Thank you so much everyone for your support.
It's really very encouraging for me, and I'll do my best to keep up what I've started here. I'm sorry for the delay between posts here, but I've had a busy past few days. But....here you go. It's shorter than I would like, but I thought I found a nice cut off point.
Chapter 3
Retribution class battleship Ave Humanus
Lubyan System?
The Ave Humanus prowled ahead of the main battlegroup as its sensors probed out ahead of it, feeding data back to the vessels Machine Spirit. For the days and weeks before hand, the battlegroup had been jumping blind, travelling in jumps of a handful of light years each time. Each jump taking them closer to where they had estimated Lubya was. Throughout their journey they had encountered more of the xenos vessels that had stood in their path on the first day, and each time they had easily dispatched them. They had encountered planets boasting huge populations of the aliens, and the Battlegroup had purged each and everyone with the iron fist of the Imperial Guard, and the surgical slices of the Adeptus Astartes. From the ruins of these planets, the Techpriests of Mars had analyzed the foul, heretical records of the aliens, and had learned much of them.
The aliens called themselves romulans. They were one of many alien empires in this galaxy, and were enemies with almost all of them. They were a race dedicated to misinformation and deceit, and the Imperium had their fury redoubled. Not only were these…..romulans foul xenos, but they were foul xenos who could not even scrape up the honor to fight their enemies in true combat. The warriors of the Imperium would do what they had done for millennia. They would crush the aliens, and drive their race from the very memory of the universe.
Now, they had reached where the Navigator had estimated their beloved Lubya was, and what they had found horrified them. About the double planets of the Lubya system, hundreds of the green xenos vessels orbited. Lord Captain Nuskov’s grip on his command throne tightened as he stared out the bridge windows onto the planet he had been sworn to protect and shelter on behalf of humanities Holy God-Emperor, and now he was seeing the planet of Lubya surrounded by alien warships and its surface defiled by the feet of the same. His duty as an officer of the Imperial Navy was clear.
“Prepare all torpedoes, charge the lances and load the main batteries!” he ordered, standing up in his throne as his bridge crew scurried around below him, rushing to fulfill their orders. He looked over at the communications officer and nodded. “Order the carriers to launch their fighters and bombers as soon as possible. We need them to cover the Guard’s transports once they make their run for the surface.” The communications officer nodded and turned to his console. Nuskov looked out from the bridge and smiled. All around him, the ships of Battlegroup Lubya were forming up into a long thin line with the battleships and cruisers in the center and protected by light cruisers leading squadrons of frigates and destroyed at the edges of the formation.
“All ahead full. Order all ships to begin firing torpedoes at the enemy fleet,” he ordered, glancing at the screen as the ships engines rumbled beneath his feet, pushing the massive battleship forward at greater and greater velocities. As they closed, Nuskov smirked slightly as he stared at the battleships armored prow nearly 3 miles away from where he sat. He could see the blobs of green that were the romulan’s projectile weapons smashing into the prow, cratering and blackening the adamantium and ceramite of the armor. “The xenos have fired first,” he said quietly. “Let us return their fire,” he ordered, nodding at the weapons and communication officers. In the space around the fleet, hails of torpedoes left the bow tubes and sent the massive projectiles storming down range towards the green-grey orb of Lubya.
“Close the range, and prepare to form the battle line once we get within range,” Nuskov continued, turning absent mindedly away from the pinpricks of light in the distance that were torpedoes impacting on the strange xenos ships, causing thousands of their lives to be obliterated in an instant as the plasma warheads vaporized their way into ammunition stores and reactor rooms. Even from this distance, Nuskov could see that a huge gap had been ripped in the wall of the alien formation; a gap that they were desperately trying to fill. He smirked slightly as he saw the unassuming Imperial Guard transports forming up within the battle line. The plan in store for them was simple. The Imperial Navy would rip holes in the enemy fleet, and the transports would soar through the holes to land on the planet, and given the warrior prowess that these aliens had shown both Nuskov and Noskova couldn’t help but expect a quick and easy victory.
“Enemy capital ships within striking distance,” the sensor officer called out.
Nuskov nodded slowly as he stared out into space. “Have the entire fleet break to starboard. Fire everything you have, lances, weapons batteries… Everything,” he ordered, turning his command throne so he could see the stars wheeling as the vessels mighty thrusters fired. He could almost feel the clangs and tremors that travelled along the battleship’s hull as crewmen deep in the bowels loaded shells and charged energy weapons.
“Enemy ships firing with beam weapons,” the ships tactics officer called in. “Escort squadrons are reporting shield damage. It appears the xenos are targeting them as opposed to our battleships.
