This story is a collaborative work between myself and FBH, it is very much a war story in a science fiction setting. Several aspects of the plot and the society will be made clear in the story itself, so I shan't go into too much detail here.
This is original fiction, and in as much as possible I try to avoid too obvious "homages" to the works of other writers.
The story is set during a campaign called the 92 Days, as usual I post links to the chapters here. Themes and events may be disturbing to some, so fair warning about language, violence, sexual content, and so forth.
Prologue - Battle of Kaylea
Chapter I - Operation Glacier - Sarmatians
Chapter II - Operation Glacier - UDS
Chapter III - First Strike - The City
Chapter IV - First Strike - Countryside
Chapter V - Interlude NEW
I must however announce yet another hiatus, this one will be a bit longer, I need time for another project.
Original Fic: 92 Days
Moderator: LadyTevar
Original Fic: 92 Days
Last edited by Norseman on 2006-07-27 05:51pm, edited 8 times in total.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Prologue - Battle of Kaylea
HIMS Ascending Phoenix
Strike Force
Sarmatian Expeditionary Fleet
Throughout the enormous battleship klaxons were sounding, occasionally overpowered by the sound of something impacting against the ship sending tremors through the outer decks. Every sailor was at his duty station, even the second shift was standing by to replace any casualties. With every impact sound travelling through the ship there was also the groan of strained metal, and other more ominous sounds as the ceramics and composite materials began to snap.
On the outside the menacing gunmetal black of HIMS Ascending Phoenix was broken by patches of glowing metal, areas where the armoured hull had been ripped open exposing the innards of the ship to the ravages of space. A small cloud of torn free metal, fluttered past the X1 turret, followed moments later by the still flailing shape of a Damage Controlman torn out of the ship by the last explosive decompression. It all vanished quickly behind the Ascending Phoenix as the battleship accelerated away from the scene of battle.
The bridge was a bit dim, the crew sat tightly packed almost shoulder to shoulder by their duty stations. There were no big screens anywhere, if necessary the Captain could call down a projector that could give a large scale holographic display; for reasons lost in history it was called a periscope. Maybe it was the dark cavernous nature of Sarmatian bridges, they were reminiscent of ancient submarines for some reason, but the brass and black metal decorations gave it an almost gothic feel.
On the bridge Captain William Thorwalds sat relaxed in his command chair, VR displays kept him up to date about developments all over the ship. It was bad, but not disastrously so, damage reports kept coming, but the engines and the AM reactors still held.
"Sir, we have lost contact with the Sleeping Dragon, and the Tiger Rampant, Grand Admiral Bequerell is incommunicado."
Captain Thorwalds absorbed the news, it was bad, that probably meant that that the C&C of the SEF had been destroyed. He grasped the comfortable armrests of the command chair, then he relaxed, no need to show the men how much he worried.
In a calm voice he began to issue orders "Commander Hattaway, FTL speed fast as she goes, destination Gates System."
"Aye Captain," Hattaway answered, "FTL One Point Nine, Course ..."
Thorwalds only half listened, he let his eyes travel across the bridge, his crew, his ship, his bridge. They were good men, every one of them had kept their composure throughout the battle.
Kaylea System
High Orbit past lunar cycle
The last remaining Carriers of the Sarmatian fleet were fighting a desperate rear action, separated from the rest of the Expeditionary Fleet, and running low on ships and ammunition. Nuclear explosions appeared like small suns, the whitish-blue light obscuring everything else, the stars would long since have been rendered invisible to any human observer on the surface of any of the carriers.
There were no sounds in space, so in fact the fast UDS attack bomber didn't make a sound as it darted towards the lumbering shape of HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain. Even so the AA gunners could hear it approach, the computers faithfully turning sensor signals into sound; to give them more information without overwhelming their sight.
That was the theory at least, but the ominous whooshing roar of the bomber as it approached closer and closer was more apt to terrify the AA gunners than tell them anything they didn't already know.
The Little Mermaid
The Little Mermaid was an Avenger Class, four engines with heavy stealth baffles so that even from the rear all you could see was four red pinpricks. It resembled a shark, smooth, long, the wings were swept back so far that they almost looked like part of the fuselage or the fins of a shark. The only thing that broke up its jet black stealth paint was the nose art depicting a set of eyes and a sharks open maw... it looked deadly!
Deep inside the Little Mermaid, in the protected cockpit, the three man crew were preparing for the attack run. The cockpit was dark, only a handful of instruments provided any kind of light; it could best be described as a cocoon, holding three duty stations inside it, each of the crewmen were dressed in a heavy space suit with an elaborate neural interface.
Orbital Space
The HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain had opened fire, a mixture of missiles and shells crossed the space towards the approaching bomber. The flash of nuclear proximity blasts did little to damage the bomber, it responded by releasing hundreds of high powered flares, and more cunningly holographic decoys. Suddenly it looked like dozens of bombers were approaching at once, on a multitude of vectors; and a lot of ammunition was poured into these phantoms. Every now and again a decoy got a direct hit, or even if just came too close to a proximity blast, and the projection would just flash out of existence.
The final attack run was a bizarre thing to see that way, the searing light of the flares, missiles darting madly towards one of the dozens of Avenger bombers drawing near, and nuclear explosions flashing off all around the attacker.
The Little Mermaid
In the cockpit Captain Roger Bierce was hardly moving, and the wild evasive manoeuvres could scarcely be felt through the inertial dampers. John Cleeves the bombardier was finishing his aim, the double triangular sights were locked on the carrier, in his line of sight there was a flashing red sign "OPTIMAL FIRING SOLUTION IN 10 SECONDS!" he ignored it trying to make sure he had chosen the best target.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
"Making final approach, evasive."
On their flank a couple of enemy fighters were approaching, it had taken them forever to scramble out there, and the hungry beams were lashing all around the Little Mermaid. The distance was still far too great for them to inflict any serious damage, and the one hit they did take, no doubt purely by accident, bounced harmlessly off the shielding.
"Nail'em John," Cpt Bierce said.
"Nailing'em," Lt John Rogers job usually involved electronic warfare, but the formal name was Defensive Measures Officer. He had to keep track of the release of sparklers and decoys, while at the same time designating targets for the automated defence turrets. It wasn't easy, but this time he didn't have a deranged Instructor screaming his lungs out, instead there was just the chance of having your atoms scattered out across space; much less stress!
On top and bottom of the Little Mermaid there were defensive turrets, almost imperceptible humps on the fuselage. Now they moved like lightning, click and they had turned 150 degrees and locked on to the approaching fighters. There was no visible beam or flash, like the movies, but an IR sensor might pick up a rapidly dissipating heat bloom on the turrets.
The two fighters weren't manoeuvring nearly as much as they should, instead they were approaching at full acceleration hoping to intercept the enemy Bomber; that lack of caution would cost them. The first fighter was initially unaware of how closely he escaped his doom, a last split second course change made the enemy beam pass a mere ten inches by his left wing. The second fighter was not so lucky, the beam struck just beneath his fuselage, the enormous heat flash evaporated part of the heat dissipating shield, and then it caused part of the hull to actually boil away. Normally this would be bad enough, the resulting explosion shook loose tiny pieces, but a tiny one of these pieces was diamondtine and it struck the skin of the fighter just so... The diamondtine sliced through the skin, powered by the explosive force and the acceleration of the fighter itself, cutting a deep flange in the skin, a flange that was bent further and further open. The vibrations from the flange tore at the skin ripping loose pieces, and within the space of a tenth of a second the fighter was shredded, with the pilot never releasing what killed him.
A big grin flashed across Lt Cleeves face, he had a firing solution, mentally he pushed the trigger, he could almost feel the trigger button under his fingers. The computer sign switched from OPTIMAL FIRING SOLUTION to RELEASING MISSILE.
Beneath the Little Mermaid the bomb bay popped open, and the enormous Whitehawk missile came out with a shimmer of a pressure beam pushing it out of the bomb bay. For a microsecond the pressure beam held, and the missile and bomber remained one entity, but then the beam broke, a light shudder went through the bomber, and a twenty foot long white hot tail appeared behind the missile as it went forward with several thousand Gs acceleration.
"We're go!" Cleeves said the moment he saw that they had cleared the missile, at once the bomber went through a series of wild evasive manoeuvres that made Lt Cleeves view bounce around like he was on a mad rollercoaster.
These manoeuvres were vitally important, for the moment the Whitehawk missile was released there was no hope of confusing enemy sensors! A 40 ton missile accelerating that fast puts out so much energy that no amount of spoofing can really conceal a launch. This was the most critical moment, the two seconds between launch and impact. All around them proximity bursts exploded, the Little Mermaid shook as a two hundred megaton device exploded a few hundred feet away.
HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain
The Whitehawk missile struck, it punched straight through the already greatly weakened shields of HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain. It struck the gunmetal black hull with a THUD that could be heard throughout the ship. The hole was as neat as if it had been punched out with an awl, but the path the missile was taking was nowhere near as neat. It ripped through several decks, through the outer ones where the air had been evacuated, and into the middle decks where the shock wave turned the closest sailors into pink mist, and hundreds of others were twisted into perverse shapes. There was not enough kinetic energy in the Whitehawk to go through the carrier, but there was enough to bring it almost to the centre of the ship where the enormous sturdy missile came to a halt.
It rested in the bowels of the HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain for maybe half a second, switching off its shields, priming the main weapon, and allowing for just enough time for haphazard damage control measures to do more harm than good.
Just enough time for Fire Controlman Lin to half rise from the corner he was flung into; just enough time for Damage Controlman Robertson to notice the high pitched piping sound of air escaping his compartment; just enough time for Captain Depardieu to begin ordering an evacuation... just not enough time to do anything that would help.
The Whitehawk's warhead was primitive, it was also very simple, just a container filled with hydrogen anti-matter, kept in place by a magnetic field powerful enough to maintain itself through the acceleration and impact. It was all so very simply, and when the magnetic field gave in the hydrogen gas expanded and interacted with matter.
The explosion was powerful, a 125 pounds of matter converted into energy, the blast turned a large portion of HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain's hull into molten slag that expanded at a terrific rate. For a split second the hull near the missile hole twisted outwards as it fought to hold in the enormous energies. It only made things worse, the explosion sought out the path of least resistance; a geyser of molten metal and plasma sprayed from the missile hole, but elsewhere the explosive force tore through the interior of HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain. The air turned so hot that it could itself melt metal, flesh turned to vapour, and bones turned to quick moving ash. Then the armoured hull gave sending sprays of razor sharp splinters into space, if you could call metre long shards of armour a splinter.
The Little Mermaid
"BOOOOYAAAAAH! EAT THAT!" Lt Cleeves yelled, despite the mad bucking of the Little Mermaid he had an excellent view of the destruction the missile had wrought.
"Come on shake your tail," Cpt Bierce whispered as he increased the throttle and engaged in a series of seemingly random manoeuvres. The Little Mermaid was most obliging, without the added weight of the missile she could move almost as well as a fighter. That was good since there was still the remaining fighter to worry about, and even though the HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain was dying there were individual weapon positions that were still firing.
"Don't they ever give up," Lt Rogers muttered, on his VR display he could see that the last enemy fighter was still closing, and the independent sensors of the surviving carrier turrets were trying to lock on. Of course without the fire control, or the main sensors of the ship, the turrets weren't really more than a nuisance; the fighter on the other hand.
They needn't have worried though, without the knowledge of either the crew of the Little Mermaid, or the remaining Sarmatian fighter pilot, another aerospace craft was about to get involved in the tangle.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
Mike "Mad Cat" Tallman was just where he liked to be, chasing down the tail of some nippy little thing that had no idea what was coming. His own Corsair was definitely superior to a Cricket, normally he would have used a missile but instead he was carefully manoeuvring so he could use his twin high powered X-ray lasers.
Longshot, his wingman, was holding off a bit to the rear just in case there were more enemy fighters around. Not that this was really a concern, they had really cleaned up Keylea by now, and hell he could handle a couple dozen Crickets on his own; but why hog the glory?
Lance Class Fighter NOBM-44
Lt. Hans Jarld felt a sinking feeling in his guts as he saw what the UDS missile had done to his carrier Damnation! Even if he won now where would he go? All the frequencies had turned to hash, and there wasn't a single beacon in sight. As far as he could tell the only thing he could do now was try to avenge his ship and his wingman.
Cautiously he positioned himself behind the enemy bomber, the sighting reticules closed in on it, and then he squeezed the trigger. The beams dashed forward towards the bomber, he hit only to see the energy dissipated by the bombers' shields.
His eyes narrowed, then he thumbed the power toggle for the beams turning it up as far as it'd go, it took a couple of seconds for the capacitors to recharge; most of the time rapid fire was the name of the game, but that required you to use less power in each blast. This time he'd give them a double blast on full power, he moved into position, making evasive manoeuvres to confuse their gunner, and then he squeezed the trigger again.
The two full strength beams punched through the shields, tearing apart part of the wing, but did no serious damage. Lt Jarld gritted his teeth, those things could take an ungodly beating, but each time the capacitors reached full he'd give them another blast.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
Target fixation too now? "Mad Cat" almost regretted spending so much time making sure he wasn't spotted, radio silence and stealth seemed like a waste against someone so oblivious. In the VR display a LOCK ON notice popped up, a square and a circle had both centred on the Sarmatian fighter, now all he had to do was pick the right moment.
"Buh-bye!"
In his VR display the X-ray lasers looked like a pair of continuous green suddenly linking the enemy fighter with his own, the line flashed for a fraction of a second and then vanished, but he could swear it left behind an afterimage. The impact on the enemy fighter was lovely though, a flash of energy as chunks of the engine area evaporated, and the meta-stable helium fuel exploded making the rear half of the enemy fighter just disappear.
Lt Tallman allowed himself a cocky smirk, then he activated the narrow beam comms and set a quick message to the bomber "This is Lieutenant 'Mad Cat' Tallman, I hope you don't mind me barging in on your party!"
The Little Mermaid
"... barging in on your party!"
"This is the Little Mermaid, and Hell I'll buy you a drink on base! Little Mermaid Out," Cpt Bierce said, the whole conversation might get him a reprimand, but it'd be worth it.
"I could have nailed him," Lt Rogers said, casually he scanned the wreck when something made him pay attention, "Hey! The SOB's still alive."
"That's something for the boys at intelligence..." Captain Bierce said, when he suddenly noticed that the lower turret was aiming right at the wreck, "Knock it off Rogers!"
Lance Class Fighter NOBM-44
He had failed, Hans Jarld closed his eyes for a moment, he wasn't sure how long. When he opened them again he noticed that someone was trying to contact him, "View message."
"Do not attempt to resist, you will be taken prisoner, you will be treated in accordance with the Geneva Convention. I repeat..."
"Turn it off," he didn't have time to listen to the enemy trying to persuade him to surrender. "Is it safe to pressurize?"
The computer voice was soothing as always "Affirmative."
"Do so."
There was a brief his as air flooded into the cockpit, increasing the pressure from near vacuum to normal Terran sea level. With some effort he removed his helmet, and took a deep breath of recycled air, pulling out of the thick gloves took a bit longer but he needed to be able to move for this.
The computer chirped again, "The enemy continues to ask for your surrender."
"Commence DTE protocol," the computer went utterly silent, and Jarld knew he'd never hear a word from it again, Denial To Enemy protocol included core wiping the hard disks and smashing electronics. Only problem was that they didn't include what he needed to do, but his hands were fortunately free, digging into the tiny cupboard reserved for personal and emergency items he found what he was looking for.
The lights went out, he flicked on an electric torch, though he wasn't quite sure why. Then he took a few deep breaths, and opened his hand, the grenade was roughly the size of a thick pen. For a moment he hesitated, then he twisted the grenade and stuck it into his mouth...
HIMS Ascending Phoenix
There was a gloom all over the ship, from the battered outer decks, to the Quartermasters taking stock of nearly depleted armouries, to the sickbays filled with wounded. Even the Damage Controlmen at their posts worked very quietly, with none of the banter you'd expect after the immediate disaster had passed. For most of the crew there was nothing to do than to wait, attend their duty shift, or try to sleep.
The officers weren't much better off than the crew, in some ways they were worse off since the crew could only see the damage done to their own ship, and gossip about the fleet. The officers had better grade gossip, and a handful of facts, but the meeting in the Captains ready room was not likely to alleviate any worries.
"Gentlemen, in a word the Expeditionary Fleet has ceased to exist," no one seemed surprised at that, so Captain Thorwalds continued "Our orders are to head to the Gateway System and join the defensive effort there, whatever ships survived this and are able to move will join us there. Then we will put up a last line of defence, for the inevitable enemy offensive."
Finally one of the officers, Commander Vashkov asked the inevitable question, "Sir what are our chances?"
Captain Thorwald took a deep breath, "Slim, but there is a chance we can keep them at bay, or inflict so heavy losses that their invasion of the Gateway planet will fail. Gentlemen, I am sure everyone will do their duty, needless to say there will be no surrender!"
Strike Force
Sarmatian Expeditionary Fleet
Throughout the enormous battleship klaxons were sounding, occasionally overpowered by the sound of something impacting against the ship sending tremors through the outer decks. Every sailor was at his duty station, even the second shift was standing by to replace any casualties. With every impact sound travelling through the ship there was also the groan of strained metal, and other more ominous sounds as the ceramics and composite materials began to snap.
On the outside the menacing gunmetal black of HIMS Ascending Phoenix was broken by patches of glowing metal, areas where the armoured hull had been ripped open exposing the innards of the ship to the ravages of space. A small cloud of torn free metal, fluttered past the X1 turret, followed moments later by the still flailing shape of a Damage Controlman torn out of the ship by the last explosive decompression. It all vanished quickly behind the Ascending Phoenix as the battleship accelerated away from the scene of battle.
The bridge was a bit dim, the crew sat tightly packed almost shoulder to shoulder by their duty stations. There were no big screens anywhere, if necessary the Captain could call down a projector that could give a large scale holographic display; for reasons lost in history it was called a periscope. Maybe it was the dark cavernous nature of Sarmatian bridges, they were reminiscent of ancient submarines for some reason, but the brass and black metal decorations gave it an almost gothic feel.
On the bridge Captain William Thorwalds sat relaxed in his command chair, VR displays kept him up to date about developments all over the ship. It was bad, but not disastrously so, damage reports kept coming, but the engines and the AM reactors still held.
"Sir, we have lost contact with the Sleeping Dragon, and the Tiger Rampant, Grand Admiral Bequerell is incommunicado."
Captain Thorwalds absorbed the news, it was bad, that probably meant that that the C&C of the SEF had been destroyed. He grasped the comfortable armrests of the command chair, then he relaxed, no need to show the men how much he worried.
In a calm voice he began to issue orders "Commander Hattaway, FTL speed fast as she goes, destination Gates System."
"Aye Captain," Hattaway answered, "FTL One Point Nine, Course ..."
Thorwalds only half listened, he let his eyes travel across the bridge, his crew, his ship, his bridge. They were good men, every one of them had kept their composure throughout the battle.
Kaylea System
High Orbit past lunar cycle
The last remaining Carriers of the Sarmatian fleet were fighting a desperate rear action, separated from the rest of the Expeditionary Fleet, and running low on ships and ammunition. Nuclear explosions appeared like small suns, the whitish-blue light obscuring everything else, the stars would long since have been rendered invisible to any human observer on the surface of any of the carriers.
There were no sounds in space, so in fact the fast UDS attack bomber didn't make a sound as it darted towards the lumbering shape of HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain. Even so the AA gunners could hear it approach, the computers faithfully turning sensor signals into sound; to give them more information without overwhelming their sight.
That was the theory at least, but the ominous whooshing roar of the bomber as it approached closer and closer was more apt to terrify the AA gunners than tell them anything they didn't already know.
The Little Mermaid
The Little Mermaid was an Avenger Class, four engines with heavy stealth baffles so that even from the rear all you could see was four red pinpricks. It resembled a shark, smooth, long, the wings were swept back so far that they almost looked like part of the fuselage or the fins of a shark. The only thing that broke up its jet black stealth paint was the nose art depicting a set of eyes and a sharks open maw... it looked deadly!
Deep inside the Little Mermaid, in the protected cockpit, the three man crew were preparing for the attack run. The cockpit was dark, only a handful of instruments provided any kind of light; it could best be described as a cocoon, holding three duty stations inside it, each of the crewmen were dressed in a heavy space suit with an elaborate neural interface.
Orbital Space
The HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain had opened fire, a mixture of missiles and shells crossed the space towards the approaching bomber. The flash of nuclear proximity blasts did little to damage the bomber, it responded by releasing hundreds of high powered flares, and more cunningly holographic decoys. Suddenly it looked like dozens of bombers were approaching at once, on a multitude of vectors; and a lot of ammunition was poured into these phantoms. Every now and again a decoy got a direct hit, or even if just came too close to a proximity blast, and the projection would just flash out of existence.
The final attack run was a bizarre thing to see that way, the searing light of the flares, missiles darting madly towards one of the dozens of Avenger bombers drawing near, and nuclear explosions flashing off all around the attacker.
The Little Mermaid
In the cockpit Captain Roger Bierce was hardly moving, and the wild evasive manoeuvres could scarcely be felt through the inertial dampers. John Cleeves the bombardier was finishing his aim, the double triangular sights were locked on the carrier, in his line of sight there was a flashing red sign "OPTIMAL FIRING SOLUTION IN 10 SECONDS!" he ignored it trying to make sure he had chosen the best target.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
"Making final approach, evasive."
