Nightmare was once again radiating vast disapproval towards him. He ignored it, just as he had the previous times. She was right, of course. He should not be in the front lines. Her objections that he was wounded, that his armour was compromised, that his shield coverage was less than total and that he was the commander of not only their unit, but every Genesis planetside, were all very valid points and according to their training he should be hanging back.

And yet here he was, his back pressed against a thick wall, a hundred guns pointed in his general direction. He could not give voice to his reasons for being here. It was necessary, he knew that, but he could not explain the why of it. The moment he had decided to go, Nightmare had voiced her objections. The others hadn't done so, but had made it undeniably clear they sided with her on this.

Now the both of them were here. They had hit the enemy lines, as the rest of his unit had done every so often since the orbital bombardment had locked them in place. Killed a handful of scouts, before steadily advancing. The Novican response had been rapid, dozens, then hundreds of soldiers taking up prepared positions and pouring out so much suppressive fire that even the Genesis were forced into cover.

Nightmare pinged him again, the suggestion to fall back flaring up in his HUD. He sent a ping back. Wait. She was impatient. Every tactical doctrine indicated they should retreat. Either fully or to try again from a different angle. He disagreed. There was valuable information to be obtained here.

He listened in. Heard the distant orders, barely audible through the unceasing gunfire, even with his Muninn filtering it. He translated them. Orders to take up positions, for firing cadences, for support weapons to switch targets, for heavy weapons to be brought forward. And, one that recurred more than all the others, shouts for more ammunition.

Nightmare veered up, her cover having become precariously thin. She raced towards a new patch, her carbine firing blind as she ran. She immediately became a target and was physically pushed back by the sheer amount of bullets slamming into her shield. Dreamer pulled a grenade and his arm shot forward, launching the explosive in near-straight line towards the enemies. Not waiting for the grenade to go off, he opened up with his carbine as well, laying down his own suppressive fire even as his shields began to take a major beating as well. The Novicans had learned, and were no longer allowing a single hostile to draw all of their focus. They had paid dearly for that lesson to take hold.

The grenade went off, the shrapnel pelting the barricades. Soldiers screamed in pain, others leapt for cover and for a brief moment the incoming fire was diminished. Nightmare's shield gave out, but her armour held and she slid into new cover. The heavy weapons had not been able to draw a clear bead on her.

The entire exchange had only lasted three point four seconds, but during that he estimated that the enemy had used up roughly two thousand rounds of ammunition. As he pulled himself into cover again, his Muninn blearing warning signs about his armour status, he heard the demands for ammo skyrocket. He filtered the sounds, made his computer sort through how often a dead man's click had been heard. He remained there, ignoring the bullet rain all around him, as he waited for the data to be processed. First by his Muninn, then by his own mind. A plan was beginning to form. He'd need to test it more, make sure that there was a pattern to it. If this preliminary data was correct, and his suspicions were proven true, he could draw up a better plan for the final stretch. He signalled Nightmare to begin the retreat. There would be no prolonged engagements, but the amount of hit and runs was about to increase exponentially.

"You're losing control. Your plan is failing, Vosjlaw." Those had been the words that condemned the command centre. Vosjlaw had reacted in anger and hit him. And since the man was in power armour, that meant Grevorich's cheekbone had been broken quite thoroughly. More insults had been hurled in rage, all boiling down to the same, damned thing. Vosjlaw's insane gambit had failed. The military, already not too much of a cohesive force to begin with, was utterly fragmented and while some parts stayed, just as many didn't. Insubordination had been reigning supreme for days. Entire battalions would refuse to enter the shielded zones, as long as the bombardment continued. Desertion was commonplace. At first it had been single soldiers, sometimes a squad. Now entire platoons, even companies were going AWOL, or turned their guns on others in a bid to stem the tide. The populace aboard the orbital stations had by and large accepted the order, but now the stations that hadn't were interfering. At first they had only made threats, to stop shooting or be fired upon in turn. Some station commanders had listened, changing their minds now that others who were brave enough to refuse the order were showing such defiance. Others hadn't, sticking to the chain of command for one reason or another. They had tried to call their bluff, only to be taken by surprise when the first missiles were launched.

Even the civilians were now in an uproar. Over a billion and a half people were short on food, water and power. Another estimated six hundred million were caught underneath the shields. Countless were rioting. Murder, rape, theft, all of it reigned out of control as the police found itself hopelessly short on manpower, and the military was wholly absent, trying to maintain the cordons. Militias were forming, but most with any form of experience or drive had already been snatched up by eager recruiters. And those units weren't exactly stable either.

The planet was burning, and Grevorich wasn't blaming the Imperials for it. They had instigated it, true, but Vosjlaw… Vosjlaw had sealed the deal. He had done more damage on his own, then the entirety of the Imperial invasion force could have ever accomplished.

He suspected the captain knew, which was presumably the reason why the man had lashed out so heavily. Nayasi and Gilgi had tried to defend their commander, only to be violently thrown aside in turn. Brave, but foolish. Now the three of them were in the medbay, having his wounds tended to by the pair of them, the local staff having been kicked out.

"This needs to end," he whispered, the broken bones making it painful to speak. Every movement jabbed the splinters deeper into his flesh. Not that he felt much of it. Where anaesthetics fell short, his concern for the planet bridged the gap. His entire body felt numb. And yet, his head was clear. He knew what he had to do now. Just one final effort to make. He looked up at the pair of them. From all the officers left on the station they were the most loyal, most capable. There were others as well, but these two stood out.

"I want you two out of here," he whispered, earning a shocked gasp from both of them. "Not just the command centre, but the planet. Find one of our fleets. Link up with them. Live. Live to fight another day."

"Sir, we can still f—" Gilgi began, but fell quiet when he met Grevorich' gaze.

It was that of a dead man.

"We've lost. Vosjlaw, in his blind, fanatical conviction, has cost us the planet. Nagalan will burn, and there is nothing any of us can do to stop it. The Empire has won. Even if all of the damned bastards up and died this instant, there is no mending the gaps, no stopping the riots." He coughed, spitting up blood. "No," he continued, "I want you off the planet. You two are the future. Live." He grasped both their hands, his grip firm. Both junior officers squirmed under the painful hold. "Live," he commanded.

"And what will you do, sir?" came Nayasi's voice. It was barely audible over the whir of medical machinery in the background. She sounded frightened, and he did not blame her.

"You have shown such remarkable growth," he told her, tears forming in his eyes. He held them back. "The both of you. You went from young, inexperienced officers, to veteran commanders. You did your duty, and performed well beyond that. Take that experience, your values, your—" another violent cough. "Your honour with you. The Novic Confederacy lives on as long as we have men and women like you in it. Now go. Get ready to take the next resupply shuttle off the station. Link up with the Yuliana convoy. Ask for Captain Olbas. He'll grant you passage. Find shelter. Find someone smart enough to know that our cause is lost. Listranoi had the right idea, find him if you can."

"Sir, what about you?" Nayasi insisted. She pointedly ignored Gilgi's protests. There was sadness in her eyes. Barely contained anger as well. And worry. Worry for the one superior that hadn't treated her as a sex toy, but instead as the person she was.

Life returned to the Commander's eyes. Gone was the sadness, the pain, the sorrow. Steely determination came in its place. "I'll end this," he whispered, the words turning into a hiss as righteous indignation towards the man who burned the planet took over. "I will put a stop to Vosjlaw."

Lessirk transitioned out of hyperspace, his half of what was left of Nemesis smoothly transitioning with him. Verloff wasn't far behind, engaging in a constant hit and run battle with the two hostile fleets that had caught up with them. Several thousand lightyears beyond that was Rivan, now nothing more but an oversized junkyard. And in front of them was the Nagalan system.

He had jumped in close, closer than was strategically sound. Not that they had much of a choice. What was left of the Novican Navy was rapidly barrelling down on them, and they didn't have the firepower or hulls to stand up to them. They needed to blitz in, grab Genesis and get out. Or, he thought, we could leave the freaks there.

