@Nivi That we do. I did just send the link personally, but maybe now is the time to set up the link in the OOC.
Sigma
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@DX3214 Yup! We're still taking in new people.
A small bump. We're still active and still are accepting new players!
Columbia,
Capital City of New Yulzonus
New Yulzonus, built over the corpse of Argos, the former capital of the Columbian Republic. To those that remain and remember, this city continues to be an eyesore, a mockery of what once stood in its place, a spiteful reminder from the Yulzan that they’re here to stay, and if they’re not stopped, this world will be one of many in their coming empire, although, every empire shows its cracks.
Adrian Thorin, a young man in his mid-twenties strolled through a bustling Market square, bombarded by a cacophony of a thousand voices from market goers, and sellers, it was disorienting, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He quickly scanned his surroundings, taking notice of security drones zooming over the masses, the ever-watchful eyes of the High Ascendants looking down on their lessers, and in every corner of the market, one couldn’t go without notice a pair of janissaries patrolling the market square, yet another reminder of the Yulzan’s reach.
He shut off the world, looking for a particular stall, pushing through the crowds, it wouldn’t be long before he eyes locked on his target, a stall with an assortment of random items, run by a rather girthy, aged Dathu, he took notice of Adrian, a smile forming across his face. “Adrian! My boy! How you doing?” He exclaimed, the old Dathu quickly leaving the stall, giving the young man a tight embrace. Adrian giving a wide smile. “Doing great Uncle Aroh. Mom and Ruby send their love. Sorry to keep this short…but do you have what it?”
Aroh nodded, gesturing Adrian to follow him to the stall. Once they arrived, Aroh searched below, digging through assorted junk before. “Ahh! Here we go!” He said before placing a medium-sized box on the stall. “It took a while, but I managed to “acquire” it from the Noble District, Jhaq Tea, your mother’s favorite.” Aroh said, raising the lid open to reveal neatly packed teabags, all disguised in plain packaging of course. Adrian nodded and pulled the box towards his chest.
“….And I snuck in a little bonus….give your friends my regards.”
Adrian nodded once more. “I will, thanks Uncle.”
“Anytime and….good luck.”
Some time had passed since Adrian’s little excursion to the market square, carrying the box around him as he ventured off to the outskirts of the eastern district, near a less pristine part of the city. The trip was a rather heart-pounding one, as Adrian did his best to evade Janissary patrols, they’ve been rather antsy as of late, and for good reason. Adrian would pass by Janissaries randomly searching citizens, trying to root out “subversive” elements, and if anyone acted up, they either quickly found their faces meeting the butt of a rifle, were arrested, or worse. The whole city felt on edge, the war seemed to be heating up to a degree not seen before.
Along the way, large airships scoured the skies as propaganda messages played in irregular intervals by the Grand Primarch, the mouthpiece of the High Ascendants. “Do not falter my fellow faithful! The end of the war is near! Our most divine Lords will not stand by and let the heathens of the galaxy stand in their way of their grand vision! Our mighty fleets and armies continue to push the traitorous rebels on the brink, and soon, all of Americana will fall!” All the while as he spoke, footage of the ongoing war played, showing a more skewed view of the conflict, Adrian simply tuned out the Primarch’s ravings, and continued down his path, till he finally arrived at a tall apartment building.
Adrian found himself before an apartment door, room 907, knocking several times. “Who is it?” He heard a muffled voice speak. “Thorin.” Adrian replied, waiting a moment before the door slide open revealing an older man on the other end. “Right on time.” The man said, Adrian nodded back to him as he was let in. Inside was a dimly light apartment, all the windows closed, no light source other than the small traces of artificial light illuminated the darkness, in the dead center of the living space was a stack of crates, a pile of weapons, and five other individuals, several humans and Dathu, and a lone Aldzir. “You’ve come prepared?” one of them spoke.
“Yup.” Adrian replied as he placed the tea box on a table, opening a secret compartment to reveal a submachine gun hidden underneath, along with a small set of documents. “Uncle Aroh always provides.”
The Older man nodded. “Good, we have what we need to move forward.” The man said as he grabbed the one of the documents, taking a cursory scan, forming a grin. “In 0800 hours, we make our move.”
