AN: If you guys haven’t been getting email alerts recently, check your account settings and opt in for email alerts, the website changed their policy almost a year ago.
I think having Stormtroopers and all the other Imperial stuff show up sooner is cool as the Clone Wars is essentially the war they were made to fight, not an insurgency.
Also I’m gonna give you guys a preliminary timetable of where this story (and my life) is planned to go, Lord willing.
I want to end this story within the decade (by 2030, LOL! It’s been a while hasn’t it?) with 45 chapters plus or minus 5 chapters. I have also decided to write a book, a real book, but that won’t take time away at all from this fanfic. Hopefully I’ll be accepted into a well-paying trade apprenticeship within the year which will still leave me with a lot of free time at home since I won’t have to worry about exams or stuff like that. I’ll probably write a similar amount of chapters for SOAGE Bounty Hunter but much, much shorter in length. Then I’ll probably take a multi-year long hiatus on writing to read more Halo and Star Wars EU. I’m about halfway through The Flood, and Heir To The Empire. Then I’ll finish the rest of the Nylund trilogy (I’ve never read Ghosts of Onyx…). One thing most fanfic writers could benefit from is familiarizing themselves with the source material.
Then I’ll start writing the sequel(s(?)).
Taris
“Keep your eyes peeled, boys.” Fletcher encouraged, moving from fighting position to fighting position crouched over.
He peered through a loophole smashed through a wall of a concrete apartment turned blockhouse. He cycled through the various viewing modes of his HUD. Night vision, thermal imaging, thermal fusion, VISR.
So far, Fletcher didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. He settled on thermal imaging, pulled up a piece of furniture, and sat with his helmet pressed against his rifle. There wasn’t a thing in sight crawling through the rubble ahead of them.
Not long after the line had been mostly occupied, the combat engineers were given the task of demolishing a five hundred meter wide clearing in front of them. Fletcher’s platoon currently occupied a two hundred meter stretch of apartment buildings, Easy Company in total occupied a kilometer, and the 101st Airborne Division as a whole was tasked with occupying a fifteen kilometer front.
At face value, that meant the UNSC could get away with using only about 50 divisions to hold the proposed frontline which rang out to the tune of about 750 kilometers. However, that wasn’t taking into account the forces necessary to occupy the city, or reserves, nor how many levels of the planet there were to cover. With those factors in consideration, 80 divisions were committed to the assault on Taris.
Joining the cacophony of battle was an explosion a few hundred meters in front of their position, not from the explosive charges of a sapper, but from an F-99 Wombat UCAV. A giant thermographic picture flared on Fletcher’s HUD followed by the yells of enemy combatants. Their shouts carried far in the breeze of the cold night air.
Fletcher’s unit all perked up at this and hastily assumed firing positions if they hadn’t already done so. They had been waiting for enemy contact for nearly two hours now, with most of that time spent improving their positions. He keyed in his platoon channel. “All squads, scan your sectors and hold fire. Wait for my command to open fire, out.”
They had received near constant updates about the estimated time to contact through the UNSC battlenet, Fletcher doubted there was a square inch in front of him not covered by drones or satellite imaging.
His motion tracker was only able to warn him up to 150 meters out, the rest of Fletcher’s combat situational awareness came from a combination of satellites, drones, scout teams, friendly communications, thermal and night vision devices, then finally his trusty mark 1 eyeballs.
The only sounds Fletcher could hear filling the city were from artillery or aircraft. The air and gun crews were putting the advancing Republic force through an inferno of munitions, softening up their approach for the waiting defenses.
After a few tense minutes, something caught Fletcher’s eye. For a split second, he caught an object slightly colder than its surroundings moving in the distance, then it vanished. It vanished not behind cover, but seemingly into thin air.
He switched to night vision, but failed to find what he was looking for. Anything out there must’ve gotten behind cover already. With the increasing proximity of the enemy, Fletcher knew something was up. Although he had yet to realize it, he had caught the temperature adjusting bodyglove of a clone trooper in the act.
Fletcher contemplated shooting a flare out, but decided against it so as to remain concealed.
“All squads be advised, I picked up movement three hundred meters out in the rubble.” He designated the general location before opening a channel to Easy Company’s weapons platoon to call in a fire mission. “Easy 5-6 this is Easy 1-6, adjust fire, over.”
“Easy 1-6 this is Easy 5-6, adjust fire, out.” Came the reply of the mortars.
“Waypoint Echo 134, over.”
“Waypoint Echo 134, out.”
“Thermal signature, suspected infantry in the open, illumination range and spread, over.”
“Thermal signature, suspected infantry in the open, illumination range and spread, out.”
Fletcher had waited in anticipation for the weapons platoon’s reply message for roughly thirty seconds, but the impending firefight looming over his head made it feel like hours.
“Echo, illumination in effect, one round, Echo 134, over.” Came their message to the observer, who was Fletcher in this case.
“Echo, illumination in effect, one round, Echo 134, out.” Fletcher replied. Each of Easy Company’s four mortars would fire one round each.
Soon after, the rounds came in. The light coming from the four flares glittered through the holes in the wall and cast shadows in their positions.
Outside, it was a different story. Due to the pattern at which the shells began to illuminate, there were very few shadows under which to hide for an assaulting force.
Fletcher immediately caught an enemy combatant crawling atop a pile of debris, looking up into the lit sky before trying to scurry off. Under the flares’ bright light, the white armor of the advancing clone troopers might as well have come equipped with neon signs.
Hushed whispers which Fletcher wouldn’t have heard soon turned into shouts and a huge rattle of motion. Fletcher opted to withhold giving the order to open fire. He’d only seen one enemy, it was best to let the rest walk themselves into a killzone before his men could let loose.
Soon after his decision, he caught a whole squad quickly bounding to a position behind a collapsed wall.
He had them.
“Open fire!” Fletcher yelled across the platoon channel, marking the enemy’s exact location.
Nearly forty weapons made their presence known. Fire from light and heavy machine guns raked through the formation. Some rifle rounds bounced off white armor, some flattened against it, while others pierced through to their significantly more delicate inhabitants.
Within the first ten seconds, Fletcher was able to count, in between bursts of his own carbine, four out of a dozen or so enemy combatants dead. After that, the ambush devolved into a firefight.
Fletcher reasoned the clones only had a general idea of where his own men were, as their plasma bolts flew wide across the apartment blocks. One burst got lucky, flying into the command post through a window and striking his radioman’s shields.
