Why do I keep doing this to myself?
I SWEAR, I'M GOING TO FINISH THIS ONE, FOR REAL
"The land...
I SWEAR, I'M GOING TO FINISH THIS ONE, FOR REAL
"The land...
Space Dragons in Space - No SV, you are the Miniboss
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Alastor Mobius Toth
***** ***
- Location
- Neon Ghetto
I SWEAR, I'M GOING TO FINISH THIS ONE, FOR REAL
"The land where glittering flowers bloom,
Is our mighty homeland
Let our shouts ring! For the gods have blessed us for eternity! Rhey Reia! For the victory of our land!
Through hardships and toil,
We march onward to conquest. For the gods accompany us for eternity!
Rhey Rheyun! For our nation built of steel! "
Another day in another glorious year of a glorious empire. And with it, yet another glorious battle, to add luster to an already distinguished history. For as worlds circle the stars and stars burn away in the darkness, the war remains eternal. It shall never end, the flowing rivers of blood and molten metal a suitable toast to the gods themselves.
On this cosmic battlefield, you ready to take your place in line. Throughout the ship you can hear the reverberating shriek of combat sirens and the muffled clattering of heels as crewmen race to their stations. You make a final glance at your cabin's mirror, your immaculate uniform marking you out as the master and captain of this fine vessel, as well as...
[]A Reyan - The chosen of gods, the breakers of worlds, the people of stars. Your kind had been among the first to take steps into the divine realm of cosmos, and for eons you had struggled against seas of ignorance and barbarism. Your empire stands vigil over millions of worlds, and under your Supreme Leader, it shall stand over a billion more.
[]An Auxilla - You are from among those wise enough to bend the knee to the Great Space Empire, exchanging your freedom and sovereignty for the right to exist. It is not an easy life; the demands of Imperial industry can be ruinous and governors capricious, but an Auxilla's pledge of service is as honored as that of a Reyan...at least in theory. But by Supreme's Leader will, a tour of service guarantees citizenship, and true acts of valor guarantee even more...
Your boot heels clack resolutely against the deck as you leave your quarters for the bridge. Crewmen part their throngs before you and salute; a sign of an ordered and disciplined crew. Every once in a while you come across a window offering a view into deep black. There, the endless sea of stars and nebulae is interrupted by other, moving points of light.
Your destroyer is but one of the many vessels in the 114th Border Fleet, here in Andromeda galaxy. Today you will yet again face the Heleians, roving technobarbarians that understood only the language of force. As far as you knew, Heleians never even bothered contacting the Empire or any other race before opening fire. In fact, "Heleians" was only a name given to them after the cluster where they were first encountered - an accursed patch of wild comets and black holes that few traveled. It had been more than a century since, and yet the attacks have to subside, despite being constantly repulsed by resolute Imperial defenders.
You push that aside for now, concentrating on the battle ahead...
[]At the front - Your force is part of the vanguard, tasked with the glory of landing the first blow and measuring the depth of enemy formation. A risky posting, but one that offers plentiful chances for glory.
[]At the wings - You are part of the screening force, acting as escorting reserves to the main fleet. You are unlikely to have more than passing contact with the enemy until called to give chase, but it is a relatively safe place to be...well, unless the fleet fucks up.
***
Stop me if you heard this one before:
A poor, primitive and almost certainly definitively not suspiciously peaceful people taking their first steps into space suddenly encounter their neighbors who turn out to be a classically villainous space empire. They fight a hopeless forever war, ground under a heel of relentlessly superior war machine until they get a lucky break. Perhaps a beautiful alien princess took pity on them; perhaps they discovered some sort of divine relic; perhaps the empire has a singular weakness that can be exploited. They mount a last-ditch, hail Mary pass to defeat their oppressors, ending in spectacular journey across the galaxy.
This is not their story.
This is the story of the other side. This is the story of the poor, misbegotten souls that serve a soulless machine of destruction. Whether out of greed, ambition, or desire to keep their people safe, they march to the beat of drums of war. This is the story of those fighting the insufferable space kids and their ugly space dog too. It will be a perilous one - you have formidable enemy before you, and enemy behind you in form of hilariously inept bureaucracy, petty rear-line echelons, unreasonable orders, Klingon promotions, and maybe actual destiny. And your leader is liable to blow up his capital at any time because the maids keep serving lemon-line soda instead of orange. Your goal is to be the Dragon of Space; the quirky miniboss summoned as foil to heroic captains, the bane of impudent Earths.
So, uh, good luck!
Character Index
Alastor Mobius Toth
***** ***
- Location
- Neon Ghetto
Character Index
Commodore Desalt Abess
Our hero, ladies and gentlemen. Native of Giscander, an Earth-like world that is home to a militaristic blue-skinned race. In spite, or because of, their values of order, discipline and critical thinking, the Giscarlander culture was, almost over two centuries ago conquered and vassalized by the Reyan Great Space Empire. Today, the natives have two choices: eake out lives of meager workers, engineers and civil clerks, or fight on the frontlines for the privilege of true citizenship. Something of a maverick, Desalt chose the latter.
Graduate of a double tactical/technical program of New Baleras Military School, followed by an intensive naval officer training at renowned Anaxes Academy. One of few Auxillas to be invited into the institute upon personal recommendation of one of the instructors; excelled despite typical racial harassment by fellow cadets and punishingly brutal training course. Success and exceptional behavior had earned grudging respect from instructors and an officer commission, placing him at a fast-track for vessel command, and ultimately limited Auxilla squadron command.