He sighed and wished he could still follow that line of thought. For all their inhuman-ness, they were still Imperials, and that meant they wouldn't be left behind. He still didn't like them. They unnerved him like nothing else did. The thousands of Novican warships hot on their heels didn't even phase him, but the thought of those inhuman creatures walking on his ships sent shivers down his spine. Best he could hope for was that they were all dead.

He let out a sigh, packed up his personal distaste and slipped back into his role as an Imperial officer. He had allies on the planet, and he was going to get them out. If that meant punching through several defensive lines, so be it. Verloff deemed the lives that would be lost in the pick-up acceptable, and so he would obey.

"Estimated time to the planet?" He had his own estimates, but jumps could be finicky, especially this close to the edge of the gravity well.

"Eight hours until combat range, at current speed."

"Good. I want an update on the tactical situation as soon as we have visuals." He just hoped there had been no new fleets in system when he had jumped in. This deep, a hostile fleet lurking at the outer edge could begin to flank him. Every bit of intel they had said that this wasn't the case, but he still kept a strong escort force to the rear just in case.

"Twenty-three minutes until visuals on Nagalan. Six hours odd until visuals on the entire system."

He nodded, satisfied with those timeframes. "Send out the pick-up signal. Inform Genesis we'll contact them again in thirty minutes."

Nagalan was heavily defended. The two forces would need to cooperate closely to minimise casualties on all fronts. He grimaced at the thought of the oncoming clash. Nemesis had already bled heavily, more than a third of their hulls scratched as mission kill. To rush in with the orbital defences would be most painful.

He'd obey. He grasped the value of the freaks. Seen firsthand what they'd done on Lufer. They were a very valuable asset. He would be professional, even if he did not quite agree with it.

It didn't mean he had to like it.

Vosjlaw closed the report, his face contorting in badly concealed rage. More and more of the planet was being lost to chaos. Why couldn't the morons understand? The Imperials on the planet were a prelude to something so, so much worse. They needed to be dealt with ASAP. If only Grevorich had acted sooner. If only. Then they wouldn't have been stuck in this mess, with planetwide riots, with a fifth of the army being unresponsive, with half of their orbital defences firing on one another rather than focusing on the true threat. The Kaperna stations were still contested ground, bar one, and even that massive fortification struggled to breach the layers of shields below.

Lufer and Rivan were both dead. Nagalan would probably soon follow. He had most of his men down on the planet, scouring the facilities the Imperials had already hit. The bastards had hidden it well, but they had rigged key parts to blow. They were trying to demine it now, but the explosives were plentiful and not limited to the places they had visibly struck. Most of their attacks had been executed in power armour, but enough had been launched without, making them damned hard to trace. Plenty of other engineering units had been mobilised as well, but few had the necessary skills and knowledge to safely disable the bombs. There had been three failures before they realised that the Imps had placed not one, but several failsafe mechanisms in them. And that number wasn't consistent either. And miss one, be a second too slow, and the anti-tamper mechanisms would kick in and you could wave life goodbye.

No, to him the enemy plan was clear. Infiltrate, sabotage, then lay waste to everything when their fleet returned. He hadn't even bothered showing it to Grevorich. The man hated him beyond reason. There was nothing to be gained by continuing their argument.

At least that plan had been brought to a standstill. They couldn't sabotage much while pinned down. That alone would have been worth a victory, had it not been for so many other bleeding heart idiots. The entire infestation could have been cut out clean and surgically, but no. Grevorich kept sidelining him, not realising that his every delaying action would cause far more civilian deaths in the long run. It was ridiculous.

No. Grevorich, for all his bravado and glorious speeches, wasn't going to save the planet. He could only trust himself, and his own men, to get the job done. Even if it would see him get court martialled for it.

Grevorich stood in the generator room. It was a massive piece of machinery, constantly pouring out energy. Gigawatts disappeared into the ever hungry conduits, powering the shield projectors, sensor arrays, computer systems, automated doors, recycling systems, and everything else the station needed to function. It was also what kept it in a stable orbit, fuelling the massive thrusters that continuously adjusted its course.

He paused for a moment. Nayasi and Gilgi had made it off station, the latter resisting and trying to change his mind until the last moment. The former… The former had understood, and hated it all the more for that. In the end he had snuck another eight officers on board, once it became clear that Vosjlaw was far too preoccupied with his genocidal insanity. He would have loved to give more people a chance for survival. God knew the Confederacy could use capable officers.

He shook his head. No time for regrets now. The dies had been cast. There was no way about it. The Imperials had killed tens of thousands. Vosjlaw's actions had consigned millions to the grave. If the shields gave out, that number would grow ten-fold. There was no comparing. The man was insane, plain and simple. It needed to end. He had written down his will, made plans for who'd take over after him to mitigate the damage as much as possible. And sent word to the few men and women he thought truly capable to make plans to get off planet as soon as they could manage. Before internal strife finished what the Imperials couldn't.

He wondered if the Grand Admiral had felt similar. Knowing the end was coming, knowing that his own side was to blame just as much, if not more so, than the enemy. It was painfully ironic. It would have been hilarious hadn't it been so disastrous and humiliating. The Novic Confederacy would kill itself before the mighty Empire could get the final blow in.

He let out a final sigh. No more stewing in his own miserable thoughts. No more delays. He looked at Head Engineer Nickelson and nodded. "Do it."

Nickelson, a good and loyal man from his head to his toes, nodded gravely, and sent out a final command.

"What is going on! Engineering, status report, now!" he roared. Deafening alarms bleated out shrill cries as an automated voice repeated over and over that the station was to be evacuated, as the generator was experiencing a critical overload and would begin a melt down in a handful of minutes. Which was bad enough of his own, but in combination with all bulkhead door slamming shut and refusing any and all commands, it became disastrous. Losing the HQ was bad enough. Losing its staff would be a disaster. And they already had too many off those. Palova yanked the officer back and took over. Within a handful of seconds an override was established and the camera feed jumped online, showing a much surprised Grevorich.

"Grevorich, you IMBECILE! What have you done?"

"Hello Vosjlaw. Guess you aren't all you're cracked up to be after all, huh? If even a… what was it you called me again? Waste of space? If even I can catch you off guard like that." He let out a chuckle, the bandage around his cheek slowly turning red.

"And you think my death will end the bombardment?"

"No. But it'll take the wind out of the sails of everyone else. Might slow them down a fair bit. Might even stop them entirely, thought that might be optimism from my end. In either case, I'm doing my duty, Vosjlaw. Do you remember your oaths? To protect our nation from harm?" The dark glint in Grevorich' eyes gazed at the gathered special forces in the command room. "I'm doing my oath justice. That's more than you can say. If I let you be, you'll do more damage to the planet than the Imperials ever could."

For one brief second Vosjlaw considered screaming at the man until his ears went deaf. Then practicality kicked in and he began barking out orders.

"I want transport ships docked to this station ASAP. Get me a list of nearby shuttles and have them get ready for hot pick up." He motioned to his men. "Get to cutting. We're blasting our way out."

More damage than the Imperials, Grevorich? Oh, you thrice damned fool.

Cindy told the Genesis to be quiet for a moment as new information reached her. The enemy headquarters, out of nowhere, had exploded. The supersoldier had shown no reaction to the news, even though it was through his Muninn that she knew of it to begin with, but it floored her. Genesis had no way of striking that high. Nemesis hadn't yet send a message. What is going on? She wondered. Then, aloud, "Do we have any information on what has transpired?"

"Enemy headquarters—"

"Aside that it blew up," she interrupted, rolling her eyes.

"Negative."

She withheld a sigh, and focused on the rapidly exploding datanet. Panic reigned on all fronts. What was left of the enemy, the enemy being those still actively hunting Genesis, had been kept together with spit, duct tape, a unified threat and a strong unified command. Now that the latter was gone, the former were falling short. The civil war, already tearing the front apart as much, if not more, than the Genesis themselves did, blew up by another magnitude.

