Scattered Earth: The Battle for Zion (An original work)
Posted: 2004-02-09 03:12am
This battle takes place in my created universe, the universe of Scattered Earth. I wrote this and named the places LONG before Matrix 2 and 3 came out.
...
The year is 2656. The Sol system has climbed out of its dark ages of the 3rd world war, and has brought together various lost colonies to form the Terran Imperium only 80 years ago. Spanning 19 systems, and home to six races, the Imperium is beginning to flex its muscle. In 2654, the hour of the Imperium had come. Five battleships, burned and broken, came to earth, fleeing the conquest of their world, another lost colony, founded by Mormon settlers almost 600 years earlier. With no knowledge of the Imperium or assistance from Earth, the Zion Space Forces were crushed, and the last few ships fled to where they had hoped Earth would be. After 8 months and 120 light years, they found the Imperium. Pleading for help, they convinced the Imperium to free Zion from the Sha’Onaré Dominate, which had conquered their home world. With help from the Sha’Onaré separatists on Triton, and the information the ZSF has brought, the Terran Imperium assembled a mighty fleet to liberate Zion. A first group, the Zion Expeditionary Force, had been sent immediately to lay the groundwork for the invasion. Now, after 2 years of preparations, the Imperial Fleet has massed at Io, and is preparing to engage in humanity’s largest conflict in 400 years.
“Tartarus Control, this is the Bismarck. Lancer Fleet is in position”
Fleet Admiral Maximilian Ramirez looked out the view screen. It seemed like he could almost touch the ships moving in and around each other like a school of fish, even though the room he was in was far from the outer hull of his ship. The Bismarck was the largest and most powerful fleet in the new Imperial Navy. At 1200 feet long, bristling with modular weapons compartments and a rotational gravity generator, it was the most foreboding ship ever built by humans. He was proud of his ship, and the 2200 men and women from half a dozen of races who served on it. He marveled at what humanity was now capable of as he gazed upon his fleet: The Lancer fleet.
Battle cruisers, gunships, carriers, and their new lancers, upon which all of this hinged. He hoped that the new technology from the Mormon refugee fleet, referred to popularly as “Zionians”, would give them a sufficient edge. They were going in outclassed and outgunned in a system beyond the farthest reaches of known exploration. Nevertheless, they were all brand new and ready for battle. His eye caught the glint of the Bismarck’s sister ship, the Shiva’s Fire, against the glare of the Io plasma torus. It was commanded by his good friend, Vice Admiral Tessa Dorren.
Nearby a quartet of ships from the High Navy of Grrusarr maneuvered into position, their blood-red paint scattering the light. The High Navy generally didn’t condone their troops to battle with lesser beings, but after their priests reviewed the combat data from the Zionians a fervor broke out amongst the general populace of Grrusarr. The stars were aligned for a prophecy to come true, but in Grrusarri mythology, nearly every shooting star and lunar eclipse meant it was time for a battle. It didńt matter, he was glad to have them. When they got to 79 Ceti III, the planet Zion, they would need every ship they could spare.
He was brought out of his brief reverie by the speaker at his elbow :
“We copy, Bismark. Hold position while we initialize primary sequence. The OLYMPUS array is locking coordinates for 79Ceti III, at .89 AU from the system’s primary. Wormhole stability is projected for ninety-six point eight percent. Bismark, we are ready.”
Ramirez looked around at his crew. He knew that they wereńt comforted by a three percent chance at being lost in an interspatial fold, but they also knew that waiting for a better window could jeopardize the entire mission. Ramirez took bowed his head to collect his thoughts for a long few seconds and then rose from his chair, drawing himself up to his full height. In the seat next to him was Yudis, his Sha’Onare liaison from the separatist colony on Triton. The Sha’Onare settlers had lived there, hidden for hundreds of years, and now had come out to help their chosen benefactors against a foe they knew too well. His long limbs sprawled over the arms of the chair and his knees pointed toward the ceiling. Though he was middle-aged for his species, he had been alive before Ramirez’ great-grandfather had been born on New Texas. Their species had a radically different physiology, but even his environment suit couldn’t mask his thin frame, as he appeared like a living skeleton. “Any predictions or omens from your oracles, Yudis?”
The blue skin around the alien’s eyes tightened in what might have been a friendly gesture. “The oracles say nothing definitive, but Tsuk’ukaiak always rewards great knowledge and strategy. He is the master-planner of the gods.” The ancient being spoke as though he had personally spoken with the deity.
Ramirez smirked. “Then I hope he’s watching, because this is one hell of a plan.” He looked at his communications Lieutenant. “Time to leave something for the history books. Open a channel to the fleet.”
“Aye Sir. Channel open. Transmitting on all standard frequencies.”
“Admiral Ramirez to all ships:
I greet you all, my fellow soldiers. Today is a momentous day, for us and for all of the Terran Imperium. We are now gathered together in the largest military force ever assembled in our history, dedicated to a single purpose: To free the people of Zion. Our lost brothers of humanity have built a great world, a world of peace and freedom, a credit to all members of this race. They have suffered now for almost two years under the oppression and cruelty of the Sha’Onare’ Dominate. That changes now. We will engage their fleet, and free our brothers and sisters. The enemy doesn’t expect us to come. They don’t think we are a threat to their control. They only have a passing knowledge of our existence. They will know who we are and that we will not tolerate any citizen of this Empire to suffer by their hand. Today, we will be victorious, for there is no power in the universe that can keep a people captive forever. We do this not just for Zion, but For the Imperium!!”
Even with the signal traveling at only light speed, Ramirez could almost hear the entire populace of nineteen star systems cheering them on. Win or lose, their effort would never be forgotten. As he pondered whether he would be remembered as a Patton or a Hannibal, he closed the transmission link. He nodded to his comm officer and then turned to his crew, the pride of the Empire, “Lets get underway, shall we?”
“Well said, Admiral.” Yudis said with a nod.
“It just came to me.” Ramirez shrugged, as he sat in his command chair and began tapping a data console near his knee.
The Lieutenant turned to his control board. “Tartarus Control, this is the TFC with Bismark, we are ready for mass projection transport. Start countdown at 5 minutes, initiate at 2, complete at zero.”
There was only a nervous quiet on the deck as the crew tried to keep busy while waiting for the OLYMPUS array to reach full power. The array was the pinnacle of human technological advancement: nearly instantaneous interstellar transportation. Using the energy created by the Io plasma torus and Jupiteŕs enormous magnetic field, four generations of the best scientific minds had crafted Tartarus station, the control center of the array. The theory was a basic idea: Create a high enough energy field so that the laws of physics start to break down, and instead of walking the entire road from where you are to where you want to be you momentarily put your beginning and your end side by side and step across. Because of the enormous amount of power required only two such arrays existed in the entire Terran Imperium meaning that, until a sufficient power source could be found near Zion, this would be a one way trip.
The young lieutenant́s voice broke the silence, “Tartarus control reports a point-zero-three T-diff at the aperture.”
A time differential was a nasty side effect. Sometimes when space was bent, time went with it. There was no known way to predict it, so parts of the fleet could get there seconds, or hours apart. “Risk acceptable, proceed with sequence. Ramirez to all Zionian ships: Form up and be ready to get the drop ships in fast. The Lancers will cover you. Make sure Desolation squadron gets in”.
“Tartarus control to Lancer Fleet: The OLYMPUS array is active. Initiating space-fold.”
A pulsing golden field came from the Array, and began to surround the entire fleet, slowly getting brighter as its pulsing increased. The throbbing noise permeated the ship and sent waves of vertigo through Ramirez’ skull, that made the room spin before he lost consciousness.
***
Commander Rovuu, War Master of the third grand armada of the Sha’Onare Dominate stood next to his chair, surveying the planet below. Eozax, as the star was called, had no particular strategic value and its planetoids had an ecosystem which wrought havoc upon the organic systems of his people. He had only been to the surface twice, first to oversee a public execution of planetary leaders and then second to congratulate his battle engineers personally for their efforts. Both times he was greatly relieved to return to the comfort of a breathable atmosphere. Nevertheless, He was musing over it, congratulating himself on the successful conquest of the 62nd world to be added to the Dominate, the first in over 60 cycles. He was sure to receive great honor back on Shio’or. His children and mate, Yanna, would be greatly elevated perhaps to even ground with the lower nobility. His house would be rising for some time to come.
