idea of having to wait within this place and simply gaze upon its beauty, especially since the locals did not dare to come even close to this particular fleet.

And so, they waited.

All would be well.

"Drones have reported back, sir. The fighting has begun," the comm officer announced across the deck. "Conquest has taken up pin position on the Auman and Conglomerate has accomplished surprise."

The flag looked to the red uniform containing Admiral Sharifi, which leaned warped and stretched over the holotank, one leg uncomfortably propped up against the side. "Orders, sir?"

"Prepare to enter hyperspace, Condition Othroughout the fleet. I'd like to exit above the Chronosian topside, send word to the Conglomerate first."

"Aye, sir."

A single drone barreled out the stern of the Merryweather, shooting into hyper and coming out amidst the seething chaos of the battle. After a quick glance of scanners it quickly identified the Conglomerate flagship and sent out a messaging laser in code:

Att. T'san

TiberCorp forces have found a tactical entrance. Entering and opening above Chronosian topside. ETA 12 seconds.

Over.

With that the exiled TiberCorp "Escort" fleet entered Hyperspace, soon to exit it and enter the battle.

[OOC: I like to give fleet rosters just so everyone's clear on what I've got.

3 Heavy Squadrons, each containing:
-6 Cyclone Class Standard Dreadnoughts
-3 Hellfire Class Support Dreadnoughts (long-range missiles, fires almost three-times the payload of a standard dreadnought per round)
-1 Typhoon Class Carrier

4 Cruiser Squadrons, each containing:
-10 Battle Cruisers of varying types and ages

1 Strike Squadron, containing:
-10 Bedouin Class Strike Cruisers (fast moving, jump-drive using pocket-dreadnoughts)

Standard Compliments of Destroyers and Light Cruisers

All of this basically stolen from Liberated New Hope shipyards during the Exile. Much fun to be had, gentlemen]

As Etimmu was waiting within the Underworld, things were happening within the Solar system. A great number of the Ashen Empire's space legions were being relocated in secrecy from their space installations to Ermor itself through the dark plane which is known as the Underworld to its inhabitants and by those who know of its existence, to gather them with the other, much later created elements of the Ashen Empire's ground-based forces.

It was as though beneath the veil of darkness which engulfs the continents of the Ashen Empire's home... Something was brewing.

As though Ermor itself was being used as a staging ground of some kind.

'Fine.' Said Navarrone, flatly. Rage boiled behind his eyes as he ran through the scenario in his head.

'Prince Darklight, Prince Newman, take leave. Go home, you have a war to fight. Good hunting, men.'

Darklight snarled, 'Outrage!'

'Just go.'

The Conglomerate Marines turned their flamers on Darklight and Alaric, preparing to incinerate them. Navarrone activated his own personal forcefield, sprung to his feet and drew his revolver on Hunz.

'They go, unmolested.' snapped Navarrone, pulling the hammer of his revolver back harshly.

Hunz laughed heartily 'Very well, let them go.'

'Good luck men.' said Navarrone, his emotions nearly besting him. Navarrone's eyes were nearly welling up, tears of rage forming in his eyes.

Alaric looked back at Navarrone, stepping up from his seat. 'I understand completely, Sheikh. I don't believe in this choice, but I see that you are...' Alaric stopped speaking and simply left.

'Fucking Mortal pieces of shit...' growled Darklight, slamming his fist on the desk. 'I can kill all of your with but a word, scoundrels!'

'Stop it. Just go.' pleaded Navarrone.

Darklight felt completely betrayed. 'I thought you were made of sterner stuff, Navarrone. You've failed me and the King.'

The Shanderese Prince glared at Hunz for a moment and joined Alaric Newman outside.

Hunz was laughing the entire time, said 'Good, excellent! You are redeemed, Navarrone! Praise be, praise be...'

'You're a god damned maniac, Hunz. What is the point of this madness?!' shouted Navarrone.

'They were plotting to betray you, Lord General!'

Navarrone's expression twisted with revulsion. 'You killed Vascilia...to save it?'

'We purged it from evil!' exclaimed Hunz.

Navarrone dropped his revolver on the table with a heavy clump.

'Get out.'

Admiral Vlastkol was stunned by the recent developments. He was getting reports from the battle site, and was completely dumbfounded. What the hell...? He glanced over at his desk and saw the unopened envelope that came with the orders. Oh... He reached over and opened the letter, reading the secret orders, and grunting at the end. So this is what it feels like....

The Grand Imperial Admiral looked over the data once more, and got on the communications channels to the rest of the Dersconi Fleet around Mars. Two simple words, but they were important. Something didn't quite seem right.....

