NationStates Jolt Archive

The people who walk in darkness; will see a great light
Upon those who dwell in the land of gloom; a light will shine

The Dominion of Emperor Pudu is a great and vast land, its history punctuated by brief periods of war, followed by the endlessly repeated dogma; Community, Conformity, Stability.

Certain times in the history of the Dominion, certain foes of her Emperor, have served often to punctuate that Stability, and to danger the Community. Nigh on a decade ago, such an event came to pass.

In the little heard-of land of Chitzeland, a Pope died and a President was assassinated, and chaos and tumult of the populace rose to the surface. The nation was a boiling pot of civil war, genocide, rebellion, and holy war. The Dominion, moving along her eternal mission, stepped into this scarred land, and distributed order. Quickly did the armies of the Emperor spread, quicker still would they have were it not for the intervention of another small, un-noticed nation-state; The Dominion of Wanderjar, and its own Emperor, Christoph Baker.

Wanderjar then fought against the righteous armies of the proud Emperor, and resisted the rightful expanse of the Emperor's will. In the end, they were defeated; cast aside; and forgotten; for a time.

Ever since have the interests of the Pudite Dominion been intertwined with the concerns of the Wanderjarian. Their armies and allies were encountered ever after, and a long series of wars broke upon the Emperor. His soldiers, proud, brave, and upright as they were, were being worn down, and the tireless navies of the Emperor were showing signs of being worn thin.

Constant warfare along the side of the Emperor's friends, constant warfare against the Emperor's Global Alliance of Sovereign Nations foes, and then, the New Prussian Empire, and other, rouge states, all counting themselves among the allies and benefactors of Wanderjar.

It seemed, that there was a common link.

For a way is shown us; a fate is revealed;
Upon its shoulder Dominion rests

Deep within the reaches of the Dominion's homeland, rested a small room, it's stark white walls and heavy wooden tables an archaic contrast to the tangle of computers, wires, and LCD screens that were, seemingly improbably, crammed into the limited space.

Here was one of four-thousand like rooms, completely without unique qualities, save for its location. Roughly half a kilometer above this room, to the pride of those within, was the great offices of the Emperor himself, and it was to his will that they toiled now.

Standing out among their number, that number being a company of dark-clad, pale faces, each sitting motionlessly tapping away at their screens, was a newcomer. Dressed in a flowing white trench coat, he was a spark of light, glowing with the aura of the computers surrounding him. He wore long, straight silver hair, and had a face as pale as those around him, although he was not one of their kin.

He was the personal aide to the Emperor, and his foreign affairs officer, the door to the outside world; Mr. White. His moniker was a title alone, given to any who filled his post, and he had no real identification, outside of his serial number, stored as it was deep within the banks of some lost archive.

He was here, following a report issued to his office only hours before, an issue the Dominion has many times dealt with in the past few years. For once again, the Emperor was called to battle. The newest incarnation of allies the enemies in Wanderjar had formed around themselves; the New Prussian Empire, was now entering obvious and open hostilities with the Pudite allies, the Corporate Alliance.

Despite never joining the monolith that was the CA, the Dominion had long before stood as a powerful associate, and was often called to fight alongside them. Such here was the case.

Were it any normal occurrence, and time in the last number of years, the Emperor would have eagerly dispatched an Imperial Army Group and a naval taskforce, and been done with the battle as it passed from the region.

This time, however, was different. Mr. White, receiving from one of the Media Observation Technicians a dossier of events and players, he left the room, bound for a far more important destination than his usual small room, more important company than the assembly of Admirals and Generals that would come at his call.

He was bound to see the Emperor himself, and deal with the matter, once and for all.

They name him God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace;
His Dominion is vast and forever powerful;

Mr. White strode brazenly through the upper halls of the Compound, passing as he did many ranks of assembled guards; the Scholae Palatinae, personal wardens of the Emperor.

Their gilded golden armor and massive, towering physique showed them as the deadly soldiers they were, holding firm in their hands massive golden-tipped halberds and bearing great golden shields. They stood there, unmoving, eyes unwavering, and none had seen them move. They stared increasingly forward, eyes not following the foreign affairs officer through as he passed, only leveling upon him as he moved between the pairs that flanked the halls.

