*Ambassador we need to talk*
Gwen settled down in her chair once more, musing over the implications of the words on her console. The capital planet of the Unity had fallen in the opening genocide. The few survivors that remained reported that the planet itself had been fired upon until its atmosphere was consumed and its oceans boiled.
On a hunch, Gwen spoke softly into the open air. “I’m listening”
*Is Delmar safe*
“Safe enough. They appear to be focusing on a foothold up-spin. I suspect their forces in this sector were depleted in the attack, or we would have seen something by now.” Gwen responded.
*I seek… asylum. No others live. I am the last. *
“I see. Come to Port Royal, we can discuss it further in person” Gwen stated flatly.
*acceptable*
With that, the ambassador’s console flickered and returned to its normal function.
Gwen leaned forward in her chair, resting her arms on her desk. She contemplated the repercussions of what had just transpired. Finally shaking herself, she keyed up a call.
“Ambassador?” Philip’s cautiously curious tone matched his raised eyebrow.
“Re institute code 892-6. Let me know if any vessel jumps into Delmar using that clearance.” She stated.
Philips eyes narrowed as memory flared in understanding. “I see, consider it done ambassador. Is there a projected arrival date?”
“Not at this time.” Gwen admitted.
“Understood, anything else Ambassador?” Philip asked formally.
“No Philip, that will be all. Thank you, Gwen out.” the ambassador closed the call, shutting the console down in earnest this time before departing for her quarters.
________________________________________________________________
Admiral Folmuri settled heavily into his chair aboard his flagship. It had been a long 5 months of barely contained chaos; racing to stem the tide of death. His fleet was 6 strong. He had been given USN Texas, fresh from her hasty repairs, as his flagship for this desperate mission. He was accompanied by the Delmar cruisers Bastion and Protectorate as well as USN Simo, Gales, and Valles. His mission, save lives.
Captain Gleeson had taken to keeping a pot of coffee on the bridge in these last few months, and Folmuri had taken to the black elixir cautiously. A steaming cup of it sat at his arm as he flicked through the data in front of him. These days, his hands no longer shook from the caffeine.
“5 minutes!!” Barked the Com, and Folmuri picked up his mug. He drained the last of its contents and stowed it for combat. His fleet had been comprised of the ships that were available, being sent out on a desperate mission of salvation. Hundreds of trillions of souls were fleeing the onslaught of the Vorath incursion, and the Piracy syndicates were reaping a grim bounty. His fleet had cut a path of destruction through every brigand he could find, jumping from distress call to distress call with merciless purpose. Texas was filled with as many extra jump-capable shuttles as possible. She had used them to ferry refugees that had to abandon ship to safer worlds, and returned with holds full of ammunition, medical, and food supplies to keep his fleet effective.
Today, they would not be facing Brigands. His fleet had finally reached their destination, the far side of Unity space; a core world turned front-line battlefield. Unity transmissions were clear. The Vorath were here, and they were winning.
“Signal all ships,” Folmuri’s formal tone broke the silence, “Clear for action”
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Admiral Tagarin weighed his options. He had learned much from his experience in the Signus system against the Devoted, having then been flag captain for the now missing Grand Admiral. The problem was, he simply did not have the firepower to provide more than a pittance of what he had seen Humanity unleash. His battle line was ragged. Ships had begun a slow rotation between the vanguard and reserves, depleting their power banks before falling back to be replaced by ships fresh from replenishing their reserves. It was working, after a fashion. The world was lost, but he was fighting a slow retreat in an attempt to cover the few fleeing civilian vessels that had escaped.
Another one of his heavy cruisers broke formation, spewing plasma and atmosphere from her flanks. Her captain had been one of the few who had refused to adhere to the new decompression protocols that Tagarin had put in place after seeing human ships get holed more times than he had thought possible and still fight. Her crew paid the ultimate price for her captain’s insolence as the hull began to buckle under the heat of the burning atmosphere inside.
‘Thirty-four’. He was down to thirty-four ships. He had started with ninety, having managed to sink only seven of the forty Vorath vessels that had dropped into the system.