In stark contrast with the flailing leftovers of Novican command were the communications of the Genesis. They had taken notice of it, spread awareness of the event to one another, and that was it.

Which changed drastically when a new signal hit the planet. Finally, after far too many days on the planet, Nemesis had arrived in system and was heading their way. Their coms net blew up, thousands of messages bouncing through the static as the scattered part of Genesis communicated, planned and plotted. They were still in a bind. Pinned down, they needed Nemesis to take the orbital pressure off before they could move. And if one station decided to give a final salvo planetside when they had left shield coverage…

No, the battle was far from over. Yet, as her thoughts lingered on the memory of the inhuman Lieutenant calmly talking about how their impossible assault on Lufer had been "perfectly manageable", she wondered if it really was that undecided.

Little she could do, though, immobile and one-armed as she was. So she tried to make herself more comfortable against the wall and motioned for her companion to continue his long-winded explanation of how they were supposed to protect the Empire.

Lieutenant Vasi was cursing as she roused the rest of her platoon. She didn't have a need to. Everyone was already up and running towards the barricades. All across the entire cordon other units were doing the same. She was continuously swearing a blue streak, her own mic muted as more reports came in. The situation wasn't looking good. High Command was gone, the station housing the headquarters having exited the dimension of the living in a spectacular explosion. And rumours that Nemesis had entered the system were rapidly spreading throughout the ranks, causing more panic.

Already some units had disappeared from the battle net, no doubt fleeing the oncoming assault. Others, most even, had pulled together and were now making sure the cordon was fully manned. More machineguns were dragged to the front, cargo vertigos full of ammunition were driven directly to the vanguard, men took up positions behind any slab of cover they could find. Behind the frontline barricades, the second line of defence was further finetuned. Engineers, having become intimately familiar with the terrain, rushed their work. Buildings were cleared, freeing up lines of fire. Foxholes were dug, pillboxes readied. Artillery and tanks, what few were available, were pushed into place and covered as thoroughly as could be. Rations and medical materials were rushed to the front. New cabling was put into place, tightening the jamming-proof radio network that had been erected alongside the red zone. Thousands of soldiers had crewed the defences. Now they were rapidly becoming tens of thousands.

She hoped it would suffice. Already she could imagine the bastards moving in force. Dozens upon dozens of heavily armoured Imperials charging their lines, weathering through torrents of fire and returning it with impunity. She knew they had been probing their lines for weaknesses, spots where they could break through. She was determined to not let her section of the line become such a spot.

She paused her cursing tirade briefly and looked at her SIC. "Garuvin, how's our ammo?"

"Not good," he gruffly replied, smoothly sliding a grenade into his the launcher attached to his rifle. "Crazies got hold of most of it. We can sustain all out fire for a few minutes, at most. Sent in an urgent request, more is on the way along with a squad of the Thirteenth Assault to keep the Crazies off of them."

She resumed her earlier swears, not bothering to mute herself this time around. "When this is over," she hissed threateningly. She left the final words unspoken, but even though nobody replied, she felt their approval. She peered over her shoulder. The New Guards were a ways behind them. Half of them were still undressed, fumbling with buttons, boots, shirts, weapons even. Safeties had already been switched off and barrels were pointing in every direction except the ground it seemed. They were an insult to soldiers, only there to make up numbers and keep the radical elements from society from lashing out on innocent civilians.

Then she put them out of her mind. She had a battle to win. And she prayed to any god who might deign to listen that the Imperial fleet wouldn't drop more troops behind them.

Dreamer listened to the signal a second time. Nightmare was beside him, as well as every other platoon commander. With this many of them together, they had reformed the separate squads into full units again, freeing up three men to serve as soldiers once more. Now those in charge were planning. Their Muninns synced together, the small group was looking at a digital image of their surroundings. Armed with the knowledge that Nemesis was in system and heading for them, they were putting the finishing touches on their series of plans for a break out. Their current location was disastrous for a pick up. Too many hostiles, not enough free terrain to properly land, too many orbital defences directly overhead and too many planetary ones still in enemy hands. The equations were not in favour. They would need to relocate.

Many of the originally planned in landing zones were no longer viable, but the Genesis took it in stride. New LZs were suggested, analysed and discarded or held in reserve. A lot of factors come into play; whether they could be reached in time, enemy resistance at or near the specified locations, local defences, orbital obstructions, the list was near endless and Genesis took the time to analyse every single item.

The most pressing issue remained their immediate predicament, that they were surrounded on all sides by a force large enough to prevent a breakthrough. They had tested the enemy lines rigorously the past days and the enemy was well dug in. Reserves were positioned at tactical key points to plug weaker gaps. It wasn't perfect and there still were weaknesses, but even the weaker sectors remained heavily defended. A breakthrough was possible, but they would pay a heavy price in turn. Since they still had time, an alternative was sought.

Dreamer's eyes flashed to the clock on his HUD. He kept count internally, as did all Genesis, but they never skipped on redundancy checks. The minutes flashed past thirty and, perfectly on time, a new report came in. He did not need to share it, synced as they were, and immediately the plans were further altered as Nemesis rushed in system.

He turned towards Nightmare, who immediately noticed the physical movement and gave him her undivided attention. He sent her a ping with several key words, terror being highlighted as the main one. She tilted her head briefly, before sending an elaborate answer. Stalker was called in, his habit of striking from stealth granting him a level of experience he himself lacked. Dreamer began to explain his plan. Vital objectives would have to be achieved. Admiral Cindy's retrieval was a priority one objective, equal to them getting off planet. He took the others off guard by stating that X-12845627's retrieval was a priority two objective rather than a priority four one. He noted their objections, listened to their counterarguments and ended the issue by making it an order. The others acquiesced, even though he felt their unspoken disapproval.

He barged onward. During this operation, the Genesis had made several severe miscalculations. The first one had been that they overestimated the level their enemy could operate at on a global level. During their war games with the Special Forces, they had retained the efficiency of command. Everyone operated in conjunction with the others. One unit moved, the others moved in tandem. One massive, unbroken chain of command. During their battles with the Kra'lagh, it had been the same. The Kra'lagh had launched their attacks in unison. No random strikes, no rogue elements. The after action reports had made clear that only Genesis' unparalleled strength and ability had allowed them to survive the onslaught. Even on Lufer the enemy had put up a somewhat joint resistance, disrupted only by the speed and raw strength of their strike forces.

The Confederates on Nagalan, on the other hand, were unlike any foe the supersoldiers had faced. There was no unity of command. Information was withheld, altered, or did not reach the higher echelons due to some other reason they could not fathom. The resulting intel that filtered down to other units was even more incomplete. Units broke before taking heavy losses. Soldiers ran from battles, entire platoons disappeared from the enemy net. It was unfathomable to the minds of the sentient weapons.

The second error was the ambush. The enemy was still capable, and had predicted them despite all their efforts at stealth and subterfuge, shattering their plans to operate without drawing too much notice in one well executed strike. It had taught them that their habit to take the most optimal route had made them predictable.

The third mistake was in their favour. When they had taken over the hostile landing zone and shot down incoming reinforcements, the enemy's response was… They were still struggling to fully process it. Cindy kept in touch with them, and had tried to elaborate, but the concept of internal strife was utterly alien to their straight-laced minds.

With each step they had learned. Whether they understood it or not, they took experience to heart and adjusted their tactics accordingly. Now they knew that the enemy was diverse, rather than a singular army. They were everything at once. Determined, angry, proud, but also scared and frightened, prone to panic, as Nightmare's excursions had amply proven.

Dreamer sucked up the information like a sponge and planned with that knowledge in mind. Unit placement, terrain, weapon emplacement, troop strength, accessibility, restrictive barriers, defensive structures, response timings, he took in a thousand and one points of data and entwined it into a cohesive battle plan. He pinged Cindy, sent out signals to the scattered Genesis all across the planet, then sent out a copy of his plan to Vice-Admiral Lessirk.