By now, Fletcher estimated they would soon be facing a company sized enemy force. He nudged his forward observer in the shoulder. “Call in a fire mission, danger close.” Fletcher said before continuing to fire.
Not only was the enemy fire growing in intensity, more and more clones trickled into the area by the second. The sounds of firefights sprang up as far as Fletcher’s ears could hear throughout the main line of resistance.
He ducked as a burst from a Republic machine gun blew a meter wide hole into the concrete he was using as cover.
Grenades from his men’s launchers began to be flung across to the other side, sending shrapnel flying every which way. Though the clone armor was nigh impervious to fragmentation, their undersuit was not nearly as effective.
Fletcher witnessed a clone caught moving out of cover keel over after a grenade impacted not far off to his right. Through the gaps in his armor, blood came out profusely.
As the clones’ advance began to bog down, the battalion’s howitzers came down. Even over the clangor of battle, Fletcher could hear the telltale whistle of an artillery shell coming in.
Out in the open, the clones stood little chance of surviving.
Proximity fuzes caused the shells to burst into what looked like clouds in the air, sending blast waves and shrapnel into the clones beneath. In spite of their heavily fragmentation resistant plastoid armor they were Swiss-cheesed by the 105mm guns due to the closeness of the bursts and the gaps in their plating.
When the dust settled, there was little evidence left of there having ever been an assault. Only a farrago of debris and meat detritus was left remaining.
“Cease fire!” Fletcher scolded his men to conserve ammo. “Cease fire!”
Fletcher scanned the area. Satisfied with his work, he exchanged his spent magazine for a fresh one. It was time to settle in for the long haul.
Taris System, Republic Orbital Medical Facility
The wings of the Nu-class attack shuttle unfurled and the vessel shot out of the hangar bay. Two pilots, General Secura, Delta Squad, and forty other clones occupied the craft.
“Kriff!” One of the pilots called out, jerking the craft around as the UNSC fleet began to fire on the crippled Republic ships.
“Ruthless.” One clone said, gazing at the holoprojector Delta Squad had set up
After the Terran sneak attack had thoroughly damaged the Republic fleet still in port, they didn’t even bother with trying to board or capture them.
“Efficient.” Sev corrected.
“Show some sympathy psycho.” Scorch mocked before turning towards the seated trooper. “Hey, just be glad we’ll have our boots on the ground soon enough and not have to deal with vachead problems.”
“I can’t reach anyone outside the system. Not with this anyway.” Fixer told General Secura, fiddling with a hyperwave transceiver. “Terran jamming, most likely.”
“I see.” She replied.
“We’ll keep following the civilian space traffic down to the surface, from there it’ll be easier for this shuttle to evade interception.” Boss pointed out. “It’s best to assume they’ve already shut down the main communications array here.” He stuck a finger towards the map.
“What about the headquarters on the ground?” Aayla questioned.
“No good, if they could get their bombs on the ground to blast a power grid, I’d bet a month’s worth of credits on them having infiltrator units.” Boss shook his head. “Their attacks are concentrated on this side of the planet: Largest landing zone, main power grid, planetary shield generators, headquarters, you name it.”
“Then where should we land?” Aayla asked.
“Here.” Boss pointed. “Local planetary defense force armory, it services about a company sized group so it’s unlikely the Terrans have taken special note. They’ll have blasters and speeders ready to go, plus anyone mustered.”
Aayla thought for a moment and then nodded. “Pilot! Change our course!”
UNSC Warhound
“All cruisers focus fire on the carriers. Frigates and destroyers coordinate MAC volleys on the lead ships!” Admiral White ordered.
“Sir, there’s just too many targets and they’re closing too fast! They’ll slip the kill zone!” The Warhound’s sensor operator reported, referring to the enemy fleet bearing down at them.
“Calm down Lieutenant.” Captain Haithum said, turning towards Admiral White, as if waiting for a response.
‘It’s like Reach all over again.’ Admiral White thought, staring at the fleet bearing down at him. “Lieutenant Scheffer, get Fleet Admiral Cole on the line, and get those frigates back into our cluster.”
“Aye sir!” The comms officer replied.
“Lieutenant Haynes, get me a firing solution on those two Secutor carriers.” Admiral White commanded, gesturing towards the two especially triangular wedges on the tactical map before relaying the information to the Lieutenant’s own display. “I want two rounds on each target, have Yalta, Heavy Metal, Edgecase, and Thunderclap fire on the other pair. Keep our missiles in reserve until they close in.”
“Aye sir, rounds on the way.” The weapons officer announced.
Four thuds simultaneously resonated throughout the ship as 1200 ton slugs were flung out from the four massive coilguns of the Warhound. All hit their mark.
One slug was intercepted by a Secutor’s particle shields, which subsequently dropped to nearly a quarter strength before being split stem to stern by another slug. Were it not the vacuum of space, the screeching twists of the metal hull would’ve been the last sound the ship made to forever echo into the black void.
The Secutor’s compatriot was only slightly luckier. Perhaps it was a slightly more modern or more recently manufactured reactor, better maintenance, or pure luck which caused its shields to hold up more defiantly. The blow of the first slug was absorbed in its entirety, while the second only barely made it through to embed itself deep in its armor plating.
The deflection of the round into the port side of the ship’s lateral hull caused the ship to lurch backwards and enter a violent spin. Evidently, it had embedded itself three quarters of the way within the armor plating of the carrier.
Four of the Autumn-Class Heavy Cruisers accompanying the Warhound opened fire likewise. Four ferric-tungsten slugs flung out at a significant fraction of lightspeed by Mark IX Heavy Coil MACs struck their targets dead on.
Each round hit, turning the once formidable carriers into nothing more than drifting hulks.
“Lieutenant Haynes, fire one energy projector on the last Secutor.” White commanded.
“Aye sir.” The weapons officer complied.
There was a brief flash of light outside of the window, and then blackness again. The target, which had begun stabilizing itself, of the weapon was now a smoldering ruin.
White had singled out the Secutors first as they represented, in his opinion, the largest threat to the ground forces. While he estimated over half of their fighters, bombers, and dropships had already launched they were likely to still hold a sizable troop complement in addition to being able to rearm any returning craft.
The next targets on the menu were the Venators. After the Secutors, they had the most hangar capacity. Out of the roughly hundred ships, there were two dozen Venators in the battlegroup.
“MACs seventy percent recharged sir!” Lieutenant Haynes announced. “Energy projector recharging.”
