Rome in the StAARs

[Nikolai]

I totally did not recognize Cane there, even though I watched BSG religiously a few years back!

The Spacey lookalike is one big toad, but a smart one. The admiral couldnn't have done differently, as all her family and friends were on the line. Even a lion sometimes need to retreat.

 

[Mill Wilkinson]

What an unpleasant expletive that man was. Hopefully the war would be short and decisive, the point was sound of expanding to the north. Though it WILL mean that the planet leading there needs to be fortified massively.

 

[Zzzzz...]

It's General_BT! Hagios Demetrios have heard our prayers!

 

[Stuyvesant]

If anything is going to trip up the Prime Minister's plan, I bet it'll be his threats to admiral Kruger's* family. It's true, she flinched and faltered when he made his threats, but I think this is where he crossed from being simply a bully to a mortal enemy. A bully she might have put up with, but I expect she'll fight back now - whether she has the skills to beat him at his game, is another question altogether. But perhaps she can stage a training exercise above the Prime Ministerial Palace and 'accidentally' level the place?

*I can't find my u-Umlaut key and it's bugging me.

 

[General_BT]

Stuyvesant - Don't worry, I can't consistently get the umlaut to show here either, so 'Admiral Kruger' she will remain. The Admiral is fairly by the book, but her sense that perhaps xenos deserve equality is definitely not the norm in this very specieist (if that is a word) empire.

Zzzzz... - I really hope no prayers were offered to a Hagios Demetrios. I think he takes most days off to go sleep with servant girls or swing a sword...

Mill Wilkinson- Let's just say this was the game where I learned the usefulness of defensive fortifications. Before Utopia, I honestly didn't build them much. I also didn't play with hyperlane only, which really ups their usefulness....

Nikolai - A smart lion will retreat, and stalk it's prey to attack again when the prey is weak. Is Admiral Kruger a lion or a mouse? The coming years will tell very quickly.

Qorten - One rarely rises that high without enemies, and d'Agostino is a little more upfront in his wheeling and dealing than many. However, he's clearly good at it, else why would an Admiral with starships under her command wilt? Let's just say in the upcoming story I'll be making good use of those factions Paradox so generously added to Utopia.

stnylan - Her reaction was mouse-like, but most people, no matter how powerful they are, tend to retreat when ambushed. The more telling thing may be that she got ambushed...

I've seen the UK version of House of Cards, and in tone they're like two completely different stories. The American Underwood is folksy, Urquhart is far more urbane. I'd say Underwood though seems to get more of a thrill out of the game, where Urquhart it's much less apparent, at least to me.

Still working on the next update. I'd say it's about a third done perhaps?

 

[General_BT]

A quick note... on reviewing the screenshots, Lorna Scott is actually Loretta Scott. Eeep. That's been corrected.

April 1st, 2256

Loretta Scott sighed, looking outside of the shuttle windows into the darkness of space. With no atmosphere, ships hung suspended from the blackness in crystal clarity, station lights twinkling true. A glance out the opposite window revealed the lights of the Tendra Zuhn cities of Doxa, the bright white of Patraggar star flaring behind. On most other days, she’d enjoy the hour long shuttle ride to Doxa station, her eyes taking in the sights of space in a way that no video repeater inside a starship could match.

Doxa’s RSS Invicible space station, the staging ground for the Imperial push into Keerim space.​

Not today, though.

Not when the dispatch boats that so many dreaded arrived at RSS Invincible, bringing the news of war. Admrial Kruger had stalled, demanded new ships, but the inevitable had finally come. While there were many in the fleet who’s minds were fixed on that red and gold ship, its running lights flashing in the dark of space, Loretta thought more about the items flashing on the collar of uniform

“They still feel strange,” Loretta mumbled aloud as she touched the gold planets on her collar. They marked her as a Rear Admiral, only the second person in the RIIC to have a permanent flag rank, confirmed by imperial appointment.

”You look like you ate a lemon,” Loretta remembered her wife saying. The thought of Zuma's laughter made her smile..

“It fits you.”

Star Marshal and High Admiral Sabine Kruger, the only other passenger on the military shuttle, grinned as Loretta looked over. Loretta had served as Sabine’s flag captain, then aide as the fleet geared up for war. She’d been Sabine’s shadow for the better part of three G-years. Where Sabine was petite, Loretta was tall and heavily built, her body still as in shape as when she’d nearly qualified for the Olympiad in women’s boxing ten years before. In the halls of the Admiralty more than a few called them the Odd Couple.

“Hard to believe in fifteen minutes I won’t see your ugly mug for a while,” Loretta smirked back.

“Not too long I hope,” Sabine chuckled. “I meant what I said at the promotion ceremony. I’ve giving the damn fleet my right arm.”

“I’ll give the Keerim a good jab for you,” Loretta shot back.

“If this works, you’d better,” Sabine nodded, her own eyes drifting out towards the starry field beyond. “Otherwise I’ll be left gallivanting around out there with no support.”

Loretta nodded. “The needs of the service. I’ll be back soon enough.”

Outside, Loretta had the brusque bravado she’d used in countless fights before to keep an opponent on their heels. Don’t let them see you flinch, don’t let them think you know you’re bleeding! Be an iron wall, demoralize them by not responding! she even now heard her mother shouting all these years later. On the inside, however, Loretta was as scared now as she was when she’d entered the ring for the first time.