He believed it solid, even if the rest of his unit was unhappy with what he based his decisions on. They, as true Genesis, dealt with cold, hard facts. His injection of new theories made them decidedly unhappy. They did not like experimentation in the midst of a heated battle.

He ignored the strange sensations that knowledge caused, as well as the memories of his four brothers who had died on his orders scant weeks earlier.

He would see their objectives achieved in the most efficient manner possible. That was all there was to it.

Lessirk whistled as the data poured in. He was impressed. The freaks had put together one hell of a plan in an impossibly short time. He tried to embrace the idea that most of this was thought of well before his arrival, but he knew it not so. There were too many specifics, too many details set in the present time. His innate dislike for them briefly warred with pure admiration for their skills.

Then he discarded those thoughts and moved on to his own plans. So far his task forces had encountered no resistance, the enemy commander choosing to hold his fleet close to the planet. It was a wise decision, and one that endangered his elements. Nagalan still held impressive fortifications, even if they were significantly less impressive than when they had first arrived. Friendly fire had reaped a heavy toll. Most interesting was that, despite the presence of a common enemy, Cindy's actions to sow dissent was preventing most opposing forces from making peace. Naturally he had further reinforced the fake belief that the Empire had anything other than genocide in mind, by publically broadcasting that any station that would not fire on them would not be seen as a hostile target.

It wasn't a total lie. The Empire, as a rule, did not lie. The only exception to that rule were the men and women from NavInt, who wielded subterfuge, lies, deceit and deceptions as just another weapon in their bottomless toolbox. Lessirk, being a proud officer of the Imperial Navy, did not lie. So instead he offered them a half truth. The stations would not be seen as a hostile target. That still very much made them the enemy, and he'd treat them as such once the main threats were gone. At that point it would be far too late in the game to make a difference. He already expected half of the stations to only half-heartedly resist him to begin with. He did not know what had transpired on the planet to make them fall apart like that, but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

His invasion would be difficult enough already.

He set timers, limiting how much wanton destruction his forward elements could inflict to nearby freighter convoys. On the far edge of the system, reports were coming in of stealthed ships. He did not have a precise number, but given the lack of clear energy signatures, it meant there were few capitals amongst them. Which suited him just fine.

He gave his orders, and Nemesis sailed deeper into the system.

Verloff was, despite the utter chaos all around, enjoying himself. The Novicans had him outnumbered, but they were coming in dispersedly. By the time the larger units had jumped in, he was already too tangled up to give them a clear line of fire, forcing the newcomers to join the rapidly escalating melee.

It was an all-out brawl, the largest unit being small task forces, with most of his ships acting separately. The Novicans were not faring any better, for any cohesive force quickly found itself beset on all sides by Hammers that seemed to pop up out of nowhere.

He cackled menacingly as a trio of the heavy battleships took an embattled dreadnaught by surprise. The gargantuan ship survived the onslaught, but it had reacted too slow to return much fire. Then the Hammers disappeared again, out of direct sensor sight and into the next battle.

The Novicans still hadn't learned. Between the thousands of vessels and their engine wake, the hundreds of thousands of missile signatures and the discharge of millions of weapon emplacements, getting any sort of accurate reading of your surroundings became a nightmare. The Empire was broadcasting their tight-beams all around, striking a Novican ship more often than an allied one. For once it did not matter that their signals were being intercepted, for the enemy had no time to decrypt the message before the information was out of date again.

Blackest Night took an enemy column by surprise, ploughed through their lines and rammed one small destroyer into oblivion. The rest was quickly annihilated by their batteries. Even so Captain Kirsten was worried, and for once she and Captain Lannic were no longer bickering. Instead the two had settled into a shared command, each captaining one half of the ship. Kirsten ran engines, communications and navigations, Lannic ran weapons and targeting. They made for an impressive combination, and gave Verloff total free reign to issue commands to the vessels near his position.

Even so it was a matter of time before they had to pull out. It was the very reason he had kept the battle in open space, away from any gravity well. So far the Novican response was so distorted that they had closed in before they fully understood what was happening. If the fight was fought at a slightly larger range, the tables would turn in a moment. As it was, it was a pure slogfest. Capitals rarely had the time to unleash enough firepower to fully destroy an opponent of similar calibre. Neither side had truly suffered heavy losses, but the damage was mounting rapidly. The enemy captains pulled their ships out when things became too bad, trusting in their allies to keep the Empire of their back, but Verloff and his men had no such luxury. Still, he had given orders for any ship to warp out as soon as too many consoles turned red.

If it hadn't been for the Novicans lack of understanding of spatial warfare, the entire situation would have been so much worse. As it stood, they were buying valuable time for Lessirk to finish his pick-up. The man had to succeed. Genesis was not permitted to die yet. Or ever, if I have my way. They were a green unit and already trounced everyone else. What they could become given time… It was enough to give him hope that, maybe, he might actually retire before old age claimed him.

But that was the future. Now they still had objectives to reach. He sent out a new flash of orders, and the Citadels moved ever more slightly to the front. Soon enough only his heavy capitals would be left in the field. And shortly after that he'd have to turn tail and hope everyone else had achieved their objectives already. He wasn't overly worried. He had complete faith in his allies.

"Ah," he grinned to no one in particular. "It's a good day to be Imperial."

Nemesis was close. It was time to put the plan into action. Dreamer gave the order and as one the supersoldiers moved. They split up in several strike forces, each rapidly heading towards their operating zone. The plans were made and refined, ammo cells were topped off, they had eaten and drunk as much as they could. Now they were ready for the final leg of the journey. It was time for the Empire to evacuate Nagalan.

And to leave nothing in their wake.

Mirai glared from her spot in the line. Beside her were numbers nine, ten and eleven. Nine was younger than her by a few years. The other two shared her age. The sergeant, along with numbers one through four, were ten metres to the left of her, in a pillbox. They were in charge of the heavy machinegun. They were ready for the enemy to come to them. They'd slaughter them to a man. She, along with everyone else, knew that a breakout was coming soon. The enemy's ships had come. She relished their arrival. To finally be able to go toe to toe with those who fought against the Novic Confederacy. To lay waste to the foes of her nation. Patriotic zeal filled her from head to toes, and she knew her compatriots around her shared it.

If only those cowards of the Sixth shared the same. Instead they'd argued with them over ammunition. Sure, they'd taken a bit the supplies when the convoy rolled around, but they would just waste it in blind fire anyway. Better to force them to be conservative with their ammunition. The sergeant had said so. The captain had said so. And so it must be true. The New Guards had been warned that many existing units were lazy and wasteful, and therefore had to be corrected. So they had.

A sound disrupted her thoughts, and she peered into the darkness. Only a scant few spotlights were left, powered by nearby generators or batteries. They cast an ugly shadow across the battlefield, one that danced as the bundles of light searched for the source. She remembered the tales of monsters her mother had told her. Lurking in the dark. She dismissed the thoughts. She was an adult now, if not by age then certainly by profession. Adults didn't believe in monsters in the dark. She already knew that men were the real monsters.

She felt her heart beat in her chest, told herself that it was from excitement. Finally they'd get to right a justice. First the Imperials. Then the useless ones. She looked forward to that. That bitch of a lieutenant had demanded more ammo for herself and her men. Had accused them of shooting their captain. Well, they had, but the bastard had deserved it. She had wanted to shoot the bitch, but the sergeant had told her not to. More meat to hold the line. Afterwards, he had said. Afterwards.

Another sound, this time immediately accompanied by the wailing of a proximity alert. The enemy was coming. Her heart beat faster still as she peered over her sight, hoping to find a target. She wanted to kill them. Slaughter them. Show them all what it meant to oppose the Confederacy.

She got her wish a moment later.

