Post by nocreditneo on May 12, 2022 3:51:39 GMT
—--
ABNEGATION, BRIDGE The minutes dragged on, and it was much more than the Justicar had initially bargained for. In the battlespace about his formation of vessels, handfuls of strike craft continued to probe and pester at his defenses with autocannons and unsuspecting torpedoes. The Abnegation had recovered from its critical hits, now able to swat attacks away with relative ease due to its point defense arrays. Short eruptions of fire reached out to lash at the strike craft, some able to dexterously whip away to safety while others were snuffed out in a heartbeat. The Abnegation’s escorts were likewise successful. Akyrios’ personal formation was an island of relative safety while the rest of his fleet was not as lucky. One of his corvette escorts suffered a serious hit to its main turret, another reminder of the tide of battle. “Enemy formation is disrupting, losing trace of dozens of vessels.” Akyrios was silent. “Another wing repelled, standing by.” He looked off in thought, gazing at the world below. “Fury and Vindication of Thought combat ineffective, requesting orders.” Akyrios panned through his own controls, a shroud of three-dimensional models enveloping him and shifting about. He watched the shimmers across the battlespace as the Sun Wukong received its effective hits. Some vessels disappeared entirely, some erratically shifted around, and others uncertainly blinked in and out until they were no more. “Capital ships within the ten light-second perimeter, Adjudicator!” He was in disbelief at his own ignorance, a cold fury in his chest. His own inability to figure this out earlier had cost him well over a dozen competent commanders, and thousands upon thousands more.
“A phantom fleet,” Was all he could mutter, giving little more than a simple nod. He looked at his disparate groups, each making as effective of a stand as they could against the overwhelming target presentation that was soon to overrun them. He would have to resign Bomani to his fate for now, that was unless he could hold out and Rolan would agree to his petition for reinforcements. This would be Bomani’s penance for his original blunder, and Akyrios was sure he too would have his own judgement to bear. “Signal the retreat.” The remaining Justicar vessels immediately began recalling their strike craft to escort their motherships. All those who were able began to turn their vessels on the long axis and fire their fusion torches at full burn, dumping torpedoes and remote warheads by the hundred in their wake. They were taking advantage of the momentary delay and reprieve of the various offensive formations as they tried to regroup, counting on being able to make it out with the majority of what was left. Vessels that had taken serious engine hits had either suffered failure from trying to punch it, or simply opted to power down all of their combat systems and transmit surrender to the allied fleet. The handful of vessels in high orbit, on the other hand, were not in a position to withdraw. Instead, they sent a final signal to the Abnegation before cutting their line.
We will hold.
The formation consisted of a handful of Penance-class frigates and an Arbiter-class cruiser. One of the frigates had already suffered a debilitating hit, rapidly sinking out of orbit and entering the atmosphere towards the continent below. Even though the battlegroup was doomed by virtue of being outnumbered and outgunned, the attackers would at least have to be careful to find firing solutions that wouldn’t liquify the entire Stakesby coastline. At least, that’s what the captain of the Arbiter was counting on.
STAKESBY In the darkness of Stakesby, Judge Bomani could see clear as day. His command post was situated in the former governor’s home, a symbolic gesture of ownership. Though, he had made various upgrades to the guard and facilities; namely, several armies worth of men spread along the coast and emplacements to swat orbital invaders out of the sky and neutralize the shower of warheads he considered might head his way. The Justicar general was striding to his impromptu operations center, receiving his final set of orders from his superior. “I understand this sentence. I will await your return, if it shall be,” He replied. There was no verbal reply, but he heard the ambient noise from the Prime Adjudicator’s end cut short. He entered the small room he was looking for, filled with machinery sporting lights bright enough to bleed through the photon absorbers. The machines themselves were bulky constructs, virtual coffins with Justicars slaved to them; these were sensors and transmitters connected to the vast array of military systems comprising Bomani’s grand army. The Justicars within were able to hear and speak to him via a direct uplink to his armor. “Update.” Low, raspy voices hissed through his helmet’s casters. “Your forces await further orders and to repel those who accost- Honorable, the Benevolent Retribution has entered the stratosphere. It is too damaged to regain position. It will impact the coastline.” Bomani grunted in frustration. “Direct Bailiff Glodia to touch down in the sea.” “It would appear they are unwilling or unable to respond to hails, Honorable.” ---
VANDAR’S RAIDERS They were to be the advanced party; something they’d trained for hundreds of times over, something they’d sweated for in training, and something a few of them had bleed for in real combat. Still, the very real rattling and convulsing of the troop compartment of their sturdy Redleg Infiltration ship reminded every individual of their company of their mortality. “Clear of debris, hitting heavy atmo. Two out from release.” A pair of Minevan drop craft had hitched a ride through a descending shoal cluster as the fleet exchanged hands above, while the drone coverage and the brunt of their own ECMs were in full swing. The only issue was in order to maintain undetected; they paired their own stealth systems with a planned trip through a southward coastal storm a hundred kilometers north of the Stakesby mountains. “Vandar-Actual, Bodkin-One. Be advised, breaking north: low. Can’t support until Objective Lennox; how me?” “Five by five, Bodkin. Safe flying,” Hendrik said to the woman’s voice on the net; he knew Bodkin-One was a Broadhead pilot from the Sweetwater, and was their initial support past their first target. “Lost contact with Vandar-Two,” The pilot of the Redleg chimed in over the net, “Mixed word from the fleet. Got one- correction, two frigates breaking atmo. Adjusting to secondary course. Ninety seconds out.” In the corner of his viewscreen, his topographic map expanded, several graphics and lines blinking to show him the updated objectives, targets, phaselines, and drop zones. Their secondary plan was less than ideal, but still attainable. He quietly scoffed: as if he had a choice to attain it or not. “Sixty seconds out. About to break the storm. Final drop kit diagnostics and weapons hot.”
—--
OVER WHITEWHARF The huge volley of torpedoes did it's job well; the Jade contingent was stalled momentarily as its vessels focused on shredding the massed attacked, losing precious seconds as the surviving Justicars escaped. The field in front of the IJN vessels was lit up like a fireworks display, blooms of explosive energy rippling across an invisible front like a tide slowly creeping up a beach, before they finally dropped off in intensity. By the time the Justicar barrage was finished, the Cornewaille-class Leviathan was listing badly and the Takeshi support ship was drifting without power. Chase ordered a general advance against the two surviving ships in orbit, directing the Sea Room to send its firepower at the stern of the fleeing Justicar ships, blasts of graviton energy raking them stern to bow. As the artillery ship pounded away, Chase deferred to Nighthorse to arrange her vessels to pick off the remaining defenders and establish orbital superiority. The intact Cornewaille cruiser, a huge brute of a warship, began to sink into the atmosphere, hammering its guns at the Justicar cruiser at a gradually decreasing angle as it sought to lower itself to their plane. Meanwhile overhead, the two Katsumoto-class frigates escorted the Ayuko carrier overhead, as behind them the Minowara carrier frigates began gathering their fightercraft and taking possession of the surrendered Justicar warships, as well as sending SAR and engineering support to the damaged support ship. The surrendered Justicars were ordered to open their hangar bays, remove all security from their systems, and then withdraw to their quarters. Frame bodies inhabited by shard fragments of the shipborne Frames boarded each surrendered vessel unceremoniously, wandering up to the bridge to seal the crew in their quarters and take control of the vessel, maneuvering them clumsily away from the combat, their guns silent. _
ABOARD THE IJN MAKO Mitsuyoshi watched, impressed, as Nighthorse began directing her ships without a flicker of hesitation. He had been a little concerned, with rumour in the service being that she was shy and afraid to press the attack, not exactly the kind of person he wanted attached to his cause, but she had shown no caviling behaviour today. The fleet action had gone surprisingly well and the Sun Wukong had validated the massive investment made in it, although it would no doubt need expensive repairs and the battle had certainly exposed some weaknesses. He watched as the remaining drones returned to the giant ship for refuelling and manual programming - with the mast system down, they would have to be pre-programmed and launched as one-shots, but he understood that the plan was to use them to again flood the defenders' sensors with contacts, making it difficult for their anti-air systems to fend off the impending landings. He knew better than to interrupt the fleet commanders whilst they were working, so instead left the bridge and went to Catrina Starkpfote, a distinguished journalist and a niece of the late Shogun Starkpfote. The Jade Courier Network, the official state news organisation, had refused to attend, but IdaiEntertainment had sent a news crew to cover the campaign, news of which he was hoping would boost public support for his position. Moments later, a 30-second snippet, the hallmark of IdaiTech news, played. The diminutive Yokeneko presenter explained where she was and introduced the Prince, who spoke with little ceremony. "We're here at Whitewharf to demonstrate what happens to those who attack the Jade Empire. Our people should know that they are protected, and that any crimes against them will be punished swiftly and with no mercy. We have already driven back the enemy navy here and are landing soon, to either rescue or avenge the citizens of Whitewharf. Banzai!" _
IJN EYEMOUTH The carrier maneuvered behind the advancing warships, five of the hulking Kankyo-class dropships slipping from its waist as it prepared to begin landings, just waiting for the all-clear from the combat group and the arrival of the fighter and drone escorts. Major Andersen muttered into his comlink, confirming receipt of the new information, then stood and bellowed to his troops, his voice echoing over the comm system. "Right! Ready up! Minevans have already begun landings, we're going in to support their vanguard. Last checks!" His announcement was largely redundant, as the soldiers had felt their dropships take off anyway, but it was met by cheers all the same.
—--
ATERAS As the Abnegation and it's surviving escorts either retreated or died, all Ateras could feel was a rising tide of bitter dread. His fault, all of it. If he had seen the plot coming earlier and moved to halt it, then the Ingen illusion would've been revealed that much sooner, the defense could've held or even routed the attackers. Not that the ground situation was going to be much better, he reflected, perusing a scan of the near orbit of the planet. The enemy was well and truly here in force, and they had not the ability to drive them back. A drive signature flared on the display, followed by another, and then another, as the rearguard he'd left behind shifted positions, moving to break orbit towards the outer system. So they were leaving. Under orders no doubt, and Parthan's in particular, if he had to guess. The House Elders had sent the old bastard along to run the groundside operation as one last hurrah, before settling into training regimens. Certainly they had entrusted the man with more authority than him, but that was to be expected, to an extent. Another damage alert sounded briefly before being silenced, and Ateras set his shoulders and took a deep breath. So be it then. Retreat would be almost certain death, if not here, than either from the Elders for botching the operation, or at the attacker's hands for piracy. And if there was no way out and no way forward, then why not make it count. Exhaling, he let it all go. Nothing now but the fight and the fire. Then he grinned and hit the ship-wide comm. "This is Vilor Ateras. All hands not needed for fight and flight, abandon ship. I repeat, all hands not needed for fight and flight, proceed immediately to evacuation pods." Then he laid in a course for the Sun Wukong, and ordered all power to the engines. Transmitting the commands, the remaining ships of the forward Jaros element followed his lead, picking up speed as they went, with a trail of life pods bleeding from their wake. ---
WHITEWARF The makeshift staging ground erupted in a bustle of even more activity, as dropships were redirected to Stakesby, and vehicles started roaring down the road towards the city. Meanwhile, several columns of auxiliary troops started marching towards the Justicar anti-orbital emplacements on the north ridge. The dropship flights would continue until either enemy bombardment or interceptors rendered them impossible. Further up in orbit, the supercarrier activated its engines and began to pull about to break orbit, while the other ships with it followed suit. As it left, the hangar bays slid open and began spewing thousands of drones, which swirled together before descending into the atmosphere to provide support against enemy aircraft.
—--
"Alert. Carbide accelerating. Trajectory is intercepting hostile capital ship." Malkorvic reacted with intrigue more than anything as the ship's engines engaged full burn, such a common sight with such craft; the missile "escorting" it broke to a wider formation, permitting them both begin spiraling into terminal approach vectors used by anti-ship munitions... indeed, as it sprinted forth, the remaining warheads began the oh-so-played-out scene of ejecting from their tubes and shooting away, arcing around to try to hit the maneuvering elements of the ship. The crew were not consigning themselves, though, as the shuttles and escape pods detached, with emergency ejection systems pushing out what meager ground complement - not yet manned - that the ship had. "Launch shuttles to retrieve Carbide's complement. All guns, fire on hostile ships," The CIGO officer announced plainly, a resigned expression of content on her face as the guns of the fleet opened once more - they knew the enemy's target, and that removed all doubt from firing solutions for kinetics, which had switched from guided long-range munitions to slugs molten white-hot in the breech, while lasers - quite literally - just had to point and shoot.
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM VRZ Battalion Commander, Tryna Pokyshak The Pordish contingent thunders into the orbitals as the Justicars fall back. Blinding white flames lick out into the sky in chorus to their arrival even as other elements of the allied force assume similar positions as well. Looks like they're ready to head planetside, Tryna mumbles to herself. Indicators signal the disembarkment of Senaq Aglotach's brigade into the air column and the tactical officer nods with the comment. Keeping an eye on the anti-orbital emplacements. How do you want to handle them? They aren't in good locations to eliminate them from here. We'll need to go in with the skirmishers and ground troops to take them out. Can you identify the ones nearest? The tactical officer nods again. Tasi, I can. I will relay the information. Another indicator lights up and Tryna traces a path to it with a glance. Sun Wukong is being targeted again. Wait - she squints - these vectors... They're charging, the tactical officer interjects, they're charging.
—--
ABNEGATION, BRIDGE The Justicar commander, much like his bridge detail, were largely sullen. Sound came in the form of short chirps and statements passing along necessary information, no longer in a frantic tone but in one of disappointment and shame. Though he wished to acknowledge them, Akyrios snuffed out the various excuses in his head; he had not fielded a true engagement for the better part of a decade, his foes had brought severely imbalanced assets to bear, he had not ample time to prepare after Bomani’s premature attack, and a plethora of others. His surviving fleet had cleared the interdiction of his enemies who were now taking advantageous positions over Whitewharf. This allowed those fleeing to approach a pair of Tether Gates that he’d commanded to activate in their prior maneuvers. “Jaros vessels accelerating into the Jade formation. Towards the flagship.” Akyrios stood bewildered for a silent moment, watching the pieces float along as he was just informed. The signatures marked as Jaros vessels on his own three-dimensional tactical map sprung to life, displaying the trajectory and velocity of his ally’s ships gunning straight into a most vulnerable position. On his own end of the operation, a handful of his own ships had already crept through the wormholes to Agnios. To his dismay, yet another frigate trying to disengage the Carnaithian group was shown disabled and lost acceleration. As for his group stranded in orbit, Akyrios saw the beginning of an engagement; the trio maintaining their orbit and a pair descending to be lost by atmospheric interference. “Very well,” Akyrios spoke, “Make haste. Our window narrows.” His fifty-vessel battlegroup had been whittled into little more than a couple dozen in a relatively short engagement; his penance was certain to be severe.
Akyrios the Boar, running with his tail tucked and abandoning his allies. He scoffed in disbelief. Without a word, he left his subordinate judge in command and stomped out of the bridge. The Abnegation and its complement was swallowed by the wormhole with a scant few Justicar ships to follow, leaving nothing but dead and silent space.
-- SKIES ABOVE STAKESBY A pair of knife-like Penance-class frigates cut through the clouds, casting shadows on the busy coastal valley below. While there were defensive fortifications preparing for battle all the way from the mountains of Stakesby to the radioactive flats of what used to be Ruswarp, many commanders below gave pause to see the plummeting war machines and hear the ear-splitting rumble of their sublight propulsion from kilometers above. One of the frigates was unmarred, in a controlled descent towards Stakesby while remaining parallel to the deck below. The other on its flank, however, bore a massive tear along the long axis of its dorsal plating and was missing its aft turrets. It left a trail of smoke and magnificent flames in its wake, its nose pitched to dig into the planet rather than situate above it. “Fire of Passion, control loss, inbound descent to zone four, coordinates transmitting.” -- GOVERNOR’S RESIDENCE Had he not been restrained to the device via the link of his sustainment suit, Bomani would have likely shot up. The Fire of Passion was going to crash just southwest of Malts, likely at terminal velocity. His own sight right now was linked among the hundreds of commanders and stations dotting the coastline, jumping about to try and decipher a solution. Without causing chaos over the open voice networks, he sent out a series of commands to all of his anti-orbital emplacements to be prepared to engage the renegade frigate. Destroying the frigate mid-descent would at least prevent it from impacting as one solid hunk, causing potentially less disastrous effects. Just moments before Bomani gave the order to execute the Fire, another transmission came over the operational battle network. --
CRIMINAL VINDICATION, BRIDGE Their frigate, unlike their sister ship in the group, was completely untouched. The bridge of a Penance was not as magnificently vacuous as the larger ships of the fleet, but still bore the trademark exorbitance and flashiness of Justicar décor in the form of items such as monolithic pillars and gilded trim. Bailiff Vaeus was the captain of the Criminal Vindication, and Vaeus was calmly commanding a very dire situation. “Judge Bomani has granted us two minutes to remedy this,” He heard from the comm station just over his right shoulder. “He will not be disappointed. Helm! Pull us lateral to the Fire. Weapons, concussive with proximity fuze.” If the skies above were not loud enough before, the fusion torches of the Criminal Vindication flashed new life and filled the coastline with a deep screaming. Thrusters on the rear and dorsal section of the frigate sprung awake and shot them on line with their damaged counterpart. Little more than a kilometer apart, the working turrets of Vaeus’ ship fired a salvo. The burst of the concussive warheads could be seen as small splashes in the sky, visual ripples filling the space in between the two warships and pushing clouds away in a circle. Another salvo followed, and finally a third. The space between the frigates grew, every ripple that lapped at the Fire pushing it just a few more degrees off of its original course. Some of the Fire’s thrusters could be seen fighting for life, with some of the aft maneuver thrusters being able to engage to cushion some of its velocity. A tense minute had passed by; Vaeus and Bomani could now see the crashing Fire heading for the ample sea. Hitting the water would create its own series of issues; much less devastating than the frigate being the welcome committee for the entire Jaros army. Vaeus observed his effects carefully, about to reconvene with the Judge before another announcement from his sensors operator. --
VANDAR’S RAIDERS “Confirmed! See you at the bottom, killers!”
