Battlegroup Valkyrie (IC)

[Imperialisium]

Battlegroup Valkyrie
OCV-07

Organized Stellar Crime in the Post-War Era

The end of the Great Colonial War signaled peace throughout Human settled space. But these celebrations, after six long years of total all out war across the breadth and width of Human space, was not without issue. The economic hardships of the succeeding decade and the proxy conflicts of the three major powers of Earth, Mars, and Sirius. Embroiled the settled systems in a new kind of Cold War. One such notable issue being the proliferation of interstellar crime syndicates and mafia organizations. Alongside religious fundamentalist and independence forces already emboldened by the existence of an independent Mars and Sirius.

Enter, the historically troublesome Lalande System. Site of not only genocide, but also some of the most brutal warfare of the Great Colonial War. Swiftly became a low intensity conflict zone on almost all settled planets and moons. Stations and habitats. The Moons of Baal, a string of planetoids stretching from the system's Goldilocks zone out into the coldness of outer asteroid belts, fields, and dust clouds. Became a hub of such activity. With the Terran Navy having to periodically sweep the region. However, such armed presence was problematic by the geo-political nature of Federation, Martian, and Sirian territories. For while the Moons of Baal were Federation territory, the Asteroid settlements were host to several Martian and Sirian mining and habitat installations. As a result the 'Armistice Line' roughly following an equi-distant course between Martian, Sirian, and Federation facilities provided a tense area of operation.

Federation Admiralty, seeking to focus more on the recent pacification operations on Lalande; and the Moons of Baal themselves; has delegated a new clean sweeping operation to the small Battlegroup 07. Battlegroup Valkyrie.

The Valkyrie and it's Battlegroup, comprising a squadron of destroyers, an older frigate, and a support ship. Would arrive in the system on January 2nd following two weeks shore leave and resupply on Taurus. The Valkyrie would begin its sweep of criminal elements without much incident as it made its way from Sunward (away from the system's twin suns). Yet, frequent shadowing and run ins with Sirian and Martian warships moving parallel on their side of the Armistice Line proved an all too unsettling reality for both veteran and rookie members of the Battlegroup.

Even now, as the Battlegroup moved in on its final station to sweep before breaking course for Lalande itself to await further tasking orders.

Epsilon Station could best be described as half-slum and resource extraction site. Host to a transient population of several thousand seasonal workers and contract skilled labor from private corporations based back on Lalande itself. The facility, through intelligence gathered before and during the Valkyrie's operations in the area, became known as a hotbed of criminal activity. Illegal weapons markets, narcotic shipments and even production within the stations agri-domes which helped provide niche foodstuff to the Moons of Baal, ran rampant. The facilities administration was, at least according to the Office of Naval Intelligence, heavily infiltrated by criminal elements. However, the pressing problem was the facilities location. For the large asteroid it inhabited, at seven hundred miles in diameter, sat so close to the Armistice Line that its errant orbit, distant from the Binary Stars of the system, yet within the barycenter of an small which traced a large slow orbit around the entire system, frequently brought it into Sirian space. It was not uncommon for Sirian Mercenaries hired by the private enterprises and administration that run the station to provide security to be reported in the open concerting with Sirian Marines and Naval personnel whenever the asteroid found itself on the Sirian side of the Armistice Line.

The Lalande System
January 25th, 2339 0815 Ship Time (ST)
System Rare Metal and Agri-Habitat 04 "Epsilon Station"

Stepping out of her quarters near the Command-in-Control center of the ship. Captain Victoria Starling fixed her cufflinks. A pair of passing crew, Petty Officers carrying a heavy cargo container, quickly laid it down to snap to attention. "At ease," said Starling while snapping both men a quick salute. The Marine off to the side, silent, stepped forward to close and secure the hatch to the Captain's Quarters before resuming his vigilance over the hallway. Heels striking heavy on the metal flooring of the ship. A result of her magnetic mechanisms on her naval issue footwear. Captain Starling made her way swiftly through the narrow corridors of the ship. Arriving a moment later in front of two Marines who like their Navy counterparts before snapped crisp salutes. Snapping her own return salute the Marines unlocked the hatch. Letting Victoria pass through and under a black lettered signage reading, "CIC."

The CIC was as usual humming with activity. The Officer of the Watch, Shivam Kuljari, monitoring systems and SIDAR. The 24th Century equivalent to the RADAR and LIDAR systems older Terran ships used when navies were present only on that worlds oceans. Spatial Infrared Directional Analytic Range. Capable of Passive and Focused or 'Active' modes. It was the eyes of the warship as it cruised through the silent, cold, void of space. As Starling arrived in the center of the CIC she cast her eyes up at the monitors hanging from ceiling mountings. Reporting all contacts and recorded contacts in the ships immediate vicinity or system wide. Granted the system wide display was often out of date given the time it took for ping backs to register.

The CIC itself was arranged around a central command table allowing plotting and tactical planning. With a bank for the helmsmen crew, communications, and so forth. Arriving in her usual place with her back to the helmsmen crew, the Officer of the Watch, jumped out of his seat and approached with a small stack of papers. Snapping a salute Shivam handed them over quickly, "Communications from the past four hours since leaving Habitat 03, Gamma, the Courageous still reports a faulty engine booster. Will likely have to have it repaired once we're back Sunward." TNV Courageous, DDG-342. An older Roosevelt-Class Destroyer like the also present TNV Honorable ,DDG-345, nearing fifty years in service each. Old workhorse picket ships.

"Thank you, Mister Kuljari, inform Commander Jiang that he can take up rear position in the destroyer picket formation on approach to Epsilon Station." It was common on smaller ships that a Commander could be posted in place of a full Navy Captain to command the ship. Especially, given the much smaller crew compliments of a destroyer or even Frigate.

"Yes, Ma'am," responded Kuljari with a nod. Leaving Captain Starling to begin leafing through the communications dispatches. Mostly idle traffic among the Battlegroup as it held a simple three line formation on approach to Habitat. The older destroyers Courageous and Honorable off the starboard side. While the newer destroyers of the Mineichi-Class, built in the 2320s, TNV Scimitar (DDG-448) and TNV Halberd (DDG-442) cruised off to portside. The Battlegroup's frigate, TNV Marvin G. Shields (FFG-1066), from the venerable Ernest King-Class, cruised parallel and below the Valkyrie. While the TNFR Bounty FRSS-067, a civilian bulk hauler and staffed Navy Reserve Corps sailors, fulfilled the role as battlegroup support ship.

"Habitat 04, Epsilon Station, is transmitting codes for final approach vector," announced the communications officer, a short broad shouldered woman with light brown hair and eyes named Theresa Wingate. Spindly fingers punching keys and rolling dial switches as she sent affirmation checks.

"Signal Epsilon Station that we are beginning final approach vector and boarding operations will be commencing shortly. All civilians are to stay away from...," Starling pulled up schematics of the station on the central table and pointed to an airlock allowing swift access to the stations control room, "...Airlock 19. All workers are to submit identification and permits to Marines when asked as per Terran Civil Space Code. Confirmation?"

"Message transcribed. Sent. Confirmation of Receipt with Acknowledgement," responded Officer Wingate.

Starling turned to her helms crew, a man and a woman in green fatigues, "Begin bleeding off speed. Bring us in parallel to Airlock 19, distance five hundred kilometers." The Helmsmen repeated the directions as they conducted the action with a confirmation of the orders execution. Though the crew of the Valkyrie could not feel it. The warship had begun to decelerate through the firing of RCV thrusters while its engine block put out less thrust. Its bulk adjusting in course to bring itself parallel at approximately five hundred kilometers out from the station proper.

"Launch CAP, and lets get our Marines aboard." Stated Starling as the crew of the CIC moved to fulfill her orders.

Portside Flight Pod
0820

Second Lieutenant Tisza jogged into the hangar bay. Flight helmet in hand. As her and the three other Apollo pilots assigned to run CAP for this sweep moved to their craft. Deck Crew in their bright orange and yellow fatigues and helmets, almost exactly in aesthetic to the maritime navy deck crews of old, readied their deadly strike craft. Moving onto the short latter leading up to the cockpit, Tisza plopped down into the cramped setting of a P-17 Apollo D-Class Superiority Fighter.

A Deck hand gave a thumbs up as the ladder was led away. The nose of the plane being wheeled around by a hydraulic pulley. Dragging the bird of war to rest squarely in a marked square. Hangar Elevator. The massive hydraulic systems engaging as the warplane lowered down into a narrow launch tube. An automated magnetic catapult moving forward to grip the planes landing gear. Fixing her helmet and making sure all systems were green. Tisza cast her bright green eyes over to the crew member which held up three fingers. A red light coming alive before her craft. Tisza began to breath in and out. The lurch of launch was not something everyone took lightly. The feeling of being forcefully pressed back into your seat as the plane was slung from the ship. At least she never felt sick enough that she might puke. She held up a gloved hand to give the 'OK' sign.

