With the battle off New Vulcan having determined the intentions of GESO, the mobilization of Frankia's reserves truly began in earnest. Her Armadas, having not been sent beyond the Realm for centuries, now prepared themselves for a war the likes of which NS-1 had never seen before. This would be a war that would be waged for securing Frankia's security interests abroad; she could no longer afford to be a hermit state so long as both the UMS and GESO plotted for the domination of NS-1.
The Magisters looked on in silence as the vast host assembled off Septimania, and savored what was to be the brief calm before the storm. These were the famed warships that had brought the Talestrians to heel, that had carried the Dread King's standards to the Urlann, and were now readying themselves to strike a mortal blow against her enemies across the Multiverse. Calculations had projected massive casualties with a minimal chance of success, but so long as there was a chance the Frankians would take it.
Doing so would bring other great realms into the war: Maya, Alterrans, Patagonians, Triskelli, the Myr, and the Kressnians. Kressnia was expected to fall in after a short clash; her fleets could not last long against Frankia's military might. If enough systems were captured at the outset of the war then a peace favorable to the Realm might be reached, but if the war should reach Frankia then the Realm would have to ready herself for a protracted struggle.
The memory of the Pordish neutrality in Frankia's bid to reclaim Tale from the Patagonians was still ripe, though many within the government acknowledged that they would have adopted a similar position in their situation. The Pordish betrayals off Buenos Aires and New Vulcan were slated to be avenged; the gloves were about to come off at last.
Frankia's Marshals concerned themselves with expanding her land forces, and pressing her marches for men and warships. Though the Dread Fleet was vast, the assistance of the marches might prove vital in the wars to come. The Confederation of the Urlann, the Serene Republic of Atkane, the Kingdom of Talestria, and the Chimeran Hegemony were calculated to fielding together a substantial force, though such a mobilization would result in severe dislocation of their societies.
Volunteers would flock to the colors, though many would require extensive training to bring them up to speed for the wars abroad. The Dread King had called for a million volunteers, but recruiters would find themselves inundated with tens of millions. Enthusiasm for the war prevailed, and many thought their spirit could prevail over the autocannons of the foe.
Soldiers, sailors, the time has come for you to fight for the glory of our Realm. Our foes are numerous, and they will not allow themselves to be overcome easily. Take heart in the achievements of our ancestors, take pride in their determination to survive even as Great Powers succumbed to the void. The fate of Frankia and the Cosmos shall be decided in this great war; I know you will be prepare to lay down for our glorious cause. Stand firm, and do not be troubled by death; the gods will honor your supreme sacrifice in the next life.
-Dreggten Wulfius, Magister Navigum of the Dread Fleet
The Hammer Falls-Kressnia System-
Though the Frankians felt no ill will toward the Kressnians, , they would be the first to feel the wrath of the Armadas. It had not been long since the Frankians had noted Danica's grace before a Sith Lord, now they would test her resolve in the face of overwhelming force. While the Kressnians and others had prattled on about a new order within the Cosmos the Dread Kingdom was to decide the matter through blood and batteries.
Billions of probes would exit the Grid at the edge of the Kressnian interdiction field as a prelude to the assault that was to come. The system would be scanned to determine likely paths of resistance, and an FTL-I field would be erected some 50 AU around the system. Transmissions would be jammed to tighten the noose that was being placed around the Kressnia's throat.
Next would come the Armadas; their bows gracing the cosmos as they readied themselves for battle. Millions of warships, mostly smaller vessels, but with a substantial contingent of capital ships would grace the void. The banners of the 8th, the 29th Reserve, and the 40th Reserve would be visible with the naked eye; their banners denoting their triumphs long since forgotten.
It would be a magnificent sight as the Frankians moved into battle formation; great dreadnoughts looming over the much smaller, albeit numerous, destroyers. Artilleryships would move into position to support the advance; their great guns fixed on the foe to the front. Vast numbers of corvettes would proceed forward, with cruisers moving to support their screening efforts for the van.