Desalt is calm, composed and one might even say calculatingly cold individual. Years of surviving taunts, jibes and resentment of his Reyan superiors - and occasionally fellow Auxillas - had left him stoic and unflappable, with rare social grace of avoiding the worst pitfalls of society and keeping his head above water, while leaving him with a nasty, well-aimed bite. Ambitious and with no close family relations, Desalt is razor-focused on completing his mission with maximum efficiency and delivering results that are beyond questioning...no matter the price.
Traits:
- Stoic: To master others, one must first master themselves - particular character and interaction trait. Resistant to morale shocks; will retain discipline in adverse conditions.
- Whatever The Cost, Whatever the Effort: You will fight until you win, or you die - willing to sacrifice troops to achieve objectives. Seemingly unconcerned with carrying out "difficult orders". ??? Effects
- Charmer: Has the grace to convince others to come to his point of view. Useful in social interactions; improves troop opinion. ???
- Aggressive: Attack is the secret of Defense. The art of Defense is planning of an Attack - this character has gotten a taste for offensively-oriented strategies.
- Escort Command: As numerous as the stars themselves - this character has some experience commanding light escort and raiding forces in combat.
*To be updated as story develops*
Last edited:
[X]An Auxilla - You are from among those wise enough to bend the knee to the Great Space Empire, exchanging your freedom and sovereignty for the right to exist. It is not an easy life; the demands of Imperial industry can be ruinous and governors capricious, but an Auxilla's pledge of service is as honored as that of a Reyan...at least in theory. But by Supreme's Leader will, a tour of service guarantees citizenship, and true acts of valor guarantee even more...
[X]At the wings - You are part of the screening force, acting as escorting reserves to the main fleet. You are unlikely to have more than passing contact with the enemy until called to give chase, but it is a relatively safe place to be...well, unless the fleet fucks up.
[X]At the wings - You are part of the screening force, acting as escorting reserves to the main fleet. You are unlikely to have more than passing contact with the enemy until called to give chase, but it is a relatively safe place to be...well, unless the fleet fucks up.
[X]An Auxilla - You are from among those wise enough to bend the knee to the Great Space Empire, exchanging your freedom and sovereignty for the right to exist. It is not an easy life; the demands of Imperial industry can be ruinous and governors capricious, but an Auxilla's pledge of service is as honored as that of a Reyan...at least in theory. But by Supreme's Leader will, a tour of service guarantees citizenship, and true acts of valor guarantee even more...
[X]At the front - Your force is part of the vanguard, tasked with the glory of landing the first blow and measuring the depth of enemy formation. A risky posting, but one that offers plentiful chances for glory.
[X]At the front - Your force is part of the vanguard, tasked with the glory of landing the first blow and measuring the depth of enemy formation. A risky posting, but one that offers plentiful chances for glory.
- Location
- Russia
- Pronouns
- He
[X]A Reyan - The chosen of gods, the breakers of worlds, the people of stars. Your kind had been among the first to take steps into the divine realm of cosmos, and for eons you had struggled against seas of ignorance and barbarism. Your empire stands vigil over millions of worlds, and under your Supreme Leader, it shall stand over a billion more.
[X]At the wings - You are part of the screening force, acting as escorting reserves to the main fleet. You are unlikely to have more than passing contact with the enemy until called to give chase, but it is a relatively safe place to be...well, unless the fleet fucks up.
[X]At the wings - You are part of the screening force, acting as escorting reserves to the main fleet. You are unlikely to have more than passing contact with the enemy until called to give chase, but it is a relatively safe place to be...well, unless the fleet fucks up.
First Fight - First Blood
Alastor Mobius Toth
***** ***
- Location
- Neon Ghetto
The white of your Imperial uniform contrast with your blue skin, marking you out as one of the countless Auxillas within the Imperial service, laying their life on the line to prove themselves worthy of being admitted among the true Reyans. Centuries ago, things were different - your homeworld of Giscander was a minor space-faring empire, expanding in all direction before coming into contact with might of the Reyans. First contact was tense, if peaceful, but things quickly spiraled into hostility and a long, bitter-fought war. It had been a story that was repeated the universe over - your ancestors, no matter how valorous and warlike, were simply no match for the inevitable steamroller of Reyan military machine. With most of the military destroyed and civilian leadership dead, the survivors chose the pragmatic strategy of survival, offering the Empire their unconditional surrender.
It worked, up to a point. Giscander might never be the same shining jewel it once was, but objectively, it has enjoyed centuries of continued prosperity and stability. Supreme Leader himself has found a use for your disciplined people, and your world became a major contributor to Imperial production. It had been a choice that allowed your people to live, and still have a chance to gain some glory. Servitude was a reversible condition; annihilation was permanent. It was why so many Giscanlanders would apply for service - a chance at a good life, recognition, even grudging respect. Even if it was in service of a power that destroyed your world, erased its traditions to install its own.
It was something you did as soon as you could. You just couldn't stand the drudgery of factory work, and you didn't fancy an engineer's job either. Neither had you strong family connections. Military career had been an obvious choice. A pragmatic choice.
And it was one you excelled at. As much as an Auxilla would, of course; the Leader's word may be one thing, but not all Reyans had accepted the presence of other species within their glorious empire. Racism and discrimination were rife...
But if that alone could deter you, you wouldn't have bothered.
You took humiliations with grace, and the lectures with silence. In the end, your aptitude was borne out by your results - excellent tactical scores, "almost Reyan" instinctual understanding of strategy, superb technical knowledge. It was enough that you were grudgingly allowed to serve on a ship's command staff. In three years since, you had moved to become a captain yourself. Of an insignificant destroyer, crewed by those same as you.
"But it is a step. All journeys begin with one." You think, as your vessel falls in with the others.
