NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is closed. If you want in, go to the OOC thread. My forces (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11801174&postcount=9). Now, no more OOC comments on here.

The cosmonaut was breathing hard. For the last 13 hours his team had been subtly sliding across the lunar regolith, scooping it away where necessary. In each hole they placed a single packet of pale white powder, and then moved on. Their time was almost up, though. Rays of light began to peak over the horizon as the long night finally ended. The rising day began to betray the soldiers, the OLED camouflage on their cutting edge skinsuits struggling to adapt to the changing conditions. Only about a third of the Conglomerate forces on the Moon had these new suits. The rest still used the bulky, inefficient pressure systems developed nearly 100 years ago. These new suits were a thing of beauty when compared to them. Instead of using air pressure to keep the wearer alive, they maintained it through elastic fabric and electrosensitive metals that simulated the presence of atmosphere. It was all very interesting, but the cosmonaut forced himself back to his task.

Placing the last of the packets, he waved for his men to move out. Dragging himself along with his arms, the cosmonaut virtually flew through the thin atmosphere, reveling in the time spent outside the oppressive G-force chambers deep in the bowels of Luna Base. Streaks of light flew past the men, throwing shadows deep into long forsaken craters. If they didn’t hurry, the men knew they might be spotted by the enemy sensors. After all, darkness afforded but a temporary respite.

They cleared the edge of the flat plane with moments to spare, diving into craters and depressions to wait out what they knew was coming. As morning finally came, the horizon began to glow a brilliant white. Only this was not caused by the sun. No, this was the fruit of the cosmonauts long labor. In a brilliant bloom of thermonuclear radiance, the charges they had been placing detonated, clearing a radioactive swathe through the Spizanian mine field. Inside their oxygen helmets the Kargucagstanis grinned, pleased to know their work was accomplished. No doubt a similar scene was unfolding on the other side of Peary crater.

As the sparkling lights of the minefield subsided, the sky behind the cosmonauts turned black. Out of the lunar desert rose thousands of their comrades, bounding, flying, leaping across the surface in a mad dash to penetrate the Spizanian defenses. In a few moments the radioactivity of the area would subside, and the men hoped to be there when it did.

* * *

In high orbit over Peary crater sat the cold hulk of the Zenith class Extra-Atmospheric Vessel (EAV) KSN 02-03. Some days ago it had claimed a power failure, but as the ground below flooded with Conglomerate assets the ship came to life. The starboard laser turret snapped into a firing position, preparing to direct the beam that must issue from the bowels of the ship. In a flash 215 megawatts blazed straight into the distant pack of solar arrays clustered on the Peaks of Eternal Light, followed swiftly by a salvo of 130mm shells. The war had begun.

* * *

A single, curt message was directed by Karguagstani satellites to a few choice foreign cities. It simply stated that Luna was, in effect, Conglomerate property, and steps were finally being taken to rid it of foreign influence.

Hours Before Message

With a final burst of thrust from Her Imperial Majesty's Spacecraft Oberon, the Europa-class shuttle settles into the regolith gently. While this was not the first mission to the moon for the Imperium, it was the first in a very long time. The four-man team was there to set up inflatable habitats, purely an interim measure so that a real base could be set up, and communications gear. They were also there to collect soil samples, although that was merely in preparation for the digging to come.

However, the first task, and probably the most important, was the planting of the flag. A large pole and an equally large flag had been ordered for the occasion. The huge pole was hauled into a vertical position and with a few sharp twists was somewhat planted in the regolith and the press of a button saw to the deployment of a few spikes to anchor the flag. Shortly after the black and gold flag of the Imperium was hoisted high into the Lunar air, what little there was of it, and the Imperium's claim on its territory was made.

Next would be the inflatable habitat, which would be the size of a small football stadium when inflated, and hauling out and constructing the gold-lined beachball-writ-large would take several hours, as would inflating it. However, when it was done the astronauts would have a spacious place to live and to survey for the future permanent habitats.

Of course, what they didn't realize was that Mare Imbrium would likely be overrun before the week was out.

“Today,” said the emotional voice of Michael Allen Delphi, his words ringing in every cosmonaut’s helm, “we excise the cancer that is the alien. Today we purify our fraternal brother. Today we remove a great wrong! Today is to be a glorious day for the Conglomerate! Today belongs to Kargucagstan!”

As their leading spoke to his troops and his people, the cosmonauts advanced through a withering spray of shells and bullets. The defenses of the base were strong indeed, but they could not hold out forever. Kargucagstani armor began to crest the horizon, recoilless rifles and howitzers barking silently in the airless void. Puffs of gray soil, rent metal, and flying limbs marked their points of impact.

