Post by EmperorMyric on Dec 16, 2017 19:43:56 GMT
System 23 Scuria, “unknown space” Ancerious Galaxy.
The time had finally arrived.
Space rippled, nothingness spreading like waves in a pond, before, elongating out of hyperspace, an immense Jötnar-class battleship appeared, it’s forest-green hull spotless, all 14 of its engines running at optimum efficiency. Its gun batteries were charged, its missile tubes armed, its fighterships primed and fuelled in their bays. As they should be.
After all, this was only a regrouping stop.
All around the mighty vessel, others like it appeared, 12 in all: the vanguard of the Return. They and their escorts, battleships, cruisers, carriers and subs, would finally, after 1500 years, return to take the revenge on those nations that had done them so much wrong, so many setbacks…and to obliterate any and all who stood in their way.
After centuries of running, rebuilding, and conquest, the Norman Empire was once more ready to wage war upon the military powers they had battled in time immemorial.
Aboard the Command ship Aegir, named for the Ancient Norse god of the sea, its hull painted a bright blue rather than the usual green, Admiral Caroline Spencer stood overseeing the reorganization of her forces. Young, only 28 years, she nevertheless had taken full command of what was to be the most important Military operation in the recorded history of her nation. After proving herself both in the tactical simulators of the academy and the fighting pits of the outer colonies, she had the respect and loyalty of her forces, and the trust of her superiors.
She flipped a loose strand of her chestnut hair over her shoulder, wincing as it caught on one of her epaulettes: she typically disliked wearing the ornate dress uniform of her rank, but today merited its presence.
She sat high in the command chair overseeing the stations below her, the darkened bridge awash in the azure glow of the monitors and tac-scanners, signal interceptors and transmitters, weapon control stations and engineering stations. All personnel were at their stations, every system running at optimum efficiency. The main HUD on the forward screen showed the movements of the ships into their respective formations, and no sign of hostile craft this far out into the Galactic rim. Spencer was pleased.
Straxus, her Evisorok XO, stood over her shoulder, while Clara, her young tac-advisor, sat to her left. Spencer had come to trust the both of them implicitly: the bond that had formed between the Normans and Evisorok in the centuries of wandering would not be broken by time or force. The Tac-advisors like Clara were members of a proto-psychic race, discovered on one of the planets the Normans had conquered. While little more than slaves, the fairy-like natives of the planet had taken to their new roles with gusto. The waifish girl, while always appearing content, rarely spoke, often sharing little more than a light giggle, as if she knew something others did not. But she had secured several key victories for Spencer’s fleet in the movement towards the Ancerious Galaxy, and other members of her race had never shown any signs of wrongdoing. Spencer would give her the benefit of the doubt. Especially in light of other services the girl rendered…
“Ma’am” her Comm officer spoke from her left “we are receiving confirmation signals from all ships: none were lost in transit.”
“Excellent” Spencer said, rising from her seat “patch me through to all ships. I feel a little ceremony is in order”
She lovingly rubbed Clara’s short hair, which produced another giggle from the little redhead, before striding forward, her long legs leaving light *clacks* from her boot heels. She felt the eyes of her crew upon her, as the faces of the 11 other group commanders appeared on the HUD.
“Ladies, gentlemen, fellow Normans” her voice boomed “Today, we mark a turning point in the noble history of our people, and embark upon perhaps the greatest military action since William the Conqueror himself first disembarked from Normandy. Robbed of our ancestral home, we have forged a mighty existence among the stars, a great power once more. And now, now, finally, we are ready to return and take our holy and righteous vengeance upon the cowards and filth that so often thwarted us, that stood against our noble crusade, the worshippers of death and the unholy walking dead, the followers of the false gods and angels!” she paused, as a cheer erupted from the crewmen below, echoing up from the bowels of the ship, and coming across from the other vessels via the link. She continued once the noise had dimmed.
“ And to any who stand in the way of our goal, let them seek comfort from their false gods in the instants before they are crushed under our boot heels!”
She thrust a fist skyward, a traditional salute.
“All hail Normania!”
The other crew followed suit, the officers, the men, even little Clara, all thrusting their arms to the sky, on every ship, the men did cheer, giving tribute to their homeland and their cause.
“ALL HAIL NORMANIA!”
‘All ships!” Spencer ordered, her arm now pointing forward with an outstretched hand, her fingers splayed “you have your targets and your objectives! Go! Strike with all the might and fury at your command!”
The 11 other commanders saluted, the more traditional flat-hand-side-to-forehead, before their Icons winked out as one. On the IFF scanner, the images of friendly vessels began to disappear one by one, as the fleets dispersed and jumped to lightspeed. Spencer sent a prayer after each one: she knew some would not return, even with their overwhelming power.
“Ma’am” Straxus spoke. Spencer paused for a beat, before turning to face him.
“We are prepared” the Evisorok went on. Clara sat in her little seat, almost trembling in anticipation, a wide smile on her face.
Spencer smiled, walking back towards her command chair. She slowly turned, taking in the expectant faces of her crew, her loyal crew, ready to follow her into Hell and beyond at her command. she could not fail, not with these men and women beside her.
“Attention strike group Aegir:” she commanded, her voice reaching every ship in her group as she settled back down into the chair. Absolute command was hers.