Your position among the escorts might be taken for an insult, but you knew better than question small blessings. Most Auxillas were typically assigned to frontline formations, and more than one Reyan commander was fond of using them as living shields, cheap mobile destroyers taking the blows meant for more expensive, prestigious ships. Oh, many of these would get recognition of course, for bravery of their Reyan spirit, but most would already be in a grave by then. You would salute their bravery, but you'd rather live a little bit longer, in hopes of achieving your goal. Being posted with the escort fleet also meant that, at the very least, you were considered a cut above the ordinary cannon fodder - fit to take the bullets for admirals instead of common sailors.
"Captain" Taras was a Giscanlander like you, a fairly ordinary man with a thin moustache and brown hair. He had been a decent tactician in his own right, but his strengths lay mostly with his organizational abilities and understanding of ships themselves - qualities that made him your natural second. "We're in position along with the fleet. The vanguard is accelerating towards the enemy fleet."
You nod in silent thanks, your eyes focusing on tactical display. Admiral Hayrant was a fairly conservative Reyan and his tactics echoed it; while the main bulk of the fleet formed a loose encircling formation centered on its two battlecruisers with escort wings in reserve, the frontal vanguard force accelerated to attack speed in a probing attack. You hide your wince; the vanguard had been mostly crewed by other Auxillas and would undoubtedly suffer many casualties...but you were fairly certain they would be able to repel Heleians. But given that these barbarians showed remarkable ability to replace their ships, trading vessels one for one wasn't a way to win a war.
You watch as the two fleets close; the orderly knife-like formations of the Empire and the loose mass of Heleians. Finally, you see your allies give fire, fast-burn torpedoes and missiles coming alive on the screen. Multi-megaton explosions rake the Heleians fleet from end to end, but its loose nature means the barrage is less effective than it could have been.
"Fleets in Contact!"
Two formations smash into each other, and you watch with an odd and unsettling fascination as drive signatures wink out one by one, each marking death of thousands of sapients. You knew from your observations that Heleian particle blasters were less efficient and less accurate than your own positron batteries, but also more powerful. Heleians were also very adept at working with what they did; their carousel-pattern turrets, with their revolving barrels, allowed their small ships to generate stunning volume of fire, each bolt capable of easily piercing your destroyer; a good hit amidship would probably destroy it outright. Which meant that any close-range fight would be brutal unless stacked beforehand.
Taras breaths sharply next to you. True enough, the vanguard already suffered casualties equal to third of their number. Individual formations limp out of melee, gaping holes among them. Barbaric as they were, light Heleian fleets were fierce and aggressive enemies. Except...
You narrow your eyes. The enemy casualties were less than you expected - and as you observe the action itself, you realize that the Heleian formation wasn't fighting with same wild zeal and abandon they were known for. It made no sense, unless...
You quickly recheck the astro data and bite down a curse. Hayrant couldn't be possibly this stupid. Or at least his staff. Heleians were known for their uncanny ability to maneuver huge vessels even in dense asteroid or debris fields, and their loose fleet formations played well to such terrain. As luck would have it, your illustrious commander chose to engage the first encountered enemy group next to a gas giant with a large, thick ring...
As if to prove your dreadful suspicion, the Heleian fleet begins disengaging, ships rapidly pivoting towards the asteroids. Scenting blood, the vanguard surges ahead. Poor fools were probably already dead-
"Message for flag command! The main fleet is to advance and strike a decisive blow. Escorts are to follow and provide fire support." One of your operators report.
"This is a trap. The Heleians are baiting us, and we're falling for it hook, line and sinker." You mutter.
Taras turns uneasily towards you."Sir?" He asks.
What to do...what could you do?
[]Warn the good Admiral - an officer like him will probably not listen to a report from a "mere" captain like you, but you are supposed to watch out for dangers to the fleet itself, and you will be doing your duty regardless. Assuming you don't get dismissed for cowardice.
[]Onwards, brave escorts - try and convince your admiral to let you hunt down the barbarian stragglers. It's a long shot, but if Hayrant agrees, he probably won't notice you doing scouting in force...but you are going to have to overstep your position, and he will not like it.
[]Do nothing - You have some authority, but not much, and certainly no capital to spend with the Admiral. You will have to endure come what may, and keep yourself alive.
It worked, up to a point. Giscander might never be the same shining jewel it once was, but objectively, it has enjoyed centuries of continued prosperity and stability. Supreme Leader himself has found a use for your disciplined people, and your world became a major contributor to Imperial production. It had been a choice that allowed your people to live, and still have a chance to gain some glory. Servitude was a reversible condition; annihilation was permanent. It was why so many Giscanlanders would apply for service - a chance at a good life, recognition, even grudging respect. Even if it was in service of a power that destroyed your world, erased its traditions to install its own.
It was something you did as soon as you could. You just couldn't stand the drudgery of factory work, and you didn't fancy an engineer's job either. Neither had you strong family connections. Military career had been an obvious choice. A pragmatic choice.
And it was one you excelled at. As much as an Auxilla would, of course; the Leader's word may be one thing, but not all Reyans had accepted the presence of other species within their glorious empire. Racism and discrimination were rife...
But if that alone could deter you, you wouldn't have bothered.
You took humiliations with grace, and the lectures with silence. In the end, your aptitude was borne out by your results - excellent tactical scores, "almost Reyan" instinctual understanding of strategy, superb technical knowledge. It was enough that you were grudgingly allowed to serve on a ship's command staff. In three years since, you had moved to become a captain yourself. Of an insignificant destroyer, crewed by those same as you.
"But it is a step. All journeys begin with one." You think, as your vessel falls in with the others.
