Happenings - Semi Open, TG for invite

Where nations come together and discuss matters of varying degrees of importance. [In character]


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Postby Auman » Wed Feb 06, 2019 3:15 pm

February 6, 3170

Uyghur stepped out onto the veranda to get some fresh air, but it didn't do any good. Vascilia City was down wind from a forest fire raging out of control in the Bekanel mountains and half the continent stunk of smoke. The clouds were so thick with black fumigates that the summer sun, just now dipping towards the horizon, was ruddy and dull. He was looking at it, the star of Ambrosia, a dark line curling across its width. He felt a sharp ache between his shoulder blades, too much time spent away from the bed and the gun, altogether more time standing than he needed. The war with the Dergh left him feeling tired, though not quite exhausted. Uyghur heard the double doors open behind him, the bubbling sound of laughter from the party grew louder for a brief moment before being muffled again. He turned his head, fractionally, and observed the form coming up beside him. The newcomer lit a cigarette, the tobacco was mixed with cloves that crackled with each drag. Samoth reached for his own pack and lit up, turning to face Garonek, a squat, thickly built, orc with more or less equal proportions. The orc's hair was well groomed, high and tight with long strands of gnarly silver mixed with black. His skin was green, his face was all but human beside the impossibly thin nose and the jutting canines that broke free of his lips and permanently afflicted him with a speech impediment.



They made eye contact and nodded in stoicism, then turned to watch the sunset.

"Plan 70 goes well." The orc said. Uyghur nodded, cigarette smoke roiling from his nostrils. "That it does, that it does..." Uyghur clipped his words, choosing them carefully as there was little trust between the two men. Garonek Ulrgedot was the leader of the Maladok clan, the largest of it's kind in Auman... Former enemies that were left behind by the Dark Lord Melkor during their invasion of Mars. The Aumanii didn't want them, they fought a war of extermination against them for a decade before finally giving up and assimilating them into the Sphere. Though the orcs were not treated well, they were not systematically disadvantaged either. Garonek sought to raise the profile of his people and show the nation what they were capable of. The crime statistics didn't lie, but he had made improvements to their image. Uyghur, the Overlord of the Sphere, suspected Garonek had a proposal in mind for him.

"Something like a hunnerd and nine thousand starships, is it?"

"Something like that, yeah." Uyghur leaned up against the railing, taking the strain off of his shoulders.

"Active army of what... A billion?" Garonek gulped down a glass of bourbon.

"Around abouts." His eyes felt dry and stingy, though Uyghur refused to blink.

"I figure you might need some help reaching those targets."

"We're on this again, eh? Gary, the people will never accept orcs in the Aumanii Army."

"What about the Army of the Sphere? A mighty warhorse concocted to strengthen up the force without tarnishing the vaunted reputation of our nation's armed forces. A real army, meant to fight for the interest of the Overlord no matter the cost? C'mon, Sam... It's not much to ask for. We're ready and you need us." Garonek was twirling his upended glass on an extended finger.

Volunteers were a hard thing to come by these days. Auman didn't have the luxury of space it once had. In order to expand, to meet the civilizational objectives that were imperative to the Founder and bring on the golden age as prophecied, the Sphere needed to unite the galaxy as it never has before. While Uyghur needed all the help he could get, and he was no bigot towards the orcs or even those Elfs, the political reality was clear...

No one likes orcs.

Undeniably true. While Foundational doctrine demanded unity between humanity and subhumanity towards the achievement of mankinds ultimate destiny, accepting the savage Melkorian clans would backfire terribly, setting the image that had been carefully sculpted by previous Overlords back generations.

"I'll have to speak to my staff. I can't just make these decisions on a whim." Uyghur said with a conciliatory tone.

"Of course you can. You're the Overlord. Your word is law... 'Justice can be dictated!'"

Uyghur chuckled and stubbed out his cigarette. He looked up and in the corner, in the reflection of a window, he saw the scowling face of Sheikh Navarrone nodding back at him.

"We're all accountable to someone."
Last edited by Auman on Tue Mar 12, 2019 11:20 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Facta, non verba I: from the Scythian War

Postby Alexzonya » Sun Mar 03, 2019 3:53 pm

Planet Surface, Thethea, Arcadian League, Delta Quadrant
Lieutenant Commander Frkita Nasalnw, GRA Marine Corps.
Scythian Siege, Day 38

The last order Frkita had gotten from the embassy before the Scythian neutron bombs fried the planet’s communications systems was to disperse with local forces to avoid bombardment and wait for the fleet to arrive.

That was a month ago. The fleet never came.

“Get the fuck down,” she hissed, pushing one of the Arcadian soldiers in her unit to the ground. She gritted her teeth and looked up as a pair of Scythian hunter-killers buzzed past overhead. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to notice her, and she scrambled back to her feet. She wasn’t sure if the buzzing Scythian aircraft were actually called hunter-killers, but it was the name they had adopted for the swift, lethal atmospheric combatants.

She had gotten some strange looks a few weeks back, when Captain Virtali and most of his staff were killed by a Scythian orbital slug and she was suddenly thrust into command of this part of the resistance forces. It wasn’t that most of the Alexzonyans objected to a ghalen taking command; rather, it was the Arcadians that were the problem. They weren’t nearly as bad as the Olimpiadans, or in the same genocidal league as the Pikasistani, but non-humans were second-class citizens in Arcadia, and it showed in the looks the locals gave her.

After weeks of hell, it didn’t matter. The bonds of brotherhood forged in desperate battle against the invaders meant that the Arcadians under her no longer cared that her skin was a deep, clay-like red-orange, that her ears protruded above her head at an odd angle, or that she was covered in a short, fine layer of the sensitive, translucent multicolored fur that could feel the change in air currents from an opening door… or millennia ago, on the plains of her people’s home planet, sense the approach of a predator. Her lanky limbs that would never be mistaken for a human’s, her angular forehead, her formless chest. There was no doubt that Frkita was a ghalen and not a human, but to the Arcadians it didn’t matter anymore. She killed Scythians, and that was enough for them.

How much longer they could keep killing Scythians… was a question no one really wanted to think about. A month into the invasion, the Scythian military owned the cities. Most of the suburbs, too, and their reach extended ever-deeper into the last pockets of resistance, in the farmlands and foliage where the remnants of the Arcadian military and their few Alexzonyan allies and advisors had taken cover.

She dared to exhale, and stood back up. She missed the suits of powered MIBAS armor that the GRA Marines were accustomed to fighting in, but they were critically short of compatible power cells. The massively improved mobility would make this mission less of a long slog; they could have reached the target in hours rather than days. But powered armor attracted too much attention, and they couldn’t afford to leave it behind after they struck in any case.

“Everyone alright?” she asks. She’s answered by a soft chorus of acknowledgement. “Good. Then let's keep going. We’ve got a long way to the next safehouse, and it’s already getting dim.” By now, none of the Arcadians would have issues understanding her. Alexzonyans, perhaps because their mother tongue was from another universe entirely, always had the most peculiar accents in the languages of their adopted home. Her implant handily translated everything on the fly, with excellent accuracy for a “solved” language like Arcadian, but it couldn’t fix the accent.

The impending dark with another issue. The orbital bombardment from the last weeks had kicked a lot of dust into the atmosphere; it would settle down eventually, and by now they had mostly gotten used to it, but it meant the the marginal light of a setting sun was much less useful for maneuvering.

[To Be Continued]
Last edited by Alexzonya on Sun Mar 03, 2019 3:59 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Postby Alexzonya » Sun Mar 03, 2019 3:57 pm

Olympia Prime, Galactic Republic of Alexzonya, Delta Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy

Roger started at his tablet. He had read the correspondence a dozen times. Then he checked the verification, convinced it was a joke, but it came back legitimate. Then he punched the air, and read it again. But he still couldn't believe it. He wanted to scream... but how bad must things be out there? Worse than he'd thought. His life was about the change forever, the few short lines of the missive burned into his memory.

Dear Mr. Roger Mahan:

This correspondence is in regards to your recent enlistment in the National Service. Your service role has been changed.

Your selected role, CX-FAA-0191A-NS: Foreign Affairs Analyst, Junior, In-Service, in the Foreign Affairs Advisory, is no longer available.

Pursuit to Executive Directive EXO-381140, you have been reassigned to the Alexzonyan Starfleet, with operational specialization to be determined later on the basis of your aptitudes and operational needs.

