Germanische Zustande
12-07-2005, 00:09
The Descent Into Chaos
"Sir, the Ischvon is reporting a failure of its AIQSM drive..."
Jorgen squinted through his bloody eyes, focusing all his attention on the central bridge Holopanel. Small explosions erupted along the lateral line of the Ischvon as he watched.
He turned to the port Holopanel. A young woman stared at him. Her face showed not the faintest contortion of regret, sorrow, mourning, as she spoke. "Menach does not have the capability to repair your fleet, Commodore. We suggest that your ships Fold to Turicht for assistance from their Yards."
"Commander, as an Officer of the Federal Navy, I am ordering Menach Fleet Yards to allow us to repair! I have already lost two cruisers to core failure awaiting your beaurocratic morass to come up with a decision," his face, a deep crimson, seemed to redden even more. His ships, imploding. His men, dying. The condition of his fleet only worsened as this woman sat here chatting. "Our ships do not even have the capability to fold. We need immediate repairs! More of my men die each minute you sit idly!"
The woman leered at Jorgen. "We have no obligation to repair your vessels. Besides, no fleet of the Syndicate could possibly inflict such damage," she said. "Return to your Baseworld. There shall be no further communications between Menach Fleet Yards and your Cruiser Regiment."
As her image faded from the Holopanel, he became aware of an excited chirping of alert systems.
"Energy signatures are skyrocketing," a voice behind him informed. "Radiation levels exceeding four billion roentgen..."
The crewman remained silent as he read the latest readouts at his station. He inhaled audibly.
"Containment field rupture, prepare for impact!"
Jorgen rose partially from his seat, praying that the core would be ejected in time. His arms trembled as he strained against his exhausted muscles, trying to remain suspended in above his chair. His eyes burned as they focused intently on the holoscreen, searching for any sign of the core.
The cruiser detonated. A shockwave rippled throughout the fleet. Jorgen was thrown to the deck as his cruiser 'capsized', the artificial gravity failing.
From his sprawled position on the Bridge deck, he muttered every curse he knew, spewing them in primal anger at Menach. "Ten thousand dead, you damned animals! YOU COULD HAVE SAVED THEM!"
He pushed himself to his feet, straightening his Naval tunic on the way up. After quickly ensuring everyone else was fine, he marched to the Ops console, the First Officer monitering the Fleet's status.
"Mr. Falkner, could the Fleet make it to Turicht with no futher losses?" Jorgen peered over the First Officer's shoulder, reading the information displayed there.
Captain Damian Falkner had served in the recent scuffles and wars that the Federation had been involved in. During those wars, the people were united. Now, the rivalries of old had returned. His homeworld, and the world which constructed the Commodore's fleet, Dukensch, had long been arch-rivals with Menach. Even since before the days of the ancient Republic.
Now, the Menach Fleet yards were refusing to repair the battle-damaged Dukenschen fleet.
"Sir," his voice tinged with despair, "only the escape shuttles could Fold safely to Turicht."
Jorgen's brows furrowed, his mind concocting some plan to save as many of his men as possible. He returned to his command chair, slowly settling his body into the conforming bio-gel.
He had only one choice of action.
"Fire on the station. Send a boarding party to secure the necessary parts. We will repair our own ships."
----------------
The Cruiser fired a single Quantum String Disruptor torpedo toward the Command Pylon of the Fleetyards. The entire pylon disintegrated, reduced to nothing but free-floating Strings, in an instant.
Small Assault craft dropped from numerous launchbays of the Fleet's ships. They sped toward the cargo bays, piercing armor and bulkhead. After a few minutes, most of the assault craft ejected themselves from the station and returned to their motherships. The crews of the other crafts, however, had been slain by the Station's defenders.
It mattered not. The Dukenschen fleet had the parts it needed.
----------------
An ensign appeared at Jorgen's right hand. He clicked his heels and saluted.
"At ease, soldier."
The ensign dropped his arm and slightly widened the distance between his feet. He handed a datacrystal to the Commodore, and then turned about and returned to his normal duties.