The light went yellow and she knew the crewmember now had only two fingers raised. Then one as it flashed once. Green. The lurch happened and the walls of the tube rocketed past her. The powerful magnetic catapult flinging her small strike craft from the imposing bulk of the Valkyrie like a fly launching from the side of an elephant. Walls then white spotted blackness. Gripping the stick she angled her Apollo to the right, engaging her engines by opening up the throttle, she took up position with the other three members of the CAP. Led by Aerospace Force Captain Marcus "Frogman" Lapierre.

This is Frogman to Artemis, Darius, and Racetrack, we're doing a fly by of the station. Raven's should be out to establish a further recon perimeter soon.

Sending an acknowledging communication click the quartet of Apollos swerved towards the station. The imposing asteroid it sat upon, and tunneled deep within, was truly an ugly conglomeration of bunker like structures. Small windows speckled with yellow interior lighting for galleries and some older habitat units. In truth only 30% of the station was visible from space. The rest including the bulk of worker apartments, restaurant and entertainment, mining, processing, and hydroponic facilities were within the asteroid itself.

Swinging into within fifteen kilometers of the station the Apollos flew by rather slowly. The guttural voice of Darius came over the radio, Looks kind of dead. No cargo ships or freighters?

Parking tickets. Wanted to skip town before the cops rolled up. Racetrack, the other female pilot in the CAP, earned a series of small chuckles with that joke.

Valkyrie CIC
0826 ST

Victoria went over the mission in her mind once more. The mission for Epsilon's sweep called four six Raven's to be launched and strung along the Armistice Line. To monitor for Sirian and Martian vessels. Easier said than done given the dust clouds and other asteroids in the vicinity. The rest of Valkyrie's Red and Green Squadrons of Apollos would remain on alert, ready to sally out if needed. While, two Lockheed-Grumman's piloted Captain Yurievich's Attack Squadron would be loaded with Marines to perform the actual sweep of the station. Their mission was like all the previous ones in this sweep of the region. Obtain and destroy drug paraphernalia deemed illicit such as Black Tar-Fentenyl, DMT4-Methamphetamines, S Krok or Super Krokodile, and of course the classics like heroin. Illicit firearms and individuals without proper work permits were also to be retrieved. The former for destruction while the latter would be deported. Any criminal elements would be arranged to be retrieved and imprisoned by a dedicated Navy ship that would jump in to take them for processing on Lalande. The Valkyrie's Chief Investigative Officer for Military Code Enforcement, John Israel al-Numan, and their resident Office of Naval Intelligence officer, Cornelia Victor, would be accompanying the Marines. To better deal with ongoing search, seizure, and destruction of any contraband or illegal persons they found.

[Bolslania]

0815 ST
Yurievich, Pevtsov Timofey
Lockheed-Grumman Bay, Valkyrie


"Alright Tima, she's all ready." said his ground maintenance chief, Andrew Hall. Hall wiped off his hands on his work pants. Tima, who had been tapping his feet anxiously behind Andrew, sighed with relief.

"Alright, lets get the Crayon-eaters down here and loaded up." His wingman, 1st Lieutenant Michael Anderson, has just finished with his flight check as well. The Crayon-eaters in question, or Marines as they were technically known, were sitting down on their kits a few feet away from the crafts.

Hall turned and waved them over as Tima walked up the ramp and towards the pilot's compartment, picking his helmet up from where it had been stored from his last flight and setting it on his head. He turned to face the boarding Marines.

"Alright gentlemen, you know the drill find a seat and store your gear. Joining us on this on this little picnic will be ONI Officer Victor and our very own Military Code Enforcer al-Numan, so watch what you say and do, understood?"

"Yes sir!" Came the collective affirmation from the seated and strapped in Marines.

"Good, refreshments will be served once we have cleared the Valkyrie." Tima said with a grin, some of the marines chuckled at his comment.

Tima stepped into the crew compartment, taking his seat. He was joined by his gunner/navigator, Hans Steienmeier, who, after an exchange of greetings took his seat in front and below of Tima. Tima set to flicking on the appropriate switches, turning the Lockheed's signal beacons on, powering up the radio. Everything that needed to be turned on by the two crewmen was turned on.

(The following takes place after Victor and al-Numan are on board the Lockheed-Grummans)

0820

"Alright, our guests are on board, lets get going." Tima said, more to himself than anything. He pressed on the intercom

"Proceeding to prepare for takeoff." He said, switching over to his radio kit. He transmitted to the Hangar control deck, which overlooked the hangar.

"Hangar control this is Black 1, ready for taxi, over."

"Copy that Black 1. Tow vehicles coming out now." Everyone was on their best behavior today, with the Military Code Enforcer onboard. A "tow-truck" as they were colloquially known, attached its cable to the front of the L-G, pulling the heavy strike craft towards the launch-tubes.

Tima leaned back into his seat. Not much for him to do until he was on the pad. Might as well get comfortable.

"Black 1 this is Hangar control. Tow vehicle is clear of the pad, free to power engines, over."

"Understood Hangar Control, powering engines....now" The 4 ion engines roared to life, the handbrake applied to the craft's wheels being the only thing keeping the powerful spacecraft from plowing into the safety barricades. Tima flicked on the life support and pressurized the hull in preparation for void flight.

"Black 1 to Hangar, we're ready to go." He said. He spoke again into the intercom

"Be advised, prepare for flight." He said as they were lowered down into a launch tube.

"T minus 3 seconds." He said as the light flicked on green.

"Let's do this." the gunner said, leaning back against his seat.

Tima's stomach flew somewhere behind his spine as the Lockheed-Grumman was blown into space and away from the carrier. That was a rough one. One problem with the launch system is that you never knew how forceful the ejection would be, this one was on the rough side.

"Black 1 to Flight Control, we have cleared the carrier and are proceeding to target. Over" He said. His first flight from the Valkyrie was not one he wanted to screw up, but he had done this before.

"Ivan to Mover, how're you doing? Over." He asked his wingman. A moment later a reply came

"We're good to go Ivan, over."

"Setting thrust to 80%, over." He said, pushing the throttle forward. The accelerating Lockheed-Grumman quickly overtook the decelerating Valkyrie en-route to the space station. He didn't want to open up full throttle right next to the carrier, but when they cleared the slowing battlegroup they could speed up at will. To Tima, a carrier group seemed a little overkill for a drug bust. He would've figured that it would've been the job of a destroyer or two. It could also be a show of force, telling everyone concerned that the Federation was reestablishing control.

They had cleared the carrier. On his HUD Tima could see the Apollo flight that had done a preemptive sweep of the space station.

"Mover, this is Ivan, adjust throttle to 100%, over."

"Copy that Ivan, adjusting to 100%". The two Lockheed Grummans rocketed towards the space station, which was the only thing getting closer, the starry blackness hanging over everything like a blanket. They maintained the 100% thrust for about 5 minutes, until they had reached the halfway point of 250 km away, where the two craft promptly decreased throttle.

"Ivan to Mover, beginning turn over now." He said, he yanked back on his flight stick, flipping the Lockheed-Grumman on its back to decelerate. Luckily for everyone aboard, they didn't feel the maneuvering.

After both craft had rolled over, they applied thrust to decelerate before they slammed into the space station. Their current speed and deceleration should bring them neatly within 15 kms of the Airlock, where they would make their final approach.

"Black 1 to Valkyrie Flight Control, we are halfway to target, beginning deceleration. Over." he said, accurate information was an essential part of an operation.

[Revlona]

0810
Lt. Colonel Andrew Takanami
Hanger Bay, Valkyrie

"Bravo Company will provide Overall security, covering for Charlie company as they sweep the station. Bravo will do their own sweeps if needed. We are going to be taking this nice and easy, I want everyone on their toes. You never know what those facist bastards might have smuggled into this station while it was on their side of the line, be ready for anything." Lt. Colonel Takanami said, addressing the assembled officers of Bravo and Charlie company.

Takanamis second in command, Major Alisa Winters, raised her hand and said, "Confiscated material and persons?"

"To be secured in place before handing them over to Bravo company. We have a couple Lawyers tagging along this time so mind yourself, if they have something to say about contraband, listen to them unless I say otherwise, make sure your men know this." The Lt. Colonel said. "Any other questions? No, alright then you are dismissed."

Andrew watched as the as the officers gathered themselves and departed for their commands. Andrew sighed and took up the helmet for his void combat suit, he had placed it beside him while he spoke. He secured it to his head and then stretched his body, the muscles still slightly stiff from sleep.


