NationStates Jolt Archive

Deep in space, in a quadrant untouched for many months, a once small-scale stellar empire slowly creaked to life, shaking off the cobwebs of its domestic focus. The planets' space harbors were filled to the brim with dozens -- no, hundreds -- of ships that it had not possessed when it had drifted off into its slumber. Chief among these were the nearly 27 kilometer long Apocalypse (http://img37.picoodle.com/img/img37/3/12/18/f_Ragnarok2m_626e361.png)-Class Capital Ships, leviathans that the planet had once been proud to have one of; it now had 4 fleets with it in their respective possessions, surrounded by a plethora of new, true starfighter carriers, the Raptor (http://img34.picoodle.com/img/img34/3/12/21/f_Demonm_f834a62.jpg)-Class. The world's previous biggest ship, the respectably-large Death (http://img03.picoodle.com/img/img03/3/9/30/f_Deathm_5e8daa3.jpg)-Class, was represented as well in the numerous divisions classifiable as 'fleets' only because they weren't quite full stellar navies in and of themselves. These were escorted by the first-generational 'heavy hitters' of the then-fledgling navy, Plague (http://img262.imageshack.us/my.php?image=galleonxq0qj9rg8.jpg)-Class Destroyers; what once were battleships were now retained only because they had some worth as gunships and/or cannon fodder. Little more than flying coilguns, they had long since been replaced as the world's primary small naval ship by the purpose-built Demon (http://img19.picoodle.com/img/img19/3/12/21/f_DemonBattlem_eb69f8b.jpg)-Class Frigates (some worlds said "Battlecruiser"), which could add its own kick to any firefight.

The world, however, had been sick and tired of being stuck on a single planet. No longer could they be content with but one individual rock to call its own. No, the Immortal Lands of the Great Lord Tiger needed to expand -- and expand it did. It savaged 2 non-intelligent-life-bearing planets, crushed an undeveloped primitives' abode, and easily brushed aside a planet which had just enjoyed its first space age. With Tigerias 2 and 3 added to Tigeria Prime, as well as a planet known as Raknovia (for their greatest admiral), IMGLOT had become a budding interstellar empire. And so, the spaceyards plugged away at manufacturing ships until it had a truly spine-chilling display of pure power, and then fell silent, as did the planets. Until now.

In the orbit of Tigeria 3, the 4th Defense Fleet's CO, Admiral Edward Rakno, SON of their greatest admiral, read over a STATIC-level Slipburst transmission. Enemies were fast approaching the planet, and all other fleets were in overhaul or on missions -- he stood between them, and the relatively-new conquest. He studied the Doom (his obviously-named flagship)'s sensor suite studiously, remembering back to his days as a cadet to recall all the commands and keystrokes he had to input to make the machine do what he wanted. Had he not been under threat of death, the nostalgia may have been somewhat pleasing.

Finally, the screen flashed weakly, and he grimaced as he looked over the data indicated. So be it. "Give me an all-types signal in all directions but towards the inbounds," he said to his flag staff, who were themselves hustling around seemingly aimlessly. He scribbled furiously on a notepad, tossing it to a lieutenant who caught it, saluting quickly, before scurrying to copy the message, send it out in text, and then do a vocal broadcast:

THIS IMGLOT. WE HAVE RETURNED. AND WE NEED ASSISTANCE.

The message, verbal and nonverbal, echoed through space, looking for a listener or a reader... friendly or hostile.

If you know me, this is a return thread. If you don't, then... Hi, you must be new here. Open to any and all. The face of the enemy will be found out later... or you can help them.

OOC: GLT!!!! GLT!!!! Post on the way!

(OOC: Did I say GTL? Well, you know what I meant...)