He gazed upon his armada, the pride of the Dominate. Rovuu commanded only the third armada, but the high council had been pleased with what he had done with little. The Eozax, humans, Zionians, or whatever they called themselves, had progressed significantly in weaponary technology, but they were no match for hundreds of ships brought to bear on them. Battle Ships, Warcruisers, and smaller BlastShips all ringed the planet, monitoring the world below. His generals were confident that the Eozaxian resistance was over. He shuddered at the memory of the early days of conquest: First they fought with ships in suicidal tactics, expending all weapons and ramming when no other option remained; when their ships were gone they fought with armor transport, rifles and simple projectiles; when their forces were scattered they fought with knives and sticks and hand to hand, tearing open the lifesuits of his troops; those who had nothing left would strap concealed explosives to their bodies and allow themselves to be captured, only to detonated inside a troop carrier or an interrogation facility. Now the resistance was based from the deep desert as the Eozax hid with the native tssarrik. The Eozax accepted living with an inferior race side by side as equals, yet they would not recognize the superiority of the Dominate.
These Eozax were fanatical, devoted completely to their prophet. Rovuu had executed one in a public display, yet another had surfaced. Despite their initial violence, they seemed to be coming around. There had been no great uprisings in almost forty planetary rotations. All was quiet, almost too...
His sensor technician startled him out of his thoughts, “Commander Rovuu! We are, picking up a large and rapidly increasing energy signal somewhere near the second moon.”
Rovuús face tightened in distaste. The last time they registered “strange readings”, Eozax raiders had come out and crashed to the planet’s surface. No bodies or survivors were found, only empty ships rigged to explode that took and entire squadron of reconnaissance troops. These beings were indeed a clever breed. The Dominate had been working for centuries on space-fold technology, but they had been beaten to the punch by the oxygen-breathing Eozax.
“Get a definite fix on those energy readings; Does the signal match the previous disturbance created by the Eozax during their last raid, Lieutenant?”
The technician studied his display, working the controls “Admiral, I can't get a direct fix on it, the moon's magnetic field is scrambling our scans. It fits the pattern, but it́s a much larger field.” Suddenly he looked up, eyes wide, “Admiral, I am detecting a symmetric energy displacement of over sixty billion kuui!”
The Eozax. Again. They were an infestation. This Zion of theirs wasn’t even their homeworld, though they claimed not to know where their home was. Nothing was more maddening than an uncooperative Eozax. Nevertheless, interrogations had proven most entertaining while giving an insight into their psychology. He had seen dozens starve to death rather than give information while others endured savage beatings or exposure to the vacuum of space without complaint claiming that they were suffering a righteous cause. How was illogical resistance to a superior force a righteous cause? Reports from the surface indicated that threatening the mates and children of their leaders was having some success in revealing information on the still-resistant Eozax. The information he sought seemed near, and then a sixty-third world would be added to the Dominate, perhaps in the next ten years. He turned to the technician “What is our tactical situation, lieutenant?”
“It looks like another raid, Admiral. A large one.”
“Send the 3rd ship group to intercept the raiders.” Rovuu was not about to have more rabble rousers disrupting his planet, not while he was in command.
Another sensor technician’s blue features paled a bit. He looked up “Admiral, if my readings are correct, this is no simple raid!”
More curious than alarmed, Rovuu asked “How many enemy ships?”
Fear showing in his actions the technician looked, almost afraid of what he might find, “Counting, sir. I read 20, 25, 40, no 50. They keep coming, Sir.”
War Master Rovuu replied in terse yet condescending voice, “We cannot fight without fact, Sensor Technician Portuss.”
The young officer calmed, “Yes, Sir. I confirm cruiser size ships at 80, nowhere near the size of our Battle Ships. Also reading numerous small craft, only big enough for a crew of four.”
Rovuu rubbed his head in confusion. “Smaller craft? What function do they have? Are they maintenance ships?
The technician was also confused. “I cannot deduce their function, but they have no detectable forward energy battery. If they are maintenance ships, it would indicate they need to repair their ships after they emerge from the fold.”
“Excellent. We enjoy the advantage of superior in numbers and capability, and their technology is no match for ours. We should be able to deal with them, send the Tial'niraaak along with the third shipgroup to intercept. That should suffice serve the small craft cautiously, the Eozaxian menace has used suicide tactics before.”
“Tial moving to intercept”
“Contact our ground forces, signal general alert. We don't want any more armed Eozax getting to the surface and causing trouble.” Rovuu sat back in his chair, observing the intercept group. This time, nothing would get through his fleet
***
Sitting up, still slightly dizzy from being projected 120 light years in two minutes, Ramirez called to his comm officer “Call to all ships: Report status and form up. Who got here first?”
The comm officer came alive, though appeared to be having trouble controlling his stomach. “The Wellington has been here for one minute forty-five seconds, Admiral. Sir! I’m not reading the Shiva’s Fire...” He heaved and vomited on the floor, then wiped his mouth. “They must have been lost in transit. I’m also missing two gunships and some supply frigates..”
Ramirez lowered his head. They all knew the risks for using an array over such great distances. He said a silent prayer for Tessa and her crew. Then he looked up, eyes blazing “They’ll be missed, but I’m not going to lose anyone else I don’t have to. We didn’t lose much of our advantage of surprise, so lets move. All ships report!”
The comm system burst to life with conflicting communication
“Control, this is Lancer One. Saber squadron reads green across the board.”
“Katanna Squadron reads five by five”
“Kopesh Squadron, there's a variance in grid 6-1-9, move to compensate.”
“Control, this is Kopesh leader, variance compensated, note to repair when we come back in”
“Axe squadron is locked, cocked and ready to rock.”
“Halberd Squadron is in formation.”
“Lancer groups two and three also ready”
Good. Most of his fleet and all of the lancers had made the jump intact, and were ready to go. He opened up a channel to the fleet. “This is Ramirez. All flight leaders, you are go. Operation Invictus is go. Engage the Dominate Cruisers and capital ships when you get within four thousand meters, but you must release your missiles within 50 meters so the proximity fuses work properly. Engage all targets of opportunity at your own discretion”
Axe Leader chimed in “Copy control? 50 meters is pretty close”
Ramirez smiled “Then you'd just better fly as good as you talk, Nick. Comm, have all squad leaders, begin to rally at coordinates 350 mark 23 by 2200 kilometers.”
“You humans certainly enjoy your humor, Admiral.” Yudis was standing in front of the main tactical display, his 2.4 meter frame nearly reaching to the ceiling. “I would hope that they are able to focus on their tasks. Everything relies on this battle.”
“Don’t worry, Yudis.” Ramirez stood next to him watching two groups of dots converge around the moon. “Its called ‘defying death,’ we’ve been doing it for millennia.”
Yudis looked as though he was about to respond, but instead turned his emotionless mask to the battle screen. All was silent for a few moments, and then the comm crackled again “Katanna Leader to Bismark. Look alive, fleet, it looks like we’ve got our first target.”
***
“Shipgroup Commander Hojur to Admiral Rovuu, we have visual on the enemy fleet, and are transmitting.” The Tial'niraaak and the third shipgroup were entering into range with the Eozax raiders.
Rovuu studied the images being sent. These ships looked nothing like the Zionian ships he had destroyed almost a cycle ago. No, wait, there were a few of the Zionian ships in their fleet. “How many breeds of Eozax are there?” He muttered under his breath. He saw a number of larger ships, though none to compete with his flagship, Tsal’itark’s Fist. Sure enough, there were a multitude of tiny ships surrounding the fleet, making a screen between their fleet and the Tial’niraaak. He opened a channel. “This is Fleet Admiral Rovuu, we are receiving your feed. Target their lead ship. Try to capture a few vessels, they may be able to tell us more about where they come from. We must destroy their den.”
