3rd Cholic Rapid Response Force, ISV Cromakki, Crasha-class Battleship
Cholic System, Rapid Response Staging Zone
The command-and-control of the Cromakki had rapidly shifted from general day to day affairs into controlled pandemonium, all from one simple order. It wasn’t that any of them were unprepared for it, they were part of a Rapid Response Force after all, but they were nonetheless thrown into commotion by the suddenness. Watching the holodisplay swirl with movement in front of her as fleets entered their final formations, the admiral was lit up by the battle-display like she was some sort of warlord from prose and fiction. Crisp in her white and black uniform overtop counterpressure suit, starched and serious, several feeds floated around her while the command staff tended their own consoles. They’d all expected to be responding to a Welded incursion, maybe a report of a genesis titan, or some other wicked abomination. Instead they were being sent on the warpath against a nation that only had colonies in the area. All because the Eridani had decided to fight a war and drag in everyone else. The atoran Admiral Yezinni Krovakaman considered this to be a great example of the terran phrase ‘if all your friends are jumping off a cliff’.
Sitting in the command chair, she was having to deal with the feed of her full fleet as they checked and rechecked proper organization and formation, captains brought her up to speed on their readiness, and the logistics corps fed her a list of every conceivable detail she was likely to never need. What was more important were the dossiers on the target systems, each given a different priority rating by the intelligences as well as risk assessments. Keeping an eye on the backyard was important, even if it was more like someone else’s backyard and they’d been voyeuristically spying on them. So the contingencies were all in place, the formulated orders and potential plans of attack, and as up to date materiel estimates as could reasonably be expected.
The capital system of the Orwell Sector was the one assigned to her force, a sweep and grab to test the waters while still striking for an industrial center that could be repurposed for the war effort against the Welded. She presumed this peacekeeping action, as the admiralty was keen to call it, would be short work before they were talking at the table. Not that you’d know that by looking at the dossier and its contingencies for long war, interventions by other Solarian powers, and almost conceivably everything that could go wrong. She hadn’t been privy to most of those, need to know basis, but that they were even there was a testament to the institutional paranoia of the Vipran Armed Forces.
Her fleet, the 3rd Cholic Rapid Response Force, was to be joined by several others in-system as part of the 1st Conglomerate Pacification Taskforce as a show of force and to test the Martian Conglomerate reaction. Other fleets were armed and ready elsewhere but risk of crossfire was holding them back, as was the byzantine politics of the Solarians. Focus was therefore here, where they could do the most good. And the most hurt. Ultimately a bloodless conflict would be for the best for both nations, but that was the realm of diplomats. The offer to take over control of the Gamman holdings of the Martian Conglomerate was supposed to have been sent as an alternative of war. If they accepted there would be an orderly march of the Martians back to Mars where they could regroup and do as they pleased with the nations attacking them and the peace would be maintained in Gamma, an opening for a warming of relations with the Martians. If they refused, it was back to the old and faithful extension of politics.
Knowing the Congers they’d prefer to face a war on every front rather than close one up early and divert their assets to a more essential theatre of war.
The shipmind was handling all the hard processing and preemptive firing solutions based on last-known op-for positions as well as static defenses. The latter was hopeful to be a crisp and certain affair while the former were more nebulous. That was the issue with high-mobility targets, they liked to be where you didn't want them.
One of her feeds blinked, an incoming call from one of her vice-admirals forwarded to her. A mental command confirmed the call and Vice-Admiral Trokanni Renovnya’s image flicked up within view, the scarlet eyed atoran smiling the cynical grin typical of the Vipran career officer.
“That escalated quickly,” Renovnya spoke up, breaking the ice rather informally considering their relative ranks, “have there been any changes in our planned disposition?”
“Your dossier on our parameters should be up to date,” Krovakaman said, then decided to humour her subordinate, “we will be attacking the Orwell Sector in a search-and-destroy before the brigades arrive to sweep any terrestrial forces. Aladon, Roma, New Laconia, and Pompeii are being tended by the second through fifth Conglomerate Pacification Taskforces respectively.”
Renovnya raised an eyebrow, “The last I’d heard there were three taskforces in this region.”
“We aren’t expecting a small showing here, it is a full scale invasion. They’re calling in two from Rhydin so we can clear through faster. This operation is to go as fast as it reasonably can to limit casualties for all sides.”
There was a pregnant pause before the vide-admiral spoke up again, “What about the Welded front?”
Krovakaman winced as though stung, “We are doing this to shore up our flank from a potential brawl spilling over. We do this to ensure we can bring more to bear against them.”
“But worlds are burning right now.”
“I am not going to debate the decision with you, vice-admiral, so I will keep this simple,” the senior officer said, some venom lacing her words, “We cannot operate an effective war against the Welded and also ignore what is happening around us. Either we move in and keep the peace here or it bites us in the ass when we least want it to and we are forced to fight on terms that are not our own.”
“Of course, admiral.”
“Good, we have five minutes to jumping in,” Krovakaman said bluntly then cut the call.
Five minutes later, on digital clockwork, the wormholes were spooled open and the war declaration was declared. As the outline of Vipran wargoals, the seizure and peacekeeping of the Martian Conglomerate holdings in the astrographic region known commonly as “Gamma”, were read by officials across the galaxy the warships of the Vipran Stellar Forces poured through dozens of wormhole breaches. The syllables of the declaration would match the timing of bursts of directed energy and atomic-sundering rays, thousands of ships per taskforce announcing themselves so boldly.
Screens swarmed, tens of thousands of drones a plague of locusts that poured missiles towards closer targets while the greater weaponry of the capital ships honed in on those more distant objectives, intermediary vessels filling their more special roles as the systems were each attacked from several angles to avoid cluster. It would have been daring and dashing, bold and dangerous, were it not so easy to be detached from the events unfolding. Admiral Krovakaman couldn’t feel the roar of the weapons, not so much as a shiver or shake, there were only lights in the holodisplay and the uptick in bridge-staff activity. Even the lights didn’t dim or change. War was pedestrian.
