War on the Fringe [Closed, ATTN Huerdae, Exiles]

by **Setulan** » Wed Mar 14, 2018 2:40 pm

The Home Galaxy is in Flames

Setulan is occupied and the war to retake it has just begun. AXIS fights bloody battles across the breadth and width of the Republic, from its farthest flung colonies to the home world. Unimaginably vast armies in never before seen numbers clash on the ground while fleets made up of thousands of ships light up the void. The Republic's leaders are dead or missing, its armies struggling to survive, and AXIS is desperate to save one of its founding partners.

Mere hours after the Exiles strike Setulan, the Uprising begins. Nations that were ground to heel during the Great Pacification of the Home Galaxy see the opportunity to rise up and seize what was theirs. Armed and trained by Exiles, their forces move at the broadcast of a single code word. Planets fall. Civilizations loyal to AXIS are destroyed, their factories and resources used to fuel the ever expanding Uprising. The fortress world of Heaven's Gate, AXIS headquarters in the Fringe, is assaulted and falls with terrifying rapidity thanks to sabotage from within. The Alliance's armies are ccrushed, their fleets scattered.

The Huerdaen Star Empire, permitted to colonize in the Home Galaxy after their contribution during the Danaversian War, find themselves in a precarious situation. Only years before such a weakening of AXIS would be the perfect opportunity to strike; now they find themselves playing a long-term game of Realpolitik where cooperation is worth more than confrontation. Securing their outpost at Sinnis leads them to into a direct conflict with the Uprising first at Farazen, and then a nightmare campaign at Taj'Marok.

The Exile star base known as the Destroyer Moon is located and a desperate plan is formed. Operation: Iron God sends special forces to immobilize the base. Though losses are heavy for the fleet and army elements that launch the assault, the plan is a success. Three singularity devices are detonated, immobilizing the giant base and causing massive damage to the Exile war machine. Still a formidable threat, at least the terrifying planetary installation lacks the ability to directly threaten other systems.

The Uprising remains on the offensive. Anti-Treaty Danaversians have their pro-treaty enemies locked up at Vutha, while hundreds of millions of amphibians bear down on the Confederation of Allied States. The arachnid Latharoki follow their own mysterious objectives and ensnare resource worlds in an ever expanding web. The lizardfolk of the Fru Tetrarchy have secured half a dozen worlds for their new empire and are now on the warpath for vengeance against those who stole their homeworld, while the Qux have proudly declared the rise of their Second Imperium. Despite being repulsed at Taj'Marok, they stand ready to go back to war with the Huerdaen.

Meanwhile, the situation is grim for AXIS. With so much fighting elsewhere AXIS Supreme Commander Onishi is trusting the Confederation of Allied States, the premier Setulan protectorate, to guard his flank. The call has gone out and the reservists are gathering, but it is taking time - time they may not have. The great war machine of the Huerdaen Star Empire is shifting in to gear and preparing their counterattack, but popular opinion at home could spell an end to their involvement before it even begins.

The fate of the Fringe is in the balance, and millions will die before it is done.

Army Locations

Provided is the best possible intelligence about locations of Uprising armies and their commanders, as well as the locations and commanders of AXIS forces.

Red Sector

Borraga:
Unknown Anti-Treaty Danaversian (ATD) fleet and army presence

Jakma:
Unknown ATD Army presence

Vutha:
ATD five-stack army, Gulan the Destroyer
Pro-Treaty Danaversian (PTD) Five stack army, Field Marshal Kordas

Gold Sector

AXIS Sector Commander: Lord General Hugo Varras

CAS:
Confederate Gold Army Group (5 stack), Lady General Hassa’Kur
Confederate Fleet "Task Force Tubero" (3 stack), Lord Admiral Marcus Tubero
Setulan Army Group "9th Assault Legion" (4 Stack), Colonel-General Garrison

Green Sector

AXIS Sector Commander: Lady General Nissa Mo

Chemos:
PTD Corps (two stack), Barrack Har'Monkala

White Sector

Blue Sector

Uprising Sector Commander: Aggra Veel (Qux)
AXIS Sector Commander: Anai

Taj’Marok:
Huerdaen Corps (two stack), Shai’Ralka
Huerdaen Corps (two stack), Fay
Huerdaen Task Force (four stack) Junie

Calas
Qux fleet (3 stack), Bisha Exfellion
Qux Army Group (4 stack), Ranta Exfellion

Ventha:
Huerdaen Corps (two stack), Isahi

Mariod:
Undying Legion (4 stack), Solamar the Undying
Skulks (4 Stack), Lady Erravvi

Heaven’s Gate:
Unknown Qux Army

Purple Sector

Teal Sector

by **Huerdae** » Wed Mar 14, 2018 10:39 pm

Forgotten Exile, Theater Briefing Room
Sinnis, Huerdaen Star Empire

The Theater Briefing Room is something not often seen in a Huerdaen station. The room was surprisingly large. Officers from all layers of command were represented in a massive circular room, hundreds of gold-shoulders in attendance as they waited for the theater briefing to begin. Many of the officers in attendance were from worlds in the Milky Way Galaxy, and most had never met each other before. Some, though, stood out among the crowd. First and foremost were the old names. Shyoku Masako stood out from the group. Famous across a whole Galaxy, she stayed at the back of the gathering, merely a reserve commander in case the theater needed to be salvaged. Still, everything about her was distinct. She carried herself with confidence and grace, right down to the fact that she continued to flaunt tradition by wearing a sheer dress instead of the standard formal uniform,though her rank was still very much displayed down her leg in brilliant gold. Even more striking, her red hair has now been grown out, some say in no small part due to the Xiscapian Captain Kotohito's influence.

Next most famous was a surprise to many, but recent events had catapulted her out of obscurity into the limelight. Fay'Shaila sat awkwardly among other active generals near the front, with waves and waves of subcommanders spreading out behind her. She felt out of place, brushing shoulders with people she never expected to sit next to. She almost jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder, and she glanced back with a reassuring smile at You'Galna. The man just chuckled, squeezing her shoulder. Clenching her fist, she readied herself for her orders.

Other names were exceedingly famous as well, with some bringing up disgust for various reasons. Ju'Niic, not even displaying rank, and wearing merely a leather corset and flanked by her ever-present Matron bodyguard, drew more than a little scorn, though Mah'Ahrrir was as much her polar opposite as could be. Professional, he looked like a toy soldier almost, with the ancient Lady Victory behind him. Despite her age, she looked barely old enough to serve, but the perfect features she bore left no mistake as to who she was. Other names rising stars as well, with Sia Inall Sikissa, the foreign wildcard, and the feisty Kiyara Anai. The room was full of different peoples, and all of them were here for one thing.

But even with rising stars and almost legendary soldiers among them, the ones who drew attention were the foreigners. Marcus Tubero, a man of great renown in the Fringe, had drawn more than a little interest among the Huerdaen. He was a man whose life was built on war, and he had a singular skill for it. Republicans were there as well, grim-looking and furious, but more than ready for the fight. What truly stood out, though, were the few, massive danaversians. Led by Field Marshals Barrak Har'Monkala and Kordas, they had taken great pains to be present, to hear the overall plan of attack. They did not wait long in one of the only rooms on the station that was large enough to permit them to stand comfortably.

The voice of Peter Stansen was calm and confident across the speakers as the holo display appeared, taking up the majority of the empty air, displaying the massive theater that had been chosen. Some officers seemed surprised to see the entirety of the sectors of the pacified nations being displayed, while others showed they had clearly expected it. All of them, however, were attentive.

"Tomorrow is the start of the Iron God Campaign. Started on Farazen, and then followed by Operation Iron God, we've sunk our teeth into this area, and we're not going to give it up. This is going to be a war on the scale of the Vipran conflict, or the Gate War. But this time, it's all or nothing. You've all been briefed on the capabilities of the Destroyer Moon. We cannot permit this to remain in enemy hands. Ideally, we would take it out early, but that is simply not an option available to us. Instead, a second large-scale strike on that facility must wait until we have eliminated the supporting factions."

The map highlighted the north-west of the combat sector, and he continued without a pause. "The first step in this is to eliminate a limited foe, and secure our flank. Their shipbuilding capabilities are significantly reduced, and while they have significant ground assets, they are the only foe capable of taking the fight to our strongest allies in the region. With the anti-treaty Danaversians pacified, we must shift our facing to the east, and the retaking of Heaven's Gate, the old AXIS HQ in the area. It was, and still is, a choke-point that simply cannot be safely bypassed. With it still standing, the Sen Gate at Ventha is always within striking distance. However, due to the forces involved, we cannot immediately move against this facility. We must endure until such time as our forces can focus their efforts against its defenses."

A pause, likely for a drink of water, and the man continued. "With that in mind, we cannot leave this flank entirely open. We will be moving to secure the assistance of those living in the Stairs of Luan immediately. With this position we are able to heavily influence the center of our line and secure passage through much of the sector. I cannot stress the importance of taking this system intact.

In addition, we will continue to depend on Taj'Marok to blunt any assaults against the core of our controlled space. This will be hold a semi-permanent garrison, until such time as the separatist Danaversian forces have been pacified, in whatever way they must."

There was another pause, and the map zoomed to the homeworld of the CAS, showing their current fleet and army elements, and associated orders. "Task Force Tubero, you are to remain on station and ready for the inevitable assault by the separatists in your sector. Your prior victories have earned you the right to put an end to their fleet assets in whatever way you deem necessary. Take special care to eliminate any fleetbuilding facilities that cannot be captured. We must inhibit their mobility and end the Danaversian forces' ability to make strikes against our assets as soon as possible. The ground forces of Confederate army group Gold under Lady General Hassa'Kur will support this action, protecting the core of the CAS from attack. When the tide turns against the Danaversians and their offensive ability is squandered, you will then take your forces to pressure them until such time as they are unable to continue their efforts against us."

The map shifted slightly, to include Taj'Marok, where fleet and army elements from both CAS and Taj'Marok were shown with orders listed to move out. "The Battle Fleet Annihilation will be under the command of Major Ju'Niic-"

There was a roar from a section of the officers, as Huerdaen Rethast surged at the news of an impending battle, but it was quickly overwhelmed when General Stansen simply increased the amplification of the speakers and continued, nearly deafening the room.

"-and will be acting as an assault and escort force for the transports of General Shai'Ralka and Colonel-General Garrison. Both of these forces and their fleet cover are to move immediately into the Stairs of Luan. If an enemy is located, the fleet is to immediately engage. A quick victory is paramount in this instance. We are depending on the brutality you're known for to help secure this sector against enemy action. If possible, do not employ your forces against the locals. They must submit, but submitting willingly is our goal."

"From there, if we are uncontested, we must be ready to close the door on the Danaversian rebellion. Shai'Ralka will maintain a garrison of the Stairs if it is deemed required, and Annihilation will move on to escort the 9th Assault Legion to Vutha. If possible, we will move both assault groups to Vutha, permitting a landing there to end the existing conflict, and follow up immediately with an assault on the heavily fortified system of Keean. Taking this system is paramount. If Vutha is heavily contested, we will secure it against enemy attack first, to permit Danaversian elements to take part in the assault on Keean. It must fall in one strike. We cannot afford a war of attrition here. Their flank must collapse."

The map, which had been following the assault path, snapped back to Taj'Marok, where a single icon of the Imperial Shield remained, marked by Fay's name. "Acting-General Fay'Shaila will command the continued defense of Taj'Marok. It is expected that the assault will be renewed as soon as our fleet assets are withdrawn. With that in mind, the defenses must hold until the scheduled reinforcements arrive. As soon as Shield assets are available, we will begin hardening the central section of the sector against enemy action. Until that time, Taj'Marok must stand firm."

Finally, the map swung over to Ventha, one of the key Huerdaen locations, which contained a garrison of reasonable size. "General Kansen Isahi will lead the defense of Ventha, digging in and using every advantage available. It is likely that the enemy will use Heaven's Gate as a secure staging ground, and with Mariod currently under attack, the forces there will need relief. There is currently a ground battle occurring on the surface of Mariod, between the so-called Undying Legion under command of Solamar the Undying, and an Xiscapian Skulk unit under the command of Lady Erravvi."

A small yelp came from somewhere in the hall, though Fay could not determine where it came from. Somewhere across the map from her, in the Star Navy section. The man seemed not to notice, and continued. "Our first fleet reinforcements will fall under the command of Admiral Sia Inall Sikissa, which will begin taking action to first secure the skies over Mariod to permit reinforcement and resupply of Lady Erravvi's forces, and then begin offensive operations against hostile supplies and fleet assets in the central sector. Once our approach to Mariod is secure, we can begin securing the rest of the central sector. When we can freely mass troops for the Assault on Heaven's Gate, command of that operation will fall to Es'Shyoubai. Stellar action will be under Admiral San'Kollus."

Finally, the map zoomed out again, displaying the holding action in the galactic east, as well as the hammer-and-anvil of the west, followed by a sweep forward until Falta, where the plan stopped. It was then that General Stansen let them consider the overall operation, and continued. "This is where we begin our next operation. It is the judgement of SolCom and high command that this final sector will be the hardest to breach and hold. As such, plans for a station have been drawn up to allow us to operate from a secure point. When the enemy is forced to face us at key points such as Heaven's Gate and Falta, we will be preparing to build our own way to bypass their defenses. Mor'Vath will be the target location for the supply and battlestation named Crucible of Iron. From here, we will wage the rest of our conflict."

Again a pause, and the map reverted to its initial settings, leaving him to summarize. "Force coordination and command for Gold Sector falls to Lord General Hugo Varras. Green Sector will be controlled by Lady General Nissa Mo, while Blue is under the command of General Kiyara Anai. The defense of Mariod and the survival of those forces may determine if our plan can be completed as designed, or if it falls apart in its infant stages. Successful resupply of Mariod is paramount, second only to the defense of Ventha. To that degree, Colonel Amagi Yuuki will be tasked to further the efforts of General Isahi on Ventha. She will work with local forces to further our goals and secure secondary and tertiary supply sources."

He paused, and there were a few murmurs and questions, but he continued soon, silencing them easily. "General Masako and Commodore Mah'Ahrrir will be on standby to respond to crisis situations. They will be deployed with assets when they become available."

That caused more murmuring, and it was clear that something about Mah'Ahrrir set more than a few people on edge. Still, it did not take away from the briefing as the man continued.

"A Grendel team will be initially deployed to Heaven's Gate. We cannot permit the enemy to build up here, so disruptive activities will be maintained here in earnest. We have been allocated three such teams for this campaign. This first one will be called only Hrunting. Their release phrase will be revealed when we prepare our assault on Heaven's Gate."

"Our forces mobilize in fourteen hours. It has been organized that all units that need to be ready to mobilize are already in a ready state. Return to your commands and ready yourselves for Iron God. Next time we see the beast, we will bring it to its knees."

--
I.M.S. Angel of Death, Blackstone-Class War Frigate
In orbit of Taj'Marok - 4 Minutes to Deployment

The entirety of her body shook with anticipation, and Ju'Niic found herself pacing, then sitting, and then pacing again around her bridge. Many of her Huerdaen crew were less at ease. Being the vanguard was never a simple or easy prospect, and they had been given orders to drive home any attack against any enemy they encountered. It smelled like blood. It tasted like blood, and yet she had to wait. Deo'Niic, ever nearby, seemed equally at ease. Her battle fleet, hanging in space and waiting for the order, was just as ready for battle. All across the comm channels Red Eye captains swore their oaths to her, readying their crews and promising her gifts of meat and enemies.

With but two minutes to go, Deo'Niic began to screech, a cry that was instantly taken up by the other Devil-Kin on board. The ground shook with the Rethast women's screaming, as they turned to each other, slamming fists into armored torsos and faces, building up their blood rage. Somewhere, deep in the rage, Ju'Niic could feel her blood start to boil, feeling the hidden cadences of rage that fueled the Rethast who had been left behind. The timer taunted her, ticking away the final seconds in complete and total agony. Each moment felt an eternity, and her own scream seemed to bubble forth from her chest as the final second ticked away, releasing her mind from the shackles of rational Huerdaen thought, and giving her over to the bloodlust of her adopted people.

The Angel appeared in Stairs of Luan, immediately accelerating as it began to seek out an enemy to hunt, hoping that there would be a foe foolish enough, or perhaps even worthy enough, to challenge the deadly vessel.

Over the Comms, Ju'Niic snarled to the local leadership, her eyes narrowed though she only provided them with audio. "You are called to serve, those of you who would live your lives with the advantages of a nation. Your world owes allegiance to Setulan. Today, you begin to pay it back. Fly the flag, gather your warriors. Starting today, the peace you cherish is tested by our enemies, and you can no longer sit idly by. You must defend yourselves. You must spill blood, to earn the right to allow your life to remain whole. Today, you decide if you matter in this galaxy."

by **Setulan** » Sat Mar 24, 2018 10:25 am

Stairs of Luan

The Huerdaen were just so short. Not just in relation to the Alversians and Setulans that they had the most experience with, but even relative to the diminutive Kitsune. Their armor and weapons were certainly lethal enough - much to the dismay of the fleet above - but they were just so small. Not enough meat on their bones to make even a somewhat decent meal even if the clans had been permitted to eat their prisoners.

Overconfident, too. The Huerdaen fleet had come out of the void and immediately assaulted the vulnerable Latharoki fleet, falling upon their rear as they prepared for landing operations. The slaughter had been terrible. The panicked death-cries of their screaming clan family had been broadcast to the rest of the Cluster so they knew the enemy they faced. The fleet was mauled, dozens of ships destroyed in close battle under the thundering guns of the Star Navy before they could entangle them in their pincers. But once the fleet fell back the Huerdaen had moved sedately into the system and begun their own landing operations...without bothering to make sure their enemy had not put down on any other planets before their arrival.

Climber looked down and slowly lowered herself on a thick web. The patrol was marching down the path and chatting animatedly about their success in space. Their movements were sloppy. Disorganized despite the repeated reprimands of their squad leader. They were flush with victory and seemed to think that 'bugs' only came from below.

"It is time."

"Yes, yes."

"Take prisoners."

"Yes, yes."

So curious. None bothered to look up.

****

Private Banner sat in his crash webbing and nervously fidgeted with his rifle. He checked and rechecked the battery status on his optics. He ensured a round was in the chamber and the safety was on. He scrolled through his comms and made sure his fill was good and organized properly. He patted down his ammo pouches and snapped the knife cover on his thigh over and over. Enlisting immediately after he graduated high school he had done well enough in Infantry School to qualify for Drop Training, and he had excelled there too. Not the top of his class but close. A life taker and heart breaker, a member of one of the premier planetary assault groups in AXIS, the wings on his duty uniform were worn with pride and had been the cause of several successful bar courtships. His assignment to the Fringe had come along with the usual braggadocio between he and his peers as the newly minted drop troopers practically begged for one of the pacified nations to rise up.

He was nineteen years old and scared shitless.

The Huerdaen had fucked up and fucked up badly. The wild success of their fleet engagement against the unsuspecting spiders had led their commander to believe she had caught them completely with their pants down. As her fleet chased after the retreating Latharoki the Shield had begun their landing on Lua-2...and died to a man. Twenty thousand Shield, more or less, killed in under three hours from the time first contact was reported. Their commander was furious, both at his men for their complacence and the fleet officers for their bad intelligence. At himself too, probably. The massacre was a stunning rebuke. To add insult to injury the Latharoki had spiked the hastily made base set up by Imperial Engineers, blowing the compound away with its own nuclear stockpile.

So now they had to reevaluate. The fleet had been forced to end its pursuit due to its suddenly insecure rear. The nukes it had lobbed at the surface of Lua-2 were more for catharsis than strategic value, and the Latharoki had responded by activating the GMO batteries in the ready-made fortresses AXIS had left scattered throughout the system. Of the Setulan miners who lived in the system there was little sign, save on the two planets it looked like the spiders hadn't invaded yet. The 9th Assault Legion had originally been meant to simply meet the Huerdaen fleet before continuing on to their next objective. Now they had been called forward to retake the system while the Huerdaen protected them in orbit.

Banner knew what would happen. He had seen it before in sim, had watched the recordings and had done his mandated five training drops at the Planetary Guard's extensive drop facility on Veto. The Viper-D transports would move closer to the planet under a shield umbrella from their escorts before supercharging their realspace engines. They would let out the energy in a single massive burst of speed that blasted the transports into the upper atmosphere where, with bellies glowing white hot, they would disgorge their hundreds of pods into the sky below. The pods would split and then split again, some full of troops and many more full of supplies, duds, or even explosives for hitting ground targets. And then they'd be on the ground, deep in the heart of enemy territory. Banner tried to swallow but he couldn't muster the spit. He took a sip from water hose and tried again. It didn't help much.

The engines began to whine and a timer appeared in the Private's HUD. Two minutes until drop.

