NationStates Jolt Archive

600 years have passed. Terran Battlecruisers are now rusted and powerless hulks. Solarin WRATHCHILD vessels, long gone rogue, are a danger throughout Confederate held territory. League holdouts litter a half a hundred worlds, and half a hundred more are still openly defiant. New Gettysburg has fallen to Confederate fleet elements, and the massive shipyards it housed are now at their disposal. Hundreds of ships are now being built, rearming the weakened Confederate Navy, after decades of civil war. Confederate Marines and Kill Teams scour worlds of resistance, but key planets still hold strong against the reclamation. New Berlin and New Jamestown both hold out, unassailable for the moment, with thousands of WRATHCHILD remotes guarding the surface, and powerful fleets guarding the space above. For the first time in centuries, a message comes out from Solarin space, calling in most every Terran language, and several that are certainly not Terran.

Long ago, our nation was mighty. Centuries have passed, and we are weakened by civil war. Our alliances have faded into dust, and our old allies have forgotten us. The Solarin League is no more. Mechanical tyrrany is no more. Now the Solarin Confederacy rules, both here and in Korpulu. Old allies, Terran and Solarin alike, are invited to reconnect with us. New friends are welcome. Hostile powers, thinking to take advantage of our weakness are warned. You will find no welcome here, beyond the fury of relativistic shells and the searing heat of graser fire. All those desiring peaceful contact are invited to come to a dedication at the Marine Corps Memorial, followed by a small ceremony. After the ceremony, national representatives may meet with the heads of government, both myself, and the Governers of the several planets within the Confederacy, and discuss matters of mutual interest.

The message cuts off, leaving the image of the President at his desk, soldiers in full dress uniform at his back, and the flag of the Confederacy on his back wall.

"We got something, sir, looks like another invite."

Unter-Leutnant Konrad von Schleifen, reponding to his commander's barely perciptible nod, played the message for all to hear. He had learned to recognise the gesture quickly, because he was used to command changes. His last superior, Kommandant Hoetzen, had only been at the station for a week or two before being shunted up to ObLeu and recieving command of one of the new field signals battalions. Then he opened the window containing his book again. Communications duty was basically a chance to relax or get some revision done: in fact, that was the whole point. It wasn't as if it was actually necessary, not when no replies were being sent.

After a while spent banging a little at his keyboard, presumely communicating with the mysterious hyper-lifeforms on the Upper Decks (No Enlisted or Juniors), Kommandant Snelftag cleared his throat. He always did this before speaking, being a naturally quite man despite his booming Määlmo-accented voice.

"Reply to sender:

To the President Davis and the leadership of the Solarin Confederacy:

The Nova Boozian Reich und Republik is always eager to open relations with any newly created or newly emergent galactic power, and will gladly respond to your invitation. We note that you appear concerned with unscrupulous attackers who would take advantage of your comparitive youth on the galactic stage under the pretext of defended some defunct government justly overthrown. We have faced similar problems in our past, and we can be relied on to render assistance. We also hope that mutually beneficial economic treaties may be considered. In any case, we can at least exchange permenant embassies.

Boozian Foreign Minister Ambrosius Korteweg

We advise that if you come, come armed. not ll WRATHCHILD fleet elements have been eliminated, and they are more than willing to waylay basically anyone. Alternatively we can provide an escort for your diplomat if you desire. We have in fact had at least one attempt come our way. It was beaten back at high cost. We had nothing heavier than a Light Cruiser with which to resist, and only the tenacity of the defense prevented the attackers from gaining a toehold. It was quite unpleasant. If you will reply with your intended means of transport and time of arrival, we will endeavor to steer you past any hostile fleet elements that may still be cohesive.

While the president sent out messages seeking help, the rogue AI WRATHCHILD prepared its forces. Holding on the defensive only through concentrated force and weight of fire, a proposed assault to recover the New Gettysburg Shipyards is greeted with mixed enthusiasm by its fleet admirals. Hundreds of ships are rallied from systems of little importance, mostly destroyers and carriers, nothing heavier than a Heavy Cruiser is evident, barring the Battleships in command, but after long years of war, they are hardly at the cutting edge, and most are scarred by battles long past.

Around the shipyards, a small flotilla, several destroyers and a pair of battleships, guard the booming shipyards, and the fleets building there. A small quick reaction force is close enough to respond, but it is not nearly large enough to stop the assault. Local fleet elements are scattered, mopping up shattered WRATHCHILD squadrons. It is a fairly desperate situation, but it's not a serious thought in the minds of the Confederate Admirals. They all know that WRATHCHILD hasn't mounted a serious assault in months, and that its ability to do so is likely minimal. They all know wrong.

The Socialist Republic is very interested in reopening relations with the Solarins, but the Triumvirate expresses its concern that the Confederacy has not yet totally secured power in its sphere of influence. For the safety of our own citizens, we must decline your invitation due to the present instability of Solarin territory. Once the Confederacy has consolodated power, Xanthal will gladly recognize it as the ligitimate government of Solarin territory. At that time, we hope you will still wish to open friendly relations.

The Socialist Republic is very interested in reopening relations with the Solarins, but the Triumvirate expresses its concern that the Confederacy has not yet totally secured power in its sphere of influence. For the safety of our own citizens, we must decline your invitation due to the present instability of Solarin territory. Once the Confederacy has consolodated power, Xanthal will gladly recognize it as the ligitimate government of Solarin territory. At that time, we hope you will still wish to open friendly relations.

