Post by EmperorMyric on Feb 8, 2024 12:26:36 GMT
Volarian Corridor: Atlantean Space
Romalan breathed in and breathed out.
He had to calm himself, too much had gone exactly to plan and he did not want to be overstimulated or expect such victories to continue. He found his mind palace, and for a few minutes regulated his mind and body.
When he opened his eyes, he was relaxed. Staring out across the vast expanse of space.
It had taken them over a decade, constant infighting, political scheming, assassinations, and bribes. Every step was a fight to get to his ultimate goal. The goal that he had always been owed. To rule the people of Atlantis like his father and more importantly his grandfather Chronolus. Romalan now found himself at the head of the new Empire, but it was shaky. Alliances were still fresh and untested. He had chosen as such to strike one of the CONA aligned nations in a lightning attack, like the old strikes on the ICS back in the glory days.
He couldn't strike the ICS now, they were a Union state and inviting such retaliation was simply asking for suicide. Here they had a chance.
His grandfathers alchemical work still ran through his veins, he could make this work.
Already their fleets, finally unified once more were conducting the initial opening strikes, the quicker they succeeded the better.
Romolan did not want their new patrols to be disappointed.
--
Ainar System: League of Illektiera
The detonations of the orbital defence platforms were visible even from the surface of the planet.
The Atlanteans had always been an enemy of the Illeki people, and now they had returned united to strike once more.
Ainar had never been well defended, due to its relatively resource and economically poor background. It was as such the perfect opening target. Falling inside of 18 hours the systems few military installations and defence ships were pounded flat by the Atlantean armada, 540 ships total which outnumbered the Illeki three to one. Even with their full combined fleet fighting the Atlanteans head on was suicide. But Ainar was done for, already intelligence showed that they were likely to aim for the much more heavily built up system of Hypair, an economic powerhouse within the League and a place that the Illeki would be forced to fight over.
Calls for aid to CONA and in general were sent out, the Atlanteans had to be stopped, and the Illeki needed all the help they could get.
Elstan could feel the leather of his gloves groan as his hands dug into the wood of the Minister's desk.
"Minister Lanfranc I'm not asking for the full Fifth Fleet, what I'm asking for is--"
"Out of the question!" the Minister of Space cut in, the man pacing uncomfortably near his office window.
"What does sending out a fleet to some minor nation achieve? More of our own servicemen dead and money sunk into repairs, at best." he added.
"What was the point in joining CONA if we're just going to sit here twiddling our thumbs then?" the Admiral shot back, earning an anxious snarl from Lanfranc.
"If anything threatens us directly, we will act on it, but if the Atlanteans are willing to ignore us and bully some locals, then it's no concern of ours."
"They're asking for our help, Minister! Like in the old days! This is what the Cosmic Navy used to do!"
"I'm not willing to throw our men and our ships away over something like this! How will it look for me if I approve a fleet riding off to it's death?"
The Admiral paused at that, his brow furrowed.
In his eyes, and in those of much of the Admiralty, the Ministry of Space had been the worst thing to happen to the Directorate military. In a period of quiet, the political bigwigs had realised military defeats could make them look bad but they had historically had little control over the Admiralty, and so had decided to do something about it. The direct link between domestic support and military authority, the Ministry could hamstring any naval operation they didn't approve of by simply denying it the resources needed to make it happen. Hell, they could deny them FTL fuels so they couldn't even leave the system. It had happened, when Admiral Cynwen had wanted to attack a SAGA nation.
Granted, there was less provocation for that.
And the decades of military hamstringing had led to now, where every politician was scared the sight of a battleship bearing the scars of battle could put their career and their cushy retirement pension on thin ice.
"Your grandfather was a captain, wasn't he?" the Admiral begun. Lanfranc turned abruptly, scowling at him.
"He was a fool, who got himself killed for nothing."
"He died for what he believed in, fighting for what the Directorate is supposed to stand for! Do you think he'd be proud of you strangling any effort to maintain our legacy?"
"I think he'd be proud of every serviceman I've saved from dying in some backwater!"
"Every backwater we've abandoned! Out of all the nations who used to call us friend, how many still talk to us?"
A long silence fell over the office, Lanfranc's eyes twitching to and fro as he struggled for an answer. The Admiral decided to push on the moment of weakness.
"If you're so afraid of repercussion, then make it a volunteer force. I'll take responsibility. And when I make it work, it'll prove the Directorate is more than a paper tiger."
The Minister of Space stared intently at the Admiral for a long moment, arms crossed.
"...Fine. Volunteers only. And no more than a battlegroup!"
A sense of relief washed over the room, at least on the Admiral's side of the desk. He stood up straight, his features relaxed.
"Thank you, Minister. That's all I can ask for." he nodded, simply. The Minister simply turned, his back to the Admiral.
"Don't make me regret it."
--Ainar System--
The Directorate fleet dropped from warp, engines alighting as the fleet shifted to fix the errors in their formation. The Admiral's personal flagship, the Warwulf, stood at the tip of the spear.
"Warp successful, Admiral. We're here." the helmsman reported.
"Fifty five ships." the Captain grunted, beside the Admiral. "Not as many as I'd like to repel an invasion."
"No, but it's what we could muster. We're lucky the Ministry approved half of this." the Admiral sighed, stepping forward as the Captain begun making calls for weapons to be prepared and for interdiction to be raised ASAP.
The Admiral picked up the comm, holding it to his lips.
"All hands, all ships, this is Admiral Lhancombe. All of you, volunteering for this mission despite the Ministry's scaremongering, have my respect. We're here to help a neighbouring nation, the League of Illektiera, repel a foreign and unprovoked invasion. I expect all of you to do your damnedest to make your forefathers proud. Over and out." he called, lowering the device.
"All ships, advance!" he called, before his voice lowered.
"Lets just hope someone else answered too."
Sub-Director Garabdis Veseti, head of Sub-Fleet Cassegryn-3-2, was always one for punctuality. Arriving from Alcubierre space, the strange, bulging shapes of the A-Human ships were easy to notice. Covered in a matte brown, pockmarked exterior, they almost resembled something carved out of an asteroid, save for the clear layering and seams of their armor, a visible indication of their manufactured nature. Bristling with batteries short-barreled turrets and fields of missile pods, the ARM’s eleven-kilometer battleships squatted in space while lesser classes circled among them like pilot fish to sharks, even the cruisers dwarfed by the quartet of titans that had been called to the scene.
It was in one of those battleships that Garabdis squatted. Charitably his design could be called Buddha-like in Old Earth. Specifically Budai, the squat and obese bodhisattva which some believed to be the incarnation of the future Buddha-to-be. His immense expanse of stark white demibiological flesh was half-married to an exoskeleton of superceramic, the ornamental external ribs and spine and wholly superficial filtration mask obscuring his lower face both in keeping with traditional Adaptive aesthetics, borrowed from the far less ceremonial implantations his biological inferiors required to survive. Such a life form was reporting the situation to him as innumerable holoscreens circled about his head like an immense halo of sickly yellow light, the equally countless wires enmeshed into his artificial tissues conveying signals and information across the Damrburl-class battleship his body had been enmeshed with. He could have heard it from one of them, but when he had the time, a human delivering the message was his preference. It helped keep him connected with his staff.
“Sub-director, our arrival in the engagement zone has proceeded smoothly. One friendly fleet has been identified, with more likely to arrive.” The ensign clicked in Logphrase, the sharp and staticy designer language of the ARM’s governmental sphere. It was a typical petty functionary, long striding legs and jointless arms of synthetic make extruding from a living human head and torso, built gliding through a ship’s bridge or hallway like a ghost and staring from on high at all the conventionally-proportioned morphs under its control.
“Mmmm…” Garabdis stroked his chin, or what passed for it at the bottom of his faux-rebreather. “All optimal, then.” He leaned back. Compared to the Coronan expedition, this was a minor exercise, and one supplemented by many other contributions. He did not envy his superiors, going it alone in that hellish-sounding theater. The Peer felt far more confident knowing that his work would be shared with the various other members of CONA. He knew well the importance of giving a good showing for the ARM’s sake, but had no intention of being so foolish as to brazenly charge inward trying to distinguish himself. Not unless there was a ripe opportunity, anyway. That would be for Hurst and his underlings. No, Sub-Director Veseti was going to play this carefully. A more optimal path than simply showing strength would be showing a willingness to work with the ARM’s newfound allies. Regardless of the outcome of the campaign, raising the esteem of the ARM within CONA was the primary objective of his excursion. Cultivating a reputation for reliability would be ideal. “Wait until the rest of the volunteers have arrived, if any, and then we will broach the topic of a united plan of action. And cross-reference all available data on arriving ships with confirmed reliable Ancnet information on them. We would do well to have a basic understanding of the capabilities of our allies for this operation, if possible.”
“Yes, sub-director.” The ensign inclined his head and strode out of the control room.
The Herskal Directorate High Void Fleet and indeed any given one of the crude ships churned out by their orbital shipyards were not known for their speed, nor their range. However, when Lord Admiral Skriesche intercepted a communique pleading for CONA assistance, the First Battlegroup was already deployed.
Soon receiving confirmation to act upon the distress call from the Lord Grand Admiral of the High Void Fleet, the 1st were swiftly turned around to run and provide aide. Unfortunately, their prior exercise deprived them of their Scouting Squadron and the Sloops-of-war that escorted the torpedo boat tenders, the shorter range of these escorts forcing them to return to Krakeida.
And so, the proud 1st Battlegroup of the honourable High Void Fleet arrived. Emerging from the Meridian, it was evident that their FTL calculations weren't exactly precise given how scattered the fleet emerged. They made quick work of arranging themselves, tongues of fire leaping from their thrusters as they manuevered into their lines of battle.
The Lord Admiral stared into the void. Skriesche didn't see any signs of battle, and the fleets present didn't attempt to open fire. Their scale forced him to gaze in awe, none of the Herskal ships even reaching a kilometer in length. He checked the identification booklet provided by the Ministry of Defense, compiled using foreign computers seized long ago try and interface with the Ancnet, to identify friend from foe. At it would seem, so far, they were surrounded by friends. Regardless of the assurance that gave, he'd do things by the book. The lines of battle must be formed, and the fleet shall press on like the clockwork that ticked behind him. It mattered not that they were undeniably in the shadow of giants. This was their duty, and as Lord Admiral of the 1st, he must deliver retribution for his ancestors on Krakeida, for the Herskal Directorate's glory, to secure their position in the galaxy, no matter the cost.
Another year in the Ancerious galaxy, another native which cried for help from CONA. Selia was getting tired of all these pleas being forwarded to him and his council, with pressure mounting at home with the Second Dawn. However, they couldn't leave a smaller power doomed to their fate as whatever Atlantis wanted would be, eventually, against the Selenican's interests, so it was decided in a relatively mundane and short meeting that a relatively large task force of Selenican vessels would be sent to aid in their defense. Any victories gained for CONA would circle back to the SR eventually, so it would prove...helpful.
However, just because a low priority on the Selenican battle docket, doesn't mean that any sent forces wouldn't be maintained in proper standing. With propaganda against SAGA keeping the population ever on-edge, once the news broadcast was made that the SR was aiding another native polity against the colonial aggressors, responses proved nothing but positive. An ever-subservient population was...greatly soothing on Selia's ego.
Shortly after the announcement was made, the composition of the Selenican task force was made public. Four Ophanim-Class Battlecruisers, one of which would house Admiral Herza, a student of the recent Saxheelian/Selencian joint training programs, four Durendal-Class Carriers, which came equipped with the new Principality-Type Standing Weapons, a weapon which had not received its baptism by fire yet, and a large amount of escorts. Ten Daybringer-Class Cruisers, ten Marzana-Class Destroyers, ten Phalanx-Class Frigates, six MHS-2G-Class Gunboat Frigates, and four CSV-5-Class Corvettes.
Herza himself was a relatively average Selenican admiral, one who had only now received control of his first fleet. He was gifted, but had the downside of micromangaging forces in his past as a captain and commander, a habit which had followed him to the rank of Admiral. Thought was given to sending the Spear of Anxios as a force multiplier, however this was decided against as Marigold had been...problematic lately.
It would not be long until the Selenicans arrived in the Ainar System, with the glorious crimson and pale white paint on the hulls of their vessels gleaming in real space, vessels prepared for war with full loads and overstocked crews -- lessons were learned from the previous battles.
The glimmering, distorted starlight reflected off of the consoles of the bridge of the ship. Reality itself slowly warping and twisting back into a familiar reality as the ships finally meet their journeys end. A purple-hued world beyond the horizon of the wormhole revealed itself, slowly color shifting towards a normal palette. The bridge was dead silent, many of the crew exchanging confident, yet, cautious nods with each other as they prepared to exit back into reality.
For a brief moment, everything had went dark. Aside from the residual light remaining from the windows and the automatic emergency lights, they were thrown into a sea of pitch black. Before jolting back into reality, arriving beside their brothers and sisters in arms. Valkyries readying their shields and pulling up their weapons, ready to duke with the enemy ahead.
Captain Neren maintained a dry expression on her face. It was another mission, just like any other. Despite her nations political affiliations not learning towards CONA, they would still answer the call of duty when the time came to defending innocents of the galaxy. A light green, criss-crossing halo leaned against the side of her head. Threads of mana were wired throughout the room like an electrical station, each crewmember and officer pumping their own power into their collective consciousness.
"All systems operational." The fleet intelligence officer beside the captain announced. "Our fleet shall be arriving shortly."
The captain peered through the left side of her virtual window, a fake projection of reality aided by telescopes and sensor systems of every spectrum. Ships that were close enough remained at a similar scale, while farther away, allies were magnified and identified. And even further beyond that, enemy contacts were boxed in, swollen to take up most of the captains view. Strings of numbers and announcements streamed through her right-hand window as she got her bearings and prepared for the rest of her fleet to make landfall.
Marching upstream of the wormholes currents, her fleet arrived later than usual. Escorting the traditionally angelic looking 'EAN Formless Cannon', a Heavy Cutter, were two biblically angelic looking Orchestral-Class Fractals. Gigantic pillars of prismatic minerals spun around a central pillar of crystalline material, meshed in with the tempered metals of Elvorian forges, and a few plates of Unmari Steel around its citadel. The two fractals danced amongst themselves, like pixies in a forest.
Supporting elements arrived right after the Fractals. A bowship and a skipper provided targeted fire support and a capital sized interception-platform respectively, if the situation called for it, and around 4 assorted support Agents slashed past them, awaiting orders for electronic warfare or interdiction. Having such small warships in an operation like this was rare, many of them were better fit for patroling the frontiers of Unmar. Alas, their captains resigned themselves to being under the command of the task force, seeing this as an opportunity to stretch out their legs.
Neren looked away from her virtual windows, her eyes shot down to her ships internal readings. Already, non-ftl Monitors were being printed out in the battlecarriers onboard shipyards, and many many fighters would also see the heat of battle directly after the warmth of the forge had faded. A miracle of mobile industry unfolding in front of her eyes.
"Alraune Queen reporting in!"
"High Priest, reporting in."
The two fractals chirped in first into the fleet-wide communication systems. Their captains maneuvering them to take the vanguard of the fleet, intending for their ships to be the hammer to the Formless Cannons' anvil. Streaks of transparent light were left behind, as a large rune manifested behind their penrose drive, giving them a considerable speed boost.
"Despairing Princess, by your side."
"Lunar Lament, escorting."
"Formation 26V, moving to position."
The two other capital ships matched the pace of the Heavy Cutter, making a claw formation alongside their agents. Gigantic wings and glowing veins of radiator fluid and mana adorned their hull, giving them a leviathan-like look to them. Like sea monsters hunting prey in the ocean. It reminded Neren of her hometown in the Abyssal depths of Auvor.
She had only brought what was considered a larger than average patrol fleet. Neren nervously looked through the fleet compositions of her allies, hoping that her friends could make up for the lack of numbers here.
"All hands to battlestations, prepare for imminent combat." Neren gave out the first command, and the second soon after.
"Every ship move up with me. Good hunting!"
AINAR SYSTEM
Foreign intervention - a curious yet novel concept, especially for the Clanholds.
They, ironically, weren't foreign to it - they were once part of the informal alliance made by the Gauss Dominion, they had founded an alliance solely for it, a band of pirates unwittingly doing it themselves at Amritsar was what thrust the Clanholds into galactic politics in the first place. But before 3AW, they would only have been concerned with their immediate surroundings - who in the right mind would travel half the galaxy to earn a few medals and 20 destroyed ships?
When they joined CONA, that was when the floodgates truly opened. Aedleshaven was the firestarter, Corona was the kindling. Zettish stealth sloops soon found themselves eking their way across the galaxy, using technologies never used by Zetyans beforehand. Uninitiated freeports and wayfuelers alike reporting odd black ships drifting out of the Meridian for refueling before returning to the depths. It was no Orillian stealth network, certainly not like Orbeole, but for the Zetyans subtlety was never quite their specialty then - who would expect them to use it now?
One such sloop lay dormant, many systems away monitoring RSC space. The Atlanteans may as well have been in Antartica for the Clanholds, located practically their exact distance north of center, but they received the broadcast all the same. Looped back to command, it was expected to be ignored. Too far of a distance, too spatty of a conflict.
And then, they received the orders to warp.
---
Starlight redshifted off their hulls, the corridors that formed their FTL system taking their fleet to a location far removed.
Admiral Go'set, of the Azure Sky, Tainted Green, was of some renown within his own people. Tapping idly on the command desk, however, he didn't feel like it. 48 ships under his command, best and brightest he could afford, yet here they were going to nowhere in particular for the beck and call of CONA. He was told this would be a sizeable battle, a good way to earn rapport politically and militarily. At minimum, he'd probably get a Gold Claw, hopefully more. None could say.
'Induction in 15 seconds.' intoned a mechanical voice over the intercomms, which caused him to tense slightly. He hadn't been deployed for 'true battle' yet, only a plethora of nevertheless favorable anti-piracy strikes. But he had a feeling he wouldn't be alone in this fight, judging by the plethora of encrypted broadcasts that lit the system like a lamp. Automated calls to battlestations rang throughout the ship, and the stars and void began to blueshift on the visual cameras in anticipation of their arrival.
Outside of his notice, a jet-black sloop joined their star-rift, seeping in from the inky void as if it were a freshwater pike hunting prey.
To those who saw it, a hole seemed to rip itself in space and time, a false shockwave rippling outwards as a tunnel of stars expanded outwards. From their depths roared 49 ships, headed by a battleship 50 kilometers in length. Though one peeled off their formation, blue engines going dark as it careened towards the nearest asteroid field, the rest held firm, engaging a full burn to rendevous with the rest of the CONA forces.
Inside, the admiral toggled a headset, and via officers aplenty brought up encrypted communications with the rest of the arrivals. The number of ships the enemy had was staggering - he could only hope his allies were worth their weight, and their enemy was only pretending as such.
"ALCON. Battlegroup 305 reporting. Leading ship is 'Azure Sky, Tainted Green'. Engaging rendevous maneuvers, t minus... 15. Recommend grouping."
Half-lidded, glowing amber eyes scanned the battlemap, as a woman with azure skin sat with crossed legs, her head resting on her fist. Fleet Commander Gelaria Ifrite sat at the helm of the Violet Renaissance, a Liintrix spectrum-class battleship. A massive vessel with an angular, sharp silhouette, lit up by lines of almost neon-light vibrancy, an aesthetic shared by many vessels of the Liintrix navy.
Three of these obsidian monoliths were silhouetted against the stars, accompanied by the rest of their fleet, mostly a collection of cruisers and destroyers, a fleet of silent giants moving into position alongside the allied fleets.
The Violet Renaissance, the Crimson Jury, and the Vermillion Cemetery were the three mighty vessels that made up the bulk of the main attack fleet, ships that had served in the civil war- both on the side of the Revolutionaries and the Theocracy, and now served under the banner of the republic, under the command of an up-and-coming Admiral- who was eager to see some real fighting, especially in a time of strife like this.
"Admiral..." A soft voice spoke her name, and the Liintrix woman glanced up, seeing her amethyst-haired assistant stepping into the command room. A younger woman, a dusting of freckles across her nose, and a datapad held tightly to her chest in one hand, Niolette had eagerly served by Gelaria's side ever since her days in the officer's academy, through years of training and exercises. One would struggle to find a more loyal underling. "Contact with the other fleets have been made. We don't have an exact number of vessels yet... so it's yet unknown if we match the Atlantean's numbers."
"Thank you, Niolette." Gelaria's voice was sharper, like a clean blade sliding across a pristine whetstone. "Tell all ships to organize into their specified Lances, and provide our allies with the nessessary codes to coordinate."
Niolette bowed, and turned out of the room, while Gelaria closed her eyes and sat up.
-----------------
Atlantean forces, this is not a call for surrender nor an ultimatum, but consider this the first draft of your future eulogy.
Your arrogance has led you to this battlefield for one thing: To die. You may see this death as glorious or noble, but it is death all the same, a permanent end to your ability to inflict further aggression on your neighbors.
You have until our allied forces are within range to turn around and return to your homes and families.
There will be no further communication.
The Liintrix vessels aligned themselves with the other present fleets, lines of light glowing along their obsidion hulls, weapons charged and primed to fire.
Rune-inlaid tiles sparkle the colors of the latter half of the spectrum as soft footsteps tread upon stone and metal. Grand archways, spaced evenly throughout the hall, rise high and lofty in a needless display of muchness. Not that the visitor to this place cares for such trivialities.
Dellephon of the Pearls Blue - You approach the Minder Core of the Province Telipha with progress, this one hopes?
At the end of the hall a being more machine than individual lies sculpted directly into the gorgeous mosaics crawling up the wall behind it, its body melded to the pristine stones in such a way it’s hardly distinguishable from the wall itself. A four-armed form reminiscent of an Esohessighan protrudes from the melding, a mimicry of life with sleek metallic paneling and a long, flowing toga tucked under its crossed legs. Its arms extend towards the far-off ceiling in an exclamation of sorts, as if praising the stars beyond in a statuesque pose.
The footsteps fade as the visitor halts, dropping down to kneel before the Minder Core with a bowed head. An actual Esohessighan, this one, and one not in the flowing fabrics of an administrator, but the armor of a soldier- no, the armor of a Knight. “You speak truth, my Lord.” It starts, not daring to raise its head. “A fleet has been assembled under the command of Chaptermaster Lairos.”
The Liscenian Order? Do try to play nice with them, Chaptermaster. It would be uncouth to make a scene when your mission is to clean up such messes.
Dellephon can only sigh internally at the Minder’s light poke at his Order’s past actions. “As you say, my Lord.” He replies. “Now, what are your commands for this mission of ours?” Only now does he raise his head to meet the hollow gaze of the machine before him, having seen the subtle twist of one of its hands signaling for him to do so. The Minder is silent for but a moment, but it speaks volumes more than the few words they’ve exchanged already.
The preservation of an ally of CONA is at hand, dear Knight. Though we have walked this stage far less than our brethren around us we are nonetheless called upon all the same to deliver unto them our aid. It is paramount this effort succeed if the Anchored State is to ever become a notable polity.
A low cracking sound rings out as the Minder’s head shifts to better look at the Knight.
If this foe does not parley or stand down, you are to assist in removing them from this plane - in this, you have this one’s blessing. Now go.
=====//=====
Battlegroup Veis is, for now, a temporary collection of vessels from three separate task units bound to the command of the Liscenian Order’s head officials, though Chaptermaster Lairos would love nothing more than to see the group instated as an official extension of the Liscenian Order; it’d teach the Pearls and the Priscinens not to overstep their boundaries, or so she hopes. For now, however, Battlegroup Veis is just a temporary command and Chaptermaster Lairos is just a temporary fleet commander- and not even the head one, either, for the position is shared with Dellephon of the very same Pearls Blue who, last cycle, had sullied the Liscenians’ reputation in a disastrous game of wits at the Pentalus Tournament.
Suffice to say, Chaptermaster Lairos is quite glad the two of them are occupying different command centers for this operation, with Lairos currently at the helm of the ‘Teliphan Grace’ and Dellephon commanding the ‘Lost Wills’; a subtle move, giving Lairos the Grace. If Dellephon had instead been given the ship, a top-of-the-line vessel from the province they received their orders from in the first place, she imagines he’d lord it over her in some misguided presumption of favoritism. Glory be to the Synod for sparing her of such a fate.
“All vessels on standby - entry in t-minus five…”
The navigational officer calmly calls out the re-entry warning as their time in the Meridian comes to an end, and with a tremulous flash the Grace exits the blue dimension. Around the flagship the rest of the fleet is arrayed, the destroyers centered around the Grace and the other two battlecruisers, and the artillery cruisers trailing behind. It isn’t long before Dellephon opens a comms line.
“Restructuring to ideal formation, as per instructions.”
Short, sweet, and as stated in their orders. Perhaps this operation will go off without a hitch in the personal relations department after all. Lairos simply sends an affirmation and watches as the fleet arranges itself into its proper formation, filling the diminutive holes left by their exit of the Meridian. Afterwards she opens a line to establish contact with the others present, sending out identification.
It’s showtime.
Kreibaum watched with false eyes as his small complement silently screamed smoothly through the Meridian, deft maneuvers carrying them around the deepest shadows as artefacts unknowable whispered their existence from the truly final void only a hair's breadth below them. All of a sudden, his meager fifteen prowlers pitched "up," back towards the surface that was the border between the everything and the nothing - aiming for proximity to a large cluster of miniscule shadows that posed no threat to them.
In the material, perfectly reflective halostone seeped back into reservoirs under stealthy, scanner-absorbing hulls, perfectly matching the rate of their clandestine exfiltration of the stellar sea. Immediately the Carnaithian ships began processing the data environment of the system; hubris, warnings, requests, all of it in equal measure. Kreibaum was here not t sabotate what many thought of as SAGA's enemy, but to suppress true hostiles; he was here to help CONA succeed, without being noticed. That said, recon on more national capabilities was always useful.
The onboard AI cores quickly began assembling facsimiles of the ad-hoc coalitions' communications protocols with the goal of disseminating intelligence on Atlantean forces; some were entirely new, while others - like the Zetyans - were a little more familiar. The information was older, but the Atlanteans had stagnated in internal conflict for quite some time. A lot of it would likely still be valid.
His hind legs scraped against one another as Princely sat in the black and golden throne-of-sorts, the head chair in the vast and expansive room, darkened to near-black with only the fireflies bouncing about the room as light. The frictioning sound had rattled uninterrupted for hours as he meditated in the hummed room. Nothing could shake the peace he felt in this moment. Nothing.
“High Admiral…” the Cerulean on the wasps shoulder spoke as it stepped through the shrouded entrance. “First Paladin Makintosh” he said again to Titus, stepping aside for an even larger wasp to enter, a species of Giant Hornet it appeared. Makintosh motioned for the other to leave, who bowed and left. Titus looked up at Makintosh, the grasshopper bowing his head and Makintosh doing the same.
“Hello, Paladin.”
“Greetings, Admiral.”
The two stood in a quiet peace as they looked at one another, Makintosh finally breaking it as he unsheathed the sword from his back and placing it blade-first in the ground, kneeling and letting his abdomen and stinger onto the ground.
“There is conflict brewing in the Volarian Corridor. The Atlanteans seek war with the Ilektierans, and CONA has called arms against the Atlanteans.”
Titus was quiet for a few moments, his neck twitching a few times as his mandibles grinded. His cerulean’s wings flapped, and his own fluttered lightly at bay; Titus shook his head and looked down, away.
“Silas, I was under the impression that total neutrality was our goal. What does this conflict in the Corridor have to do with us?”
The Paladin’s wings buzzed and flapped for a sporadically, his eyes landing back on Titus as he finished his sentence. The room gad lit up a bit, thanks to the fireflies, and was shown to be nothing special. A meditation room, if you will.
“We are not simply total neutralists Princely, we are the equalizers. We know no sides, we defend that aggressed, reaping and sowing for the Hunger.”
Titus chuckled, the Cerulean fluttering it’s wings in an effect as such. “We reside in a galaxy even more ungrateful than the last. What position are we in to be conducting Reap and Sow?”
“It is an opportunity offered to us by the Prairie, Princely!” Makintosh exclaimed, wings buzzing excited as he stood, pulling his sword from the ground and sheathing it. “The ceremony at Union proved two things to us. SAGA is a group of hardliner war hawks seeking to preserve conservative galactic traditions, colonialist domination. CONA is no better, war criminals fueled by years of propaganda and hatred which burn sweet in their minds. They know no citizens or soldiers, they only see targets and blood. We will fight for both where we can, defend the aggressed and hold our ground. With the Ark recovered and the Order rebuilding, it is finally time we make our stand.”
Titus looked at Makintosh standing tall in glory. He had always been a master tactician and a speechman at heart, a morale booster if you will.
“Have you spoke to Magister and Valsanna already?” Titus asked, Makintosh nodding once in response.
“Very well, then we will begin our movements at once. We will wait until the first of the SAGA and CONA forces arrive. The Atlanteans are probably beginning their first attacks as we speak, so we must organize quickly.”
“Praise be the Prairie.” Makintosh said, both saluting each other in sync.
“Praise be the Prairie.”