Soon, he reached a solid door, a portal of steel, which, upon his command, slid open, to reveal the greatest of chambers inside the Dominion. Nowhere else in the empire would such splendor be envisioned, such fantastic superfluous wealth be displayed. For here was a great chamber, stretching hundreds of feet into the air, hundreds of feet wide, all coated firmly with gold and silver, great wide pillars rising into the dark of ceiling, thick and heavy stone buttresses lining the upper walls. Alcoves were placed all along the walls, deep chambers unseen by the eye, for the light fleeted across them, containing more of the unseen, unheard, Scholae Palatinae, or perhaps even more fell warrior-fanatics.

Mr. White felt humbled here, as indeed was the purpose of so majestic a venue. He walked faster through here, eager to be beyond its overbearing effect.

At the end of the room, there was a set of stairs, marble steps rising perhaps thirty feet up, to find themselves before a second, simple, steel door.

Unadorned with the frivolities of the past chamber, it was a simple a structure as anywhere else in the Dominion. As Mr. White approached, he could see no guards, though he was sure eyes were on him. He touched the steel door, and after a second, it slid up and out of the way much in the manner of that before.

Into the sanctum he strode, stepping off the marble landing, moving instead to a soft grey carpet, springy for never being used. This room was adorned simply, with matte white walls and a grey carpet from wall to wall. There were two small legged chairs, and a small glass-topped table between. A waiting room. Mr. White took a stood, waiting as would one for a dentist. Much of the effect of the previous hall was destroyed, although the memory remained, in this strange place.

Beyond this room, was a third simple door. Within minutes, it too slid open, though by no will of White. He passed through, after a short pause, to enter a second small, white-walled room. It's difference marked by a small green plant in the far-left corner, and a massive oaken desk dominating the right side of the room. Behind this desk, rested the most powerful man in the nation, a roughly six-foot man, with a short, trimmed white beard and neatly combed hair. His face was fraught with lines of age, and an educated guess would place his years nearer to seventy than the younger days of the great and active Emperors. From behind his wooden desk, he controlled the fate of billions of human lives, each warped and modified to fit into his image of what was the perfect society.

Standing before the Emperor, as Mr. White was, he had a perfect view over his shoulder, and out the only window in the Dominion, looking out over his Domain, which was, as could be seen from here, simply a great flat plain of black panels that made up the surface of the hundreds of kilometers square Compounds.

Softly, the Emperor spoke, "My servant, I know what it is you bring to me,"

From His throne and over his Kingdom;
That which he confirms and sustains;

Mr. White looked at the desk of his Emperor, thinking it improper to look him full in the eyes, "My Lord, you know I have brought to you tidings of a great stirring, such that you have requested,"

The Emperor responded, in his soft, fatherly voice, "This is good; and sooner come than was anticipated. I should like to see these tidings, personally, before we make any rash decisions, however,"

And with that, Mr. White handed the simple manila folder over onto the shining surface of the polished desk, and slid it into his Emperor's fingers.

The Emperor looked at it for a moment, turned it open, and read. He had not read long, when he returned his look to White, who again averted his eyes, "This is good that we have seen this, it is exactly what we have hoped for. The blasphemous Wanderjarian realm again interposes itself with our interests, and now, for the first time, we know the way,"

Mr. White nodded, "Plans have already been set in motion, my Lord,"

"Ah, but that is all that you know, for long before we received this document, had plans been moving, wheels turning, and now they cannot be reversed. Even as we converse here, my navies make flank speed for the waters of the enemies. Our work cannot be undone..."

"It is good to have heard this Lord, and good to know of our Dominion's imperishable foresight and strength,"

"Indeed, though much more happens than you are privy to hear, and see."

"Of course, Lord, it was arrogant of me to think these things..." He lowered his gaze further.