“So they actually can learn,” Nuskov joked as his eyes stay locked on the wall of green vessels approaching faster and faster. Green beams and bolts of energy left their hulls and splatter harmlessly against the void shields of the escorts. “Let us complete their lesson. That they can not hope to stand against the might of humanity,” the Lord Captain lectured to no one in particular. He turned back to the bridge grew with the gleam of victory in his eyes. “All ships. Fire.”
In the dark void of space, the vast gunports of the Imperial battleships had been silent. Until now. As one, the Imperial fleet loosed every weapon they had at their disposal. Massive shells left their barrels and shattered romulan deflector shields. Laser beams melted hull plate and pierced vital areas, sending dozens of warbirds to their doom in a flash of energy. The pure energy of the lances sent more of the romulan vessels to join their doomed sisters as slowly expanding clouds of debris. Streams of fighters and bomber streaked through the shattered wall of ships, and picked off any ships that had somehow the wall of death that the Imperial Navy had unleashed. Squadrons of Cobra destroyers broke off from the battle line and closed in on the remains of the fleet and picked off ship after ship with hails of their torpedoes. Weapons that would have been mere annoyances to an Imperial battleship easily shearing through the thin hulls of the enemy like an Eviscerator through unprotected flesh. With more than half their number dead, and dozens of small craft forcing them to break their formation in order to survive, the xenos morale broke, and their fleet scattered into the depths of space. Some fell back towards the planet, hoping to make a last stand while other groups fled away into deep space using whatever heretical technology they possessed. Within the Imperial fleet, the massive transports of the Imperial Guard broke formation and charged straight at the planet. With an Astartes strike cruiser at the head of their charge, picking off any surviving xenos warships with its bombardment cannon and weapons, the transports closed with the planet.
Within the transports Valkyrie dropships were brought into launch positions within massive hangar bays, and their payloads of Stormtroopers lined up to enter their vessels. Guardsmen checked their lasguns one last time, and took their final blessings from their regiments priests and chaplains. Some listened to readings of the Litany of Hate by the Commissars, preparing themselves for the cleansing of yet another world from xenos filth. For many of these Guardsmen, the Commissars had a special trick of speech up their sleeves.
“You, men and women of Lubya!” they cried, drawing the attention of almost every Guardsmen of the Lubyankan Mobile Regiments. “This world is your home! Your home that has been desecrated by the filthy feet of xenos!” the continued, eliciting vows of vengeance from the members of nearly every single Lubyan Guardsmen, and even some shouts from those Guardsmen not from the planet. “You will cleanse your home! Kill every xenos! And win a place for your banner in the halls of the Holy God-Emperor himself!” they shouted, almost deafening the ears of everyone on board with the screams and cheers of the Guardsmen. They returned to their final preparations with an almost doubled and doubled again effort. With anger fueling their every step and move, tankers sealed themselves into their Baneblades, Leman Russes and Chimeras. Artillery men readied their Basilisks for war, and basic Guardsmen did nothing more than tighten their helmets and arm their weapons. Outside the hull of the transports, the first wave of Valkyries left the launch decks, following waves of fighters and bombers heading through to the surface. The strike cruiser brought itself above the best guess the Imperium had as to the location of the planet’s command center and began loosing drop pods and Thunderhawks. Beneath them, the people of the world they knew as Romulus trembled in fear. Soldiers clutched their distruptor pistols and hoped they would do better on ground than the fleet had in space. Civilians crowded into their homes, and the Praetor himself looked onto a great hologram of the planet. With a final sigh, he watched the last markers for the warbirds of the fleet above the planet flicker and die. He looked over at the man who controlled the communications for the Romulan Senate itself, and gave him a simple order.
USS Enterprise-D
Romulan Neutral Zone Patrol
“Sir,” Data said in his standard emotionless voice as he glanced down at his console. “We are receiving a very strange signal from Romulus,” he said, turning around to look back at his commanding officer. “It bears the signature of the Romulan Praetor itself.”
Captain Jean-Luc Picard looked at Data with surprise. To his knowledge, this was the first time any Starfleet vessel had been contacted directly by Romulus, let alone by so high ranking a man as the Praetor of the Romulan Star Empire.
“What is the nature of this…message?” he asked.
“It is a distress call, sir,” Data replied simply.
Seriously, I doubt a HUNDRED thousand years would fix Crusher. I would sooner believe Sisko and his ascended half-prophet goodness would become a proto-emperor sooner than Crusher. It's like saying give Jar Jar Binks ten thousand years and he will have the whereforeall and drive to crush his way to being emperor.
EEEEK! Oh brave Mister Picard, Please save our skinny green asses, Your Mighty Baldness! 