Loretta Scott had spent her first two years out of the Imperial War College as a fighter pilot in the Hagios Demetrios Self Defense forces. With upcoming changes in imperial tactics, this unique background helped her catch then Captain Kruger’s eye. The two jointly developed some of the yet untested tactics that would be used in the upcoming conflict.​

It wasn’t every day you took your first fleet command, and along with it the responsibility for the lives and well-being of over 30 warships, and the 20,000 men and women that crewed them.

The situation of the newly declared war demanded it. When developing the fleet’s initial attack plans, Sabine and Loretta both agreed that, if the situation was flipped, and the Keerim were coming with a much greater fleet, they would pull their valuable ships back to the defenses of the Empire's star ports and fortresses. From there, they could hold out until the unknown strength of their Otaga allies arrived, threaten to strike deep into the Empire, nip at supply lines, re-conquer worlds, or strike at detachments.

A ‘fleet in being,’ some Burgundian named Mahan had called it centuries before.

Knowing this, and that at some point in the future, the Otaga Star Authority would reinforce the Keerim with an unknown number of ships, the Imperial military had only one course of action it could take, one that held risks, as well as rewards.

Divide their forces.

It would allow them to also cover more territory, and in theory, when the Keerim launched a raid, allow a powerful reserve force to pounce on them and cripple or destroy their navy before their allies arrived. For the first time in the history of Roman Imperial Interstellar Command, a second proper fleet formation was needed. The pressing needs of exercise and drill had prevented the politicians on Gaia from coming up with a similarly imperious name as the Ever Victorious Fleet, so for the moment, the formation was only known as the Reserve Fleet. That fleet also needed a commander.

Hence Loretta’s new insignia, and the new weight of responsibility that came with it.

Reserve Fleet now counted for half of the Empire’s expanded fleet, counting 3 cruisers, 8 destroyers and 13 corvettes, one corvette less than the Ever Victorious Fleet. Initially, both fleets were to hyper to the Beta Hydrii then Havonchir systems. From there, the Ever Victorious Fleet would push up towards Antak Rahm, while the Reserve fleet held back at Havonchir to intercept any Keerim attempts to enter Imperial space.[/center]


“Well,” Kruger turned back from the stars outside, “Command isn't all gloom and doom. You’re going to like your new flagship. Trust me, you are going to enjoy the admiral's cabin on her. Zheng has more than enough room for his design work, and me to hide from him when I need to work!”

Loretta nodded – truth be told, the size of the admiral's cabin was the last thing on her mind. No, her thoughts were far off, to the struggles to come.

“Say what you want, the bastard came through.”

Loretta watched her mentor and superior sigh. To this day, she was not sure what d'Agostino had told her in the hallway after Admiral Kruger ordered her to leave, and since that afternoon the state had lavished more on the fleet than usual. A huge build-up of material meant no less than 10 new corvettes, 5 new destroyers, and most impressively, 6 new ships dubbed cruisers for their size and firepower.

Loretta's eyes turned back out the window, and caught her new black hulled behemoth outside the shuttle window.

RSS Maenad was the newest ship of the Nike class. Unlike the Niebla destroyers, bristling with turrets, or the Doxa class cruisers and their massive blue laser forward battery, the Maenad looked bereft of armament – point defense clusters and small laser arrays studded the outside of her hull, but her true firepower lay inside two pods that jutted out awkwardly from her hull.

Maenad and her sister were the first starfighter carriers that the Empire had ever launched.

The Empire had long had space capable fighters – they'd formed a significant part of each planet's self defense grid as scouts, patrol vessels, and customs ships. But being launched into a maelstrom of terawatt-plus laser blasts, 50 megaton missiles and kinetic rounds required armor and manuverability that no spacefighter had ever had before. Two years before, Dr. Hebert's research consortium had patented a reliable, cheap source of cold fusion. The radical increase in power, coupled with advancing in inertial compensating technology, allowed those small patrol craft to three years later mount gigawatt lasers of their own, and enough armor to ensure that stepping inside was not a guaranteed way to commit suicide.

The Imperial Fleet had seen success against pirates and other outlaws with their firepower focused in the Spatha class corvettes. Nimble and armed with powerful torpedoes, the Spathas were complemented by the Niebla class destroyers, armed with numerous rapid fire laser cannons and point defense clusters to shoot down incoming missile fire before it could harm the Spathas. These were now backed by the heavy firepower of Doxa-class cruisers, armed with powerful long range artillery. The Nike and her sister Maenad were also new ship types to the navy, armed with starfighters.​

Scott, an ex-planetary fighter pilot herself, had been one of the principle voices in designing new tactics to take advantage of these craft. There was little chance one alone could hull a Keerim destroyer with her laser mount -- but en masse they could overwhelm a ship’s shields, and run her down like a hundred hounds downing a bear.

More importantly, with their smaller size and faster acceleration, they could close with the enemy, their lasers targeting and downing incoming missiles more quickly than any point defense cannon. Despite their fragility, they would, in theory, be much harder for missiles to target as well. Scott envisioned a cloud of these missile killers spreading like a fog before an Imperial fleet, crippling enemy volleys before picking off targets weakened by the Roman’s own laser and missile fire.

Maenad carried 24 of these deadly little wasps, and if Scott’s theory proved useful in the battles to come, the Bureau of Weapons had promised dozens of these carriers could be built, eventually carrying a sea of these deadly minions into battle.

Vipers. Even now, Loretta thought the name apt.

The navy envisioned by Rear Admiral Scott was focused around Viper starfighters, armed with light laser cannons. Their high speed and small side would make them difficult to intercept, and in swarms - in theory - they should be able to cut through corvette and destroyer type ships.​

Loretta felt the shuttle slow, it’s inertial dampeners kicking in. The hulking cruiser left her window as the small craft angled sideways, and docking clamps gripped her in place with a metallic thud.