I fail to see the point of your response. You could have said as much and said nothing at all. In either case, feel free to visit when you are more secure in our ability to protect our own.

The Workers State is glad to hear from the Solarins again. It is our hope that we can establish relations again; as such we will send a representative to attend the ceremony and put our states on the path to good communication once more. For too long we have not communicated; we must speak again.

It saddens us that chaos reigns in your lands and worlds. It is our hope that we can somehow assist you in restoring order to your nation.

-Commissar of Foreign Affairs Carla Baileygates

The Workers State's representative, John Rosencrantz, was prepared to be sent off to the area to attend the ceremony. However, the danger of the situation prompted the CFA to wait until the Solarins replied....

You are quite welcome to come. Any delegation you send would be advised to bring some sort of escort, or you may elect to have us provide an escort. Things are not as safe as they could be, but that will not hold for long now, I am certain. Deo Vindice.

A trio of heavy cruisers comes across a lone WRATHCHILD cruiser, the battle is short and fierce. Its inevitable conclusion is the destruction of the weaker ship. The cruisers depart. The destroyer, lurking unnoticed by the heavier vessels, departs as well. Each reports to their commander. The AI Reynolds receives the news of Confederate dispersion with gladness. The Confederate Admiral is likewise gladdened by the destruction of the rogue ship.

WRATHCHILD sends its fleet, dispatching them from deep within its zone of control to strike at New Gettysburg.

Admiral Jackson's 4th Fleet is dispatched by the Confederate High Command to begin the next stage of assaults against the League worlds. It will stage through New Gettysburg, but it will not arrive for several days. WRATHCHILDs fleet will be in system for a full day before it arrives, and still no one has any idea.

From: Boozian Reich und Republik Foreign Minister Sibierskie
Your help is much appreciated. I assume there is some sort of inhibitor in place? If so, I request co-ordinates (I'm sure we share one of the major standard systems) for a jump just outside the perimeter. Our bigger stuff will go in first, then the courier and some escorts, all good fast ships, and make a run for it. On the other hand, if you can make a hole for us, we can dispense with the heavier units.

Anyway, hope to see you soon!


Konrad Korteweg always enjoyed seeing ships from the outside. They were re-assuring, because the statistics never really got across to you just how absolutely unbelievably massive they were. Of course, the courier was really not a giant by Boozian standards. Compared to ships found in some parts of the galaxy, it was quite the minnow.

But that didn't change that fact that it was hard to believe that anything made by humans could be so big. The farely appealing curves on the courier's hull re-enforced the impression that the vessel had been put there by some higher power, a very long time ago.

The Diplomatic Service. Forty-eight years ago. There were much bigger things out there, but you couldn't help but be impressed.

His PolÖk wasn't nearly as struck. Politik-Ökonomish Offizier David Volshafen had been with the navy in his national service, unlike Special Envoy Korteweg. He had grown used to very big things.

A black-coat appeared. That seemed to be a trick of the service. A little piece of moving, shouting, dockyard background slid into the foreground right in front of your nose.

"Little small compared to what you may be used to, but I hope you'll learn to like her, gents, she's your home for the month, probably."

Korteweg and Volshafen were soon to dicover that Käpitan Adriana Reinhardt always entered a coversation as if it had begun a few minutes ago and the other person was a childhood friend.

"Care for the guided tour?"

There is actually no need for the hole. Apparently 4th fleet has just swept through an area recently, and done a fairly thorough Seek and Destroy job of eliminating any holdouts. They're moving on to New Gettysburg, but they have cleared a fairly sizable lane through which you may pass. I will dispatch a squadron of Heavy Cruisers to escort you in if you desire. Nothing serious should get in your way though. If you follow the included route from our borders, everything should be fine.

Nearly 700 ships of various classes burn through the void, their destination, the massive shipyards at New Gettysburg. Guided by no less than 7 massive Battleships, the fleet is larger than any assembled in months, or possibly years. If it can take and hold the shipyards it will cripple the Confederate warmachine.

1,500 ships under Admiral Frank Jackson are approaching New Gettysburg on their own. A day behind the WRATHCHILD fleet, they will arrive significantly after battle has been joined.

A pair of Battleships and a dozen destroyers patrols the shipyards. No hostile ship has been seen in weeks, and their captains are becoming complacent. Soon enough, however, enemy vessels will make their appearance, and there will be the devil to pay for their confidence.

1350 Hours, February 11th, 2671 (Military Calendar) \
Sol System, Palace of the Emperor, Earth

Earth. The heart of the Imperium, and the strongest military installation in the Imperium, it was the place which directed everything from trade to the placement of the fleet. HIGHCOM, the top command structure that governed the military, had their headquarters here and on the planet, the Palace of the Emperor was located. A massive structure which was built in 2634, this structure commemorated the massive struggles humanity has had to go through, and had the long lists of the many killed in the Human-Covenant War, and the Human Civil War that came after, giant murals depicting some of the most epic battles from those wars. The First and Second Battles of Earth, the Battle of Reach, the Siege of the Atlas Moons, and various other battles. It was well-guarded with a crack division of ODST's and the Emperor himself was always guarded by at least five Spartan IV's, and the palace had plasma turrets, Sentinels and other traps to guard the rest of the palace. One of the safest places on Earth to be and it was here that Emperor Nathan Avarei ruled over the Imperium, and was currently reading a message which the Sensor Station Zeus, the one closest to Earth as it was stationed at Mars, had intercepted. The Emperor was a fairly young man, only twenty-eight years old, but he was very smart and had great instincts, considering he had been tutored in politics, economics, everything he would need to know to rule. And now, he had situation he had to respond to. It was fairly serious, so he decided to read it himself, instead of having it read to him, as was normal procedure.