You are hereby ordered to report on 06-02-113 ASC for orientation and training. Further details, including a local report time and location on Olympia Prime, will be forthcoming.

Your willingness to serve is appreciated. If you have any questions at this time unrelated to your report time and location, please contact your local National Service office.

Dianna Wilkins
Director, National Service Subadvisory
Galactic Republic of Alexzonya Social Affairs Advisory

The dinner table that night was somber. His mother was quiet; his father seethed. “They can’t do this!” he had insisted, when he heard the news.

“They kinda, umm… can, it turns out,” Roger had told him. He had looked up EXO-381140 once the shock had worn off; issued only days ago, the directive from President Bailess directed the National Service to conduct an emergency reallocation. On the basis of the communique, it wasn’t hard to see where individuals were being allocated.

Roger hadn’t usually been one to keep a close eye on the news, but on the rare occasions it made its way across his media feeds, it was hard to avoid the impression that the Milky Way had become a darker place, the last few months. Apparently, that impression wasn’t wrong.
Last edited by Alexzonya on Sun Mar 03, 2019 3:57 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Auxilia I

Postby Alexzonya » Sun Mar 24, 2019 10:29 pm

Surface, Kinsara Prime, Kinsari Federation, Gamma Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
Foreign Affairs Advisor Lia’Ka Otani

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice, Chancellor.” The GRA’s Foreign Affairs Advisor looked tired as she greets the leader of the Kinsari Federation. The recent developments among the stars had left her trading sleep for work hours, and to downside of the GRA’s lightning-fast Origami cruiser couriers was that they didn’t allow their passengers a chance to rest on their brief voyages.

“Of course, Ms. Otani,” replies the blue-green lagomorph in bright red Kinsari formal attire. He takes a seat behind his desk; he gestures for the Altresh to do the same, and she does, albeit on her haunches rather than a chair. “You’re here regarding this business in Naomi?”

“Yes. I assume our embassy has briefed you on what happened?”

“No, not yet, but we received the bulletin from your fleet. I assume it is bad?”

“Very. Naomi…” Otani hesitates. “Naomi… is gone.”

The Kinsari’s whiskers shutter in their characteristic indication of distaste or shock. “The Welded?”

“They infiltrated the evacuees. The transports out… none of them made it.”

He nods. There’s a moment of silence. “Then, I know what you’re here to ask.”

Otani doesn’t reply immediately, so he continues. “These Welded subvert any augmentations, any hybrid of flesh and machine. You don’t have soldiers to put in the field. But we do.”

“... yes,” she admits.

“Madam Advisor, the Kinsari military has less than a million buns under arms.” Buns was the odd translation of the Kinsari word for ‘men’, when referring to themselves rather than human. That they were lagomorphs, presumably, was unrelated. “And they are not equipped up to the standard of your Marines.”

“We can help with that, Chancellor. President Bailess has a proposal…”


Otani removes a tablet from a messenger bag slung over her front shoulder and offers it to him. He accepts it, and skims the contents.

“The ‘Northeast Gamma League’. Interesting.” He flicks the scroll controls. “This is quite a document.”

“Certainly, we can give you time to peruse…”

“No, Advisor Otani. We both know how this is going to end.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I will review this document, and dispatch copies to the component governments and their representatives on the Council. And then the Kinsari Federation will agree to it, likely unanimously.”

“...” Otani is, for once, left speechless.

“We have been expecting this for some time, Advisor. You Alexzonyans are good at many things, but subtlety is not your forte… perhaps it is because we Kinsari are so open that we learn to conceal the most important things.”

“... and you’ve already decided?”

“Unless this document differs markedly from what I expect, we will sign on. Humor me with who else you intend to approach?”

“I visit Aquarius next, then the Byzantese. The Thallians, the Arcadians…”

“The Arcadians have quite a military already. As do the Byzantese.”

“Yes. Then the Leos and the Rengarians…”

The whiskers shudder again. “You are certain that they will not attack you on sight?”

“We’re meeting in orbit, on one of our ships.”

The Chancellor smiles. “Prudent.”

“I thought so, yes. I have no desire to be eaten by the Rengarians.”

“I should think not. So after you form this League, how will you be ‘provisioning for the common defense’, then?”

“The Welded need to be stopped. We’re going to be forming an auxilia to our Starfleet, recruited from all of the nations in the League, that will be capable of fighting the Welded safely. I’m told our logistics personnel are already looking into the best way to provision equipment.”

“How will these auxiliaries be recruited?”

“Primarily through volunteers, which I would think will be plentiful considering the threat, but if nations wish to integrate parts of their militaries into the auxiliaries, I would not be heartbroken. We will count service in the auxiliaries as sufficient to qualify for Alexzonyan National Service and citizenship...”

“And thus, you will expand your influence further. Not particularly subtle, Advisor.”

“We can’t afford to be. We need these troops, and we can’t have this entire thing imploding as soon as the immediate threat dissipates. There’s no coercion; we’re not going to be forcing anyone into this.”

“The Welded might.”

“No one wants to see another Naomi, Chancellor. We have a sizeable force at Leos now to forestall another attack, but we can’t stay on the defensive forever, and even if we could, the forces at Leos won’t be enough if they come at us in real numbers.. If we want a chance at beating these guys, we need to band together and put together a force that can bring the fight to them, and this is the only way to do that.”

“I am not the one you need to convince, Advisor Otani. But I do believe the other nations will find your case persuasive. Given a choice between annihilation and a soft hegemony… really, it is no choice at all.”

“The League is an supranational alliance organization, Chancellor, not a hegemony.”

“We shall see, Advisor Otani.” He glances at the tablet again. “Thank you for delivering this. If everything goes as expected, your League will have its first member within a week.”

“Thank you Chancellor. If there’s anything I can do for you…”

“I will let you know.” The Chancellor gestures. “Farewell in your journey. Try not to feed any Rengarians. We have such a good working relationship, and there are no guarantees your replacement would be as amenable.”

Otani smiles. “Thank you, Chancellor. I’ll do my best to come back in one piece. Farewell.” She stands, and turns to depart. The Chancellor watches her go, and waits for the doors of his office to close, before he sighs, and starts reading through the Alexzonyan proposal in detail.

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Postby Lady Scylla » Mon Mar 25, 2019 8:14 am

Senate approves Solarian deployment
Martian Senate approves the Solarian Security Act
March 25, 2177

Karwen, ROM - Six weeks of deliberation within the Martian Senate has seen the final approval of a resolution that greatly expands Martian military interests in the Solarian Reaches. The resolution, known as the Solarian Security Act, sets aside a budget for the Martian Armed Forces (MAF) that allows a number of military stations to be constructed within the Reaches and along major trade corridors such as the Lanthe, Eucer, Trans-Beta Expressway, and Twin Eagles corridors. The legislation also grants construction of seven new Nergal-class battleships, and a dozen new Phalanx-class cruisers.

The security act comes on the heels of renewed concerns within the Senate of piracy and encroaching foreign powers, though whom those powers might be is subject to interpretation. Chancellor Fredrick Van Allen, who signed the resolution after it passed the Senate at 35-15 stated that he was happy with the outcome, and would hope neighbouring powers would assist in maintaining security in the region as to 'benefit trade'. At a press conference, Van Allen was asked if the MAF would attempt to regulate trade on the corridors. He denied this, ''Our mission is to provide security and curtail the rise of piracy in the region. Traffic will not be inhibited in any way,'' he said.

Despite this, criticisms have been tabled against the security act, stating that it could raise tensions with neighbouring powers. Senator Maverick McCormick, who voted for the resolution, said that it was Mars' obligation to maintain safe borders not only for the ROM, but the rest of the Reaches. The security act will also see the 3rd fleet redeploy from the Gamma Quadrant to the Reaches, where it will undergo a refit and then be dispatched to watch over construction of these stations. While not within the Reaches, the Senate has also been considering extending their security net to the closest point of the Sivulon Trade Network. A move that may be harder to justify.

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Postby New Dornalia » Tue Mar 26, 2019 5:42 pm

OOC: Done with the help of Auman (particularly for review and the naming of Galahad Station).