IC:
Praxus Naval Installation
Quintus System

Admiral Janus Marcus sat in his office on the Praxus Naval Installation in the Quintus System. The importance of the system as the breadbasket of the Holy Imperium had nearly compelled the Imperial Navy to ensure it's security. And security it provided in droves. An impenetrable fortress, Praxus was widely considered the headquarters of the Imperial Navy (aside from it's installation above Angenteria Prime, of course.) He consulted the dataslate he held with little interest. Disciplinary reports. They were quite a distasteful thing, sure as sure. While the Imperial Navy prided itself on the discipline of it's crews, it was simply foolish to believe that there would be absolutely no incidents requiring attention. He scrolled down the list, looking at the names of the crewmen listed. Of course, he didn't know any of their names, but he did recognize a few of their picts that accompanied their names. Well, it wasn't like he had any authority over the issue. Disciplinary reports were fervently handled by the Commissariat, and those people didn't take too kindly to an officer, regardless of rank, meddling in their affairs.

Whatever the case, he put the slate aside for the moment. His door indicator was ringing.

"Come in." He said curtly. The doors sliding open, he was greeted by an officer, a commander by his rank pin. Taking his cap off, he saluted crisply, which the admiral returned in proper fashion.

"Sir." He began, holding out a data-slate. "I think you should take a look at this..."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Admiral Marcus stood on the bridge of the Apocalypse Class Battleship Holy Judgement, his arms folded as he observed the fleet gathering before him. All around him, the ships of the Imperial Navy gathered into a massive expeditionary force, and for a good reason.

It had been some time since the Holy Imperium had heard from the Imglotian Empire. A fledgling interstellar nation, the Imglot Empire was one of the first interstellar empires that the Holy Imperium had officially declared an alliance with (OOC: That was you, right?), with the signing of the Watchman Treaty some time ago. Since then, the Holy Imperium and the Imglots had enjoyed a period of each other's good graces. But suddenly, the Empire had decided to close it's borders, and shut itself off from all foreign contact, and sending a message that essentially boiled down to saying "BRB TTYL, K?"

Now, it seemed, that they were ready to open their borders once again. However, their manner of return was quite disturbing. The message didn't provide details, and only said that they "required assistance."

Well, you didn't need Admiral Marcus' intelligence to realize what the hell that meant.

"Admiral!" A bridge officer reported. "The fleet has gathered and are awaiting your orders."

"Very well." He stood from his command chair, and took a few paces forward. "Open channel to all ships."

A moment's pause. "Channel open, sir."

"This is Admiral Janus Marcus. All ships, prepare to enter the Warp on my command."

"Coordinates inputted, Admiral." The nav officer reported, pressing several buttons on her console. "Origin of the received message."

Marcus nodded.

"Move out!"

Almost as one, the Angenterian fleet surged into the Warp, emerging near Tigeria 3.

'...And that's what we have derived from the message.' Said Commander Soleimayn in the closing statement of his briefing. Fleet General Lyboc sat at the head of the holographic chart table, observing the orbit of the unknown fleet, as predicted by what little intelligence they had gathered in the last several hours. Being as this was the first alien fleet that they had come across in the existence of space travel, without a proper diplomatic introduction from an allied power, the options available to him limited.

'If this were up to me, which it is not, I'd say we track down their home world and annihilate it before it posed a threat to Vascilia. However, the Overlord is a more compromising individual than myself. We'll proceed as orders dictate, Commander.' Said Lyboc, grudgingly. The Fleet General had never thought highly of the new Overlord and his willingness to use the Aumanii military as a cadre of deep space diplomats. Lyboc was well known on Vascilia as a hawkish conservative, which made him a liability for the new General Staff back home, guaranteeing him a lengthy deployment on a mission to seek out and explore for new life.

'Observe and report?' Asked Commander Soleimayn.

'Observe and report, Commander.' Echoed Lyboc.

Rakno watched dispassionately as the screen slowly changed from a rather boring display to a firestorm of light and movement. Blobs everywhere indicated ships of the enemy fleet, the Doom's systems classifying them based on size, velocity, and shape. With this classification made, the strategic computer assigned tags to these targets: for this type, X-001; for those, G-001, G-005 -- and so on. The tactical computer began its arguably more laborious task of developing a battle plan, analyzing the ships that 4th Fleet had available, and deciding whether or not the fight could be won. 4 of the first 5 sims were... unfavorable.

"FLT signatures detected in-system, sir." The same lieutenant who had broadcast the message said this to Rakno. "Now matching type and radiation."