Long ago, our nation was mighty. Centuries have passed, and we are weakened by civil war. Our alliances have faded into dust, and our old allies have forgotten us. The Solarin League is no more. Mechanical tyrrany is no more. Now the Solarin Confederacy rules, both here and in Korpulu. Old allies, Terran and Solarin alike, are invited to reconnect with us. New friends are welcome. Hostile powers, thinking to take advantage of our weakness are warned. You will find no welcome here, beyond the fury of relativistic shells and the searing heat of graser fire. All those desiring peaceful contact are invited to come to a dedication at the Marine Corps Memorial, followed by a small ceremony. After the ceremony, national representatives may meet with the heads of government, both myself, and the Governers of the several planets within the Confederacy, and discuss matters of mutual interest.

The Emperor leaned back in his throne, pulling on a strand of hair, a habit of his when he was deep in thought. So, they were calling for friendly nations to come in and discuss relations, and it was a no Confederacy. It was the perfect opportunity, they could help them rebuild, and in turn get a possible alliance, favorable trade routes, and business interests. Nodding to his attendant, who took the datapad away, he reached forward and pressed a button on the holographic generator in front of him. The face of Fleet Admiral Carlyle appeared. “Ah, Emperor Avarei. What can I do for you?”

“Greetings, Edward. I assume you read the communication we received from the Solarin Confederacy?”

“Of course, ONI would never let up on it's duty.”

“I thought not. I want you to contact HIGHCOM and get a battlegroup together. I am going to be traveling to the Solarin Confederacy to attend this meeting.”

“Sir, from what the communique said, we will need more than that.”

The Emperor smiled. “Ah, forgive me, I am not a military man. Assemble what you see fit as enough to protect me and notify me when it's ready.”

“It will be done, Nathan.” The generator winked out and then came back up. Sitting up, he began to prepare his message to the Confederacy....


On the Confederate channels, a message would be intercepted, a highly encrypted signal that would barely show up on sensors. When opened, it would reveal Emperor Avarei, who would begin speaking:

”Greetings. I am Emperor Avarei the First, rule of the Imperium of Terra. I have received your message and understand your plight. You are suffering under a civil war most damaging, not unlike the one we suffered nearly two hundred years ago. I will gladly come to greet you and even offer aid in your struggle to become a powerful nation once more. I only ask for permission to enter your nation and coordinates to the planet this ceremony is being held. I await your reply.”

The message would then repeat four times before destroying itself, making the message, which was already invisible to most systems capable of tracking it, unable to be tracked to it's source.

Jorrus meditated in his private chambers within the Alliance's secret military base, though it's slowly becoming not that secret. With the many numbers of people visiting in the last few years, the Alliance has slowly been gaining attention. Slowly rebuilding themselves to a fully functioning government rather than a rogue group of freedom fighters. Thinking upon this, Jorrus felt something change in the force. The Solarin's are back... His door bell then chimed. "Yes, come."

An ensign strolled on in giving Jorrus a data pad, confirming Jorrus's suspicion, "Sir, message from the Solarin's. They're back."

Jorrus read the datapad, "I'm aware of it Ensign, please send them a message of our warmest regards and that we'll be glad to connect with them, if we weren't in the past."

"Aye Supreme Councilor."


From, the Huntarian Alliance
We are glad to hear that you're back in the galaxy and we'll be sending a small escort fleet into your system for contact. We hope that we'll build a strong relationship in the near future.

Most of the Boozian navy set their life to the buzzing of the alarm clocks in their dormitories and stations, slicing time into standardised blocks that quickly and brutally stamped out planetary day and hour lengths. Civilian space travellers, if they could be bothered or simply could not afford to lose sleep, kept their quarters set to their native time.

This was why Korteweg, who, despite his dignified old Flutmann name, was an Ofenwelt man and could cope with the occasional handful of six hour nights without showing any ovbious sign of distress, was the only one of the senior officers and diplomats staggering onto the bridge who was as fully awake and lucid as the few night-shift middies hastily closing whatever it was they had been doing with their computers.

The officer of the watch, a mere KomLeu since they were in port, saluted briskly.

"Co-ordinates recieved. The navigation's being done as we speek. It won't be more than and hour and a half before we jump, and probably only two days transit. Three at the outside."

"No offense, but then why have we been dragged from bed?", said Korteweg, who didn't have much experiance of the navy.

"S'standin ords," mumbled the captain as she entered from one of the side doors. "Gme coffee."