“Enemy fleet at five hundred thousand kilometers and closing.” MacArthur reported.
“I want coordinated MAC volleys on each of those carriers, follow up on anything that survives with energy projectors.” White ordered.
“Fleet Admiral Cole on the horn sir!” Lieutenant Scheffer called out.
“Admiral White.” Fleet Admiral Cole began a video broadcast on White’s command console. “You cannot allow their capitals to break orbit.”
“I won’t, sir.” White replied. “It’s their dropships I’m worried about, forty thousand of them. My Stalwarts or not, there’s bound to be some that make it through.”
Thankfully, the hyperspace egress area was on the hemisphere opposite of the UNSC’s landing zone, which would give them time to prepare a thorough defense before meeting the enemy even if they did break through the atmosphere.
“Continue picking off their carriers and tighten the cordon around that hemisphere, I’ll vector my own Stalwarts for planetside intercept.” Fleet Admiral Cole paused, his gaze as hard as steel. “It’ll be up to the Army and Marines now.”
“Understood, sir.” White replied as the Fleet Admiral closed the broadcast.
MAC and energy weapons fire flared brilliantly in the darkness of space, coming to explosive blows with energy shielding and armor plating. Moving undeterred, however, were the fighters and other small craft which were closing in at an increasing rate of speed.
As the Autumn-Class Titanium Tub and her dozen escorts folded back inside White’s battlegroup, the combined MAC and energy weapons fire intensified to incredible effect. In the blink of an eye, the two dozen Venators were lost with all hands as they were targeted with prejudice by salvos of slugs and plasma.
Even after they took on increasing losses, the enemy line showed no signs of beginning to falter. The remaining ships, some eighty-odd led by an Imperator-Class, continued to press on towards White’s own sixty three.
The Imperator stubbornly resisted slug after slug from the older, yet to be refitted Halberds and Stalwarts.
The Autumn Fire And Forget shifted itself towards the assaulting ship and fired.
The entirety of the kinetic energy of the 900 ton slug was absorbed by the particle shielding of the Imperator, though not without consequence.
The shield generator overloaded. The starboard auxiliary reactor blew outwards, shearing off considerable sections from the dorsal and ventral armor plating surrounding it while also cutting power to the corresponding ion engine.
With its own acceleration cut down by a third, the Imperator was effectively dead in the water compared to the rest of its fleet.
Before a follow up shot could permanently take it out of action, it was intercepted by one of its escorts. To the credit of the quick thinking of the captain, or the helmsman, the plucky Arquitens-Class stopped the round cold.
Their heroic action wasn’t without consequences. The heavy MAC round pierced through its shields and burrowed messily into the bridge. Hypersonic spall flew every which way and penetrated into the engine and reactor compartments.
The ship soon continued on its course, minus the continued acceleration of its engines, which once again left the Imperator vulnerable.
Their sacrifice bought the Imperator invaluable time to bring some of its auxiliary systems online, allowing for its shields to charge up. Two MAC rounds came in, this time from a Halberd. Simultaneously impacting, they were both slightly flattened by the particle shielding of the Imperator and embedded themselves in the thick armor plating of the lower superstructure.
Though not destroyed by any means, it was a mission kill. The ship would be easy pickings for a mop up force or boarding parties in its current state.
“Enemy fleet nearing the 400,000 kilometer mark, sir!” MacArthur noted.
White grinned. “Wait until they’re in the middle of it, set the Hornets to point detonate, Morays to one hundred meters.”
Code briefly flashed across the AI’s avatar. “Aye sir.” MacArthur replied.
The enemy fleet alongside its complement moved into the killzone. M441 Hornet nuclear mines began tracking Republic ships, their propulsion systems stealthily moving them onto an intercept course. It wasn’t long before the first of them impacted against the shields of an incoming vessel.
A Victory II was its first victim, striking the bridge deflector shields head on. This particular Hornet mine was equipped with a Spear warhead, which violently rotated to face the offending ship at an oblique angle. Plutonium fission was induced through explosive compression, subsequently releasing X-rays which are left with only one out of their non-fissionable Uranium radiation casing: through a beryllium oxide channel filter. The channel filter absorbed the X-rays, radiating the energy as heat to vaporize a cone of tungsten into a fine jet of plasma moving at relativistic speeds.
The relativistic plasma jet penetrated through the shields of the star destroyer, turning the majority of the bridge into molten slag while also decapitating the entire bridge tower from the rest of the hull.
M1011 Moray space mines tore through Republic fighters, bombers, and dropships by the thousands. Even so, given White’s limited time to prepare, that wasn’t nearly enough to stop the deluge of incoming small craft and the Morays were swiftly depleted. Nevertheless, he was satisfied with the result. The minefield had wreaked havoc on their capital ships and shredded entire swarms of small craft.
The bridge, though in the midst of organized chaos as they carried out their duties, was still and quiet compared to the conflagration of explosions in the hundreds of megatons.
Admiral White keyed onto his battlegroup’s comms. “Start firing Archers and Howlers. Autumns, prioritize your MAC fire onto their cruisers.”
Captain Haithum turned towards the weapons officer. “Fire off port and starboard Archer pods 1 through 10, Howler pods 1 through 20.”
The plumes of thousands of missiles streaked off towards the enemy fleet to join in on the carnage created by the minefield. Admiral White was confident in their ability to eviscerate their targets, just as they had done at Alpha Rendara. Even better was the Republic’s ever dwindling numerical superiority. With each ship gone, point defense capability went with it.
Admiral White let out a low grunt of satisfaction as a quartet of Strident-Class Heavy Frigates took out another Republic cruiser.
“Republic ships entering firing range at 300,000 kilometers!” MacArthur called out.
“Republic energy signatures spiking, they’re firing!” The sensor operator yelled. “Vampire, vampire, vampire!” He reported, signifying the launch of anti-ship missiles.
The Republic missiles were able to withstand more point defense fire relative to UNSC missiles, but the sheer density of point defense in White’s battlegroup made that advantage negligible.
Of particular note for Admiral White was the immense volume of missile fire coming from a flotilla of five Victory I-Class ships, but he quickly decided against shifting target priorities.
“Evasive action!” Captain Haithum called out to the helmsman.
“Aye sir!” Lieutenant Jackson sounded.
White felt one of the Warhound’s maneuvering portside thrusters begin a hard burn. “Lieutenant Portier, status on their dropships?”