“Well, here we are,” Sabine looked up. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I think I am going to be,” Loretta confided, that inner uncertainty seeping through.

“Make me proud,” Sabine patted her shoulder. For a moment, two friends hugged their goodbyes, before two admirals stood facing one another.

“Your official orders, Rear Admiral,” Sabine said. As proscribed by protocols written long before they were alive, the High Admiral then handed Loretta a sealed envelope of paper. “Please read and confirm.”

Loretta's eyes flashed down as the anachronistic paper crinkled in her hands.

To: Rear Admiral Loretta Scott

From: High Admiral Sabine Kruger, First Lord of the Admiralty, Commanding Officer, His Majesty’s Imperial Navy

Madam,

On behalf of the Crown, you are to hereby assume command of the naval formation known as Reserve Fleet, upon immediate receipt of these orders. Upon assuming command, you will accompany His Imperial Majesty’s Ever Victorious Fleet to the Beta Hydrii and Havonchir systems. Upon arrival, you shall detach your command, set scouts and pickets, and seek and destroy any Keerim ships your command encounters.

Free fire rules of engagement will apply...

Loretta scanned the rest of the document, feeling her hands shake slightly even as known orders were spelled out on the paper before her. When she was done, she looked up at Sabine.

“Admiral Scott, do you understand and accept the responsibilities laid before you by the Crown and the Admiralty?”

“I do.”

“Good,” Sabine smiled one last time, before the hiss of air and a ring of green lights around the airlock told them of a safe connection. The doors slid wide open, and Loretta could see a boarding party drawn up beyond, weapons at attention, officers in salute.

“Godspeed, Admiral,” Sabine said, as bosun’s pipes whistled that Reserve Fleet’s new master and commander had arrived.


=========*==========


September 29th, 2259

2300 hours local


Hul I, Emperor of the Roman Empire, Lord of Gaia, and host of other systems sighed, his eyes drifting to the wall of his private bedroom. Along it, hovercars flew by, and the lights of Konstantinopolis twinkled as if they were actually just beyond a pane of glass, instead of hundreds of meters away with ceramasteel and concrete in between. Long ago, Hul had stopped longing for the days when he was one of many grandchildren of the emperor, and could slip into the night and see the city for himself. An older, wiser Hul realized how dangerous that was.

He pulled his gaze back from the wall display, and down to his desk – contrary to all the films or documentaries, neither he nor his mother sat behind some ornate monstrosity of cherry and gilt inlays. It was a simple steel desk, room enough for the emperor to dock a communicator, several datapads, and a drawer for him to put the cherry candies he chewed when he was thinking. Three of the datapads were blinking, and Hul flicked each onto the desk's holoscreen, and scrolled through their data.

News reports. Stocks of the various heavy space manufacturers were at new highs. Tens of trillions of credits in war orders from the Navy and Marines on K'Karaal and S'Vrak will do that, Hul mused.

The opening days of the war had seen the Ever Victorious Fleet lunge deep into Keerim space. K'Karaal was bombarded, and quickly overrun by nearly one million soldiers of the Imperial Army and Imperial Marines.

On arriving on K’Karaal, the Ever Victorious Fleet and its accompanying transport ships found the system undefended. Unknown to the Empire, the Keerim practiced slavery, and nearly half the planet lived in chains serving the other half. Admiral Kruger began a blistering bombardment of the surface, targeting the homes and resources of the free elites of the planet. Interestingly, this prompted the slaves on K’Karaal into unrest, as their masters hid from orbital strikes.

The assault was led by Marshal Patricia Bell, the head of the Imperial Marines. Encountering only token resistance, and with the aid of some of the Keerim slaves, the colony was quickly overrun.​

Admiral Kruger had warned it would not be easy though, that the Keerim would avoid combat, and husband their forces. Reserve Fleet had moved up to K'Karaal, while Admiral Kruger herself lunged towards another planet, S'Vrak, storming it as well, hoping to pull the Keerim into a fight. Over a year in, the Keerim primary battle fleet, called 1st Starflock, had still avoided combat.

The Empire had never fought a war on this scale before, and fully occupying two hostile planets had taken up every soldier the Imperial had to spare. The fleet’s own logistics had proven inadequate for supplying two planetary expeditions so far from home, so every month more and more civilian traffic was ‘temporarily commandeered’ to ferry food, medicine, ammunition, and other necessities to the soldiers on S’Vrak and K’Karaal. Yes, the Keerim slaves on both planets had been happy to be free of bondage, but already reports were filtering in of violence between slaves and former masters.

One did not need to study history to know that the situation was a powder keg, and if it exploded, hundreds of thousands of Imperial soldiers would be caught in the middle. The Otaga Star Authority’s fleet had briefly appeared in the Sorcimax system, retreating before the Ever Victorious Fleet could close. Alone, one of the imperial detachments would overmatch them. If they combined with 1st Starflock, however…

For Hul, the situation was becoming more grim. With their fleet intact and their allies in the fray, the Keerim refused to negotiate, spitting insults in their lilting tongue and vowing to bring the impudent humans to heel with claw and talon. Slave rebellions always spelled trouble, and if the Keerim and Otaga combined their fleets...

Hul shook his head. The war needed to end soon, or the Imperial gains could too easily become losses.

1st Starflock had to be destroyed.

“Hul?” a soft voice asked.