Your position among the escorts might be taken for an insult, but you knew better than question small blessings. Most Auxillas were typically assigned to frontline formations, and more than one Reyan commander was fond of using them as living shields, cheap mobile destroyers taking the blows meant for more expensive, prestigious ships. Oh, many of these would get recognition of course, for bravery of their Reyan spirit, but most would already be in a grave by then. You would salute their bravery, but you'd rather live a little bit longer, in hopes of achieving your goal. Being posted with the escort fleet also meant that, at the very least, you were considered a cut above the ordinary cannon fodder - fit to take the bullets for admirals instead of common sailors.
"Captain" Taras was a Giscanlander like you, a fairly ordinary man with a thin moustache and brown hair. He had been a decent tactician in his own right, but his strengths lay mostly with his organizational abilities and understanding of ships themselves - qualities that made him your natural second. "We're in position along with the fleet. The vanguard is accelerating towards the enemy fleet."
You nod in silent thanks, your eyes focusing on tactical display. Admiral Hayrant was a fairly conservative Reyan and his tactics echoed it; while the main bulk of the fleet formed a loose encircling formation centered on its two battlecruisers with escort wings in reserve, the frontal vanguard force accelerated to attack speed in a probing attack. You hide your wince; the vanguard had been mostly crewed by other Auxillas and would undoubtedly suffer many casualties...but you were fairly certain they would be able to repel Heleians. But given that these barbarians showed remarkable ability to replace their ships, trading vessels one for one wasn't a way to win a war.
You watch as the two fleets close; the orderly knife-like formations of the Empire and the loose mass of Heleians. Finally, you see your allies give fire, fast-burn torpedoes and missiles coming alive on the screen. Multi-megaton explosions rake the Heleians fleet from end to end, but its loose nature means the barrage is less effective than it could have been.
"Fleets in Contact!"
Two formations smash into each other, and you watch with an odd and unsettling fascination as drive signatures wink out one by one, each marking death of thousands of sapients. You knew from your observations that Heleian particle blasters were less efficient and less accurate than your own positron batteries, but also more powerful. Heleians were also very adept at working with what they did; their carousel-pattern turrets, with their revolving barrels, allowed their small ships to generate stunning volume of fire, each bolt capable of easily piercing your destroyer; a good hit amidship would probably destroy it outright. Which meant that any close-range fight would be brutal unless stacked beforehand.
Taras breaths sharply next to you. True enough, the vanguard already suffered casualties equal to third of their number. Individual formations limp out of melee, gaping holes among them. Barbaric as they were, light Heleian fleets were fierce and aggressive enemies. Except...
You narrow your eyes. The enemy casualties were less than you expected - and as you observe the action itself, you realize that the Heleian formation wasn't fighting with same wild zeal and abandon they were known for. It made no sense, unless...
You quickly recheck the astro data and bite down a curse. Hayrant couldn't be possibly this stupid. Or at least his staff. Heleians were known for their uncanny ability to maneuver huge vessels even in dense asteroid or debris fields, and their loose fleet formations played well to such terrain. As luck would have it, your illustrious commander chose to engage the first encountered enemy group next to a gas giant with a large, thick ring...
As if to prove your dreadful suspicion, the Heleian fleet begins disengaging, ships rapidly pivoting towards the asteroids. Scenting blood, the vanguard surges ahead. Poor fools were probably already dead-
"Message for flag command! The main fleet is to advance and strike a decisive blow. Escorts are to follow and provide fire support." One of your operators report.
"This is a trap. The Heleians are baiting us, and we're falling for it hook, line and sinker." You mutter.
Taras turns uneasily towards you."Sir?" He asks.
What to do...what could you do?
[]Warn the good Admiral - an officer like him will probably not listen to a report from a "mere" captain like you, but you are supposed to watch out for dangers to the fleet itself, and you will be doing your duty regardless. Assuming you don't get dismissed for cowardice.
[]Onwards, brave escorts - try and convince your admiral to let you hunt down the barbarian stragglers. It's a long shot, but if Hayrant agrees, he probably won't notice you doing scouting in force...but you are going to have to overstep your position, and he will not like it.
[]Do nothing - You have some authority, but not much, and certainly no capital to spend with the Admiral. You will have to endure come what may, and keep yourself alive.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]Warn the good Admiral - an officer like him will probably not listen to a report from a "mere" captain like you, but you are supposed to watch out for dangers to the fleet itself, and you will be doing your duty regardless. Assuming you don't get dismissed for cowardice.
- Location
- United States
[X]Warn the good Admiral
- Location
- U.S.A.
[X]Warn the good Admiral
First Battle - The Blood Flows
Alastor Mobius Toth
***** ***
- Location
- Neon Ghetto
[X]Warn the good Admiral
In another life, Admiral Hayrant would perhaps been a great sportsman, or even a warrior. As it was, years of comfortable position, high life and inaction had turned his stalwart, broad-chested stature flabby and slack. Even his finely fitted uniform couldn't hide it. His tiny, fish-like eyes glazed over you, clearly annoyed.
"You are overstating you position, captain." For a man his stature, his voice is positively, infuriatingly nasal. "We have been observing the enemy same as you, but there is nothing 'suspicious' to be seen. Or are you suggesting that a mere destroyer has a better picture of the fleet battle than a fleet's flagship?"
"Your Excellency, with utmost respect, are Heleians not know for their reckless barbarian abandon?" You politely stand firm, trying to appeal to his racism as much to his ego. "For them to not fight to the last can only mean that they seek to embroil us into an even greater fight. Would it not be prudent to simply blast them from range? Or at very least send us to reinforce the vanguard?"