“They’re breaking off towards the surface alongside ninety percent of their fighters and bombers, the rest are coming towards us sir.” The sensor operator stated as a stream of plasma bolts flew past the Warhound.
“Thunderclap, Edgecase, break off and support the Stalwart screen!” White commanded over the battlegroup channel. “Nutcracker, Early Grave, Delaware, cover your escorts and try to draw their fire!”
Admiral White gripped the edge of the tactical readout as the Warhound shifted her acceleration to avoid the increasingly close Republic fire. The first impact came in when the enemy fleet had closed to 250,000 kilometers.
The Warhound’s shields began slowly but steadily depleting. The Republic fleet had been whittled down to the point where they were currently outnumbered, but they weren’t out of the fight yet.
“They’re passing the 200,000 kilometer mark, sir!” MacArthur announced.
“Weapons free on all systems!” Admiral White ordered.
At this range, other than missiles and DEWs, the Breakwaters were the only secondary armament with the effective range to be useful. The Breakwater turrets were capable of spitting out a salvo of three one ton rounds traveling at a tenth of lightspeed every thirty seconds. Though nowhere near as powerful as a spinal mounted MAC, having them in play made White’s job easier.
The missiles began impacting soon after, the faster Howlers hitting first.
With the numerical advantage with the UNSC, the battle devolved into a slaughter. Each Republic vessel received a minimum of a hundred missiles apiece.
The amount of point defense fielded by the Republic was paltry compared to the UNSC, and generally had worse capabilities in a one to one comparison in terms of firerate, accuracy, and tracking speed. These factors led to a less than 50% intercept rate.
The closer ships received the worst of it. Hundreds of missiles drained shields and burrowed into thick armor plating before exploding. A Howler missile pierced through an Acclamator’s hull into a tibanna magazine, causing a massive blast which permeated throughout the ship. It was safe to say it would be out of action for the rest of the battle.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
About a dozen Republic ships were taken out of commission, with the rest receiving varying amounts of damage. The Victory I-Class Star Destroyers in the rear fared the best.
The missiles, still coming in though at a slower rate, sealed the deal on the Republic fleet’s fate but the knockout blow was still to come, which gave them time to continue to respond with their own armaments.
Slower than their UNSC counterparts, the Republic missiles seemed to meander through space by comparison. The Victory I ships which White had ignored earlier made up for this deficiency in a manner unique for a Republic vessel. Five of them had launched a torrential barrage against the Delaware and her escorts. Each Victory I was equipped with roughly 200 concussion missile launchers, with 4 missiles per launcher that meant that the Delaware and her accompanying ships had to deal with 4000 assault concussion missiles bearing down on them.
Streak point defense missiles fired from the nearest Stalwarts began intercepting as they passed the 50,000 kilometer mark, but the enemy munitions were launched at a distance close enough to the point that there wouldn’t be enough time to thin the herd.
Streams of turbolaser fire continued to impact the Warhound and the rest of White’s ships, with the Delaware and her escorts receiving special attention.
“Shields drained to fifty percent, sirs!” MacArthur reported. “Enemy missiles approaching at 25,000 kilometers!”
“Enemy bombers at 50,000 kilometers and closing!” Lieutenant Portier’s voice cracked. “They’ve altered their trajectory towards the Delaware sir!”
“Extend our combat air patrol to 15,000 kilometers and route available fighters to intercept!” Admiral White yelled.
Once the enemy missiles had passed the 10,000 kilometer mark, point defense guns from White’s battlegroup automatically opened up. There wasn’t a single blindspot in the UNSC point defense network for the missiles to exploit which led to a very high shoot down rate, but whoever was now in command of the Republic fleet seemed privy to this fact if it hadn’t already become obvious.
Though there was no area left uncovered by the overlapping UNSC point defense grid, there were spots weaker than others that an attack could exploit in lieu of simply overwhelming it. The furious barrage of the Victory I flotilla was almost entirely concentrated towards the Delaware and her screens.
Initially, missiles were swatted down by the dozens every second, but then one got lucky and survived for longer, then another slipped through closer, and another, and another.
Four thousand missiles became three thousand, then two thousand, then one thousand at breakneck speeds, but they were getting nearer.
What they lacked in speed the concussion missiles made up for in durability and payload. The beefier nature of the Republic capital-grade missiles was a negligible difference in most cases as a burst from a point defense gun or pulse laser was still sufficient, but in the thousands that slim difference added up.
The point defense fire seemed to grow more intense as the last of the enemy missiles edged their way closer and closer. Tracers from cannons and beams from pulse lasers frantically took down scores of missiles, until one finally impacted.
The UNSC fleet seemed to watch with bated breath as one of the Delaware’s Halberd escorts, already weakened from the incessant turbolaser fire, was hit by the missile at an angle. It partially penetrated into her Titanium-A plating towards the engines before exploding.
Compared to an Archer or Howler, the blast was massive. Nearby hull sections blew outwards or inwards, leaving a gaping hole in the warship and twisting one of her primary fusion drives off its axis.
A Paris-Class heavy frigate was struck right on the muzzle of her MAC, splitting open the bore to render the cannon inoperable and causing the ship to look reminiscent of a Sangheili.
One group of enemy missiles struck near another Paris frigate’s reactor compartment, penetrating halfway through the armor before exploding. The armor gave way, the blast crumpled the armor inwards and propagated through the significantly less, if at all, armored compartments and shattered the reactor.
There was a pause before the ship went critical and burst into a million pieces through the stars.
White didn’t, couldn’t, allow himself to be caught up in the moment and remained focused on his task at hand: winning the battle. The deck shuddered in quick succession as the MACs fired in pairs at different targets as he opened the battlegroup channel. “All ships prepare one Shiva missile and coordinate targeting.”
“Sir, our fighters have engaged their bomber escorts, but they’re still slipping through!” Lieutenant Portier said.
Archer missiles fitted with ECM packages had already left their tubes across the fleet and started on their course, followed shortly by the Shiva nukes.
Admiral White looked at the tactical display before he opened a new channel to the Delaware’s captain. “Captain Galanis, can you adjust your formation one thousand kilometers towards the Stalwart perimeter?”
There was a brief pause.
“Negative, sir. The Delaware would make it, no doubt about it, but I’d be leaving my escorts vulnerable, damaged or not. Sir.” Captain Galanis added.
“Understood, tighten up your cluster and hold position. Admiral White out.” White turned towards the operations officer. “Lieutenant Portier, route half our fighters for immediate intercept!”