Hul turned, and looked at the person who, contrary to Imperial tradition, shared his bedroom most nights. His eyes fell on a woman who, like him, had refused the adjustments of biosculpt. Some would say her nose was a little too long, or in formal dress her hair made too steep of a widow’s peak. But while his grandfather had been famous for the beauties he kept on his arm, and Hul’s father had been one of a string of lovers for his mother, Hul himself had no eyes except for Adrianne Costa, Empress of the Romans and his wife for close to twenty years.

Adrianne Costa came from an old and influential family. In the chaos after the Last War, the Costas and their Mercantile Combine held political and territorial sway over large parts of Europe and North Africa. They were the first of the large corporate groups to recognize the new order that was rising as the planet united. This alliance has paid them handsomely - they hold controlling interest in six of the ten largest banks and corporations on Gaia, thanks to Adrianne’s cousin marrying a certain Tommasso d’Agostino.​

“Yes, love?”

“Cousin Tomasso tried to ping you earlier on the personal comm…”

“Yes, I saw,” Hul growled. He had nothing but respect for his wife’s cousin -- the man was a financial genius, and a shrewd politician. He’d served Hul’s mother, and now him, faithfully and well. But by God he nagged more than Adrianne’s ancient mother, and used whatever venues had had available to reach the Emperor, even when Hul didn’t want to be reached.. “Sortmark Bank?”

“You’re clairvoyant,” Adrianne smiled.

“Well, he warned them about those investments,” Hul sighed, turning back to his datapad. Serves the bastards right, offering up loans to poor Sidimatus and Tendra Zuhn at rates that only a prince could pay back! Predatory doesn’t begin to describe it!

“He did, but now they need their help. He said you’d hate me saying it, but they are…”

“...too big to fail, I know!” Hul groaned, before looking at his wife’s form hidden under the sheets. “Not frustrated at you, love, just…”

“I know,” she said quietly, the smile holding firm. God he loved her! She understood!

“I’m going to ping him in the morning, before…” he flipped his schedulpad to the next day, “...opening the football pitch in New Tokyo? When did that get on the schedule?”

“This morning,” Adrianne laughed. “You’ve spent too much time hunkered over those datapads. I talked to your people, and they arranged for a shuttle to get us there by 9 local tomorrow. It will do you good to get out of this palace.”

“I know,” Hul sighed, and smiled to himself.

“Any word from…”

“Matteo?” Hul nodded. It was a nightly topic, one close to her heart.

Hul knew next to nothing about starships, and him standing on a bridge like his mother would have done nothing except driven down the efficiency of the fleet's operations – or worse, if he accidentally hit the wrong lever or pushed the wrong button. Instead, the imperial family was represented at war by the Empress’ adoptive brother, Matteo Costa, an accomplished naval officer in command of his own destroyer, the Guadiana in the Reserve Fleet.

Matteo Costa was the adoptive brother of Adrianne, brought into the Costa family six years before Adrianne’s birth. A gifted starship commander noted for his informal, instinctual command style, he was popular both in the Imperial Fleet, as well as on the holonets of Gaia as the ‘Spacer’s Captain.’​

“Nothing new,” Hul admitted. The same reports from dispatch ships, every day, for the past two years. 1st Starflock, spotted by an Imperial scout, only to be lost.

Tasked with the job of hunting the enemy fleet down, Admiral Scott did bold, even daring changes to her fleet's procedures. Instead of relying on fleet resupply ships, she refitted several old mining barges with military jump drives and had them strip mine small moons and asteroids for kinetic weaponry. Two large gas haulers were refitted with scoops to pull hydrogen for refining into heavy water and the other components for the cold fusion reactors. While this made the imperial naval staff nervous, it let her jump in and out of systems far faster than any fleet had previously – and let her scout more territory at once.

Despite all of this, 1st Starflock always seemed one step ahead, one jump away. Several times in the preceding two years, the Imperial fleet had come close. The Reserve Fleet jumped into system only two days before 1st Starflock jumped out at Yanduz. 1st Starflock had accidentally jumped into the Burbis system when the Ever Victorious Fleet was resupplying there. Admiral Kruger's reactors couldn't come online fast enough for her to build speed and run down the elusive enemy before they crossed the hyper limit and jumped out of the system.

“Well,” Hul thought, “there was one new bit. General Paulus has seen fit to grant some autonomy to several former slave enclaves, and they’ve been useful in capturing other Keerim guerillas..”

“The slaves?” Adrianne raised an eyebrow, before frowning. “Oh, that's right, the Keerim enslaved their own. I'd forgotten.”

“They did,” Hul nodded, a foul taste rising in his mouth. Even Barack Hamidi, even the Human First rabble, none of them would have considered putting outright fetters on another sentient being, let alone a fellow human! Arming the slaves to fight guerillas though... how long before they turn into guerillas themselves, with our weapons?

“Well, that’s a bit of good news at least,” Adrianne sighed, laying back. Slowly, she started patting the empty spot on the bed next to her. “Hully dearest, I think it’s time for bed.”

“I have two more pieces to read from your cousin…”

“Hully dearest?” Hul looked over, and his wife’s eyebrow arched up questioningly, a thin smirk on her lips.

Hul smiled back. He recognized that smirk, and that smirk meant only one thing.

“Hully,” his wife stretched evilly, “I think it’s time for bed.”

“You’re disrupting the business of state,” Hul rolled his eyes and chuckled, closing the datapad. The Prime Minister won’t kill me if I read that in a few hours…

“Am I?” Adrianne’s smile grew wider. “So I should stop then?”

“Yes,” Hul said, clambering into the bed. “It’s very inefficient.”