0815

"Howdy Captain, anything extra I need to know before we get moving?" Andrew said as he approached their Pilot and the Commander of the Wing, Captain Yurievich. While Andrews face was not visible through the helmet of his Void Combat suit, his name tape on his breast and the Silver Oak leaves on his shoulders were visible.

In his right hand he carried the weapon that had been issued to the marines for todays operation, a compact and rugged looking SMG which was chambered in .45. At his hip he wore a 9mm sidearm and several extra magazines for both weapons. His KA-BAR also sat on the left side of his hip. The Terran flag sat on his right arm and the CMC logo and his Units Patch sat on his left arm.

[Antimersia]

0800

Thirty-five years of service will break down the body of even the healthiest of men. The crack and groans of Master Chief Petty Officer Carter "Tallahassee" Chesire is plenty of evidence to that fact. He stands from his cot, readying himself for the day ahead. An officer of his rank and years of service no doubt could get a proper bed in his bunk. But Carter's body never responded well to beds. He had been on cots almost his whole life. Even as he ages that isn't likely to change. Carter puts on his uniform, making sure it is perfectly up to code before stepping out of his bunk and into the halls of the Valkyrie. He salutes the various crewmen he passes along the way as he heads towards the CIC. He almost stops by the mess to get some food along the way, but he is late already. With the operations getting in full swing today, it won't look good for him not to be there.

0830

Carter snapped to attention in response to the two marines posted at the entrance to the CIC who did the same. Entering it, he sees the room bustling with activity, as it usually is. He can tell his is late for the party, he just hopes not too late to be of service. Carter is certain to honor the captain first, walking up until he is within the left side of her cone of vision, standing at a salute to her, and greeting her in this new day.

"G'morning Captain Starling." He said bluntly. His southern, American accent is prominent in his deep and coarse voice. He stood at attention patiently, knowing not to proceed onto the deck further without acknowledgement of his superior officer.

[Bolslania]

0815

Tima was strapping on his flight helmet and was about to head into the flight compartment when the commander of the Valkyrie's Marine detachment came on board. Tima threw up a quick salute as Takanami asked if there were any further details he should know about.

"One thing sir, my ship will be carrying the bulk of the marines, while 1st Lieutenant Anderson will be carrying an underslung container for any contraband we find on the station." Tima said, gesturing with a thumb through the hull in the general direction of his wingman.

"Other than that sir, just find a seat and get comfortable. I expect we'll be off the Valkyrie within about 5 minutes." Tima said

"If you'll excuse me sir, I need to power up some systems before we're clear to launch." He said with a courteous nod, turning away from the Lt. Col and into his flight compartment. It was a little strange that the commander of the marines was coming on this mission, but that decision was well above Tima's paygrade.

[Revlona]

0815
Takanami

Andrew returned the Salute and nodded as the Flight Commander spoke to him, he knew both companies would be a little packed tight, but the two craft would be more than enough to carry the two companies of marines.

"Understood, lets get this done so we can get homeward sooner," Takanami said before taking the Flight Commanders advice and going to find himself a seat. He then pulled out a small tablet from the assault pack strapped to his back and brought up the schematics of the station they would be sweeping.

"Damn, this is going to take forever," He muttered to himself as he looked over the map, though not for the first time. He wondered if the people aboard the station would make things interesting, it had been many years since the Great Colonial War after all, and from what he had seen with his own eyes and through the news reports, things were getting interesting again. He wouldn't say that war was around the corner or anything, but he did know that tensions were high, especially with the Martian Bastards back in Sol.

[Window Land]

0800 SP
Chief Warrant Officer V Stephen "Steve" Anderson
Engineering Control Center

Steve glanced around at the Engineering Control Center, a room similar to the CIC, except for the giant diagnostic display of the Valkerie covering one of the walls. He looked at the display, seeing a few minor problems- on a ship this large and old, there were always a few minor problems, but the only one worth noting was that the launch system's hydraulics were slightly elevated above normal, and that was only important because he'd likely be stuck hearing the pilots and marines complain about the rough launch. Well, nothing left to do but report in. "This is the CTO of the Valkerie reporting no noteworthy problems," Steve said on the comms. The message probably wouldn't get much more than a passing glance by the captain, Steve thought, but it was important to do anyway. He knew it was highly unlikely that he would have to leave the ship, or really do anything important for this mission, but accidents happen- and a bad enough one could mean he would get involved. Until then, he would just have to wait, and listen to the comms chatter.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

“God’s law is harsh, but it is the law”

The etched calligraphy, marked with gold on the silver background, adorned the scabbard of John’s scimitar. Bearing a sword was uncommon, especially for officers on duty, but it was a tell-tale sign of an officer hailing from Lalande. A parting gift for those leaving for the military, with a personal engraving. It would take families years to set aside enough money to afford one, but it would always link someone, mentally and visibly, to their home planet. John had received his upon graduating from the Military College with a law degree, allowing him to enter the Naval Investigative Service. It hung from his left hip, freshly polished for the start of a new campaign.

Making such a sword was a craft of itself, and there were but few on Lalande who knew the art, each having studied under a master of their own. All the materials came from Lalande itself, and the technique was reminiscent of the production of Damascus steel. According to Earth gossip, the Lalanders quenched their blades in the blood of Terrans, but that was of course not true. Still, it was an exhausting process, taking many weeks to complete. The results, however, were always marvellous. The sharp blades almost never lost their edge, and even in the modern age, the blades sometimes found a use. The Great Crusaders who fought on Earth itself had wielded them when they were surrounded in the ruins of Rome, and all their munitions had run out. Their blades were now kept in some Terran museum, despite frequent demands of Lalande that they be returned.

On John’s right hip, for easy drawing, hung a Garguan X-22/d pistol; one of the standard-issue weapons for Terran police forces. The receivers were mass-produced somewhere in northern India, while the hollow-point expansive munitions were manufactured in what had once been Belgium. Many of the accessories, like the laser pointer and the red dot sight, had been manufactured in North America. These guns were produced by the hundreds of thousands, and were only distinguishable by the serial markings. So precise and so constant was the manufacturing, that it had earned the nickname Old 100-444, based on the urban legend that it would fire exactly 100,444 rounds before going bust. John had received the weapon upon his graduation, only moments after receiving the sword from his family.

As more and more marines filtered into their transport, John started fussing with the golden details on his navy blue uniform. He was always a bit nervous before any action, but being so close to home made it extra so. He felt… Ashamed was not the right word, he was proud of what he was doing. He was doing more to help his people than the New Sun had never done. But he felt looked at. As if he was coming costumed to a party, only to find out the dress code was business casual. Whenever he felt the rays of the New Star on his skin, the uniform felt strange on him.

He was not exactly put at ease by the heavily-armed and armoured marines tagging along, mostly because of his own lacking. John had been assigned to Bravo company, which was in charge of collecting evidence. Evidence which John had to appraise with just a few moment’s notice. Would it hold up in court? Was there additional evidence that the marines were overlooking? Was there any need for questioning? John shot a sidewards glance at lieutenant commander Victor, who would be in charge of any further questioning. There was distrust between Naval Intelligence and Code Enforcement; they had to work together, but both sides liked to push their powers to their limits, and this could often lead to clashes. John just hoped that Victor was a bit of a push-over in that regard and that she would allow him to handle the investigation, but he doubted there were any push-overs in naval intelligence.

John turned to see out of one of the windows, looking at the star which had been his sun for almost all his life. He closed his eyes, folded his hands, and offered a short prayer.

“My lord… Give a traveller the strength to travel on… The warrior the sense to use his weapon well… The faithful the wisdom to find the right path. Lord, we are Far, and I hope you bring us Further. Amen”

[Beutarch]

0800 ST
Victor, Cornelia R.

A short elevator ride down from the bridge and a brisk walk down corridor 13-C, and you will be met with a bulkhead labelled Intelligence and Analysis. 24 hours previously, I&A hummed with the activity of two dozen busy minds and the machines that they interfaced with. The many monitors that filled the room displayed a near-endless stream of past reports and mission logs concerning Epsilon and the surrounding sector. The dozens of near-misses and close calls with the Sirians along the Armistice Line occupied the analysts at the far end of the room, while those nearer to the Lieutenant Commander's office poured over information concerning criminal activity in the region. In the annex adjoined to the main room, a smaller, third group of junior officers attempted to bridge the gap between the Sirians and the criminal groups. 12 hours previously, the three groups condensed their findings to the most important knowledge and consolidated that into a 10-page mission briefing. Upon receiving Victor's approval, the document was distributed to unit leaders up and down the ship.