Nightmare was leading the charge, and relishing it. Her speakers, along with those of her brothers, blasted sounds that supposedly were associated with ghosts and demons. At a predetermined command, they threw smoke grenades, covering the area where the enemy would acquire visuals in clouds. She switched the visible spectrum in her HUD, knowing but not understanding that this frightened humans. She was beginning to understand the concept of terror, and found it to her liking. It was efficient, so powerfully efficient. It could disrupt enemy formations so thoroughly that they would let themselves be slaughtered without fighting back. It was an alien tactic, one she could not naturally comprehend, but at this point she knew how to use it well. Still, it was an experimental tactic, and should not have been employed on the front lines as such. Dreamer's decision to employ it regardless of their protest, left her once again feeling ill at ease and unsure if her superior was not damaged in any way.

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Still, he was her superior and therefore she and the others obeyed. She ignited her disruptor blade and ran through the smoke, coming out at the other end even as the enemy began to fire, far, far later than they should have. She took notice of the intensity of it, and the reaction speed of the accompanying units. She found both lacking. She determined the definitive attack vector and, with a horrifying scream that was slightly more natural than her first attempt at it, she launched herself towards her first objective.

The numbers screamed in fear and panic as genuine monsters came out of the fog. Beside them the Fifth had already opened up, holding nothing back and pouring everything they had into the dark. For once there were no berating thoughts aimed their way. All of her mind was consumed by the imposing, ghoulish figure heading their way. It was a thing of nightmares, covered in blood and gore, releasing a banshee-like wail and charging out of the mist, rogue tendrils clinging to the demon's figure. The dark unlight of a disruptor blade enhanced the image.

Mirai panicked. This wasn't the charge of hostile Imperials they had planned for! These were demons, straight from Hell, coming for their immortal souls! Then the sergeant shouted at them and opened fire, a burst hitting the lead demon's shield. It crackled loudly, energy flaring up as it dealt with the impacts. It shocked her out of her stupor. She readied her weapon, ignored how her fingers were trembling and opened up, as she had been taught. One pull on the trigger, three bullets sent at the enemy. All around her the other numbers did the same. More fire hit the incoming demons. She couldn't get a read on their number, but there were many. Far too many! More than there were of hers! Around her the entire defensive line opened up. A tank of the Third fired. Two cannons manned by a platoon of the Eight opened up. The Fifth threw their grenades, even though the enemy was still too far out. The explosions added another level of horror to the charge. Damaged organs clad the enemy, challenging the Novicans to hold fast to their belief that they weren't facing demons. More shields flared up. Missile launches penetrated the smoke and a moment later the cannons and tank went up in flames, along with parts of the barricade.

She didn't notice how around her section several enemies were forced back into cover as they traded fire. Was far too occupied to see how the Fifth's grenades exploded just in time to deny the enemy their final approach, forcing them to relinquish the velocity they had built up. Couldn't see how the Third turned on their minefields and denied the enemy entry, nor how the Eight brought their own missile launchers to play and forced the enemy to divert. She didn't see how heroically the units all around her were holding out, even if there were thousands of them and less than a hundred of their foe.

All she saw was that first demon, coming at her part of the line, the impossible energy arcs along the blade dancing menacingly. It shrugged off her bursts, shrugged off everyone's bursts. And then it reached the line.

Nightmare crashed into the line, and was through it in the same moment. One target had stood out, three single bars marking him a sergeant, and she ended his life by kicking his face in. His head exploded all over the others, but she had no time to let terror do its work. A flick of her blade and an outstretched arm later, she left them all dead, barely having slowed down. A gap in the line was made and Genesis was breaking through. On her left, more of her brothers showed up and concentrated fire on the newly created flank, forcing the gap wider. On her right, the enemy was falling back. She understood the decision. The amount of empty clicks told her they were out of ammunition. For a moment she considered redirecting another squad to break through them, but then a second line of fire opened up, and she discarded the thought.

The right flank was holding fast, reserves flooding into the area and falling back to prepared secondary positions. As if they had expected the gap to form. The left flank had taken a beating, and was crumbling further. That would be their way out. The first units were behind enemy lines and she ordered them to circle around. They'd hit the left flank from behind and tear a gaping hole in their lines. In a few more minutes, the rest of the locked up units would rush through. In the meantime, the second wave was already reinforcing the elements of the first that hadn't broken through, and were now opening fire with impunity. Soon they'd be out.

Vasi watched the enemies disappear. She sunk down against the battlements, relief flooding her system. Tears streamed down her face. They were down another five men, but the rest of them were alive. Alive. Her decision to prepare a set of defences for should the Sixth turn ugly had been a lifesaver. The enemy had been looking to break through, not engage in a stand up fight. They had held the line long enough for reinforcements to arrive and convince the Imperials to continue fighting elsewhere. Even so, losses along the entire line had been heavy.

Beside her, Garuvin coughed. A shot had penetrated the concrete cover next to him, and propelled several shards into his body armour. It had held, but from the way a grimace covered his face, she suspected he'd broken a few ribs in the process. "And here I thought we were dead when our ammo ran out. His fingers were twiddling again, and a smile tugged along his face.

She sympathised. Ecstasy flooded her veins as well. Just the sheer thrill of being alive.

There was still the sporadic shot coming their way, but it was clear that the enemy meant to discourage them from launching a counterattack rather than truly get in their way. Still, she had a job to do. She allowed herself several moments, waited until the fresh units, logistical support and utterly unsuited for combat, handed over their ammo packs, then got to it. She selected a few men, forced Gavurin to get himself to the rear and seen to, and snuck over the barricades. She tried to look as inconspicuous as possible.

As she and her three platoon members crawled across the damaged landscape, she quietly whispered a prayer that she was still alive. The assault had been incredibly brief, but merciless. They had underestimated what a dedicated charge could do. Matters hadn't been helped by how absolutely horrifying they had looked. Even her unit, battle-hardened as they were, had frozen for a few critical moments. Would they have been able to turn the tide if they hadn't? She doubted it. Done a lot more damage, perhaps, but actually halted that charge? No. They were just the first line of the cordon. She hoped that the other lines would have more luck. She idly mused that they should go after them, but honestly? They were dead tired, struggling to remain standing on their feet. And their ammunition was depleted, the new packs delivered by the resupply team no more than a drop in an empty bucket. They were useless.

Soft cries pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked at her team, who had heard it as well. They were all motionless for a while as they tried to find the source of the sound. She motioned her front man to advance, and he went, closely followed by a second. She and the fourth stayed a bit behind, before following up. They crawled into the area that had been manned by the Sixth. She suddenly remembered hearing burst first. Gods above, the morons had actually stuck to it. All that ammunition, and they hadn't had the chance to use a fraction of it. No wonder the line had collapsed near instantly.

Her front team signalled her and she paused as he scanned the area. They were being cautious, and she was glad for it. Corpses dotted the area around him, the leftovers of the Crazies. They went past their leader, that despicable, mad kid they called the sergeant, and found him with his head scattered across a wide area. She shivered at the sight, but didn't feel remorse. They had been murderous idiots.

Then she received the signal of a survivor. She crawled further, taking care to not give the Imperial any reason to shoot at her, not that the bastard seemed inclined to. She hadn't heard a shot in minutes. She tilted her weapon and crawled through the blown open doorway. She moved cautiously through the demolished building until finally reaching the survivor.

It was the girl who had been glaring at her only hours ago. She didn't look so feral now. She was covered in mud, blood, guts and tears. Her eyes, the very things that had been staring so hatefully only hours before, were now full of fear. She glanced up mutely at Vasi, clearly not recognising her. "I want to go home," she whispered. "Mommy, I want to go home. I'll be good. Don't give me to the monsters."

Vasi looked at her for a moment. Pity welled up inside of her. Then, in one smooth movement she drew her combat knife and jammed it through the girls throat. The men around her pulled back in shock. She didn't care. She watched the girl until the last vestiges of life departed from her eyes, then pulled the knife free and wiped it clean on the girl's uniform.

"You chose to join them, bitch," she spat. She remembered her Captain's gentle laugh. Remembered the faces of the men who might have lived had they not been robbed off their ammunition. That had been enough. Even without the rumours of what the Crazies had done to their own families, friends and neighbours. She looked at the men around her, their faces still frozen in shock. "Get to it," she hissed, finally forcing them back into action.