Banner felt eyes on him and turned his head to the armored figure sitting directly across from him. Staff Sergeant Roderick, his squad leader, had his visor raised and cool green eyes were taking in every man in the squad. Banner expected encouragement. He was disappointed.

"Prepare yourself, lads. This is as bad as it gets."

One minute thirty seconds...

by **Huerdae** » Sun Mar 25, 2018 11:05 am

Forgotten Exile, Theater Command Room
Sinnis, Huerdaen Star Empire

Unlike the Briefing room, the command room was exactly what you would expect from a Huerdaen warship. Short, it contained an almost endless assortment of maps, displays, and included the ever-present noise generated by millions of people reporting back to this one point. It was chaos to Peter, who stood there with a glass of some sort of local brew that was supposed to help you wake up. Something akin to Aumanii or Setulan coffee, he figured. It still tasted like shit, but he still smiled and accepted it when offered by his staff, the young man ever-trying to impress his commander. He had done this as a private on Foer, and he'd been quietly following up the command chain and offering whatever local brews were available since. He had yet to find one Peter actually liked.

But, Val'Sheera was an excellent analyst of everything other than coffee, and once more, the noble sacrifice of keeping him around and enduring his attention served well enough. Peter's eyes scanned down the notepad, slowly widening until they saw the report from Heaven's Gate. Unable to contain himself, he spat the vile liquid out of his nose and mouth, spilling it all down his front as he sought not to dump the entire glass.

With a waved apology to the female Captain he had just covered in the hot liquid, he re-read the line a second time, before dispatching a note to General Kiyara about her sector. The fact that the AXIS troops had held out so well surprised him, though he didn't have enough information yet. The chance to contest Heaven's Gate further, though, was too good to pass up. He had to get her moving, if the path was clear. All he needed were some fleet assets...

I.M.S. Angel of Death, Blackstone-Class War Frigate
Stairs of Luan

As she watched, her fleet was slowly disecting the enemy ships. Her own damaged vessels made repairs, and some began capturing salvage, or prisoners, but her mind was elsewhere for the moment. The enemy had managed to withdraw, using the Shield's error against them. She hadn't said they were safe. Far from it. She had engaged the enemy to obtain orbital supremacy, but the ground forces had begun landing, trying to get an early advantage. The fools.

Still, the battle had been a thing of beauty. Striker-Class destroyers had led the assault against the unknown enemy, storming at the target fleet at breakneck speed as if making assaults on the enemy heavy ships. As the pickets and escorts gathered to repel them, they flitted away, scattering out of the closing jaws of the trap as if they were nothing more than the shadows of that fallen empire, the Militocracy. It had taken an enemy's strength and lured it into one place, and that was where the heavier warships of the Huerdaen struck hardest. The sleek designs of the Latharoki fell before the hammering guns of her ship, shattering into a million pieces as their prey evaded them.

They fought, trying to force their way through the defensive guns of the Huerdaen escorts, only to find the defenses of the ISN more than a match for their clever tactics. Lighter warships trying to pursue the destroyer groups found themselves turned to so much wreckage in orbit as they fought to adapt to the sudden change in tactics. It was only when they fell back that the Rage-Class, with their massive rotary spinals, fell upon them. Having stayed in the Huerdaen formation, they waited until the moment was right, and the enemy had begun to lose their nerve, before they began seeking out the vulnerable craft. Wings of destroyers raced out after vulnerable craft, showering them with rounds too large for any sane destroyer to use, until they broke like so many bodies under the great boot of the ISN.

And then the striker-class returned. They came from everywhere. All sides, all angles, deploying their heavy ordinance against the surprised heavy warships of her foes. Antimatter munitions designed to slip through shielding by adopting the same shielding, lightly dropped into the heart of the enemy fleet found homes against enemy armor, and tore it open like a body struck with an exploding round. They gave no quarter. Showed no mercy. And the enemy finally scrambled back, shaken. It had been beautiful. And through it all, the Striker-Class persisted in dancing through the hopeful claws of the Latharoki.

The remaining compartment of one of the Lotharaki ships detonated, spilling the 'survivors' of the conflict from the much smaller vessel into space as she watched. All around her, her fleet was being tasked with protecting the transports, but she could tell her forces were becoming fed up with the task. Most of the surviving Shield were off the ground. Garrison's forces were preparing to drop, and all she needed to do now, was wait for the Latharoki to try to disrupt this next landing. Of course, she couldn't permit that.

As she watched, Predator sedately ducked through the debris field, its shields down as its helmsman expertly impaled corpse after corpse on the spines that they had installed on the front of the ship. All around it, legs and reaching arms were floading about in space. Shattered, broken remains of a shattered, broken part of the enemy fleet. The ships had been sleek, they had been organized. Ready. They no doubt had their plans, but they simply hadn't expected the sheer brutality of the Red Eye ships. They had sent forward their boarding vessels, trying to eliminate the smaller destroyers that flitted about her heavy warships.

What they didn't seem to count on was the Rethast inertialless drive. They could come close to the enemy, within reaching distance, only to have the vessel pull an impossible turn, it's power spiking out of control as it suddenly chose to ignore almost all the laws of physics and gravity, lightly slipping past the Latharoki. Dozens of times the Red Eye ships had slipped past grasping legs and grapples, leaving the Latharoki flailing at empty space, just in time for the overwhelming power of the Huerdaen core of the fleet to tear through them, smashing them aside as they had shifted out of position to catch the small, brutal escorts.

But the Red Eyes were getting bored now. Some had boarded enemy ships, taking their prisoners, and they sat silent now. Though she knew what was happening on board, she knew, too, the battle was far from over. Grimacing, she turned to her comms, making a harsh gesture at him. In an instant, a line was open to the fleet.

"Come, my pets. This was but the appetizer. We don't have time to play with our food yet, and the enemy will try to stop the angry ones from landing on their heads. It's time, now, to put an end to this. I don't like these things. They annoy me. I want their admiral's head on. The captain which brings me the head of their admiral will be my toy tonight. If that ship leaves the systems, you will all serve Deo'Niic's girls. If I have to kill it myself, you will all serve Deo'Niic's girls."

She glowered, speaking over the screaming taunts of the Devil-Kin behind her,

"Now bring me an Admiral's head!"

With that, the Angel of Death and her attendants Gated once more at the enemy fleet, with the Huerdaen throwing up their interdiction fields to deny the enemy escape, and the destroyers swept out in all directions, bursting into the enemy group fearlessly.

Forgotten Exile, Theater Command Room
Sinnis, Huerdaen Star Empire

Anai glared at Peter, having come to the room in person, her battle armor making it hard to tell she was female if not for the very feminine facial features. Even out of the standard powered armor, she wore a set of custom-fitted Golem armor, minus the helm, which currently sat nearby.

"I can't send those forces to Heaven's Gate. You tasked me with protecting the gates, and with covering this flank. If I move those into the Qux, then that fleet will tear them apart. If I try to bypass the Qux, I reveal the gate to them. Or Taj'Marok, which is one of the only reasons these people are working with us right now. We can't just give it up! Do you REALLY want to be out here without reinforcements because you saw a pretty light show on a planet so far away? I'm not sending people to die so that we can die, too. AXIS troops or no AXIS troops, you're asking me to send my people through a meatgrinder of a fleet, or over top of Mariod, and in either case, you're leaving my ass hanging in the wind! No, sir, we cannot save Heaven's Gate yet. They've held out this long, but without a fleet, and without pinning down the Qux in a way I think we can win, we're not abandoning our defenses. Where I stand now, I can protect this flank with two points. If I move forward, I need three or even four. Don't be dense."

Peter sighed, having already agreed with her half an hour ago. In fact, he had been about to send a cancelation of her objectives when he had heard she was on her way, after he found out about the Qux fleet in Banya. Now he was regretting not doing so. Instead, he simply nodded again, and determined she had her fun. "General Kiyara."

She stopped, considered his words and tone, and straightened. "Sir?"

"Return to your post. I'm accepting your proposed defense. Your defensive line will remain as it stands."

She nodded and saluted, leaving as if they had just had the most amiable of conversations. Of course, that was when his real trial hit, and an apologetic-looking Val'Sheera decided his best cure was another torturous drink.

Will this day never end?

by **Setulan** » Wed Apr 04, 2018 10:43 am

Stairs of Luan

Green energy whipped overhead as the Arach-2 bombarded the advancing Setulan infantry with heavy fire. The lasers exploded in the midst of the a squad of troops and turned them into so much pudding, their bodies destroyed and their armor turned to shrapnel. The heavy vehicle scuttled forward on its rear legs, main body slung low to avoid incoming fire while the front arms were raised to engage. They continued to let loose low energy rapid fire against the running Setulans while moving to cover behind a damaged hydroponic farm.

"Advance! The Setulans are running. Drive them back and we overrun their drop zone!"

"Yes, yes. Second and third cluster, forward! Follow the Arach!"

"Yes, yes!"

Moving freakishly fast for such large beings the Clusters began to run forward, propelled on eight power armored legs. Rail rounds whipped into them but it was disorganized, fire from fleeing troops as they desperately attempted to find cover. Though the landings had gone well enough for the Setulans the Reaper had expected it. The Reaper had known they would come, had known that she could not stop the Setulans from landing. She had studied them for years as she waited for the opportunity to kill them. Setulan drop troops were high quality infantry but they were lightly equipped, and there was a window after the initial landings but before the Vipers actually entered atmosphere where they were almost purely an infantry force. That was the time to overrun them, to push them into their landing zones so they had no clear place to set their reinforcements, to kill them all.

It was glorious. Latharoki clanrachs powered over the corpses of their foe, none stopping to snack with enemies ahead, but secure in the knowledge that soon they would feast. The Arach was unstoppable as it swatted anti-tank weapons from the sky before they could scratch its paint. They were going to -

"Armor, Republican light armor-"

A heavy ripping sound was all the warning the advancing spiders had before a rail slug slammed into the Arach's shielding with a resounding gong. The scuttle-armor staggered from the sheer kinetic shock before recovering and surging forward, but before it took another three steps it was hit two more times. The shield failed and spalling splattered the vehicle. It froze as the crew scrambled to get their systems back online but they never had a chance. A final shot tore into the immobile vehicle and tore it in half, destroying the body and sending gun-legs flying. Short, sharp screeches came next as mortars began to rain down on the advancing Latharoki. Redoubled fire from previously unseen defensive positions began next, slaying scores of spiders.

"No, no! Back! We must fall back!"

"The Reaper has commanded we take the LZ!"

"We cannot, cannot! Back, back!"

A soft hiss.

"Not yet. Not yet..."

Kastian Reach

Barrack Har'Monkala was an angry amphibian.

If you asked an Alversian, that wasn't necessarily saying much. Danaversians were not exactly known for their calm demeanor and to a layperson who wasn't familiar with the race they pretty much all seemed angry. Their guttural language didn't help matters, the cadence of their voice lending itself to war chants rather than poetry, nor their long history of domination. But even so, most Danaversians were not seen at their best. They were seen at war. In battle. At best they disliked outsiders and they had a racial bias against dissembling, making it hard to hide their disgust when dealing with lesser races.

Lesser races. Lesser, by the blood of the Emperor! Weaker. Pathetic. And yet they had won. That was why he was angry all the time. That was why he stewed in a kettle of rage and bile. Barrack Har'Monkala was a warrior without peer who had fought the lauded Black Falcons personally and ripped their bodies apart with his bare hands. He still wore their emblem ripped from their sundered armor on his own battle plate as a reminder that he was not to be trifled with. He had been an Ajaxian, damn their eyes, a feared and respected member of that most noble of houses that had held such powerful sway in the greatest Empire the galaxy had ever seen. He had murdered Alversians by the score and by his word had killed tens of thousands. He had held the honored left flank against the Telrosians when they crushed their fledgling society and scattered them, had overseen the destruction of a battalion of Huerdaen during the desperate counter attack that had cost him his brigade and almost his life.

And now he had to fight with them, damn their eyes. Alongside the Huerdaens who had so humiliated him, the Confederation of Allied Slaves that had been ripped from the Ajaxian by the Republic, and alongside the Setulans who had taken him captive at Heaven's Gate. He had begged for death, but they had refused him that honor. Still...still, he served the Emperor. He did not trust AXIS, he did not like them, he dreamed of the day the Empire would rise again and kill them all, but he was, by the gods of the undying ancestors, an AJAXIAN. One of the last to bear that name after the family was overrun, and he would not dishonor it by turning his back on the Emperor he worshiped.

So now he killed Latharoki. He had no experience with doing so, but he didn't care. He remembered the spiders from when the Empire was ascendant. A trading partner. Insignificant, but not efficient slaves. Too stupid. Bred too slow. They had been permitted to live free so long as they paid proper respect. So Barrack Har'Monkala Ajaxian, the Flesh Reaver, stood at his strategium and unleashed his anger against the spiders in the form of two hundred million Danaversian Warriors. They weren't the enemies he really wanted to kill, but they would do.

He would have smiled if his jaw wasn't clenched so hard.

Ventha

The Gate was beautiful. The Exfellions stood and watched, sipping their wine with one hand while the other three directed movements below. It was a pulsing blue mass that stood stark against the blackness of space, a kaleidoscope of light that swirled with darker and lighter bands appearing and fading throughout. That it was the most important strategic target in the sector was besides the point for the moment - it was secure. The Sen homeworlds were on the other side but more importantly the damn Huerdaens couldn't come through without running head first into the teeth of Bisha's guns. There would be no reinforcements for the Shield on the surface. Even as Bisha directed her fleet to hold the gate and provide supporting fire for the troops on the ground, her cousin Ranta directed the assault from orbit. Exfellions did not engage in personal combat unless necessary. They were, after all, nobility, and they had others for that.

"It is good to be back on the offensive."

"Very. Especially against these ones."

Quiet fell back upon the command center. It was hard for them to discuss what had happened at Taj'Marok. A victory that was supposed to be in the bag before they ever got there had turned to ash. While the Exiles had successfully detonated the fortification's generators like they were supposed to, the arrival of the Huerdaen navy had ended Qux orbital supremacy and allowed the Shield to land. Between the Republic's stubborn refusal to die and the extra offensive power brought by the Shield, what should have been an easy victory turned into a three week bloodbath that ended with the undignified retreat of all Qux forces from the system. But now...ah, now they had payback.

The ground assault was going well. Already most of the planet was theirs. There had been no resistance in orbit and though the Huerdaen were putting up a good fight from their hastily set up defenses, they were badly outnumbered. It was just a matter of time, and the nobility of the Qux knew they had all the time they needed.

Vex

The Danaversian column was a thing of beauty and no mistake. Rank upon rank of warriors with their weapons held to their shoulders marched through the pass. Even more surprising were the heavy vehicles that accompanied them. The Catfish IX was not a bad tank by any stretch, and though their factories had been destroyed during the Liberation War they had clearly found another source for them. Commanders sat in open turrets, drivers had their heads exposed to take the most of the gorgeous day and get the clearest view of the roads while also cooling down - the Catfish had a tendency to get hot when buttoned up thanks to their reliance on fossil fuels. Smoke and smog belched from their stacks as they rumbled down the roads.

Such confidence. Such discipline. Banks Haso didn't remember the Danaversians having this much discipline when he was a boy but the amphibians had clearly learned from AXIS. Discipline beats numbers every time. Your numbers are worthless if they are not led well and are shooting each other in the back. Discipline breeds confidence, confidence breeds success. Of course, if that confidence was misplaced - say, a confidence that the scouts you had put to your front and flanks were actively performing reconnaissance and not dead and rotting in the beautiful red sunshine - then it could be a dangerous thing.

Lord General Banks Haso, Knight of the Howling Wolf, Knight of Hell, Knight of the Great Hunt, Knight of so many more things. He knew that he shouldn't be this close to the enemy when he was in command of the entire planetary assault but he had refused to pass up the opportunity. He had been killing Occupiers his entire life, and he'd be damned if he missed the chance to do it again.

"Lord, the last of their scouts are dead. They've entered the killbox."

Haso smiled, unseen behind the visor of his power armor.

"I love this part."

He clicked a button, and the mountain came down. Organization became chaos, tanks became tombs, and screams echoed up the canyon. The Greater Circle Lord stood up and revved his jump jets.

"Wolves of Maya! No prisoners!"

The cries of injured Danaversians became screams of terror as the Wolves descended upon them.

Danaversian blood looked so strange in red sunlight.

Gamon

"Admiral, urgent -"

"Wait."

The communications officer stopped mid sentence and froze, afraid to say another word. He had served alongside the Lord Admiral for years and still the man intimidated him. Not particularly tall or broad, even in his power armor, the Lord Admiral was always calm. Always poised. Consoles could be exploding around him and he wouldn't flinch. At that moment, on that bridge, the comms off

"Zoom it in, right there."

"Aye aye."

The monitor shifted focus with dizzying speed onto a Danaversian heavy cruiser. The ship was floundering. Half of its engines were trailing plasma from leaks and its hull was shot full of holes. Fires guttered alongside its flanks as a testament to the atmospheric leaks it was having. The ship's computer identified it as a newer model Barracuda that had been churned out from the Exile's Destroyer Moon rather than one of the Danaversian's domestic products.

"We'll use the Cataran. Bring us to 187-95, center line shot."

"Aye aye, Cataran engaging!"

The ship shifted course slightly to bring its spinal to bear. A soft whining echoed through the bridge and then a blinding white light reached out, briefly connecting the two ships. The Cataran Cutting Laser was specifically designed to rip entire sections off of ships, and the Tuparech-class Grand Cruiser had the most powerful Cataran designed. Against a damaged vessel it was like peeling wings off of a fly. The Occupier ship was ripped clean in two along its mid line, coming apart in a spray of sparks and fire. Marcus Tubero sighed in contentment.

"Speak."

"Sir, urgent orders from General Stansen. With the Danaversian fleet presence destroyed,we're to shift to the galactic east. The Huerdaen are having serious trouble with the Qux fleet and army elements, and they're maneuvering all over him. Ventha is under siege. New orders are to shut down the Qux fleet under Bisha Exfellion and then lead the counterattack."

Another sigh, this time disappointed.

"Alright. I was looking forward to running rampant in Danaversian space, but I guess this will do. I've never particularly liked the Qux either. Do you remember them, Vala?"

Sammi Vala, the actual Captain of the Confederation Vessel Rustov, grunted. Though she was the actual CO of the warship they stood on and had commanded it during the assault while Tubero gave fleet orders, she had gracefully stepped back from command to allow the famous Admiral the chance to slay some Occupiers himself.

"I do. Where was it, Mor'Vath? I had the Valour and a squadron of Victories. You were on that Republican ship, Eternal Pain, with Fleet Admiral Shal. Taking notes while I did all the real work." Tubero smiled in memory.

"Yes, that was it. He's a real hard boiled bastard, that one."

"Takes one to know one. Anyway, yes. I remember them. Fought hard, if not smart. Less fun than a chance to kill Occupiers, but they're vile little beasts in their own right."

"Yes. Very well. Helm! Prepare for jump. Comms, I need a flash message sent to the fleet. There's a quartet of Occupier corvettes making for the rim. Have Eagle Squadron hunt them down. I want Gold and Silver Long Guns to continue to provide heavy orbital support for the landing. Everyone else to rally on the Rustov. Once that's sent, get me a secure link to Hassa'Kur. I need to let her now she's losing her orbital cover. We'll plan to make for the mandeville point in twelve hours. Get moving."

by **Huerdae** » Thu Apr 05, 2018 12:20 pm

Artillery Position 3, Massacre 1-4-1
Stairs of Luan, Contested System

Corpsman Iggan couldn't see or hear anything past the noise and smoke, as his rocket position and the hundreds of others that made landfall following the Setulan drop all fired. Moments before, he had been surrounded by artillery pieces for as far as the eye could see, but now that they had begun firing, he could only crouch in the pit between the weapons, waiting for the firing to stop. The smoke from the firing weapons made it almost impossible to breath, but he could hear his unit Matron exhulting in the chaos. Everyone else was dead silent.

They had failed to take the landing zones. They had been forced to step back and let the foreigners do the work, and now Shai'Ralka punished them for that failure with a supporting role. There was no greater insult. Even the Huerdaen could be seen to feel the shame. They had failed their commander, and their Empire. Kar Kannag had secluded himself in his headquarters for seven days after the landings had been taken, trying to draw up plans that their Master would accept, to allow them to once more go forth.

He could only groan in anguish as the weapons stopped firing. His natural eye was burning from the chemicals in the air, so he squeezed it shut as he climbed out of his own personal hellpit, shambling back to the weapons to begin reloading, even as they turned en-masse to a new target, under some foreign general's orders. He would survive this hell. He would prove to his adopted empire that he was worthy of dying for it.

Now, if only the spiders would come try to attack their artillery position, he could do something worthy of a member of the Blood Corps...