Now, the room was mostly empty. Terminals and computer banks were abandoned, their operators in bed recovering from the last all-nighter. Only the department's ranking officer, Victor, and a skeleton crew of I&A staff monitoring the ship's external sensors remained. Despite having proofread the briefing on her desk just a short time ago, she felt compelled to look it over again as she drank the day's cup of coffee. Known locations of illegal caches, check. Identifying marks of local gangs, check. Be careful of the fascist rent-a-cops, check. She approached the weapons locker in her office, removing her sidearm and ONI-issue field uniform. The pistol she removed was a Mk 37, an integrally suppressed variant of the Navy's standard issue sidearm. Placing the firearm in its slot, she moved to tap her desk, swiping the briefing away and replacing it with a map of the station. Submitted to Terran authorities at the time of the station's construction, it was almost certain to be inaccurate. Reconciled with the ship's more recent deep-penetration SIDAR scans, however, a more true to life image of the station emerged. She studied this as affixed the straps and magnetic clips of her holster.

Content for the time being, she clipped a combat rebreather to her waist and made her way to the hangar.

Upon leaving the sterile silence of the ship's upper corridors, the intelligence officer was thrust into the carefully controlled chaos of the hangar bay. Hydraulic lifts squealed as they lifted warplanes and the engineer's tools filled the air with electronic whining and thumping as systems were checked and polished for takeoff, all punctuated by the immense mechanical discharge of the launch tubes. Trailing a platoon of marines along the lighted path that cut through the hangar floor, she climbed aboard the waiting troopship.

---

Aboard Black 1, lit only by the dim overheads, Victor melded into the mass of marines that filled the ship's hold. Her suit, colored dark grey and trimmed in the dull crimson of Naval Intelligence, was superficially similar to the working uniform of a shipboard officer. Closer examination would reveal the added bulk of protective ceramic plates woven into the torso region, in addition to a compact communications unit at the waist, allowing for a direct link with I&A aboard the Valkyrie.

Victor stood out from other ONI officers, who were nominally viewed with a moderate level of suspicion by the enlisted ranks, in that she felt right at home aboard the troopship. A former leatherneck herself, she convivially participated in the pre-mission rituals that she recognized, and respectfully observed those that she did not. Once the hold had quieted, she felt the gaze of the Chief Investigative Officer upon her. He was a curious man, a supposedly reformed Lalander, now an exemplary member of Code Enforcement and faithful servant of Terra. He should be praised for his story, and yet, Victor could not help but feel unnerved around him. For Chrissake, he felt the need to bring a sword to aide his inspection of a space station. She returned his glance with a curt nod, before adjusting her comms to speak on the Black's channel.

"Morning, marines. I'm sure your officers have already read my spiel, but, for your benefit, I'll reiterate the highlights. As you know, Charlie will be sweeping the station in its entirety, however I've set aside a few points of interest for them to hit in their rotation. Point of Interest Alpha is Epsilon's Dome 6, an agri-dome officially marked as under maintenance for an indefinite period of time. We've learned that the dome is being used to to cultivate and refine a particularly potent strain of breadseed poppies. According to reports from the Lalande Station, the dome's so stuffed with vertical farms that it'll be easier to vent the place rather than clean it out by hand."

"Point Beta is several sublevels down, in Compartment 13-13. It's a well known night market aboard Epsilon, and also home to a mom-and-pop gunsmith. Since our entrance has been announced, it's unlikely that you'll recover any significant quantities of goods there. Instead, look for the machining tools and automatons used in production. I've been informed that they make guns that would meet even Colonel Takanami's discerning standards, un-taxed and untraceable to boot. Anyhow, that's all from me."

"Happy hunting."

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

Captain Erica Rayne - Leader of Raven-Class Reconnaissance Squadron on the Valkyrie

---

Before 0826 ST

Erica was not one to under deploy resources, even considering the material limits that came with being an officer of a ship that was treated as a second thought, in favor of newer ships. Whenever it was possible, she made sure that every sortie that she out as the Leader of the Raven Squadron on the Valkyrie would be double crewed. When it came to the areas outside of it's effective sensor range, the Raven-Class Scout Craft were the five senses of the Valkyrie and it'd be a complete waste not taking maximum advantage of the systems in each Raven launched. This was particularly important when heading into a field of asteroids that had been acting as a den of illegal activity, all the while being in the vicinity of the 'Armistice Line'. While infrared sensors could do well enough peering through dust, there was no telling what could hide within or behind asteroids before one took a detailed look through a variety of sensory systems, something that was best handled by someone who wasn't focused on controlling the craft in response to whatever might be found in sensory data. And was there a lot to sift through. Sure, built in expert systems could help sift through the streams of data, but if computers alone could be trusted to make final decisions, you wouldn't find a single pilot, never-mind two, inside the cockpit of recon craft.

With that being the case, following the mission parameters of Captain Starling would mean 12 personnel, including herself heading out in the ordered six craft. Strictly speaking, she didn't have to be out there herself, but Erica wasn't one to lead from behind in any case. Besides, if an ambush did occur, it'd probably be proceeded with electronic jamming that'd make maintaining command and control over the flight from the ship a hassle if not impossible. Not that she didn't trust her subordinates to manage themselves, but that she was their Squad leader precisely because her leading them was beneficial.

After 0826 ST

After briefing relevant personnel on the mission parameters and how she intended to have them met, Erica lead the flight of six craft into the void, making their way to their way toward the armistice line. Despite it being a line, by no means was Erica going to have her flight approach it as if they were spread along along a two dimensional plane. Instead, Erica would be at the center of an extended formation that would look like a 5 pointed star were it to be seen head on. She'd burn directly prograde from the front of the Valkyrie, before cancelling out her average velocity relative to the ship when the trailing edge of her sensory bubble extended only to the tip of the leading edge of the sensory bubble of the Valkyrie. Meanwhile, the 5 points of the star would position themselves so as to backfill the gaps between these two bubbles. Of course, the formation wouldn't be rigged, but shift relative to the scanning tasks that needed to be done and how the workload would be shared. Additionally, as a precaution against attacks, for recon ships were always prime targets of the enemy, all six ships would engage in computer-assisted random maneuvers, while still maintaining formation on average.

[Imperialisium]

Portside Hangar Pod
0830 ST

As the Marines were loaded onto the Lockheed-Grumman's the two gunships swiveled with the help of small mechanical hydraulic pulleys gripping their landing gear. Bringing them about to the hangar lifts. Alarm klaxons kicking on as both birds were lowered into the few launch tubes designed to launch larger craft. The Grumman's could be launched from the hangar deck themselves similar to VTOLs on old Terran maritime carriers if their was a hurry. But this was not the case.

The voice of the launch controller coming over their helmet communications as the launch signals flashed red. Tima, Anderson, pre-flight check signals are registering All Clear on our end. Starting Magnetic Coils. The signals flashed to yellow. Coils charged. Locks came forward and gripped the landing gears of the gunships. We are go for launch. Beginning countdown. The catapults pulled the gunships forward slowly until the noses of the birds were just within the tubes. Launch. The signal lights flashed green. A second later both gunships and all their occupants would feel a sudden lurch as the powerful magnetic accelerators of the mighty warships launch catapults rapidly brought both gunships into an exponentially increasing velocity. A process that took two to three seconds in actuality. But velocitation and visual perception could sometimes make the lurching discomfort of rapid onset acceleration like this drag on for several moments. Until zero-g became firmly apparent as both mighty warbirds surged into the void towards their target.

Carrier Air Patrol
Anasztaziya Tisza, Callsign Artemis
0835 ST

"Control this is Artemis, conducting second fly by of the boarding parties approach now. Over."

Roger that Artemis. Gunships are en route. Ravens at assigned perimeter locations. Over.

Bringing her Apollo onto a parallel vector to the assigned airlock the Marines would be going through. Or two rather, for two sets of airlock doors were under the large painted white numerals: 19. Passing by relatively slowly both fighters drifted onwards. "Control, Airlock is clear for boarding party's approach."

Gunships have been notified to begin docking procedures.

CIC
0843 ST

Ships Captain Starling turned to the distinctive voice of Carter, the Valkyrie's own Master Chief Petty Officer, if anyone knew about Quartermaster duties or even how to somehow scrounge up things from some half-forgotten locker, it was Carter. "So good for you to join us Officer Carter," she responded. A slight annoyance creeping into Starling's voice. He'd hear of it later, but now focus was on the operation at hand.

The periodic report from the Valkyrie's Chief Engineering Officer came in the form of Shivam approaching quickly to recite the report verbally. Nodding Starling turned to the helmsmen team, "Keep course and deceleration rate." Both nodded as they monitored their consoles and equipment. Looking back across the central command table she continued in the next rattle off directive,

"Miss Wingate, notify the station administrator that boarding party is on approach to airlock 19. Patch me through to the Gunships." The Valkyrie's Communication officer nodded and began speaking into her headset quickly while giving a thumbs up to her commanding officer, "Gunships on frequency 172.4."

