What happens in Sakala ... (FT, closed, attn Lumber Cabal)

[Kostemetsia]

>> Loading data on Sakala.
>> Sakala: collective term referring to a two-planet system.
>> UNINHABITED:
>> Sakala B, terrestrial.
>> INHABITED:
>> Sakala C, terrestrial.

Sakala C is unrealistically perfect.

The planet is a fun-size ball of rock and metal orbiting a main-sequence star. It has two moons, which is of no consequence since it's just dry enough that there are not all that many tides to affect. The gravity matches Earth standard almost perfectly, being maybe just a little lighter, but imperceptibly so at worst; the same with the temperature, which is maybe just a little cooler than Earth's, but not enough to have any significant effect. The atmosphere, too, is suspiciously breathable.

Geologically, Sakala is a world of plains and plateaus in about equal density. When the colonists arrived, the native wolf-like lupens were just starting to hunt themselves into extinction (raising interesting questions, but we'll come to those later). The colonists promptly shipped half of them off to Yelan and then slaughtered the rest themselves. Apparently lupen meat is delicious. Lupens are now a protected species on Yelan, and a damn nuisance too.

Speaking of populations, Sakala is home to six hundred and twenty million citizens, temporary residents and other miscellaneous lowlives, mostly gathered in one place: Sakala One. Or, as it's known, S1 – the only major city, and the only beach city, on the planet. It was known as Lallamanton until someone decided that wasn't trendy enough. Go figure. There are also colonists in Yorkmountain Basin, the capital of the municipality of the same name, which basically covers the rest of the planet. These colonists are simple farmers; people of the land; the common clay of the New West. That is, morons.

The proud morons and the upstanding hipsters of Sakala are protected by a shiny, dangerous and impressive flotilla sent from the Commonwealth and Territories of Kostemetsia, and that flotilla has an impressive attachment of some several dozen thousand marines and private security contractors in about equal parts. Collectively, the fleet and the myriad soldiers are known as DEFCOM, the Defence Command.

The Defence Command doesn't expect it will ever have to defend anything. Its power projection potential is obviously so large that no sane party would ever engage it.

The Defence Command is about to have the shock of its short life.

[Naggeroth]

Lumber Cabal;

In the centre of the room hung a misty sphere; slightly transperent and surrounded by soft wisps of mist. It was coloured bright blue and green and was covered in various coloured representations which moved slowly across the surface. Every so often two of these would meet before one was split into several smaller groups, pushed back, or utterly destroyed. The room's sole occuptant paced around the sphere occasionally reaching out and changing something; one outcome or another. His effort's were in vain as after some time the world began to slowly burn.

"Warmaster?" a voice intruded, respectful and mechanical. "General Yunas wishes to speak with you."

"Thank you Tempest." he replied softly, staring at the world.

"You saved million's My Lord." the voice dared, "All of whom would be dead if not for you."

"I served my people." came the bitter reply. "I could have saved billions. I could hace saved the planet."

"You have run seventeen simulations since that campagin. You have failed to sucessfully achieved anything better. What else could you have done?"

"I could have done better." he snapped at the room. It didn't reply.

=-=-=

The Empire had one mandate; bring Unity to the Galaxy. What had started as the simple justification for Tyrant Lords to begin an agressive expansion campagin had become the mantra for hundreds of worlds, Thousands of Nations. And while those same Tyrant Lords still ruled they too had begun to believe in their cause; they had started to believe their own bullshit. So when the fleet came to Sakala they did not do so from some Imperialistic view of resouces; they saw it as their obligation to their fellow man.

On the System's edge reality quivered as the Twelve Ships of the Battlefleet Tempest decellerated from superluminal speeds. They began accelerating towards the planet moments after; their hulls like knives hunting for the System's Heart. From them emitted only one message.

We are the Battlefleet Tempest Serving the Empire. Your system has been conscripted into Service to act as a base for Campagin's into the surrounding region of space. Surrender now or we will take the planet by force.

[Kostemetsia]

“One more week,” Lieutenant Rebecca Heston says contentedly.

“One more week until?” Ensign Hayley Mason replies.

“One more week until I'm motherfuckin' outa here,” Heston explains, punching the air and exercising no restraint whatsoever with the profanity – but it's justified. CROWNFOR Sakala Command is a hell of a place to be spending your career.

Mason seems to think so too. “Where to?” she inquires, intrigued.

“They're building a science ship,” Heston explains, leaning towards Mason conspiratorially. “Concordant Opposition or some bullshit like that. Don't ask me, a Telrosian named it. Anyway, it's supposed to be one hell of a ship, and guess who's running it?”

“You're shitting me,” Mason exclaims.

“No shit what-so-ever,” Heston says happily, drawing every syllable out. “Getting promoted, too. Straight through Lieutenant Commander, because LC-ship is for, like, lu-zers,” she thumbs over her shoulder at a large man in Planning, “and guess who's not a lu-zer?”

“You?” Mason says innocently.

“Damn straight,” Heston replies, full of jubilation. She exchanges high-fives with Mason. The big LC in Planning looks around suspiciously at the sound, but doesn't turn far enough to note the worrying display of personal friendships in the ranks. That's because he's a lu-zer, obviously. “Commander Rebecca goddamn Heston in all her enlightening-the-masses glory. Damn, that Masters in Science paid off after all.”

Mason seems to detect something. “Are you drunk?”