The jump went without hitch. The ship, not being a fighting vessel, actually had windows, for the look of the thing, which had to be shut to avoid any non-regulation brain-dribblage, but it was a smooth process, for those on the inside, in any case. There wasn't even a sensation of physical motion, despite the fact that they were, in the conventional sense, moving. As the sailors knew, their never was. On a Boozian vessel, in common with much of the galaxy, if you could feel you were moving, you'd be dead in less than a micro-second.

Permission is surely granted. The coordinates are included in this message, and a theoretically safe route is traced from several points on our borders. You may elect to be met by a further escort from the Presidents Own if you desire.

Several clear routes through the hash of League and Confederate worlds are included in this message, to allow you a safe route through to the system.

The fleets slowly burned through space, covering the distance between stars, converging on a system of planets, otherwise useless but for their massive shipyards, and the ships scattered in them.

The ship Rosencrantz is sent on, the Long Live Rock, is escorted by four Mao Zedong battleships, with the new RA recycling fields and all the strengths the People's Navy has to offer. The MacIntyre Government wants this to work.

Entering into Bosun Jump, the target is where the Marine Corps Memorial is located, making sure to take a path to minimize contact with the enemy....

The Emperor read the message and smiled. Recording another message, he sent it along to the Solarin Confederacy.

Thank you, I shall see you fairly soon. May you forever triumph against your enemies.

Turning off the holoprojector, he activated the comm to the Fleet Admiral's office. "Edward, have you thrown together a proper escort for my trip to the Confederacy?" The Admiral's face appeared, looking up from a large mound of paperwork.

"Hm? Oh yes sir, the fleet has been prepared. I arranged for your personal ship, the Fist of Humanity to be leading the fleet, with an escort of twelve destroyers, two carriers, and two cruisers, seventeen ships in total. This should be enough to protect you. ONI has also arranged for two prowlers to attend as well, as well as a reinforcing battlegroup in case things goes to hell over there." The Emperor laughed.

"I am glad I have you guys still, or else who would do all my worrying for me?" The Admiral smirked.

"Who knows, sire. It is waiting in orbit, sir, for whenever you choose to leave."

"Thank you, Admiral." Turning off the comm, he nodded to his Spartan IV guards, who formed up around him and escorted him out of the Imperium and to the airport in the Palace. They boarded a Pelican and shot off into space, where the fleet awaited. Nathan gazed at the stars, something he had not seen ever since he was a kid and a soft smile was on his face. It was good to be back amongst them once more, away from the throne and the constant pressure of his duties. The Pelican boarded the Supercarrier, and he made his way to the bridge, where Captain Vaelor saluted.

"Greetings milord."

"Hello Nikolai. Are we ready to jump?"

"At your convenience, sire."

"Well, that would be be now then." The Captain smirked.

"As you wish, my Emperor." Turning to his crew, he shouted. "Alright, power up Slipspace generators, input the target coordinates given to us by the Solarin's." The crew's hands fluttered over the controls, as the screen showed the buildup of power to the Slipspace generators. After five minutes, they reached full capacity and he yelled out an order, and they engaged, the fleet vanished into white light as they made the jump heading to the Solarin Confederacy.

Little did they know they were heading straight into danger.....

In the black gloom of space, the gathering storm abates. In the ships, gimlet eyes awake, the worlds all right, until FTLi slams on, ripping a pack of ships into reality. A trio of Warthchild Destroyers, gone rogue during the long rebellion, have snatched the Telrosi ships from the Slipspace bubble, and back into reality. Things immediately look bad for the lightly armored Destroyers. They are outnumbered more than 4:1. The battle will be short and brutal, but in their madness the ruling AIs do not care. Guns track on the several ships, and 100 ton slugs fire, rippling through the void to batter their way through armor and hulls.

Hundreds of lightyears away from the Telrosi, a similar trio of ships waited in its own ambush. Tearing the Boozians from the warp, the Heavy Cruiser and its consorts were all veterans of the first campaigns of the Civil War. They were also quite surely broken men. But, the remaining guns on the Heavy Cruiser tracked towards the opposing ships, and their menacing bores told all that was needed of their intent.

President Davis, billions of miles away from the ensuing skirmish, prepared himself to depart New Georgia for the Fortress World of New Virginia, where they would be meeting for the dedication of the newest portion of the Memorial.

Vaelor watched the fleet's progress as it moved through Slipspace, nineteen ships as the Emperor's personal escort. The Emperor himself stood on the bridge, gazing at the screens as it depicted the bright blue colors of Slipspace. Recent discoveries allowed them to watch Slipspace as they traveled through it. It was an amazing sight and scientists were still probing it's secrets, trying to find out more about the galaxy. This was all interrupted abruptly as the sensors blared and the blue stream outside began to waver. "Captain, we are being pulled out of Slipspace by some unknown FTLi." Vaelor rushed up to the sensor console.

"Can we break through it?"

"Negative, it has too much of a grip on us already. Looks like we ran into those League fellows the President mentioned."

The Captain's face turned grim. "Indeed. Have the fleet prepare for battle."

"Aye sir." He walked over to his chair and sat down. "My liege, you may want to sit down. This is going to be rough." Nathan blinked and then nodded, picking a chair and buckling himself in. The Slipspace around them shuddered and vanished, and the fleet came to what would be an FTL equivalent of a sudden stop. Papers flew and loose equipment slammed into walls as the crews clung to their chairs or whatever was nearby. The sensors blared again. The Captain lifted his head up.