The Emperor continued, "Yes, but indeed you are privy to much more than many, White, and for this reason, I will bequeath you with our plans, as they effect the present,"

"I thank you, Lord," He bowed his head, quickly, and the Emperor continued,

"The largest Battle Fleet ever assembled by the Imperial Navy has been drawn up, commanded as I am sure you could have deduced, by no other but my Sea Marshal and Grand Admiral, Volodislav Kadova. There under his command he has fully half of our surface strength in the Imperial Navy, and certainly far more numerous than anything we will have arrayed against us. Twelve fleets are sailing now, in two groups, for the North Sea, and then south through and unto the frigid waters of the Baltic,"

"May we warm those waters with the blood of the faithless,"

"Indeed, and we shall. Now, though, is not the time for that talk. We must be patient, and let the force given to Kadova decide for us what will be our fates there."

Mr. White nodded.

"Once we've forced our way through; a feat I am certain, despite my previous statement, that we are capable of, Lord High Field Marshal Petrov Romil will take the land, and make that nation ours. Our strategy revolves around keeping his armored formations supplied and supported, simply enough. More prongs will be added to the attack as it progresses, as is the way of Pudite warfare..."

Mr. White nodded again.

Shortly after, the Emperor dismissed him, to return through the small waiting room, and back through the Great Hall, and then again to the uniform white tunnels of the compound.

For every boot that tramped in battle;
by Judgement and Justice;

Many thousands of miles away, atop a wave-battered sea, floated the largest concentration of the Dominion's power ever assembled upon the earth, outside of the Dominion itself. Here, the paths of the two battle-groups diverged, and each took their own separate way to the doom of their enemies.

The first group, to be led by Grand Admiral Kadova himself, was made up of seven-thousand, eight-hundred surface ships, all spread across the ocean in a great crescent, stepping out from the center, where lay the Emperor Pudu XLII, the Dominions Hood-class supercapital. Upon this bridge did Kadova command from, looking out as it did over the great horizon-spanning force arrayed for him. Gleaming white steel reflected wherever the eye could see, the brazen color scheme of the Imperial Navy making itself known upon the eye. It may have been painful to even look upon, were it not for the eyes that beheld them, shaded as they were by implanted softeners, to ease it.

All around him, such eyes gazed out over the sea, and some below it. Hundreds of aircraft prowled above, and submarines below. Athens-class picket ships made massive circles of the fleet in small groups of three or four, and deeper inside, larger ships waited to strike an unwavering blow against any who would resist their will. Of both of the identical fleets, this was true.

Now, before the great force parted ways, one to circle through the great North Sea, and another to approach through the Channel, they would offer a parting token. This would not be given to one-another, however, it was more a statement of combined intent than anything else.

In the rear of both fleets, row upon row of tubes slid open...

Four-hundred and twenty great beasts slid to the surface, from just below the waves where they lurked. Their backs were long and wide and flat, and punctuated now by the many thousands of holes marking the launch ports of one after another deadly missile...

Upon each ship were laid one-thousand and three-hundred of these tubes, and all told among the four-hundred and twenty ships, there sat nearly six-hundred thousand weapons, waiting the command to launch, the simple order that would allow them to fulfill their purpose and bring their death to the enemy, wherever he may be. And they needn't wait long.

Seconds later, that order came, and five-hundred and forty-six thousand TD-ALM-7 long-range cruise missiles lifted off. They were joined quickly by counterparts from further submerged sections of the fleet, and again by the nearly eight-hundred missile cruisers deployed here. All counted, eight-hundred and thirteen thousand, eight-hundred and forty missiles left their respective tubes, and shot, at roughly mach seven, towards their respective targets; the civilian population centers of the nation of Wanderjar...

Far from hoping to demoralize the people, as the Pudite commanders were sure the opposite would prove true, they were simply an effort to kill the most people, in the quickest way. Although the Wanderjarians may have had warning of their coming, it would do no harm to test their readiness. In any case, the ships would have ample time to reload their missile cells before any further use of them was required.

The TD-ALM-7s would deliver six-hundred of high-explosive fragmentation warheads, directly into the most densely populated areas in Wanderjar. This work would mean, in the future, less work for the ground soldiers of the Emperor; fewer insurgents and militiamen. Even the smallest effect, had an effect.

Both now and forever;

Meanwhile, as the fleets before them launched their first salvo, the smaller force behind waited. Silently. These ships, in stark contrast to the glowing white of the force ahead, were painted in a matte black, and moved in a great oval formation, keeping together and moving as one, and not as discorporate elements of a whole, as the Imperial Navy did before them.