“Inefficient?” Adrianne pouted, fighting to keep her smile from breaking through. “I see how you view me. Nope!” she announced when he leaned in for a kiss, “None for Mister Efficiency!”

“Adrianne,” Hul growled. “Come here.”

The smile broke through her pouting lips. “Make me.”

Hul laughed, and started to roll over onto her before the shrill siren of a personal communicator wailed throughout the bedroom.

Lord in Heaven, they always pick the worst time! Hul sighed, looked over at his wife. She looked back mournfully, then nodded to the communicator. He looked at the damned device, red light blinking, and gave a grunt. No one says how annoying duty is, he decided as he pressed the central button, and flicked the menu options to no visual. Wouldn't do for whatever functionary that is to see Emperor and Empress in their skivvies, would it?

“Majesty?” a familiar drawl spoke from the device.

“Prime Minister?” Hul pinched his nose. If d'Agostino was pinging him this late local time...

“Apologies, I know it is late, Majesty, but I wanted to make sure you were made aware immediately. The Admiralty is reporting there is a flash communication by dispatch boat from Admiral Scott, Reserve Fleet. I read: 'Contact made with enemy ships, Antak Rahm system. Many, repeat, many drive signatures. Closing to engage. Message ends.'”

=====*=====​

So battle is joined. Is it the 1st Starflock? The mysterious Otaga? Or both?

 

[stnylan]

A very nice cliffhanger.

I rather like the window in Hul's personal life.

 

[Nikolai]

Oh, what an evil cliffhanger. I really like the personal interactions between the couples in this update, like the Emperor/Empress, and the Admirals.

 

[JodelDiplom]

ooooooooh a General_BT AAR!!! And a sequel to that most epic of AARs? To my beloved Rome AARisen? What a treat!!

Too bad about that EU3 mod, but I already thought back when you first described your plans, that this sounded VERY VERY ambitious I thoroughly enjoyed the brief glimpses you gave us into the post-CK evolution of your world though. It's nice to recognize those strands being picked up again in this AAR. The post-apocalyptic background to your empire fits well with the dark themeof decay and collapse I rermember from the last chapters of Rome AARisen.

 

[Stuyvesant]

The enemy has finally stopped to make a stand - I hope the Reserve Fleet can handle it. Since the Keerim appeared to be able to outrun the Roman fleets at will, I'm concerned that this engagement might be happening on their terms. Still, one Roman is surely worth ten enemies, right?

Lovely insight into the human side of Emperor Hul. I wonder how much more his private life will suffer unexpected intrusions from the war, which finally seems to be starting in earnest.

 

[BootOnFace]

Are you playing with the new patch or sticking with the old for stability purposes?


Great AAR, by the way. I never read Rome AARisen, but I always appreciate effort.

 

[General_BT]

BootOnFace - This game was before the newest patch, and was all finished before the newest one came out. That said, I like many of the things implemented in the newest one, so kudos to Paradox!

Stuyvesant - That's surely what the Romans think of themselves! In the game I was everyone had hyperspace travel, and by the time my cooldown ended, theirs had as well, so they jumped ahead. It was a never ending game of cat and mouse for two years.

And there's going to be more insight on Hul. After this update, there's also going to be some on Boris (who we saw a little bit from), and Tommasso d'Agostino as well.

JodelDiplom - The EU3 mod was, to be honest, too ambitious for one person. That and real life intervened. I started this game as a joke for myself, but as I said, faction politicking and some pretty awesome stuff later on made me decide to turn it into an AAR!

Nikolai - Never fear, the cliffhanger is resolved below!

stnylan - I'm fairly sure if given half the chance, Hul would abdicate...

September 13th, 2259

0800 Fleet Standard Time


Rear Admiral Loretta Scott, His Imperial Majesty’s Navy, sighed with relief as the doors of the lift to the bridge of Maenad closed behind her. For Admiral Loretta Scott, the last two hours had been a success--the spacers of the Reserve Fleet were entering their sixth month on patrol in the Antak Rahm system. Long gone were the days of marvelling at a new star, the pecularities of new planets, the jumpy search for any sensor arrays left by the Keerim inside the system’s multitude of asteroid belts. Her command was facing the greatest threat of any military stuck watching a frontier.

Boredom.

Loretta Scott, the competitive boxer, however, was miffed.

Yes, she’d held her own against four bigger opponents, including the absolutely massive Petty Officer Scotty Harkness. Then, she’d faced him.

No one had expected him to last against the Admiral for more than round, and it wasn’t until round five that she realized she was losing. A round later, a right hook found her jaw, and she tumbled out of the ring. The Fleet had its first Reserve Fleet Olympiad Boxing Champion, and it was not Loretta Scott.

Loretta Scott had been a runner up to head to the Olympiad of Gaia. Other words in the Empire had their own sports competitions, including the heavy gravity world of Hagias Andreas…​

Even a day later, her pride was a little stung. The Admiral in her, however, would not let it show.

The lift doors opened to the bridge of Maenad, a cramped room deep inside her full festooned with monitors, consoles, displays, and in the center the ship’s holotank, displaying in real time a 360 degree view around the ship up to 25 billion klicks away. As she started to walk towards her command chair, she saw him. Again.

For his part, her flag captain, Konstantin Turgenev, gave a salute and only the barest of smiles. That did not surprise her. Turgenev was a stern, grim figure of few words and even fewer emotions. Loretta had heard more than one XO in the fleet call him the ‘Thin Reaper,’ behind his back. Her personal assistant Dorian had been more descriptive, calling him a ‘walking toaster with the personality of a dead lobster.’ Nonetheless, the man was a relentless, efficient machine -- in gunnery practice, Nike consistently achieved higher rates of fire and greater accuracy than any ship in the Reserve Fleet, and over the course of the last three years, the launch and recovery time for the ship’s Vipers had dropped by 15%.