Jorgen dropped the crystal into his armconsole's port. The holopanel displayed an inventory of the parts captured, and the repair status of his fleet. "Very good," he whispered.
He faced the central tactical Holodisplay of the bridge. Three-dimensional images of his ships were suspended in midair, a scale distance from the Fleetyards, also floating in the center of his bridge. He studied the display for a moment, deep in thought.
"Begin the attack. Show no mercy on those who flee."
------------
The Cruiser Battalion opened fire upon the station.
Pier after pier blossomed into orange and white fire, the Station detonating one compartment at a time.
A few escape pods ejected from the Fleetyards. Blue beams impacted upon the pods, instantly annihilating them.
-------------
As the Fleet manuevered to Fold to its Baseworld, Dukensch, a pair of yellow energy bolts arose from the surface of the blue-green world below, narrowly missing the falling station.
The bolts impacted into the underside of a cruiser, the F.S.M.V. Beacon. As the second bolt hit, the cruiser rippled with detonations and imploded.
More bolts followed, fired from planetary defense installations. But they had no targets. The Second Cruiser Battalion, Third Division, Fleet of Dukensch, had Folded into the Void.
---------------------------------
The station slowly slipped from orbit, its frame lurching downwards at the will of an unseen force. Chunks of armor, docked spacecrafts, bodies, and debris circled the massive starbase in a sadistic ballet. Below, a lush green world beckoned to it, calling it from space. The planet came ever nearer, the station speeding up, as a child rushing to her mother.
Flames licked the sides of the construct, consuming the dying breaths escaping the station. The station's armor grew red-hot, spars and docking rings convulsing under terrible heat and pressure. As a comet approaching the sun, a tail of fiery red formed in the wake of the station. It became engulfed by the planet's atmosphere, burning and melting, its hull turning to plasma.
Moments later, the station impacted. A sickening screech burst forth from the bowels of the doomed station, and as it compressed against the world's surface, a wave of energy, a wall of destruction, swept through the city.
---------------------------------
Yohanne Schutgart swept through the Capitol's offices, bumping into the many frantic people racing along the same hall. Clerks and other government officials ran every which way, the recent disaster having sent the Federation into disarray. Even hours after the occurance, investigators still lacked for information.
He stopped at an automatic door, stepping inside his office as they opened. The familiar hiss of the doors closing behind him assured peace and quiet; for a while.
The Chancellor dropped into his gravchair. Yohanne turned to stare out his window, taking a moment to contemplate his next move. A speech? A ceremony of honor? A declaration of war on Dukensch? Our next move could be vital to the Federa-- The hiss of the doors interrupted his thoughts.
Captain Otto Streck passed through doorway as the Chancellor turned to face the intrusion. Yohanne quickly noticed a gravcart full of datacrystals hovering before the Captain. The Chancellor had already received a few dozen cartfulls like this one, as evidenced by the piles of glowing blue cubes taking up every square inch of available space in the office.
"Captain Streck, what have we here," Yohanne said as he stood, glaring at the new stack of datacrystals. He placed his left hand on the cherrywood desk below him as he extended his right to shake Streck's hand.
The Captain scratched at a large scar running the length of his face, right temple to left jaw. A thin smile contorted that scar. He shook the Chancellor's hand, his arm infusing friendly energy into the formality. "Well, sir, another load of reports for you. This one's Federation-wide."
"Sit down, old friend," the Chancellor smiled as he took his seat. "I've got to ask you something."
The Captain's smile disappeared, replaced with a mask. He gave away no emotions, no signals as to his thoughts. He slowly set himself into the black leather armchairs which flanked the Chancellor's desk. "Yes, Yohanne?"
Yohanne frowned inwardly at this use of his name, but a reflected gleam of light in the Captain's eyes made all seem alright between two old, old friends. He banished this discussion from his mind, returning to the task at hand.
The Chancellor inhaled deeply and leaned toward Captain Streck. "Are your loyalties with the Fleet, or with the Federation?"
An eerie silence thundered throughout the room. Questioning the honor and loyalty of an officer was... unthinkable.