"Report!"

"Sir, the fleet is in fine condition. However, we seem to have fallen into a trap. We have three ships ahead of us. Scans indicate they are light ships but from how the President talked about them, they are still powerful." Vaelor let out a breath.

"Even so, they are outnumbered by us, they can only do so much. Have the prowlers fall back behind the fleet and get intelligence on our enemy. The destroyers are to attack first, firing their plasma cannons and torpedoes. The carriers and cruisers are to fire their energy projectors. We shall let loose with our MAC cannons."

"Yes, sir letting the fleet know now-" The collision alarm sounded as the tactical screen showed the projectiles heading for their ships.

"Captain, we have incoming projectiles! They are moving mighty fast and if the sensors are right, are around 100 tons!" Vaelor grimaced. "Counter the firing order for the front four destroyers. Have them engage their Sentinel PD systems." The fleet was organized in a normal formation for escort duty. There was four destroyers in front of the fleet and to the left and right. A carriers was on either side of the Fist of the Emperor, and the two cruisers in front and rear of the ship. The two prowlers had already begun retreating behind the fleet as they began to engage. The destroyers glowed as plasma gathered in their weapons. The front four, however, did not glow. Little red dots appeared all over the ships as their PD systems engaged. Lancing red beams cut across space with surprising quickness and agility, cutting through the mass of projectiles. However, even they were only able to destroy so much. The projectiles slammed into three of the four front destroyers, the rest impacting with the carrier behind them. Their shields flared a dangerous white, indicating they had received some heavy damage. The carrier obtained some damage but not a lot, considering it only received the last remnant of the attack. They were beginning to compensate after the attack, and the Captain knew it was time to strike.

"All ships, FIRE!" The eight destroyers on either side unleashed their plasma, around eighty-four plasma blasts and seventy-two plasma torpedoes, which already began tracking the enemy ships. Each Wraithchild destroyer was targeted by two destroyers, while the remaining two split their attacks on the two closest destroyers. The cruisers and carriers behind them unleashed their energy projectors, mighty beams of energy which cut entire ships in half, around six beams lanced out, two per enemy ship. Finally, the Fist of the Emperor aimed all its seven MAC cannons and locked on to the ship that was taking the least fire, and unleashed 21 MAC shells flying through space to impact with the enemy fleet. Once the attack was unleashed, the fleet began to recharge their weapons, gathering plasma and magnetic energy for another salvo if need be.

It had been a skeleton shift, but by the time the alarms sounded, most of the crews were awake. Leaving the warp involuntarily was not an experiance for the shallow sleeper. The small gangs monitoring systems swelled as full work parties hurried to their allocated positions, and, under the direction of grizzled old petty officers, set to work making all systems combat ready as soon as they arrived, sometimes before officers could be pulled from their shift duties.

Kommodore Martin Goltzt, on the bridge of the light cruiser Schleiffenstadt, took a quick stock of the situation. One big one, two little ones. He tentatively christened them CA 1, DD1, and DD2 on his readout. The big guns on the cruiser looked like they'd easily go through the shields on his vessels and have most of their weight left for the armour, so that was the priority target.

"Courier, opposite direction they're coming from and get back to the warp at the earliest opportunity. All other ships, bows to CA 1, full torpedoes, then Einigkeit and Freiheit engage enemy destroyers. Lure them away, don't get too beaten up. Mr. Torstensen, go all ahead full. Mannerheim cover us at all ahead three quarters and both of you be ready to turn starboard at my order."

Shells flashed through the depths of the void, and blasted near to the hulls of the Boozian ships. Inexorable and unstoppable, the sheer power of the weapons was...anticlimactic. Thousands of kilometers short of their targets, they simply...disappeared, erased from existence by weapons mightier than any in the old Solari arsenal. A full squadron of Confederate Battleships bore down heavily on the AI vessels, lashing them with fire for which they were utterly unprepared. 600cm Grasers blasted deep holes into the Cruisers hull, and swiftly reduced it to a floating hulk, while the Destroyers were almost summarily executed, the sheer brutality and power of the Terran weapons eradicating any possibility of continued assault. The Boozian commander would surely be relieved to see the massive Battleships coming to his aid, and even more pleased to hear the voice coming over his comm, thickly accented with a drawl barely recognizable in this time as originating in a place once known as "Dixie".

Liberty[/I]]Well, y'all seem to have been in a spot of bother. Welcome to Confederate space, try and avoid the wreckage. I just stepped way outside my zone of responsibility to help y'all. Havin you die now'd look right bad on my part...

The dark haired Battleship captain was almost assuredly a welcome sight as well, his massive vessels massed more than five times as much as the ships they had just effortlessly wiped from reality.

The Telrosi were not quite so lucky. Similarly to the Boozians, shells ripped through space, and converged on the fragile hulls of their ships. Many were knocked out by the Telrosians own defenses, and several more were eradicated by unlooked for aid, but several made it through the net of Graser fire to threaten the Telrosi ships themselves, and there was nothing more the distant Battlecruiser and its escorts could do to save them from the fire. Lances of plasma and MAC shells hammered the ships, but, by some miracle, one survived the volley, for approximately 5 seconds, that being the time it took for the approaching Confederates to get a solid lock, and reduce it to nothing more than free floating atoms. It was afterwards fairly unclear exactly which ship had killed the target, and it would never be known that it was about 30 seconds away from blowing up when it's fusion plants failed anyway, but that was for the future, in the here and now, it was more important to reassure the surely nervous guests.