On their flank a couple of enemy fighters were approaching, it had taken them forever to scramble out there, and the hungry beams were lashing all around the Little Mermaid. The distance was still far too great for them to inflict any serious damage, and the one hit they did take, no doubt purely by accident, bounced harmlessly off the shielding.
"Nail'em John," Cpt Bierce said.
"Nailing'em," Lt John Rogers job usually involved electronic warfare, but the formal name was Defensive Measures Officer. He had to keep track of the release of sparklers and decoys, while at the same time designating targets for the automated defence turrets. It wasn't easy, but this time he didn't have a deranged Instructor screaming his lungs out, instead there was just the chance of having your atoms scattered out across space; much less stress!
On top and bottom of the Little Mermaid there were defensive turrets, almost imperceptible humps on the fuselage. Now they moved like lightning, click and they had turned 150 degrees and locked on to the approaching fighters. There was no visible beam or flash, like the movies, but an IR sensor might pick up a rapidly dissipating heat bloom on the turrets.
The two fighters weren't manoeuvring nearly as much as they should, instead they were approaching at full acceleration hoping to intercept the enemy Bomber; that lack of caution would cost them. The first fighter was initially unaware of how closely he escaped his doom, a last split second course change made the enemy beam pass a mere ten inches by his left wing. The second fighter was not so lucky, the beam struck just beneath his fuselage, the enormous heat flash evaporated part of the heat dissipating shield, and then it caused part of the hull to actually boil away. Normally this would be bad enough, the resulting explosion shook loose tiny pieces, but a tiny one of these pieces was diamondtine and it struck the skin of the fighter just so... The diamondtine sliced through the skin, powered by the explosive force and the acceleration of the fighter itself, cutting a deep flange in the skin, a flange that was bent further and further open. The vibrations from the flange tore at the skin ripping loose pieces, and within the space of a tenth of a second the fighter was shredded, with the pilot never releasing what killed him.
A big grin flashed across Lt Cleeves face, he had a firing solution, mentally he pushed the trigger, he could almost feel the trigger button under his fingers. The computer sign switched from OPTIMAL FIRING SOLUTION to RELEASING MISSILE.
Beneath the Little Mermaid the bomb bay popped open, and the enormous Whitehawk missile came out with a shimmer of a pressure beam pushing it out of the bomb bay. For a microsecond the pressure beam held, and the missile and bomber remained one entity, but then the beam broke, a light shudder went through the bomber, and a twenty foot long white hot tail appeared behind the missile as it went forward with several thousand Gs acceleration.
"We're go!" Cleeves said the moment he saw that they had cleared the missile, at once the bomber went through a series of wild evasive manoeuvres that made Lt Cleeves view bounce around like he was on a mad rollercoaster.
These manoeuvres were vitally important, for the moment the Whitehawk missile was released there was no hope of confusing enemy sensors! A 40 ton missile accelerating that fast puts out so much energy that no amount of spoofing can really conceal a launch. This was the most critical moment, the two seconds between launch and impact. All around them proximity bursts exploded, the Little Mermaid shook as a two hundred megaton device exploded a few hundred feet away.
HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain
The Whitehawk missile struck, it punched straight through the already greatly weakened shields of HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain. It struck the gunmetal black hull with a THUD that could be heard throughout the ship. The hole was as neat as if it had been punched out with an awl, but the path the missile was taking was nowhere near as neat. It ripped through several decks, through the outer ones where the air had been evacuated, and into the middle decks where the shock wave turned the closest sailors into pink mist, and hundreds of others were twisted into perverse shapes. There was not enough kinetic energy in the Whitehawk to go through the carrier, but there was enough to bring it almost to the centre of the ship where the enormous sturdy missile came to a halt.
It rested in the bowels of the HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain for maybe half a second, switching off its shields, priming the main weapon, and allowing for just enough time for haphazard damage control measures to do more harm than good.
Just enough time for Fire Controlman Lin to half rise from the corner he was flung into; just enough time for Damage Controlman Robertson to notice the high pitched piping sound of air escaping his compartment; just enough time for Captain Depardieu to begin ordering an evacuation... just not enough time to do anything that would help.
The Whitehawk's warhead was primitive, it was also very simple, just a container filled with hydrogen anti-matter, kept in place by a magnetic field powerful enough to maintain itself through the acceleration and impact. It was all so very simply, and when the magnetic field gave in the hydrogen gas expanded and interacted with matter.
The explosion was powerful, a 125 pounds of matter converted into energy, the blast turned a large portion of HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain's hull into molten slag that expanded at a terrific rate. For a split second the hull near the missile hole twisted outwards as it fought to hold in the enormous energies. It only made things worse, the explosion sought out the path of least resistance; a geyser of molten metal and plasma sprayed from the missile hole, but elsewhere the explosive force tore through the interior of HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain. The air turned so hot that it could itself melt metal, flesh turned to vapour, and bones turned to quick moving ash. Then the armoured hull gave sending sprays of razor sharp splinters into space, if you could call metre long shards of armour a splinter.
The Little Mermaid
"BOOOOYAAAAAH! EAT THAT!" Lt Cleeves yelled, despite the mad bucking of the Little Mermaid he had an excellent view of the destruction the missile had wrought.
"Come on shake your tail," Cpt Bierce whispered as he increased the throttle and engaged in a series of seemingly random manoeuvres. The Little Mermaid was most obliging, without the added weight of the missile she could move almost as well as a fighter. That was good since there was still the remaining fighter to worry about, and even though the HIMS Nest On Bald Mountain was dying there were individual weapon positions that were still firing.
"Don't they ever give up," Lt Rogers muttered, on his VR display he could see that the last enemy fighter was still closing, and the independent sensors of the surviving carrier turrets were trying to lock on. Of course without the fire control, or the main sensors of the ship, the turrets weren't really more than a nuisance; the fighter on the other hand.
They needn't have worried though, without the knowledge of either the crew of the Little Mermaid, or the remaining Sarmatian fighter pilot, another aerospace craft was about to get involved in the tangle.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
Mike "Mad Cat" Tallman was just where he liked to be, chasing down the tail of some nippy little thing that had no idea what was coming. His own Corsair was definitely superior to a Cricket, normally he would have used a missile but instead he was carefully manoeuvring so he could use his twin high powered X-ray lasers.
Longshot, his wingman, was holding off a bit to the rear just in case there were more enemy fighters around. Not that this was really a concern, they had really cleaned up Keylea by now, and hell he could handle a couple dozen Crickets on his own; but why hog the glory?
Lance Class Fighter NOBM-44
Lt. Hans Jarld felt a sinking feeling in his guts as he saw what the UDS missile had done to his carrier Damnation! Even if he won now where would he go? All the frequencies had turned to hash, and there wasn't a single beacon in sight. As far as he could tell the only thing he could do now was try to avenge his ship and his wingman.
Cautiously he positioned himself behind the enemy bomber, the sighting reticules closed in on it, and then he squeezed the trigger. The beams dashed forward towards the bomber, he hit only to see the energy dissipated by the bombers' shields.
His eyes narrowed, then he thumbed the power toggle for the beams turning it up as far as it'd go, it took a couple of seconds for the capacitors to recharge; most of the time rapid fire was the name of the game, but that required you to use less power in each blast. This time he'd give them a double blast on full power, he moved into position, making evasive manoeuvres to confuse their gunner, and then he squeezed the trigger again.
The two full strength beams punched through the shields, tearing apart part of the wing, but did no serious damage. Lt Jarld gritted his teeth, those things could take an ungodly beating, but each time the capacitors reached full he'd give them another blast.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
Target fixation too now? "Mad Cat" almost regretted spending so much time making sure he wasn't spotted, radio silence and stealth seemed like a waste against someone so oblivious. In the VR display a LOCK ON notice popped up, a square and a circle had both centred on the Sarmatian fighter, now all he had to do was pick the right moment.
"Buh-bye!"
In his VR display the X-ray lasers looked like a pair of continuous green suddenly linking the enemy fighter with his own, the line flashed for a fraction of a second and then vanished, but he could swear it left behind an afterimage. The impact on the enemy fighter was lovely though, a flash of energy as chunks of the engine area evaporated, and the meta-stable helium fuel exploded making the rear half of the enemy fighter just disappear.
Lt Tallman allowed himself a cocky smirk, then he activated the narrow beam comms and set a quick message to the bomber "This is Lieutenant 'Mad Cat' Tallman, I hope you don't mind me barging in on your party!"
The Little Mermaid
"... barging in on your party!"
"This is the Little Mermaid, and Hell I'll buy you a drink on base! Little Mermaid Out," Cpt Bierce said, the whole conversation might get him a reprimand, but it'd be worth it.
"I could have nailed him," Lt Rogers said, casually he scanned the wreck when something made him pay attention, "Hey! The SOB's still alive."
"That's something for the boys at intelligence..." Captain Bierce said, when he suddenly noticed that the lower turret was aiming right at the wreck, "Knock it off Rogers!"
Lance Class Fighter NOBM-44
He had failed, Hans Jarld closed his eyes for a moment, he wasn't sure how long. When he opened them again he noticed that someone was trying to contact him, "View message."
"Do not attempt to resist, you will be taken prisoner, you will be treated in accordance with the Geneva Convention. I repeat..."
"Turn it off," he didn't have time to listen to the enemy trying to persuade him to surrender. "Is it safe to pressurize?"
The computer voice was soothing as always "Affirmative."
"Do so."
There was a brief his as air flooded into the cockpit, increasing the pressure from near vacuum to normal Terran sea level. With some effort he removed his helmet, and took a deep breath of recycled air, pulling out of the thick gloves took a bit longer but he needed to be able to move for this.
The computer chirped again, "The enemy continues to ask for your surrender."
"Commence DTE protocol," the computer went utterly silent, and Jarld knew he'd never hear a word from it again, Denial To Enemy protocol included core wiping the hard disks and smashing electronics. Only problem was that they didn't include what he needed to do, but his hands were fortunately free, digging into the tiny cupboard reserved for personal and emergency items he found what he was looking for.
The lights went out, he flicked on an electric torch, though he wasn't quite sure why. Then he took a few deep breaths, and opened his hand, the grenade was roughly the size of a thick pen. For a moment he hesitated, then he twisted the grenade and stuck it into his mouth...
HIMS Ascending Phoenix
There was a gloom all over the ship, from the battered outer decks, to the Quartermasters taking stock of nearly depleted armouries, to the sickbays filled with wounded. Even the Damage Controlmen at their posts worked very quietly, with none of the banter you'd expect after the immediate disaster had passed. For most of the crew there was nothing to do than to wait, attend their duty shift, or try to sleep.
The officers weren't much better off than the crew, in some ways they were worse off since the crew could only see the damage done to their own ship, and gossip about the fleet. The officers had better grade gossip, and a handful of facts, but the meeting in the Captains ready room was not likely to alleviate any worries.
"Gentlemen, in a word the Expeditionary Fleet has ceased to exist," no one seemed surprised at that, so Captain Thorwalds continued "Our orders are to head to the Gateway System and join the defensive effort there, whatever ships survived this and are able to move will join us there. Then we will put up a last line of defence, for the inevitable enemy offensive."
Finally one of the officers, Commander Vashkov asked the inevitable question, "Sir what are our chances?"
Captain Thorwald took a deep breath, "Slim, but there is a chance we can keep them at bay, or inflict so heavy losses that their invasion of the Gateway planet will fail. Gentlemen, I am sure everyone will do their duty, needless to say there will be no surrender!"
Last edited by Norseman on 2006-06-19 05:31pm, edited 1 time in total.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Chapter I - Operation Glacier - Sarmatians
DAY 1
The War Room
Prince Alexanders Palace
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
The war room was quite large, easily a hundred feet wide and long, big dark wood double doors, guarded by stone faced Principal Guards, on either side of the room. Dark wood panelling covered the walls there were no paintings or decorations of any kind. The floors were covered in dark green carpets, mostly to prevent people from slipping. The one concession to decoration was the ceiling, here an elaborate mosaic showed the heraldic device of the House of Brakensburg.
Normally the room would seem vast and cavernous, but now it was getting cramped. The walls were lined with servants in ancient liveries, and in the centre a variety of officers were trying to work out a strategy.
In the centre of the room there were the large map tables, and holographic displays, showing the tactical and strategic situation. Both projector and tables had been cunningly fashioned to look old fashioned, at a glance it might look like someone had built a landscape scene on top of the tables, and scattered wonderfully accurate models over it. A second glance would reveal a globe floating serenely in the centre of the room, surrounded by hundreds of tiny ship models. This illusion would only last until you saw one of the models start to move, or the entire landscape of the tables change at the flick of a wrist.
General Count Albert de Stellan began to give the joint report to the Prince "Enemy forces are in excess of 2 500 warships of various sizes and 11 000 support and transport ships, we are estimating close to 4 000 UDS pattern aerospace units of which at least 1 400 will be heavy bombers."
"Against this we have 30 battleships, 52 heavy cruisers, 43 light cruisers, 440 destroyers, 1 200 Aerospace bombers, and 5 800 aerospace fighters. However Highness we cannot guarantee that more than 80% of this force will be able to reach Gateway in time for the battle. We also have 110 million regular army troops and 420 million trained militia, we estimate we can raise maybe 300 million untrained militia but these would be of very limited use."
"Our requests for reinforcements from the Empire and our allies has so far gained us ... a commando unit from the United Polities, and two million Imperial Marines survivors of the Expeditionary Fleet."
Two of the officers present looked a little sheepish at that, their uniforms were far less ornate than the ones of the Sarmatians around them. This was the allied contingency, they were there more for the sake of morale than anything.
"The preparations that you ordered Highness are complete, the defensive lines are ready. The Ministry of Armaments and the Ministry of the Interior have prepared stockpiles of ammunition, foodstuffs, and raw materials. Civil Defence and the Aerospace Defence Network have tested the city shields and theatre shields and found them functional."
Prince Alexander listened quietly to this report, the only thing new was the figures for the enemy fleet, bigger, much bigger, that they had feared. He leaned forward a bit, the light gleamed of the gold braid in his uniform, "Gentlemen we will proceed according to plan, Commodore Bart is ordered to prepare the defence of the planet according to plan. Those naval units that have not yet arrived... if they cannot get here without running the gauntlet they will proceed to the nearest safe UP harbour instead. Cease the evacuation, I doubt civilian ships will be safe in the storm that's coming."
Prince Alexanders Palace
Neu Brakensburg
In the vast ornate corridors of the Principal Palace no one seemed to pay much attention to a pair of strangers wearing simple single piece uniforms with only a single gold shoulder rope each. In truth, they had added the shoulder rope at the same time as they removed the hood, making the uniforms almost purely decorative from a UP point of view.
Despite being new to the Palace, with only simple directions to help them, Sarah Halo and George Perfect walked confidently through the ornate corridors. Confidently that is until a door that ought to have been open was found to be very much locked, and of course there was no one in sight to give them any directions.
George grabbed the heavy brass handle and shook it a bit trying to see if it was stuck, the big double doors didn't even budge, "I can't believe it!"
"Believe it, now we have to find another way in, unless of course they unlock the door," Sarah said.
"I thought you were supposed to be the expert on Sarmatian customs," George said, he slammed the door a couple of times, they were wood but they had to be several inches thick.
Sarah just shrugged and began to look around the room they were in, "I guess they're upset about us only bringing a single industrial replicator, and a mobile one at that."
"Is all Sarmatian palaces like this?" George asked, the room felt stuffy, white painted walls, gilding around every edge stretching for a foot up or down from the floor and ceiling, and speaking of the ceiling... a large half naked angel appeared to be holding up the chandelier.
"No, most of them are far spookier."
"Spookier?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Only word for it really and..." Sarah walked up to the door, she examined it cautiously, pressed down one doorknob and then the other.
"It's no good, the doors locked! We got to go back and..."
CLICK the double doors swung open and Sarah pushed them outwards revealing a very busy corridor with people running to and fro, some of them carrying weapons, others paintings and other valuables.
"How'd you do that?" George asked, peering in through the opening.
"Tricks of the trade! Tricks of the trade!" Sarah mischievously refused to elaborate.
They had to half jog now, ignoring the disapproving glances they got from severe looking ushers and other old fashioned gentlemen with powdered wigs and liveries with gold braid. A couple even went "Ahem" as the foreigners ran through "their" halls.
In the end they entered what could best be described as an entrance area, about a dozen old fashioned wooden desks where clerks seemed to be working honest to God typewriters! If they weren't, as in some cases, scribbling away with pen and paper! George leaned over the shoulder of one of them, only to see a holographic display become visible the moment he got into the same line of sight that the clerk had. Seconds later he was looking into the face of an obviously annoyed clerk, "Sir? Do you mind?"
"Sorry," George held up his palms in a friendly gesture, and moved over to where Sarah was standing; she was trying to persuade two guards in amazingly ornate uniforms complete with braid, aiguillettes, sabres, epaulets and huge jackets that emphasised the shoulders. It wouldn't look so odd if not for their very tight trousers and black jackboots, apparently historically accurate but odd... He wondered if he should brush past them, but the heavy guns, and oddly enough the sabres, made that seem a bad idea.
"I'm telling you we have an appointment," Sarah announced, "In thirty seconds in fact," she added after demonstrably checking the timepiece.
"Then we will let you inside in thirty seconds," the guard on the right told her.
At exactly 10 AM the doors opened slightly, revealing an empty office inside, with a brown haired woman sitting behind a very large desk. It was a very impressive office, with huge windows though only black could be seen on the other side, every single window was being blast shuttered as they spoke. The floor was decorated by a mosaic of the Sarmatian Imperial Quartermasters Corp, with the motto HARMONY THROUGH SUPERIOR ARMOURY written over the cornucopia held by an eagle.
The two UPers stopped at a respectful distance and saluted her, she looked up and indicated a pair of chairs, "Please Colonel Halo, Captain Perfect, take a seat, we have no time to stand on formality, I am Chloe Frost, Minister of Armaments."
"Madam Minister," Sarah said, then she pulled up one of the chairs and sat down, followed by George.
Curious George studied her, she looked very odd, she'd look out of place both in the UP and in this office, her clothes though ancient looked more like they came from the 20th rather than the 19th Century. That was just a quick assessment though, her hair was made up in an elaborate do, but more confusingly she wore a pair of big glasses. She looked, well, almost schoolmarmish to be honest.
There was an uncomfortable silence, then Ms Frost spoke up, "Though His Higness, and yours truly, thank you for your aid, I have to ask you this... will there be any more aid forthcoming, of any kind?"
"Madam Minister," Sarah felt very uncomfortable, she wasn't going to lie as such, but "While more aid is possible, none will be forthcoming in the short term. The Unified Polities fleet is still deploying its latest ships, and all our efforts are going into that. However we have provided a replication machine, and our commando team..."
There was a raised eyebrow on the other side of the table, "I am fully aware of this Colonel, but we need a bit more than vague promises... right now three UDS fleets are converging on this world, I fear that in a few more days travel in or out of the system would be impossible."
"Madam Minister, the matter is out of my hands, all that there is left for myself and my team is to fight and die when the invader comes," Sara said, picking her words cautiously.
"Then go, redeem yourself in blood Colonel, there is at any rate nothing left for us either," if Frost was disappointed, or angry, she didn't show it, she sounded more resigned than anything.
Fu Hsi Section
Sanhuangwudi Defensive Complex
Gateway
Working on his PDA Corporal Gustav Klein finished the mail and pressed the send button, for a moment the system paused as the censorship program checked the contents, but a fraction of a second later the MAIL DELIVERED message flashed on his screen. The flipped the cover shut and tucked the PDA back into his coat pocket, there wasn't much else to do other than wait.
The Fu Hsi Section stretched for miles around, not as an interconnected line as they were in the past, but as hundreds of concealed positions, like the one he was in right now. Straightening up a bit he peered over the edge of the trench, nothing was visible other than a long seemingly endless plain.
That was when an unwelcome voice broke his reverie "If you're bored you can maintain the tank!" Sergeant Bass, clean shaven, pressed uniform, if not for the grease stains on his clothes and the mud on his boots he could pass inspection on the spot. He was also 6'1" and weighed in at 200 lbs so being respectful was the way to go.
"Sorry Sargn't, just ... looking for enemy forces," it was half hearted, and Klein moved over to the tank to look it over. He carefully checked the big caterpillar tracks, and the slope leading to the surface; feeling Bass' eyes on him he bent down to check if the corduroying, that is the thick planks laid down side ways on the slope, were in place.
Meanwhile the privates of the mechanized infantry platoon they, Klein and the tank crew that is, were sharing the trench with just watched with bemusement. Most of them were pretty much exempt any duties other than callisthenics and basic weapons maintenance, and nothing seemed to amuse them as much as watching other people have to work.
Similar scenes repeated themselves in hundreds of hidden trench complexes, some with one tank and a couple of APCs, others holding companies or even battalions, but none larger than that. They were well hidden every one of them, an airplane flying low orbit over the sight would see nothing other than the normal rolling hills that marked this part of Gateway.
Pearl Tower
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
From where he stood, in a recently abandoned luxury apartment, Militia Private Malcom Dobb had a magnificent view of the city. He could see the Ivory Tower from where he stood, almost identical to the Pearl tower except for a slight difference in hue. Both of them had elaborate statues incorporated into the design, the Ivory tower had a Great Hunter theme with statues of huntsmen, elephants, built into the building. Below where he was standing a bridge jutted out linking the two towers and here they'd placed a Roebuck statue that looked like it was precariously perched on the narrow overhang just above the river.
