NationStates Jolt Archive

Over Mars, the shipping lanes were clogged with traffic. Normally, that would be nothing to note, but this time the ships filling the lanes were almost all military. Hundreds of dark blue hulls faintly glinted in the far-off sunlight in preparation for what was soon to come.

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, Shanderan and 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 Havenics 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 Tannelornian 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 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.

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.'

----

'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.

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 "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."

While the Vascilian commanders met on the ground, 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.


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



Meanwhile, Prince Cain Darklight, a priest of legendary power in the service of the Bryn Shanderan god of undeath Velsharoon, sat at the table with Navarrone in VASCOM. In front of him was placed a sign denoting his nation, while a pair of skeletons sat beside him. A flames danced in their eye sockets, the only indications that they held any life whatsovever, even if it was unlife.