For, contained under these decks, were the finest weapon the Emperor had to offer to this campaign; the Praetorian Guard, and his personal field division, the Comitatenses Palatini, the much-feared personal dispensers of the Emperor's ire and contempt, of which he had no shortage of, when applied to this foe.

They were the mailed fist of the Dominion, and would be striking the killing blow, the decisive strike, where the Imperial Army would stall. They would break the front where the enemy resisted, and they would win the battles that had caused the greatest generals to falter. Nothing would stand before the march of these silent automatons, the dread warriors of a far-off Emperor...

The Zeal of the Lord of Hosts will do this

If the Pudites thought the Wanderjarians unprepared, they were making a grim error, one which would ultimately lead to their own horrific defeat. The enemy warheads had not fully reached maximum velocity before picked off by the Wanderjarian Anti-Ballistics Missile sites placed strategically all about the continent of Nova Europa. Simeltaneously, the Kriegsmarine waited. Thousands of battleships, battlecruisers, cruisers, aircraft carriers, destroyers, frigates, and all classes of ship waited just beyond the straits north of Denmark. As Baker and his High Command stood in the command room of his palace, they discussed how to coordinate the defense of their homeland….for the first time.

“Gentlement,” Baker said calmly, “For the first time in history, we are under the threat of invasion.” A grim veil of the darkness of this reality was pulled over the faces of each of the men within the room. “And by the Pudites no less, a force which we all know is quite capable and very effective. However we have several advantages here: first of all, this is our home. They cannot take it from us. We’ve grown here, died here, and raised here for a thousand years. Here is Wanderjar, and Wanderjar will stay forever. Two, they are horrendously over confident in themselves. Afterall, they’d have to be to come against us!” Nervous laughter spread across the room. None were in the mood for humour, yet the amusement did have a certain lighting effect amongst the men. “Good,” Baker thought. “Perhaps that’ll make them all the more effective.”

“Anyhow gentlemen, here is the plan I’ve drawn up for this. Our fleets shall rest just beyond the strait north of Denmark. Its very compact and tight, so the Pudite Fleet will be bunched up and vulnerable as they enter. They’ll have no maneuverability, and as such we can pick them apart with missiles, shore batteries which we have all along that area, and most of all, guns. Our main guns are going to be critical. The air battle shouldn’t be too much of a problem. We have thousands of fighter craft all around them, they shouldn’t ever even see us coming since we’ll only use those Beyond Visual Range missiles which the Questerian Government was only so kind and generous to give us.” The Generals were now smiling. The depression of knowing they were under attack was replaced with a sound knowledge that they were going to emerge victorious.

“Gentlemen, make it happen. Have those fleets assemble themselves as I requested and have them wait. Let them come to us. If we do that, no foreign invader, much less a pudite, shall ever touch Wanderjarian soil. Now, I must make an address to the people.” With that he stood, brushed off his black Wanderjarian Marine Corps uniform, straightened his tie, and exited the room. Turning the corridor and walking down it, he admired the vastness of it all. “This place has been here for almost two hundred years,” He thought admiringly. He admired the wonderful works of art placed throughout the halls, the architectural beauty of its vastness, and knew that this was only one small wing of a much larger palace. Citizens were normally allowed to walk through its halls relatively freely, after all, it was the people’s palace, he only permanently resided within it. Looking out one of the fine windows which extended sixty feet upwards, further into the some hundred foot high room, he saw as the largest crowd he had ever seen gathered before the palace, at the stepway which lead into the garden which was arrayed before it, and where he made his speeches and gave many talks to the people. He walked out there, admiring again the garden which he loved dearly, and enjoyed seeing the people enjoy as well, as they were freely allowed to walk through and admire it themselves.



He approached the podium where a silver microphone waited for him to adjust and speak into. He rested his hands on the wooden podium and bent slightly, momentarily thinking of precisely what he wished to say. Silence. Ten thousand people were assembled before him, and none made a sound. One could hear the chirping of birds within the garden, the rustling of the breeze within the trees and on the grass, and the beating of ten thousand hearts as they awaited their Emperor’s words on the coming of the armada.