"It's pretty isn't it?" he asked one of his friends.
"Eh, I don't know," Porfirio Cogsdale said, in civilian life he was a plumber. He was short and stocky, with rough hands, and a slightly pale cheek where he'd been made to shave his beard when they got drafted.
"Come on, it's nice," Dobb said pointing at the embellishments, "And... we got good digs!"
Something bounced off the plexiglass window, "Stop jinxing it!" One of the other militiamen, Donn Busk, shouted at him.
"Yeah! If the officers hear you they'll send us to the sewer plant or something," Tod Royle said, but he didn't bother looking up from whatever he was reading.
"I just don't like being all excited about places where I'll never live," Cogsdale mused, "I mean, look at this fancy stuff," he motioned about the apartment "ten thousand square feet if it's an inch."
"I think this is a guestroom actually," Royle chimed in.
"Exactly! A guestroom, I mean... I could fit my apartment with five children into this guys bathroom," Cogsdale said, he was of course exaggerating quite a bit but he was picking up steam now.
"There you go genius, you got him started on 'social injustices'," Donn Busk said, moving his fingers to make quotation marks in the air, "Come of it!"
Of course it didn't end there, Cogsdale was on a roll, and he had a wonderful way of ignoring Tod Royle stuffing ear plugs in his ear and playing loud music, or Dobb demonstrably going back to studying the embellishments on the Ivory Tower.
Grigor de Faun Orbital Aerospace Base
Gateway Orbit
Row upon row of Lance class fighters GDF-1 through 50, were packed densely together in the large shuttle bay. Long deadly Aerospace fighters, twin laser guns stretching the length of the belly with two stubby openings just before the cockpit. All of them had been laden down with Anti-Aerospace Missiles (AAMs), but none of them had drop tanks, ordinarily an unforgivable omission; now simply an admission of the facts as they stood: None of them were expected to return.
Following the example of most of his friends Lt. Ezekiel "Zeke" Hartenstein crossed himself in front of the shrine to St. Joseph of Cupertino. The heavy flight suit fitted him snugly, he patted someone on the back, but wasn't quite sure who it was. Thumbs up!
"We'll nail them!"
"You bet!" Zeke answered.
In the distance the unit chaplain could be heard reciting his prayers again:
"Dear ecstatic Conventual Saint who patiently bore calumnies, your secret was Christ the crucified Savior who said: "When I will be lifted up I will draw all peoples to myself." You were always spiritually lifted up. Give aviators courage and protection, and may they always keep in mind your greatly uplifting example. Amen."
From a handful of pilots a pious "AMEN!" rose up.
Zeke nodded to the ground crew surrounding his airplane, there'd just been enough time to paint a slogan 'Dulce et Decorum' on the nose, and a picture of a penguin in a fighting stance. He smiled at the last thing, though they couldn't see it under his flight mask, "Trying to tell me something?" he said half a jokingly as he touched the 'Dulce et Decorum' slogan.
They didn't take the bite, instead the lead Flight Technician saluted and said "Good luck Sir!"
The cockpit entrance slowly opened, Zeke returned the salute, then he climbed up the simple stairs and began to work his way into the bowels of the fighter. It wasn't easy, you had to half crawl, and then twist yourself around to fit into the seat; the entrance for the Lance Class fighter could use some extra work that was for sure. It took him a while, finally he was seated properly, he felt the but slightly uncomfortable feel of the waste disposal system attacking. The cockpit came alive, it was as if he was sitting in thin air, able to see everything around his fighter, he wriggled the wing flap, then he waited.
The War Room
Prince Alexanders Palace
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
The war room was quite large, easily a hundred feet wide and long, big dark wood double doors, guarded by stone faced Principal Guards, on either side of the room. Dark wood panelling covered the walls there were no paintings or decorations of any kind. The floors were covered in dark green carpets, mostly to prevent people from slipping. The one concession to decoration was the ceiling, here an elaborate mosaic showed the heraldic device of the House of Brakensburg.
Normally the room would seem vast and cavernous, but now it was getting cramped. The walls were lined with servants in ancient liveries, and in the centre a variety of officers were trying to work out a strategy.
In the centre of the room there were the large map tables, and holographic displays, showing the tactical and strategic situation. Both projector and tables had been cunningly fashioned to look old fashioned, at a glance it might look like someone had built a landscape scene on top of the tables, and scattered wonderfully accurate models over it. A second glance would reveal a globe floating serenely in the centre of the room, surrounded by hundreds of tiny ship models. This illusion would only last until you saw one of the models start to move, or the entire landscape of the tables change at the flick of a wrist.
General Count Albert de Stellan began to give the joint report to the Prince "Enemy forces are in excess of 2 500 warships of various sizes and 11 000 support and transport ships, we are estimating close to 4 000 UDS pattern aerospace units of which at least 1 400 will be heavy bombers."
"Against this we have 30 battleships, 52 heavy cruisers, 43 light cruisers, 440 destroyers, 1 200 Aerospace bombers, and 5 800 aerospace fighters. However Highness we cannot guarantee that more than 80% of this force will be able to reach Gateway in time for the battle. We also have 110 million regular army troops and 420 million trained militia, we estimate we can raise maybe 300 million untrained militia but these would be of very limited use."
"Our requests for reinforcements from the Empire and our allies has so far gained us ... a commando unit from the United Polities, and two million Imperial Marines survivors of the Expeditionary Fleet."
Two of the officers present looked a little sheepish at that, their uniforms were far less ornate than the ones of the Sarmatians around them. This was the allied contingency, they were there more for the sake of morale than anything.
"The preparations that you ordered Highness are complete, the defensive lines are ready. The Ministry of Armaments and the Ministry of the Interior have prepared stockpiles of ammunition, foodstuffs, and raw materials. Civil Defence and the Aerospace Defence Network have tested the city shields and theatre shields and found them functional."
Prince Alexander listened quietly to this report, the only thing new was the figures for the enemy fleet, bigger, much bigger, that they had feared. He leaned forward a bit, the light gleamed of the gold braid in his uniform, "Gentlemen we will proceed according to plan, Commodore Bart is ordered to prepare the defence of the planet according to plan. Those naval units that have not yet arrived... if they cannot get here without running the gauntlet they will proceed to the nearest safe UP harbour instead. Cease the evacuation, I doubt civilian ships will be safe in the storm that's coming."
Prince Alexanders Palace
Neu Brakensburg
In the vast ornate corridors of the Principal Palace no one seemed to pay much attention to a pair of strangers wearing simple single piece uniforms with only a single gold shoulder rope each. In truth, they had added the shoulder rope at the same time as they removed the hood, making the uniforms almost purely decorative from a UP point of view.
Despite being new to the Palace, with only simple directions to help them, Sarah Halo and George Perfect walked confidently through the ornate corridors. Confidently that is until a door that ought to have been open was found to be very much locked, and of course there was no one in sight to give them any directions.
George grabbed the heavy brass handle and shook it a bit trying to see if it was stuck, the big double doors didn't even budge, "I can't believe it!"
"Believe it, now we have to find another way in, unless of course they unlock the door," Sarah said.
"I thought you were supposed to be the expert on Sarmatian customs," George said, he slammed the door a couple of times, they were wood but they had to be several inches thick.
Sarah just shrugged and began to look around the room they were in, "I guess they're upset about us only bringing a single industrial replicator, and a mobile one at that."
"Is all Sarmatian palaces like this?" George asked, the room felt stuffy, white painted walls, gilding around every edge stretching for a foot up or down from the floor and ceiling, and speaking of the ceiling... a large half naked angel appeared to be holding up the chandelier.
"No, most of them are far spookier."
"Spookier?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Only word for it really and..." Sarah walked up to the door, she examined it cautiously, pressed down one doorknob and then the other.
"It's no good, the doors locked! We got to go back and..."
CLICK the double doors swung open and Sarah pushed them outwards revealing a very busy corridor with people running to and fro, some of them carrying weapons, others paintings and other valuables.
"How'd you do that?" George asked, peering in through the opening.
"Tricks of the trade! Tricks of the trade!" Sarah mischievously refused to elaborate.
They had to half jog now, ignoring the disapproving glances they got from severe looking ushers and other old fashioned gentlemen with powdered wigs and liveries with gold braid. A couple even went "Ahem" as the foreigners ran through "their" halls.
In the end they entered what could best be described as an entrance area, about a dozen old fashioned wooden desks where clerks seemed to be working honest to God typewriters! If they weren't, as in some cases, scribbling away with pen and paper! George leaned over the shoulder of one of them, only to see a holographic display become visible the moment he got into the same line of sight that the clerk had. Seconds later he was looking into the face of an obviously annoyed clerk, "Sir? Do you mind?"
"Sorry," George held up his palms in a friendly gesture, and moved over to where Sarah was standing; she was trying to persuade two guards in amazingly ornate uniforms complete with braid, aiguillettes, sabres, epaulets and huge jackets that emphasised the shoulders. It wouldn't look so odd if not for their very tight trousers and black jackboots, apparently historically accurate but odd... He wondered if he should brush past them, but the heavy guns, and oddly enough the sabres, made that seem a bad idea.
"I'm telling you we have an appointment," Sarah announced, "In thirty seconds in fact," she added after demonstrably checking the timepiece.
"Then we will let you inside in thirty seconds," the guard on the right told her.
At exactly 10 AM the doors opened slightly, revealing an empty office inside, with a brown haired woman sitting behind a very large desk. It was a very impressive office, with huge windows though only black could be seen on the other side, every single window was being blast shuttered as they spoke. The floor was decorated by a mosaic of the Sarmatian Imperial Quartermasters Corp, with the motto HARMONY THROUGH SUPERIOR ARMOURY written over the cornucopia held by an eagle.
The two UPers stopped at a respectful distance and saluted her, she looked up and indicated a pair of chairs, "Please Colonel Halo, Captain Perfect, take a seat, we have no time to stand on formality, I am Chloe Frost, Minister of Armaments."
"Madam Minister," Sarah said, then she pulled up one of the chairs and sat down, followed by George.
Curious George studied her, she looked very odd, she'd look out of place both in the UP and in this office, her clothes though ancient looked more like they came from the 20th rather than the 19th Century. That was just a quick assessment though, her hair was made up in an elaborate do, but more confusingly she wore a pair of big glasses. She looked, well, almost schoolmarmish to be honest.
There was an uncomfortable silence, then Ms Frost spoke up, "Though His Higness, and yours truly, thank you for your aid, I have to ask you this... will there be any more aid forthcoming, of any kind?"
"Madam Minister," Sarah felt very uncomfortable, she wasn't going to lie as such, but "While more aid is possible, none will be forthcoming in the short term. The Unified Polities fleet is still deploying its latest ships, and all our efforts are going into that. However we have provided a replication machine, and our commando team..."
There was a raised eyebrow on the other side of the table, "I am fully aware of this Colonel, but we need a bit more than vague promises... right now three UDS fleets are converging on this world, I fear that in a few more days travel in or out of the system would be impossible."
"Madam Minister, the matter is out of my hands, all that there is left for myself and my team is to fight and die when the invader comes," Sara said, picking her words cautiously.
"Then go, redeem yourself in blood Colonel, there is at any rate nothing left for us either," if Frost was disappointed, or angry, she didn't show it, she sounded more resigned than anything.
Fu Hsi Section
Sanhuangwudi Defensive Complex
Gateway
Working on his PDA Corporal Gustav Klein finished the mail and pressed the send button, for a moment the system paused as the censorship program checked the contents, but a fraction of a second later the MAIL DELIVERED message flashed on his screen. The flipped the cover shut and tucked the PDA back into his coat pocket, there wasn't much else to do other than wait.
The Fu Hsi Section stretched for miles around, not as an interconnected line as they were in the past, but as hundreds of concealed positions, like the one he was in right now. Straightening up a bit he peered over the edge of the trench, nothing was visible other than a long seemingly endless plain.
That was when an unwelcome voice broke his reverie "If you're bored you can maintain the tank!" Sergeant Bass, clean shaven, pressed uniform, if not for the grease stains on his clothes and the mud on his boots he could pass inspection on the spot. He was also 6'1" and weighed in at 200 lbs so being respectful was the way to go.
"Sorry Sargn't, just ... looking for enemy forces," it was half hearted, and Klein moved over to the tank to look it over. He carefully checked the big caterpillar tracks, and the slope leading to the surface; feeling Bass' eyes on him he bent down to check if the corduroying, that is the thick planks laid down side ways on the slope, were in place.
Meanwhile the privates of the mechanized infantry platoon they, Klein and the tank crew that is, were sharing the trench with just watched with bemusement. Most of them were pretty much exempt any duties other than callisthenics and basic weapons maintenance, and nothing seemed to amuse them as much as watching other people have to work.
Similar scenes repeated themselves in hundreds of hidden trench complexes, some with one tank and a couple of APCs, others holding companies or even battalions, but none larger than that. They were well hidden every one of them, an airplane flying low orbit over the sight would see nothing other than the normal rolling hills that marked this part of Gateway.
Pearl Tower
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
From where he stood, in a recently abandoned luxury apartment, Militia Private Malcom Dobb had a magnificent view of the city. He could see the Ivory Tower from where he stood, almost identical to the Pearl tower except for a slight difference in hue. Both of them had elaborate statues incorporated into the design, the Ivory tower had a Great Hunter theme with statues of huntsmen, elephants, built into the building. Below where he was standing a bridge jutted out linking the two towers and here they'd placed a Roebuck statue that looked like it was precariously perched on the narrow overhang just above the river.
"It's pretty isn't it?" he asked one of his friends.
"Eh, I don't know," Porfirio Cogsdale said, in civilian life he was a plumber. He was short and stocky, with rough hands, and a slightly pale cheek where he'd been made to shave his beard when they got drafted.
"Come on, it's nice," Dobb said pointing at the embellishments, "And... we got good digs!"
Something bounced off the plexiglass window, "Stop jinxing it!" One of the other militiamen, Donn Busk, shouted at him.
"Yeah! If the officers hear you they'll send us to the sewer plant or something," Tod Royle said, but he didn't bother looking up from whatever he was reading.
"I just don't like being all excited about places where I'll never live," Cogsdale mused, "I mean, look at this fancy stuff," he motioned about the apartment "ten thousand square feet if it's an inch."
"I think this is a guestroom actually," Royle chimed in.
"Exactly! A guestroom, I mean... I could fit my apartment with five children into this guys bathroom," Cogsdale said, he was of course exaggerating quite a bit but he was picking up steam now.
"There you go genius, you got him started on 'social injustices'," Donn Busk said, moving his fingers to make quotation marks in the air, "Come of it!"
Of course it didn't end there, Cogsdale was on a roll, and he had a wonderful way of ignoring Tod Royle stuffing ear plugs in his ear and playing loud music, or Dobb demonstrably going back to studying the embellishments on the Ivory Tower.
Grigor de Faun Orbital Aerospace Base
Gateway Orbit
Row upon row of Lance class fighters GDF-1 through 50, were packed densely together in the large shuttle bay. Long deadly Aerospace fighters, twin laser guns stretching the length of the belly with two stubby openings just before the cockpit. All of them had been laden down with Anti-Aerospace Missiles (AAMs), but none of them had drop tanks, ordinarily an unforgivable omission; now simply an admission of the facts as they stood: None of them were expected to return.
Following the example of most of his friends Lt. Ezekiel "Zeke" Hartenstein crossed himself in front of the shrine to St. Joseph of Cupertino. The heavy flight suit fitted him snugly, he patted someone on the back, but wasn't quite sure who it was. Thumbs up!
"We'll nail them!"
"You bet!" Zeke answered.
In the distance the unit chaplain could be heard reciting his prayers again:
"Dear ecstatic Conventual Saint who patiently bore calumnies, your secret was Christ the crucified Savior who said: "When I will be lifted up I will draw all peoples to myself." You were always spiritually lifted up. Give aviators courage and protection, and may they always keep in mind your greatly uplifting example. Amen."
From a handful of pilots a pious "AMEN!" rose up.
Zeke nodded to the ground crew surrounding his airplane, there'd just been enough time to paint a slogan 'Dulce et Decorum' on the nose, and a picture of a penguin in a fighting stance. He smiled at the last thing, though they couldn't see it under his flight mask, "Trying to tell me something?" he said half a jokingly as he touched the 'Dulce et Decorum' slogan.
They didn't take the bite, instead the lead Flight Technician saluted and said "Good luck Sir!"
The cockpit entrance slowly opened, Zeke returned the salute, then he climbed up the simple stairs and began to work his way into the bowels of the fighter. It wasn't easy, you had to half crawl, and then twist yourself around to fit into the seat; the entrance for the Lance Class fighter could use some extra work that was for sure. It took him a while, finally he was seated properly, he felt the but slightly uncomfortable feel of the waste disposal system attacking. The cockpit came alive, it was as if he was sitting in thin air, able to see everything around his fighter, he wriggled the wing flap, then he waited.
Last edited by Norseman on 2006-06-19 05:33pm, edited 1 time in total.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Chapter II - Operation Glacier - UDS
DAY 1
UDS Strike Force
Gateway System
It was the largest naval concentration in the history of the UDS, the sheer scale of it all beggared the mind 400 carriers, 180 strike cruisers, 2 000 destroyers, 2 340 bombers and 4 680 fighters, a total of 2 580 warships and 13 600 aerospace craft. In order to back this fleet up the initial support force consisted of 11 000 transport ships, in addition to 3 600 atmospheric capable craft that would land the first wave of the invasion. A total of 910 million troops, 364 million Marines and 546 Army soldiers, had been dedicated to this invasion. The first wave alone would consist of 90 million fully equipped Marines to establish a beachhead. A total of 15 billion tons of supplies was ready to support the invasion, and billions more would be brought in if there was heavy resistance.
The fleet was slowly crossing real space towards the Sarmatian positions, swarms of fighters running CAP, they looked like flies in among the herd of ships. If you came closer, close enough to read the names painted in enormous letters on the side of the ships, you could recognise names like UDSS Intrepid, Olympic, Titan, Morgenthau, and so forth, legends of the UDSN.
Meanwhile the bomber fleets and their escorts were preparing for the initial sortie of the battle. They varied from standard Naval Avenger Class bombers, to the much larger Marauder Class Strategic Bomber. The squadrons formed into formation spread several miles apart to protect from proximity blasts, with fighter backup following closely behind.
More secretive, but perhaps just as important, were several stealth assault boats that were also approaching Gateway. These Stealth Boats were not only invisible to sensors, but the advanced optical stealth system made them quite invisible to the naked eye as well. Observing perfect communications silence, and advancing with baffled drives, they were proceeding towards their designated target.
The Little Mermaid
The squadron commander was on the line "Enemy convoy entering weapons range, no sign of escorting fighters, attack according to plan." Most of the orders weren't given verbally, the AeroSpace Information Exchange (ASIE) let the commander give orders without having to verbalize them; instead they appeared as graphic symbols on the 3D display or VR display of the aircrews; a mixture of colour coded triangles and squares giving both threat assessments and target designation.
"Affirmative, closing in now," Captain Bierce said, they'd been assigned the destroyer, "Rogers count'em."
"Five destroyers, 40 large cargo ships, 50 rocket boats, no fighters," Rogers replied, then he said what was on everybody's mind, "Why aren't there any fighters Sir?"
"Maybe they ran out..." Bierce replied, he didn't really believe it though, he sent a quick message "Why no fighters? This stinks!"
"Be very careful."
Bierce shrugged mentally, "Cleeves, target the destroyer, fire when ready."
"Yes," Cleeves was already lost in targeting the destroyer, he analysed the data the onboard computer gave him: Amadeus Class Destroyer sixteen - 100 mm gauss cannon, 10 heavy missile tubes, up to 100 Anti-Aerospace beam guns, crew 516 on average.
The Little Mermaid moved sluggishly, Bierce didn't like that either, when you're walking into the ack-ack of an enemy destroyer you like to be able to move. Still the enemy didn't appear to have noticed them yet, so the engine baffles stayed up for now, but not much longer.
Suddenly Rogers spoke up in an urgent tone of voice "Active scans, countermeasures on, enemy is..."
At that precise moment the Amadeus Class destroyer opened up fire; in the VR display it looked like a flashing Christmas ornament as the laser beams stabbed out towards the approaching bombers and escorts. That was when the other destroyers opened fire as well, a Corsair fighter was struck by one of the beams, making its nose and cockpit area vanish in a flash leaving nothing but a pair of fluttering wings behind.
The Little Mermaid went into evasive manoeuvres, moving in a three dimensional slalom pattern, but the heavy bomb load made proper manoeuvring hard. The nearest destroyer fired missiles, fortunately they were big cumbersome anti-ship missiles sent to proximity detonate and not much of a threat in space. The Little Mermaid effortlessly dodged one of them, but got a bit of a pat on the tail as the missile vanished in a flash of blue-white nuclear energy.
"Fire at max range! Repeat fire at max range!" Bierce announced sharply.
"Roger, fire at max range," Cleeves replied, rapidly altering the calculations, the missiles would require maybe ten-twelve seconds to hit depending on what evasive pattern he gave them.
"Bogies approx 15-20, repeat bogies at approx 15-20!" Rogers said.
"Bogies?" Bierce checked the scan information, there was about 50 of them, an exact count was impossible due to jamming, "How?"