Streck's mask broke. Another smile stretched across his face. "Sir," he said, "I signed up knowing I could die; for the Federation. I still know that."
The men stood up, shook hands, and Streck left with the cart. Devoid of datacrystals, of course.
----------------------
"Dear God Almighty, what have they done..."
Dana von Hutergaister gasped at the report she had just been handed. "The Council must be informed immediately... Oh, what have they done..." She didn't usually talk to herself, but this was not a usual occurance..
She somehow managed to control her shaking hands long enough to drop the datacrystal into her pocket. Running out of her Ministry of Worlds department, Dana managed to only trip once on her high-heels. Everyone she passed seemed to stop and stare at her. Running through the Capital Building was not commonplace.
As she passed the security station to enter the Chancellor's office, she felt something grab her arm. Her arm stopped, but not her body. It continued on, but was yanked back into the floor by whatever was pressing her arm to mush. Sprawled on the ground, she looked up at the smirking faces of two guards.
"Ma'am," the guard who was restraining her began, "Are you alright?" He broke into hysterical laughter along with the other man.
Dana had never expected to feel the sting of indignation again, once she had been elected to fill a very important governmental duty. But here she was, laying on the floor, and now the object of much laughter.
"I am Dana von Hutergaister, Minister of Worlds." She practically threw knives with her eyes. The smirks were suddenly wiped off the face of the guards. "You had better damn well let go of my arm and let me through. Now."
The two men stood frozen, wide-eyed. They would likely get a four-hour-long reprimand breifing. They finally recovered, and the first guard released his grip on Dana's arm.
"Sorry ma'am," The other guard began. "We just have our orders, and you didn't show no ID or nothin'."
Dana understood. Everyone had their orders, duties, responsibilities. "You have your orders, and I did not show any ID or anything." She smiled and turned around, walking into the Chancellor's office suite.
--------------------
"How many dead," the Chancellor's somber voice inquired.
Yohanne was getting old. He couldn't take much more of this. War, destruction, and then peace. That didn't last long.
Stress lines on his face deepened. He looked two hundred years old. Dana had always feared for his health. Mental or otherwise. This latest event most certainly was not helping. She thought for a moment; No embellishments, nothing. Just give him the straight number. "At least 200 million, sir."
Yohanne stared at her. That deathtoll was nothing near the reports he got during the Wars, but this was not a time of war. This was an era of peace. A Dukenschen fleet, maintained by the Federal World of Dukensch, had fired upon, looted, and destroyed the Fleetyards of Menach. Two Federal Worlds had now become involved in a pseudo-war.
"Damnit. Damn the entire Fleet of Dukensch." The Chancellor paused, letting that phrase sink into his head.
An officer from the StratOps center, deep under the Capital building, burst forth into the Chancellor's office. He stopped a few feet short of Dana and began to pant. He bent over and rested his arms on his knees, in an effort to bring his breathing under control.
Yohanne and Dana patiently waited until the soldier had recovered. The man stood up, easily dwarfing both the Chancellor and Minister. "Sir, Madam, we've received word that the Black Fleet has gone AWOL," He continued on over the Chancellor's cursing. "There are also reports that the Grand Fleet of the Admiralty has taken control of Normandeicht."
The Chancellor did not recognize this man, the messenger of bad tidings. "You are Mr..."
"Edurn, sir," the man replied.
Yohanne stood up and walked around to the front of his desk. "Well, Mr. Edurn," began the Chancellor, "I need you to call an emergency joint session of every single legislative body in the Federation. Now." Unexpectedly, Yohanne turned and slapped the Officer on the back. "And rest assured, I don't kill the messengers," he laughed in sober amusement.
---------------------------
High Admiral Schumacher seemingly flew down the hall, his pace so fast that his Admiral's Dress Robes whipped about behind him, like a pure-white angel flying down from Heaven.
He stopped short of the Chamber Doors to straighten his attire. Hasty looks gives a sense of rushed unpreparedness, the Admiral mused.