There were few things more exhilarating than an atmospheric jump to Hendrik; not even the birth of his son had given him the rush of euphoria that leaping from the back of a dropship gave him, every time without fail. As per his command style, he was the first out the hatch and would be the first on the deck. The display on the inside of his visor showed green lights appear one-by-one, as each of his jumpers dove from the Redleg in one way or another.
His rifle and all of his gear were secured neatly to his back, including the disposable drop-pack that would slow his descent on the final approach. He looked down past his feet, seeing the mountains of Stakesby far below him. To the south was a sea of black that reached across the valley and into the deep blue ocean beyond it; his orientation brief had him figure that was Stakesby itself, housing tens of thousands of angry fungus men. “Jumpers clear. Velkna’s favor to you, Raiders,” The pilot remarked over the tactical net, the calm voice contrasting against the adrenaline pumping through Hendrik’s veins.
- “Safe flying, Redleg!” Hendrik heartily called back, before he could hear the distinct click of the pilot transitioning off the local net. They had a long way down to go, but in his vast experience this part ended quicker than expected every time. He weightlessly panned around to see how the other men and women were faring, comfortable in the freefall. Some were relaxed, some were very tense and by the book, and others were in a nosedive trying to race their own platoon commander to the deck in the usual attempt to show him up. He chuckled as one of the troops gained on him, forcing him to start descending with a purpose. “Not today, meat eaters.” Unlike the uncertainty of true combat, the jump was no different than in training. To them, it served as a ritual of sorts; a threshold to pass between calm preparation and the horrors that awaited in the breathtakingly beautiful landscape below them. Static assaulted their ears. -
- “-early, two on my six. Jumpers bail! Bail! Bail!” Hendrik’s brow furrowed in concern under the cover of his visor. He searched laterally across the vast skies, trying to find an anomaly. Towards the coast, he saw two capital ships in descent, one forking away from the other towards the sea and leaving a trail of dismay behind it. ‘-ook one to the ventral-… lost the right engine, fast-movers coming in for a third!’ Hendrik looked more frantically, until in the far distance to their east he saw a tiny fireball being harassed by an assortment of black dots; akin to gnats feasting on a piece of rotten fruit. “Vandar-2 breakdown, troop compartment took effective hits, counting thirteen jumpers-“ The members of Vandar-1 watched wordlessly as the pilot’s tone went grim, listing off pertinent information before the fireball transformed into a momentary white flash. The black dots, which Hendrik assessed to be Justicar interceptors, assumed a formation and began to fly in a very wide arc. Their ritual had been desecrated, and Hendrik’s face hardened to stone. “Beginning approach.” “Gods, they’re circling back around and gunrunning again…” “That Redleg’s gone, they found Bodkin?” “No, too far north- fuck, they’re shooting the jumpers.” -
A shared nausea formed in their guts, turning their euphoric adrenaline rush to that of cold steel running in their blood; anger, vindication, vengeance, fear that they could be swatted out of the sky next. Hendrik couldn’t blame them for flooding the net with their new thoughts, but to preclude them and not let panic overrun his net he gave a simple command; “Cut the chatter. Deploy in 30.” The Raiders opened their reverse thrust just hundreds of meters above the deck, drives reducing their velocity and allowing them to safely tumble onto the rocky ridges on the north side of the mountain ranges. Their weightlessness and freefall agility now gone, every member of Hendrik’s platoon was now intimately reacquainted with the limitations of being married to the ground. In the minutes it took all of his men to regroup and establish a hasty security posture, they had gone undetected as no reconnaissance or QRF had reared its head; at the very least, his command Adept had not managed to ken any trouble with his psionic proclivities. His unit leaders had gotten a full accountability; zero fatalities, injuries, or missing personnel. They had all their gear, to include the nuclear mines, and everyone was ready to move. Rested in a shallow draw, Hendrik’s command huddle was trying to decide where exactly to move to. A gaggle of squad leaders and key personnel kneeled in a circle, with their helmets off.
- “You heard the Redleg pilot; they had at least thirteen get out the back. Tracker shows them around eight clicks west, we need to get them before their react teams do,” Jurgen spoke first, 2nd Squad Leader known for his focus on compassion and troop welfare above all else. “Thirteen out the back and probably one able body on the ground,” Runn replied, 1st Squad Leader who was a notorious fireball . “You know what they do to prisoners,” Jurgen shot back, glaring up. “I do. We need to sack this battery or we, and the landings, are fucked. We don’t have time,” Runn replied, unfazed. Jurgen pursed his lips, nodding in frustrated concession. The next to speak was the less-wordy 3rd Squad Leader, Ishma. Whenever she spoke, it was nothing but a blunt truth. “Runn’s right. They’ll be mopping up survivors; that’s our concealment.” A grim silence overcame the squad leaders at the ugly truth. Hendrik put his helmet on, and his subordinate leaders followed suit. “Runn, your squad has point. Jurgen, support the rear. It’s a short movement to contact from here and we are on a time crunch. Hit it.”
—--
GOVERNOR'S RESIDENCE "Bailiff Vaeus, was it? You have my thanks," Bomani credited the efforts of his new subordinate and ally, "After the relief force comes you have my vote of confidence to assume the title of judgehood." "It is my honor to serve the cause, Judge Bomani. I will position my ship to support your ground operations in the defilade of the Stakesby ridgeline, if you will allow it. My commanders report to me a signal- Minevan- approaching from the north I shall investigate. A small one." "Proceed." The preparations groundside continued as normal; some mechanized units began to move to escort the maneuvering Jaros auxiliaries in their foot march, some gracious commanders offering to relieve the light legions of heavy gear burdening them. Anti orbital platforms, both emplaced and improvised, began to go hot in preparation for an enemy ship gambling too low or for the plurality of landers and munitions that were sure to begin raining down. ORBIT The two vessels that remained in orbit were not faring well; they were a patrol at best facing a relative armada in firepower. They continued to lower their orbit and perform minor jinking maneuvers as they could without entering the atmosphere to give the enemy guns a run for their money, missile bays and dorsal turrets firing at a cyclic rate as if they were a cornered dog fighting for their life. Their firepower, however, paled in comparison to the Jade compliment directly engaging them; a pair of ships simply not being able to bring enough weapons to bare against a hulky cruiser and a pair of frigates while maintaining standoff with the rest of the fleet. At this point, it was evident that the blusterous and gilded Justicar ships for all their physical glory could only stall for time, as the minor hits began to pile up into major ones.
—--
ABOARD THE SUN WUKONG Chase raised an eyebrow as the House Jaros contingent accelerated to ramming speed. It was a bold move, almost worthy of a Jade officer, but he didn't react immediately. Quietly, he marked the target on his console and a few moments later, the IJN Sea Room hosed down the onrushing ships with more artillery fire. As the bridge crew appreciated the fireworks display, patiently waiting for Chase's command, he made a few more selections on his console and, accordingly, the officers in front of him began to work the ship. His XO's voice echoed through the hallways of the vast warship. "All hands, ship is accelerating. Brace for impact." The huge VL-HVEA coilgun turrets spoke first, their looped tracks running along barrels over a hundred metres tall, thumping vast quartz-cylinder shells of supercritical fluid at the Jaros mercenaries, but the true killers were to the rear of the ship, where its subspace boosters roared into life, adding thrust to the graceful bathymetric gravity drives along the length of the hull. The colossal vessel built up speed as it accelerated to meet the enemy warships head-on, its high prow aimed at Ateras' vessel. OVER WHITEWHARF The Cornewaille cruiser and the two Katsumoto frigates continued to hem in the surviving Justicar ships, watching with satisfaction as the rest of the surviving fleet disappeared into the dark reaches of space, beaten. Their goal was to pin the battered enemy, driving them away from the planet and denying their use to the defenders, pushing them away where they could be mopped up at leisure. The enemy were focused on survival, their weapons fire sporadic and designed to slow the Jade ships, and that suited them just fine, the occasional blows that made it through their defenses shuddering the hulls with gentle reminders that there was a battle still ongoing. _
The remaining Takeichi destroyer slipped past the conflict. It did not approach the planet too closely, but stood off high in the planet's gravity well and began to unload guided missiles, Atlatl interceptors and Micomitl torpedoes which tumbled into the atmosphere, their ablative coating burning off in quick flares before their boosters kicked in and they began orienting to target. Using preliminary SATINT reports and the intel from the Minevan landers, the missiles began screaming towards ground targets, prioritising armour and anti-air positions around Malts and the ground between Malts and Stakesby. They were not alone, however. The surviving Goldstar Drones, those not already junked in space or lying damaged in the belly of the Sun Wukong, hurled themselves towards the planet. Generating what signals they could to spoof the appearance of missiles, landers or even just debris, their goal was simply to overwhelm the defenders' signal and sensor systems, presenting them with a flood of nonsense. Many of the drones burned up mid atmosphere, whilst others ran out of reserves and lost power, tumbling through the skies, but others roared straight down, aiming to impact areas held by the enemy - whether to cause casualties or simply give them headaches. Amidst all the chaos, the Kankyo Dropships slipped down into the atmosphere, approaching Malts from the south over the sea. Escorted by fightercraft whose role was to intercept groundside munitions and provide cover, they launched a flood of smaller VTOLs and shuttles which carried advance elements. Behind them, Raijin bombers took up station to provide close air support to the marines once they landed and began identifying targets and points of resistance. _
VTOL, ABOARD KANKYO DROPSHIP The VTOL sat nestled among a dozen others, around which bustled deck crew and marines getting ready to launch. The dropship's complement were not among the first groups hitting the surface, but the situation was expected to change rapidly and everyone on deck knew that at some point within the next day, they would have their boots on the ground too. The Ash Banner of the Jade Dragons were relatively relaxed. Groundside operations were always preferable to shipborne combat, and their last mission had seen them lose their brother, Apep, aboard the degenerate Coronan supership the MOBY DIKK. Quinlong, their best pilot, busied herself with preflight checks whilst Guivre, the designated marksman, slotted q-cyl rounds into the bandolier clips on his shoulders. Ancalagon and Mnementh, the remaining two warriors, stood and pored over a display of the ongoing tactical situation. "The powderhounds got hit hard," remarked Ancalagon, as reports came in of the bold but dangerous Minevan raider assault's initial successes and failures. "Something to watch out for," replied Mnementh laconically, as footage played of Justicar fighters strafing the falling Minevans. A Bosun stalked past, leading a couple of mariners towards a Sverkhu dropship that refused to fire up, bellowing at the crew already there as he went. He was clearly annoyed at having to come hold hands, but he threw a distrustful glance towards the Dragons as he went. The tall, strangely sinuous yet bulky soldiers never removed their helmets in the presence of non-Dragons, leading to all kinds of wild conjecture about who or what they were. Some people maintained they were not even biological, but were machines like the Karogan. The Bosun didn't know or much care, but would be glad when their baleful presence was off his deck. Guivre watched him go through, his snarling helm tracking the man, then hefted his rifle and set his status to green to match his comrades
—--
ATERAS Another allied icon on the screen flickered out as the last of his escorts came apart under the withering fire the enemy was laying down. Elsewhere on the board, a glaring red warning symbol informed him that the reactor core's integrity had been breached and it was going into failsafe mode. The bridge shuddered and groaned, the entire frame of the ship screaming in its death knell. Ateras had a brief flash of regret that he was sending this mighty warship to its doom, and he hadn't even learned its name. Groaning, he levered himself out of the captain's chair and made his way down to the main deck, now filling with smoke, staggering under the g-force as he went. The inertial compensators had gone out a few minutes ago, but he'd been too busy to notice or truly care. The shields had failed with the second or third volley from the Carnaithians, and subsequent volleys had shredded the generators, opening the way for further damage. The entire superstructure was coming apart, and the strain of acceleration was only speeding the process up. He could feel every impact under his feet as it shook the ship and he stopped before the bas relief symbol of the Star. It had been given pride of place when the ship had been commissioned from the yards and no doubt things had been far too busy in the last two years to get around to removing it. Hesitating a moment, he knelt in front of the symbol and bowed his head. Fuck it, here goes nothing. I'm dammed as it is, might as well try and find some peace before the end. Coughing slightly, he managed a prayer in a dry and raspy voice. "Star of the Dawn. Guider of the Flame. Forsaken as I am, I dedicate myself and this ship to you. Have mercy on my House, light my way beyond death, and deliver us safely beyond pain and sorrow."
The ship shuddered again, and collision alerts began to sound as the Sun Wukong approached. Then the engraved Star flared with golden light, cutting through the smoke. A dragging footstep behind him had Ateras whirling around to face one of the weapons officers, who was staring at him with blank eyes and limping slightly. The problem, unfortunately, was that the woman's throat was gouged open, courtesy of the overloaded console that had blown most of her face off as well. None of this was helped when the corpse spoke, the symbol on the wall pulsing in time to its words. ACCURSED YOU WERE, ATERAS OF HOUSE JAROS. YOU AND ALL YOUR HOUSE. AND ACCURSED YOU SHALL BE. BUT EVEN AN BROKEN TOOL CAN YET BE MADE TO SERVE. The light vanished, and the body dropped to the floor with a dull thump, but before the noble could do more than be vaguely confused about the deity's words, the ships collided. --- The impact with the Ingen superweapon took place at slightly below forty percent of lightspeed, with all of the terrible destruction that implied. The Wukong, being larger and in better condition than the Imperial battleship, weathered the impact slightly better as it literally plowed through the Imperial ship and out the other side. Better being relative, as massive sections of hull were shattered and ripped off. The prow of the Ingen ship disintegrated about halfway through the collision process, and rippling blasts along the length of the Imperial ship as secondary reactors and munition stores detonated only added to the damage toll. For all the violence, the impact was over in seconds, leaving the Sun Wukong a crippled behemoth accelerating out of an expanding cloud of debris. ---
STAKESBY - Imperial Command Post Parthan watched the displays update as the Ingenious bastards began deploying in force. The Legion troops had made the trip to the defenses at Stakesby quick enough, and were now beginning to set up positions, but the auxiliary column still had almost two-thirds of the distance remaining to march. They'd managed to evacuate about a fifth of the auxiliaries before the carrier had left teleport range, but the beacons they had were now melted from overuse. He'd spread the word through the ranks about Bomani's promise of reinforcements, but he'd shared his personal doubts with his command staff. The orbital display updated, and his jaw fairly dropped as he watched that idiot boy Ateras finally find his balls and ram the Ingen flagship. That would definitely pay off later. I'll be dammed, the boy had something to him after all. Shame that he took an entire battleship with him, though. Of course, his elation melted away as the Ingen ships began bombardment. Cursing to himself, he tapped into the drone command net and ordered a general interception of the Ingen dropships to buy the column some time and keep Ingen from landing troops. --- WHITEWARF - 5 KM from Malts, Imperial Auxiliary Column They were two hours out from the mustering ground when it started to rain fire. The column broke ranks and scattered as missiles and kinetic impactors came shrieking down out of the heavens, and searing light filled the world from one horizon to the other. Pandemonium reigned as soldiers died in their thousands, some from direct hits, some from the shockwaves that broke their bodies and flung them aside. For better or worse, no aid would be coming to the Justicar's anti-orbital defenses. ---
—--
WHITEWARF - High Altitude Thousands of drones came screaming in on the Ingen dropships, in vast uncoordinated formations. The drone command AI was fairly limited without outside input, and tended to use the drones as impactors as often as it fired the weapons. In this particular case, the Tribune had ordered it to keep the allied forces from landing troops by whatever means possible. Therefore, it was throwing drones en masse at the dropships, hoping to blow them apart in midair. A costly tactic, but one that the House could well afford...for the moment.
—--
Malkorvic grimaced as she watched the impact between the Jaros battleship and the Sun Wukong. The victor was clear, but that didn't mean it was pretty - her fleet's guns had fallen silent seconds before the FTL scanner feed came through, and seconds later the impact was great enough to be visible on optical feeds. She had served her purpose, Felecia supposed - but such a great asset was more than just a practical element in this ordeal. "Admiral, your highness - status report." was the simple message, tightbeamed directly from her cruiser. "That was not the most safe of gambits." Her concern did not stay the hand of the fleet, however, as they continued to make their way for Whitewharf alongside the allied formation. The formation re-assembled, what ships were left pooling into a defensive shield between the assault ships and the world-to-be-liberated... but the ground complement was to wait for some time, as the Carnaithian element would not be contributing towards the forward force on the surface, instead reserving the majority of its combined arms for the primary landing. The skies, however, would prove to be a different story. Red rotary lights blared as the soft click-chunk, click-chunk of the information displays, a deliberate inclusion to make sure pilots received the messages, noted the incoming updates on the nature of enemy forces in the sky. A swarming mess of haphazard fliers, focused on preventing landings. Numbers, not quality. Gigantic semirobotic arms swiftly and nimbly swapped out long-range interceptor missiles for packs and packs of shorter-ranged dogfight missiles alongside a single belly-mounted SEAD missile to assist in removal of anti-air assets. Given the lack of surefire approval of nucleic deployment, subcritical turbine blades - permitting exo-atmospheric performance - being replaced with more conventional drive systems and an exoatmospheric maneuvering module, designed to aerostat at a given altitude for later retrieval.
—--
"Fighters launching in five." "You hear that, Glare? We're up." The newbie heard her squadron lead call over the unit comms as he checked his AI core's status before plugging in. "I hear it Clubs." The system was good, now for the uncomfortable part. She leaned back, and it felt like she was fainting as his mind merged with the AI core, a system in place to help pilots retain full control in the event of a blackout. Moments later and the fog was gone, a minor dizziness fading away as she blinked his awareness into check. She could see through every system of the plane, the information feed and HUD now floating elements in her vision as the mount carrying the plane began to move it to the rail-launch system. "Fighters launching." Within moments, she saw the rest of her squadron get fired into space, the maneuver units firing as they arced towards the planet below, taking up half of her sight. It was moments before the atmosphere took umbrage with their arrival, sheathing the aircraft with fire - she could see two dozen more penetrating the sky around the four of her unit, dropping the manuever system to loiter at high altitude. "Engagement plans updated. Rush for waypoint Alecto and clear the sky around. All weapons authorized."