Dornie News Network

Hello, this is Gracie Liang, and welcome to NDBC News. Tonight’s top stories:

Dornalians, Aumanii Agree to Construct Evenstar Gate at Vascilia

In what is being hailed by both sides as a project for the ages, Dornalian and Aumanii authorities have announced the expansion of the Evenstar Gate Network to the world of Vascilia, within the CPSA. In particular, an agreement struck between the Co-Prosperity Sphere and the Dornalian Government calls for the construction of an Evenstar Gate and an accompanying docking hub to facilitate the movement and accommodation of vessels. Construction on the gate began with a groundbreaking ceremony, wherein leaders from both nations could be seen ceremonially placing the first girders in the construction of this latest Evenstar facility, to be named Galahad Station.

Experts within the Dornalian and Aumanii nations have hailed the new Evenstar Gate as a positive development. In particular, experts from both nations have said that the gate would augment the existing GCC gate setup in the Co-Prosperity Sphere, providing further opportunities for trade and mutual defense. For Dornalians especially, the gate represents the first major expansion of the Evenstar Gate Network since construction of new gates was temporarily halted by the Karax Crisis and a significant venture towards the restoration of normal galactic commerce in the wake of that disaster.

"Let this be a step forward, in the history of galactic progress," said Secretary of State Norton Simons, standing at the controls of the crane which placed the first girder into place. “The Evenstar Gate Network is meant to bring the peoples of the galaxy together, and one gate at a time, we hope this will be so.”

Construction of the Evenstar Gate is expected to proceed rapidly, with the first facilities being opened soon.

Thank you for watching the REAL NDBC news--New Dornalian Broadcasting Corporation news--not those jokers at National Dornalian Broadcasting Corporation. We now cut to commercial.
"New Dornalia, a living example of anomalous civilizations."-- Phoenix Conclave
"Your nation has always been ridiculous. But it's endearing."--Skaugra
"It's a magical place where chinese cowboys ply the star lanes to extract vast wealth from trade, where NORINCO isn't just an arms company, but an evil bond villain type conglomerate that hides in other nations. Where the apocalypse happened, and everyone went "huh, that's neat" and then got back to having catgirls and starships."-- Olimpiada
"...why am I space China, and I don't have actual magic animals, and you're space USA, and you do? This seems like a mistake." --Roania, during a discussion on wildlife.

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Postby Auman » Wed Apr 10, 2019 3:37 pm

April 10, 3170

The clock was counting down to zero hour and the crew were settling into their crash couches, it was routine at this point. When Dr. Tranter was first assigned to the AuBSD Tortuga he had assumed that it would have been a much more luxuriously appointed starship, being the newest of the Titans, though he had been disappointed... She was built for combat endurance and mass production. A qualitive step down, even compared to a Gorgon, which was showing its age after nearly three centuries of service. Captain Mahaly was working his command panel and shifted in his couch, causing the gimbals to give out a soft hiss.

"Alright boys, we have contacts... Lighthouse is tracking a group of them moving out from the north polar region." Mahaly said, settling back into his seat.

"Sorry, did you say multiple contacts?" Asked Lopez, Tortuga's chief pilot. They all jerked to the left in unison, the ship was reorienting itself.

"Can confirm, I'm registering at least four of them." Said Geren, the weapon station chief, with a bit of surprise in his voice.

"They're early, too."

Tranter checked his time piece, Geren was right. Every seventy-seven minutes they made contact, usually near Oculus' equator. The spot was never precisely the same, but the timing never shifted. It was that predictability that made containment easy.

"Our group is the closest. Lopez, burn to contact, pull out all the stops."

"Sure thing, Captain." Before the words left Lopez's mouth, they were all pinned to their seats. Tranter could feel the bile rising in his throat, his vision was starting to blur and suddenly, a jolt of lighting streaked up his spinal cord as a high G cocktail of drugs was automatically injected into his system. Normally, a person of Tranter's value in combat would be sedated until the action was over... But the Overlord and his colleagues in the General Staff decided that science advisors needed to be prescient during combat, to observe the data for themselves in real time.

Text messages flew across the doctor's screen. Last minute tactical adjustments from Mahaly to the flotilla. It was easy to forget they weren't alone in the Tortuga, she was built as sturdy as they come and the feeling of isolation was complete. Tranter squinted at the screen. Data streamed across it. They were pushing fifty G and the number was climbing rapidly, gravimetrics had detected four massive objects and displayed them as chart spikes, each apparently weighing tens of millions of tons each.

"Disengage?" Came a message from the Pioneer class frigate Vancouver.

"Absolutely not."

Tranter brought a tile up alongside the gravimetric read out and scrolled through the flotillas vital statistics, noting the weight of the Aumanii vessels and comparing them against the contacts they were intercepting. They were out tonned. Big time.

Just when the weight of his own body felt ready to crush him flat, the acceleration stopped and Tranter let out a gasp. The world around him seemed clear again, he didn't realize how blurry his eyes had gotten under compression. The hull of the ship trembled around him, the vibration traveling down the gimbals of his crash couch reminded him of being on a car ferry as it slowed down to dock. A heavy feeling. He reminded himself that it was the Tortuga's weapons coming online. He pulled up a tactical map and watched the battle unfold in an abstract sort of way... Eight green dots, them, with blue lines connected to red dots, four of them. White sticks looped out and dove down towards the red dots and as they approached, exploded into hundreds of little white diamonds which disappeared from the screen in zig zagging streaks.

"Point defense is strong in this iteration." A text came up from the Dunkirk, Tranter couldn't remember what kind of ship it was.

"We're scoring direct hits with the railguns." Said Geren, their voice was strained and came out warbling, he blamed it on the drugs but it could have been nerves just as likely. Unless your flotilla had c-fracs, you were at a severe disadvantage against the Leviathans. But they were close and as uncomfortable as it made Dr. Tranter to know that, it took most of the edge off in these situations. If Captain Mahaly was lucky, he might be able to get out of this with no losses.

Tranter saw Lopez's fingers slide abruptly before their crash couches twisted to the right. They were evading counterfire, probably the worst part of the operation. Geren was laughing and Tranter would never be able to understand the man's exhilaration, he was like a kid at a county fair.

"Chalk-One Leviathan listing 90° portside." It was Dunkirk again. They had damaged one, but according to his display the flotilla wasn't causing damage fast enough.

"Vancouver's been hit, she's burning up." Text messages scrolled across the screen reporting similar news in different ways.

Fresh friendly contacts were burning in from the dark side of the massive gas giant. Their identifiers marked them as Flight Overlord. Tranter let out a sigh of relief that was ripped out of his lungs by an abrupt turn.

"Chalk-One Leviathan destroyed. Chalk-Two is burning up. Flight Overlord brought the party." Said a message from Govind Singh. The Tortuga was rocked and alarms wailed in the combat cabin.

"Starboard drive cluster has taken a direct hit!" Said Tulia, the damage control officer.

They were hit God knows how many more times and Tulia was reading off a litany of problems before Mahaly raised his hand, signaling her to stop. Tranter's breath was coming out heavy and ragged. He brought up the tactical screen again just as Geren shouted it...

"Chalk-Four Leviathan destroyed! Remaining target is turning on Flight Overlord... They're targeting Vascilia City!"

"Fire everything you've got at that son of bitch!" Mahaly's voice was raised and Tranter decided he had never seen the captain so agitated.

"Vascilia City's been holed, holy shit!" Tranter couldn't tell who said it, but they were angry.

C-fracs from the rest of Flight Overlord tore into the hull of the last Leviathan and reduced it to trash. The battle was over. Everything went quiet again, aside from the jagged panting of the crew.

Tranter pinched the bridge of his nose and forced his eyes shut as tight as he could. He was counting to ten and huffing out big lungfuls of air, sounding a bit like a lamaze student. The drugs were making his skin tingle.

When he opened his eyes, he noted the time and watched the counter roll back over to zero. This is when they should have made contact to begin with, just like every other time... What was different? Buried under the other windows on his screen was gravimetrics. Tranter brought it back up. It was flatlined. Another sharp exhale relieved the pressure on his lungs and he rubbed his eyes with his wrist.

When he opened them, there were four fresh spikes on his screen.

"Lighthouse is tracking four contacts moving towards our position from the equator!"
Last edited by Auman on Wed Apr 10, 2019 3:53 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Alexzonya » Wed Apr 24, 2019 11:32 am

The Horizon Center Daily Tribune

Northeast Gamma League Meets Welded Threat

KINSARA PRIME -- In an unprecedented joint meeting of high-ranking officials in a new headquarters building on Kinsara Prime, numerous Gamman nations involved in the creation of the Northeast Gamma Trade Network (NEGTN) formally announced the creation of the Northeast Gamma League, a mutual defense organization led by the Galactic Republic of Alexzonya with its sights firmly set on the encroaching Welded threat. After the total destruction of Naomi, a Western Terminus system on the NEGTN, at the hands of the Welded, the Alexzonyans conceived the League as a collective call-to-arms.

