The Hunted (nBSG)

[MondoMage]

I doubt that the current force represents all of the Guardian's military strength. Although considering the level of resistance they're seeing from what few Earth forces are in-system, I don't think it will matter much in the grand scheme of things.

What matter now is how those Cylon ground forces fare. The best odds for the defenders will be to deal with them before they land, if they can.

[Diverball]

*jawdrops*
Frack me.... missile spam like that is impressive. Do they have more than one salvo?

From the sound of it, I'd think not. Pretty much any sanely designed anti-shipping missile racks will flush when they fire in order to oversaturate an enemy's countermeasures.

Plus, the more missiles you carry, the smaller the individual missiles would have to be simply in order to fit. You might be able to saturate the defences, but that's no use if the individual strikes are too weak to do more than scratch the paint. As it is, I suspect any sub-missile small enough to be loaded four to a missile, and sixty-four long-range carrier missiles to something the size of a Cheyenne, would take thousands of hits to cripple something as large and heavily-armoured as a Gemini. Hence, presumably, why they were deployed against the Raiders.

Does make you wonder what the Sulaco's Long Lance's are for though. If Terran PD is so good that it takes this kind of missile spam to penetrate it, then a small number of large missiles are all but usless......unless, of course, the target has been ionised first.

Quite convenient though, having a missile loadout that is equally effective against (reasonable-sized) warships and fighters.

[Diverball]

What matter now is how those Cylon ground forces fare. The best odds for the defenders will be to deal with them before they land, if they can.

Didn't Hudson say in Aliens that the APC carried a particle beam turret? That'll be fun against centurions....

[Borgholio]

What matter now is how those Cylon ground forces fare. The best odds for the defenders will be to deal with them before they land, if they can.

Didn't Hudson say in Aliens that the APC carried a particle beam turret? That'll be fun against centurions....

Yeah he specifically mentioned, "You can fry half a city with this puppy!"

[Shawn]

Hmm, so far the Guardians have lost 3,000 Raiders to collisions and missle strikes with an unknown number lost to the Vipers and the guns of the Cougars, Bearcats and Hurricanes. BTW did MA mention how the Hurricanes were armed?

Next they (Guardians) most likely took one Hell of a beating from the point defense of the CAC destroyers and dreadnought. Any guesses as to what they have left?

Additionally, The Guardians lost 2 Wishbones and 2 Geminis as hard kills with one unknown type Basestar fried by the DN's beam weapon. With the Command Basestar bugging out that gives the Guardians 13 Basestars left to face the Colonials the Americans and the Royal Navy err.. Three World Empire contingents. And, of course, the skin jobs' Basestars.

[Themightytom]

Hmm, so far the Guardians have lost 3,000 Raiders to collisions and missle strikes with an unknown number lost to the Vipers and the guns of the Cougars, Bearcats and Hurricanes. BTW did MA mention how the Hurricanes were armed?

Next they (Guardians) most likely took one Hell of a beating from the point defense of the CAC destroyers and dreadnought. Any guesses as to what they have left?

Additionally, The Guardians lost 2 Wishbones and 2 Geminis as hard kills with one unknown type Basestar fried by the DN's beam weapon. With the Command Basestar bugging out that gives the Guardians 13 Basestars left to face the Colonials the Americans and the Royal Navy err.. Three World Empire contingents. And, of course, the skin jobs' Basestars.

They also took losses in the cyber attack, I'm not sure how that is orchestrated though, it could have just been idle centurions plugging in, some kind of ship board intelligence or a specific leader caste. The wanton destruction of so many centurions, (3 at a time in the raider's case, more on the base stars) must be throwing their network for a loop. It was the organic cylons that corrected the download flaw wasn't it, not the Guardians?

The Guardians launched their shuttles, but what's the point if they can't secure airspace? i don't think they're looking to take prisoners here, but rather knock the 13th tribe out of the fight, Zoe didn't seem to believe the scope of what she was up again when she went into this. This attack force is the same size as the one that was protecting Cylon Prime from Daniel, I think it's fair to say it is a good chunk of their forces, if they lose it all they might not have much more.

[Borgholio]

I seem to recall Zoe saying that they'll gather everything they have and go after the Colonials / Skinjobs...since Cavil nuked the Cylon homeworld they had nothing to leave behind.