He’d used that same ruthless efficiency with practiced skill the same day before. There were many worlds within the Empire, and Scott had not known that Turgenev was the welterweight champion of his home planet, Hagios Andreas.

Konstantin Turgenev, prior to becoming Captain of the Maenad, had been the commander of the corvette Audacious. He’d seen duty patrolling against pirates, notably during the Battle of Proxima Centauri, when he and three other corvettes beat back a large pirate vessel later classified as a destroyer.​

“Captain.” He beat me fair and square… I’ll just need to find another morale excuse for a rematch then!

“Admiral,” he fell alongside her on her walk.

“Three of the four Auscultators have main battery problems?” Scott jumped right to business.

“Yes ma’am,” Turgenev grunted. Auscultator reports the conduits between the main battery and her power supply are showing abnormal readings. Hector still has damage from when her battery overheated in firing exercises last week, and Damocles is…”

“Damocles,” Loretta sighed. When she’d worked at the Bureau of Ships, she’d been one of the few that had remarked that the Auscultators were a flawed design. On paper, their massive 300 terawatt blue laser batteries were imposing, the most powerful weapons ever mounted on an Imperial ship. She’d commented the turret traverse and reload was too slow for normal space combat where ships were approaching red shift. She’d been overruled -- they would be useful in taking down fixed defenses, BuWeaps decided.

The Auscultator class destroyers were designed around a pressing military need 10 years before, where several pirate groups had interlinked asteroids to set up a refuge with formidable defenses. The Auscultators were intended to pound those defenses into atoms from well beyond their ability to respond. In this job, they did well, however extended duty showed their hulls to be fragile for the heavy firepower they carried, and their huge batteries were a potential liability in combat against other starships. As the Keerim possessed formidable space stations of their own, these vessels soldiered on, despite increasing breakdowns…​

Now, three of those four damned things don’t even have their main battery! Only six 10 terawatt lasers between them! Each of her Spatha corvettes had more firepower!

“Six spitballs between them,” Loretta sighed settling into her command chair. She started punching up screens for her start of day reports from the captains of the fleet and her staff. “You could find more in a classroom at the Academy, Turgenev.”

“Come, again, Admiral?” Turgenev wrinkled his brow.

“A joke, a bad one,” Loretta confessed, and looked at her flag captain. Thin Reaper, yes, it fits.

“Indeed.”

“Indeed? Come on, Konstantin. Surely they have bad jokes on Hagios Andreas?” Loretta sighed, staring at the blank holotank.

“Don’t be demeaning, Admiral,” Turgenev grunted, before a rare smirk came onto his lips. “The only bad joke I know is your left hook.”

Loretta blinked. Did he just...

“Why I…”

“Crash hyper footprint!” the ship’s sensor officer barked. “Many, repeat many vessels exiting hyperspace, 340 by 080, range, seventeen gigaklicks!”

“Tactical, get me a count!” Loretta hopped into her command chair, the joke long forgotten.

“Grayson radiation is still bleeding off from the hyperspace translation, ma’am!”

Coming out of hyperspace, also known as translating from hyperspace, was a violent physical event. The sudden reappearance of millions of ton of material in realspace created a shock wave of radiation, known as Grayson radiation, that was strongest along the the central line of the mass leaving hyperspace. The radiation would often interfere with sensors, blocking them from clearly penetrating its expanding shell -- a fact more than one command had used to their advantage.​

“Understood,” Loretta nodded. The sheer blast of energy that erupted when multiple million ton hulls broke the barrier from subspace to realspace was still hurtling their way, a shield between them and the newcomers. The radiation though tended to be directional, however. The alert fighters, posted on the wings of the fleet, might have a better view. “Alert fighters, report!”

“Alpha-One, calling in. I have 23 bogeys on lidar, just came out of hyperspace. Mass estimates are… mass estimates are 11 Zulu and 12 Oscars. Over.”

11 corvettes and 12 destroyers, Loretta eyed the now large angry red hulk in the middle of the holotank, her ship’s tactical computer already trying to piece through the radiation cloud and assign target names and probable size. Sabine said the Otaga had what, 2 cruisers, 6 destroyers and 9 corvettes last year? No cruisers… it has to be the Keerim. It has to be 1st Starflock!

“Time to intercept?” Loretta was already punching up consoles in her command chair. 17 billion klicks, so they arrived...what...16 hours ago?

The clock was already ticking.

“Assuming maximum military power and a standard closing speed… 42 hours Admiral!”

“Comm, alert the fleet, let’s get moving!” she grinned. Finally! “Alert the dispatch boat, flash message to the Admiralty. Contact made with enemy ships, Antak Rahm system. Numerous drive signatures. Closing to engage!”

“Aye ma’am, transmitting to the fleet and dispatch boat!”

“That’s the ultimate irony, isn’t it?” she heard Turgenev say beside her. “War is always two days of planning for two minutes of terror,” Turgenev grinned wolfishly.

Loretta nodded in agreement. With sensors based on speed of light communication, battles in space always started as a guessing game based on hard physics. What was the enemy’s intention? Where would they be in 42 hours? Closing the distance would decrease the lag, and the closer things became to real time data, the better decisions she could make--as long as they weren’t charging pell mell.

“Multiple crash hyper footprints! Bearing 355, 093!”

“Count?” Loretta heard the alarm seeping into her voice.