AINAR SYSTEM: : League of Illektiera
Centurion Tellid could tell the sensor station was blowing up, FTLing of that many ships could only mean one thing. The League did not have the active mobile forces to respond to their attack, which meant this was outside reinforcements. They had expected such, the League was CONA, and would likely call for such reinforcements. Tellid was still confident.
"Recall the assault forces, I want all vessels in formation ASAP. Keep a CAP around the fleet at all times and prepare for long range combat"
Tellid was young, scarily young to be commanding such a battlefleet. But it had ironically been her youth and inexperience which had granted her the role. With so much internal conflict in Atlantis for decades none of the clans trusted one another fully, no commander could be chosen due to existing ties, history, actions and more without being voted down and threatening to destabilise the peace. Tellid had been chosen, born outside of the clans and raised in what was left of the old shattered military, she had been perfect for the position. When Atlantis had shattered during 2AW after their invasion of the ICS and the counter invasion of the AGA, everything had seemed lost. Now they were rebuilding. Tellid felt she was the spearhead of that.
Her formation of 540 vessels was split into two. 480 vessels sat in orbit of the hot super giant close to the main systems star, a bright white ball of fire and energy which stripped away the giants atmosphere and gave the Atlantean fleet an excellent source of EM stealth and sensor disturbance. The other 60 ships orbited Ainar, or what was left of it anyway. They had bombarded key positions, and deployed large raiding forces to the surface, taking infrastructure, resources and people. All would help feed Atlantis rebuilding. But they had to withdraw now, they had company.
Interestingly they had even been sent something which looked pretty pitiful as far as diplomacy went.
Tellid decided to respond.
This is Centurion Tellid Avar of the Atlantean Empire, I bid you greetings and a fair hunt. I am aware you have been sent here to stop our efforts against the League, but are likely unaware of our shared history. We have fought many wars in the past, and this is merely a continuation of territorial, trade and legal disputes. I hope that you will withdraw and leave these matters to both ourselves and the League, we are only here to aquire what we legally know to be owed to us. Once that is done we shall depart. But if you should choose to engage us then I will not hesitate to use force. My channel is open for negotiation
The Atlantean forces still continued to form into a standard combat formation, but they did not power weapons or move to intercept the new arrivals which would have been a smart move.
Atlantis had always been headstrong, while their ships and technology was somewhat outdated it was no slouch. Relying on Tachyon weapons procured from Capitol alongside powerful laser systems and advanced EPA derived missiles their ships were decently fast, agile and could take a hit. It seemed however Tellid was not wishing to fight just yet.
Sub-Director Veseti ignored the message from Tellid. The matter had already been decided. Certainly, settling this without bloodshed would be acceptable, but it was unlikely, and Veseti's goal was to showcase the ARM's military prowess for the sake of its future use in CONA. Opting instead to message his allies, a simple broadcast was sent to the other CONA ships.
This is Sub-Director Garabdis-Veseti to fellow CONA responders. Querying designation of primary authority for this operation. Against a united enemy I recommend a reliable chain of command is established if not already extant. If so, Sub-Fleet Cassegryn-3-2 will defer to primary authority. This fleet specializes in extreme long range engagement and close-range assault maneuvers. I request my forces be used properly.
This was something of a probe from Garabdis, as well. His task was to showcase the worth of his forces, but how unified was CONA? Had they enough of a solidified hierarchy that order could flow harmoniously from this disparate group? Or would they squabble for the position? No doubt the result would be informative.
AINAR SYSTEM
The Judgement Fleet Condemns
High Admiral Titus had little issue whatsoever in organizing together a strike force which he believed capable of taking on the Atlantean fleet. Denoted Strike Group: Hordeum, the team was lead by the Crux Iberis with an assortment of cruisers, destroyers, and frigates in tow. The admiral had assigned the seasoned Rear Admiral Arcadius as Captain of the Crux Iberis and as the Commander of Strike Group: Hordeum. He had accepted the tasking graciously, and was assigned two advisors, one from the Retribution for the 3rd Hornet Regiment and one from the Empyrean Wings for the 2nd Dragonfly Strike Wing. With the group organized and the battleplan prepared, Admiral Arcadius accepted command graciously, and so it begun.
“I cannot stand the smell…”
Given all its efficiencies, gastric antimatter had a few drawbacks. One which was most bothersome: the wrenching smell. Admiral Arcadius’ antennae squeemed and moved about, his head twitching as he took in the thickening smell of what could only be described as burning flesh mixed into a pot of boiling shit and jet fuel. The Mantis had great sense of smell, keen to even the slightest scents; this just meant that the stronger ones were enhanced. So is the way it goes perhaps.
“Admiral” a hopper approached from behind, saluting Arcadius as he turned around, craning his neck as he answered.
“Yes, ensign?”
“We entered the Corridor moments ago, the League is not far, sir. Your orders?” the ensign hopper asked.
Arcadius turned and waved his hand away. “Agreang concentration twenty percent, sublight re-entry protocol. Prepare to enter Ainar System.” he calmly ordered through announcement to the ship via intercom. The Crux Iberis felt as to shudder like an organism shivered by the cold, the digital graphizers animating the exterior soace slowly coming back to normality as the propulsion flame sparked and shrouded, cooling from a brightly radiant blue to a cool orange as the Crux slowed, the rest of the fleet following in suite.
The smell of burning flesh in boiling shit radiated with jet fuel began to smell more like raw petrol and sweets before the burning smell came back. That sweet sweet shit aftertaste.
“Passing Kruul!” Nav announced from the mapping table, Arcadius looking to his left at the passing planet from the graphizer, looking back forward as the strike force sped towards Ainar and the Atlanteans.
“Sir!” the quartermaster shouted, saluting, Arcadius returning it. “Sir, Kilvan approaches. The Evangelions have begun spinal charge. Are we prepared to make the first contact?”
“It is said to be done, we must make an initial determined strike on the Atlanteans to make an opening for the following supporting forces.”
“And what of the CONA senior commanders? Have they any say, sir?”
Arcadius was quiet as the came towards Kilvan, entering outer orbit as they slowly creeped to the rear of the Atlantean fleet.
“Neutrality has its perks.”
“Aye, sir.”
Arcadius raised his hand as the Atlantean fleet came into picture of the graphizer, taking a deep breath.
“Evangelions at the ready!”
Lord Admiral Skriesche patiently waited as their translator unit whirred, deciphering the transmission from the Atlantean fleet. He tapped impatiently on his identification booklet, thumbing over the various ships of Atlantean make that the Astronautica was aware of. Upon hearing the translated message, he clicked his tongue and shook his head, turning to the comms officer.
"Adjutant?"
"Aye, Lord Admiral?"
"Send word to Vice Admiral Otovrak to assume vanguard position. They are to find and engage their match in the Atlantean fleet. Inform Flotilla Admiral Lokrantz to assume echelon formation on the voidward. Fly the ensign."
"Aye, Lord Admiral."
A series of bright semaphore flashes would erupt from the Flagship, in the center of the main line of battle. The ships would run the ensign of the First Battlegroup on their radio wires, the sanguine squares unfurling in their full glory, proudly trailing in the solar winds. The Karnoch, lead ship of its class and the flagship of the Lord Admiral, flew Schrieche's flag under the battle flag.
The Vice Admiral sighed as the orders came in, motioning to the coxswain to carry out the necessary maneuvers. The line of armored cruisers accelerated past the line of Herskal battleships, massive plumes of chemical exhaust dissipating into the void in their wake. Otovrak did not envy the position of vanguard, but at least, she reasoned, it was better than Lokrantz's duties, for Lokrantz was burdened with the onerous task of instructing the torpedo boats currently in their neat formation behind the warships to charge to their deaths. The vulnerable torpedo boat tenders stayed to the rear, not advancing any closer and instead establishing their orbit around the star more or less where they entered the system.
Skriesche impatiently waited once again as the translator whirred and spat out the most recent transmission. The ARM wished to establish a reliable chain of command- something that would be somewhat difficult on the Herskal's side, Skriesche reckoned, due to the the slow speed of their translators. He sighed again, and once more turned to the comms station.
"Adjutant, signal to the battlegroup. New manuever order- Approach enemy at thirty degrees angle off bow on the starward side. Await orders to engage."
"Aye, Admiral. Orders relayed."
"Very good. Inform our allies that we shall proceed with our standard engagement strategem until orders arive from CONA authority."
"Understood, my Lord."
1st Battlegroup of the Herskal Directorate closing to engagement range at 30° AOB, accelerating. Proceeding with engagement plan until provided order from CONA primary authority.
AINAR SYSTEM
He idly watched as the other CONA forces warped in, and an odd, self-invited companion eke into the far stellar distance into an asteroid field. The 60 ships above Ainar's smouldering corpse were already painted, but the gas giant to their left had his hunch. Visuals, though fuzzy, were returning an odd series of glints in it's periphery, though to the average observer at these distances it was just a fuzzy ball with a ring circled around. A silent order was sent to the stealth sloop to scan it, sensors galore pointing towards it with far better equipment than the majority of his fleet.
Two broadcasts at once reached their ship, the one from the Atlanteans and the one from the ARM fleet. One, a veiled attempt at justifying more conquering, and the other a request to establish a command structure. The latter was fair game, when all you had to do was be the first to speak up. It was only Zettish to try and jump at the first chance for power. The former, however, required the latter to succeed - lest a communications session went awry because someone had an itchy trigger finger.
Motioning for his comms officers, their orders were simple and given quick. Establish two lines, one for their allies and the other for the enemy. Everyone else was to proceed as is, their combat formation seeming like a six-spoked wheel while they rocketed further into the abyss, careening into groups with the rest of their allies. As he began speedwriting an official statement in the depths of his head, he only hoped they would listen to at least some form of reason.
The unified CONA fleet would receive one encrypted transmission, only a little while after the Atlantean's own.
This is Battlegroup 305 of the Clanholds United Diaspora. We are willing and able to act as primary authority, barring the arrival of an official CONA commanding element. Recommending grouping according to role and range, as per ARM transmission.
We have sent a communique to the Atlanteans. If this broadcast is heeded, DO NOT FIRE until we have received a response. Repeat, DO NOT FIRE.
And to the Atlanteans was sent another - this one, far longer.
This is Battlegroup 305 of the Clanholds United Diaspora, commanding officer Go'set Th'adas, acting as a leading element of the current assembled CONA forces. I understand the notion of manifest destiny, cold conflict. Perhaps I even sympathize.
However, we cannot withdraw - this action has directly threatened the galactic ceasefire, and should your invasion play out in full there is an approximate 56% chance it will be broken, optimistically. Given the environment of superweapon proliferation and trigger-happy deployments of WMDs, this is not only undesirable, but in no uncertain terms endangering all of us - your empire included. Plenty of upstart unaligned who could, would try playing the taxman.
I see your battlefleet regrouping itself, and I am recalling of previous history of which you need no reminder. This will be our only offer-
Either seek diplomatic alternatives with the League of Illektiera and forgo your invasion, or surrender your forces immediately and submit to applicable procedure. Should you decline, we will open fire, as will the others.
You have an hour. I trust you'll come to a reasonable decision. Fair tidings.
Chaptermaster Lairos listens attentively to the transmissions originating from the fellow CONA elements nearby. While it would certainly be a noteworthy occurrence to establish some sort of higher position in the chain of command, she has no doubt it would also be foolish. The ASE is not widely known among those present, and even before the arrival of the Zetyan battlegroup the Chaptermaster found herself hoping there would be another to take the lead, for as prepared as the ASE fleet elements might be, or as prepared as they believe they are, this foray into foreign territory is a first for many present today. A first in a series of firsts, should things proceed as downhill as they appear to be heading. Thus, when the transmission identifying the Zetyan battlegroup arrives and the reins of command are taken, a bit of relief floods the Chaptermaster’s systems.
“Comms, relay an affirmation-” And in reply to the Zetyans the Esohessighan fleet sends their own transmission.
This is Chaptermaster Lairos of the Liscenian Order, acting-commander of Battlegroup Veis, under the authority of the ASE. Our fleet will reorganize as recommended with the conclusion of this message.
Our frontline units will be advancing to the front of the assembled formation, while those that remain behind will serve as long-range artillery.
We shall await further instruction.
With a simple gesture to the comms officer the orders are relayed to the other vessels in the fleet. The Grace, along with the Lost Wills and the third battlecruiser, the ‘Frenetic Prayer’, form a line with their accompanying destroyers arrayed in front of them, two per capital ship. Meanwhile, the three artillery cruisers remain positioned where they are, the remaining three destroyers acting as bodyguards for the considerably slower vessels. In a matter of minutes the maneuvers are complete, the shining hulls of the Esohessighan vessels now sitting motionless as weapons stand ready to charge and hangar bays begin to open in anticipation of the coming fight.
=====//=====
“Status report - what’s the progress down there?”
Chaptermaster Dellephon of the Pearls Blue, much like his counterpart in the Teliphan Grace, sits at rigid attention on the bridge of the Lost Wills. It had been a blow to his pride, to be put in co-command of such an expedition, and an even harsher blow to be delegated the oldest of the three capital ships present in the fleet, but he would not let it show. Regardless of his perceived slights there was a vital mission to accomplish here, one that transcends his petty annoyances with his fellow Chaptermaster.
Now, if only he could get his own ship in gear before the festivities began.
Despite giving the all-clear to Chaptermaster Lairos when the readiness request was sent out to the fleet, in truth the Lost Wills was having difficulties with its internal routing systems; slow to acknowledge, crusty in action, and potentially a danger if left unchecked, it would not do to send the ship into battle with its munitions slow to move throughout the vessel. Not only would it pose a physical threat in a firefight, but it would surely leave another mark on his almost-immaculate record, a mark that would surely lower him in the eyes of the Minders no doubt observing the progress of this mission from afar.
“Engineering reports the blockage has been fixed, standby for final documentation…”
With that statement from one of the bridge crew Dellephon eases up, the rigidity of his posture lessening a tad. With that problem solved he could at least focus more properly on the bigger picture here, namely that the ships of the fleet have reordered in accordance to the instructions relayed by the foreigners who’ve assumed command of the assembled CONA elements. Zetyans, they are. Dellephon can’t recall much in the way of their culture or behaviors, though the Lost Wills’ QAI core is certainly happy to provide him with what information it has, but he does know they’re a major figure within CONA, one that will serve as an acceptable leader for the coming engagement.
Selenicans were not known to back down when commanded. The comms message from the Atlantean was received, and Herza would play it numerous times to dig into his opponent. She was young, that much was clear from her voice. She was also calm and collected, unfazed by the many arrivals of opponents. It meant she was certain of victory, even in spite of the many, many arriving forces. Clanholds, ARM, Herskals. All of them were CONA -- all allies, at least in name.
Another comms transmission -- this time, the Zetyans. Allies, trusted comrades, even with a society so tremendously different from his own. Its message was heeded -- don't open fire until fired upon. Standard Selenican doctrine, really. However, he'd send back a request.
This is Division 76 of the Selenican People's Defense Navy. Permission to begin establishing an interception patrol?
Herza began to slowly edge his forces to the absolute peak of their effective ranges against the enemies, staying just far away enough to maintain some kind of deniability of increasing aggression. His carriers, four strong, the mighty hammers of the 76th Division, would remain protected by their gunboats, vessels only brought along to augment and protect against any would-be assailants. In fact, the Selenican forces were nearly outside of the battlefield, coming in from extreme ranges nearing to the primary asteroid belt of the Ainar System. Pre-emptive sensor scans came back inconclusive -- the 60 or so ships in orbit of Ainar were easy enough to spot, but clearly there was more -- otherwise why would such a large contingent be called? A wide-band sweep of tachyonic detection arrays proved inconclusive. There were definitively warships in orbit around that star, probably anchored to the supergiant, but how many? Anywhere from 300 to 600 -- completely useless data.
These carriers would be preparing their patrols for when the order did come, and the gnashing of teeth began.
This is Battlegroup Red Bird to Battlegroup 305 speaking, we hear and recognize your authority in this engagement. As for the rest of you, this is the fleet representing the Quosx Alliance. A pleasure to be serving with each one of you.
A strangely chipper voice spoke to the allied fleets, and Gelaria rolled her eyes. "I didn't ask for your editorializing, We aren't here to be friendly, Niolette." The Admiral said, but deep down she was too focused on keeping the fleet organized to pay attention. No weapons to be fired yet. Plenty of time for both sides to prepare their respective strategies, her new allies not yet sharing what plans they might have.
"We're heading into formation with the rest of the fleets..." Niolette spoke up. "Unknown number of enemy contacts, We have confirmation of a small fleet around the planet itself, but signals from our allies show that there may be a much larger force hiding by the star."
"Well, no weapons haven't been fired yet. Keep an eye out there, but until fighting starts that's not our problem."
"Ma'am-"
"I'm not saying ignore it, I'm saying there's nothing we can do at this very moment."
"...Yes, ma'am."
Lhancombe watched the screens on the Warwulf's bridge, his brow furrowed. Every CONA-aligned contact the sensors read as warping in eased the tension in his nerves a little more. Every ship on their side tilted the odds a little more in their favour. Things would have been a lot more tense should things have come down to solely the Directorate Navy and these Atlanteans squaring off.
"A 'shared history', they say." the captain grunted, arms folded.
"A shared history I doubt the Illektierans much appreciate."
"Do you buy their story?"
"I'm not calling them liars." Lhancombe shrugged. "Not entirely, at least. But I think they're...bending the truth. Painting themselves in a better light than they deserve. I don't think they 'legally' own anything in this system. That's the sort of talk slavers use to justify themselves."
"I think that's literally the scenario we're facing."
"And it's one the Directorate has dealt with before. The only thing they're leaving with is their own wounded." Lhancombe crossed his arms, the captain smiling faintly.
"Admiral! Signal from the Clanhold fleet! Offering themselves as allied command and suggesting preparations for combat according to ability!" a crewman called, the transcripted message appearing on a different screen.
"I wasn't expecting anyone to make such an offer so quickly. I half expected at least three people to...nominate themselves." the captain grunted.
"Fewer the better, in this scenario." Lhancombe blinked. "Signal the Clanhold fleet an affirmative, and that we're moving to combat-ready ranges." he called back.
"Aye aye sir!"
A beat.
"All ships! Begin approach to attack range, slow and steady! Weapons are to charge but we are not to fire unless hostilities break out! Have fighter and bomber wings ready and waiting to deploy at a moments notice!"
As the fleet's engines lit with fire, however, Lhancombe's brow remained furrowed.
Sixty ships sat in the planet's orbit.
Sixty. Barely more than his own, and he'd never heard of the Atlanteans having the same political difficulties he had faced.
Were they really so arrogant? Did they expect no reaction from nations allied to Illektiera? Did this...Tellid, really think a few words would steer away any effort to stop them?
Something felt off. But across an entire star system, Lhancombe didn't know where to turn his gaze. All they could do was keep an eye on sensor returns, he supposed.
He sorely hoped he and his allies would be enough.
AINAR SYSTEM: League of Illektiera
The 60 vessels above Ainar were abuzz with activity as shuttles and more left the surface returning to the assault fleet. Entire divisions of soldiers, tanks and more were reclaimed as the vessels took tally and finally began to light their drives, moving away from Ainar and towards Tellids main contingent. Ainar looked heavily damaged from long range scans and images, fires blazing in its major population centres and thick black smoke covering many areas of the globe. The Atlanteans had done a number on the world and its people.
On board the battleship Archimedes Tellid smiled at the statements laid out in the Clandholds reply. Manifest destiny.
“This is Centurion Tellid to Battlegroup 305 and other CONA representatives. I believe you are aware of current diplomatic issues relating to the CGSS and the deadlock that has been going on between our people for many decades. I am here under official orders to reclaim territory and materials which the League rightfully owes us. My mission is very almost complete. If you choose to engage me before I withdraw with my mission completed, you are very well just as guilty for breaking the ceasefire. Withdraw or stay at current positions while I finish my operation and withdraw to Atlantean space.”
“You have 5 minutes. Tellid Out”
As the ships of the planetary assault fleet burn hard towards the main force the Atlantean fleet is clearly observed especially so by the stealth vessel. Their reactors come to full power, energy flooding through systems to invigorate and activate shielding systems, PD and more but still not weapons.
A new wave of attack craft however is launched from the carriers of the formation, heavier before in greater numbers than the current CAP circling the fleet. Fully laden with weaponry they begin to circle the Atlantean force in preparation for any actual combat. Additional launches are also detected by the Clanhold vessels, but it is hard to determine what they are, quite possibly some new kind of stealth weapon not seen used by Atlantis before.
A moment later the main fleet lights its main drives and begins to accelerate towards the assault fleet to aid in the rendevouz.
Kreibaum had disseminated high-level orders. That's all he needed to do, and the CIGO shipmasters in his diminutive fleet took their own actions to achieve their objectives. A small contingent, only two prowlers, would stay in close proximity to the CONA fleet and maintain constant low-interference communications decryption for battlespace awareness - Laserlining the results towards a meridian buoy some distance away at an orbit that would remain stable for far more of a duration than was required for the predicted length of action in the system. Three were to move to Ainar and get close looks at the actions of the Atlanteans, as well as being close enough to begin decryption of their communications. The other ten craft were to get closer to the star, reducing their signatures as they laid in wait for an opportunity.
Kreibaum was intensely seasoned, though as it went with CIGO personnel his record wasn't public. Hundreds of surveillance taskings, dozens of reconnaissance, and a handful of peactime strike orders laid under his belt, but it was only in simulations that he had seen a large-scale battlefield. There was one virtue the entire task groups' personnel roster had been briefed on; Never underestimate the enemy -Never grow complacent. He studied the annotated screenings of the stellar bodies and hostile craft with a keen eye. Passive sensors could only offer so much intelligence, but he was willing to leech off of CONA's readings or break into the Atlanteans' battlenet himself when the time came; for now, he had one major item of interest. A clot of ships, indeterminate in volume, were static and in formation among the violent interactions of the star and the hot giant. He laserlined it to a pair of prowlers, and they peeled off to investigate.
Twelve were of the 963 variant; bident craft purpose-built for void warfare and surveillance, armed with clustering nuclear munitions and even a compact spinal EMACCS all carried around by powerful engines that wouldn't be fired except for emergencies. The other three, cold-burning for the namesake world of the system, were the sharp-edged 494 class, meant for close operation to stellar bodies and capable of atmospheric entry if needed, though this wasn't on the plan for now.
Skriesche pales as he watches the Atlantean fleet come to bear, watching as oscilloscopes read spikes in thermal signatures and as the powerful optronics array begins to identify small craft being launched and systems coming online.
He looks back to the allied forces amassed as they become increasingly smaller and smaller in the stary void. He looks back to the comms officer, and sighs.
"Adjutant... relay new orders."
"Yes, sir?" The Adjutant's voice quivers slightly, bracing himself for the inevitable order.
"Signal new course for the first line of battle; turn in sequence, target angle seventy-five degrees off-bow. Second line of battle is to continue forwards and act accordingly with the torpedo boats to act as picket."
The Lord Admiral shudders, his spinal fins standing on end before once more going flush against his back with a sigh, his gaze now dead ahead.
"All units, ahead full. First line of battle is to acquire targets upon maneuver completion and train cannons."
The Adjutant slumps in their seat as their gaze drifts away from the comms station and towards the fleet. The radiator funnels belched out a cloud of evaporated coolant as the reactors were fully opened and flushes, before piping down as the engines burned with yet more vigor, massive cones of stupendously hot gas ejected in the ship's wake. Maneuver thrusters spurted out licks of flame as the ships turned yet more, motors whining as the massive turrets turned about and the great guns of the 1st Battlegroup of the Herskal Directorate Astronauticas' High Void Fleet followed their target's path through the void, the long barrels illuminated by the flashes of semaphore.
"Ajudant. Signal 'Out Tampions'."
"As you wish, my liege."
Vice Admiral Otovrak looked to the grand ships of the first line of battle, those ensigns trailing beautifully in the exhaust gases, and then back to his own force of armored cruisers. The all to familiar and dreaded order for 'out tampions' was clearly visible by the semaphore flashes, and she merely nodded when her adjutant merely stated what she already knew. She turned her head to the gunnery department, snapping her jaws before she bellowed out the new orders.
"OUT TAMPIONS! OUT TAMPIONS!"
She shook her head as a twang of grief came over her. She knew the Lord Admiral was only doing his duty, but she knew just how truly woeful of a situation they were in.
The heavy armored caps that kept the barrels clear and true flung open. The ships of the 1st battlegroup would fall into an almost eery silence as they listened to the latest radio transmission from the flagship.
1st Battlegroup of the Herskal Directorate Astronautica's High Void Fleet, reporting. Ships of interest show hostile intent. Prepared to engage with hostiles.
The Lord Admiral sighed as the transmission finished sending, before turning to the adjutant. He held his breath for but a moment, before closing his eyes.
"Adjutant, new signal. Prepare to fire on my mark."
"... Yes, my liege."
Skreiche was painfully aware of a ceasefire signed before the Herskal Directorate entered the galactic stage, and thus he'd have to painfully wait for the Atlanteans to make the first move, no matter how he ached for the thunder of the great guns. For now, the gaze of the 1st Battlegroup fell squarely on the flagship, waiting for that dreaded semaphore pulse.
Go'set's expression remained neutral even as the Atlantean transmission finished, though his brows slightly furrowed. It wasn't surprising, there was a slim chance of it working anyhow. That the Atlanteans deigned it would be their fault for breaking a ceasefire, despite being the aggressors, was almost humorous even with the half-glassed planet they were burning away from. At the very least, his hunch had been correct - a massive fleetgroup had begun burning out of the gas giant's orbit, far greater than the initial appraisal. A force that actually warranted the amount of ships gathered here today.
His first move was to send an uplink request to the entire fleet. His knowledge of the stealth sloops and their networking capabilities, if any, was limited, but he figured the datachain could be sustained across the combined fleet group. The next was a swift motion to his officers to begin preparations to fire, launch craft, prepare thrust vectors. The third, though he doubted it would be successful, was to send a request to the stealth sloop to try and trace what specific ship Tellid's transmission had come from then 'paint' it for all ships to see.
Lastly, after receiving the conn, he began another transmission across the established lines.
-
No, and no, then.
You were warned. That you acknowledge is appreciable. But don't think you aren't the pot when you call the kettle black.
The best man wins.
-
Attention all allied battlegroups; Atlantean response has been received - all declined. You are cleared for fire. Group fleets according to role, target ships of descending importance - dreadnoughts, carriers, battleships, et al. Battlegroup 305 moving to core position for covering fire.
At once, the Zetyan fleet jumped from it's laggardly state into a full burn, eking out from the combined CONA fleet. Strikecraft and interceptors of all sizes began pouring from any ship with a hangar, their carriers seeming to disgorge a fly swarm of reflections and shrapnel that grew into beasts of steel and metal, which each roared ahead of their hives like sentient chaff. Their guns trained on the Atlantean fleet, targeting ships of high value, and missiles shared airspace with spinals and long-ranged cannon fire as the Zetyans began their opening barrage in force.
"Core reports all systems active; hangars are free, engaging weapons."
As the comms officer relays their statement Lairos can feel the subtle hum of energy coursing through the vessel. Even without having a physical connection to the ship she can tell that the vibrations emanating from decks below are the shudders of space warping and twisting - the great, artificial stars harnessed at the vessel's core being pushed into overdrive as every implement capable of being labeled a weapon begins to charge up.
From ports in the sides of all Esohessighan vessels waves of black and blue constructs pour out like a sudden release of air into the vacuum, the drones swiftly dividing themselves according to their preordained functions. The larger, bulkier ones form defensive groupings around their home vessels in preparation for interception of both munitions and fightercraft, while the smaller, swifter ones surge forth like a spear across the void as they propel themselves toward the Atlantean vessels around the ravaged planet.
Chaptermaster Lairos opens a new line with the other Esohessighan vessels as she watches the drones pour out. "All vessels: Advance. The Grace, Wills, and Prayer are to concentrate on the opposing capital vessels; all escort ships are to assist in their destruction as well, in addition to the interception of incoming firepower. All artillery vessels are to commence charging of Dissonance apparatus. Further instructions will be delegated should ranges diminish to unacceptable levels." Though not quite as fast as the Zetyan fleet, the ships of the ASE battlegroup are quick to engage their thrusters and start moving alongside them, and mere moments later the lightshow finally begins.
.
From sleek turrets come a mix of tachyons and relativistic coilgun shells, pounding out in a flurry of metal and particles. From shining gunports leap beams of solar radiance too bright to inspect with the naked eye, burning hot enough to slice through armor and shielding like a molten knife through butter. And from a myriad of openings come a flurry of missiles bearing irregular energy signatures - electroweak renders - to dismantle any ships in their way. The destroyers and battlecruisers with the forward section of the fleet concentrate their fire on the unclear gathering of ships near the system's star. The number of targets and their exact positioning is unknown, even as their sensors work hard to uncover this information, but there is at least something there. At best the onslaught of munitions will find their mark on whatever vessels they're able to lock onto, and at worst they'll be surpressive fire of a sort.
In the back, the destroyers guarding the artillery vessels continue to release drones from their hangars like bees from a hive, adding to the clouds guarding the larger vessels nearby. The larger vessels in question, having received their orders, are in the process of charging their most potent weapons. They too contribute with starfall projectors and missiles, but more power is dedicated to the preparation of their spinal weapons, with all three beginning to glow as exotic particles mix with Ancerions in their firing chambers, condensing more and more.