Welcome to Confederate Space gentlemen. I'm sorry we couldn't do more to help, but the range was so long, it was impossible to close fast enough to stop everything from getting through. We'll escort you the rest of the way in. President Davis decided it would be better if we sent out patrols to find you. Strange things are happening, and the AIs are acting frisky, so we couldn't be too cautious with guests on the way.

Unlike hiss counterpart with the Boozians, the Battlecruiser captain was a dark skinned, older man, graying about the temples. His mustache and trim beard didn't look at all out of place when taken on the whole, though in any other setting they might have looked...severe. His eyes were what truly stood out however, blue as glacial ice, set in a face that was nearly black, they set him aprt from many of his compatriots by sheer difference of apperannce. Now his ships took up formation around the Telrosi vessels, and guard the diplomatic vessels for the remainder of their mercifully short journey.

As the news spread from bridges, via officers returning to their bunks, through the crews of the Boozian squadrons, resounding cheers began to break out on the crewed decks. Diplomatic missions were supposed to be a soft job, although the assignment of combat craft to such missions in any case strongly suggested that the country in question had some pretty big problems on its hands. But it was rare indeed that the hosts had the basic courtesy to deal with it.

Your help is much appreciated. It has been a while since I visited a scoiety which has tried to stop people killing me. I quite often get the exact opposite, but I digress. We, as you probably know, are a diplomatic delegation from Boozia. A well armed one. We were pulled from FTL and we'll be leaving in a moment with your permission.

Go right ahead Gentlemen. I'll send a message ahead to be watching for you. I've other things to attend to, so, be safe now... The Battleships lingered, contrary to the statements of their commander, awaiting the return of the Boozians to safety in the Warp, before they themselves returned to their duties. Among other things, they were charged with the destruction of anything else that might be along the route the Boozians were taking, they'd simply missed this particular cluster until it became an issue.

The tall, slim Confederate President prepared to leave, pausing only long enough to finish his speech that had been planned for the ceremonies ahead. It was unusually brief, even for the usually laconic president. Many speechwriters had passed through his office over the years, and by this point he refused to allow anyone but himself to write the words he would speak. While this was at times a burden, it also had some advantages, most notably that it took far longer when he had to do things himself. The first ships of the Presidents Own to depart New Virginia were the Heavy Cruisers, his heaviest remaining ships, and those most likely to be able to destroy any resistance, followed shortly by the president himself aboard the Carrier flagship, along with the Cruiser screen, and lastly by the Destroyer scouts and flank guards. They had a short distance to traverse, and their guests would be arriving soon, so there was only a slight rush to their schedule.

New Gettysburg Shipyards, 23:32, local shipboard time

More than 700 ships were incoming. More than 700 fast and heavily armed vessels, the last remaining concentrated force of the AI Fleets. And it was all bearing down on the nearly defenseless shipyards, at this exact moment. First to notice was the Battleship of the system picket, closest to the point of emergence, it only had time to warn the other ships and shipyards before an FTLi barrier halted all supralight communications.

Seated on the Flag Bridge, Commodore Andrew Perry was a Commodore without a true squadron to command. His actual command was scattered to the void, though his QRF was en route, its intervention would do little to stem the tide of oncoming foes. The first testing shots licked out from both sides as Confederate Destroyers and system forts clashed with gunships and opposing screening ships, seeking the edges of formations, or trying to assess the true size of the enemy force. For both sides, all was not quite as it seemed. A septet of Battleships lead the assaulting AIs, but the Commodores Independence was more than a match for each individual opponent. WRATHCHILD destroyers, faster and more maneuverable, were outgunned by their Confederate counterparts, and swiftly took the hard part of their skirmishes, forcing the defenders to fall back only by weight of numbers.

Three massive Dreadnoughts, and even one Superdreadnought, were housed in the shipyards, in various stages of near completion. Independence had already been stationed nearby, now its paltry destroyer escort rallied around the primary yards, sheltering under the guns of their superior, while striving to prevent a seemingly endless supply of assaulting gunships from breaking through their desperate defense to savage the larger vessel. Cruisers began to join the growing fray, but no mere cruiser could hope to stand in the line against the sheer might of a Battleships main battery, and the majority were quickly silenced as they entered range. Each side had a weakness. The Solari had powerful weapons, but thy were slower firing, and in total less numerous than the guns of their opponents, on the other hand, the rapid firing MACs of the AIs could not penetrate their web of defenses set up by the numerous crossing beams of the Solari guns. Stalemated, until one side or he other could come to grips and press home their advantage.

OOC: Damn....sorry about the late post, exams and unpacking from school kept me busy. I believe you said I had to encounter foes only if I requested, but if that's changed lemme know.

IC:

The Long Live Rock and its escort unit, as they approached New Virginia, dropped out from Bosun Jump some distance away from the area. Rosencrantz was honestly somewhat disturbed at the activity sensors were registering. New Dornalia itself was used to military traffic. Lots of it. But to encounter a nation under siege still was quite disturbing to see....