"Parasite fighters?" Rogers said, but there was no time to worry about that, "Approaching fast, active scans, enemy lock on! Countermeasures!"
Once more space came alive with ECM and other counter-measures, each of the bombers began to spray several tons flares and chaff, cluttering up space so much that several laser beams were dispersed by the chaff alone. Then came the counter-measures, followed by a quick pre-arranged change of IFF signals so that it was impossible for the enemy to separate the real bombers from the scores of phantoms that suddenly appeared, also moving in wild evasive patterns.
"Fire in five, Repeat fire in five," Bierce messaged, there was no time for vocal commands, and the message was simple enough fire the first missile in five seconds no matter what.
"Roger," Cleeves answered, no time to get a proper lock on then, instead he went for an optical lock which hopefully would be enough, three, two, a second before the time was up he pushed the trigger. The Little Mermaid brutally ejected the Whitehawk missile, the missile shuddered from the violent force of the pressor beam, then the flames of the missile licked across the Little Mermaids shielding making it drop slightly.
The loss of forty tons of dead weight made the Little Mermaid a lot more manoeuvrable, enough so that it was safe to move her a bit closer to the action. In the belly of the bomber the heavy rotating missile cradle was moving to ready the next Whitehawk, and exactly 3 second later it was launched as well flying directly towards the destroyer.
"And we're out of here!" Bierce had already begun a series of evasive manoeuvres, while launching tons of counter-measures including all of the remaining decoys. Having dropped 80 tons of bomb load and 10 tons of counter-measures the Little Mermaid could really move, enough to give a Sarmatian fighter a run for its money.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
The Sarmatian fighters were flimsy and lightly armed, but they had a lower sensor profile, and they were very manoeuvrable. They swarmed all over the UDS fighters, in a desperate attempt to reach the bombers, but the UDS had developed counter-measures to this tactic.
Mike "Mad Cat" Tallman guided his Corsair fighter in a high speed attack, a pair of LORAAS missiles tore through one of the Sarmatian fighters, making it vanish in a puff of reddish light. The wing man tried to turn around to engage him, a typical amateurish move, Mad Cat spun his fighter around, letting the ducted fans handle evasive manoeuvres while his fighter continued moving away from the Sarmatians. Then he fired at the Sarmatian fighter who was flailing around, trying to turn around and accelerate; that was one of the problems for the Sarmatians they kept forgetting they were fighting in space! Twin X-ray laser beams taught that one the error of his ways.
Meanwhile a couple more Sarmatian fighters tried to move in on him, once more he pushed the throttle to the max, speeding away only to have them stick on his tail like hornets. His fighter shook slightly as the laser beams struck his rear shields, and even more when one of their light sub-megaton AA missiles struck a flare right beneath him; fortunately the fighters shields were able to handle such a near miss. A direct hit might be an entirely different matter, and now they were closing in on him.
He stifled a smile as he spotted his wingman heading directly at him, as Longshot flew past he fired a spread of missiles at the Sarmatian fighters; they struck home without fail blasting them, the fighters that is, into tiny pieces of metallic confetti.
"Suckers!" Mad Cat yelled, idiots probably hadn't heard of Thachs Weave!
The Little Mermaid
The VR display showed the two Whitehawk missiles as two simple cylinders, and the destroyer like a crude wedge shape, all around them a fierce battle was being fought. Cleeves expected every moment that his birds would be shot down, but they kept getting closer, it wasn't until the first one was three seconds away that the destroyer seemed to realise something was wrong. They opened fire, streams of laser beams, so densely packed that they resembled a rope, lashed towards the missile, a couple of beams touched the missile and Cleeves took a deep breath, not releasing it until he saw that the Whitehawk was still moving forward.
The first one struck the destroyer amidships, in the VR display the missile simply vanished, and various damage estimates appeared. The destroyer was hurt, but mainly it was the shields that had been battered. The camera view however revealed a massive white-blue flash, and there he could see the distant pinkish-purplish hue of the destroyers shields trying to ditch the excess energy.
Normally a single Whitehawk missile wouldn't be enough to take down a ship, even a small one like a destroyer. Two Whitehawks however was an entirely different matter, the second one struck a bit closer to the stern, but it outright penetrated the already weakened shields and smashed into the hull itself penetrating a bit before exploding. Even in the VR view some of the pieces torn free were big enough to warrant being represented and given designations like 'Fragment D-1'.
In camera view... the front end of the destroyer had been torn clean off, the rear was still surprisingly intact, and spewing out dozens of escape pods by the second. The fragments glowed red from heat, and drifted slowly away from the destroyer, aside from a few directly in front that collided with the remnants of the destroyer itself, making more sparks fly out.
"BOOYAH!"
"Nailed!"
"Heading back!"
UDSS Amherst Victory
UDS Strike Force
Gateway System
The Amherst Victory was not one of the biggest troop transports, but there were over 80 000 soldiers here, and all of their gear. The corridors were bleak metal, with the scent of sweat, and recycled air. They were usually cramped too, there was always someone walking around holding a handful of blankets, or carrying a bunch of spare parts, or just following a sergeant or other officer. Lots of people everywhere, and a few cleaning robots that had a hell of a time keeping the corridors, not to mention the bathrooms, presentable.
For the most part it wasn't that bad though, for the soldiers it was mostly deadly dull aside from all the routine duties they were pressed into doing over and over. There were robots, but they still had to clean their own barracks, much to their dismay, usually that duty fell upon the newest recruits though.
Private Allen Baer was a lucky man in a way, though he was a buck recruit he'd somehow managed to earn himself some spare time, and now he was spending it looking out the observation window. He wasn't alone in the room though, there was a whole bunch of people with him, pressing against his back and side; but where he stood pushing against the window itself, feeling the light buzz of the cleaning field, he could see a tiny blue spot far, far away.
Turning a bit he could see the rest of the UDS fleet, passing nearby them, maybe only a couple of miles away, was the vast bulk of the UDSS Jackson Brown; the superior carrier seemed invincible! From where he stood he could the rows upon rows of missile launchers, the openings to the carrier bays, and the occasional launch of a CAP patrol. It wasn't the only one though, hundreds of tiny lights could be seen, some of them indistinguishable from bright stars, but others close enough that you could make out square shapes, and the bright white light of the drive engines.
"Wow..." he had never seen so many ships together in one place, not even on the Naval parades.
Behind him there was pushing and showing, and eventually he had to leave his spot at the window, but he still had a slightly starstruck expression on his face when he went down the corridors towards the PX Store. The network of corridors in the ship was a maze, there were signs of course, but unless you knew where you were going signs like 'Section 234-A' wouldn't really be all that helpful. Fortunately he had a map he could consult, or rather he had a map he had to stop and check every five minutes.
When he did find the PX Store there was a lot of people already there, but no one he knew, so he just rifled through the story looking for something to buy. There were lots of simple shelves, metal sort, filled with chocolate, candies, VR skin flics, bunch of magazines too, shaving kit, that sort of thing. Not a very good selection though. He grabbed a couple of chocolate bars and left, the ships accounting system automatically deducted the cost from his account.
Fortunately he knew the route back to the barracks by heart, so he peeled away the cover on the chocolate and began to eat it as he went. On the way he passed by a couple of holograms, the kind that look the same no matter what angle you view them from; the big bosses were running patriotic films, and brief, but censored, news from all over the UDS.
"The Triumvirate Pact continues to fight against the UDS offensives, however they are losing ground on all fronts. Although the exact details are classified I am not authorised to say we are opening up a new offensive on the Gateway System..."
"No shit?" Baer asked, he took another bite of chocolate as the talking heads on the holo-vid explained how vitally important the Gateway system was for the Sarmatian war effort. Nothing he hadn't heard already, but, for some reason he stood there listening, along with maybe a dozen other guys, just in case they'd mention something new.
One of the other soldiers, a Specialist with a tool-vest stuffed with all kinds of gadgets, muttered "Oh man..." and shook his head a bit at the parts about how important the Gateway system was.
"If we take this we've knocked them Sarmatian sons of bitches out of the war," said some guy standing next to the Specialist.
Baer wanted to say something like "Not if, when," but for some reason he chickened out, instead he just turned and began walking quickly back towards the barrack.
The barracks were only half full, most of the soldiers were out doing something or other, but there was still a lot of people there. The three level bunk beds were packed tightly with barely four feet of separation, not as bad as in the old days mind; each of them had their own small closet for keeping stuff, a reading light, and even a light power feed, though the two latter were shut down at lights out.
"Hey guys," Baer began, then he straightened a bit as he noticed the Sergeant, "Sarge."
"Your mouth," the Sarge said.
"Sergeant!" Baer said, sticking the other chocolate bar into his pocket, Sheeze what's with him today he wondered if he was meant to salute.
The Sarge looked exasperated "You got brown goo around your mouth, is it chocolate or have you been kissing up again?"
"Ah," while the other guys chuckled Baer wiped his mouth, "So, ah, I hear the Sarmatians will be knocked out of the war if, when, we take Gateway Sarge," he said trying to change the subject.
"Yeah?" the Sarge, or Sergeant Travis Rock to be formal, said.
"Yeah Sarge, they won't be able to stop this," he felt a bit uncertain, but still.
PFC Curtis Fountain wasn't so sure though, he was a bit more experienced, or liked to say he was anyway, "Yeah, but we're not there yet, I hear the Sarmatians are pretty crazy on the ground."
"Yeah well once we've bombed the shit out of them we'll just mop up the rest," Private Nathan Hines said.
"You think so?" the Sarge said, he looked bemused, not a safe sign on that crude looking face, "You think this is going to be some walk over of a third rate country that can barely spell carrier not to mention building one? Hell no! We wouldn't have the a sixth of the Navy here for that! No, this place is locked up tighter than a nuns chastity belt, we'll earn our living when we land, and you'd better be on your toes too or you'll get some Sarmatian running a two foot bayonet up your bunghole! CLEAR?"
"Shit yeah!" Fountain said, the others barked similar lines out, but Fountain added "I got nicked at Yellowpost, these guys can't be worse than the UP."
The Sarge gave Fountain a long look, then he shook his head a bit, "You think so huh? Well you've ever hear of Storlands' Sea? They had 15 million Sarmatian regulars down there, against 10 million of our lot with full space supremacy, and you know what? There were TWO AND A HALF MILLION of our boys dead at the end of that battle, and what was left of them? Less than four hundred thousand of'em surrendered, rest of them fought to the death in over 120 degrees..."
"Shit..." Fountain looked a lot less cocky, "We still kicked their ass!"
"You bet," the Sarge agreed, "But don't you relax one little bit!"
"I heard some of them will swallow a grenade rather than let themselves be captured," Baer said.
"Who said that?" Hines asked, sounding a little sceptical.
"Well, I heard it from one of the Mechanics Specialists, he told me that an Aerospace Technician told him that when they towed in a Sarmatian fighter the pilot had stuck a grenade in his mouth rather than surrender," Baer nodded knowingly at that, "Not the first time either!"
"Yeah I heard that too," Fountain agreed, "But that just makes them crazy, and hell, if they want to blow themselves up no problem!"
"They can't be that crazy."
Baer smiled a bit, he looked a tad guilty as he said "Their ships have whores!"
Fountains eyes went big "No way!"
"Way!"
"Shit, I picked the wrong army!"
"Hey!" the Sarge snapped, "Don't even joke about that!"
UDSS James Orwell Wooster
UDS Strike Force
Gateway System
If a regular troop ship was cramped a commando assault ship had its soldiers was packed like sardines, most of them however were hooked up to VR systems that allowed them to train for their mission.
Sergeant Jeremy Cantu was one of the exceptions, he was responsible for checking on the units gear, and other than that somebody had to be fully awake at all times. He didn't really mind though, something about VR always vaguely repulsed him, even when it was used for exercise, it just didn't feel REAL. The battlesuit in front of him felt real though, it added maybe an inch of thickness when you wore it, but it was still just as good as the Marine Assault suit; dark, sleek, and deadly, shiny too if you wiped away the dust.
When he turned it on though it seemed to vanish, the wall behind it was visible, and he could even read the text on a placard behind it, though it was a bit like looking through a bag of water.
"Suit 14 is malfunctioning," he noted, then with a sigh he added, "Again!" He removed the chestplate and began examining the electronics, "Damn you, you're supposed to be INVISIBLE!"
UDS Strike Force
Gateway System
It was the largest naval concentration in the history of the UDS, the sheer scale of it all beggared the mind 400 carriers, 180 strike cruisers, 2 000 destroyers, 2 340 bombers and 4 680 fighters, a total of 2 580 warships and 13 600 aerospace craft. In order to back this fleet up the initial support force consisted of 11 000 transport ships, in addition to 3 600 atmospheric capable craft that would land the first wave of the invasion. A total of 910 million troops, 364 million Marines and 546 Army soldiers, had been dedicated to this invasion. The first wave alone would consist of 90 million fully equipped Marines to establish a beachhead. A total of 15 billion tons of supplies was ready to support the invasion, and billions more would be brought in if there was heavy resistance.
The fleet was slowly crossing real space towards the Sarmatian positions, swarms of fighters running CAP, they looked like flies in among the herd of ships. If you came closer, close enough to read the names painted in enormous letters on the side of the ships, you could recognise names like UDSS Intrepid, Olympic, Titan, Morgenthau, and so forth, legends of the UDSN.
Meanwhile the bomber fleets and their escorts were preparing for the initial sortie of the battle. They varied from standard Naval Avenger Class bombers, to the much larger Marauder Class Strategic Bomber. The squadrons formed into formation spread several miles apart to protect from proximity blasts, with fighter backup following closely behind.
More secretive, but perhaps just as important, were several stealth assault boats that were also approaching Gateway. These Stealth Boats were not only invisible to sensors, but the advanced optical stealth system made them quite invisible to the naked eye as well. Observing perfect communications silence, and advancing with baffled drives, they were proceeding towards their designated target.
The Little Mermaid
The squadron commander was on the line "Enemy convoy entering weapons range, no sign of escorting fighters, attack according to plan." Most of the orders weren't given verbally, the AeroSpace Information Exchange (ASIE) let the commander give orders without having to verbalize them; instead they appeared as graphic symbols on the 3D display or VR display of the aircrews; a mixture of colour coded triangles and squares giving both threat assessments and target designation.
"Affirmative, closing in now," Captain Bierce said, they'd been assigned the destroyer, "Rogers count'em."
"Five destroyers, 40 large cargo ships, 50 rocket boats, no fighters," Rogers replied, then he said what was on everybody's mind, "Why aren't there any fighters Sir?"
"Maybe they ran out..." Bierce replied, he didn't really believe it though, he sent a quick message "Why no fighters? This stinks!"
"Be very careful."
Bierce shrugged mentally, "Cleeves, target the destroyer, fire when ready."
"Yes," Cleeves was already lost in targeting the destroyer, he analysed the data the onboard computer gave him: Amadeus Class Destroyer sixteen - 100 mm gauss cannon, 10 heavy missile tubes, up to 100 Anti-Aerospace beam guns, crew 516 on average.
The Little Mermaid moved sluggishly, Bierce didn't like that either, when you're walking into the ack-ack of an enemy destroyer you like to be able to move. Still the enemy didn't appear to have noticed them yet, so the engine baffles stayed up for now, but not much longer.
Suddenly Rogers spoke up in an urgent tone of voice "Active scans, countermeasures on, enemy is..."
At that precise moment the Amadeus Class destroyer opened up fire; in the VR display it looked like a flashing Christmas ornament as the laser beams stabbed out towards the approaching bombers and escorts. That was when the other destroyers opened fire as well, a Corsair fighter was struck by one of the beams, making its nose and cockpit area vanish in a flash leaving nothing but a pair of fluttering wings behind.
The Little Mermaid went into evasive manoeuvres, moving in a three dimensional slalom pattern, but the heavy bomb load made proper manoeuvring hard. The nearest destroyer fired missiles, fortunately they were big cumbersome anti-ship missiles sent to proximity detonate and not much of a threat in space. The Little Mermaid effortlessly dodged one of them, but got a bit of a pat on the tail as the missile vanished in a flash of blue-white nuclear energy.
"Fire at max range! Repeat fire at max range!" Bierce announced sharply.
"Roger, fire at max range," Cleeves replied, rapidly altering the calculations, the missiles would require maybe ten-twelve seconds to hit depending on what evasive pattern he gave them.
"Bogies approx 15-20, repeat bogies at approx 15-20!" Rogers said.
"Bogies?" Bierce checked the scan information, there was about 50 of them, an exact count was impossible due to jamming, "How?"
"Parasite fighters?" Rogers said, but there was no time to worry about that, "Approaching fast, active scans, enemy lock on! Countermeasures!"
Once more space came alive with ECM and other counter-measures, each of the bombers began to spray several tons flares and chaff, cluttering up space so much that several laser beams were dispersed by the chaff alone. Then came the counter-measures, followed by a quick pre-arranged change of IFF signals so that it was impossible for the enemy to separate the real bombers from the scores of phantoms that suddenly appeared, also moving in wild evasive patterns.
"Fire in five, Repeat fire in five," Bierce messaged, there was no time for vocal commands, and the message was simple enough fire the first missile in five seconds no matter what.
"Roger," Cleeves answered, no time to get a proper lock on then, instead he went for an optical lock which hopefully would be enough, three, two, a second before the time was up he pushed the trigger. The Little Mermaid brutally ejected the Whitehawk missile, the missile shuddered from the violent force of the pressor beam, then the flames of the missile licked across the Little Mermaids shielding making it drop slightly.
The loss of forty tons of dead weight made the Little Mermaid a lot more manoeuvrable, enough so that it was safe to move her a bit closer to the action. In the belly of the bomber the heavy rotating missile cradle was moving to ready the next Whitehawk, and exactly 3 second later it was launched as well flying directly towards the destroyer.
"And we're out of here!" Bierce had already begun a series of evasive manoeuvres, while launching tons of counter-measures including all of the remaining decoys. Having dropped 80 tons of bomb load and 10 tons of counter-measures the Little Mermaid could really move, enough to give a Sarmatian fighter a run for its money.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
The Sarmatian fighters were flimsy and lightly armed, but they had a lower sensor profile, and they were very manoeuvrable. They swarmed all over the UDS fighters, in a desperate attempt to reach the bombers, but the UDS had developed counter-measures to this tactic.
Mike "Mad Cat" Tallman guided his Corsair fighter in a high speed attack, a pair of LORAAS missiles tore through one of the Sarmatian fighters, making it vanish in a puff of reddish light. The wing man tried to turn around to engage him, a typical amateurish move, Mad Cat spun his fighter around, letting the ducted fans handle evasive manoeuvres while his fighter continued moving away from the Sarmatians. Then he fired at the Sarmatian fighter who was flailing around, trying to turn around and accelerate; that was one of the problems for the Sarmatians they kept forgetting they were fighting in space! Twin X-ray laser beams taught that one the error of his ways.
Meanwhile a couple more Sarmatian fighters tried to move in on him, once more he pushed the throttle to the max, speeding away only to have them stick on his tail like hornets. His fighter shook slightly as the laser beams struck his rear shields, and even more when one of their light sub-megaton AA missiles struck a flare right beneath him; fortunately the fighters shields were able to handle such a near miss. A direct hit might be an entirely different matter, and now they were closing in on him.
He stifled a smile as he spotted his wingman heading directly at him, as Longshot flew past he fired a spread of missiles at the Sarmatian fighters; they struck home without fail blasting them, the fighters that is, into tiny pieces of metallic confetti.
"Suckers!" Mad Cat yelled, idiots probably hadn't heard of Thachs Weave!
The Little Mermaid
The VR display showed the two Whitehawk missiles as two simple cylinders, and the destroyer like a crude wedge shape, all around them a fierce battle was being fought. Cleeves expected every moment that his birds would be shot down, but they kept getting closer, it wasn't until the first one was three seconds away that the destroyer seemed to realise something was wrong. They opened fire, streams of laser beams, so densely packed that they resembled a rope, lashed towards the missile, a couple of beams touched the missile and Cleeves took a deep breath, not releasing it until he saw that the Whitehawk was still moving forward.
The first one struck the destroyer amidships, in the VR display the missile simply vanished, and various damage estimates appeared. The destroyer was hurt, but mainly it was the shields that had been battered. The camera view however revealed a massive white-blue flash, and there he could see the distant pinkish-purplish hue of the destroyers shields trying to ditch the excess energy.
Normally a single Whitehawk missile wouldn't be enough to take down a ship, even a small one like a destroyer. Two Whitehawks however was an entirely different matter, the second one struck a bit closer to the stern, but it outright penetrated the already weakened shields and smashed into the hull itself penetrating a bit before exploding. Even in the VR view some of the pieces torn free were big enough to warrant being represented and given designations like 'Fragment D-1'.
In camera view... the front end of the destroyer had been torn clean off, the rear was still surprisingly intact, and spewing out dozens of escape pods by the second. The fragments glowed red from heat, and drifted slowly away from the destroyer, aside from a few directly in front that collided with the remnants of the destroyer itself, making more sparks fly out.
"BOOYAH!"
"Nailed!"
"Heading back!"
UDSS Amherst Victory
UDS Strike Force
Gateway System
The Amherst Victory was not one of the biggest troop transports, but there were over 80 000 soldiers here, and all of their gear. The corridors were bleak metal, with the scent of sweat, and recycled air. They were usually cramped too, there was always someone walking around holding a handful of blankets, or carrying a bunch of spare parts, or just following a sergeant or other officer. Lots of people everywhere, and a few cleaning robots that had a hell of a time keeping the corridors, not to mention the bathrooms, presentable.