Lhancombe remained near-motionless, eyes fixed on the screens as communiques were sent about the myriad fleet. His face had remained mostly blank aside from a lightly furrowed brow, but a ghost of a smile crossed his features as the Zetyan message to commence attack came in.
"I had half a mind to fire anyway."
"Admiral?" the captain's eyes turned his way, a brow raised.
"They're trying to use this ceasefire as a shield, abusing it to get away with their actions. If they're going to run amok with it in such bad faith, adherence just leaves us twiddling our thumbs while they do as they like. It would have made us look spineless, weak."
A pause.
"Aye aye, admiral."
Lhancombe shifted his posture.
"All ships, all ships! Combat status alpha! Arm all weapons, brace all point defenses, engage charged armour layers! Fighter wings are to deploy on defensive picket, bomber wings stand by for attack run! Advance to firing range, prioritise fleet heavies!" he called, the Captain relaying orders that related to the Warwulf itself. A mechanical whine echoed through the bridge as, with a jolt, the entire bridge tower begun lowering down a colossal rail behind the main gunblock, the view of space disappearing behind armour before the viewports switched to digital camera displays, a clunk signalling that the bridge had reached its protected combat position.
The Orion fleet advanced, their pace steady but far from hasty, moving into firing range on the Atlantean fleet. Capacitor banks were linked, massive cables plugged into place to supply power to the fleet's array of massive axial cannons. Fighter wings flurried from hangar bays, tiny glowing dots of engines darting about the fleet as a formation of interceptors begun to form about the hulks of their parent ships. For the moment, the minelayers hung back.
And only a scant few moments after the Directorate fleet registered the Atlanteans as within their firing range, the axials lit up. Lances of brilliant light spurred from the barrels, row by row firing with heavy thuds that echoed through the entirety of their ships, particle lances lashing out in vicious barrages. Just as Lhancombe had ordered, their fire was focused primarily on the largest ships of the fleet, hoping their heavy forward firepower could knock them out in short order.
For the moment, their missile silos remained shut, and their bombers remained at the back of the fleet. They would be kept for when they were needed.
"Charge Collapse Lances, adjust formation and prepare all hands prepare to receive heavy fire. Damage control teams on standby, and prepare to depressurize for combat." Gelaria announced, as personnel equipped protective gear in anticipation for combat, with ships across the fleet receiving orders and forming up, the Mikala's radiators flaring up with neon blue light as their reactors began to spool up their spinally-mounted lances.
Dreadnoughts first, cycling down to smaller ships.
Targets were painted. Lines were drawn. The script was written, though none of the actors knew the ending.
It was time to go.
The Liintrix lacked swarms of strike craft, but as the other fleets let loose clouds of smaller fighters and bombers, the Liintrix fleet deployed formations of gunships and corvettes, heavier armored alternatives that while were fewer in number, packed much more durability and firepower in each vessel.
The three spectrum class battleships bore their massive plasma cannons, sixteen on each ship, and they all fired at once, reloaded, fired again, and repeated one more time, sending a wave of plasma fire towards the Gas Giant where they suspected much of the hostile fleet to be emerging from, to create a suppressing fire to force ships either further into cover or to leave, putting them in the open for the other fleets.
“Salvo.”
The Evangelions’ bright blue breather points quickly began to shine brightly as the weapons entered pre-fire stage, quickly turning to a bright white as the three antimatter spinal cannons released a timed salvo, the beams firing directly towards the Atlantean fleet. The spinal cannons quickly went from white back down to the cool blue as the cannons began to recharge, all hands now to deck in the fleet.
“Assume assault positions, prepare to siege the Atlantean position!”
The Evangelions sat idly as they recharged, the heavy frigates moving to forward positions while the destroyers held both flanks. In the center was the battlecruiser and to the rear escort of the Evangelions were the line cruisers. In a quick move to consolidate the formation, they began their drive forward quickly and with haste towards the Atlantean fleet in position.
Their position was now wide open as they began to take shade from the Atlanteans which they were fast approaching. On the forward defense line, the frigates’ main cannons opened fire while in the rear lime cruisers, their larger antimatter cannons let off heavy salvos against the Atlanteans. It was continued and concise draw of bright antimatter hail which came down on the rear of the Atlanteans, meanwhile as the fleet approached closer, they slowed themselves, holding lines and sending hard salvos of antimatter blasts against the fleet as others began to approach ready to attack. So it began…
Following the opening fire of the Orion Directorate, Selenican vessels on the edge of the engagement zone clearly received the message -- it was time.
"5 minutes to starboard... 2 minutes to dorsal..." Herza would say to himself, his carriers spewing out fighters after fighters to form a patrol around the hidden "nest" of Selenican forces. All but one of the Daybringer-Class Cruisers began to shift their bows to point as Herza directed, brief flickers of the radiator sails burning in an aurora of violets and oranges as helium plasma burned off the heat continuously building inside the ships.
Time was measured in light minutes at this range, and the most likely outcome was a contingent of the enormous Atlantean fleet peaking their bows over the "battle line" and attempting to focus fire on the heavy hitters. It was the Selenican's job, then, that they were to pin the enemies down, to keep them unable to move.
"All cruisers of Selenican Naval Division 76, open fire."
"Aye aye, sir." A cruiser, the designated squadron leader, replied, the several cruisers allowing their tachyonic lances to fire. Inside one of the main turrets, the mechanism crunched through the filler plate -- a stopper to keep the ship from discharging while under way -- and the density of tachyons inside each magazine began to build, higher and higher. Rad levels were rising uncontrollably, and all personnel were evacuated from the area. Not even a second later, an etherial wind swept the inside of the ship as each turret, slaved to the central fire control system, fired at once. Then the next cruiser. Then the next, until all had fired at the projected evasion zone.
AINAR SYSTEM: League of Illektiera
"Weapons fire reported Centurion"
"So much for CONA wanting peace and to keep the ceasefire, very well time til impact?"
"Approximately several minutes"
Tellid nodded and crossed her legs. Placed her hands upon both of the rests of her command chair.
"Very well. All ships come about 90 degrees hard burn to sunward." The order was relayed quickly and efficiently something that would in turn aid the Carnaithians in decrypting such basic orders. The Atlantean fleet seemed to stop burning towards the CONA forces and turn side on, immediately burning to broadside the foe but putting themselves far from where the initial enemy barrage had likely been aimed to intersect them.
"Now, all ships cut main drives, target enemy vessels and open fire I want time on target" Again quickly the Atlantean fleet cut thrust, their ships RCS units swinging them about to aim towards the foe even as they still moved in their same velocity. Tachyon Cannons, main X-Ray lasers, kinetic salvoes of coilgun fire and missiles fired somewhat staggered from every ship in the formation. Slower munitions were fired first, with the Tachyons fired last. The fire was timed to impact elements of the CONA fleet at the same time, every shot would arrive precisely at the same moment to try and overwhelm shields and PD.
But the CONA weapons were almost upon them. The attack craft screen stayed with the fleet, the interceptors racing out ahead to engage and shoot down the incoming munitions. Kinetics and missiles were blasted down while energy weapons were unaffected.
Having avoided the worst of the opening salvo with a manoeuvre to the sunward side the weapons that did impact caused bright flares on shields or armour.
Tellid did notice one cruiser loss however, a lucky Esohessighan Tachyon beam had broken the vessel in half.
First blood.
"All ships split formation."
After the barrage had impacted one half of the formation reorientated to continue its heading, burning now back towards Ainar, the other continuing to volley fire with the CONA forces. It seemed Tellid had already planned for some kind of counter engagement.
"My liege... weapons-fire detected."
The adjutant reported, with shaken breath. The turrets slowly turned, tracking the course of the Atlantean fleet, following the path of their match across the skies. The ships had each selected their own cruiser to target, corresponding with their position in the line of battle.
"Very well. Signal, mark!"
A red semaphore flash blipped from the flagship. A warning siren wailed, and the great guns of the 1st Battlegroup let loose with ferocity. Tongues of fire leapt forth into the void, following the 198 tracers that arced through space. These tracers were soon followed by others as the secondary and tertiary batteries opened, and the cloud of twinkling dots would start racing towards the Atlantean fleet. The ships shuddered and the crew braced as the volleys shunted then sideways, great plumes of orange-hued smoke temporarily obscuring the ships of the line. Despite this ferocious, thunderous force, the shells fired by the Herskals would lag far, far behind their comrades.
"Maneuver together, dead ahead."
Skrieche felt an odd sense of calm, watching the line of battle as the control thrusters belched jets of cloudy gas, the ships turning in synchronization to face the foe head on. To his flank, he watched as the second line of battle grew smaller in the distance, the torpedo boats far behind. His calm was interrupted by the shaken voice adjutant.
"Hostile weapons-fire detected, my liege."
Aboard the flagship of Vice Admiral Otovrak, an impending sense of dread would set over the bridge. The ever recognizable 305's from the battleships streaked past, followed by report of the foe opening fire. The Armored Cruisers of the Second Line of Battle were still burning nearly right at the enemy- now on more of an intercept course given the recent change in Atlantean trajectory. They were also the furthest ahead in the Herskal group, which was default trying to close the distance as much as possible.
"Enemy skiff-craft approaching."
Otovrak groaned at the reports, before having to catch his breath. The windows tinted as one of the nuclear shells was abruptly stopped by the Atlantean interceptors. The armor piercing shell's steel cap was stripped away and the CerMet-Depleted Uranium shell was shattered, the proximity fuse destroyed and the inertial fuse triggered.
"Order brace, set course to direct intercept. Full ahead."
Otovrak grimaced as the klaxon sounded and the cry of "Brace, brace, brace!" was echoed by the deck officers. The hull seemed to hum as the Herskal point defense opened fire, spewing forth a hail of high velocity anti-material darts to meet the oncoming projectiles, the rosy-copper hue of the lead alloy jackets glinting in sunlight as projectile slammed into projectile. It would not be enough.
There was a sickening crunch of metal on metal, a tremendous crash. Flashes appeared on the hull as Atlantean energy weapons ablated the heavy CerMet hulls, leaving craters and gorging out deep gashes into the thick steel plates. Kinetics shunted massive plugs out of the armor, ceramic dust and steel shavings ejecting out into the void like smoke. The front bulkhead of the vanguard ship, just ahead of Otovrak's flagship, spontaneously burst into a flash fire that ended as soon as it started. The bulkheads, however, did their job. The assault ended. Reprieve. A sigh of relief. A mad, chaotic scramble out the blast doors by engineers with patches, welders and plugs.
Otovrak gave herself a quick pat-down. Her limbs were, decidedly, still in place. She let out a sigh of relief.
"Barrage, fire at will. All remaining batteries, fire at will."
The cruiser's lighter cannons would fire in ripples down the the hulls, thrusters countering the recoil as shell after shell of armor-piercing, dual fused nuclear rounds were sent in the general direction of the foe. Most would probably miss. Hell, they all may. But perhaps, if she was feeling lucky, she'd hope to catch something with a proxy fuse.
Flotilla Admiral Lokrantz would also let out a sigh of temporary relief. She knew that her time was yet to come, but for now, she was mostly safe, in the shadow of the cruisers. The watch ticked down the time to intercept burn. Bloodlust flickered on her face for a moment. Soon, she thought, soon it'd be her time to shine.
Garabdis observed the opening salvos of his allies before issuing an order.
"All applicable ships, prime missile strikes. Feeding in observational data, begin plotting optimal routes. Captain-level discretion authorized. Go."
This was a boon. Normally, the ARM would test the enemy themselves at this range. Through a complex play and counterplay of decoy missiles, probes, and a few real attacks mixed in, optimal evasive routes and targets could be determined, under proper conditions. From there, missile swarms could be used surgically, ensuring at least a few would get through. However, with the other CONA fleets so graciously handling the preliminary exchanges, they would have more than enough data to begin an extreme long range engagement in earnest!
"Hmph. It is time these aliens understood the strength we offer." The transhuman murmured. Across the fleet, synthetic brains, like neurons in a vast organism, relayed orders and plotted courses as the missiles were prepped. Released as a swarm, their destinations were carefully chosen. Where the enemy's defenses were weakest, in terms of direction, point defense saturation, or even armor density, as determined by the attacks launched beforehand, that was the destination of these salvos!
But would this information be enough? Garabdis could not help but wonder. There would no doubt be miscalculations, suboptimal performance, going off of data from foreign weapons. This was the best he could do without explicit orders, however, according to the SAU's Tactical Long-Range Engagement Doctrine. Anything riskier could not be performed without direct authorization! Simply declaring weapons free like this, what was the meaning of it? Was CONA truly so confident? The Administration would analyze this battle closely.
Incoming barrage, Looks like time on target.
Gelaria saw a cloud emerge from the holographic display projecting the images of the hundreds of ships in play. The volume of fire coming towards the fleet was impressive, to say the least, a volley of potentially devastating energy and kinetic fire, approaching her fleet.
"Adjust positions, avoid as much fire as possible and focus point defense on missiles and kinetics. Strike craft, form a screen and assist in point defense as well."
The titanic Liintrix warships spread out in what could almost be described as a trio of wheels, with smaller craft forming intersecting fields of fire around the larger ships. An unlucky few Corvettes took direct hits from coilgun shells, as their lights lights flickered and died, and they fell behind the rest of the fleet, support craft sent out to recover and repair the ships as soon as possible.
Collapse lances are still charging. Mikala class ships, maintain your positions. All other formations, continue closing the distance. Keep your fire up, stay within support range with other ships, and do not overextend.
Plasma, missiles, and powerful lasers all opened fire from the other Liintrix ships, returning fire with their own Time on Target attacks. They would not let this first barrage go unanswered.
"Approximate hit percentage?" Herza asked, he and his staff combing over the projected battlefield, a laser grid projection in the center of the battle bridge.
"About 2%, Sir. Nothing threatening." A signal officer chimed, looking back and forth between 2 monitors flooding with information that couldn't be processed by the onboard "cruncher" systems.
"Approximate likelihood we need to close range?" Herza asked again, this time to his staff.
"Well, we can assume that any attempted fire from this range will be evaded -- we must get into a close enough range that any shots fired cannot be dodged." A commander serving as the second-in-command replied, possessing a similar mind to Herza.
"Our objective here is to provide support for other CONA members -- we can't risk the damages that'd imply." Herza replied, staring at his position. His carriers, they had many Principalities with experimental attack configurations aboard...perhaps they could be used.
A transmission through UV blinkers was shot out to the cruiser division containing orders, purposefully forgoing the simplicity of visual light blinkers to avoid easy detection.
"All cruisers approach to .5 AU. You will have Principalities riding along your hulls -- once the rendezvous point is reached, they will propel themselves off of your hulls and begin attack runs on isolated Atlantean ships."
Following this order, fourty strike groups of 10 standing weapons each, all outfitted with experimental anti-ship fusion missiles, began to launch from the dorsal and ventral hangars of the enormous Durendal-Class carriers -- some with more and some with less, designating a 50/50 split among escorting Principalities and those whose purpose is to run attack runs.
"LAUNCHING!" Yelled one Ace Pilot Yazera, outfitted with an escort variant of the Principality. He and his squadron would launch together and mount onto one of the ten Daybringer-Class Cruisers, their engines burning with a blinding light.
INCOMING, INCOMING. screamed TOT-fed impact alarms, as combat lighting intermixed with alert lights filled the bridge. The initial CONA barrage largely missed or no-selled; a single cruiser was the first casualty. Go'set lightly chuckled - there was something humorous about the notion. The rumble of thrusters added a subtle percussion to every movement, his bridge crew going about their duties with a practiced haste.
"Time to target?" He asked to an officer who was managing a console nearby, his own attention divided between conversation and a command interface.
"A minute and 15. No time to dodge..." He flitted through screens for a moment. "Our craft can screen kinetics, but the majority of their firepower is energy."
"Then we engage shields." He stated, beginning to press buttons on his own interface in turn. "Focus particulate, disseminate the tachyon shots. X-rays we'll just have to tank."
"Sir." His subordinate responded succinctly, rapidly clicking through his console and began transmitting a shipwide order to engage their triple-S'es.
The rumbling whine began to emanate throughout the ship, the telltale whine of their selective shield technology wailing like a turbine as the munitions drew closer and closer. The general narrowed his eyes as the rest of the CONA fleet began their own movements, raising the conn to his mouth in anticipation. All the while the radar gave missile and coilgun rounds a long cast shadow, impact barely seconds away...
---
The Zetyan fleet suddenly seemed to encase itself in balls of orange, smoke and particulate dispersing and coalescing in front of the ship like an oblong eggshell. Gravitic manipulation tinted orange gave the two materials a crimson sheen, orders flying out from the fleet to the mothball of spacecraft disgorging from their guts. Standoff interceptors and PD roared out from ship and craft alike, tachyons and shells penetrating through layers of particulate while FEL bursts bored through smoke and missiles entered combat with fighters.
Initial damages were low, relatively. Scars began to pock the reinforced fronts of the zetyan ships, tachyon lances and shells and missiles that got past the screen boring into the reinforced front or causing minor damage. Free-electron lasers burst through smoke and began to bore into their armor, polyrite melting as the lasers carved holes into their armor. A few lost turrets, a few more had internal damage in pockets. Most suffered armor integrity damage.
Their response wasn't dissimilar from their enemy's - as the zetyans rocketed forwards, they began releasing volley after volley of shell and missile and spinal, standoff missiles and guided railgun shells roughly calibrated to Atlantean defense ranges and lased to target by the command sloop lurking in the distance. All the while their strikecraft raced ahead as fast as bullets, split into a quad pincer formation to attack the enemy from all angles but the front.
Kreibaum could imagine the tickering k-chunk's of the readout screen as the information feed filled in. Just what his own prowler was bringing in replaced the screen contents in seconds. Each ship was mostly focusing on one thing or another, from - relatively - low risk materials analysis and tactics, to codebreaking. Optics showed that the three ahead ships had successfully avoided the crossfire between the fleets, and were about halfway to the sieged world below. A low-profile signal later, and it was clear that they were getting much more sterile communications from the homogenous fleet and command structure the Atlanteans were fielding than the CONA task force away from the gravity wells. A decode would probably be acheived soon.
But he noticed something else, too. The Zetyans, as efficiently aggressive as they were, kept doing something curious. Most every signal they sent out came back with a similarly-keyed response, be it from their own or another subfleet, but every once in a while an outward token was sent with no response. He eyed the miscellaneous signature list of the system with suspicion; a few fingertaps later and the opticals of his ship were busy screening each one.
Lhancombe's brow furrowed as the first reports came in.
"Fire ineffective, sir! We're too far away!"
"Return fire imminent! Tachyon emissions detected!"
"Brace for salvo! Raise charged armour to full!" the captain called, sensors flashing with the momentary spike of tachyonic lances screaming silently by.
For the moment, the Warwulf remained quiet, comparatively. Nothing had hit it.
"Cruiser Saegeat disabled sir, tachyon lance crippled her primary reactor! Destroyer Alwin is damaged! Damage control assessing now, but she can still move!"
"Secondary batteries?" Lhancombe asked.
"Fire control reads green, admiral!"
"Good. Have our rearward elements rescue survivors from the Saegeat."
Still. At this range, the Directorate's guns could fire away all they liked and would do little more than scratch damage.
"All ships advance, engines to combat output."
"Admiral? An Atlantean battlegroup is turning to engage."
"Our ships are built for head to head brawls. We'll move up the front, see if we can't give them a headache. We need to maintain pressure on their main force, keep them on their toes so they can't dig in."
"Aye aye, admiral. All ships, moving to engage."
The engines of the Directorate fleet roared to full, plumes of light as they steadily accelerated. The guns thundered again and again, salvos of particle fire to keep defenses on edge more than anything, at least until they got closer. They advanced on the Atlantean battlegroup that had turned to fight, seemingly intent on drawing its attention. Doing otherwise, hopefully, would get a nasty particle lance surprise through their centre masses for the mistake.
As for their CONA allies, a simple signal laserlined out.
<<ENGAGING FRONT. SUGGEST ENCIRCLE.>>
AINAR SYSTEM: League of Illektiera
"Enemy vessels are closing to engage effectively, reporting heavy missile barrages and return fire. First barrage like our foes largely ineffective, but we have their relative intercept envelopes and patterns now"
"Excellent. Tell Group Beta to accelerate away, maximum thrust. I want our strike craft dispersed away from our ships" The command made several of the bridge crew turn to make sure they heard the command "Do as I say" Tellid had to re-iterate before the commands were given.
Across the Atlantean fleet staying and fighting the fighters and bombers that had been covering the fleet up front allowing for intercepts withdrew. Forming up into squadrons they kept distance, not getting in the way of the fire but also leaving the Atlantean vessels bare. Similarly the second formation accelerated away at high speed, leaving Tellid and her remaining forces to weather the charge of the CONA fleets head on.
"Enemy fire impacting" The call was made even as the ship shook from impacts. Kinetic shells vapourised themselves on particular shielding, while lasers dissipated on bright plasma projections, it was not enough of course. This time Tellid saw losses. Three destroyers, two additional cruisers and a battleship had been taken out, overwhelmed by missile strikes and combined fire as the CONA forces seemed to focus down individual targets.
"Launch decoys, Tell Formation Beta they can begin flank striking the advancing enemy"
Small fighter sized arrays launched from the Atlantean ships, each one broadcasting heavy jamming as well as signature masking, flashing strobing IR lasers towards the enemy to blind optics and cause confusion. It would give them added defence. Meanwhile Beta cut thrust, swinging around to now fire once more onto the forces of the Directorate & Selenicans who now raced into the fray where they excelled.
"Tell bomber groups to steer clear of CONA advancing forces, instead conduct strike craft attacks on rear-guard long range elements. How long until they are ready?"
"The strike craft ma'am?"
"No. Our aces"
"A few minutes, they are lighting drives now"
On the surface of Krull 25 new signatures appeared, IFFs showed Atlantean, they seemed to have hidden forces. But 25 ships made little difference to Tellids formation, they were still a far way away but something was up.
Garabdis was impassive as the jammers began to activate.
"First barrage ineffective. EWAR attack detected." An officer messaged.
"Within expected parameters. Hruanak Cassegryn-3-2-1, Hruanak Cassegryn-3-2-2, initiate counterjamming procedures."
The two electronic warfare specialist ships could not counteract simply shining a laser onto optics but any sort of signal-based jamming may be mitigated, followed by an offensive jamming attack of their own.
"Hm. I doubt we could target the enemy craft in a specific fashion at this moment." Garabdis mused. "All forces, initiate defensive pattern Null Path. Visiuana Cassegryn-3-2-1, Visiuana Cassegryn-3-2-2, Visiuana Cassegryn-3-2-1, Hran Cassegryn-3-2-1, Hran Cassegryn-3-2-2, Hran Cassegryn-3-2-3, run interference. "
The vessels immediately began deploying a particulate shield, spreading it out through magnetic manipulaton to cover most of their hull rather than concentrating it in a particular direction. But before that, they fired their weapons.
And then a message to the self-appointed heads of the CONA task force.
"This is Subfleet Cassegryn-3-2 anticipating engagement from enemy strike craft. Currently holding position, defensive measures deployed. Any further commands will be obeyed to the best of our ability. Veseti out."
Followed by a message to the fleets which had not closed the distance.
"Engaging defensive protocols against oncoming strike craft. Keep your interceptors away from the afflicted area. Veseti out."
ARM main guns are not conventional projectile weapons. Rather, they are two-stage systems. A simple, slow-firing rail-catapult launches an RCS-guided projectile. This projectile cannot meaningfully alter its path like a missile, but it has the bare minimum to turn and fix its front in a specific direction. The key to this system was its payload, a nuclear ignition system. Once orientation data was set internally, a countdown to detonation was inevitable, triggering a nuclear EFP or howitzer! In this way, every weapon system on an ARM ship could be brought to bear simultaneously on a singular target, without the conventional restrictions of a gun turret system. However, less force than that was needed here. The smaller gun batteries let loose volleys of gently drifting spheroids that would, some time later when the fighters would be calculated to have entered Close or near Close range, explode into directed shotgun blasts of metal traveling at relativistic speeds and plumes of nuclear plasma, seemingly erupting from the void around them in all directions (save towards the Cassegryn ships, or any other direction which might harm allies) rather than the barrels of ARM turret batteries. Any oncoming vessels that survived that would have to contend with the sandcasters and particulate shields of ARM point-defense, along with the three corvettes and two gunboats that had been set on the hunt, the maneuverable Visiuanas especially.
Null Path was a maneuver intended to prevent an enemy from closing the gap, particularly smaller vessels, by creating a field of deadly shrapnel, heat, and dust which a more armored vessel might be able to power through or penetrate the defenses of due to the lack of concentration in any one point. Of course, the ARM, for all its military buildup, had little experience with large-scale combat besides their home universe, and that was decades ago. Would their tactics still prove sufficient?
Skrieche sighed. Not many, if any at all, of the Herskal shells found their mark. There was the occasional flash of nuclear hellfire, but sensors indicated the shells detonated early and merely singed the outer hulls of the enemy vessels. However, they were closing range, and- relatively speaking- swiftly so, with engines at full burn. Soon, they would be in proper fighting distance.
This did, however, make the entirety of the Herskal battlegroup some of, if not, the most forwardmost elements of the CONA fleet, and thus subjected to the flanking Formation Beta's fire.
The old Lord Admiral's eyes surveyed the battle as more reports of weapons fire rung out across the ship, followed by the chanting of "Brace, brace, brace!" It was like glorious clockwork to him, as impacts sparked against the thick armor. A secondary turret spewed fire as its ready ammo cooked off, launching off into space. His mind already began to drift to the various casualty reports he'd have to file, assuming he made it out alive.
His thoughts were interrupted by the Adjutant's voice, a faint waiver accenting the general professional tone.
"Sir, armored cruiser Eskronat has been crippled. The Second Line of Battle is engaging their match. Orders?"
Skrieche stared out into the void, watching a small speck of glowing orange fall back behind the line of dots that was the Second Line of Battle.
"The Second Line of Battle is to proceed with their current course of action as the Vice Admiral deems fit. As for the First Line of Battle... order a sequential turn on intercept course. We shall cross their T. Order the picket squadron to commence torpedo runs and entangle the enemy."
"As you command, my liege."
Otovrak shuddered as she watched the Eskonat be consumed in a ball of flame, its fore turrets bursting out of their mounts and into the void. His own ship only fared slightly better, with serious damage amidships, but now her line of battle was broadside with the enemy and the full might of the great guns could bare down upon them. She had some solace in knowing the great battleships would eventually come about to aid her, but for the moment they were commencing a maneuver.
“Admiral, enemy skiff-craft approaching! Radar station is jammed, and there is optical interference!”
She sighed, looking down from the command deck of the bridge to the gunnery pit.
“Understood. Status on target acquisition?”
The gunnery officer was staring intently at a bank of oscilloscope screens, a soft hum of machinery activating as the officer began to break down the seemingly irregular pattern into a sum of sine waves.
“Isolating interference as we speak, ma’am. Optical solution… acquired.”
A flick of a switch here, and a turn of a dial there, and jittery, violent waves on the oscilloscope screen flattened, leaving the distinct patterns of the hostile ship signatures, and of their own shell’s tracers.
“Very good, fire in half-salvos, by battery. Adjust course to 80 degrees off-bow, I want to slowly close the distance. Do mind to avoid firing upon our torpedo boats.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Gunfire rippled across the ships, starting with a single thunderous blast from the left barrel of each turret. The great guns lowered, and the other half fired, and soon the cycle would repeat. The smaller guns, cannons of 150 and 80 millimeters, would be first to reload, sending yet more plumes of orangish smoke into space before the first clouds had even fully dissipated.
The First Line of Battle, now moving at an even wider angle to the Second Line than before, would add its raking fire, though with its somewhat greater distance they’d restrain themselves to calculated, spaced out salvos only, in comparison to the drumfire of the Second Line as volley melded into volley until it would seem as if the stream of tracers poured forth like rain. Even the hulk of a ship that had been mortally wounded and now drifted through space, barely functional, added its retort in an act of spite by its crew, who wildly fired what guns and torpedoes they had in the general direction of the foe despite the rather unfortunate state of their targeting systems.
Flotilla Admiral Lokrantz mentally steeled herself, taking in deep, practiced breaths, focusing her mind and feeling the adrenaline surge as her time finally came.
“Helmsman, intercept course, ahead full! Signalman, order echelon turn together!”
Cries of “Aye, Admiral!” reported back from the relatively cramped bridge of her command. She watched as the ship turned, shuddered, and bolted forwards, following the wake of shell tracers and flying alongside the needle-like RTN-5B torpedoes just fired by the 2nd Line of Battle as the range-extending drop tanks dropped away in balls of fire from the high velocity armored nukes.
“ELINT, target, front! IR and Radar signature!”
“Engage with main gun!”
The front turret swiveled around, the thump-thump-thump of the 80 millimeter echoing through the small ship.
“Missile, incoming!”
The 13mm CIWS opened up again, a stream of dart-like projectiles slamming into the incoming projectile like water from a hose. Nearby torpedo boats added their fire, and soon the target erupted and debris plinked off the hull of the torpedo boat.