Fritz awaited the Chamber Doors to open. The massive thirty-foot doors opened soundlessly. A testament to Federal Engineering, he thought. Tens of pairs of eyes suddenly turned to examine this newcomer. As one, the various admirals and generals, commodores and colonels, rose to salute the High Admiral.
Schumacher returned the salute. "You may be seated." Though he had spoke in a soft voice, the room returned his words as though his voice had boomed in a show of command or power.
He leaned over as he approached the group, resting his hands down upon the diamond table below. "We all are met here," he ceased abruptly. The Admiral was very uncomfortable with the acoustics of the room. He had to adjust.
"We are met here," he began again, "the Admirals and Generals of the Armed Forces of the UFGZ. Recent developments have made it abundantly clear that there is schism within the Federation. Menach and Dukensch have declared open war upon each other, and even now decimate each other's assets, cities, fleets. Commodore de Tua has taken the Black Fleet, and cut off all communication with either Fleet High Command or the High Council. The Fleet of the Admiralty has seized Normandeicht in a blitzkreig."
He paused long enough to drink from a small glass of water before him.
"We must, then, decide the course that we shall take. Shall we remain loyal to the Federation, or overturn it?"
Fritz thought the nice echoing boom of his final sentance struck the importance of the dilemma straight into the minds of every single fellow commander.
Admiral Ghent stood. He slowly turned his head, sweeping the faces of every single man and woman in the room. He remained motionless, simply staring, weighing the consequences of every single possible action. Ghent exhaled, letting the air slowly back out into the atmostphere. "The High Council has often led us to war. Though great glory and honor has been found in those times, so many have died. We cannot continue to allow such death. The Senators and Representatives throw our lives away without regard."
He pondered carefully how to word his final sentence, practically yelling, "We must no longer allow the Council to send us to die, for wars which are started meaninglessly, and much too often. No more shall die for futile glory in the name of 'justice'!"
Most of the room erupted into applause, nearly deafening Dominar General Benito Benzini. Sitting patiently, he waited until the clapping had abated. He finally stood to speak.
"Fellow Generals and Admirals, our forces were created and built to safeguard our people. In the course of assisting our allies, we have been drawn into many wars, each of which bringing heavy casualties. But each time, we rebuilt. Our duty is to the Federation, to the People. This war will only cause more death, which is what you yourselves agreed you wished to cease. And as for 'justice', many nations we have warred upon have committed serious crimes against the very sentient races themselves. They have sacrificed millions in blatant disregard for any life. They have ruthlessly slaughtered millions more during wartime. They had to be brought to justice. Although we may not have won the wars, they know that there are those nations willing to stand up for what is right. Why do you think the Federation is seen as such a threat?"
Benzini sat, panting like his dog. There was no applause, only murmers of consent, of grudging understanding.
Another General, Yukatami Shizina, stood. Her eyes harbored a fierce fire, like lances, piercing through Benzini with such hatred he had never witnessed before. A mangled old adage came to his mind. Hell hath no fury like a woman mad at a reason. He let out a soft chuckle at the thought, further infuriating Shizina.
"The Federation sent my Great-Grandfather to defend the surface of Normandeicht. He, and millions of his men, were sacrificed on Normandeicht, so that the battle could be used as a rallying cry! 'Oh, remember the millions who were slaughtered by the Shivans!' Bullsh**. Your prescious Federation let them die. And the ancient Juumanistran war. We all remember how a nation who came to aid us, was declared war upon! Millions died in the attack, and we had to go kill another 800,000 in some stupid, foolish battle! The Federation must be exercised justice upon!"
Again, applause erupted among most of the people in the room.
It was obvious to Schumacher that the majority had decided to war with the Federation. So be it.
"With great aprehension," Fritz began, "I declare that we shall attempt to destroy the Federation. But," he quickly waved the others not to clap, "I must express my extreme disapproval of your decision. I want it on the record that I did not support this course of action."
OOC: That's it for today. Another post, though not as long, to come tomorrow. And please, no spam. If you're curious about something, please TG me, don't post OOC. If you want to get involved, TG me. Anything else, TG me. Thank you, -GZ.