She shook her head. Was it because they were men and therefore took pity on women? Or because they couldn't see the bitch as the Crazy she was, at the end? Or maybe the strange one was she. Maybe the losses had hardened her. Who knows what the girl had gone through before this. Maybe she could have been redeemed, brought back to order. A bit of love, tender care and a bit of discipline might have turned her around.

She looked at the corpse one more time, then gave it a kick.

"Yeah, fuck that," she cussed, spitting on the corpse before rejoining her men to scout the area.

Dreamer watched the assault unfurl. The first perimeter had been breached smoothly. The second was putting up a heavier resistance, but it was on the verge of falling as well. The soldiers manning it had suffered less from the effects of fear than those on the first perimeter, but it had still bought his unit valuable seconds. Dozens of Genesis were darting in and out of cover as they launched a very narrow, concentrated assault. A while behind him was his rear guard, fending off any attempts to hit them from the side while they were moving.

So far everything was going according to plan. He was glad for their earlier combat experience, which had made this possible. The Genesis Battalion was more mobile, reacted more swiftly, represented more firepower and was far more durable than any other unit. They had always known it, but now they were beginning to fully utilise it. Human units had their limits. The combat area had to be analysed, orders had to be given, then spread around. Only then could the actual movement begin. They were reliant on external sources of ammunition, couldn't tank hits with shields and did not carry enough supplies to last for hours of constant combat. And they got tired, both mentally and physically. Genesis wasn't bound by any of these constraints. They leapt over obstacles, or charged through them. They fired until their cells ran dry, then simply switched a new one in and had the other recharge.

They were the Empire's ultimate ground weapon, and they slammed into the Novican lines with a ferocity that no other unit could match.

The second perimeter suffered from a partial collapse and through the Battalion went, widening the gap as they charged.

This didn't mean that it was done effortlessly. The Novicans were swarming the area. What they lacked in quality, they made up for in quantity Small arms were harmless, only delivering kinetic impacts that somewhat threw the supersoldiers off. The Muninns knew to let them through the shields, unless they came in greater numbers. The heavier weapons were a genuine danger. Normally this would not be an issue, as they rotated the frontline to keep their shields topped up, but there were too many, and the breach had to be made quickly before the enemy lines could solidify. Even with diversionary strikes occurring alongside the lines, even with the jamming, the enemy was giving back. Shields winked out as heavy weapons conglomerated their fire on a single target. Armour plates dented, or collapsed. Flesh was shredded, blood began to flow. And still the Genesis advanced, heedless of the wounds they took, trampling the Novican efforts to contain them.

Then they began running into the armoured columns held in reserve, and the battle intensified even further.

Captain Iridai shouted commands as his tank broke through a steel fence. The park had once been a delightful, quaint place to pick-nick at, no doubt. The long, green stretch ran a km wide and four long. It was also smack in the middle between the second and third perimeters, meaning it had been a prime location for the armoured columns to launch their counterattack. There were no buildings to hinder their movement, no real cover the enemy could hide behind at. It was an open zone, what little foliage that remained had been removed with fire. It was the perfect battlefield for them. Against infantry, power armoured or not, it was grounds for a massacre.

So he had thought.

His gunner opened fire, and the hostile they had been targeting threw himself to the side at the exact same moment. The shockwave still pushed him further, but he got up without even slowing down much. That infernal weapon fired at them again, with impeccable accuracy. It slammed into his turret and the servos began to whir to stay on target. Their own machineguns had long since been reduced to scrap metal, having suffered direct hits.

The tank fired again, and this time the impact had an effect. It once again wasn't a straight hit, but the shockwave knocked the soldier flat. Immediately several of his allies opened up on his tank, preventing the turret from turning through sheer mass of fire.

"Run the bastard over!" he shouted, and his driver obeyed. The tank jumped forward as the engine roared, forcing the multi-tonne vehicle onward.

He grinned darkly as the tank approached the fallen foe, then let out a surprised scream as something slammed into his tank. Metal began to hiss and his technician screamed that the left tracks were out of commission. "Get me a visual!"

The hissing intensified as his technician struggled to get a visual feed. Iridai tried to get another unit on the coms, but static was all he received in response. That infernal jamming! Then the hissing suddenly stopped.

His relief only lasted a brief moment, for the next an armoured hand punched through the casing, and dropped a live grenade inside.

Iridai had just enough time left to utter a final curse, before it went off.

Dreamer watched his rear guard run past the demolished tanks. The enemy had been ill prepared. They had come in expecting the wrong type of foe, and had failed to take their movement speed into account. The tanks had been disabled in a similar way to those they had encountered on Lufer. A lightning assault, repulsors eliminating heavy machineguns and keeping turrets from locking on. Disruptors to cut them open and grenades to destroy them from the inside. Their own mass used as battering rams while their Muninns told them when to dodge incoming fire. It had been a one sided fight, and had only served to slow his men down.

He was glad to have encountered the tanks as a solo force. It meant that enemy gunships were further out, though no doubt rapidly closing in. The swift victory had enabled him to keep what few missiles they had left in reserve. A few had been scavenged from Novican forces, but those were not sufficient in number.

Now they were pouring against the third perimeter. The thickest, most heavily defended of them all, with hostile reinforcements flooding in from all directions. He checked the time and found everything to be on schedule. They were still within the right window. Now all he had to do was wait for Vice-Admiral Lessirk's signal.

Nemesis neared the combat range. They were still coming about at flank speed, and Lessirk had no intention of slowing down just yet. They would only do so once the planet was oh so close. The space stations loomed in the distance, no more than pinpricks this far out, but dangerous juggernauts still. His ships were ready. Missiles were primed, generators ran hot and every station was fully manned. Attack vectors were slotted in, targeting knew their priorities and every officer held their breath as they waited to cross that thin red line.

Then they were through.

External missile racks flushed themselves empty themselves within seconds, sending thousands of warheads screaming through the void of space towards their targets. The empty racks were cut loose, clamps opening to let the large constructions float off into space. Internal missile silos, their doors already opened, joined the fray, and within the superstructure the crew raced to reload them. The opening gambit had been played, and in the distance, thousands small stars indicated that the Novicans had done the same. Still the enemy commander held his ships back, determined to stay within reach of the planet's defences. Lessirk didn't mind. If the freaks pulled through.

He waited, and more weapons began to open up as the distance shrunk. Railguns were the first. The massive Paris-cruisers launching house-sized rounds that screeched towards the enemy stations. It was a horrible weapon to fire at a planet, for a singular impact could crater a district. Lessirk did not have them hold back. The planetary shields were still up, and from this far out the Novicans would see them coming, and try to intercept them. Already satellite defences were slipping into place to halt the monstrous rounds.

The barrage would not last long. Their ammunition had dwindled to next to nothing, and within a few salvos their magazines would be fully depleted. It would serve, however, to give them one hell of a fright. And, with luck, knock a station or two out of orbit. The massive floating citadels would weather the impacts, their shields were more than sturdy enough for it, but the kinetic energy might just be enough to overcome their thrusters.

Long ranged lasers joined their brethren in the choir of Imperial firepower, and the Novicans returned it best they could, but the fire from both sides was scattered and limit in effect. More of an appetiser for the actual battle than anything substantial.

That changed when the missiles reached their targets. Countermissiles were launched by the hundreds, point defence systems lit up the dark with streams of fire, and ECM filled the void. Nemesis, experienced in the ways of naval combat, let the barrage crash into their defences. Missiles with disruptor charges were prioritised, the heavy ship killers easily recognisable due to their size and the wake of their lumbering engines. Smaller missiles, or those lacking the necessary mechanics to break through shields, were largely ignored, only engaged by secondary defences.

The wave washed over them, doing little damage. Few missiles had gotten through, and what damage they did was quickly assaulted by eager engineering crews.