Starling picked up the heavy military headset, more similar to an ancient Vietnam Era field radio than the fancy personal devices civilians used, "Tima, Anderson, Marines going into Epsilon Station, This is The Captain Starling. You've done sweep operations like this over and over these past days. You know what to expect, and what could go wrong, as always play it by the book. Search and seizure. Destroy what you can't take on site if it is expedient to do so. Station Security is full of ex-Sirian jarheads. As such, I need not remind each and every one of you that it'll be a tense atmosphere in there. Just remember you're among the Federation's finest. Happy Hunting."

Hanging up the communication phone to cut the connection she turned to to Miss Wingate again, "Make sure Bell is ready with a triage away team if things get dicey in there. There'll plenty of itchy trigger fingers."

"Yes, Mam," responded Miss Wingate methodically as she connected to the Ships Medical Bay, her voice could barely be overheard, "Yes, Captain Starling wants a triage away team assembled and ready for deployment into a potential hot zone..."

Victoria clasped her hands behind her back and checked the clock. "Shivam, get Wilson to get some coffee up here," commented Starling with a small smile. The Officer of the Watch grinned and began to ring the Mess Hall to direct Wilson to make a delivery.

Raven Flight
0847 ST

Space was quiet. Outside of their own breathing and the occasional communication check or message the cockpit of any craft was unnaturally quiet. To the point some pilots believed the hardest part was keeping focus when all around you was star speckled blackness. So silent that the audible ping of a contact would cause an anxious jump. Ping. There were no real pings in space as far as SIDAR detections were concerned. Unlike old Terran submariners playing cat and mouse in its Oceans centuries ago. No, the ping of a contact was a small Human touch to the instrument panels of a reconnaissance aircraft. Ping. The Raven's had picked up on something with a drive signature just opposite of the Armistice Line. At the very edge of their own effective scanning range. A blip occasionally masked by an asteroid or bit of stellar debris. Yet, it was there, how could they tell? Because it was moving at a speed that perfectly matched their own.

A scrawl of text as their onboard computers crunched the complex algorithms brought on by the data being fed to them. Eventually, a bold text would flare to life. Drive Signature Match: Sirian Stellar Navy 'Alpha-Class Destroyer.' This was followed by a series of metrics brought on by estimates gleaned from the SIDAR data feeding into the Raven's sophisticated computation systems. Three hundred and eighty five meters long. One hundred and ninety at widest. It matched the size of a Alpha-Class, the name designation was a Terran callsign for the destroyers that started to roll out of shipyards in Sirian space during the early 2330s. Replacing their older war time designs. Its domestic designation was The Taigun-Class Heavy Attack Destroyer.

The Sirians were paying attention after all...

[Bolslania]

0843
En route to Airlock 19


"Copy that Bridge." Tima said after he got the orders to begin docking procedures. He had begun his deceleration approach to the station, on his left and right he could see the Raven squadron and Apollo flight.

"Black flight to Callsigns Frogman and Raven. If you've got anything to make me aware of this is the time to do it. Over" He was still about 30 km from the Airlock, he could see the cold, grey doors of the station growing closer to him. He had been made aware that the security of the station was former Sirian Marines. Whatever happened in there, it sure wasn't going to be boring.

He flicked on the intercom to the passenger bay

"30 kilometers to station." He said, that would hopefully give the marines the time they needed to prepare to disembark.

[Imperialisium]

Carrier Air Patrol
Callsign Frogman
0844 ST

While Artemis and Racetrack were conducting their own flyby patrol, Aerospace Force Captain Marcus "Lapierre, callsign 'Frogman' moved his P-17 Apollo Aerospace Superiority Fighter on a circuitous route. Callsign Darius adjacent to him. His callsign was more or less a joke that stuck from his rookie days. Which, yes, was unimaginative given that he was of French background. Once upon a time he'd have taken great offense. Now, he'd just give a small grin before downing his gin.

"Copy that Black flight. You're clear on our end. All space between you and that airlock. Over."

Glancing down at his SIDAR panel he saw nothing. Though the Apollo's did not have nearly the powerful scanning instruments of the Raven's and Valkyrie. Still, a small reassurance that nothing was going to spontaneously manifest between Black flight and the airlock.

The airlock itself was actually a pair of hatchways. Side by side, but set far enough apart for two craft to dock, leading to two pressurization chambers which intern led to a conjoined antechamber. beyond lay the station proper. The way all to the antechamber was empty. While, standing in the antechamber itself was the station Administrator.

Airlock 19 Antechamber

Administrator Davin Feldmann was best described as 'lanky.' Middle aged, mid-forties, with small flecks of gray in his brown hair. Styled with shaved sides and back with a slight come over to the side. He was pale, unnaturally so, a lifetime spent in space with nothing but artificial solar lamps gave one even of swarthy heritage a lighter complexion after a while. Especially, a few generations of spaceborne. Indeed, his parents were freight haulers out of Helica. Grandparents from Ceres station back in Sol. Third generation voidsman. Brown eyes watched the airlock inner doors silently. A data pad at his waist.

It would have been mostly silent in there save for the closing clanks of magnetic boots. A trio of men wearing fabric and hard plate body armor came into view. While the armor was not military grade. Their weapons were close enough. MIlitary surplus side arms while the lead man had a Hekler & Koch SMG 27. Its compact body, thirty-nine round mag able to be swiftly brought to bear in the confines of a station. Chambered to the classic 9mm. Behind him both men carried longer weapons of the battle rifle quality. A pair of older G17's used by the Sirians in the Great Colonial War. Firing a more powerful 7.75x55mm cartridge. 'Security' adorned their chest and back plates in white paint.

"Terran Marines. Eh? Small problem, they come in, maybe confiscate some things from the workers. Leave." The harsh Sirian accent was notoriously deep in tone. Feldmann still could not quite get used to it despite being this stations Administrator for the past two years.

"Just a routine contraband sweep," responded Feldmann while sparing a glance to his ex-military compatriot. The trio of men were in their thirties. Ex-Sirian Marines now earning keep from running station security out here in the middle of nowhere space. They, like him, were pale. Sirius star was not as potent as Sol. As such the generations of Sirians growing up in their home star system leaned towards lighter skin and eye tones.

"Routine. Hm, of course."

[New yugoslavaia]

0843
Charlie Transport interior

Station raids weren't anything new to Darwin Bures. Ever since he had officially joined the Colonial Marine Corps, these sorts of assignments would crop up from time to time. At this point the whole procedure had become quite routine. Receive orders, enter station, snoop around for contraband and weaponry, strike key targets and maybe shoot a few people who wouldn't take arrest for an answer. But while the general outline of these missions stayed the same over the years, the way in which Darwin performed them changed. While once he was just another grunt blindly taking orders from his superiors, now he was a full blown sergeant in charge of his own squad...taking orders from his superiors.
But a part of him preferred these sorts of missions. Maybe it was the reduced tension compared to other operations. Or it could be the fact that a majority of the time there wasn't someone trying to blow his brains out around every corner. Didn't mean they were easy, just less stressful more often then not.
Just then, the transport's intercom chimed in.
"30 kilometres to station"
In response to these words, Sergeant Bures addressed his squad.
"You heard the pilot. Not long till we make contact with the area of operation. Most likely only a few minutes. Get your gear ready. Remember, we strike alpha point first and then go for beta."
All 12 marines lining the sides of the hold had their heads turned towards his position at the back. Making up their ranks were people of varying ethnicity and nationality all clad in the signature green and grey combat suits of the CMC.
"Understood soldiers?"
"Roger that, commander." They replied in near unison.
"Alright then. Let's do some cleaning up."

[Bolslania]

0845


Tima reversed power as they came in to land on the station. The two doors of airlock 19 opened, and Tima and Anderson drifted slowly in. He engaged the landing gear, touching down lightly onto the landing pad. Anderson did the same next to him.


"Black 1 to Bridge, we have touched down. Over" He said, flicking the light in the passenger bay to yellow, signaling the ramp was going to drop shortly. As the Airlocks doors closed and the hangar was pressurized, he flicked the light to green and dropped the ramp to let the boarding party out.

Out of the canopy he could see their welcome wagon. Three security guards and some hangar manager stood waiting for them. He killed the engines and settled back for a long wait. The guards were pretty well armed, but clearly weren't showing signs of wanting to get in a fight with the Marines.

