It was as if Asa Kiva, The Merciful God of Death had smothered every vessel in the strike fleet with their stark white blanket, one that promised a gentle yet inevitable end, and at the same time, salvation to every creature in its embrace; for no one could see out into the void as every viewing port was shuttered and secured under armor plates, save for a select few of the combat decks’ whose sensors and AI deemed that no, it is way too bright out there and the crew’s tender eyeballs, either natural or artificial, would very much not appreciate such insane light show, even as historically important as it is. So they did what they were made for, instantly polarizing the multilayered window and dimming it to the lowest possible setting, to the point that all officers and deckhands almost lost their visual contact with the gargantuan hulk stretching across the window, still brightly burning and sputtering with ethereal plasma fire.
They almost cursed in unison at the loss of visibility, but then as quickly quietened down when the white wave reached their ship, flooding the combat control deck with columns of light as if arrows of solid brilliance had somehow pierced into the eye slit of a helmet resting atop a knight of millennia past, devastating the warrior’s brain yet momentarily leaving their body standing rigid, unable to catch up with the fact that they are no more.
Every single soul that has the privilege of observing this historic moment watched, searing into their mind the actinic bright landscape that is out there for a solid minute, and simply isn’t anymore. Then came silence as dedicated sensor arrays stopped pinging their operators, groaning communication suites still suffering from enemies’ electronic warfare gives up and fizzled out, ship hulls stopped vibrating, and a solemn air has spread through the whole fleet.
Viewports snapped and slid open again, and observation windows returned to their normal operation, letting the starlight studded void enter the vision of the personnel aboard the starships again.
“ANTIMATTER PAYLOAD NUMBER 2 THROUGH 41 HAS BEEN SUCCESSFULLY INITIATED, OBSERVING GOOD EFFECT ON TARGET! GOOD EFFECT ON TARGET!”
One of the sensor operators aboard the Damocles reported with an almost fanatic fervor, breaking every single deck hand out of the stupor. officers sending packets of data commands to crewmen under their chain of command, Like a kicked anthill, the ship went alive with activity, resuming processes that were halted a few minutes prior, but only after the shield bubble is stabilized and its excess suspended energy shunted into the nearest star, headcounts are carried out and the post-battle cleanup begins.
Ammo conveyor belts begin to groan and creak as massive motors spool up from a cold start, carrying hundreds of warheads from one of the many magazines on the ship into the ready racks of each gun battery. Repair drones flitted out of their honeycomb hive with their own wheeled limbs and anti-gravity thrusters, carrying plates of composite flooring and armor to repair breached and purged hull sections while nanomachine swarms stream out from the nano-forge and promptly slip into gaps between walls, vents, and pipes to repair cracks ever-present on the ship caused by stress and damage during battle as well as healing the wounded.
Hostile combat drones, or what is left of them, got a one way trip to the recycler to reclaim the material as well as their valuable combat data– if there is any intact, for the destruction of such information is almost guaranteed if a combat drone’s AI deems itself disabled and irrecoverable.
Most importantly, backup reactors are thrumming, kicking equipment back online after a precarious few seconds. The ship is back alive.
“I see that theater-wide comms have been reestablished. Leftenant Kastrigne, give me battlefield SITREP.” The man sitting on the command couch sighed.
Eight whole months of constant warfare that culminates in a big fuck-off bang, is that not appropriate, Arslan? Is that what you wanted?
“Yes, sir!”
Stolen story; please report.
After a brief salute towards their commander, the officer snapped back to their station and reported.
“The Combined rebel main fleet body has been rendered either destroyed or non-operational, their flagship Elderflower has vanished entirely, to which the sensor team assumes that it has been wholly consumed in the… event just now, with zero traces present to surface level scan. The accompanying squadrons–Sila, Aelician, Fonirii, and Bohemia suffered the same fate as their main fleet, as they refused any attempt at parley or surrender. Major unrecoverable losses to friendly forces include the battleships Sevastopol, Pulao, Maron, strategic carrier Cthonician and Dorcesta; all of the cruisers and destroyers, save for the Lilianth and #9, #16, #17 and #31, respectively.”
“As of now, The Punitive Fleet is at approximately 14% operational capability at this moment and slowly rising–” Suppressing a wince, he continued. “Destroyer #16 has been destroyed in a suicide attack by remnant Arslanite forces. Intel reported it was a frigate carrying tactical spatial implosion ordnance. Strategic carrier Du Vell has unfortunately accrued level 2 damage. Hostile boarding forces on every vessel are being neutralized as we speak. That would be all, sir.”
What have you planned, you hellion?
“We were lucky they did not use any temporal ordnance." He grunted. "And what of our ship?”
“Frontal Turret 1 through 5 has been rendered inoperable for at least four days, missile casters the same, except the thruster emergency defenses’. Tertiary guns and turrets are being reclaimed and replaced as we speak. Crew morale is moderately low but is stabilizing, now that the battle is over, with approximately 40% disabled and only a quarter of that K.I.A– most of them petty officers. Our marines have successfully routed the hostile boarding commandos, killing at least 150 raiders and accompanying war drones, the body count is still in progress. Lord Kashtar deployed in full combat regalia with a company of armored suits but was encircled by the boarders. In an attempt to break out, he challenged their leader to duel with power swords but ultimately lost. Ah yes, and one sole hostile captive, a shark, barely surviving.”
“Good. Transfer the raider to an interrogation chamber in 5 hours. I shall see to it myself.” His eyes narrowed. "Recover Kashtar’s body and preserve it, I shall deliver it to the Dvarnoc family." Foolish Kashtar, there is the glory of battle you seek. I am grateful that you laid yourself down and became my stepping stone. Needn't even dirty my hands.
“Ser, contact from Command!” The comm operator relayed. “Live line, bounced from fort Sabiant, for you specifically, ser!”
Out of the skillet, into the fire. He stared at the holoprojector. Here come the vultures. "Patch them through"
Relative reference points, combat data charts, and the model of the whole strike fleet, the combat display, as colloquially known, become miniaturized into his periphery and the holographic projector cycled from war screens to display finer detailed constructs, as is proper.
A man materialized in the air, so perfectly crisp one would not know he is not real if not for the fact that he is floating a good twenty centimeters up from the deck flooring. He sports a tall and lithe frame with finely sculpted musculature, as is every single body in this Empire; widespread genetic engineering and all. But not exactly so, as his feature is slightly odd, in a weird way one cannot quite put a finger on. His face is an ever-popular androgynous, yet it is not quite perfect in an artistic way, and at the same time, not quite imperfectly human. There is something to it that is engineered to strike the deepest sweet spot in the uncanny valley.
The figure is clothed in a subdued but clearly extravagant brocade smoking jacket and pants, while lazily holding an intricately cut glass of violet-colored liquid by the rim, striking a stark contrast between himself and everybody standing in the room, clearly out of place; not only that, while the crew gives their respect to their commander, genuine or otherwise, the uncanny man regarded the one standing before him with all but half an eye before tilting his head slightly in a mockery of a nod.
“Hetman Armandias.”