"How pleasant," the flag officer responded distractedly as he typed in some of his own tactical concepts to be rejected by the damned computer. "Tell them that if they aren't here to assist, they aren't welcome. Shit!" he breathed as the computer indicated another failed procedure. 3/23 at the moment. Not good odds.

"Aye, sir." Watching the admiral carefully out of the corner of his eye, the lieutenant slowly inched away from the senior officer, whose hands were flashing like lightning across the input console; this was followed by another muttered curse, and an angry slap to the arm of the station's chair.

TO: In-Warping ships
FROM: IMGLOT 4th Defense Fleet

State your intentions and origin or leave. You have 10 minutes to comply.

"Tell me something, Commander," Rakno said to the ship's under-CO. "Why am I seeing this," the emphasis coming with a tapping on the flashing 6/79, "On my screen?"

"Well, sir, they are IMGLOT--"

"No, they aren't. They are pretenders, thieves, rebels -- they are the walking dead." Rakno watched the screen with hooded eyes, though. "But in particular..." he said thoughtfully, eyes watching the classification A-001. "How? We never sold its designs, like we foolishly did the rest of the fleet."

"Sir!" Lieutenant again. "Inbounds are less than .5 hours out!"

"Why me? Why T-3?" Rakno's head fell backwards, and he watched the screen through the bottom of his vision; as he looked, the display flipped to 6/80, which the computer immediately followed with a change to 3/40 -- just to simplify things.

"Haven't we beaten the odds in almost all of IMGLOT's history, sir?" The commander's mouth twitched at the corner.

"That we have," Rakno said without any trace of humor in his voice, nodding his head slightly. "All right... spool up the fleet. Ready the Ragnaroks, prepare all laser batteries, the works."

"Any Nova missiles, sir?"

Rakno considered that carefully. Those weapons had never been detonated in anger before, primarily because of their inherent danger. But the Apocalypse carried them for a reason...

"Aye," he responded. "Prepare targeting systems and get a single Nova primed for launch. Full yield."

The commander paused at that. Full yield? But that was a full gigaton of power...

"Don't worry, Commander," Rakno said as if reading his mind. "We'll be fine. Besides, if these newcomers don't know us, well, they need to see what IMGLOT is capable of, don't they?"

The giant was swinging its feet out from its bed.

"Admiral, all ships report sucessful jump. No Warp-entities detected on board."

"Very good. Inform the IMGL-" He would never finish his sentence, as his comms-officer piped up suddenly.

"Sir, incoming transmission."

"Patch it through."

TO: In-Warping ships
FROM: IMGLOT 4th Defense Fleet

State your intentions and origin or leave. You have 10 minutes to comply.


The Admiral chuckled. "Looks like they beat us to the punch. Open channel."

"Open, sir."

IMGLOT 4th Defense Fleet,
This is Admiral Janus Marcus, commanding the Angenterian Imperial Expeditionary Force. We have recieved a distress signal coming from this location, and have arrived to offer our assistance.

The aide continued to rush down the hallway, arms filled with various paperwork and data pads, huffing she turned the corner and nearly ran into a similarly overworked young page rushing off towards some other meeting. Darting around, she finally arrived at the meeting and deposited her workload to those gathered there. The committee chair thanked the page and continued to listen to the report.

"... and the twelfth moon of Diusk has reported another strike of Tritumina. The second one this week..."
The chair glanced down at the papers that were delivered, most were junk some petty argument between two settlements from somewhere in the Federation, but one caught her eye, it was short and it was a dull grey color, making sure that she still appeared to be listening to the speaker has he went on about the different mining strikes on some easy forgotten moon, she read the paper, her browline rising as she read and reread it, feeding the paper into her personnel datapad.
"That will be enough. Now if you would all take out your datapads, you will have just received an attachment, seems like one of the nation we thought had long died out has risen, and gotten themselves into a bit of trouble."
"So what do we care of other powers? If they get themselves in to deep, are we really expected to get them out of it?"
"If you would actually read the attachment you may notice whom it came from councilor."
"Yeah, The Great Lord Tig.. O"
"Exactly, know if anyone has no objects I propose that we change to this manner."
There were none, and the committee chair smiled,
"Now we know that the Tigers were a fairly nasty bunch when they were out there so anything that would scare them enough to send an SOS signal must be pretty bad, I suggest that we immediately send the Beta and Delta Fleets and start calling back the rest of the fleets from their outer patrols."
The chair sat down and waited, she was not disappointed, the one that had spoken up before launched into why they couldn't send those fleets, how their missions were vital to the safe keeping of the Federation and other excuses, she just waited letting him rant as long as he wished, she knew most of the rest wouldn't like it but they would led their support specially after they got the chance to read the brief report that was attached to the commutation...