Unit Headquarters, Massacre 2-5-4
Ventha, Huerdaen Star Empire

The eerie blue-light of the Theater shield never abated, hanging over the entirety of the visible sky like some false day, even in the middle of the night. Between that shield and the ever-present light from the gate overhead, he found his experience on Ventha was eerie at best. Perhaps unsettling was probably a better word. Everything seemed fake, lit with the blue light of those ancient holograms that flickered in their color-limited blues. It made the whole thing feel like a cheap experience from a half a century ago.

Even during the day the massive, visible shield blotted out a chunk of the visible light spectrum, giving them an artificial sky hidden just past the clouds. At times he could see the enemy ships taking shots at it, though the hexagonal pattern seemed to show no damage, it merely provided something away from the constant struggle of his grounded existance.

Every morning came with more reports of the same. The Qux were advancing. A few kilometers every night would be given up somewhere around his perimeter. The soldiers and officers would fall back as his engineering units worked day and night to constantly expand the trench network, the defenses, and the endless series of traps surrounding his position.

In the beginning, there had been panic, and uncertainty. Always asking for more updates, asking if they needed to change the plan. Over the past two weeks, though, they had settled into a simple routine. Each time they fell back, new positions would be provided, and the artillery around the HQ would thunder. They were slowly, and surely, giving ground, but they began to trust in his preparations. The enemy simply had failed, time and time again, to create any major breakthroughs.

With a sigh, he turned to see Gimsa next to him, fiddling with some small device. At being noticed, the Karkouah straightened as much as he could, grinning the unsettling grin that the creature tended to.

"General Kansen, sah. I've managed to get you more hotheads. We ran the reactors dirty on a dozen rocs for the past week or so, and that got us the material we need to fashion the warheads for the brothers. When the fleet comes, we'll be ready to assist again." He turned back to the item in his chitinous hands, apparently a rubix cube that he was toying with. He had nearly completed it, and looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

Isahi just nodded, looking back into the distance, where bursts of light could be seen as more blasts were used to keep the Qux from being able to maintain any significant breach in his defenses. With a sigh, he wondered what more he could do. He was sure there were situations he hadn't yet prepared for.

On the other hand, the Star Empire wasn't in the habit of abandoning soldiers, nor was it in the habit of losing a war so early for such meager events such as failing to protect a gate. Suddenly, the lighting changed, and his eyes moved skyward. The gate, previously calmly swirling in that other-worldly way, had become frenzied, with patches appearing where he could see through it into the space on the far side.

He made sure to suppress his smile as he turned back toward his command post, stating his orders purposefully over his shoulder to Gimsa. "Signal the fleet with enemy force concentrations. Give them our prepared strike plan. You've distributed our new warheads?"

The alien's enthusiastic "Aye, sah!" was met with only a nod.

"When their fleet begins to engage, de-activate the turtle shield and open fire. We'll prepare a landing corridor. Commence firing for operation 'Agony' as soon as we confirm friendly transports on approach. I'm beginning to dislike this world."

Forgotten Exile, Personal Quarters
Sinnis, Huerdaen Star Empire

"No, sir, it's true. He really does live up to his reputation!"

Stansen sighed, and held his hand out over his desk to the over-enthusiastic Junior. Her smile was almost completely out of character for a Huerdaen woman, showing bright white teeth that were only a few shades brighter than her skin. All from some rumor of a major victory. Not even that blood-crazed Ju'Niic could have earned such praise. As she handed over the document, he began to berate her.

"Look, that sort of thing just doesn't happen in war. You don't completely annihilate your enemy in a single conflict. Armies and fleets don't disappear overnight. Even this 'Tubero' fellow can't....have...."

His voice fell away as his eyes scanned over the action report. It was exactly what he had never seen. The man's losses were tallied in dozens of crew, and the enemy had lost dozens of ships, with crew dead in the thousands. It was a rout the likes of which he had never seen, or observed only in history books. After two weeks of hunting, Task Force Tubero had annihilated every enemy he came across, leaving the enemy's forces down to a single frigate and maybe a half-dozen damaged corvettes that had escaped the slaughter. It wasn't even enough to stop the transports from landing anymore.

They were, for lack of a better term, annihilated.

It was the perfect opportunity, but it took him some time to grasp the idea. That such a man existed in such a small nation amazed him. Why had he not joined the Republic? Why was he content with such a small fleet? With his skills, he could serve anyone, and he chose this tiny chunk of galaxy. It was almost unthinkable.

"Priority message. Have that man move to Ventha. I want to see if he can do it again. Tell him to scramble."

Part of Peter wanted Tubero to screw it up, to go back to being another spectacular admiral. As it was, he was showing up every officer in the theater. And he had only fought once. Suddenly, his wife spoke up from behind the nearby screen. "Sounds like a man I want to meet."

He shot a glare her way, and she just laughed, gesturing for him to come back. "Oh, don't be jealous. I let you talk to that girl while I was over here. Anyway, admit it. Part of you wants to meet him, too."

He decided it would be better to be too busy to discuss if she was right or wrong.

by **Setulan** » Sat Apr 21, 2018 12:10 pm

Stairs of Luan

The fort was burning even before the final assault began, but that didn't stop the Republic from hitting it with more napalm just to be sure. The scream of low flying Firestorms was clear over the sounds of battle that surrounded them even with the constant smattering of small arms fire. Latharoki lasers hissed overhead in an attempt to take out the strike craft but even as the heavy AA position rose from its mounting it was hammered by a Slammer from a hovering Firestorm-G, the SEAD craft having smoked in low behind the bombers in anticipation of the counter.

Of course the fact that the spiders had even been able to set up the heavy AA at all was a testament to the planning that had gone into their assault. Colonel-General Garrison had access to the plans for the fortress the arachnids were using - it was, after all, an AXIS bastion that had been put in place to be ready for any troops that needed it - but the Latharoki had modified it sufficiently that his blueprints were mostly useless. The AA nest had been purpose built to link into the fort's capricious plasma generators and fit into a mount meant for a Maimer Multi-Missile system. That spoke to premeditation, as if the Republic needed any more proof that the Latharoki had been planning their treachery for some time. The Setulan watched the fire burn for a moment with his natural vision before letting his visor snap back down to show him his troop positions approaching the building. He was specifically looking for one marker, and when he found it he smiled grimly and reentered his command tent. Some theater commanders preferred working from the cavernous command and control rooms in the Viper-D models that brought down the heavy equipment and supplies, but Garrison needed to be in the field to get a true feel for the battlefield. It didn't fit his reputation for slow, steady progress, but it suited him to defy expectations.

"Ghosts are in position and signal that they are ready."

"Do it."

A flurry of activity accompanied the two words as his battle staff got on their comms and issued the command phrase.

"Black Eagle. Execute."

A silence fell over the field, broken moments later by shaking earth and thunder as thousands of rockets and shells were fired. It was a major strike to be sure, but the fortress would survive...except for the Setulan special forces team that had just cut the main power relays to the shields and communication centers with primacord.

The shells screamed in, ferrocrete and steel erupted, and tanks began to advance. Garrison was already looking at a different map and setting up a link with Juni in orbit. This planet was his.

Two more to go.

Ventha

The Huerdaen fleet was being hammered to pieces by the bastard Qux, but damn could they take a beating before they went down. Mya Abraham could appreciate that. It was an ingrained Setulan trait to respect something so rugged. She idly wondered who would come out on top in a fight between a Republican heavy cruiser or whatever the Huerdaen equivalent was and decided that she would have to ask somebody about it. Probably get two different answers depending on the nationality of the ones she asked, of course. Maybe a Xiscapian would give her an honest opinion. Regardless, the cocky bastard San'Kollus might not have been winning his fight but he was giving her transports the opportunity they needed as promised, so she could respect him. Even as she watched one of the Huerdaen ships put itself between a torpedo volley and a Viper-D, taking massive damage but saving the lives of more than thirty thousand Setulans.

Time to return the favor.

General Abraham looked at her command staff and smiled. Major General Lucius Packer, her planning and operations officer, returned her smile with one of his own. Ceremoniously, the commander of the 2nd Drop Army removed her helmet and pulled out a blood red beret. She hadn't worn a helmet during a combat drop in more than six decades and she'd be damned if she'd start now. Many of her troopers emulated their commander, a uniform violation that had caused her all kinds of trouble in the past but always was forgotten when the shooting started. A small light began to flash, letting her know that she had less than a minute to drop. Entering her command override for the Army-wide comms, she took a deep breath and began to speak.

"Boys and girls, we're a long way from Setulan and even farther from Foxfire. A month ago we were sitting in space and waiting to die. Today, we are going to deal out the dying. I made a deal with the devil to get us here, and I'll be damned if I don't get my share of the bargain." She fingered her beret briefly. The flash was different than the one she was used to and felt alien under her fingers.

No more hesitation. No time for regrets. She pulled her red beret onto her head, three flaming skulls proudly displayed on the front.

"Today, we earn our name. Today, we become the Legion of Vengeance. Prepare for drop!"

Mya Abraham, the Red Devil, fastened herself into her harness mere seconds before her pod was fired into orbit.

***

It had all gone so wrong. So, so wrong. One minute Ranta Exfellion had been the lord of Ventha, his enemy before him and falling back constantly under the pressure, and the next...

The sky had flashed. He remembered what that meant from conflicts past, but he had been prepared. He had his AA set up, his air net in place to stop any kind of counter-invasion, but it had all fallen apart. The Firestorms had come down in their hundreds and thousands, crushing his emplacements from the air even before the damn Setulans had arrived. Ranta himself had barely escaped capture from a group of commandos, the black-armored Ghosts striking his command post like lightning. Half of his staff had been killed before they had taken them down, but they had done enough. Had distracted him, prevented him from organizing his counters.

Or so he kept telling himself. It was simply impossible to conceive of any other way everything had gone so wrong so fast. Then, as if they had been waiting, had known the exact way the Setulans would assault, the Huerdaen had countered with everything they had. They must left their positions nigh undefended to do it, but their breakout had shattered Ranta's siege lines and made a direct assault on his headquarters even as his men fought off the invaders from above.

Two days. Forty eight hours of non-stop fighting, and it came to this. A noble son of the Qux, scrambling aboard a transport under heavy fighter escort, retreating to orbit where even now the damn Huerdaen were attacking. Their earlier defeat not withstanding, they were launching heavy spinal volleys against the fleeing (not fleeing, withdrawing!) troop transports. As it was his cousin said that he couldn't stay to evacuate everyone. More than ten thousand of his warriors were being left behind.

How had it gone so wrong?

Watching the planet recede out of the portholes of his transport, the Qux placed his four hands together in a solemn vow.

He would destroy the Huerdaen and their levies or die in the attempt.

by **Huerdae** » Mon Apr 23, 2018 10:14 pm

Blue Sector Command,
Taj'Marok

Anai sat quietly, staring at the readout regarding the repeating message. It had been on her orders to have the message sent to Heaven's Gate, a simple thing, but hopefully enough to have them fight hard enough not to give the planet back. Or so, that's what she thought. But now, as she sat, taking her own turn monitoring for a response from the fortress, she realized how depressing it was to have one of her staff here, the whole time, waiting for a message that they knew wouldn't come. If the Qux weren't jamming them, they probably didn't have transmission equipment anyway. Anything they said would be intercepted, recorded, interpreted in a hundred ways and examined by a million programs looking for any sort of useful information.

So they'd sent none. And by her own orders (Everyone takes a turn!) she now sat here alone, in the middle of the night, waiting for a response. It was bad enough that it was a waste of time, but it was worse that she was only now realizing she was wrong. How many others had sat here, watching the readouts, knowing nothing would come? Her tail flicked in annoyance at the aggravating reality of it all. In a moment of weakness, she flicked the switch that turned off the message. Only she flicked it too hard, swapping it to manual mic.

For a second, she just stared at it. She could swear. Scream. Tell them who she was, even, but instead, she just sighed, looking from the readout that never showed a response, to the limited intel they had on the massive fortress that AXIS had built. By all imperial estimations, the troops would run out of food in a week or two. She knew it would be coming soon, and that whatever she did here could tip off her enemies, but she couldn't help it. Somewhere down there, thousands fought in some vain hope that their nightmare might end. That the night would have a morning following it. The brutality of it made her sick, but something from her childhood stood out, and on a whim, she found herself singing, softly, to the quiet of the night.

Her father had taught her the song, a deep sadness in his eyes. His own grandfather had sung it, angrily, full of conviction, he said, but now it was little more than a song that reminded her of all the struggles that could not be won. Each line was a mix of the despair that was facing the Dread Black of the Huerdaen in their early days, followed by an unquestionable hope that the fight could still be won. For the first time, she really thought about it, almost forgetting the microphone that was still transmitting.

"...nightmares come when shadows grow
Eyes close and heartbeats slow..."

She couldn't help but wince at the line, knowing full well what it referred to. The infamous Grendels, the very group that even now sabotaged everything they could find on Heaven's Gate, trying to keep those few thousand alive for another few hours, had been the very 'shadows' that the Pankrees had so feared. For years, Huerdaen operatives had preyed on everything they held dear and depended on. It was a paralyzing fear, and one that the Pankrees nation continued to lobby against. And yet, she sang, to a group that may well be alive only because of Grendels.

"...And you can always be strong
Lift your voice with the first light of dawn..."

When she was younger, she had often laughed at this. Mocked it, even. When you look back on the war, watching the Pankrees try to claim they could have won was almost pitiable. They had put everything into that fight. They had taken their strongest warriors and turned them into monsters or genetic freaks. They had sent their children to die to give themselves a few more hours for their leadership. They had hidden away their valuables in some vain hope they could come back for them someday. But now, looking at the song, seeing it here, she had to wonder how much she would do against the odds. How many hours did they really have to hold out? How many of these things had those last few thousand done, in the vain hope that their sacrifices would win the war? Today, she barely managed to keep her voice from wavering as she felt sorry for those who still fought, likely without sleep or food.

"...Darkness sings a forlorn song
Yet our hope can still rise up..."

And yet, even in this, which villianized the Huerdaen, she recognized the slight oddity of the Pankrees ways. The recognition that those people they portrayed as monsters, in their own way, hated this war just as much. Though, like before, it always came back to that self-same point. Hold the line. Give everything you have. Rest when you must, when you can, but always, be on the line. The shield of so many others. It was a damned hope. A fool's hope. And yet, when the Fringe Campaign started, everyone knew that Heaven's Gate had fallen. Now, they rushed to save it. Day in, and day out, she sent requests for reinforcements to save those paltry few.

"...And though the night's sky is filled with blackness
Fear not, rise up, call out and take my hand..."

And there it was. The real purpose of the song. So long ago lost, the rallying cry of the pankrees people. Now, they're left with just a lullaby, and and a gold-on-black banner. That thought, though, wasn't quite right. Sitting there, singing in the darkness, she realized something. The melody kept coming up. In the background of the most recent games, immersive stories...it was still everywhere. The meaning wasn't gone. The more she thought about it, the more her tail weaved slowly behind her, gently sweeping at the floor as she considered that none of it was gone. It was that the Pankrees had accepted that they were, now, Huerdaen. Maybe not publicly, but they were making use of one of the things closest to their hearts, their hopes and dreams, and turning it to the help of the empire that they had feared would destroy them.

"...Dawn's just a heartbeat away
Hope's just a sunrise away"

And that was it. The end of the song. She sat there in silence again, thinking about it, then she realized that no matter what she said, it didn't really matter. If they were listening, they couldn't trust what she said, and if they weren't, no one but their enemies would know. Quietly, she pulled out the logbook to make her entry, only to find it had turned into a journal of the things that the other officers had done. The recent sports scores from Xiscapian games. News from other parts of the front. Lists of famous casualties was one of the most grim, but it was quickly followed by a list of new heroes, new causes for hope. She had to wonder if this had been more than she had ever planned. A single repeated message became a tie to home, and hope. If only it had been her idea.

With a smile, she saw that it wasn't very up to date. Clearing her throat, she continued. "Good news continues for the Fringe Campaign. Marcus Tubero, a Confederate admiral, managed to destroy the entirety of the Danaversian fleet in a single engagement. The Latharoki have clearly planned this betrayal since the moment they surrendered, but they've made no ground. A combined Huerdaen and Setulan army fights them in the Stairs of Luan. Almost half of the Fringe is safely within our net. Even your old foes, the Danaversians, rose up with some level of support. This war is anything but over. And one day, I hope to meet you face to face."

She paused a moment, and then smiled. "My name is Kiyara Anai, daughter of Kiyara Sojo, heir to the Kiyara clan. Look to the dawn, my friends."

At that moment, the link went dead, and an officer ran in, berating her and pulling her away from the mic. She knew it would happen. Knew it was probably a mistake, but she couldn't help it. Her XO didn't stop yelling at her, stopping just shy of trying to bat her around her ears, as the old man seemed to always want to do.

"You can't tell them your name, you idiot girl! What if they realize you're the sector commander! We'll have someone else take over. This was a mistake, and it's certainly not something I'll ever agree to again."

Chuckling, Anai just shook her head. "Kill the message. Play them some music. Give them something worth listening to. I want to change the official policy. Let's get them news from home. Something worth living for. Maybe, if we can find people who are still alive down there, we can even give them something personal to fight for."

"General Kiya-"

"That's an order. Get to work, old man."

I.M.S. "Angel of Death", Converted Docking Bay
Stairs of Luan

Major Ju'Niic picked out yet another one of the creature's eyes, leaving it writing in absolute agony. It had started out fun, but she just couldn't seem to take the time for it anymore. When the battle had gone from a successful push in space into a battle of attrition with some female enemy called Toxin, she had been able to maintain her confidence and interest, but now, with several weeks of absolutely NOTHING to show for it except thousands of dead, her frustration was boiling over. Her fleet had taken to capturing Latharoki who were abandoned on ships left adrift, and she had no doubt her enemies had done the same. They weren't many, and they weren't worth losing more ships for, so both sides had a few wrecks left out, waiting to bleed out the last of their air, or for power to finally fail.

She looked up at the restrained creature that squirmed and fought against the chains that bound it, running stright through the carapace at its shoulders, and merely spat at it. "You're not even fun, spider-thing. The first few were, but you're not. You just scream and twitch, scream and twitch."

Picking up a Slayer's blade, she turned swiftly and carved a piece of the prisoner's carapace away, leaving it smoldering on the deck at her feet, smelling of burning bug and the shit that piled there. That only made it worse, and the Blood Queen screamed, throwing the blade wildly across the docking bay, watching it come to a stop next to yet another hanging body. The bay was filled with them now. Four weeks, starting with a single creature a day, sometimes less. She had been trying, then. Asking questions, giving them hope to continue. But now...it was more honest now. Turning to the creature again, she smiled at it, slowly pushing her hand through the still-smoldering weak part of its carapace, feeling the burn against her fingers and ignoring it as she reached into the creature's abdomen. She'd started recognizing parts of them by sight, but not by feel. The creature writhed in complete agony as she pushed her arm in further, feeling for anything of interest.

Nothing caught her fancy. Grabbing the first thing with any level of rigidity to it, she pulled, ripping it from the creature's body. All around her, the odd, completely-inhuman noises of the other creatures that were tied up screamed at her. She didn't even have her translator on anymore. For the most part, they begged her to stop, or to ask them a question. They offered her all kinds of information she didn't care about. None of it mattered to her. Her opponent was no fool, none of the information they knew would be helpful to her. Simply put, they were her playthings.

Groaning, she looked at the strangely-shaped organ, and simply tossed it aside. The creature before her was only barely thrashing now, trying to fight against the inevitability of its death. She decided to watch it, speaking quietly to Deo'Niic, beside her.

"I like your idea of cutting off all their limbs. They were almost helpless before, but now, chained up at the shoulders and hanging, this whole place is...well, like my own spider web. Little beasties trapped in it."

She giggled for a moment, looking up at the dozens of corpses that still hung in the bay, but the giggle quickly turned to a laugh as she called out to them, wondering how many were actually still alive. "Well, Latharoki? Do you like my web? I made it for you. You, who would make an agreement, and turn against it. Who knew you were broken and beaten, and that you were weaker. And then, like the damned fools you are, you picked up with the first sign of actual strength you saw. Didn't you know better?"

Walking through the bay, she pulled on a link in the chain, causing the entire mass to shake and clank against itself, accentuated by the screams of the creatures still stuck there. One was nearby, having been trying to hide from her by being still. However, its wounds were fresh. The blood that soaked her arm didn't coat the floor beneath the creature, and it looked on to the Huerdaen Major with as close to an expression of terror that any spider likely could. Putting a blood-soaked hand onto the thing's face, she found she could only barely reach. It just made it more amusing for her.