* * *

Spizania was not the only target of the Fascists. No, they had much larger plans. Down from the north pole descended a cloud of cosmonauts, their backs lit with the thrust of their jetpacks, massive weapons held in gloved fists. No settlement would be spared. All would be put to the blade.

Lunar Military Command Center, Daemonfels, Mare Symthii.

The guttural sound of a hurried presentation in Izistani rang within the cold, dark auditorium buried in the lowest levels of Daemonfels. The speaker stood at his metal and fiberglass podium in front of the utilitarian metal table, around which sat the highest ranking Izistani military personnel present on the lunar surface, and some of the more important civilians. Computer graphics and photographs were splayed across a large, conveniently placed, LCD monitor while the speaker informed the audience about recent Kargucagstani actions.

“...And so as this graphic indicates, a number of Kargucagstani troops are assaulting the Spizanian positions at Peary crater. According to seismologic analysis, they've blown off a number of nuclear charges, for what purpose we have no idea. They've got one of their Zenith class spacecraft engaging the base's power supply”

The speaker took a moment to breath, and then started again. “Even more worrying is the southern incursion, we don't have precise estimates, but we do know that a number of troops are heading south, even as the Spizanian base is under assault. Izistan City received a transmission this morning from Kargucagstan this morning, in which they more or less proclaimed themselves owners of all of Luna, and that they would, to quote them, “rid it of foreign influence.”. Therefore, we have been advised by the government to treat any encroachment of Mare Smythii by the Kargucagstani as a hostile action, and to respond accordingly.”

“Hence forth, all lunar facilities will operate under WARCON 3 conditions, the troops of the Hazardous Environment Combat Unit are to be ready for combat deployment in a moments notice. Earth side, they haven't really decided on anything, but I'll keep you posted. And uh, that concludes the briefing”.

The monitor blinked off.

Sterile white light pervaded the cluster of eternally spinning grav-chambers deep in the heart of Luna Base, casting twisted shadows of things unseen onto dull gray walls. Alone in chamber 12, a single cosmonaut was dying a slow, painful death. Hit by shrapnel cast off of the outer fortifications of Peary crater, his mechanical space suit had torn. Unlike its air-filled counterpart, a tear did not mean instant death for the wearer. Instead, it merely causes massive bruising and internal bleeding.

The cosmonaut had been lucky that the suit had taken most of the damage, but as he lay strapped to a medical table, he wondered if it would not have been better to die. Now, kept alive mainly by the artificial gravity generated by the chamber, he wished he had, for he had been struck in the brain stem by a piece of metal. Hooked up to a mechanical lung and feeding system, his death would take some forty years of agony, prolonged by the very best of Kargucagstani medicine.

* * *

On the surface, things were moving smoothly. Several of the defending coilguns had fallen to the concentrated fire of the Conglomerate forces, and the solar arrays were in ruins. Still, the defenders were fighting vicisously, spiraling missiles into the armored flanks of the assault guns.

“Incoming encrypted data stream from KSN Earth Station,” droned the communications officer on the Kargucagstani Stellar Navy vessel 02-03, “routing message to main screen.” He hit a sequence of keys and the screen on the back wall of the bridge lit up with the hard face of Rohskhov Zijkan, Polemarch of the KSN.

“Dominus Captain,” said the Admiral, addressing the captain of the ship with the Greek word for master, “have the solar arrays of the foe been neutralized?”

“They have, Polemarch. I personally saw to the destruction of the last piece.”

After a short delay caused by the immense distance from the Earth to the Moon, the Polemarch replied. “Good, good,” he nodded. “Of course, the Spizanians are not stupid and will have some other form of energy generation. All we have done is throw a proverbial wrench in their gears.” The Polemarch looked thoughtful for a moment, then scrolled through a dataslate off screen. “Dominus,” he said without looking up, “I have here a most disturbing message.”

“May I inquire as to what it is, Lord?” tentatively prodded the captain.

“It says here that our gamma ray sensors here on Earth Station are detecting what appears to be engine exhaust in a sector not currently occupied by a Conglomerate ship.” The captain looked down at his own notes, watching them pan down the LCD screen.

“I have received the same information, Polemarch. Sector 241 G, correct?”

The admiral nodded. “Could it be, Captain, that you have yet to clear our space?” He glared rather harshly through the screen. The Dominus wilted.

“It’s, uh, the war has just started Sir. Give it time. We will control space soon.”

The Polemarch shook his head. “No, it must be now. Spatial dominance is crucial to the success of this campaign. Do not forget the billions of doms spent to construct the very vessel you now command.”