Columbia High Orbit
Yulzan Throneship
Members of the High Ascendant Council were seated in one of the many audience chambers aboard the Throneship, encircling a single large hologram projector, the image of a human man in Janissary officer attire standing at attention. The man in his mid-forties was…clearly intimidated. “Admiral Farley.” One of the High Ascendants spoke, a Yulzan woman by the name of Alin’sha. “We’ve reviewed your reports from both you and your subordinates…and we are not pleased with we’ve seen thus far.”
“Your past gains in the last few months are on the verge of total collapse, we stand to once again lose shared control of the Gateway!” Another High Ascendant spoke in an agitated tone, Nrac’shul was his name.
“A-a-apologies my lords and ladies…” Admiral Farley stuttered rather embarrassingly. “The tolls taken from the New Terran War have only just now reared its head, we’re stretched thin, just as the rebels are….” He paused, followed by a gulp. “But they’ve started receiving more aid from allies from beyond the gate, Ishtari and Azulvistan fleets stalling our advance…and reinforcing their lines.” The council was at a pause for a moment, muttering amongst themselves, a few “damned interlopers” snuck in. The silence was broken as one of the High Ascendants, Zalos, the Guard-Master, spoke. “Admiral, with these developments.” Zalos spoke. “This will for now, absolve you of any acts of…perceived incompetence.” A rather scathing praise…but in the presence of a “god”-like being, it will have to do.
“Nonetheless, this will not go without a response.” He paused as he looked to his fellow council members. “Fellow Ascendants, as Master of the Throne Guard, I hereby authorize feel deployment of my legions. For too long we’ve sat idly by, it’s time to remind these humans of Yulzan might! Is this agreed?”
“Aye.” They all respond unanimously. Zalos nodded in approval, before his eyes met the Admiral’s. “Admiral Farley, while your current station will remain untouched, you, and all your fellow officers will answer to me.”
“Y-y-yes! Of course, my lord!” Farley stuttered once more. “We will fight to the fullest, knowing you will lead us once more!”
Zalos nodded again. “Good, leave us.” Admiral Farley made a slight bow before the connection was terminated. “This is not good…” Edanir, another High Ascendant spoke. “We find ourselves boxed in by humanity on all corners.”
“The Admiral mentioned the Azulvistans…I recall this name with special interest.” Alin’sha spoke, pondering, starting a train of different thoughts and ideas. “If I recall from past reports and intel, they fight their own war against our once lost brethren.”
“And theres the matter of those….ughh, “half-breeds” that we’ve heard of.” Nrac’shul said in utter disgust. “Abominations all of them…but, they may have their uses.”
The central figure among the High Ascendants, Tulzak nodded in agreement. “Perhaps its finally time to make proper contact with our wayward brothers and sisters, wouldn’t you say?”
@LustForDecay@Helios@Crusader Lord I do apologize for the delay, but I'm happy to inform you that your sheets are approved!
Orion Asunder
The Orion Sphere is shattered…broken. Gone are days of the Federation, gone are the days of stability. A hundred years have passed since the Federation’s downfall, a hundred years for new and old nations to rise and prosper, or to fall into ruin. Before the Barbarian invasion, War on such a scale was once thought to be unthinkable….now? War is a common sight in the Sphere, as various successor states vie for supremacy in this new political landscape. Some wish to return to olden days of the Federation, others seek a new vision for the Sphere, a more dominant vision. Others simple wish to go their own path, caring not for the fate of the Sphere, and lastly, others revel in the violence, seen as a chance to gain a small ounce of power in these uncertain times.
While clear borders have been drawn between the new successor states, there still exist regions of space that answer to no Emperor, or King, or Senate. Regions that have descended into complete chaos, morphing into playgrounds for Pirates and Warlords alike. The Sundering Age is well into its peak, it is an age almost alien to what once was. Filled with political intrigue, wars of all sorts, open, proxy and more. What path shall your state take?
Collab between @Sigma, @Irredeemable, and @Jeddaven
The Relief of Americana
The flagship of the Azulvistan fleet for the push into Americana was the aptly named Libertad. She was an old vessel, pockmarked with battle damage and showing the signs of refits, overhauls and extensive repair jobs, its aesthetic crude and boxy. Its colossal main railgun had been retrofitted, its previous armaments having been thirty years out of date, and the communication systems had needed hundreds of millions of NuevoReals to be on par with its contemporary command vessels. Despite all of these problems though, she was a fearsome beast indeed, helmed by a veteran officer, and with a storied history behind her.