To ensure that this hardware wasn't turned on him, he wired a message to the authorities on a secure channel, triple encyrpted, with a few pieces of proof to indicate he was not one of the enemies they were facing:

"New Virginia, this is the New Dornalian People's Navy Ship Long Live Rock. John Rosencrantz presiding over the New Dornalian diplomatic mission. Forgive my sudden arrival, but I would like to request permission to enter, for I am to go to the Marine Corps Memorial dedication. I have four escorts with me, I would like permission for them to dock at the appropriate areas as well."

OOC: It's totally cool, you're tricky to get ahold of, so I went with the assumption you'd remain unmolested.

IC:

Welcome to New Vuhjinia Gentlemen, if you'll direct youh attention towahds the outuh system, I'm fairly cuhtain that the Presidents Own stands out quite brightly. That's youh destination. You've been pre-cleared by national identification. Just don't stray off the course and the system defenses won't even cahre. Please don't stray actually, they tend to get rathuh...trigger happy. We've been known to lose a ship that deviated from its path from time to time. Enjoy youh stay Gentlemen, I'll see you groundside in a few hours.

The message was audio only, but the soft spoken general's distinct drawl could be clearly heard. It came from growing up as a part of New Virginia's upper class, distinct in its own way from the thick accent of his protege William, and in an entirely different manner from that of his close friend Thomas.

OOC: It's totally cool, you're tricky to get ahold of, so I went with the assumption you'd remain unmolested.

IC:

NVA System Command, General Augustus Lee, General in Chief of the Armies of the Confederacy, Commander, Home Fleet
Welcome to New Vuhjinia Gentlemen, if you'll direct youh attention towahds the outuh system, I'm fairly cuhtain that the Presidents Own stands out quite brightly. That's youh destination. You've been pre-cleared by national identification. Just don't stray off the course and the system defenses won't even cahre. Please don't stray actually, they tend to get rathuh...trigger happy. We've been known to lose a ship that deviated from its path from time to time. Enjoy youh stay Gentlemen, I'll see you groundside in a few hours.

The message was audio only, but the soft spoken general's distinct drawl could be clearly heard. It came from growing up as a part of New Virginia's upper class, distinct in its own way from the thick accent of his protege William, and in an entirely different manner from that of his close friend Thomas.

"A Southern Accent?" Rosencrantz thought. Figures; with a place like New Virginia, it was likely you had southerners here, or in this case, the descendants of said people. As he and his escorts moved through the area as directed by their hosts, Gracie, the Ship's AI, did some pondering as well. She asked Rosencrantz: "These Solarins seem quite different from us, do they not?"

Rosencrantz turned and spoke to the AI, which was obviously new at diplomacy, saying to correct her: "Now Gracie, they just talk a little differently. I'm sure their customs are sorta different, but nothing we can't overcome too much, seeing as they are human and they're as well armed as we are."

Gracie then said, "Oh. Okay." somewhat apologetically, as they docked at the President's Own.

“Captain, they launched another volley!”

“What is the status of the front destroyers?”

“Shields are at 80% and rising at .5% per second.”

Vaelor grimaced. “Very well. I don't want any unneeded damage done to the fleet, so order them to pull out from in front of us. I am going to let the Fist of Humanity take some of that incoming damage. Have the PD system ready, and have the fleet fire on my mark.” The four destroyers in front of the Supercarrier, shifted and began to head directly down, moving out of the way of the incoming missiles. Nathan clenched his chair handle in preparation for the impact. The tactical holomap tracked the incoming fire, the A.I. moving through calculations at a rapid speed. The Captain waited as the shells got closer before yelling. “Mark!”

The fleet opened up and a hail of arcing, red energy beams sliced through many of the projectiles, wiping them out instantly. The Imperium fleet was surprised to see more get annihilated by graser fire. “Where did that fire come from?” The Ensign at Navigation inputted some commands.

“Confederate ships, sir. They came to help anyways.” Vaelor nodded and turned back to the tactical map. The collision alarm blared.

“Sir, several of the enemy projectiles have penetrated the PD field of fire. Estimated time until impact, twenty-four seconds.” Vaelor gripped his hands.

“Everyone, brace for impact!” He raced back to his chair and clutched it, while yelling. “Increase shield power by 20%!”

“Working, sir!” The projectiles flew closer and closer, and the shield did not reflect a change until the last moment. The shells impacted with the shield and the bridge rocked but it was only a momentary tremor and did little. The Captain sighed.

“Wouldn't have done much anyways, but no need to take chances with the Emperor on board. What is the status of the enemy forces?”

“Wiped out, sir. The salvo killed all but one, which was severely damaged. It was finished off by the Confederate fleet. They are hailing us.”

“Patch 'em thru.”

Welcome to Confederate Space gentlemen. I'm sorry we couldn't do more to help, but the range was so long, it was impossible to close fast enough to stop everything from getting through. We'll escort you the rest of the way in. President Davis decided it would be better if we sent out patrols to find you. Strange things are happening, and the AIs are acting frisky, so we couldn't be too cautious with guests on the way.

Vaelor pressed a key and opened his side.

Greetings Captain. I thank you for the help and welcome the escort. Normally, I would not ask for such but with the Emperor on board, I don't want to take any chances. We will follow your lead to the planet.”