The Novicans hadn't been so lucky. Lacking the experience of their veteran counterparts, their defences had focused the lighter missiles. Those had increased their speed at the last moment, sacrificing themselves to distract countermissiles and swamped their point defence systems. Few of the missiles survived long enough to reach the enemy, but they had performed their task well. Too few countermissiles were left to truly hamper the unwieldy shipkillers as they neared. Point defences shifted targets, either manually redirected or having run out of other threats. More shipkillers were demolished. Fresh missiles were launched out of the tubes, the Novicans switching to rapid fire in desperation. It helped a little.

But not enough.

For every missile destroyed, three punched through. Ships were torn apart as vital systems were blown open. Generators, engines and main weapon emplacements were reduced to burning rubble. Destroyers, corvettes and frigates were struck by several missiles at once, turning them into wrecks. Cruisers and battleships weathered the assault better, but any ship made vulnerable immediately drew the ire of the simple computers aboard the long-ranged weapons as they overrode their original targets and crashed deep into the vulnerable guts of the capital vessels.

The stations survived the assault in much better shape than the fleet had. Those who had broadcasted their non-hostile stance had been left alone, as the Imperials had promised, and those who had not could rely on sufficient defences to deal with the large barrage. Even so they had sustained damage, minor thought it was. The sole exception was one of the Kaperna stations, which had suffered five successive hits from the Paris' main weapons. The shields had held, if barely, but the station had been pushed deeply into orbit. Thrusters were flaring in desperation to slow the descent, unable to return the massive construction to its original position. The crew, knowing the station was lost, had begun an evacuation and escape shuttles darted from the launch bays like bees from their disturbed nest.

Lessirk grinned at the carnage. He gave the order for his task forces to disperse and set about their tasks. He himself took a solid fifth of his fleet and made straight for his opponent, who was rallying his ships to the best of his ability. It wouldn't be enough. Already his experienced eyes caught flaws in his opponent tactics, ships too damaged to suit the role they had been given. Crews that responded too slow, or acted on their own. There was a plethora of things that he could abuse, and he intended to ignore not a one of them.

With a warcry, Nemesis sailed forward, every second bringing more enemies into range as the battle opened up in full. Within minutes there was not a station left that was either loudly broadcasting the non-hostile signal, or solely firing up at his fleet instead of the planet.

He sent the signal to the Genesis below.

Dreamer received the signal and sent out his own. All across the planet it went, every Genesis in command of others pushing it out further. Every boobytrap they had set since landing, every explosive they had hidden, every generator they had sabotaged, every defensive system they had compromised, going off at once.

The result was pure pandemonium. Shields winked out and exposed the civilians and soldiers, Imperial and Novican alike, to the open sky. Generators overloaded and went critical, taking out large chunks of infrastructure and dousing entire districts into darkness. Critical communications and equipment went out as radio towers came tumbling down. Planetary defences fired, heedless of whether their weapons were pointed in the right direction or not.

It was chaos. Complete and total chaos.

It gave Genesis the edge they needed, and the third perimeter collapsed within minutes as the officers ran around, desperately trying to make sense of what the hell just happened.

Cindy grinned broadly as she watched the carnage unfold, safe within the arms of one of the supersoldiers. She had been aware of some parts of the plan well before, but to witness the execution… For now she set aside her concerns about the alien mind of the supersoldiers. For now she luxuriated in the feeling of being amongst fellow Imperials enjoying a total and complete victory. Up above Nemesis was cleaning house, pressing the few remaining defenders hard to prevent them from targeting the soldiers on the planet below while Imperial gunships and transports screeched through the air as they secured their valuable cargo.

She was shoved in without much ceremony. She wondered where Dreamer was, or the rest of her attached squad, but quickly found herself distracted by the massive beams of light coming down from the sky as Nemesis began to scour the planet.

It's done, she realised with sudden shock. Lufer and the Novican Headquarters, demolished. The fleetyards at Rivan, wrecked. The logistical lynchpin of Nagalan, burning. Nemesis had struck deep behind enemy lines and gained an overwhelming victory despite all odds being against them at the outset of the conflict. The Confederacy had shoved a dagger into the vulnerable side of the Empire, and the Empire had shattered their chest in turn. No more assaults on Imperial territory would follow. Their fleets were leaderless. Lost ships could no longer be replaced, and any shell fired was one fewer in their arsenal.

They had won. Through planning, through training, skill, preparation, and no small amount of sacrifice. It was a stunning victory, a testament to Imperial skill, and once again proof that their way of life, strict and hard as it was, was the correct one.

Another beam struck the unprotected ground and glassed another chunk of the planet. More shots rained down, followed by missiles. The transport trembled as shockwaves began to reach it, but the pilot firmly stayed on the plotted course. Soon, she'd be home aboard the fleet, and she'd have to file the report of a lifetime.

But first, she quietly promised herself, a hot shower, a hot meal, and at least twenty hours of uninterrupted sleep.

She ended up breaking that promise within the hour, medics dragging her into a mobile hospital shuttle as she was transported from the cruiser she originally boarded, towards Lessirk's flagship. By the time they reached it, she felt surprisingly awake, courtesy of a cocktail of drugs she was going to be very unhappy with once they stopped working. The doctors had pried her out of her power armour, doused her in anti-septic, then began to clean up her wounded side. She had felt a sting of embarrassment at reeking from sweat and other unpleasant odours, but the doctors clearly hadn't cared.

Now, dressed in simple hospital clothes and still smelling of weeks of intensive combat, she forced the soldier accompanying her to steer her directly to Lessirk. Seeing the man shrink at her approach, well before he could have smelled her, did wonders to her mood. It was such a refreshing change from dealing with the supersoldiers, who were neither impressed by her rank or her affiliation.

Then the smell hit him and for the briefest moment she could see his face contort itself, before he got it back under control.

"Admiral," he greeted her. "Glad to see you alive."

"What's the status?" she asked, not bothering to return the greeting.

"BAD!" came a voice over the coms, so loud that it could only belong to one person. "Good to see you again, by the way. Well, most of you."

She didn't rise to the bait. "Verloff," she said sweetly. "Glad to see you could make it."

"Yeah yeah, named a scrapheap after you as promised. Lessirk, you have eight minutes to blow the hell out of that planet, then you need to get out of there as soon as fucking possible. I'm in full retreat, there's six battlegroups out there in force. I'll send you coordinates to our RV. We're going to be jumping back in parts. Logistics are moving already with a fourth of my ships as escorts. If those bastards come after us and catch us, we're going to lose a lot of men."

The signal wavered slightly, before it fully reformed. "Do me a favour and set enough fire to the planet that they'll stop like the goody-two-shoed morons they are to save civilians, will you? Coms silence between us from now on. See you at the RV." And with that, he was gone.

Lessirk turned to the display and began barking out new orders, and Cindy left him to it. She walked over to the nearest crew member, told him to escort her to her quarters, stared him down until his mumbling about not being allowed to leave his station turned into a quiet nod, and followed him towards the delightful promise of finally being able to shower weeks of grind, sweat, dirt and blood off.

Vosjlaw gritted his teeth as the final com reports came in. The voices crackled over the illegally modified radio, but he was grateful that Palova had managed to rig it up. It had ended the way he had predicted. The Empire had jumped out of the system, thousands of allied vessels pretending to give chase. Already running into small minefields that the Imps had left here and there, slowing what few captains that genuinely intended to give chase down to a crawl. Most vessels were rushing towards burning Nagalan, hoping to save anything left. They'd find little. A good part of the planet was glassed. Every main power plant had been hit, either by the infiltrating commandos or the bombardment after. Power grids were overloaded and down, what few hospitals remained were overwhelmed, casualties were… They were uncountable. He slammed his fist against the hull.

"We've lost," he solemnly said. "This is our total defeat." Then, less solemnly, he began to swear. For several minutes straight, he unleashed every pent up emotion and howled his anger at the heavens, hoping for Grevorich to burn in hell. For all his good intentions, he had condemned the planet. He hadn't seen the true threat, had refused to listen to reason. And now Nagalan was gone. The civil war was over, the reinforcements had seen to that. Court martials would begin for those who had refused orders. Hell, he might even be one of them. He somehow doubted it. His superiors would look out for him. He was too valuable to lose.