The Fleets gathered would proceed in multiple directions as they advanced to assault the Kressnian fortifications. Moving in contingents in opposite directions they would appear to be attempting to envelop whatever forces that might be in their path. Hypergridinfusion projectors were primed, and long range ordinance was readied. Gunners stood still; waiting for the order to unleash a devastating barrage.
As the Frankians advanced multiple wings of Killercraft and Bearcats would exit from multiple hangars; bound to screen ahead of the main force. Fast, maneuverable, and lethal these craft would fly like an angry swarm of bees against their opponents. Their scans of the foe to the fore would be relayed to the warships in the van, and targets would be fed into the requisite computers. It was thought that substantial firepower and a gradual envelopment might be achieved against the Kressnians before they could react.
The weight and ferocity of the Frankian assault would be tremendous; there would be not one element left to chance. The Frankians had made GESO books quake in fear off New Vulcan with a mere fleet, how the Kressnians would react to three Armadas against them was anyone's guess. Their reaction would be a moot point, for the destruction of Kressnian military assets was but a secondary objective. If anything, their system would, if Fate willed it, be the seen of a great clash the likes of which NS-1 had never known before.
Kressnians, the hour has come for you to choose between either taking up arms against us or the laying of them down before us. You are outmatched, and your allies are far from you; surrender, and we shall guarantee you fair treatment. Resist, and we shall guarantee that there shall be many widows and orphans to wail for those whose lives were thrown away in vain. Heed not your pride, but heed only your pragmatism.
-Grand Magister Hans de Nouvelle
Nouvelle knew that the Kressnians would not yield, not when they could count on significant support. Peering over the holodisplay he took note of the statue of Oswulf de Nouevelle, his distant ancestor. During the reign of Gerwann II Oswulf had led the DKS Caedisbane and the 8th against the Naxine heartland upon their breaking of the Pax. Outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched in court Oswulf within a fortnight had driven the Naxine from their core worlds. It was their princes that he brought back in irons, it was their subjects that he had brought to toil in penance for their crimes.
The present Nouvelle turned his attention back to the holodisplay, and brought up a holoportrait of Danica.
So the gods fancy it fit to reign over mortals despite Atkane's warning?
Nouvelle sighed.
Gods rarely listen to the council of their peers, High Steward.
Aye, is that not the very truth?
The match that struck Berk's pipe briefly illuminated his face, or what was left of it after Kresski insurgents were done with him. Miserable lot, they were, and without an ounce of mercy between them. Berk's platoon had held their ground while the Kresski auxiliaries had found it more profitable to switch sides. The fight had lasted from dusk til dawn; not a single blade of grass was not slick with blood.
When the morning came there were only a handful of men left, Berk included. A Kresski officer, still wearing the uniform of an ally, offered the survivors fair treatment if they should surrender. Exhausted, at the end of their tether, and with the Kresski fleet having driven off the last Frankian fleet in the system the Frankians threw down their arms. It would have been better if they had not, for only Berk was to make it out alive.
Berk had somehow managed to escape the insurgent camp, and trek across open country for a distance of 300 leagues. All the while, he had been pursued by damned rebels, damned beasts, and damned hunger. For nigh on two months he lived like an animal, and it was only when he sighted a column of his own countrymen that he remembered that he was a man.
Nouvelle had read his file, though it was his later accomplishments that drew this former corporal in the Army to serve on a dreadnought. With his physical health in decline, Berk had sharpened his mind after multiple years of neglect. His rapid rise in the bureaucracy as a result had opened up opportunities that a son of a farmer could barely have imagined.
The Kressnians are fortunate that their gods live among them, Grand Magister, for they shan't need to travel far when we send them to them.
I would rather resolve this affair without a single drop of Kressnian blood being shed.
But can you, Grand Magister?
No.