“Seventy-Five percent fuel remaining! Engine is overheating!”
“Press onwards! Use WEP coolant!”
The war-emergency-power coolant as dumped through the vanes of the reactor and came blasting out of the funnels ands out of pressure relief valves, a sight mirrored across the entire formation, the smokestack-like-radiators glowing towards their ends as coolant jetted out into space.
“Torpedoman, begin acquiring targets! Estimated time to launch?”
“Aye, Admiral! Target sighted, preparing solution! Roughly two minutes ‘till range!”
Lokrantz looked forwards to the void, the dots in the distance growing closer, the tide of shellfire flowing past, and smiled at the beauty of the carnage that was to come. The smile twitched into a grimace as a torpedo-boat exploded itself into nothing but scrap metal, as a stray shot from the Atlantean volley eviscerated the small craft.
“Begin evasive maneuvers, signal to break echelon and enter general skirmish order.”
She sighed as the G-forces from the hard maneuvers rocked her back and forth. She couldn’t let the bloodlust get to her head- not yet, not now- for she still had a duty to her comrades, a duty to keep them alive, and she mustn't let her duty to bring honor and victory overshadow that, not if she wanted to call herself a proper Admiral.
As he watched the feedback come up on the bridge screen, the Zetyan admiral narrowed his beady eyes. The strike craft dispersing, the sudden deployment of decoys, and now 25 signatures showing up far behind them at Krull. Evidently the Atlanteans were planning something, and most likely these were integral to their tactics, but at this stage it was difficult to tell without theorycrafting. In any case, they had shifted focus for now; the Directorate and Republic ships were the first targets. Gave them room to breathe.
Evidently focused fire was a weakness, but unless they targeted specific assets it wouldn't amount to much. They'd need to identify the command ship somehow, or simply suffice for taking down the largest ships until something clicked. Idly chewing on his inner cheek, the commander began flitting through a command interface while his command staff consternated amongst themselves. The EWAR would make it much harder to hit targets, or even verify their targets were hit.
"CTO, how much have our carriers deployed?" He asked to a nearby officer, who maintained watch over the fleet at large.
"50% total, sir. 25% on defense, 25% on reserve."
"I want the reserves deployed. Put them on anticipatory offense." He paused, eying Krull again. "If those end up like how I think they'll end up, we'll need them."
"Sir." As he raised a hand to his own conn and began relaying the orders, the admiral issued more direct orders through the interface. Not to the carriers, but the strike groups they had deployed.
While flitting through his interface, gazing at the battlespace readout, he noticed a sudden clearup in the visual fuzz. Not by too much, but enough for an opening - he didn't have time to question it. A few button presses, and his fleet had their targets. A hand to his ear activated his comm bead, and hand-tuning of the mode tuned it to encrypted broadcast through the ship's systems. Aug-eyes gave him superfluous information on the channel; he just wanted to know he was broadcasting.
ALCON, Battlegroup 305. Recommending anti-strikecraft operations, movements suggest they serve as tactical hardpoints for enemy forces. Targeting opening in EWAR blanket. You two should be receiving covering fire soon.
---
Unbeknownst to the wider fleet, the stealth sloop had been dancing across the asteroid belt it had taken refuge in, making a wide angle on the Atlantean fleet. Hiding it's signature amongst the rocks and debris, it could still be seen poking out now and again to deliver targeting data in patches, like a dolphin breaching water. Only when the 'hole' in the EWAR came up for the Zettish commander had the sloop stopped, having achieved a wide enough angle on the Atlantean fleet to sufficiently target them.
The sloop didn't have the EWAR facilities necessary to breach the hole needed for the entire combined fleet, but it didn't need to. The 'clearup' the admiral had perceived was just brute-forced targeting data supplanting the initial appraisal, ELINT and laser-ranging providing an incomplete picture for the munitions to use. By no means perfect, far from it, but without the strobe lasers so easily burning out their optics it was much easier to correlate than if they were back in focus.
However, unbeknownst to them as well, it was just what the Carnaithians needed. A strange source of signals, first vaguely within a nearby belt, then much closely locked in. Were they to see it peeking out from the belt, or follow the breadcrumb trail of silently fed data from their erstwhile allies, Kreibaum and his crew would be more than able to pinpoint it.
Meanwhile the fleet, divorced from the private affairs of stealth and subterfuge, simply pressed onwards. Their carriers disgorged a cloud of craft again, this time encircling their hulls like flies, while the fleet opened up another volley on Formation Beta, spinal rounds joining the volleys of missiles and shells as the fleet gave it's first applause. The strikecraft began to split from their pincer, a chunk diverting to attack the Atlantean bombers while the rest continued as they were, screaming to get in range of the Atlantean ships and unload their countless munitions upon them.
The Warwulf shook as something hit it, readouts on the screens of his bridge crew turning red in his peripheral, his own vision focused on the holographic battle map.
"Two cruisers down, sir! The Alwin is buckling, and we've lost destroyer Shernoth! Battleship Cynhart has been damaged, pulling back for repairs! Cruiser Leoric too!"
"One of our particle cannons is offline!"
"Fighters deploying from the enemy fleet, admiral! They're deploying jamming measures!"
Lhancombe's brow furrowed.
"Scramble our own fighters, have them cover our flanks. And have the impact bombers deployed on standby too. Slow us down but maintain fire patterns, make it look like they have us on the back foot. Maybe we can lure them forward."
"Aye aye, admiral. Slowing pace."
Sure enough, the Directorate fleet's advance slowed. Their fire did not subside, though under the weight of Atlantean jamming it was not as precise as the blue vessels would have aimed for, attempting to compensate with missiles. Perhaps they were losing heart.
On the notion of the fighters, however, flanking the Directorate would not be so simple, their own fighter wings begun being hurled by catapults from the rears of their vessels, lashing out with the intent of staving off Atlantean jamming. For the moment they were still organising, but hiding close to the point defense grids of their fleet.
A pattern. Not just that, but emissives. Not the solar flares that were the infrared strobelights being showered from the deluge of small craft, but something more subtle. Emissives and data in a bunch of rocks - subterfuge played professionally.
The prowler formation, silently transiting the open space adjacent to the battle, dedicated some computational power to passive analysis of the belt - a threat, definitely, but it was important to know if it were the enemy. While the quiet search was enacted, the prior operations weren't stopped; positions still needed to be reached, if slowly. Kreibaum had noticed the FTL signatures behind them, but unlike the CONA fleet he didn't have the freedom of action to provide counterforce. His ships would maintain action.
Herza was deeply troubled by the rapid shift in direction of the Atlantean battle group's heading. Not many ships known to the Selenicans could perform such maneuvers without turning their crews to paste...No matter. His battle group could afford to set range, and hold the Atlanteans by the throat.
That is, what he'd like to believe.
An oncoming wave of Atlantean fire, tachyons shimmering in the darkness and the invisible reaper of an X-ray laser salvo smashed into the approaching Daybringer-Class ships. Brilliant orange and purple smoke burned angrily from the points of impact, the first layers of plasma shields burning away. A light far too bright to view with naked eyes shone from the hull of the lead Daybringer, its Principalities detached from their hull mounting points in a panic as a direct hit by a tachyonic lance burned through layers upon layers of armor. A brief respite from the blinding flash immediately signaled something wrong, a hit on its primary reactor detonating the ship, another flash of blinding orange and yellow light escaping the confines of the ship. Scratch one of the most advanced ships the Selenicans had...
The Admiral's hubris had been punished, brutally.
"Damage report, stat!" He demanded, a sinking feeling in his long stomach as he knew well that what he’d hear would be troubling.
“One ship down! Reactor detonation, complete write off!”
“Plasma shields burnt away, another laser salvo will cook us! I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to cool down.”
“Point defense battery Zeta and Omicron down!”
“Thank you.” Herza sighed, his enemy now staring his ships down headlong. Formation Beta was focusing down his and the Herskal’s vessels…how to take advantage of that…
The cruisers were stretched too far forward. A salvo of forward-facing fire, ditching the Principalities and allowing them to wreak havoc on the forward elements of the Atlantean fleet would be ideal…however, leaving such valuable ships undefended so far forward was risky.
“All cruisers, send Principalities forward on strike patterns. Defense of the strike weapons is of utmost priority. Don’t push your luck by going into point defense range.” The Admiral would order, a creeping feeling of doubt seeping into his voice.
“Once they’ve been deployed, bank hard to port and return to the rendezvous point with the destroyers. This will be at about .65 AU from my flagship. All coordinates have been sent.”
“Aye, Admiral.” was the resounding reply.
With a short drop in thrust, the cruisers began a burn to port, their engines burning a blinding blue and white as the comparatively tiny Principalities deployed off of its surface, using RCS to form up. The slower strike configuration Principalities formed the central core of the large spearhead formation, with half the escorts surrounding them. The remaining half were a detached element, responding to threats preemptively. They would remain at this approximate .5 AU range for the time being until strike paths could be determined, where their view of the battlefield was an eerily beautiful one.
The weaker sensors of the standing weapons only gave a dim view of what was around, brief flashes of white and an indescribable color of UV light in the cockpits. It was still silence, waiting for orders, engines powered down as a battle surrounded them.
"Ma'am, enemy assets have popped in on our flank. Dominion and Herskal forces are under fire."
"What's the status on the Collapse Lances?"
"Charged, Admiral."
Gelaria tapped her chin with a knuckle and closed her eyes, thinking to herself. This move may be risky, but if they could take pressure off of their allies... This maneuver just might be worth it. "Adjust Lance bearing to the flanking fleet. Target heavy assets on the flanking ships. Fire on my mark." She orders with a motion of her hand, standing up from her seat and watching the holographic display intently.
Fire from the main hostile fleet was still intense, and the point defense, shielding, and armor could only absorb so much of it. The larger ships were starting to take more substantial damage, even one of the Spectrum-classes main guns being shut down. The Mikala classes acted as one unit, adjusting their hulls to aim towards the flanking Atlantean vessels, one of them taking a couple hits along it's flank, but persevering to deliver it's own blow.
"Admiral?"
"Give them just a few more minutes..."
The Mikala classes selected their targets. The larger vessels in the flanking fleets were the focus of their wrath.
"Fire."
The Collapse Lance was a rather... unique weapon amongst the Alliance, being quite a bit higher on their relative tech level than most of their equipment. That was the case because it was not their technology. The Collapse lance was developed by the Seraft long ago, most notably as a mech-scale revolver on their BISHOP units, but it's ease of adjustment made it a very versatile weapon's platform, being able to be shrunk down to the scale of an infantryman's rifle, to a spinally mounted weapon on a battleship.
It's effects at any scale, however, were always beautiful... and devastating.
A blindingly bright blue orb of light became visible at the front of each Mikala-class destroyer, which expanded and expanded until it was practically the size of the ship itself.
And then, true to it's name, the orb collapsed.
The effect is similar to that of air fleeing a balloon that had a needle pierce it's skin. All of the energy within the orb of light fled the collapsing orb in a twisting, unstable, almost feral display of the horrors of space combat, as residual energy danced along the location of the collapse itself, like miniature nebulas that glowed all kinds of blues, purples, greens, oranges, reds...
The beams of light from the Collapse Lances pierced the darkness of space, cutting through the void towards their targets, as Gelaria watched, smiling for the first time this whole goddamn day.
AINAR SYSTEM: League of Illektirera
“We are under EW attack Ma’am”
“Understood, keep laserline with Beta. Our strike craft know what to do”
Tellid could already see the forces approaching closer to her own, the Herskals seemed to be gunning for short range likely to fire some heavier munitions at much easier distances. The Clanholds meanwhile were holding back somewhat, still launching additional strike craft likely in anticipation to the Atlanteans own squadrons. Decent enough damage had been done to the Directorate, Selenicans and the Herskals though, that in itself made he smile slightly. But that smile was quickly dashed as numerous red icons flashed from Beta.
Bright beams of light pierced three vessels, the first was a cruiser, its entire length was cored by the Collapse Lances of the Quosx as it punched through the shields and then the entire ship leaving a deformed and holed wreck. Another ship hit, an escort was literally atomised, totally reduced to nothing but high velocity dust while a third impact amidship on one of the Atlantean Battleships the Gladiator. The beam pulverised the shields, melting armour and searing itself into the internals to wipe out numerous weapon systems and critical power relays. Damage control teams were already scrambling but the molten hole had taken the battleship out of action as it drifted on its heading dead in the water. The sudden strike, along with the continued fire inflicted several more degrees of damage on Tellids own formation, while Beta had been hit with the lances she herself now round heavy incoming kinetics. A destroyer was pounded into fragments after its shields failed and took several direct impacts across its hull deforming and shattered it entirely. Another escort was destroyed as a lucky hit took out its engines. Losses were to be expected but the lances were another matter.
At least their new assets around Krull would prove their worth.
Formation Beta now swung back around to accelerate, keeping their flanking trajectory and leaving the badly damaged battleship behind as crews desperately worked to save it. No longer able to use their spinals the ships this time targetted the Quosx and also the Zetyans, both forces towards the back of the CONA formation with their main X-Ray lasers and a large barrage of kinetic impactor missiles aiming to strike those vessels armed with the dangerous lances and those carriers still launching fighters.
For Tellid she had closer threats to deal with.
Rounds bypassed lasers as the Atlantean core formation battled with the Herskals, Directorate, ARM & Selenicans. A barrage of missiles was launched by the Atlantean fleet, this time configured for sandcaster operations, detonating in such a way as to give the fleet a temporary, albeit potent, particulate shield to protect from incoming fire.
“Ships hard starboard, up 38 relative and light main drives. Keep distance from incoming enemy vessels and put us on a relative intercept course with our assets around Krull. Keep firing and keep that particulate wall between us as much as possible. Signal to the attack craft, they are to carry out long range missile strikes on the closest enemies”
The formation swung about, more rounds impacting shields or exploding into hulls before accelerating away. They stayed roughly at the same distance relative to the Herskals to try keep them at range a bit longer, but it was the attack craft that now acted.
The squadrons of bombers, their signal given after a few moments of delay via laserline, now began moving. The fighters escorting them in a wide arc both in front and behind. They moved on the Herskals and any other ships at the front of the CONA formation. They did not aim to get close, rather launching their missiles at range while the fighters screened for them.
They had no intention of tangling with ship point defence at all.
For the signatures that now appeared from Krull, things didn’t add up. The IFFs showed Atlantean, but the ships did not look Atlantean in the slightest. Fairly skeletal and smaller in size the vessels seemed to have protrusions and ‘wings’ that gave off powerful sensor distorting emissions. Within a few minutes of their accelerating towards Tellids formation the 25 ships seemed to go dark, some kind of stealth system.
Observing, the Prowler formation would easily distinguish that the designs, the signatures, the activation… Morkar Blades. These were new Leistunganos Designs, but why were they under Atlantean control?
Kraibaum shouted as the readings came through, AI-screened images matching up to archival materials perfectly. He pointed, physically, at his WSO as the shock took him out of his cyberscape focus. "Drop five cold! mix cluster and choke! Comms, repeat to rest of ours - EWAR, run verification and redo precom protocols!" The orders were met with a rapid sequence of greenlights in his display. He narrowed his eyes as he focused in; the drop of the cold-launch cartridges subtly accelerating his prowler, reeling him back into the element.
"Get forward group to cross the commline between Krull contacts and primary hostile fleet, get transmission scraps as able."
He knew the move was risky... it could lead to their discovery, but the briefing was clear. High threat environment.
Garabdis watched the missiles fly. The sheer amount of material put into the space in front of them should provide plenty of disruption, but point defense was put on high alert regardless. A counterbattery of missiles for interception was deployed as an extra precaution. Veseti put out another call.
ARM forces engaging missile strike. Enemy fighters have broken off. Continuing long-range support doctrine until further notice.
Working as a mob without a defined plan, a proper chain of command, it was all so vexing. Further away from the fight than others, they wouldn't be first to notice the discrepancy between design and IFF, and would likely receive the information from other fleet groups should it be broadcasted. Atlantean, Leistunganos, what was the difference? ARM extreme-range doctrine was without flaw! So long as they held their current defensive pattern they should be fine. And unless the self-appointed commanders ordered otherwise, that was precisely what the A-human commander would do, using targeted missile barrages to support the forward push when not focusing on defending themselves.
Reports of strange sensor contacts on their periphery were logged, and duly ignored, by the radio officers. There was some back and forth as to whether or not it was a concern of the 1st Battlegroup, however, as Lord Admiral Skrieche looked over the projected map, he came to the conclusion that it was not the Line of Battle's place to attempt to engage such a threat when they were rapidly becoming entangled with the brunt of the force.
The Second Line of Battle had done its job admirably, charging headlong into the foe as the First Line of Battle had closed more slowly, and had swung wide. With enough fuel, and a long enough burn, they should eventually start to poke through the flank.
His thoughts were interrupted by a report from his Adjutant.
"Near-miss probabilities are above the recommended threshold, my liege. Shall we commence saturated bombardment?"
"Proceed. Signal all ships, break salvo. Commence saturation bombardment. Adjust course and establish lead- We must cross their T. Permission to engage War Emergency Power."
Combat ranges had closed enough. Close enough, at least, for according to the statisticians back at the halls of the Herskal Directorate Astronautica, to begin firing as many shells as possible, whereas the slight inaccuracies incurred by the plumes on optics and the barrels heating from sustained fire were negligible enough that the ships shouldn't run out of ammunition before the firefight was over. Still, decidedly, not close enough for Skrieche, as the radiators began to tint from heat and the engines glowed an increasingly concerning color.
The blips of semaphore from the flagship would hail a new ferocity from the Herskal Directorate ships. The already loud and uncomfortable interiors, with their pipework and steel, would be assaulted by a new source of sound as the massive, armored elevators from the magazines to the handling rooms began to shuttle in more and more shells from one continuous link carrier to another. The influx of shells was to meet the new demand- The heavy 305s fired at a rather lethargic rate, to the point one would have to question whether or not they were being manually loaded prior. Now, their fire rate had practically tripled, if nor more, as the inertial rammers exploited the fact that the Herskals didn't- or perhaps couldn't- use artificial gravity across the entirety of the ship and the heavy shells and propellant charge blocks could be simply flung into the barrel.
The first notable effect of this order was the rippling muzzle flashes across the Herskal Directorate battlegroup, as orange hued plume seemed to meld into orange hued plume, the ships seeming to almost sparkle as the guns fell out of sync and the maneuver thrusters preempted and counteracted the recoil.
The next notable effect of the saturation command would not be seen quite yet- the shells still had to reach the target, and the Atlean retort had beaten the Herskals to the punch. A tachyon weapon gouged its way into Arnokat-class battleship Avoroch’s citadel, striking the aft-dorsal powder hoist still laden with its charges. The initial detonation was terrific in its own right, but it was far from over for this old second rate ship of the line. A secondary fizzle occurred as nearby nuclear munitions were damaged by the blast as it blew through the compromised nearby bulkheads. The ensuing flashes heralded plumes of coolant and fuel as fire poured out of the ship, with inflating life pods already ejecting out into the fray. In mere minutes, its damaged reactor would go supercritical as it all melted away, the ensuing meltdown peeling the ship apart at the seams as welds failed and trusses buckled from the force. The old ship now drifted, lifeless, along with the sailors now dead in the void, and the First Line of Battle had been reduced from sixteen ships to fifteen.
The armored cruisers of the Second Line of Battle were not faring much better. They had now gradually turned alongside Tellid’s formation as they brought their main batteries to bare, adding their own volleys of fire- albeit of smaller caliber- to the hail coming in from the battleships attempting to cut off the Atlantean fleet. The missiles from the attack craft had been directed at the closest targets -barring the torpedo boats; those craft in their awkward size category, not small enough to be a bomber or fighter but not large enough to really be a ship- and the Second Line of Battle most definitely qualified as one of the closest. Autocannons and machineguns blazed at the oncoming projectiles, their paths being followed by puffs of shrapnel shell and the sleet of small bore darts.
The defenses were not impervious, not by a long shot. Otovrak winced as one slammed into her command- the terrible rocking, the flash, the shock- and was relieved to see that the armor held, this time. It had slightly caved in, with cracks along its face, and part of the weld had busted. However, the relatively good fortune she had was not mirrored across the rest of the Second Line of Battle. Indeed, one of the older Halnoch-class armored cruisers was practically eviscerated as its armor caved and a follow up missile eviscerated its internal bulkheads. Not many of its crew would make it to escape pods before secondary explosions reduced the now-adrift hulk to smithereens.
The Herskal’s saturation bombardment, with its opening salvos now some time ago, would begin to produce its most notable effect. The armor piercing nuclear shells of the Herskal Directorate, to this point, had been mainly proximity-contact fused, many sailing harmlessly by or violently detonating as they were de-capped and eroded by the missile sandblaster and shields. Now, however, open space began erupting into bright flashes as the time fuse of the shells was set. The path of Tellid’s fleet would now be illuminated by nuclear hellfire.
This illumination was quite literal for the forces under the command of Flotilla Admiral Lokrantz. They had buttoned up- heavy shutters had now fallen over the already heavily armored glass viewslits, but were flying by instrument now. They weren’t looking for their targets themselves now, but rather the shadows cast by them whenever nuclear shells would overshoot, to ensure their course remained steady.
There were 74- once 75, but one already got stricken- craft, and each one counted.
“Fifty percent fuel remaining!”
“Incoming debris! Taking evasive!”
The sandcasters struck and whittled away at the torpedo boats as they raced ever faster onwards towards the target.
“One minute until optimal launch distance!”
Three immediately burned up, their hulls shredding as they powered through.
Another four would soon after lose control, helplessly careening off target and having to fire off their torpedoes prematurely.
The RTN-5s bolted off towards their target, but their short burn time meant that their fuel was consumed in course-correcting maneuvers before they could reach their targets.
Another ten would be eviscerated by missiles.
Now there were fifty seven.
“Critical damage, we lost radiators!”
“Engine temperature is unsafe!”
“Fifteen seconds!”
The RTN-5Bs following alongside them went into full burn as they began to home in on their target’s heat signatures- aided by the saturation bombardment lightly toasting the Atlantean hulls, if all things went well.
“Engagement range!”
“Launch! Launch! Launch!”
Shutter doors slammed open. Compressed gas shunted out the massive, armored nuclear torpedoes. Before they even fully clear, their rocket motors kick on, and plumes of exhaust blast out of the vents. The T.8 class only carried two, side by side, the larger T.9 classes having another two launchers on the amidships. In total, 162 of the weapons would be discharged, at what would practically be a knife-fight.
“Torpedoes away! Break off, decelerate!”
The torpedoes race towards their target, seeking the heat. They move forwards in great jolts, as they burn through their explosive monopropellant, accelerating rapidly and violently as they home in on their targets.
The torpedo boats, or what's left of them, turn about and aggressively burn away the rest of their fuel, and simply pray that they got far enough off course to be recovered later.
"Atlantean missile salvo incoming, estimated range...0.3 AU."
"Ready point defense batteries Theta and Gamma, batteries Zeta and Omicron are to be abandoned. Jettison the turrets, we can't risk fire spreading." Herza replied, his instinct to react to threats creeping over his already dicey initial plan.
"All Principality squadrons, begin your runs. Transform first into cruising mode. Get the strike units just out of the enemy's point defense range. Once there, go back to standing weapon mode, and defend the strike units until their magazines are empty. Until then, do not draw fire to yourselves; break formation if you have to." He relayed, his own ships recharging their main tachyonic batteries.
--
The here-to dormant Principalities, unsure of what their admiral was thinking in having them idle for so long, finally sprung to life. Red glows of IR and visual sensors came online in their pointed heads, the interior sensor suite quickly scanning the battlefield for their targets. The machines, without their pilots lifting a finger, began their transformations. The head collapsed into the chest, bouquets of SRBs collapsing into a pillar of thrust, the fusion engines embedded into the knees and thighs pointing in-line with their chemical engines. Finally, the torso collapsed further, the armored upper chest coming down to cover the vulnerable abdomen cockpit.
Brilliant flashes of orange-white light began to burn as the SRB engines were activated one by one, as 400 standing weapons, tiny machines with the best pilots the Selenicans had access to, began to accelerate towards the Atlantean fleet, preliminary targeting pointing out exposed and vulnerable enemies.
Missiles began to launch out of the side-mounted racks onboard the various ships of the Selenican fleet, launching...toward their own Principalities.
"Admiral, what are you doing?!" A transmission from a particularly noted pilot stated, worry filling his voice.
"They're your screen. They're packed with chaff and are programmed to lead enemy munitions away from you. They'll also inflate your size on enemy sensor screens."
Well, why didn't you tell us?! The pilot retorted in his mind. "Thank you, sir."
Go'set watched the new contacts from Krull, those skeletal ships with sensor-muffling antennae, disappear into thin air with a growl. Expat designs, that much was certain, and coinciding with the hole in the Atlantean EWAR disappearing and one of the fleets engaging in an intercept course. It was just their luck too, Formation Beta swinging round and opening fire with their main batteries while focusing their carriers. No reds yet, but at least two confirmed hits from laser fire - they could not be losing the carriers this soon.
"ALAPP, have the carriers deploy our reserve in the last known lead direction of those ships, have the main group start attacking capital assets en force, I want all sensors on the highest settings we can get them! And get those carriers a damn covering screen! Pop our shields!"
"Sir!"
They acquiesced to his orders quickly and efficiently, a hundred bodies in the bridge moving with military precision as voices filled the air, sensors going on emergency burn as the holes in Atlantean EWAR began to grow bigger just somewhat. On his own dashboard, the fleet moved as one to centralize the carriers into the formation, like penguins huddling to protect their young. He silently ordered the fleet to fire on target after target, all at once or none at all, but the tension was ramping. If they didn't identify command assets, this was just the equivalent of target practice.
"CTO, I want a full radio scan, find assets serving as C3 hotspots and feed the targeting data straight to us."
He received no verbal confirmation, but his augmetic eyes thrummed slightly as confirmation as the CTO sent that order across the command network. The conn was his to control again, and soon a message went out to their allies involved.
"ALCON, Battlegroup 305. Whoever here has the necessary EWAR capabilities, we need all sensors in the direction of what just came from Krull, now. Recommend isolating and destroying C3 assets within the main fleets immediately."
-
Lasers and missiles burnt through countless walls of particulate and PD fire, the Zetyans changing their formation as they flew to shield the carriers best they could. Their shields focused the particulate like an umbrella, portions of the orange-tinted shield turning molten or dispersing as missiles made impact and lasers burnt holes into the wall they had formed. PD interceptor missiles raced from batteries outwards to meet the kinetic interceptors, rocketing far and fast beyond the standoff range of their ship PD to intercept the missiles before they could detonate.
It wasn't enough to prevent damage, a few lucky shots making impact in various places. The Zetyan carriers followed equivalent design to the other ships, they were built to take a hit, but as emergency lights came on in open-bay hangars and molten holes opened in various places it was clear the Atlanteans had struck a nerve. A few other ships took hits in the crossfire, a few taking hits from standoff penetrators and laser fire as they burst through the weaker patches in the Zetyans shield wall.
In the absence of clearly defined commanding assets, the Zetyans could only assume the enemy used command as they did. 5 artillery cruisers now opened fire with their spinals at the largest ships in Beta, burst-firing 3 groups of five nuclear MIRV shells each aimed at an individual target. More missiles. more kinetic fire, and the carrier groups began finally unleashing their weapons, bombers and strike craft focusing targets of interest and unloading their weapons like chaff.
Meanwhile, the stealth sloop had retasked itself. Both the main fleet and the sloop had the same idea, but only one of them had the facilities to act on it proper. Facilities once dedicated to burning holes in the Atlantean EWAR systems now swung left with violence, ELINT systems coupling with increased sensor usage dedicated to sniffing out the slightest hint of the Leistunganos ships, though they had no idea of their nature.
And while the sloop did it's job, bobbing and weaving between the asteroid belt, the Zetyan fleet had begun scrutinizing the radio waves, looking for locuses of broadband and tightwave feedback. They were no decentralized network, all prior evidence suggested they would prefer otherwise, and if they could isolate the serpent's head maybe then they'd be able to scatter the fleet like flies.
18 hours.
The battle raged for 18 whole hours.
Ships traded blows, rounds and energy weapons impacting at high speeds as the Atlanteans attempted to push off the CONA rescue fleets. Losses were high, on both sides, as tactics were followed through and weapons cycled. Not even the new Leistunganos vessels which the Atlanteans had crewed could turn the tide, although their blade cut deep into the CONA forces before they withdrew.
Withdrawal was the only option for the battered Atlantean fleet, Tellid sneering as the dozen or so damaged ships from her remaining formation limped out of the system and escaped. There would be no pursuit, for while CONA had stonewalled the Atlantean invasion of the Leagues territory, the losses were high, pursuit now would cause more loss of life and they needed to consolidate.
While the system had been bombarded to oblivion and ransacked by Atlantis the battle had been a victory. Reforming their formations, gathering escape pods and enacting battlefield repairs the CONA fleets had earnt the eternal thanks of the League of Illektiera, who offered their minor stocks of Kolleronics they could spare to the new found saviours.
It was just one of a slew of modern CONA victories which would see their cause exponentially expand.