[Antimersia]

CIC
0843 ST

Carter nodded in understanding to Captain Starling. He heard the annoyance in her voice. A scolding was on its way for certain. Nothing someone who has been in service as long as he has isn't used to. It will be the first from Captain Starling though, which will no doubt make it feel new if nothing else. He listens in on the orders Starling gives to the marines headed to Epsilon station. He stands at attention, with his arms crossed in front of his body rather than behind. The shorter sleeves of his uniform shirt show his weathered but muscular arms. Starling and Tima report back and forth. Carter hears the captain say routines and it makes him visibly wince.

"The more people say routine the more worried for surprises I feel. We're lucky the Admin is a Terran. One of these days some Siri is gonna end up in charge of a station. That'll be the day this whole sector goes to shit." Carter said, slightly out of turn. Just then a transmission from of of the Ravens came through.

"Raven to Valkyrie, we have confirmed sighting of a Sirian Stellar Navy Alpha-Class Destroyer at the Armistice line." The SIDAR data came with the transmission. Carter approached the screen and looked it over along with the ensign sitting at the screen. Carter put his hand on the ensign's chair and leaned in uncomfortably closely.

"Captain Starling, the report checks out." Carter relayed. "Open comms with the Raven." He told the ensign, who set up to transpond Carter's message. "Valkyrie to Raven this is Master Chief Petty Officer Chesire. Keep an eye on that ship. If it does anything squirrely, we wanna know yesterday."

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

Captain Erica Rayne - Leader of Raven-Class Reconnaissance Squadron on the Valkyrie

---

CIC
0843 ST

Carter nodded in understanding to Captain Starling. He heard the annoyance in her voice. A scolding was on its way for certain. Nothing someone who has been in service as long as he has isn't used to. It will be the first from Captain Starling though, which will no doubt make it feel new if nothing else. He listens in on the orders Starling gives to the marines headed to Epsilon station. He stands at attention, with his arms crossed in front of his body rather than behind. The shorter sleeves of his uniform shirt show his weathered but muscular arms. Starling and Tima report back and forth. Carter hears the captain say routines and it makes him visibly wince.

"The more people say routine the more worried for surprises I feel. We're lucky the Admin is a Terran. One of these days some Siri is gonna end up in charge of a station. That'll be the day this whole sector goes to shit." Carter said, slightly out of turn. Just then a transmission from of of the Ravens came through.

"Raven to Valkyrie, we have confirmed sighting of a Sirian Stellar Navy Alpha-Class Destroyer at the Armistice line." The SIDAR data came with the transmission. Carter approached the screen and looked it over along with the ensign sitting at the screen. Carter put his hand on the ensign's chair and leaned in uncomfortably closely.

"Captain Starling, the report checks out." Carter relayed. "Open comms with the Raven." He told the ensign, who set up to transpond Carter's message. "Valkyrie to Raven this is Master Chief Petty Officer Chesire. Keep an eye on that ship. If it does anything squirrely, we wanna know yesterday."

0843 ST

"Copy that, Valkyrie." Erica responded abruptly. She wasn't one to use more words than necessary to communicate, especially not in the void. To that note, she'd use text to communicate to the rest of the flight, that while should hold their current formation and continue their scanning, that they should keep watch of the Sirian Destroyer it's surroundings and inform her of anything abnormal.

in the absence of something significant, if there was one thing Erica wasn't going to do, it was leave their current formation in front of the Valkyrie. If the Sirian Destroyer meant them harm, it would mostly likely not be means of direct attack, while they remained on their relative sides of the armistice line due, to the obvious political consequences, it'd be by distracting them and leaving them vulnerable to attack by irregulars officially unassociated with them. In the scenario that the destroyer did open up for an attack, the fact the Valkyrie it's self could already see the ship was a comfort, as was and having a forward position immediately in front of the Valkyrie that extended situational awareness sensor range, which was simply superior to establishing a position further out, that'd be more vulnerable to jamming, which would be a concern even in the case of an attack by irregulars.

Another possibility that merged those two risks would be an effort to put the Ravens in a position where dodging irregular attackers would require having to cross the armistice line, which would allow the Sirians to treat the move, without context as an act of aggression worth diplomatic complaints at best, or immediate use of force at worst. At which point the Valkyrie would have to either accept the embarrassment of losses, or escalate the confrontation while appearing to be the aggressor. Erica paid little consideration of what the relative strength of the Destroyer against the battlegroup might be, potential. reinforcements currently out of view was always a possibility.

This all course, was assuming malicious intent on the part of the Sirians. In any case, it still made sense to continue a sensor sweep immediately in front of the ship, in the case of sincerely coincidental traps set by criminals.

[Revlona]

0845
Lt. Colonel Takanami

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, lets move out." Takanami said over the command frequency. He un did the straps which were securing him to his seat and then stood quickly, watching as the officers and NCOs of Bravo company shooting to their feet and issuing their own set of orders to the gathered marines. He did a quick equipment check as he began to walk towards the lowered ramp, mentally going over every part of his gear to ensure it was all in order, he had done this 5 times already on their way over and 2 times before they had taken off.

Placing one hand to the side of his helmet and pressing a small button that was there, he switched from the command frequency to that of the Valkyrie. "Valkyrie this is Bulldog actual," he said. Bulldog was the usual callsign for the entire Battalion, each company had their own call sign, but when the Lt. Colonel was on he broadband, Bulldog was used. "We've touched down and will be beginning shortly. There is a small welcoming party from the station but otherwise no issues so far, over."

At the same time and down the ramp a little, Bravo Companies commander, Major Alisa Winters had keyed into the pilots frequency. "Black 1 this is Raven Actual, are you going to be lifting off after we are dropped? If not I'll be leaving a platoon in security for you, over" she said. As she awaited the answer from the Pilot she began to issue her own orders, she looked at 1st Platoons commander and said, "Lt. Wallin, get your plattoon set up in a defensive perimeter around the transports and the hangers key points."

As Andrew awaited a reply from command he jogged over to the waiting station Security, "Lt Colonel Takanami, Colonial Marine Corps. Under Terran law this station will now be searched for illegal persons and contraband, if you wish to tag along you are welcome to do so. However I'm going to lay this out loud and clear, if you get in the way of, touch, or in any way interfere with my Marines doing their jobs it will not go well for you. I'll ask that you stick with the two naval officers back there and out of my Marines way anyways," He said, pointing over his shoulder at Lt. Commander Victor and Commander al-Numan.

[Segmentia]

Valkyrie, XO quarters
0830

Commander Alexander Albor slowly moved the straight razor down his cheek, rinsing the shaving foam off the blade once he had finished the stroke. Looking into the mirror he was satisfied with the job and proceeded to wash his face, and then apply an after-shave. Once that was done he pulled on his uniform top, against checking in the mirror to make sure everything was in order. He checked his watch and nodded. He wasn't due on the bridge until 0845, even with an operation going, and he had enough time for the walk from his room to the bridge. Doing one last check, Alexander made for the door, stopping hesitantly to pour himself out a small shot of whiskey that he knocked back without a thought. He had never reported to duty drunk of course, except in emergency situations where he was forced to on his off-shift, but a single shot would hardly do anything. Besides, it wasn't like his drinking habits weren't known, but he did his job and he did it well.

Grabbing a mug of coffee on his way out of his room, Alexander started making his way to the bridge, passing crew members, saluting back as they snapped into salutes, exchanging a few words with those who spoke to him, which wasn't many. Most crew tried to keep under his radar as much as possible, since his reputation as a disciplinarian hard-ass was probably more well known then the open secret that he was a drunk. Coming up to the CIC, Alexander nodded at the marines, who opened the hatch for him. He stepped on the bridge at exactly 0845, finishing his coffee and setting his mug down on a side table, out of the way. He walked up to the command table, eyes peering up at the displays for a moment.

“Captain.” He greeted Captain Sterling with a nod before returning his attention to the screens, frowning slightly. “Still a bit close to the border.” He mused, looking at Epsilon Stations position. It was projected to continue further into Terran side, but it was still very close to the Sirian Republic side of the border, and Alexander was always uneasy about the Sirian's, understandably so with his PoW experience at their hands. He guessed that the ONI had pressed for jumping on the station for the sweep as soon as possible, but he had a bad feeling about it.


SSRNV Hawk, Lalande System

The Hawk was a newer ship in the Sirius Star Republic Navy, a Vengeance-class IV Heavy Cruiser, with slight variations to the baseline Vengeance-class, including more point-defense systems, improved engines and power plant, and an upgraded sensor suite. Like most Sirian ships, it boasted an impressive amount of armor and weapons systems, typical for Sirius vessels. All in all, she was a sleek, modern war vessel.

Uniform perfect, steps clacking on the polished and spotless floor, Commodore Isabel Carrow walked onto the bridge of the Hawk, flanked by two guards. Ahead of her was a view of the stars, glittering in their brilliance. It wasn't a view port, of course, instead being a large projector screen currently displaying the view of the forward facing cameras, the screen able to project dozens of other views if needed.