Hojur spoke again “The large ships are holding back behind the smaller craft, but energy patterns do not suggest any significant energy weapons on craft that small. Can they be a threat?”
Rovuu was becoming annoyed; It was as though these Eozax were sent by Tsuk’ukaiak himself to test his knowledge with questions he could not answer “Ignore them, they are nothing but iulla fleas, better ignored than swatted. There is no honor in destroying what can be taken.”
The bewildered operations officer spoke up “They seem to be in an attack formation. Admiral, the smaller ships are attacking!”
Rovuu was confused “Attacking? With what? They have no energy weapons.”
The officer’s eyes were wide with concern “The maintenance ships, they're launching projectiles.”
“What kind of projectiles?” Rovuu snapped.
“Some sort of explosive, one I’ve not seen before. Our database doesn’t recognize the composition. Not to worry, sir, our armor will withstand these Eozax chemicals and explosives.”
***
“Katanna Squadron, this is the Zionian Space Fleet Bountiful.”
Katanna squadron soared past the Bountiful, one of the last Mormon battleships, its Lancers in a split diamond formation. Its leader, Alan Janson, spoke into his headset. “This is Katanna leader. I copy, uh... elder?”
“Since we have to go through that fleet on our way to Zion, would you brethren like a little help?”
Janson grinned “That would be great, Bountiful. Would ye mind if while we took yonder big ships over there, ye could smite them on thy way to the surface?”
The voice on the other end chuckled “Sure thing, Katana. Just make sure you target the energy flux at the base of the ship’s drive. That's their main power core.”
Alan feigned confusion and tapped his headset “The what? The green thing?”
The Bountiful came back “No, the blue one!”
Alan smiled to his crew “Oops. Good thing we're packing plenty of presents.” He turned to his crew, who all shared his grim smile. The humor took the edge off the tension in the ship. They knew the odds they were up against, and they had all left their loved ones with final good-byes, just in case.
“Very funny, Katanna Lead. Lets go wish these infidels a Merry Christmas. Bountiful out.”
The comm crackled again “Fleet to all Lancer squadrons; We have crossed the threshold. Fire at all targets of opportunity. Set up your squadrons in an Iron Eagle Flank, until you are ready to fire.”
Alan watched as his lancer joined the others up in front of the fleet, and streaked towards the oncoming ships looming in the distance. They were bigger than the Martian shipyards, and the bluish green light their systems put out made them look like ghosts in space.
“YEEEHAAAAAAAWW!” Axe Three came in over the comm, filled with the thrill of battle. To be fighting against non-humans was an entirely different feeling than the wars which scarred millennia of human conflict.
Nameless tactical officers continued to direct the fleet. “Come at them from below, the majority of their guns are on the dorsal axis.
Sabre Lead came over Alan’s speakers “Can do, Control. We'll engage the capital ships, take care of those blastships, and can someone check on those small ships heading towards the surface?”
A strange voice came over the comm “This is Strategic Control, those are dropships, making a delivery to the planet. Try not to draw attention to them”
“You know something we don’t, StratCon?” Axe Leader asked.
“Let’s just say we humans aren’t the only ones fighting today, Nick.”
As the Lancer squadrons began to close in, the vacuum of space became filled with tiny rockets that glittered against the stars. On the surface of Zion in the early morning hours, between the pale outlines of her twin moons, a few bright flashes could be seen.
***
*Thump* “Sir, a minor impact on the Tial, damage is negligible. It was likely a dud.” The sensor technician was studying his screen intently.
Hojur spoke again “This is the Tial'niraaak, to Rovuu. Sir, we are having difficulty targeting the smaller ships. They are so small they are evading our cannon. We are currently targeted by 20, no, 40 projectiles.”
Those projectiles worried Rovuu “What is the nature of their projectiles?” He barked at his science officer. The young sha jumped, his hands trembling, his eyes wide with fear. Rovuu knew it was not good news.
“I’m not certain, Sir.” He replied. “They must be desperate, they're optically guided, liquid fuel propulsion, and require extreme proximity for a target lock.”
Rovuu spoke again to Hojur “Butcher the carcasses, Commander, then the flies.”
Hojur came on frantically “There’s too many! They're targeting our ports, weapons, communi-“
His message was cut short by static, and a blinding flash of light was partially eclipsed by the edge of the moon. A flash so bright, the view screen had to darken momentarily.
Rovuu’s head whipped around to his sensor crew “What was that? Get me the Tial’niraaak.”
His comm officer stood frozen and spoke in a voice deathly still, “Sir, we have lost the Tial”
“WHAT!” Rovuu bellowed, his face blue with anger. He slapped the officer across the face. “What happened?”
The sensor tech was quiet “They've been... neutralized by the Eozax projectiles.” He looked up timidly at the Admiral.
Rovuu rocked back on his heels “HOW! What are those projectiles? Why didn’t you scan them?” He lifted the officer from the deck and dug his fingers into his muscle fibers.
The science officer’s eyes were now wide with shock “The missiles are putting out radioactive signatures, sir.”
Rovuu spat at the lieutenant while still holding his sensor technician sixty centimeters off the ground “Why would anyone use nuclear fuel in a missile?”
“It's a nuclear explosive. Admiral, the projectiles have nuclear payloads. They seem to direct a high-energy plasma stream that eats through the armor like impocs.” The bridge was now silent.
Rovuu dropped the officer and leaned against his chair as the magnitude of the message sank in. “Gods, I didn't think that was possible. Fusion for power, yes. But as a weapon? What kind of savages are these Eozaxians?” The database couldn’t find a match because nuclear weapons were so crude and violent it was the belief of the high council that no race would ever use them in combat. They left the victor with no honor. In 3000 years of conquest, the Dominate had lost only 8 War Cruisers, and the last two were to a massive solar flare. Now the second ship of the fleet had been destroyed by intelligent primates. His very soul was in jeopardy.
Standing up straight, Rovuu pulled out his vrii-knife from a sheath on his left leg, “Signal all ships in the Fleet!” He drew the knife across his palm, his blue/black blood welling out. He clasped his hand to his forehead and let out an ear-splitting bellow which was joined by the entire crew, and by the crews of the other ships. Rovuu stormed across the bridge to the communications pit and grabbed a transmitter, his blood smearing across the panel.“All Fleet to condition White. This is Fleet Admiral Rovuu! We are being attacked by a large force of Eozaxians from an unknown source. They have nuclear, I repeat nuclear missiles, and are using them indiscriminately. Repeat, engage condition white. The humans have declared vang-dur upon us; there can be no alternative.”
The communications officer looked alarmed “Do I read sir correctly sir, condition white?”
Rovuu’s eyes blazed “Confirmed. Condition white. Engage at discretion and fire indiscriminately on all enemy ships. They have no honor and will take us all to a bloodless death if we allow them. Target smaller ships and destroy their nuclear filth. Take no prisoners, hear no surrenders, and do not honor their fight. Males, females, young have been reclassified as acceptable targets. Death to the Zions, for their profanity. Death to their entire race.” With his own blood shed, Rovuu declared Vang Dur, the Oath of Blood Vengeance against the Eozax barbarians. No oath was more sacred. He would defeat these Eozax, or suffer the consequences.
The lieutenant shuddered. It had been millennia since the oath had been used, it was a thing of unspoken legends. Vang Dur had not been declared since the Gray War, when the Shok-Gur had used a plague on the Sha’Onare as a weapon. The price they paid for that sacrilege was the annihilation of their race. “Understood, sir. The Topar, Vukta, and Raaque moving with their fleet elements to engage the Eozax.”
***
The first Dominate ships began to vanish in a white flashes and spectacular explosions. Admiral Ramirez smiled, noting that the ships exploded in green fire, because of their nitrogen/methane atmospheres.
A frantic voice came over the comm “This is Sabre Two to Control! Sabre Lead is gone. He got caught in the tail-end of the blast. Control, they brought four of those blast cannons to bear on one ship; These guys are seriously pissed.”
Ramirez took the reply “Copy, Sabre. Halberd 6,9,10 move to cover that squad. Get them where they need to go.”