And as for the Warlords Resurgent, Atlantis would be forced back to once more bide their time.
Romalan breathed in and breathed out.
He had to calm himself, too much had gone exactly to plan and he did not want to be overstimulated or expect such victories to continue. He found his mind palace, and for a few minutes regulated his mind and body.
When he opened his eyes, he was relaxed. Staring out across the vast expanse of space.
It had taken them over a decade, constant infighting, political scheming, assassinations, and bribes. Every step was a fight to get to his ultimate goal. The goal that he had always been owed. To rule the people of Atlantis like his father and more importantly his grandfather Chronolus. Romalan now found himself at the head of the new Empire, but it was shaky. Alliances were still fresh and untested. He had chosen as such to strike one of the CONA aligned nations in a lightning attack, like the old strikes on the ICS back in the glory days.
He couldn't strike the ICS now, they were a Union state and inviting such retaliation was simply asking for suicide. Here they had a chance.
His grandfathers alchemical work still ran through his veins, he could make this work.
Already their fleets, finally unified once more were conducting the initial opening strikes, the quicker they succeeded the better.
Romolan did not want their new patrols to be disappointed.
--
Ainar System: League of Illektiera
The detonations of the orbital defence platforms were visible even from the surface of the planet.
The Atlanteans had always been an enemy of the Illeki people, and now they had returned united to strike once more.
Ainar had never been well defended, due to its relatively resource and economically poor background. It was as such the perfect opening target. Falling inside of 18 hours the systems few military installations and defence ships were pounded flat by the Atlantean armada, 540 ships total which outnumbered the Illeki three to one. Even with their full combined fleet fighting the Atlanteans head on was suicide. But Ainar was done for, already intelligence showed that they were likely to aim for the much more heavily built up system of Hypair, an economic powerhouse within the League and a place that the Illeki would be forced to fight over.
Calls for aid to CONA and in general were sent out, the Atlanteans had to be stopped, and the Illeki needed all the help they could get.
Elstan could feel the leather of his gloves groan as his hands dug into the wood of the Minister's desk.
"Minister Lanfranc I'm not asking for the full Fifth Fleet, what I'm asking for is--"
"Out of the question!" the Minister of Space cut in, the man pacing uncomfortably near his office window.
"What does sending out a fleet to some minor nation achieve? More of our own servicemen dead and money sunk into repairs, at best." he added.
"What was the point in joining CONA if we're just going to sit here twiddling our thumbs then?" the Admiral shot back, earning an anxious snarl from Lanfranc.
"If anything threatens us directly, we will act on it, but if the Atlanteans are willing to ignore us and bully some locals, then it's no concern of ours."
"They're asking for our help, Minister! Like in the old days! This is what the Cosmic Navy used to do!"
"I'm not willing to throw our men and our ships away over something like this! How will it look for me if I approve a fleet riding off to it's death?"
The Admiral paused at that, his brow furrowed.
In his eyes, and in those of much of the Admiralty, the Ministry of Space had been the worst thing to happen to the Directorate military. In a period of quiet, the political bigwigs had realised military defeats could make them look bad but they had historically had little control over the Admiralty, and so had decided to do something about it. The direct link between domestic support and military authority, the Ministry could hamstring any naval operation they didn't approve of by simply denying it the resources needed to make it happen. Hell, they could deny them FTL fuels so they couldn't even leave the system. It had happened, when Admiral Cynwen had wanted to attack a SAGA nation.
Granted, there was less provocation for that.
And the decades of military hamstringing had led to now, where every politician was scared the sight of a battleship bearing the scars of battle could put their career and their cushy retirement pension on thin ice.
"Your grandfather was a captain, wasn't he?" the Admiral begun. Lanfranc turned abruptly, scowling at him.
"He was a fool, who got himself killed for nothing."
"He died for what he believed in, fighting for what the Directorate is supposed to stand for! Do you think he'd be proud of you strangling any effort to maintain our legacy?"
"I think he'd be proud of every serviceman I've saved from dying in some backwater!"
"Every backwater we've abandoned! Out of all the nations who used to call us friend, how many still talk to us?"
A long silence fell over the office, Lanfranc's eyes twitching to and fro as he struggled for an answer. The Admiral decided to push on the moment of weakness.
"If you're so afraid of repercussion, then make it a volunteer force. I'll take responsibility. And when I make it work, it'll prove the Directorate is more than a paper tiger."
The Minister of Space stared intently at the Admiral for a long moment, arms crossed.
"...Fine. Volunteers only. And no more than a battlegroup!"
A sense of relief washed over the room, at least on the Admiral's side of the desk. He stood up straight, his features relaxed.
"Thank you, Minister. That's all I can ask for." he nodded, simply. The Minister simply turned, his back to the Admiral.
"Don't make me regret it."
--Ainar System--
The Directorate fleet dropped from warp, engines alighting as the fleet shifted to fix the errors in their formation. The Admiral's personal flagship, the Warwulf, stood at the tip of the spear.
"Warp successful, Admiral. We're here." the helmsman reported.
"Fifty five ships." the Captain grunted, beside the Admiral. "Not as many as I'd like to repel an invasion."
"No, but it's what we could muster. We're lucky the Ministry approved half of this." the Admiral sighed, stepping forward as the Captain begun making calls for weapons to be prepared and for interdiction to be raised ASAP.
The Admiral picked up the comm, holding it to his lips.
"All hands, all ships, this is Admiral Lhancombe. All of you, volunteering for this mission despite the Ministry's scaremongering, have my respect. We're here to help a neighbouring nation, the League of Illektiera, repel a foreign and unprovoked invasion. I expect all of you to do your damnedest to make your forefathers proud. Over and out." he called, lowering the device.
"All ships, advance!" he called, before his voice lowered.
"Lets just hope someone else answered too."
Sub-Director Garabdis Veseti, head of Sub-Fleet Cassegryn-3-2, was always one for punctuality. Arriving from Alcubierre space, the strange, bulging shapes of the A-Human ships were easy to notice. Covered in a matte brown, pockmarked exterior, they almost resembled something carved out of an asteroid, save for the clear layering and seams of their armor, a visible indication of their manufactured nature. Bristling with batteries short-barreled turrets and fields of missile pods, the ARM’s eleven-kilometer battleships squatted in space while lesser classes circled among them like pilot fish to sharks, even the cruisers dwarfed by the quartet of titans that had been called to the scene.
It was in one of those battleships that Garabdis squatted. Charitably his design could be called Buddha-like in Old Earth. Specifically Budai, the squat and obese bodhisattva which some believed to be the incarnation of the future Buddha-to-be. His immense expanse of stark white demibiological flesh was half-married to an exoskeleton of superceramic, the ornamental external ribs and spine and wholly superficial filtration mask obscuring his lower face both in keeping with traditional Adaptive aesthetics, borrowed from the far less ceremonial implantations his biological inferiors required to survive. Such a life form was reporting the situation to him as innumerable holoscreens circled about his head like an immense halo of sickly yellow light, the equally countless wires enmeshed into his artificial tissues conveying signals and information across the Damrburl-class battleship his body had been enmeshed with. He could have heard it from one of them, but when he had the time, a human delivering the message was his preference. It helped keep him connected with his staff.
“Sub-director, our arrival in the engagement zone has proceeded smoothly. One friendly fleet has been identified, with more likely to arrive.” The ensign clicked in Logphrase, the sharp and staticy designer language of the ARM’s governmental sphere. It was a typical petty functionary, long striding legs and jointless arms of synthetic make extruding from a living human head and torso, built gliding through a ship’s bridge or hallway like a ghost and staring from on high at all the conventionally-proportioned morphs under its control.
“Mmmm…” Garabdis stroked his chin, or what passed for it at the bottom of his faux-rebreather. “All optimal, then.” He leaned back. Compared to the Coronan expedition, this was a minor exercise, and one supplemented by many other contributions. He did not envy his superiors, going it alone in that hellish-sounding theater. The Peer felt far more confident knowing that his work would be shared with the various other members of CONA. He knew well the importance of giving a good showing for the ARM’s sake, but had no intention of being so foolish as to brazenly charge inward trying to distinguish himself. Not unless there was a ripe opportunity, anyway. That would be for Hurst and his underlings. No, Sub-Director Veseti was going to play this carefully. A more optimal path than simply showing strength would be showing a willingness to work with the ARM’s newfound allies. Regardless of the outcome of the campaign, raising the esteem of the ARM within CONA was the primary objective of his excursion. Cultivating a reputation for reliability would be ideal. “Wait until the rest of the volunteers have arrived, if any, and then we will broach the topic of a united plan of action. And cross-reference all available data on arriving ships with confirmed reliable Ancnet information on them. We would do well to have a basic understanding of the capabilities of our allies for this operation, if possible.”
“Yes, sub-director.” The ensign inclined his head and strode out of the control room.
The Herskal Directorate High Void Fleet and indeed any given one of the crude ships churned out by their orbital shipyards were not known for their speed, nor their range. However, when Lord Admiral Skriesche intercepted a communique pleading for CONA assistance, the First Battlegroup was already deployed.
Soon receiving confirmation to act upon the distress call from the Lord Grand Admiral of the High Void Fleet, the 1st were swiftly turned around to run and provide aide. Unfortunately, their prior exercise deprived them of their Scouting Squadron and the Sloops-of-war that escorted the torpedo boat tenders, the shorter range of these escorts forcing them to return to Krakeida.
And so, the proud 1st Battlegroup of the honourable High Void Fleet arrived. Emerging from the Meridian, it was evident that their FTL calculations weren't exactly precise given how scattered the fleet emerged. They made quick work of arranging themselves, tongues of fire leaping from their thrusters as they manuevered into their lines of battle.
The Lord Admiral stared into the void. Skriesche didn't see any signs of battle, and the fleets present didn't attempt to open fire. Their scale forced him to gaze in awe, none of the Herskal ships even reaching a kilometer in length. He checked the identification booklet provided by the Ministry of Defense, compiled using foreign computers seized long ago try and interface with the Ancnet, to identify friend from foe. At it would seem, so far, they were surrounded by friends. Regardless of the assurance that gave, he'd do things by the book. The lines of battle must be formed, and the fleet shall press on like the clockwork that ticked behind him. It mattered not that they were undeniably in the shadow of giants. This was their duty, and as Lord Admiral of the 1st, he must deliver retribution for his ancestors on Krakeida, for the Herskal Directorate's glory, to secure their position in the galaxy, no matter the cost.
Another year in the Ancerious galaxy, another native which cried for help from CONA. Selia was getting tired of all these pleas being forwarded to him and his council, with pressure mounting at home with the Second Dawn. However, they couldn't leave a smaller power doomed to their fate as whatever Atlantis wanted would be, eventually, against the Selenican's interests, so it was decided in a relatively mundane and short meeting that a relatively large task force of Selenican vessels would be sent to aid in their defense. Any victories gained for CONA would circle back to the SR eventually, so it would prove...helpful.
However, just because a low priority on the Selenican battle docket, doesn't mean that any sent forces wouldn't be maintained in proper standing. With propaganda against SAGA keeping the population ever on-edge, once the news broadcast was made that the SR was aiding another native polity against the colonial aggressors, responses proved nothing but positive. An ever-subservient population was...greatly soothing on Selia's ego.
Shortly after the announcement was made, the composition of the Selenican task force was made public. Four Ophanim-Class Battlecruisers, one of which would house Admiral Herza, a student of the recent Saxheelian/Selencian joint training programs, four Durendal-Class Carriers, which came equipped with the new Principality-Type Standing Weapons, a weapon which had not received its baptism by fire yet, and a large amount of escorts. Ten Daybringer-Class Cruisers, ten Marzana-Class Destroyers, ten Phalanx-Class Frigates, six MHS-2G-Class Gunboat Frigates, and four CSV-5-Class Corvettes.
Herza himself was a relatively average Selenican admiral, one who had only now received control of his first fleet. He was gifted, but had the downside of micromangaging forces in his past as a captain and commander, a habit which had followed him to the rank of Admiral. Thought was given to sending the Spear of Anxios as a force multiplier, however this was decided against as Marigold had been...problematic lately.
It would not be long until the Selenicans arrived in the Ainar System, with the glorious crimson and pale white paint on the hulls of their vessels gleaming in real space, vessels prepared for war with full loads and overstocked crews -- lessons were learned from the previous battles.
The glimmering, distorted starlight reflected off of the consoles of the bridge of the ship. Reality itself slowly warping and twisting back into a familiar reality as the ships finally meet their journeys end. A purple-hued world beyond the horizon of the wormhole revealed itself, slowly color shifting towards a normal palette. The bridge was dead silent, many of the crew exchanging confident, yet, cautious nods with each other as they prepared to exit back into reality.
For a brief moment, everything had went dark. Aside from the residual light remaining from the windows and the automatic emergency lights, they were thrown into a sea of pitch black. Before jolting back into reality, arriving beside their brothers and sisters in arms. Valkyries readying their shields and pulling up their weapons, ready to duke with the enemy ahead.
Captain Neren maintained a dry expression on her face. It was another mission, just like any other. Despite her nations political affiliations not learning towards CONA, they would still answer the call of duty when the time came to defending innocents of the galaxy. A light green, criss-crossing halo leaned against the side of her head. Threads of mana were wired throughout the room like an electrical station, each crewmember and officer pumping their own power into their collective consciousness.
"All systems operational." The fleet intelligence officer beside the captain announced. "Our fleet shall be arriving shortly."
The captain peered through the left side of her virtual window, a fake projection of reality aided by telescopes and sensor systems of every spectrum. Ships that were close enough remained at a similar scale, while farther away, allies were magnified and identified. And even further beyond that, enemy contacts were boxed in, swollen to take up most of the captains view. Strings of numbers and announcements streamed through her right-hand window as she got her bearings and prepared for the rest of her fleet to make landfall.
Marching upstream of the wormholes currents, her fleet arrived later than usual. Escorting the traditionally angelic looking 'EAN Formless Cannon', a Heavy Cutter, were two biblically angelic looking Orchestral-Class Fractals. Gigantic pillars of prismatic minerals spun around a central pillar of crystalline material, meshed in with the tempered metals of Elvorian forges, and a few plates of Unmari Steel around its citadel. The two fractals danced amongst themselves, like pixies in a forest.
Supporting elements arrived right after the Fractals. A bowship and a skipper provided targeted fire support and a capital sized interception-platform respectively, if the situation called for it, and around 4 assorted support Agents slashed past them, awaiting orders for electronic warfare or interdiction. Having such small warships in an operation like this was rare, many of them were better fit for patroling the frontiers of Unmar. Alas, their captains resigned themselves to being under the command of the task force, seeing this as an opportunity to stretch out their legs.
Neren looked away from her virtual windows, her eyes shot down to her ships internal readings. Already, non-ftl Monitors were being printed out in the battlecarriers onboard shipyards, and many many fighters would also see the heat of battle directly after the warmth of the forge had faded. A miracle of mobile industry unfolding in front of her eyes.
"Alraune Queen reporting in!"
"High Priest, reporting in."
The two fractals chirped in first into the fleet-wide communication systems. Their captains maneuvering them to take the vanguard of the fleet, intending for their ships to be the hammer to the Formless Cannons' anvil. Streaks of transparent light were left behind, as a large rune manifested behind their penrose drive, giving them a considerable speed boost.
"Despairing Princess, by your side."
"Lunar Lament, escorting."
"Formation 26V, moving to position."
The two other capital ships matched the pace of the Heavy Cutter, making a claw formation alongside their agents. Gigantic wings and glowing veins of radiator fluid and mana adorned their hull, giving them a leviathan-like look to them. Like sea monsters hunting prey in the ocean. It reminded Neren of her hometown in the Abyssal depths of Auvor.
She had only brought what was considered a larger than average patrol fleet. Neren nervously looked through the fleet compositions of her allies, hoping that her friends could make up for the lack of numbers here.
"All hands to battlestations, prepare for imminent combat." Neren gave out the first command, and the second soon after.
"Every ship move up with me. Good hunting!"
AINAR SYSTEM
Foreign intervention - a curious yet novel concept, especially for the Clanholds.
They, ironically, weren't foreign to it - they were once part of the informal alliance made by the Gauss Dominion, they had founded an alliance solely for it, a band of pirates unwittingly doing it themselves at Amritsar was what thrust the Clanholds into galactic politics in the first place. But before 3AW, they would only have been concerned with their immediate surroundings - who in the right mind would travel half the galaxy to earn a few medals and 20 destroyed ships?
When they joined CONA, that was when the floodgates truly opened. Aedleshaven was the firestarter, Corona was the kindling. Zettish stealth sloops soon found themselves eking their way across the galaxy, using technologies never used by Zetyans beforehand. Uninitiated freeports and wayfuelers alike reporting odd black ships drifting out of the Meridian for refueling before returning to the depths. It was no Orillian stealth network, certainly not like Orbeole, but for the Zetyans subtlety was never quite their specialty then - who would expect them to use it now?
One such sloop lay dormant, many systems away monitoring RSC space. The Atlanteans may as well have been in Antartica for the Clanholds, located practically their exact distance north of center, but they received the broadcast all the same. Looped back to command, it was expected to be ignored. Too far of a distance, too spatty of a conflict.
And then, they received the orders to warp.
---
Starlight redshifted off their hulls, the corridors that formed their FTL system taking their fleet to a location far removed.
Admiral Go'set, of the Azure Sky, Tainted Green, was of some renown within his own people. Tapping idly on the command desk, however, he didn't feel like it. 48 ships under his command, best and brightest he could afford, yet here they were going to nowhere in particular for the beck and call of CONA. He was told this would be a sizeable battle, a good way to earn rapport politically and militarily. At minimum, he'd probably get a Gold Claw, hopefully more. None could say.
'Induction in 15 seconds.' intoned a mechanical voice over the intercomms, which caused him to tense slightly. He hadn't been deployed for 'true battle' yet, only a plethora of nevertheless favorable anti-piracy strikes. But he had a feeling he wouldn't be alone in this fight, judging by the plethora of encrypted broadcasts that lit the system like a lamp. Automated calls to battlestations rang throughout the ship, and the stars and void began to blueshift on the visual cameras in anticipation of their arrival.
Outside of his notice, a jet-black sloop joined their star-rift, seeping in from the inky void as if it were a freshwater pike hunting prey.
To those who saw it, a hole seemed to rip itself in space and time, a false shockwave rippling outwards as a tunnel of stars expanded outwards. From their depths roared 49 ships, headed by a battleship 50 kilometers in length. Though one peeled off their formation, blue engines going dark as it careened towards the nearest asteroid field, the rest held firm, engaging a full burn to rendevous with the rest of the CONA forces.
Inside, the admiral toggled a headset, and via officers aplenty brought up encrypted communications with the rest of the arrivals. The number of ships the enemy had was staggering - he could only hope his allies were worth their weight, and their enemy was only pretending as such.
"ALCON. Battlegroup 305 reporting. Leading ship is 'Azure Sky, Tainted Green'. Engaging rendevous maneuvers, t minus... 15. Recommend grouping."
Half-lidded, glowing amber eyes scanned the battlemap, as a woman with azure skin sat with crossed legs, her head resting on her fist. Fleet Commander Gelaria Ifrite sat at the helm of the Violet Renaissance, a Liintrix spectrum-class battleship. A massive vessel with an angular, sharp silhouette, lit up by lines of almost neon-light vibrancy, an aesthetic shared by many vessels of the Liintrix navy.
Three of these obsidian monoliths were silhouetted against the stars, accompanied by the rest of their fleet, mostly a collection of cruisers and destroyers, a fleet of silent giants moving into position alongside the allied fleets.
The Violet Renaissance, the Crimson Jury, and the Vermillion Cemetery were the three mighty vessels that made up the bulk of the main attack fleet, ships that had served in the civil war- both on the side of the Revolutionaries and the Theocracy, and now served under the banner of the republic, under the command of an up-and-coming Admiral- who was eager to see some real fighting, especially in a time of strife like this.
"Admiral..." A soft voice spoke her name, and the Liintrix woman glanced up, seeing her amethyst-haired assistant stepping into the command room. A younger woman, a dusting of freckles across her nose, and a datapad held tightly to her chest in one hand, Niolette had eagerly served by Gelaria's side ever since her days in the officer's academy, through years of training and exercises. One would struggle to find a more loyal underling. "Contact with the other fleets have been made. We don't have an exact number of vessels yet... so it's yet unknown if we match the Atlantean's numbers."
"Thank you, Niolette." Gelaria's voice was sharper, like a clean blade sliding across a pristine whetstone. "Tell all ships to organize into their specified Lances, and provide our allies with the nessessary codes to coordinate."
Niolette bowed, and turned out of the room, while Gelaria closed her eyes and sat up.
-----------------
Atlantean forces, this is not a call for surrender nor an ultimatum, but consider this the first draft of your future eulogy.
Your arrogance has led you to this battlefield for one thing: To die. You may see this death as glorious or noble, but it is death all the same, a permanent end to your ability to inflict further aggression on your neighbors.
You have until our allied forces are within range to turn around and return to your homes and families.
There will be no further communication.
The Liintrix vessels aligned themselves with the other present fleets, lines of light glowing along their obsidion hulls, weapons charged and primed to fire.
Rune-inlaid tiles sparkle the colors of the latter half of the spectrum as soft footsteps tread upon stone and metal. Grand archways, spaced evenly throughout the hall, rise high and lofty in a needless display of muchness. Not that the visitor to this place cares for such trivialities.
Dellephon of the Pearls Blue - You approach the Minder Core of the Province Telipha with progress, this one hopes?
At the end of the hall a being more machine than individual lies sculpted directly into the gorgeous mosaics crawling up the wall behind it, its body melded to the pristine stones in such a way it’s hardly distinguishable from the wall itself. A four-armed form reminiscent of an Esohessighan protrudes from the melding, a mimicry of life with sleek metallic paneling and a long, flowing toga tucked under its crossed legs. Its arms extend towards the far-off ceiling in an exclamation of sorts, as if praising the stars beyond in a statuesque pose.
The footsteps fade as the visitor halts, dropping down to kneel before the Minder Core with a bowed head. An actual Esohessighan, this one, and one not in the flowing fabrics of an administrator, but the armor of a soldier- no, the armor of a Knight. “You speak truth, my Lord.” It starts, not daring to raise its head. “A fleet has been assembled under the command of Chaptermaster Lairos.”
The Liscenian Order? Do try to play nice with them, Chaptermaster. It would be uncouth to make a scene when your mission is to clean up such messes.
Dellephon can only sigh internally at the Minder’s light poke at his Order’s past actions. “As you say, my Lord.” He replies. “Now, what are your commands for this mission of ours?” Only now does he raise his head to meet the hollow gaze of the machine before him, having seen the subtle twist of one of its hands signaling for him to do so. The Minder is silent for but a moment, but it speaks volumes more than the few words they’ve exchanged already.
The preservation of an ally of CONA is at hand, dear Knight. Though we have walked this stage far less than our brethren around us we are nonetheless called upon all the same to deliver unto them our aid. It is paramount this effort succeed if the Anchored State is to ever become a notable polity.
A low cracking sound rings out as the Minder’s head shifts to better look at the Knight.
If this foe does not parley or stand down, you are to assist in removing them from this plane - in this, you have this one’s blessing. Now go.
=====//=====
Battlegroup Veis is, for now, a temporary collection of vessels from three separate task units bound to the command of the Liscenian Order’s head officials, though Chaptermaster Lairos would love nothing more than to see the group instated as an official extension of the Liscenian Order; it’d teach the Pearls and the Priscinens not to overstep their boundaries, or so she hopes. For now, however, Battlegroup Veis is just a temporary command and Chaptermaster Lairos is just a temporary fleet commander- and not even the head one, either, for the position is shared with Dellephon of the very same Pearls Blue who, last cycle, had sullied the Liscenians’ reputation in a disastrous game of wits at the Pentalus Tournament.
Suffice to say, Chaptermaster Lairos is quite glad the two of them are occupying different command centers for this operation, with Lairos currently at the helm of the ‘Teliphan Grace’ and Dellephon commanding the ‘Lost Wills’; a subtle move, giving Lairos the Grace. If Dellephon had instead been given the ship, a top-of-the-line vessel from the province they received their orders from in the first place, she imagines he’d lord it over her in some misguided presumption of favoritism. Glory be to the Synod for sparing her of such a fate.
“All vessels on standby - entry in t-minus five…”
The navigational officer calmly calls out the re-entry warning as their time in the Meridian comes to an end, and with a tremulous flash the Grace exits the blue dimension. Around the flagship the rest of the fleet is arrayed, the destroyers centered around the Grace and the other two battlecruisers, and the artillery cruisers trailing behind. It isn’t long before Dellephon opens a comms line.
“Restructuring to ideal formation, as per instructions.”
Short, sweet, and as stated in their orders. Perhaps this operation will go off without a hitch in the personal relations department after all. Lairos simply sends an affirmation and watches as the fleet arranges itself into its proper formation, filling the diminutive holes left by their exit of the Meridian. Afterwards she opens a line to establish contact with the others present, sending out identification.
It’s showtime.
Kreibaum watched with false eyes as his small complement silently screamed smoothly through the Meridian, deft maneuvers carrying them around the deepest shadows as artefacts unknowable whispered their existence from the truly final void only a hair's breadth below them. All of a sudden, his meager fifteen prowlers pitched "up," back towards the surface that was the border between the everything and the nothing - aiming for proximity to a large cluster of miniscule shadows that posed no threat to them.
In the material, perfectly reflective halostone seeped back into reservoirs under stealthy, scanner-absorbing hulls, perfectly matching the rate of their clandestine exfiltration of the stellar sea. Immediately the Carnaithian ships began processing the data environment of the system; hubris, warnings, requests, all of it in equal measure. Kreibaum was here not t sabotate what many thought of as SAGA's enemy, but to suppress true hostiles; he was here to help CONA succeed, without being noticed. That said, recon on more national capabilities was always useful.
The onboard AI cores quickly began assembling facsimiles of the ad-hoc coalitions' communications protocols with the goal of disseminating intelligence on Atlantean forces; some were entirely new, while others - like the Zetyans - were a little more familiar. The information was older, but the Atlanteans had stagnated in internal conflict for quite some time. A lot of it would likely still be valid.
His hind legs scraped against one another as Princely sat in the black and golden throne-of-sorts, the head chair in the vast and expansive room, darkened to near-black with only the fireflies bouncing about the room as light. The frictioning sound had rattled uninterrupted for hours as he meditated in the hummed room. Nothing could shake the peace he felt in this moment. Nothing.
“High Admiral…” the Cerulean on the wasps shoulder spoke as it stepped through the shrouded entrance. “First Paladin Makintosh” he said again to Titus, stepping aside for an even larger wasp to enter, a species of Giant Hornet it appeared. Makintosh motioned for the other to leave, who bowed and left. Titus looked up at Makintosh, the grasshopper bowing his head and Makintosh doing the same.
“Hello, Paladin.”
“Greetings, Admiral.”
The two stood in a quiet peace as they looked at one another, Makintosh finally breaking it as he unsheathed the sword from his back and placing it blade-first in the ground, kneeling and letting his abdomen and stinger onto the ground.
“There is conflict brewing in the Volarian Corridor. The Atlanteans seek war with the Ilektierans, and CONA has called arms against the Atlanteans.”
Titus was quiet for a few moments, his neck twitching a few times as his mandibles grinded. His cerulean’s wings flapped, and his own fluttered lightly at bay; Titus shook his head and looked down, away.
“Silas, I was under the impression that total neutrality was our goal. What does this conflict in the Corridor have to do with us?”
The Paladin’s wings buzzed and flapped for a sporadically, his eyes landing back on Titus as he finished his sentence. The room gad lit up a bit, thanks to the fireflies, and was shown to be nothing special. A meditation room, if you will.
“We are not simply total neutralists Princely, we are the equalizers. We know no sides, we defend that aggressed, reaping and sowing for the Hunger.”
Titus chuckled, the Cerulean fluttering it’s wings in an effect as such. “We reside in a galaxy even more ungrateful than the last. What position are we in to be conducting Reap and Sow?”
“It is an opportunity offered to us by the Prairie, Princely!” Makintosh exclaimed, wings buzzing excited as he stood, pulling his sword from the ground and sheathing it. “The ceremony at Union proved two things to us. SAGA is a group of hardliner war hawks seeking to preserve conservative galactic traditions, colonialist domination. CONA is no better, war criminals fueled by years of propaganda and hatred which burn sweet in their minds. They know no citizens or soldiers, they only see targets and blood. We will fight for both where we can, defend the aggressed and hold our ground. With the Ark recovered and the Order rebuilding, it is finally time we make our stand.”
Titus looked at Makintosh standing tall in glory. He had always been a master tactician and a speechman at heart, a morale booster if you will.
“Have you spoke to Magister and Valsanna already?” Titus asked, Makintosh nodding once in response.
“Very well, then we will begin our movements at once. We will wait until the first of the SAGA and CONA forces arrive. The Atlanteans are probably beginning their first attacks as we speak, so we must organize quickly.”
“Praise be the Prairie.” Makintosh said, both saluting each other in sync.
“Praise be the Prairie.”