The bridge of the Hawk was spacious, with the various stations and consoles situated lower then the main floor in 'the trenches' as they were nicknamed, a lower level that wrapped around the entire room. This would allow the ships senior officers to easily observe the workings of the various consoles, without having the work around crew that might be going back and forth. There was a much less spacious secondary bridge further within the ship, should the primary bridge be destroyed or taken out in some other fashion.

Commodore Carrow was a tall woman, her tanned skin making her stand out among the usually more pale Sirians under her command, but none would dare say she wasn't one of them, being the daughter of the famed, though infamous elsewhere, Sirius Navy Admiral Nathan Carrow. She was however fairly young for her rank, only in her early thirties, though considering her upbringing and the family name that was fairly understandable. She was one of the new generation of Sirius senior commanders, having been prepared for most of her life to lead the forces of the Republic in the next war, trained and taught to further the Republic's goals, much like the Hawk had been designed and built to do.

“Commodore.” A voice greeted Isabel to her left, her first officer coming to stand beside her. “Captain Viltri.” Isabel said back, holding out her hand and taking the offered data-pad, scanning the reports.

“We've received word from Epsilon station. As expected, there's a Terran ship inbound to the station, probably come for a routine sweep. Our sources put it as the TNS Valkyrie.” Viltri said, and Isabel couldn't stifle the derisive snort she made.

“The Valkyrie? I didn't realize the Terrans allowed museum ships to conduct active operations.” She said with a slight smirk, though she realized that an Odin-class vessel was a formidable opponent, even if it was old, especially if it was carrying modern strike craft. The Hawk has a decent compliment of its own strike craft, but not nearly as much as a fully loaded Odin might have.

Viltri's own small grin faded though. “True enough, ma'am, however we have some important assets on Epsilon and if the Terrans decide to do a sweep, well the team leader puts their risk of discovery at above acceptable percentages. The team could go to ground, but the more sensitive equipment would still be at risk.” He informed her, and Isabel frowned. She wasn't personally in favor of the operations being undertaken by the Republic Intelligence Service on Epsilon, too much of a risk of discovery on a station that went back and forth over the Armistice Line, though it was that very thing that the RIS liked about the station, and if the more sensitive operations were discovered...

“Are they too far over the line to initiate the fail-safe in time?” Isabel asked, and she and Viltri looked to the sensor station. “Well within range, ma'am.” The officer at the station responded.

“Good. Send a tight-beam message to the team leader. Order them to initiate the fail safe.” She said to Viltri, who nodded. “Comms, inform the task force that we're moving towards Epsilon station. Also have Major Radec prepare her marine battalion for rapid deployment to Epsilon. Helm, half ahead, bring us into position for rapid deployment of marines to airlock 14, adjust as needed.” She snapped out her orders, getting a round of crisp affirmatives as the bridge moved into action.

[Bolslania]

0845
Airlock 19

The voice of Major Winters crackled into Tima's headset, asking if he would be leaving or not.

"Negative Raven Actual, we're staying put until you guys are done, over." He said. Tima was on edge, something didn't feel right here.

He had served a tour in combat, and had developed something on an instinct for sensing danger. Right now that instinct was blaring like a claxon. The only problem was that he didn't know where the problem was going to come from. Hopefully two companies of Marines would be able to deal with whatever issues might arise on station.

[Caltharus]

0841
2nd Lieutenant Wallin

Lucas pushed the urge to sleep away for what felt like the hundredth time. The steady hurr of the Lockheed-Grumman brought his mind back to the countless training missions as a cadet, during which he had learned to take any chance to sleep even a little. Thus, for the moments of rest they gave Lockheed-Grumman and the like had become some of his most beloved vehicles. Yet now there was no time for that. The long-awaited call from the ship's cockpit came, signalling the soldiers that there were only four minutes to go until touching down at the station. immediately after receiving the info, Lucas shouted “Four minutes” to his platoon in the transport, simultaneously lifting his arm with four fingers pointing up. One by one in quick succession the marines answered with the same movement, thus showing that they had heard and understood the message.

As they turned their heads away, many of the men begun to check their gear once more. The idea amused Lucas at first, for everyone had already done that before entering the transports, not to mention the fact that there was nothing anyone could do even if something had been left behind. Then doubt crawled into his mind. After all what harm did a quick re-check do? And so, he too quickly tapped through his pouches and other gear, checking that it indeed was right where it was supposed to be. Magazines for his SMG in their pouches at his abdomen, his service pistol strapped to his right leg, the patches denoting his affiliation and unit on his shoulders, everyone was as it should be. Then at last he arrived with the SMG itself. The weapon was well kept, even though the black paint on it showed some tear. With smoothness coming from hundreds of repetitions he checked that the safety was still on, that magazine was properly put in and that reflex sight was soundly fastened to the railing.

As their Lockheed-Grumman begun the docking process Lucas took a few deep breaths. "First live mission, here we go" he thought to himself. Though there of course was some tension on his body about how he would fair in the coming ordeal, routine or not, deep down he knew to trust himself. He had been taught everything he needed to know, and everyone knew what they were about to do. Not to mention that the presence of the hardened Platoon Sergeant Morra, who would help him make the right calls, something Lucas had no trouble with. Officer or not there was knowledge only experience would bring, which the sergeant had, and he lacked.

As the transport touched down Lucas tensed and gripped his SMG, ready to jump up and exit with purposeful haste. The seconds leading up to the go ahead felt like an eternity, which showed his well-hidden nervousness about leading people into live situation. Yet when the command came to his headset there was no doubt in his movements – or words. “Move out people! What are we waiting for?” With the command spoken the Alpha Platoon of the Bravo Company exploded into action hurrying out of the craft.

[Imperialisium]

Epsilon Station Airlock 19
0850 ST
Evelyn Valiere

The tramping of heavy booted feet down the duo of Lockheen-Grumman's rear hatches, boots already mag-locking to the metal floor beneath them in case of sudden gravity complications, was surprisingly muffled by idling engines of the craft themselves. Both companies of marines trooped down their moved by platoon and squad as they disembarked. Private Evelyn Valiere, Bravo Company of the 83rd Marine Battalion, moved down onto the dull gray metal decking of the airlocks. Airlocks which were large enough to accommodate such transportation traffic smoothly.

Moving along Valiere could not help but glance about her warily. She was fresh, right out of boot camp, right out of basic training. Passed her EVA training days before shipping out to the Valkyrie in December of last year. Clutching her compact SMG she viewed the world through the helmet optics and auto-sensory data feeds. It sounded high tech, and compared to civilian kit it was, but it was practical and functional. The helmet was mainly to keep her alive in the case of sudden and violent depressurization. To feed her oxygen from the suits supply system and when in conjunction with the rest of the suit could keep her alive if suddenly ejected out into space long enough for pick up from the Battlegroup. That last part of course counting also on the small transponder she could activate to more quickly make herself known when probably spiraling out into the blackness of space. A thought which terrified any Marine with the brains to realize how horrific a fate that would be.

Her company was to form perimeter for contraband and possibly even fugitive containment. A boring job she'd done before when the Valkyrie was sweeping through other stations during the previous days. As of now she awaited more direct orders. As her NCOs directed them into detachments to secure access ways and even maintenance shafts. A Private First Class led her and another Private away from the Hangar and to secure a side hallways leading straight to the Security suite. A pair of hangar workers, tattoos around their necks, eyed them warily as they worked on some piping.

The trio of Marines moved until they came to an intersection and then posted up. Private First Class Henry Martins stoically moving his head left to right slowly as he monitored the route straight ahead. Private Hans Volgenberg monitored the hallway right, perpendicular to the way they had come, and finally Private Valiere watching the opposite direction. Drab red paint stenciled onto the walls marked their hallway as leading to Hydroponics Lab 11 and Processing Center 3.

Clearing her throat she looked down the hallway.

"Bored already Private?" came the voice of Martins. His helmet mic adding a distinct radio-esque tone.

"Nothing. Just, doesn't it seem a touch quiet. This is a main hallway?" responded Valiere.

"Several thousand people live on this station. An indeterminate more seasonally. But, most work the agri-domes, hydroponics, and mining facilities. Shifts may be stopped while the sweep is in progress anyways," explained Martins confidently.

"Talk about a reason for a day off," chimed Volgenberg. His distinct German accent lacing every word.

"Yeah well, hopefully the sweep makes good time," continued Martins.

Evelyn rolled her shoulders and felt the pleasure of the motion before speaking, "Two companies for a station this big? Should have sent three or four to do this quickly."