It had taken abit longer than she had wished, a few members had surprised her by intentionally supporting the upstart in not sending the fleets, but she had been able to enlist their support and she know had the needed signatures to send them..


"Admiral, there is an incoming message from control..."

IMGLOT 4th Defense Fleet,
This is Admiral Janus Marcus, commanding the Angenterian Imperial Expeditionary Force. We have recieved a distress signal coming from this location, and have arrived to offer our assistance.

"Goody, goody," Rakno said angrily. "Eh, I don't see why we don't tell 'em what we're fighting. Respond as follows:"

ADMIRAL MARCUS,
Stand by. We will be using Slipspace launching to hit the enemy with Banshee Nova Missiles. These have an approximate yield of one gigaton of conventional explosives, but we should be safe here -- the detonation will be occurring among the enemy ranks outside of the system. After that, we would ask that you assist us in mopping up. The enemy forces are a sovereign Imglotian state that used our designs to manufacture its own little navy, including an Apocalypse-Class. You remember that? If not, look at the 27 kilometer ship in front of you.

"Still wish I knew how -- no, better yet, WHY Tigeria gave them the Apocalypse skems," Rakno said, thinking of what his father, commander of the full navy and 1st Home Defense Fleet, would say. "But so be it. Ready Banshee launch."

"Onboard Hantog Drives active, sir," Weapons replied. "Awaiting your order."

"Hope they have some suntan over there," he muttered, glancing at the Angenterian ships. "Fire one."

The launcher was out of sight, but it was little more than a formality. As soon as the ion thrusters of the projectile had pushed it far enough from the giant ship, the missile's Slipspace Drive activated, and it slid inwards. Rakno's eyes flitted to his sensor board, the non-specific Slipspace sensors going haywire with emissions while the targeted tracking suite indicated the enemy fleet slowly resolving. The latter image changed when a small dot, a fraction of the majority of the shapes, appeared from directly beside the enemy Apocalypse-Class. The ships desperately fired their own Slipspace drives, but it was too late.

Had space a voice, let alone sound, it would have screamed as the Banshee's 13-step hyper fusion chain reaction blasted through multiple stages of nuclear fission, and then fusion, culminating in a small red star. This star rapidly imploded from its lack of mass, causing it to become a tightly-packed mass of matter. It all depended on...

Goodbye, traitors, Rakno thought as the final submunition detonated in the bomb, forcing the forming black hole to expand again. This angered the forces of nuclear physics, like some sentient being, and the accelerate star life culminated with a final nuclear explosion, bright enough that the simulated viewports -- the bridge was deep in the ship, but artificial viewports gave the impression of some romanticized vista -- turned white from the visible mininova. It had taken perhaps 10 seconds, from the missile's appearance in the enemy ranks. And yet, the enemy Apocalypse only had a large gash -- hardly killed. Nonetheless, it turned tail and ran. Or so he thought.

Hardly could Rakno consider this than klaxons ignited. "Enemy fleet on the scope, sir!" yelled a petty officer. The sensor suite resolved into a 3-dimensional simulation of all involved fleets, helped by the fact that it knew what everyone's ships looked like. 36 Plagues had the enemy, the famous walking gun of Imglot, along with a dozen -- no, 16 -- Death-Class Battleships. They had no Demon Frigates, though, and a single Raptor carrier. This released its complement of 50 starfighters and bombers without much delay, met with those of 4th Fleets four Raptors -- 200. Still, 50 that weren't afraid to die...