The thing writhed, trying to get her to remove her hand, but all of its weapons, all of its natural defenses were now gone. All it could do was squirm. Grinning, Ju'Niic reached a hand to one of the males who administrered the area, snapping her blood-soaked fingers at the Sergeant. "Get me some pliars. I want to see if each little eyeball pops individually, or if they start to lose coherency after a while."

The room filled with the screams of her victims, and a commpad at her side pinged an update to her. Another dozen Latharoki had been found on one of the nearby wrecks. They were low on power, so some had already died, but the rest would serve her, for a day.

Behind her, almost over her shoulder, Matron Deo'Niic spoke softly into her ear. "You orders, Sanguine Majesty?"

Ju'Niic smiled. "More chains, Matron. More chains."

I.M.S. "Nocturne Champion", Command Citadel
Heaven's Gate

For the fourth time in the past six minutes, his Operations officer cleared his throat, and Admiral San'Kollus turned his head to the man, raising an eyebrow at him as if just noticing that the fellow had something to say. Behind him, the young Sari'Kann sighed, knowing exactly what was about to happen between the new bridge member and her commanding officer.

"Is there a problem, Senior?"

The man was sweating bullets, and not from the question. His eyes were fixed on the readouts, his eyes wide, as if he was watching a bomb going off in slow motion. "Sir...we're running this so hot, it's about to fry. The entire fleet, sir. I'm getting reports from many of the ships that they're worried they'll require major repairs if we go much longer."

San'Kollus nodded, with a shrug. "Well, yeah. But they won't need to do this again. I just need another six minutes, so we're in proper range and won't hit friendlies. Tell them that, and then ignore any further communication."

The man's gaze finally shifted from the console to his commander, eyes wide. "We lost more ships than we should have in protecting the drop, and now you're going to burn out our internals?"

There was a gasp somewhere in the command citadel, and it felt like any noise at all would shatter the tension. However, San'Kollus didn't even hesitate. He again, just nodded. "Well, yes. We'll have time to repair, but if we show our hand any sooner than we have to, they may throw everything they have into an assault on what little remains of the allies below, and we'll suddenly lose tens of thousands assaulting an AXIS-built citadel because someone was worried about a minor fiery inferno in a sealed compartment."

The man was frantic, turning instead to Sari'Kann, imploringly. "Commodore..."

She didn't have the patience, however, and stood up. "You're right, it needs to end. Senior, you're relieved. I'll man your station."

The fellows face went pale, but he stepped away, letting her man the console, watching her face for any sign of regret. Instead, he only saw her eyebrows raise, as if she was impressed. "Did you know that we can exceed 'maximum safe allowance' by 20 degrees celsius and keep functioning? That's incredible?"

Admiral San'Kollus just shook his head sadly, and there were a few nervous laughs around the Citadel, but nobody seemed in much of a mood to joke with the Commodore. The rest of the wait was in silence, until finally the helmsman spoke up, sounding amazed. "Sir, we're in position. Seems systems are still holding."

San'Kollus nodded, turning to look back at Sari, who held up a hand to him. "Two of our cruisers. Wait five."

The man remained patient until she lowered her hand, giving him the nod. "Fleet's in position."

San'Kollus keyed open a commlink, already aware of what he had to say. He opened it to the fleet, the transports they protected, and to the Fortress below. "Defenders of Heaven's Gate - I bring you General Kiyara's Dawn."

He turned his head to Operations once more, and Sari dropped the ECM, just as the spinals began firing on the Qux positions below. Nuclear fire blossomed across the surface of the world as Colonel-General Jenkins began yet another drop onto the Qux. He had no doubt they would soon fear that woman.

by **Setulan** » Sat May 05, 2018 2:19 pm

Heaven's Gate

Orbital assaults are an incredibly dangerous activity. Though most FTL nations take reentering orbit for granted as simply a mundane part of space travel, there is a world of difference between a transport on a sedate reentry through the upper atmosphere and the chaos that is tens of thousands of drop pods simultaneously descending through waves of flak, ground fire, and inclement weather at breakneck speeds. Something as simple as keeping the pods from colliding mid flight takes extraordinary care on the part of planners and flight control officers. Engineers have done their best over millennia of assaults from above and done a superlative job of keeping as many troopers alive as possible. It is not only a morale imperative to be seen doing everything they can to keep their soldiers safe, it is also utterly pragmatic. The more troopers who make it to the ground alive, the more likely the assault is to succeed.

One of those safety measures - built into every Setulan drop pod - is formally known as the Severe Damage Ejection Protocol. Drop pods head towards the surface so fast, and incoming rounds travel so quickly, that even a glancing hit is generally going to cause a catastrophic kinetic kill that ends the lives of everybody on board. Shields help, but when even a few degrees off angle can spell death their utility is limited. That being said, the possibility does exist that a pod could take damage that renders its unlikely to survive to the surface but doesn't kill everyone inside. In this case, the SDEP will activate. The pod will shed its exterior paneling and the troopers will be fired out of the pod, where the grav-chutes built into their drop pattern HIBA will deploy and get them safely to the surface. The engineers who designed the SDEP system showed that under ideal circumstances, troopers deployed from their pod this way had a 90% chance of survival.

For obvious reasons SDEP is considered a bad joke among the drop divisions of the Setulan military. Recruits were told plainly that their odds of surviving a SDEP landing were roughly analogous to their odds of fucking Jade Rose, the Xiscapian Empress. Ideal circumstance tests are fundamentally flawed when the system is designed to work when circumstances are by definition not ideal. Assuming whatever hits the pod doesn't kill you, there's a chance you'll be killed by debris from the ejection process (what with things being damaged and not working properly). Assuming you survive debris, ground fire, other drop pods, and your own armor isn't damaged, you're almost certainly going to black out from the high Gs you pull as you go spinning into the air, after which you will wake up miles from where you're supposed to be.

With all that information hammered into his head, it wasn't exactly surprising that Private First Class John Hood was shocked to find himself not only alive, but also uninjured. His pod had taken a glancing hit eighteen miles over his drop zone on Heaven's Gate and begun a death spin. He had a vague memory of someone screaming before he was in free fall and blacked out seconds later. Coming too eight hundred feet over the ground when his grav chute kicked in, he'd immediately filled his helmet with vomit and almost drowned on his own sick before he could get the damn thing off. Hitting the ground, he'd stumbled into cover and had a bad case of the shakes. He had no idea how long he'd been curled in a ball under a tree before he got control of himself.

Control. Yeah, right.

LGOP. LGOP. LGOP.

He kept repeating the acronym in his head as he stumbled through the trees. Little Groups Of Paratroopers. When the drop goes to shit, you can always count on small teams of troopers meeting up, heavily armed, young, and without adult supervision, and killing everything that isn't dressed the same. Repeating it to himself helped keep the shakes away. When he stopped, even for a second, he could barely hold his rifle. He just had to find friendly troops. That's all. That's all it would take. Find friendlies and he'd be alright. LGOP, LGOP, LGOP...

Hood didn't know how long he walked through the woods before he found the Blackbird. The big Huerdaen troop transport was buried halfway in the ground, armor crumpled from the impact, and it burned fitfully. A handful of power armored Huerdaen were scattered through the clearing, thrown clear from the impact. He rushed over to the nearest one and was shocked to find the man alive. He groaned as Hood put a hand on his chest to check for vitals, eyes opening through a cracked visor.

"Re..Re...Republican?"

The words were coughed out, and the still shaken Setulan only then noticed the gold shoulder pad of an officer.

"Sir, yes sir. Don't move, I need to get you out of the open."

"What...what the fuck are you doing here? Must have...must have missed our...drop..."

Ignoring the question, Hood grabbed him by the shoulders and hefted him with a grunt. A powerfully built Setulan in power armor, he still grunted under the weight of the Huerdaen. Putting him in cover outside the clearing, he began to do first aid when the JLT grabbed his wrist.

"My boys. Girls. Still...still alive in there." Hood froze.

Ah, fuck.

"I'll be back, sir. Don't you die on me yet."

Grabbing his rifle he ran back to field and checked the next closest Huerdaen. Dead. Then the one after that. Also dead. The third, however, was still breathing, and he hauled the injured woman back to her officer. Panting more from fear than exertion he ran back to the Blackbird and pulled himself on top. A shocked hiss accompanied the action and he spun wildly to find a Frusian less than ten meters away.

Everything slowed down for the young man. He began to raise his gun, screaming, as the giant lizard did the same. Somehow Hood was faster. Somehow his shots found their target and penetrated armor and shields, blowing the scout to pieces. He gasped as time began to flow normally again, marveling at his handiwork. He'd just killed something! It was a first. He frowned. That was scout pattern armor, and his intel briefing had said Frusian scouts always worked in -

The second part of the scout pair slammed into him with an anguished howl, taking them both to the ground after a two meter drop. Hood landed on his back, the air exploding out of him as the huge beast began to tear at him. Frusians were similar to Berrax, large anthropomorphic lizards. Less bulky than the species from the friendly AXIS protectorate, Frusians had a lean, mean look to them. They also had significantly more diversity within their species, though supposedly much of that had been...equalized...during the Pacification. The one on top of Hood was a dark blue, its fangs yellow and snapping as it activated the powered gauntlets it wore and extended its claws. Gasping for air, muscle memory took over and the Setulan bucked hard at the hips, unbalancing the lizard and giving him the opportunity to roll on top. Straddling its chest, Hood began to punch. Swatting away a swipe of the claws - though not before the energy field burned his face - he hammered a fist into the monster's face. Its helmet cracked, revealing angry slit eyes. His second punch shattered the beasts jaw. Now the Frusian was on the defensive, trying to fend off his blows, but the Setulan kept swinging. He grabbed one arm and snapped it at the elbow, ignoring the hiss of pain from below him, and grabbed the monster by the head. He dug his thumbs into its eyes and gave a single convulsive squeeze.

The scout jerked hard once, twice, and then was still.

Hood tried to vomit and found that he had nothing left in his stomach. Shakily standing, he looked down at the beast he had just killed. Hand to hand. A soldier, just like him.

Without another word the PFC began to climb the Blackbird to get the rest of the Shield.

****

General Packer moved through the halls of Heaven's Gate with a determined stride and did his best not to look around too much. He'd seen enough on the way in to know what the rest of the fortress would look like and it turned his stomach. He knew he couldn't gag in front of his men so his helmet was on and sealed to keep out the smell. The massive fortress that was the namesake of the system was a structural marvel. Designed by the greatest military engineers in the Republic and Kitsune Empire, it was wall after redoubt after turret. Extensive earthworks and above ground weaponry and defenses were matched only by the cavernous tunnel, underground barracks, hospitals, and training areas. The generators - there were five main and twelve back ups - had roughly the same power output as the plants that kept the vast Setulan Hive Cities alight. During normal peace time operations it was manned by a rotating garrison of two million and represented AXIS across the fringe. It could hold five times that number comfortably and was self sufficient in both food and material.

Never in their wildest dreams did the designers of Heaven's Gate envision that their facility would stand tall against millions of enemies with only thousands to man the walls. Packer walked past thousands of AXIS corpses that the Qux had simply shoved off to the side, not even bothering to sort through them. So great was the number of rotting bodies that there was a haze that hung over entire sectors. Losses had been so heavy for the Qux as well that they hadn't even performed their own funeral rites, instead laying their dead in neat rows in old barracks and hydroponic farms for when they had the time and resources to burn the bodies. Openly weeping members of the Legion of Vengeance were pulling their comrades down, treating the bodies were a reverential respect that spoke of an unbearable loss. Packer knew that sparing troops for the duty while fighting was still ongoing was an indulgence, but he couldn't have stopped them if he wanted to. Huerdaen medics - chopped to the Legion for this specific mission - only looked on, their faces betraying their emotions. There was no one for them to treat, only identify.

The tell-tale signs of months of never ending battle were clear, bullet holes, blood, and burns on every corner. Blasted rubble from where a firing position had been destroyed stood by the rent and torn blast shutters that had served to keep the invaders out of the sector. One of the generators had been overloaded from within as an act of sabotage and the breach had been exploited by a Qux army that numbered somewhere over nine million, with half that number of Exiles leading the spearhead. Surprised, bloodied, their command staff dead and an entire quadrant of the fortress already overrun, the AXIS defenders had turned to General Akemi and made their extensively drilled defensive moves. When Akemi had died, he was replaced by Lieutenant General Lowenstein. When Lowenstein was vaporized by a nova charge that caused a catastrophic sector breach, the highest ranking officer remaining was Brigadier General Riku. Riku had actually remained in command for some time - almost a month and a half - and had overseen the slow withdraw back to the central bastions. Riku, along with most of his command staff, was killed by a Qux Firecrawler when he personally led a counterattack towards a sub-sector breach. They had no reserves left to commit, and there was simply no other way to stop the Qux from cutting off an entire company of men. Exhausted survivors spoke of the General, fur aflame and armor fused with his burning flesh, cutting an entire Qux fire team to dog meat with his Katana before he was brought low. Even after so many deaths, his hurt them all.

The man who authorized closing the last blast shutters was Major Iwa. He was the highest ranking officer left and his total force numbered only three thousand, a chewed up demi-brigade made up of Setulans and Xiscapians too stubborn, too stupid, or too lucky to die. Iwa only made it three days before he was gut-shot. Pulled to safety, he refused painkillers and accepted only rudimentary medical aide while continuing to command. He led the defense from his bed for seventy eight hours before succumbing to his wounds and passing his baton to Captain Victor Kamp, the last surviving Infiniti Division trooper on the planet. That had been six days prior, day 92 of the seige.

It was an emaciated and bleeding Victor Kamp who stood unsteadily before the general. He was clearly wounded and his armor was a mismatch of collected HIBA parts with the camouflage patterns of the Infiniti Division almost outnumbered by sections of Planetary and Republican Guard schemes. His rifle was the only clean part of him, the weapon still immaculate if worn through heavy use. He had been forced to crawl under the blast shutter as it was so heavily damaged that it couldn't open. Belatedly seeing the stars on Packer's armor, he threw a surprisingly sharp salute that Packer returned crisply.

"Captain. Status report."

"Sir. I have two thousand, one hundred, and forty three personnel under me. Of those, one thousand two hundred and nine are combat capable." He swallowed hard. "We're...we're all that's left. Ammo is mostly gone. Haven't had food for a few days. Water is reaching critical." Packer reached up and removed his helmet, only an iron will keeping him from blanching from the smell.

"You've done an amazing thing, son. Amazing. You're relieved. We've got it from here."

"Sir, I...I think I really am." The young Captain gave a smile that was so pained it was more a grimace and proceeded to topple forward. Packer caught him neatly and lowered him gently to his knees where he promptly began to cry softly. The General held him and signaled his aide-de-camp with a glance. Medics and surgeons began to flow forward and into the breach, followed by a cutting team to get through the door.

98 days.

*****

Lsss looked out across his strategic display with a hiss of displeasure. So, AXIS had arrived at last. And their Huerdaen allies. The Exile ambassadors had clearly not been lying about the incompetence of the Qux nobility. Even now they continued to disappoint. They had allowed the main fortress to fall, the incompetent blue weaklings, and in so doing had made their control of the planet more difficult. Lsss gave them simple commands and they failed. They would do better, or he would eat their livers.

"Tetrach?"

Js'ssk responded to his master's displeasure with verbosity, much to the general's annoyance. He would eat the life-ward's liver if he weren't so useful. The giant Js'ssk towered over his ward with concern writ clear on his snout.

"Tetrach, have we lost? Is it lost?" Lsss hissed in the negative, to which Js'ssk' gave the hiss of satisfaction.

"No. It is true the main fortress has fallen, but this is a fortress planet. Everywhere you go there are more bunkers and buildings. We are in one now. Think before you speak."

The affirmative hiss.

"No, Js'ssk, this is just beginning. They have committed too much here. This battle...this battle will be a legend, and I will be legendary. Our empire will be the leaders of the Fringe. The Huerdaen will speak of the harrowing we give them here for ten thousand years." He gave the whistle of attention to a runner.

"Order: Top Priority. Tell the Exfellion cowards to counter attack and regain their foothold in the fortress before it can be used against them. Order: Top Priority. Unleash the Furies against the main Huerdaen line." The runner quivered - whether in anticipation or fear of the Furies, it mattered not - and sprinted out of the tent.

Lsss let out a hiss of satisfaction.

No, this battle was far from over.

Calas

"Dropping out of blink in three...two...one..."

With a pop, reality burst and the Confederate fleet dropped out of FTL and into the Calas system. Marcus Tubero - always known for his good posture - went momentarily stiff as the first sensor readings came in. They weren't alone in the system as he had been led to believe. Far from it.

"They aren't supposed to be there." The not-question was addressed to his bridge intelligence officer, a Commander who looked as puzzled as he.

"Ah, no, sir."

"Not only are they not supposed to be there, but they're also not Qux. We had been told there were Qux in this sector."

"Seems Imperial intelligence let us down a bit sir. Those appear to be Frusian warships."

"Hmph. And deployed in a clear ambush formation. Well. This changes things a bit."

"Indeed it does, sir."

"All vessels, maximize ion usage and anti-boarding measures. Prepare to repel boarders and have counter-assault teams on station. Any idea on their commander?"

"I know I won't pronounce this right. That ship there..." The console zoomed in on a heavily armed and nastily serrated battleship that bristled with heavy cannon. "Is the Bss'k'ls. Flagship of Admiral Ys. Young commander, was a junior officer when AXIS fought them during the purge."

"So not the Fleet Tetrach." Tubero finally smiled. "I was expecting Qux. Qux are shitty spacers. This...this I think I might enjoy. Fleet, fire at will! And someone get my armor. If they come to party I want to be prepared."

Twelve hours later, Fay and her army group would drop into the Calas system upon receiving the all clear call. The transition went exactly according to plan except for the location; the original drop out of FTL zone was too full of debris to be considered safe. Once in system Fay would receive a call from the Admiral. His hologram floating before her, he was still wearing a HIBA breastplate.

"Welcome to the Calas system with my compliments, general. A Frusian fleet has left the system after a brief attempt to hinder our progress. They were expecting us, but I'm afraid they didn't have the stomach for a protracted fight." A definite note of disappointment. "I took the liberty of sending my Marines to secure the local colonies. The Fru didn't bother to make planetfall. The system is yours."

by **Huerdae** » Mon May 07, 2018 2:11 pm

Central Command Citadel Approach
Heaven's Gate

General Isahi couldn't contain his excitement. Even on approach, on board the I.M.S. Supremacy, he had been able to see the 'heart' of the fortress. They had given him the maps and information so that he could put his talents to use, but he had not expected what he found on approach. Even as some rather desperate Qux or Frusians took shots at the Conqueror-Class, he had been drooling over the magnificence of the fortress. What he had been told was the 'heart' was approximately the size of any major metropolitan city on a modern planet. Hundreds of square kilometers, dedicated to the protection of the people, supplies, and equipment inside. To top it off, this particular citadel was merely one of dozens, if not more, across the surface of the planet. The entirety of the world was an intricate array of overlapping fields of fire, artillery killzones, defensive emplacements, and deathtraps. And he had been given the job to bring it back up to full capacity in as short a time period as possible.

To that end he had now been walking from the closest secured LZ to the central citadel of this defensive sector for almost half an hour. He'd decided to ignore the offers of military transport, and had passed by several dozen tanks, halftracks, wheeled transports, and dropships that could have made everything faster, but the truth be told, he didn't want it to go faster. He was, quite simply, enjoying the art of the facility. He had to admire the beauty of the structure, and not in a cosmetic fashion - it was a work of art in the same way that death itself was an art form.

AXIS had clearly spared no expense. Every 'vulnerable' approach could be reinforced from at least three directions, with multiple layers of overlapping defenses. It was designed to be a constant uphill battle, which gave the defender every chance to push the attacker back, and force them to capitulate hard-earned ground. Losing one forward position could cost them thousands of troops to retake, and losing more than one could create a cascading effect that would push them out to the outskirts of the facility, forcing the attack to begin once more from the start. Every room had multiple purposes, depending on the status of the defense. Outer storage areas could become rally points, or killing fields, and gave every possible advantage to a defender trying to reclaim them, without making them vulnerable to an attacker.

Even the smell and piles of dead only barely dampened his spirits. He had barely had to think about it to realize that the defenders had more than given their fair share. It was a testament to the troops that they seemed to have used every advantage. Many of the worst areas were already being cleared, so the little he saw of the fighting was but a minor taste of the true horror that the defenders had endured. He had passed them being lifted out...a landing zone had been secured specifically by the garrison from the I.M.S. Beloved, a ship captained by a woman who had once been Shield. Her garrison forces had moved in early and secured the LZ for medevac, though now it was used for simply getting the exhausted troops off the planet so they could finally sleep, eat, and close their eyes without danger of being killed or awoken. From the sounds of things, they were going to be sent back to Sinnis to get their bearings, re-organize, and let them choose where to go from there.