For the most part it wasn't that bad though, for the soldiers it was mostly deadly dull aside from all the routine duties they were pressed into doing over and over. There were robots, but they still had to clean their own barracks, much to their dismay, usually that duty fell upon the newest recruits though.
Private Allen Baer was a lucky man in a way, though he was a buck recruit he'd somehow managed to earn himself some spare time, and now he was spending it looking out the observation window. He wasn't alone in the room though, there was a whole bunch of people with him, pressing against his back and side; but where he stood pushing against the window itself, feeling the light buzz of the cleaning field, he could see a tiny blue spot far, far away.
Turning a bit he could see the rest of the UDS fleet, passing nearby them, maybe only a couple of miles away, was the vast bulk of the UDSS Jackson Brown; the superior carrier seemed invincible! From where he stood he could the rows upon rows of missile launchers, the openings to the carrier bays, and the occasional launch of a CAP patrol. It wasn't the only one though, hundreds of tiny lights could be seen, some of them indistinguishable from bright stars, but others close enough that you could make out square shapes, and the bright white light of the drive engines.
"Wow..." he had never seen so many ships together in one place, not even on the Naval parades.
Behind him there was pushing and showing, and eventually he had to leave his spot at the window, but he still had a slightly starstruck expression on his face when he went down the corridors towards the PX Store. The network of corridors in the ship was a maze, there were signs of course, but unless you knew where you were going signs like 'Section 234-A' wouldn't really be all that helpful. Fortunately he had a map he could consult, or rather he had a map he had to stop and check every five minutes.
When he did find the PX Store there was a lot of people already there, but no one he knew, so he just rifled through the story looking for something to buy. There were lots of simple shelves, metal sort, filled with chocolate, candies, VR skin flics, bunch of magazines too, shaving kit, that sort of thing. Not a very good selection though. He grabbed a couple of chocolate bars and left, the ships accounting system automatically deducted the cost from his account.
Fortunately he knew the route back to the barracks by heart, so he peeled away the cover on the chocolate and began to eat it as he went. On the way he passed by a couple of holograms, the kind that look the same no matter what angle you view them from; the big bosses were running patriotic films, and brief, but censored, news from all over the UDS.
"The Triumvirate Pact continues to fight against the UDS offensives, however they are losing ground on all fronts. Although the exact details are classified I am not authorised to say we are opening up a new offensive on the Gateway System..."
"No shit?" Baer asked, he took another bite of chocolate as the talking heads on the holo-vid explained how vitally important the Gateway system was for the Sarmatian war effort. Nothing he hadn't heard already, but, for some reason he stood there listening, along with maybe a dozen other guys, just in case they'd mention something new.
One of the other soldiers, a Specialist with a tool-vest stuffed with all kinds of gadgets, muttered "Oh man..." and shook his head a bit at the parts about how important the Gateway system was.
"If we take this we've knocked them Sarmatian sons of bitches out of the war," said some guy standing next to the Specialist.
Baer wanted to say something like "Not if, when," but for some reason he chickened out, instead he just turned and began walking quickly back towards the barrack.
The barracks were only half full, most of the soldiers were out doing something or other, but there was still a lot of people there. The three level bunk beds were packed tightly with barely four feet of separation, not as bad as in the old days mind; each of them had their own small closet for keeping stuff, a reading light, and even a light power feed, though the two latter were shut down at lights out.
"Hey guys," Baer began, then he straightened a bit as he noticed the Sergeant, "Sarge."
"Your mouth," the Sarge said.
"Sergeant!" Baer said, sticking the other chocolate bar into his pocket, Sheeze what's with him today he wondered if he was meant to salute.
The Sarge looked exasperated "You got brown goo around your mouth, is it chocolate or have you been kissing up again?"
"Ah," while the other guys chuckled Baer wiped his mouth, "So, ah, I hear the Sarmatians will be knocked out of the war if, when, we take Gateway Sarge," he said trying to change the subject.
"Yeah?" the Sarge, or Sergeant Travis Rock to be formal, said.
"Yeah Sarge, they won't be able to stop this," he felt a bit uncertain, but still.
PFC Curtis Fountain wasn't so sure though, he was a bit more experienced, or liked to say he was anyway, "Yeah, but we're not there yet, I hear the Sarmatians are pretty crazy on the ground."
"Yeah well once we've bombed the shit out of them we'll just mop up the rest," Private Nathan Hines said.
"You think so?" the Sarge said, he looked bemused, not a safe sign on that crude looking face, "You think this is going to be some walk over of a third rate country that can barely spell carrier not to mention building one? Hell no! We wouldn't have the a sixth of the Navy here for that! No, this place is locked up tighter than a nuns chastity belt, we'll earn our living when we land, and you'd better be on your toes too or you'll get some Sarmatian running a two foot bayonet up your bunghole! CLEAR?"
"Shit yeah!" Fountain said, the others barked similar lines out, but Fountain added "I got nicked at Yellowpost, these guys can't be worse than the UP."
The Sarge gave Fountain a long look, then he shook his head a bit, "You think so huh? Well you've ever hear of Storlands' Sea? They had 15 million Sarmatian regulars down there, against 10 million of our lot with full space supremacy, and you know what? There were TWO AND A HALF MILLION of our boys dead at the end of that battle, and what was left of them? Less than four hundred thousand of'em surrendered, rest of them fought to the death in over 120 degrees..."
"Shit..." Fountain looked a lot less cocky, "We still kicked their ass!"
"You bet," the Sarge agreed, "But don't you relax one little bit!"
"I heard some of them will swallow a grenade rather than let themselves be captured," Baer said.
"Who said that?" Hines asked, sounding a little sceptical.
"Well, I heard it from one of the Mechanics Specialists, he told me that an Aerospace Technician told him that when they towed in a Sarmatian fighter the pilot had stuck a grenade in his mouth rather than surrender," Baer nodded knowingly at that, "Not the first time either!"
"Yeah I heard that too," Fountain agreed, "But that just makes them crazy, and hell, if they want to blow themselves up no problem!"
"They can't be that crazy."
Baer smiled a bit, he looked a tad guilty as he said "Their ships have whores!"
Fountains eyes went big "No way!"
"Way!"
"Shit, I picked the wrong army!"
"Hey!" the Sarge snapped, "Don't even joke about that!"
UDSS James Orwell Wooster
UDS Strike Force
Gateway System
If a regular troop ship was cramped a commando assault ship had its soldiers was packed like sardines, most of them however were hooked up to VR systems that allowed them to train for their mission.
Sergeant Jeremy Cantu was one of the exceptions, he was responsible for checking on the units gear, and other than that somebody had to be fully awake at all times. He didn't really mind though, something about VR always vaguely repulsed him, even when it was used for exercise, it just didn't feel REAL. The battlesuit in front of him felt real though, it added maybe an inch of thickness when you wore it, but it was still just as good as the Marine Assault suit; dark, sleek, and deadly, shiny too if you wiped away the dust.
When he turned it on though it seemed to vanish, the wall behind it was visible, and he could even read the text on a placard behind it, though it was a bit like looking through a bag of water.
"Suit 14 is malfunctioning," he noted, then with a sigh he added, "Again!" He removed the chestplate and began examining the electronics, "Damn you, you're supposed to be INVISIBLE!"
Last edited by Norseman on 2006-06-19 05:34pm, edited 1 time in total.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Chapter III - First Strike - The City
DAY 2
The Green Cup Inn
New Brakenburg
Gateway System
"Nice view," George stirred the coffee cup and peered out over the city, there was a pleasant breeze over the table.
Sarah bobbed her head slightly in agreement, "Yes, it's a nice spot."
The Green Cup In wasn't the only café or shop between the Azure and Opal towers, but it definitely had the best view. Several hundred feet below them they could see the busy street scenes, and the people here were often just as interesting as the architecture. You see it was really between the Azure and Opal towers, located roughly halfway between them, on the overbuilt bridge that connected them. All over the bridge there were shops and cafés, many of them, like the Green Cup jutted out from the bridge itself, partially obscuring the rounded arches of the bridge itself. The Green cup mixed in well with the bridge, you entered the inn by walking through one of the huge windows in the bridge, and into a small intimate café with a row of big open windows; so they could also watch the traffic on the bridge itself.
"It's good," George admitted, the coffee was strong and sweet, and the wait staff were eager to fill his cup each time he emptied it.
"Coffee Effendi," the Turkish waiter asked, he smiled and poured more coffee from the ibrik a strange looking coffee pot that required constant attention from a skilled coffee cook.
For someone from the United Polities it was strange to see such jobs done by humans, a coffee maker in the Turkish tradition; dressed in robes and a fez, tended to the ibriks', making sure that none of them boiled over, and that the ground coffee was perfectly fine. This whole place was so archaic, it was not quite Arabian Nights, but definitely different from the rest of Gateway.
While they sipped their coffee they exchanged glances, there was no place on Gateway where it was entirely safe to speak openly, but Commandoes from the United Polities had other options... like very tight beam low powered radio transmit, scrambled for privacy.
< I don't like this one little bit, this place is like something out of a history book, why are we even supporting these people? > George sent.
< We have our orders > Sarah replied.
< They're living in the middle ages, only with modern technology >
< They are who they are, but however bad they are the UDS are worse, at least as far as we are concerned. >
< Still, that palace was very strange, and the Prince... how did he ever get the position? >
< His father is the King of Talevana >
< Tsh, figures! >
< Listen. As princes go, he's not such a bad guy. There are a lot worse, and many of them got into position by pure merit... you asked why we're here... because better here than one of our worlds. >
< A lot worse? Come on, I heard he killed his own brother! >
< Well if it makes it any better, this world will be rubble soon... and him with it probably > Sarah takes a drink of her coffee
< No that doesn't make it better, I mean I won't weep for him, but this lot here deserves better... >
< Would you rather it was Gamma Colony? Or Tzu-ki? Or Weeping Meadow? Every day the UDS spend bombing these people is one day more for the fleet to be produced, to shake down and to kick their arses in Nexus-A. It's not nice, but it's war. >
< I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like it... > he stared of in the distance as he sipped the coffee.
Suddenly the light from the window began to dim, like a cloud had passed in front of the sun, Sarah broke the silence by asking "Think it'll rain?"
"I'll check," George said, he leaned out of the window, there was not a cloud in sight, but the sky had turned almost opaque, a tint of purplish even. < And so it begins, > he messaged to her.
In the distance they could hear the sirens starting up, a split second later one began where they were sitting, and all the loudspeakers began to repeat the same message, "THIS IS AN AIR RAID! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! PROCEED CALMLY TO YOUR NEAREST SHELTER! FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS OF THE AIR WARDENS AND THE SIGNS!" it was very loud and repeated over and over again with only occasional variations to tell them it was not just a recording.
The two UP Commandoes rose from their seats, in perfect unison they reached into their belt pouches, each pulled out a set of large dark sunglasses, and put them on giving them a little push on the bridge to push them further up the nose. George peered out the window again, dozens of whitish dots had appeared high up in the sky, many of them were surrounded by flashes of light that looked almost like fire. Seconds later the first subdued thunderous sound reached them, a low distant drone like thunder far, far away.
The bridge was being cleared very quickly, large holographic arrows appeared in the air, and the large ad-posters changed into maps showing the crowd how to get to the closest shelter. For the most part they moved very quickly and deliberately, there was no sign of panic, but a lot of noise from people calling out, chatting or trying desperately to grab some precious belonging without having time to secure it first.
In the Green Cup the coffee cooks turned off the fires from the heaters, and heavy shutters appeared, apparently out of nowhere, closing the windows, and leaving the café in gloomy darkness. It hadn't taken more than twenty-thirty seconds, but it was obviously time to leave.
On his way out of the café George stopped by the tip pillar, an pillar maybe six inches in diameter and four feet high, with a wide golden platter on top for leaving tips behind. There appeared to be a nice pile of old fashioned gold and silver coins on top of it. He fumbled with his cred card for a couple of seconds, trying to figure out a proper tip.
Behind him their waiters was standing, by some coincidence he was one of the last to leave, he viewed the proceeding obviously struggling between the desire to get all the customers to leave, so he could leave himself, and the desire to get a tip. Greed won out for now.
Finally he'd chosen a proper sum, ignoring Sarah's call, "Lets go!" He moved his hand with the card over the tip platter the small bundle of coins trembled a little and shifted as his tip was added to the holographic representation. Naturally there was no real coins on the platter, but for the purpose of style the tip jar, or platter, was represented by a holographic display of the days tips; to be divided later on by the waiters. It was just another one of those things that seemed so utterly weird when Sarah had explained it to him.
The moment they left their waiter ran past them, the Fez dropped from his head, he had gotten maybe ten paces away before he notices, patting his head, and then turning it to look. He didn't bother turning back to fetche it, instead he just kept running forward, following the flashing arrows, the last they saw of him he ducked into a nearby alcove that presumably lead to safety.
Sarah and George followed the old UP doctrine: "When in an air raid run towards shelter and away from anything that looks important!"
Despite the sheer size of all the main thoroughfares it was still cramped, the old adage about not taking the elevator in an emergency was promptly ignored; and after a few moments of thought George realised that was probably for the best: There was no way to clear this many floors on foot, at least not before an elevator failure became the least of your worries.
Above each elevator door there were big flashing arrows pointing down, and the doors only opened for long enough to allow the elevator to fill up. Sometimes there'd be a throng at the door, with hints of panic building, and the insistent calls from the intercom "Do not press the elevator, wait for the next elevator!" were sometimes ignored until a handful of uniformed security and militia showed up to form a cordon around the elevators.
Up in the sky the white dots grew in size and multitude, and now long white streaks began to stretch out from the initial whitish red dots. There were long thunderclaps followed by a drone, like an enormous wave breaking continually. Flashes of light erupted around the white dots, and beams of colours stabbed upwards towards the sky that grew ever more opaque; by now the light was visibly dimming so much that here and there the street lights flicked on automatically. The anti-air defences had opened up, and now they were starting to block more and more of the visible light spectrum, just in case the enemy was about to use lasers.
"The stairs," Sarah said.
"Right over there," George bounded towards them.
Most people seemed to ignore the stairs, but even so people were moving two or three men abreast as they ran downwards. Peering down Sarah and George could see the shaft of the stairs stretching downwards almost indefinitely.
"Right, lets go then!" George said gamely, before he leapt over the stair rails!
"NOOOOO!" someone screamed, there was a sound of dozens of feet running towards the rails, staring down at the disaster to follow.
Sarah sighed "Show off!" she muttered, and then to the shock of the crowd she leapt of the edge of the rails as well, easily avoiding the frightened onlookers that tried to hold her back.
BhhHMP-clang was roughly the sound that George made as he struck one of the railings on the way down, or grabbed it rather holding on for just a split second to slow his speed before he let himself fall further down the shaft.
<< You show off! >> Sarah sent to him, a direct radio beam aimed right at her partner.
<< Sorry Ma'am! >> George grinned up at her, flashing a set of white teeth, then he casually reached out to grab another stair rail, only to almost miss and smash into it with his back.
<< And keep your eyes on what you're doing! >> Sarah sighed, men, but at least he had found the fastest way to the bottom.
Pearl Tower
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
A bright flash of light lit up the room, everything turned a bluish-white for a second, outside a glowing ball of light could be seen contracting and fading almost as quickly as it appeared. Then another one came, and another, it was like standing in front of a group of paparazzis firing old fashioned camera flashes. The room was bathed in the light, and faint shadows darted out in three different directions. Two to three seconds later the there was slow DRRRROOOOOOOMMMMMM that made the windows vibrate, then came another, and another.
The lights vanished, and the sky seemed to grow darker, even parts of the city seemed to fade away, like a screen of fog was rising. Pvt Malcolm Dobb could still see the flashes of light up in the sky, like flashbulbs seen from far away, and now the sounds had grown fainter but still audible even inside the tower.
"They've raised the shields," Tod Royle said.
"Yeah..."
More shocks made the windows vibrate, this time as visible lines of white appeared as if out of nowhere, reaching upwards towards the sky.
"We're shooting back."
"I hope we get them."
"GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOWS!" it was a roar like a bull bellowing, which was odd since Sgt Otha Karnas was not all that big; tough and sinewy but he wouldn't have looked out of line in an office, if not for his uniform and nasty attitude. "BATTLE STATIONS! STOP GAWKING!" he yelled, then when they didn't move fast enough for his liking he got up to them and yelled "MOVE MOVE MOVE!"
"Yes Sargeant!" a couple of them shouted, then they ran back towards where the weapons were stored. All that training they had paid off now, they weren't as well oiled as a team of regulars but Sgt Karnas noted with some satisfaction that they didn't bungle either.
Pvt Dobbs grabbed the PILUM, it was an infantry rocket launcher weighing in at 31 lbs, painted green like most military gear, and the exterior of the barrel was octagonal giving it a distinctive appearance. Hoisted it on top of his right shoulder, the PILUM's shoulder pad automatically adjusted itself and established a grip like someone grabbing your shoulder. The optics system flipped down giving him a 3-D display of all the information available to the weapon.
Behind him Pvt Porfirio Cogsdale had already picked up one of the ten pound missiles that lay in a neatly prepared light weight ammo rack. In case they had to bug out he also had a backpack with four IMP (Infantry MultiPurpose) missiles ready to grab and go. More tantalizing there was, in addition to the IMPs that made up most of their ammo, two NIAAM missiles there, to translate into civilian: Nuclear Infantry Anti-Air Missile, variable yield natch.
Cpl Todd Royle had taken up his position as well, grabbing the heavy green binoculars with built in sensors, he was the spotter for the unit and would find and identify enemy units and give a targeting solution. Of course he was standing away from the windows, and holding them away from his eyes.
Pvt Donn Busks' job was perhaps the easiest of all, he grabbed the heavy MP-8 SMG and extended the collapsible stock, then he took up position by the entry to the room just in case enemy soldiers would come storming in. There was a light buzzing sound from his direction as he charged his weapon, then he fumbled for a second with his helmet before the visor came down giving him a HUD (heads up display) with a targeting reticule for the MP-8.
While they were getting ready Sgt Karnas remained in a door opening, his eyes narrowed a bit as he saw the rapidly multiplying flashes of lights, and white lances of smoke streaking towards the sky. Every now and again they could hear a low and distant drone, and once the building shook very slightly; only Karnas felt it, a tiny vibration travelling through the windowsill.
For a few more seconds Dobbs waited, then the little charged legend popped up in his field of vision, "Launcher Charged!" he yelled.
"Loader ready!" Cogsdale said as he crouched a bit ready to grab one of the missiles.
"Spotter standing by," Cpl Royle chimed in, then there was silence, icy silence, only broken by the sounds of dull drones outside.
There was nothing for them to do nothing except to cast sideways glances at the windows, until Sgt Karnas said "Stand fast!" and left. Then they turned their heads entirely at the window, the battle raging outside was a terrific spectacle: dull dots of light appeared regularly, Dobb counted them but stopped when he reached forty, there was just too many of them. Every one of them a nuclear warhead, but so far they seemed to detonate further up, either Sarmatian or UDS AAMs.
Then the first bomb detonated on the city shields, the flash of light was a lot brighter than any they'd seen before, and it was accompanied by a weird aurora borealis effect spreading like ripples from a stone thrown into a pond. Other nukes struck the shields, and the ripples met, creating strange vortexes, swirling patterns, and lighting up brightly so that their faces were bathed in green, white, and purplish light.
The four men in the room couldn't do anything other than watch and wait...
The Green Cup Inn
New Brakenburg
Gateway System
"Nice view," George stirred the coffee cup and peered out over the city, there was a pleasant breeze over the table.
Sarah bobbed her head slightly in agreement, "Yes, it's a nice spot."
The Green Cup In wasn't the only café or shop between the Azure and Opal towers, but it definitely had the best view. Several hundred feet below them they could see the busy street scenes, and the people here were often just as interesting as the architecture. You see it was really between the Azure and Opal towers, located roughly halfway between them, on the overbuilt bridge that connected them. All over the bridge there were shops and cafés, many of them, like the Green Cup jutted out from the bridge itself, partially obscuring the rounded arches of the bridge itself. The Green cup mixed in well with the bridge, you entered the inn by walking through one of the huge windows in the bridge, and into a small intimate café with a row of big open windows; so they could also watch the traffic on the bridge itself.
"It's good," George admitted, the coffee was strong and sweet, and the wait staff were eager to fill his cup each time he emptied it.
"Coffee Effendi," the Turkish waiter asked, he smiled and poured more coffee from the ibrik a strange looking coffee pot that required constant attention from a skilled coffee cook.
For someone from the United Polities it was strange to see such jobs done by humans, a coffee maker in the Turkish tradition; dressed in robes and a fez, tended to the ibriks', making sure that none of them boiled over, and that the ground coffee was perfectly fine. This whole place was so archaic, it was not quite Arabian Nights, but definitely different from the rest of Gateway.
While they sipped their coffee they exchanged glances, there was no place on Gateway where it was entirely safe to speak openly, but Commandoes from the United Polities had other options... like very tight beam low powered radio transmit, scrambled for privacy.
< I don't like this one little bit, this place is like something out of a history book, why are we even supporting these people? > George sent.
< We have our orders > Sarah replied.