Sabre two sounded anxious “They've got a helluva lot of guns pointed at my squad, control.”
“We read, Sabre,” Another calm voice of command came across the channel, “This is the Shaka. Stay with us, and you’ll be ok. Moving to shield Sabre squadron.”
Alan activated his comm “Careful, Sabre. They can't track if you breach their shields. You gotta get in close.” He spiraled his ship closer and closer to the Dominate battleship. “You gotta get very close.” His ship was clipped by an energy pulse from the ship “That’s too close!”
His gunner fired a missile, and then he veered off, evading fire. He took a look at the rear display “Would ya look at that sucker burn! Sure must be awful to get fried by an inferior race.”
Alan looked at his gunner uninterestedly, “They breathe gasoline, what do you expect?” Both men smiled briefly and then went back to their duties.
“Admiral, I’m getting a lot of chatter from the Sha fleet.” The linguistics officer was listening intently. It was a blessing to have a human that could speak the SháOnare on his ship, and Ramirez knew it. “If I understand the translation correctly, they are at high alert... something about ‘vang-do’... I think.”
Yudis sprang from his chair and in an instant was at the arm of the young Martian ensign. “Could it not have been ‘Vang-dur’?”
She gripped her headset again and closed her eyes tightly and repeated in a slow grating voice, “Eozax vi titum gradies vang-dur.”
Yudis gripped the console, shaking as though he had been hit by I torpedo. “He wouldn’t... they couldn’t, not again.” He was visibly unnerved, even through his suit.
“What is it, Yudis?” Ramirez shook his shoulder. “Care to translate that for us?”
“The council thought this would happen.” The alien slowly walked to his seat and dropped himself in, resting his willowy arms in his lap, speaking almost in a whisper, “They have declared Vang-Dur, an The Oath of Blood Vengeance. That means their fleet commander declared it, which means it will be ratified by the High Circle.” He looked at Ramirez. “My people have sworn not to rest until your race is annihalated.”
“What? Why?” An enemy was one thing, but Ramirez had a gut feeling that the Imperium had bitten off more than they could chew here. “We take a few of their ships and then all of a sudden it́s all or nothing? Isńt that a bit extreme?”
“You misunderstand, you are the ones who declared it first. The nuclear weapons, my people feel they are ‘unclean’ weapons. In using them, you have dishonored the deaths of those onboard those vessels. Anything done to dishonor your death is justified by divine precinct and such action has just become the sole will of the Dominate.” Yudis paused and closed his eyes in an expression of pain and recollection, “It is an ancient custom, not often invoked, but it comes from the Saga of Eylaehei, who vowed to pursue his mate’s killer with the oath:
My first thought each awakening,
and the last before I sleep.
I pledge my life to your undoing.
I will burn the skies, and crack the ground
To send your broken body to Tsana’ri.”
There was a core of ice in Ramirez’s stomach. “What’s Tsana’ri?”
Yudiśeyes opened sharply and gazed into Ramirez soul. He waited for what seemed an eternity before his answer: “Hell.”
***
In the pre-dawn of Zion, the small lights near the moon Zarahemla could barely be noticed, if there was anybody with inclination to look at them. As the sun began to climb from behind the Meridian Mountains an explosion rocked the city of Ephraim. Wide and well ordered streets were filled with an enraged populace that was now fleeing from a smoking building had been a secured position. It was sad, really, that the exact planning of the cities had made them that much easier to take, and now take back. As brother Zachariah observed through his macroview, their maneuver was working perfectly. “Jonas, hoẃs our timetable look?”
An enormous man spoke softly through a voice plate in his suit, slightly distorting his pitch. Even at his elbow he sounded far off, “President Cannon, we began receiving scattered Sha transmissions at slightly before daybreak. Theýre here, just like they said theýd be.”
“Íve told you, Jonas, brother Zachariah will do fine for conversation. Let́s get a move on; In a few hours it́ll be noon. The days half gone, and we haveńt got anything done yet. The troop of desert riders smiled at the jest. They knew how much weighed on the mind of their prophet, Zachariah Cannon, and he knew how much they depended on him. They would die for him in an instant, if he asked it; it would be better than the fate of many Zionians that day who would suffer minutes and hours before a celestial repose. The prophet removed his headplate and asked with decision, “Brother Lourenço, would you offer a prayer for us?”
Another soldier removed his own headplate revealing dark features topped by greying hair and a somber expression, “for allof us, brother Zachariah.” Almost in unison the eight figures removed their headplates revealing six men of varying ages and two shorter tssarrik, natives of the planet Zion. They knelt in a circle, arms folded across their chest and heads bowed in silent reverence:
“O God, our eternal Father, we give thee thanks this day for hearing our prayers. We know, Father, that thou dost hear us, and we give glory to your power and promise that we might be a free people. We thank thee for the presence of our Terran brothers who have given so much to be here, for their willingness to help us all, and for their self-sacrifice which brings us freedom. Today, Father, we are gathered in order to free ourselves from bondage, to follow thy prophet and they counsels that we might remember thee in all our doings. We know that we are weak and helpless without thee. We ask thee, O God, that thou wouldst bless us today with strength and endurance that we might run and not tire, that we might have fire in our bones to follow in faith, and trust in our leaders. We ask that thou wouldst bless and protect our prophet, that he could continue on beyond this day to rebuild our peoples and guide this great nation. All of these things we ask, in the name of thy precious son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”
All the men looked up with a resolute “Amen”, yet tears could be seen in the eyes of all those who could produce them.
Zechariah Cannon, the youngest prophet in over five hundred years, called by divine authority to lead the people of Zion, both human and tssarrik alike to freedom and beyond walked to his welpuk mount and began to tighten his saddle. In the resistance, animal transport was used whenever possible in order to avoid energy detection from Sha patrol scans. His people were born and bred in the deep sand, giving them a slight advantage over their enemies from an icy world, and they exploited it to every advantage.
As the other men began to hiss lovingly to their mounts, the prophet went over their travel route in his mind. For eight years he had planned, dug, and supervised the massive underground waterways which made the desert in the Mormon Valley blossom like a rose using the deep underground springs and aquifers of Zion. They would ride towards Ephriam city from the east, then duck into the furthermost watergate on their amphibious mounts. There was a high pressure dispatch in Ephriam that went all the way to Pishgah and the Brigham Young Command Center, one of the few remaining Human communications facilities. The Sha’Onare had maintained the entire complex to study their technology and search for their homeworld. Zecariah had no idea where Earth was, but the Terran commandoes who had gotten through the blockade two years ago did. They had gotten the codes to him, but Zechariah new that if they didn’t get to Pishgah in by first noon they never would.
As the troop descended towards the city Zechariah suddenly stopped and signaled to his general, “Jonas, how many soldiers will advance on the capital?”
His bodyguard and childhood friend came about until they were side by side, “We have three hundred twenty thousand of our best men in position around the world. Tens of thousands will march on Manti in less than an hour to seize the command complex.”
The prophet looked through his friend into the carnage that would come to pass that day. Without changing his gaze he said to Jonas, “Signal captain Harris and tell him that the troops are too many. Tell the men that all of them who enter the city today will die. Reduce the troop compliment by seventy-five percent.”
“But Brother Zeke!” exclaimed one of the younger men, “If we send in so few troops, of course wéll die. Wére outgunned against a fortified position. The enemy is all around us!”
Zechariah́s head snapped towards the man who spoke and replied in a calm voice that thundered in the minds of all present, “Do you forget the God which brought us to our inheritance, that we hold the royal priesthood of the Lord God of Hosts? If we send one million soldiers into the city, all of them will perish and nothing would be left. This war will be long and God has promised our salvation. Today He will fight our battles for us.”
Jonas pulled out a patched transmitter from his shoulder and flicked it on, “Bishop to quorum, transmitting updated deployment information.” He then scratched some symbols on the touchpad. The tssarrik pictographic language was the only code that the Dominate forces had yet to unravel, and thus very little verbal communication was used over cryst-com.
As the prophet breathed a sigh of relief, his men took comfort in his calmness. They all had a job to do, and they knew it would be hard. None of them, however, knew when their job would be done.
p.s. I would love feedback before I post any more of this.