Yamsai System
Like the Kressnian system, the arrival of the Frankian Armadas would be preceded by the deployment of billions of probes. An ftl-i field of 65 au would be raised around the system upon the completion of deep-range scans and the cutting off of communications. The Frankian forces deployed here would be far greater, and perhaps the largest force that the Frankians had ever deployed. Four Armadas would exit the grid; their bows cutting across the void to whatever fate the gods had in store.
Initial projections had assumed that five Armadas would have been sufficient, but two Armadas were allocated to the assault on the Pordish citadel. Multiple Voltigeur detachments would screen the vanguard that was forming up into battle formation, while multiple wings of Killercraft joined the light vessels to assist in the relaying of scans. Targets would be plotted into targeting computers as soon as the scans were analyzed, though emphasis would be placed on the destruction on defensive installations.
The Frankians would ready themselves for the advance, though it was assumed that the ultimate outcome of their assault was highly in doubt. No fleet had bested the Pords within their own systems, and it was believed that the best outcome would be to bloody the Pords to the extent that their losses in defending such a vital system would weaken their deployments elsewhere against Frankian assets. A pyrrhic victory here for the Pords would be a disaster for Tnem-Fragg, and would likely shift the war in Neustria's favor.
Thought was given to the roster of great allies that the Pords possessed, and the likelihood of them turning on the Pords once their position was severely undermined. The Frankian nation had readied itself for a war that would span the cosmos; her reserves were vast, though how long they would hold in the face of the full might of the UMS was highly in doubt. Frankia would have to strike her foes hard, and thus draw their fleets away from an attack on the heartland.
Soldiers, sailors, we have come to right ancient wrongs! The Pords are there; across the void. Take heart, and know that we outnumber them by a vast margin. They shall not be able to stand against you so long as your courage remains; we are not as easily perturbed as the Great Houses at the sight of blood. Billions will die this day, but a better a valiant death in the field than an ignoble one in one's bed!
DKS Judgement
Magister Steyr's eyes poured over the vast quantity of data that was coming in from the initial deep-scans of the system. It would likely not be an accurate picture, and the screening Voltigeur detachments were at this moment sending back information of a more reliable sort. Gods shield them, for they would be the first to feel the wrath of the wolf.
How had it come to this point? Before he could answer himself duty took hold; he had reviewed his orders and would follow them to the letter. The Pords must be badly mauled before they could must their fleets against the Realm; the course of the war might be decided off the system that had never been conquered. Steyr did not believe that Yamsai would easily fall; the Pords, like the Frankians themselves, would make them fight for every yard of their space.
Magister Mystarr, Commander of the 9th Reserve Armada, appeared before him on the holodisplay; his portly figure would contrast greatly with the figures of most of the Frankian commanders. Steyr did not allow his subordinate's weight to distract him from his talents in the heat of battle. It had been Mystarr's rapid envelopment and destruction of the Talestrian Fleet that had brought the half-breeds into the Realm proper. Looking back, Steyr could not determine whether that decision was wise in hindsight.
Exalted Magister, the 9th Reserve has finished forming up for this great day.
Aye, Magister, though the Pords will guarantee that this shall be a red day.
There can be no doubt in regards to that, my lord, but is that not why we are here? The 9th Reserve is ready to advance alongside her sister Armadas, will you give us this first opportunity to travel at last the hard road.
Steyr pondered that; the Voltigeurs were still relaying back multiple positions and fortifications further afield. It would take some time for the 9th, 12th, 17th, and 19th to reach them, unless the Pords decided to come on in a bid to drive the Frankians off. Off New Vulcan they had faced a fleet dedicated to the destruction of GESO forces, here, off Yamsai, they would feel the full might of the Realm.
“Advance with caution, and make sure that your artilleryships are within range to provide sufficient support. Our ships are numerous, aye, but without proper support the Pords will cut them like a scythe across an Austrasian field.”
“I have seen to that, Grand Magister, as well as ramming home to the Fleetlords and the Contingent Commanders under my hand on how they are to proceed.”
“This engagement shall depend on our resolve as much as our courage, you are dismissed Magister.”
“As you will, Exalted Magister.”