“Yes sir.” The lieutenant said from his station before rapidly whipping his head towards White. “Sir, the first wave of Republic craft is being engaged by the Stalwart screen.”
“Lieutenant Scheffer, get ahold of Field Marshall Schwarz and tell him to prepare for imminent planetside contact.”
“Aye sir.” The officer sounded off.
“MacArthur, regroup the Stalwarts for optimal protection of their formation.” White said, recognizing the danger posed by a massed strike. The ground forces would have to hold their own.
“Yes sir.” MacArthur promptly replied.
“What are my options here?” He questioned, extending a pointed finger towards the dropship swarm on the readout as if the AI needed it.
Code flashed brilliantly across MacArthur’s avatar for a brief moment. “Admiral, by my calculations their formation is too spread out for optimal results, a complete expenditure of the nearest ships’ nuclear arsenals would only result in thirty five percent casualties.”
White scratched his chin. Stopping their landing entirely was a foregone conclusion, it wasn’t happening. If the nukes wouldn’t do it, he’d best save it for the threat of a Mandator II breathing down his neck.
“Alright.” He said simply. White watched as the Shiva nukes began hitting their targets. From the shielding of polarized transparent metal, he watched the fusion devices deflagrate the hulls of the remaining Republic capital ships. Not much was left behind.
Other than the fire of point defense weapons, White’s battlegroup fell silent.
With that threat taken care of, only the Republic’s fighters and bombers currently posed a danger to the UNSC fleet.
A thousand bombers had managed to make it past the Delaware’s own fighter screen.
Curiously, only half of them launched their payload before entering the effective range of the point defense network before peeling off. The other half remained steadfast in their approach towards the formation.
Between the mixed group of ARC-170s, BTL-B Y-Wings, and NTB-630s, they had fired off about 3500 proton torpedoes.
The other bombers still rushed onwards, pressing on to 7500 klicks.
Shortly after, Fascines, Longswords, and Broadswords began to interdict them as the initial volley of proton torpedoes were engaged by point defense.
The entrance of more UNSC fighters seemed to give the majority of the bombers cold feet, possibly due in part to having left their own escorts in the furball behind them, who promptly dumped their payload and turned tail.
A hundred bombers, all BTL-B Y-Wings, remained obdurate, shunting all power to their engines.
Ten were cut down by the lead UNSC fighters, Slayer-1 getting the first shots off and beating even the point defense guns of the Delaware herself.
This led to a revelation for Admiral White. The Republic was obviously hoping to overwhelm the UNSC point defense network, but they were using the first wave of munitions to ‘shield’ the approach of another wave of bombers as the incoming torpedoes took the priority of the point defense guns.
Twenty more were cut down by the fighters before they crossed the 5000 klick mark, causing them to disengage so as to not be hit by friendly fire.
The bombers went unmolested for only a second, but that second was all they needed to dump their payload and scram. 700 more torpedoes entered the fray, practically at point blank range.
The Delaware and her accompaniment had reformed into a more defensive posture and swatted down hundreds of projectiles a second. The brief respite afforded to them by the destruction of the Republic fleet had allowed them to recharge their shields even if only a little.
The mass of proton torpedoes was directed towards the Delaware herself, the ship frantically taking out incoming targets through both direct impact and fragmentation proximity bursts. Of particular effectiveness were the 70mm M965 Fortress guns.
Out of the six to seven thousand torpedoes launched, only a hundred made it through, all scions of the last wave of bombers. The first fifty met their match on the Delaware’s shields, but the next fifty struck her armor plating.
The proton torpedoes were potent little things and started to blow gaping hulls in the Delaware’s superstructure, which were frantically patched over by the heavy cruiser’s secondary shielding system. Repeated hits in the same location ate away at the cruiser, however, managing to penetrate towards both her MAC and secondary engine compartments.
At the conclusion of the attack, the ship was otherwise mostly intact. After the initial run of Autumns, it was decided that in order to improve the survivability of the class that the honeycomb superstructure found on the first run of the original Halcyons would be reintroduced.
She might’ve been wounded, but the Delaware was by no means out of the fight.
White’s fighters chased down the fleeing bombers with a vengeance, but for now the UNSC was left to regroup. “MacArthur, situation report.” He barked.
“The enemy flagship used their FTL drive to retreat, but the other ships have all been disabled or destroyed.”
“And our own losses?” He interrupted brusquely.
A very slight grin formed on the AI’s avatar at the Admiral’s interjection. “As I was saying, one Paris destroyed, another Paris heavily damaged, four Halberds heavily damaged, five Stalwarts lightly damaged, one Autumn lightly damaged, and two Stridents suffered light damage. The rest of the battlegroup received only nominal damage. Rear Admiral Sukenori suffered no casualties. Ten thousand dropships made it to the surface and enemy forces have landed planetside ”
“What about that Mandator?” He questioned.
“Hold on.” The AI’s avatar shimmered as it searched. “ONI prowler intel updated, the Republic is holding it in reserve.”
“It hasn’t moved?” White asked, skeptical.
“Signal Corps intercepted and decrypted additional fleet movement broadcasts. The Mandator was directed to move to standby condition in the Skorrupon system by Governor-General Tanniel himself.”
“How old is this intel?”
“Seven minutes,” the AI replied.
“Why didn’t we know about that Mandator sooner?” He gestured towards the display to nothing in particular.
“The Republic had it stationed in a system a couple thousand light years away. ONI must’ve missed it until they intercepted their broadcasts, the Prowler Corps is spread thin as it is.”
“They’re up to something.” White began theorizing, moving the topic back to the battle at hand. “They’ll probably hold it in reserve until the last possible moment, pin our fleet in place…” He trailed off, deep in thought. “MacArthur, have the Army and Marines finished landing?”
“They’re seventy five percent complete, sir. The final divisions are disembarking now. The next wave of Republic ships will arrive in approximately thirty minutes.”
“Get a full damage report done on those ships and get them underway for repairs at the refit station ASAP, and have Rear Admiral Sukenori’s fleet hold their position.”
“Yes sir.” MacArthur said.
Admiral White shifted towards Captain Haithum. “How’s the Warhound looking?”
“She’s ready, sir.” Captain Haithum stated. “We’ll give them hell.”
“Good.” White simply replied. “Now, how are we going to deal with that Mandator?”
Captain Haithum took a brief moment to think and then grinned. “The Infinity.”
White returned the expression with a smirk of his own crawling at the edge of his lips. “I’ll pass it by Fleet Admiral Cole alongside a prowler strike on their Skorrupon staging area. But for now, we wait.”