"Sir, the Ischvon is reporting a failure of its AIQSM drive..."
Jorgen squinted through his bloody eyes, focusing all his attention on the central bridge Holopanel. Small explosions erupted along the lateral line of the Ischvon as he watched.
He turned to the port Holopanel. A young woman stared at him. Her face showed not the faintest contortion of regret, sorrow, mourning, as she spoke. "Menach does not have the capability to repair your fleet, Commodore. We suggest that your ships Fold to Turicht for assistance from their Yards."
"Commander, as an Officer of the Federal Navy, I am ordering Menach Fleet Yards to allow us to repair! I have already lost two cruisers to core failure awaiting your beaurocratic morass to come up with a decision," his face, a deep crimson, seemed to redden even more. His ships, imploding. His men, dying. The condition of his fleet only worsened as this woman sat here chatting. "Our ships do not even have the capability to fold. We need immediate repairs! More of my men die each minute you sit idly!"
The woman leered at Jorgen. "We have no obligation to repair your vessels. Besides, no fleet of the Syndicate could possibly inflict such damage," she said. "Return to your Baseworld. There shall be no further communications between Menach Fleet Yards and your Cruiser Regiment."
As her image faded from the Holopanel, he became aware of an excited chirping of alert systems.
"Energy signatures are skyrocketing," a voice behind him informed. "Radiation levels exceeding four billion roentgen..."
The crewman remained silent as he read the latest readouts at his station. He inhaled audibly.
"Containment field rupture, prepare for impact!"
Jorgen rose partially from his seat, praying that the core would be ejected in time. His arms trembled as he strained against his exhausted muscles, trying to remain suspended in above his chair. His eyes burned as they focused intently on the holoscreen, searching for any sign of the core.
The cruiser detonated. A shockwave rippled throughout the fleet. Jorgen was thrown to the deck as his cruiser 'capsized', the artificial gravity failing.
From his sprawled position on the Bridge deck, he muttered every curse he knew, spewing them in primal anger at Menach. "Ten thousand dead, you damned animals! YOU COULD HAVE SAVED THEM!"
He pushed himself to his feet, straightening his Naval tunic on the way up. After quickly ensuring everyone else was fine, he marched to the Ops console, the First Officer monitering the Fleet's status.
"Mr. Falkner, could the Fleet make it to Turicht with no futher losses?" Jorgen peered over the First Officer's shoulder, reading the information displayed there.
Captain Damian Falkner had served in the recent scuffles and wars that the Federation had been involved in. During those wars, the people were united. Now, the rivalries of old had returned. His homeworld, and the world which constructed the Commodore's fleet, Dukensch, had long been arch-rivals with Menach. Even since before the days of the ancient Republic.
Now, the Menach Fleet yards were refusing to repair the battle-damaged Dukenschen fleet.
"Sir," his voice tinged with despair, "only the escape shuttles could Fold safely to Turicht."
Jorgen's brows furrowed, his mind concocting some plan to save as many of his men as possible. He returned to his command chair, slowly settling his body into the conforming bio-gel.
He had only one choice of action.
"Fire on the station. Send a boarding party to secure the necessary parts. We will repair our own ships."
----------------
The Cruiser fired a single Quantum String Disruptor torpedo toward the Command Pylon of the Fleetyards. The entire pylon disintegrated, reduced to nothing but free-floating Strings, in an instant.
Small Assault craft dropped from numerous launchbays of the Fleet's ships. They sped toward the cargo bays, piercing armor and bulkhead. After a few minutes, most of the assault craft ejected themselves from the station and returned to their motherships. The crews of the other crafts, however, had been slain by the Station's defenders.
It mattered not. The Dukenschen fleet had the parts it needed.
----------------
An ensign appeared at Jorgen's right hand. He clicked his heels and saluted.
"At ease, soldier."
The ensign dropped his arm and slightly widened the distance between his feet. He handed a datacrystal to the Commodore, and then turned about and returned to his normal duties.