"Hah!" cackled Volgenberg, "Time isn't a pressure in this operation. Our skipper will see anyone attempting to blast away from the station and intercept them before they can get far. Higher ups know any goons that may be here are stuck on this rock."

"That's what worries me," shot back Evelyn.

Martins glanced her way momentarily, "Look, couple scrapes by the local dregs on previous sweeps in the past few days got some on edge for it to happen here. Odds are it probably will, just make peace with that and we'll be back eating grub on the Valkyrie."

"Plus, for any fools looking to engage two companies of Marines, we brought the tie wraps just for them," jeered Volgenberg.

Hangar 19 Antechamber

As the Marines arrived and began fanning out in pursuit of their initial objectives given to them by their immediate superiors. Administrator Feldmann stepped up when the Federation officers were spotted. The trio of Security personnel with him remained rather passive. Barring the occasional blurb spoken into their shoulder mics. Looking more like a gritty police unit in some backwater colonial city's projects than anything else.

"Administrator Davin Feldmann, welcome to Station 04, Epsilon." Pulling out a small datapad and thumbing it on he held it out while speaking, "Station Manifest and personnel logs. Security has also included anyone who as been detained. Just the usual misdemeanors, couple bar altercations, a petty theft incident, and some small time drug paraphernalia confiscated from a miner's work locker two weeks ago."

The books of course were mostly accurate. The only thing missing was the off-record dealings and of course whatever the Sirian Security teams were up too. Feldmann never asked, he never cared, but could take a gander that it was some Sirian loyalists feeding information on this area of space to somewhere else. Terrans probably did the same.

Epsilon Sub-station Security Room 06
0855 ST

There were seven security room sub-stations located throughout the station. All worked in conjunction with the Main Suite near most of the Hangar airlocks. Room 06 was the furthest from the airlocks and embedded in the bowels of one of the agri-domes. Located two sub-levels before the 'surface' of the planetoid this station coursed through. Of course, 'planetoid,' was a generous term. More just oversized asteroid. But one can digress many thousands of words on the exact nature and specifications of each. to the locals they simply called it an asteroid. No matter how inaccurate that term was. But everyone knew what you meant and so it got the job done.

As per typical a pair of security officers sat in the room. One monitoring cameras and another frustratingly swearing about a lengthy computer diagnostic. At least, until another monitor flashed alive and began downloading an encrypted transmission packet. Tight beam, military grade encryption, over five thousand bit scrambled coding matrix. The real deal.

The officer running the diagnostic on the adjacent machine snapped his fingers quickly. His older colleague, for he looked mid-twenties at best, turned slowly in his chair. But upon seeing the packet downloading he straightened. It took a full six minutes for the packet to be received and decrypted by the clandestine software on the computer system itself. The message itself was small for the time it took when not accounting for light-delay. They were burning the operation here.

"Start server dump and purge protocols. Wipe the hard drives."

"On it."

"The purge will take to long. We ain't got the time. Hit the fail safe."

The younger security officer stopped for a split second in hesitation. Seeing his older colleagues look he nodded silently, "Blowing fail safe."

Both men, previously languid, burst into activity. A mass server dump was commenced on, well, servers that shouldn't exist in the first place. While military grade wiping protocols were activated in these ghost systems to begin the destruction of valuable data that could not fall into the Federation's hands. Conversation recordings to data pulled from the station itself. Ship traffic and communication recordings, flight logs, the intelligence department's absolute complete gamut of data to be analyzed.

Pulling out a small receiver he gripped it, hands moistening from the tension, and looked at his older colleague. Eye brows raising as the man with flicks of gray in his short stubby black beard was busily readying an SMG, two pistols, and a shotgun. They could become compromised, and needed to get out within their window of opportunity. He pressed the only button on the small electronic receiver.

Airlock Bays to Security Suite access hallway
Private Evelyn Valiere
0915 ST

Rolling her shoulders once more she was about to glance to her side when a sudden lurch almost made her fall in the opposite direction. Lights flickered in the hallway. The mag-locks on her boots keeping her in position. It was if the entire gravity pull of the rock they were on had shifted violently and suddenly.

"What the fuck was that?!" she heard Martins say.

"I don't know, nothing good. Gravity disturbance? Planetoid collision? No, we'd be forewarned," Volgenberg stammered quickly.

Something was very, very, wrong.

Valkyrie CIC
0845-0915 ST

Starling heard Carter's remark and his conversation with the Raven pilots out on deployment. She paid no heed for the wording. Such things were common parlance and Victoria made no overt policing of decorum unless it was warranted. In this case it did not warrant it at all. Merely monitoring the screens and listening to the back and forth communications coming in. The Marines had landed without incident and were deploying to begin their sweep of the station. Everything was going rather swimmingly.

Albor, now that was a Sailor's Sailor if you ever saw one. Right down to the alcoholism and colorful way he could spin an insult on just about anyone. One did not receive a real dressing down until they had been at the wrong end of Albor's mouth. But he as an Executive Officer on a major Naval vessel and a Prisoner-Of-War survivor. He, quoting a hapless deck crewman who had failed to properly secure some ordinance in the starboard flight pod a week ago, "Was the real fuckin' deal."

"Close but this has happened before with that rock."

That was when two back to back incidents caused Starling to lock eyes with both men. A recent Raven transmission and the sudden, violent, lurch of the planetoids slow course. Something had detonated with enough focus and charge to nudge the planetoid just enough as for it to be on a new course. Towards the Armistice Line...

[Bolslania]

0850
Airlock 19
Epsilon station

Tima had just leaned back in his seat when he was rocked around by a jarring explosion. He bolted up

"What the fuck was that?!" Hans yelled from the front seat.

"No clue." Tima said, he adjusted his radio to the Valkyrie's command frequency

"Valkyrie Actual this is Black 1, seismic or explosive activity possibly detected on Station, please advise over." He said. Hopefully the guys back on the Valkyrie knew what had just happened.

Setting the frequency to Lt.Col Takanami he spoke

"Bulldog be advised, standby to evac, over." If there was some problem on the station, he wanted to be able to get the Marines on board and out of here as fast as possible. He had his thumb over the engine ignition button, waiting for the reply from the Valkyrie

"Mover this is Ivan, standby for evac over." He said to his wingman

"Copy that Ivan." Crackled the reply.

[Antimersia]

Valkyrie CIC
0900

"Prep a skiff for immediate med evac!" Carter yelled. Carter watched the explosion from the CiC. Seeing it brought on a feeling as if he was there, feeling it surge through his body all too well. For the first moment after the blast, he felt like he was back on earth, diffusing the bomb that nearly put him on ice over two years ago. The pain of the shrapnel threshing his arm and face returned like a phantom to his body. It didn't take him long to snap right back into the moment though. Instantly leaping into action to get the crew moving to help the two companies of marines, as well as anyone else on the station that might need it. His focus on helping the people affected, nearly blinded him to the fact that the station was drifting towards the armistice line. A fact with ramifications that Carter could hardly even fathom in this moment. When it did dawn on him though, he instantly turned to his Captian for answers. Climbing the stairs, standing across the console at the center of the CiC, Carter makes a recommendation to his Captain.

"I suggest we order a full retreat Captain Starling. And maybe take as many civis on board as we can fit in the process. Explosion like that no doubt could lead to decompression, and I don't think I gotta even mention the fact that its headed right towards Sirian void space. Awaiting orders Captain." He says, speaking clearly yet hurriedly to act as quickly as possible.

[Cybernetic Socialist Republics]

Captain Erica Rayne - Leader of Raven-Class Reconnaissance Squadron on the Valkyrie

---

0850+ ST

Soon after the explosion went off on the planetoid, Erica's Raven flight began analyzing ever bit of information that it could from it, highly the most important bits of information to her craft's computer system, both so she could guide their analysis and so that she could highlight important information to relay to the Valkyrie. On thing that was becoming clear, was that the propagation of the explosion seemed to suggest that it was deliberate and controlled for a purpose, rather than being the result of an accident. However at the end of the day, there they were still in voidcraft and didn't have the capacity to respond on scene like the marines. Additionally being reconnaissance craft, it didn't make sense to split off from their current path to get a closer look.

If anything the occurring of an explosion was further evidence of the importance of making sure to continue maintaining a perimeter for the Valkyrie, as even some what weakening the perimeter increase the risk of a deliberate attack getting through. One thing Erica did consider was the possibility that it might not have been a remotely triggered explosion, if it wasn't there was a good chance that someone either already had, was in the process of, or about to be, fleeing the scene of the crime. To that end, she directed her flight watch out for any unexpected departures, particularly heading out to the Sirian ship, in addition to looking back at data to see if any such activity had already occurred. If possible, she'd contact the Valkyrie about trying to intercept such a flight before it reached the armistice line.