AINAR SYSTEM: : League of Illektiera
Centurion Tellid could tell the sensor station was blowing up, FTLing of that many ships could only mean one thing. The League did not have the active mobile forces to respond to their attack, which meant this was outside reinforcements. They had expected such, the League was CONA, and would likely call for such reinforcements. Tellid was still confident.
"Recall the assault forces, I want all vessels in formation ASAP. Keep a CAP around the fleet at all times and prepare for long range combat"
Tellid was young, scarily young to be commanding such a battlefleet. But it had ironically been her youth and inexperience which had granted her the role. With so much internal conflict in Atlantis for decades none of the clans trusted one another fully, no commander could be chosen due to existing ties, history, actions and more without being voted down and threatening to destabilise the peace. Tellid had been chosen, born outside of the clans and raised in what was left of the old shattered military, she had been perfect for the position. When Atlantis had shattered during 2AW after their invasion of the ICS and the counter invasion of the AGA, everything had seemed lost. Now they were rebuilding. Tellid felt she was the spearhead of that.
Her formation of 540 vessels was split into two. 480 vessels sat in orbit of the hot super giant close to the main systems star, a bright white ball of fire and energy which stripped away the giants atmosphere and gave the Atlantean fleet an excellent source of EM stealth and sensor disturbance. The other 60 ships orbited Ainar, or what was left of it anyway. They had bombarded key positions, and deployed large raiding forces to the surface, taking infrastructure, resources and people. All would help feed Atlantis rebuilding. But they had to withdraw now, they had company.
Interestingly they had even been sent something which looked pretty pitiful as far as diplomacy went.
Tellid decided to respond.
This is Centurion Tellid Avar of the Atlantean Empire, I bid you greetings and a fair hunt. I am aware you have been sent here to stop our efforts against the League, but are likely unaware of our shared history. We have fought many wars in the past, and this is merely a continuation of territorial, trade and legal disputes. I hope that you will withdraw and leave these matters to both ourselves and the League, we are only here to aquire what we legally know to be owed to us. Once that is done we shall depart. But if you should choose to engage us then I will not hesitate to use force. My channel is open for negotiation
The Atlantean forces still continued to form into a standard combat formation, but they did not power weapons or move to intercept the new arrivals which would have been a smart move.
Atlantis had always been headstrong, while their ships and technology was somewhat outdated it was no slouch. Relying on Tachyon weapons procured from Capitol alongside powerful laser systems and advanced EPA derived missiles their ships were decently fast, agile and could take a hit. It seemed however Tellid was not wishing to fight just yet.
Sub-Director Veseti ignored the message from Tellid. The matter had already been decided. Certainly, settling this without bloodshed would be acceptable, but it was unlikely, and Veseti's goal was to showcase the ARM's military prowess for the sake of its future use in CONA. Opting instead to message his allies, a simple broadcast was sent to the other CONA ships.
This is Sub-Director Garabdis-Veseti to fellow CONA responders. Querying designation of primary authority for this operation. Against a united enemy I recommend a reliable chain of command is established if not already extant. If so, Sub-Fleet Cassegryn-3-2 will defer to primary authority. This fleet specializes in extreme long range engagement and close-range assault maneuvers. I request my forces be used properly.
This was something of a probe from Garabdis, as well. His task was to showcase the worth of his forces, but how unified was CONA? Had they enough of a solidified hierarchy that order could flow harmoniously from this disparate group? Or would they squabble for the position? No doubt the result would be informative.
AINAR SYSTEM
The Judgement Fleet Condemns
High Admiral Titus had little issue whatsoever in organizing together a strike force which he believed capable of taking on the Atlantean fleet. Denoted Strike Group: Hordeum, the team was lead by the Crux Iberis with an assortment of cruisers, destroyers, and frigates in tow. The admiral had assigned the seasoned Rear Admiral Arcadius as Captain of the Crux Iberis and as the Commander of Strike Group: Hordeum. He had accepted the tasking graciously, and was assigned two advisors, one from the Retribution for the 3rd Hornet Regiment and one from the Empyrean Wings for the 2nd Dragonfly Strike Wing. With the group organized and the battleplan prepared, Admiral Arcadius accepted command graciously, and so it begun.
“I cannot stand the smell…”
Given all its efficiencies, gastric antimatter had a few drawbacks. One which was most bothersome: the wrenching smell. Admiral Arcadius’ antennae squeemed and moved about, his head twitching as he took in the thickening smell of what could only be described as burning flesh mixed into a pot of boiling shit and jet fuel. The Mantis had great sense of smell, keen to even the slightest scents; this just meant that the stronger ones were enhanced. So is the way it goes perhaps.
“Admiral” a hopper approached from behind, saluting Arcadius as he turned around, craning his neck as he answered.
“Yes, ensign?”
“We entered the Corridor moments ago, the League is not far, sir. Your orders?” the ensign hopper asked.
Arcadius turned and waved his hand away. “Agreang concentration twenty percent, sublight re-entry protocol. Prepare to enter Ainar System.” he calmly ordered through announcement to the ship via intercom. The Crux Iberis felt as to shudder like an organism shivered by the cold, the digital graphizers animating the exterior soace slowly coming back to normality as the propulsion flame sparked and shrouded, cooling from a brightly radiant blue to a cool orange as the Crux slowed, the rest of the fleet following in suite.
The smell of burning flesh in boiling shit radiated with jet fuel began to smell more like raw petrol and sweets before the burning smell came back. That sweet sweet shit aftertaste.
“Passing Kruul!” Nav announced from the mapping table, Arcadius looking to his left at the passing planet from the graphizer, looking back forward as the strike force sped towards Ainar and the Atlanteans.
“Sir!” the quartermaster shouted, saluting, Arcadius returning it. “Sir, Kilvan approaches. The Evangelions have begun spinal charge. Are we prepared to make the first contact?”
“It is said to be done, we must make an initial determined strike on the Atlanteans to make an opening for the following supporting forces.”
“And what of the CONA senior commanders? Have they any say, sir?”
Arcadius was quiet as the came towards Kilvan, entering outer orbit as they slowly creeped to the rear of the Atlantean fleet.
“Neutrality has its perks.”
“Aye, sir.”
Arcadius raised his hand as the Atlantean fleet came into picture of the graphizer, taking a deep breath.
“Evangelions at the ready!”
Lord Admiral Skriesche patiently waited as their translator unit whirred, deciphering the transmission from the Atlantean fleet. He tapped impatiently on his identification booklet, thumbing over the various ships of Atlantean make that the Astronautica was aware of. Upon hearing the translated message, he clicked his tongue and shook his head, turning to the comms officer.
"Adjutant?"
"Aye, Lord Admiral?"
"Send word to Vice Admiral Otovrak to assume vanguard position. They are to find and engage their match in the Atlantean fleet. Inform Flotilla Admiral Lokrantz to assume echelon formation on the voidward. Fly the ensign."
"Aye, Lord Admiral."
A series of bright semaphore flashes would erupt from the Flagship, in the center of the main line of battle. The ships would run the ensign of the First Battlegroup on their radio wires, the sanguine squares unfurling in their full glory, proudly trailing in the solar winds. The Karnoch, lead ship of its class and the flagship of the Lord Admiral, flew Schrieche's flag under the battle flag.
The Vice Admiral sighed as the orders came in, motioning to the coxswain to carry out the necessary maneuvers. The line of armored cruisers accelerated past the line of Herskal battleships, massive plumes of chemical exhaust dissipating into the void in their wake. Otovrak did not envy the position of vanguard, but at least, she reasoned, it was better than Lokrantz's duties, for Lokrantz was burdened with the onerous task of instructing the torpedo boats currently in their neat formation behind the warships to charge to their deaths. The vulnerable torpedo boat tenders stayed to the rear, not advancing any closer and instead establishing their orbit around the star more or less where they entered the system.
Skriesche impatiently waited once again as the translator whirred and spat out the most recent transmission. The ARM wished to establish a reliable chain of command- something that would be somewhat difficult on the Herskal's side, Skriesche reckoned, due to the the slow speed of their translators. He sighed again, and once more turned to the comms station.
"Adjutant, signal to the battlegroup. New manuever order- Approach enemy at thirty degrees angle off bow on the starward side. Await orders to engage."
"Aye, Admiral. Orders relayed."
"Very good. Inform our allies that we shall proceed with our standard engagement strategem until orders arive from CONA authority."
"Understood, my Lord."
1st Battlegroup of the Herskal Directorate closing to engagement range at 30° AOB, accelerating. Proceeding with engagement plan until provided order from CONA primary authority.
AINAR SYSTEM
He idly watched as the other CONA forces warped in, and an odd, self-invited companion eke into the far stellar distance into an asteroid field. The 60 ships above Ainar's smouldering corpse were already painted, but the gas giant to their left had his hunch. Visuals, though fuzzy, were returning an odd series of glints in it's periphery, though to the average observer at these distances it was just a fuzzy ball with a ring circled around. A silent order was sent to the stealth sloop to scan it, sensors galore pointing towards it with far better equipment than the majority of his fleet.
Two broadcasts at once reached their ship, the one from the Atlanteans and the one from the ARM fleet. One, a veiled attempt at justifying more conquering, and the other a request to establish a command structure. The latter was fair game, when all you had to do was be the first to speak up. It was only Zettish to try and jump at the first chance for power. The former, however, required the latter to succeed - lest a communications session went awry because someone had an itchy trigger finger.
Motioning for his comms officers, their orders were simple and given quick. Establish two lines, one for their allies and the other for the enemy. Everyone else was to proceed as is, their combat formation seeming like a six-spoked wheel while they rocketed further into the abyss, careening into groups with the rest of their allies. As he began speedwriting an official statement in the depths of his head, he only hoped they would listen to at least some form of reason.
The unified CONA fleet would receive one encrypted transmission, only a little while after the Atlantean's own.
This is Battlegroup 305 of the Clanholds United Diaspora. We are willing and able to act as primary authority, barring the arrival of an official CONA commanding element. Recommending grouping according to role and range, as per ARM transmission.
We have sent a communique to the Atlanteans. If this broadcast is heeded, DO NOT FIRE until we have received a response. Repeat, DO NOT FIRE.
And to the Atlanteans was sent another - this one, far longer.
This is Battlegroup 305 of the Clanholds United Diaspora, commanding officer Go'set Th'adas, acting as a leading element of the current assembled CONA forces. I understand the notion of manifest destiny, cold conflict. Perhaps I even sympathize.
However, we cannot withdraw - this action has directly threatened the galactic ceasefire, and should your invasion play out in full there is an approximate 56% chance it will be broken, optimistically. Given the environment of superweapon proliferation and trigger-happy deployments of WMDs, this is not only undesirable, but in no uncertain terms endangering all of us - your empire included. Plenty of upstart unaligned who could, would try playing the taxman.
I see your battlefleet regrouping itself, and I am recalling of previous history of which you need no reminder. This will be our only offer-
Either seek diplomatic alternatives with the League of Illektiera and forgo your invasion, or surrender your forces immediately and submit to applicable procedure. Should you decline, we will open fire, as will the others.
You have an hour. I trust you'll come to a reasonable decision. Fair tidings.
Chaptermaster Lairos listens attentively to the transmissions originating from the fellow CONA elements nearby. While it would certainly be a noteworthy occurrence to establish some sort of higher position in the chain of command, she has no doubt it would also be foolish. The ASE is not widely known among those present, and even before the arrival of the Zetyan battlegroup the Chaptermaster found herself hoping there would be another to take the lead, for as prepared as the ASE fleet elements might be, or as prepared as they believe they are, this foray into foreign territory is a first for many present today. A first in a series of firsts, should things proceed as downhill as they appear to be heading. Thus, when the transmission identifying the Zetyan battlegroup arrives and the reins of command are taken, a bit of relief floods the Chaptermaster’s systems.
“Comms, relay an affirmation-” And in reply to the Zetyans the Esohessighan fleet sends their own transmission.
This is Chaptermaster Lairos of the Liscenian Order, acting-commander of Battlegroup Veis, under the authority of the ASE. Our fleet will reorganize as recommended with the conclusion of this message.
Our frontline units will be advancing to the front of the assembled formation, while those that remain behind will serve as long-range artillery.
We shall await further instruction.
With a simple gesture to the comms officer the orders are relayed to the other vessels in the fleet. The Grace, along with the Lost Wills and the third battlecruiser, the ‘Frenetic Prayer’, form a line with their accompanying destroyers arrayed in front of them, two per capital ship. Meanwhile, the three artillery cruisers remain positioned where they are, the remaining three destroyers acting as bodyguards for the considerably slower vessels. In a matter of minutes the maneuvers are complete, the shining hulls of the Esohessighan vessels now sitting motionless as weapons stand ready to charge and hangar bays begin to open in anticipation of the coming fight.
=====//=====
“Status report - what’s the progress down there?”
Chaptermaster Dellephon of the Pearls Blue, much like his counterpart in the Teliphan Grace, sits at rigid attention on the bridge of the Lost Wills. It had been a blow to his pride, to be put in co-command of such an expedition, and an even harsher blow to be delegated the oldest of the three capital ships present in the fleet, but he would not let it show. Regardless of his perceived slights there was a vital mission to accomplish here, one that transcends his petty annoyances with his fellow Chaptermaster.
Now, if only he could get his own ship in gear before the festivities began.
Despite giving the all-clear to Chaptermaster Lairos when the readiness request was sent out to the fleet, in truth the Lost Wills was having difficulties with its internal routing systems; slow to acknowledge, crusty in action, and potentially a danger if left unchecked, it would not do to send the ship into battle with its munitions slow to move throughout the vessel. Not only would it pose a physical threat in a firefight, but it would surely leave another mark on his almost-immaculate record, a mark that would surely lower him in the eyes of the Minders no doubt observing the progress of this mission from afar.
“Engineering reports the blockage has been fixed, standby for final documentation…”
With that statement from one of the bridge crew Dellephon eases up, the rigidity of his posture lessening a tad. With that problem solved he could at least focus more properly on the bigger picture here, namely that the ships of the fleet have reordered in accordance to the instructions relayed by the foreigners who’ve assumed command of the assembled CONA elements. Zetyans, they are. Dellephon can’t recall much in the way of their culture or behaviors, though the Lost Wills’ QAI core is certainly happy to provide him with what information it has, but he does know they’re a major figure within CONA, one that will serve as an acceptable leader for the coming engagement.
Selenicans were not known to back down when commanded. The comms message from the Atlantean was received, and Herza would play it numerous times to dig into his opponent. She was young, that much was clear from her voice. She was also calm and collected, unfazed by the many arrivals of opponents. It meant she was certain of victory, even in spite of the many, many arriving forces. Clanholds, ARM, Herskals. All of them were CONA -- all allies, at least in name.
Another comms transmission -- this time, the Zetyans. Allies, trusted comrades, even with a society so tremendously different from his own. Its message was heeded -- don't open fire until fired upon. Standard Selenican doctrine, really. However, he'd send back a request.
This is Division 76 of the Selenican People's Defense Navy. Permission to begin establishing an interception patrol?
Herza began to slowly edge his forces to the absolute peak of their effective ranges against the enemies, staying just far away enough to maintain some kind of deniability of increasing aggression. His carriers, four strong, the mighty hammers of the 76th Division, would remain protected by their gunboats, vessels only brought along to augment and protect against any would-be assailants. In fact, the Selenican forces were nearly outside of the battlefield, coming in from extreme ranges nearing to the primary asteroid belt of the Ainar System. Pre-emptive sensor scans came back inconclusive -- the 60 or so ships in orbit of Ainar were easy enough to spot, but clearly there was more -- otherwise why would such a large contingent be called? A wide-band sweep of tachyonic detection arrays proved inconclusive. There were definitively warships in orbit around that star, probably anchored to the supergiant, but how many? Anywhere from 300 to 600 -- completely useless data.
These carriers would be preparing their patrols for when the order did come, and the gnashing of teeth began.
This is Battlegroup Red Bird to Battlegroup 305 speaking, we hear and recognize your authority in this engagement. As for the rest of you, this is the fleet representing the Quosx Alliance. A pleasure to be serving with each one of you.
A strangely chipper voice spoke to the allied fleets, and Gelaria rolled her eyes. "I didn't ask for your editorializing, We aren't here to be friendly, Niolette." The Admiral said, but deep down she was too focused on keeping the fleet organized to pay attention. No weapons to be fired yet. Plenty of time for both sides to prepare their respective strategies, her new allies not yet sharing what plans they might have.
"We're heading into formation with the rest of the fleets..." Niolette spoke up. "Unknown number of enemy contacts, We have confirmation of a small fleet around the planet itself, but signals from our allies show that there may be a much larger force hiding by the star."
"Well, no weapons haven't been fired yet. Keep an eye out there, but until fighting starts that's not our problem."
"Ma'am-"
"I'm not saying ignore it, I'm saying there's nothing we can do at this very moment."
"...Yes, ma'am."
Lhancombe watched the screens on the Warwulf's bridge, his brow furrowed. Every CONA-aligned contact the sensors read as warping in eased the tension in his nerves a little more. Every ship on their side tilted the odds a little more in their favour. Things would have been a lot more tense should things have come down to solely the Directorate Navy and these Atlanteans squaring off.
"A 'shared history', they say." the captain grunted, arms folded.
"A shared history I doubt the Illektierans much appreciate."
"Do you buy their story?"
"I'm not calling them liars." Lhancombe shrugged. "Not entirely, at least. But I think they're...bending the truth. Painting themselves in a better light than they deserve. I don't think they 'legally' own anything in this system. That's the sort of talk slavers use to justify themselves."
"I think that's literally the scenario we're facing."
"And it's one the Directorate has dealt with before. The only thing they're leaving with is their own wounded." Lhancombe crossed his arms, the captain smiling faintly.
"Admiral! Signal from the Clanhold fleet! Offering themselves as allied command and suggesting preparations for combat according to ability!" a crewman called, the transcripted message appearing on a different screen.
"I wasn't expecting anyone to make such an offer so quickly. I half expected at least three people to...nominate themselves." the captain grunted.
"Fewer the better, in this scenario." Lhancombe blinked. "Signal the Clanhold fleet an affirmative, and that we're moving to combat-ready ranges." he called back.
"Aye aye sir!"
A beat.
"All ships! Begin approach to attack range, slow and steady! Weapons are to charge but we are not to fire unless hostilities break out! Have fighter and bomber wings ready and waiting to deploy at a moments notice!"
As the fleet's engines lit with fire, however, Lhancombe's brow remained furrowed.
Sixty ships sat in the planet's orbit.
Sixty. Barely more than his own, and he'd never heard of the Atlanteans having the same political difficulties he had faced.
Were they really so arrogant? Did they expect no reaction from nations allied to Illektiera? Did this...Tellid, really think a few words would steer away any effort to stop them?
Something felt off. But across an entire star system, Lhancombe didn't know where to turn his gaze. All they could do was keep an eye on sensor returns, he supposed.
He sorely hoped he and his allies would be enough.
AINAR SYSTEM: League of Illektiera
The 60 vessels above Ainar were abuzz with activity as shuttles and more left the surface returning to the assault fleet. Entire divisions of soldiers, tanks and more were reclaimed as the vessels took tally and finally began to light their drives, moving away from Ainar and towards Tellids main contingent. Ainar looked heavily damaged from long range scans and images, fires blazing in its major population centres and thick black smoke covering many areas of the globe. The Atlanteans had done a number on the world and its people.
On board the battleship Archimedes Tellid smiled at the statements laid out in the Clandholds reply. Manifest destiny.
“This is Centurion Tellid to Battlegroup 305 and other CONA representatives. I believe you are aware of current diplomatic issues relating to the CGSS and the deadlock that has been going on between our people for many decades. I am here under official orders to reclaim territory and materials which the League rightfully owes us. My mission is very almost complete. If you choose to engage me before I withdraw with my mission completed, you are very well just as guilty for breaking the ceasefire. Withdraw or stay at current positions while I finish my operation and withdraw to Atlantean space.”
“You have 5 minutes. Tellid Out”
As the ships of the planetary assault fleet burn hard towards the main force the Atlantean fleet is clearly observed especially so by the stealth vessel. Their reactors come to full power, energy flooding through systems to invigorate and activate shielding systems, PD and more but still not weapons.
A new wave of attack craft however is launched from the carriers of the formation, heavier before in greater numbers than the current CAP circling the fleet. Fully laden with weaponry they begin to circle the Atlantean force in preparation for any actual combat. Additional launches are also detected by the Clanhold vessels, but it is hard to determine what they are, quite possibly some new kind of stealth weapon not seen used by Atlantis before.
A moment later the main fleet lights its main drives and begins to accelerate towards the assault fleet to aid in the rendevouz.
Kreibaum had disseminated high-level orders. That's all he needed to do, and the CIGO shipmasters in his diminutive fleet took their own actions to achieve their objectives. A small contingent, only two prowlers, would stay in close proximity to the CONA fleet and maintain constant low-interference communications decryption for battlespace awareness - Laserlining the results towards a meridian buoy some distance away at an orbit that would remain stable for far more of a duration than was required for the predicted length of action in the system. Three were to move to Ainar and get close looks at the actions of the Atlanteans, as well as being close enough to begin decryption of their communications. The other ten craft were to get closer to the star, reducing their signatures as they laid in wait for an opportunity.
Kreibaum was intensely seasoned, though as it went with CIGO personnel his record wasn't public. Hundreds of surveillance taskings, dozens of reconnaissance, and a handful of peactime strike orders laid under his belt, but it was only in simulations that he had seen a large-scale battlefield. There was one virtue the entire task groups' personnel roster had been briefed on; Never underestimate the enemy -Never grow complacent. He studied the annotated screenings of the stellar bodies and hostile craft with a keen eye. Passive sensors could only offer so much intelligence, but he was willing to leech off of CONA's readings or break into the Atlanteans' battlenet himself when the time came; for now, he had one major item of interest. A clot of ships, indeterminate in volume, were static and in formation among the violent interactions of the star and the hot giant. He laserlined it to a pair of prowlers, and they peeled off to investigate.
Twelve were of the 963 variant; bident craft purpose-built for void warfare and surveillance, armed with clustering nuclear munitions and even a compact spinal EMACCS all carried around by powerful engines that wouldn't be fired except for emergencies. The other three, cold-burning for the namesake world of the system, were the sharp-edged 494 class, meant for close operation to stellar bodies and capable of atmospheric entry if needed, though this wasn't on the plan for now.
Skriesche pales as he watches the Atlantean fleet come to bear, watching as oscilloscopes read spikes in thermal signatures and as the powerful optronics array begins to identify small craft being launched and systems coming online.
He looks back to the allied forces amassed as they become increasingly smaller and smaller in the stary void. He looks back to the comms officer, and sighs.
"Adjutant... relay new orders."
"Yes, sir?" The Adjutant's voice quivers slightly, bracing himself for the inevitable order.
"Signal new course for the first line of battle; turn in sequence, target angle seventy-five degrees off-bow. Second line of battle is to continue forwards and act accordingly with the torpedo boats to act as picket."
The Lord Admiral shudders, his spinal fins standing on end before once more going flush against his back with a sigh, his gaze now dead ahead.
"All units, ahead full. First line of battle is to acquire targets upon maneuver completion and train cannons."
The Adjutant slumps in their seat as their gaze drifts away from the comms station and towards the fleet. The radiator funnels belched out a cloud of evaporated coolant as the reactors were fully opened and flushes, before piping down as the engines burned with yet more vigor, massive cones of stupendously hot gas ejected in the ship's wake. Maneuver thrusters spurted out licks of flame as the ships turned yet more, motors whining as the massive turrets turned about and the great guns of the 1st Battlegroup of the Herskal Directorate Astronauticas' High Void Fleet followed their target's path through the void, the long barrels illuminated by the flashes of semaphore.
"Ajudant. Signal 'Out Tampions'."
"As you wish, my liege."
Vice Admiral Otovrak looked to the grand ships of the first line of battle, those ensigns trailing beautifully in the exhaust gases, and then back to his own force of armored cruisers. The all to familiar and dreaded order for 'out tampions' was clearly visible by the semaphore flashes, and she merely nodded when her adjutant merely stated what she already knew. She turned her head to the gunnery department, snapping her jaws before she bellowed out the new orders.
"OUT TAMPIONS! OUT TAMPIONS!"
She shook her head as a twang of grief came over her. She knew the Lord Admiral was only doing his duty, but she knew just how truly woeful of a situation they were in.
The heavy armored caps that kept the barrels clear and true flung open. The ships of the 1st battlegroup would fall into an almost eery silence as they listened to the latest radio transmission from the flagship.
1st Battlegroup of the Herskal Directorate Astronautica's High Void Fleet, reporting. Ships of interest show hostile intent. Prepared to engage with hostiles.
The Lord Admiral sighed as the transmission finished sending, before turning to the adjutant. He held his breath for but a moment, before closing his eyes.
"Adjutant, new signal. Prepare to fire on my mark."
"... Yes, my liege."
Skreiche was painfully aware of a ceasefire signed before the Herskal Directorate entered the galactic stage, and thus he'd have to painfully wait for the Atlanteans to make the first move, no matter how he ached for the thunder of the great guns. For now, the gaze of the 1st Battlegroup fell squarely on the flagship, waiting for that dreaded semaphore pulse.
Go'set's expression remained neutral even as the Atlantean transmission finished, though his brows slightly furrowed. It wasn't surprising, there was a slim chance of it working anyhow. That the Atlanteans deigned it would be their fault for breaking a ceasefire, despite being the aggressors, was almost humorous even with the half-glassed planet they were burning away from. At the very least, his hunch had been correct - a massive fleetgroup had begun burning out of the gas giant's orbit, far greater than the initial appraisal. A force that actually warranted the amount of ships gathered here today.
His first move was to send an uplink request to the entire fleet. His knowledge of the stealth sloops and their networking capabilities, if any, was limited, but he figured the datachain could be sustained across the combined fleet group. The next was a swift motion to his officers to begin preparations to fire, launch craft, prepare thrust vectors. The third, though he doubted it would be successful, was to send a request to the stealth sloop to try and trace what specific ship Tellid's transmission had come from then 'paint' it for all ships to see.
Lastly, after receiving the conn, he began another transmission across the established lines.
-
No, and no, then.
You were warned. That you acknowledge is appreciable. But don't think you aren't the pot when you call the kettle black.
The best man wins.
-
Attention all allied battlegroups; Atlantean response has been received - all declined. You are cleared for fire. Group fleets according to role, target ships of descending importance - dreadnoughts, carriers, battleships, et al. Battlegroup 305 moving to core position for covering fire.
At once, the Zetyan fleet jumped from it's laggardly state into a full burn, eking out from the combined CONA fleet. Strikecraft and interceptors of all sizes began pouring from any ship with a hangar, their carriers seeming to disgorge a fly swarm of reflections and shrapnel that grew into beasts of steel and metal, which each roared ahead of their hives like sentient chaff. Their guns trained on the Atlantean fleet, targeting ships of high value, and missiles shared airspace with spinals and long-ranged cannon fire as the Zetyans began their opening barrage in force.
"Core reports all systems active; hangars are free, engaging weapons."
As the comms officer relays their statement Lairos can feel the subtle hum of energy coursing through the vessel. Even without having a physical connection to the ship she can tell that the vibrations emanating from decks below are the shudders of space warping and twisting - the great, artificial stars harnessed at the vessel's core being pushed into overdrive as every implement capable of being labeled a weapon begins to charge up.
From ports in the sides of all Esohessighan vessels waves of black and blue constructs pour out like a sudden release of air into the vacuum, the drones swiftly dividing themselves according to their preordained functions. The larger, bulkier ones form defensive groupings around their home vessels in preparation for interception of both munitions and fightercraft, while the smaller, swifter ones surge forth like a spear across the void as they propel themselves toward the Atlantean vessels around the ravaged planet.
Chaptermaster Lairos opens a new line with the other Esohessighan vessels as she watches the drones pour out. "All vessels: Advance. The Grace, Wills, and Prayer are to concentrate on the opposing capital vessels; all escort ships are to assist in their destruction as well, in addition to the interception of incoming firepower. All artillery vessels are to commence charging of Dissonance apparatus. Further instructions will be delegated should ranges diminish to unacceptable levels." Though not quite as fast as the Zetyan fleet, the ships of the ASE battlegroup are quick to engage their thrusters and start moving alongside them, and mere moments later the lightshow finally begins.
.
From sleek turrets come a mix of tachyons and relativistic coilgun shells, pounding out in a flurry of metal and particles. From shining gunports leap beams of solar radiance too bright to inspect with the naked eye, burning hot enough to slice through armor and shielding like a molten knife through butter. And from a myriad of openings come a flurry of missiles bearing irregular energy signatures - electroweak renders - to dismantle any ships in their way. The destroyers and battlecruisers with the forward section of the fleet concentrate their fire on the unclear gathering of ships near the system's star. The number of targets and their exact positioning is unknown, even as their sensors work hard to uncover this information, but there is at least something there. At best the onslaught of munitions will find their mark on whatever vessels they're able to lock onto, and at worst they'll be surpressive fire of a sort.
In the back, the destroyers guarding the artillery vessels continue to release drones from their hangars like bees from a hive, adding to the clouds guarding the larger vessels nearby. The larger vessels in question, having received their orders, are in the process of charging their most potent weapons. They too contribute with starfall projectors and missiles, but more power is dedicated to the preparation of their spinal weapons, with all three beginning to glow as exotic particles mix with Ancerions in their firing chambers, condensing more and more.