The Libertad had been born to fight during the Reconquista, its munitions blasting through Axcuapatal’s atmosphere to sunder spaceports, and had then immediately been turned to battle again during the War of Yyasum Aggression, trading fire with xenos cruisers and knocking out their bulky colony ships. She had spent much of her time since then in dock or doing small peacekeeping tours, and she had long since reached a Ship of Theseus-esque tipping point, but still she sailed, and now she sallied out to meet another foe.
Around her, set just outside of Azulvista’s gateway, the ‘American Fleet,’ assembled and readied to relieve their new allies and shatter the invading New Terrans. It was fairly typical for an Azulvistan naval detachment- a cluster of large, bulky and slow ‘artillery’ vessels, most of which were nowhere near as venerable as the Libertad, and several wings of lighter, faster and more manoeuvrable vessels. There had been some consideration regarding how suitable this was for fighting with others, but there weren't exactly other options- this was how the Republican navy was formed, and they couldn’t very well start producing entirely new chassis in the few months they had had time to mobilise in.
At the helm of the fleet was Almirante Catalina- a stern faced patrician in her late forties with a skunk slick of silver hair running fashionably through her neat bobcut. In her palm rested a heavy golden key, which she turned over and thumbed repeatedly, face a mask of consideration and deep thought. Just as she came to a conclusion, the course of action set before her, the speakers across the vessel barked out the fateful sentence every person aboard had been waiting for.
”All hands make to battle stations. Repeat, all hands make to battle stations. This is not a drill. Prepare for gate-jump.”
“So. Into the jaws of Hell we charge.” She turned to her deputy, a wily patrician in his thirties with five-o-clock stubble that never vanished.
“On the contrary. I think we’re bringing Hell along with us.” He too thumbed a gilded key, Catalina offering her subordinate a single nod. Both keys slotted home smoothly, and a single twist caused the command deck’s lights to flash a deep crimson, a brief klaxon sounding out.
As the autoloaders began to fix their fresh payloads into place, the Almirante returned to her command station.
“This is Almirante Catalina of Azulvista’s Republican Navy. We are prepared to make our jump. Americana, Europa, can you confirm battle readiness?”
Strasbourg felt its communications circuits awaken. Compared to its Azulvistan counterpart, it was a top-of-the-line, sleek, modern vessel, hundreds of years of naval history and gunnery experience arranged neatly within its data storage. Hundreds more vessels buzzed about the ancient, constantly-evolving artificial intelligence, plus many more sub-intelligences, drones, and missiles beeping and buzzing as their controllers sought targets, their own primitive intelligences ready to guide themselves into battle. It possessed no fleet-cracking railgun like its Azulvistan counterpart... But what it lacked in brutish awe-inducing firepower, it more than made up for in precision and sheer versatility.
Like someone cracking their knuckles, it activated its multilayered energy shielding with a great, electronic yawn that echoed over communications, powerful magnetic fields jumping to life. Pre-arranged configurations of missiles were shunted into its cornucopia of vertical cells, too -- at a moment's notice, it would unleash hell alongside its erstwhile comrades.
"Ready as we'll ever be," it replied -- mere milliseconds after it received the Azulvistan message.
"How many years has it been since our people have done this together? Too long. Too soon, too."
The original plan called for the allied fleets to rendezvous at the Mojave Gate, and to move forward from there into the offensive. Unfortunately however, no plan ever survives contact with the enemy as the Americanans will see for themselves. Admiral Drayk’s fleet, after a series of retrofits, repairs and the enlistment of other flotillas in the front, were on their way towards the gate. It all seemed to go smoothly thus far, a bad omen to be sure, and like clockwork, everything was thrown out of order. The 3rd Expeditionary Fleet quickly found itself in pitched combat with a Terran battle group, enemy ships making their advance, waves of strike craft acting as the vanguard as they entered within combat range, the Americanans launching their own fighters as a massive dog fight took place. All the while, capital ships and lighter warships between both sides tossed heavy munitions towards one another, from torpedoes and heavy railgun rounds, all the while, the 3rd fleet was trying to make a get away towards the gate. It would eventually get more ugly as the terran ships made their advance, the battle quickly turning into a knife fight.