"And leave our formation unprotected?" The Admiral scoffs. "This is the problem with you second-class core worlds yokels...you are shown an ounce of appreciation and think that you know everything there is to know! How dare you." The mass hisses. "Know your place! I have shown you much favor already by assigning you to this position. Perhaps, it was too much..."
You force back the bile in your throat. Even by the standards of the worst, Hyrant was a scumbag. "Forgive me, Your Excellency. I am but merely concerned for your well-being."
Hayrant scoffs, but doesn't continue his tirade. Byarlant, the actual commandant of the defense screen, takes this moment to politely intercut with a cough.
"Uncouth manner aside, there is some merit in Giscarlander's opinion." You haven't had much contact with the older, graying man, but while somewhat suspicious of your ancestry, he always seemed appreciative of good work, and seemed equally vexed by Hayrant's approach, by the sound of things. "It is base, low cunning, but one that is to be expected from the likes of Heleians. Perhaps, we could at least spread out our search pattern..."
You lower your head as Hayrant thinks. After a few long minutes...
"Pah! I will hear no more of this nonsense. Byarlant - after this battle is done, I see we will have to discuss how you run things...as for you captain, obey my orders. I don't have time to deal with every impudent colonial know-it all. If you cannot follow, you will be replaced, is that understood?"
"By your command, Your Excellency." You bow your head as you salute, clenched fist horizontally over your heart. Hayrant merely scoffs again and disconnects.
Silence reigns on your bridge, before Taras cleares his throat.
"Well...at least you tried sir." He says diplomatically.
"And it was not enough." You reply briskly. "But at least we have not been dismissed out of hand or shot for treason. Now we must bear our course, ready for the worst, and hope reality doesn't come to pass."
You watch on the bridge screen as the vanguard and the main fleet join back into a single formation, surging after the retreating Heleians. You try to spread your formation as much as possible without Hayrant noticing, but it's not enough; your destroyers simply don't have sufficiently powerful sensors.
"Contact!" Another operator reports. "Additional forces emerging with the planetary ring disk! They are reinforcing the first Heleian formation."
Like a flock of swallows, the barbarian fleet turns around, executing full burn towards the Imperial fleet. Excited at the prospect of easy glory, Hayrant disperses his depleted vanguard forces to make way for his capital vessels. You refrain from biting your nails.
"They will attack now, as Hayrant is committing and cannot easily retreat." You begin to turn to Taras to issue fresh orders, but an operator preempts you.
"A-alert! Detecting numerous high-energy signatures rising from the disk behind main enemy force!"
"On screen." You bark. Besides you, Taras winces.
With grace seemingly impossible for vessels their size, Heleian capital ships rise up from the disk, leaving behind trails of water and dust. You notice that some have some sort of rock cover peeling off them - you venture to guess that it was some form of improvised camouflage. But more importantly...
"Three assault carriers." Taras almost bites his tongue. The Heleian assault carriers were among the most powerful capital ships in their fleet - fast and well armed, with two long-range quad particle batteries, numerous carrousel turrets and missile launchers, not to mention the durable, fast-moving strike craft. But most significantly, they were armed with the Comet Shock Cannons. Even your battlecruisers could be seriously damaged by one; three would mean certain death.
"Reading energy spike!"
As one, the three spindly, arrow-shaped vessels belch fire towards the middle of Hayrant's fleet. The battlecruiser Crown of Solitude is hit almost dead on, practically coming apart. The enormous explosion rips a hole through the main fleet, the four cruisers closest to the mighty vessel disappearing in explosion cloud along with it, and with numerous smaller destroyers and frigates.
"Admiral Hayrant is demanding that all escort wings fall in and protect the flagship-" the operator doesn't finish as another interrupts her.
"Enemy vanguard is attacking! Reading several smaller forces detaching and being reinforced by squadrons emerging from the ring; Captain they're attempting to flank us!"
"-look, there goes another salvo!"
The Imperial fleet barely had the time to respond before the assault carriers fired their main guns again. By whatever providence however, only one landed a solid blow on the remaining battlecruiser, shorting out its shields and skidding along reinforced armor, tearing apart upper decks and venting atmosphere and crew into space. The other two sail past it, though not without effect - at least several light cruisers find themselves in the blast zone and become stars.
"Enemy formation at 90.00!! Approaching at full burn!"
Your response is immediate.
"Hard roll to portside, 90 degrees. Load dorsal missile batteries; two salvos one with proximity fuses, one seekers, fire pattern Shockbird. Batteries on track; Helm, prepare for full course reverse at my command."
The inertia compensators keep you from being squashed against the decks the decks as your ship - and others in its formation - roll hard on their axis, exposing their top to the enemy formation seeking to swing around the battlefield and bulldoze their way past you into the center of the fleet. Officers shout as they repeat your orders, and systems whine as power is distributed, but you remain unmoving, razor focused on the image before you.
You wait for several heartbeats, watching and waiting as speed and inertia carries the Heleian unit right where you want them.
"Execute." You say simply. Besides you, Taras bellows into the operation pits.
"Fire! All ships, full reverse!"
The compensators struggle and groan as you ships fight to defy physics, their powerful drives battling against momentum. You can hear rhythmic thuds as the launchers belch fire, sending out a swirling cloud of missiles at your adversary.
The proximity missiles had been programmed to fire first, racing ahead. Heleians respond with AA fire, but it is anemic at best, and most of them find their marks. The warheads detonate, space coming alight with blazing fire. Several smaller ships implode on themselves, while strike craft are shredded by the bushels. Still, the aim wasn't to kill, or even wound your enemies - just leave them confused before the real blow.