Steyr slumped into his chair and began packing his pipe; gazing out into the void that lay ahead. He struck a match, and soon his quarters were inundated with the smell of fine Austrasian tobacco. Multiple e-files lay on his desk, and he thumbed them to read of the latest dispatches from across the Host.
101st Voltigeurs
Enemy present, though in what strength is still guesswork. No reaction from the enemy so far at several million leagues from the Van, though the Engineers insist that overcoming Pordish fortifications might slow down our advance.
Across the four Armadas ships of immense size intermingled with support vessels; these were the Dreadnoughts would form the backbone of the Frankian assault. Ancient they were, some had been constructed during the reign of Gerwann II, but they had been modified each cycle to grant them new life. There was enough blood within them to make them a relation to nearly every hand that served on their decks, and each vessel would be motivated by the rivalry that existed amongst the great ships of the fleet.
Though most of the Frankian force would consist of smaller vessels whose value might prove dubious against the Pords, the Magisters regarded them as necessary in the great maneuvers that they had in mind. The vessels could be easily replaced, and their crews could always be made up through calling up the cadets from the lower classes within society. Sons of proud peasants would intermingle here with the daughters of petty bourgeois; if anything, the small vessels represented a microcosm of National Solidarity in action.
Lair of Archades-Wylus Mountains
Harsh wind, severe cold, and great snow pervaded atop the peaks of the Wylus mountain chain that divided fair Neustria in twain. Below, her rich green valleys bore both bountiful crops and folk, but it was above that her population largely resided. Mountain villas had been all the range several hundred cycles prior, and the government had poured billions of Wulfids into the construction of these outposts of civilization.
Grand Magister Lothar de Lubeck wore a fur coat over his uniform as he trudged through the snow along an illuminated path. He spared a glance at one of the new floating villas that soared above the modest towns and homesteads in the valley below and shrugged. They were becoming more of an eyesore as the cycles progressed; the government had had the wisdom to seeing that these floating abominations did not blot out the suns.
Halt, present your identification card.
Before Lubeck stood two sentries clad in a mixture of white and yellow; the colors of the Dread Fleet. A fire stood ablaze in between the sentry boxes; giving the lads at least a chance to warm themselves as the snow came on and on and on.
It was not often that a Grand Magister visited such an idealistic backdrop, particularly one dedicated to the liberal arts. Scholars, artists, satirists, philosophers, holy men, and the like were prevalent here, perhaps for a good reason. The extreme of the extreme were to be found here in political, economic, and moral outlook; the sort that had been largely blamed by the Chronicles for Frankia's many cycles of shame.
Neustrasian trash, or so most Frankians viewed them.
Still, Neustrasia still churned out the bulk of Frankia's cultural art; having managed to maintain that position as the key cultural hub even after losing its role as the capital to Neustria a thousand cycles ago. If Lubeck recalled a recent poll on the matter of returning the capital to Neustrasia received a 95% aye from Neustrasians, and a 98% no from the rest of the population within the Realm.
An attendant took Lubeck's fur coat, and escorted him to the central hall.
If Frankia is to survive into the next Age she must rid herself of Kings and Magisters!
What you speak of is treason, but proceed.
Is it treason to speak the truth? What have our Kings and Magisters given us but another bloody war?
Name a system that has not required sacrificed, Professor Pederson.
I cannot, but neither can I name one that would bleed our race to death.
Democracy? The GRA was a democracy, but she had no qualms of sending her sons, in vain, against Pordish batteries.
Aye, but that conflict did not result in her utter annihilation.
She had powerful friends which guaranteed that that did not happen, but, in the process, she lost her very soul.
That is if the GRA ever had one..
Lubeck took a seat at a table as the bell rang for the common meal to be served. Bright and dull alike knew what that meant, and most of the arguments argued time and time again over the course of countless ages were briefly set aside. Libertines and moralists broke bread together as serving wenches brought forth great amphoras of mead and wine.