Admiral Drayk struggled to maintain his posture as the Carrier Orion trembled with every shot taken, the shields holding the worst at bay for the time being. “Damn it all! No point in running, all ships! Stand your ground and hit them with everything you got!” The Admiral gave the order through a fleet-wide intercom. “We’ll hold this position until reinforcements arrive!”
Drayk turned to his X.O. “Contact the Azulvistans and Europeans, let them know we…hit a bit of a snag.”
“Ma’am! Americans reporting contact already! They’ve been intercepted by Terran vessels.” The words sent a shot through the bridge staff. They had expected a few moments of peace before everything went to shit, but now they wouldn’t even get that.
“Copy. Battle wings 1-3 begin gate jumps ASAP. Remember what we’re fighting for, and may you find yourself rich in targets.”
Wing commanders crackled out their responses, and Catalina watched as the signatures on her command matrix charged up, then vanished through the gate. Wings 1 and 2 were entirely comprised of lighter vessels, originally for establishing a beachhead to allow wings 3 and 4 to move in, but they didn’t have that luxury. The largest of wing 3’s signatures would be needed to punch through the Terran line now, and clear the way for the heavy artillery.
Wing one had barely cleared the gateway before the maelstrom engulfed it. Targeting systems lit up with friends and foes alike the sleek hulls of cruisers and corvettes opening up with salvos of missiles and heavy flak fire.
“Wing 4. Check capacitors and set to 80%. When we make the jump, hardcharge to 100%. Fire on my command and no others. Are we clear?”
Affirmative replies in the response. Excellent. Things were proceeding OK, so far even with the unexpected difficulties.
“Americana. Europa. Wing 4 of our fleet contains neutron carriers and superheavy railguns. If you’ve got anything in close range of their capital ships, I recommend you clear them out, because we’re going to blow these gates down.”
“We’ve got something up our sleeves of our own. We’ll saturate the enemy fleet with Pulsed Energy Projectiles on transit, and thus affect partial shutdown of as many PUNT ships as we can. They’ll be dead in the water for Wing 4 -- like shooting fish in a barrel. Impact of PEP will occur at the speed of light, so there’s no need for you to delay.” Strasbourg replied. Sure, it doubted they could disable all of the PUNT vessels... But it should be possible for the fleet to temporarily disable enough of them to create a far more appealing target for the Azulvistans, it thought. Then, saturate the PUNT formation with a few thousand armour-penetrating missiles at once, and... It’s a shitshow for the Nazis.
“Intent is to then initiate saturation of the fleet with approximately 4800 missiles -- a complete launch of rapid-reload cells. Affirm?”
“Copy that, we’ll get clear of the firing range, and you let loose on ‘em.” Admiral Drayk replied to his two counterparts, returning his attention to the rest of his staff. “Alert all ships to fall back immediately, this area of space is about to get a hell of a light show, and we sure as hell do not want to get caught in the middle of it.” Within moments of the plan, the 3rd fleet begun to slowly scatter in wherever safe direction there was as the AFE and Azulvistan fleets unleashed their deadly salvos on the unsuspecting Terrans, and the Admiral was good on his word, it was quite the light show as they made their retreat back to friendly lines.
“Confirm Strasbourg. You’re clear to begin.”
With that, wing 4 pushed through the gateway, and into the warzone. The chaos was tremendous- ships of four separate nations wheeling, banking, spinning and turning, missiles, railshots and flak pinpricking the stars. The airwaves were thick with combat reports- of kill confirmations and deaths… And now, there would be even more.
Inside Libertad’s command hub, a low drone had become audible, and the faint, tingling sensation of immense amounts of electricity filled the air. Capacitor banks rushed to full capacity, the colossal turret atop the vessel making microadjustments, its target now fixed firmly in its line of sight.
”FIRE!”
The entire ship shuddered as electromagnets sparked to life. The tremendous projectile rocketed out, carving through the distance, far too rapidly for even an attempt at a dodge. Across Wing 4, the scene was repeated, and when the volley of slugs struck home, they tore through the Terran vessels.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
”NEUTRON TUBES! FIRE!”