The four destroyers moved back into position and the shield were regenerated. The alert was called off, though they still left it at Code Yellow, and continued to move through space towards the Memorial site the President had given them the coordinates to.

OOC: Sorry for the wait, lost the link to this thread. Also, I don't know exactly where this is taking place, the ceremony, so I will let you guide me there, MM.

The Dornalian ships would dock with a massive station orbiting one of the outermost planets in the system. The planet was an oddity, well beyond the life belt, but still somehow warm, and extremely fertile. It had been designated in years past as the proving grounds for the nations military, the Naval Academy at Newport, the brooding Citadel, the birthplace of Marine Officers, The Island, proving ground for those that desired to wear the battle steel of a Marine, the broad expanses of the War College, producing the finest officers of the Confederacy, and finally, the massive bulk of the Armored Combat Suit Academy was visible, dominating the clustered military bases and academies, housing the most dangerous troops in the entire nation.

Far from the bright halls and broad fields of the military academies, tucked away on a tropical jewel near the equator, stood the memorials. The shattered hull of a battlecruiser rose with pride above the graves of Naval fallen, all too often empty of those they remembered. Antiquated tanks, rank upon rank, stood silent vigil over the graves of the Army. Ancient fighters, so old not even the most desperate times would necessitate their recall, held pride of place at the Air Wing memorial. No massive monuments adorned the graves of the heroes of the Armored Combat suits, a simple tomb, in which rested the finest officer ever produced by a hundred nations, was the only adornment, an expanse of white crosses spread around the tomb of a man whose full name had been lost to history, but whose weathered grave still bore the name "Iron O'Neil", though the gap between the words indicated a missing name.

Finally the Marines would receive their due, their fallen separated out from those of their naval brethren, and interred with their own honors, recognized for their sacrifices in Confederate service. The monument was so far shrouded, hidden from sight by an opaque screen, but its size was undeniable, standing tall against the backdrop of the first hundred open graves.

At every monument, a pair of Guards stood, massive in the armor of the ACS, these, men too old to continue on the front lines, or deemed to have suffered enough in service of their nation, had been granted three choices. Join the ranks of the Tomb Guards, never again to see service, but guaranteed their own place in the sacred soil, or to join the Totenkorps, or to leave the service forever. There were only 80 Guards. As yet, the Marine Memorial, undedicated and unhallowed, had no guards, though that would soon change.

As the Boozians and Telrosi trickled in, and the Dornalians descended to the surface, they would be met by an honor guard of the top graduates of each academy, escorted down by the Navy Pilots, met by marines and ACS and Tanks. The president himself would not be in evidence, nor any high officials. The Commandant of the ACS Acadamey would take charge of them, and see to their care for the short time between landing and dedication. Everything was carefully orchestrated to provide a good first impression.

New Gettysburg Shipyards, 02:15, Local Time

WRATHCHILD ships trickled in, engaging by squadrons, as the embattled picket grimly held their lines, beating back attacks despite accruing damage to their ships. The QRF had arrived, and smashed a major flanking maneuver by the assaulting ships, which would have left the Confederate line horribly exposed, and engaged on two fronts, but was almost entirely destroyed in the doing, the entire First Squadron was reduced from a dozen regal Cruisers or a battered pair, shoring up a hole in the lines vacated by the destruction of a trio of destroyers. Reinforcements trickled in on both sides, grinding away at the defenders, and repeatedly forcing the attacking AIs back on their heels.

Satelite shipyards, the truly critical portions of the installation, were all in-system from the clash, but already the massive guns of the ships housed there were being brought online. Even an unfinished Superdreadnought was a force to reckon with, and with some small portion of the reinforcements taking up positions to defend the satellites, if and when the main force had to abandon their untenable position, they would be able to fall back on a nearly impregnable position. Assuming they could fall back at all.

A good impression was made on Rosencrantz. The kid from New York got to see the best of the locals, and for all of his training, all those language courses, all those anthropology and culture courses--it was quite a sight.

"These people know how to put on a show," he thought, as the Terrans went through the motions, taking him down to the surface with Navy pilots, apparently the best they had. They rolled out the red carpet and then some, with Sunday best being an understatement. No doubt this show would be similar on the surface.

As he went down, he looked out the front, and saw the massive surroundings coming into view. It was almost...grandiose. But, he tried to keep his cool. He had a job to do, and it wasn't to gawk like a Japanese tourist.

The Telrosian fleet was escorted into the space above the planet, where it took defensive positions and scanned the local space in short intervals, to be able to fight off any and all surprise attacks that came their way and aid the Confederate forces in the area. The Captain and the Emperor, as well as two Spartan IV's, and a six man squad of elite Helljumper ODST's were sent down to the planet, after the Dornalians. They gave the scenery a good solid look but didn't bother to gawk at it. It was amazing to the Emperor but he was focused on matters of state and couldn't spare brainpower to stare at the scenery. They were quickly received by the Confederate welcoming party and soon were bundled off into their rooms, where they waited for the call to go to the ceremony. Two ODST's guarded the Emperor's door and inside, as he sat at his desk, the two Spartans guarded the Emperor himself, while the rest of the ODST's played cards and shot the shit with each other.

The Emperor focused on what he would face in situations and what would be appropriate to say, so he was focused on sheets of paper as he waited for the signal.