“Of course not, Sir. I shall see to the acquisition of territory immediately. Besides dropping a tactical nuke on the hardened defenses of the Spizanian base, there is not much we can do here anyway.” Bowing, the captain went to terminate the signal.

“Hold on a moment,” interjected the Polemarch. “One ship may not be enough to handle the situation. I am diverting KSN 01-02 to the rendezvous point. Meet up and proceed with the mission. There are friendly defensive satellites in the area that can provide fire support if needed. Understood?”

“Yes Lord, perfectly.” With that the transmission ended. Turning to his navigation station, the Dominus began to issue orders. “Helm, give me a six-second burn on the port attitude thrusters, followed immediately by a two minute boost to the following coordinates and a 30 second deceleration.

“Aye Captain, engines engaged.” The ship shook slightly as the correctional rockets engaged, altering the stationary position of the spaceship to a more desirable course. As sensors were focused on the area of space in question, it became apparent that whatever had been there was no longer. Either it had landed or left the vicinity of the Moon. The captain immediately ruled out the second option; if the object had fled, there would be a change in the direction of the gamma particles large enough to indicate course.

“Navigation,” he said slowly, “what is directly below the last known position of the target object?”

“It appears to be Mare Smythii, Captain,” replied the young lieutenant.

Peary Crater Defence Station Alpha
Specialist Peterson brought his Rifle to bear and fired off the remaining 10 rounds of 15mm Gyrojet ammunition down range towards the seemingly endless hordes of enemy cosmonauts bearing down on his dugout, and on Peary Crater specifically. The weapon vibrated as it fired off the minature rockets, each rapidly accelerating downrange and burning out there motors in about a tenth of a second after leaving the "barrel". Then the weapon was empty, he hit the clip release and watched as the magazine was ejected by an inbuilt spring. He turned around and grapped another clip from the ready rack, just as the coilgun posistion he was dug in infront of fired, the loading appeture jerking back thirty centimetres as the gun discharged, sending a thorium and depleted uranium projectile flying across the battlefield at nearly three kilometres per second. On the lunar horizon a brief flare appeared on the horizon as the round struck a self propelled howitzer, smashing through the armour plating and penetrating the the fighting compartment, where it used the sudden availability of air to ignite the shavings that had split off of it during penetration. The crew were roasted instantly and the munitions stores in the tank cooked off under the extreme heat and overpressure.
Meanwhile the crew were already loading another kinetic energy projectile into the appature and aligning the gun mount towards the next target to fall victim to what the colonists called the hand of god.
Peterson turned back towards the fighting, already ramming the next magazine into his rifle and in the process of simulatenously returning it to firing posistion. Within a few seconds he was shooting again. The enemy had to be taking a pounding.

Peary Crater Floor
The squadron of Self Propelled ElectroMagnetic AntiOrbital Artillery peices had dispersed as soon as the enemy vessel had appeared inorbit, they had covered there vehicles and moved into there posisitons in the time it had taken the enemy spaceship to complete an orbit around the moon, where it had been unable to see the crater floor. They could not accurately know where they were, and with there weapons already loaded and elevated, they would not know until it was too late to stop the attack. The Target Enemy Orbital Vessel was moving into a new orbit that would take it out of sight of the gun battery, this could not be allowed, as it the bright star in the sky that was the ship moved towards the wall of the crater in the distance the battery fired. Each projetile was targetted to take account of the targets motion and the lunar gravitational field, assuming the target did not change course, and it had no reason too, each round had a ninety percent chance of hitting the enemy, since there were eight guns the target was almost sure to be hit by atleast one projectile, and one would be enough. The guns fired together, but the miniscule signs visible from a few feet away from the guns would be undetectable from orbit in the best of circumstances, let along with a war raging around the crater perimetre. Plus the rounds themselves were nearly as cold as space, they would be virtually undetectable. The rounds were Armour Peircing Munitions, manufactured from Depleted Uranium and Titanium, they differed from anti tank rounds in only one respect, they contained a bursting charge, not just any charge, but a three hundred tonne yield tacnuke bursting charge. They would punch through the armour of the warship and detonate internally, that was sure to cause serious damage to it, even if the enemy somehow avoided an outright kill.

The Spizanian attack on their hostile was observed, and mentally applauded by those in the command center. However, there was still one left...

“Oh. Oh hell. I have a contact on the scope. Estimate ten minutes until it comes over the horizon.” The command center was in a most excited state. And just a little terrified. The base's defenses for the most part was geared towards engaging troop carriers then honest to god spacecraft. Hence, the heaviest guns (both directed energy and kinetics) were line of site only. They did have missiles, but the majority were designed for engaging incoming missile fire.