This time it was rockets. As the Europans unleashed their swarms, and the smaller ships filled skies and overwhelmed point defences with flak, trefoil-emblazoned missiles, trailing blue flames, winged their way out towards the survivors of the initial engagement. A few were cut down, intercepted, or malfunctioned, targeting systems scrambled or damaged. Enough got through.
There were a series of bright flashes, dazzling enough to dim the stars. The neutron burst would be lethal on its own, but the Terrans had been using nuclear weapons too- and now, fuelled by captured neutrons, these began to initiate fission on their own.
It was a mercy that the effects on the crew were left unseen.
...But the effects on the vessels were more than visible -- thousands upon thousands of invisible laser pulses ablated at stripped away the outermost layers of their hulls, spawning bubbles of exploding plasma. As those bubbles detonated, sending thundering pressure waves through the hulls, warping them -- but, more importantly, the electromagnetic radiation they unleashed fried circuits and burned out sensors at the speed of light, leaving many of the ships unable to do a thing to stop the violent explosions ripping them apart from the inside, nor to defend against the unceasing barrage of fire from the allied fleet. For allies that nearly hated each other as much as they hated the enemy, in concert, they became a terrible orchestra of unstoppable violence.
Thinking silently and communicating with its many siblings, Strasbourg ordered the second phase to begin. As more missiles were being shunted into their cells, the European fleet began to unleash the remainder of its energy weapons. While invisible PEPs still sought to cripple enemy vessels by frying their circuits, many more needle-thick lances of bright pink stitched their way across space, boring tiny holes through whatever they struck -- particle beams. While they lacked raw, explosive power, these beams were incredibly precise, able to pick out individual targets on a ship thanks to the impressive computing power of AFE vessels. Losses mounted -- but the AFE pressed on, hardly phased by the destruction of non-sentient drones.
The Americanans wouldn’t be left out of the continuing onslaught, as once the fleet was in safe range, joined its allies in the barrage, the cruisers within the fleet being among the first in letting loose their heavy railguns and torpedoes, other ships within the scattered fleet following their lead as they pinned the Terran fleet to a standstill, the sight filled the various crews with a sense of….renewed morale, the Terrans were a stepping stone to what could be done against the Yulzan invaders, and that hope of reclaiming Columbia, just got an inch closer.
The information rushing in was by now, all good news. As the electrical hum of the Libertad’s capacitors returned, she was struggling to see what ships were left for the superheavy cannons to actually take care of.
“Strasbourg, Orion, I’m not seeing much left on the Terran side of things for our big guns to crack open. Wings 4 and 2 are going to establish a picket line around the Gateway- 1 and 3 will proceed with your forces and pursue the stragglers. I’m hesitant to start cheering right away, but I think we can say that their main battlegroup in this system has been sunk. Confirm?”
“This is Strasbourg -- our sensors aren’t picking up much more.” it replied, silently relieved that it hadn’t needed to reveal its antimatter trump card. “We are ready to commence landings on Bludia PUNT defences permitting, for our part.”
“Orion to Strasbourg and Libertad. We got an all clear, no hostiles remaining.” Drayk replied to his counterparts. We’re battered but we’re well and ready for the next phase of the operation on your go.” This was shaky but promising start in the operation in pushing back against the Terran menace.
The Relief of Americana
The flagship of the Azulvistan fleet for the push into Americana was the aptly named Libertad. She was an old vessel, pockmarked with battle damage and showing the signs of refits, overhauls and extensive repair jobs, its aesthetic crude and boxy. Its colossal main railgun had been retrofitted, its previous armaments having been thirty years out of date, and the communication systems had needed hundreds of millions of NuevoReals to be on par with its contemporary command vessels. Despite all of these problems though, she was a fearsome beast indeed, helmed by a veteran officer, and with a storied history behind her.
The Libertad had been born to fight during the Reconquista, its munitions blasting through Axcuapatal’s atmosphere to sunder spaceports, and had then immediately been turned to battle again during the War of Yyasum Aggression, trading fire with xenos cruisers and knocking out their bulky colony ships. She had spent much of her time since then in dock or doing small peacekeeping tours, and she had long since reached a Ship of Theseus-esque tipping point, but still she sailed, and now she sallied out to meet another foe.