"Our first priority," declared Foreign Affairs Advisor Lia'ka Otani, "is ensuring that the tragedy of Naomi will never be repeated. We must stand together to face this new threat head-on."

This is the crux of the argument, sources say, that the Alexzonyan government has been making over the last two months to the various nations involved in the NETGN, arguing that the Alexzonyan Starfleet alone would not be sufficient to counter the threat, and that the assistance of the entire region working together would be necessary to repel the Welded advance.

"The Welded are a unique threat that can turn some of our strongest military advantages against us," said Kayden Elizer, the Alexzonyan Military Affairs Advisory, during the meeting. "Assembling a force that the Welded cannot subvert will require the efforts of all of us."

"The time has come for us all to make a stand," added the Chancellor of the Kinsari Federation, in his own statement. "We cannot allow our petty differences to divide us anymore, but instead by united in our common interests, in surviving the coming storm."

Tensions ran high at points, as several of the member nations of the newly founded League are historically antagonistic. However, the member nations came to a general consensus as to the general shape that the alliance will take. The crowning achievement is the creation of the Northeast Gamma Auxiliary, a multinational military force bankrolled by the League that will act to protect the region and the member nations. After a short discussion, Alexzonyan Starfleet Admiral Lance Rawlins, the Hero of Phi Fornacis and one of two living recipients of the Order of the Phoenix (Alexzonya's highest military award), was elected by unanimous acclimation as the Commandant-General of the Auxiliary.

In a prepared statement, Rawlins declared that "This is a momentous day in the history of all our nations and the Gamma quadrant. Our worlds will be protected, and Naomi will be avenged."

Preparations for the creation of this Auxiliary force have been underway for some time, but the official founding marks the beginning of formal operations. Headquartered, by compromise, on Kinsara, the first class of Auxiliary recruits has been drawn primarily from the Kinsari Federation and the Arcadian League, the League member nations with the closest ties to the GRA. However, recruiting efforts are underway in other member-states, and several nations have already promised to roll portions of their domestic militaries into the Auxiliary. Additional major Auxiliary facilities are expected to be constructed in other member nations as well, with the construction of defense installations in the Leos Entitlement and of shipyards in the Arcadian League already known (though Starfleet and Auxiliary officials declined to comment on the record).

The full membership roster for the Northeast Gamma league consists of the Galactic Republic of Alexzonya, the Kinsari Federation, the Witch Kingdom of Aquarius, the United Thallian Alliance, Byzantium, the Myrr Consortium, the Rengarian Republic, the Arcadian League, the Leos Entitlement, and the Republic of Naomi which, while destroyed, was formally inducted into the League with a vow to avenge their people.

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Postby Auman » Sun Jun 23, 2019 10:32 pm

Port Coquitlam, British Columbia, Canada, Earth... The year is 2025...

Larry Caine had a decision to make. He had a set of paperwork laid out before him on his faux mahogany stained dining room table. It was a pretty good imitation, despite being a cheaply made cardboard cored piece of junk. He scratched at a chip, where the lacquered veneer gave up the ghost and showed the sandy yellow balsa that lay just under the surface. He was procrastinating, as per the usual when it came to dealing with his father's... Situation. Larry Caine's dad was a hundred and ten years old, and he was his youngest and only living son. Nearly blind and all but deaf, Larry's dad was a shell of the man he used to be.

"He was a war hero, you know?" Larry said to his wife, Laura, who leaned over from the far side of the table and squeezed his hand. The diamond encrusted wedding ring on her left hand sparkled in the yellow hued light of the dining room. Larry pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, sighing as he swept his eyes over a wall adorned with dozens of family photographs. His gaze lingered on a picture of his mom and dad on their wedding day. She was wearing a conservative white dress with a lace bonnet that swept just across her blue eyes, the sleeves extended down to her wrists and at the neck there was scarcely a hint of skin visible... His dad was decked out in his dress uniform, he had a look about him like a man that had seen an eternity over the span of just a few years. Larry's dad, the oldest surviving Canadian World War 2 veteran... the Sergeant Russel Caine, Victoria Cross recipient for his action outside of Wesel, Germany in 1945.

Sergeant Russel Caine, the incontinent old man that hit his attendant after shitting himself in the hallway at Nicola Lodge. This was undignified. It blew Larry's guts out and left him feeling hollow when he received a phone call about it. A part of him wished his dad could have died of a jammer decades ago like his older brothers, but fate decided it didn't want to play it like that. God had a plan for Russel and apparently, so did the Canadian Forces. Somehow, against all sense of reason, the army wanted to recall his dad to service but they couldn't do it, not legally, without Larry's consent due to his power of attorney. Larry had his doubts, his dad had never even shown any interest in being resuscitated. He had an order against it. But that was under different circumstances, that was before the Chinese made that discovery on the moon, before the paradigm of all human history and understanding was flipped on its head overnight. His dad was gone, having a conversation with him was nearly impossible now. He had to make a choice on the behalf of his father and he couldn't tell if he was being motivated by logic, compassion or his own naked self interest. A part of him wanted to sign the order just to be with his father again the way it used to be. To talk to him the way they used to and soak in the wisdom of that honorable old man that Larry so dearly loved and respected. A tear welled up in his eye, but he willed it back to where it came from.

Larry picked up his Bic pen and twisted its blue cap while staring down at the paperwork with Department of National Defense letterhead. He stroked his stark white goatee. If what the man that dropped these forms off said was true, they could bring his dad back. Larry was sure his dad would understand. Rejuvenation wasn't the same as rescucitation, Russel Caine wouldn't be trapped in a needlessly prolonged and undignified death-in-life, he would be young again and able to live his life all over again. He sighed and flicked the cap off of the pen with his thumb and signed the papers. Almost immediately there was a knock on the front door. Laura and Larry craned their necks to see down the stairs into the foyer, shocked and even a bit scared by the alacrity. Laura shrugged into her light lavender button up sweater and answered the door. It was the men from the Department of National Defense. Were they waiting outside the entire time? Larry's face bent out of shape with confusion.

A rail thin man by the name of Crerar shook Larry's hand and appraised his signature. A dapper mustache coated his upper lip and took the suspicion out of his crooked smile.

"We're going to take good care of your father, Mr. Caine. I want you to trust us. Everything we have told you is possible. Everything and more. Great things are coming and your father is going to help us to achieve them."
Last edited by Auman on Sun Jun 23, 2019 10:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Alexzonya » Mon Jun 24, 2019 9:31 pm

The Horizon Daily Herald

Under Questionable Procedures, External Pressure, AI Regulator Approves New Combat Models
Staff Writer -- 06/24/119 SY

HORIZON CENTER - In a surprise announcement, the Artificial Intelligence Regulatory Bureau (AIRB) announced that two new artificial intelligence models have been formally authorized for production and certified for military use by the Galactic Republic of Alexzonya. With the announcement, the Mistral 1-S AI designed by Dennis High Technologies and Buddy 1-S AI designed by the Aumanii firm McDonald-Dettwiler have suddenly joined the short list of AI produced in the GRA; the Buddy is the first foreign-designed AI so approved.

While the astoundingly quick turnaround on these applications, filed just weeks ago, was applauded by Starfleet officials, some experts are up in arms over what they consider lax regulatory process. Further, sources within the AIRB that spoke with the Daily Herald on the condition of anonymity expressed significant frustration with what they described as “relentless” pressure to approve the applications without a complete review.

“It was unending,” said one official. “Calls every day, sometimes several times a day, from Starfleet, from elected officials, even from the Aumanii government. They wanted approval and they wanted it now.” And AI experts believe that this level of pressure may have led to an inadequate review of the proposed AI technologies. “It’s just not possible to properly review an AI system in such a short time window,” stated Dr. Bernet Califor, a professor at the University of Alexzonya - Horizon Center. “Fully examining the proper procedures takes months, and never before has the [AIRB] approved a new AI without an extensive back-and-forth with a manufacturer and required modifications to the procedures.”

“We had to rely on [McDonald-Dettwiler] for the technical details,” said another official, who states that they nearly resigned in protest but remained employed to lodge their objections formally. “All of the lifecycle modeling and testing were from constants and figures provided by the Aumanii. We couldn’t verify anything.”