The seeker missile slither into Heleian formation uncontested, and you watch how their own destroyers and corvettes founder one by one. Your first combat salvo is brutally efficient - at least third of enemy vessels are down as the fleet barrels in front of you, cutting the empty space where your fleet would have been were it not for your orders.
And you were not yet finished.
"All batteries. Fire free."
Each of your destroyers was equipped with a pair of frontal triple-barreled positron batteries. Although they were somewhat less powerful than the brutally primitive weapons of the Heleians, at this distance the distinction was largely academic - but their superior accuracy and the training of your men was not.
As one, the brilliant prisms light the universe before you. Heleian vessels disappear in gusts of explosions, many struck before their crews even realized they were now in ship-to-ship combat. Your gunnery crews were ruthlessly effective, each single barrage aimed to kill before methodically moving onto next target. A few Heleian ships were fast enough to turn, presenting you with their own batteries, but at this range and speeds, their return fire was pitiful at best. Still, a couple of your vessels are grazed, a few even belch fire and smoke as they limp back into formation. Your follow up barrage has no mercy however, and the enemy centre becomes undone, fiery wrecks spiraling out of control.
Taras orders outlying ships to let loose several more seekers, trailing after the handful of survivors that desperately sought to ram themselves into the fleet besides you. You had your victory; but whatever thrill you might've felt was quashed by the gravity of the situation.
The main fleet was a mess; Hayrant's battlecrusier listing heavily as fire burst from its port engines, its attendant escorts desperately attempting to tow away and shield the vessel. Further up, the main bulk of the fleet found itself under sustained attack by the mass of Heleian light vessels.
Unlike your dainty, disposable, knife-like destroyers however, the line ships of Great Space Empire were vicious broadswords; ships made to last in battle surrounded from all sides by terrors unimaginable. Scores of Heleians blast them from all gunports to merely overload their shields; scores more pour fire onto their armored hulls, causing only minor breaches. However cowardly and incompetent Hayrant might have been, at least some of his subordinates had the will to fight. Heavy cruisers formed an iron wall, their heavy prism cannons cutting through Heleian flock like scythe through wheat; lighter vessels launched coordinated barrages sniping larger Heleian command craft. A Reyan soldier knew only victory; and if he was to die, then he would die standing.
"But a bolt from a peasant's crossbow kills a knight as surely as a pauper" You think grimly. The front fights bravely, but Heleians do not relent. Their mass and agility allows individual ships to slip past Reyan defense net, especially without a flag officer to rally them. Ships find themselves stranded as their engines and comms are blasted out; few even destroyed when rammed by suicidal Heleian crews.
It is a massacre.
"Sir" one of the operators reports quietly. "Last known orders from Admiral Hayrant call for retreat. He demands that all escort fleets shield his Hayrantine from enemy fire as it makes its escape."
Unease falls on your men. If your commander was willing to abandon you so soon, then the battle was truly lost.
But underneath the dismay, there was also anger. Second-class they might be, but Auxillas were imperial sailors none the less. To flee as a coward rather than fight your way out was unsightly...especially when it left good sailors and good ships to die a pointless death.
"Confirm those orders." You say. In front of you, the second escort fleet is fully engaged, squeezed between Hayrant's flagship and the pouring mass of Heleians. Meanwhile, the assault carriers begun to shift their fire away from the slippery flagship and into the frontline, systematically blasting away heavy vessels.
"We-we're unable." The operator muttered, her confidence fraying. "There's no contact with the Hayrantine. Rear Admiral Boozes was killed in action. We cannot contact either Commodores Byarlant or Weliss!"
"Saint Yurisha preserve us." a new voice cried out in anguish. "Detecting Hyshouts behind our fleet! Suspected Heleian forces jumping in along our escape vectors!"
As if at those words, Hayrant and his escort increased their speed, leaving a gaping hole in Imperial formation without even waiting for a confirmation from the remaning ships. You yourself offer a briefest of nods to the enemy commander - they gambled, and gambled well, resolutely paying the toll of blood to bait the Empire into a stunning and bitter defeat. Perhaps they would even have the good fortune of killing Hayrant before Imperial Guard got to him. You frown. With his speed and heading, he would probably Hysh out just before they caught him.
"First to fight, first to flee, how fitting."
The rest of the fleet would not be so lucky.
"Captain..." Taras asks, his mouth sounding very dry. "What do we do?"
[]As Empire Wills It - Time has come to follow not orders, but spirit. Hayrant runs; if he is not killed by the enemy, the Supreme Leader will mandate it soon enough. However, the fully offensive formation of Heleians can be used against them. Your fleet is in position to launch a daring action right into the middle of enemy fleet. Your vessels are fast and quick enough that they stand a real chance of reaching enemy assault carriers and sinking them; this should punch open a corridor through which some of your fleet may escape...but you will have to hit the enemy attack head on.
[]To Live Another Day - The battle is lost, and Hayrant bears the responsibility. Thus, much of the guilt will remain with him, and you will have saved the lives of your flotilla and followed the orders....but the battle will become unmitigated disaster as the core of 114th fleet is enveloped and annihilated. The Empire may not look kindly on those who survived it scarred...
In another life, Admiral Hayrant would perhaps been a great sportsman, or even a warrior. As it was, years of comfortable position, high life and inaction had turned his stalwart, broad-chested stature flabby and slack. Even his finely fitted uniform couldn't hide it. His tiny, fish-like eyes glazed over you, clearly annoyed.
"You are overstating you position, captain." For a man his stature, his voice is positively, infuriatingly nasal. "We have been observing the enemy same as you, but there is nothing 'suspicious' to be seen. Or are you suggesting that a mere destroyer has a better picture of the fleet battle than a fleet's flagship?"