Fresh pork, slaughtered just moments before in the great valleys below, was distributed in multiple styles throughout the domicile. From the series of bitter complaints from the impious Lubeck realized that it must be one of the many holy days that permeated the Frankian calendar. Which one? The Day of Judgment? The Dawn of Light?
A massive hunk of pork tenderloin had been placed before the Grand Magister alongside a chunk of black bread. Lubeck said grace, and then turned to devour what lay before him. Around him, his fellow Frankians ate more like savage zenos than a civilized folk. In public, the Frankians adhered to the protocol of guests, but, in private, their nature got the better of them.
Washing down the last bit of flesh with a glass of Austrasian red, the Grand Magister reclined briefly. He noted several of the philosophers returning to their arguments, while others filtered into a nearby room reserved for smoking. Eloquent portraits of Kings and Queens long dead adorned the wall; magnificent carpets depicting various events in Frankia's long history.
He found a couch and chanced a recline. A match soon found his ancestral pipe; engraved with multiple scenes from his family's history. Tobacco of various stains began to permeate the air; some quite cheap, some quite dear. As he pondered his coming assignment a young lass appeared before him; likely a serving girl who had labored in this domicile since a tender age.
Her Neustrasian accent immediately drew his disgust; any girl with such a vulgar accent was thought to be nothing more than a prostitute. Lubeck did not let it show, but waved the girl away. She did not budge.
I fear the Grand Magister does not recognize me, ah ha!
Should I?
Yes, you insolent swine.
She looked down at him with those green eyes; that was when he noticed her blood-red hair. Could it be? It was.
The goddess.
He felt his heart leap into his throat, and all was still. Time, time seemed to have stopped in the presence of the Holy Mother.
Apologies, fair Atkane, I did not recognize you in that outfit.
The goddess waved a hand, and the dress disintegrated in a burst of light. In its place was her armor; atop her head was now her helmet of the horse crest. On her hip was her great hammer; the hammer that made immortals and mortals alike weep.
An owl fluttered to her shoulder, and perched upon it. Attan, the wise. The goddess stroked his chin briefly before turning back to Lubeck.
It vexes me that my children are so bold; to take on all of the Powers that be all by themselves. Let it be known that I cannot save them from themselves; I cannot be responsible for their folly.
You underestimate our potential, fair Mother. We are not the Franks of old; we are amateurs no more.
No, but you are as green as the summer grass, despite all your talk.
Lubeck fell silent, and stared into the remaining embers in his pipe. When he looked up She was gone, and he found it difficult to slip into sweet slumber. For Lubeck, there would be prove to be no rest as a courier, clad in the royal green, appeared shortly thereafter.
You are summoned to your vessel, at once. All leave has been canceled for the foreseeable future.
Give me at last leave to savor a quick brandy, my lad.
The courier nodded, and when the Grand Magister had had his drink he escorted him to a transport that stood at the ready. As the transport took off the Grand Magister savored once last sight of home, and prayed that he might at least return to it again, one way or another.
DKS Griffin's Roost- Septimania
Oh hark the drums do beat, my love.
No longer can we stay.
The bugle horns are sounding clear,
And we must jump away.
For the Urlann, for Talestria, for Patagonia.
From the Fleet's abode, fair Septimania.
Magister Atkana de Griffin sat beside her subordinates in something resembling formal attire; their eyes showed that they had not much time for sleep, let alone for visiting a tailor. Elaborate silverware was laid out, which irked Griffin who viewed forks as being a form of heresy. Had not Atkane given her children hands for a reason?
The Elder Prince, his wife, and a handful of their many children were escorted in. Griffin and her staff officers rose, and clicked their heels in unison. The Prince bade them to return to the seats while he pulled out the chair for his wife, whose fairly dark complexion made her look as if she had just come from an Austrasian field.
Well, she had been a field hand... For gods sake, the current Queen had been nothing more than a petty dabbler in the black arts prior to the crown being placed upon her head.