Stay Put.

A small Coredian craft watches the scene from afar. It was a survey ship, formerly tasked to view the destruction of TFU by Martian hands. But now...

"Quite a brawl it's turning out to be, eh, Whitmar?" A member of the crew grinned.

"Oh, yes. We might even make lots of money if we were to sell this as a feature-length Holovid with commentary and everything!" Whitmar replied.

"Greedy as ever." His unnamed associate muttered. "Well, keep the cameras and sensors rolling. Everything needs to be sent to the Council!"

"Right, right..." Whitmar said.

The survey ship continues to collect all the data and mindblowing visuals it could manage. At the first sign of danger, however, it would disappear quickly.

(Rally Point)

"Sir, jamming and FTLi disruptions detected! No enemy ships on sc... We got incoming fire!"

"Return fire!" Admiral Watterson ordered.

"Shields are holding firm, capacitors at 5% and rising at .5% per second! Shield failure in one minute at the current volley of fire."

"Our ships are starting to engage emergency hyperspace! Panic has set in!"

"I guess thats it then. Get us out of here! Emergency hyperspace!"

An officer broke a glass pane and pulled the EMERGENCY HYPERSPACE release. Every ship tied to the flagship began transmitting a carrier signal via its particle entanglement communications system, reaching the gate system back home. The Asherton gate locked onto each ship through the interference and began pulling each one out in the blink of an eye. The fleet began to remerge back at Asherton, but some ships were scattered coming back through and emerged outside of the hyperspace window. Some ships failed to show back up in the system, but radioed back from neighboring star systems. Others weren't so lucky. All in all, the fleet took heavy losses in the attack, but it was back home... scattered, bruised, and worse for wear.

Total losses so far:

2 CA
3 CL
15 DD
20 FF
10 OS

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

(2 Pallas)

In the cargo holds, the Electronian ordinance detonated violently, blowing off the outer layer of rock and exposing the containment shielding beneath. Ever since the Battle of Orion, New Havenic asteroidal ammunition bunkers had been rigged like the ammunition storage compartment of an old modern tech tank: If the ammunition cooks off, the main force of the explosion is vented outwards.

"Containment fields holding but we've lost all of the major cargo bays! The surrounding space is filled with a dense cloud of dust and meteors! Fracture reported in ammunition bunker alpha for the topside Mjolnirs!"

"Damn the Electronians! We told them not to fucking store their shit armed! I want the man who allowed them to store armed weapons to be executed! Bring shields to full power and spin the weapons up to full power!"

"Vascilian ships attempting to break out here, and here," the captain of the Kiss mews softly, gesturing with a slender finger to the holographical display projected onto the bridge's viewport. "If the mercenaries falter, I expect the Vascilians will succeed in breaking free, Lord."

"Bring the fleet around to harass the Island States ships from range. The mercenaries can take the brunt of the damage. The fewer of them who survive, the fewer there are to pay."

The captain nods and turns towards the little knot of officers standing nearby, already barking out orders to lay in the new course.

...

The Dark Eldar fleet dives like a spear towards the brutal fighting, the massive night lance batteries of the Kiss and other capitol ships opening up on the Vascilian forces. The beams of darkness seem to coalesce out of the shimmering black of the Dark Eldar night fields, reaching out to connect the two fleets with brutal power.

“Here go the missiles…”

The Allanean sailors sighed in disappointment as the missiles crashed pointlessly against the shields of the large craft – and then many still screamed as destroyers and frigates were torn apart by the munitions.

But it was obvious they now needed a new plan.

“Okay, guys. Fire three thousand missiles from each of the Cruentus craft. That’s going to leave them with half their intermediate missile payload, but I don’t care. Fire that at the lightest ships of their fleet – that’s going to be about 580,000 missiles if you can believe that – fire it at the destroyers and frigates. Also tell them to touch off all their ultraultraheavy missiles – three hundred each , that’s 5,800 – at the Mirkul. Yes I know they’ll be empty. It’s the only thing we have left. Fire. For Mother Liberty.”

Mars Asteroid Belt

The Yvresse fleet had changed a lot since last it fought in Sol. The classes had been radically overhauled, and rebuilt, everyone of them was not only a new class in and of itself but was larger than the standard classes design they where based on. This extra size was pushed into power generation and weapons systems. All in all they where a very different design philosophy behind them. They where the first of the new Yvresse theory of Naval combat, still as they emerged from the web, the small, by sol’s standards fleet was an impressive sight for the few seconds they could actually be made out.