Compounding concerns are the broad certifications granted to the new AI models. While not authorized for use on warships, the new military AI are rated for combat with surface forces, and the Marine Corps and other surface combat units are expected to make heavy use of the Mistral and Buddy AIs. Unnamed sources with Dennis High Technology indicated that the Mistral had already been reviewed for use with the new Xiphos Atmospheric Superiority Fighter being produced by the Marine Corps, and the model’s use in other vehicles and perhaps even as support for individual warfighters are soon to follow.

Despite these concerns, Starfleet is pressing on with Project: WarZephyr, the umbrella program under which both of these AIs were developed and procured for use by the GRA. “These new AI will make an invaluable contribution to the effectiveness of Alexzonyan warfighters at a time when every marginal edge can make a difference between victory and defeat. We’re thrilled to have them on board.”

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Postby Alexzonya » Mon Jun 24, 2019 10:38 pm

Olympia Prime, Galactic Republic of Alexzonya, Gamma Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
Olympia National Staryards

Sorenso sat back, looking out of the viewport that made up the entirety of the wall on the far side of the conference room as he waited for his Alexzonyan counterpart. The management offices of the Olympia National Staryards overlooked the rest of the structure from above, atop a long spindle from which dozens of fabrication bays jutted. From his position, he could see a trio of large-sized bays; enormous adjustable boxes with fabrication arrays and swarms of nanobots, a steady stream of raw materials being fed in to be turned into yet more capital ships for the Starfleet. His augmented eyes could zoom in, not quite enough to make out fine details, but to identify that two of the bays held the precursors of Alexzonyan Firestorm-class Monitors while the third labored on a defense platform of some kind. It was oddly familiar to the man; the Alexzonyans and Phoenixi were vastly different peoples, without so much as a home universe in common, and yet their fabrication systems were eerily similar; parallel evolution in action on an industrial scale.

In the short time he had been onboard, Sorenso had begun to think that the societies were not far off; despite his exotic appearance, his brightly colored non-human sleeve had attracted little more than a glance in the pluralist Republic, and he had a lovely chat with an administrative AI before being shown to the conference room. Then he remembered that, of course, virtually all of these people were true organics, nearly baseliners too. It was odd, for a place so familiar to be so foreign. Or was it the other way around?

It didn’t matter. His Alexzonyan counterpart was coming through the door; she was slightly taller than him, thought it might just have been the heels, and looked somewhat flustered. He shakes her hand as she greets him as “Mr. Aldeen”, and they get to work. The basics of the agreement had been drawn up in advance; there were only a few details left to sort out….

Some Time Later…
The first of 24 geodesic spheres suddenly lights up, its printer heads swiveling through their range of motion as it carries out a self-check; Hands unfolding in almost hypnotic fractal patterns, smaller digits unfolding from larger limbs and so on all the way down to the scale of individual atoms. The other 23 fabricators quickly follow suit, as their software comes online and then syncs, as designed, with the systems onboard the Olympia National Staryards. The resourcing systems query their databases, forward instructions to the spheres, and then… the swiveling starts again, more methodically, as bricks of carbon and iron and various other metals and elements make their way into the spheres’ inputs. As the many-fingered arms move into position, flashing almost faster than an unaugmented eye could see, the beginnings of a new starship hull began to take shape, internal compartments and components and all!

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Postby The Peninsular » Tue Jun 25, 2019 6:00 am

Offiziersblatt des Bundesoberkommandos
Militärische Neuigkeiten und Nachrichten seit 2171 NC

Liaso, Arret --
The Federal Defense Ministry has declared testing for the new armor system, the ASEP V1, as finished and the design as approved for acquisition and adoption. According to the testing units, the armor can be seen as a full improvement over the current Mk. IV Enviroarmor, retaining all of its capabilities and adding on additional ones. The ASEP had originally begun as a joint project between a number of SATMA nations, namely the Co-Prosperity Sphere of Auman, the Galactic Republic of Alexzonya, the Fenvaria Republic, and the Federation. The system was conceived to set an interoperability standard and implement standard SATMA communication methods. Among the parts developed by Polar Military Technology AC were the armor add-ons for heavy armor and environmental survivability of the suit.

The ASEP is very similar to the Mk. IV, as the variant that will come into service is very heavily modified for use by the PGDF. It weighs slightly more than the Mk. IV model, and includes all known capabilities of the Mk. IV, including targetting and sensors; as such retraining should be non-difficult. The armor plating has been improved to provide even more protection, however the two main important additions come in the form of a personal reactive energy shield and a mobility package, thanks to it being a joint project. While the mobility package will likely only help with climbing and running for the ASEP due to its weight, the reactive shield has been tested and provides ample protection against many kinds of fire.

Numbers are not yet published, but it is safe to say that most soldiers and officers can expect being outfitted with the armor soon. Its introduction is among the top priorities of current Ground Forces financial spending. Polar MilTech stock has already been on the rise ever since the confirmation of their contract with the GRA concerning ground vehicles, and the company is sure to see an even stronger increase and higher profit numbers. The same goes for M&C IV, as it has recently been revealed that they have been contracted to work with the GRA on a design for an Alexzonyan atmospheric fighter similar to the Protector Mk. I.
Last edited by The Peninsular on Tue Jun 25, 2019 6:04 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Auman » Wed Jul 03, 2019 9:11 am

CFB Canso, Nova Scotia, Canada, Earth... The year is 2025.

The electric motor of the cart whined as it climbed the hill. Russ watched a platoon of recruits struggling to jog along the side of the road, singing a cadence he didn't recognize in labored shouts. The Army had changed in the years since he had been out. The most difficult for him, as the hormones surged through his rejuvenated teenaged body, were the female soldiers. He didn't had to deal with that so often back in the day, but it did him in when he was sent to Korea. He had met his wife there and she was a nurse in a mobile hospital unit, not on the frontline... She had been gone for awhile now and he would always love her. But by God! Russ hadn't felt this alive in years. She would have to forgive him, when the time was right he was going to have to remarry. Because at this stage in his renewed vigor, he was about ready to jump on anything with dimples and a skirt. A seagull called out, mocking Russ as though it could recognize his thoughts. He averted his eyes and scrolled through his tablet. The equipment briefing was dry and administrative. The screen was bright and glossy and didn't have the same feel as paper, it couldn't hold his attention and it all felt temporary like the information he was reading was mist rolling over the crags and hillocks of his brain only to dissipate and be forgotten.

So he asked a lot of questions. Russell Caine had always been an audio learner. You only had to tell him something once. In this new army, they were in love with the classroom. A job that he could do with a grade six education back in the day now required a Harvard education.

You weren't fighting commie chinks on the moon back in the day, either.

The hill flattened out and now they were heading towards a jumble of flat grey hangars and barracks, with a few geodesic domes sprinkled in for good measure... Just in case he wasn't sure if he was living in one of those science fiction programs from the television, he could make out a bouquet of rockets in the distance, standing tall and proud on their platforms. He doubted whether he would be any dammed good to the army. He just didn't have the education... He grew up on a cranberry farm, for God sake. What was he even doing here?

The cart pulled up in front of a squat blue administration building. The driver got out and reached for his door, but Russ hopped out over the side before the boy could open it. The driver saluted crisply, Russ nodded and they went their separate ways. He was met at the door by Colonel Crerar and he gave his superior officer the tightest salute he could muster. The Colonel was impressed and returned in kind and then extended his hand. Russ was rocked by the gesture, but he shook it all the same.

"Sir." Russ said.

"Sergeant Major Caine." Crerar returned. They stepped inside the blue building and made their way down the hallway toward the stainless steel doors of an elevator. Busy looking soldiers stopped dead in their tracks and saluted the men. Russ assumed they were hung up on formality, offering Colonel Crerar their respects, but then he noticed the bright blue eyes of a private tracking him and realized it was all for him. He often forgot who he was supposed to be... Historians had turned him into a living legend. An aide pressed the call button and the elevator doors slid open immediately. The wall inside was a mirror and Russ didn't even recognize himself at first. The tall, brown haired, man with a jaw chiseled out of granite and a nose like an eagle's beak stared back at him like a stranger. He'd been an old man for so long. He turned his eyes towards the floor, deciding that he was admiring himself like a peacock. When they were inside and the doors closed behind him, the Colonel began to speak freely.