Finally, he spoke. He raised his head, looked about the crowd, and began.

“My people, son’s and daughters of Wanderjar, for in our history none has dared ever set foot on Wanderjarian soil in hostility, and none has ever defied our waters. Today, regrettably, that is at an end. Earlier this day, a Pudite Armada has entered Nova Europan Waters, and has begun an attempt to enslave our people and put an end to our way of life. Our glorious Kriegsmarine, Luftwaffe, and Heer stoically and bravely stand against them and with their lives shall end their dreams of enslaving us. This Armada which sails against us curries the Pudite name and banner, one representing and symbolizing oppression, malice, and evil throughout the world. We cannot be defeated. God himself does not favour these mad men, and will not allow them to put an end to our nation. These maniacal fools believe that they can fight against us and win, on our own lands, in our own country. Let us show them, together, what an error they have made!” Thunderous applause erupted from the depths of the crowd, one which shook the very earth beneath their feet, their yells pierced the skies and screamed defiance against all comers.

“By god,” Baker thought, “These people cannot be defeated.”

The bands began playing the Wanderjarian anthem, blaring loudly with a chorus singing, they began:

Proud and so glorious
standing before of us
Our swords will shine bright in the sky
When united we come to the land of the sun
With the heart of a dragon we ride

We are flying on wings in winter sky
with fire burning deep inside
We are warriors of endless time
forever and on
On wings of steel
an ancient flight we see
the powers that unite
The gods will now send us a sign of battle once more

Through the valley we ride
full of glory we soar
Where the fights will be raging for now and for more
When united we come and divided they fall
Tonight you will witness it all

Proud and so glorious
standing before of us
Our swords will shine bright in the sky
When united we come to the land of the sun
With the heart of a dragon we ride

A land unknown we come so far
We ride the night till morning star
When colours fade to black and white
Your eyes come to sight

With the vision of a great divide
You turn towards the other side
You think you run but you can't hide
The dead can not ride

Through the valley we ride full of glory we soar
Where the fights will be raging for now and for more
When united we come and divided they fall
Tonight you will witness it all

Proud and so glorious standing before of us
Our swords will shine bright in the sky
When united we come to the land of the sun
With the heart of a dragon we ride

Over high seas and mountains
We fly to the heavens on wings of a dragon tonight

Proud and so glorious standing before of us
Our swords will shine bright in the sky

Proud and so glorious standing before of us
Our swords will shine bright in the sky
When united we come to the land of the sun
With the heart of a dragon

The heart of a dragon
The heart of a dragon we ride


(OOC: Sorry it took so bloody long to pump out a post, I just wanted to make sure I had it right.)

Pudite Naval Battlegroup Zero-One, Southern Approach, The Battle is Joined
Grand Admiral Kadova stood, arms folded behind him, watching as the green and red shapes moving around on the massive horizontal table-top screen before him, reading the miniscule titles, denominating Wanderjarian and Imperial Navy assets descried as of yet, and their expected course and capabilities. Obviously, these synopsi had to be small, as there were many, many craft involved.

In the rear of the great Imperial Navy fleet, crashing forward in a massive crescent shape, as if to ensnare anything before it, there floated a formation of ships arrayed in long across the rear of the fleet. Tapping it with his finger, a Lieutenant brought up a more detailed readout of the force, including their readied armament. These were the Torrent-class ships, those that had fired the first, however ineffectual, shots of the war. They were ready for a second volley, and that was precisely what they were going to do...

The Grand Admiral spoke into a radio transmitter on the command deck, bringing up the Torrent-class squadrons in both fleets; "Fire all tubes... The enemy is gathering... Open the way..."

With that simple message, four-hundred and twenty captains relayed the same message all across the fleets, both northern and southern, and seconds later, the outcome was equally similar.

In a repeat performance of hours before, the massive Torrent-class ships slid to the surface, and their backs slid open to reveal one-thousand three hundred holes... Seconds later, they were as forests of smoke and fire, the water around them blasted in the back blast of the launching missiles. Soaring up and over the Imperial armadas, the second strike was departed.