[Shawn]

I seem to recall Zoe saying that they'll gather everything they have and go after the Colonials / Skinjobs...since Cavil nuked the Cylon homeworld they had nothing to leave behind.

Maybe I got that wrong, I thought Cavil nuked the Skinjobs' homeworld that was in the process of being occupied by the Guardians.

[Borgholio]

It was the Cylon homeworld which I think was also home to the Guardians. I may be wrong as well, but he did take a great deal of toasters when him when he died either way.

[Diverball]

They also took losses in the cyber attack, I'm not sure how that is orchestrated though, it could have just been idle centurions plugging in, some kind of ship board intelligence or a specific leader caste. The wanton destruction of so many centurions, (3 at a time in the raider's case, more on the base stars) must be throwing their network for a loop. It was the organic cylons that corrected the download flaw wasn't it, not the Guardians?

Exploiting the download flaw requires the simultaneous destruction of over a million Cylons. There probably aren't that many in the whole taskforce.

[masterarminas]

The Centurion Commander stared down at the screen from the cockpit of the lead Guardian shuttle inbound towards Beowulf. Eight hundred and ninety-nine identical shuttles trailed behind him—and none of the humans were in position to intercept his forces. The Imperious Leader had commanded that he take this world, and with the thousands of Centurions at his beck and call, he had little doubt that he could.

But the DRADIS showed something . . . odd ahead of his command. This world had far more satellites in orbit than the emissions from the surface indicated that it should. And while many satellites were in geo-synchronous orbit, and others in low-orbit, there was a constellation of three hundred that were using station-keeping thrusters to interpose themselves between his shuttles and the planet surface.

It worried him.

“Full DRADIS scan on the satellites designated as Group K,” the Commander ordered.

“By your command,” answered the Centurion manning the sensor station. “Satellites are oblong, four meters in length with one meter diameter—reaction thrusters maintaining station, detecting telemetry links between the satellites and planetary surface. No hostile emissions.” The Centurion paused. “Warning, detecting radiological presence aboard each satellite.”

The Commander did not reply, his eye kept bouncing from side-to-side as he considered. Mines. Nuclear mines. It was an old concept, but in space, nuclear weapons had to be detonated at very close ranges to be effective.

“Order the gunners to target the mines,” he commanded. “We will engage as we enter range and continue to the surface once a lane has been cleared.”

“By your command.”

The shuttles continued to close even as the battle behind them doubled in intensity again—the Commander did not know despair, but he came as close as any M-00005 could to experiencing that emotion. The flesh-models had returned—and they were now aiding the humans in attacking the Fleet. It did not bode well for the conquest of this world, but he had his own mission.

“Approaching engagement range,” the second Centurion reported.

“Very well,” the Commander answered, “all gunners may engage as we bear on the . . .,”

The Commander never managed to finish his statement as his shuttle and the one hundred Centurions aboard it was converted into an expanding cloud of debris and dust. He had correctly identified the objects as mines, and the Guardians sensors had noticed that each carried a nuclear device at their core. But these mines were not mere bombs designed to explode and damage objects within their blast radius.

No. These Earth mines were bomb-pumped gamma-ray lasers.

As the shuttles came within their engagement range, officers in a ground base designated targets and sent the commands—and each mine detonated, sending an extremely powerful laser beam towards each of the shuttles.

In thirty seconds, all three hundred orbital mines had detonated—and a third of the Guardians landing force was vaporized. The remaining six hundred odd shuttles plunged into the atmosphere—and they were instantly met by air-breathing fighter craft and surface-to-air missiles. The upper atmosphere became a maelstrom of chaos and havoc, and in the end less than three hundred shuttles and thirty thousand Centurions survived to set foot on Beowulf.

Where the ground forces of Earth awaited them.

[Shawn]

Damn, the Guardians just can't catch a break. While this is a major colony, you have to wonder what Earth's defenses look like.

You almost have to feel sorry for the Guardians when the various Terran navies get themselves sorted out into a unified fleet and go looking for a little payback. Looks like it will be time to execute whatever their equivalent of General Order 24 is.

