CHAPTER 31: ADMIRAL BRIGGS
F.W.S. Independence
High Mars Orbit
Sol
He had just crawled into his rack, the exhaustion of recent days weighing heavily on him, when the bells rang out, their shrill sound cutting through the haze of his restless sleep like a sharp knife through fabric. It felt like he had only closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, yet the side clock, glaring back at him with relentless brightness, showed that two hours had slipped away into the void of time. Two hours was still far too little; he had expected and meticulously planned for five hours of much-needed rest to replenish his weary body and mind. Why couldn't anything ever go according to plan? The thought gnawed at him, a relentless predator as he forced his aging body back up, each movement eliciting a protest from his bones, which were resentful of the major effort they were undertaking. “Briggs. Report.” Despite only having two hours of rest in more than three grueling days, he maintained a professional demeanor, projecting a calm authority, even if every fiber of his being longed to erupt at whoever was on the other end of the comm, demanding a moment of peace.
“Sir, I apologize for waking you, however, we have a major situation developing.” It was Captain Smith on the line; she wouldn’t have disturbed him for anything less than a critical issue that required his immediate attention and focus.
“What is it, Captain?” he asked, concern threading through his voice.
“Sir, the Alliance fleet has ceased their brake burn and are now coasting.”
“What are they doing? How does this affect the timetable?” His heart raced as he processed the implications of her urgent words, each syllable feeling like a countdown.
“We don’t know their strategy yet. If they maintain this course, they will soon overshoot us. We won’t be able to intercept them.”
The Admiral felt a chill creep down his spine as he grasped the horror of the situation unfolding before him. The Alliance fleet was bypassing Mars, recognizing that it was defended, and targeting Earth instead, a far easier target, ripe for the taking. He silently cursed his own decisions, knowing he was the one who had concentrated the entire defense capabilities of the system on one planet, leaving the rest utterly vulnerable to their enemy's advances. But he had believed that a force large enough was crucial to have even a slim chance against such a formidable foe. Mars was, without a doubt, the obvious choice; the main assaulting fleet had to come down the well and enter close Mars orbit to reach Earth. The alignment of the two planets had been perfect for this moment. Mars boasted some of the finest planetary defense platforms among all the nations in the system, and with the remainder of the fleet trapped in the area, it was their best shot at stopping the impending onslaught. If he didn’t think of a way to halt them right here and now, they would sail past, moving at speeds that would render any attempt to shoot them down futile. “I’m on my way, Captain. Call General Quarters throughout the fleet. Ready the welcome package.”
“Yes, sir.”
He barely managed to rise from his bed when the lights in his stateroom flared to life, piercing his eyes with blinding intensity and pulling him from the depths of his weariness. The 1M.C blared to life, deafening him with the urgent drums of war as the ship's Officer of the Deck called out battle stations. “General Quarters General Quarters, all hands to battle stations! Set condition one throughout the ship and fleet. All hands, battle stations!”
“Sitrep!” Briggs yelled out as he strode into the fleet combat room, a steaming cup of coffee clutched tightly in his hand, anxiously awaiting the ship's doctor to arrive with the battlestim he had urgently requested to sharpen his focus.
“Alliance fleet maintaining course and speed, estimated time for flyby is seven minutes,” a fleet officer reported, urgency lacing their voice, the tension palpable in the air.
“Are we still good for the welcome package?” Briggs called out, his mind racing with calculations, weighing options and strategies.
“Yes, sir, but for only another 45 seconds,” came the reply, urgency clear in the officer’s tone.
Too tight, he thought, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, a simmering pot ready to boil over. He had taken far too long to get to the fleet command room; he was too old for this kind of stress! “Execute the welcome package!” he yelled out without hesitation, hoping and praying that his crew would step up and follow the orders with precision. The crew was well trained and disciplined; they had all been thoroughly briefed on the special package, and now it was time for them to prove their mettle.
Muuktel
Alliance Dreadnaught "Heart of Almora"
Sol System
The King stared intently at the combat hologram, his smile widening with each passing second as visions of victory danced tantalizingly in his mind. Soon, they would sail past the insignificant insects who posed no threat and latch onto the juiciest target imaginable. Surely that planet had to be worth more than even the crown jewel of Almora. Lithanul wouldn’t have gone to such great lengths to ensure the survival and enslavement of that world without good reason, and now it was time to reap the benefits.
“You.” Muuktel turned his gaze toward a Viakun officer, effortlessly manipulating the controls of his station with his four dexterous arms, each movement fluid and precise. “What’s on that planet?”
“It’s a highly populated world with several trillion...” She was abruptly interrupted by her King’s sharp tone, the air crackling with tension.
“No, I mean what’s on that world that the Queen wants it so badly?”