This strike, however, was bound not for the families and homes of the enemy, but their sons and daughters. Most specifically, those sons and daughters currently employed in the task of blocking the way for the oncoming Pudite fleet, to their Wanderjarian targets.

Four-hundred and sixty-two thousand TD-ASM-10 small, sea-skimming anti-ship missiles sped away, approaching speeds close to six-times the speed of sound. They carried seven-hundred and fifty kilograms of high-explosive warheads, waiting to much through first the defenses, and then the armor itself, of the awaiting enemy fleet. They would target the weak decks and command towers of the smaller ships, disabling swathes of the enemy's defensive capabilities.

At the same time, however, another strike blow would be leveled. The TD-ASM-10 was not the only weapon of the Torrent-class, and their remaining tubes were devoted to the launching of eighty-four thousand Rufous heavy anti-shipping missiles. They would come in from above the fleet, plummeting at mach four, delivering their nearly twelve-hundred pound armor-piercing warhead to the armor of the foreign fleet's capital ships. As they neared the fleet, active radar homing systems would pick up, where GPS guidance left off, even as small jamming pods in the missiles sliced apart the enemy’s defenses.

Even as this was occurring, it was not the only weapon leveled against the enemy fleet. From his command bridge, Admiral Kadova could even watch, as his final stroke left for battle. Surrounding the Emperor Pudu XLII, A-98B Molotok fighter-bombers and F-63K Tengry air superiority fighters were catapulted into the clear blue morning sky. There, they circled, until joined in full strength by their comrades. Four-thousand and fifty Molotok bombers were seen to leave the Pudite force, escorted in numbers by fully fourteen-thousand, five-hundred and eighty of the Tengry fighters. Flying above and ahead of the bomber force, the Tengry squadrons kept a watchful eye turned eastward, awaiting the enemies defenses, with their long-range missiles primed.

Below them, carried on the Molotok force, were even more of the heavy Rufous missiles, accompanied by lighter anti-shipping missiles, and a small number of air-to-air missiles. Specifically, each aircraft carried four of the Rufous weapons, five TD-ASM-8 anti-shipping missiles, and a pair of TD-AAM-2B anti-aircraft missiles. The TD-ASM-8 carried a warhead of but five-hundred kilograms, but was no less in speed, and would lay waste, as had their brethren, to the enemy escorts.

From the northern fleet sallied forth a much different host, and tarried behind did they, to arrive not alongside but after the joining of battle to the south. In this host flew the same fourteen-thousand, five-hundred and eighty Tengry fighters, but were this time accompanied by a force, not of bombers, but of nine-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety F-41A Savage fighters, flying alongside their larger brethren.

They flew high but below the clouds, at times moving through the bottom of the greater formations, and were certain to take every precaution as they were able to, to block and jam any incoming radar, as well as GPS images or anything else. All wore actively their thermal-masking technologies, diffusing the heat of their bodies through the aircraft to make them unnoticeable, and their sorties into the clouds did much to keep them cool.

As the missiles bore down, and the planes came nearer and nearer to their targets, the ships of the Imperial Navy and the Praetorian Naval Arm continued their inexorable advance, ever keeping up their speed, and vigilance. For, behind these massive assaults, was kept a garrison of F-41A Savage fighters, ever circling, and rotating crews through the cycles of watch. Even higher flew the Bastion auxiliary aircraft, outfitted in this model as an AWAC-craft, to keep a proper airborne surveillance up.

The battle would soon be joined.

The Wanderjarian Grossadmiral Reinhardt was momentarily awed by the sheer mass of enemy missiles and attack craft arrayed against them, this moment was immediately conquered by a simple question of how to destroy them all without taking losses or losing all of their ability to defeat further attacks.


"Mein herr!" The Radar Operator cried, "Theres over five hundred fifty thousand missiles and an additional twenty four thousand fighters heading towards us!"

"Sir," The Weapons Officer said in a low voice filled with concern. "We have enough anti-ballistics ordinence to take them out, if we empty our tubes and use the anti-missile silos spread out across Nova Europa. But we might not be able to fend off a second attack. What do we do?"

"Don't fire a single thing. No missiles, no lasers, nothing." The Grosseadmiral replied, staring out from his bridge.