[Borgholio]

Beowulf is like the Pearl Harbor of the Terran Forces...it's going to be massively defended. Given how protective the ICC is about the planet, I bet Earth is just bristling with things that make you go boom.

[masterarminas]

Admiral Adama stared at the DRADIS display as he waited and waited and waited; then when he was almost convinced that the human-form replicants had abandoned him, two new icons suddenly appeared.

“New contacts!” sang out Captain Felix Gaeta. “Two Nova-class Basestars—they are launching Raiders . . . and engaging Force Alpha with missile strikes!”

A cheer went up through CIC, and Adama bared his teeth. “Major Shaw, Galactica will advance—take us into their teeth and give the Guardians the boot, don’t piss on them.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” Galactica’s new XO answered as she passed along the orders.

“SIR!” Gaeta shouted in horror, and Adama looked back up at the display. Two of the ships in Force Alpha were like nothing any Colonial had ever before seen. Each had four arms on the dorsal and ventral surfaces and were the size of the Wishbone class, but so far they had done little to contribute to the battle. Until now.

Now, each locked missile tubes on target and a salvo of two hundred missiles streaked away—bracketing Anubis in a halo of nuclear and conventional fire. Adama closed his eyes as that small Battlestar simply vanished in the holocaust that swept over her. Goodbye, Colonel Thorean, Adama thought in prayer as he opened his eyes once more. And then he smiled grimly—Anubis had flushed her own missile tubes just before the Guardian strike had destroyed her.

Only a dozen missiles, but this new class lacked heavy point defense. Ten went home and shattered plating—unfortunately Anubis had not been equipped with any nuclear warheads of her own.

“Mister Gaeta, order Scorpia to shift fire to the new ships—designate them as Longbow-class.”

“Admiral, Commander Jayne has already launched on those vessels,” Felix reported, holding one hand over his ear piece as he repeated what he was hearing.

Galactica lurched as a heavy kinetic strike went home against her hull. “Pegasus and Galactica will concentrate on the two remaining Wishbones in Force Beta; Scorpia, Aurora, and the Novas deal with Alpha. Where are our Vipers?”

“Harrying surviving Raiders that are attempting to return to their ships, Admiral,” answered Shaw. “Kat reports that they are getting low on fuel and munitions.”

Adama nodded. “Begin recovery operations squadron by squadron ASAP. I want them refueled, rearmed, and launched as fast as Tyrol can get them turned around.”

“INCOMING!” yelled Gaeta, and Galactica heaved as the Longbows shifted their targeting to the old Battlestar. The point-defense guns stopped all but forty of the incoming missiles—but two nukes got through. Luckily, both impacted on the unused starboard flight pod, and while the lights flickered and red damage icons appeared on the board, the old girl’s armor held.

Then the DRADIS crackled with static as Scorpia’s strike went home in retaliation—and the fury of planetary bombardment warhead erased one Longbow from the universe. A third Wishbone exploded under the combined fire from Pegasus and Galactica, and then the last ship in Force Beta jumped away, joined in retreat by the four survivors of Alpha and the three from Gamma. And then the Raiders—those eleven hundred that survived, that is—jumped away as well.

Another cheer went up, but Shaw’s voice cut through it. “Belay that shit! Get damage control teams moving to the starboard pod! NOW! I need fire crews on decks 7 and 8, aft of frame 40.”

Adama’s lips twitched, but his incipient smile died as he looked back up at the DRADIS. Anubis was gone—so was one of the two Novas. Galactica and Pegasus both had taken heavy damage. They had lost forty-two fighters. And those losses were tiny compared to what the Thirteenth had taken.

The CAC contingent under the late Admiral Bao had one surviving destroyer, Nagato. Sir Edward’s flotilla had lost the frigate Courageous and the destroyer Montreal; the UAA the cruiser Franklin and the destroyer Asuncion. Every surviving ship of the Thirteenth Tribe had suffered damage—except for the carrier Constellation. On the fighter side, out of the one hundred and twenty fighters that they had put into action, thirty-eight were gone.

And despite the desperate defense—despite killing nine Basestars and more than forty-three hundred Raiders—still, the Guardians had managed to land on the surface below.

“Begin SAR operations,” he ordered. “Instruct all ships not equipped for search and rescue to proceed to Beowulf orbit and prepare to give support to the planetary defense forces operating there.”

