Georgy sat at his console on the bridge of the Nikitovna, trying to ignore the constant bustle going on around him. His mind overflowed with worries and doubts. Something was wrong, he was sure of it. The commander of the rival fleet had run amok seemingly without support from their homeland, but had received some three additional fleets’ worth of ships without much fuss shortly afterward. There had to have been something the Poslushi weren’t showing.
Georgy’s phone buzzed in his pocket; someone was calling him. He pulled out the device and checked the caller ID: Svetlana. He tapped the green Answer button and put the phone to his ear. “Hello, is this Admiral Kuznetsov?” the light voice of his niece said.
“Yes, Svetka. What is it?”
“Are you busy?” Svetlana’s tone was almost pleading.
“No, why?”
“Well, I have news. I, erm…” Svetlana paused, trying to find the words. Her voice trembled slightly with nerves.
“Spit it out, Svetka.”
“I, uh, found somebody. He’s really nice.”
“Is it that German boy?”
The line went dead for a moment. “How in God’s name did you know?”
“I’m not blind, Svetka; I saw how you eyed him. Is he with you?”
“Yes, Uncle. Do you want to speak with him?”
“Yes, please.” Georgy replied. There was a minor clatter on the other end, and then a more masculine voice spoke, a slightly synthetic edge to it given by a translator. “Admiral Kuznetsov, sir.”
“Johann, is that your name?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why are you after my daugh–my niece, Captain?” Georgy hastily corrected himself; Svetlana hated it when he called her his daughter, even though he had been her guardian long enough for the distinction to become moot.
“I think we have chemistry, sir. We get along well, she’s quite funny, and she’s so unbelievably smart.”
“And why am I to believe that once she ceases to amuse or provide an intellectual challenge, you will not leave her, Captain? My niece is a good Russian lady; she courts to marry, not entertain.”
“I don’t think that’ll ever happen, sir. She certainly hasn’t gotten any less interesting so far.”
“Are you going to marry her?”
Georgy could faintly hear Svetlana facepalming and suppressed a chuckle. “I’m sorry, sir?”
“Did you not hear what I said? Svetlana courts to marry.”
There was a pause while Johann considered his options. Then, “If it works out, then I’ll marry her.”
“That’s a good answer; you’re not presumptuous like some of the others. Now, will you treat her correctly and with respect to her ladyhood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And will you appreciate her day after day?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And are you willing to demonstrate that you can be a good courtier and husband, to me and her, before our very eyes?”
“Yes, sir.”
Georgy nodded. “Then we have no quarrel. For now.”
“Thank you… sir?”
Suddenly, the wavering voice of the radar officer rose above the general hum of the bridge. “Admiral…?”
“What is it?” he turned, cupping his hand over the phone.
“Registering new contacts on the forward sensors, sir. A lot of contacts, sir.”
“Uncle? What’s wrong?” Svetlana asked.
“I’ll call you later, Svetka.” Georgy said hastily, cutting the connection before she could respond. Then, he leapt from his seat and went to see the radar holograph.
At first, his eyes refused to accept the dense cloud of blinking red dots that had appeared on the opposite side of the planet as being really there. Perhaps an asteroid that had previously gone undetected had gone within the planet’s Roche limit and fractured, but it wouldn’t explain the dispersion of the contacts. Besides, rock chunks didn’t emit radio signals. Georgy’s jaw fell agape in abject horror as the radar officer read out the counts.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Eleven thousand enemy craft. Seven thousand of them were slave and supply barges, with the rest being a mixture of different combat vessels. There were hundreds of the same cruisers their commander piloted, along with dozens of even larger battleships, with estimated tonnages in the hundreds of thousands. However, even these titans were dwarfed in mass by the thousands of little frigates, who outweighed them by sheer numbers. CAST’s aerospace forces were outnumbered thirty to one, and their men on the ground were not by much better.
Poslush had stopped seeing this as a game.
“Wh-what do we do?” the radar officer asked, his face pale and eyes wide with terror.
Georgy took a breath, trying to collect his thoughts. “We call our men on the ground. And we tell them to get the hell off Omen.”
—
“Well, that was… awkward.” Johann said, putting the phone down on the tent’s floor. Svetlana looked at him comfortingly.
“It went a lot better than with some of the other men I brought home.”
“Oh?” Johann raised an eyebrow.
“I had a thing for bad boys when I was just getting out of secondary school. The small-time mobster I took a liking to thought he was tough until Georgy threatened to sic the GRU on him.”
“Your uncle tried to get the Russian national intelligence service to take out your date?”
“It was a bluff; he didn’t have that kind of authority at the time. He had the company of Naval Infantry guarding his flagship at his disposal instead.”
“That isn’t any better.”