“Launch! Destination: Varandal system!”
The time had finally arrived.
Space rippled, nothingness spreading like waves in a pond, before, elongating out of hyperspace, an immense Jötnar-class battleship appeared, it’s forest-green hull spotless, all 14 of its engines running at optimum efficiency. Its gun batteries were charged, its missile tubes armed, its fighterships primed and fuelled in their bays. As they should be.
After all, this was only a regrouping stop.
All around the mighty vessel, others like it appeared, 12 in all: the vanguard of the Return. They and their escorts, battleships, cruisers, carriers and subs, would finally, after 1500 years, return to take the revenge on those nations that had done them so much wrong, so many setbacks…and to obliterate any and all who stood in their way.
After centuries of running, rebuilding, and conquest, the Norman Empire was once more ready to wage war upon the military powers they had battled in time immemorial.
Aboard the Command ship Aegir, named for the Ancient Norse god of the sea, its hull painted a bright blue rather than the usual green, Admiral Caroline Spencer stood overseeing the reorganization of her forces. Young, only 28 years, she nevertheless had taken full command of what was to be the most important Military operation in the recorded history of her nation. After proving herself both in the tactical simulators of the academy and the fighting pits of the outer colonies, she had the respect and loyalty of her forces, and the trust of her superiors.
She flipped a loose strand of her chestnut hair over her shoulder, wincing as it caught on one of her epaulettes: she typically disliked wearing the ornate dress uniform of her rank, but today merited its presence.
She sat high in the command chair overseeing the stations below her, the darkened bridge awash in the azure glow of the monitors and tac-scanners, signal interceptors and transmitters, weapon control stations and engineering stations. All personnel were at their stations, every system running at optimum efficiency. The main HUD on the forward screen showed the movements of the ships into their respective formations, and no sign of hostile craft this far out into the Galactic rim. Spencer was pleased.
Straxus, her Evisorok XO, stood over her shoulder, while Clara, her young tac-advisor, sat to her left. Spencer had come to trust the both of them implicitly: the bond that had formed between the Normans and Evisorok in the centuries of wandering would not be broken by time or force. The Tac-advisors like Clara were members of a proto-psychic race, discovered on one of the planets the Normans had conquered. While little more than slaves, the fairy-like natives of the planet had taken to their new roles with gusto. The waifish girl, while always appearing content, rarely spoke, often sharing little more than a light giggle, as if she knew something others did not. But she had secured several key victories for Spencer’s fleet in the movement towards the Ancerious Galaxy, and other members of her race had never shown any signs of wrongdoing. Spencer would give her the benefit of the doubt. Especially in light of other services the girl rendered…
“Ma’am” her Comm officer spoke from her left “we are receiving confirmation signals from all ships: none were lost in transit.”
“Excellent” Spencer said, rising from her seat “patch me through to all ships. I feel a little ceremony is in order”
She lovingly rubbed Clara’s short hair, which produced another giggle from the little redhead, before striding forward, her long legs leaving light *clacks* from her boot heels. She felt the eyes of her crew upon her, as the faces of the 11 other group commanders appeared on the HUD.
“Ladies, gentlemen, fellow Normans” her voice boomed “Today, we mark a turning point in the noble history of our people, and embark upon perhaps the greatest military action since William the Conqueror himself first disembarked from Normandy. Robbed of our ancestral home, we have forged a mighty existence among the stars, a great power once more. And now, now, finally, we are ready to return and take our holy and righteous vengeance upon the cowards and filth that so often thwarted us, that stood against our noble crusade, the worshippers of death and the unholy walking dead, the followers of the false gods and angels!” she paused, as a cheer erupted from the crewmen below, echoing up from the bowels of the ship, and coming across from the other vessels via the link. She continued once the noise had dimmed.
“ And to any who stand in the way of our goal, let them seek comfort from their false gods in the instants before they are crushed under our boot heels!”
She thrust a fist skyward, a traditional salute.
“All hail Normania!”
The other crew followed suit, the officers, the men, even little Clara, all thrusting their arms to the sky, on every ship, the men did cheer, giving tribute to their homeland and their cause.
“ALL HAIL NORMANIA!”
‘All ships!” Spencer ordered, her arm now pointing forward with an outstretched hand, her fingers splayed “you have your targets and your objectives! Go! Strike with all the might and fury at your command!”
The 11 other commanders saluted, the more traditional flat-hand-side-to-forehead, before their Icons winked out as one. On the IFF scanner, the images of friendly vessels began to disappear one by one, as the fleets dispersed and jumped to lightspeed. Spencer sent a prayer after each one: she knew some would not return, even with their overwhelming power.
“Ma’am” Straxus spoke. Spencer paused for a beat, before turning to face him.
“We are prepared” the Evisorok went on. Clara sat in her little seat, almost trembling in anticipation, a wide smile on her face.
Spencer smiled, walking back towards her command chair. She slowly turned, taking in the expectant faces of her crew, her loyal crew, ready to follow her into Hell and beyond at her command. she could not fail, not with these men and women beside her.
“Attention strike group Aegir:” she commanded, her voice reaching every ship in her group as she settled back down into the chair. Absolute command was hers.
“Launch! Destination: Varandal system!”