She looked up at him, baffled that he didn’t seem to know. The rumor, the secret, circulated through the halls of every Alliance ship faster than the Trevarian flu. She hesitated, uncertain if this was a test of loyalty or if he truly lacked the knowledge. And if he didn’t know, was it proper to call him out on it?
“Answer me, pest!” Muuktel thundered at the officer, startling her into action, the fear palpable in the room.
“Sorry, Sir. I just thought you knew.”
“If I knew,” he leaned down closer to her, lowering his voice to a near growl that sent shivers down her spine, “I wouldn’t be asking a miserable, useless, disgusting four-armed insect like you, would I?”
Fear raced down her spine, igniting every nerve fiber in her body. She knew the Queen was deadly—dangerous, even psychotic at times. The atrocities she had committed were unforgivable, but those actions stemmed from a twisted sense of revenge. The Queen had a deep respect for those who joined her cause and the Alliance; she treated her fellow subjects with love, devotion, and loyalty. But the King was treading a perilous path, one that threatened the very existence of the Alliance and would drench the remaining Almorian species in blood. If he continued down this dark road, she feared Almorians would suffer the same fate as countless others. “Uh-uh,” she stuttered, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with anxiety.
“Did I stutter? Oh wait, that was you!” he roared once more, his frustration boiling over. “Who here can tell me what is down on that planet?”
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Several officers hesitated, their hands rising tentatively to report, but none of them had a chance to speak. A brilliant flash of light enveloped the room, breaking everyone out of their fearful trance. Silence fell as they all stared outside in horror, watching devastation rain down upon them.
It all unfolded too quickly; once the command was given to activate, even the sensors of the Federation ships couldn’t detect the impending doom until it was far too late.
Stage 1: Stealthed railgun platforms had been strategically positioned throughout the asteroid belt, their presence concealed from prying eyes. A select number of these platforms were activated, unleashing thousands of rail darts towards the invasion force. The darts varied in size, ranging from the small 400mm to the catastrophic 4000mm ship busters, all traveling at nearly 0.7c. General relativity rendered these chunks of tungsten invisible to the sensors aboard any ship, a silent harbinger of destruction. Accelerated by permanent structures powered by the most advanced fusion reactors Mars could produce, a combination of magnetic and gravitational forces propelled the darts to almost the speed of light before they left the barrel. Thousands of these deadly projectiles rained down upon the fleet, striking without remorse, a storm of metal and fury.
The Alliance fleet continued their coasting maneuver, feeling invincible, emboldened by their perceived dominance. Shields were lowered, weapons powered down. They perceived no threats nearby—not for at least another day. Crews went about their daily routines aboard the warships, unaware of the looming catastrophe, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the chaos that was about to unfold. Their complacency was shattered by an unexpected explosion as a destroyer vanished without warning, leaving behind an eerie silence. Confusion spread through the fleet; ships did not simply explode. They scrambled to ascertain the cause when a cruiser suddenly lost a third of its bow section, debris flying in every direction as the two pieces of the ship spun wildly out of control. Another destroyer erupted, evaporating in a cataclysmic display of fiery destruction. A battleship was torn in half, sending thousands of micro-missiles cascading into other ships, amplifying the chaos. By the time the carnage subsided, two hundred ships, from frigates to battleships, lay either destroyed or severely damaged, a testament to the unexpected onslaught.
Stage 2: Missiles were an invaluable stealth ordinance, the backbone of their counteroffensive. Several thousand missiles, ranging from the standard 300 tons to the staggering five-thousand-ton warheads, were launched and accelerated to 0.5c shortly after the rail darts were fired. Utilizing the same launch platforms, the missiles followed closely behind the darts, waiting for the signal to activate, their fates intertwined with the chaos. That signal came with the first explosion of the destroyer’s light, triggering a chain reaction among the missiles. Their first priority was to inform their nearby companions. The first missile sent out directional laser beams to its nearby compatriots, instructing them to activate; each missile in turn relayed the same command to others. Within three-tenths of a second, all two thousand missiles were armed and executing their next set of commands, a deadly ballet unfolding in the void of space.
The second command was to slow down. They were traveling too fast to lock onto accurate targets, so they needed to decelerate to at least 0.2c to acquire their prey. And slow they did. Each missile was specifically designed for this purpose, equipped with disposable brake drive cones situated above the warhead and sensor packages. They ignited without needing to flip, burning fiercely and slowing their speed from 70% the speed of light down to 20% in mere seconds. Once the desired speed was achieved, the brake cones were ejected by tiny explosives, while micro-thrusters ignited, expending their last remaining fuel to maneuver the now useless chunks of metal out of harm’s way, leaving only their deadly payloads in pursuit.