...
The year is 2656. The Sol system has climbed out of its dark ages of the 3rd world war, and has brought together various lost colonies to form the Terran Imperium only 80 years ago. Spanning 19 systems, and home to six races, the Imperium is beginning to flex its muscle. In 2654, the hour of the Imperium had come. Five battleships, burned and broken, came to earth, fleeing the conquest of their world, another lost colony, founded by Mormon settlers almost 600 years earlier. With no knowledge of the Imperium or assistance from Earth, the Zion Space Forces were crushed, and the last few ships fled to where they had hoped Earth would be. After 8 months and 120 light years, they found the Imperium. Pleading for help, they convinced the Imperium to free Zion from the Sha’Onaré Dominate, which had conquered their home world. With help from the Sha’Onaré separatists on Triton, and the information the ZSF has brought, the Terran Imperium assembled a mighty fleet to liberate Zion. A first group, the Zion Expeditionary Force, had been sent immediately to lay the groundwork for the invasion. Now, after 2 years of preparations, the Imperial Fleet has massed at Io, and is preparing to engage in humanity’s largest conflict in 400 years.
“Tartarus Control, this is the Bismarck. Lancer Fleet is in position”
Fleet Admiral Maximilian Ramirez looked out the view screen. It seemed like he could almost touch the ships moving in and around each other like a school of fish, even though the room he was in was far from the outer hull of his ship. The Bismarck was the largest and most powerful fleet in the new Imperial Navy. At 1200 feet long, bristling with modular weapons compartments and a rotational gravity generator, it was the most foreboding ship ever built by humans. He was proud of his ship, and the 2200 men and women from half a dozen of races who served on it. He marveled at what humanity was now capable of as he gazed upon his fleet: The Lancer fleet.
Battle cruisers, gunships, carriers, and their new lancers, upon which all of this hinged. He hoped that the new technology from the Mormon refugee fleet, referred to popularly as “Zionians”, would give them a sufficient edge. They were going in outclassed and outgunned in a system beyond the farthest reaches of known exploration. Nevertheless, they were all brand new and ready for battle. His eye caught the glint of the Bismarck’s sister ship, the Shiva’s Fire, against the glare of the Io plasma torus. It was commanded by his good friend, Vice Admiral Tessa Dorren.
Nearby a quartet of ships from the High Navy of Grrusarr maneuvered into position, their blood-red paint scattering the light. The High Navy generally didn’t condone their troops to battle with lesser beings, but after their priests reviewed the combat data from the Zionians a fervor broke out amongst the general populace of Grrusarr. The stars were aligned for a prophecy to come true, but in Grrusarri mythology, nearly every shooting star and lunar eclipse meant it was time for a battle. It didńt matter, he was glad to have them. When they got to 79 Ceti III, the planet Zion, they would need every ship they could spare.
He was brought out of his brief reverie by the speaker at his elbow :
“We copy, Bismark. Hold position while we initialize primary sequence. The OLYMPUS array is locking coordinates for 79Ceti III, at .89 AU from the system’s primary. Wormhole stability is projected for ninety-six point eight percent. Bismark, we are ready.”
Ramirez looked around at his crew. He knew that they wereńt comforted by a three percent chance at being lost in an interspatial fold, but they also knew that waiting for a better window could jeopardize the entire mission. Ramirez took bowed his head to collect his thoughts for a long few seconds and then rose from his chair, drawing himself up to his full height. In the seat next to him was Yudis, his Sha’Onare liaison from the separatist colony on Triton. The Sha’Onare settlers had lived there, hidden for hundreds of years, and now had come out to help their chosen benefactors against a foe they knew too well. His long limbs sprawled over the arms of the chair and his knees pointed toward the ceiling. Though he was middle-aged for his species, he had been alive before Ramirez’ great-grandfather had been born on New Texas. Their species had a radically different physiology, but even his environment suit couldn’t mask his thin frame, as he appeared like a living skeleton. “Any predictions or omens from your oracles, Yudis?”
The blue skin around the alien’s eyes tightened in what might have been a friendly gesture. “The oracles say nothing definitive, but Tsuk’ukaiak always rewards great knowledge and strategy. He is the master-planner of the gods.” The ancient being spoke as though he had personally spoken with the deity.
Ramirez smirked. “Then I hope he’s watching, because this is one hell of a plan.” He looked at his communications Lieutenant. “Time to leave something for the history books. Open a channel to the fleet.”
“Aye Sir. Channel open. Transmitting on all standard frequencies.”
“Admiral Ramirez to all ships:
I greet you all, my fellow soldiers. Today is a momentous day, for us and for all of the Terran Imperium. We are now gathered together in the largest military force ever assembled in our history, dedicated to a single purpose: To free the people of Zion. Our lost brothers of humanity have built a great world, a world of peace and freedom, a credit to all members of this race. They have suffered now for almost two years under the oppression and cruelty of the Sha’Onare’ Dominate. That changes now. We will engage their fleet, and free our brothers and sisters. The enemy doesn’t expect us to come. They don’t think we are a threat to their control. They only have a passing knowledge of our existence. They will know who we are and that we will not tolerate any citizen of this Empire to suffer by their hand. Today, we will be victorious, for there is no power in the universe that can keep a people captive forever. We do this not just for Zion, but For the Imperium!!”
Even with the signal traveling at only light speed, Ramirez could almost hear the entire populace of nineteen star systems cheering them on. Win or lose, their effort would never be forgotten. As he pondered whether he would be remembered as a Patton or a Hannibal, he closed the transmission link. He nodded to his comm officer and then turned to his crew, the pride of the Empire, “Lets get underway, shall we?”
“Well said, Admiral.” Yudis said with a nod.
“It just came to me.” Ramirez shrugged, as he sat in his command chair and began tapping a data console near his knee.
The Lieutenant turned to his control board. “Tartarus Control, this is the TFC with Bismark, we are ready for mass projection transport. Start countdown at 5 minutes, initiate at 2, complete at zero.”
There was only a nervous quiet on the deck as the crew tried to keep busy while waiting for the OLYMPUS array to reach full power. The array was the pinnacle of human technological advancement: nearly instantaneous interstellar transportation. Using the energy created by the Io plasma torus and Jupiteŕs enormous magnetic field, four generations of the best scientific minds had crafted Tartarus station, the control center of the array. The theory was a basic idea: Create a high enough energy field so that the laws of physics start to break down, and instead of walking the entire road from where you are to where you want to be you momentarily put your beginning and your end side by side and step across. Because of the enormous amount of power required only two such arrays existed in the entire Terran Imperium meaning that, until a sufficient power source could be found near Zion, this would be a one way trip.
The young lieutenant́s voice broke the silence, “Tartarus control reports a point-zero-three T-diff at the aperture.”
A time differential was a nasty side effect. Sometimes when space was bent, time went with it. There was no known way to predict it, so parts of the fleet could get there seconds, or hours apart. “Risk acceptable, proceed with sequence. Ramirez to all Zionian ships: Form up and be ready to get the drop ships in fast. The Lancers will cover you. Make sure Desolation squadron gets in”.
“Tartarus control to Lancer Fleet: The OLYMPUS array is active. Initiating space-fold.”
A pulsing golden field came from the Array, and began to surround the entire fleet, slowly getting brighter as its pulsing increased. The throbbing noise permeated the ship and sent waves of vertigo through Ramirez’ skull, that made the room spin before he lost consciousness.
***
Commander Rovuu, War Master of the third grand armada of the Sha’Onare Dominate stood next to his chair, surveying the planet below. Eozax, as the star was called, had no particular strategic value and its planetoids had an ecosystem which wrought havoc upon the organic systems of his people. He had only been to the surface twice, first to oversee a public execution of planetary leaders and then second to congratulate his battle engineers personally for their efforts. Both times he was greatly relieved to return to the comfort of a breathable atmosphere. Nevertheless, He was musing over it, congratulating himself on the successful conquest of the 62nd world to be added to the Dominate, the first in over 60 cycles. He was sure to receive great honor back on Shio’or. His children and mate, Yanna, would be greatly elevated perhaps to even ground with the lower nobility. His house would be rising for some time to come.