One thing had not changed, the Holo-fields sprang into life the moment they began to move, and by the time the vessels exited the web they had gained enough speed for the scattering effect to begin to form. The Holo-Fields where a complex series of sensor jamming technology, that gained in effectiveness the faster a vessel moved. The effect extended into the visual spectrum, as over a wide are the image of the vessel was projected multiple times over lapping each other, causing the mind to view the area around the vessels as little more than a random assortment of colour, and shape. It was quite sickening to witness.

If one was able to view the vessels without the Holo-fields another aspect of the Yvresse fleet could have been made out, the Asteroid’s of the Martian belt did not concern the pilots of the many vessels being spat out of the web. They piloted their vessels at breakneck speed, gathering momentum as time passed, and only pulling away from an asteroid at the last moment, perfectly timing their moves to skim the surface. The Yvresse Pilots in complete control, and seemingly enjoying the risk, confident in their skills.

All this through is really unimportant as this could not be seen through the Holo-Fields. Emerging so quickly from the Web and moving to the target fleet might have in other circumstances left them desperately scanning the hostiles and attributing targets, but this was unneeded. The Yvresse maintained a large facility within the Belt, that as a matter of course scanned most vessels entering the area and logged their movements, and it was not exactly hard to track a fleet of some 1000+ vessels. As the fleet, (Or more exactly fleets) emerged the vessels where sent the most up-to-date such scan and target data. For the opening stages of the coming engagement fleet command was an Asteroid near a Webgate commanded by an aging Admiral.

The large facility itself was ready for battle, and launching escorts, fighters and bomber’s by the dozen, and the command vessels of the various elements joined this process, filing the space around them with a screen of smaller faster fighters. Roughly half of these craft where designated ‘capital ship killers’ and loaded out appropriately, the rest would act as escorts and cover for the sting.

The range between the two fleets began to close, and now the next obvious modification to the Yvresse naval assets would soon become apparent, as the weapon systems found their targets and readied to fire. The capital ships moving to an attack speed any solar or extra solar state would be proud of, they also readied to fire, at ranges few could comprehend even in the depths of space. The truly terrifying thing was, they expected to hit and do damage well outside almost any other states effective engagement window, and they expected to remain outside of that window.

OOC

Because war posts can get long on nice description and miss vital stats, here comes the dull bit.
Nightbane, my fleet emerging is of Capital ships some Three Hundred and ninety vessels in size of various classes. (Split into sub groups of thirty on a 1-4-10-15 formula. That is one Group command vessels the largest in size, class name to come shortly I have to pull up the details. Four smaller sub group command vessels a class down. 10 Mid-size vessels, the basic ship killers. 15 Escorts/Picket ships there to provide covering and support to the larger vessels. Anti-Fighter screens anti-Missile coverage, and in the end whatever is left over to support the larger vessels. Fighters well no firm numbers for you yet they are still deploying. As stated half are loaded for Ship killing duties, that is loaded with short-range Void Missiles, that jump between the Warp and the material world. The aim is they bypass hulls, and explode inside ships, the downside is sometimes they fail in this and impact the hull directly or miss the target completely. As an estimate I’d say in the usual combat scenario 50% would smash into Hulls and shields as per-normal 25% miss the target completely 25% succeed. This is only counting those missiles not intercepted en-route. However it should be noted interception is harder due to the fact half the time they are not present, and as noted they are short range giving less time to plot the counter measure’s.

Of those fighters armed thus they can each carry two such missiles on a run before returning for reloads.) More OOC info coming in later posts. If you have any questions ask and I shall attempt to provide answers.

Backup

FROM : Fido, Augmented Fleetmind
TO: ELECTRON
SUBJ: CONTRACT FULFILLED
MODE: UNICODE
CRYPTO: QUANTUM ENCODED 16,777,216 BIT KEY

As requested, the Augmented fleet is moving in its entirety to cover the planets in question. Payment has been recieved and authorized.

******

In the sky of each of the three Electronian planets, the blue-white glare of wormhole mouths lit up the sky. Ships poured into low orbit: everything from drones barely a meter wide, cheap and plentiful as dirt, to the three massively technological five-kilometer command ships.

The glow from their engines was enough to cast a pale moonlight over the planets below. Then, after ten minutes of careful positioning, they were dark again.

Waiting until they were needed.

"Sir! New Havenic screening units are coming about--they're engaging Admiral Foner's drones." The Vae Victus's captain spoke loudly and clearly, but without a trace of panic.