"I trust you have read the equipment briefing, Sergeant Major?" Crerar's eyes were green and intense, he held Russ' gaze intently. It was the army way, afterall. Had any of them broke contact, it entitled the other to knock the hat clear off of their head. It was a matter of respect that a man had your full attention when they were speaking to you.

"Sir, yes sir."

"What are your thoughts on the Mobiles?"

"Sir, it is an impressive piece of kit, sir." Replied Russ, keeping his words tight and to the point.

Crerar studied the hero before him. The uniform, the cut of which Crerar had often felt was baggy and unprofessional, fit Caine well. Somehow he managed to make it work, in spite of the best efforts for the Department of National Defense to make it untenably hideous.

"Speak freely, Sergeant Major. I need a soldier's take on this."

The elevator stopped and the doors opened up to reveal a large bay with bright white walls and six enormous robots standing at attention in a neat row. Technicians worked on the machines, going over their functions and making repairs. Russ had never seen them in person before. While they looked impressive, in the shape of a man in thick, hard edged, armor he couldn't help but have his doubts.

"Sir, if I am to speak freely about these Mobile Advanced Support units, I'd have to say that this kit belongs to the armored corps. Infantry don't fight in machines, sir."

They strolled down the length of the bay, Mobile units stood over them like titans, looking down upon them with their ruby red cyclopic eyes in silent judgement. Crerar clasped his hands behind his back, thoughtfully.

"This is true, Sergeant Major. However, the General didn't order you restored to your youth to send you into combat in a simple spacesuit." Said Crerar, "The infantry is changing. These machines are only four meters in height, think of it like the armor of a medieval knight and his steed rolled into one."

"Sir, if I may continue to speak freely... The Rocketman was a fighter pilot. He doesn't understand the needs of the infantry, sir."

"The Rocketman was also an astronaut for many years after he flew against the Soviets, Sergeant Major. He understands the needs of the environment up there. Not only that, the General has done great things to boost this country's profile in outerspace. If it weren't for men like him, we wouldn't even have a seat at the table. So please, a little more respect." Crerar wasn't angry, only stating facts.

"Sir, my apologies, sir."

"No issue."

They stopped and appraised one of the machines for awhile. It was bulky and painted in granite grey. A technician was calibrating its fingers and had it counting down from five. When it was finished, it flashed the okay sign and the crew moved on.

"This will be your Mobile, sergeant major. It looks identical to the others, but inside that angular casing on its back, is a highly advanced and incredibly classified command and control module. The details of which I expect you to become intimately familiar with. It promises to revolutionize... Everything. This device has been tailored specifically to you. In fact, it is the reason why we have brought you, and many other veterans, out of retirement." Crerar gestured at the Mobile with a flourish.

Russell was looking only a little confused. There was no mention of it in his briefing.

"It is what would be known as a high functioning sapient artificial intelligence system. To operate at full efficiency, it requires a human operator to interface with it... To share their experiences and feelings. Even their physiological uniqueness. The Intelligence is, at this point, like child in need of a parent. It's on you to teach it valuable lessons, not just in the art of combat, Sergeant Major Caine... But also in how to be a man. Do you understand?"

No, I don't believe that I do.

"Sir, yes sir."
Last edited by Auman on Wed Jul 03, 2019 9:23 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby The Peninsular » Mon Jul 08, 2019 9:26 am

EESF frigate #[REDACTED]
Undisclosed location

Warning: The following transcript contains a memetic hazard [REDACTED] of threat level MGS-09. Should symptoms of the meme in question appear after or during reading, report to AM-KM officer for corresponding anti-meme.

The camera shows the small mess hall of the frigate. It is empty except for two individuals, who are sitting at a table in the second row of tables. The camera has a good angle on their actions. One of the individuals is identified as Agent [REDACTED], the other one as [REDACTED] of the GRA's Guardian Corps.

Guardian: In short, yes, we have basic information on the whole topic [memetics]. We have never really encountered a noteworthy one before, though. Our work has and does revolve more around other anomalous phenomenons.

Agent: The Corps doesn't give its agents full memetic training? (He raises an eyebrow.)

Guardian: Well, we are taught the basics on what a meme is and so on, but apart from that, not really. In our experience, they're not very common - at least we haven't noticed any.

Agent: That is the issue. You can't say memes aren't common around your parts because you haven't noticed any. They can hide anywhere, and are highly infectious. You could be infected and never know it. (He coughs.) Sorry about that. There's a story about how easy this infection can occur. An artist by the name of Johanviento Medersen Trittermensen the Seventeen-and-Halfed - I know, it sounds weird - was a renowned artist a few decades back in the Federation.(He coughs again.) Sorry, I need a drink real quick.

Guardian: So let me guess. His paintings had memetic effects?

Agent: Not quite. It was something else about him. More accurately, his name.

Guardian: What, his name? I reckon it does sound weird, but JOHANVIENTO MEDERSEN- (He unprecedently yells the name at the top of his lungs, before stopping abruptly.) What? (He tries to say the name again, but yells at the top of his lungs again. The Agent lets out a slight chuckle.) What the hell?

Agent: There it is. This is the effect of the meme. Everything I said between the coughs was the meme - after hearing it, one's brain memorizes the sentences in its short-term memory, and unless one has sufficient memetic training to resist the effect, now whenever the infected person attempts to say the name of the artist, they yell it instead. It was, in fact, a meme designed by our memetics department for demonstration purposes. As such, the effect will disappear once the sentences I just said slip outside of your memory, or until I 'administer' the neccessary anti-meme.

You see, this also demonstrates very well that a meme usually has a factor or mechanism to spread itself - in the case of this meme, if the infected is specifically questioned about the artist, they will reiterate the meme in its entirety, and as such infect everyone hearing it. There are also opposites of this, we call them SZMs. Those are memes that actively prevent or discourage their spread, either by having the infected forget the memetic information in a short time span, or doing other... things.

And then we have the aforementioned anti-memes. Anti-memes are, if you will, counter-memes or 'cures' so to speak for other memes. They are memes themselves, but usually designed in a way that they only have an effect on the people infected by the target meme. (He takes out a small photograph and gives it to the Guardian.) Look at this.

(The Guardian looks at the photograph. The camera can't see what is depicted on the photograph due to it being held at an unfavorable angle. After a few seconds, the Guardian gives the photograph back to the agent.)

Agent: Now try saying that name again.

Guardian: Johanviento Medersen Trittermensen the Seventeen-and-Halfed it was, right?

Agent: Yep. You see, the anti-meme did its work. Now, anti-memes can work in different ways, one more complicated in detail than the other. Broadly speaking, the anti-meme's effect usually erases or otherwise counteracts the other meme directly. Anti-memes are quite potent, and we put a strong emphasis on anti-meme research. Back before first contact, we used memetic agents a lot, and as such having anti-memes alongside our memetic training was key.

Guardian: Alright, I get it. But next time don't just infect me with one without telling me, okay?

Agent: I found watching your reaction quite funny, to be honest.
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Postby Auman » Mon Jul 08, 2019 11:15 am

Sea of Serenity, Liu Feng Crater, Sea of Serenity, Luna... The year is 2025.

"First Lieutenant Zhang First Lieutenant Zhang! Come in, over!"

The radio crackled in his ear, waking him. As his eyes snapped open, the various displays and readouts in the cabin of Tony Zhang's fluttered to life, the main screens showing him the same flat grey and cratered landscape that had remained unchanged for the last three days of his deployment to the Sea of Serenity. Zhang straightened himself out and stretched his back.

"First Lieutenant Zhang! First Lieutenant Zhang! Come in! This is General Lunar Command Headquarters requesting to speak with First Lieutenant Jiang Zhemin Zhang, over!" The voice on the other end of the line was slight, elegant, demure... Altogether too feminine for a place like this, that smelled of gun powder and the inevitability of war. He keyed his mic and yawned brusquely.

"This is Wind of the West, what do you want Jiao? You interrupted my nap." While doing his best to sound disinterested, Zhang diligently checked his readouts trying to get ahead of any possible danger.

"Are all of the men from Hong Kong so rude?" Jiao huffed over the line.

"No, just me." Zhang chuckled as he focused on his overhead radar. "General Lunar Command Headquarters, please confirm... I am reading an object in orbit. It is not displaying a friendly IFF transponder."