Taris
They were being hunted.
Aayla and her band of soldiers had been on the run for a few hours now.
They had gotten onto a good enough start, managing to thoroughly pilfer the planetary defense force armory. They were able to scrounge up not only munitions but another platoon of PDF soldiers who, according to Scorch, were waiting around with their thumbs up their shebs.
Within five minutes, they were armed and out of there. Even Aayla had opted to don armor at the particular insistence of Delta Squad. With their dropship having left the system with its hyperdrive to go and warn the fleets down the Hydian Way, they were stuck on the planet.
They had the Terran advance beat by a large margin, or at least it had seemed that way, and were booking it on speeder towards a Republic military base three hundred kilometers distant.
It wasn’t long before Terran airspeeders swooped in from the sky and strafed their column. The group quickly ditched their speederbikes and hovertrucks to go on foot. The two platoons of troopers, clone and non-clone, as well as Delta Squad had been split up in the ensuing haste across two sides of a street.
Aayla couldn’t guess why exactly the UNSC had taken such a particular interest in tracking down and destroying her group, or even how they differentiated them from all the civilian traffic, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that they wanted them dead.
Two pairs of gunships of differing types had stalked them all the way to a business district. Aayla had already lost two squads to the predators, and had nearly lost a third only a few minutes ago.
The ground rumbled and dust and dirt shook free and vibrated atop the floor. Other than the distant sounds of explosions, only the close thrum of engines were present.
Curled in a corner of a room, she held her breath as if the enemy would hear it.
She heard the Terran gunship hover a meter above the ground a stone's throw away, felt its engines kick up dust and beat upon the exterior wall. The vehicle flitted through the air with the grace of a Can-cell beast ridden by the Wookiee warriors of Kashyyyk. Its flood lights cast a much harsher shadow than the rising star through the windows.
“Stay down.” Sev held the shoulder of one of the planetary defense troopers down, the man practically quaking in his boots.
Sweat beaded on Aayla's face. Her lekku twitched in anticipation for an incoming attack. She clutched her lightsaber ever tighter.
Though she couldn’t sense anything from the pilot, she could feel the presence of the gunship’s wingman a few hundred meters away. She channeled the Force and felt the whine of the engines, the downwash, its pitch and yaw.
Aayla thought they were finished as the closest one paused, as if it noticed something.
Shortly after, it decided the sector looked clear enough or simply had more pressing matters to attend to and lazily shifted towards one of the highrises further down the boulevard, the other gunship keeping a tail on its partner from a distance.
After a few minutes, Boss, prone halfway through a doorway, turned and nodded slightly towards her. She nodded back and went prone. They crawled for what seemed like forever past desks, offices, and kiosks until they reached the relative safety of a stairwell. Her mixed platoon of clones and non-clones used the respite to regroup and catch their breath.
“Can you reach the other group on comms?” Aayla asked Boss, a sorely needed breath leaving her lungs.
“If you want the Terrans to triangulate our position.” Boss replied coolly.
“Wait, I’ve got eyes on Delta Forty and Six-Two.” Sev reported, scoping the area through a small slit window. “First floor, three story building, two hundred meters to our northwest.”
“We should regroup.” Aayla suggested, sensing the increasingly distant Terran craft. Even so, she felt uneasy. “While Taris has yet to rise completely.”
“Agreed.” Boss hesitated for a moment. “Fierfek it.” He cursed, bringing his comlink online. “Delta Forty, this is Three-Eight, we’ll be approaching from the southeast. Don’t reply.” He cut off his transmission. Boss turned away from Aayla and towards the troops in various states of rest. “Let’s move out!”
Boss, Sev, and Aayla took point while the rest of the men came down in squads. They approached the opposite building with cautious haste. The lack of cover in the street was a definite cause for concern.
One of the planetary defense troopers ran in a crouched form, but the RPS-6 rocket slung over his shoulder was too loosely secured and swung over to the ground. The shifting center of balance and heavy load of gear coupled with his own clumsiness in trying to catch the launcher caused him to skid to the floor and negligently discharge his blaster.
What followed was the loudest silence Aayla had ever heard.
“Bantha brain!” One of the clones hissed in a low voice.
“Sorry.” The man replied, sullen.
“Let’s move!” Boss yelled, roughly picking the man up and beginning to run.
He ran for good reason, Aayla sensed the Terran gunship turn around and start gunning it for their position.
Their cautious movement soon turned into a disorganized scramble for the next building.
“I’m getting out of here!” One man screamed, turning towards the closer one they had just departed.
Heavy slugthrowers tore through the street, the report of the supersonic weapons booming in after them. The man who turned to run was messily bisected by a single hit. One clone was totally vaporized by a nose mounted laser cannon.
Aayla glanced over her right shoulder and saw the other pair of gunships arrive, these ones the smaller of the quartet. Rocket pods fired from the new arrivals impacted throughout the throng and kicked up massive amounts of dust and debris. Aayla ran past one clone whose torso was leaking out of his armor from a nearby impact.
She continued to run, using the Force to cover the remaining 75 meters in 15 seconds flat. She slid into the cover of the building as two nimble UNSC gunships strafed overhead. Boss and Sev were the first ones in behind her, with twelve others joining them not long after. She took a quick glance outside and winced at the sight.
Sixteen out of the group’s thirty had been reduced to a smoldering ruin, repeating slugthrowers still tore through what remained. Aayla ducked as a missile fired from the pair of bigger Terran airspeeders threw up shrapnel which pinged against the wall she was leaning over.
“Keep moving!” Boss shouted, running further into the building, and for good reason. The gunships began to turn their cover into rubble.
“You sure dragged us into a mess.” Scorch chided after meeting them.
“Cut it Six-Two.” Fixer said gravely. “We need to take them out.”
“About time.” Sev said coldly, briefly glancing at Aayla.
The group jogged towards the middle of the structure just before the smaller airspeeders hovered in front of the entrance. Missiles and rockets blazed away from the pylons mounted to the airframes and blasted away at the interior of the structure. Fire poured in from windows and doorways.
The group, now around 45 in total, dropped to the ground and clinged to cover once again. They were thoroughly suppressed, neither being able to run nor hide, so they would have to fight their way out. Boss located a stairwell and crawled to the man who had got them into this mess. He grabbed him by his chestplate and tilted his head towards the stairs. “Take your launcher and hit that gunship!” He said sternly. “Make the Republic proud.”