Looking down into the plot depicting the unfolding ambush, von Richthofen saw why. As thousands of ships fought for their very survival, his unmanned screening units were being attacked by ships less than two-thirds their mass. His wry smile faded as a pair of the light codes denoting his many escorts winked out. Small indeed, but these New Havenic craft were capable.

They were not, however, built for combat of the scope and scale of the Raumreich, as his ships were. He peered intently into the tank as Admiral Foner went about his bloody work unbidden.

The Ad Infinitum-class drone destroyer was not particularly fast, nor was it outstandingly maneuverable. It had sacrificed those traits for the dual delight of weaponry and armor. This was clearly evident as they began to belch their small point defense sub-units and attack drones. Not being very large, they could only hold so many of the deadly craft, but what they could carry was entirely sufficient. Point defense cannons on engines, essentially, the smaller craft dove about in a seemingly random and yet, in truth, masterfully orchestrated dance. The Drone Support Craft flitted forward, their larger shapes moving with clearer purpose. Twenty meters long, their forms protected their deadly cargoes: two three-GT bombs each, borne swiftly at their targets.

Each of the two-hundred and forty destroyers launched four DSC, making for a total of just less than a thousand deadly, unfeeling assailants that howled towards the New Havenic line. Each destroyer acted in support of the combined assault, firing their three medium grasers at their opposing counterparts.

The main battle-line, for the most part, remained aloof from the fighting. Perhaps, confident in their armored mass, disdainful of the smaller contest unfolding before them. Taking only the occasional potshot with their standard ship-to-ship missiles, force beams and grasers, they seemed to conserve their energy.

Another three destroyers were consumed in death and flame, feeling neither. Hits spalled across the larger units, but they shrugged them off, unflinching.

The Sky Marshal knew what for. "Missile pods are free, but inform the captains that they are allowed to expend only ten percent of their munitions. Admiral Pradesh is to fire against the enemy's escorts, while we will engage their larger units."

"At once, sir."

At last, the dreadnoughts spoke. Salvoing only a small portion of their assigned complement at short range, the lead four squadrons of ships fired just short of 6,700 five-gigaton warheads into the face of the Kusanagis, and then added their internal tubes for an additional 2,944.

Much worse was in store for the enemy ships of greater note, however, as another ten thousand missiles flew forward, closely followed by another 4,400 from the internal racks. To this the Conquestians added the weight of their TIR cannons--great turreted constructions that enjoyed 75% of the range and firepower of a spinal mount, but combined it with the utility of a turret. The Vae Victus and her sisters let rip with their two bow cannons, and begun coming about ponderously to present their broadsides. As the fleet had originally been oriented to bracket the Aumanii, it was necessary to reorient for maximum devastation.

The Furies had not yet shown themselves entire.

Message transmitted to all nations in an open channel:

The Balrogga Empire will not get involved with the fighting. We will instead, dispatch a fleet of transports and use them to evacuate any crews of damaged ships and to engage in Search and Rescue missions. We will collect the crews of any nation involved and transport the rescued sentient beings to a holding area. We will not bring the ships along, just the sentient beings within. We also have the capability to hold any AI sentient beings. The rescued will be returned to their homeworlds in the same condition they were found. Each nation is welcome to send in their own medical personal if they so wish.

The Transports will use our Dimensional Drives to enter Real Space on the side of the stricken vessel away from opposing fire if possible. They will take the crew aboard, and then deliver them to the safe area.

I will do this same thing for any worlds invaded. The civilians must not be made to suffer any more than they are.

If any of my transports are fired upon, all appropriate actions will be taken.




OOC:

I trust everyone here to post the arrival of my transports to rescue civilians and crews. The ships are just normal freighters and other converted ships. No military vessels are being used for this operation.

I do have some ships holding position nearby in case someone shoots at my transports.

The field Admiral viewed the stream of reports with a certain taint of disdain. "Are you sure?" Velya asked curiously.

"Yes commander, the task force did not achieve the desired element of surprise as previously plotted. Destruction of all Vascillian forces within the provided time frame seems remote." Captain Tolor turned and headed down to the operations pit. Though not engaged within the battle herself the Judicator was still on the "fringe" of the countless thermonuclear explosions detonating in the pristine void.

"Notice two dilemmas captain. On one hand we cannot simply retire from the field of battle on the danger of upsetting our more honour bound allies. Secondly, we cannot risk bringing in the fleet unless it is destroyed or heavily damaged by the enemy. Setting back our expansion into the Galaxy for some months. What do you propose?"