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Brigade Commander, Senaq Aglotach A flash of searing white light betrays the collision of the Sun Wukong and the vessel from House Jaros. Even flickering in through the viewing port of Senaq's mobile HQ, in muted hues, it is brilliant. Fortunately for her, she is not aboard either vessel. My skirmishers are engaging the anti-air and anti-orbital forces in your landing region, the hologram of Pokyshak says. You should have a clear path. Senaq nods. Orbital supremacy affords many things (and all in all, Pokyshak seems settled; the remaining hostile fleet elements are by now insignificant). Though not as torrential as the Ingenious and other strikes, the precise nature of Pokyshak's machines adds their own contribution to the battle as strike craft and probes of varying size go about their business. Yes, but they still have other batteries present, Senaq replies. Many, but not too many, Pokyshak clarifies. Relaying you our current tactical data. Very well, Senaq says. That will help tremendously. She nods again. Once the anti-orbital systems are brought low, she will be able to rest easy. For the time being, however, she cannot; the reports of sunken transports are weighty thoughts indeed. She cuts Pokyshak's feed following a crisp salute. The ruined towers of Malts loom on the distant eastern horizon beyond Senaq's chosen landing zone, a stretch of mountains north of the burning Imperial columns. The first of her platoons touch down in the heights and work to establish themselves in the area. A few drones and skirmisher forces take up position facing east, towards Malts, while the greater share of her force orients southwestward towards the waiting city of Stakesby.
—--
VANDAR 2 – NORTH STAKESBY MOUNTAIN
Sergeant Tosun Pavo awoke with a groan. It took a long moment to remember who he was, and what exactly he was doing. The pieces began to connect as his vision unblurred, and he could see the crash in the rocks that his armored body had made; not a few more meters off and he could see the scrap that was his drop pack which had miraculously deployed. Realizing that he had, in fact, made a high-atmosphere jump while unconscious, Pavo’s bones began to scream in pain. He lazily writhed for a minute, also realizing the only thing he could hear was a loud ringing with the muffled noises of low combat. Pavo reckoned his entire body must have been clubbed with an industrial girder, but he was miraculously uninjured. His hearing returned; ringing replaced by the blood-curdling screams of a woman distorted electronically through their tactical network. He stumbled to stand, tripping a few times before fully gaining his bearings. From his drop pack, he removed his rifle and loaded it. The screams did not fade. Pavo looked around; he was neatly positioned in a bowl next to a saddle. In a field below lie the smoldering wreckage of the craft they had rode in on, spread out over the range of a couple hundred meters. There were a couple corpses strewn about of the Raiders he had jumped in with; a hasty count of about a dozen or so. To his dismay, the next thing he noticed was a handful of golden figures; Justicar rifleman and one Brahiri with a menacing club in both hands. He winced as he watched the blunt instrument be brought down on one of his comrades, the pain subsiding in favor of wrathful disbelief. .
Realizing the woman’s scream had not been snuffed, he began searching. Next to a flaming bit of the Redleg’s wing, he saw her crawling with two trails of blood left by legless stumps. It appeared she had made it about 30 meters, but the Brahiri had noticed her and advanced much quicker than she could pull. The Justicar riflemen were standing about, probably looking for others to mop up. Without a moment of hesitation, Pavo raised the weapon and emptied his entire magazine. The cascade of red lasers shredded through the Justicar riflemen, instantly killing two and sending the others to the prone. The Brahiri turned its massive body to look Pavo’s way, before ignoring him altogether and continuing on his way to execute the wounded. Pavo hissed a curse, and with reckless abandon vaulted out of his cover. His sliding down the loose rocks kicked up a large plumed of dust. Concussive rounds peppered near him, sending rocks and shards bouncing off of the plates of his lamellar. He reloaded on the way down.
With some skill and a lot of luck, a handful of Pavo’s well-aimed shots dispatched the other riflemen. At the bottom of the hill he traversed to the Brahiri, but every round from his Lancer fizzled out into static or dispersed on the ablative gold plates. He continued to shoot, letting loose his own hoarse cry of frustration. The hulking Justicar behemoth stopped, suddenly pivoting towards the Minevan Raider annoying him with a shower of crimson beams. Pavo fell backwards as the approaching Brahiri dwarfed him, raising its massive club overhead. .
The Justicar behemoth, however, was violently thrown to the ground where it stood, a solid projectile punching a gaping hole through its thick breastplate and out the other end. Pavo shot a look behind him, seeing a marksman atop the hill; Lop Soriya, his squad’s sniper. Lop too appeared to be wounded; his helmet was removed in place of bloody dressings covering most of his face to include an eye. Lop lowered his weapon and waved. Pavo returned the gesture. Another figure crested the hill, Pavo recognizing a medkit in their Raider’s hand as they sprinted towards the casualty. Pavo’s visor highlighted the trooper which identifying them as the platoon’s medic, Roth Chea. Roth sprinted past Pavo and immediately got to work, flipping the casualty onto her back. With a blink and some focus, Pavo brought up the platoon’s roster in his display. A lot of fatalities, marked in red, crushed him. Some others were labeled as incapacitated or otherwise wounded, and a select few were unknown. He surmised that the unknown either were thrown too far off course, or their equipment ‘malfunction’ was from being vaporized by interceptors halfway to the ground. He was broken from his reverie from a fresh scream as Roth removed the woman’s helmet. “Please! Gods please!” She wailed out, grabbing the medic, and violently writhed about. She was in a state of shock, obvious from her wild eyes filled with tears and delirious state. It was shocking she was still conscious, with how far her own blood stretched and pooled, “I don’t- want- to die! Please!” .
Roth offered reassurance, trying to quell the outcry; it yielded mild success. Over the soft armor of what remained of the legs, he was able to apply staunching devices that prevented the loss of more precious arterial blood. The medic hardly acknowledged Pavo, throwing the woman up onto his shoulders and running back up the hill without missing a beat. He recognized a medic handling a mass casualty when he saw it, envying Roth’s robotic drive. Pavo covered the rear, following the other Minevans into cover. Pavo was led to a hasty casualty collection point in defilade, where he was able to account for what was left of Vandar-2. Roth had stabilized a good six men and women who were in no fighting condition. Lop and three others were able-bodied, but still bore a significant injury or two. The rest were likely vapor or paste. It seemed Roth and Pavo were the only two lucky enough to have successfully executed the drop. “Orders, sergeant?” Pavo looked up. Roth was slaving away: performing everything from pulse checks, reading blood oxygen content, checking staunching equipment, and decompressing tension pneumothorax. His impromptu fireteam was huddled around him, making him feel the pressure and true burden of his leadership. “Set up security on the hill. I’m calling for support on guard.” They didn’t hesitate, hurrying to elevated positions to provide overwatch. In the far distance, Justicar troop transports could be seen coming northward through easier terrain; Lop reported at least three over their tactical network. .----------
“Any station, any station, this is Vandar-2. We are combat ineffective north of Division Objective 1, requesting immediate close air support and CASEVAC. Say again, Vandar-2 north of Division Objective 2.” “Vandar-2, Bodkin,” The woman’s voice replied over the open net, “On station. Alfa-5. I can ride the terrain but the airspace is too dangerous.” “Bodkin, I have too many wounded to move. Got reports of mech moving on my position; we will be overrun. Can we get relief?” “Relaying up, Vandar-2. Standing by for targets.” -----------
VANDAR 1 - NORTHEAST STAKESBY MOUNTAIN “Vandar 2, Vandar 1. We’re coming up on our assault position now. We’ll clear some skies and see what we can do.” “I’ll be honest, Hendrik. I’m out of fucking time.” “We will move as fast as we can.” Hendrik looked to where the sea kissed the shore; while the mountains before him hid Stakesby from his gaze, he had an unadulterated view of the Jaros legions getting decimated from orbit. He saw the fireballs and clouds rise from their forceful impacts, knowing that each thump that gently shook the rocks beneath his feet was a note ending hundreds, even thousands of lives. The barrage went on for minutes before lightening up into a more sustained rate of smaller ordnance, probably striking more precise targets. Breaking through the midday clouds, he could see many small craft taking the rapid plunge towards the ground. From both east and west, he could see many flights of low-flying craft travelling up to meet them. The advanced party was landing at Malts, it seemed, and the Justicars with their new Jaros allies intended to meet them in force. The real battle was beginning, which reminded Hendrik he was on a time crunch. “Pick it up, killers.” The unit maintained noise discipline and remained masked in defilade, moving in a quick jog towards their objective. They made it to the last ridge without encountering any resistance, the platoon loading their assault position in cover. The Raiders prepared their weapons and ammunition, overlooking the primary Justicar orbital battery in the depression below them. .
Sitting neatly in the flat center of the depression, surrounded by flat ground, was they pylon shaped battery spewing a torrent of small munitions as well as opening up to fire its primary spinal weapon. Every few seconds, a loud ‘THOOMP’ resounded thoroughly enough to rattle their insides. Several entrenched positions held mobile anti-air guns with their hover drives disengages. “Company sized element in the open. Put the AF into the base structure and standby for counterattack. Squad leaders, give me green lights.” -
VANGUARD – MALTS The concentrated hell from orbit made short work of whatever defenders were unlucky enough to be anywhere near Malts. Out of the Auxiliaries, maybe a few companies’ worth of men were able to hitch rides on Justicar hovercraft that were gunning for Stakesby faster than professional racers. The vast majority of everyone beyond that were little more than vapor and ash, vehicles rendered to empty shells of metal. By a stroke of luck, there were several Justicar armored formations that had buttoned up and positioned themselves into defilade that had managed to withstand the primary impacts. Several SPAAG platoons within the vicinity of Malts unmasked from their covered positions. Their main target was the assortment of shuttlecraft, but the ones that could not acquire a target simply went for any invading aircraft signal they could detect. Even for the limited number of weapon platforms, these vehicles offered a harrowing screen of concussive warheads. From their underground hides that hadn’t collapsed, a number of portable gun teams emerged and hastily set up their positions in microterrain. These units were hasty formations, centering around a crew-served grenade launcher with anywhere from a few teams to a few squad-sized elements providing security towards the Jade beachhead. These close-range defenses, paired with the plethora of unmanned Jaros drones, incoming Justicar strike craft, and long-range loitering munitions, turned the airspace over the coastline into a hornet’s nest of wild projectiles searching for prey. Munitions and small craft alike were creating a multitude of fireballs in the sky, either being intercepted or finding their Carnaithian or Jade quarry. .
From the lowlands of Malts, the attackers and defenders both were in direct view of Stakesby, which was still an impermeable sea of black cresting just over its tallest buildings. Munitions could be seen escaping the ceiling of the darkness from all corners of the town at a rapid rate, sailing through the sky to either begin loitering or to find a target to deliver their explosive warheads to. .
PORD SKIRMISHERS – EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAIN Bomani was surprised, but not entirely caught off guard that another force had landed very close to his primary anti orbital batteries. What surprised him was the relative size of the force compared to the other, and their move straight to direct action; he would dispatch a force to mop them up just the same as the Minevans to the west. What also surprised him was using primary craft so close to his primary defenses; they were certain to weather the storm of some of his most concentrated anti-air fire, which had offered Senaq’s landing craft a proverbial wall of projectiles and guided weapons all the way to the deck. “Secondary positions under attack. It appears to be several platoons in the vanguard.” “I see,” Bomani remarked to the others connected to his command interface, “Send Sokari‘s Phari their way.” It was common tactical practice to try to meet the foe with three-to-one odds; Bomani wanted to crush these bold invaders to demoralize them from additional attempts at overextending. Moving towards the Pordish staging grounds was an impressive mechanized force, making sure to navigate through the terrain carefully yet quickly. Reports were coming in to Sokari that the attackers were making short work of the hasty anti-orbital emplacements, the smaller teams being quickly overwhelmed by the numerically superior raid forces. Sokari was hoping to flip that script right back around. The Justicars deployed several teams to create Observation Posts in the hills and valleys north of the mountain. Artillery from Stakesby had already fired loitering munitions to support the defense at Malts; the command post had simply redirected a healthy handful of the explosive warheads to be used against these skirmishers. .
The Phari was mostly mechanized infantry, which needed to dismount in the more unforgiving terrain in hope of reaching shooting distance. Light hover tanks took up positions where they could mask, trying to cover main avenues of approach.
—--
IJN Sun Wukong Chase staggered as the impact rolled through the ship. The huge vessel screamed and shuddered as its superstructure was pushed to the limit, gargantuan pieces of debris coming apart and cracking into space even as the enemy ship buried itself in the prow, slightly to port. The Imperial warship detonated, shuddering itself free save for a chunk of its own prow that was left wedged into the ruined fore of the Jade superweapon. The impact proved too much for the second mast, which also broke and toppled overboard, floating free into space like a lost branch. Chase recovered and took stock. The Jaros contingent was destroyed, and even as he watched, Vic and her warships finished off the last of the Justicar warships, pinning them against the atmosphere and then battering them into submission. The system was won, albeit at a cost, and now it was down to the ground-pounders to return to the surface and finish what the Justicars had begun. He calmly called out orders over the insistent, panicked system alerts that blared from across the bridge in response to the catastrophic damage the ship had suffered. The Sun Wukong needed to be made spaceworthy again, at least enough to limp back to the dockyards at Sanrin, and they had captured vessels and damaged warships to corral and return to friendly territory. Afterwards would be time to rest and to write his post-action dispatches... -
OVER MALTS Although a few VTOLs and shuttles were unlucky enough to take hits, either forced into controlled crashes or else destroyed in the maelstrom that was the airspace, the easiest targets were the giant Kankyo dropships. Emptied of most of their passengers, their holds were filled with materiel and heavy vehicles, ready to land and supply the advance troops with all the equipment needed to develop a true foothold on the planet. The first ship targeted got lucky. A trio of strikes along its starboard flank alerted the deck crew to the presence of an SPAAG platoon that had drawn a perfect bead on it. Returning fire with its limited weapons, it pulled away, the lieutenant in charge offering a silent prayer that it still had the power to escape. "Kilo-Actual this is Kilo-Three, we're crying off. LZ is too hot and we've taken damage. Will wait until safe to land. Please confirm." "Kilo-Three this is Kilo-Actual, confirmed. Stay safe out there." Even as one dropship pulled back into the skies, trailing smoke from its battered hull, a second took a volley of loitering munitions. It was not so lucky, one of the rounds punching through to disable part of its bathymetric array and leaving it woefully underpowered even for atmosphere, let alone an exit. Smoke and flames burst from its flank, the boom audible to those on the ground as it immediately began listing, describing a lazy arc in the sky even as its defenses and weapon systems flickered against the clouds. It picked up speed, despite its attempts to slow itself, and came swinging around Malts. Its pilot had obviously recognised a crash landing was unavoidable, and was bringing them in a circle around the north side of the town, the ship looping back around towards the south-west as it attempted to slow its descent. Tearing up trees and soil as it approached, it ploughed into the fields west of Malts, grinding for nearly ten kilometres. _
Huge plumes of dirt and smoke were thrown up along its path, the scream and groan of metal against rock deafening to the onlookers as it tipped slightly to starboard, slowing gradually before coming to a creaking halt perhaps two kilometers to the south-west of the town. "Kilo-Four this is Kilo-Actual, status report!" "Kilo-Actual, this is Kilo-Four," came the crackling reply, the sound of emergency sirens and shouting filling the background as the speaker coughed, "she's a goner. No way she gets airborne again. Multiple casualties, starboard ramps disabled. We need support, ASAP!" "Confirmed, Kilo-Four. Stand by." The crash necessitated a change in strategy. The 4th Battalion were rerouted to the site, the 2nd battalion taking their designated landing zones as the crash site would be awkwardly folded into their positional strategy, forming a weird bulge in the line that they had not planned for. Elsewhere, the VTOLs and shuttles that made it to the surface began dropping their passengers, mechanised units forward to seize ground and begin assaulting the enemy SPAAG and gun team positions with the support of the same craft that had just delivered them, whilst further back command, support and reserve units began establishing operating positions and working to gain an understanding of the situation on the ground, as behind them the three successful Kankyo dropships poured heavy vehicles and gear onto the surface. 4th Battalion had taken the worst of the losses, with nearly a tenth of their personnel either dead, wounded or unaccounted for and their heavy equipment trapped in the wreckage of Kilo-Four. They scrambled to secure the ruined dropship, but the problem was immediately obvious - having keeled over so sharply, its starboard ramps were half-buried whilst its port ramps led out into midair. Getting the heavy vehicles out would be a problem.. _
ABOARD KILO-THREE The ship was rocked by explosions, and then the Dragons felt the momentum under their feet change as the ship broke away and began accelerating again, aborting its landing. They glanced at each other mutely, and then Ancalagon placed a call to the XO of the dropship. Initially the man refused to answer him, but Ancalagon was persistent. "What is it?" answered the officer curtly, emboldened by the fact the Dragons were half a ship away. "We're leaving, sir?" replied the soldier, just as bluntly. "We took some serious hits. It's not safe to put down." "Understood." Ancalagon hit the feed then turned and motioned for the banner to mount up. He called to the bosun, his voice amplified by his suit, and demanded that a bay door be opened for their VTOL. The bosun began to argue, but then Ancalagon started to walk over to him and with a curse he waved for one of the smaller hatches to activate. With a dull roar of engines, the little VTOL took off, jetting out and immediately snatched out of sight as the huge dropship continued upwards. Below them, Quinlong could see a confusing riot of explosions, smoke and contrails as the main landings took place. "Getting reports of a Minevan platoon stuck in a tight spot," called Mnementh from the back. They had the hardlight barrier deactivated, relying on their suits to keep them steady. "Looks like that's our first stop," replied Ancalagon. Their parameters were broad, but largely speaking their objective was to blunt any Justicar counter-attacks, and helping the Minevan raiders take out their gun emplacements sounded like it fit the bill. _
VANDAR-2 The VTOL approached NOE, skimming dangerously just metres above the ground before sweeping to a stop near Sergeant Pavo and his surviving team. Three hulking figures hopped out, landing lightly despite their size, and the VTOL nosed itself into the edge of the treeline before settling down, its pilot also clambering out through the front cockpit which levered itself open. The four figures were tall, perhaps eight feet with their armour, which was designed to look like a snarling reptilian beast, a vague blend of Sattran and Dong Wusian dragons. Two of them carried ornate weapons with snarling dragon heads at their muzzles, whilst a third hefted a contraption that looked like a medieval rocket firework and a fourth carried a long, efficiently-designed railgun that was all blank surfaces and angles. Their armour was camouflaged perfectly for the conditions - unlike regular marines, who typically had one or two patterns available alongside their parade colours, the electroreactive systems of banner's armour could remember upwards of a dozen different schemes. They crossed over to the Minevans, keeping as low as possible given their size. Wordlessly, Guivre continued onwards up the hill, joining the Minevans up there with his sniper rifle. Ancalagon turned his baleful visor-eyes towards Pavo. "Ash Banner, IJN. Good morning sergeant. " he said politely.