The non-clone gulped before nodding. He swiftly began crawling across the stone tiled floor. After a moment he glanced over his shoulder at Aayla, who seemed to scowl at him.
“He owes us one.” Boss said grimly, slugs still flying overhead.
One of the other clones, a lieutenant, threw a large small rock at another clone’s helmet who subsequently looked towards him. He began using hand signals which they apparently understood. The rock impacted clone tapped the clone next to him and they began crawling around the structure. Aayla only realized why when she saw the gigantic PLX-1 they were dragging around. The whole world seemed to be collapsing in on itself as the torrent of slugthrowers and explosions continued to rocked the structure.
Aayla calmed herself and focused on the man ascending the stairs. She could feel his fear, doubts, hesitation, but he pressed on.
The soldier prepped his rocket launcher, popped up out of cover, and fired. The rocket struck the cockpit head on, causing the assaulting craft to careen into the building. His wingman, incensed by the death of his partner, swept around to engage the group. The other pair followed.
The trooper with the rocket launcher scrambled to take them out, firing a salvo from the RPS-6’s five remaining rockets in the magazine. None hit the moving targets, rather drawing the ire of the attackers. One of the larger gunships pitched up and fired into the second story.
Aayla broke off her Force connection and concentrated on her immediate surroundings. Directly across from her was Scorch, taking cover behind an increasingly thin duracrete pillar, loading an anti-armor round into his DC-17m.
This gave the PLX team the opening they needed to send a rocket into the side of a large gunship. The missile blew a chunk out of the ventral midsection of the craft, twisting the fuselage and causing it to crumple inwards before engulfing itself in an explosion.
Determined to let no deed go unpunished, the remaining gunships turned and opened fire. Scorch used the opportunity to fire an anti-armor grenade as if in retaliation, which barely missed. Fixer alongside the repeating blaster section fired at the unshielded Terran airframes, ducking back down moments later as they received special attention from a furious barrage of rockets in their general direction.
Aayla saw the momentary blur of a missile fly in past her before the resulting explosion filled the area with dust.
“You’d think they’d be out of slugs by now!” She heard one man yell over the ringing of her auditory organs.
To Aayla’s right, the wall a squad of clones were using as cover had been whittled down to the point of concealment. Fire punctured the wall and eviscerated what lay behind. Even more slugs ripped through the building.
Sev took a chance while the smaller one still remaining was tearing up the other area of the building and rolled on his side. Straddling his sniper over a pillar for support, he fired five shots in quick succession, leaving the pilot no time to react. Suspended in midair, the craft hung eerily silent before drifting off into a nearby building.
Now painfully aware it was alone, the last Terran gunship dumped what remained of its munitions and backed off while not letting go of the firing studs for the heavy repeating slugthrowers, firing the laser cannon once more for good measure.
As the gunship pulled out for good, they all sat quietly for what seemed like an hour before Fixer perked up. “I’ve got Republic signals coming in.”
Boss hurried over, followed by Sev and Scorch.
“They’ve broken through.” Fixer added.
“Do you hear that?” Scorch asked, holding a finger up for emphasis.
As if on queue, a flight of ARC-170 starfighters boomed past, followed by Y-Wing bombers and multiple variants of LAATs all flying low to the ground.
Fixer started a broadcast and they were told to standby, it wasn’t until ten minutes later that they were picked up by a returning group of LAAT/i gunships.
Aayla fixed her eyes on the smoking remains of their skirmish and was left wondering, trying to discern the will of the Force in it all.
UNSC Warhound
The first strike attack in the Skorrupon system by a wolf pack of prowlers had bought them two hour’s worth of time. They had dumped their nuclear ordinance into logistical ships, dockyard facilities, and whatever other targets looked particularly enticing at which point all but one promptly left the system. The Republic fleet was understandably driven into a frenzy at this and spent considerable time and effort hunting down ships which weren’t even there.
That two hours was up.
The Mandator II was big, 21.2 klicks big. Not CSO big, but big nonetheless. Admiral White had been receiving enemy strength updates nearly every minute thanks to the prowler, so the nine hundred strong enemy fleet didn’t come as a shock.
He and Fleet Admiral Cole had used their two hours wisely. The lightly damaged ships were repaired, with the heavily damaged ones having been withdrawn to Boz Pity after it became clear they wouldn’t be able to be brought back to fighting shape in enough time. Other than that, Rear Admiral Sukenori’s force had moved to a flanking position further out towards the edge of the system, facing the enemy’s projected ingress diagonally so as to remove entirely the possibility of MAC slugs hitting friendly forces or Taris itself. It would split up the efforts of the Republic fleet at the very least and they could make a precision jump if things got too hairy.
Rear Admiral Kristiansen’s fleet remained in reserve by the star’s asteroid belt, ready to spring into action when Fleet Admiral Cole deemed it fit via pinpoint jump. Another hour and the Infinity propelled by her Forerunner drive would be here.
Over Taris itself were Fleet Admiral Cole and Admiral White commanding their forces from the Everest and Warhound respectively. After the last of the troops had disembarked, Cole was able to group up with White while leaving behind fifty ships to guard their flank on the opposite hemisphere.
“They’re shadowing their carriers behind that supercarrier.” Fleet Admiral Cole stated over his direct channel to the Warhound’s bridge.
“Too bad for them.” Admiral White replied dryly. Rear Admiral Sukenori was already harassing the backlines of the Republic formation, where the Republic carriers had no dreadnought to shield them.
“Macarius has finished the final calculations for my fleet’s jump.” Cole said, referring to his shipboard AI. “Remember the plan.” He waited for White’s assent before cutting off the transmission.
White was just glad he didn’t say something like ‘Psi Serpentis was worse’ before ending the conversation.
“Enemy fleet holding position at three million kilometers.” MacArthur stated. “It seems they’re reorganizing themselves and emptying their hangars.”
“They’ve broken off two hundred ships to chase down Admiral Sukenori.” Lieutenant Portier said.
“Good.” White nodded slowly. “Are the bombers in position?”
“Yes sir.” The officer replied. They had apportioned 1500 Longswords fitted for anti-ship duties alongside fighter escorts in flanking positions around one of Taris’s moons which had come into a more favorable orbital position for the defenders. Beyond that, the minefield had been severely depleted but still might prove a deadly surprise for a handful of ships.
“Enemy fleet accelerating.” MacArthur said. “They’ll be entering DEW range in four minutes by my estimate.”