Grevorich had nearly killed him. It had come so damned close. He had only escaped the station with the dozen men who had been with him in the command centre, cutting their way through blast doors before commandeering a shuttle. All others had failed to reach the shuttles in time. He hoped there would be a few survivors down below. He doubted it. They were dismantling the explosives at the time they were triggered. If the initial blast hadn't killed them, chances were high the follow up orbital salvos had.

He looked up at the sky, his fury vented. "Send a message to Colonel Sivanis," he ordered Palova. "Tell her I'll debrief her in person."

"Sir," the sergeant replied, finding solace in the orders. "We'll need a ship. I'll see about commandeering a frigate."

"Wouldn't it be better to travel in a fleet?" Kavot asked.

Mikelski shook his head. "Not a chance. Fleet's going to stay here and waste time trying to salvage what resources they can. And the Imps are long gone. They're running back to their line."

"Any chance we'll catch them?" the young soldier inquired. Mikelski waved a hand at the raw destruction outside, where a sea of smoke slowly wafted upwards from the destroyed districts. Kavot deflated. "God fucking dammit," came the angry whisper.

"Hope they're going to set up supply runs soon. Angry people are only going to get angrier when food runs out," Palova dryly remarked.

"Aye," Mikelski agreed. "Nagalan's screwed. We'll never get the supplies up and running in time. Reckon Listranoi had the right idea."

Kavot jumped up. "He betrayed us."

"And he lived. Along with everyone who was smart enough to tag along with him."

"Sir," he began as he turned towards Vosjlaw. "You can't let him say that."

"Why not?" the captain replied, sitting back down on the seats. "He's right."

"Sir!" came the protest. "Even if he is, he shouldn't say condone a traitor's behaviour!" there lay no accusation in his voice. He was practically begging his captain to support him.

"Were you condoning it, sergeant Mikelski?" Vosjlaw asked, leaning back lazily.

"Of course not sir," came the grinning response.

"Thought so. Oh, don't look so down, kid. Break down the problem from the top. You're smart enough for it."

"Let me give him a hand," Palova said. "Not getting through to anyone on top at the moment anyway. Too much traffic. Radio's not strong enough to punch through." He sat down opposite of the young soldier. "Listen Kavot, we lost because we had idiots in charge. Now we've always had idiots in charge. Parliament is basically run by morons who don't understand warfare. We," he said, stressing the difference between the unit and the rest of the Confederacy, "are not run by morons. We fought back best we could, but in the end we lost. Why? Because everyone was too busy fighting each other. Textbook tactics. Divide and Conquer. Been around for millennia and it still holds strong. Now, let's take a proper look at where we are, shall we?"

He waited for Kavot to nod before continuing. "Right. We're going to link up with what's left of our forces. Then we'll have to decide on what to do next."

"I take it you mean how we'll fight back against the Empire?"

"In a way," Palova grinned. Vosjlaw nodded in approval. The inventive sergeant had always been good at getting his men to think. "See, the thing is that this war is over. We've lost. So. We're going to have to find a new way to fight back."

"But how?"

"That," Vosjlaw interjected. "Is the question. Because," he said, his eyes glaring darkly in the dimmed light of the hold as his voice filled with cold, concentrated hatred, "there's no way in hell we're not going after those bastards."

Jane panted as the view faded out, the image of a burning planet with billions of inhabitants engraved in her retina. She closed her eyes, but it stayed there. "Good God," she whispered. "Good God in heaven."

Nightmare watched her, wondering if she'd throw up again. There had been less of that as the footage had trundled along and the woman had steadily become accustomed with most forms of violence. Even Onoelle had not been immune to that, even if she was slightly more used to it. It still surprised the AI that the woman could disassociate Dreamer from Mentuc. Then again, was there really a need to treat a killer differently than someone who had claimed no lives? What was the worth of a life anyhow? She giggled at the thought. If you dug down deep enough, questioned the use of everything, it all boiled down to either a biological instinct, or subjective preference.

"So that's how it happened," the woman finally said.

"Yes," piped up Nightmare, narrowly managing to keep herself from slipping a cheerful note in. She wanted to, but Mentuc would be unhappy if she kept antagonising the humans. "Nagalan fell, more due to Novican infighting than the original Imperial assault. Not that the Imperials were not actively fostering this division."

"Alright," the Historian suddenly announced, clapping shut her notebook as she got up. She gave her friend a surprisingly cheerful grin. "I'm going to need beer. Or anything else that's going to get me drunk as a duck. Then I'm going to sleep for a day, wake up with the worst hangover in history, then set to sorting through my notes. Because I'm not going to deal with this right now."

Onoelle let out a short laugh. "I suppose that's fair. I think I might have a bottle of Lanold somewhere."

Jane's eyes widened. "You have Lanold's? Out here in the sticks?"

A pillow proceeded to collide with the Historian's face. "You go search the cellar for it. I'll check on Mentuc and Cassy", she said with a smile. "Reckon your house should be about finished." Then her face soured. "Or they're conspiring again."

It was Jane's turn to laugh. "You're still not over that? You could just ask him. He adores you too much to not tell you."

Onoelle's face contorted even further, prompting Jane to laugh out louder.

"If you two are quite done with playing around," the black box sternly said. Silence quickly fell onto the room. "Good. I shall contact you again in two days then. I hope to find you sober enough to continue our conversation, barring you still have functioning brain cells left at that stage." Disapproval seeped out of the little box, until the light clicked off a moment later.

"Well she's a cheerful one, isn't she?" Jane remarked, some of her good mood having gone out of it.

Onoelle shrugged. "I'll check up on the kids," she said. Jane blinked. She recognised the tone. Her friend always used it when she wanted to piss someone off. Remembering the previous, heated conversation between the two, Jade gave a light, slightly forced grin and disappeared down the stairs.

Once she heard the door shut close, she allowed herself to sit down on a beer crate. Safely out of sight, she permitted herself to have a moment. She didn't try to stop the tears from falling, or the way her entire body trembled. She'd just seen countless people die. That they had been long since gone had not made the footage any less real. It had been horrifying. She prayed she would be able to move on, that it wouldn't traumatise her. She couldn't handle another session like that. The first one had been bad enough, but this… This was wholesale slaughter and, as a normal human, it had deeply unnerved her. Words fell short to describe the outrage, and yet the Empire had treated it as a practical solution to a problem. It was inhuman.

And yet, under all her pure disgust, a part of her wanted to dive deeper into it. To study it more. To find out the truth. To learn what the Nemesis battlegroup had actually done. To discover the full truth behind that mysterious Genesis Battalion. To find out if it really was Novican incompetence that had doomed her ancestor's nation. The black box's offer for more was causing not the Historian, but the little girl with a passion for history within her to salivate over the prospect. To find out what really happened.

She tried to temper that part, reign it in before it could gallop off with the rest of her. There was only so much her heart could take.

For now she'd follow through with what she had planned. She would get very, very drunk. Along with Leonne. Then she'd sort through her notes, and after that? After that she'd see. She had time. For the first time since graduating she didn't need to be concerned about bills, her job, planning for the future, … She was a prisoner, true, but she was free to go pretty much everywhere except the city. She was with her best friend, who had a terrifying husband, who seemed so deceptively harmless when he doted on her.

She wiped off her tears and put on her best face again. She knew she'd feel better again soon. Nothing that time, good food, and just acting dumb with her best friend wouldn't cure.

She found the bottle surprisingly quickly, along with a second one, then decided to bring both upstairs, along with a crate of beer. Once there, she found Leonne still absent. After a brief look at the black box, which was still quiet, she decided to go after her friend. The silent box unnerved her. She didn't know why, but instinct told her that this wasn't the usual behaviour of the woman on the other side.

Then she pushed those thoughts fully out of her head, held the bottles high and prepared to get into a friendly bout of shouting with her friend over showing, and tempting with, Cassy things she definitely should not be drinking yet.