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Platoon Commander, Chor Nochaaq The calamitous roar of re-entry fades from beyond the hull of Chor Nochaaq's command tank as the pilot guides it onto a a glide path more suitable for the platoon-lead's given objectives. Despite the efforts of the strike craft and drone escorts, a darkened crater smolders forward of the machine's bow statue. Still, fortune - for the moment - favours Nochaaq; of the myriad heavy systems in the enemy's employ, none have laid waste to his machine thus far. We have lost a lot of grav buoyancy, the pilot complains, we can't keep up with the others if you want them to make fastest pace. That's fine, Nochaaq replies. He feels the pilot adjusting for the nose-down attitude the tank now desires; the planet's gravity, leaking in through the battered hull plating, tugs on his shirt. We can slow the others. They duck below the ridge of a nearby hill and the other elements of his command unit do the same. A few black spheres float above and he turns his attention to the local terrain. Stakesby isn't far, he says dryly, but there's more than enough between us and them. Beamfire streaks high in the air, arching forth from the main body of Senaq's force. Targeting incoming ordnance and clumps gathering above the city, their skyward whistle is the contrast of night against day made manifest; some colourless some black, they jog past Nochaaq's charge in ways only they can. Infantry and armour moving towards us, the Array operator interjects. They are still some distance off, in the mountains, but scans are showing around a battalion's worth. Nochaaq settles in his seat. Though geared towards swiftness, his skirmishers aren't without teeth. A slow nod betrays his understanding of the situation; in typical Pordish fashion, his platoon is a temporary construct built around the objective given to him by the company commander. To this effect, he has three squads of Chrühov - hoverbike infantry with light artillery, notable for their visual cloaking - and the comfort of knowing at least two more advanced platoons are in the vicinity. The ridges of his brow ruffle in thought as he looks over the nearby terrain. Rocky seams break along rising folds of jagged earth and stretch past green and browning shrubs while trees flow along their lower slopes. Tanks and infantry will need to move within them, cognizant of the limitations visited by the broken peaks and crumbling slopes, and he makes his election with these conditions in mind.
He turns away from the tactical screens to the comms displays. We can't go straight to our current objective with this force in our path, he says. The holographic forms of the other officers of the company command council nod and murmur. Delay them. I will shift artillery and Array coverage to your sector, Galyn Ataq - the Grazhnichelnar in overall command of the company - orders. A thin, white, snake of a beard coils out of the frame of his hologram. He scratches where it drips from his chin, turns to two of the other holograms, then continues: nam-Torchüzhyn, nam-Kalan? This armour does pose a significant threat. Engage with your batteries as you see fit. Nochaaq does not hear their reply; Clump of trees ahead, the pilot interjects. Where do you want us? Take us around them, not over them, Nochaaq says. He turns back to the comms displays. And then brings up his squad commanders. I am sure you have noticed the incoming infantry and tanks. Our task is to delay them. These three ridges will be our fall back points, we should move in this direction, he clarifies with a motion over the tactical map, and if need be, the fourth and fifth ridges here as well. My position is here - he clarifies yet again - and will remain on offensive Array stance for your probes. The gradual rise of a deep rumble joins the sharper whistling of beamfire then, and Nochaaq cranes his head skyward as Ataq's artillery, six mobile pieces in total, blend with the other long-range salvoes given, but in the low lighting the sickly purple hues of their bolts glow warmly, differentiating them from the others as their high arcs whisk them towards their targets.
—--
Atmospheric conditions factored.
Target capabilities factored.
Injecting batch.
Manifolds in the heart of the ships began to flood with propellent explosive solutions, mixing and molding around another batch of millions of rounds of a half-dozen calibers. They quick-set once removed from scalding heat, feed chutes spinning away from the nexus and towards the dozens of drop pods and landing craft. Within such an aforementioned pod, an odd congregation assembled - the hiss of final feeds and disconnects notwithstanding in the face of discipline, much like fears long since leveled with. My skin is not my own. Thousands of soldiers went through the much more conventional motions of their own deployments, even REST shock corps normal in the face of this as-yet deployed unit - unproven on the surface of Ancerious worlds. It flows and ebbs with the strength of my heart. Their number uttered word after word in unison with one another, stood clad in light exoskeletons before pools of black tar as attending engineers in non-standard military uniform passed between the grid of one hundred combatants. The sins of house Reik are not my own. Some of the younger members, new as they were, having not seen conflict even outside of the scope of this strange galaxy, looked up to the banners of the Order for strength as they prepared to don their true arms and armor. The attendants dispersed, returning to their seats as standard release alarms gave stage-one warning.
It is a blessing to bear them. The Jagged Knights, in unison, took a knee and thrust their right hands into the tar pools - tendrils quickly whipping out and giving a grasp in return, climbing up and onto the bodies of the soldiers en mass as the final launch alarm blared, spheroid dropships ejecting from the assault ships and careening towards the world below; this first wave would carry a simple two Cohorts - combatants numbering one hundred, half of their complement here - supported by fighters that screamed out of hangars into a swarm about the craft, metal frames piercing the skies about allied lines. "Landing zone is adjacent to Pordish position. Enemy committing an assault. We will help weather this assault."
--//--
New Directive - Defend Knight landing craft - destination 62.7 km bearing 063
"Glare you're with me, leave the rest of the squad up here," Clubs calmly ordered across the radio; spinning fireballs and spiraling missiles screamed through the sky in the furball, a meager four fighters disengaging to add to the guard for Reik's special package. "Keep an eye out for fast movers breaking alongside." She checked her HUD; half her missiles gone, a third of her guns expended. She'd already seen two of her own get chewed out of the sky, one shouting before censorship protocol shut out her screams, while the other was lucky enough to detonate midair. The numbers weren't great all around, but this was a first-wave offensive... it was expected.
—--
STAKESBY - Jaros Command Center More curses filled the air as Parthan watched his auxiliaries die by the tens of thousands. Changing the display to the aerial front was useless, the airspace over Matlz was a maelstrom of fire and death, any input he could offer would be outdated three seconds after he gave it. A ping to the side brought his attention to the enemy landing zone, and his brow furrowed as he looked over the information. The coalition was still in the initial stages of deployment, and were currently losing far more assets than were getting to the surface, but what had made it down could be troublesome later. Not to mention, the anti-air support would be silenced eventually, and he didn't have an endless supply of drones to hurl at the attackers. Another gesture brought up his current assets, and he began to issue deployment orders. The bulk of their vehicle detachments had survived, since they'd been used to ferry the Legions to Stakesby. Might as well put them to use, then. A brief message was issued to Bomani to inform the Justicar of the support, and then the reinforcements departed. --- EASTERN APPROACH, STAKESBY Sing me a song, fight me a war! Fight as long as the stars do burn! The raucous cheers and singing of the soldiers in the back of the tank brought a smile to Yargis's face as he glanced out the window and saw the rest of the vehicle detachment speeding along. Command had been somewhat concerned with this, sending out an two Spatha worth of vehicles to support the Justicar position and slow the enemy advance. He checked the road map again. Ten klicks to go.
—--
VANDAR 1 – NORTHEAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS One by one, Hendrik’s squad leaders confirmed their readiness as their nameplates turned green in his roster. Out of the Raider platoon, there were twelve Paladin assault weapon systems loaded with anti-fortification warheads and charged to fire. On his command, the coordinated volleys of explosives would begin, and their planned maneuvers would start. In his hand, Hendrik eyed a small, cylindrical device; the nuclear mine that was going to guarantee this battery wouldn’t even see a scrapyard when he was done with it. Aside from the slow-tempo roar of the anti-orbital cannon, the intermissions were eerily quiet. The gold-plated Justicars below them were at ease, relaxed in their rearline position. Hendrik peered once again to the coast at Malts, able to see the antline of low-flying craft and the splash of point-detonating explosives indicating the real fight for Whitewharf. “Vandar 1, going hot at Division Objective 2. Standby for clear skies.” The battery itself was a two-story structure, with many large blast doors lining the ground level and catwalks above. A stray sentry or two were walking about and nonchalantly scanning their sectors. Corner turrets were roosts for massive grenade launchers and several point defense turrets; both designed to spew high-explosives at an unmanageable rate and create walls of fragmentation between the structure and any threat. The Justicar battery took one final shot, and the Minevans responded with a dozen thermobaric penetrators. Fired in a simultaneous volley, the missiles screamed at the structure below the 2nd story coverage of the anti-air weapons. A second disciplined volley followed before the gunners even observed for effects. -
Steel warped and pillars of flame spewed from new apertures in the building. Secondary detonations could be heard rumbling well after the second volley, the magazine for one of the grenade turrets being sympathetically detonated and blowing the weapon from its mount spectacularly. Some of the soldiers escaping the structure would collapse just outside, shorn armor exposing them to the sun and rendering them to smoldering dust. “Jurgen, disperse and start nailing those mobile guns. Ishma, break east and divert their attention. I’m going with Runn and we’re flattening the peak.” Another volley followed, this time cascading the softer targets. A few of the Justicar positions were getting their SPAAG’s drives online, the light blue glow of their antigrav engines kicking up plumes of dust as they slid about. The Justicars were in a panic trying to rally their defenders. Hendrik’s Raiders, on the other hand, dismounted the berm and carried out their maneuvers in concealment. --
VANDAR 2 Pavo pulled off his helmet; a customary Minevan greeting was to show one’s face. He wasn’t familiar with the particular unit Ancalagon had mentioned, but in his position, he wouldn’t have cared at any random outfit that decided to show up. His brow was furrowed in worry, seeing such a small force come to his relief. At the same time, he was in a bit of awe at the sheer size of the figure in front of him and couldn't help but gawking at their ornate armor and weaponry. He knew this was no normal unit; probably some superhuman shitkickers. “I wish it were, friends. Sergeant Pavo. Vandar-2, or what’s left, anyways.” He brought up the tactical data assistant mounted in his gauntlet, entering a few commands as the holographic console came to life. The Ash Banner warriors were integrated into their local encrypted network pending the processing of their own equipment. Atop the hill, Lop had to double take at the new entrants. The displays in his visor registering the newcomers as friendlies prompted little more than a nod their way. He was focused on the killing field in front of him, now trying to ascertain the looming threat on the horizon. “Counting 5 cans. Ukani, looks like. Got grenades and lots of riders. 800 meters and clearing north.” “Shit,” Pavo spat. He donned his helmet, adjusting it ever so slightly until it formed its seal around his neck. “Could be near a hundred fighters coming our way. I don’t intend to give a meter of ground. Tell you what; if you think we’re lucky enough, my el-tee is somewhere out in that field and he should have a pocket nuke on him. We survive and get that, we can still scrape out the original mission.”
Pavo pulled back the bolt of his rifle to check for a casing. He muttered something under his breath, before following up with a grim remark, “I’m gonna pull heat off my wounded.” “Vandar 2, Bodkin on station, Alfa 8. Tracking enemy encroaching south of your position. Air is still hot, holding under 5. Give me targets and I’ll see what I can do.” -- BOMANI – GOVERNOR’S RESIDENCE The Judge was pleased with the anti-air skirmishers causing trouble at the beachheads, securing him precious time to think and properly act. He mused, perhaps, he could even put his foes into a reactive state on his own. His thoughts were dashed in an instant as alarming reports came in: one of his two primary batteries were being attacked by an unknown element, along with an assortment of guns being displaced by the Pordish skirmishers to the northeast. “Where is Sokari?!” Every mind in his command network felt the rumble of anger ring true. “Contact imminent with the enemy-“ “Where are their attachments? What is stalling the interdicting action?” “The reinforcements are bound north, closing on eight kilometers.” Bomani scoffed, all sense of tact and regard for his superiors gone. “That honorless bastard, Akyrios, signing treaties and scheming about, and judging me? Leaving me here to die as I reclaimed what belongs to the Tribunal? Once I am off this planet, Akyrios will be the one facing penance. Not I.” --
PORD SKIRMISHERs – EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS “That’s another position destroyed, my leros. Their skirmishing forces are light and not wasting time,” The Justicar troop spoke, encased in the cumbersome communication suite in the back of Sokari’s command vehicle spoke. “We are receiving indirect fire.” Sokari, a tiger-helmed human convert, was unfazed. The only indication that he had received a report of loss was momentary pause, before he offered the rest of his subordinate leaders in the darkness of the troop compartment his counsel. “Disperse the columns. Split the Pabasis into independent Ukanis to hunt those vehicles. The Resephs will stay centered.” “Forward element has received effects. There are casualties.” “The Resephs will center and focus on interdicting fire. Have the soldiers dismount and line the saddle with grenadiers. We will deny them the entire ridgeline.” The Justicar units in Sokaris battalion splintered into smaller, dispersed units as they approached contact with the Pordish platoon. Along the series of visible ridges, grenade teams dismounted their hovercraft and climbed to elevated positions still in defilade. The observer teams crested slightly at their own peril, trying to locate the formations of the skirmishers and their direction of movement to lay down accurate fire. “More reports, another position to the north destroyed.” “Very well. Once the support-by-fire positions are in place, our armor will run through. Do not stall. Break through the pass and cause chaos.” The sky above was filled with a peppering of explosive clouds as the indirect fire interdiction assets worked overtime; the depth of the battlespace precluded their ability to work perfectly. Many of the incoming rounds found home, striking dismounts as they climbed the loose slate or damaging and destroying hovercraft making movement.
- Regardless of losses, many of the Justicars made it to their assault positions. The Pordish platoon would face what the original escapees of Whitewharf did on their last ride out: an L-shaped wall of Justicar crew served grenade launchers saturating them with explosives at the cyclic rate. --
MALTS The damage had been done at Malts; the defending units there were not substantial or supported enough to put up any sort of protracted defense. The surviving SPAAG units that weren’t shortly overrun swiftly abandoned their positions when put under pressure and retreating into underground hideaways. Any pursuers or scans would quickly realize that this underground network ran deep and quick. The only thing left to contest Malts were a handful of defenders holding key terrain to the north, hover units trying to gun it to Stakesby after being displaced, and the very present aerial forces harassing the landers. The fight for the beachhead at Malts had been won on the ground, though a hailstorm of loitering munitions and attack craft continued to hammer forward elements. Some of the more devious coordinators in Stakesby directed concentrated barrages of obelisk-shaped loitering to the apparent abnormality in the enemy line; hoping to maximize the weakness of the Ingen 4th battalion. --
“Landing craft are breaking far north. Do not allow them to reinforce the mountain positions.”
The directive was simple, arriving to the call of one of the very few manned Justicar strike craft units. The Re-type strike fighter had a host pilot assume the form of the bident-shaped aircraft, not having a cockpit in a traditional sense. Baniti was enclosed in the pilot’s chamber, having become one with the rest of the machine much like the other five pilots in his wing. His compatriots joined him in a pair of wide ‘V’ formations, arcing high to the north at the influx towards the second beachhead the attackers were trying to establish. “They will be crushed momentarily,” Baniti calmly relayed to his host command; the bridge crew of the Criminal Vindicaiton far to the west. His sensors cross-referenced information in the frigate’s database, confirming his quarry to be a set of Carnaithian wings. They began to climb, torches flashing bright behind their aircraft. Baniti mentally prepared his decadizing warheads as his formations dispersed to pursue the fighters from multiple vectors with their concussive autocannons. Baniti’s prize, however, was a relatively large and slow-moving shuttle, performing a series of jinking maneuvers as he went full-burn to try and get in range.
—--
"Signatures closing. Fast." Glare's eyes shot to the radar display, showing the total of twelve Imperials against the encroaching Justicar air. They hadn't entered the fray yet; capabilities hadn't been adjusted for. "We don't have the range!" she yelled at the squadron lead, whose afterburners were visible at full flow less than a kilometer ahead - it was T-minus twenty before their four reached the plummeting egg-shaped dropper. "Sprint for it." "We're not fast enough!" She screamed, bemoaning the exchange of open-cycle solaris engines for the chemical burners currently fueling her plane. She could see the enemy planes visibly now, not just on radar. The eight doing close escort had already turned and begun releasing interceptor missiles, ECM pods on their fighters and the dropship alike very clearly interfering with signatures even with her own AI core's pre-baked counterprocessing. The sky was filled with flares as munitions crossed paths. "Sprint for it!" Clubs yelled back, stress and G-forces audibly effecting him as he accelerated at the spearhead of the formation. But Glare was right; she was watching as three of the fighters up ahead fell in the intercept exchange as the enemy air passed by the dropship that was still mid-deployment after breaching the thermosphere layer. One decadizer hit - no, three... four. One to Glare's port, three to her starboard. The allied planes were turning to give chase as hull visibly disintegrated and cluttered the air behind the still-operable dropship. She wondered how bad it was... but the turning pass for the enemy was taking them right past her squadron. "Fire at will!"
--//--
The screams of half a platoon and groans of much material were the announcement of the hits on the Knight dropship - twenty hadn't even had the chance to protest their passing, and another ten were recoiling and writing away from the Blackstone still cladding them. "Control yourselves! Corpsmen hold position!" A captain yelled over the chaos - even over the whipping, screaming winds now breaching through the hull. "Your kin are ashes! They need no attention... the stone will cull the rest!" Indeed, those injured were pulled back to the basins, where the tar-stone either assimilated the dead - turning to a more violet hue - or augmented based on their strength. The captain held his breath... it was yet to be seen how well impact would be taken, given the damage. --//--
FIRE SECTION ONE OFFLINE
THRUSTER A OFFLINE - DISABLING THRUSTER C. BEGINNING EARLY BURN.
GEAR A LOST. BURN THRESHOLD PASSED. BRACE. BRACE. BRACE.
--//--
The landing was rough, but the terrain for it was optimal. Hydraulics missing in the face of the attack, whose battle still raged overhead, meant that the dropship had to land on a mild slope - the rough, rocky terrain tearing yet more hull from the stricken craft. Deployment was executed as normally as possible in the face of the attack, wherein a third of the deployed force had been lost. Sensors had picked up that the enemy had engaged the Pordish forces already in the time that it took to get down from orbit... what missile launchers were still operational on the ship were leveled on the occupied ridge a few peaks away as knights and personnel loaded onto hovering transports and armored vehicles, thundering to the relief and leaving the AI-operated dropship as a temporary firebase.