Tolor glanced towards the battle statistics now streaming up the holographic displays. So far the battle and the result was inconclusive. "We should move to extreme ranges and begin a suppressive barrage towards enemy forces. Disable the assisting targeting computers and our gunners are unlikely to strike a target, yet we will still maintain a visible presence of support for our allies."

"Very good captain. And what of the task force?"

"We should order them to fall back to Gamma Pegasi and await further instructions. Rebel activity can be used to justify the fleet distribution if it is so questioned."

"Perfect captain. Relay the orders to the Vindicator at once and dispatch the assembled battle statistics of alien ships, weapons and fleet insignias to high command. We have what we wanted here." Tolor began issuing the order packet immediately. The Empire, as far as the Navy was concerned would do nothing in this conflict...

***Asteroid belt***

The idea that even Yvressi vessels moving out of a webgate in the great numbers that they were would go unnoticed by the silent eyes and ears of the Tannelornian defense network was a false one.

The sheer power required to open the fleet scale gate as well as the vessels slipping out of it activating their holo fields registered as tiny trickles in the DEM sensor nets that criss crossed the asteroid field, though admittedly not as densely packed as in the core of the grahfsberg federation.

So the tiny automated watch stations reported everything they saw to high command, Eldar holo fields were not as effective against tannelornian sensors and targetting systems, thanks to the experience gained in both hellespontos wars as well as through researching captured examples of the enemy technology. The enemy did not move wholly unseen.

The little sensor bouy's watched and waited for any more information on what was to come.

Mars Asteroid Belt.

With most of the smaller craft now launched they quickly formed into attack groups and raced ahead of the main fleet, aboard the Flagship that housed the soul of the Former Farseer Telgorthrind the captain of that ship was busy, in approximately fifteen minutes fleet command would be transferred to his vessel, the Fury of the defiant Seer and he had much work to do. His ship would form the centre of the plan, aboard was not only the longest serving ‘admiral’ of the Yvresse fleet but Farseer Darvins, who was deep in contact with the vessels infinity circuit.

Is all in readiness, are you sure of this plan my old friend? It might be viewed by many as strange that Darvin’s would listen to the advice of the dead, but not the Kionash, even if Telgorthrind had not been one of the more honoured dead, he had been the High Farseer. It was natural for the current council to take direction from him. Yes. The fact our cousins join this fight elsewhere makes the perfect cover for our little tale. Remember we must preserve this fleet, it’s vessels have more vital fights to wage, more important foes to slay. We must therefore spin a web of illusion around our foes. We do not need to slay them all merely keep them here and away from the battles of the warriors of the Cresistauead. For this we shall spin a tale around them to keep them here in fear for their lives.

As it was ordered therefore, a small wing of the fighters began to separate from the main group, at first it might appear merely down to the usual problems of flight within an asteroid belt, but eventually it would register that they where a separate force. This was mirrored in the larger advancing fleet… one element of the Khaines wing of the Fleet separated from the main host, again at first seemingly accidentally but over time being obvious as deliberate.

Onboard this separated sub-fleet where gathered many Aspect warriors, Dire Avenger’s, Scorpions and Banshees. All of them where grumbling to each other about the changes they had been ordered to make. Dire Avenger’s had swoped their usual Shurikan rifles for Splinter-guns, for example, all of them had been forced to add spikes to their armour, and to paint it black, they really felt ridiculous and where unhappy at the other modifications, old seeming blood stains decorated their armour, the occasional bone could be seen poking from ammo packs. In the end they looked, like their fallen cousins, this was deliberate.

Above them all stood one Keigh who seemed unconcerned by the disguise, in many ways he enjoyed it, he was dressed as a high ranking Dark Eldar, in his hand he played with a knife across his flesh almost lovingly. He was Badb’s right hand, and today he was going to let loose some of his rage, these Mon-Keigh had caused Badb Trill-Gorath an uncomfortable night, or two. Had caused her extra headaches, and this was clearly unacceptable to him. He had promised himself a day like today, and while the leader of this barbaric peoples may not be present in the enemy fleet he could still unleash a little of his rage upon them.

As they advanced the Yvresse fleet under the cover of the Holo-Fields, began to drop off smaller packages, mines where being laid at a set point, from almost all the Yvresse vessels including the Fighters and bombers that had raced on ahead, for now these Mines where inactive floating debris, awaiting only the signal to go active.

At last the Fleet passed into the Orange zone, the area of effective engagement range for the fleet. It would soon begin.

OOC Boring bits, lots and lots of mines, and say oh Seven hundred Fighter craft all told.

When the Rioters had been silenced upon a sword of their own forging, the pardoner fleet returned to the Red planet, caressed by the lithe strands of energy dominated by the surreal chroma of morphing blue hues as they left a realm of arcane impossibility into reality.