One of the biggest of them, some kind of frigate, bore away, leaving the rest of the fleet to deal with the Unity ships. Tagarin looked on in horror as the massive Vorath vessel began firing on the planet with a sustained burst from some sort of a “glassing” beam…
“New contacts! 229 mark 117! Beacons are Delmar!” The sensor station belted out.
“Tell them to get back! The planet is lo…” A blinding flash cut off the rest of the admiral’s sentence as one of the largest Vorath ship classes set against them, the one murdering the planet….. exploded.
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“Simo reports a direct hit on the planet killer.” Captain Gleeson’s voice was carved granite discipline, edged in rage.
Folmuri no longer flinched at his flag captain’s barely caged agression, not anymore. He matched it with his own, “Signal Simo, I want her, Valles, and Gales on containment, weapons free.” He turned to his Flag Captain and bore his teeth, “Texas, Bastion, Protectorate: we will drive them from orbit. Engage, close action.” He was met with a matching expression from his Captain as the deck plating vibrated under the recoil of his flagship’s wrath.
The massive Terran-built ship of the line, flanked by two of the most powerful warships the Delmar Confederation had ever built, dove headlong into the teeth of the Vorath fleet. Texas retained her original weaponry, and her Batteries began to reap their vengeance. In seconds, two Vorath Cruisers were eviscerated under withering fire. She quickly came under fire from a second frigate. It was only slightly smaller than the one that had tried to glass the planet. High above the dying world, the Stage was set for a broadside warship duel out of the pages of Earth’s age-of-sail…. Only to have Simo speak for the second time. Her 100 ton semi molten hate ignored three Vorath Destroyers, treating them as though they did not exist. They did cease to exist as the single round removed them from the universe before slamming into the starboard side of the frigate squaring off against Texas.
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Texas added her weight of fire to the carnage as the Frigate’s shields shattered and the Vulkan round struck home. The sinister Vorath behemoth puked flaming wreckage from 1.6-kilometer-wide holes created by Simo’s round passing clean through her at the beam. Her forward armored hull was eviscerated under the concentrated barrage of every gun in Texas’ port broadside volleyfire. Bearing away at last, the Terran made Ship of the Line switched targets to engage multiple smaller cruisers at once.
Bastion and Protectorate had been retrofitted with the Delmar take on Martian PAC batteries. They tag-teamed a third Frigate, the last one on the field for the Vorath, quickly rending it to pieces before turning their attention to what was left of the enemy fleet. The two Delmar warships pressed their advantage, making use of the combined technology of Humanity and Delmar, fanning out to cover Texas’ flanks. The three drove the enemy bodily from orbit.
Only 4 ships made it out of orbit, only one made it past Gales and Valles as Simo was forced to cool her main gun to prevent overheating. She had engaged at twice her maximum safe rate of fire in the initial engagement, and her primary firing banks were in emergency shutdown from the thermal buildup.
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“Admiral, the flagship is hailing us.” Tagarin almost didn’t hear the young crewman’s report. The Lycan admiral was too stunned at the unbridled destruction unleashed by so few vessels.
“Put them through,” his flag captain ordered, and Tagarin nodded his thanks to the Siraf captain.
Tagarin tilted his head slightly as a familiar Delmar, a veteran of both the VR attack, and the defense against the Devoted appeared on the projector between them. “Admiral Tagarin, it is good to see you well.” The image bowed slightly in respect.
“I see congratulations are in order, Admiral Folmuri. I did not know Signus had a contingent this far into the core.”
“We sent what we could as soon as we heard. I have shuttles and extra medical personnel. I offer my assistance in continuing the evacuation. I suspect we do not have long before they return.” Folmuri responded, not bothering to address the fact that he had just claimed to have crossed 20 years of Unity space in a matter of months.
Tagarin, pushed that realization’s shock from his expression. He stood and returned the bow, “I fear you are correct; I will send my Brigs with your destroyers to picket the system, we must work quickly. Sadly, The Unity does not possess the resources to hold this world.” Tagarin admitted.
“I understand, I will keep this line open and begin deploying search and rescue. Folmuri out.” The image shut down, but the channel was kept on standby as promised.
“Send our brigs out, standard picket formation. Let us get to work.” Tagarin sat heavily in his chair once more.