—--
ABNEGATION, BRIDGE The minutes dragged on, and it was much more than the Justicar had initially bargained for. In the battlespace about his formation of vessels, handfuls of strike craft continued to probe and pester at his defenses with autocannons and unsuspecting torpedoes. The Abnegation had recovered from its critical hits, now able to swat attacks away with relative ease due to its point defense arrays. Short eruptions of fire reached out to lash at the strike craft, some able to dexterously whip away to safety while others were snuffed out in a heartbeat. The Abnegation’s escorts were likewise successful. Akyrios’ personal formation was an island of relative safety while the rest of his fleet was not as lucky. One of his corvette escorts suffered a serious hit to its main turret, another reminder of the tide of battle. “Enemy formation is disrupting, losing trace of dozens of vessels.” Akyrios was silent. “Another wing repelled, standing by.” He looked off in thought, gazing at the world below. “Fury and Vindication of Thought combat ineffective, requesting orders.” Akyrios panned through his own controls, a shroud of three-dimensional models enveloping him and shifting about. He watched the shimmers across the battlespace as the Sun Wukong received its effective hits. Some vessels disappeared entirely, some erratically shifted around, and others uncertainly blinked in and out until they were no more. “Capital ships within the ten light-second perimeter, Adjudicator!” He was in disbelief at his own ignorance, a cold fury in his chest. His own inability to figure this out earlier had cost him well over a dozen competent commanders, and thousands upon thousands more.
“A phantom fleet,” Was all he could mutter, giving little more than a simple nod. He looked at his disparate groups, each making as effective of a stand as they could against the overwhelming target presentation that was soon to overrun them. He would have to resign Bomani to his fate for now, that was unless he could hold out and Rolan would agree to his petition for reinforcements. This would be Bomani’s penance for his original blunder, and Akyrios was sure he too would have his own judgement to bear. “Signal the retreat.” The remaining Justicar vessels immediately began recalling their strike craft to escort their motherships. All those who were able began to turn their vessels on the long axis and fire their fusion torches at full burn, dumping torpedoes and remote warheads by the hundred in their wake. They were taking advantage of the momentary delay and reprieve of the various offensive formations as they tried to regroup, counting on being able to make it out with the majority of what was left. Vessels that had taken serious engine hits had either suffered failure from trying to punch it, or simply opted to power down all of their combat systems and transmit surrender to the allied fleet. The handful of vessels in high orbit, on the other hand, were not in a position to withdraw. Instead, they sent a final signal to the Abnegation before cutting their line.
We will hold.
The formation consisted of a handful of Penance-class frigates and an Arbiter-class cruiser. One of the frigates had already suffered a debilitating hit, rapidly sinking out of orbit and entering the atmosphere towards the continent below. Even though the battlegroup was doomed by virtue of being outnumbered and outgunned, the attackers would at least have to be careful to find firing solutions that wouldn’t liquify the entire Stakesby coastline. At least, that’s what the captain of the Arbiter was counting on.
STAKESBY In the darkness of Stakesby, Judge Bomani could see clear as day. His command post was situated in the former governor’s home, a symbolic gesture of ownership. Though, he had made various upgrades to the guard and facilities; namely, several armies worth of men spread along the coast and emplacements to swat orbital invaders out of the sky and neutralize the shower of warheads he considered might head his way. The Justicar general was striding to his impromptu operations center, receiving his final set of orders from his superior. “I understand this sentence. I will await your return, if it shall be,” He replied. There was no verbal reply, but he heard the ambient noise from the Prime Adjudicator’s end cut short. He entered the small room he was looking for, filled with machinery sporting lights bright enough to bleed through the photon absorbers. The machines themselves were bulky constructs, virtual coffins with Justicars slaved to them; these were sensors and transmitters connected to the vast array of military systems comprising Bomani’s grand army. The Justicars within were able to hear and speak to him via a direct uplink to his armor. “Update.” Low, raspy voices hissed through his helmet’s casters. “Your forces await further orders and to repel those who accost- Honorable, the Benevolent Retribution has entered the stratosphere. It is too damaged to regain position. It will impact the coastline.” Bomani grunted in frustration. “Direct Bailiff Glodia to touch down in the sea.” “It would appear they are unwilling or unable to respond to hails, Honorable.” ---
VANDAR’S RAIDERS They were to be the advanced party; something they’d trained for hundreds of times over, something they’d sweated for in training, and something a few of them had bleed for in real combat. Still, the very real rattling and convulsing of the troop compartment of their sturdy Redleg Infiltration ship reminded every individual of their company of their mortality. “Clear of debris, hitting heavy atmo. Two out from release.” A pair of Minevan drop craft had hitched a ride through a descending shoal cluster as the fleet exchanged hands above, while the drone coverage and the brunt of their own ECMs were in full swing. The only issue was in order to maintain undetected; they paired their own stealth systems with a planned trip through a southward coastal storm a hundred kilometers north of the Stakesby mountains. “Vandar-Actual, Bodkin-One. Be advised, breaking north: low. Can’t support until Objective Lennox; how me?” “Five by five, Bodkin. Safe flying,” Hendrik said to the woman’s voice on the net; he knew Bodkin-One was a Broadhead pilot from the Sweetwater, and was their initial support past their first target. “Lost contact with Vandar-Two,” The pilot of the Redleg chimed in over the net, “Mixed word from the fleet. Got one- correction, two frigates breaking atmo. Adjusting to secondary course. Ninety seconds out.” In the corner of his viewscreen, his topographic map expanded, several graphics and lines blinking to show him the updated objectives, targets, phaselines, and drop zones. Their secondary plan was less than ideal, but still attainable. He quietly scoffed: as if he had a choice to attain it or not. “Sixty seconds out. About to break the storm. Final drop kit diagnostics and weapons hot.”
—--
OVER WHITEWHARF The huge volley of torpedoes did it's job well; the Jade contingent was stalled momentarily as its vessels focused on shredding the massed attacked, losing precious seconds as the surviving Justicars escaped. The field in front of the IJN vessels was lit up like a fireworks display, blooms of explosive energy rippling across an invisible front like a tide slowly creeping up a beach, before they finally dropped off in intensity. By the time the Justicar barrage was finished, the Cornewaille-class Leviathan was listing badly and the Takeshi support ship was drifting without power. Chase ordered a general advance against the two surviving ships in orbit, directing the Sea Room to send its firepower at the stern of the fleeing Justicar ships, blasts of graviton energy raking them stern to bow. As the artillery ship pounded away, Chase deferred to Nighthorse to arrange her vessels to pick off the remaining defenders and establish orbital superiority. The intact Cornewaille cruiser, a huge brute of a warship, began to sink into the atmosphere, hammering its guns at the Justicar cruiser at a gradually decreasing angle as it sought to lower itself to their plane. Meanwhile overhead, the two Katsumoto-class frigates escorted the Ayuko carrier overhead, as behind them the Minowara carrier frigates began gathering their fightercraft and taking possession of the surrendered Justicar warships, as well as sending SAR and engineering support to the damaged support ship. The surrendered Justicars were ordered to open their hangar bays, remove all security from their systems, and then withdraw to their quarters. Frame bodies inhabited by shard fragments of the shipborne Frames boarded each surrendered vessel unceremoniously, wandering up to the bridge to seal the crew in their quarters and take control of the vessel, maneuvering them clumsily away from the combat, their guns silent. _
ABOARD THE IJN MAKO Mitsuyoshi watched, impressed, as Nighthorse began directing her ships without a flicker of hesitation. He had been a little concerned, with rumour in the service being that she was shy and afraid to press the attack, not exactly the kind of person he wanted attached to his cause, but she had shown no caviling behaviour today. The fleet action had gone surprisingly well and the Sun Wukong had validated the massive investment made in it, although it would no doubt need expensive repairs and the battle had certainly exposed some weaknesses. He watched as the remaining drones returned to the giant ship for refuelling and manual programming - with the mast system down, they would have to be pre-programmed and launched as one-shots, but he understood that the plan was to use them to again flood the defenders' sensors with contacts, making it difficult for their anti-air systems to fend off the impending landings. He knew better than to interrupt the fleet commanders whilst they were working, so instead left the bridge and went to Catrina Starkpfote, a distinguished journalist and a niece of the late Shogun Starkpfote. The Jade Courier Network, the official state news organisation, had refused to attend, but IdaiEntertainment had sent a news crew to cover the campaign, news of which he was hoping would boost public support for his position. Moments later, a 30-second snippet, the hallmark of IdaiTech news, played. The diminutive Yokeneko presenter explained where she was and introduced the Prince, who spoke with little ceremony. "We're here at Whitewharf to demonstrate what happens to those who attack the Jade Empire. Our people should know that they are protected, and that any crimes against them will be punished swiftly and with no mercy. We have already driven back the enemy navy here and are landing soon, to either rescue or avenge the citizens of Whitewharf. Banzai!" _
IJN EYEMOUTH The carrier maneuvered behind the advancing warships, five of the hulking Kankyo-class dropships slipping from its waist as it prepared to begin landings, just waiting for the all-clear from the combat group and the arrival of the fighter and drone escorts. Major Andersen muttered into his comlink, confirming receipt of the new information, then stood and bellowed to his troops, his voice echoing over the comm system. "Right! Ready up! Minevans have already begun landings, we're going in to support their vanguard. Last checks!" His announcement was largely redundant, as the soldiers had felt their dropships take off anyway, but it was met by cheers all the same.
—--
ATERAS As the Abnegation and it's surviving escorts either retreated or died, all Ateras could feel was a rising tide of bitter dread. His fault, all of it. If he had seen the plot coming earlier and moved to halt it, then the Ingen illusion would've been revealed that much sooner, the defense could've held or even routed the attackers. Not that the ground situation was going to be much better, he reflected, perusing a scan of the near orbit of the planet. The enemy was well and truly here in force, and they had not the ability to drive them back. A drive signature flared on the display, followed by another, and then another, as the rearguard he'd left behind shifted positions, moving to break orbit towards the outer system. So they were leaving. Under orders no doubt, and Parthan's in particular, if he had to guess. The House Elders had sent the old bastard along to run the groundside operation as one last hurrah, before settling into training regimens. Certainly they had entrusted the man with more authority than him, but that was to be expected, to an extent. Another damage alert sounded briefly before being silenced, and Ateras set his shoulders and took a deep breath. So be it then. Retreat would be almost certain death, if not here, than either from the Elders for botching the operation, or at the attacker's hands for piracy. And if there was no way out and no way forward, then why not make it count. Exhaling, he let it all go. Nothing now but the fight and the fire. Then he grinned and hit the ship-wide comm. "This is Vilor Ateras. All hands not needed for fight and flight, abandon ship. I repeat, all hands not needed for fight and flight, proceed immediately to evacuation pods." Then he laid in a course for the Sun Wukong, and ordered all power to the engines. Transmitting the commands, the remaining ships of the forward Jaros element followed his lead, picking up speed as they went, with a trail of life pods bleeding from their wake. ---
WHITEWARF The makeshift staging ground erupted in a bustle of even more activity, as dropships were redirected to Stakesby, and vehicles started roaring down the road towards the city. Meanwhile, several columns of auxiliary troops started marching towards the Justicar anti-orbital emplacements on the north ridge. The dropship flights would continue until either enemy bombardment or interceptors rendered them impossible. Further up in orbit, the supercarrier activated its engines and began to pull about to break orbit, while the other ships with it followed suit. As it left, the hangar bays slid open and began spewing thousands of drones, which swirled together before descending into the atmosphere to provide support against enemy aircraft.
—--
"Alert. Carbide accelerating. Trajectory is intercepting hostile capital ship." Malkorvic reacted with intrigue more than anything as the ship's engines engaged full burn, such a common sight with such craft; the missile "escorting" it broke to a wider formation, permitting them both begin spiraling into terminal approach vectors used by anti-ship munitions... indeed, as it sprinted forth, the remaining warheads began the oh-so-played-out scene of ejecting from their tubes and shooting away, arcing around to try to hit the maneuvering elements of the ship. The crew were not consigning themselves, though, as the shuttles and escape pods detached, with emergency ejection systems pushing out what meager ground complement - not yet manned - that the ship had. "Launch shuttles to retrieve Carbide's complement. All guns, fire on hostile ships," The CIGO officer announced plainly, a resigned expression of content on her face as the guns of the fleet opened once more - they knew the enemy's target, and that removed all doubt from firing solutions for kinetics, which had switched from guided long-range munitions to slugs molten white-hot in the breech, while lasers - quite literally - just had to point and shoot.
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM VRZ Battalion Commander, Tryna Pokyshak The Pordish contingent thunders into the orbitals as the Justicars fall back. Blinding white flames lick out into the sky in chorus to their arrival even as other elements of the allied force assume similar positions as well. Looks like they're ready to head planetside, Tryna mumbles to herself. Indicators signal the disembarkment of Senaq Aglotach's brigade into the air column and the tactical officer nods with the comment. Keeping an eye on the anti-orbital emplacements. How do you want to handle them? They aren't in good locations to eliminate them from here. We'll need to go in with the skirmishers and ground troops to take them out. Can you identify the ones nearest? The tactical officer nods again. Tasi, I can. I will relay the information. Another indicator lights up and Tryna traces a path to it with a glance. Sun Wukong is being targeted again. Wait - she squints - these vectors... They're charging, the tactical officer interjects, they're charging.
—--
ABNEGATION, BRIDGE The Justicar commander, much like his bridge detail, were largely sullen. Sound came in the form of short chirps and statements passing along necessary information, no longer in a frantic tone but in one of disappointment and shame. Though he wished to acknowledge them, Akyrios snuffed out the various excuses in his head; he had not fielded a true engagement for the better part of a decade, his foes had brought severely imbalanced assets to bear, he had not ample time to prepare after Bomani’s premature attack, and a plethora of others. His surviving fleet had cleared the interdiction of his enemies who were now taking advantageous positions over Whitewharf. This allowed those fleeing to approach a pair of Tether Gates that he’d commanded to activate in their prior maneuvers. “Jaros vessels accelerating into the Jade formation. Towards the flagship.” Akyrios stood bewildered for a silent moment, watching the pieces float along as he was just informed. The signatures marked as Jaros vessels on his own three-dimensional tactical map sprung to life, displaying the trajectory and velocity of his ally’s ships gunning straight into a most vulnerable position. On his own end of the operation, a handful of his own ships had already crept through the wormholes to Agnios. To his dismay, yet another frigate trying to disengage the Carnaithian group was shown disabled and lost acceleration. As for his group stranded in orbit, Akyrios saw the beginning of an engagement; the trio maintaining their orbit and a pair descending to be lost by atmospheric interference. “Very well,” Akyrios spoke, “Make haste. Our window narrows.” His fifty-vessel battlegroup had been whittled into little more than a couple dozen in a relatively short engagement; his penance was certain to be severe.
Akyrios the Boar, running with his tail tucked and abandoning his allies. He scoffed in disbelief. Without a word, he left his subordinate judge in command and stomped out of the bridge. The Abnegation and its complement was swallowed by the wormhole with a scant few Justicar ships to follow, leaving nothing but dead and silent space.
-- SKIES ABOVE STAKESBY A pair of knife-like Penance-class frigates cut through the clouds, casting shadows on the busy coastal valley below. While there were defensive fortifications preparing for battle all the way from the mountains of Stakesby to the radioactive flats of what used to be Ruswarp, many commanders below gave pause to see the plummeting war machines and hear the ear-splitting rumble of their sublight propulsion from kilometers above. One of the frigates was unmarred, in a controlled descent towards Stakesby while remaining parallel to the deck below. The other on its flank, however, bore a massive tear along the long axis of its dorsal plating and was missing its aft turrets. It left a trail of smoke and magnificent flames in its wake, its nose pitched to dig into the planet rather than situate above it. “Fire of Passion, control loss, inbound descent to zone four, coordinates transmitting.” -- GOVERNOR’S RESIDENCE Had he not been restrained to the device via the link of his sustainment suit, Bomani would have likely shot up. The Fire of Passion was going to crash just southwest of Malts, likely at terminal velocity. His own sight right now was linked among the hundreds of commanders and stations dotting the coastline, jumping about to try and decipher a solution. Without causing chaos over the open voice networks, he sent out a series of commands to all of his anti-orbital emplacements to be prepared to engage the renegade frigate. Destroying the frigate mid-descent would at least prevent it from impacting as one solid hunk, causing potentially less disastrous effects. Just moments before Bomani gave the order to execute the Fire, another transmission came over the operational battle network. --
CRIMINAL VINDICATION, BRIDGE Their frigate, unlike their sister ship in the group, was completely untouched. The bridge of a Penance was not as magnificently vacuous as the larger ships of the fleet, but still bore the trademark exorbitance and flashiness of Justicar décor in the form of items such as monolithic pillars and gilded trim. Bailiff Vaeus was the captain of the Criminal Vindication, and Vaeus was calmly commanding a very dire situation. “Judge Bomani has granted us two minutes to remedy this,” He heard from the comm station just over his right shoulder. “He will not be disappointed. Helm! Pull us lateral to the Fire. Weapons, concussive with proximity fuze.” If the skies above were not loud enough before, the fusion torches of the Criminal Vindication flashed new life and filled the coastline with a deep screaming. Thrusters on the rear and dorsal section of the frigate sprung awake and shot them on line with their damaged counterpart. Little more than a kilometer apart, the working turrets of Vaeus’ ship fired a salvo. The burst of the concussive warheads could be seen as small splashes in the sky, visual ripples filling the space in between the two warships and pushing clouds away in a circle. Another salvo followed, and finally a third. The space between the frigates grew, every ripple that lapped at the Fire pushing it just a few more degrees off of its original course. Some of the Fire’s thrusters could be seen fighting for life, with some of the aft maneuver thrusters being able to engage to cushion some of its velocity. A tense minute had passed by; Vaeus and Bomani could now see the crashing Fire heading for the ample sea. Hitting the water would create its own series of issues; much less devastating than the frigate being the welcome committee for the entire Jaros army. Vaeus observed his effects carefully, about to reconvene with the Judge before another announcement from his sensors operator. --
VANDAR’S RAIDERS “Confirmed! See you at the bottom, killers!”
There were few things more exhilarating than an atmospheric jump to Hendrik; not even the birth of his son had given him the rush of euphoria that leaping from the back of a dropship gave him, every time without fail. As per his command style, he was the first out the hatch and would be the first on the deck. The display on the inside of his visor showed green lights appear one-by-one, as each of his jumpers dove from the Redleg in one way or another.