"Your Excellency, with utmost respect, are Heleians not know for their reckless barbarian abandon?" You politely stand firm, trying to appeal to his racism as much to his ego. "For them to not fight to the last can only mean that they seek to embroil us into an even greater fight. Would it not be prudent to simply blast them from range? Or at very least send us to reinforce the vanguard?"
"And leave our formation unprotected?" The Admiral scoffs. "This is the problem with you second-class core worlds yokels...you are shown an ounce of appreciation and think that you know everything there is to know! How dare you." The mass hisses. "Know your place! I have shown you much favor already by assigning you to this position. Perhaps, it was too much..."
You force back the bile in your throat. Even by the standards of the worst, Hyrant was a scumbag. "Forgive me, Your Excellency. I am but merely concerned for your well-being."
Hayrant scoffs, but doesn't continue his tirade. Byarlant, the actual commandant of the defense screen, takes this moment to politely intercut with a cough.
"Uncouth manner aside, there is some merit in Giscarlander's opinion." You haven't had much contact with the older, graying man, but while somewhat suspicious of your ancestry, he always seemed appreciative of good work, and seemed equally vexed by Hayrant's approach, by the sound of things. "It is base, low cunning, but one that is to be expected from the likes of Heleians. Perhaps, we could at least spread out our search pattern..."
You lower your head as Hayrant thinks. After a few long minutes...
"Pah! I will hear no more of this nonsense. Byarlant - after this battle is done, I see we will have to discuss how you run things...as for you captain, obey my orders. I don't have time to deal with every impudent colonial know-it all. If you cannot follow, you will be replaced, is that understood?"
"By your command, Your Excellency." You bow your head as you salute, clenched fist horizontally over your heart. Hayrant merely scoffs again and disconnects.
Silence reigns on your bridge, before Taras cleares his throat.
"Well...at least you tried sir." He says diplomatically.
"And it was not enough." You reply briskly. "But at least we have not been dismissed out of hand or shot for treason. Now we must bear our course, ready for the worst, and hope reality doesn't come to pass."
***
You watch on the bridge screen as the vanguard and the main fleet join back into a single formation, surging after the retreating Heleians. You try to spread your formation as much as possible without Hayrant noticing, but it's not enough; your destroyers simply don't have sufficiently powerful sensors.
"Contact!" Another operator reports. "Additional forces emerging with the planetary ring disk! They are reinforcing the first Heleian formation."
Like a flock of swallows, the barbarian fleet turns around, executing full burn towards the Imperial fleet. Excited at the prospect of easy glory, Hayrant disperses his depleted vanguard forces to make way for his capital vessels. You refrain from biting your nails.
"They will attack now, as Hayrant is committing and cannot easily retreat." You begin to turn to Taras to issue fresh orders, but an operator preempts you.
"A-alert! Detecting numerous high-energy signatures rising from the disk behind main enemy force!"
"On screen." You bark. Besides you, Taras winces.
With grace seemingly impossible for vessels their size, Heleian capital ships rise up from the disk, leaving behind trails of water and dust. You notice that some have some sort of rock cover peeling off them - you venture to guess that it was some form of improvised camouflage. But more importantly...
"Three assault carriers." Taras almost bites his tongue. The Heleian assault carriers were among the most powerful capital ships in their fleet - fast and well armed, with two long-range quad particle batteries, numerous carrousel turrets and missile launchers, not to mention the durable, fast-moving strike craft. But most significantly, they were armed with the Comet Shock Cannons. Even your battlecruisers could be seriously damaged by one; three would mean certain death.
"Reading energy spike!"
As one, the three spindly, arrow-shaped vessels belch fire towards the middle of Hayrant's fleet. The battlecruiser Crown of Solitude is hit almost dead on, practically coming apart. The enormous explosion rips a hole through the main fleet, the four cruisers closest to the mighty vessel disappearing in explosion cloud along with it, and with numerous smaller destroyers and frigates.
"Admiral Hayrant is demanding that all escort wings fall in and protect the flagship-" the operator doesn't finish as another interrupts her.
"Enemy vanguard is attacking! Reading several smaller forces detaching and being reinforced by squadrons emerging from the ring; Captain they're attempting to flank us!"
"-look, there goes another salvo!"
The Imperial fleet barely had the time to respond before the assault carriers fired their main guns again. By whatever providence however, only one landed a solid blow on the remaining battlecruiser, shorting out its shields and skidding along reinforced armor, tearing apart upper decks and venting atmosphere and crew into space. The other two sail past it, though not without effect - at least several light cruisers find themselves in the blast zone and become stars.
"Enemy formation at 90.00!! Approaching at full burn!"
Your response is immediate.
"Hard roll to portside, 90 degrees. Load dorsal missile batteries; two salvos one with proximity fuses, one seekers, fire pattern Shockbird. Batteries on track; Helm, prepare for full course reverse at my command."
The inertia compensators keep you from being squashed against the decks the decks as your ship - and others in its formation - roll hard on their axis, exposing their top to the enemy formation seeking to swing around the battlefield and bulldoze their way past you into the center of the fleet. Officers shout as they repeat your orders, and systems whine as power is distributed, but you remain unmoving, razor focused on the image before you.
You wait for several heartbeats, watching and waiting as speed and inertia carries the Heleian unit right where you want them.
"Execute." You say simply. Besides you, Taras bellows into the operation pits.
"Fire! All ships, full reverse!"
The compensators struggle and groan as you ships fight to defy physics, their powerful drives battling against momentum. You can hear rhythmic thuds as the launchers belch fire, sending out a swirling cloud of missiles at your adversary.