Still, picking up the survivors was going much more quickly than anyone would have hoped. When there are so few, it didn't take long for the cruiser's dropships to ferry them out of the combat zone. It was a shame that so many had fallen in defense of the fortress. It was amazing to him that they were in a position to refer to them as 'survivors' instead of 'victors', but the battle for Heaven's Gate was far from over.

Unfortunately, the further he headed into the structure, the more it had suffered. The defenses had gotten more desperate. The assaults equally so. Many of the outer defenses had fallen in surprise, with almost no warning and little fight, but not here. Closer to the final line, things were different. One of the large open areas had marks on the walls in eighteen different places where a dedicated assault had attempted to breach them. Only two succeeded. The piled bodies near the attempted breaches showed the desperation of the attacks, as well as the defense against them. In this one room, he estimated there were just over a thousand dead. He had no doubt this had not been the only room attacked that day, as part of that operation. The number of dead from that one day was likely in the tens of thousands.

Some of the attempted breaches also showed that they had nearly succeeded. Multiple charges had gone off, nearly blasting the walls open. The fact it had gotten so close to a breach was awe-inspiring. He could only imagine how many attempts had been made in this one room alone. In his mind, it added to the majesty of the construction. This world had been built for one, simple purpose. He would rebuild it.

Maybe not to what it had once been, there wasn't time for that. But there was so much to work with, he could make sure that the enemy would pay in even more blood to get even half this far. Turning to Grimsa, he smiled.

"We have a lot of work to do, my friend. A lot of work. We need to convince our enemies that any breaches they already made are nothing more than traps. We'll start here. The failed breaches will conceal gun positions. I need Hades and Hephaestus field guns dug in behind them and full fortification enhancements around the wall. We'll set it to blow from the other side, just enough to clear line of sight next time they're here. Areas we can't fortify and reinforce to near their original strength, we'll supplement with mines and active defenses to turn them into killzones. Prepare others to drop them a floor so they can't easily cross, and prepare the floor below into a trap. If we can't hold it, make it into a deadly labyrinth. Block passages, this place is a little too easy to recognize the patterns in. Let's turn it into a maze. In addition, I need you to move through the structure, find me new weapons and working equipment to use. We're going to need to bring this lady's power back up to full as well. It's gonna be a long war."

With his unique half-cocked salute, Major Grimsa hurried off, dispatching aids in every direction as he prepared to gather an arsenal for the Isahi's work.

Massacre 3-1-3 HQ, Commander's Quarters
Huerdaen-Controlled Calas

"I have some questions about your report, General."

Fay'Shaila winced, still not quite ready to hear that particular rank afforded to her, but she nodded to Stansen's face on the screen. "Go ahead, sir."

"They said you met with Admiral Tubero prior to the attack on Calas. I didn't see a mention of this in the report."

She blinked, surprised, and tilted her head. "Sir, it was merely a planning session. Why would I need to report that we performed a routine act in preparation of our advance into what was potentially an enemy-held system?"

Stansen sighed, and nodded, conceding the point. "A fair point. Then let me clarify - my questions are in regards to our CAS allies. They have proven quite firm in their resolve and have proven at least as capable as any of their enemies. But I have few who can report on their commanders directly. In particular, Marcus Tubero."

Fay just smiled at the man. "You're curious how he's doing it?"

The man nodded, almost in embarassment. Fay continued on at the affirmative.

"It's a simple matter, sir. He knows them better than they know themselves. I have reviewed the information from the 'battle' at length, and it is clear from observing it. He has the complete trust of his crews, and absolute knowledge of enemy ships, and an understanding of how to use it. His fleet dropped in against an enemy ready to ambush them, and destroyed a large portion of them, simply because he knew, without having to consider, what they're capable of."

General Stansen canted his head to the side slightly, blinking, so Fay continued. "In one particular instance, I saw a CAS frigate engage a light cruiser and win handily. Not because of any overwhelming firepower difference, but because it was simply out of an effective fire arc. Frusian ships were forced to use what appeared to be secondary and tertiary tactics to try to counter Admiral Tubero's moves, and they were anything but effective. Meanwhile, CAS ships were operating at full effectiveness for the entire engagement. Forcing the enemy to maneuver into sub-par positions to protect themselves from strike craft and close-assault ships, they revealed large targets to his capital ship guns. He may as well have controlled the way the enemy fleet moved because he gave them no other options."

She raised an eyebrow. "In the briefing, he told me, without references and without hesitation the turret traverse speed of primary armament on a Qux heavy cruiser. He told me which of his ships could stay ahead of its guns, and at what engagement range. From what I've seen, he has a truly encyclopedic knowledge of every one of his enemy's ships. Every weakness, every strength. And he can put them to use instantly."

Stansen sat back slowly, concern across his face. "Should we avoid having him fight alongside our own craft, in case he becomes an enemy?"

Fay laughed, shaking her head. "Absolutely not. He has no interest in us. His motives seem to be driven by revenge, loyalty, and pride. In that order, from my estimation. He has no interest in betraying us. He just wants to kill his enemies, and prove he's the best damn fleet commander in the Fringe. He may well be. If we deploy our ships alongside him, he may be able to help us identify our own failings. I can only imagine attaching our own officers to his fleet could help familiarize ourselves with enemy capabilities, and permit increased effectiveness across the Fringe."

"So you trust him?"

Fay just smiled. "They chose their side. He will be a firm and unflinching ally until the Fringe Campaign is over. Afterward...it will depend on the stance of the Republic as a whole. It may be in our best interests to curry favor with the CAS, to solidify our position and put pressure on the Republic to lower restrictions. This war continues according to plan - within three years I expect it will be completed. At that time, CAS and Republican support will be crucial in the political landscape. I say, let the man do what he seems to desire so much. He makes our job easier, and will thank us for the opportunity."

Stansen smiled, and nodded. "And what is it he wants?"

Fay chuckled, holding up her hands helplessly. "He wants an enemy worthy of him. As far as I'm concerned, let him go find one. I'll be done setting up here soon, but if he continues, there's no viable approach path for enemies coming for Calas. Give the man a green light, and he'll do everything he can to maintain our mobility advantage almost on his own."

Garage 142, Northern Facing of Installation 3
Heaven's Gate

The woman swore as she yanked her hand free of where the metal had cut into her flesh. A quick glance at her palm revealed the truth - the tortured metal from the old hit had cut into her skin again, and blood was already mixing with the grease and oil from the engine she had been working on. In any other vehicle, she would have changed the damn thing out, but Warmaiden was different. A Type-9, the tank had served her since Siri-Kas, and she'd be damned if a little twisted metal from an old war wound kept it off the field or got it taken away from her.

The beast was as much a part of her command staff as anyone around her. Armor was scored in a dozen places from glancing hits and near-misses, and there were still jet-black burns across the right side where the paint had been burned away by a desperate Red on Foer. The paint had bubbled and cracked from where the Kiith in the Second Battle of Foer had tried to stop her with their energy weapons, but the girl had simply kept on. Today wouldn't be the last of her. She had a lot more fight in her than your everyday Goliath, and the Qux had already learned that, on her way to the garage.

But that had just been for fun. The lumbering vehicles she had come to recognize as Exile-supplied were no match for Warmaiden's primary armament, but they weren't the only ones on the field. The Fru were said to be a more capable foe, countering and moving and trying to wipe out the Legion of Vengeance anywhere they could isolate them. This was the third major event since landing, where they were trying to gain an upper hand and had pinned down a small mixed group of Huerdaen and Legionnaires in a bunker complex. Of course, 'small' in this battle was a matter of perspective. There were tens of thousands surrounded in a bunker complex that spanned almost a thousand square kilometers. This breakout consisted of six Armored Battle Regiments, supporting a Heavy Armored Battle Regiment as well as a Strategic Fire unit that included no less than 50 Talos Heavy Support Chassis. Anywhere but here or Siri-Kas, this would be a major breakout.

A rough knock on the turret got her to lift her head, and her driver gestured to her headset before sliding off the top of the turret and heading for the hatch down into his own armored compartment. Technically he wasn't even part of her command staff, but she had long ago realized that the 'standard' Huerdaen command deployments didn't work for her. She needed to see the battle. Pulling her head out of the access compartment, she pulled her headset on, pulling it down over a full head of grease-covered hair and speaking immediately.

"Warmaiden-Zero here, go ahead."

"Warmaiden-Zero, this is Demonborn. Stage-One."

The voice that came over was entirely too clear to be anywhere near the front, and she would have been surprised if the man hadn't given a theater callsign for the fire support coordinator in their Strategic Fire unit. Things were about to get very, very hot. It also meant that they were moving out in the next half hour. She was out of time to try to get an extra few horsepower out of the turret engines, and she quickly cleaned up her space, slamming the maintenance hatch as she switched over to the unit comms.

"All units, Order is 'Ophelia'. Void-lost 'Ophelia'."

There were a few hoots and hollars in response, but she was busy closing up as all around her the vehicles began their final pre-battle checks. The noise all around her, previously a dull roar of thousands of tanks of all shapes and sizes idled, became a maelstrom of noise. Unit commanders dropped into vehicles, shaping up their crews, and the mechanized support that was tasked to follow them in did final weapons checks. She was doing the same, pulling her armor-plated jacket on without the undershirt she had shed when working on the engine, giving her some slight protection over her arms and gut. Her turret gunner, a blonde-haired Ataster woman with a gleam in her eye and aim like some sort of legendary huntress helped her lock on the rigid carapace chestpiece, smirking at the general.

"Gonna get us killed today, boss?"

General Es'Shyoubai popped her gunner a quick gut-shot with her fist, knuckles smearing fresh blood from her palm onto the woman's breastplate. "Here, Saya, something to remember me by."

The woman's face turned down at the smear of blood and oil on her otherwise impeccable armor, but she dropped into place without complaint as she began her own checks. She was just barely short enough to fit the requirements for tank crew, and took up more of the turret than most would have liked, but Es trusted her aim more than any other gunner in the galaxy. She'd hit an inbound Tocrowkian screamer with off-kilter gunsights on the move. After that, she couldn't bring herself to doubt the woman. If she could pop a fast-moving strike craft while rolling over hills in the first shot, there wasn't a shot in the galaxy she couldn't make. It helped that it saved all of their lives, but that was besides the point. That was her first mission with Saya.

She had been here the longest. They'd lost their first driver on Foer-1, and gone through three loaders on Foer-2 to the damn Kiith, as well as another driver. Somehow, Warmaiden and Saya stuck it out. The woman had lost an arm in Foer-1 but came back to finish it, and Es had lost a leg to the same damn round. They came back to the tough girl Warmaiden together, and hadn't left since. If only the rest had been so lucky. Hikari had been a driver who could find a way across any ground, she knew the tracks and feel like nobody Es had ever seen, but she had been taken out by a sniper when they were waiting for orders. She'd been on the turret. Chances are, they thought she was the commander. Poor girl. Two engineers had also come and gone between Sojent-Ra and Foer-2.

The next guy to take the position did better, kept quiet, kept his head down, but he didn't have the feel Hikari did. They ended up in a minefield, and poor Ren'Verra had tried to drive Warmaiden out solo. The mine only busted off a track and damaged the chassis, but it put a half-inch piece of shrapnel straight through the man's lung and lodged it in his brain. At least the brave kid had gotten a quick one, he was barely 22. Ur'Serrin had been here since. He's good, but a bit rowdy between missions. Lost his whole crew about the same time they lost Ren, and he never quite stopped drinking since. Picked up sweet leaf, too. Nobody called him on it. His husband had been part of that first crew.

Her loaders had bad luck. None of them had died in combat. Ja'Korruk went down to a damn roadside bomb between missions right at the start of Foer-2. Then Reggy had been gunned down in an alley over some damn whore, and near the end of it all Ikashi shot himself up with something spiked and tripped out so bad his heart gave. All of them good people. It was hard to watch them go. Now they had Akemi. He wasn't anything special, but he was an Pankrees homeworlder, a real Olosian. Not only that, but he knew how to cook, of all things. She'd never really cared about food one way or the other before he came around.

The engineers were the hard ones. Stuck in the belly of the beast, they depended on the crew, who depended on them, but it got bad. A bit of bad luck had broken the radiation containment in the compartment and lockdown had sealed Sasaya inside. She'd screamed for almost ten minutes before the tank had cleared it enough to open and pull her out, only to find she'd actually managed to fix the reactor before she couldn't move anymore. She'd been fried so badly it was a kindness to put her down. They made sure the ticks paid for that what they did to the brave girl.

Karrak dove on a grenade that some Kiith drone slotted in a hole in the armor, saving the whole crew. They carved his name into the reactor for that sacrifice. It hurt all that much more because the same day his sister and her whole crew had been taken out in her Nightmare right next to them. the two had kept the crews close, laughing and joking, and now their whole family seemed to have been cut in half.

Now they had Roz, a young girl, and a wizard with machines, but she was too idealistic. Reminded Es too much of Sasaya to let her close. She knew it hurt the girl, but she couldn't do it. All she could see was the girls empty eyes, and burned skin. She still heard the screams at night. But, despite it all, Roz did her part. She seemed, in her own way, to understand. Damn good girl.

She was jarred from her memories when the roar of the tanks in the garage was drowned out by the roar of an angry god. What had been almost deafening became almost imperceptible as the ground shook. Even the grating noise of the multi-ton garage doors was lost in the cacophony. As soon as the doors cleared, she yelled the go-code once more into her headset, but had little hope others heard it. Only the light flashing a brilliant yellow over the garage door seemed to pierce the noise as her group, barely a sixth of the whole force, surged forward, heading for the combat zone.

Even before they dropped out of the AXIS-built garage into the pock-marked, broken landscape, she could see the source of the noise. The entirety of the sky was full of Makhai rockets from the Eris variant somewhere behind them. Smoke and fire seemed to have replaced clouds and blue sky as the operation began. Massive, independently targeted, they seemed to be striking the entirety of the horizon, with the telltale mushroom of nuclear ordinance, brilliant super-white of antimatter bomblets, and horrid black smoke of incendiaries. What had been a calm front had become a hell of their own making, with thousands of armored vehicles surging forward across the open terrain. Crouched low, but with her cupola still brazenly open, Es kept her eyes out watching the burning line that was the horizon as it slowly neared.

Sudden pillars of fire appeared from the sky, as orbital fire slammed down onto areas of particular resistance, and the thunderous blasts shook the very air in Es's lungs. Still, she kept her eyes peeled, even as the unnatural heat slammed into her face from the bombardment of the distant targets. With the sheer speed of the goliaths, they were surging forward into the enemy's home, and she felt her nerves rising, forcing them back down. An exile-made fury rolled slowly forward, only to take hits from three or four nearby vehicles, even as her own unit was spreading out. The vehicle fell dead before it could even bring its gun to bear on any, and she drove almost within reach of the silent wreck, her eyes catching just the hint of oil or gas dripping out the side of the turret just before it suddenly ignited, blasting all the hatches open.

The sky lit up as enemy anti-aircraft fire fought to down incoming strike craft, as Huerdaen pilots made long strafing runs against heavily entrenched enemy positions. Blasts, missiles, and energy weapons filled the sky as fire sprouted from the ground, dominating the horizon where, some 50 kilometers distant, her allies fought on. Heavy bombers saturated the secondary and tertiary defensive lines with all manner of ordinance, and she knew the time was nearly upon them.

A single missile streaked out over the horizon, swatted down by the defensive guns on the vehicles, and she grabbed her cupola gun, swinging it around to bear. As she did, the enemy fire began to arrive, and she braced her shoulder against the weapon, scowling at the fact that they hadn't taken her advice on the expected enemy range of their anti-tank defenses. This was the second time, and the first they had lost more vehicles than needed.

As the missiles streaked forward, anti-missile systems filled the sky with shells, making it once again so she couldn't hear. Instead, she switched to the uplink, letting it input straight to her audio input to hear over all the endless noise. Most of the channel was full of unit commanders keeping their units in position as the storm of fire competed with incoming missiles, swatting them out of the sky like so many flies. Still, almost every one that got through turned one of her tanks into a burning tomb, or broke the back of the chassis. She saw a titan take a direct hit and merely lose a track, but two more streaked in, first wounding the beast, and then finally decapitating it in a direct hit on the ammo supply.

And then the call she had expected. "Inbound in 1."

That, finally, made her duck into the turret. The massive rounds from the Kraken artillery pieces slammed into the ground all at once, from some unknown, hidden corner of the world. Even she didn't know where they were. But what had been a line of defensive, anti-tank weapons became a shattered line of craters and a wall of dust. Unbelievably massive rounds had stormed down out of the sky, fired from so far away there was almost no warning. Even Warmaiden, heavier than most Goliaths, had skidded sideways at the sudden shaking as if the ground was simply sliding out from under her.

Pulling herself back up out of the cupola with numb hands, she gripped the gun again as they drove past the first shattered defensive line. Barely looking, she poured rounds into anything that seemed even remotely intact, as the main gun lay silent still, conserving ammo for the real fight to come. A few Qux and a handful of Fru stumbled around in a daze, some still burning from the strikes as the fast-moving Huerdaen vehicles surged through. Here and there came reports of intact defenses being engaged, but her section continued forward largely unhindered. Ahead of her, a Goliath crested a hill, only to detonate into a massive fireball that threw an armored plate against the front of Warmaiden's hull.

The tank shuddered, and a long stream of curses from Ur'Serrin told her he was alright, even as he powered the vehicle forward to try to catch the enemy reloading. She dared take a glance at the hull to make sure it wasn't compromised, and found that Warmaiden hadn't betrayed them yet. Her eyes lifted just as they pushed through the smoke, to see the enemy laid out before them.

Exile armor mixed in with Qux and Frusian homegrown variants, littered the field before her. Some damaged, some disabled, but most active. Not more than a hundred meters from the front of her tank, half-concealed in smoke behind a wreck, was a tracked Exile heavy, with its gun trained on Warmaiden. Her blood froze in her veins as she verbally screamed her defiance, her uplink feeding the new target information to Saya.

Before it could fire, however, a wall of fire appeared only a short distance from her vehicle, and the massive vehicle rocked backwards, pushed a half-dozen meters back before falling still.

The entire front was caved in, and the back was blown out like a bag carrying simply too much weight. Behind it, the dirt had turned to smoking glass where the Talos-Variant's round had gone clear through the monster. All along the lines, tanks engaged in brutal, unforgiving close range as the Huerdaen armor clashed with their foes and the fight began in earnest, with Warmaiden leading the way into the heart of the enemy formation, Es sending out orders to her unit commanders even as she shouted at her loyal crew.

by **Setulan** » Sat Jun 30, 2018 9:28 am

Gamon

"No mercy! No survivors!"

The cry went over the radio for the third time as the Hawk Lords destroyed the Danaversian 4th Conquest Group in detail. Gunships screamed overhead with the hawk proudly emblazoned on their nose, claws extended in a devastating strike as rockets and napalm erupted among panicking amphibians. Confederate troopers pushed forward in huge numbers, heavy weapons roaring and jump jets throbbing on their backs. A company of Warriors of the Mountain burst from underground, rock and dirt streaming off of their armor, and laid about themselves with their huge hammers, turning armor to shrapnel and flesh to pulp. Warriors of the Wind flew overhead on trails of fire and unleashed a never ending stream of micro missiles into Occupiers.

Lord General Hassa'Kur, Lady of the Greater Circle, did not stand back and let her warriors do all of the fighting without her. For more than a month she had been orchestrating a planet wide war, millions of CAS troops against a Danaversian army that numbered in the tens of millions. She had, in fact, commanded the single largest contingent of Confederation soldiers in an independent operation since their liberation. She had struck and faded then struck again, harrying the Danaversians constantly and without end. Attacks, counters, defenses, all played into Hassa'Kur's plan. Let the Occupiers tire themselves. Let them throw themselves against her warriors. She etched her name in their corpses and could taste their fear growing from across the continent, a black miasma that tainted their thoughts and haunted their dreams.

Lightning crackled around her powered katars as she slew, and slew, and slew again. She was covered in the blood of her hated enemy but it would never be enough. Hatred coursed through her veins, tightly controlled but unleashed in brief spurts of insatiable rage as she laid into her foe. The founder of the Hawk Lords was at the head of almost her entire Militant Order, and she was a force of nature with them by her side. The battle itself had ended three hours ago. This...this was retribution.

"Lady General!"

Hassa'Kur turned away from the corpse of a particularly large Danaversian to find a squad from the Warriors of the Mountain approaching her. They were led by Captain-Lord Byers, of the Middle Circle, and in their gauntlets they dragged a prisoner.

"Orders not withstanding, I thought you would like this one for yourself." The man threw down a broken sword at the prisoners feet and stepped back, clearly pleased with himself.