His rifle and all of his gear were secured neatly to his back, including the disposable drop-pack that would slow his descent on the final approach. He looked down past his feet, seeing the mountains of Stakesby far below him. To the south was a sea of black that reached across the valley and into the deep blue ocean beyond it; his orientation brief had him figure that was Stakesby itself, housing tens of thousands of angry fungus men. “Jumpers clear. Velkna’s favor to you, Raiders,” The pilot remarked over the tactical net, the calm voice contrasting against the adrenaline pumping through Hendrik’s veins.
- “Safe flying, Redleg!” Hendrik heartily called back, before he could hear the distinct click of the pilot transitioning off the local net. They had a long way down to go, but in his vast experience this part ended quicker than expected every time. He weightlessly panned around to see how the other men and women were faring, comfortable in the freefall. Some were relaxed, some were very tense and by the book, and others were in a nosedive trying to race their own platoon commander to the deck in the usual attempt to show him up. He chuckled as one of the troops gained on him, forcing him to start descending with a purpose. “Not today, meat eaters.” Unlike the uncertainty of true combat, the jump was no different than in training. To them, it served as a ritual of sorts; a threshold to pass between calm preparation and the horrors that awaited in the breathtakingly beautiful landscape below them. Static assaulted their ears. -
- “-early, two on my six. Jumpers bail! Bail! Bail!” Hendrik’s brow furrowed in concern under the cover of his visor. He searched laterally across the vast skies, trying to find an anomaly. Towards the coast, he saw two capital ships in descent, one forking away from the other towards the sea and leaving a trail of dismay behind it. ‘-ook one to the ventral-… lost the right engine, fast-movers coming in for a third!’ Hendrik looked more frantically, until in the far distance to their east he saw a tiny fireball being harassed by an assortment of black dots; akin to gnats feasting on a piece of rotten fruit. “Vandar-2 breakdown, troop compartment took effective hits, counting thirteen jumpers-“ The members of Vandar-1 watched wordlessly as the pilot’s tone went grim, listing off pertinent information before the fireball transformed into a momentary white flash. The black dots, which Hendrik assessed to be Justicar interceptors, assumed a formation and began to fly in a very wide arc. Their ritual had been desecrated, and Hendrik’s face hardened to stone. “Beginning approach.” “Gods, they’re circling back around and gunrunning again…” “That Redleg’s gone, they found Bodkin?” “No, too far north- fuck, they’re shooting the jumpers.” -
A shared nausea formed in their guts, turning their euphoric adrenaline rush to that of cold steel running in their blood; anger, vindication, vengeance, fear that they could be swatted out of the sky next. Hendrik couldn’t blame them for flooding the net with their new thoughts, but to preclude them and not let panic overrun his net he gave a simple command; “Cut the chatter. Deploy in 30.” The Raiders opened their reverse thrust just hundreds of meters above the deck, drives reducing their velocity and allowing them to safely tumble onto the rocky ridges on the north side of the mountain ranges. Their weightlessness and freefall agility now gone, every member of Hendrik’s platoon was now intimately reacquainted with the limitations of being married to the ground. In the minutes it took all of his men to regroup and establish a hasty security posture, they had gone undetected as no reconnaissance or QRF had reared its head; at the very least, his command Adept had not managed to ken any trouble with his psionic proclivities. His unit leaders had gotten a full accountability; zero fatalities, injuries, or missing personnel. They had all their gear, to include the nuclear mines, and everyone was ready to move. Rested in a shallow draw, Hendrik’s command huddle was trying to decide where exactly to move to. A gaggle of squad leaders and key personnel kneeled in a circle, with their helmets off.
- “You heard the Redleg pilot; they had at least thirteen get out the back. Tracker shows them around eight clicks west, we need to get them before their react teams do,” Jurgen spoke first, 2nd Squad Leader known for his focus on compassion and troop welfare above all else. “Thirteen out the back and probably one able body on the ground,” Runn replied, 1st Squad Leader who was a notorious fireball . “You know what they do to prisoners,” Jurgen shot back, glaring up. “I do. We need to sack this battery or we, and the landings, are fucked. We don’t have time,” Runn replied, unfazed. Jurgen pursed his lips, nodding in frustrated concession. The next to speak was the less-wordy 3rd Squad Leader, Ishma. Whenever she spoke, it was nothing but a blunt truth. “Runn’s right. They’ll be mopping up survivors; that’s our concealment.” A grim silence overcame the squad leaders at the ugly truth. Hendrik put his helmet on, and his subordinate leaders followed suit. “Runn, your squad has point. Jurgen, support the rear. It’s a short movement to contact from here and we are on a time crunch. Hit it.”
—--
GOVERNOR'S RESIDENCE "Bailiff Vaeus, was it? You have my thanks," Bomani credited the efforts of his new subordinate and ally, "After the relief force comes you have my vote of confidence to assume the title of judgehood." "It is my honor to serve the cause, Judge Bomani. I will position my ship to support your ground operations in the defilade of the Stakesby ridgeline, if you will allow it. My commanders report to me a signal- Minevan- approaching from the north I shall investigate. A small one." "Proceed." The preparations groundside continued as normal; some mechanized units began to move to escort the maneuvering Jaros auxiliaries in their foot march, some gracious commanders offering to relieve the light legions of heavy gear burdening them. Anti orbital platforms, both emplaced and improvised, began to go hot in preparation for an enemy ship gambling too low or for the plurality of landers and munitions that were sure to begin raining down. ORBIT The two vessels that remained in orbit were not faring well; they were a patrol at best facing a relative armada in firepower. They continued to lower their orbit and perform minor jinking maneuvers as they could without entering the atmosphere to give the enemy guns a run for their money, missile bays and dorsal turrets firing at a cyclic rate as if they were a cornered dog fighting for their life. Their firepower, however, paled in comparison to the Jade compliment directly engaging them; a pair of ships simply not being able to bring enough weapons to bare against a hulky cruiser and a pair of frigates while maintaining standoff with the rest of the fleet. At this point, it was evident that the blusterous and gilded Justicar ships for all their physical glory could only stall for time, as the minor hits began to pile up into major ones.
—--
ABOARD THE SUN WUKONG Chase raised an eyebrow as the House Jaros contingent accelerated to ramming speed. It was a bold move, almost worthy of a Jade officer, but he didn't react immediately. Quietly, he marked the target on his console and a few moments later, the IJN Sea Room hosed down the onrushing ships with more artillery fire. As the bridge crew appreciated the fireworks display, patiently waiting for Chase's command, he made a few more selections on his console and, accordingly, the officers in front of him began to work the ship. His XO's voice echoed through the hallways of the vast warship. "All hands, ship is accelerating. Brace for impact." The huge VL-HVEA coilgun turrets spoke first, their looped tracks running along barrels over a hundred metres tall, thumping vast quartz-cylinder shells of supercritical fluid at the Jaros mercenaries, but the true killers were to the rear of the ship, where its subspace boosters roared into life, adding thrust to the graceful bathymetric gravity drives along the length of the hull. The colossal vessel built up speed as it accelerated to meet the enemy warships head-on, its high prow aimed at Ateras' vessel. OVER WHITEWHARF The Cornewaille cruiser and the two Katsumoto frigates continued to hem in the surviving Justicar ships, watching with satisfaction as the rest of the surviving fleet disappeared into the dark reaches of space, beaten. Their goal was to pin the battered enemy, driving them away from the planet and denying their use to the defenders, pushing them away where they could be mopped up at leisure. The enemy were focused on survival, their weapons fire sporadic and designed to slow the Jade ships, and that suited them just fine, the occasional blows that made it through their defenses shuddering the hulls with gentle reminders that there was a battle still ongoing. _
The remaining Takeichi destroyer slipped past the conflict. It did not approach the planet too closely, but stood off high in the planet's gravity well and began to unload guided missiles, Atlatl interceptors and Micomitl torpedoes which tumbled into the atmosphere, their ablative coating burning off in quick flares before their boosters kicked in and they began orienting to target. Using preliminary SATINT reports and the intel from the Minevan landers, the missiles began screaming towards ground targets, prioritising armour and anti-air positions around Malts and the ground between Malts and Stakesby. They were not alone, however. The surviving Goldstar Drones, those not already junked in space or lying damaged in the belly of the Sun Wukong, hurled themselves towards the planet. Generating what signals they could to spoof the appearance of missiles, landers or even just debris, their goal was simply to overwhelm the defenders' signal and sensor systems, presenting them with a flood of nonsense. Many of the drones burned up mid atmosphere, whilst others ran out of reserves and lost power, tumbling through the skies, but others roared straight down, aiming to impact areas held by the enemy - whether to cause casualties or simply give them headaches. Amidst all the chaos, the Kankyo Dropships slipped down into the atmosphere, approaching Malts from the south over the sea. Escorted by fightercraft whose role was to intercept groundside munitions and provide cover, they launched a flood of smaller VTOLs and shuttles which carried advance elements. Behind them, Raijin bombers took up station to provide close air support to the marines once they landed and began identifying targets and points of resistance. _
VTOL, ABOARD KANKYO DROPSHIP The VTOL sat nestled among a dozen others, around which bustled deck crew and marines getting ready to launch. The dropship's complement were not among the first groups hitting the surface, but the situation was expected to change rapidly and everyone on deck knew that at some point within the next day, they would have their boots on the ground too. The Ash Banner of the Jade Dragons were relatively relaxed. Groundside operations were always preferable to shipborne combat, and their last mission had seen them lose their brother, Apep, aboard the degenerate Coronan supership the MOBY DIKK. Quinlong, their best pilot, busied herself with preflight checks whilst Guivre, the designated marksman, slotted q-cyl rounds into the bandolier clips on his shoulders. Ancalagon and Mnementh, the remaining two warriors, stood and pored over a display of the ongoing tactical situation. "The powderhounds got hit hard," remarked Ancalagon, as reports came in of the bold but dangerous Minevan raider assault's initial successes and failures. "Something to watch out for," replied Mnementh laconically, as footage played of Justicar fighters strafing the falling Minevans. A Bosun stalked past, leading a couple of mariners towards a Sverkhu dropship that refused to fire up, bellowing at the crew already there as he went. He was clearly annoyed at having to come hold hands, but he threw a distrustful glance towards the Dragons as he went. The tall, strangely sinuous yet bulky soldiers never removed their helmets in the presence of non-Dragons, leading to all kinds of wild conjecture about who or what they were. Some people maintained they were not even biological, but were machines like the Karogan. The Bosun didn't know or much care, but would be glad when their baleful presence was off his deck. Guivre watched him go through, his snarling helm tracking the man, then hefted his rifle and set his status to green to match his comrades
—--
ATERAS Another allied icon on the screen flickered out as the last of his escorts came apart under the withering fire the enemy was laying down. Elsewhere on the board, a glaring red warning symbol informed him that the reactor core's integrity had been breached and it was going into failsafe mode. The bridge shuddered and groaned, the entire frame of the ship screaming in its death knell. Ateras had a brief flash of regret that he was sending this mighty warship to its doom, and he hadn't even learned its name. Groaning, he levered himself out of the captain's chair and made his way down to the main deck, now filling with smoke, staggering under the g-force as he went. The inertial compensators had gone out a few minutes ago, but he'd been too busy to notice or truly care. The shields had failed with the second or third volley from the Carnaithians, and subsequent volleys had shredded the generators, opening the way for further damage. The entire superstructure was coming apart, and the strain of acceleration was only speeding the process up. He could feel every impact under his feet as it shook the ship and he stopped before the bas relief symbol of the Star. It had been given pride of place when the ship had been commissioned from the yards and no doubt things had been far too busy in the last two years to get around to removing it. Hesitating a moment, he knelt in front of the symbol and bowed his head. Fuck it, here goes nothing. I'm dammed as it is, might as well try and find some peace before the end. Coughing slightly, he managed a prayer in a dry and raspy voice. "Star of the Dawn. Guider of the Flame. Forsaken as I am, I dedicate myself and this ship to you. Have mercy on my House, light my way beyond death, and deliver us safely beyond pain and sorrow."
The ship shuddered again, and collision alerts began to sound as the Sun Wukong approached. Then the engraved Star flared with golden light, cutting through the smoke. A dragging footstep behind him had Ateras whirling around to face one of the weapons officers, who was staring at him with blank eyes and limping slightly. The problem, unfortunately, was that the woman's throat was gouged open, courtesy of the overloaded console that had blown most of her face off as well. None of this was helped when the corpse spoke, the symbol on the wall pulsing in time to its words. ACCURSED YOU WERE, ATERAS OF HOUSE JAROS. YOU AND ALL YOUR HOUSE. AND ACCURSED YOU SHALL BE. BUT EVEN AN BROKEN TOOL CAN YET BE MADE TO SERVE. The light vanished, and the body dropped to the floor with a dull thump, but before the noble could do more than be vaguely confused about the deity's words, the ships collided. --- The impact with the Ingen superweapon took place at slightly below forty percent of lightspeed, with all of the terrible destruction that implied. The Wukong, being larger and in better condition than the Imperial battleship, weathered the impact slightly better as it literally plowed through the Imperial ship and out the other side. Better being relative, as massive sections of hull were shattered and ripped off. The prow of the Ingen ship disintegrated about halfway through the collision process, and rippling blasts along the length of the Imperial ship as secondary reactors and munition stores detonated only added to the damage toll. For all the violence, the impact was over in seconds, leaving the Sun Wukong a crippled behemoth accelerating out of an expanding cloud of debris. ---
STAKESBY - Imperial Command Post Parthan watched the displays update as the Ingenious bastards began deploying in force. The Legion troops had made the trip to the defenses at Stakesby quick enough, and were now beginning to set up positions, but the auxiliary column still had almost two-thirds of the distance remaining to march. They'd managed to evacuate about a fifth of the auxiliaries before the carrier had left teleport range, but the beacons they had were now melted from overuse. He'd spread the word through the ranks about Bomani's promise of reinforcements, but he'd shared his personal doubts with his command staff. The orbital display updated, and his jaw fairly dropped as he watched that idiot boy Ateras finally find his balls and ram the Ingen flagship. That would definitely pay off later. I'll be dammed, the boy had something to him after all. Shame that he took an entire battleship with him, though. Of course, his elation melted away as the Ingen ships began bombardment. Cursing to himself, he tapped into the drone command net and ordered a general interception of the Ingen dropships to buy the column some time and keep Ingen from landing troops. --- WHITEWARF - 5 KM from Malts, Imperial Auxiliary Column They were two hours out from the mustering ground when it started to rain fire. The column broke ranks and scattered as missiles and kinetic impactors came shrieking down out of the heavens, and searing light filled the world from one horizon to the other. Pandemonium reigned as soldiers died in their thousands, some from direct hits, some from the shockwaves that broke their bodies and flung them aside. For better or worse, no aid would be coming to the Justicar's anti-orbital defenses. ---
—--
WHITEWARF - High Altitude Thousands of drones came screaming in on the Ingen dropships, in vast uncoordinated formations. The drone command AI was fairly limited without outside input, and tended to use the drones as impactors as often as it fired the weapons. In this particular case, the Tribune had ordered it to keep the allied forces from landing troops by whatever means possible. Therefore, it was throwing drones en masse at the dropships, hoping to blow them apart in midair. A costly tactic, but one that the House could well afford...for the moment.
—--
Malkorvic grimaced as she watched the impact between the Jaros battleship and the Sun Wukong. The victor was clear, but that didn't mean it was pretty - her fleet's guns had fallen silent seconds before the FTL scanner feed came through, and seconds later the impact was great enough to be visible on optical feeds. She had served her purpose, Felecia supposed - but such a great asset was more than just a practical element in this ordeal. "Admiral, your highness - status report." was the simple message, tightbeamed directly from her cruiser. "That was not the most safe of gambits." Her concern did not stay the hand of the fleet, however, as they continued to make their way for Whitewharf alongside the allied formation. The formation re-assembled, what ships were left pooling into a defensive shield between the assault ships and the world-to-be-liberated... but the ground complement was to wait for some time, as the Carnaithian element would not be contributing towards the forward force on the surface, instead reserving the majority of its combined arms for the primary landing. The skies, however, would prove to be a different story. Red rotary lights blared as the soft click-chunk, click-chunk of the information displays, a deliberate inclusion to make sure pilots received the messages, noted the incoming updates on the nature of enemy forces in the sky. A swarming mess of haphazard fliers, focused on preventing landings. Numbers, not quality. Gigantic semirobotic arms swiftly and nimbly swapped out long-range interceptor missiles for packs and packs of shorter-ranged dogfight missiles alongside a single belly-mounted SEAD missile to assist in removal of anti-air assets. Given the lack of surefire approval of nucleic deployment, subcritical turbine blades - permitting exo-atmospheric performance - being replaced with more conventional drive systems and an exoatmospheric maneuvering module, designed to aerostat at a given altitude for later retrieval.
—--
"Fighters launching in five." "You hear that, Glare? We're up." The newbie heard her squadron lead call over the unit comms as he checked his AI core's status before plugging in. "I hear it Clubs." The system was good, now for the uncomfortable part. She leaned back, and it felt like she was fainting as his mind merged with the AI core, a system in place to help pilots retain full control in the event of a blackout. Moments later and the fog was gone, a minor dizziness fading away as she blinked his awareness into check. She could see through every system of the plane, the information feed and HUD now floating elements in her vision as the mount carrying the plane began to move it to the rail-launch system. "Fighters launching." Within moments, she saw the rest of her squadron get fired into space, the maneuver units firing as they arced towards the planet below, taking up half of her sight. It was moments before the atmosphere took umbrage with their arrival, sheathing the aircraft with fire - she could see two dozen more penetrating the sky around the four of her unit, dropping the manuever system to loiter at high altitude. "Engagement plans updated. Rush for waypoint Alecto and clear the sky around. All weapons authorized."