< They're living in the middle ages, only with modern technology >
< They are who they are, but however bad they are the UDS are worse, at least as far as we are concerned. >
< Still, that palace was very strange, and the Prince... how did he ever get the position? >
< His father is the King of Talevana >
< Tsh, figures! >
< Listen. As princes go, he's not such a bad guy. There are a lot worse, and many of them got into position by pure merit... you asked why we're here... because better here than one of our worlds. >
< A lot worse? Come on, I heard he killed his own brother! >
< Well if it makes it any better, this world will be rubble soon... and him with it probably > Sarah takes a drink of her coffee
< No that doesn't make it better, I mean I won't weep for him, but this lot here deserves better... >
< Would you rather it was Gamma Colony? Or Tzu-ki? Or Weeping Meadow? Every day the UDS spend bombing these people is one day more for the fleet to be produced, to shake down and to kick their arses in Nexus-A. It's not nice, but it's war. >
< I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like it... > he stared of in the distance as he sipped the coffee.
Suddenly the light from the window began to dim, like a cloud had passed in front of the sun, Sarah broke the silence by asking "Think it'll rain?"
"I'll check," George said, he leaned out of the window, there was not a cloud in sight, but the sky had turned almost opaque, a tint of purplish even. < And so it begins, > he messaged to her.
In the distance they could hear the sirens starting up, a split second later one began where they were sitting, and all the loudspeakers began to repeat the same message, "THIS IS AN AIR RAID! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! PROCEED CALMLY TO YOUR NEAREST SHELTER! FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS OF THE AIR WARDENS AND THE SIGNS!" it was very loud and repeated over and over again with only occasional variations to tell them it was not just a recording.
The two UP Commandoes rose from their seats, in perfect unison they reached into their belt pouches, each pulled out a set of large dark sunglasses, and put them on giving them a little push on the bridge to push them further up the nose. George peered out the window again, dozens of whitish dots had appeared high up in the sky, many of them were surrounded by flashes of light that looked almost like fire. Seconds later the first subdued thunderous sound reached them, a low distant drone like thunder far, far away.
The bridge was being cleared very quickly, large holographic arrows appeared in the air, and the large ad-posters changed into maps showing the crowd how to get to the closest shelter. For the most part they moved very quickly and deliberately, there was no sign of panic, but a lot of noise from people calling out, chatting or trying desperately to grab some precious belonging without having time to secure it first.
In the Green Cup the coffee cooks turned off the fires from the heaters, and heavy shutters appeared, apparently out of nowhere, closing the windows, and leaving the café in gloomy darkness. It hadn't taken more than twenty-thirty seconds, but it was obviously time to leave.
On his way out of the café George stopped by the tip pillar, an pillar maybe six inches in diameter and four feet high, with a wide golden platter on top for leaving tips behind. There appeared to be a nice pile of old fashioned gold and silver coins on top of it. He fumbled with his cred card for a couple of seconds, trying to figure out a proper tip.
Behind him their waiters was standing, by some coincidence he was one of the last to leave, he viewed the proceeding obviously struggling between the desire to get all the customers to leave, so he could leave himself, and the desire to get a tip. Greed won out for now.
Finally he'd chosen a proper sum, ignoring Sarah's call, "Lets go!" He moved his hand with the card over the tip platter the small bundle of coins trembled a little and shifted as his tip was added to the holographic representation. Naturally there was no real coins on the platter, but for the purpose of style the tip jar, or platter, was represented by a holographic display of the days tips; to be divided later on by the waiters. It was just another one of those things that seemed so utterly weird when Sarah had explained it to him.
The moment they left their waiter ran past them, the Fez dropped from his head, he had gotten maybe ten paces away before he notices, patting his head, and then turning it to look. He didn't bother turning back to fetche it, instead he just kept running forward, following the flashing arrows, the last they saw of him he ducked into a nearby alcove that presumably lead to safety.
Sarah and George followed the old UP doctrine: "When in an air raid run towards shelter and away from anything that looks important!"
Despite the sheer size of all the main thoroughfares it was still cramped, the old adage about not taking the elevator in an emergency was promptly ignored; and after a few moments of thought George realised that was probably for the best: There was no way to clear this many floors on foot, at least not before an elevator failure became the least of your worries.
Above each elevator door there were big flashing arrows pointing down, and the doors only opened for long enough to allow the elevator to fill up. Sometimes there'd be a throng at the door, with hints of panic building, and the insistent calls from the intercom "Do not press the elevator, wait for the next elevator!" were sometimes ignored until a handful of uniformed security and militia showed up to form a cordon around the elevators.
Up in the sky the white dots grew in size and multitude, and now long white streaks began to stretch out from the initial whitish red dots. There were long thunderclaps followed by a drone, like an enormous wave breaking continually. Flashes of light erupted around the white dots, and beams of colours stabbed upwards towards the sky that grew ever more opaque; by now the light was visibly dimming so much that here and there the street lights flicked on automatically. The anti-air defences had opened up, and now they were starting to block more and more of the visible light spectrum, just in case the enemy was about to use lasers.
"The stairs," Sarah said.
"Right over there," George bounded towards them.
Most people seemed to ignore the stairs, but even so people were moving two or three men abreast as they ran downwards. Peering down Sarah and George could see the shaft of the stairs stretching downwards almost indefinitely.
"Right, lets go then!" George said gamely, before he leapt over the stair rails!
"NOOOOO!" someone screamed, there was a sound of dozens of feet running towards the rails, staring down at the disaster to follow.
Sarah sighed "Show off!" she muttered, and then to the shock of the crowd she leapt of the edge of the rails as well, easily avoiding the frightened onlookers that tried to hold her back.
BhhHMP-clang was roughly the sound that George made as he struck one of the railings on the way down, or grabbed it rather holding on for just a split second to slow his speed before he let himself fall further down the shaft.
<< You show off! >> Sarah sent to him, a direct radio beam aimed right at her partner.
<< Sorry Ma'am! >> George grinned up at her, flashing a set of white teeth, then he casually reached out to grab another stair rail, only to almost miss and smash into it with his back.
<< And keep your eyes on what you're doing! >> Sarah sighed, men, but at least he had found the fastest way to the bottom.
Pearl Tower
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
A bright flash of light lit up the room, everything turned a bluish-white for a second, outside a glowing ball of light could be seen contracting and fading almost as quickly as it appeared. Then another one came, and another, it was like standing in front of a group of paparazzis firing old fashioned camera flashes. The room was bathed in the light, and faint shadows darted out in three different directions. Two to three seconds later the there was slow DRRRROOOOOOOMMMMMM that made the windows vibrate, then came another, and another.
The lights vanished, and the sky seemed to grow darker, even parts of the city seemed to fade away, like a screen of fog was rising. Pvt Malcolm Dobb could still see the flashes of light up in the sky, like flashbulbs seen from far away, and now the sounds had grown fainter but still audible even inside the tower.
"They've raised the shields," Tod Royle said.
"Yeah..."
More shocks made the windows vibrate, this time as visible lines of white appeared as if out of nowhere, reaching upwards towards the sky.
"We're shooting back."
"I hope we get them."
"GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOWS!" it was a roar like a bull bellowing, which was odd since Sgt Otha Karnas was not all that big; tough and sinewy but he wouldn't have looked out of line in an office, if not for his uniform and nasty attitude. "BATTLE STATIONS! STOP GAWKING!" he yelled, then when they didn't move fast enough for his liking he got up to them and yelled "MOVE MOVE MOVE!"
"Yes Sargeant!" a couple of them shouted, then they ran back towards where the weapons were stored. All that training they had paid off now, they weren't as well oiled as a team of regulars but Sgt Karnas noted with some satisfaction that they didn't bungle either.
Pvt Dobbs grabbed the PILUM, it was an infantry rocket launcher weighing in at 31 lbs, painted green like most military gear, and the exterior of the barrel was octagonal giving it a distinctive appearance. Hoisted it on top of his right shoulder, the PILUM's shoulder pad automatically adjusted itself and established a grip like someone grabbing your shoulder. The optics system flipped down giving him a 3-D display of all the information available to the weapon.
Behind him Pvt Porfirio Cogsdale had already picked up one of the ten pound missiles that lay in a neatly prepared light weight ammo rack. In case they had to bug out he also had a backpack with four IMP (Infantry MultiPurpose) missiles ready to grab and go. More tantalizing there was, in addition to the IMPs that made up most of their ammo, two NIAAM missiles there, to translate into civilian: Nuclear Infantry Anti-Air Missile, variable yield natch.
Cpl Todd Royle had taken up his position as well, grabbing the heavy green binoculars with built in sensors, he was the spotter for the unit and would find and identify enemy units and give a targeting solution. Of course he was standing away from the windows, and holding them away from his eyes.
Pvt Donn Busks' job was perhaps the easiest of all, he grabbed the heavy MP-8 SMG and extended the collapsible stock, then he took up position by the entry to the room just in case enemy soldiers would come storming in. There was a light buzzing sound from his direction as he charged his weapon, then he fumbled for a second with his helmet before the visor came down giving him a HUD (heads up display) with a targeting reticule for the MP-8.
While they were getting ready Sgt Karnas remained in a door opening, his eyes narrowed a bit as he saw the rapidly multiplying flashes of lights, and white lances of smoke streaking towards the sky. Every now and again they could hear a low and distant drone, and once the building shook very slightly; only Karnas felt it, a tiny vibration travelling through the windowsill.
For a few more seconds Dobbs waited, then the little charged legend popped up in his field of vision, "Launcher Charged!" he yelled.
"Loader ready!" Cogsdale said as he crouched a bit ready to grab one of the missiles.
"Spotter standing by," Cpl Royle chimed in, then there was silence, icy silence, only broken by the sounds of dull drones outside.
There was nothing for them to do nothing except to cast sideways glances at the windows, until Sgt Karnas said "Stand fast!" and left. Then they turned their heads entirely at the window, the battle raging outside was a terrific spectacle: dull dots of light appeared regularly, Dobb counted them but stopped when he reached forty, there was just too many of them. Every one of them a nuclear warhead, but so far they seemed to detonate further up, either Sarmatian or UDS AAMs.
Then the first bomb detonated on the city shields, the flash of light was a lot brighter than any they'd seen before, and it was accompanied by a weird aurora borealis effect spreading like ripples from a stone thrown into a pond. Other nukes struck the shields, and the ripples met, creating strange vortexes, swirling patterns, and lighting up brightly so that their faces were bathed in green, white, and purplish light.
The four men in the room couldn't do anything other than watch and wait...
Last edited by Norseman on 2006-06-19 05:35pm, edited 1 time in total.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Chapter IV - First Strike - Countryside
DAY 2
Village of Mikaelsbruck
Alvania Province
Northern Continental Mass
Gateway
It was cold in Mikaelsbruck, and the sky were grey with rain clouds, it wasn't raining now, but peals of water dripped from the branches of the trees. Mikaelsbruck was on the edge of a small forest, with vast farmlands stretching around both, even now automated harvesters tended the seemingly endless fields. The villagers themselves however were generally indoors, the alarm went off a few minutes ago, and they were now huddled in their basements or in one of the two shelters buried a hundred feet beneath the village.
Out on the fields there was only a single vehicle that was moving towards the village, a large six wheeled car of the kind very popular among farmers. It forded ditches, and drove through the furrows of the fields like they weren't even there; inside the car Vincent Rennes regretted his tardiness... despite the shock absorbers he could feel every ditch, and the car seemed to lurch around like a small skip on the sea.
In the side seat Claudia Leichter, his girlfriend, was practically in tears "Come on faster! God! Faster! Dad will KILL ME if we don't get there soon!"
"Don't worry we'll get there in five minutes," Vincent tried to assure her, but even in the fifth gear they were scarcely doing more than forty miles an hour.
"Mary, Mary Magdalen..." Claudia began out loud, then she went more quiet muttering under her breath, grasping onto the handrails as tightly as she could as the car lurched even harder.
"Relax we..."
He didn't get any further, somewhere there was a loud thunder, and he saw flashing lights in the sky, a burning sensation in the back of his head, and then... everything lurched madly and flew in every direction; the ground was upside down and he could see a mound rushing towards them. Then everything went black.
...
Her eyelids began to flutter, then she opened them to see a blur, slowly things drifted back into focus, sort of... Colours were faded, everything seemed to float uneasily, and her arm hurt, actually her entire body hurt. Then she threw up, there wasn't much left in her stomach though, so soon only bile came out, it ran down the side of her face, slowly dripping downwards, towards the right... she blinked... no the right of the car was down, it was sideways.
She didn't want to turn her head left, towards the drivers side, but she had to see if Vincent was alright. He just hung there, motion less, kept in place only by the seatbelt, his head hung so it looked like he was looking down at her.
"Help me Vincent," she asked, when there was no reply she stretched her hand out and touched him, nothing, though he was warm. She pushed his head up a bit, but when she removed her hand his head lurched forward again.
No, no, no he's hurt, please St Barbara intercede for him... she struggled with the car belt. When it finally came off she let out a yelp as she lurched free, twisting slightly as part of the seat wrapped around her right arm, then with a low thud she struck the rear door of the car. Shocks of pained travelled up her shoulder, and she lay there shivering for a while, in pain and cold, before she realised she had to move both for her own sake, but also for Vincent.
Awkwardly she tried to climb up, but it was too high, and her arm hurt; she grabbed onto Vincents' seat and pulled herself two feet up before she had to let go and fell down again. Her feet landed on the passenger side window, pushing it outwards, and forming myriad cracks around the soles of her shoes.
"Oh God," she shook her head and muttered to herself, reciting saints, what am I supposed to do? Finally she thought she had it and laid down on her back, kicking with both feet against the front window, the first couple of kicks just sent shocks through her body; but the third made the window give way and buckle a bit, the fourth made it pop out slightly, and then the fifth sent it out skittering against the hood of the car and then tumbling over onto the ground.
She scurried out, not bothering to stand up before she'd cleared the car, not noticing how her knees and hands got wet and dirty from the soil; then she turned towards Vincent. What she saw shocked her... the horizon behind her seemed to be glowing a faint red, and in the distance she could see a huge fire burning so high hot that she could feel the waves of heat from it even where she stood.
Grimsburg Airbase
Near Mikaelsbruck
Alvania Province
Northern Continental Mass
Gateway
The Corsair aerospace fighters howled as they made their attack run, four missiles clung to each wing, all around them conventional and nuclear explosions flashed off. At the supersonic speeds they were travelling at even nuclear missiles had a hard time killing them, but every now again one of the fighters in the formations would flash out of existence reduced to nothing more than glowing metal confetti.
The airbase itself was huge, but even a base that was over two hundred miles in diameter (if you count the defensive AAA emplacements around it) flashed by so fast that you might as well forget about aiming by eyesight. Even in the early stages of the battle there were multiple force domes over the airbase, each of them glowing as they tried to shed energy.
All over the airbase more fighters were scrambling to join those already in the air, but though manoeuvrable these air fighters often lacked the sheer speed of the UDS models. The sleek high powered Tempest interceptors were the only ones to compete on speed, they arched up in a near vertical trajectory to intercept the enemy fighters. Meanwhile the slower but more manoeuvrable Phantom fighters were also scrambling, manoeuvring madly to avoid the suppressing fire from the approaching Corsairs.
A group of twelve Corsairs dashed down towards the enemy fighters, twin X-ray lasers blazing away at long distance, tearing a path through the swarms of approaching aircraft. The approaching group of twenty Tempest interceptors had spread out to minimize damage from nuclear attacks, and they were closing rapidly.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
With a thought Lt "Mad Cat" Tallman released two of his AAFM-55 missiles, they accelerated at a terrific pace striking their target a second later. There was a flash of white light, and then two of the enemy interceptors began to plummet towards the ground, another one shook from the blast, and a chunk of its wing had vanished but it continued to draw nearer.
To his left there was another flash of light, this time from one of the people in his unit. A heavy laser beam struck one of the Corsairs, vaporizing a large chunk of the aerospace fighter so fast that it looked like it had exploded.
"Blue 4 bypass and d-tac"
"Wilco!"
The Corsair began a series of evasive actions as it dove towards the ground, avoiding the Tempest interceptors; the high powered neural links of the Corsair made it into an extension of "Mad Cats" own body. Unfortunately the Tempests had similar systems, and to his right another one of his flight mates was killed in a nuclear blast.
AAA Station
Sergeant-Major Wests' AAA position had an independent shield protecting it and the heavy laser cannon from enemy fire, but by now the shield was glowing in a threatening way from the multiple near hits by enemy bombs. The cooling fins of the laser cannon were growing warm, the men closest to them were sweating heavily as the heat quickly increased with each second that the gun pumped out more energy at the enemy.
For SGM West the waiting was the worst, on the sensor scope he could see the enemy craft drawing nearer, but their light nuclear missiles were only high Kt range at most; it was the bombers that would inevitably follow that truly worried him.
Suddenly there was a scream, and one of the soldiers lurched away from the cooling fins, his hand looked red and raw, already blisters were rising from it; "STAY AWAY FROM THE COOLING FINS!" SGM West roared, but he didn't have time to see the medic take the klutz away, instead his attention reverted to running the battery.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
"Mad Cat" Tallman knew two things, first was that he was dead if any of those continuous beam lasers touched him; a pulse laser was bad enough but a multi-gigawatt continual beam laser brushing over the skin of an aerospace fighter will cause damage. He knew another thing though, and that was that in order for the Sarmatians to be able to shoot out of it, they'd have to be using a frequency based shield; so he made his twin X-ray lasers randomly cycle through frequencies in a somewhat vain hope that he'd hit on the one that the AAA battery was using.
AAA Station
A part of the concrete field exploded like it had been struck by a shell, a cloud of greyish dust rose up, and the air grew a little worse. Then it happened again in a different place, a glancing hit against asphalt making it explode, sending molten patches of the stuff splattering against the laser gun itself; but also hitting some of the crew. Every time that one of the enemy X-ray lasers punched through the shield, happening to hit upon the right frequency, the energy output was so high that asphalt and concrete would be partially vaporized and explode.
"JESUS AND MARY!" someone screamed, SGM West ruefully noted that they prayed harder here than they ever had in Church.
"WE got one!" he yelled to encourage his men, in truth it wasn't quite certain which team had gotten the Corsair, but one of the damned UDS fighters exploded and vanished into thin air.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
There had been twenty fighters in his flight when this attack started, but he'd seen them go down 20... 18... 17... 14... the defences around this field were hellishly tough; and the fact that they had killed three or four times that number in aircraft didn't really cheer him up. Like most AeroSpace fighter pilots Tallman saw aircraft as cheap baubles, like the scooter he had when he was 14, before he was finally able to get a proper motorcycle.
The VR display zoomed in on one of the AAA mounts, it was marked by a big flashing red triangle and a big flashing red circle, in other words. a high danger high priority target. The X-ray lasers were on full automatic, and he ignored the slightly elevated heat signature, in the pandemonium in the air he didn't think IR was the biggest threat.
Then for a split second Lady Luck smiled on him, he hit on the right frequency and the full energy of both his X-ray lasers poured right into the gun mount; he didn't actually see them penetrate, though it was recorded by the flight cam, but he did see the effect: The laser AAA mount seemed to part melt and part explode, with the crew being flung around like little rag dolls.
The shield stayed up though, probably independent of the gun, but with the gun down and destroyed the shield was just a minor nuisance.
"Got you!"
AAA Station
SGM West would no doubt have been seriously upset to see his artillery mount destroyed, but he was killed almost at once. The heat and energy was such that many of the crew had their stomachs boiled, though they were dead when their distended guts burst letting the lengths of intestine pour out like twisting steaming maggots.
It was like something out of Dante's inferno, men were screaming, bits of asphalt were boiling like in the pitts of hell, and one unfortunate man had his arm part dipped into this mixture while he screamed for God, mother, the saints, and a medic.
Airfield
After the initial onslaught of the corsairs there was a brief moment of respite, perhaps as a result of poor co-ordination on the UDS part; perhaps because things sometimes just don't work out. At any rate they managed to launch some more interceptors, though many of them were cut down moments after take off; there's no time that a fighter of any sort is more vulnerable than at landing or take off and the Tempests and Phantoms were no different.
All over the airfield shields there were flashes of AAFM-55s as the Corsairs tried to suppress the fighter cover of the airfield; with some success as a steady rain of shattered aircraft fell down upon the shields bounced a bit, and then slid downwards on the heavy domes. In some cases, like one Tempest that was stopped but remained remarkably intact they were trapped in the valleys between two or more shields; appearing oddly like unmoving floating aircraft hovering among the aurora borealis of the shields.
Then the Avengers arrived, the UDS hadn't dedicated heavier bombers to this airbase, not yet, that would come later; now however the Avengers were quite enough. Each of them carried four 20 000 pound missiles with a very short range but heavy acceleration, some of them were bus-missiles carrying scores of tiny AAFM-54s, while others carried nuclear cluster munitions.
The effect over the sky was quite horrific, the airbase was pounded without mercy, the air itself seemed to glow, and the grass and fields around the airbase caught fire; the flash of explosives made even the wet forests ignite sending huge plumes of black smoke up against the sky. Here and there parts of the shielding began to fail, and almost at once those areas ceased to exist; huge craters appeared, some of them filled with molten mass, and the buildings inside the airfield shuddered as deep penetrator nuclear missiles dug deep before exploding in an attempt to undermine the base.
Then after what seemed an eternity, but in reality was only ten minutes, the attack ceased...