Some ships suffered fearsome scares that cut deep into their ancient hulls, others limped on the legs of crippled engines, while others still never returned home. However, by and large the flotilla of ships was still an intact entity, with gruesome gashes and grotesque lacerations inhabiting certain regions of its militarized body.

The Desolator faired much better than most, taking nearly no damage from the recent battle. Aside from the Thermopylea overshields losing some of their strength in some areas, the massive space-borne vessel had little to worry about other than having its ammo stocks replenished. The crew within, however, was somewhat of a different story.

Despite all the training and augmentations, CDF personnel are not beyond the vile reaches of stress and its affects. Those privy to the knowledge of the betrayal worried nigh constantly about the possibility of the scheme's failure, while also worrying about that rather peculiar anxiety showing to everyone else not in the know, who had by now begun to feel the affects of confusion after having fired on former allies.


AnonID-331: I can't be the only one who feels badly about all this.
AnonID-542: Yeah I know, it's all really weird what's happened.
AnonID-331: There hasn't even been an explanation as to why yet! T'san and everyone else has been really secretive.
AnonID-542: I heard from Mors'an that Holtz will issue a statement very soon, so hopefully that will shed some light on whatever this is.
AnonID-331: Yeah.


Such electronic conversations occurred every moment upon every surviving ships, within the many private and spontaneously created user channels of the Thor Comms Network inherent to every vessel. Crewmen found some sort of sanctuary inside its secure confines, connecting through the implants wired into their nervous systems. Everyone now considered the events as they transpired, but did nothing more than speculate and speak idly about what and why while waiting for Holtz to deliver his message. They had other things to worry about now anyway.

Such as guarding the mass of troop transports ferrying the bulk of men - national, hired; biological and artificial - to the northern territories of Barazun. T'san was, in fact, communicating with General Hunz the details of this new assignment.

"We've arrived as per our orders, General." T'san said while sipping from his glass, coffee to tame frayed nerves. He stared out into a field of stars new and unfamiliar, over a planet wholly alien to him as he conversed over his n-relay to the ever-amiable Hunz.

"Good, good. We succeeded in the objective laid down by Holtz as well, brilliant man he is." Hunz replied with a soft chuckle.

"Indeed he is, General. But enough of this; the small talk has gone on nigh-five seconds and already I've decided it trivial." T'san said with a tone of agitation in his voice. Something more indicative of typical divide between stellar and ground forces than anything else.

"Ah, fine, fine. If you must get down to the meat of it: we've begun our withdrawal save for the area we occupied during the Turkish Conflict. That area has always been trouble, securing it has in fact been an effort in futility it seems. Yet, we cannot in good conscience allow the area to explode with our withdrawal, so the transition between our forces and those of the Aumanii must be slow." He said while looking over some pictures hung on the wall of the building in which he was standing, admiring them all with bored fascination. Hunz was never one for art.

"So, what you're obviously getting at is that the fleet is now on guard duty, again. Protecting you from possible retaliation from space-borne threats? How typical." He said dryly. The thought of being regulated back to such simple and usually undemanding duties was rather sickening to him considering the gloriousness the recent battle had brought him.

"Think of it less like guard duty, and more like protecting Conglomerate interests. Besides, the Aumanii government knows we will decimate their cities with the automated defenses we installed prior to the ambush. They won't attack us if they value their lives. However, certain other factions may descend up on us from above, and they are who you need to be protecting us from." Hunz responded while walking outside towards his command carrier, a large land-based vehicle Armoured beyond sanity with an urban Aumanii camo pattern and cylindrical in shape. He decided that the ravages of hunger had now reached a point that required his utmost attention, at a nice restaurant in down-town Vascilia city as the soldiers started to leave.

"Euphemisms do not give me or my void brethren the courtesy of honor, Marcas. We're the damn Navy, General, yet all we're granted for our loyal service is keeping the sky over your heads secure from a threat that may never materialize?"

"Bah, you and your honor, such a silly concept that is. Honor would not have gotten our people where they are now; living in a lap of luxury compared to most. It would not have brought us to Mars, and it would not brought to us the unification that has been such a historical success for our people. If you remember anything from your history classes, then remember this: the notion of honor you describe caused for us more strife and unrest than the never-ending raids by the Gradasi, or the other pirates that so often graced our territory with their barbarism." Hunz said in a rather condescending tone as the transport bumped along the road, flanked by small Armoured vehicles and trailed by a Titan class tank that dominated more than half the road. Aerodrones screened for threats overhead, while CDF soldiers kept order along the sidewalks. One could never be too careful after all, not with the Aumanii.

