Post by EmperorMyric on Dec 17, 2017 13:58:20 GMT
"You hear? The Tenebraen Liberation Fleet's demobilized," A lively voice called across the spacious bridge. The complimentary officer of the Department of Naval Intelligence paced back and forth in the elevated walkways over the crew pits and alcoves filled with junior officers leniently manning their stations. His name; Adrian Falkoner. Falkoner's slicked white hair was paired with an old shave; they'd been on high combat alert for the past few weeks. Seeing as much of the ship's crew couldn't argue on grounds with him, he took liberty for the simple laziness. Shifts had been rough, rotating on and off while floating around in a neighboring sector with an allied outpost. "They're breaking us down into flotillas and assimilating us into the 1st and 3rd."
"I don't care as long as we're finally pulling out," The slouching Communications Officer spun in her seat, facing the rest of the bridge crew. She stifled a wide yawn, baring her cuspids, and stretched. She straightened up as Falkoner strode by her, turning back to her console. "You hear they're giving Captain Kisoon the Phalax of Honor? They're even knighting him."
"It's Colonel Kisoon, now," A third voice corrected from one of the pits, "His entire battalion is being awarded Iron Hearts, too."
"Damn right they are. Schultes would be honored."
Falkoner stopped at the block chief of the Operations station, resting a hand on the shoulder of the chair. The young officer glanced up, head casually propped up on his fist.
"Give me the latest fleet assessment," He blankly requested. The officer in the seat didn't mutter a word in reply, just drawing a deep breath as he punched several commands into the console. On the small display in front of him, the silhouette of the Ajax-Class Battleship they were aboard appeared on top; the HMS Invincible. Below it, dozens upon dozens of smaller silhouettes popped up in groupings, of various other classes.
"All clear aside from some radio silence in a few Falcons and a Behemoth. A few shuttles were dispatched a little bit ago to check in, but other than that," The man finished his explanation with a slight shrug. The DNI spook just nodded, disengaging from the alcove.
"Perfect." The bridge crew continued their chatter as Falkoner meticulously stepped to his exit. He climbed the steps to the Acting Captain's platform, heading to the notably wide automatic doors in the rear of the bridge. The doors parted before him, revealing said commander. Commissar Viktor Adarikov, clad in a crisp dress uniform with a beret neatly set atop his head. High Command's shining silver insignia was fastened in place on the front of his cover. The Commissar was unaffected by Falkoner's venomous passing glare, watching the man leave from the corner of his eyes as we walked on by.
Adarikov placed his hands on the railing of his platform, overlooking his bridge crew who were seemingly unaffected by his presence. It was a quiet day, just like the others before this. He was simply waiting for his orders to leave this backwater network of systems, seeing as news from the front read that the end was near. Minutes passed.
Once again, the automatic doors came to life. Simultaneously with the one behind him, the ones flanking him opened up as well. Dozens of boots hurriedly clattered across the deck, diverting his attention from his crew, now springing to attention. His crimson eyes beheld Minevans lined up behind him, some rushing down the steps and skirting amongst his crew. Every single one of them was uniformed with a red beret, signifying them as Praetorian Guardsmen; shock troopers. Every one of them was armed with a submachinegun, a dozen barrels trained on him and more on the rest of his crew. The Commissar's brow furrowed, taking a step back in confusion. He watched as the Minevan's finger across from him began to twitch.
Knowing the Guardsman had the intention to shoot, he reflexively drew his revolver, blowing away the man in front of him. Every gun in the room went off. The cries of confusion, desperation, pain, and terror were quickly silenced amongst the crew. The Commissar's dexterity managed to slay two more of his opponents, but the amount of E-Carbon rounds flying at him was too much. In moments, the once glorified war hero was nothing more than a corpse. His blood slowly stained his grey uniform and pooled underneath him. The voices of the crew below that still lingered were summarily silenced by follow-up rounds of gunshots.
In the following silence, a new entrant made his way in. The Praetorian Guardsmen had slung their weapons over their shoulder, and stopped their rudimentary cleanup. The captain of the element approached the man, stopping mere meters away to salute. "It is done, Commandant Harkins."
Harkins carefully stepped over the body of one of the dead Guardsmen, approaching the well-decorated corpse of the Commissar. He squatted right next to it, pinching the bridge of his nose in thought.