Cormak Tatrax was impressive even wounded and on his knees. A member of one of the disgraced houses, the branch of Ajaxian that resisted the Emperor and AXIS, he had all of the genetic markers that distinguished the once-noble family. Large eyes, a distended brow, and a size that accompanied massive strength and speed. His brow was bloody and partly caved in from the blow that had removed his helmet, eyes switching between hatred and vacancy, and his size was irrelevant with his back broken. Until that morning he had been warlord to twenty million soldiers.

How quickly things changed.

Hassa'Kur looked at the dying Danaversian for a long moment.

"You struck the blow?"

Byers nodded, shrugging his shoulder slightly to emphasize the bloody hammer that rested upon it.

"Defeating a Danaversian general is no small feat. I will not steal your honor. Its life is yours."

She turned her back and didn't so much as flinch when she heard the sound of Tatrax's head bursting like a ripe melon.

The sun was setting over the no longer contested world when the Confederate General sheathed her blades. Standing on a bluff overlooking the killing fields her gaze was torn from the slaughter below and drawn up to the stars. Gamon was not a particularly industrialized world, and there was no light pollution to ruin her view of the galaxy above. The Home Galaxy. Her home.

The Danaversian's home.

They had taken everything from her. Her children, her husband, her friends, her youth, even her name. She knew the satisfaction she felt at the wholesale slaughter of her enemy would not fill the empty place in her heart for long. But looking up and seeing the twinkling night sky - a sky empty of enemy warships - she knew that there was nothing between her and a scouring the likes of which the Home Galaxy had never seen.

At long last, the Howling Devil smiled.

Stairs of Luan

"Where the hell did they all come from? How did they get so fucking close?"

The unmistakable tinge of panic in the Colonel's voice was as clear as day, and Garrison couldn't fault the man. The Latharoki counter attack had been incredibly well orchestrated, and losses were mounting. For all that their situation was bad, the Colonel-General couldn't let fear rule his officers.

"It doesn't matter. Keep it together, Colonel! We can still hold. We've got the orbital superiority and plenty of resources on the ground. Captain! Flash order. Get the 11th Division moving to secure the breach in 56A, and get 2nd Armored Corps ready out of reserve. They're going to counter-punch the assault at Sector 67. Arm-Arty! I need everything you've got. Override every fucking tube and missile in theater that isn't currently protecting assets and line em up for a TOT barrage on the right pincer. AIRCOM, I need - "

"Sir! Sir!"

This time there was no panic, only dread. Even as Garrison turned around he knew that something had gone disastrously wrong.

"What."

"The Huerdaen fleet, they're...they're falling back."

Dead silence.

"...What?"

"Sir, they're taking massive losses. It was a combined counter attack in orbit and on ground. The enemy will have orbital superiority in no more than twenty minutes."

Garrison remained calm and expressionless, though inside he felt his stomach drop out. This was still salvageable. This was still a winnable scenario.

"Get those orders out."

"Yes sir."

"All commands, prepare for - "

Sirens cut off the General, clearly audible even deep in the command center of the Viper-D transport.

"Air raid! Massive air raid!"

"Where the fuck is our CAP?"

"Wiped out sir, they've taken out the CAP, we're scrambling - "

The ship began to shudder as its massive point defense weapons came online. Everything in the command center stopped and all eyes turned to the defensive systems operator, who became more and more pale as the seconds passed.

"We won't get them all..."

Garrison stood up straight and smiled.

"We never do."

Then there was only fire.

Heaven's Gate

"Hood! Hey, Hood!"

John Hood jerked awake, hand automatically going for the rifle that he had slept next to. A reassuring grip on his shoulder calmed him down.

"Easy, big guy. Up and at em. We're seeing movement over the barricade. Might be the Qux coming back."

Hood grunted and sat up, rubbing his face briskly with his hands before standing and grabbing his helmet. Sealing it back onto his shoulders - and making sure the seal was good, after the Qux had gassed their position a week ago - he headed to the parapet and looked out. Technically they were in the same fortress as the Qux, but there was actually about two hundred meters of space between the walls they were staring at each other from. The occasional shot rang out as a sniper thought they had a good target, and sometimes there would be a cry of pain as a Qux marksman did the same.

He checked the chrono display in his helmet and saw that he'd gotten about two hours of sleep. Not bad. After his run in with the Frusian scout party, Hood had hunkered down with his wounded charges and kept them alive for twenty sleepless, terrifying hours before a Huerdaen patrol had found them. Unable to be sent back to the Legion (it turned out he had been the one to miss his DZ by dozens of miles), he had fought alongside a Shield light infantry unit for a week until he'd been able to get a ride back to a casualty control point aboard a medivac bird. From there he'd managed to rejoin the Legion, albeit a completely different brigade. They'd been happy to have him. The fighting had not been easy and fit soldiers were getting harder and harder to come by.

Shouldering his K-13, the big man leaned against the barricades and used his three-power scope to get a closer look at the enemy. Sure enough there did seem to be a lot of movement. Definitely heavy infantry activity and what looked like the steeped legs of a Firecrawler. And there...

Half breath out, light pressure, bump to the shoulder. One less Qux.

"Get him?"

"Yeah."

No more feeling. He hadn't felt anything when he killed in what felt like a long time. He was just numb to it.

"And definitely something going on."

"Motherfuckers."

"Fucking motherfuckers," Hood agreed.

The call came out to bring AT weapons to the front. Nobody wanted a Firecrawler to get close. They had all seen what happened when the oft cursed Qux death machines got within spitting range of friendly forces. The evidence of those pushes were clear in the melted metal and dusted concrete where there had once been defensive bastions.

"Here we go..."

Hood hefted his rifle and waited.

****

The 3-1-4-2nd Mechanized rolled through a forested area on Heaven's Gate towards a fortress designated "Redoubt-Tertiary 32 West." It was, all agreed, a very unsexy name for a fort. There was no way that it didn't have some kind of unique name given to it by the troops who had lived there, but the Shield troopers hadn't been able to find any survivors from that zone and there had been significant disagreement over a clever name. The levity of the troops as they rode in the back of the Kodiac variants was forced, of course. The 3-1-4-2 had been actively engaged in the initial invasion and then sent to the rear to refit after only three days, which was what Command had taken to calling "putting survivors of mauled units together to create a cohesive fighting unit again." Everyone in the assault knew that the dryly named RT-32W was going to be a nightmare. There was no part of this shitty planet that wasn't a nightmare.

"Heaven's Gate. What a stupid fucking name."

Grunts of agreement.

"Who thought of that, anyway? This place isn't heaven at all. More like hell."

The squad's sergeant, Ju'Falla, leaned forward.

"That's where it got the name, moron. During the Purge, this planet was the theater casualty collection point and staging area for all the attacks. The AXIS troops called it Heaven's Gate cus if you were sent back here, you were either about to meet your gods or go home. Either way, heaven."

There was silence in the transport for a moment as everyone digested that.

"Sarge, how the fuck do you know that?"

Ju looked derisively back down the rocking bay of his transport.

"Just cus we're grunts doesn't mean we have to be stupid. I asked a Setulan. Dumbass."

Before the private could salve his wounded pride with a comeback Ju got a call over his net.

"All teams dismount, something funky up ahead."

Everyone got tense at that. Nothing out of the ordinary was ever good when fighting Fru.

"Everyone out! Go go go!"

The five man squad scrambled out the back ramp of the Kodiac and took up a defensive position as Ju leaned around cover to see what was wrong. He looked at the woods over the sights of his rifle and saw...nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just woods. It made his skin crawl. Then the Kodiac shifted, but the veteran couldn't figure out why until he realized it was the ground that was moving, not the transport.

"Get back, back now!"

Too late. Even as Ju sprinted away from his Kodiac - dragging his shocked special weapons trooper with him - the ground behind him caved in, taking the Kodiac with it. One of his other privates fell into the hole with a short, sharp scream that was abruptly cut off by a tremendous gut throbbing roar. The beast that erupted from the gaping pit (that was, as Ju knew from bitter experience, a tunnel that was packed with enemies) was tremendous and covered from head to toe in glittering armored scales. The Kodiac was held tightly in its jaw before it clamped, tearing the armored vehicle in half in a shower of sparks and twisted metal. The desperate call of "Furies!" came over the radio as power armored lizards began to leap bodily out of the pit, guns blazing.

Shield collapsed in sprays of blood and viscera before returning a cacophony of withering fire. No one who had fought at the Gate for more than a day was green enough to stand around and not return fire immediately but the rush was hard to counter, especially when it came from the middle of your column. The Burrower (as the Shield had taken to calling them) lowered its heavily crested head and ran at another transport, flipping it with a casual ram that sent the heavy vehicle flying. A heavy round from a Goliath slammed into the beast's head only to ricochet off of its thickly armored skull. It roared in response before another shell smashed into its side, ripping off scales, and then three more in rapid succession impacted before one delved deep into its guys before exploding, destroying its insides. It collapsed with a heavy sigh and a shower of blood, almost crushing a ballsy gold shoulder who had run under its guts to try to find a weak spot. Dumb bastard hadn't learned yet that the Fru had thought of that, but he managed to dive aside before his attempt at heroism got him squished. With their distraction gone, the remaining Furies dove back into the hole and burrowed away, leaving behind a half dozen dead.

A brief bout of shakes hit Ju'Falla, which he covered by reloading his rifle. He saw that he had moved from 8th in command of the company to 7th. Two Kodiacs, an experienced squad leader, and four soldiers in exchange for a Burrower and five Furies. Such was the cost of advancing into Heaven's Gate.

"Gear up, pups! They're sending their best at us, so we need to be ready. I don't plan on dying on this shit hole, and I won't let you get me killed! Spread out and advance."

"Still a stupid fucking name."

"Shut up, private. Just shut the fuck up."

by **Huerdae** » Mon Jul 16, 2018 3:17 pm

Heaven's Gate

It would have been funny, if Ar'Endan wasn't acutely aware of how many lives it had cost. Even now, there were signs of how much blood had been shed just covering the ground he was so calmly strolling across. Last time they had crossed this particular section of broken, blasted landscape he had been in a Tonka, with three field guns towed behind, cowering in the back as they moved the position after the last volley. Now, it was much, much different. He, much to his own chagrin, had forgotten to pack up the Vizier their unit used, so it was now sitting quietly, waiting for him, while the rest of the crew set up the gun, and he trudged all the way back to the prior firing position, hoping it hadn't been destroyed in counter-battery.

That would be a much more serious punishment if they weren't within sight of each other. The Shield had been pushing in this sector with a slow, methodical approach for the past two weeks, and all his unit saw of it was seventeen gun barrels melted down and unusable, and just over three kilometers extended in the safe zone. They had suffered more injuries from foolish mistakes by fresh replacements like him than they had taken in kilometers of dirt. Of course, news from the front was good. They were starting to figure out the enemy's moves. Isahi, the methodical bastard who ruled his life with absolute demands and somehow managed to know whether or not they were met, had kept him and his unit on such a short leash it didn't seem possible. Worse, almost every other heavy infantry, fire support, and engineering unit in the area were run on the same damn schedule, firing during changing times of the day, from different locations, just to make sure that the enemy couldn't predict their movements and had trouble identifying the specific actions of any single artillery unit.

What it did to the crews and guns of the 3-1-4-5th was teach them exactly how vile and inhuman Isahi truly was. Previously, they had been hunkering down behind their aegis barriers against the enemy counter-battery, but when the Fru started tunneling under their lines and they had to break out the old sub-surface detonating rounds and anti-Ikittitl warfare weapons, things fell back on the old staples. Fire, move, fire, move. His life was ruled by some guy in a giant tower, with a stopwatch and no doubt a grin to make an Atoran soil her pants. He knew he hated the order to fire because it meant that the next eightr hours would be spent packing, moving, unpacking, and preparing defenses and sensors, and digging in. Except this time. THIS time, he was on hour nine-and-a-half, walking back to pick up comm gear that was almost as big as he was, and wheel it back on a hand cart over terrain that was littered with debris from war.

On wheels that barely turned. And were only two centimeters tall. He was sure that SLT Oichi was taking cues from supreme jackass Isahi. The punishment was simply inhuman! Finally, he reached the old command center, to find it both intact and undisturbed. Grinning, he hurried forward, disconnecting the squawker and dragging it over to his cart. It was only after he had locked it down on the cart that the thunder struck, shaking the world around him as he watched fire streak into the sky from their gun position. Judging by recent patterns, they would probably move again, another few kilometers, if he was lucky.

Oh, JOY.

Stairs of Luan

The news had come immediately following a stunning defeat at the hands of the spiders. At the time, her forces had been disjointed, barely organized, and scattered all over the system. Fallback points had been hit, trapping ships that were damaged or disabled, and a significant part of her fleet had been lost over a two-day rout which she had barely managed to bring under control, scraping together a fighting force out of the survivors with a mix of sheer will, discipline, and sometimes outright threats. Through it all, the fleet had recovered, with ships once more working together to repair battle damage and ready for the next fight.

Now that the trial was over, however, she had nothing to think about except for her own failure. The Red Eyes, who had trusted her implicitly for years, now wavered under her command. The Matrons which had defended her with absolute loyalty had shattered, many simply leaving the ship of their own will. For the first time in years, she had Shield soldiers manning most of the defensive positions on her ship. Deo'Niic no longer spoke up with ideas and suggestions, instead standing in uncertain silence nearby. She, too, had taken a fall during the battle. Never before had the Angel of Death taken internal damage from enemy boarders for any reason. But this time, the damned spiders had outmaneuvered her in her own ship. Together, they sat in silence in the void, the disgraced Blood Queen and her most loyal retainer. Sitting, in shame, in defeat. In a few minutes, they would officially pass control of the remains of the fleet to Commodore Sia Inall Sikissa, little more than a child.

Ju'Niic snarled, reading the message another time before hurling it across the room, shattering the clear-faced tablet, and causing the lights to blink on it, signaling a possible fault as it lay in a dozen pieces on the floor, and casting a slowly shifting yellow pallor over the ready room. Deo'Niic, normally always on her feet, was sitting with her back to the wall, and face-covering mask hanging to one side, revealing the nasty scar she had taken over her unaugmented eye. Partially blinded, she had refused treatment through pride, and now struggled with adapting to her limited vision. She had personally led the charge that had driven the spiders back off the ship even after receiving the injury, with blood soaking half her body from the head wound. Despite her efforts, it was too little, too late. The enemy had been ready for them. Now, they faced only defeat. At the hands of their enemy, and at the hands of their own Star Empire.

The Blood Corps, whose favor had carried her forward for so long, had abandoned her en masse. Not because of the defeat. Until they had heard the news, they were furious with the spiders for the disrespect. But instead, they only left after the Empire had officially removed her from command. They had simply dispersed to other commanders on the front, but she was now left with empty ships, and no good way to attempt to retake orbit without exposing her ships to even more vicious boarding actions with their insufficient garrisons. Instead, she had to wait to be relieved, and for the replacements to arrive.

Without the Red Eyes, the ship had grown quiet, and her officers had taken to discussing matters in hushed tones when she was around. The enemy had made their way into her cargo bay, killing or freeing all of her prisoners, and leaving her with nothing left. No release. Nothing but painful, empty peace, after years of constant conflict and competition among the Huerdaen Rethast. The passive life that faced her now was more of an insult than anything she had ever endured before.

The message had stressed that this was a re-assignment, but when it was clear that there was no assignment waiting for her, her support had waned. The fire that she had instilled in her crews was out of her reach. Not that it no longer burned, but it was no longer something she could channel. The fire which had driven her now raged out of control, consuming her from within. It was destroying her, and she knew it. She could barely move, barely act. Even eating had become an issue. Something, someone, had taken everything from her, and it wasn't the Star Empire. It wasn't the damnable Sia Inall Sikissa. It wasn't even most spiders. Her anger, her fury, up until now, had been misguided. Everything about her had been wrong. She had been a fool.

The fire that had been raging out of control suddenly went from a massive firestorm to a condensed jet, hotter than anything she'd ever felt. Her enemy, such that it was, was the spider that had destroyed her reputation, had ruined her name with the Rethast. That was the creature that had wounded her. The airlock door opened as she rose, looking to see Sia as she strode through, proud and untouchable as she strode up to make the official change of command and take over the fleet.

Sia was slight, even for Huerdaen. Thin, light, and with large, wide eyes, perpetually looking afraid. She strode up, flanked by armored Imperial Shield, and saluted, waiting in return. Junie looked at her in annoyance, then turned to Deo'Niic. Destroyed as the matron was, she was of no use. Instead, the Huerdaen major drew her combat knife, bearing down on the seated Red Eye, who looked up in relief at the impending execution. Ju'Niic stopped only as she stood over the Rethast, looking down in annoyance. Then, raising her hands, she drove the blade into her eye socket, using it to sever the Lace behind her eye to pull the orb out, dropping it into Deo'Niic's lap without ceremony and turning away, heading back to Sia.

Voice quiet, she offered Deo only one reason for her actions. "A disabled guard is worthless to me. Stop being disabled."

The Rethast scooped up the eye like a gift, scrambling to protect it so that she could try to implant it into her own head, instead of some lesser cloned organ. Junie had already forgotten her, though, as she stood before Sia, blood streaming from the newly vacated socket. Her one good eye looked around at the mess of a ship, and she spoke in that self-same, soft voice that she hadn't used in years. "I'm going to kill that spider. Toxin? I dare you to beat me to it."

Tearing off her now-bloodied dress uniform, she revealed her naked top beneath, letting the blood seep over her skin as she walked past the shield. "I'm going on leave. I have a lot saved up. I'll be back when the spider is dead."

Deo's footsteps raced to catch up, both of them leaving their equipment behind as they went for the shuttles, away from Sia and her duties, and away from the war until the insult was paid for in blood. Behind her, Commodore Sia Inall Sikissa smiled, bearing the predatory, vicious teeth of her kind, as her face morphed into that of a demon, eyes narrowing into those of a hunter. Junie's exit was punctuated by Sia's loud, punctuated laughter, and her lone applause before she, turned back to her craft, to begin her own hunt of the Latharoki admiral.

by **Setulan** » Tue Oct 09, 2018 6:35 am

Forward Command Post Executioner
Stairs of Luan

Colonel Nyman couldn't stop staring at the strategic map. The 88th Heavy Mechanized Brigade CP was makeshift in the extreme, three Maxellian variants with camo netting slung all around a platoon of riflemen for extra protection. They had been on the move almost non stop for a month now, first in the desperate withdraw from their former positions when Garrison went down, and then in the brief yet brutal counter punch that had been orchestrated by Fay. A makeshift CP was the best they were going to get.

Of course, calling the formation the 88th Heavy Mech was something of a misnomer. While the brigade headquarters company was still made up of the original unit, three of the five battalions that made up the combat power of the brigade were ad hoc amalgamations of beat up units that had needed a new headquarters. Getting the mangled Republican units that had been bearing the brunt of the fighting back into combat shape had been one of Fay's first priorities, and Nyman had been her liason throughout the entire process. After a week and a half of twenty hour days and non stop motion, the Setulan was glad that he'd be able to go back to the main HQ and catch some real sleep even if it meant ducking in every door frame.

"Well, I'm happy to see the amalgamation is working. You're doing excellent work here, John, and the General noticed."

Colonel John Hodgins gave a restrained nod in response to the praise. Most Setulan officers didn't really know what to think of the young Colonel Nyman. His rise had been meteoric and his actions on Farazen and Taj'Marok were well known, but his role as a liaison to the Huerdaen command team put him in an odd place.

"Thank you."

"And you've had no issues with the local Shield?"

"On the contrary, they've been very helpful." Nods around the command tent from the dirty men of the 88th. "Before the line stabilized we had a number of hairy situations they supported us in, and a big spider push almost rolled over the 4-4-3rd but we were able to get our reserve armor up to support their line. It's been heavy, but I feel like we're building a good relationship with them."

"Good, good." Nyman's eyes were drawn away from the Colonel and back to the holomap. There was a clearing that he couldn't stop looking at. It was innocuous and difficult to approach, with no good route through the forests for vehicles and treacherous to approach on foot.

It was exactly where he'd put a command post.

"What's the story with this clearing?"

"Hmm? Ah. We've done flybys. E-War birds didn't catch anything so we moved on."

"Get me Fay."

One of Nyman's staff immediately reached for his long-gain comms.

"Nyman, there's nothing there. We checked."

"No electric signals. But there have been signals sent from five locations within running distance, and we've observed Lathroki using runners to send messages away from their CPs. Get me the commander of the 4-4-3rd on the horn."

"Got the general, sir."

Nyman snatched the radio from the young Captain.

"Fay, it's Nyman. I have something I want to run by you..."

The Malagan Expanse

Spacer second Class Gyle Marrow shivered, chills running up and down his spine. The heating system on his power armor was turned off, the plasma generator in the back turned to its lowest possible setting. Every step was weighed down by the heavy plate - or it would be, if the artificial gravity had been active. The Victory-Class cruiser Molab's Son was adrift in the void and as cold as its crew.