“I’ve got a hundred thousand enemy craft on my scope and counting.” Lieutenant Portier said, notably calmer than he had been earlier in the battle. “They’ve broken off another sixty capital ships from the main group, plus escorts. From their current vector it seems they’ll try to skirt around the edge of the system.”
“A flanking maneuver, no doubt.” Captain Haithum said, leaned over the man’s display. He twisted his head to face Admiral White.
“Admiral Kitzler’s battlegroup can take care of it.” White reassured. The flanking maneuver would prove fruitless without the element of surprise and overwhelming numerical superiority over the UNSC rearguard.
The approaching 21 kilometer long behemoth approached menacingly, though no slower than any Republic ship in its entourage. The fighter screen around it was truly like a swarm of ants by comparison. It dwarfed the other ships surrounding it, bringing with its higher internal volume an exponentially more powerful reactor system.
“2,500,000 kilometers and closing.” MacArthur reported.
“Make sure our point defenses are still working.” White heard Captain Haithum say to Lieutenant Haynes. The last enemy bomber sortie had given some in the fleet a wakeup call compared to the battle at Alpha Rendara.
The enemy fleet neared closer, the dreadnought at the tip of the spear. This would be the first true UNSC naval engagement against such a vessel, having been robbed of the chance over Reach after RED FLAG’s initial stages had hijacked the Long Night Of Solace.
“2,000,000 kilometers and closing.” MacArthur said after some time had passed.
It was 400 UNSC vessels, 150 under White’s direct command and 250 under Cole’s, head to head against 650 Republic warships. Definitely not as bad numbers wise as Psi Serpentis, White had to admit.
“Enemy fleet in range!” Lieutenant Portier and MacArthur called out simultaneously.
“All ships fire at will!” Fleet Admiral Cole’s voice came in over the fleetwide channel. “MACs authorized to engage!”
Energy weapons from the UNSC ships so equipped lashed out and beat against the shields of the Republic vessels. A few beams lanced towards the bow of the dreadnought, but it moved absolutely undeterred. Only the newly refitted or constructed ships were equipped with such weaponry, meaning that they only managed to take out just shy of forty Republic ships, mostly Acclamators and smaller vessels. Of particular effectiveness were weapons fired by Anlace and Mulsanne frigates.
MAC rounds were let loose likewise, even though at such an extreme range they would normally easily be dodged. White could clearly see why Fleet Admiral Cole had read the situation as abnormal. The Republic formation was tightly packed, leaving them relatively little room to maneuver while also coming at the UNSC fleet head on. With the highly robust shield systems of the Mandator II, it was safe to say it would continue on undeterred if it meant keeping the carriers and assault ships laden with troops safe.
Some MAC rounds missed, but most hit their marks. Slugs crashed into the shields of Republic star destroyers and sapped strength from their shields before subsequent shots ended them for good. Worryingly, however, was the fact the dreadnought had taken round after round after round in the nose with stride. Fifty seven MAC slugs didn’t so much as leave a scratch on its paint, let alone pierce its shields.
White shouldn’t have been surprised, the CIS reports did indicate that it could take on a thousand of their light destroyers at once, but it was more the spectacle of it that caught him off momentarily guard.
More and more Republic ships winked off holographic display in front of White’s eyes after the second combined MAC and DEW barrage as the enemy fleet passed the million kilometer mark.
As they became only 750,000 kilometers distant, just another minute before the Republic would come into effective range of their turbolasers, the UNSC fleet began accelerating. Cole took the Everest and 99 other ships under his command into slipspace, popping out seconds later 500,000 kilometers to their portside flank. Simultaneously, the bombers began a hard attack burn around the curvature of the moon.
Fleet Admiral Cole had them caught in a killzone. In one salvo he’d managed to wipe out a quarter of the Republic's eighty carriers and cause them to redirect thousands of their fighters and bombers towards them. This left a momentary gap for the UNSC bombers alongside their own fighter escorts to punch through.
The Republic fleet itself, however, stayed on course. They were determined to pummel the UNSC fleet into oblivion at knight fighting range. By the time the Republic got in range, they were left with 450 ships still combat capable, with 200 more colossal paperweights.
The Republic formation seemed to blossom as the ships maneuvered into abreast clusters.
The turbolaser fire, most especially from the Mandator II, soon reached a fever pitch. An entire flotilla of five Paris frigates went up in smoke and flame from the starboard guns of the star dreadnought. Two Marathon cruisers and six Halberd destroyers fell prey to its portside weapons. Even a Warlock battlecruiser, one of the more advanced models of UNSC starship, succumbed to a heavy turbolaser barrage from a pair of Imperator star destroyers.
With this much enemy fire, the evasive maneuvers the Warhound was jerkily undertaking weren’t helping all too much.
“Shields down to twenty seven percent” Lieutenant Portier screeched.
The UNSC soon returned fire with one last MAC barrage salvo, managing to take out 93 Republic ships. Then, some of the Longsword launched nuclear missiles came in blazing before impacting the rear of the Mandator II. From the subsequent impacts from conventional missiles, the shields still weren’t down.
“The shields are down!” An ensign yelled.
Then, two MAC rounds from the Everest pierced through, one clipping through the starboard ‘wing’ of the warship and the other hitting the cityscape-like superstructure in the middle. It seemed unmoved, however, and follow up MAC shots from Cole’s frigates and destroyers yielded little fruit likewise.
The UNSC and Republic were trading kills left and right as they came closer and closer. The UNSC fleet let off a fusillade of missiles the likes of which White hadn’t seen since Reach. He gripped a nearby handhold as a barrage of turbolasers struck the ventral armor at an angle. More nuclear explosions went off in the distance, taking out a group of Republic troop transports.
“Sir! The dreadnought is changing course!” Lieutenant Portier said with urgency.
He looked at his tactical display with renewed intensity while an Autumn went up in an explosion in his peripheral view. It struck White as odd, they couldn’t have been angling for a broadside as they could just tilt the ship in order to bring more guns to bear, and they certainly weren’t retreating either.
There was a brief moment of pseudomotion, and the Mandator II had vanished from the fight, before reemerging a split second later at the outskirts of the system to the rear of the main UNSC fleet. Both Admiral White and Captain Haithum recognized the maneuver. The Republic had done it at Alpha Rendara too.
They weren’t using that flanking force as a flanking force, but a homing beacon.
The Mandator II now had a clear shot at the landing zone with nothing but 50 ships to oppose it.