Jorgen dropped the crystal into his armconsole's port. The holopanel displayed an inventory of the parts captured, and the repair status of his fleet. "Very good," he whispered.
He faced the central tactical Holodisplay of the bridge. Three-dimensional images of his ships were suspended in midair, a scale distance from the Fleetyards, also floating in the center of his bridge. He studied the display for a moment, deep in thought.
"Begin the attack. Show no mercy on those who flee."
------------
The Cruiser Battalion opened fire upon the station.
Pier after pier blossomed into orange and white fire, the Station detonating one compartment at a time.
A few escape pods ejected from the Fleetyards. Blue beams impacted upon the pods, instantly annihilating them.
-------------
As the Fleet manuevered to Fold to its Baseworld, Dukensch, a pair of yellow energy bolts arose from the surface of the blue-green world below, narrowly missing the falling station.
The bolts impacted into the underside of a cruiser, the F.S.M.V. Beacon. As the second bolt hit, the cruiser rippled with detonations and imploded.
More bolts followed, fired from planetary defense installations. But they had no targets. The Second Cruiser Battalion, Third Division, Fleet of Dukensch, had Folded into the Void.
---------------------------------
The station slowly slipped from orbit, its frame lurching downwards at the will of an unseen force. Chunks of armor, docked spacecrafts, bodies, and debris circled the massive starbase in a sadistic ballet. Below, a lush green world beckoned to it, calling it from space. The planet came ever nearer, the station speeding up, as a child rushing to her mother.
Flames licked the sides of the construct, consuming the dying breaths escaping the station. The station's armor grew red-hot, spars and docking rings convulsing under terrible heat and pressure. As a comet approaching the sun, a tail of fiery red formed in the wake of the station. It became engulfed by the planet's atmosphere, burning and melting, its hull turning to plasma.
Moments later, the station impacted. A sickening screech burst forth from the bowels of the doomed station, and as it compressed against the world's surface, a wave of energy, a wall of destruction, swept through the city.
---------------------------------
Yohanne Schutgart swept through the Capitol's offices, bumping into the many frantic people racing along the same hall. Clerks and other government officials ran every which way, the recent disaster having sent the Federation into disarray. Even hours after the occurance, investigators still lacked for information.
He stopped at an automatic door, stepping inside his office as they opened. The familiar hiss of the doors closing behind him assured peace and quiet; for a while.
The Chancellor dropped into his gravchair. Yohanne turned to stare out his window, taking a moment to contemplate his next move. A speech? A ceremony of honor? A declaration of war on Dukensch? Our next move could be vital to the Federa-- The hiss of the doors interrupted his thoughts.
Captain Otto Streck passed through doorway as the Chancellor turned to face the intrusion. Yohanne quickly noticed a gravcart full of datacrystals hovering before the Captain. The Chancellor had already received a few dozen cartfulls like this one, as evidenced by the piles of glowing blue cubes taking up every square inch of available space in the office.
"Captain Streck, what have we here," Yohanne said as he stood, glaring at the new stack of datacrystals. He placed his left hand on the cherrywood desk below him as he extended his right to shake Streck's hand.
The Captain scratched at a large scar running the length of his face, right temple to left jaw. A thin smile contorted that scar. He shook the Chancellor's hand, his arm infusing friendly energy into the formality. "Well, sir, another load of reports for you. This one's Federation-wide."
"Sit down, old friend," the Chancellor smiled as he took his seat. "I've got to ask you something."
The Captain's smile disappeared, replaced with a mask. He gave away no emotions, no signals as to his thoughts. He slowly set himself into the black leather armchairs which flanked the Chancellor's desk. "Yes, Yohanne?"
Yohanne frowned inwardly at this use of his name, but a reflected gleam of light in the Captain's eyes made all seem alright between two old, old friends. He banished this discussion from his mind, returning to the task at hand.
The Chancellor inhaled deeply and leaned toward Captain Streck. "Are your loyalties with the Fleet, or with the Federation?"
An eerie silence thundered throughout the room. Questioning the honor and loyalty of an officer was... unthinkable.