“Orientation is slightly different.. Standby,” tactical called. “Count 24 unknowns, the drive signatures don’t match anything in our database!”

“Shit.”

She looked over at the source of the curse, and saw Turgenev’s face was paler than normal. The holotank flared with more angry red signatures, the tactical computers assigning them titles and potential trajectories. The new force had come in at a dead halt, but their position was over 50 million klicks further away than the apparent 1st Starflock. And their orientation...

...points to K’Karaal. A bombardment force!

24 warships had the firepower to slag every imperial base on the planet, and then some. The new force put Loretta in a hard position.

Retreat--they could easily run with the cooldown time on the enemy’s drives--but leave K’Karaal and the 800,000 imperial soldiers there to be blasted from space or worse…

...Or whittle the enemy down, limit the damage they could do, and send a call for the Ever Victorious Fleet to hyper in and save the planet.Faced with that choice, Loretta made the one choice she could.

“Orders to the fleet, battlestations, I repeat, battlestations! Full military power to close range! Comms, flash message to the second dispatch boat! Message to High Admiral Kruger! Multiple enemy forces in the Antak Rahm system! Send all forces to Antak Rahm, Case Zulu! Case Zulu!”

=====*=====​

September 14th, 2259

0857 Fleet Standard Time


Captain Matteo Costa settled into his own command chair, a felt it creak. He was a big man, it was true, but the noise had more to do with the ship itself than him.

Guadiana was the lone fully functional Auscultator class ‘heavy destroyer’ in the Reserve Fleet. They were big, hulking ships, little more than a powerplant linked to a 300 terawatt laser battery, with rest of a hull shoved around the arrangement with little thought to crew or comfort. Unlike Maenad, her bridge was cramped, a holotank with a command chair shoved awkwardly to the side, and consoles arranged where there was space. Matteo had always called his ship a big cannon with some lights attached. As if acknowledging that assessment, one of the overhead lights on the bridge flickered momentarily.

“Are the lights supposed to do that?”

Matteo turned, a fought the urge to tell the man to sit down. Yes, Matteo was master and command of all souls aboard his ship, military or civilian. However, James Tennyson was not just another civilian contractor on his ship. He was war correspondent for the Gaia News Network, one of the most influential news agencies in the Empire. Someone within the government had decided it would make a lovely story to have him follow Costa, the ‘imperial blood in the fleet,’ which meant Costa had to deal with a countless barrage of inane questions, interruptions, and a camera shoved in his face at potentially any time.

“It’s just fine, James,” Matteo forced a pleasant response where he may have roared up some choice four letter words instead. Fracking non-spacers..

“Um, very well,” Tennyson gave a wary glance at the light again. It flickered in response.

Matteo could see why someone thought this was a good idea -- it’d be great press for his brother in law’s government. It didn’t mean he had to be happy caging his mouth, avoiding the normally bawdy humor with his staff and crew that made Guadiana’s family what it was. Not with this report and his damn camera around all the time. As if on cue, Tennyson started pacing, yet again. Matteo could start a countdown clock to when he’d start pestering his engineering officer, or ping the ship’s bosun to complain about something in his cramped quarters.

“The wait is getting to you,” Matteo observed aloud.

Tennyson paused a moment, then nodded.

Matteo sighed, and nodded in understanding. This was not the part about space warfare that the holovids covered. They focused on the two minutes of lasers cutting through space, missiles blistering the dark with nuclear warheads, and the blinding eruptions of ships tearing themselves apart. They made it seem like in space that ships careened around like aircraft in an atmosphere, banking, swooping, and dodging in some deadly dance.

“Well,” the reporter added, “I mean, I’d read briefings, but I never realized how… well… how long the wait is. It could drive someone mad!”

“It’s the wait that kills you,” Matteo uttered the same phrase he and countless unsteadies had heard in their first days in the Imperial Star Academy of San Francisco. There, the naked truth of space combat was laid bare--it was a long planning session, and then hours, even days, of wondering if the right choices were made, while physics conspired to ever narrow your chance to change your mind, to change course or strategy. Every star’s gravity well had a hyper limit, where it’s sheer force would pull any object in hyperspace back to reality. Stars were heavy--even a pulsar would yank ships from faster than light travel tens of millions of klicks from its fiery heart. Ships needed hours to bleed off the excess energy of a translation, leaving them sitting ducks, unable to move.

It was the perfect recipe for an ambush, save another fact of physics - space was huge, and positioning your ships to be within weapons range of when an enemy would pop into a system before they spent the hours needed to bleed-off, and then re-spin their hyperdrives was near impossible. Even those Admiral Scott has guessed correctly that if Starflock One hypered in, that it would choose to come in as close as possible to K’Karaal, she was still 17 billion kilometers from their location, a 15 hour journey if she’d ordered the fleet to power up to the ludicrous speed of 0.5c. No Admiral would go that quickly save if they were running away and going to attempt a crash hyper out of the system.

Even with lasers capable of firing up to 10 million klicks, and missiles that could in theory fire an infinite distance given time, the problem was targeting. Leaving aside the issues of red shift and a moving enemy, the potential damage from minute particles at near relativistic speeds, coming in at .5c left you with an engagement envelope of perhaps 66 seconds -- a single minute to unload everything you had, before you and the enemy sped away from each other. The winning side of that brief brawl would have to deccelerate, while the loser could keep their speed at full blast.