[Diverball]

The Commander never managed to finish his statement as his shuttle and the one hundred Centurions aboard it was converted into an expanding cloud of debris and dust. He had correctly identified the objects as mines, and the Guardians sensors had noticed that each carried a nuclear device at their core. But these mines were not mere bombs designed to explode and damage objects within their blast radius.

No. These Earth mines were bomb-pumped gamma-ray lasers.

Heh. I was hoping that these would turn up. They're just about the only directed-energy superweapon that is appropriate to a hard sci-fi setting. Though I didn't expect orbital mines equipped with Excalibur warheads. I was expecting capital ship missiles with them. The Sulaco's missile armament would certainly make a lot more sense if she'd been so equipped. Kudos, Sir.

[LadyTevar]

very nice

[masterarminas]

“On the firing line! Move it Marines! Get on the fucking firing line!” Gunnery Sergeant Adam Grant bellowed. He crouched as he heard the whine of an incoming shell, which exploded twenty meters away, throwing up a fountain of dirt into the air. Around him, the Marines of Charlie Company, 11th Marine Assault Unit raced out of the safety of their APCs and dove into the hastily dug trench works.

“Shag your asses—get those Sentry guns on-line! We’ve got killer robots coming in hot and heavy to steal away your pimply dirty skin, sweethearts. Robots that don’t feel pain, they don’t get afraid, and they outnumber you devil-dogs three hundred to one! We are a road-block Marines! We are going to stop these metallic monstrosities because behind us there is the capital and the space-port! One hundred and thirty-seven thousand civilians who are counting on us to hold until the fucking Guard manages to squeeze their fat asses into fatigues and get mobilized!”

Another shell came down as the Marines feverishly worked to get the twenty-four Sentry guns assigned to Charlie Company set up behind the berm of soil that the engineers had hastily created before moving down to Bravo Company on the right—and then Alpha beyond them.

“We have the Sentry guns, Marines! We have the APCs providing fire support! We have our own Mortar Section ready for on-call fire! We will prevail today! We will hold this line! These fucking Cylons have never met Marines before! My Marines! Leathernecks, today we will show these unfeeling, uncaring, evil tin-men just what they fuck they have stuck their aluminum dicks into!”

“HERE THEY COME!” yelled one rifleman, and the Marines threw themselves forward against the earthen berm, charging their pulse rifles. The Smart-gun operators and their assistants had already set up tripods to hold the heavy weapons—but each still wore their harnesses just in case they needed to move fast.

Gunny Grant looked up at the line of fast moving Cylons crossing the ridge two kilometers away, and he gritted his teeth as he charged his own pulse rifle and hopped down into the trench. “Aimed shots, Marines! Make every shot count!” he shouted.

Behind the trench line, eight APCs opened up with their 20mm rotary cannons, their pulse-phased plasma guns, and their high-intensity automatic lasers. The shells and energy beams tore into the leading edge of the Cylons—but they did not halt. Well, most of them did not halt. A few did came to a stop and raise disposable tubes to their shoulders that sprouted rockets trailing fire and smoke in their wake. Far heavier than what a human could have lifted, the anti-vehicle rockets tore across the ground, and three went home—each in a separate APC that exploded under the impact.

“Mortar teams,” Grant said into his microphone, silently cursing the Captain and two Lieutenants who had fled earlier, “fire mission, dual-purpose HE, sheaf aligned north-east to south-west, grid coordinates 3Q-1F-2473-3621.”

“Shot,” the radio broadcast. And there was a whine as a marker shell impacted, “Splash.”

“Up twenty and fire for effect,” Grant ordered.

“Shot,” the mortar chief answered. The eight auto-loading mortars assigned to Charlie company went to rapid-fire, and forty shells came plunging down into the center of the formation. Thirty seconds later, the mortar teams repeated it—and then again and again.

The Sentry guns began to bark, and one of the smart-gun operators yelled out, “Let’s rock!” And among the noise created by the automatic fire, Gunny Grant smiled as he heard the distinctive sharp CRACK of the dozen snipers—each shot blasting a hole into the head or chest of an oncoming Centurion.