Streck's mask broke. Another smile stretched across his face. "Sir," he said, "I signed up knowing I could die; for the Federation. I still know that."
The men stood up, shook hands, and Streck left with the cart. Devoid of datacrystals, of course.
----------------------
"Dear God Almighty, what have they done..."
Dana von Hutergaister gasped at the report she had just been handed. "The Council must be informed immediately... Oh, what have they done..." She didn't usually talk to herself, but this was not a usual occurance..
She somehow managed to control her shaking hands long enough to drop the datacrystal into her pocket. Running out of her Ministry of Worlds department, Dana managed to only trip once on her high-heels. Everyone she passed seemed to stop and stare at her. Running through the Capital Building was not commonplace.
As she passed the security station to enter the Chancellor's office, she felt something grab her arm. Her arm stopped, but not her body. It continued on, but was yanked back into the floor by whatever was pressing her arm to mush. Sprawled on the ground, she looked up at the smirking faces of two guards.
"Ma'am," the guard who was restraining her began, "Are you alright?" He broke into hysterical laughter along with the other man.
Dana had never expected to feel the sting of indignation again, once she had been elected to fill a very important governmental duty. But here she was, laying on the floor, and now the object of much laughter.
"I am Dana von Hutergaister, Minister of Worlds." She practically threw knives with her eyes. The smirks were suddenly wiped off the face of the guards. "You had better damn well let go of my arm and let me through. Now."
The two men stood frozen, wide-eyed. They would likely get a four-hour-long reprimand breifing. They finally recovered, and the first guard released his grip on Dana's arm.
"Sorry ma'am," The other guard began. "We just have our orders, and you didn't show no ID or nothin'."
Dana understood. Everyone had their orders, duties, responsibilities. "You have your orders, and I did not show any ID or anything." She smiled and turned around, walking into the Chancellor's office suite.
--------------------
"How many dead," the Chancellor's somber voice inquired.
Yohanne was getting old. He couldn't take much more of this. War, destruction, and then peace. That didn't last long.
Stress lines on his face deepened. He looked two hundred years old. Dana had always feared for his health. Mental or otherwise. This latest event most certainly was not helping. She thought for a moment; No embellishments, nothing. Just give him the straight number. "At least 200 million, sir."
Yohanne stared at her. That deathtoll was nothing near the reports he got during the Wars, but this was not a time of war. This was an era of peace. A Dukenschen fleet, maintained by the Federal World of Dukensch, had fired upon, looted, and destroyed the Fleetyards of Menach. Two Federal Worlds had now become involved in a pseudo-war.
"Damnit. Damn the entire Fleet of Dukensch." The Chancellor paused, letting that phrase sink into his head.
An officer from the StratOps center, deep under the Capital building, burst forth into the Chancellor's office. He stopped a few feet short of Dana and began to pant. He bent over and rested his arms on his knees, in an effort to bring his breathing under control.
Yohanne and Dana patiently waited until the soldier had recovered. The man stood up, easily dwarfing both the Chancellor and Minister. "Sir, Madam, we've received word that the Black Fleet has gone AWOL," He continued on over the Chancellor's cursing. "There are also reports that the Grand Fleet of the Admiralty has taken control of Normandeicht."
The Chancellor did not recognize this man, the messenger of bad tidings. "You are Mr..."
"Edurn, sir," the man replied.
Yohanne stood up and walked around to the front of his desk. "Well, Mr. Edurn," began the Chancellor, "I need you to call an emergency joint session of every single legislative body in the Federation. Now." Unexpectedly, Yohanne turned and slapped the Officer on the back. "And rest assured, I don't kill the messengers," he laughed in sober amusement.
---------------------------
High Admiral Schumacher seemingly flew down the hall, his pace so fast that his Admiral's Dress Robes whipped about behind him, like a pure-white angel flying down from Heaven.
He stopped short of the Chamber Doors to straighten his attire. Hasty looks gives a sense of rushed unpreparedness, the Admiral mused.