T'san considered for a long moment the General's words, though not because they had merit, but simply because they seemed to stupidly ridiculous that he had to make sure they had actually been said before responding. "Well, General, I can see that true Combat has never befallen you. It has never provided you with that rush of excitement as your every action is designed to save your own life and end that of another, as you fight to protect yourself and that of your comrades. Combat has never seen fit to grace you with the feeling of accomplishment unmatched by a feat in any other pursuit no matter what the field, as you realize the ramifications your actions have on the universe around you. It is a wondrous thing I pity you for having never experienced, truly I do." He said in a slower, sadder tone than anyone who had known him would be accustomed to.

T'san wandered away from window that had provided him with such a magnificent view of the stars and planet below, having the Armoured paneling close in over it, sealing him off from the foreign starlight. He sat down in his chair, and drank more of his coffee till none was left, with a facial expression as hard as stone itself. "Worry not, Hunz. We will of course do as we always have and protect you with our lives, as worthless as you may seem to think them. Just be quick about it so we all may go home and resume the tedium of our pathetic lives." The Skylord said through the virtual network before cutting off the connection, and staring off into the space beyond the ships hull.

"How emotional that statue of a man is." Hunz said quietly as he sat, looking into a holo screen that displayed the surrounding conditions. His muffled outburst gained the attention of most around him, but only for a few moments before his own facial expression caused them to avert their eyes. He wasn't angry, though annoyed at the sentiment T'san held, something common to all CDF naval officers, and after this recent event, something becoming somewhat common to the ground forces as well. To hell with honor! he thought angrily, before relaxing back, looking forward to a decent meal.

==

As Hunz went about sating his usually insatiable appetite, groups of black Armoured troop transports took to the sky like a swarm of voracious insects, flying high above the atmosphere before descending upon the Conglomerate controlled territories of Barazun, which was already held down by over three hundred thousand of their own troops, augmented by a wide array of defensive systems such as Glacis class theater shield systems, point-defense cannon emplacements, and a mass of interceptor missiles that dotted the desolate land. There were also the myriad of mobile weapon systems that were meant to face off against orbital and ground based threats, though the former less successful in that regard due to their small size, but in numbers they were still extremely lethal to ships attempting to bombard their positions from orbit.

First to go, of course, were the mass of mercenaries and drones flying under the Conglomerate's banner, flying well within the defensive perimeter of the CDF navy as it was in mid orbit; before quickly descending with a speed of a rampaging demon straight from the deepest, hottest pits of hell into the defensive grid of Barazun, where they would soon land.

Later on the actual national armies of the Conglomerate began to depart, in large number and far more quickly. Though still relatively safe considering any attack on these forces by a Vascilian state, or allied state, would cause the defensive systems in Auman proper to unleash their ordnance and decimate their surroundings, which would play horrible hell on the civilian populace, which all concerned would, of course, be aware before hand.

The only troops remaining were those occupying Turkisilvania, being sure to secure the area, before attempting to depart from such an embattled region that would no doubt rise up against them if the evacuation were to be rushed.

While this took place, messages were sent out to friendly and a few select neutral forces, with instructions and requests in case something went awry as this all went down.

(Asherton Orbital Space - Industrial Orbit)

"Jesus Christ, look at this shit!" Chief Engineer Yuri Freeman radioed while him and several flag officers toured a newly recovered Kusanagi that had to be towed from a nearby red dwarf system after the fleet fled. "They shot right through it and the ship is still in one piece!"

"Does this mean we'll be able to repair this ship for combat?" Fleet Admiral Watterson asked.

"Not a chance, the frame is totalled. We're lucky the emergency bulkheads closed or we'd of lost the entire crew as well," Freeman stated. "I'm tagging the I.N.H.V. Imperial Falchion for scrap."

"How many ships were damaged too bad to be recoverable?" Fleet Admiral Watterson asked.

"Fifty Kusanagis, fifteen Trondheims and ten Helsinkis. A light cruiser cut it close, but since her drives and primary systems weren't too terribly damaged, it'll take two weeks to get her back in the field."

"How many ships out of the Combined Imperial Fleet were damaged bad enough to warrant repairs?"

"All of them."

"ALL OF THEM?!" The admiral was floored by that statement. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN?!"

"The Myrkuls were targetted first. Right before they jumped, their capacitors blew under the volume of fire and their armor was dented in and melted in several spots. It'll take three days to get the battleships back into combat. If we dock every ship and conduct as many repairs as we can, we can be done in five to seven days. Its mostly armor and shield capacitor damage, no biggi..."