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Brigade Commander, Senaq Aglotach A flash of searing white light betrays the collision of the Sun Wukong and the vessel from House Jaros. Even flickering in through the viewing port of Senaq's mobile HQ, in muted hues, it is brilliant. Fortunately for her, she is not aboard either vessel. My skirmishers are engaging the anti-air and anti-orbital forces in your landing region, the hologram of Pokyshak says. You should have a clear path. Senaq nods. Orbital supremacy affords many things (and all in all, Pokyshak seems settled; the remaining hostile fleet elements are by now insignificant). Though not as torrential as the Ingenious and other strikes, the precise nature of Pokyshak's machines adds their own contribution to the battle as strike craft and probes of varying size go about their business. Yes, but they still have other batteries present, Senaq replies. Many, but not too many, Pokyshak clarifies. Relaying you our current tactical data. Very well, Senaq says. That will help tremendously. She nods again. Once the anti-orbital systems are brought low, she will be able to rest easy. For the time being, however, she cannot; the reports of sunken transports are weighty thoughts indeed. She cuts Pokyshak's feed following a crisp salute. The ruined towers of Malts loom on the distant eastern horizon beyond Senaq's chosen landing zone, a stretch of mountains north of the burning Imperial columns. The first of her platoons touch down in the heights and work to establish themselves in the area. A few drones and skirmisher forces take up position facing east, towards Malts, while the greater share of her force orients southwestward towards the waiting city of Stakesby.
—--
VANDAR 2 – NORTH STAKESBY MOUNTAIN
Sergeant Tosun Pavo awoke with a groan. It took a long moment to remember who he was, and what exactly he was doing. The pieces began to connect as his vision unblurred, and he could see the crash in the rocks that his armored body had made; not a few more meters off and he could see the scrap that was his drop pack which had miraculously deployed. Realizing that he had, in fact, made a high-atmosphere jump while unconscious, Pavo’s bones began to scream in pain. He lazily writhed for a minute, also realizing the only thing he could hear was a loud ringing with the muffled noises of low combat. Pavo reckoned his entire body must have been clubbed with an industrial girder, but he was miraculously uninjured. His hearing returned; ringing replaced by the blood-curdling screams of a woman distorted electronically through their tactical network. He stumbled to stand, tripping a few times before fully gaining his bearings. From his drop pack, he removed his rifle and loaded it. The screams did not fade. Pavo looked around; he was neatly positioned in a bowl next to a saddle. In a field below lie the smoldering wreckage of the craft they had rode in on, spread out over the range of a couple hundred meters. There were a couple corpses strewn about of the Raiders he had jumped in with; a hasty count of about a dozen or so. To his dismay, the next thing he noticed was a handful of golden figures; Justicar rifleman and one Brahiri with a menacing club in both hands. He winced as he watched the blunt instrument be brought down on one of his comrades, the pain subsiding in favor of wrathful disbelief. .
Realizing the woman’s scream had not been snuffed, he began searching. Next to a flaming bit of the Redleg’s wing, he saw her crawling with two trails of blood left by legless stumps. It appeared she had made it about 30 meters, but the Brahiri had noticed her and advanced much quicker than she could pull. The Justicar riflemen were standing about, probably looking for others to mop up. Without a moment of hesitation, Pavo raised the weapon and emptied his entire magazine. The cascade of red lasers shredded through the Justicar riflemen, instantly killing two and sending the others to the prone. The Brahiri turned its massive body to look Pavo’s way, before ignoring him altogether and continuing on his way to execute the wounded. Pavo hissed a curse, and with reckless abandon vaulted out of his cover. His sliding down the loose rocks kicked up a large plumed of dust. Concussive rounds peppered near him, sending rocks and shards bouncing off of the plates of his lamellar. He reloaded on the way down.
With some skill and a lot of luck, a handful of Pavo’s well-aimed shots dispatched the other riflemen. At the bottom of the hill he traversed to the Brahiri, but every round from his Lancer fizzled out into static or dispersed on the ablative gold plates. He continued to shoot, letting loose his own hoarse cry of frustration. The hulking Justicar behemoth stopped, suddenly pivoting towards the Minevan Raider annoying him with a shower of crimson beams. Pavo fell backwards as the approaching Brahiri dwarfed him, raising its massive club overhead. .
The Justicar behemoth, however, was violently thrown to the ground where it stood, a solid projectile punching a gaping hole through its thick breastplate and out the other end. Pavo shot a look behind him, seeing a marksman atop the hill; Lop Soriya, his squad’s sniper. Lop too appeared to be wounded; his helmet was removed in place of bloody dressings covering most of his face to include an eye. Lop lowered his weapon and waved. Pavo returned the gesture. Another figure crested the hill, Pavo recognizing a medkit in their Raider’s hand as they sprinted towards the casualty. Pavo’s visor highlighted the trooper which identifying them as the platoon’s medic, Roth Chea. Roth sprinted past Pavo and immediately got to work, flipping the casualty onto her back. With a blink and some focus, Pavo brought up the platoon’s roster in his display. A lot of fatalities, marked in red, crushed him. Some others were labeled as incapacitated or otherwise wounded, and a select few were unknown. He surmised that the unknown either were thrown too far off course, or their equipment ‘malfunction’ was from being vaporized by interceptors halfway to the ground. He was broken from his reverie from a fresh scream as Roth removed the woman’s helmet. “Please! Gods please!” She wailed out, grabbing the medic, and violently writhed about. She was in a state of shock, obvious from her wild eyes filled with tears and delirious state. It was shocking she was still conscious, with how far her own blood stretched and pooled, “I don’t- want- to die! Please!” .
Roth offered reassurance, trying to quell the outcry; it yielded mild success. Over the soft armor of what remained of the legs, he was able to apply staunching devices that prevented the loss of more precious arterial blood. The medic hardly acknowledged Pavo, throwing the woman up onto his shoulders and running back up the hill without missing a beat. He recognized a medic handling a mass casualty when he saw it, envying Roth’s robotic drive. Pavo covered the rear, following the other Minevans into cover. Pavo was led to a hasty casualty collection point in defilade, where he was able to account for what was left of Vandar-2. Roth had stabilized a good six men and women who were in no fighting condition. Lop and three others were able-bodied, but still bore a significant injury or two. The rest were likely vapor or paste. It seemed Roth and Pavo were the only two lucky enough to have successfully executed the drop. “Orders, sergeant?” Pavo looked up. Roth was slaving away: performing everything from pulse checks, reading blood oxygen content, checking staunching equipment, and decompressing tension pneumothorax. His impromptu fireteam was huddled around him, making him feel the pressure and true burden of his leadership. “Set up security on the hill. I’m calling for support on guard.” They didn’t hesitate, hurrying to elevated positions to provide overwatch. In the far distance, Justicar troop transports could be seen coming northward through easier terrain; Lop reported at least three over their tactical network. .----------
“Any station, any station, this is Vandar-2. We are combat ineffective north of Division Objective 1, requesting immediate close air support and CASEVAC. Say again, Vandar-2 north of Division Objective 2.” “Vandar-2, Bodkin,” The woman’s voice replied over the open net, “On station. Alfa-5. I can ride the terrain but the airspace is too dangerous.” “Bodkin, I have too many wounded to move. Got reports of mech moving on my position; we will be overrun. Can we get relief?” “Relaying up, Vandar-2. Standing by for targets.” -----------
VANDAR 1 - NORTHEAST STAKESBY MOUNTAIN “Vandar 2, Vandar 1. We’re coming up on our assault position now. We’ll clear some skies and see what we can do.” “I’ll be honest, Hendrik. I’m out of fucking time.” “We will move as fast as we can.” Hendrik looked to where the sea kissed the shore; while the mountains before him hid Stakesby from his gaze, he had an unadulterated view of the Jaros legions getting decimated from orbit. He saw the fireballs and clouds rise from their forceful impacts, knowing that each thump that gently shook the rocks beneath his feet was a note ending hundreds, even thousands of lives. The barrage went on for minutes before lightening up into a more sustained rate of smaller ordnance, probably striking more precise targets. Breaking through the midday clouds, he could see many small craft taking the rapid plunge towards the ground. From both east and west, he could see many flights of low-flying craft travelling up to meet them. The advanced party was landing at Malts, it seemed, and the Justicars with their new Jaros allies intended to meet them in force. The real battle was beginning, which reminded Hendrik he was on a time crunch. “Pick it up, killers.” The unit maintained noise discipline and remained masked in defilade, moving in a quick jog towards their objective. They made it to the last ridge without encountering any resistance, the platoon loading their assault position in cover. The Raiders prepared their weapons and ammunition, overlooking the primary Justicar orbital battery in the depression below them. .
Sitting neatly in the flat center of the depression, surrounded by flat ground, was they pylon shaped battery spewing a torrent of small munitions as well as opening up to fire its primary spinal weapon. Every few seconds, a loud ‘THOOMP’ resounded thoroughly enough to rattle their insides. Several entrenched positions held mobile anti-air guns with their hover drives disengages. “Company sized element in the open. Put the AF into the base structure and standby for counterattack. Squad leaders, give me green lights.” -
VANGUARD – MALTS The concentrated hell from orbit made short work of whatever defenders were unlucky enough to be anywhere near Malts. Out of the Auxiliaries, maybe a few companies’ worth of men were able to hitch rides on Justicar hovercraft that were gunning for Stakesby faster than professional racers. The vast majority of everyone beyond that were little more than vapor and ash, vehicles rendered to empty shells of metal. By a stroke of luck, there were several Justicar armored formations that had buttoned up and positioned themselves into defilade that had managed to withstand the primary impacts. Several SPAAG platoons within the vicinity of Malts unmasked from their covered positions. Their main target was the assortment of shuttlecraft, but the ones that could not acquire a target simply went for any invading aircraft signal they could detect. Even for the limited number of weapon platforms, these vehicles offered a harrowing screen of concussive warheads. From their underground hides that hadn’t collapsed, a number of portable gun teams emerged and hastily set up their positions in microterrain. These units were hasty formations, centering around a crew-served grenade launcher with anywhere from a few teams to a few squad-sized elements providing security towards the Jade beachhead. These close-range defenses, paired with the plethora of unmanned Jaros drones, incoming Justicar strike craft, and long-range loitering munitions, turned the airspace over the coastline into a hornet’s nest of wild projectiles searching for prey. Munitions and small craft alike were creating a multitude of fireballs in the sky, either being intercepted or finding their Carnaithian or Jade quarry. .
From the lowlands of Malts, the attackers and defenders both were in direct view of Stakesby, which was still an impermeable sea of black cresting just over its tallest buildings. Munitions could be seen escaping the ceiling of the darkness from all corners of the town at a rapid rate, sailing through the sky to either begin loitering or to find a target to deliver their explosive warheads to. .
PORD SKIRMISHERS – EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAIN Bomani was surprised, but not entirely caught off guard that another force had landed very close to his primary anti orbital batteries. What surprised him was the relative size of the force compared to the other, and their move straight to direct action; he would dispatch a force to mop them up just the same as the Minevans to the west. What also surprised him was using primary craft so close to his primary defenses; they were certain to weather the storm of some of his most concentrated anti-air fire, which had offered Senaq’s landing craft a proverbial wall of projectiles and guided weapons all the way to the deck. “Secondary positions under attack. It appears to be several platoons in the vanguard.” “I see,” Bomani remarked to the others connected to his command interface, “Send Sokari‘s Phari their way.” It was common tactical practice to try to meet the foe with three-to-one odds; Bomani wanted to crush these bold invaders to demoralize them from additional attempts at overextending. Moving towards the Pordish staging grounds was an impressive mechanized force, making sure to navigate through the terrain carefully yet quickly. Reports were coming in to Sokari that the attackers were making short work of the hasty anti-orbital emplacements, the smaller teams being quickly overwhelmed by the numerically superior raid forces. Sokari was hoping to flip that script right back around. The Justicars deployed several teams to create Observation Posts in the hills and valleys north of the mountain. Artillery from Stakesby had already fired loitering munitions to support the defense at Malts; the command post had simply redirected a healthy handful of the explosive warheads to be used against these skirmishers. .
The Phari was mostly mechanized infantry, which needed to dismount in the more unforgiving terrain in hope of reaching shooting distance. Light hover tanks took up positions where they could mask, trying to cover main avenues of approach.
—--
IJN Sun Wukong Chase staggered as the impact rolled through the ship. The huge vessel screamed and shuddered as its superstructure was pushed to the limit, gargantuan pieces of debris coming apart and cracking into space even as the enemy ship buried itself in the prow, slightly to port. The Imperial warship detonated, shuddering itself free save for a chunk of its own prow that was left wedged into the ruined fore of the Jade superweapon. The impact proved too much for the second mast, which also broke and toppled overboard, floating free into space like a lost branch. Chase recovered and took stock. The Jaros contingent was destroyed, and even as he watched, Vic and her warships finished off the last of the Justicar warships, pinning them against the atmosphere and then battering them into submission. The system was won, albeit at a cost, and now it was down to the ground-pounders to return to the surface and finish what the Justicars had begun. He calmly called out orders over the insistent, panicked system alerts that blared from across the bridge in response to the catastrophic damage the ship had suffered. The Sun Wukong needed to be made spaceworthy again, at least enough to limp back to the dockyards at Sanrin, and they had captured vessels and damaged warships to corral and return to friendly territory. Afterwards would be time to rest and to write his post-action dispatches... -
OVER MALTS Although a few VTOLs and shuttles were unlucky enough to take hits, either forced into controlled crashes or else destroyed in the maelstrom that was the airspace, the easiest targets were the giant Kankyo dropships. Emptied of most of their passengers, their holds were filled with materiel and heavy vehicles, ready to land and supply the advance troops with all the equipment needed to develop a true foothold on the planet. The first ship targeted got lucky. A trio of strikes along its starboard flank alerted the deck crew to the presence of an SPAAG platoon that had drawn a perfect bead on it. Returning fire with its limited weapons, it pulled away, the lieutenant in charge offering a silent prayer that it still had the power to escape. "Kilo-Actual this is Kilo-Three, we're crying off. LZ is too hot and we've taken damage. Will wait until safe to land. Please confirm." "Kilo-Three this is Kilo-Actual, confirmed. Stay safe out there." Even as one dropship pulled back into the skies, trailing smoke from its battered hull, a second took a volley of loitering munitions. It was not so lucky, one of the rounds punching through to disable part of its bathymetric array and leaving it woefully underpowered even for atmosphere, let alone an exit. Smoke and flames burst from its flank, the boom audible to those on the ground as it immediately began listing, describing a lazy arc in the sky even as its defenses and weapon systems flickered against the clouds. It picked up speed, despite its attempts to slow itself, and came swinging around Malts. Its pilot had obviously recognised a crash landing was unavoidable, and was bringing them in a circle around the north side of the town, the ship looping back around towards the south-west as it attempted to slow its descent. Tearing up trees and soil as it approached, it ploughed into the fields west of Malts, grinding for nearly ten kilometres. _
Huge plumes of dirt and smoke were thrown up along its path, the scream and groan of metal against rock deafening to the onlookers as it tipped slightly to starboard, slowing gradually before coming to a creaking halt perhaps two kilometers to the south-west of the town. "Kilo-Four this is Kilo-Actual, status report!" "Kilo-Actual, this is Kilo-Four," came the crackling reply, the sound of emergency sirens and shouting filling the background as the speaker coughed, "she's a goner. No way she gets airborne again. Multiple casualties, starboard ramps disabled. We need support, ASAP!" "Confirmed, Kilo-Four. Stand by." The crash necessitated a change in strategy. The 4th Battalion were rerouted to the site, the 2nd battalion taking their designated landing zones as the crash site would be awkwardly folded into their positional strategy, forming a weird bulge in the line that they had not planned for. Elsewhere, the VTOLs and shuttles that made it to the surface began dropping their passengers, mechanised units forward to seize ground and begin assaulting the enemy SPAAG and gun team positions with the support of the same craft that had just delivered them, whilst further back command, support and reserve units began establishing operating positions and working to gain an understanding of the situation on the ground, as behind them the three successful Kankyo dropships poured heavy vehicles and gear onto the surface. 4th Battalion had taken the worst of the losses, with nearly a tenth of their personnel either dead, wounded or unaccounted for and their heavy equipment trapped in the wreckage of Kilo-Four. They scrambled to secure the ruined dropship, but the problem was immediately obvious - having keeled over so sharply, its starboard ramps were half-buried whilst its port ramps led out into midair. Getting the heavy vehicles out would be a problem.. _
ABOARD KILO-THREE The ship was rocked by explosions, and then the Dragons felt the momentum under their feet change as the ship broke away and began accelerating again, aborting its landing. They glanced at each other mutely, and then Ancalagon placed a call to the XO of the dropship. Initially the man refused to answer him, but Ancalagon was persistent. "What is it?" answered the officer curtly, emboldened by the fact the Dragons were half a ship away. "We're leaving, sir?" replied the soldier, just as bluntly. "We took some serious hits. It's not safe to put down." "Understood." Ancalagon hit the feed then turned and motioned for the banner to mount up. He called to the bosun, his voice amplified by his suit, and demanded that a bay door be opened for their VTOL. The bosun began to argue, but then Ancalagon started to walk over to him and with a curse he waved for one of the smaller hatches to activate. With a dull roar of engines, the little VTOL took off, jetting out and immediately snatched out of sight as the huge dropship continued upwards. Below them, Quinlong could see a confusing riot of explosions, smoke and contrails as the main landings took place. "Getting reports of a Minevan platoon stuck in a tight spot," called Mnementh from the back. They had the hardlight barrier deactivated, relying on their suits to keep them steady. "Looks like that's our first stop," replied Ancalagon. Their parameters were broad, but largely speaking their objective was to blunt any Justicar counter-attacks, and helping the Minevan raiders take out their gun emplacements sounded like it fit the bill. _
VANDAR-2 The VTOL approached NOE, skimming dangerously just metres above the ground before sweeping to a stop near Sergeant Pavo and his surviving team. Three hulking figures hopped out, landing lightly despite their size, and the VTOL nosed itself into the edge of the treeline before settling down, its pilot also clambering out through the front cockpit which levered itself open. The four figures were tall, perhaps eight feet with their armour, which was designed to look like a snarling reptilian beast, a vague blend of Sattran and Dong Wusian dragons. Two of them carried ornate weapons with snarling dragon heads at their muzzles, whilst a third hefted a contraption that looked like a medieval rocket firework and a fourth carried a long, efficiently-designed railgun that was all blank surfaces and angles. Their armour was camouflaged perfectly for the conditions - unlike regular marines, who typically had one or two patterns available alongside their parade colours, the electroreactive systems of banner's armour could remember upwards of a dozen different schemes. They crossed over to the Minevans, keeping as low as possible given their size. Wordlessly, Guivre continued onwards up the hill, joining the Minevans up there with his sniper rifle. Ancalagon turned his baleful visor-eyes towards Pavo. "Ash Banner, IJN. Good morning sergeant. " he said politely.