Around her, set just outside of Azulvista’s gateway, the ‘American Fleet,’ assembled and readied to relieve their new allies and shatter the invading New Terrans. It was fairly typical for an Azulvistan naval detachment- a cluster of large, bulky and slow ‘artillery’ vessels, most of which were nowhere near as venerable as the Libertad, and several wings of lighter, faster and more manoeuvrable vessels. There had been some consideration regarding how suitable this was for fighting with others, but there weren't exactly other options- this was how the Republican navy was formed, and they couldn’t very well start producing entirely new chassis in the few months they had had time to mobilise in.
At the helm of the fleet was Almirante Catalina- a stern faced patrician in her late forties with a skunk slick of silver hair running fashionably through her neat bobcut. In her palm rested a heavy golden key, which she turned over and thumbed repeatedly, face a mask of consideration and deep thought. Just as she came to a conclusion, the course of action set before her, the speakers across the vessel barked out the fateful sentence every person aboard had been waiting for.
”All hands make to battle stations. Repeat, all hands make to battle stations. This is not a drill. Prepare for gate-jump.”
“So. Into the jaws of Hell we charge.” She turned to her deputy, a wily patrician in his thirties with five-o-clock stubble that never vanished.
“On the contrary. I think we’re bringing Hell along with us.” He too thumbed a gilded key, Catalina offering her subordinate a single nod. Both keys slotted home smoothly, and a single twist caused the command deck’s lights to flash a deep crimson, a brief klaxon sounding out.
As the autoloaders began to fix their fresh payloads into place, the Almirante returned to her command station.
“This is Almirante Catalina of Azulvista’s Republican Navy. We are prepared to make our jump. Americana, Europa, can you confirm battle readiness?”
Strasbourg felt its communications circuits awaken. Compared to its Azulvistan counterpart, it was a top-of-the-line, sleek, modern vessel, hundreds of years of naval history and gunnery experience arranged neatly within its data storage. Hundreds more vessels buzzed about the ancient, constantly-evolving artificial intelligence, plus many more sub-intelligences, drones, and missiles beeping and buzzing as their controllers sought targets, their own primitive intelligences ready to guide themselves into battle. It possessed no fleet-cracking railgun like its Azulvistan counterpart... But what it lacked in brutish awe-inducing firepower, it more than made up for in precision and sheer versatility.
Like someone cracking their knuckles, it activated its multilayered energy shielding with a great, electronic yawn that echoed over communications, powerful magnetic fields jumping to life. Pre-arranged configurations of missiles were shunted into its cornucopia of vertical cells, too -- at a moment's notice, it would unleash hell alongside its erstwhile comrades.
"Ready as we'll ever be," it replied -- mere milliseconds after it received the Azulvistan message.
"How many years has it been since our people have done this together? Too long. Too soon, too."
The original plan called for the allied fleets to rendezvous at the Mojave Gate, and to move forward from there into the offensive. Unfortunately however, no plan ever survives contact with the enemy as the Americanans will see for themselves. Admiral Drayk’s fleet, after a series of retrofits, repairs and the enlistment of other flotillas in the front, were on their way towards the gate. It all seemed to go smoothly thus far, a bad omen to be sure, and like clockwork, everything was thrown out of order. The 3rd Expeditionary Fleet quickly found itself in pitched combat with a Terran battle group, enemy ships making their advance, waves of strike craft acting as the vanguard as they entered within combat range, the Americanans launching their own fighters as a massive dog fight took place. All the while, capital ships and lighter warships between both sides tossed heavy munitions towards one another, from torpedoes and heavy railgun rounds, all the while, the 3rd fleet was trying to make a get away towards the gate. It would eventually get more ugly as the terran ships made their advance, the battle quickly turning into a knife fight.
Admiral Drayk struggled to maintain his posture as the Carrier Orion trembled with every shot taken, the shields holding the worst at bay for the time being. “Damn it all! No point in running, all ships! Stand your ground and hit them with everything you got!” The Admiral gave the order through a fleet-wide intercom. “We’ll hold this position until reinforcements arrive!”