Village of Mikaelsbruck
Two figures could be seen moving across the fields, silhouetted against the blazing fires behind them, one smaller figure seemed to be supporting or carrying a larger one. It was hard to make out the details though in the smoke, and with what appeared to be rain clouds forming above; they were black and seemed oddly ominous.
The guard, a potbellied tradesman from the village, clutched his militia issue rifle and called out "Who is it?" then embarrassed he tried the official line "Militia! Identify yourself!"
The smaller figure seemed to look up, then hoarsely it shouted "HELP! HELP!"
"Who goes?" the potbellied guard shouted again.
Now his collegue, a somewhat more alert fellow, jostled him, "It's Janets Claudia!" Without concern for propriety he bounded away, leaving the potbellied fellow behind.
Claudia was in a bad way, her face was covered by tears and sweat, and she looked like she was about to throw up, but somehow she had managed to carry Vincent all the way to the village. It looked very odd, a tiny young woman carrying a big man, both of them were soaking wet, and worse; Claudia's entire lower body was covered in mud from when she stumbled into a drainage ditch, Vincent had apparently been dragged through that mud and it showed.
"He's unconscious, help please!" Claudia begged, then she coughed the first time.
From the village they could hear someone shouting, "This is not regulation! Nicholson get back here, you're supposed to identify them!"
"Damn it!" the man identified as Nicholson shouted, "Jackie! It's Claudia and Vincnet! For God's sake call Doctor Mathews!"
Somehow they managed to get Claudia to let go of Vincent, not an easy task as she clutched onto him with that hysterical strength that people sometimes get in times of great emergency.
"For heavens sake let go of him!" Nicholson pleaded, he pulled at Vincents oddly quiet shape, he felt clammy but that could be the mud.
"No! Help!" Claudia yelled, before finally realising she was being helped she let go and let the militia men take her to the nearest shelter.
They ran down the concrete stairs, two, three, four floors down, and then down a long corridor lit by cheap LED strips lining the roof. Finally they reached the thick concrete and steel door, Claudia started pounding it madly, ignoring the fact that it had to be too thick for anyone inside to hear.
Nicholson used the intercom and began to argue with the people inside, most of them were not too keen on opening the door. Even after they agreed it took a while, the massive steel shutters had been closed, and the metal handles around the door to help lock it in place. After a minute or so the three feet thick door finally swung open for just long enough to allow Claudia and Vincent to enter.
The shelter was filled by frightened looking people, despite the warnings many of them had big bags, ostensibly stuffed with clothes and supplies, but in reality many of them were filled with their valuables and items with affectionate value. Some of them looked sympathetic, others seemed upset that Claudia had been let in after the doors were closed, but it was a small community and it was hard to refuse to open if someone in need was knocking.
"Dr Mathews! Where's Dr Mathews?" Nicholson called out while he walked forward, carrying Vincent with him, and trying to ignore Claudia picking up the cry.
A woman extended her hand to point, "Over there," she said, she seemed vaguely unsettled as if she wasn't quite sure what had been asked.
Dr Mathews had set up a small surgery in the back, not much but there was a proper operating table and a couple of beds, all of them completely clean and unused. The air was however filled with the scent of disinfectants, and the low bip bip sounds of vaguely medical looking electronics.
"Put him over there!" Dr Mathews said at once, pointing at the operating table, he grabbed his stethoscope and a handheld medscanner.
"Right doc," Nicholson said, with the help of the nurse on duty, a big tough farm woman, he lifted Vincent up and laid him on the table with a light thud.
"Well let me have a look," Dr Mathews said, he applied the stethoscope and the medscanner, listening for a heart beat and respiration, and measuring body temperature. After two seconds there was a frown, after five he pulled the medscanner away and shook his head, "I'm sorry but..."
Claudia didn't seem to understand at first, "No! He's alive! He's fine!" she ran over to him, "He's still warm!" she screamed.
"He's dead, I'm sorry but..."
"NO!" Claudia pushed open his mouth and began to give mouth to mouth, or trying to, her whole body shook, "DO SOMETHING!"
"There's nothing to be done... please," Dr Mathews tried to comfort her.
"Ah no," Nicholson leaned against the wall, looking up into the air, he closed his eyes for a moment, what a waste as he heard the doctor slowly calming Claudia down.
Village of Mikaelsbruck
Alvania Province
Northern Continental Mass
Gateway
It was cold in Mikaelsbruck, and the sky were grey with rain clouds, it wasn't raining now, but peals of water dripped from the branches of the trees. Mikaelsbruck was on the edge of a small forest, with vast farmlands stretching around both, even now automated harvesters tended the seemingly endless fields. The villagers themselves however were generally indoors, the alarm went off a few minutes ago, and they were now huddled in their basements or in one of the two shelters buried a hundred feet beneath the village.
Out on the fields there was only a single vehicle that was moving towards the village, a large six wheeled car of the kind very popular among farmers. It forded ditches, and drove through the furrows of the fields like they weren't even there; inside the car Vincent Rennes regretted his tardiness... despite the shock absorbers he could feel every ditch, and the car seemed to lurch around like a small skip on the sea.
In the side seat Claudia Leichter, his girlfriend, was practically in tears "Come on faster! God! Faster! Dad will KILL ME if we don't get there soon!"
"Don't worry we'll get there in five minutes," Vincent tried to assure her, but even in the fifth gear they were scarcely doing more than forty miles an hour.
"Mary, Mary Magdalen..." Claudia began out loud, then she went more quiet muttering under her breath, grasping onto the handrails as tightly as she could as the car lurched even harder.
"Relax we..."
He didn't get any further, somewhere there was a loud thunder, and he saw flashing lights in the sky, a burning sensation in the back of his head, and then... everything lurched madly and flew in every direction; the ground was upside down and he could see a mound rushing towards them. Then everything went black.
...
Her eyelids began to flutter, then she opened them to see a blur, slowly things drifted back into focus, sort of... Colours were faded, everything seemed to float uneasily, and her arm hurt, actually her entire body hurt. Then she threw up, there wasn't much left in her stomach though, so soon only bile came out, it ran down the side of her face, slowly dripping downwards, towards the right... she blinked... no the right of the car was down, it was sideways.
She didn't want to turn her head left, towards the drivers side, but she had to see if Vincent was alright. He just hung there, motion less, kept in place only by the seatbelt, his head hung so it looked like he was looking down at her.
"Help me Vincent," she asked, when there was no reply she stretched her hand out and touched him, nothing, though he was warm. She pushed his head up a bit, but when she removed her hand his head lurched forward again.
No, no, no he's hurt, please St Barbara intercede for him... she struggled with the car belt. When it finally came off she let out a yelp as she lurched free, twisting slightly as part of the seat wrapped around her right arm, then with a low thud she struck the rear door of the car. Shocks of pained travelled up her shoulder, and she lay there shivering for a while, in pain and cold, before she realised she had to move both for her own sake, but also for Vincent.
Awkwardly she tried to climb up, but it was too high, and her arm hurt; she grabbed onto Vincents' seat and pulled herself two feet up before she had to let go and fell down again. Her feet landed on the passenger side window, pushing it outwards, and forming myriad cracks around the soles of her shoes.
"Oh God," she shook her head and muttered to herself, reciting saints, what am I supposed to do? Finally she thought she had it and laid down on her back, kicking with both feet against the front window, the first couple of kicks just sent shocks through her body; but the third made the window give way and buckle a bit, the fourth made it pop out slightly, and then the fifth sent it out skittering against the hood of the car and then tumbling over onto the ground.
She scurried out, not bothering to stand up before she'd cleared the car, not noticing how her knees and hands got wet and dirty from the soil; then she turned towards Vincent. What she saw shocked her... the horizon behind her seemed to be glowing a faint red, and in the distance she could see a huge fire burning so high hot that she could feel the waves of heat from it even where she stood.
Grimsburg Airbase
Near Mikaelsbruck
Alvania Province
Northern Continental Mass
Gateway
The Corsair aerospace fighters howled as they made their attack run, four missiles clung to each wing, all around them conventional and nuclear explosions flashed off. At the supersonic speeds they were travelling at even nuclear missiles had a hard time killing them, but every now again one of the fighters in the formations would flash out of existence reduced to nothing more than glowing metal confetti.
The airbase itself was huge, but even a base that was over two hundred miles in diameter (if you count the defensive AAA emplacements around it) flashed by so fast that you might as well forget about aiming by eyesight. Even in the early stages of the battle there were multiple force domes over the airbase, each of them glowing as they tried to shed energy.
All over the airbase more fighters were scrambling to join those already in the air, but though manoeuvrable these air fighters often lacked the sheer speed of the UDS models. The sleek high powered Tempest interceptors were the only ones to compete on speed, they arched up in a near vertical trajectory to intercept the enemy fighters. Meanwhile the slower but more manoeuvrable Phantom fighters were also scrambling, manoeuvring madly to avoid the suppressing fire from the approaching Corsairs.
A group of twelve Corsairs dashed down towards the enemy fighters, twin X-ray lasers blazing away at long distance, tearing a path through the swarms of approaching aircraft. The approaching group of twenty Tempest interceptors had spread out to minimize damage from nuclear attacks, and they were closing rapidly.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
With a thought Lt "Mad Cat" Tallman released two of his AAFM-55 missiles, they accelerated at a terrific pace striking their target a second later. There was a flash of white light, and then two of the enemy interceptors began to plummet towards the ground, another one shook from the blast, and a chunk of its wing had vanished but it continued to draw nearer.
To his left there was another flash of light, this time from one of the people in his unit. A heavy laser beam struck one of the Corsairs, vaporizing a large chunk of the aerospace fighter so fast that it looked like it had exploded.
"Blue 4 bypass and d-tac"
"Wilco!"
The Corsair began a series of evasive actions as it dove towards the ground, avoiding the Tempest interceptors; the high powered neural links of the Corsair made it into an extension of "Mad Cats" own body. Unfortunately the Tempests had similar systems, and to his right another one of his flight mates was killed in a nuclear blast.
AAA Station
Sergeant-Major Wests' AAA position had an independent shield protecting it and the heavy laser cannon from enemy fire, but by now the shield was glowing in a threatening way from the multiple near hits by enemy bombs. The cooling fins of the laser cannon were growing warm, the men closest to them were sweating heavily as the heat quickly increased with each second that the gun pumped out more energy at the enemy.
For SGM West the waiting was the worst, on the sensor scope he could see the enemy craft drawing nearer, but their light nuclear missiles were only high Kt range at most; it was the bombers that would inevitably follow that truly worried him.
Suddenly there was a scream, and one of the soldiers lurched away from the cooling fins, his hand looked red and raw, already blisters were rising from it; "STAY AWAY FROM THE COOLING FINS!" SGM West roared, but he didn't have time to see the medic take the klutz away, instead his attention reverted to running the battery.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
"Mad Cat" Tallman knew two things, first was that he was dead if any of those continuous beam lasers touched him; a pulse laser was bad enough but a multi-gigawatt continual beam laser brushing over the skin of an aerospace fighter will cause damage. He knew another thing though, and that was that in order for the Sarmatians to be able to shoot out of it, they'd have to be using a frequency based shield; so he made his twin X-ray lasers randomly cycle through frequencies in a somewhat vain hope that he'd hit on the one that the AAA battery was using.
AAA Station
A part of the concrete field exploded like it had been struck by a shell, a cloud of greyish dust rose up, and the air grew a little worse. Then it happened again in a different place, a glancing hit against asphalt making it explode, sending molten patches of the stuff splattering against the laser gun itself; but also hitting some of the crew. Every time that one of the enemy X-ray lasers punched through the shield, happening to hit upon the right frequency, the energy output was so high that asphalt and concrete would be partially vaporized and explode.
"JESUS AND MARY!" someone screamed, SGM West ruefully noted that they prayed harder here than they ever had in Church.
"WE got one!" he yelled to encourage his men, in truth it wasn't quite certain which team had gotten the Corsair, but one of the damned UDS fighters exploded and vanished into thin air.
Callsign "Mad Cat"
There had been twenty fighters in his flight when this attack started, but he'd seen them go down 20... 18... 17... 14... the defences around this field were hellishly tough; and the fact that they had killed three or four times that number in aircraft didn't really cheer him up. Like most AeroSpace fighter pilots Tallman saw aircraft as cheap baubles, like the scooter he had when he was 14, before he was finally able to get a proper motorcycle.
The VR display zoomed in on one of the AAA mounts, it was marked by a big flashing red triangle and a big flashing red circle, in other words. a high danger high priority target. The X-ray lasers were on full automatic, and he ignored the slightly elevated heat signature, in the pandemonium in the air he didn't think IR was the biggest threat.
Then for a split second Lady Luck smiled on him, he hit on the right frequency and the full energy of both his X-ray lasers poured right into the gun mount; he didn't actually see them penetrate, though it was recorded by the flight cam, but he did see the effect: The laser AAA mount seemed to part melt and part explode, with the crew being flung around like little rag dolls.
The shield stayed up though, probably independent of the gun, but with the gun down and destroyed the shield was just a minor nuisance.
"Got you!"
AAA Station
SGM West would no doubt have been seriously upset to see his artillery mount destroyed, but he was killed almost at once. The heat and energy was such that many of the crew had their stomachs boiled, though they were dead when their distended guts burst letting the lengths of intestine pour out like twisting steaming maggots.
It was like something out of Dante's inferno, men were screaming, bits of asphalt were boiling like in the pitts of hell, and one unfortunate man had his arm part dipped into this mixture while he screamed for God, mother, the saints, and a medic.
Airfield
After the initial onslaught of the corsairs there was a brief moment of respite, perhaps as a result of poor co-ordination on the UDS part; perhaps because things sometimes just don't work out. At any rate they managed to launch some more interceptors, though many of them were cut down moments after take off; there's no time that a fighter of any sort is more vulnerable than at landing or take off and the Tempests and Phantoms were no different.
All over the airfield shields there were flashes of AAFM-55s as the Corsairs tried to suppress the fighter cover of the airfield; with some success as a steady rain of shattered aircraft fell down upon the shields bounced a bit, and then slid downwards on the heavy domes. In some cases, like one Tempest that was stopped but remained remarkably intact they were trapped in the valleys between two or more shields; appearing oddly like unmoving floating aircraft hovering among the aurora borealis of the shields.
Then the Avengers arrived, the UDS hadn't dedicated heavier bombers to this airbase, not yet, that would come later; now however the Avengers were quite enough. Each of them carried four 20 000 pound missiles with a very short range but heavy acceleration, some of them were bus-missiles carrying scores of tiny AAFM-54s, while others carried nuclear cluster munitions.
The effect over the sky was quite horrific, the airbase was pounded without mercy, the air itself seemed to glow, and the grass and fields around the airbase caught fire; the flash of explosives made even the wet forests ignite sending huge plumes of black smoke up against the sky. Here and there parts of the shielding began to fail, and almost at once those areas ceased to exist; huge craters appeared, some of them filled with molten mass, and the buildings inside the airfield shuddered as deep penetrator nuclear missiles dug deep before exploding in an attempt to undermine the base.
Then after what seemed an eternity, but in reality was only ten minutes, the attack ceased...
Village of Mikaelsbruck
Two figures could be seen moving across the fields, silhouetted against the blazing fires behind them, one smaller figure seemed to be supporting or carrying a larger one. It was hard to make out the details though in the smoke, and with what appeared to be rain clouds forming above; they were black and seemed oddly ominous.
The guard, a potbellied tradesman from the village, clutched his militia issue rifle and called out "Who is it?" then embarrassed he tried the official line "Militia! Identify yourself!"
The smaller figure seemed to look up, then hoarsely it shouted "HELP! HELP!"
"Who goes?" the potbellied guard shouted again.
Now his collegue, a somewhat more alert fellow, jostled him, "It's Janets Claudia!" Without concern for propriety he bounded away, leaving the potbellied fellow behind.
Claudia was in a bad way, her face was covered by tears and sweat, and she looked like she was about to throw up, but somehow she had managed to carry Vincent all the way to the village. It looked very odd, a tiny young woman carrying a big man, both of them were soaking wet, and worse; Claudia's entire lower body was covered in mud from when she stumbled into a drainage ditch, Vincent had apparently been dragged through that mud and it showed.
"He's unconscious, help please!" Claudia begged, then she coughed the first time.
From the village they could hear someone shouting, "This is not regulation! Nicholson get back here, you're supposed to identify them!"
"Damn it!" the man identified as Nicholson shouted, "Jackie! It's Claudia and Vincnet! For God's sake call Doctor Mathews!"
Somehow they managed to get Claudia to let go of Vincent, not an easy task as she clutched onto him with that hysterical strength that people sometimes get in times of great emergency.
"For heavens sake let go of him!" Nicholson pleaded, he pulled at Vincents oddly quiet shape, he felt clammy but that could be the mud.
"No! Help!" Claudia yelled, before finally realising she was being helped she let go and let the militia men take her to the nearest shelter.
They ran down the concrete stairs, two, three, four floors down, and then down a long corridor lit by cheap LED strips lining the roof. Finally they reached the thick concrete and steel door, Claudia started pounding it madly, ignoring the fact that it had to be too thick for anyone inside to hear.
Nicholson used the intercom and began to argue with the people inside, most of them were not too keen on opening the door. Even after they agreed it took a while, the massive steel shutters had been closed, and the metal handles around the door to help lock it in place. After a minute or so the three feet thick door finally swung open for just long enough to allow Claudia and Vincent to enter.
The shelter was filled by frightened looking people, despite the warnings many of them had big bags, ostensibly stuffed with clothes and supplies, but in reality many of them were filled with their valuables and items with affectionate value. Some of them looked sympathetic, others seemed upset that Claudia had been let in after the doors were closed, but it was a small community and it was hard to refuse to open if someone in need was knocking.
"Dr Mathews! Where's Dr Mathews?" Nicholson called out while he walked forward, carrying Vincent with him, and trying to ignore Claudia picking up the cry.
A woman extended her hand to point, "Over there," she said, she seemed vaguely unsettled as if she wasn't quite sure what had been asked.
Dr Mathews had set up a small surgery in the back, not much but there was a proper operating table and a couple of beds, all of them completely clean and unused. The air was however filled with the scent of disinfectants, and the low bip bip sounds of vaguely medical looking electronics.
"Put him over there!" Dr Mathews said at once, pointing at the operating table, he grabbed his stethoscope and a handheld medscanner.
"Right doc," Nicholson said, with the help of the nurse on duty, a big tough farm woman, he lifted Vincent up and laid him on the table with a light thud.
"Well let me have a look," Dr Mathews said, he applied the stethoscope and the medscanner, listening for a heart beat and respiration, and measuring body temperature. After two seconds there was a frown, after five he pulled the medscanner away and shook his head, "I'm sorry but..."
Claudia didn't seem to understand at first, "No! He's alive! He's fine!" she ran over to him, "He's still warm!" she screamed.
"He's dead, I'm sorry but..."
"NO!" Claudia pushed open his mouth and began to give mouth to mouth, or trying to, her whole body shook, "DO SOMETHING!"
"There's nothing to be done... please," Dr Mathews tried to comfort her.
"Ah no," Nicholson leaned against the wall, looking up into the air, he closed his eyes for a moment, what a waste as he heard the doctor slowly calming Claudia down.
Norseman's Fics the SD archive of my fics.
Chapter V - Interlude
DAY 4
The War Room
Prince Alexanders Palace
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
The room seemed so empty, compared to how crowded it had been only a few days ago, but the Prince and his advisors were still there guiding the progress of the war. A huge holographic globe was floating in the centre of the room, every couple of minutes a small banner would pop up pointing at some part or other of the world with news of an air raid, orbital bombardment, or some catastrophe or other.
That however was not the greatest worry, the main attacks on the planet had faltered after 48 hours; instead the enemy was concentrating on establishing a blockade. Around the globe floating in the centre of the room there were thousands of tiny spots coloured green or red, green for friendly forces, red for the UDS.
The Green forces were all clustered together around certain high powered space stations, and at LaGrange points where the sheer mass of orbital infrastructure would make a direct attack prohibitively expensive.
The Red forces on the other hand were spreading out around the world like an enormous swarm of flies flittering around some placid beast; blocking every avenue of approach so that no one would get in or out. There was not much doubt about what would come next, they would swoop down on Gateway like an enormous swarm of mosquitoes seeking to suck you dry.
Prince Alexander fought the urge to rub his palms against his face, he was feeling tired, for the past twelve hours they had watched the red dots spread further and further out. "Is there no chance of a successful sortie?"
"No Highness, the enemy retains multiple smaller squadrons that can very rapidly rejoin to counter any sortie or breakout attempt," Rear-Admiral Gerard deFaun answered, "There's a small chance a breakout could succeed, but only with heavy losses."
"That means the fleet abandoning Gateway," Prince Alexander said.
"Yes Highness."
"Would they be able to reach an allied port?"
"Possibly Highness."
There was a moment of hesitation, then Alexander concluded "Then we'll continue the original plan, I take it your little surprise is ready?"
"Yes Highness," Rear-Admiral deFaun looked quite satisfied with himself, "the moment they begin landings in earnest Operation Scarlet Ribbon will commence."
Grigor de Faun Orbital Aerospace Base
Gateway Orbit
The space station was silent, the Lance fighters still lined the shuttle bay, as they had for the last five days. Missiles still hung in enormous clusters beneath the wings and belly of the fighters, and every waste tube and cable had been moved out of the way. They were like race horses ready to go, except that the warning had been given once already, and nothing...