————————————————-
Waiting was the hardest part. It had been months since Ambassador Gwen had authorized Clint to send a legion task group into the fray. Admiral Folmuri had acquitted himself well, cutting a swath of carnage through the Brigand hoard trying to capitalize on the mass exodus from the far side of Unity space. In no less than a dozen engagements, his battle group had destroyed over 200 barges, and over 90 Thermian warships flying Pirate IFF codes. He had expended USN Texas complement of ordinance four times, and USN Simo’s main magazine twice.
She had retained reservations about sending Folmuri, but Clint had insisted. “We need a Familiar individual to be the face of the battle group. Folmuri knows our weapons, our tactics, and our doctrine almost as well as I do at this point. He is also well known inside the greater Unity. I trust him to get it done.” Clint’s words had rung true. Every Captain in his command has sent glowing reports of their own, including his flag captain. Captain Gleeson and Captian Harrison were the two most aggressive men to have commanded a SOL during the GSW. Captain Gleeson’s latest report had included, “Admiral Folmuri has the honor of being the first Delmar flag officer to impress me. His boldness and dedication of decision has saved countless lives that a more reserved Commander would have counted lost.” In a rare moment of humor within the carnage of Operation Library, and the Vorath incursion, Clint had laughed at that line in the report “That’s the most diplomatic ‘This son of a bitch is gangster as fuck’ I’ve ever read.”
All of this did little to quell her current concern. This morning’s report revealed their task force within a week of the front line, running under full silent and maximum slip velocity to make it to the aid one of the main Unity fleets. She knew, that most likely, Folmuri had already engaged their true enemy as she was reading his latest report.
She did not like waiting.
_______________________________________________________________
Clint Stevens stumbled slightly as another impact rocked USN Galveston. The final door opened as He reached the bridge.
“Nice of you to join us!” Bellowed “Wild Bill” Harrison, Captain of the mammoth ship of the line. Galveston was Clint’s Flag for this mission, and was being escorted by Two Eros; USN Hathcock, and Furlong. Also in this battle group were two of the last surviving Battleship class warships that paved the way for the Ship of the Line Classes: USN Iowa, and USN Wisconsin..
Iowa and Wisconsin, namesakes of the last generation of great battleships to grace the seas of Terra, were 2/3rds the tonnage of a SOL. They had no hangers for fighters. Instead, They bore the larger RM1505’s in double the super-firing batteries. This gave them three times the weight of Volley, and their lack of starfighter complement allowed them to carry 4 times the ammunition, not counting special projectile types. Battleships were built to do one thing and do one thing well.
Rounding out this Battle Group were USN Fletcher, O’Bannon, and Kidd. These Corvette class Terran designs were currently painting their foe with their fire control systems, feeding information to the larger ships in the group.
“Status on the convoy?” Clint barked as another plasma cannon blast rocked Galveston slightly. The range was long, and her shield generators had been tuned slightly using the data gleaned from the engagement that almost sank USN Phobos, Marked the USN Texas and gave them the Library. They were in no danger of serious damage, yet.
“They are 40 minutes from the jump point. It looks like the enemy knows we have Quawrine with us. We’re reading 35 warships ahead. Some of’em as big as the Galley.” Harrison replied. “Wisconsin has already requested permission to open fire… 3 times.”
“Temper, Temper” Clint mused, repeating the Battleship crew’s motto to himself as he perused the incoming data from the enemy’s fire. “Looks like Library is already reaping rewards. They have not changed the strategy or weapons much…. Range?”
“1.5 Million Kilometers, Admiral.” Came the call from sensors, “We have 40 percent of them under Hard lock, the rest are obscured by their EM warfare.”
Clint pulled up a holographic depiction as the two fleets advanced on each other. He could not just engage in open warfare as much as he wanted to. His battle group was escorting no less than fifteen hundred civilian craft. Of their number, less than two hundred had deflectors capable of repelling more than a snub fighter class laser cannon. Among them was Quawrine and her family, as promised. The second problem he had was that his battle group were the only ships in their convoy that were capable of triangulation jumps. The Vorath had placed themselves between them and the beacon needed to successfully deliver the refugees from certain death.