He gazed upon his armada, the pride of the Dominate. Rovuu commanded only the third armada, but the high council had been pleased with what he had done with little. The Eozax, humans, Zionians, or whatever they called themselves, had progressed significantly in weaponary technology, but they were no match for hundreds of ships brought to bear on them. Battle Ships, Warcruisers, and smaller BlastShips all ringed the planet, monitoring the world below. His generals were confident that the Eozaxian resistance was over. He shuddered at the memory of the early days of conquest: First they fought with ships in suicidal tactics, expending all weapons and ramming when no other option remained; when their ships were gone they fought with armor transport, rifles and simple projectiles; when their forces were scattered they fought with knives and sticks and hand to hand, tearing open the lifesuits of his troops; those who had nothing left would strap concealed explosives to their bodies and allow themselves to be captured, only to detonated inside a troop carrier or an interrogation facility. Now the resistance was based from the deep desert as the Eozax hid with the native tssarrik. The Eozax accepted living with an inferior race side by side as equals, yet they would not recognize the superiority of the Dominate.
These Eozax were fanatical, devoted completely to their prophet. Rovuu had executed one in a public display, yet another had surfaced. Despite their initial violence, they seemed to be coming around. There had been no great uprisings in almost forty planetary rotations. All was quiet, almost too...
His sensor technician startled him out of his thoughts, “Commander Rovuu! We are, picking up a large and rapidly increasing energy signal somewhere near the second moon.”
Rovuús face tightened in distaste. The last time they registered “strange readings”, Eozax raiders had come out and crashed to the planet’s surface. No bodies or survivors were found, only empty ships rigged to explode that took and entire squadron of reconnaissance troops. These beings were indeed a clever breed. The Dominate had been working for centuries on space-fold technology, but they had been beaten to the punch by the oxygen-breathing Eozax.
“Get a definite fix on those energy readings; Does the signal match the previous disturbance created by the Eozax during their last raid, Lieutenant?”
The technician studied his display, working the controls “Admiral, I can't get a direct fix on it, the moon's magnetic field is scrambling our scans. It fits the pattern, but it́s a much larger field.” Suddenly he looked up, eyes wide, “Admiral, I am detecting a symmetric energy displacement of over sixty billion kuui!”
The Eozax. Again. They were an infestation. This Zion of theirs wasn’t even their homeworld, though they claimed not to know where their home was. Nothing was more maddening than an uncooperative Eozax. Nevertheless, interrogations had proven most entertaining while giving an insight into their psychology. He had seen dozens starve to death rather than give information while others endured savage beatings or exposure to the vacuum of space without complaint claiming that they were suffering a righteous cause. How was illogical resistance to a superior force a righteous cause? Reports from the surface indicated that threatening the mates and children of their leaders was having some success in revealing information on the still-resistant Eozax. The information he sought seemed near, and then a sixty-third world would be added to the Dominate, perhaps in the next ten years. He turned to the technician “What is our tactical situation, lieutenant?”
“It looks like another raid, Admiral. A large one.”
“Send the 3rd ship group to intercept the raiders.” Rovuu was not about to have more rabble rousers disrupting his planet, not while he was in command.
Another sensor technician’s blue features paled a bit. He looked up “Admiral, if my readings are correct, this is no simple raid!”
More curious than alarmed, Rovuu asked “How many enemy ships?”
Fear showing in his actions the technician looked, almost afraid of what he might find, “Counting, sir. I read 20, 25, 40, no 50. They keep coming, Sir.”
War Master Rovuu replied in terse yet condescending voice, “We cannot fight without fact, Sensor Technician Portuss.”
The young officer calmed, “Yes, Sir. I confirm cruiser size ships at 80, nowhere near the size of our Battle Ships. Also reading numerous small craft, only big enough for a crew of four.”
Rovuu rubbed his head in confusion. “Smaller craft? What function do they have? Are they maintenance ships?
The technician was also confused. “I cannot deduce their function, but they have no detectable forward energy battery. If they are maintenance ships, it would indicate they need to repair their ships after they emerge from the fold.”
“Excellent. We enjoy the advantage of superior in numbers and capability, and their technology is no match for ours. We should be able to deal with them, send the Tial'niraaak along with the third shipgroup to intercept. That should suffice serve the small craft cautiously, the Eozaxian menace has used suicide tactics before.”
“Tial moving to intercept”
“Contact our ground forces, signal general alert. We don't want any more armed Eozax getting to the surface and causing trouble.” Rovuu sat back in his chair, observing the intercept group. This time, nothing would get through his fleet
***
Sitting up, still slightly dizzy from being projected 120 light years in two minutes, Ramirez called to his comm officer “Call to all ships: Report status and form up. Who got here first?”
The comm officer came alive, though appeared to be having trouble controlling his stomach. “The Wellington has been here for one minute forty-five seconds, Admiral. Sir! I’m not reading the Shiva’s Fire...” He heaved and vomited on the floor, then wiped his mouth. “They must have been lost in transit. I’m also missing two gunships and some supply frigates..”
Ramirez lowered his head. They all knew the risks for using an array over such great distances. He said a silent prayer for Tessa and her crew. Then he looked up, eyes blazing “They’ll be missed, but I’m not going to lose anyone else I don’t have to. We didn’t lose much of our advantage of surprise, so lets move. All ships report!”
The comm system burst to life with conflicting communication
“Control, this is Lancer One. Saber squadron reads green across the board.”
“Katanna Squadron reads five by five”
“Kopesh Squadron, there's a variance in grid 6-1-9, move to compensate.”
“Control, this is Kopesh leader, variance compensated, note to repair when we come back in”
“Axe squadron is locked, cocked and ready to rock.”
“Halberd Squadron is in formation.”
“Lancer groups two and three also ready”
Good. Most of his fleet and all of the lancers had made the jump intact, and were ready to go. He opened up a channel to the fleet. “This is Ramirez. All flight leaders, you are go. Operation Invictus is go. Engage the Dominate Cruisers and capital ships when you get within four thousand meters, but you must release your missiles within 50 meters so the proximity fuses work properly. Engage all targets of opportunity at your own discretion”
Axe Leader chimed in “Copy control? 50 meters is pretty close”
Ramirez smiled “Then you'd just better fly as good as you talk, Nick. Comm, have all squad leaders, begin to rally at coordinates 350 mark 23 by 2200 kilometers.”
“You humans certainly enjoy your humor, Admiral.” Yudis was standing in front of the main tactical display, his 2.4 meter frame nearly reaching to the ceiling. “I would hope that they are able to focus on their tasks. Everything relies on this battle.”
“Don’t worry, Yudis.” Ramirez stood next to him watching two groups of dots converge around the moon. “Its called ‘defying death,’ we’ve been doing it for millennia.”
Yudis looked as though he was about to respond, but instead turned his emotionless mask to the battle screen. All was silent for a few moments, and then the comm crackled again “Katanna Leader to Bismark. Look alive, fleet, it looks like we’ve got our first target.”
***
“Shipgroup Commander Hojur to Admiral Rovuu, we have visual on the enemy fleet, and are transmitting.” The Tial'niraaak and the third shipgroup were entering into range with the Eozax raiders.
Rovuu studied the images being sent. These ships looked nothing like the Zionian ships he had destroyed almost a cycle ago. No, wait, there were a few of the Zionian ships in their fleet. “How many breeds of Eozax are there?” He muttered under his breath. He saw a number of larger ships, though none to compete with his flagship, Tsal’itark’s Fist. Sure enough, there were a multitude of tiny ships surrounding the fleet, making a screen between their fleet and the Tial’niraaak. He opened a channel. “This is Fleet Admiral Rovuu, we are receiving your feed. Target their lead ship. Try to capture a few vessels, they may be able to tell us more about where they come from. We must destroy their den.”
Hojur spoke again “The large ships are holding back behind the smaller craft, but energy patterns do not suggest any significant energy weapons on craft that small. Can they be a threat?”