“Oh, no, it is. The Naval Infantry will just put two rounds in your chest and leave you. Shack up with the GRU, and you’ll become quite well acquainted with the bicycle pump they shove up your ass and pressurize.”
“And I thought the CIA was mean.” Johann said, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips as he considered the prospect.
“We’re just more direct.” Svetlana said matter-of-factly, only for Johann to seemingly ignore her.
“Hear that?” Johann said, holding a hand up. The tent fell deathly silent. Then, a faint sound prickled Svetlana’s ears and made the hairs on her neck stand up straight. In the far distance, an air raid siren was wailing.
“The hell?” Johann said, standing up. Fumbling with the tent flaps, he eventually emerged to see… nothing. No distant flames of war, no screaming jets overhead. The only things wrong about the scene were the strange, shifting stars in the night sky.
Suddenly, Hersch grabbed him from behind, pulling him away from the tent. “Hess! Come on, we need to get the tank!”
“Johann? What’s happening?” Svetlana asked, peeking out from the tent.
“I don’t know–I’ll tell you as soon as I do!” Johann cried hastily, then turned and ran with Hersch.
“The hell’s going on!?” Johann yelled.
“New offensive! We have to push the lines forward or they’ll punch through to the base!”
Soon, they arrived within sight of the Leopard. Hiedrich waved them closer from the commander’s cupola, dropping down into the vehicle as they approached. Johann jumped down after him and situated himself in his seat, Hersch slamming the hatch behind himself as he got in the driver’s spot. Seconds later, the tank’s engine purred to life and it shot forward, joining a growing line of armored vehicles that led out of Fort von Richthofen.
Johann slipped his radio headphones on and listened intently to what the commander of the 467th was saying.
“...receiving reports of large numbers of enemy craft in low orbit. The Poslushi have summoned reinforcements, possibly numbering in the millions. CAST is pulling back to fortify Kormoran and New ‘Couver, but they need to buy time first. That’s where we come in. Our task is to hold the line against the Poslushi long enough to evacuate Fort von Richthofen, and then we’re out. Over.”
Johann thumbed the transmitter switch on his radio and broadcast to the remainder of his platoon. “Well, you heard the man. Proceed to defensive positions, over.”
A GPS screen to his right flashed twice, and a position at the very edge of the plateau Fort von Richthofen was situated on was highlighted. “Hersch, you know what to do.” Johann ordered. Hersch nodded and the Leopard adjusted course, leading the rest of the platoon north. Along the way, Johann shuddered with horror. A million was a number almost impossible to even think about, much less several. Johann hadn’t really considered the possibility that he wouldn’t make it home; of course, it was always there, but it never really came across his mind for more than a few seconds. Now, however, that dark chance was fully in view. For a moment, Johann wanted to stop the tank, to shut everything out and try to imagine that it would all be okay.
Then, a steely calm descended over him. He wasn’t fighting for himself alone, but everyone. The fate of every human being presently alive and yet to be born hinged on his duty. If he were to die in service to his nation, CAST, humanity itself…
Then so be it.
—
“Wait. How many?” President Herald asked, his hand reflexively covering his heart.
“Eleven thousand, sir. It’s estimated that a few thousand more will arrive soon, and this isn’t even close to their full fleet.” Secretary of Defense Margaret McNamara responded, her mouth drawn into a grim line. She placed a stack of papers two centimeters thick on the president’s desk, a massive set of defensive projections and increasingly-pessimistic war plans. Herald’s heart leapt into his throat as he saw a particular scenario featured prominently. The scenario, a defense plan by the name of Steadfast Shield - Patton Contingency, was drawn up under the previous administration during the Contact Wars, discussing the possibility of an encounter with a vastly more powerful and actively malicious alien intelligence. It proposed a doctrine of defeat in depth, trying not to win battles, but to simply delay the inevitable long enough to launch a series of AI-guided sleeper ships out of the galaxy by the thousands, in the hopes that one or two would escape detection and destruction, find a habitable world, and thus ensure the continuity of humanity.
Even modified for the Poslushi, who weren’t as far ahead as the hypothesized enemy, the chances of Earthborne government continuing to exist and CAST retaining its independence weren’t good. CAST’s forces, even if they joined with AHINT, would, in all likelihood, simply be crushed under the Poslush Combine’s weight of numbers, and it would only be more devastating to humanity if it escalated into a nuke-slinging match.
Still, Herald had to stay calm. The position of head of state was a paranoid depressive’s worst nightmare: one genuinely could not let their true emotions show, or risk being pounced upon by their enemies. If he lost his cool, it would only hasten the destruction of all humanity held dear.
The odds were suddenly stacked against CAST. Herald, if he were religious, would’ve had his faith shaken by now. However, he did play American football back in his college years, and if there was one thing he knew, it was that Hail Maries tended to come out of the woodwork when the team was down beyond hope.
All he had to do was make the throw.