The Vorath strategy was obvious, force the convoy into close combat, where they could use their large but short-ranged direct energy and plasma batteries to inflict severe punishment. It was a good strategy. Clint’s convoy was three full sectors from the safety of the Delmar/ Human controlled Parsecs that surrounded Signus. Any vessels that could not jump here, would become lambs for the slaughter.
“Admiral, Wisconsin is requesting a fire-mission, again.” Com’s called out. Clint was about to deny the request, turning to give the order just as something clicked mentally.
“Signal the convoy, cease burn. Hold present velocity and tighten formation.” Clint barked, waiting for confirmation that the convoy was in fact tightening up before speaking again. “Signal Hathcock, Furlong, Wisconsin, and Iowa. I want them as the tip of the Vanguard, shield wall formation. Bill, I’m sorry but I’m going to need you in the middle of the convoy for this” he looked apologetically at Harrison. The Fantastically dressed Captain only nodded, smiling from inside his helmet as the tiles clicked into place for him as well.
20 minutes later the formation changes were complete and Clint looked over at his old friend, “Launch all slip-capable fighters, in case they have their own.”
“Aye admiral. Scramble the Raptors, full CAP pattern 8 by 4.” Bill barked immediately.
Clint nodded approval at the choice before turning back to the Com station, “Signal the Vanguard. Fire mission to commence on my signal. Angry Annie authorized, I repeat, Angry Annie is authorized.”
You could hear a pin drop in the command center of Galveston, as the range closed quickly between the two fleets. Shield wall protocol had allowed the entire battle fleet to share the generator strain of the mounting incoming fire, creating a Massive convoy-wide forward deflector that easily shrugged off the still very much extended range energy fire from the oncoming enemy.
Clint watched the range close, crossing one million klicks, then point 8 million. Then seven hundred thousand. At six hundred fifty thousand kilometers, Clint finally looked up from the tactical display.
“Commence Firing” His tone could have turned nitrogen liquid in seconds.
Less than three seconds later, twelve million tons of semi-luminal ordinance departed the front of the convoy, As MAC projectiles from every forward firing turret aboard Iowa, and Wisconsin, along with a pair of Ithica rounds from Hathcock and Furlong howled their way to the enemy.
____________________________________________________
Centarus stood from his seat on the bridge of his flagship. His Frigate was in the 4th rank of his formation. This one was personal for him. His captain, non-other than the Man he had blood pact’d had already proved his metal in a dozen engagement over the course of their glorious invasion. The Delmar Stronghold that had disgustingly shared their clan name with his own name had been a bloody proving ground for the man, but he had adjusted to his Flagship’s command well.
Centarus did not like commanding from the back, but after the surprise loss of a 40-ship fleet, reportedly to a fleet of these ‘human’ ships that weighted half the tonnage that lay arrayed against him, had forced his hand. With Legarus still missing, He was the ranking commander over the Vorath contingent in this arm of the galaxy. It would not due to act recklessly for the vanity of perceived Glory.
The Massive energy spike that came from the armada before him had brought him to his feet, “Report!” He growled.
“Centarus, I do not know. We read weapons fire... but can detect no beam or plasma containment core. It's as if they wish to scare us with phantoms and Shad…..”
A ripple of impossibly bright flashes wrenched everyone’s eyes to the observation windows of the bridge as the opening Volley of Fusion warhead tipped MAC rounds arrived on the wings of the apocalypse itself. Alarms blared, and shields flared as the shockwaves from the explosions rippled through his fleet. Ten warships in Centarus front rank simply ceased to exist, rendered to their base atomic structure under the withering onslaught of both kinetic impact and Fusion detonation. 4 more were bellowing plasma and burning atmosphere from multiple breaches as they fought for their very survival.
“Report!” Bellowed Centarus, unable to tear his eyes away from the unfathomable destruction that used to be a third of his own fleet.
“Admiral, it appears that they used…” The Sensor station crewman was thrown from his seat. The two Eros Ithaca rounds were of a significantly slower velocity than what Iowa and Wisconsin’s main batteries fire at. They needed to be for the projectile to properly separate into segments upon firing.
The two semi molten intergalactic shotgun rounds arrived on the heals of Hell itself.