Alarm klaxon's blared through out the base as all personnel on the surface were instructed to get under cover, or at the very least, to hide in one of the exterior buried solar flare shelters (more or less glorified holes in the ground).

Aside from that, there was one option that was open to the Izistan. IRONRAIN. Thought up in the early days when the ZMI installation was considered a possible threat (at least it was at the time by certain 'hawks'). Three elderly lander/hoppers, slated for decommissioning, were stripped down. Crew compartments were removed, replaced by a carriage for a two point four megaton shaped (like a Orion's pulse unit) thermonuclear charge (really a super heavy seismic charge) with a jacket of ablative wadding, and a forest of long tungsten flechettes.

The bomb carriers were wheeled out to the launch pad, their former landing gear now reduced to a single use launch platform. Silently in the lunar vacuum, with only a little dust being blown by exhaust gases of precious hydrocarbon fuel combusted with liquid oxygen, the unwieldy devices lifted off on a heading for the Zenith. Once they got in front of it, they would blow. Spraying tungsten needles at the target, needles with a velocity of around four hundred and fifty kilometers per second. And one minute and thirty seconds after that, the Zenith would find a volley of sixteen anti-spacecraft torpedoes fired at it. Half of the bases dedicated anti-spacecraft torpedo battery, half of the incoming warheads were neutron warheads (yield of one megaton) and the rest were standard fragmentation warheads.

And thus the struggle began.

Explosions rippled along the lines of the advancing cosmonauts. Thrown into the thin atmosphere by the constant concussions, swirling banks of dust obscured the battlefield, lit with the glow of solid-state lasers and tracer fire. Colonel Zietrick and his platoon were advancing through the cratered surface, flitting from tank hulk to depression. “Target that battery!” he shouted through the comm. His heavy weapons boys hopped up, shouldering their guns. At the peak of their apex, on of the troopers disappeared in a spray of crystallizing blood, but nine other rounds managed to fire. Accelerated by magnetic force, each spigot left the barrel of its Kinetic Kill Weapon and ignited its booster, reaching an astounding velocity.

In a shower of rock, the bunker disappeared, its ruins hosed down with lasfire. Into the breach rolled an Armored Lunar Assault Tank, the twin coaxial autocannons blaring death from above.

* * *

“Sir, we have an… unusual reading from the surface. It’s too chaotic down there to see what it is…” the sensor operator dropped off in mid-sentence, his jaw agape. “Incoming anti-orbital fire! I read three, no, seven shells approaching very, very fast!”

“What?” boomed the Dominus, swiveling in the light gravity. “Take evasive action!” Thrusters ignited on the sides of the ship, spiraling it to starboard. The first shell streaked past, not three yards from the ship. This was followed by two more which came even closer. The ship could not evade forever, but the captain was going to make sure to stay alive as long as possible.

The four remaining charges lanced into the very bow of the Zenith, crumpling the outer armor and denting the inner. As ice began to form from the leaking water tanks, the crew breathed a collective sigh of relief- that was promptly cut short by four very large explosions. In a blinding pulse, the entire front section of the vessel vaporized. Radiation instantly killed those in the nearby modules, and high doses leaked onto the rest of the ship.

The captain knew the only thing that could do that much damage that fast was a nuke, and he knew that the radiation from it would kill him in a matter of moments. He was a dead man, but there was a chance to strike back.

“Weapons,” he croaked, ”launched everything we have. Nuke the bastards back to the stone age.” Receiving no reply, the Dominus looked up. The officers were slouched over their stations, hair falling away and blood floating from their ears. As strange spots danced in his vision, the captain cursed and hit the button himself.

Four streaks left the aft end of the ship, their nuclear warheads sighted on the base below. The captain’s last thought was that his bombs might accidentally take out Kargucagstani troops, but he was fairly confident the crater walls would funnel it into space. When he had started this assignment only a few hours ago, the Polemarch had told him not to nuke the base.

I’m sorry things didn’t go the way you wanted, you son of a bi- the eighth shell, the one the ship had not detected, chose just that moment to impact the reactors, connecting with the dense Uranium and destroying the ship in an inferno that briefly outshone the sun.

* * *

“Unidentified craft approaching on an interception course, Captain” said the navigator. Scratching his chin, the Dominus ordered a signal to be broadcast to them.

“Attention foreign vessels. This is the Kargucagstani Stellar Navy vessel 01-02. You are violating Conglomerate space. Vacate immediately or prepare to be fired upon.” As he ended the transmission, a smug little smile crossed his lips. He loved this job.