"All Savage batteries, spin up!" he ordered unnecessarily, to make sure the dozens of quad-barrel energy weapon batteries aboard the ship were deployed for point-defense. "Focus fire on Death-Classes!" He snatched a mic and spoke into it. A rapid hand gesture indicated this was to go out on the allied frequency, as well. "Now hear this: All Imglotian ships, focus fire on the enemy Battleships. I'm sure our friends will get the hint and start plugging away at Plagues. That is all." This was punctuated by glowing blue Polonium rounds blazing to life from the humming Ragnarok coilguns, blasting into space and careening at half of light-speed to smash into the flashing shields of the Deaths.

Ah, warfare. It's all Imglot was good at.

"Are you sure we recieved that right, ensign?" Admiral Marcus asked again, more then a little suprised.

"Yes, sir." The ensign responded. "One gigaton of conventional explosives. Is that even possible in a single blast, sir?"

"Judging from the size of their battleships, I certainly wouldn't doubt it." Marcus mused. It seemed that the IMGLOTS had certainly been busy in their short absense from galactic politics. Well, they would certainly find out just how far they had come.

"Sir, the IMGLOTS have opened fire!"

"Show me." The ship's main viewscreen shifted from the standard planetary view to the view of a single missile firing from the lead IMGLOT battleship, a massive 27 kilometer construct in front of them. The missile streaked toward the location of the enemy lead ship, another 27 kilometer hulk. The missile impacted with results nobody on the Angenterian Fleet could have expected. Imploding in front of the enemy flagship, it seemed to form something resembling a star in it's late forms of life, before suddenly imploding into some sort of black hole. How the IMGLOTian engineers could develop such a disturbing weapon was certainly a wake-up call. Perhaps the Angenterians were becoming too complacent with thier lot in space.

Whatever the Angenterians realized, the fact stood that the enemy flagship, which wasn't even destroyed, retreated, leaving the rest of the enemy fleet to engage the IMGLOTian defenses, and a couple suprised Angenterian officers looking onward.

Well, at least they knew how to fight a conventional battle.

Snapping back into reality, Admiral Marcus quickly got back into the battle mood. Well, he didn't really have a choice, since there was a battle unfolding right in front of him.

Well, more like Admiral Rakno's 'friendly reminder' brought him back to attention.

"All ships!" He ordered, regaining composure "Assume frigate wedge formation!" They didn't have the firepower to take on the enemy battleship force head on, and he didn't need some uppity IMGLOT commander telling him the strengths and weaknesses of his own fleet. "Our main force will punch through the center. Focus fire on the smaller vessels; leave those monstrosities of battleships to the Imglots." He turned. "Deploy all fighters, and target those bomber craft. I don't want any of them getting through. Then, have them move on to harass the larger capital ships. Target support systems: engines, communications, and the such. Cripple them for our allies." He turned to his crew. "What's the status on the Nova Cannon?"

"Sir! The Nova cannon is charged and ready to fire!" The Nova cannon was essentialy a giant lance beam, designed to punch a gaping hole straight through the hull of a larger enemy vessel, or utterly disintigrate a larger group of smaller enemies, overwhelming it's way through shields and armor plating alike. Every Angenterian Apocalypse-Class carried a variant of this beam, making it the ideal choice for a flagship.

'Very good. Aim for the center of the enemy formation. We'll blow a hole through their advance force, then break it with the wedge. Make sure you don't hit our allies. That commander of theirs doesn't seem too happy with us to begin with."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then. In that case..." He pointed toward the enemy formation.

"Fire!"

Upon his command, the Angenterian fleet moved into it's attack. Particles seemed to gather around the Holy Judgement's Nova Cannon as it seemed to form a massive energy beam. Then, the beam flew outwards with a flash of blinding light, straight towards the enemy's advancing center formation.

"Now!" Admiral Marcus ordered. "Advance!"

The Angenterian fleet surged forward, the frigates and battlecruisers forming a wedge around the larger ships as they advanced. Conventional guns roared to life, as fighter craft poured from the carrier vessels to meet the enemy.