"Sir?" The Weapons Officer replied confused. "We haven't much time! They'll hit us if we don't respond!"

"Oh we'll respond, but with something else. No need to waste all the ordinence. Let us eliminate them all with merely a few shots! Fire tactical nuclear weapons at the missiles. Deploy say, ten. Space them out to cover the entire group. This should also take care of the fighters. Once thats done scramble all fighter units across the continent and activate all anti-aircraft units and SAM sites. We'll need them. This should greatly thin their numbers though."

"Jawohl mein herr. Right away!" With that, from several destroyers launched the tactical nuclear missiles. Meanwhile, back in the OKW Command Center in Warsaw, the Electronic Counter Measures team provided a jamming wall which would cover their approach until it was too late. EA-6 Aircraft in the area relayed the signals, providing the blanket which would be all but impossible to see through, buying the tactical nuclear weapons enough time to travel to their intended destination. Should the Pudites respond with their own nuclear weapons, the experianced Grosseadmiral knew that the Questerian made Mogami Air Defense Carriers spread out throughout the fleet would handle them in any quantity, along with the fleets mass array of lasers, anti-ballistics ordinance, and everything else they had. This ignored the additional firepower that the Wanderjarians had from their continental silos which would intercept the enemy's return fire, and the SDI defenses which would eliminate them as well. Yes, this second Pudite attack would have about the same impact as the first. None.

The Invasion of Wanderjar, Pudite Imperial Navy Task Force Zero-Five, Battlegroup Zero-One
Grand Admiral Kadova was watching as the Wanderjarian attack leveled itself against his own missiles; in a flash, the screen was virtually cleared of returns. There was nothing left, and the attack became nothing. Looking on, Kadova displayed no visible indication of his surprise,

"Lieutenant, might I ask what has happened to my missiles? I notice here," he pointed at the empty screen, "That they are no longer where I wanted them." He paused, "That is, in existence."

Lieutenant Predslav, manning a suitable complicated looking battery of screens and keypads, turned to face his Admiral, "Sir, it appears that they have been destroyed, presumably, by the enemy, sir,"

Kadova responded, "Yes, thank you Lieutenant, I had gathered. More to the point, why?"

Predslav looked back to his screens, "Sir, we believe it was a nuclear blast that did them in, a small number of them."

"Ah..." Was The Grand Admirals only response. After a second, he spoke again, "Well, that was an interesting trick, it will make an interesting report,"

Kadova stepped back from the table, and addressed his entire bridge staff, "I am going below for a moment, I expect the attack to be held fast, support the aircraft, and do not yield, understood?"

In response, there was a nodding of heads around the room, only once, before they went back to their individual assigned tasks. As he turned to leave the room, he stopped again, and spoke, "Also, be sure to keep a few nuclear missiles armed, from now on, as well. That was, indeed, an interesting trick."

Meanwhile, a few hundred thousand kilometers away, soaring roughly twenty-thousand meters off the tops of the churning sea, were eighteen-thousand, six-hundred and thirty assorted combat aircraft. This was the southern attack force, dispatched from the first Battlegroup. They had recently detected the dispatch of the attacking missiles, although they were well behind them when it had happened. Now, having been informed as to the nature of the attack, they were redoubling their guard.

The AWACs aircraft operating above the Imperial fleet had begun to move forward, behind the fighter's advance, and had recently caught sight of a number of large foreign aircraft behind the area of the attack. They were not sure if they had had yet enough time to descry every one of the planes, but even one made a good target, and it was relayed forward to the attacking groups.

In response to each of the enemy's AWACs craft yet detected, a trio of long-range air-to-air TD-AAM-2C missiles, each delivering an eighty-nine kilogram warhead to the lumbering beast. It was assumed that, reaching speeds of mach five-point-six, with the help of a series of RAMjets, they could catch the massive E-3s. If they did, however, have any effect, they would be the first missiles of the day to do so.

The attack continued, and as the enemy aircraft were assembled, both Pudite air groups' pilots held their fingers above the switch, ready to send their counterparts to the bottom of the ocean, as soon as they were within range. The AWACs would not be the only prey of the TD-AAM-2C missile.

It had only just begun...