"Will confirm, Wind of the West," Jiao snapped back into a formal tone, "An unidentified and possibly enemy object has been spotted entering your area of responsibility. It is recommended that you engage this object with your drones and destroy it."

"Understood, General Lunar Command Headquarters, are there any further recommended actions that I should take?"

"No further recommendations at present. Just shoot it down."

"Understood completely, Wind of the West out."

Zhang switch off his mic. The cockpit of his lunar unit was now completely silent aside from the gentle whirring of the air recyclers. His eyes flicked across the overhead radar display. It was black, with a white semi-circular line draped crisply upon the bottom of the display. A small green dot approximated the location of his own quadripedal combat warmachine. An object was approaching fast from the north east. He would have to make a decision. Drones were expendable, he could use them up like they were nothing. He was ordered to use them to destroy the object. But, on the other hand, his own lunar unit was armed as well, with a guided missile launcher and a 27mm chaingun on a boom that made his robot look as if it were a scorpion prepared to strike. Drones were more difficult to reload in the field. He could destroy the object himself and save the time and effort of dealing with in-field logistics.

Further, Zhang reasoned, it would be more fun to destroy it with his own machine.

He punched in the target, now approaching from a distance of 350 kilometers. He had a missile lock, sure... But missiles cost resources and those belonged to the People. One must not waste what does not belong to them. A better bargain, for sure, would be the chaingun. Only a few yuan per round. He toggled it and a fresh red line appeared on the screen delineating the most effective range of the weapon. Zhang waited for the enemy object to cross the threshold and when it did, he pulled the trigger letting loose a string of flaring green tracers into the eternal twilight of the Lunar sky. It exploded, not in a ball of flames but a confetti of highly reflective metal debris.

""First Lieutenant Zhang First Lieutenant Zhang! Come in, over!" Crackled Jiao over the radio.

"Yeah, yeah, what do you want now?"

"First Lieutenant Zhang, it was recommended that you utilize your drones to destroy the object, yet you elected to use the guns of your lunar unit. This was a violation of recommended mission guidelines." Jiao's verbal expression was fierce, at first, but then her voice softened to a whisper... "The Colonel Commandant is furious! You need to relocate now, Tony!" She used his English name, the one he had adopted as a child upon moving to Australia, which he actually quite preferred.

"There's no way it could have gotten a transmission out in time to give away my position."

"That doesn't matter. It is now recommended that you change your position, before the enemy can destroy you. I cannot aff-" Jiao stopped herself abruptly.

"We cannot afford to lose you, First Lieutenant Zhang."
Last edited by Auman on Mon Jul 08, 2019 11:24 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby The Peninsular » Mon Jul 08, 2019 12:13 pm

Mare Imbrium, Aristillus Crater

"Hey Klaus, get a load of this!", Hauptfeldwebel Martin Pezowski whispered in the direction of his comrade, sitting behind him at his post. Unteroffizier Klaus Buschmeier turned around, carefully though, as to not hit his head on anything. "What is it?", Klaus asked. "You better not be pestering me with this stupid TV show again. I have a screen to observe." There was silence for a moment. "Okay, you can go back to observing then." "Gah. You should sleep during your resting period, for god's sake."

The head of Oberleutnant Jean Niemayer poked around the corner from his seat. "Could you stop breaking protocol for a second? We're getting messaged by command." The comms unit gave off a short crackle. "Schildkröte 5-1, this is Lunar Command speaking, come in." "We hear you loud and clear, Lunar Command.", Jean replied. "Schildkröte 5-1, be advised, and allied surveillance satellite will pass over your position shortly. Increase your surveillance for any PLA activity once it passes over the Mare Serenitatis, over." "Copy that, Command. Schildkröte 5-1 over and out."

The body of the vehicle rumbled for a second. "Alright, you heard Command. Prepare for repositioning and increased surveillance.", Jean ordered Klaus and Martin. "Moving to new position in 5. Lifting anchors... anchors lifted." The motor roared and they moved a few hundred meters, to a new coordinate. Once there, the anchors were placed again and anchored them solidly to the moon's surface.

From the outside, the vehicle they were in, more specifcally the Puma III Mondschützenpanzer Ausführung Überwachung, looked like a Puma IFV. Well, it looked like this without its anchors engaged. The vehicle was outfitted with several additions to help it move and stay stable on the moon surface: The anchors were metal extremities mounted on the IFV, four of them. They could be delpoyed within a short amount of time and lodged themselves into the Moon's rocky surface, enabling a stable position to fire even the upgraded 40mm autocannon - in comparison with its predecessor, the Puma II had been upgunned, and the Puma III had inherited this, though here on the moon its main armament were a number of missiles it carried. The cannon was capable of effectively combatting any Chinese moon vehicle they knew of. Along with its armor and advanced active defense, it made the vehicle very dangerous towards the Chinese, even though it still had to prove itself in combat unlike the Leopard III Mondpanzer. The other modifications were to the tracks: the tracks were "spiked", though these spikes were also designed to lodge themselves into the ground, giving the vehicle increased stability.

The internal space of the Puma III was silent again, for a few minutes. Klaus was tracking the flight path of the friendly surveillance satellite, flying right above the Mare Serenitatis. Suddenly, the icon indicating the satellite flickered, then vanished. Simulatneously, other sensor systems went off. "There! Someone just shot that SAT!", Klaus yelled. "Used tracers for it, too." "Command, this is Schildkröte 5-1, bogie located in Liu Feng crater. In range of our missiles, permission to engage?" "Permission granted, Schildkröte 5-1. After firing, proceed with standard evasion protocol.", came the reply from the command base.

The missiles a Puma III carried were of different varieties. However, most of them used by the surveillance version of the Puma was the MLFK-4, a mini cruise missile - perfect for shooting at detected enemies from far, far away. "Target location locked!", Martin confirmed, having resumed his station duties as soon as the orders from command had come. "Fire!", Jean ordered. He could see the missile shoot forth from his optic, powering towards the detected location of the enemy. Once the missile was away, the Puma lifted its anchors, and proceeded with evasive action to avoid being detected itself.
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Postby Auman » Mon Jul 15, 2019 12:08 pm

Why We Fight!

Part One: Plan 70.

The following is a propaganda reel distributed by the Aumanii Armed Forces for educational purposes only. The people represented in this film are satirized composites. Any resemblance to any person or nation, living, dead or undead is pure coincidence.

* * * *

The disclaimer remained on the screen far longer than reasonable and the troopers assembled in the darkened, smoke filled, banquet hall were already growing impatient. Jibing and sharing cigarettes, dishing about their girls back home and when their next leave world come up. Soldier's talk, the same sort that fighting men had been engaging in since the beginning of time and warfare. Though that was one in the same, wasn't it? The Aumanii national anthem began to play, chairs scraped and slid backwards as the men stood at attention, respect for the Iron Fields of Mars so deeply ingrained within them that the action was pure muscle memory. The men sang along at the chorus, as was the custom. The film, on cue, displayed landscapes that matched the lyrics... The red deserts of the planet Mars, the foreboding forests of Vascilia thick with black fir trees, the Medean grave swarm and on until every important and iconic piece of Aumanii territory had been shown and sung about. Upon the ending of the anthem, the men saluted and stayed in position until their Sergeant Major ordered them to sit.

Upon the screen now, the men's eyes provided undivided attention. The film was in black and white. A Colonel stood by the camp fire under the branches of a pine tree, flanked by an old soldier with silver hair at his temples and the beginning of a gut forming above and below his belt. A holoprojector was turned off, but just behind them. The old soldier was laughing and joking with the men around the fire.

"Tell us again, Smokey... What was it like during the last war?" Asked a fresh faced second lieutenant, eager to hear another story from the grizzled Sergeant Major.

"Well Johnstone, I have to tell you, it was tough... But through our grit, determination and resolve, we did alright." Said the Sergeant Major, or Smokey, as the boys called him. The Colonel followed along, nodding in respect of the man's experience.

"There was this one time in particular, back on Praxis V, where we faced off against the Big H, real tough fighters... Maybe almost as good as we were. They were tenacious, organized and for each one of us, there was a hundred of them. But they were rigid, too... They didn't have the flexibility to react to changing situations, not like us and that's how we got 'em."

The Colonel placed a hand on Smokey's shoulder and swept his eyes across the brigade officers circling the fire on their honches.

"That's exactly it, isn't it?" Said the Colonel, his voice was hard but smooth, like polished granite. "Why yes, I suppose it is, sir." Smokey replied.