Rovuu was becoming annoyed; It was as though these Eozax were sent by Tsuk’ukaiak himself to test his knowledge with questions he could not answer “Ignore them, they are nothing but iulla fleas, better ignored than swatted. There is no honor in destroying what can be taken.”
The bewildered operations officer spoke up “They seem to be in an attack formation. Admiral, the smaller ships are attacking!”
Rovuu was confused “Attacking? With what? They have no energy weapons.”
The officer’s eyes were wide with concern “The maintenance ships, they're launching projectiles.”
“What kind of projectiles?” Rovuu snapped.
“Some sort of explosive, one I’ve not seen before. Our database doesn’t recognize the composition. Not to worry, sir, our armor will withstand these Eozax chemicals and explosives.”
***
“Katanna Squadron, this is the Zionian Space Fleet Bountiful.”
Katanna squadron soared past the Bountiful, one of the last Mormon battleships, its Lancers in a split diamond formation. Its leader, Alan Janson, spoke into his headset. “This is Katanna leader. I copy, uh... elder?”
“Since we have to go through that fleet on our way to Zion, would you brethren like a little help?”
Janson grinned “That would be great, Bountiful. Would ye mind if while we took yonder big ships over there, ye could smite them on thy way to the surface?”
The voice on the other end chuckled “Sure thing, Katana. Just make sure you target the energy flux at the base of the ship’s drive. That's their main power core.”
Alan feigned confusion and tapped his headset “The what? The green thing?”
The Bountiful came back “No, the blue one!”
Alan smiled to his crew “Oops. Good thing we're packing plenty of presents.” He turned to his crew, who all shared his grim smile. The humor took the edge off the tension in the ship. They knew the odds they were up against, and they had all left their loved ones with final good-byes, just in case.
“Very funny, Katanna Lead. Lets go wish these infidels a Merry Christmas. Bountiful out.”
The comm crackled again “Fleet to all Lancer squadrons; We have crossed the threshold. Fire at all targets of opportunity. Set up your squadrons in an Iron Eagle Flank, until you are ready to fire.”
Alan watched as his lancer joined the others up in front of the fleet, and streaked towards the oncoming ships looming in the distance. They were bigger than the Martian shipyards, and the bluish green light their systems put out made them look like ghosts in space.
“YEEEHAAAAAAAWW!” Axe Three came in over the comm, filled with the thrill of battle. To be fighting against non-humans was an entirely different feeling than the wars which scarred millennia of human conflict.
Nameless tactical officers continued to direct the fleet. “Come at them from below, the majority of their guns are on the dorsal axis.
Sabre Lead came over Alan’s speakers “Can do, Control. We'll engage the capital ships, take care of those blastships, and can someone check on those small ships heading towards the surface?”
A strange voice came over the comm “This is Strategic Control, those are dropships, making a delivery to the planet. Try not to draw attention to them”
“You know something we don’t, StratCon?” Axe Leader asked.
“Let’s just say we humans aren’t the only ones fighting today, Nick.”
As the Lancer squadrons began to close in, the vacuum of space became filled with tiny rockets that glittered against the stars. On the surface of Zion in the early morning hours, between the pale outlines of her twin moons, a few bright flashes could be seen.
***
*Thump* “Sir, a minor impact on the Tial, damage is negligible. It was likely a dud.” The sensor technician was studying his screen intently.
Hojur spoke again “This is the Tial'niraaak, to Rovuu. Sir, we are having difficulty targeting the smaller ships. They are so small they are evading our cannon. We are currently targeted by 20, no, 40 projectiles.”
Those projectiles worried Rovuu “What is the nature of their projectiles?” He barked at his science officer. The young sha jumped, his hands trembling, his eyes wide with fear. Rovuu knew it was not good news.
“I’m not certain, Sir.” He replied. “They must be desperate, they're optically guided, liquid fuel propulsion, and require extreme proximity for a target lock.”
Rovuu spoke again to Hojur “Butcher the carcasses, Commander, then the flies.”
Hojur came on frantically “There’s too many! They're targeting our ports, weapons, communi-“
His message was cut short by static, and a blinding flash of light was partially eclipsed by the edge of the moon. A flash so bright, the view screen had to darken momentarily.
Rovuu’s head whipped around to his sensor crew “What was that? Get me the Tial’niraaak.”
His comm officer stood frozen and spoke in a voice deathly still, “Sir, we have lost the Tial”
“WHAT!” Rovuu bellowed, his face blue with anger. He slapped the officer across the face. “What happened?”
The sensor tech was quiet “They've been... neutralized by the Eozax projectiles.” He looked up timidly at the Admiral.
Rovuu rocked back on his heels “HOW! What are those projectiles? Why didn’t you scan them?” He lifted the officer from the deck and dug his fingers into his muscle fibers.
The science officer’s eyes were now wide with shock “The missiles are putting out radioactive signatures, sir.”
Rovuu spat at the lieutenant while still holding his sensor technician sixty centimeters off the ground “Why would anyone use nuclear fuel in a missile?”
“It's a nuclear explosive. Admiral, the projectiles have nuclear payloads. They seem to direct a high-energy plasma stream that eats through the armor like impocs.” The bridge was now silent.
Rovuu dropped the officer and leaned against his chair as the magnitude of the message sank in. “Gods, I didn't think that was possible. Fusion for power, yes. But as a weapon? What kind of savages are these Eozaxians?” The database couldn’t find a match because nuclear weapons were so crude and violent it was the belief of the high council that no race would ever use them in combat. They left the victor with no honor. In 3000 years of conquest, the Dominate had lost only 8 War Cruisers, and the last two were to a massive solar flare. Now the second ship of the fleet had been destroyed by intelligent primates. His very soul was in jeopardy.
Standing up straight, Rovuu pulled out his vrii-knife from a sheath on his left leg, “Signal all ships in the Fleet!” He drew the knife across his palm, his blue/black blood welling out. He clasped his hand to his forehead and let out an ear-splitting bellow which was joined by the entire crew, and by the crews of the other ships. Rovuu stormed across the bridge to the communications pit and grabbed a transmitter, his blood smearing across the panel.“All Fleet to condition White. This is Fleet Admiral Rovuu! We are being attacked by a large force of Eozaxians from an unknown source. They have nuclear, I repeat nuclear missiles, and are using them indiscriminately. Repeat, engage condition white. The humans have declared vang-dur upon us; there can be no alternative.”
The communications officer looked alarmed “Do I read sir correctly sir, condition white?”
Rovuu’s eyes blazed “Confirmed. Condition white. Engage at discretion and fire indiscriminately on all enemy ships. They have no honor and will take us all to a bloodless death if we allow them. Target smaller ships and destroy their nuclear filth. Take no prisoners, hear no surrenders, and do not honor their fight. Males, females, young have been reclassified as acceptable targets. Death to the Zions, for their profanity. Death to their entire race.” With his own blood shed, Rovuu declared Vang Dur, the Oath of Blood Vengeance against the Eozax barbarians. No oath was more sacred. He would defeat these Eozax, or suffer the consequences.
The lieutenant shuddered. It had been millennia since the oath had been used, it was a thing of unspoken legends. Vang Dur had not been declared since the Gray War, when the Shok-Gur had used a plague on the Sha’Onare as a weapon. The price they paid for that sacrilege was the annihilation of their race. “Understood, sir. The Topar, Vukta, and Raaque moving with their fleet elements to engage the Eozax.”
***
The first Dominate ships began to vanish in a white flashes and spectacular explosions. Admiral Ramirez smiled, noting that the ships exploded in green fire, because of their nitrogen/methane atmospheres.
A frantic voice came over the comm “This is Sabre Two to Control! Sabre Lead is gone. He got caught in the tail-end of the blast. Control, they brought four of those blast cannons to bear on one ship; These guys are seriously pissed.”
Ramirez took the reply “Copy, Sabre. Halberd 6,9,10 move to cover that squad. Get them where they need to go.”
Sabre two sounded anxious “They've got a helluva lot of guns pointed at my squad, control.”