Drayk turned to his X.O. “Contact the Azulvistans and Europeans, let them know we…hit a bit of a snag.”
“Ma’am! Americans reporting contact already! They’ve been intercepted by Terran vessels.” The words sent a shot through the bridge staff. They had expected a few moments of peace before everything went to shit, but now they wouldn’t even get that.
“Copy. Battle wings 1-3 begin gate jumps ASAP. Remember what we’re fighting for, and may you find yourself rich in targets.”
Wing commanders crackled out their responses, and Catalina watched as the signatures on her command matrix charged up, then vanished through the gate. Wings 1 and 2 were entirely comprised of lighter vessels, originally for establishing a beachhead to allow wings 3 and 4 to move in, but they didn’t have that luxury. The largest of wing 3’s signatures would be needed to punch through the Terran line now, and clear the way for the heavy artillery.
Wing one had barely cleared the gateway before the maelstrom engulfed it. Targeting systems lit up with friends and foes alike the sleek hulls of cruisers and corvettes opening up with salvos of missiles and heavy flak fire.
“Wing 4. Check capacitors and set to 80%. When we make the jump, hardcharge to 100%. Fire on my command and no others. Are we clear?”
Affirmative replies in the response. Excellent. Things were proceeding OK, so far even with the unexpected difficulties.
“Americana. Europa. Wing 4 of our fleet contains neutron carriers and superheavy railguns. If you’ve got anything in close range of their capital ships, I recommend you clear them out, because we’re going to blow these gates down.”
“We’ve got something up our sleeves of our own. We’ll saturate the enemy fleet with Pulsed Energy Projectiles on transit, and thus affect partial shutdown of as many PUNT ships as we can. They’ll be dead in the water for Wing 4 -- like shooting fish in a barrel. Impact of PEP will occur at the speed of light, so there’s no need for you to delay.” Strasbourg replied. Sure, it doubted they could disable all of the PUNT vessels... But it should be possible for the fleet to temporarily disable enough of them to create a far more appealing target for the Azulvistans, it thought. Then, saturate the PUNT formation with a few thousand armour-penetrating missiles at once, and... It’s a shitshow for the Nazis.
“Intent is to then initiate saturation of the fleet with approximately 4800 missiles -- a complete launch of rapid-reload cells. Affirm?”
“Copy that, we’ll get clear of the firing range, and you let loose on ‘em.” Admiral Drayk replied to his two counterparts, returning his attention to the rest of his staff. “Alert all ships to fall back immediately, this area of space is about to get a hell of a light show, and we sure as hell do not want to get caught in the middle of it.” Within moments of the plan, the 3rd fleet begun to slowly scatter in wherever safe direction there was as the AFE and Azulvistan fleets unleashed their deadly salvos on the unsuspecting Terrans, and the Admiral was good on his word, it was quite the light show as they made their retreat back to friendly lines.
“Confirm Strasbourg. You’re clear to begin.”
With that, wing 4 pushed through the gateway, and into the warzone. The chaos was tremendous- ships of four separate nations wheeling, banking, spinning and turning, missiles, railshots and flak pinpricking the stars. The airwaves were thick with combat reports- of kill confirmations and deaths… And now, there would be even more.
Inside Libertad’s command hub, a low drone had become audible, and the faint, tingling sensation of immense amounts of electricity filled the air. Capacitor banks rushed to full capacity, the colossal turret atop the vessel making microadjustments, its target now fixed firmly in its line of sight.
”FIRE!”
The entire ship shuddered as electromagnets sparked to life. The tremendous projectile rocketed out, carving through the distance, far too rapidly for even an attempt at a dodge. Across Wing 4, the scene was repeated, and when the volley of slugs struck home, they tore through the Terran vessels.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
”NEUTRON TUBES! FIRE!”
This time it was rockets. As the Europans unleashed their swarms, and the smaller ships filled skies and overwhelmed point defences with flak, trefoil-emblazoned missiles, trailing blue flames, winged their way out towards the survivors of the initial engagement. A few were cut down, intercepted, or malfunctioned, targeting systems scrambled or damaged. Enough got through.
There were a series of bright flashes, dazzling enough to dim the stars. The neutron burst would be lethal on its own, but the Terrans had been using nuclear weapons too- and now, fuelled by captured neutrons, these began to initiate fission on their own.