The next command was to go active. Radar, LiDAR, and graviton emissions pulsed from each missile, mapping the battlefield and identifying their targets. Once their targets were locked, the main drive units roared to life, twisting the missiles into position, slowing down or accelerating as necessary to intercept and destroy their prey with ruthless efficiency.
The victims this time didn’t shatter or break apart like the giants did from the rail darts. Each missile met its target with a catastrophic explosion, a symphony of destruction playing out in the depths of space. The detonations from missile impacts reached the first two hundred sub-capital ships mere seconds after the last rail dart wreaked havoc, igniting those ships into miniature stars, sealing their fate. Unfortunately, for the remaining missiles, luck was not on their side. Mordechai troops quickly powered their defenses, initiating a rapid reaction. Point defense systems lit up the area, blasting incoming missiles with pulse energy as they drew near, desperate to stave off annihilation. Targeting jamming and disruption technologies were employed, confusing some missiles while destroying others. Out of the remaining missiles that did not obliterate their targets, only three hundred managed to strike, inflicting significant damage but not destroying the ships outright. Five hundred missiles out of three thousand caused damage, but the toll had been significant nonetheless, the battlefield transformed into a chaotic graveyard.
Stage 3: The ace in the hole. Admiral Briggs had meticulously studied the tactic John used just before he took the WarpStar out of the system, impressed by the level of surprise and destruction it had wrought. He decided to employ a similar strategy, but with a twist. The rail darts and missiles represented essentially the same tactic, albeit with much larger and stronger weapons since they could be launched from defense platforms instead of a destroyer. However, the final stage, the nuclear torpedoes, differed significantly. These were not fired from defense platforms; they were launched from the Independence herself, heading towards Earth. When they were fired, confusion swept through the crew aboard the Juggernaut, with many questioning the Admiral’s orders, their voices laced with disbelief. Why fire nuclear-tipped ship annihilator torpedoes away from the enemy, directing them towards home? The answer lay in the realm of physics and strategy.
Naval Research and Development had adapted John’s concept of creating a micro hyperdrive, approving his and then-Ensign Carr’s design to outfit fighters with this technology. It provided pilots the ability to jump out of hostile situations, potentially saving lives amid calamity. However, they kept the true purpose of the project under wraps, a closely guarded secret. They had constructed two hundred torpedo systems equipped with a smaller version of these hyperdrives. While their capabilities were limited, allowing only one jump with a range restricted to three light years, this was more than sufficient for their intended purpose.
The torpedoes were fired towards Earth, matching the velocity of the fleet, ensuring that when they jumped, they would be at a relative standstill with the fleet. Time was of the essence; the torpedoes would not have enough time to acquire targets and strike before the fleet’s defenses could decimate them, so the Independence assumed the responsibility of acquiring targets and programming the attack package, a calculated risk for a decisive blow.
Jump. Two hundred small torpedoes appeared right above the Alliance fleet, immediately engaging their engines and burning hard towards their targets, a storm of death descending from the stars. Just as quickly as the action began, it was over. Two hundred miniature stars erupted less than a second after the jump. Every torpedo, save for five, struck a battleship, and 195 battleships met their untimely end in a fiery nuclear hell, a cataclysm of light and fury. The five remaining torpedoes targeted one of the Alliance capital ships, a dreadnought, striking it in five separate strategic locations, vaporizing each section on impact and obliterating the massive vessel, a testament to the Admiral’s cunning.
The engagement lasted less than three minutes. Thousands of ships lay in ruins, thinned out by the assault, a graveyard of metal and shattered dreams. Cheers erupted from every corner of the fleet, a chorus of victory and relief as adrenaline surged through their veins. Everyone joined in the celebration, everyone except Admiral Briggs, who remained stoically observing the tactical readouts and maps, his brow furrowed with concern. He understood that this was not the end; he recognized that it would not alter the course of the war. All it would do was thin the herd slightly and incite their anger, a fleeting victory in the grand scheme of the conflict. He had given the order to immediately start burning towards Earth once the package was delivered, fully aware that it would take weeks to accelerate the megalithic ship out of Mars orbit and into Earth’s grasp, by which time the Alliance fleet would have already invaded. There was nothing else he could do but begin the journey, a reluctant march towards fate. “Belay that order! All stop, remain in high orbit!” Briggs yelled over the jubilant cheers, silencing the room as a fleet ops officer relayed the order to Captain Smith on the bridge and to the other ships in the fleet. The Admiral watched in horror as three thousand ships, including a few hundred capital ships, began to brake, their movements decisive and forceful. Breaking away from the rest of the fleet, this subgroup was headed straight towards them. If they departed for Earth now, this sub-fleet would catch up and tear them to shreds. They were about to make their final stand right here, in orbit around Mars, while the rest of the fleet ravaged Earth, a grim reality sinking in. There was nothing he could do to stop it. Earth would soon be invaded, a dark shadow looming over the future of humanity.