“We read, Sabre,” Another calm voice of command came across the channel, “This is the Shaka. Stay with us, and you’ll be ok. Moving to shield Sabre squadron.”
Alan activated his comm “Careful, Sabre. They can't track if you breach their shields. You gotta get in close.” He spiraled his ship closer and closer to the Dominate battleship. “You gotta get very close.” His ship was clipped by an energy pulse from the ship “That’s too close!”
His gunner fired a missile, and then he veered off, evading fire. He took a look at the rear display “Would ya look at that sucker burn! Sure must be awful to get fried by an inferior race.”
Alan looked at his gunner uninterestedly, “They breathe gasoline, what do you expect?” Both men smiled briefly and then went back to their duties.
“Admiral, I’m getting a lot of chatter from the Sha fleet.” The linguistics officer was listening intently. It was a blessing to have a human that could speak the SháOnare on his ship, and Ramirez knew it. “If I understand the translation correctly, they are at high alert... something about ‘vang-do’... I think.”
Yudis sprang from his chair and in an instant was at the arm of the young Martian ensign. “Could it not have been ‘Vang-dur’?”
She gripped her headset again and closed her eyes tightly and repeated in a slow grating voice, “Eozax vi titum gradies vang-dur.”
Yudis gripped the console, shaking as though he had been hit by I torpedo. “He wouldn’t... they couldn’t, not again.” He was visibly unnerved, even through his suit.
“What is it, Yudis?” Ramirez shook his shoulder. “Care to translate that for us?”
“The council thought this would happen.” The alien slowly walked to his seat and dropped himself in, resting his willowy arms in his lap, speaking almost in a whisper, “They have declared Vang-Dur, an The Oath of Blood Vengeance. That means their fleet commander declared it, which means it will be ratified by the High Circle.” He looked at Ramirez. “My people have sworn not to rest until your race is annihalated.”
“What? Why?” An enemy was one thing, but Ramirez had a gut feeling that the Imperium had bitten off more than they could chew here. “We take a few of their ships and then all of a sudden it́s all or nothing? Isńt that a bit extreme?”
“You misunderstand, you are the ones who declared it first. The nuclear weapons, my people feel they are ‘unclean’ weapons. In using them, you have dishonored the deaths of those onboard those vessels. Anything done to dishonor your death is justified by divine precinct and such action has just become the sole will of the Dominate.” Yudis paused and closed his eyes in an expression of pain and recollection, “It is an ancient custom, not often invoked, but it comes from the Saga of Eylaehei, who vowed to pursue his mate’s killer with the oath:
My first thought each awakening,
and the last before I sleep.
I pledge my life to your undoing.
I will burn the skies, and crack the ground
To send your broken body to Tsana’ri.”
There was a core of ice in Ramirez’s stomach. “What’s Tsana’ri?”
Yudiśeyes opened sharply and gazed into Ramirez soul. He waited for what seemed an eternity before his answer: “Hell.”
***
In the pre-dawn of Zion, the small lights near the moon Zarahemla could barely be noticed, if there was anybody with inclination to look at them. As the sun began to climb from behind the Meridian Mountains an explosion rocked the city of Ephraim. Wide and well ordered streets were filled with an enraged populace that was now fleeing from a smoking building had been a secured position. It was sad, really, that the exact planning of the cities had made them that much easier to take, and now take back. As brother Zachariah observed through his macroview, their maneuver was working perfectly. “Jonas, hoẃs our timetable look?”
An enormous man spoke softly through a voice plate in his suit, slightly distorting his pitch. Even at his elbow he sounded far off, “President Cannon, we began receiving scattered Sha transmissions at slightly before daybreak. Theýre here, just like they said theýd be.”
“Íve told you, Jonas, brother Zachariah will do fine for conversation. Let́s get a move on; In a few hours it́ll be noon. The days half gone, and we haveńt got anything done yet. The troop of desert riders smiled at the jest. They knew how much weighed on the mind of their prophet, Zachariah Cannon, and he knew how much they depended on him. They would die for him in an instant, if he asked it; it would be better than the fate of many Zionians that day who would suffer minutes and hours before a celestial repose. The prophet removed his headplate and asked with decision, “Brother Lourenço, would you offer a prayer for us?”
Another soldier removed his own headplate revealing dark features topped by greying hair and a somber expression, “for allof us, brother Zachariah.” Almost in unison the eight figures removed their headplates revealing six men of varying ages and two shorter tssarrik, natives of the planet Zion. They knelt in a circle, arms folded across their chest and heads bowed in silent reverence:
“O God, our eternal Father, we give thee thanks this day for hearing our prayers. We know, Father, that thou dost hear us, and we give glory to your power and promise that we might be a free people. We thank thee for the presence of our Terran brothers who have given so much to be here, for their willingness to help us all, and for their self-sacrifice which brings us freedom. Today, Father, we are gathered in order to free ourselves from bondage, to follow thy prophet and they counsels that we might remember thee in all our doings. We know that we are weak and helpless without thee. We ask thee, O God, that thou wouldst bless us today with strength and endurance that we might run and not tire, that we might have fire in our bones to follow in faith, and trust in our leaders. We ask that thou wouldst bless and protect our prophet, that he could continue on beyond this day to rebuild our peoples and guide this great nation. All of these things we ask, in the name of thy precious son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”
All the men looked up with a resolute “Amen”, yet tears could be seen in the eyes of all those who could produce them.
Zechariah Cannon, the youngest prophet in over five hundred years, called by divine authority to lead the people of Zion, both human and tssarrik alike to freedom and beyond walked to his welpuk mount and began to tighten his saddle. In the resistance, animal transport was used whenever possible in order to avoid energy detection from Sha patrol scans. His people were born and bred in the deep sand, giving them a slight advantage over their enemies from an icy world, and they exploited it to every advantage.
As the other men began to hiss lovingly to their mounts, the prophet went over their travel route in his mind. For eight years he had planned, dug, and supervised the massive underground waterways which made the desert in the Mormon Valley blossom like a rose using the deep underground springs and aquifers of Zion. They would ride towards Ephriam city from the east, then duck into the furthermost watergate on their amphibious mounts. There was a high pressure dispatch in Ephriam that went all the way to Pishgah and the Brigham Young Command Center, one of the few remaining Human communications facilities. The Sha’Onare had maintained the entire complex to study their technology and search for their homeworld. Zecariah had no idea where Earth was, but the Terran commandoes who had gotten through the blockade two years ago did. They had gotten the codes to him, but Zechariah new that if they didn’t get to Pishgah in by first noon they never would.
As the troop descended towards the city Zechariah suddenly stopped and signaled to his general, “Jonas, how many soldiers will advance on the capital?”
His bodyguard and childhood friend came about until they were side by side, “We have three hundred twenty thousand of our best men in position around the world. Tens of thousands will march on Manti in less than an hour to seize the command complex.”
The prophet looked through his friend into the carnage that would come to pass that day. Without changing his gaze he said to Jonas, “Signal captain Harris and tell him that the troops are too many. Tell the men that all of them who enter the city today will die. Reduce the troop compliment by seventy-five percent.”
“But Brother Zeke!” exclaimed one of the younger men, “If we send in so few troops, of course wéll die. Wére outgunned against a fortified position. The enemy is all around us!”
Zechariah́s head snapped towards the man who spoke and replied in a calm voice that thundered in the minds of all present, “Do you forget the God which brought us to our inheritance, that we hold the royal priesthood of the Lord God of Hosts? If we send one million soldiers into the city, all of them will perish and nothing would be left. This war will be long and God has promised our salvation. Today He will fight our battles for us.”
Jonas pulled out a patched transmitter from his shoulder and flicked it on, “Bishop to quorum, transmitting updated deployment information.” He then scratched some symbols on the touchpad. The tssarrik pictographic language was the only code that the Dominate forces had yet to unravel, and thus very little verbal communication was used over cryst-com.
As the prophet breathed a sigh of relief, his men took comfort in his calmness. They all had a job to do, and they knew it would be hard. None of them, however, knew when their job would be done.
p.s. I would love feedback before I post any more of this.
My writing is also fantastic.