It was a mercy that the effects on the crew were left unseen.
...But the effects on the vessels were more than visible -- thousands upon thousands of invisible laser pulses ablated at stripped away the outermost layers of their hulls, spawning bubbles of exploding plasma. As those bubbles detonated, sending thundering pressure waves through the hulls, warping them -- but, more importantly, the electromagnetic radiation they unleashed fried circuits and burned out sensors at the speed of light, leaving many of the ships unable to do a thing to stop the violent explosions ripping them apart from the inside, nor to defend against the unceasing barrage of fire from the allied fleet. For allies that nearly hated each other as much as they hated the enemy, in concert, they became a terrible orchestra of unstoppable violence.
Thinking silently and communicating with its many siblings, Strasbourg ordered the second phase to begin. As more missiles were being shunted into their cells, the European fleet began to unleash the remainder of its energy weapons. While invisible PEPs still sought to cripple enemy vessels by frying their circuits, many more needle-thick lances of bright pink stitched their way across space, boring tiny holes through whatever they struck -- particle beams. While they lacked raw, explosive power, these beams were incredibly precise, able to pick out individual targets on a ship thanks to the impressive computing power of AFE vessels. Losses mounted -- but the AFE pressed on, hardly phased by the destruction of non-sentient drones.
The Americanans wouldn’t be left out of the continuing onslaught, as once the fleet was in safe range, joined its allies in the barrage, the cruisers within the fleet being among the first in letting loose their heavy railguns and torpedoes, other ships within the scattered fleet following their lead as they pinned the Terran fleet to a standstill, the sight filled the various crews with a sense of….renewed morale, the Terrans were a stepping stone to what could be done against the Yulzan invaders, and that hope of reclaiming Columbia, just got an inch closer.
The information rushing in was by now, all good news. As the electrical hum of the Libertad’s capacitors returned, she was struggling to see what ships were left for the superheavy cannons to actually take care of.
“Strasbourg, Orion, I’m not seeing much left on the Terran side of things for our big guns to crack open. Wings 4 and 2 are going to establish a picket line around the Gateway- 1 and 3 will proceed with your forces and pursue the stragglers. I’m hesitant to start cheering right away, but I think we can say that their main battlegroup in this system has been sunk. Confirm?”
“This is Strasbourg -- our sensors aren’t picking up much more.” it replied, silently relieved that it hadn’t needed to reveal its antimatter trump card. “We are ready to commence landings on Bludia PUNT defences permitting, for our part.”
“Orion to Strasbourg and Libertad. We got an all clear, no hostiles remaining.” Drayk replied to his counterparts. We’re battered but we’re well and ready for the next phase of the operation on your go.” This was shaky but promising start in the operation in pushing back against the Terran menace.
@LustForDecay Yup! Still open and as for the start time, undetermined as of yet, but hopefully soon!
@Lady Lascivious Well, as long as it's not too super dark or edgy for the sake of it, and fits well in the setting, almost anything could work, and of course if me and commodore are fine with it.
@Willy Vereb
The other parts of your sheet gave us a general impression of what sort of people the Mortes are, and the tone doesn’t exactly mesh well with Orion Asunder. That isn’t to say the setting isn’t averse to warfare, it’s a common occurrence in the Orion Sphere. Again, I do apologize, we just feel the Mortes would be more at home in a Warhammer-like rp.
Regarding the Federation’s downfall, the war against the Barbarians lasted three decades. The post-war period and hyperlane failure took over the course of a decade, finally leading to the actual civil war which lasted another two decades, finally leading to the century-long timeskip leading to the present day.
The other parts of your sheet gave us a general impression of what sort of people the Mortes are, and the tone doesn’t exactly mesh well with Orion Asunder. That isn’t to say the setting isn’t averse to warfare, it’s a common occurrence in the Orion Sphere. Again, I do apologize, we just feel the Mortes would be more at home in a Warhammer-like rp.
Regarding the Federation’s downfall, the war against the Barbarians lasted three decades. The post-war period and hyperlane failure took over the course of a decade, finally leading to the actual civil war which lasted another two decades, finally leading to the century-long timeskip leading to the present day.
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