Lhancombe remained near-motionless, eyes fixed on the screens as communiques were sent about the myriad fleet. His face had remained mostly blank aside from a lightly furrowed brow, but a ghost of a smile crossed his features as the Zetyan message to commence attack came in.
"I had half a mind to fire anyway."
"Admiral?" the captain's eyes turned his way, a brow raised.
"They're trying to use this ceasefire as a shield, abusing it to get away with their actions. If they're going to run amok with it in such bad faith, adherence just leaves us twiddling our thumbs while they do as they like. It would have made us look spineless, weak."
A pause.
"Aye aye, admiral."
Lhancombe shifted his posture.
"All ships, all ships! Combat status alpha! Arm all weapons, brace all point defenses, engage charged armour layers! Fighter wings are to deploy on defensive picket, bomber wings stand by for attack run! Advance to firing range, prioritise fleet heavies!" he called, the Captain relaying orders that related to the Warwulf itself. A mechanical whine echoed through the bridge as, with a jolt, the entire bridge tower begun lowering down a colossal rail behind the main gunblock, the view of space disappearing behind armour before the viewports switched to digital camera displays, a clunk signalling that the bridge had reached its protected combat position.
The Orion fleet advanced, their pace steady but far from hasty, moving into firing range on the Atlantean fleet. Capacitor banks were linked, massive cables plugged into place to supply power to the fleet's array of massive axial cannons. Fighter wings flurried from hangar bays, tiny glowing dots of engines darting about the fleet as a formation of interceptors begun to form about the hulks of their parent ships. For the moment, the minelayers hung back.
And only a scant few moments after the Directorate fleet registered the Atlanteans as within their firing range, the axials lit up. Lances of brilliant light spurred from the barrels, row by row firing with heavy thuds that echoed through the entirety of their ships, particle lances lashing out in vicious barrages. Just as Lhancombe had ordered, their fire was focused primarily on the largest ships of the fleet, hoping their heavy forward firepower could knock them out in short order.
For the moment, their missile silos remained shut, and their bombers remained at the back of the fleet. They would be kept for when they were needed.
"Charge Collapse Lances, adjust formation and prepare all hands prepare to receive heavy fire. Damage control teams on standby, and prepare to depressurize for combat." Gelaria announced, as personnel equipped protective gear in anticipation for combat, with ships across the fleet receiving orders and forming up, the Mikala's radiators flaring up with neon blue light as their reactors began to spool up their spinally-mounted lances.
Dreadnoughts first, cycling down to smaller ships.
Targets were painted. Lines were drawn. The script was written, though none of the actors knew the ending.
It was time to go.
The Liintrix lacked swarms of strike craft, but as the other fleets let loose clouds of smaller fighters and bombers, the Liintrix fleet deployed formations of gunships and corvettes, heavier armored alternatives that while were fewer in number, packed much more durability and firepower in each vessel.
The three spectrum class battleships bore their massive plasma cannons, sixteen on each ship, and they all fired at once, reloaded, fired again, and repeated one more time, sending a wave of plasma fire towards the Gas Giant where they suspected much of the hostile fleet to be emerging from, to create a suppressing fire to force ships either further into cover or to leave, putting them in the open for the other fleets.
“Salvo.”
The Evangelions’ bright blue breather points quickly began to shine brightly as the weapons entered pre-fire stage, quickly turning to a bright white as the three antimatter spinal cannons released a timed salvo, the beams firing directly towards the Atlantean fleet. The spinal cannons quickly went from white back down to the cool blue as the cannons began to recharge, all hands now to deck in the fleet.
“Assume assault positions, prepare to siege the Atlantean position!”
The Evangelions sat idly as they recharged, the heavy frigates moving to forward positions while the destroyers held both flanks. In the center was the battlecruiser and to the rear escort of the Evangelions were the line cruisers. In a quick move to consolidate the formation, they began their drive forward quickly and with haste towards the Atlantean fleet in position.
Their position was now wide open as they began to take shade from the Atlanteans which they were fast approaching. On the forward defense line, the frigates’ main cannons opened fire while in the rear lime cruisers, their larger antimatter cannons let off heavy salvos against the Atlanteans. It was continued and concise draw of bright antimatter hail which came down on the rear of the Atlanteans, meanwhile as the fleet approached closer, they slowed themselves, holding lines and sending hard salvos of antimatter blasts against the fleet as others began to approach ready to attack. So it began…
Following the opening fire of the Orion Directorate, Selenican vessels on the edge of the engagement zone clearly received the message -- it was time.
"5 minutes to starboard... 2 minutes to dorsal..." Herza would say to himself, his carriers spewing out fighters after fighters to form a patrol around the hidden "nest" of Selenican forces. All but one of the Daybringer-Class Cruisers began to shift their bows to point as Herza directed, brief flickers of the radiator sails burning in an aurora of violets and oranges as helium plasma burned off the heat continuously building inside the ships.
Time was measured in light minutes at this range, and the most likely outcome was a contingent of the enormous Atlantean fleet peaking their bows over the "battle line" and attempting to focus fire on the heavy hitters. It was the Selenican's job, then, that they were to pin the enemies down, to keep them unable to move.
"All cruisers of Selenican Naval Division 76, open fire."
"Aye aye, sir." A cruiser, the designated squadron leader, replied, the several cruisers allowing their tachyonic lances to fire. Inside one of the main turrets, the mechanism crunched through the filler plate -- a stopper to keep the ship from discharging while under way -- and the density of tachyons inside each magazine began to build, higher and higher. Rad levels were rising uncontrollably, and all personnel were evacuated from the area. Not even a second later, an etherial wind swept the inside of the ship as each turret, slaved to the central fire control system, fired at once. Then the next cruiser. Then the next, until all had fired at the projected evasion zone.
AINAR SYSTEM: League of Illektiera
"Weapons fire reported Centurion"
"So much for CONA wanting peace and to keep the ceasefire, very well time til impact?"
"Approximately several minutes"
Tellid nodded and crossed her legs. Placed her hands upon both of the rests of her command chair.
"Very well. All ships come about 90 degrees hard burn to sunward." The order was relayed quickly and efficiently something that would in turn aid the Carnaithians in decrypting such basic orders. The Atlantean fleet seemed to stop burning towards the CONA forces and turn side on, immediately burning to broadside the foe but putting themselves far from where the initial enemy barrage had likely been aimed to intersect them.
"Now, all ships cut main drives, target enemy vessels and open fire I want time on target" Again quickly the Atlantean fleet cut thrust, their ships RCS units swinging them about to aim towards the foe even as they still moved in their same velocity. Tachyon Cannons, main X-Ray lasers, kinetic salvoes of coilgun fire and missiles fired somewhat staggered from every ship in the formation. Slower munitions were fired first, with the Tachyons fired last. The fire was timed to impact elements of the CONA fleet at the same time, every shot would arrive precisely at the same moment to try and overwhelm shields and PD.
But the CONA weapons were almost upon them. The attack craft screen stayed with the fleet, the interceptors racing out ahead to engage and shoot down the incoming munitions. Kinetics and missiles were blasted down while energy weapons were unaffected.
Having avoided the worst of the opening salvo with a manoeuvre to the sunward side the weapons that did impact caused bright flares on shields or armour.
Tellid did notice one cruiser loss however, a lucky Esohessighan Tachyon beam had broken the vessel in half.
First blood.
"All ships split formation."
After the barrage had impacted one half of the formation reorientated to continue its heading, burning now back towards Ainar, the other continuing to volley fire with the CONA forces. It seemed Tellid had already planned for some kind of counter engagement.
"My liege... weapons-fire detected."
The adjutant reported, with shaken breath. The turrets slowly turned, tracking the course of the Atlantean fleet, following the path of their match across the skies. The ships had each selected their own cruiser to target, corresponding with their position in the line of battle.
"Very well. Signal, mark!"
A red semaphore flash blipped from the flagship. A warning siren wailed, and the great guns of the 1st Battlegroup let loose with ferocity. Tongues of fire leapt forth into the void, following the 198 tracers that arced through space. These tracers were soon followed by others as the secondary and tertiary batteries opened, and the cloud of twinkling dots would start racing towards the Atlantean fleet. The ships shuddered and the crew braced as the volleys shunted then sideways, great plumes of orange-hued smoke temporarily obscuring the ships of the line. Despite this ferocious, thunderous force, the shells fired by the Herskals would lag far, far behind their comrades.
"Maneuver together, dead ahead."
Skrieche felt an odd sense of calm, watching the line of battle as the control thrusters belched jets of cloudy gas, the ships turning in synchronization to face the foe head on. To his flank, he watched as the second line of battle grew smaller in the distance, the torpedo boats far behind. His calm was interrupted by the shaken voice adjutant.
"Hostile weapons-fire detected, my liege."
Aboard the flagship of Vice Admiral Otovrak, an impending sense of dread would set over the bridge. The ever recognizable 305's from the battleships streaked past, followed by report of the foe opening fire. The Armored Cruisers of the Second Line of Battle were still burning nearly right at the enemy- now on more of an intercept course given the recent change in Atlantean trajectory. They were also the furthest ahead in the Herskal group, which was default trying to close the distance as much as possible.
"Enemy skiff-craft approaching."
Otovrak groaned at the reports, before having to catch his breath. The windows tinted as one of the nuclear shells was abruptly stopped by the Atlantean interceptors. The armor piercing shell's steel cap was stripped away and the CerMet-Depleted Uranium shell was shattered, the proximity fuse destroyed and the inertial fuse triggered.
"Order brace, set course to direct intercept. Full ahead."
Otovrak grimaced as the klaxon sounded and the cry of "Brace, brace, brace!" was echoed by the deck officers. The hull seemed to hum as the Herskal point defense opened fire, spewing forth a hail of high velocity anti-material darts to meet the oncoming projectiles, the rosy-copper hue of the lead alloy jackets glinting in sunlight as projectile slammed into projectile. It would not be enough.
There was a sickening crunch of metal on metal, a tremendous crash. Flashes appeared on the hull as Atlantean energy weapons ablated the heavy CerMet hulls, leaving craters and gorging out deep gashes into the thick steel plates. Kinetics shunted massive plugs out of the armor, ceramic dust and steel shavings ejecting out into the void like smoke. The front bulkhead of the vanguard ship, just ahead of Otovrak's flagship, spontaneously burst into a flash fire that ended as soon as it started. The bulkheads, however, did their job. The assault ended. Reprieve. A sigh of relief. A mad, chaotic scramble out the blast doors by engineers with patches, welders and plugs.
Otovrak gave herself a quick pat-down. Her limbs were, decidedly, still in place. She let out a sigh of relief.
"Barrage, fire at will. All remaining batteries, fire at will."
The cruiser's lighter cannons would fire in ripples down the the hulls, thrusters countering the recoil as shell after shell of armor-piercing, dual fused nuclear rounds were sent in the general direction of the foe. Most would probably miss. Hell, they all may. But perhaps, if she was feeling lucky, she'd hope to catch something with a proxy fuse.
Flotilla Admiral Lokrantz would also let out a sigh of temporary relief. She knew that her time was yet to come, but for now, she was mostly safe, in the shadow of the cruisers. The watch ticked down the time to intercept burn. Bloodlust flickered on her face for a moment. Soon, she thought, soon it'd be her time to shine.
Garabdis observed the opening salvos of his allies before issuing an order.
"All applicable ships, prime missile strikes. Feeding in observational data, begin plotting optimal routes. Captain-level discretion authorized. Go."
This was a boon. Normally, the ARM would test the enemy themselves at this range. Through a complex play and counterplay of decoy missiles, probes, and a few real attacks mixed in, optimal evasive routes and targets could be determined, under proper conditions. From there, missile swarms could be used surgically, ensuring at least a few would get through. However, with the other CONA fleets so graciously handling the preliminary exchanges, they would have more than enough data to begin an extreme long range engagement in earnest!
"Hmph. It is time these aliens understood the strength we offer." The transhuman murmured. Across the fleet, synthetic brains, like neurons in a vast organism, relayed orders and plotted courses as the missiles were prepped. Released as a swarm, their destinations were carefully chosen. Where the enemy's defenses were weakest, in terms of direction, point defense saturation, or even armor density, as determined by the attacks launched beforehand, that was the destination of these salvos!
But would this information be enough? Garabdis could not help but wonder. There would no doubt be miscalculations, suboptimal performance, going off of data from foreign weapons. This was the best he could do without explicit orders, however, according to the SAU's Tactical Long-Range Engagement Doctrine. Anything riskier could not be performed without direct authorization! Simply declaring weapons free like this, what was the meaning of it? Was CONA truly so confident? The Administration would analyze this battle closely.
Incoming barrage, Looks like time on target.
Gelaria saw a cloud emerge from the holographic display projecting the images of the hundreds of ships in play. The volume of fire coming towards the fleet was impressive, to say the least, a volley of potentially devastating energy and kinetic fire, approaching her fleet.
"Adjust positions, avoid as much fire as possible and focus point defense on missiles and kinetics. Strike craft, form a screen and assist in point defense as well."
The titanic Liintrix warships spread out in what could almost be described as a trio of wheels, with smaller craft forming intersecting fields of fire around the larger ships. An unlucky few Corvettes took direct hits from coilgun shells, as their lights lights flickered and died, and they fell behind the rest of the fleet, support craft sent out to recover and repair the ships as soon as possible.
Collapse lances are still charging. Mikala class ships, maintain your positions. All other formations, continue closing the distance. Keep your fire up, stay within support range with other ships, and do not overextend.
Plasma, missiles, and powerful lasers all opened fire from the other Liintrix ships, returning fire with their own Time on Target attacks. They would not let this first barrage go unanswered.
"Approximate hit percentage?" Herza asked, he and his staff combing over the projected battlefield, a laser grid projection in the center of the battle bridge.
"About 2%, Sir. Nothing threatening." A signal officer chimed, looking back and forth between 2 monitors flooding with information that couldn't be processed by the onboard "cruncher" systems.
"Approximate likelihood we need to close range?" Herza asked again, this time to his staff.
"Well, we can assume that any attempted fire from this range will be evaded -- we must get into a close enough range that any shots fired cannot be dodged." A commander serving as the second-in-command replied, possessing a similar mind to Herza.
"Our objective here is to provide support for other CONA members -- we can't risk the damages that'd imply." Herza replied, staring at his position. His carriers, they had many Principalities with experimental attack configurations aboard...perhaps they could be used.
A transmission through UV blinkers was shot out to the cruiser division containing orders, purposefully forgoing the simplicity of visual light blinkers to avoid easy detection.
"All cruisers approach to .5 AU. You will have Principalities riding along your hulls -- once the rendezvous point is reached, they will propel themselves off of your hulls and begin attack runs on isolated Atlantean ships."
Following this order, fourty strike groups of 10 standing weapons each, all outfitted with experimental anti-ship fusion missiles, began to launch from the dorsal and ventral hangars of the enormous Durendal-Class carriers -- some with more and some with less, designating a 50/50 split among escorting Principalities and those whose purpose is to run attack runs.
"LAUNCHING!" Yelled one Ace Pilot Yazera, outfitted with an escort variant of the Principality. He and his squadron would launch together and mount onto one of the ten Daybringer-Class Cruisers, their engines burning with a blinding light.
INCOMING, INCOMING. screamed TOT-fed impact alarms, as combat lighting intermixed with alert lights filled the bridge. The initial CONA barrage largely missed or no-selled; a single cruiser was the first casualty. Go'set lightly chuckled - there was something humorous about the notion. The rumble of thrusters added a subtle percussion to every movement, his bridge crew going about their duties with a practiced haste.
"Time to target?" He asked to an officer who was managing a console nearby, his own attention divided between conversation and a command interface.
"A minute and 15. No time to dodge..." He flitted through screens for a moment. "Our craft can screen kinetics, but the majority of their firepower is energy."
"Then we engage shields." He stated, beginning to press buttons on his own interface in turn. "Focus particulate, disseminate the tachyon shots. X-rays we'll just have to tank."
"Sir." His subordinate responded succinctly, rapidly clicking through his console and began transmitting a shipwide order to engage their triple-S'es.
The rumbling whine began to emanate throughout the ship, the telltale whine of their selective shield technology wailing like a turbine as the munitions drew closer and closer. The general narrowed his eyes as the rest of the CONA fleet began their own movements, raising the conn to his mouth in anticipation. All the while the radar gave missile and coilgun rounds a long cast shadow, impact barely seconds away...
---
The Zetyan fleet suddenly seemed to encase itself in balls of orange, smoke and particulate dispersing and coalescing in front of the ship like an oblong eggshell. Gravitic manipulation tinted orange gave the two materials a crimson sheen, orders flying out from the fleet to the mothball of spacecraft disgorging from their guts. Standoff interceptors and PD roared out from ship and craft alike, tachyons and shells penetrating through layers of particulate while FEL bursts bored through smoke and missiles entered combat with fighters.
Initial damages were low, relatively. Scars began to pock the reinforced fronts of the zetyan ships, tachyon lances and shells and missiles that got past the screen boring into the reinforced front or causing minor damage. Free-electron lasers burst through smoke and began to bore into their armor, polyrite melting as the lasers carved holes into their armor. A few lost turrets, a few more had internal damage in pockets. Most suffered armor integrity damage.
Their response wasn't dissimilar from their enemy's - as the zetyans rocketed forwards, they began releasing volley after volley of shell and missile and spinal, standoff missiles and guided railgun shells roughly calibrated to Atlantean defense ranges and lased to target by the command sloop lurking in the distance. All the while their strikecraft raced ahead as fast as bullets, split into a quad pincer formation to attack the enemy from all angles but the front.
Kreibaum could imagine the tickering k-chunk's of the readout screen as the information feed filled in. Just what his own prowler was bringing in replaced the screen contents in seconds. Each ship was mostly focusing on one thing or another, from - relatively - low risk materials analysis and tactics, to codebreaking. Optics showed that the three ahead ships had successfully avoided the crossfire between the fleets, and were about halfway to the sieged world below. A low-profile signal later, and it was clear that they were getting much more sterile communications from the homogenous fleet and command structure the Atlanteans were fielding than the CONA task force away from the gravity wells. A decode would probably be acheived soon.
But he noticed something else, too. The Zetyans, as efficiently aggressive as they were, kept doing something curious. Most every signal they sent out came back with a similarly-keyed response, be it from their own or another subfleet, but every once in a while an outward token was sent with no response. He eyed the miscellaneous signature list of the system with suspicion; a few fingertaps later and the opticals of his ship were busy screening each one.
Lhancombe's brow furrowed as the first reports came in.
"Fire ineffective, sir! We're too far away!"
"Return fire imminent! Tachyon emissions detected!"
"Brace for salvo! Raise charged armour to full!" the captain called, sensors flashing with the momentary spike of tachyonic lances screaming silently by.
For the moment, the Warwulf remained quiet, comparatively. Nothing had hit it.
"Cruiser Saegeat disabled sir, tachyon lance crippled her primary reactor! Destroyer Alwin is damaged! Damage control assessing now, but she can still move!"
"Secondary batteries?" Lhancombe asked.
"Fire control reads green, admiral!"
"Good. Have our rearward elements rescue survivors from the Saegeat."
Still. At this range, the Directorate's guns could fire away all they liked and would do little more than scratch damage.
"All ships advance, engines to combat output."
"Admiral? An Atlantean battlegroup is turning to engage."
"Our ships are built for head to head brawls. We'll move up the front, see if we can't give them a headache. We need to maintain pressure on their main force, keep them on their toes so they can't dig in."
"Aye aye, admiral. All ships, moving to engage."
The engines of the Directorate fleet roared to full, plumes of light as they steadily accelerated. The guns thundered again and again, salvos of particle fire to keep defenses on edge more than anything, at least until they got closer. They advanced on the Atlantean battlegroup that had turned to fight, seemingly intent on drawing its attention. Doing otherwise, hopefully, would get a nasty particle lance surprise through their centre masses for the mistake.
As for their CONA allies, a simple signal laserlined out.
<<ENGAGING FRONT. SUGGEST ENCIRCLE.>>
AINAR SYSTEM: League of Illektiera
"Enemy vessels are closing to engage effectively, reporting heavy missile barrages and return fire. First barrage like our foes largely ineffective, but we have their relative intercept envelopes and patterns now"
"Excellent. Tell Group Beta to accelerate away, maximum thrust. I want our strike craft dispersed away from our ships" The command made several of the bridge crew turn to make sure they heard the command "Do as I say" Tellid had to re-iterate before the commands were given.
Across the Atlantean fleet staying and fighting the fighters and bombers that had been covering the fleet up front allowing for intercepts withdrew. Forming up into squadrons they kept distance, not getting in the way of the fire but also leaving the Atlantean vessels bare. Similarly the second formation accelerated away at high speed, leaving Tellid and her remaining forces to weather the charge of the CONA fleets head on.
"Enemy fire impacting" The call was made even as the ship shook from impacts. Kinetic shells vapourised themselves on particular shielding, while lasers dissipated on bright plasma projections, it was not enough of course. This time Tellid saw losses. Three destroyers, two additional cruisers and a battleship had been taken out, overwhelmed by missile strikes and combined fire as the CONA forces seemed to focus down individual targets.
"Launch decoys, Tell Formation Beta they can begin flank striking the advancing enemy"
Small fighter sized arrays launched from the Atlantean ships, each one broadcasting heavy jamming as well as signature masking, flashing strobing IR lasers towards the enemy to blind optics and cause confusion. It would give them added defence. Meanwhile Beta cut thrust, swinging around to now fire once more onto the forces of the Directorate & Selenicans who now raced into the fray where they excelled.
"Tell bomber groups to steer clear of CONA advancing forces, instead conduct strike craft attacks on rear-guard long range elements. How long until they are ready?"
"The strike craft ma'am?"
"No. Our aces"
"A few minutes, they are lighting drives now"
On the surface of Krull 25 new signatures appeared, IFFs showed Atlantean, they seemed to have hidden forces. But 25 ships made little difference to Tellids formation, they were still a far way away but something was up.
Garabdis was impassive as the jammers began to activate.
"First barrage ineffective. EWAR attack detected." An officer messaged.
"Within expected parameters. Hruanak Cassegryn-3-2-1, Hruanak Cassegryn-3-2-2, initiate counterjamming procedures."
The two electronic warfare specialist ships could not counteract simply shining a laser onto optics but any sort of signal-based jamming may be mitigated, followed by an offensive jamming attack of their own.
"Hm. I doubt we could target the enemy craft in a specific fashion at this moment." Garabdis mused. "All forces, initiate defensive pattern Null Path. Visiuana Cassegryn-3-2-1, Visiuana Cassegryn-3-2-2, Visiuana Cassegryn-3-2-1, Hran Cassegryn-3-2-1, Hran Cassegryn-3-2-2, Hran Cassegryn-3-2-3, run interference. "
The vessels immediately began deploying a particulate shield, spreading it out through magnetic manipulaton to cover most of their hull rather than concentrating it in a particular direction. But before that, they fired their weapons.
And then a message to the self-appointed heads of the CONA task force.
"This is Subfleet Cassegryn-3-2 anticipating engagement from enemy strike craft. Currently holding position, defensive measures deployed. Any further commands will be obeyed to the best of our ability. Veseti out."
Followed by a message to the fleets which had not closed the distance.
"Engaging defensive protocols against oncoming strike craft. Keep your interceptors away from the afflicted area. Veseti out."
ARM main guns are not conventional projectile weapons. Rather, they are two-stage systems. A simple, slow-firing rail-catapult launches an RCS-guided projectile. This projectile cannot meaningfully alter its path like a missile, but it has the bare minimum to turn and fix its front in a specific direction. The key to this system was its payload, a nuclear ignition system. Once orientation data was set internally, a countdown to detonation was inevitable, triggering a nuclear EFP or howitzer! In this way, every weapon system on an ARM ship could be brought to bear simultaneously on a singular target, without the conventional restrictions of a gun turret system. However, less force than that was needed here. The smaller gun batteries let loose volleys of gently drifting spheroids that would, some time later when the fighters would be calculated to have entered Close or near Close range, explode into directed shotgun blasts of metal traveling at relativistic speeds and plumes of nuclear plasma, seemingly erupting from the void around them in all directions (save towards the Cassegryn ships, or any other direction which might harm allies) rather than the barrels of ARM turret batteries. Any oncoming vessels that survived that would have to contend with the sandcasters and particulate shields of ARM point-defense, along with the three corvettes and two gunboats that had been set on the hunt, the maneuverable Visiuanas especially.
Null Path was a maneuver intended to prevent an enemy from closing the gap, particularly smaller vessels, by creating a field of deadly shrapnel, heat, and dust which a more armored vessel might be able to power through or penetrate the defenses of due to the lack of concentration in any one point. Of course, the ARM, for all its military buildup, had little experience with large-scale combat besides their home universe, and that was decades ago. Would their tactics still prove sufficient?
Skrieche sighed. Not many, if any at all, of the Herskal shells found their mark. There was the occasional flash of nuclear hellfire, but sensors indicated the shells detonated early and merely singed the outer hulls of the enemy vessels. However, they were closing range, and- relatively speaking- swiftly so, with engines at full burn. Soon, they would be in proper fighting distance.
This did, however, make the entirety of the Herskal battlegroup some of, if not, the most forwardmost elements of the CONA fleet, and thus subjected to the flanking Formation Beta's fire.
The old Lord Admiral's eyes surveyed the battle as more reports of weapons fire rung out across the ship, followed by the chanting of "Brace, brace, brace!" It was like glorious clockwork to him, as impacts sparked against the thick armor. A secondary turret spewed fire as its ready ammo cooked off, launching off into space. His mind already began to drift to the various casualty reports he'd have to file, assuming he made it out alive.
His thoughts were interrupted by the Adjutant's voice, a faint waiver accenting the general professional tone.
"Sir, armored cruiser Eskronat has been crippled. The Second Line of Battle is engaging their match. Orders?"
Skrieche stared out into the void, watching a small speck of glowing orange fall back behind the line of dots that was the Second Line of Battle.
"The Second Line of Battle is to proceed with their current course of action as the Vice Admiral deems fit. As for the First Line of Battle... order a sequential turn on intercept course. We shall cross their T. Order the picket squadron to commence torpedo runs and entangle the enemy."
"As you command, my liege."
Otovrak shuddered as she watched the Eskonat be consumed in a ball of flame, its fore turrets bursting out of their mounts and into the void. His own ship only fared slightly better, with serious damage amidships, but now her line of battle was broadside with the enemy and the full might of the great guns could bare down upon them. She had some solace in knowing the great battleships would eventually come about to aid her, but for the moment they were commencing a maneuver.
“Admiral, enemy skiff-craft approaching! Radar station is jammed, and there is optical interference!”
She sighed, looking down from the command deck of the bridge to the gunnery pit.
“Understood. Status on target acquisition?”
The gunnery officer was staring intently at a bank of oscilloscope screens, a soft hum of machinery activating as the officer began to break down the seemingly irregular pattern into a sum of sine waves.
“Isolating interference as we speak, ma’am. Optical solution… acquired.”
A flick of a switch here, and a turn of a dial there, and jittery, violent waves on the oscilloscope screen flattened, leaving the distinct patterns of the hostile ship signatures, and of their own shell’s tracers.
“Very good, fire in half-salvos, by battery. Adjust course to 80 degrees off-bow, I want to slowly close the distance. Do mind to avoid firing upon our torpedo boats.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Gunfire rippled across the ships, starting with a single thunderous blast from the left barrel of each turret. The great guns lowered, and the other half fired, and soon the cycle would repeat. The smaller guns, cannons of 150 and 80 millimeters, would be first to reload, sending yet more plumes of orangish smoke into space before the first clouds had even fully dissipated.
The First Line of Battle, now moving at an even wider angle to the Second Line than before, would add its raking fire, though with its somewhat greater distance they’d restrain themselves to calculated, spaced out salvos only, in comparison to the drumfire of the Second Line as volley melded into volley until it would seem as if the stream of tracers poured forth like rain. Even the hulk of a ship that had been mortally wounded and now drifted through space, barely functional, added its retort in an act of spite by its crew, who wildly fired what guns and torpedoes they had in the general direction of the foe despite the rather unfortunate state of their targeting systems.
Flotilla Admiral Lokrantz mentally steeled herself, taking in deep, practiced breaths, focusing her mind and feeling the adrenaline surge as her time finally came.
“Helmsman, intercept course, ahead full! Signalman, order echelon turn together!”
Cries of “Aye, Admiral!” reported back from the relatively cramped bridge of her command. She watched as the ship turned, shuddered, and bolted forwards, following the wake of shell tracers and flying alongside the needle-like RTN-5B torpedoes just fired by the 2nd Line of Battle as the range-extending drop tanks dropped away in balls of fire from the high velocity armored nukes.
“ELINT, target, front! IR and Radar signature!”
“Engage with main gun!”
The front turret swiveled around, the thump-thump-thump of the 80 millimeter echoing through the small ship.
“Missile, incoming!”
The 13mm CIWS opened up again, a stream of dart-like projectiles slamming into the incoming projectile like water from a hose. Nearby torpedo boats added their fire, and soon the target erupted and debris plinked off the hull of the torpedo boat.