Fritz awaited the Chamber Doors to open. The massive thirty-foot doors opened soundlessly. A testament to Federal Engineering, he thought. Tens of pairs of eyes suddenly turned to examine this newcomer. As one, the various admirals and generals, commodores and colonels, rose to salute the High Admiral.
Schumacher returned the salute. "You may be seated." Though he had spoke in a soft voice, the room returned his words as though his voice had boomed in a show of command or power.
He leaned over as he approached the group, resting his hands down upon the diamond table below. "We all are met here," he ceased abruptly. The Admiral was very uncomfortable with the acoustics of the room. He had to adjust.
"We are met here," he began again, "the Admirals and Generals of the Armed Forces of the UFGZ. Recent developments have made it abundantly clear that there is schism within the Federation. Menach and Dukensch have declared open war upon each other, and even now decimate each other's assets, cities, fleets. Commodore de Tua has taken the Black Fleet, and cut off all communication with either Fleet High Command or the High Council. The Fleet of the Admiralty has seized Normandeicht in a blitzkreig."
He paused long enough to drink from a small glass of water before him.
"We must, then, decide the course that we shall take. Shall we remain loyal to the Federation, or overturn it?"
Fritz thought the nice echoing boom of his final sentance struck the importance of the dilemma straight into the minds of every single fellow commander.
Admiral Ghent stood. He slowly turned his head, sweeping the faces of every single man and woman in the room. He remained motionless, simply staring, weighing the consequences of every single possible action. Ghent exhaled, letting the air slowly back out into the atmostphere. "The High Council has often led us to war. Though great glory and honor has been found in those times, so many have died. We cannot continue to allow such death. The Senators and Representatives throw our lives away without regard."
He pondered carefully how to word his final sentence, practically yelling, "We must no longer allow the Council to send us to die, for wars which are started meaninglessly, and much too often. No more shall die for futile glory in the name of 'justice'!"
Most of the room erupted into applause, nearly deafening Dominar General Benito Benzini. Sitting patiently, he waited until the clapping had abated. He finally stood to speak.
"Fellow Generals and Admirals, our forces were created and built to safeguard our people. In the course of assisting our allies, we have been drawn into many wars, each of which bringing heavy casualties. But each time, we rebuilt. Our duty is to the Federation, to the People. This war will only cause more death, which is what you yourselves agreed you wished to cease. And as for 'justice', many nations we have warred upon have committed serious crimes against the very sentient races themselves. They have sacrificed millions in blatant disregard for any life. They have ruthlessly slaughtered millions more during wartime. They had to be brought to justice. Although we may not have won the wars, they know that there are those nations willing to stand up for what is right. Why do you think the Federation is seen as such a threat?"
Benzini sat, panting like his dog. There was no applause, only murmers of consent, of grudging understanding.
Another General, Yukatami Shizina, stood. Her eyes harbored a fierce fire, like lances, piercing through Benzini with such hatred he had never witnessed before. A mangled old adage came to his mind. Hell hath no fury like a woman mad at a reason. He let out a soft chuckle at the thought, further infuriating Shizina.
"The Federation sent my Great-Grandfather to defend the surface of Normandeicht. He, and millions of his men, were sacrificed on Normandeicht, so that the battle could be used as a rallying cry! 'Oh, remember the millions who were slaughtered by the Shivans!' Bullsh**. Your prescious Federation let them die. And the ancient Juumanistran war. We all remember how a nation who came to aid us, was declared war upon! Millions died in the attack, and we had to go kill another 800,000 in some stupid, foolish battle! The Federation must be exercised justice upon!"
Again, applause erupted among most of the people in the room.
It was obvious to Schumacher that the majority had decided to war with the Federation. So be it.
"With great aprehension," Fritz began, "I declare that we shall attempt to destroy the Federation. But," he quickly waved the others not to clap, "I must express my extreme disapproval of your decision. I want it on the record that I did not support this course of action."
OOC: That's it for today. Another post, though not as long, to come tomorrow. And please, no spam. If you're curious about something, please TG me, don't post OOC. If you want to get involved, TG me. Anything else, TG me. Thank you, -GZ.