"We might not HAVE five to seven days!" The spacesuited men entered the shipyard's airlock and entered back into atmosphere, the admirals lighting up a cigarette in the recycled air as soon as they took off their helmets.

"I might be able to push it to just five, but I'll need the industrial resources of a quarter of the Imperium to get it done. If some of these ships are transferred to the Sculptorese shipyards, I can get it all done in three."

"Then its your lucky day, the Imperatrix authorized wartime industrial output a few days ago. You'll be getting your materials later today. I'll talk to the Imperatrix personally to see about sending some of the ships to Sculptor for repair."

"Good. I heard that you're being reassigned, Comrade Fleet Admiral."

"Comrade, I am only going to be advising the Imperatrix directly, but yeah, I am effectively going to be removed from the combat roster. Admiral Larinov will be taking command and granted a promotion to Fleet Admiral."

"Until the Eighth Fleet is completed later this month."

"Bloody Praetorians..." The admiral threw his cigarette down, rubbed it out with his spacesuit boot and walked off.

With one element pulling away the Fleet that had been some Three Hundred and eighty vessels large was now a mere Three Hundred and Fifty. Still it was an exceptionally capable fleet, and of course since the 3rd Khaine’s fleet had never actually been taken over and it’s actions, with some modification due to recent events, where all part of the plan no last minute changes to the targeting had to be made. So it was they opened fire, Torpedoes and Lances of energy spilling out into the space between the two fleets, they had moved inwards of their maximum range by a good thousand to two thousand Kilometres no need yet to reveal the full abilities of the fleet. Still for the Torpedoes it would be roughly Five Minutes between firing and impact, they didn’t travel at the speed of light after all, for the Pulse weapons through it was a lot shorter, only three Minutes or so from the weapons being fired and impact. They where travelling at the speed of light, the fleet was Three Light Minutes away.

It was of course needless to say a tense three minutes aboard the Kionash fleet, the disadvantage of such ranges was that after firing you had such a long wait till you knew if you had hit, all you could do was continue to pour out more energy, to blanket the target area with pulses of energy. Meanwhile your smaller bombers continue to close the distance and your torpedoes/Missiles, continue to home in on the target.

Such are the rules of combat in space, where sometimes the ranges involved can be so obscene as to render an almost dreamlike quality to the proceedings. As after all for the Kionash the combat had started yet, even if the foe had ranges to match their own it would be three minutes before a reply could reach them. So they waited, Darvin’s smiling to himself as he watched.

Aboard the fighter/bombers things where of course even more tense, the pilots had to keep a careful track of the time, and the countdown of firing plots, to avoid incoming fire from their own fleet. It wasn’t an easy task, when what’s coming at you moves at the speed of light you cannot rely on visual’s to tell you where to turn where to avoid. You have only your readings in front of you, and the instincts gained from decades of training. That and a ships spirit, a single spirit who resided within your crafty, and as such making it a part of the larger Eternity matrix, connecting each and every ship of the Yvresse fleet. Small comforts when you’re hurtling towards your enemy in the depths of space with only the thin protection of wraithbone between you and death, but a comfort none the less. That and the distraction of the last minute orders coming through even at this point.
‘Escort wings two and five you have point, be on the look out for incoming fighters. Three Minutes till we enter our engagement window. All cap-killers mark your targets and prepare to break away, remember people this is an in and out operation. The fleet has many more ships to kill today. Once we reach engagement range we have Seven minutes to launch and begin withdrawal ops. Remember that seven minutes, we have to be back to the fleet within fifteen minutes and have found ourselves a home.’

The plan for the Yvresse fleet was obvious and simple, they where outnumbered, but held the advantage in speed and range. They also held the advantage in sensor tech, they didn’t rely primary on visual to handle the complexities of naval combat. They also had the advantage of the Holo-fields protecting their vessels. Still they would be fools to attempt to take on the entire enemy fleet at once. So they wouldn’t they would instead hit the outer edges of the fleet, destroy the outside weaken it, kill a few ships then fall back a distance turn and open fire again… Then fall back again, repeat and draw your foe forwards, along the course they have selected.

Along the route they had selected little surprises had been left, extra ambushes to anger and keep the enemy off balance, mine fields, and other little packages. Kill and fall back, kill and fall back, wear the enemy out. An old tactic, but, still it was often an effective one. It also played the main Yvresse part in all this, keep the enemy fleet here and not where the Dawn Paragon’s had set up, to conquer the Martian colonies of their foe.