A hand traveled to the device on his wrist, bringing up a small holo display. Harkins opened up one of his encrypted channels. "Is it underway?"
"Half of the battlegroup has already finished, but some couldn't cut comms," A female's voice relayed, with mild interference over the connection, "They're awaiting your signal, my lord."
"It's time." Harkins closed the line and deactivated the display.
"I don't care as long as we're finally pulling out," The slouching Communications Officer spun in her seat, facing the rest of the bridge crew. She stifled a wide yawn, baring her cuspids, and stretched. She straightened up as Falkoner strode by her, turning back to her console. "You hear they're giving Captain Kisoon the Phalax of Honor? They're even knighting him."
"It's Colonel Kisoon, now," A third voice corrected from one of the pits, "His entire battalion is being awarded Iron Hearts, too."
"Damn right they are. Schultes would be honored."
Falkoner stopped at the block chief of the Operations station, resting a hand on the shoulder of the chair. The young officer glanced up, head casually propped up on his fist.
"Give me the latest fleet assessment," He blankly requested. The officer in the seat didn't mutter a word in reply, just drawing a deep breath as he punched several commands into the console. On the small display in front of him, the silhouette of the Ajax-Class Battleship they were aboard appeared on top; the HMS Invincible. Below it, dozens upon dozens of smaller silhouettes popped up in groupings, of various other classes.
"All clear aside from some radio silence in a few Falcons and a Behemoth. A few shuttles were dispatched a little bit ago to check in, but other than that," The man finished his explanation with a slight shrug. The DNI spook just nodded, disengaging from the alcove.
"Perfect." The bridge crew continued their chatter as Falkoner meticulously stepped to his exit. He climbed the steps to the Acting Captain's platform, heading to the notably wide automatic doors in the rear of the bridge. The doors parted before him, revealing said commander. Commissar Viktor Adarikov, clad in a crisp dress uniform with a beret neatly set atop his head. High Command's shining silver insignia was fastened in place on the front of his cover. The Commissar was unaffected by Falkoner's venomous passing glare, watching the man leave from the corner of his eyes as we walked on by.
Adarikov placed his hands on the railing of his platform, overlooking his bridge crew who were seemingly unaffected by his presence. It was a quiet day, just like the others before this. He was simply waiting for his orders to leave this backwater network of systems, seeing as news from the front read that the end was near. Minutes passed.
Once again, the automatic doors came to life. Simultaneously with the one behind him, the ones flanking him opened up as well. Dozens of boots hurriedly clattered across the deck, diverting his attention from his crew, now springing to attention. His crimson eyes beheld Minevans lined up behind him, some rushing down the steps and skirting amongst his crew. Every single one of them was uniformed with a red beret, signifying them as Praetorian Guardsmen; shock troopers. Every one of them was armed with a submachinegun, a dozen barrels trained on him and more on the rest of his crew. The Commissar's brow furrowed, taking a step back in confusion. He watched as the Minevan's finger across from him began to twitch.
Knowing the Guardsman had the intention to shoot, he reflexively drew his revolver, blowing away the man in front of him. Every gun in the room went off. The cries of confusion, desperation, pain, and terror were quickly silenced amongst the crew. The Commissar's dexterity managed to slay two more of his opponents, but the amount of E-Carbon rounds flying at him was too much. In moments, the once glorified war hero was nothing more than a corpse. His blood slowly stained his grey uniform and pooled underneath him. The voices of the crew below that still lingered were summarily silenced by follow-up rounds of gunshots.
In the following silence, a new entrant made his way in. The Praetorian Guardsmen had slung their weapons over their shoulder, and stopped their rudimentary cleanup. The captain of the element approached the man, stopping mere meters away to salute. "It is done, Commandant Harkins."
Harkins carefully stepped over the body of one of the dead Guardsmen, approaching the well-decorated corpse of the Commissar. He squatted right next to it, pinching the bridge of his nose in thought.
A hand traveled to the device on his wrist, bringing up a small holo display. Harkins opened up one of his encrypted channels. "Is it underway?"
"Half of the battlegroup has already finished, but some couldn't cut comms," A female's voice relayed, with mild interference over the connection, "They're awaiting your signal, my lord."
"It's time." Harkins closed the line and deactivated the display.