The Elder Prince, Charles Feylorious Wulfius, Atkana had once had upon her knee; revealing to him bluntly the eternal truths. Fleets win wars, not armies. Never fight the Pords within their own domain; nothing but sorrow shall one obtain. Honor the gods, but love your people.
The Elder Prince cast a glance in the Grand Magister's direction, and then back to his wife.
It's so damn cold, how can you possibly stand it?
Griffin suppressed the urge to laugh; she had become accustomed to the cold while still serving in the Cadets, or the yellow scarves, as they were known. Judging by her Austrasian drawl she assumed that Jolanna Wulfius had spent most of her time with the Syndikal, the green scarves, that stressed national solidarity, loyalty, regional pride, and piety. Solid values, but they did not prepare for a stint on one of the Realm's great warships.
Better the cold than the damn Terrans, or so my uncle used to say.
Griffin recalled Charles' uncle saying exactly that; how many cycles had it been? Fifty? Sixty? Dreggten had been a young man then; now, now he was an old man chained to his desk.
Multiple dishes were brought forth from the kitchens, largely of Austrasian fare. There was a certain eloquence in simplicity, often overlooked by the cooks in the academy. Not a dozen sauces could rival the taste of black bread fresh from the oven. As they broke bread together and said grace they proceeded to discuss the state of the defenses of Septimania.
Septimania possessed the greatest shipyards in the Realm; her production easily outmatched the other core systems combined. Wylus, the founder of the Wulfid dynasty, had made it clear that his victory over the Liberati was achieved through his rapid seizure of these works. This achievement, along with the seizure of the remaining core systems, had brought about the great fleet that now served his descendants.
Such a key asset often saw her fortifications periodically reviewed, and, at times, tested. The Fraconians and the Mylorrans had squabbled with Neustria over this key system for nigh on a thousand cycles; they had battered themselves bloody in multiple attempts to take Septimania by storm. They failed, and found themselves with very few ships to counter the Frankian subjugation of the Urlann.
Their present silence was most disturbing, though it was common knowledge by now that Frankia was involved in a great war.
As the Elder Prince reviewed the multiple holotablets he paused, and looked up at Griffin.
It would appear that the war planners have gotten it wrong here; Septimania is more likely to face a UMS assault than Neustria at the moment.
I concur, but if Neustria were to fall it would be of immense psychological value to the foe.
The Elder Prince waved that aside.
The enemy would think themselves master of Neustria, but in reality Neustria's charms would in the end subjugate them.
Bold talk, do you think the Pords or the Maya or the others are as stupid as those who thought they could civilize the Earthers?
No, but they will find that to win a war such as this against a folk such as ours that it will require more than the taking of a symbolic showpiece. Do you really think that the Pords would bend the knee to us if we were to take Tnem-Fragg? I leave such notions to the propagandists, they, after all, deal with fiction.
True, my lad, true.
The Patagonians would likely view it as revenge for all of our Realm's imaginary transgressions against her.
Without their allies the Patagonians would have been utterly annihilated ages ago. Zexia came within an ace, if I recall, but no power seriously sought their over-priced real-estate.
There is the matter of Tale.
Tale Frankium? How our ancestors could desire a war over that rock is beyond me, Prince.
They needed a noble cause; our ancestors are just as idealistic hypocrites as ourselves. The UMS poses no threat to Frankia directly, nor do they have intentions to directly subjugate NS-1. The Triskelli might, but then the Triskelli are damned fools who do not know when to stop.
The Grand Magister waved for a servant to pour her another cup.
It is the very existence of this faction that alters the balance of power; the decadent powers that survived FB-1 no longer have any skin in the game. We do, so we must do what is necessary to secure our national security aims. We shall not be able to conquer them, but we should be able to test the strength of this Union. What will the members of it think when their fellow members will not even dare to send a warship in their defense?
Not very highly of them; the impending fall of Kressnia will hopefully send shockwaves.
Or it could awaken a sleeping giant... Have you read the Earther Bible?
I have, to my misfortune.
Daniel slew Goliath with a mere sling, certainly we have much more lethal weapons at our disposal.