“Seventy-Five percent fuel remaining! Engine is overheating!”
“Press onwards! Use WEP coolant!”
The war-emergency-power coolant as dumped through the vanes of the reactor and came blasting out of the funnels ands out of pressure relief valves, a sight mirrored across the entire formation, the smokestack-like-radiators glowing towards their ends as coolant jetted out into space.
“Torpedoman, begin acquiring targets! Estimated time to launch?”
“Aye, Admiral! Target sighted, preparing solution! Roughly two minutes ‘till range!”
Lokrantz looked forwards to the void, the dots in the distance growing closer, the tide of shellfire flowing past, and smiled at the beauty of the carnage that was to come. The smile twitched into a grimace as a torpedo-boat exploded itself into nothing but scrap metal, as a stray shot from the Atlantean volley eviscerated the small craft.
“Begin evasive maneuvers, signal to break echelon and enter general skirmish order.”
She sighed as the G-forces from the hard maneuvers rocked her back and forth. She couldn’t let the bloodlust get to her head- not yet, not now- for she still had a duty to her comrades, a duty to keep them alive, and she mustn't let her duty to bring honor and victory overshadow that, not if she wanted to call herself a proper Admiral.
As he watched the feedback come up on the bridge screen, the Zetyan admiral narrowed his beady eyes. The strike craft dispersing, the sudden deployment of decoys, and now 25 signatures showing up far behind them at Krull. Evidently the Atlanteans were planning something, and most likely these were integral to their tactics, but at this stage it was difficult to tell without theorycrafting. In any case, they had shifted focus for now; the Directorate and Republic ships were the first targets. Gave them room to breathe.
Evidently focused fire was a weakness, but unless they targeted specific assets it wouldn't amount to much. They'd need to identify the command ship somehow, or simply suffice for taking down the largest ships until something clicked. Idly chewing on his inner cheek, the commander began flitting through a command interface while his command staff consternated amongst themselves. The EWAR would make it much harder to hit targets, or even verify their targets were hit.
"CTO, how much have our carriers deployed?" He asked to a nearby officer, who maintained watch over the fleet at large.
"50% total, sir. 25% on defense, 25% on reserve."
"I want the reserves deployed. Put them on anticipatory offense." He paused, eying Krull again. "If those end up like how I think they'll end up, we'll need them."
"Sir." As he raised a hand to his own conn and began relaying the orders, the admiral issued more direct orders through the interface. Not to the carriers, but the strike groups they had deployed.
While flitting through his interface, gazing at the battlespace readout, he noticed a sudden clearup in the visual fuzz. Not by too much, but enough for an opening - he didn't have time to question it. A few button presses, and his fleet had their targets. A hand to his ear activated his comm bead, and hand-tuning of the mode tuned it to encrypted broadcast through the ship's systems. Aug-eyes gave him superfluous information on the channel; he just wanted to know he was broadcasting.
ALCON, Battlegroup 305. Recommending anti-strikecraft operations, movements suggest they serve as tactical hardpoints for enemy forces. Targeting opening in EWAR blanket. You two should be receiving covering fire soon.
---
Unbeknownst to the wider fleet, the stealth sloop had been dancing across the asteroid belt it had taken refuge in, making a wide angle on the Atlantean fleet. Hiding it's signature amongst the rocks and debris, it could still be seen poking out now and again to deliver targeting data in patches, like a dolphin breaching water. Only when the 'hole' in the EWAR came up for the Zettish commander had the sloop stopped, having achieved a wide enough angle on the Atlantean fleet to sufficiently target them.
The sloop didn't have the EWAR facilities necessary to breach the hole needed for the entire combined fleet, but it didn't need to. The 'clearup' the admiral had perceived was just brute-forced targeting data supplanting the initial appraisal, ELINT and laser-ranging providing an incomplete picture for the munitions to use. By no means perfect, far from it, but without the strobe lasers so easily burning out their optics it was much easier to correlate than if they were back in focus.
However, unbeknownst to them as well, it was just what the Carnaithians needed. A strange source of signals, first vaguely within a nearby belt, then much closely locked in. Were they to see it peeking out from the belt, or follow the breadcrumb trail of silently fed data from their erstwhile allies, Kreibaum and his crew would be more than able to pinpoint it.
Meanwhile the fleet, divorced from the private affairs of stealth and subterfuge, simply pressed onwards. Their carriers disgorged a cloud of craft again, this time encircling their hulls like flies, while the fleet opened up another volley on Formation Beta, spinal rounds joining the volleys of missiles and shells as the fleet gave it's first applause. The strikecraft began to split from their pincer, a chunk diverting to attack the Atlantean bombers while the rest continued as they were, screaming to get in range of the Atlantean ships and unload their countless munitions upon them.
The Warwulf shook as something hit it, readouts on the screens of his bridge crew turning red in his peripheral, his own vision focused on the holographic battle map.
"Two cruisers down, sir! The Alwin is buckling, and we've lost destroyer Shernoth! Battleship Cynhart has been damaged, pulling back for repairs! Cruiser Leoric too!"
"One of our particle cannons is offline!"
"Fighters deploying from the enemy fleet, admiral! They're deploying jamming measures!"
Lhancombe's brow furrowed.
"Scramble our own fighters, have them cover our flanks. And have the impact bombers deployed on standby too. Slow us down but maintain fire patterns, make it look like they have us on the back foot. Maybe we can lure them forward."
"Aye aye, admiral. Slowing pace."
Sure enough, the Directorate fleet's advance slowed. Their fire did not subside, though under the weight of Atlantean jamming it was not as precise as the blue vessels would have aimed for, attempting to compensate with missiles. Perhaps they were losing heart.
On the notion of the fighters, however, flanking the Directorate would not be so simple, their own fighter wings begun being hurled by catapults from the rears of their vessels, lashing out with the intent of staving off Atlantean jamming. For the moment they were still organising, but hiding close to the point defense grids of their fleet.
A pattern. Not just that, but emissives. Not the solar flares that were the infrared strobelights being showered from the deluge of small craft, but something more subtle. Emissives and data in a bunch of rocks - subterfuge played professionally.
The prowler formation, silently transiting the open space adjacent to the battle, dedicated some computational power to passive analysis of the belt - a threat, definitely, but it was important to know if it were the enemy. While the quiet search was enacted, the prior operations weren't stopped; positions still needed to be reached, if slowly. Kreibaum had noticed the FTL signatures behind them, but unlike the CONA fleet he didn't have the freedom of action to provide counterforce. His ships would maintain action.
Herza was deeply troubled by the rapid shift in direction of the Atlantean battle group's heading. Not many ships known to the Selenicans could perform such maneuvers without turning their crews to paste...No matter. His battle group could afford to set range, and hold the Atlanteans by the throat.
That is, what he'd like to believe.
An oncoming wave of Atlantean fire, tachyons shimmering in the darkness and the invisible reaper of an X-ray laser salvo smashed into the approaching Daybringer-Class ships. Brilliant orange and purple smoke burned angrily from the points of impact, the first layers of plasma shields burning away. A light far too bright to view with naked eyes shone from the hull of the lead Daybringer, its Principalities detached from their hull mounting points in a panic as a direct hit by a tachyonic lance burned through layers upon layers of armor. A brief respite from the blinding flash immediately signaled something wrong, a hit on its primary reactor detonating the ship, another flash of blinding orange and yellow light escaping the confines of the ship. Scratch one of the most advanced ships the Selenicans had...
The Admiral's hubris had been punished, brutally.
"Damage report, stat!" He demanded, a sinking feeling in his long stomach as he knew well that what he’d hear would be troubling.
“One ship down! Reactor detonation, complete write off!”
“Plasma shields burnt away, another laser salvo will cook us! I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to cool down.”
“Point defense battery Zeta and Omicron down!”
“Thank you.” Herza sighed, his enemy now staring his ships down headlong. Formation Beta was focusing down his and the Herskal’s vessels…how to take advantage of that…
The cruisers were stretched too far forward. A salvo of forward-facing fire, ditching the Principalities and allowing them to wreak havoc on the forward elements of the Atlantean fleet would be ideal…however, leaving such valuable ships undefended so far forward was risky.
“All cruisers, send Principalities forward on strike patterns. Defense of the strike weapons is of utmost priority. Don’t push your luck by going into point defense range.” The Admiral would order, a creeping feeling of doubt seeping into his voice.
“Once they’ve been deployed, bank hard to port and return to the rendezvous point with the destroyers. This will be at about .65 AU from my flagship. All coordinates have been sent.”
“Aye, Admiral.” was the resounding reply.
With a short drop in thrust, the cruisers began a burn to port, their engines burning a blinding blue and white as the comparatively tiny Principalities deployed off of its surface, using RCS to form up. The slower strike configuration Principalities formed the central core of the large spearhead formation, with half the escorts surrounding them. The remaining half were a detached element, responding to threats preemptively. They would remain at this approximate .5 AU range for the time being until strike paths could be determined, where their view of the battlefield was an eerily beautiful one.
The weaker sensors of the standing weapons only gave a dim view of what was around, brief flashes of white and an indescribable color of UV light in the cockpits. It was still silence, waiting for orders, engines powered down as a battle surrounded them.
"Ma'am, enemy assets have popped in on our flank. Dominion and Herskal forces are under fire."
"What's the status on the Collapse Lances?"
"Charged, Admiral."
Gelaria tapped her chin with a knuckle and closed her eyes, thinking to herself. This move may be risky, but if they could take pressure off of their allies... This maneuver just might be worth it. "Adjust Lance bearing to the flanking fleet. Target heavy assets on the flanking ships. Fire on my mark." She orders with a motion of her hand, standing up from her seat and watching the holographic display intently.
Fire from the main hostile fleet was still intense, and the point defense, shielding, and armor could only absorb so much of it. The larger ships were starting to take more substantial damage, even one of the Spectrum-classes main guns being shut down. The Mikala classes acted as one unit, adjusting their hulls to aim towards the flanking Atlantean vessels, one of them taking a couple hits along it's flank, but persevering to deliver it's own blow.
"Admiral?"
"Give them just a few more minutes..."
The Mikala classes selected their targets. The larger vessels in the flanking fleets were the focus of their wrath.
"Fire."
The Collapse Lance was a rather... unique weapon amongst the Alliance, being quite a bit higher on their relative tech level than most of their equipment. That was the case because it was not their technology. The Collapse lance was developed by the Seraft long ago, most notably as a mech-scale revolver on their BISHOP units, but it's ease of adjustment made it a very versatile weapon's platform, being able to be shrunk down to the scale of an infantryman's rifle, to a spinally mounted weapon on a battleship.
It's effects at any scale, however, were always beautiful... and devastating.
A blindingly bright blue orb of light became visible at the front of each Mikala-class destroyer, which expanded and expanded until it was practically the size of the ship itself.
And then, true to it's name, the orb collapsed.
The effect is similar to that of air fleeing a balloon that had a needle pierce it's skin. All of the energy within the orb of light fled the collapsing orb in a twisting, unstable, almost feral display of the horrors of space combat, as residual energy danced along the location of the collapse itself, like miniature nebulas that glowed all kinds of blues, purples, greens, oranges, reds...
The beams of light from the Collapse Lances pierced the darkness of space, cutting through the void towards their targets, as Gelaria watched, smiling for the first time this whole goddamn day.
AINAR SYSTEM: League of Illektirera
“We are under EW attack Ma’am”
“Understood, keep laserline with Beta. Our strike craft know what to do”
Tellid could already see the forces approaching closer to her own, the Herskals seemed to be gunning for short range likely to fire some heavier munitions at much easier distances. The Clanholds meanwhile were holding back somewhat, still launching additional strike craft likely in anticipation to the Atlanteans own squadrons. Decent enough damage had been done to the Directorate, Selenicans and the Herskals though, that in itself made he smile slightly. But that smile was quickly dashed as numerous red icons flashed from Beta.
Bright beams of light pierced three vessels, the first was a cruiser, its entire length was cored by the Collapse Lances of the Quosx as it punched through the shields and then the entire ship leaving a deformed and holed wreck. Another ship hit, an escort was literally atomised, totally reduced to nothing but high velocity dust while a third impact amidship on one of the Atlantean Battleships the Gladiator. The beam pulverised the shields, melting armour and searing itself into the internals to wipe out numerous weapon systems and critical power relays. Damage control teams were already scrambling but the molten hole had taken the battleship out of action as it drifted on its heading dead in the water. The sudden strike, along with the continued fire inflicted several more degrees of damage on Tellids own formation, while Beta had been hit with the lances she herself now round heavy incoming kinetics. A destroyer was pounded into fragments after its shields failed and took several direct impacts across its hull deforming and shattered it entirely. Another escort was destroyed as a lucky hit took out its engines. Losses were to be expected but the lances were another matter.
At least their new assets around Krull would prove their worth.
Formation Beta now swung back around to accelerate, keeping their flanking trajectory and leaving the badly damaged battleship behind as crews desperately worked to save it. No longer able to use their spinals the ships this time targetted the Quosx and also the Zetyans, both forces towards the back of the CONA formation with their main X-Ray lasers and a large barrage of kinetic impactor missiles aiming to strike those vessels armed with the dangerous lances and those carriers still launching fighters.
For Tellid she had closer threats to deal with.
Rounds bypassed lasers as the Atlantean core formation battled with the Herskals, Directorate, ARM & Selenicans. A barrage of missiles was launched by the Atlantean fleet, this time configured for sandcaster operations, detonating in such a way as to give the fleet a temporary, albeit potent, particulate shield to protect from incoming fire.
“Ships hard starboard, up 38 relative and light main drives. Keep distance from incoming enemy vessels and put us on a relative intercept course with our assets around Krull. Keep firing and keep that particulate wall between us as much as possible. Signal to the attack craft, they are to carry out long range missile strikes on the closest enemies”
The formation swung about, more rounds impacting shields or exploding into hulls before accelerating away. They stayed roughly at the same distance relative to the Herskals to try keep them at range a bit longer, but it was the attack craft that now acted.
The squadrons of bombers, their signal given after a few moments of delay via laserline, now began moving. The fighters escorting them in a wide arc both in front and behind. They moved on the Herskals and any other ships at the front of the CONA formation. They did not aim to get close, rather launching their missiles at range while the fighters screened for them.
They had no intention of tangling with ship point defence at all.
For the signatures that now appeared from Krull, things didn’t add up. The IFFs showed Atlantean, but the ships did not look Atlantean in the slightest. Fairly skeletal and smaller in size the vessels seemed to have protrusions and ‘wings’ that gave off powerful sensor distorting emissions. Within a few minutes of their accelerating towards Tellids formation the 25 ships seemed to go dark, some kind of stealth system.
Observing, the Prowler formation would easily distinguish that the designs, the signatures, the activation… Morkar Blades. These were new Leistunganos Designs, but why were they under Atlantean control?
Kraibaum shouted as the readings came through, AI-screened images matching up to archival materials perfectly. He pointed, physically, at his WSO as the shock took him out of his cyberscape focus. "Drop five cold! mix cluster and choke! Comms, repeat to rest of ours - EWAR, run verification and redo precom protocols!" The orders were met with a rapid sequence of greenlights in his display. He narrowed his eyes as he focused in; the drop of the cold-launch cartridges subtly accelerating his prowler, reeling him back into the element.
"Get forward group to cross the commline between Krull contacts and primary hostile fleet, get transmission scraps as able."
He knew the move was risky... it could lead to their discovery, but the briefing was clear. High threat environment.
Garabdis watched the missiles fly. The sheer amount of material put into the space in front of them should provide plenty of disruption, but point defense was put on high alert regardless. A counterbattery of missiles for interception was deployed as an extra precaution. Veseti put out another call.
ARM forces engaging missile strike. Enemy fighters have broken off. Continuing long-range support doctrine until further notice.
Working as a mob without a defined plan, a proper chain of command, it was all so vexing. Further away from the fight than others, they wouldn't be first to notice the discrepancy between design and IFF, and would likely receive the information from other fleet groups should it be broadcasted. Atlantean, Leistunganos, what was the difference? ARM extreme-range doctrine was without flaw! So long as they held their current defensive pattern they should be fine. And unless the self-appointed commanders ordered otherwise, that was precisely what the A-human commander would do, using targeted missile barrages to support the forward push when not focusing on defending themselves.
Reports of strange sensor contacts on their periphery were logged, and duly ignored, by the radio officers. There was some back and forth as to whether or not it was a concern of the 1st Battlegroup, however, as Lord Admiral Skrieche looked over the projected map, he came to the conclusion that it was not the Line of Battle's place to attempt to engage such a threat when they were rapidly becoming entangled with the brunt of the force.
The Second Line of Battle had done its job admirably, charging headlong into the foe as the First Line of Battle had closed more slowly, and had swung wide. With enough fuel, and a long enough burn, they should eventually start to poke through the flank.
His thoughts were interrupted by a report from his Adjutant.
"Near-miss probabilities are above the recommended threshold, my liege. Shall we commence saturated bombardment?"
"Proceed. Signal all ships, break salvo. Commence saturation bombardment. Adjust course and establish lead- We must cross their T. Permission to engage War Emergency Power."
Combat ranges had closed enough. Close enough, at least, for according to the statisticians back at the halls of the Herskal Directorate Astronautica, to begin firing as many shells as possible, whereas the slight inaccuracies incurred by the plumes on optics and the barrels heating from sustained fire were negligible enough that the ships shouldn't run out of ammunition before the firefight was over. Still, decidedly, not close enough for Skrieche, as the radiators began to tint from heat and the engines glowed an increasingly concerning color.
The blips of semaphore from the flagship would hail a new ferocity from the Herskal Directorate ships. The already loud and uncomfortable interiors, with their pipework and steel, would be assaulted by a new source of sound as the massive, armored elevators from the magazines to the handling rooms began to shuttle in more and more shells from one continuous link carrier to another. The influx of shells was to meet the new demand- The heavy 305s fired at a rather lethargic rate, to the point one would have to question whether or not they were being manually loaded prior. Now, their fire rate had practically tripled, if nor more, as the inertial rammers exploited the fact that the Herskals didn't- or perhaps couldn't- use artificial gravity across the entirety of the ship and the heavy shells and propellant charge blocks could be simply flung into the barrel.
The first notable effect of this order was the rippling muzzle flashes across the Herskal Directorate battlegroup, as orange hued plume seemed to meld into orange hued plume, the ships seeming to almost sparkle as the guns fell out of sync and the maneuver thrusters preempted and counteracted the recoil.
The next notable effect of the saturation command would not be seen quite yet- the shells still had to reach the target, and the Atlean retort had beaten the Herskals to the punch. A tachyon weapon gouged its way into Arnokat-class battleship Avoroch’s citadel, striking the aft-dorsal powder hoist still laden with its charges. The initial detonation was terrific in its own right, but it was far from over for this old second rate ship of the line. A secondary fizzle occurred as nearby nuclear munitions were damaged by the blast as it blew through the compromised nearby bulkheads. The ensuing flashes heralded plumes of coolant and fuel as fire poured out of the ship, with inflating life pods already ejecting out into the fray. In mere minutes, its damaged reactor would go supercritical as it all melted away, the ensuing meltdown peeling the ship apart at the seams as welds failed and trusses buckled from the force. The old ship now drifted, lifeless, along with the sailors now dead in the void, and the First Line of Battle had been reduced from sixteen ships to fifteen.
The armored cruisers of the Second Line of Battle were not faring much better. They had now gradually turned alongside Tellid’s formation as they brought their main batteries to bare, adding their own volleys of fire- albeit of smaller caliber- to the hail coming in from the battleships attempting to cut off the Atlantean fleet. The missiles from the attack craft had been directed at the closest targets -barring the torpedo boats; those craft in their awkward size category, not small enough to be a bomber or fighter but not large enough to really be a ship- and the Second Line of Battle most definitely qualified as one of the closest. Autocannons and machineguns blazed at the oncoming projectiles, their paths being followed by puffs of shrapnel shell and the sleet of small bore darts.
The defenses were not impervious, not by a long shot. Otovrak winced as one slammed into her command- the terrible rocking, the flash, the shock- and was relieved to see that the armor held, this time. It had slightly caved in, with cracks along its face, and part of the weld had busted. However, the relatively good fortune she had was not mirrored across the rest of the Second Line of Battle. Indeed, one of the older Halnoch-class armored cruisers was practically eviscerated as its armor caved and a follow up missile eviscerated its internal bulkheads. Not many of its crew would make it to escape pods before secondary explosions reduced the now-adrift hulk to smithereens.
The Herskal’s saturation bombardment, with its opening salvos now some time ago, would begin to produce its most notable effect. The armor piercing nuclear shells of the Herskal Directorate, to this point, had been mainly proximity-contact fused, many sailing harmlessly by or violently detonating as they were de-capped and eroded by the missile sandblaster and shields. Now, however, open space began erupting into bright flashes as the time fuse of the shells was set. The path of Tellid’s fleet would now be illuminated by nuclear hellfire.
This illumination was quite literal for the forces under the command of Flotilla Admiral Lokrantz. They had buttoned up- heavy shutters had now fallen over the already heavily armored glass viewslits, but were flying by instrument now. They weren’t looking for their targets themselves now, but rather the shadows cast by them whenever nuclear shells would overshoot, to ensure their course remained steady.
There were 74- once 75, but one already got stricken- craft, and each one counted.
“Fifty percent fuel remaining!”
“Incoming debris! Taking evasive!”
The sandcasters struck and whittled away at the torpedo boats as they raced ever faster onwards towards the target.
“One minute until optimal launch distance!”
Three immediately burned up, their hulls shredding as they powered through.
Another four would soon after lose control, helplessly careening off target and having to fire off their torpedoes prematurely.
The RTN-5s bolted off towards their target, but their short burn time meant that their fuel was consumed in course-correcting maneuvers before they could reach their targets.
Another ten would be eviscerated by missiles.
Now there were fifty seven.
“Critical damage, we lost radiators!”
“Engine temperature is unsafe!”
“Fifteen seconds!”
The RTN-5Bs following alongside them went into full burn as they began to home in on their target’s heat signatures- aided by the saturation bombardment lightly toasting the Atlantean hulls, if all things went well.
“Engagement range!”
“Launch! Launch! Launch!”
Shutter doors slammed open. Compressed gas shunted out the massive, armored nuclear torpedoes. Before they even fully clear, their rocket motors kick on, and plumes of exhaust blast out of the vents. The T.8 class only carried two, side by side, the larger T.9 classes having another two launchers on the amidships. In total, 162 of the weapons would be discharged, at what would practically be a knife-fight.
“Torpedoes away! Break off, decelerate!”
The torpedoes race towards their target, seeking the heat. They move forwards in great jolts, as they burn through their explosive monopropellant, accelerating rapidly and violently as they home in on their targets.
The torpedo boats, or what's left of them, turn about and aggressively burn away the rest of their fuel, and simply pray that they got far enough off course to be recovered later.
"Atlantean missile salvo incoming, estimated range...0.3 AU."
"Ready point defense batteries Theta and Gamma, batteries Zeta and Omicron are to be abandoned. Jettison the turrets, we can't risk fire spreading." Herza replied, his instinct to react to threats creeping over his already dicey initial plan.
"All Principality squadrons, begin your runs. Transform first into cruising mode. Get the strike units just out of the enemy's point defense range. Once there, go back to standing weapon mode, and defend the strike units until their magazines are empty. Until then, do not draw fire to yourselves; break formation if you have to." He relayed, his own ships recharging their main tachyonic batteries.
--
The here-to dormant Principalities, unsure of what their admiral was thinking in having them idle for so long, finally sprung to life. Red glows of IR and visual sensors came online in their pointed heads, the interior sensor suite quickly scanning the battlefield for their targets. The machines, without their pilots lifting a finger, began their transformations. The head collapsed into the chest, bouquets of SRBs collapsing into a pillar of thrust, the fusion engines embedded into the knees and thighs pointing in-line with their chemical engines. Finally, the torso collapsed further, the armored upper chest coming down to cover the vulnerable abdomen cockpit.
Brilliant flashes of orange-white light began to burn as the SRB engines were activated one by one, as 400 standing weapons, tiny machines with the best pilots the Selenicans had access to, began to accelerate towards the Atlantean fleet, preliminary targeting pointing out exposed and vulnerable enemies.
Missiles began to launch out of the side-mounted racks onboard the various ships of the Selenican fleet, launching...toward their own Principalities.
"Admiral, what are you doing?!" A transmission from a particularly noted pilot stated, worry filling his voice.
"They're your screen. They're packed with chaff and are programmed to lead enemy munitions away from you. They'll also inflate your size on enemy sensor screens."
Well, why didn't you tell us?! The pilot retorted in his mind. "Thank you, sir."
Go'set watched the new contacts from Krull, those skeletal ships with sensor-muffling antennae, disappear into thin air with a growl. Expat designs, that much was certain, and coinciding with the hole in the Atlantean EWAR disappearing and one of the fleets engaging in an intercept course. It was just their luck too, Formation Beta swinging round and opening fire with their main batteries while focusing their carriers. No reds yet, but at least two confirmed hits from laser fire - they could not be losing the carriers this soon.
"ALAPP, have the carriers deploy our reserve in the last known lead direction of those ships, have the main group start attacking capital assets en force, I want all sensors on the highest settings we can get them! And get those carriers a damn covering screen! Pop our shields!"
"Sir!"
They acquiesced to his orders quickly and efficiently, a hundred bodies in the bridge moving with military precision as voices filled the air, sensors going on emergency burn as the holes in Atlantean EWAR began to grow bigger just somewhat. On his own dashboard, the fleet moved as one to centralize the carriers into the formation, like penguins huddling to protect their young. He silently ordered the fleet to fire on target after target, all at once or none at all, but the tension was ramping. If they didn't identify command assets, this was just the equivalent of target practice.
"CTO, I want a full radio scan, find assets serving as C3 hotspots and feed the targeting data straight to us."
He received no verbal confirmation, but his augmetic eyes thrummed slightly as confirmation as the CTO sent that order across the command network. The conn was his to control again, and soon a message went out to their allies involved.
"ALCON, Battlegroup 305. Whoever here has the necessary EWAR capabilities, we need all sensors in the direction of what just came from Krull, now. Recommend isolating and destroying C3 assets within the main fleets immediately."
-
Lasers and missiles burnt through countless walls of particulate and PD fire, the Zetyans changing their formation as they flew to shield the carriers best they could. Their shields focused the particulate like an umbrella, portions of the orange-tinted shield turning molten or dispersing as missiles made impact and lasers burnt holes into the wall they had formed. PD interceptor missiles raced from batteries outwards to meet the kinetic interceptors, rocketing far and fast beyond the standoff range of their ship PD to intercept the missiles before they could detonate.
It wasn't enough to prevent damage, a few lucky shots making impact in various places. The Zetyan carriers followed equivalent design to the other ships, they were built to take a hit, but as emergency lights came on in open-bay hangars and molten holes opened in various places it was clear the Atlanteans had struck a nerve. A few other ships took hits in the crossfire, a few taking hits from standoff penetrators and laser fire as they burst through the weaker patches in the Zetyans shield wall.
In the absence of clearly defined commanding assets, the Zetyans could only assume the enemy used command as they did. 5 artillery cruisers now opened fire with their spinals at the largest ships in Beta, burst-firing 3 groups of five nuclear MIRV shells each aimed at an individual target. More missiles. more kinetic fire, and the carrier groups began finally unleashing their weapons, bombers and strike craft focusing targets of interest and unloading their weapons like chaff.
Meanwhile, the stealth sloop had retasked itself. Both the main fleet and the sloop had the same idea, but only one of them had the facilities to act on it proper. Facilities once dedicated to burning holes in the Atlantean EWAR systems now swung left with violence, ELINT systems coupling with increased sensor usage dedicated to sniffing out the slightest hint of the Leistunganos ships, though they had no idea of their nature.
And while the sloop did it's job, bobbing and weaving between the asteroid belt, the Zetyan fleet had begun scrutinizing the radio waves, looking for locuses of broadband and tightwave feedback. They were no decentralized network, all prior evidence suggested they would prefer otherwise, and if they could isolate the serpent's head maybe then they'd be able to scatter the fleet like flies.
18 hours.
The battle raged for 18 whole hours.
Ships traded blows, rounds and energy weapons impacting at high speeds as the Atlanteans attempted to push off the CONA rescue fleets. Losses were high, on both sides, as tactics were followed through and weapons cycled. Not even the new Leistunganos vessels which the Atlanteans had crewed could turn the tide, although their blade cut deep into the CONA forces before they withdrew.
Withdrawal was the only option for the battered Atlantean fleet, Tellid sneering as the dozen or so damaged ships from her remaining formation limped out of the system and escaped. There would be no pursuit, for while CONA had stonewalled the Atlantean invasion of the Leagues territory, the losses were high, pursuit now would cause more loss of life and they needed to consolidate.
While the system had been bombarded to oblivion and ransacked by Atlantis the battle had been a victory. Reforming their formations, gathering escape pods and enacting battlefield repairs the CONA fleets had earnt the eternal thanks of the League of Illektiera, who offered their minor stocks of Kolleronics they could spare to the new found saviours.
It was just one of a slew of modern CONA victories which would see their cause exponentially expand.
And as for the Warlords Resurgent, Atlantis would be forced back to once more bide their time.