For those pilots inside the fighters the wait was a terrible ordeal, though they could and did use VR to distract themselves they had still been strapped down for several days now; and even VR and modern cleaning couldn't remove the slight aching of muscles, the oversensitive feel of the flight suit brushing against skin.
Lt "Zeke" Hartenstein was in deep VR, he had tried some of the more risqué VR programs around, but he felt oddly unsatisfied and guilty about them; instead he was now trying to play a virtual soccer game. It felt reasonably real, sun was warm, the grass felt a bit wet, but that didn't stop him from running down the field trying to avoid a dribbling. In the cockpit the only sign of activity was his face twitching slightly, his body had been paralyzed by the VR system to keep him from thrashing about in the cockpit as he tried to score against Royal Aventine FC.
He slammed one into the corner of the goal, and the crowd went wild! They did the Wave across the stadium, several times, and he could see a couple of guys, and gals, stand up and tear of their shirts to reveal Wolfenstein FBGB colours painted on their bodies. "GOOOOAAAAAAAL!"
Lifting his fists up in the air he ran forward, the rest of the team patted him on the back, and Klaus Gothrie gave him a thumbs up! That of course was when there was a beep, and a split second later there was an aching sensation in his neck as he was fully alert and in the cockpit.
The implant comm. came alive and flashed a message into his brain, "Prepare for take off, enemy forces approaching, prepare for take off!" All across the flight deck, or shuttle bay, Lance fighters came alive, wing flaps moved up and down in a good look gesture, and in his IR sensor mode he saw dozens of engine heat plumes appear like plumblossoms all over the deck.
He would have crossed himself if not for the thick flexible cables that were attached to him on all sides; he didn't actually see them, but they did effectively prevent his movement in the real world. All he could do was to drift into combat mode, letting the electrical impulses from the AI feed into his nervous system along with the all too natural adrenalin. There was nothing else to do, except to wait for the go order.
Much has been said about the horrors of battle, and much has been said about the nervous anticipation before battle; those hours or days before a great fight, the nervousness before the leap, not knowing whether you'll win or go to an early grave. Some of the men prayed, some thought, some talked, some gambled, and some struggled madly to push away the thought of death, that nervous gnawing feeling that makes you ask will I live today?
There was something worse than this though, and that was being taken right to the bring of the launch, right up to the point where you thought "this is it" and then be yanked away. Some took a breath of relief, some felt the strength leave their body, others sat down to wait for the other shoe to drop. To have that happen once is bad, but to sit and wait for a second time, to wait for hours while you study enemy formations, only to be told: "Launch cancelled! Stand down!" That is something else entirely, for in the back of your mind you know: the next time, or the time after that, it will be real.
DAY 5
Fu Hsi Section
Sanhuangwudi Defensive Complex
Gateway
02:00
Corporal Gustav Klein lay on his back in his bunk, above him, through the camouflage webbing, he could see the stars. There were a lot of shooting stars tonight, every other second one, or two, or even three shooting stars flashed across the sky; he'd make a wish but the only one he could think of was that the shooting stars would stop falling. Every one of them was some pieces of hardware that fell down, scrapped aerospace fighters, satellites, spent munitions.
The storm was coming, and all he could do was to fold his hands over his belly, and pray that it wouldn't come down over him. He turned around in his sleeping bag, it rustled slightly, then he tried to fall asleep.
Pearl Tower
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
03:00
The room was bathed in the fading light of the city shields, an aurora borealis like effect slowly dying away, through the haze Malcolm Dobb could see a handful of bright stars. He didn't recognise any of them, the skies here were different from the way they were at home, and even the moon was strange.
He hefted the submachine-gun, officially he was on guard, occasionally he'd cast a glance back at the other guys sleeping soundly; the most excitement tonight was when Todd Royle stumbled over Profirio Cogsdale after returning from the loo. They'd argued for a good five minutes, with Royle claiming that it wasn't his fault that they turned off the lights.
UP Consulate
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
04:00
"This war is serious business!" the Consul intoned.
Sarah Halo and George Perfect were both trying not to fidget in the ultra-modern chairs. They, the chairs that is, looked like pieces of thin paper or plastic strung together between flimsy wires, but they were in fact quite solid.
"I see..." Sarah tried, "Serious business..."
"That you see is what I wanted to talk to you about," the consul continued.
Prince Alexanders Palace
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
05:00
In the bedroom Chloe Frost stirred from her sleep, the room was dim and she could hardly see the big white doors at the end, or the roof of her canopy bed. She twisted a bit in her side of the bed, then she stretched out her arm, the other side was empty, she sat up in bed, and rested her hand on the rumpled sheets; the mattress beneath was still warm, but the heat was fading rapidly.
UDSS Amherst Victory
UDS Strike Force
Gateway System
06:00
The Reveille has been described as "a bright cheerful call to rouse soldiers from their slumber, ready for duty", usually by sadists. The UDS reveille goes something like TATATA-TADAAA-TATATATA, and it's blasted out at precisely oh six hundred hours; it may not be five minutes after you fell asleep but it sure feels that way.
Private Allen Baers' eyes flew open, there was absolutely no way to ignore it, it sure beat any alarm clock, but being woken up like that and then having to have your feet on the floor before the tune's up! Now that's not a nice way to start the day, but Pvt Baer knew better than to complain, more than usual anyway, instead he heaved his feet out and dropped down on the floor with a thud.
From the corner he could hear the cry of "RISE AND SHINE!" Sergeant Rock was walking down the barracks, already dressed and his boots shined to perfection; NCOs had to get up at 05:30, something that probably explained their cheerful disposition.
Of course the particular attention to detail and them getting up was good news and bad news, on the one hand it meant that they wouldn't be going into battle today; on the other hand it meant that the Powers That Be had to figure out a way to keep the troops busy.
UDSS St. Joseph
UDS Strike Force
Gateway System
07:00
The briefing room was dark, the faces of the pilots lit up by the glare of the holographic projections, once more they were running through an array of common Sarmatian targets. The ships looked quite peculiar, UDS vessels were relatively clean in design, but these Sarmatian ships looked clunky very compact with enormous turrets dotting the dark grey hull.
"This is a variation of the standard destroyer, codename 'Whippet', as you can see it has additional AAS weaponry, but we're not sure how good it is. They've lined up several squadron of these around the L4 and L5 stations, which is already heavily defended, you are therefore required to collect information about them, if possible. However..." Col Hague emphasised that however, "You are still barred from approaching within two hundred thousand klicks of either of them..."
There were a couple of rolled eyes in the privacy of the briefing room, but Col. Hague went on about the various estimates on the L4 and L5 points and how none of them were confirmed. Then after a while the inevitable moment came, "Any questions gentlemen?"
"Yes Sir I got one," Lt Tallman said, or almost yelled, "How exactly are we supposed to get anything if we've got to stay two hundred kiloklicks away? I mean they've got some much jamming out there that my electric razor goes TOCTOC-toc-toc-toc" he tapped his finger against his wristwatch for emphasis, "Whenever I turn it on!"
08:00
On the bomber deck a half dozen Avenger bombers rested in two rows, ready to be launched at any given moment. Twenty or so small robots, little more than suitcases with tracks and flexible reaching arms, scurried among the airplanes to attach or detach cables. Mechanics had opened up the panels on several of the bombers, busily replacing burned out cables and fuses, or in some cases replacing entire sections of the skin.
Lt Rogers felt rather worried, he didn't like having other people poke around in the Little Mermaids innards, it seemed... well just wrong somehow. Still they hadn't done something horrible just yet, other than shake their heads at yet another officer who tried to babysit them while they did their job.
There was a tinge of ozone to the air, and that peculiar smell that comes when modern composites were heated to a degree far beyond anything they were intended to endure. Chunks of battle damaged composite was carted away, and there was a low buzzing sound as new pieces were fused to the old skin; this was the most wearying work since the old and the new had to fit together as if they had been cast in one piece.
Lt Rogers straightened a bit when he heard Bierce's voice, "You okay?" Cpt Bierce asked.
"Sure Cap'tn," Rogers had to fight a bit to pull his eye away from the Little Mermaid.
"Better leave now, you're starting to piss'em off," Bierce said while nodding casually at the ground crew.
"If they scratch her..."
"Hey I'm the pilot, and..." Bierce tapped his two bars, "Mmmm? If I thought they wouldn't do a good job I'd chain my ass to the cockpit."
As they walked out they had to squeeze against the wall as a pair of Whitehawk missiles were rolled onto the bomber deck. The huge missiles towered over them even laying on their side, huge letters stencilled on them in black "United Democratic Systems", "EXTREME CAUTION", and an improvised message painted by the ground crew: HI! I'M NUKEY THE HAPPY MISSILE!
Prince Alexanders Palace
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
09:00
The Prince's office was nearly empty, only the Prince and a single servant standing patiently by a wall. Prince Alexander was so tired, but there seemed to be no end to the information he had to digest, and most of it was bad. Countless reports of enemy ship movements, but for now the earlier clashes had died down, the fleets were shadow boxing, but that wouldn't, couldn't, last.
His thoughts were interrupted by a squawk "Minister Frost to see your Highness".
"Send her in," he replied, before putting down his archaic pen, and looking up just in time to see the minister enter. She was wearing her customary blue dress, with a knee length skirt, but she looked far more tired than usual.
"Highness, I've..." she wet her lips a bit, flicked a glance towards the servant, "Prepared the latest figures, but long story short we are back to full production... damage so far has been negligible."
"Mrs Frost..." Alexander paused, "If you want out there is a fast cloaked ship standing by, but it can't wait for much longer so you'll need to decide."
"Highness... my place is with you."
"You don't have to decide right away Mrs Frost."
"Always with you Highness, I won't leave now."
The War Room
Prince Alexanders Palace
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
The room seemed so empty, compared to how crowded it had been only a few days ago, but the Prince and his advisors were still there guiding the progress of the war. A huge holographic globe was floating in the centre of the room, every couple of minutes a small banner would pop up pointing at some part or other of the world with news of an air raid, orbital bombardment, or some catastrophe or other.
That however was not the greatest worry, the main attacks on the planet had faltered after 48 hours; instead the enemy was concentrating on establishing a blockade. Around the globe floating in the centre of the room there were thousands of tiny spots coloured green or red, green for friendly forces, red for the UDS.
The Green forces were all clustered together around certain high powered space stations, and at LaGrange points where the sheer mass of orbital infrastructure would make a direct attack prohibitively expensive.
The Red forces on the other hand were spreading out around the world like an enormous swarm of flies flittering around some placid beast; blocking every avenue of approach so that no one would get in or out. There was not much doubt about what would come next, they would swoop down on Gateway like an enormous swarm of mosquitoes seeking to suck you dry.
Prince Alexander fought the urge to rub his palms against his face, he was feeling tired, for the past twelve hours they had watched the red dots spread further and further out. "Is there no chance of a successful sortie?"
"No Highness, the enemy retains multiple smaller squadrons that can very rapidly rejoin to counter any sortie or breakout attempt," Rear-Admiral Gerard deFaun answered, "There's a small chance a breakout could succeed, but only with heavy losses."
"That means the fleet abandoning Gateway," Prince Alexander said.
"Yes Highness."
"Would they be able to reach an allied port?"
"Possibly Highness."
There was a moment of hesitation, then Alexander concluded "Then we'll continue the original plan, I take it your little surprise is ready?"
"Yes Highness," Rear-Admiral deFaun looked quite satisfied with himself, "the moment they begin landings in earnest Operation Scarlet Ribbon will commence."
Grigor de Faun Orbital Aerospace Base
Gateway Orbit
The space station was silent, the Lance fighters still lined the shuttle bay, as they had for the last five days. Missiles still hung in enormous clusters beneath the wings and belly of the fighters, and every waste tube and cable had been moved out of the way. They were like race horses ready to go, except that the warning had been given once already, and nothing...
For those pilots inside the fighters the wait was a terrible ordeal, though they could and did use VR to distract themselves they had still been strapped down for several days now; and even VR and modern cleaning couldn't remove the slight aching of muscles, the oversensitive feel of the flight suit brushing against skin.
Lt "Zeke" Hartenstein was in deep VR, he had tried some of the more risqué VR programs around, but he felt oddly unsatisfied and guilty about them; instead he was now trying to play a virtual soccer game. It felt reasonably real, sun was warm, the grass felt a bit wet, but that didn't stop him from running down the field trying to avoid a dribbling. In the cockpit the only sign of activity was his face twitching slightly, his body had been paralyzed by the VR system to keep him from thrashing about in the cockpit as he tried to score against Royal Aventine FC.
He slammed one into the corner of the goal, and the crowd went wild! They did the Wave across the stadium, several times, and he could see a couple of guys, and gals, stand up and tear of their shirts to reveal Wolfenstein FBGB colours painted on their bodies. "GOOOOAAAAAAAL!"
Lifting his fists up in the air he ran forward, the rest of the team patted him on the back, and Klaus Gothrie gave him a thumbs up! That of course was when there was a beep, and a split second later there was an aching sensation in his neck as he was fully alert and in the cockpit.
The implant comm. came alive and flashed a message into his brain, "Prepare for take off, enemy forces approaching, prepare for take off!" All across the flight deck, or shuttle bay, Lance fighters came alive, wing flaps moved up and down in a good look gesture, and in his IR sensor mode he saw dozens of engine heat plumes appear like plumblossoms all over the deck.
He would have crossed himself if not for the thick flexible cables that were attached to him on all sides; he didn't actually see them, but they did effectively prevent his movement in the real world. All he could do was to drift into combat mode, letting the electrical impulses from the AI feed into his nervous system along with the all too natural adrenalin. There was nothing else to do, except to wait for the go order.
Much has been said about the horrors of battle, and much has been said about the nervous anticipation before battle; those hours or days before a great fight, the nervousness before the leap, not knowing whether you'll win or go to an early grave. Some of the men prayed, some thought, some talked, some gambled, and some struggled madly to push away the thought of death, that nervous gnawing feeling that makes you ask will I live today?
There was something worse than this though, and that was being taken right to the bring of the launch, right up to the point where you thought "this is it" and then be yanked away. Some took a breath of relief, some felt the strength leave their body, others sat down to wait for the other shoe to drop. To have that happen once is bad, but to sit and wait for a second time, to wait for hours while you study enemy formations, only to be told: "Launch cancelled! Stand down!" That is something else entirely, for in the back of your mind you know: the next time, or the time after that, it will be real.
DAY 5
Fu Hsi Section
Sanhuangwudi Defensive Complex
Gateway
02:00
Corporal Gustav Klein lay on his back in his bunk, above him, through the camouflage webbing, he could see the stars. There were a lot of shooting stars tonight, every other second one, or two, or even three shooting stars flashed across the sky; he'd make a wish but the only one he could think of was that the shooting stars would stop falling. Every one of them was some pieces of hardware that fell down, scrapped aerospace fighters, satellites, spent munitions.
The storm was coming, and all he could do was to fold his hands over his belly, and pray that it wouldn't come down over him. He turned around in his sleeping bag, it rustled slightly, then he tried to fall asleep.
Pearl Tower
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
03:00
The room was bathed in the fading light of the city shields, an aurora borealis like effect slowly dying away, through the haze Malcolm Dobb could see a handful of bright stars. He didn't recognise any of them, the skies here were different from the way they were at home, and even the moon was strange.
He hefted the submachine-gun, officially he was on guard, occasionally he'd cast a glance back at the other guys sleeping soundly; the most excitement tonight was when Todd Royle stumbled over Profirio Cogsdale after returning from the loo. They'd argued for a good five minutes, with Royle claiming that it wasn't his fault that they turned off the lights.
UP Consulate
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
04:00
"This war is serious business!" the Consul intoned.
Sarah Halo and George Perfect were both trying not to fidget in the ultra-modern chairs. They, the chairs that is, looked like pieces of thin paper or plastic strung together between flimsy wires, but they were in fact quite solid.
"I see..." Sarah tried, "Serious business..."
"That you see is what I wanted to talk to you about," the consul continued.
Prince Alexanders Palace
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
05:00
In the bedroom Chloe Frost stirred from her sleep, the room was dim and she could hardly see the big white doors at the end, or the roof of her canopy bed. She twisted a bit in her side of the bed, then she stretched out her arm, the other side was empty, she sat up in bed, and rested her hand on the rumpled sheets; the mattress beneath was still warm, but the heat was fading rapidly.
UDSS Amherst Victory
UDS Strike Force
Gateway System
06:00
The Reveille has been described as "a bright cheerful call to rouse soldiers from their slumber, ready for duty", usually by sadists. The UDS reveille goes something like TATATA-TADAAA-TATATATA, and it's blasted out at precisely oh six hundred hours; it may not be five minutes after you fell asleep but it sure feels that way.
Private Allen Baers' eyes flew open, there was absolutely no way to ignore it, it sure beat any alarm clock, but being woken up like that and then having to have your feet on the floor before the tune's up! Now that's not a nice way to start the day, but Pvt Baer knew better than to complain, more than usual anyway, instead he heaved his feet out and dropped down on the floor with a thud.
From the corner he could hear the cry of "RISE AND SHINE!" Sergeant Rock was walking down the barracks, already dressed and his boots shined to perfection; NCOs had to get up at 05:30, something that probably explained their cheerful disposition.
Of course the particular attention to detail and them getting up was good news and bad news, on the one hand it meant that they wouldn't be going into battle today; on the other hand it meant that the Powers That Be had to figure out a way to keep the troops busy.
UDSS St. Joseph
UDS Strike Force
Gateway System
07:00
The briefing room was dark, the faces of the pilots lit up by the glare of the holographic projections, once more they were running through an array of common Sarmatian targets. The ships looked quite peculiar, UDS vessels were relatively clean in design, but these Sarmatian ships looked clunky very compact with enormous turrets dotting the dark grey hull.
"This is a variation of the standard destroyer, codename 'Whippet', as you can see it has additional AAS weaponry, but we're not sure how good it is. They've lined up several squadron of these around the L4 and L5 stations, which is already heavily defended, you are therefore required to collect information about them, if possible. However..." Col Hague emphasised that however, "You are still barred from approaching within two hundred thousand klicks of either of them..."
There were a couple of rolled eyes in the privacy of the briefing room, but Col. Hague went on about the various estimates on the L4 and L5 points and how none of them were confirmed. Then after a while the inevitable moment came, "Any questions gentlemen?"
"Yes Sir I got one," Lt Tallman said, or almost yelled, "How exactly are we supposed to get anything if we've got to stay two hundred kiloklicks away? I mean they've got some much jamming out there that my electric razor goes TOCTOC-toc-toc-toc" he tapped his finger against his wristwatch for emphasis, "Whenever I turn it on!"
08:00
On the bomber deck a half dozen Avenger bombers rested in two rows, ready to be launched at any given moment. Twenty or so small robots, little more than suitcases with tracks and flexible reaching arms, scurried among the airplanes to attach or detach cables. Mechanics had opened up the panels on several of the bombers, busily replacing burned out cables and fuses, or in some cases replacing entire sections of the skin.
Lt Rogers felt rather worried, he didn't like having other people poke around in the Little Mermaids innards, it seemed... well just wrong somehow. Still they hadn't done something horrible just yet, other than shake their heads at yet another officer who tried to babysit them while they did their job.
There was a tinge of ozone to the air, and that peculiar smell that comes when modern composites were heated to a degree far beyond anything they were intended to endure. Chunks of battle damaged composite was carted away, and there was a low buzzing sound as new pieces were fused to the old skin; this was the most wearying work since the old and the new had to fit together as if they had been cast in one piece.
Lt Rogers straightened a bit when he heard Bierce's voice, "You okay?" Cpt Bierce asked.
"Sure Cap'tn," Rogers had to fight a bit to pull his eye away from the Little Mermaid.
"Better leave now, you're starting to piss'em off," Bierce said while nodding casually at the ground crew.
"If they scratch her..."
"Hey I'm the pilot, and..." Bierce tapped his two bars, "Mmmm? If I thought they wouldn't do a good job I'd chain my ass to the cockpit."
As they walked out they had to squeeze against the wall as a pair of Whitehawk missiles were rolled onto the bomber deck. The huge missiles towered over them even laying on their side, huge letters stencilled on them in black "United Democratic Systems", "EXTREME CAUTION", and an improvised message painted by the ground crew: HI! I'M NUKEY THE HAPPY MISSILE!
Prince Alexanders Palace
Neu Brakensburg
Gateway
09:00
The Prince's office was nearly empty, only the Prince and a single servant standing patiently by a wall. Prince Alexander was so tired, but there seemed to be no end to the information he had to digest, and most of it was bad. Countless reports of enemy ship movements, but for now the earlier clashes had died down, the fleets were shadow boxing, but that wouldn't, couldn't, last.
His thoughts were interrupted by a squawk "Minister Frost to see your Highness".
"Send her in," he replied, before putting down his archaic pen, and looking up just in time to see the minister enter. She was wearing her customary blue dress, with a knee length skirt, but she looked far more tired than usual.
"Highness, I've..." she wet her lips a bit, flicked a glance towards the servant, "Prepared the latest figures, but long story short we are back to full production... damage so far has been negligible."
"Mrs Frost..." Alexander paused, "If you want out there is a fast cloaked ship standing by, but it can't wait for much longer so you'll need to decide."
"Highness... my place is with you."
"You don't have to decide right away Mrs Frost."
"Always with you Highness, I won't leave now."
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