“Nah,” Heston says. “Well. Not exactly.”

“Alcohol on your breath,” Mason smiles.

“So I had a beer to celebrate,” Heston replies defensively. “So what? It's fucking Christmas, girl. I don't see any Exty chankas out there, like, gunning for us, and you know why? Cuz it's Christmas. That would be blasphemy or sacrilege or some such, and these chankas, they're yuan jiao zhi zhu yi, they're not gonna, like, attack us in the Christmas season. They break our rules. Not theirs.”

Mason seems satisfied, but holds up a finger. “One beer?”

“One beer,” Heston confirms.

Then the alarm sounds.

We are the Battlefleet Tempest, serving the Empire. Your system has been conscripted into service to act as a base for campaigns into the surrounding region of space. Surrender now or we will take the planet by force.

People look to Heston, who laughs loudly. “Tell those dolled-up freighter jockeys to fuck off, guys. It's Christmas. It's just a drill.”

“I'll be the judge of that,” the big LC expostulates, storming up to Heston's chair, raised above the rest of the operations department. “Lieutenant Heston, order your staff to conduct scans immediately, and send the standard hostility acknowledgement.”

“As you wish, Lieutenant Commander Obo sir,” Heston says, suddenly all sweetness, politeness and light. “Well, Ensign Mason,” she gestures to the young peroxide blonde, “conduct scans immediately. And send the standard H-A.”

“Doing so now, ma'am,” Mason replies, equally sugary sweet. After a moment, she reports back, reading off her console: “Twelve blips. Superlume spectrometer is placing them on composition band seventeen thousand, something recognisably metallic, but at this distance …” she shrugs. “Nothing beyond that in precise terms. Incoming pretty fast, not impossible. H-A sent.”

“'The Commonwealth surrenders to nothing and to nobody. Weapons engaged',” Heston murmurs. Turning to the LC, she says persuasively, “You know, sir, I've always thought that's an inappropriate hail to send to a potential enemy. Really starting off on the wrong foot. Shouldn't we send something like, I dunno,” she pauses, “'stand off at a hundred thousand kilometres so we can kill each other and negotiate peace at the same time'?”

LC Obo has a ghost of a smile for a second, but quickly seems to shove it down. “Irrelevant,” he says, as sternly as before. “Concentrate on the view before you. Be in the battle at all times …”

“… or you could soon be out of it,” Heston says with him. War College habits die hard.

[Naggeroth]

Fire shrieked silently through the abyss. Tanithen twitched softly in his armour as the salvo flashed past his Drop-Ship. Taken alone it was beautiful; colours and lights striking into the dark void towards something unseen. But Tanithen was a soldier and an officer; he knew he was not just witnessing some pretty light-show firing into the darkness, not some firing drill. As lances of light flashed across space; some near, some far away; he knew they all had one destination in mind.

Sakala.

Two more salvo’s were unleashed before the Tempest released several ships more then one hundred metre’s in length towards the planet. Without any cue the pilot began accelerating after them; putting the vessel between him and the planetary defence grid. If things went well the transport, one of many, would manage to get inside the atmosphere and land more then a thousand troops at its landing-zone. Tanithen would not join them; his own mission took him and his regiment into the Station Designated Alpha One exactly two minutes after a high velocity round would be punching through it.

“Commissar,” a voice hissed in his ear, causing him to turn. “Rizen wants you, some of the Power-Suits are giving us lip.”

“What did Sheni say?” He snapped, scowling.

“Nothing.” Came the nervous reply.

“If you say so.” Tanithen replied dubiously. “We’ll be arriving in a few minutes; tell those noble’s to seal themselves and get into position; and get Rizen to prep the men for combat.

He continued to watch the view; above and to the sides brilliant flashes of fire struck out against the enemy while before him the engines of the transport burned red hot. This continued for a time as he pondered exactly what was about to occur before very suddenly the Drop Ship peeled off from behind the transport and he gained his first proper view of the battlefield.

It was a mess of debris. Defensive Platforms were left as ruins; their munitions speeding across the cosmos from the force of their destruction. Occasionally there was still an active station but their fire was directed at the larger transports. One almost ten kilometres off burst into flame; the troops that were counting on the transport to survive were flung into the upper atmosphere to die of asphyxiation or re-entry; whichever came first.

The Drop Ship twisted; and rose; heading towards the station that housed Heston. He checked the ship’s chronometer and tapped the pilot softly, gesturing for him to wait. The pilot nodded as a round moving so fast it was invisible smashed through the station’s centre; forming a neat hole through the target. Debris, both living and dead, flowed from the wound and was pushed aside by the Drop-ship as it moved towards the hole now formed. With practiced ease the pilot positioned the ship and opened the forward drop-bay, letting the Power-Suit wearing soldiers into the breach formed by the Tempest more then three hundred thousand kilometres away.

In less then a minute the Drop Ship had managed to get itself into the Hanger and opened its secondary doors; prompting Tanithes to move into the drop-bay and stared at his troops. From the wall next to the door he just exited he grabbed a Storm-Coat and pistol; though the term did the weapon no justice. It was large; and when it fired it would be heard for miles. He smiled and gestured to Rizen who began moving the soldiers into the hangers while the drop-ships support guns raked fire across the entrance way.

“For the Empire!” Tanithes roared as he stepped from the Drop Ship. “And for Warmaster Zahkar!”