“Riflemen! Hold to two hundred meters! Ready grenades!” Grant ordered, and the Marines raised their pulse rifles at a steep angle and loaded a grenade into the chamber of their integral launchers. “FIRE!”

Scores of grenades rained down, but the Centurions just kept coming.

“Aimed fire!” Grant yelled out. “Lock! Load! FIRE!”

And as the riflemen began squeezing off two and three shot bursts, Grant thumb his radio again. “Trident Six, Charlie Five—where the fuck is our air support?”

He raised his rifle and fired off burst after burst, and then the voice of the commander of the 11th MAU came over his earpiece. “Inbound bearing gifts, Gunny. Ten seconds.”

Another APC exploded behind Grant and he winced. Five gone—FIVE. In minutes. And with them the majority of his firepower. “Third platoon! Watch the left, they are flanking us!” he bellowed as he stood in the trench and began to fire into the chrome and golden Centurions working their way around his open flank.

And then there was a scream of engines and three Cougars passed by overhead—their chain guns barking flame and fury and tearing immense holes in the Cylon charge. And from underneath the wings, cluster bombs disengaged and dropped free—but the Cylons were expecting the air attack and two of the Cougars exploded in mid-air to the man-portable (HAH! Grant thought) SAMs these creatures carried.

And he jumped, swiveling his rifle as a man hopped down into the trench beside him—but he checked his fire as he realized it was another human.

“Colonel Chatham, Gunnery Sergeant,” the man reported crisply. “7th King’s Own Scottish Border Paras,” he said with a salute. “Sorry about the delay, old chap, but had to scrounge up some civilian lorries for transport; areas a bit too hot to deploy by air today.” He smiled at the UAA Marine NCO. “Where do you want my boys and girls?”

“If the Colonel could secure the left flank,” Grant said as he lowered the pulse rifle and began to breath easier.

Chatham waved and from trucks pulling up behind the APCs, Imperial Paras began to extend the line to the left. And this god-awful wailing sound began to moan through the air. Grant blinked, as the kilted bagpiper walked past, ignoring the incoming fire as he wailed out Scotland the Brave.

“We may be Scottish in name only these days, Gunnery Sergeant, but we always make certain that at least one Highland piper is in our ranks,” Chatham said with a smile. And then he clapped Grant on the shoulder and climbed out of the trench, took a moment to adjust his beret, and trotted over to his command group.

Grant shook his head and turned his attention back to the oncoming Cylons—the thousands of them coming over the ridge and the broad river flats. “Pour it on, Jarheads! The Brits are here; and the first one of you who embarrasses the Corps in front of these crumpet-eating, tea-drinking, cater-wauling bastards will get shot by ME!”

[MondoMage]

Yep, that sounds like a Marine to me. Gotta love 'em.

I'm really enjoying how this is showing the absolutely relentless nature of the original Cylons. Casualties that would render human units unfit for combat don't even slow them down. Destroy 3000 Raiders in a single volley, and they keep coming. Destroy a dozen or more Basestars, and they keep coming. Knock out 2/3s of the (obscenely large number of) landing forces before they even hit the ground, and they keep coming. Toasters my ass, these are Chrome-Plated Energizer Bunnies from Hell.

Of course, now that they're going to be exposed to the lovely caterwauling of a set or two of pipes, well, that should convince them to turn around a head for the hills.

[Eternal_Freedom]

No! Not Anubis!

And she didn't even get a real final punch in. Damn. At least Sam Caldwell wasn't aboard at the time. What about Jon Namer?

[masterarminas]

“General Cabot, you will secure that facility or I will have you broken!” Michael Weyland shouted. “That research facility is of vital importance. If you fail to even attempt to defend it, I will see to it that you are cashiered, black-listed, and left to starve to death! And your family!”

Brenda Cabot bared her teeth as she stood. “I have no family, Mister Weyland,” she purred. “And now that I think about it, I have little reason not to just draw my pistol and shoot you dead right now—your bodyguards are outside, where my guards are watching them. I don’t care how vital your research facility is, Sir—the choice is between sending a battalion through the Cylon advance to retake it, or stopping them before they break through to the cities. My oath isn’t to Weyland-Yutani, by the way,” she said tauntingly as she cocked her head. “So should I go ahead and gun you down here and now?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Michael spat and then his face went white as the Brigadier General in command of the Cascadia National Guard (the UAA colony on Beowulf) drew her sidearm.