—--
WHITEWHARF SYSTEM ZJR Platoon Commander, Chor Nochaaq The calamitous roar of re-entry fades from beyond the hull of Chor Nochaaq's command tank as the pilot guides it onto a a glide path more suitable for the platoon-lead's given objectives. Despite the efforts of the strike craft and drone escorts, a darkened crater smolders forward of the machine's bow statue. Still, fortune - for the moment - favours Nochaaq; of the myriad heavy systems in the enemy's employ, none have laid waste to his machine thus far. We have lost a lot of grav buoyancy, the pilot complains, we can't keep up with the others if you want them to make fastest pace. That's fine, Nochaaq replies. He feels the pilot adjusting for the nose-down attitude the tank now desires; the planet's gravity, leaking in through the battered hull plating, tugs on his shirt. We can slow the others. They duck below the ridge of a nearby hill and the other elements of his command unit do the same. A few black spheres float above and he turns his attention to the local terrain. Stakesby isn't far, he says dryly, but there's more than enough between us and them. Beamfire streaks high in the air, arching forth from the main body of Senaq's force. Targeting incoming ordnance and clumps gathering above the city, their skyward whistle is the contrast of night against day made manifest; some colourless some black, they jog past Nochaaq's charge in ways only they can. Infantry and armour moving towards us, the Array operator interjects. They are still some distance off, in the mountains, but scans are showing around a battalion's worth. Nochaaq settles in his seat. Though geared towards swiftness, his skirmishers aren't without teeth. A slow nod betrays his understanding of the situation; in typical Pordish fashion, his platoon is a temporary construct built around the objective given to him by the company commander. To this effect, he has three squads of Chrühov - hoverbike infantry with light artillery, notable for their visual cloaking - and the comfort of knowing at least two more advanced platoons are in the vicinity. The ridges of his brow ruffle in thought as he looks over the nearby terrain. Rocky seams break along rising folds of jagged earth and stretch past green and browning shrubs while trees flow along their lower slopes. Tanks and infantry will need to move within them, cognizant of the limitations visited by the broken peaks and crumbling slopes, and he makes his election with these conditions in mind.
He turns away from the tactical screens to the comms displays. We can't go straight to our current objective with this force in our path, he says. The holographic forms of the other officers of the company command council nod and murmur. Delay them. I will shift artillery and Array coverage to your sector, Galyn Ataq - the Grazhnichelnar in overall command of the company - orders. A thin, white, snake of a beard coils out of the frame of his hologram. He scratches where it drips from his chin, turns to two of the other holograms, then continues: nam-Torchüzhyn, nam-Kalan? This armour does pose a significant threat. Engage with your batteries as you see fit. Nochaaq does not hear their reply; Clump of trees ahead, the pilot interjects. Where do you want us? Take us around them, not over them, Nochaaq says. He turns back to the comms displays. And then brings up his squad commanders. I am sure you have noticed the incoming infantry and tanks. Our task is to delay them. These three ridges will be our fall back points, we should move in this direction, he clarifies with a motion over the tactical map, and if need be, the fourth and fifth ridges here as well. My position is here - he clarifies yet again - and will remain on offensive Array stance for your probes. The gradual rise of a deep rumble joins the sharper whistling of beamfire then, and Nochaaq cranes his head skyward as Ataq's artillery, six mobile pieces in total, blend with the other long-range salvoes given, but in the low lighting the sickly purple hues of their bolts glow warmly, differentiating them from the others as their high arcs whisk them towards their targets.
—--
Atmospheric conditions factored.
Target capabilities factored.
Injecting batch.
Manifolds in the heart of the ships began to flood with propellent explosive solutions, mixing and molding around another batch of millions of rounds of a half-dozen calibers. They quick-set once removed from scalding heat, feed chutes spinning away from the nexus and towards the dozens of drop pods and landing craft. Within such an aforementioned pod, an odd congregation assembled - the hiss of final feeds and disconnects notwithstanding in the face of discipline, much like fears long since leveled with. My skin is not my own. Thousands of soldiers went through the much more conventional motions of their own deployments, even REST shock corps normal in the face of this as-yet deployed unit - unproven on the surface of Ancerious worlds. It flows and ebbs with the strength of my heart. Their number uttered word after word in unison with one another, stood clad in light exoskeletons before pools of black tar as attending engineers in non-standard military uniform passed between the grid of one hundred combatants. The sins of house Reik are not my own. Some of the younger members, new as they were, having not seen conflict even outside of the scope of this strange galaxy, looked up to the banners of the Order for strength as they prepared to don their true arms and armor. The attendants dispersed, returning to their seats as standard release alarms gave stage-one warning.
It is a blessing to bear them. The Jagged Knights, in unison, took a knee and thrust their right hands into the tar pools - tendrils quickly whipping out and giving a grasp in return, climbing up and onto the bodies of the soldiers en mass as the final launch alarm blared, spheroid dropships ejecting from the assault ships and careening towards the world below; this first wave would carry a simple two Cohorts - combatants numbering one hundred, half of their complement here - supported by fighters that screamed out of hangars into a swarm about the craft, metal frames piercing the skies about allied lines. "Landing zone is adjacent to Pordish position. Enemy committing an assault. We will help weather this assault."
--//--
New Directive - Defend Knight landing craft - destination 62.7 km bearing 063
"Glare you're with me, leave the rest of the squad up here," Clubs calmly ordered across the radio; spinning fireballs and spiraling missiles screamed through the sky in the furball, a meager four fighters disengaging to add to the guard for Reik's special package. "Keep an eye out for fast movers breaking alongside." She checked her HUD; half her missiles gone, a third of her guns expended. She'd already seen two of her own get chewed out of the sky, one shouting before censorship protocol shut out her screams, while the other was lucky enough to detonate midair. The numbers weren't great all around, but this was a first-wave offensive... it was expected.
—--
STAKESBY - Jaros Command Center More curses filled the air as Parthan watched his auxiliaries die by the tens of thousands. Changing the display to the aerial front was useless, the airspace over Matlz was a maelstrom of fire and death, any input he could offer would be outdated three seconds after he gave it. A ping to the side brought his attention to the enemy landing zone, and his brow furrowed as he looked over the information. The coalition was still in the initial stages of deployment, and were currently losing far more assets than were getting to the surface, but what had made it down could be troublesome later. Not to mention, the anti-air support would be silenced eventually, and he didn't have an endless supply of drones to hurl at the attackers. Another gesture brought up his current assets, and he began to issue deployment orders. The bulk of their vehicle detachments had survived, since they'd been used to ferry the Legions to Stakesby. Might as well put them to use, then. A brief message was issued to Bomani to inform the Justicar of the support, and then the reinforcements departed. --- EASTERN APPROACH, STAKESBY Sing me a song, fight me a war! Fight as long as the stars do burn! The raucous cheers and singing of the soldiers in the back of the tank brought a smile to Yargis's face as he glanced out the window and saw the rest of the vehicle detachment speeding along. Command had been somewhat concerned with this, sending out an two Spatha worth of vehicles to support the Justicar position and slow the enemy advance. He checked the road map again. Ten klicks to go.
—--
VANDAR 1 – NORTHEAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS One by one, Hendrik’s squad leaders confirmed their readiness as their nameplates turned green in his roster. Out of the Raider platoon, there were twelve Paladin assault weapon systems loaded with anti-fortification warheads and charged to fire. On his command, the coordinated volleys of explosives would begin, and their planned maneuvers would start. In his hand, Hendrik eyed a small, cylindrical device; the nuclear mine that was going to guarantee this battery wouldn’t even see a scrapyard when he was done with it. Aside from the slow-tempo roar of the anti-orbital cannon, the intermissions were eerily quiet. The gold-plated Justicars below them were at ease, relaxed in their rearline position. Hendrik peered once again to the coast at Malts, able to see the antline of low-flying craft and the splash of point-detonating explosives indicating the real fight for Whitewharf. “Vandar 1, going hot at Division Objective 2. Standby for clear skies.” The battery itself was a two-story structure, with many large blast doors lining the ground level and catwalks above. A stray sentry or two were walking about and nonchalantly scanning their sectors. Corner turrets were roosts for massive grenade launchers and several point defense turrets; both designed to spew high-explosives at an unmanageable rate and create walls of fragmentation between the structure and any threat. The Justicar battery took one final shot, and the Minevans responded with a dozen thermobaric penetrators. Fired in a simultaneous volley, the missiles screamed at the structure below the 2nd story coverage of the anti-air weapons. A second disciplined volley followed before the gunners even observed for effects. -
Steel warped and pillars of flame spewed from new apertures in the building. Secondary detonations could be heard rumbling well after the second volley, the magazine for one of the grenade turrets being sympathetically detonated and blowing the weapon from its mount spectacularly. Some of the soldiers escaping the structure would collapse just outside, shorn armor exposing them to the sun and rendering them to smoldering dust. “Jurgen, disperse and start nailing those mobile guns. Ishma, break east and divert their attention. I’m going with Runn and we’re flattening the peak.” Another volley followed, this time cascading the softer targets. A few of the Justicar positions were getting their SPAAG’s drives online, the light blue glow of their antigrav engines kicking up plumes of dust as they slid about. The Justicars were in a panic trying to rally their defenders. Hendrik’s Raiders, on the other hand, dismounted the berm and carried out their maneuvers in concealment. --
VANDAR 2 Pavo pulled off his helmet; a customary Minevan greeting was to show one’s face. He wasn’t familiar with the particular unit Ancalagon had mentioned, but in his position, he wouldn’t have cared at any random outfit that decided to show up. His brow was furrowed in worry, seeing such a small force come to his relief. At the same time, he was in a bit of awe at the sheer size of the figure in front of him and couldn't help but gawking at their ornate armor and weaponry. He knew this was no normal unit; probably some superhuman shitkickers. “I wish it were, friends. Sergeant Pavo. Vandar-2, or what’s left, anyways.” He brought up the tactical data assistant mounted in his gauntlet, entering a few commands as the holographic console came to life. The Ash Banner warriors were integrated into their local encrypted network pending the processing of their own equipment. Atop the hill, Lop had to double take at the new entrants. The displays in his visor registering the newcomers as friendlies prompted little more than a nod their way. He was focused on the killing field in front of him, now trying to ascertain the looming threat on the horizon. “Counting 5 cans. Ukani, looks like. Got grenades and lots of riders. 800 meters and clearing north.” “Shit,” Pavo spat. He donned his helmet, adjusting it ever so slightly until it formed its seal around his neck. “Could be near a hundred fighters coming our way. I don’t intend to give a meter of ground. Tell you what; if you think we’re lucky enough, my el-tee is somewhere out in that field and he should have a pocket nuke on him. We survive and get that, we can still scrape out the original mission.”
Pavo pulled back the bolt of his rifle to check for a casing. He muttered something under his breath, before following up with a grim remark, “I’m gonna pull heat off my wounded.” “Vandar 2, Bodkin on station, Alfa 8. Tracking enemy encroaching south of your position. Air is still hot, holding under 5. Give me targets and I’ll see what I can do.” -- BOMANI – GOVERNOR’S RESIDENCE The Judge was pleased with the anti-air skirmishers causing trouble at the beachheads, securing him precious time to think and properly act. He mused, perhaps, he could even put his foes into a reactive state on his own. His thoughts were dashed in an instant as alarming reports came in: one of his two primary batteries were being attacked by an unknown element, along with an assortment of guns being displaced by the Pordish skirmishers to the northeast. “Where is Sokari?!” Every mind in his command network felt the rumble of anger ring true. “Contact imminent with the enemy-“ “Where are their attachments? What is stalling the interdicting action?” “The reinforcements are bound north, closing on eight kilometers.” Bomani scoffed, all sense of tact and regard for his superiors gone. “That honorless bastard, Akyrios, signing treaties and scheming about, and judging me? Leaving me here to die as I reclaimed what belongs to the Tribunal? Once I am off this planet, Akyrios will be the one facing penance. Not I.” --
PORD SKIRMISHERs – EAST STAKESBY MOUNTAINS “That’s another position destroyed, my leros. Their skirmishing forces are light and not wasting time,” The Justicar troop spoke, encased in the cumbersome communication suite in the back of Sokari’s command vehicle spoke. “We are receiving indirect fire.” Sokari, a tiger-helmed human convert, was unfazed. The only indication that he had received a report of loss was momentary pause, before he offered the rest of his subordinate leaders in the darkness of the troop compartment his counsel. “Disperse the columns. Split the Pabasis into independent Ukanis to hunt those vehicles. The Resephs will stay centered.” “Forward element has received effects. There are casualties.” “The Resephs will center and focus on interdicting fire. Have the soldiers dismount and line the saddle with grenadiers. We will deny them the entire ridgeline.” The Justicar units in Sokaris battalion splintered into smaller, dispersed units as they approached contact with the Pordish platoon. Along the series of visible ridges, grenade teams dismounted their hovercraft and climbed to elevated positions still in defilade. The observer teams crested slightly at their own peril, trying to locate the formations of the skirmishers and their direction of movement to lay down accurate fire. “More reports, another position to the north destroyed.” “Very well. Once the support-by-fire positions are in place, our armor will run through. Do not stall. Break through the pass and cause chaos.” The sky above was filled with a peppering of explosive clouds as the indirect fire interdiction assets worked overtime; the depth of the battlespace precluded their ability to work perfectly. Many of the incoming rounds found home, striking dismounts as they climbed the loose slate or damaging and destroying hovercraft making movement.
- Regardless of losses, many of the Justicars made it to their assault positions. The Pordish platoon would face what the original escapees of Whitewharf did on their last ride out: an L-shaped wall of Justicar crew served grenade launchers saturating them with explosives at the cyclic rate. --
MALTS The damage had been done at Malts; the defending units there were not substantial or supported enough to put up any sort of protracted defense. The surviving SPAAG units that weren’t shortly overrun swiftly abandoned their positions when put under pressure and retreating into underground hideaways. Any pursuers or scans would quickly realize that this underground network ran deep and quick. The only thing left to contest Malts were a handful of defenders holding key terrain to the north, hover units trying to gun it to Stakesby after being displaced, and the very present aerial forces harassing the landers. The fight for the beachhead at Malts had been won on the ground, though a hailstorm of loitering munitions and attack craft continued to hammer forward elements. Some of the more devious coordinators in Stakesby directed concentrated barrages of obelisk-shaped loitering to the apparent abnormality in the enemy line; hoping to maximize the weakness of the Ingen 4th battalion. --
“Landing craft are breaking far north. Do not allow them to reinforce the mountain positions.”
The directive was simple, arriving to the call of one of the very few manned Justicar strike craft units. The Re-type strike fighter had a host pilot assume the form of the bident-shaped aircraft, not having a cockpit in a traditional sense. Baniti was enclosed in the pilot’s chamber, having become one with the rest of the machine much like the other five pilots in his wing. His compatriots joined him in a pair of wide ‘V’ formations, arcing high to the north at the influx towards the second beachhead the attackers were trying to establish. “They will be crushed momentarily,” Baniti calmly relayed to his host command; the bridge crew of the Criminal Vindicaiton far to the west. His sensors cross-referenced information in the frigate’s database, confirming his quarry to be a set of Carnaithian wings. They began to climb, torches flashing bright behind their aircraft. Baniti mentally prepared his decadizing warheads as his formations dispersed to pursue the fighters from multiple vectors with their concussive autocannons. Baniti’s prize, however, was a relatively large and slow-moving shuttle, performing a series of jinking maneuvers as he went full-burn to try and get in range.
—--
"Signatures closing. Fast." Glare's eyes shot to the radar display, showing the total of twelve Imperials against the encroaching Justicar air. They hadn't entered the fray yet; capabilities hadn't been adjusted for. "We don't have the range!" she yelled at the squadron lead, whose afterburners were visible at full flow less than a kilometer ahead - it was T-minus twenty before their four reached the plummeting egg-shaped dropper. "Sprint for it." "We're not fast enough!" She screamed, bemoaning the exchange of open-cycle solaris engines for the chemical burners currently fueling her plane. She could see the enemy planes visibly now, not just on radar. The eight doing close escort had already turned and begun releasing interceptor missiles, ECM pods on their fighters and the dropship alike very clearly interfering with signatures even with her own AI core's pre-baked counterprocessing. The sky was filled with flares as munitions crossed paths. "Sprint for it!" Clubs yelled back, stress and G-forces audibly effecting him as he accelerated at the spearhead of the formation. But Glare was right; she was watching as three of the fighters up ahead fell in the intercept exchange as the enemy air passed by the dropship that was still mid-deployment after breaching the thermosphere layer. One decadizer hit - no, three... four. One to Glare's port, three to her starboard. The allied planes were turning to give chase as hull visibly disintegrated and cluttered the air behind the still-operable dropship. She wondered how bad it was... but the turning pass for the enemy was taking them right past her squadron. "Fire at will!"
--//--
The screams of half a platoon and groans of much material were the announcement of the hits on the Knight dropship - twenty hadn't even had the chance to protest their passing, and another ten were recoiling and writing away from the Blackstone still cladding them. "Control yourselves! Corpsmen hold position!" A captain yelled over the chaos - even over the whipping, screaming winds now breaching through the hull. "Your kin are ashes! They need no attention... the stone will cull the rest!" Indeed, those injured were pulled back to the basins, where the tar-stone either assimilated the dead - turning to a more violet hue - or augmented based on their strength. The captain held his breath... it was yet to be seen how well impact would be taken, given the damage. --//--
FIRE SECTION ONE OFFLINE
THRUSTER A OFFLINE - DISABLING THRUSTER C. BEGINNING EARLY BURN.
GEAR A LOST. BURN THRESHOLD PASSED. BRACE. BRACE. BRACE.
--//--
The landing was rough, but the terrain for it was optimal. Hydraulics missing in the face of the attack, whose battle still raged overhead, meant that the dropship had to land on a mild slope - the rough, rocky terrain tearing yet more hull from the stricken craft. Deployment was executed as normally as possible in the face of the attack, wherein a third of the deployed force had been lost. Sensors had picked up that the enemy had engaged the Pordish forces already in the time that it took to get down from orbit... what missile launchers were still operational on the ship were leveled on the occupied ridge a few peaks away as knights and personnel loaded onto hovering transports and armored vehicles, thundering to the relief and leaving the AI-operated dropship as a temporary firebase.
—--