Two hundred warships. Two hundred had belched from the void blasting heretical messages over the radios, the banner of the Exiles clearly emblazoned on their hulls and dark souls. Most were the eponymous Godships of the traitor Church but the fleet was led by a spearhead of heavily armored cruisers and a monstrous dreadnought, a Fleet Killer that was dyed in purple and red hues that resembled nothing so much as blood. If they had expected Marcus Tubero to be waiting for them they were badly disappointed. The Great Admiral was no fool. Task Force Tubero contained forty warships, a dangerous flotilla in the hands of a wily commander but hardly the match in a stand up fight for the vessels that had poured out of Blink.

So they had run. Fleet split, unity fractured, the Confederates had scattered to the edges of the Malagan Expanse and powered down. Weapons, shields, plasma engines near shut down and maneuver thrusters locked down, life support and anti grav, all of it was off. And so the fleet waited, hidden. Defenseless, in the eyes of Gyle Marrow. The nineteen year old had gladly joined the feet when the Exiles arrived. He had donned his reservists uniform and left home, but he felt naked now. He just didn't understand. The Task Force was the only thing between the Exiles and a breakout into the rear of the Huerdaen-AXIS advance. It would be a catastrophe of unimaginable proportions if they let the Exiles pass here. So why weren't they fighting?

It didn't matter. None of these thoughts bothered Marrow much. When they surfaced they were quickly smothered by a warm glow of confidence. Marcus Tubero was in command. Marcus Tubero had made these orders, and there was no doubt in the young man's mind that they made sense - he just didn't have the expertise to know why. He didn't need to. He and the entire Confederate fleet had surrendered their will and willing to the Great Admiral and he had never let them down before. He would not do so now.

A runner came flying into the heavy turret where Marrow shivered, expertly pulling himself around using convenient handholds for just this purpose. The runner was out of breath from hauling himself halfway down the ship from the bridge.

"Turret 2! On the chains, rotate to 85 horizontal, 19 vertical! Move, move, move!" The entire crew lurched into motion at once and grabbed heavy chains that were attached to the massive turret's gimbals. Half the crew were on the horizontal lifts, the rest on each cannon's vertical. Magboots engaged with heavy clunks as the teams hauled hard with their section leaders keeping a careful eye on the angles. Marrow stopped shivering quickly as sweat began beading inside his helmet. He ignored it as he had ignored it many times before, hauling in time with his crew.

"All sections, halt!" Everyone stopped, barely daring to breath.

"Wait...wait..."

A soft voice came over the comms, barely audible to the crew.

"All hands, brace for fires!"

The entire gun crew crouched down as a few of the less well placed members scrambled out from their locations under the massive cannons. There was no more warning than that. The sound of the 18T shells firing was almost unbearable even with the thin atmosphere that remained. Marrow ignored it as he ignored all other distractions. A huge shell floated up on a grav assist lift and was laboriously slammed into the breach, the work hindered by a sudden kick in the ass as the huge main engines on the ship lit, throwing them into a hard burn that lasted a body-crunching thirteen seconds followed by a dramatic roll that hit even before the engines cut off. Spacers flailed and waved as their bodies were subjected to massive stress before the drift normalized. The hull creaked softly in protest before subsiding into a sullen silence. Crew members shot each other sideways looks and chuckled. A few let out relieved laughs that sounded almost hysterical.

Ten minutes went by before another runner came in. This time it was a Lieutenant, one of the Captain's bridge staff.

"Ladies and gents, we just killed a Storm." Muted cheers met the announcement. "It was drifting quiet like us, but the Admiral knew they'd try it. He had us positioned to cut off the rabbit. Normally a single volley from our eighteens wouldn't kill a Storm, but the Admiral had one of our Cobras let loose a handful of torps on slow burn about two hours ago. They went live right before we fired, and the Exiles bought the bait and swung around to bring their PDs to bear, but it exposed their ass to us. We just put our shells into their rear and split the bitch in two. She's adrift and burning."

"What about the rest of the storm's squadron? Do we know where they are?"

The Lieutenant shrugged, utterly unconcerned.

"They're out there somewhere, probably looking for us. We made the ordered maneuvers immediately after the strike. No idea where it's friends are, spacer, but even if we don't know, you can bet your ass the Admiral does."

Content nods all around. The Admiral knew, The Admiral would bring them victory.

Aboard Molab's Son, the crew shivered in the black.

by **Huerdae** » Wed Feb 27, 2019 3:16 pm

Stansen was surrounded by darkness, save for the dim glow of the display in front of him. He had turned his desk around a few nights ago, so that his wife could sleep, but it didn't help him. The words showing there weren't changing anytime soon, either. It was a report from Admiral Tubero, just over a week ago. It approximate fleet strengths and supporting units of a large Exile fleet, with only a single, short request. "Performing delaying action. Reinforcements requested."

The man's flotilla was outnumbered almost five-to-one by the Exiles, and still the enemy fleet lingered in the system. Both he and the admiral knew they were the only thing standing in front of the beginning of a major counter-offensive, and yet he had nothing to send. The enemy had engaged his forces where he could not immediately respond, and he was forced to wait for an update from the notorious Admiral. Any update that came from that fleet, though, would be bad news. If they were forced from their positions, found and routed, they would let him know. Until then, they would remain in position, quietly harassing the Exiles and prohibiting their ability to advance. As long as they did that, however, any message coming or going was a vulnerability. He could neither safely send an update, nor expect one.

So every night, he sat quietly staring at the screen, waiting for that damning message that the man had been defeated and was withdrawing. Every night, he was relieved to find nothing. Even so, the dull yellow-orange of the message text lit his weary, tired face. This was the hardest part of command. Moving troops around, planning their supplies. Even getting supplies to Tubero was easier. Helping him get ammunition wasn't an issue, he just had to get it near the system with the right information, and the man could take it from there.

No, it was the waiting that got to him. Waiting to hear what the enemy was doing now in a new sector. Waiting to hear how bad the casualties from a particular fight were. Waiting. Always waiting. He was lifting his glass to his lips when he heard her sigh, reaching into the light from where his eyes couldn't see her, and taking the glass away. Her voice was soft, reassuring, but tired.

"Get some sleep, Peter."

He watched the milky, xiscapian-made liquid as it was taken from him, and he just sighed. "If they break through..."

"I'll let you know. Get some rest. I can watch the reports for a few hours, at least. I'm part of your command staff, it's not against protocol."

He stayed, sitting lit in front of the monitors for a few moments before finally caving in, and rising to his feet. Every movement ached, as he gave his wife a quick hug. "If-"

She hushed him, pushing him toward the bed. "I'll wake you, first thing."

Coalition commander Peter Stansen was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Stairs of Luan

The fighting had been hard, right up to the last few weeks. Acting Captain Lar'Kallen had been a JLT at the start of it all, in charge of a little platoon in Massacre 1-4-1, part of the En'Issaul 12th Heavy Infantry. Now, she was in charge of a 'Campaign Company', which was a nasty mix of broken Imperial Shield, Setulan, Blood Corps, Nogitsune, and a pair of Assault Jaegers who continued to refuse to leave her part of the line. She was sure that if someone domesticated some wildlife nearby, they'd give it to her and call it a rifleman and expect her to use that, too. Despite all that, this ragtag bunch of misfits was the best damn pile of nobodies still living on this battlefield. Even after being stuck behind enemy lines for almost four weeks, which was when the previous Captain got his ticket punched, they were some of the most experienced in fighting Latharoki. So of course, the Colonel she had been working with was handing her off to some damn Setulan who wouldn't know his shit. Garrison had been alright. Good, even, but this guy had just shipped in, from what she heard. Just another man to get her troops killed.

Typical.

It also meant, that on the first day they were supposed to be off the line in what felt like four years of fighting dumb, ugly-assed spuds, she had to get up to put on a duty uniform that wasn't even accurate anymore, and greet some asshole who was riding in like he owned the place. Everything she was told was that this man had just arrived, and was high off the recent victories. Just like Garrison, just like all the other higher-ups before. Victories her team and people had bled for. They weren't even different nations anymore, not under her command. They were the survivors of the first drops who were smart, quick, and lucky enough not to get their asses killed. They were her people, and she'd be damned if some upstart was going to throw them into harm's way if there was even the slightest bit of doubt about the operation.

At her side was a Nogitsune tod who had taken to shadowing her. A few times he'd tried a bit more than shadowing, but she wasn't one for the Tails, which he had been thankfully understanding of. It didn't stop him from still hinting at his interest at regular intervals, but he remained respectful of her wishes to keep him distant otherwise. Still, he was the best shot she had ever seen, picking off an entire squad of spuds in less than fifteen seconds. As far as Nogitsune went, he was a shadow, but even so he barely deserved the name. He was one of those young tods that was always upbeat, always ready with a joke to crack at someone's expense. It was safe to say he was one of her favorite people to keep around. She was glad she yanked him up to her command squad for those reasons, at least.

All around her, the veterans of the unit were lazing around. Despite her getting a direct order to be ready and respectful, it hadn't applied to her company, so she had told them as much. Some were still asleep in bunks under scraps of cloth hung out from what remained of a dozen different formations of military vehicles, and others drank together, laughing that they finally did get a day off after all. The setulans under her command had already informed her of what to expect from hotshots, and how she could probably piss him off to get him re-assigned or killed quickly if needed, and Rega Nishina and her trio of Devil-Kin sisters had asked if she wanted the man dead already. The two AJAX men, for their part, had made it clear they didn't care who was giving the orders. They'd follow hers, because she was as 'cold' as them, whatever that meant. Then they had gone back to playing dice, of course. Something about that private game always felt grim, like it was truly a matter of life and death.

Chyani Iseho made her way over from her all-aces tank crew, uniform flapping open in the wind and displaying her bare chest freely as the Slayer smiled, waving. Half her crew were in similar states of undress, with her kitsune driver sunbathing nude on top of the front of the Blackguard-Variant. That tank alone had accounted for seven enemy heavies in the last two weeks alone. She had been forced to stop counting lesser foes for the beast. Every one of them that actually wore clothes had the golden collar, and Chani herself had declared that if not for the ace markings, she would have burned the coat long ago. Liked being intimate with her crew, she said.

As she stopped, though, her eyes were on the distant horizon, her voice dropping to the soft-and-clear way she did when she was worried, the tones reminding her of how often she had heard that in the past months. "They're here, Lark. Coming down from the north. Looks like the man had the balls to demand an escort from the Mah'Lahn armored boys he's coming from. A full squadron of Goliaths, can you believe it? He's wearing brass and not gold, I'll bet."

With a groan, Lar'Kallen just turned away, waving a hand over her shoulder. "Bring him in when he arrives, Chyani. I'll see about getting rid of him. We lost enough already."

Returning to the only mostly-intact tent in the camp, Lar wondered what it would be like to be back home in a real structure, without having to worry about dirt in her toenails, or another mortar strike. Her dark blue eyes focused across the room on the picture of her with her old platoon, just after getting the command. Bright blue hair, young, smiling face. She felt foreign now. The face was the same, but she couldn't meet this distant Lar's gaze anymore. It felt fake, and naive. Kicking the table leg, the picture tumbled to the dirt, sticking in with a disappointing lack of any damage to the device. Outside, the engines had stopped, and a few minutes more passed before Chyani suddenly stepped into the tent, holding the flap aside.

The first thing she noticed was that the uniform was closed. The sleeves, normally flapping from her shoulders, were occupied by arms, and it was shut all the way up to her collar, showing only the smallest amount of gold. Lar's confused look was ignored as a big man stepped into the tent, bent over slightly as Chyani spoke.

"Acting Captain Lar'Kallen, this is Nyman 'The Reaper'. Bitch Fay thinks we might just be able to help him kill a few more legends, given the chance."

It took a moment before Lar'Kallen saluted, the beginnings of a smile spreading across her lips.

Maybe things aren't half bad after all.

by **Setulan** » Sat Jan 18, 2020 11:12 am

Jakma

Battle Captain Herm Owens was mesmerized by the planet below. It was his first chance to get a good look at it after nine days of cat and mouse, nine days of systematically destroying the planet's orbital defenses and smothering GTO batteries in counter battery and marines. Owens knew that he was one of the first Confederates to look at a Danaversian core world since the Liberation and the position he was doing it from - at the helm of a Victory-Class heavy cruiser and its attendant battle group - was nearly unique.

And Jakma was hideous.

Millennia of ecological warfare and runaway industrialization had poisoned what may have once been a beautiful world. It hung like a swampy, cataract green eye in the void, heavy clouds full of acid rain blowing across the atmosphere. Whether intentionally or by accident the amphibians had almost terraformed the planet into one of the toxic swamps they loved. Lights glowed on the surface to demarcate cities and highways. Many flashed at him even now in what his communications officers told him was a sign of surrender. It was a heady view for a man who had been born a slave.

"Lay on gunnery. Target all industrial sites. Let me know when the group is in position."

"Aye, Captain!"

Owens remembered his personal liberation. He remembered the soldiers of the Infiniti Division clearing out the space station he had assumed he would die on.

He remembered his mother's face.

"Battle Group in position."

"Commence fire on all industrial locations, maximum saturation. Go heavy on the gas. I want to make sure they can't touch those factories for ten thousand years."

"Your will, Battle Captain."

Owens watched as missiles and shells arced out from his fleet towards the densest of the glowing lights below.

And smiled.

Malagan Expanse

"Marcus, I know you're out there. I know you're waiting for reinforcements but they simply aren't coming. You can't hold me here forever, old friend. Lower your colors and let us end this. No more of your men need to die."

The voice that came out, tinny from the low volume, was very familiar to the Great Admiral. Not only had he heard the recording a hundred times already, he knew the man well. Admiral Vilno had been one of his instructors at the Setulan Fleet Academy and the two had bonded over a love of chess and Alversian wine. It was odd; Vilno, a distinguished older man with wings of white in an otherwise dark head of hair, had never struck Tubero as either a sociopath or a fanatic. It had perhaps accounted for why he was thrown off by the tactics the man had used when they first engaged. Marcus Tubero knew that he would be his own harshest critic when it came time for the after action review of the battle here at the Malagan Expanse, and he already knew that his surprise at finding his old friend in command of the Exile fleet would be his greatest rebuke. He had heard Vilno joined the Exile. He should have anticipated that he may be fighting him in the Fringe, and at the very least the classic Spear/Shield/Shield formation - generally not in vogue among Republican fleet circles - should have tipped Marcus off as to who he was fighting. Men had died because of his delay.

Vilno be damned. The Confederate fleet had been fighting a delaying action in the Expanse for almost a month and Tubero knew in his gut that Stansen needed this fight over. The old Huerdaen general couldn't risk moving garrison forces until the massive Exile invasion fleet was turned around and he sure as hell couldn't spare any resources to help. It was time to end this fight, and the Admiral had finally figured out how. It had taken the better part of ten days to get his ships in position but he was finally ready. First the attacks against the Exiles had slowed, then almost stopped altogether. He had allowed traitor reconnaissance to reach the mandeville point unscathed and push deeper into AXIS controlled space. He had sacrificed four ships, losses that pained him greatly, though he had managed to evacuate most of their crews before their demise. All to make the Traitor think he was on the ropes. All to give him a false sense of security.

Taking a final look at himself in the mirror to confirm he had successfully covered the bags under his eyes, he took a deep breath and stepped out of his quarters and onto the bridge. Captain Sammi Vala heard his door hiss open and immediately stepped to the side, giving him a once over and a quick nod. He returned it gratefully.

"Admiral on the deck!" No one moved. They all knew that in combat situations it was simply formality and required no acknowledgement, but the thick air seemed to lighten some with the announcement.

"Fleet comms."

"Sir!"

"Flash message to the Task Force. Initiate Oxford-6."

"Aye aye!"

Task Force Tubero woke up.

Ships that had been running silent for a month had been performing cold start protocols for the better part of two days. Exhausted sensor officers aboard Exile warships used to seeing Tubero's ghost readings would be slow to realize that this time the readings were very much real as first one, then all four picket formations of Exile escorts were annihilated in the span of six minutes by devastating volleys from Confederate Long Guns formations. Vilno's fleet, finally secure in their superiority, had maneuvered closer to each other in preparation for a push on the Mandeville jump. A pair of nova cannon strikes annihilated Point Defense Godships that clung to the giant Fleet Killer (intelligence had tentatively identified it as the Dance of Perdition) like parasites to a whale and destroyed its combat void patrol and created a radioactive wave that temporarily spoofed sensors. Even as demands to get everything back online were going out Tubero's entire void craft component - so far held tightly in reserve - unleashed hell. Ninety Bentnose bombers volleyed off their entire anti-ship compliments in orgasmic displays of ripple fire at near point blank range, bathing the Dance of Perdition in simultaneous anti-matter explosions and radioactive waves from void detonated multi-gigaton nuclear weapons. Firestorm heavy fighters added their own ship killing arsenal to the orgy of death, executing wounded ships that had survived the Nova strike. Industrial quantities of Oxide coated the guns and engines of the mighty fleet killer mere seconds before the massive shells from Tubero's flagship Rustov struck them from the blackness, blasting them into car sized shrapnel.

The once ordered Exile advance to the FTL jump and the belly of the AXIS advance collapsed like a house of cards.

****

The message that popped up on Stansen's screen would wake him from yet another bad sleep.

"Exile fleet turned back with heavy losses. Awaiting further instructions. Sorry for the delay. -MT"

by **Huerdae** » Sun Jan 19, 2020 1:06 pm

Stairs of Luan

Shi'Vessu and Hurst had made a tradition of finding where the alcohol was. Everywhere from Farazen to Maj'Tarok, and now the Stairs of Luan, they had been competing to find where those last stashes of good drink were at. Looting empty buildings, buying from desperate survivors, or just finding it by the roadside abandoned by fleeing people of all shapes and sizes, it had become a competition to savor.

True to form, Hurst had been right about there being a lot more fighting to go, and Shi had gone from a young commander to someone who almost everyone in the area knew, which made him something of a celebrity. Most of the officers from Farazen got the same treatment, but the ones that everyone knew and wanted to spend time with were Shi and Hurst, because whenever the two met up, that's where and when the drinks were.

The battle in their sector had ended rather suddenly, as the news of the spud leader's death had seemingly cut down everything from enemy morale to the effectiveness of their weapons. Their own leadership was in disarray, and some didn't even seem willing to try to fight anymore. A competent, deadly foe became rabble acting without any sort of central leadership and they were being actively herded, isolated, and destroyed. Literal tons of Latharoki equipment was piled up in a stockpile visible from kilometers away, waiting for someone to know who was unlucky enough to have to sort through, organize, categorize, and ship it somewhere useful.

The burning bodies of the spuds who had been caught could still be smelled in the air, but that was the last thing on Shi's mind. Once confirmed, he had found Hurst, and the pair's meeting had become almost a hundred officers, soldiers, and locals bringing in drinks and food from salvage all over the area. It was about as close to a party as they could manage, but spirits were high in the unit, and the presence of the locals was a surprising benefit, happy as they were to be done with this part of the war. They brought things to trade for food and supplies, and were quick to offer up 'delicacies', most of which were some of the most terrible things the Huerdaen had tasted in a while.

He loved it. There was a jelly made from a fruit here that had the most terrible taste to it that he had taken to trying it on literally everything, trying to find it if had even a single redeeming quality, and several of the others present had started buying the stuff up in bulk to have contests to see how much you could eat at once, straight. A few of the soldiers around seemed to actually like the stuff, which was a great disappointment to Shi, because such a horrendous creation shouldn't be wasted on those who actually enjoy it. It was a brilliant creation, and he made a point to have to learn the name of it eventually.

For now, though, he had secured at great cost a bottle of Bugspit, some of the worst stuff to come from the Star Empire, and was drunkenly making an attempt to get Hurst to try it.

"-no, it's not ACTUAL bugspit! It's the pre-digested slop they feed their queen, and then fermented! I mean, yes, they chew it up and mix it in their mouths and some funky organ or whatever they have, but it's not spit! It's a biologically processed food! It's supposed to be good! I had to trade the icons from five different war priests for this bottle, it's not easy to come by out here!"

Suddenly, his face lit up again, and his grin got somehow bigger. "Oh, and did you hear? Big Bitch Fay got her promotion! One of the quickest promotions to General in the history of the Star Empire! Fuck yeah!"

His red face and excessively loud voice as he made the proclamation again came as a relief to a lot of people, considering the recent fighting. Drunken Shi was about as close to a sign of peace as they had gotten in days, and his continued attempts to get Hurst to drink Chikuula only seemed to put people at ease. Especially since most of them weren't drunk enough to miss the fact that the big Setulan had already tried it, determined how he liked it best, and was merely letting the smaller, younger, and drunker man keep offering him more out of sheer convenience and amusement.