The bomb carriers did not heed the Kargucagstani's challenge or even reply, having little in the way of artificial intelligence and no human pilot. They merely burned the rest of their fuel and drifted (at kilometers per second) towards the Zenith. No reply what so ever...

“No response, Sir.” The captain nodded slowly.

“I see. Very well, please target their engines and smoke them with the laser.”

“You are aware, Dominus, that they are drifting?”

“…of course I am,” he said after a moment. “But on second thought, it seems wrong to attack after just one warning. Fire a warning shot.”

* * *

The southern expeditionary force, some three thousand cosmonauts and their equipment, were sailing to the equator, neutralizing any vehicles they came upon. A cloud of debris was kicked up by the wheels and jets of the transports, obscuring the exact movements of the Fascists. Nevertheless, it was not hard to deduce what was a tank and what was a man.

“Lord General, forward scouts have located what appears to be a temporary settlement in the area of Mare Imbrium. Perhaps we should dispatch a team to evict?” The general agreed with his aid and issued the order. In a flurry of retro rockets, six lunar busses lifted into space on an orbital trajectory that would land them directly north of the barren “sea.”

The warning shot was not noticed by the bomb-carriers. But they picked that moment to start their terminal manovuers. Although their main fuel tanks were now empty, they still had fuel for the reaction control systems. Clusters of small thrusters suddenly lit up as the craft manoveured into a triangular formation. And then the trap was sprung.

The three bomb-carriers disaperred in a simultanous flash of white-blue light. Not visible was the cloud of tungsten shrapnel flung off the explosion at ungodly velocities. Meanwhile, at Daemonfels, a countdown began...

Most of the tungsten spikes instantly evaporated, generating even more thrust for the surviving shrapnel. The three Izistani ships had been several kilometers away when they detonated, giving their payload an instant to accelerate to terminal velocity. In a tenth of a second the weapons were half way to 01-02. Shortly after the crew registered the nuclear flash, the spigots had arrived. In a blaze of friction-induced fire they pierced the ablative foam outer armor, vaporizing it and shedding precious energy. Like needles through flesh they passed through the Whipple shield, then most of the fullerite.

Instantly bled of energy, the picks decelerated in a massive shock, shaking bolts out of their holes and ripping steel girders like cheesecloth. The port bow of the ship was deformed in a foundation-shaking burst of transferred energy, stressing the carbon composites nearly to the breaking point. Where plate was welded to plate, cracks appeared, leaking previous air and water into the voracious abyss of space.

In the command cabin at the center of the vessel all was chaos. Overhead pipes spilled a fine mist of condensed nitrogen, glowing a phosphorescent red in the glare of the pulsing emergency strobe lights. Two-thirds of the bridge staff was unconscious, their limbs floating in a way that suggested fracture. A crimson streamer glistened from the Captain’s forehead, which had been sliced open by flying debris.

“Status report,” he croaked, trying to steady his tumbling frame with his only remaining good arm.

The helmsman, struggling to stabilize his erratic flight, clawed his way over to a console. It was clearly broken, as a large piece of metal had jutted through the bottom. Feeling thankful the slab had not hit him, the officer floated over to the next station. “Extensive damage reported ship wide, Dominus,” he said as he read from a called-up report. “Weapons are damaged but operational. Engines appear to be functional, although we have a leak of Uranium-235 from Outrigger Tank 7. Thermal and ultraviolet sensors were damaged as well.”

Blast, thought the captain. “What have we got left?”

“Radar is unharmed, as are most of the subsystems. Casualty reports are still coming in, but it appears that we lost eleven crewmen. Your orders, Sir?” Attempting to hold the gash on his face closed, the captain did not reply immediately.

“Send out a distress signal, maximum amplification. Request assistance, but also prepare the CRVs in case we have to abandon ship.” After a moment, he added, “I wonder if they still work.”

“Yes Captain,” confirmed the officer. By now several more crew members had awakened and took to their places.

* * *

The southern expeditionary force had been waiting for something like this, something to give them a target. When the distress call was received, they immediately diverted course for the transmission point. Over two thousand cosmonauts gleefully ignited their jetpacks and bounded away over the barren world, departing from their brethren who were being forced to investigate the contact at Mare Imbrium.

The countdown reached its climax as gas charges ejected the sixteen torpedoes from the cells in which they had lurked. Hot gases and debris shot from their solid fuel rocket motors as they accelerated hard into the vacuum.

Nearby, the rest of the bases defenses waited for the Zenith to slip over the horizon...