The proximity missiles had been programmed to fire first, racing ahead. Heleians respond with AA fire, but it is anemic at best, and most of them find their marks. The warheads detonate, space coming alight with blazing fire. Several smaller ships implode on themselves, while strike craft are shredded by the bushels. Still, the aim wasn't to kill, or even wound your enemies - just leave them confused before the real blow.
The seeker missile slither into Heleian formation uncontested, and you watch how their own destroyers and corvettes founder one by one. Your first combat salvo is brutally efficient - at least third of enemy vessels are down as the fleet barrels in front of you, cutting the empty space where your fleet would have been were it not for your orders.
And you were not yet finished.
"All batteries. Fire free."
Each of your destroyers was equipped with a pair of frontal triple-barreled positron batteries. Although they were somewhat less powerful than the brutally primitive weapons of the Heleians, at this distance the distinction was largely academic - but their superior accuracy and the training of your men was not.
As one, the brilliant prisms light the universe before you. Heleian vessels disappear in gusts of explosions, many struck before their crews even realized they were now in ship-to-ship combat. Your gunnery crews were ruthlessly effective, each single barrage aimed to kill before methodically moving onto next target. A few Heleian ships were fast enough to turn, presenting you with their own batteries, but at this range and speeds, their return fire was pitiful at best. Still, a couple of your vessels are grazed, a few even belch fire and smoke as they limp back into formation. Your follow up barrage has no mercy however, and the enemy centre becomes undone, fiery wrecks spiraling out of control.
Taras orders outlying ships to let loose several more seekers, trailing after the handful of survivors that desperately sought to ram themselves into the fleet besides you. You had your victory; but whatever thrill you might've felt was quashed by the gravity of the situation.
The main fleet was a mess; Hayrant's battlecrusier listing heavily as fire burst from its port engines, its attendant escorts desperately attempting to tow away and shield the vessel. Further up, the main bulk of the fleet found itself under sustained attack by the mass of Heleian light vessels.
Unlike your dainty, disposable, knife-like destroyers however, the line ships of Great Space Empire were vicious broadswords; ships made to last in battle surrounded from all sides by terrors unimaginable. Scores of Heleians blast them from all gunports to merely overload their shields; scores more pour fire onto their armored hulls, causing only minor breaches. However cowardly and incompetent Hayrant might have been, at least some of his subordinates had the will to fight. Heavy cruisers formed an iron wall, their heavy prism cannons cutting through Heleian flock like scythe through wheat; lighter vessels launched coordinated barrages sniping larger Heleian command craft. A Reyan soldier knew only victory; and if he was to die, then he would die standing.
"But a bolt from a peasant's crossbow kills a knight as surely as a pauper" You think grimly. The front fights bravely, but Heleians do not relent. Their mass and agility allows individual ships to slip past Reyan defense net, especially without a flag officer to rally them. Ships find themselves stranded as their engines and comms are blasted out; few even destroyed when rammed by suicidal Heleian crews.
It is a massacre.
"Sir" one of the operators reports quietly. "Last known orders from Admiral Hayrant call for retreat. He demands that all escort fleets shield his Hayrantine from enemy fire as it makes its escape."
Unease falls on your men. If your commander was willing to abandon you so soon, then the battle was truly lost.
But underneath the dismay, there was also anger. Second-class they might be, but Auxillas were imperial sailors none the less. To flee as a coward rather than fight your way out was unsightly...especially when it left good sailors and good ships to die a pointless death.
"Confirm those orders." You say. In front of you, the second escort fleet is fully engaged, squeezed between Hayrant's flagship and the pouring mass of Heleians. Meanwhile, the assault carriers begun to shift their fire away from the slippery flagship and into the frontline, systematically blasting away heavy vessels.
"We-we're unable." The operator muttered, her confidence fraying. "There's no contact with the Hayrantine. Rear Admiral Boozes was killed in action. We cannot contact either Commodores Byarlant or Weliss!"
"Saint Yurisha preserve us." a new voice cried out in anguish. "Detecting Hyshouts behind our fleet! Suspected Heleian forces jumping in along our escape vectors!"
As if at those words, Hayrant and his escort increased their speed, leaving a gaping hole in Imperial formation without even waiting for a confirmation from the remaning ships. You yourself offer a briefest of nods to the enemy commander - they gambled, and gambled well, resolutely paying the toll of blood to bait the Empire into a stunning and bitter defeat. Perhaps they would even have the good fortune of killing Hayrant before Imperial Guard got to him. You frown. With his speed and heading, he would probably Hysh out just before they caught him.
"First to fight, first to flee, how fitting."
The rest of the fleet would not be so lucky.
"Captain..." Taras asks, his mouth sounding very dry. "What do we do?"
[]As Empire Wills It - Time has come to follow not orders, but spirit. Hayrant runs; if he is not killed by the enemy, the Supreme Leader will mandate it soon enough. However, the fully offensive formation of Heleians can be used against them. Your fleet is in position to launch a daring action right into the middle of enemy fleet. Your vessels are fast and quick enough that they stand a real chance of reaching enemy assault carriers and sinking them; this should punch open a corridor through which some of your fleet may escape...but you will have to hit the enemy attack head on.
[]To Live Another Day - The battle is lost, and Hayrant bears the responsibility. Thus, much of the guilt will remain with him, and you will have saved the lives of your flotilla and followed the orders....but the battle will become unmitigated disaster as the core of 114th fleet is enveloped and annihilated. The Empire may not look kindly on those who survived it scarred...
- Location
- U.S.A.
[X]As Empire Wills It