The revelries inevitably were cut short for the soldiers of the AXIS-allied forces as orders came in that they were preparing to leave, but the local populace remained for hours after everyone else pulled out, for the first time in weeks able to enjoy their own world with music that reached back up into the skies without fear of death.

Forgotten Exile, Command Deck
Sinnis, Huerdaen Star Empire

With the victory at the Malagan Expanse, Stansen finally had a chance to talk directly to Tubero, over video comms, and he found the experience interesting. The man before him didn't seem like the giant he was described as, but that was to be expected. Still, the fellow's reputation and actions had left more than a few legends in his wake, and Peter had finally taken it upon himself to look at the man's tired face and talk to him, under the guise of a required report regarding the actions against the Exiles.

Around the command deck, Sam and Shingen lingered, watching with interest as the big Confederate explained what had happened in those weeks of silence in which only the most basic of communication could be sent, and reported the needs of his troops. Finally, as he came to an end, Peter just shook his head.

"You, sir, are possibly the most impressive Admiral of our time, you know that? On several occassions, with limited resources, you have pulled off a series of amazing victories, and bought us time to complete our objectives. So it's my turn to get you your updates, so your crews can know. In the time you've been fighting in the dark at Malagan, quite a bit has happened."

Clearing his throat, he carefully studied Tubero's face as he spoke. "Confederate forces overcame and killed Corman Tatrax on Gammon, and pushed through to Borraga. Fighting has been hard there, and we've suffered some losses but holding. Banks Haso and fresh Setulan Heavy Armor crushed the Dan defenses at Vex. They're pushing forward, and the 14th Deep Squadron under Owens has burned Jakma almost to nothing. As far as we can tell, there is nothing left to resist us there."

He didn't miss the man's sadistic smile at the understanding of how many Danaversians would have died in the update about Jakma, and kept going.

"Heaven's Gate is once more in our hands, but under heavy attack. The battles there are constant, as could be expected, and it doesn't look like either side will be leaving soon. However, the spuds....Latharoki have collapsed en-masse at the Stairs of Luan. There's a chance we'll be able to start a breakthrough toward their homeworld in accordance with our plans. We intend to enact punitive measures once we reach the Latharoki homeworld. I assume you'd like to be part of that?"

He found he wasn't surprised by the man's response, but kept going to the less ideal news. "Fighting with the Dans remains constant. Barrack Har'Monkala lost his position at the Kastian Reach and almost got himself killed several times now. He's been forced back to recover. Their performance has been...disappointing. Still, as I've been told you won't be shedding tears over their losses. They'll be reorganized on time bought by Huerdaen and Setulan lives, now, but this is still the early stages of the conflict. We'll have to put them back in the fight somewhere, soon. Once the anti-treaty forces fall, we'll need bodies to break the Exile lines and push them back. But for now, you need to rest and resupply your ships. You've pushed our lines as far as I can safely let you without someone at your back. I hope to be sending you additional forces and ships soon. Be ready to push your troops to Orma or Falta, depending on how this unfolds. Your people have done a lot for us here, you deserve a rest. Just be ready."

When Tubero nodded assent to the orders, Stansen cut the line, and visibly deflated, looking into the shadows at the ghost of a Kitsune who kept the darkness as his ally, keeping him informed of the enemy's actions, and shook his head.

"He scares me more than you ever do, Shingen. You're good. You're silent, and nobody ever sees you coming. You may as well be a gust of wind, but Tubero? He's present, and visible, and people see and know him, and nobody can seem to even slow him down. Worse, he enjoys it, and he's good at it. I'm just glad he's on our side."

Sam nodded, her normal joking gone. "I thought he'd be hotter, but there just seems like there's something wrong with him. He's...amazing, no doubt, and I'd fight for him, but I feel like he's about as human as an inferno in an orphanage."

by **Setulan** » Wed Mar 25, 2020 4:47 pm

The Destroyer Moon

To call the command theater extraordinary wouldn't do it nearly the justice it deserved. Everything about the Destroyer Moon was exceptional, extraordinary, divine. That was simply the norm. No, the command room went beyond even that. It was perfection. Everything a commander could want was arranged to create an ergonomic machine that created perfect synergy between the various arms of a galactic campaign the scale of which defied conventional warfare or planning. Ten thousand souls worked the massive room day and night in a tiered structure that ensured everything was handled at the lowest possible level with only the most pressing matters rising higher. Conversely the organization allowed vague instructions from the top to be passed down to those who would turn the commander's vision into reality.

At the very top of the steeped pyramid was a closed conference room. It lacked the ostentation preferred by many of the general's caste and was strictly utilitarian save a handful of devotionals etched into the wall in black steel. Few entered this room. Fewer still spoke to the legend inside. The center of the room was taken up by a solid oak conference/command/interface table. A map of the fringe hovered over it gently with formations and garrisons outlined in various shades. It updated in real time thanks to the efforts of those below and the commander simply dragged his hand across it to send millions to their task. It was a terrifying, godlike amount of power that only one other being in the Fringe possessed. Peter Stansen was a brilliant thinker, a strategic mastermind, and clearly well schooled in the ways of large scale war.

Unfortunately for him, so was Myamar of Tolon.

That battle of wills was writ large on the floating map, with daggers of gold and black pushing deep into space he considered his own. The failure of the Latharoki at the Stairs of Luan, spurred by the death of their famous leader, had almost collapsed his entire flank but the victories of the spiders over the Danaversian incompetents had once again provided the Exile with proper maneuver manpower. To some the circumstances of the last month would have been cause for panic, but Myamar saw only an opportunity to once again seize the initiative. He had spent days staring at the maps in front of him sequestered from the world and alternating between deep meditation and prayer, but he finally knew what he needed to do. Orders were spoken, ships left anchorage, and once again the command room was quiet.

"I do not know if this will end their resistance. I certainly know it will end their offensive." Myamar's voice was deep with a heavy rasp. He stepped slowly around the table, his fingers brushing the wood gently and spinning the map as he spoke. "The Latharoki will now threaten the Confederation's heartland. They must meet the push at Forgalla. If they do not, they risk being cut off at the Kastian Reach and an assault on the Confederation homeworld itself. The Huerdaen at the Reach are badly outnumbered on ground and in orbit. They will fight, for a time, and then they will fold beneath the weight of my priests. The machinery of the Moon is geared towards their destruction and will not fail. The Qux and Fru at Heaven's gate will hold long enough for the Risen to send reinforcements and turn the tide. Tubero will be probed and threatened. He cannot leave, cannot maneuver, cannot risk exposing their flank, and so the greatest offensive asset my enemy possesses will be trapped holding empty space. Well, let him stay. Let him hold the Expanse. He will find nothing but void while his allies are ground to dust."

"The Confederate probes into Danaversian space were brave and well executed. I have always given Confederates credit for panache. I was there when they liberated the Confederacy, after all. I saw the slave-soldiers myself. Such courage. But, well...I suppose you already know that, don't you? Let them take Jakma. An industrial wasteland. They are in too deep to fall back now, and the fall of Vutha will see them destroyed. The Hawk Lords will fight to the last man on Borraga but it will be their last man. They will die, their secrets will be lost, and they will never recover from the devastation."

Tolon's voice was reflective as he stopped and the map swiveled. The Fringe was lost as Setulan came onto the screen, the planet covered in troop symbols and rashes of burned out devastation.

"The AXIS offensive to retake Setulan was bold. I do not think my brethren were as ready for the orbital assault as they claimed to be. Agrimonus has already fallen to them. Regardless, it will not matter in the end. Look. See what your deaths have accomplished. Nothing. Nothing. Our plans continue." He finally turned to his audience. The prisoners - a combination of Confederate and Huerdaen - stared silent hatred back, blood on their chins dried and cracked from when their tongues had been removed. "I want you to see this. I want you to know that all you have done is inconvenience me and that the destruction of everything you love is not only continuing, but it is doing so ahead of schedule. And you will live to see it ended entirely."

by **Huerdae** » Wed Apr 01, 2020 12:40 am

Kastian Reach
Temporary Command Center, Deployment Zone 11-B

The 'command center' was little more than a series of tarps and low-emissions energy shields to protect against being identified and make the location harder to target by enemy artillery, air, or mobile units, and it was probably the best setup anywhere nearby. The enemy had appeared moments after Fay and her group had touched down, and even now their arty rained down on every position she tried to set up, even while her own guns answered in kind. The opponent's deployment, such as it was, was at least as much a mess as her own, if not worse, but it just served to bring chaos to the Reach.

Even now, gazing up through the netting that served to camoflage her position, she could see the vicious battle taking part in orbit as Sia Inall frantically fought against her opponents. Her gaze quickly went back to the tiny console that served as one of her only, few, secure communications devices back to command.

"Stansen, you FUCKING ASSHOLE. You said they were withdrawing. THIS DOESN'T LOOK LIKE A WITHDRAWAL!"

A nearby battery of guns shut down the start of his response, and her ringing ears shut down half of the rest of what he was saying, only giving her the end of the first part of his response.

"-need you to hold, they're counting on us falling back, on us giving up this ground. We can't let them be right."

"Are you fucking insane? Hold?! What good does it do us?! What's the point?"

"It does enough. Set up your turtles and be ready for hard times ahead. We need them to pay attention to you, can't let them break through this. You've got land, you've got position. Hold it."

"You're killing everyone here, you ba-"

"SHUT IT, GENERAL. We didn't promote you properly because you whine, we promoted you because you can do the job. You have the second largest single force in the Fringe campaign under you right now, and I need them off balance because of you. You will hold, without Sia's ships. Keep their eyes on you, but hold your position. I don't care how you do it, do something they don't expect. Just need to hold. If you lose that position, they're able to pivot on both Sinnis AND the CAS homeworlds. Taj'Marock, all of the systems we already died for are exposed. So you will hold, and I will do everything in my power to save your ass!"

Fay's face was almost as red as the Blood Corps soldiers that were bringing in new supplies nearby as she responded, furious "Without naval cover? Sia and her ships are worth saving, but we're not?"

"Saving? SAVING!?"

His voice went stone cold, and she was silent to hear his response.

"General Fay'Shaila. You will follow your orders, and she will follow hers. This is not up for discussion. She has an obstacle at least as difficult as yours which will be done. I'm leaving you there because the force under you can handle that fight. So you will do it, because that's what we're here for. Find a way."

The line cut out, and it took every ounce of her control not to draw her sidearm and shoot the piece of equipment, rare as it was right now. The battle overhead was still evolving, and changing, but she was already being abandoned to this fight? Why? What could it be?

The sound of a powered armored fist on the back of her armored helm snapped her out of it, and her attempt to draw her weapon was blocked by a hand over hers, holding it in place. Only when she turned did she see Lac'Saiba and her grim face.

"Get over it, Fay. We gotta get this done. We're not being abandoned. Our brothers and sisters wouldn't. Get your people ready. He said to hold this system, keep the fight here, so that's what we'll do. We have our equipment, let's turn up the shields and get ready for some hard fighting. Dig in."

Fay let out a long, slow breath, and nodded to her. Turning to her command staff, some of which were uncertain and stumbling with their commander in such a state, she opened her mouth to give the order, only to see the Blood Corps that had served with them at the Stairs of Luan. Blasted, broken, and suffering against the spuds, they had been relegated to a logistics role in many places to reinforce, and hadn't been brought back to the front.

Her orders were sharp, as she pointed at one of the red eyes bringing in ammo and equipment. "Junior! How many soldiers in your unit?"

The Blood Corps immediately shot to attention. "I'm part of the Militocracy's Battle Regiment One-One-Four-Alpha. Just shy of eighty-thousand in this sector, SIR."

She nodded, her gaze simmering on him for a moment before she nodded with a slowly spreading smile. "Lac, send out orders to dig in. Code them as decoys. Let's see how clever these fools are. Make it as convincing as you can. Everything. Encode orders to emplace the turtles, and start identifying strategic targets."

Lac nodded, but Fay was already moving on, gesturing the JLT over and speaking to him quietly, almost throwing him from the tent after a few mere seconds speaking to him. Somehow, he hit stride and was gone, with the other Blood Corps soldiers quickly following after. The command section became full of orders and actions, when Nyman tapped her shoulder, confused. "What's that about?"

"They have their own orders, Nyman. On Farazen, we had an issue dealing with the fanatics. They came at us from every side, with no apparent organization, no strategic objectives...it put us on the back foot. Took away the initiative from us for a bit. We need that. LGOPs, of sorts, on a massive scale."

He didn't look convinced, shaking his head. "You're sending them to their deaths, the drop is over, we need to be organizing..."

She lifted a hand, cutting him off. "The Blood Corps aren't your normal fighters. They're not like the fanatics, they're not like the Shield. They're trained like the old Militocracy units - shock troops. Any one of them knows how to identify a strategic versus a tactical target, and they are some of the most reliable troops to destroy them. The problem is, we restrain them, because while they get the job done...they don't often survive. The thing is, this is something they haven't seen from us yet. Every fight we've had has been by Shield, with supporting levies. We've never unleashed a levy en masse on them again. So we're going to let them do what they do best."

"What's that?"

"The same thing I told them. 'Attack'. They'll figure out the rest, they think on their feet in ways I've never seen any other army do. We just have to stay out of the way and try to follow up and keep them alive. They will all die before they let the Star Empire down. That much, I know. It's our job to deserve it. Get your troops ready to move. They'll make cracks in the enemy for you to exploit, make sure you're damn well ready, or they WILL die, every single one of them. It's what they live for."

Something in her voice gave away her feelings on that point, though. A mix of awe and sadness from the woman who spent so much time and effort keeping her troops alive.

by **Setulan** » Mon Oct 12, 2020 4:54 pm

Castle Gasta'Vkarran
Ancestral Home of the Allavax
Vandalia

Allavax of the Mountains, scion of the Allavax and Patriarch of that noble family, proud bearer of The Name and Lord of Vandalia, First of the Chosen, towered over his council and scowled at the tactical display before him. The great hall was full of the trappings of power that had once graced the Danaversian Empire. Banners of defeated enemies hung from the high walls, weapons from a dozen races were in alcoves, and symbols of wealth were everywhere. The fortress itself was somewhat anachronistic though it had undergone significant upgrades over the millennia, with heavy shielding and defensive armaments. The mustering area on the grounds outside was certainly up to the high standards of the Empire, staged in such a way that the millions of soldiers waiting to embark and run the Confederate blockade could look up and gaze upon the majesty of Allavax. That his castle still stood at all was more luck than any skill, with the planned AXIS assault on Vandalia scheduled mere days before the Empire's ignominious surrender, but Allavax had chosen to keep that information from spreading. It gave his warriors a sense of pride that they desperately needed after their humbling at the hands of the inferior races.

Those inferior races were currently the source of frustration for the general. They simply weren't doing what he expected. The fleet had been in orbit for weeks but had limited itself to punitive strikes against GTO batteries that had dared to fire upon them and surgical blows against his eyes and ears, the early warning networks, radars, and sensor stations. He had heard reports of dropships landing marines but every time his scouts went to the rumored locations there was no sign. Sentries with slit throats and wolves branded onto corpses were all they found but it didn't matter. His troops were mustering en masse and preparing to run the blockade that had so frustrated him. The fleet in orbit was small, maybe a dozen ships, and a concentrated GTO strike to scatter them and distract them would precede a wide scale troop departure. Tens of millions of his warriors were ready to leave this system and join the greater conflict to avenge themselves on the slaves who had the temerity to continue to fight against them. The setbacks that had been suffered by the Empire would be repaid tenfold.

He was poring over the reports before him, staff bustling around the room, when the sounds of explosions reached him. He looked up sharply as work slowed.

"Where was that? Have they begun orbital strikes?"

"Unknown, Lord."

"Prepare to raise the facility shields. We cannot risk the staging area being hit."

"Yes, lord."

"Raise me division commanders and have them prepare for a ground assault. We must be ready if the Confederate marines decide to stage a raid. After that, get -"

Fire. Smoke. Pain. Burning. Burning.

Alavax felt only sensations, seeing nothing but red. There was a ringing in his ears as he gasped smoke through crisped lungs. A shadow entered the room and towered over him. He realized, belatedly, that he could hear something beyond the ringing in his ears. He could hear the wolves. It was the last thing he heard as the shadowy figure raised a shining blue sword and ran him through.

Across the planet the same story played out time and again. Officers died. After Allavax came the corps commanders, then the division leaders, then the nobles in their forts. Shield generators disappeared in the bright white flash of nova discharge. Eight million Danaversians died in a dark blur as an Angel's Tear detonated in the center of their staging area, ripping a crater in the planet that stretched almost to the core and forever altering the tectonic activity and shifted the planets gravitational pull for millenia to come. Survivors of the apocalypse staggered from one ruined barracks to another and quickly began discarding their arms, their armor, anything that could identify them as warriors as those who dared to mark themselves as soldiers were ruthlessly slaughtered in raids of horrifying ferocity. For the rest of their lives the survivors would speak in hushed terms of the howling of wolves.

by **Huerdae** » Mon Dec 28, 2020 1:33 pm

Wraithspite, Blue Sector Command
Taj'Marock, Huerdaen Star Empire

The heir to the newly-Huerdaen-based Kiyara clan had lost some of her luster in the last few days. Her youthful face, quick to go from smile to snarl and back again but always full of life, now bore the weight of three days awake. Her command staff had been keept on long shifts, but all had found a chance to rest other than her and her most recent assistant. Put on a priority shuttle from Heaven's Gate, Colonel Amagi Yuuki had arrived less than a day ago.

The the women were the youngest strategic-level commanding officers in the Fringe Campaign, hidden out of sight and out of mind of the enemy while they plied their trade in the shadows between worlds. Their shared goals notwithstanding, they couldn't be any more different. Anai stood tall, keeping to the center of the room still well-armored in her 'not-immediate-combat-threat' Golem armor, bearing the proud insignias of her clan and home including the katana that was so well-cared for it may as well have been new instead of three-thousand year-old marker of the heir of her family. On her back a Maedar bruiser rested comfortably, and her thighs held grenades waiting for use, always ready for someone think they could outnumber and outmaneuver the skilled warrior.

Amagi Yuuki was, by contrast, standing to one side, leaning over a pair of overworked and overwhelmed supply staff as she organized them into managing a series of completely seperate logistics trains, a third of which were completely fabricated with legitimate tracking information and functional shipping agreements with the local companies that made a hefty profit for merely agreeing to make shipments that would never need to be made, or quietly 'mislabel' primary agreements. Her Shield uniform was presumably still back in her quarters, waiting to be unpacked, while she wore the corporate-favorite half helmet command set that allowed her multi-layered projection before her eyes to manage the many layers of logistics and supply that fell under her care. Even her clothing spoke of her corporate background, wearing a 'casual' suit that looked so sharp she could easily be mistaken for a career low-level executive, and which sat so easily on her shoulders it brought her no small number of jealous or approving glances.

But together, their efforts became a grand operation to conceal the fact that Tubero was preparing to become a vanguard in their assault once more. Anai balanced the ship and crew needs to be certain his task force was properly supplied and prepared for action, all hidden under the greater umbrella of Yuuki's morass of information, misinformation, and supply lines. She also had teams forging bogus communication, illusionary dissention in the ranks that indicated Tubero continued to request to attack out once more through the Malagan Expanse to close up the enemy approach past Falta, as well as impending reinforcement from the Star Navy. Anything to busy the Exile analysts and their massive resources into thinking he was doing anything but moving his ships, a few at a time into the Stairs of Luan.

Anai, looking like a tired, worn down thug trying her hand at command, and Yuuki, seemingly little more than a business manager readying for a morning meeting on the recent quarter's profit, were together orchestrating the largest, most in-depth intelligence operation of the Fringe campaign so far. It was a quiet, distant base far from any combat since the campaign began in earnest, and yet there was more going on here to change the course of the war than in many places that had seen endless combat.

Every hour and a half since her arrival, the Colonel had been meeting with one faction or another. A paramilitary group here or a local government there, mixed in with companies, gangs, anyone who could organize a few dozen armed fighters who could be bought, turned, convinced, or incentivized into taking up arms and working toward a common goal. And over time, what had seemed a waste of time and effort was starting to look like it may actually succeed as the first of the Fringe militias was beginning to take shape. Whether it would succeed and take up arms together in the next few weeks to be deployed to Calas for the coming defense of their homes remained to be seen, but already the tentatively-named Defenders 1-1-1 were starting to meet, hashing out who, if anyone, could bring the force together into an effective fighting force that could take part on the battlefield if Blue Sector fell once more under the malicious gaze of invaders.

And in the background, Yuuki continued to pull strings, trying to draw even more small players into her interlocking web as she built yet another level of mail armor for the interests of the Huerdaen seemingly out of thin air.

War on the Fringe [Closed, ATTN Huerdae, Exiles]

War on the Fringe [Closed, ATTN Huerdae, Exiles]

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