She laughed. “Mister Weyland, I am never going back to Earth. I live here on Beowulf, and this is my final posting. I answer to the Governor here, not you. And if you give me reason, I will shoot you in the face and bury your ass in an unmarked grave. Now, I have twenty-seven thousand of those Cylons bearing down on us—less the three thousand that the Marines and Paras have been able to kill. They Guard here is just one brigade, Mister Weyland. That is four battalions of armor and mechanized infantry, supported by one of artillery. I have five thousand men and women bearing arms to stop these metal monsters, plus what is left of the Marines and Paras that held the line. And the Shock Battalion that the CAC is sending, but they are still two hours out.”

“The Empire is mobilizing their own Home Guard to help us out, and the CAC is calling up their reserves, but those won’t arrive for twenty-four hours minimum, and realistically we are looking at seventy-two. I don’t have the manpower or the motivation to save your precious research facility, and if I tried, the Governor would have my ass—because to do that, Mister Weyland, I’d have to leave the capital completely undefended. Now, should I shoot you?”

Michael’s eyes were cold and he shook his head. “This isn’t over, General Cabot. Not by a long shot.” And then he stormed out of her command post.

The General walked over to the holographic table that showed the implacable Cylon advance—the Marines and Paras had deflected them, but now they were working their around the small redoubt that the survivors had retreated to. She shook her head. A quarter of those men and women had been casualties in the fighting, but despite being low on ammo and fatigued all to hell, they were still game. In fact, they had already requested air-drops of munitions to continue the fight. She snorted.

But they had bought her time; time to get the 173rd Mechanized Brigade mobilized and formed up—and now the Cylons were about to get the surprise of their lives. “Mark,” she said to her Operations Officer. “What can Admiral Hayes give us for ortillery?”

“Randolph is in orbit—but the governor has not authorized nukes.”

“Fine,” she said and her tone showed it wasn’t fine. “We will make do with kinetics—can the Brits help out?”

“Rodney and Southern Cross are standing by,” and Mark Kearns shook his head. “But Sir Edward insists that he will not fire on UAA territory without the direct request of the Governor and a written statement sealed by the Governors seal of state authorizing the action.”

Brenda nodded. It would all too easy for the Governor to complain after the fact that the Brits had acted hastily and try to get the ICC to sanction them for destruction of property or lives. Which was why Sir Edward was being a hard-ass.

“And what has Governor Morton decided?” she asked.

“The Governor believes that ortillery from Randolph will be sufficient.”

“Does he? Chris, get that asshole on the line,” she ordered. “In the meantime, Mark, I want Randolph to secure our left flank on this line here,” she said pointing at the map. “Send in Schaeffer’s tank battalion and the brigade scouts—hammer these Cylon bastards, Mark. Infantry remain between the Cylons and the city, but make damned sure if these robots break they are ready for pursuit.”

“And the artillery?”

“Use every damn shell in storage if we have to—gun barrels and munitions are cheap today, Mark.”

“General, I’ve got Governor Morton on the line,” her aide called out.

“Get them moving, Colonel Kearns. And try to wrangle some air-support out of the Fleet or our Colonial allies out there,” she said as she crossed the command post and lifted a phone.

“Thad? Good, glad that I caught you,” she began as Mark Kearns left the tent to start the attack.

[FaxModem1]

I must say, I miss the noble and well intentioned Weyland of the 21st century compared to this selfish corporate prick.

[masterarminas]

I must say, I miss the noble and well intentioned Weyland of the 21st century compared to this selfish corporate prick.

I agree. But, honestly, I think the AvP Weyland that died in Antarctica just wouldn't fit the image of Michael Weyland that we get from Aliens 3. So I tried to stay true to that one, even though I prefer the 21st century man myself.

MA

[FaxModem1]

Oh, that makes total sense, as the one we see in Alien 3 was really just after a profit. I just prefer to pretend that Alien 3 never existed.

[MondoMage]

You know, I'm getting the distinct impression that most - if not all - of the military leaders we've seen so far don't like the Corporations all that much

[Borgholio]

Taking bets on if Mr Weyland tries to get ahold of Cylon tech and gets skinned as a result...