The Colonel stepped forward, tapping a riding crop on his left hand. "During the Praxis V campaign, our men were outgunned, outnumbered and out leveraged, but we still won it. Why? Because we can think on our feet. This is in no small part due to our inherent character, the iron resolve of the Aumanii fighting spirit, but also the result of generations of successive, focused and relentless national effort. Our ability to act, react and think clearly in the crucible of combat was curated and groomed into what it is today by learning from the sacrifices of those who came before us. Hard earned lessons which culminated into the military that we have today that... And no offense to Smokey here... Is leagues better than what he had to work with."

"No offense taken, sir." Smokey said in good spirits.

The Colonel continued, taking off his squat rectangular helmet and tucking it under his arm, "A lot has changed since Praxis V and the evolution of the Aumanii Armed Forces continues every day. Thanks to the Overlord and his Plan 70 Rearmament Program, we have never been stronger... Though, as some of you are aware, there have been challenges. We've added two entirely new ground force elements, the Army of the Sphere and the Foundational Army, to support us in our mission to protect Auman against threats as vicious as they are vile. Whether you're battling pernicious pirates in the Alpha quadrant, or hordes of ideological zealots in the Delta quadrant, you can rest assured you'll have the support you need to accomplish your mission thanks to the transformative impact of Plan 70."

"But Colonel," said a pudgy captain, plaintively, "Plan 70 is a big change."

The Colonel nodded sharply, "I can't deny that, Captain Glass. But let me show you something that might help you put things into perspective."

An aide flicked on the holoprojector, a sphere appeared to float level with the Colonel's shoulders. It was a map of the Milky Way Galaxy, segmented into quarters. Blue dots sparsely littered the map, centered mostly around a small area in the south of the Gamma quadrant and even fewer elsewhere.

"This is a map of our troop deployments back during the last war, in 3145. When warriors like ol' Smokey here were struggling to keep our gates up and running. And there's no mistaking it, those gates are the cornerstone of our strength. Two million men all told did an admirable job on a shoestring budget. It was at this point in our collective history when we stopped getting hit and started doing the hitting. Praxis V demonstrated in full view what the Aumanii fighting man was capable of. Our enemies thought that they had us licked, that we were hiding out and hoping for the best..."

The Colonel clicked a button on a handheld device, a smattering of new dots appeared on the map. Progress was being made.

"Five years and a two million man army."

He clicked the button again, more blue dots and some white ones showed up.

"Ten years after Praxis V and a five million man army... Those new markers are hyperspace gate complexes."

Another click. More dots.

"Twenty years after Praxis V and the same five million as before..."

He clicked it again. The dots are getting thick in all quadrants now, it was an impressive turn around.

"That last slide is us now. Only the first stage of a multigenerational, pan-galactic effort to destroy tyranny and stand up for the common man in this galaxy... And we are going to take it one step further... And then another..."

The Colonel changed the frame, the map showed many dots blending together in a vascular web. A prediction of the future.

"And another."

Major trade routes were now covered in thick, white lines.

"And another."

Capillaries of hyperspace gate complexes began to extend outwards into the dark spaces in the galaxy.

"Until there's nowhere safe for our enemies to hide. For that, we're going to need a big army, fleet, navy, air force and even the darn coast guard. Because Plan 70 is about sustained involvement in galactic affairs with the Aumanii Army at the forefront and while we have done an amazing job, with the assistance of our SATMA allies, we can't do all the heavy lifting. It's time for every Aumanii man, woman and child, to do their part to accomplish the mission laid out in the Articles of Foundation. So, Captain Glass, it is a big change... But it's one that we need."

The Colonel turned to the Sergeant Major and asked "What could you have done with a twenty million man army, Smokey?"

Smokey's eyes lit up as he considered the possibilities, "Why Colonel, I can think of one hegemon icing a bloody nose." The officers laughed at the implication.

"How about two-hundred-thirty-million?"

Smokey just let out a low whistle.

"All with the ways and means to come to grips with and destroy the enemies of freedom in every single quadrant and region in the galaxy, indefinitely. That's a big change alright and one that goes in our favor."
Last edited by Auman on Mon Jul 15, 2019 12:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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User avatar
Posts: 1973
Founded: Antiquity
Father Knows Best State

Postby Auman » Wed Jul 17, 2019 9:03 am

CFB Canso, Nova Scotia, Canada, Earth... The year is 2025.

The Germans beat them to the moon. Colonel Crerar was gritting his teeth, the muscles in his jaw were working overtime, flexing with each slide of the mandible. It was a personal habit of the Colonel's that Russ had learned to watch out for. Though, not one to step lightly around anyone, Sergeant Major Caine understood that if his superior officer was upset, it was on him to find a solution that would make him happy. The delays they were suffering were largely his own fault, training wasn't going so well. Sure, the JTF boys acclimated themselves to the mobiles well enough, CSOR wasn't so bad either, it was the civilian conscripts that worried him the most... And they were most critical to the success of the mission. A bunch of astronauts shunted towards military service due to their prior EVA experience and Canada hadn't been blessed with an abundance of men like the Rocketman. That mixture of combat training and time in orbit were a rare commodity.

Despite the high level of quality in their military candidates, those with combat training and experience... They had absolutely no confidence in their ability to work in space. Further, the men and women they had available that were trained and experienced in spaceborne activity had no confidence in their ability to fight. Crerar had told him to cut some corners here and there, the conscripts only needed to know how to defend themselves and take orders. He had resisted at first, but with the square heads engaged up there in the Sea of Serenity, he had run out of time. Russell had to rubber stamp these guys, pretend they were good to go when they weren't and do his best to keep them out of trouble when they got into the fight.

It wouldn't be as bad as the Scheldt, he figured. The astronauts weren't being brought along to fight, not specifically, but rather for their skill sets... Which was hoped to ease the burden on the Army. But, as he learned in Holland so long ago, and then again a few years later in Korea, no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy and when things turned sideways, it didn't matter if you were an experienced infantryman, a rear echelon engineer or a fugging cook, you would pick up your rifle, chamber a round and get in on that section attack. Because when the gooks are screaming down that hill, they don't care who you are.

Colonel Crerar and Russ surveyed the troops, standing at parade rest in their spacesuits. It was easy to pick the conscripts out from the warriors. Confidence was something you could see in the eyes and the drape of the soldier. They were in the clean room, which was really just a sanitized hangar attached to a series of umbilical corridors that lead off to the launchpads. Russ checked his timepiece, a five inch computer device on his wrist that had a whole bunch of other functions he was still trying to figure out. The eggheads had managed to fit pieces of equipment that would take thirty men at the battalion level to operate and compressed it into a machine that could fit in the palm of your hand. He never even knew how to work a keyboard before they rejuvenated him. During the course of all his training, the haze of the drugs they had him on and the fog of dementia that he had lived through in his last decade of life, he never quite had the time nor aptitude to question much of anything.

He stood there, scanning the eyes of the men and women before them as the Colonel gave his speech about their mission, the most important combat operation in Canadian history. Russ noted the mix of fear, desperation, determination and admiration. This blend of elite special forces operators and scientific geniuses left Russell in awe. How could he be expected to lead these people? He was nothing compared to them. Just an old man with too much luck and not enough sense to die when he should have. There was nothing special about him... But when he caught the eye of a frightened electrical engineer from Red Deer, Alberta, the tears that threatened to burst from her eyes had dried up and her shoulders squared off just a little, imperceptible, bit. Perhaps the DND called him up for the same reason the yanks brought in their guys, like Chuck Yeager. This was the eve of destruction and World War Three was looming on the horizon... Maybe they needed heroes. The sad thing was, they already had them. His eye turned to one of the guys from JTF 2. Ten times the man he could ever be, but his records were sealed for a hundred years and you can't build a propaganda weapon out of a man like that. Afterall, he had a job to do. But ol' Russel Caine? He could sell war bonds when this mission was over. Mug for cameras. Shake hands. Hell, he could in be in the pictures like Audie Murphy. That guy over there, though? He's in it for the duration.

Crerar's speech was drawing down now. Anxious looking technicians wanted to get a move on and check their suits before they all embarked on their rockets.

"God bless the Dominion and God save the King!" Crerar shouted.

"God save the King!"

The formation broke off into groups, the technicians did their work and soon, they were off to their capsules.
Last edited by Auman on Wed Jul 17, 2019 9:12 am, edited 1 time in total.
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