In space, missiles and kinetic weapons in theory have infinite range, and lasers are more limited by their focusing than sheer distance. The problem was always targeting -- your data was minutes old against a moving target, and even laser weaponry could take minutes to reach the target. Firing solutions were a guessing game, based on patterns observed. The window of engagement -- how long you would be in weapons range of the target to build a pattern that could let your computers find a firing solution--was all critical.​

The winner would never catch them. A fact that Matteo learned in the Academy, and had earlier passed along to his less-than-understanding pupil.

“So,” Matteo stood up from his chair, and put his arm around the reporter. It was time to play his go-to game to keep Tennyson busy, and away from annoying his staff. “Let’s play a thought game then. You tell me what you think is happening. We have 23 Keerim ships closing fast. Why do you think they’re doing that?”

“Because they don’t want a long battle?” Tennyson asked.

Matteo smiled. Maybe some of it is sinking in for him. “Exactly my thoughts. If want out of the fire, run out of the kitchen!” Matteo chuckled.

Inwardly, he still wondered. Why would half their fleet be charging in headlong while the other half sat there? It was something he’d pondered over the last day--24 ships still laying motionless at their point of entry into the system, even as the lidar return delay dropped as Reserve Fleet closed range. The mystery ships could not be Keerim transports -- Admiral Kruger had caught the Keerim transport squadron outside S’Vrak and massacred those ships. No, they have to be Otaga… but why sit? They had to have seen us as well. Why not close range, pit 48 ships against our 30?

The 23 Keerim ships were acting like they could not spin up their drives in time to escape and charging headlong, while the Imperials kept a relatively sedate closing speed of 0.05c in comparison. That would let Reserve Fleet have more time to manuver, slow the engagement down, so their superior firepower would have a better chance at smashing the smaller 1st Starflock.

Why are 24 ships holding back, sitting dead still in space? It made no military sense. He glanced over at his tactical officer, Hans Gruber. The young man was bent over his console, eyes fixed on the oscillating drive signatures of the mystery vessels. Matteo wasn’t sure, but he bet the man hadn’t slept in the last 18 hours.

“We’re going to have maybe 4 minutes of engagement, with…” Matteo checked his watch, looking back at Tennyson. “24 hours in so far… call it another 10 hours to go?”

Tennyson swallowed. The Academy instructors did not lie when they said the wait could kill you. With days between detection and actual firing, you had all the time in the universe to out think yourself, make a minute shift in direction that threw an entire battleline in disarray at the decisive moment, with little to no chance of recovery. Staying in formation while your brain agonized for hours of what will happen, and what could happen, took a special kind of guts.

More than one spacer let ‘The Wait’ kill them. With battles being having a long lead time before only a brief moment of violence, even veteran spacers could psychologically outwit themselves, making minute changes early on that put them vastly out of position at the moment of decision.​

Hours, even days to ponder impending death by a variety of creative ways offered by the physics of the universe. Some people prayed, others played cards, drank, sang -- everyone had their way of passing that time where the plan was set to avoid thinking too much about it, and then changing it on the fly. The most crucial part was the hardest.

Sleep.

Matteo looked over at his tactical officer. The young man was slouched over his console, fingers pecking away like they had since Matteo arrived on the bridge 12 hours before. The engineering ensign said that Gruber had been on the bridge when her shift ended, 6 hours before that.

“Gruber?” Matteo called. Gruber spun his chair around, and sure enough, his eyes looked bleary. “I’m ordering you to your quarters. You aren’t to come out for another ten hours. Get away from that console and get some…”

“I think I know what those are, Captain,” Gruber rubbed his eyes.

“Is this you talking, or the lack of sleep?” Matteo gently chided.

“Me, sir,” Gruber beamed in exhaustion. “Telemetry just updated us with mass estimates. Those have to be Otaga transports. Every last one masses at least 10 million tons, far too big for a warship. And they haven’t moved because…”

“That mass means their drives take longer to spin down, and spin back up,” Matteo finished Gruber’s thought, more for Tennyson’s benefit. They’re civilian hulls, they can’t take a crash drop from hyperspace like a military hull could… that has to be it! “So… if you’re right, and those a transports, they are sitting ducks?”

“By my calculations, if we maintain our engagement speed, they’ll have spun up their drives and jumped… call it an 2 hours and twenty minutes before they are in our effective engagement range, even for the big blaster we have.”

Matteo rose, and walked over to the tactical console.

“Look here, Captain…” Gruber started point at lines and equations. Matteo could imagine the look of sheer confusion of Tennyson, who he knew was leaning over his shoulder, but the physics of the situation made complete sense.

Most spacefaring species did not have a dedicated set of ships for transporting large numbers of invasion troops -- wars of that scale simply did not happen often enough to justify the investment. Most species commandeered their largest civilian freighters, like ore or gas haulers, and repurposed them temporarily into troop transports. A single one of these massive ships could carry 100,000 or more combatants for most species.​

24, each massing 5 times the largest Otaga or Keerim ships. No movement for 24 hours to help their allies. Drive signatures that all varied slightly, instead of a series of uniform patterns like a series of warships.

These were civilian vessels. Transports, intended to carry hundreds of thousands of troops into battle.

“Gruber, get that data collated into a file we can transmit. Coms, ping Admiral Scott. Priority One message,” Matteo hopped back into his command chair.

=====*=====​

September 14th, 2259

1905 Standard Fleet Time


“About time you got back, you were going to miss the fun!”

Matteo smiled as a bright eyed Lieutenant Gruber went slightly red faced as he walked onto the bridge, fresh from 8 hours of sleep that Matteo had ordered him to do. It’d taken a few sleeping pills from the ship’s medical supply, but those were incomparable to having an alert tactical officer manning the ship’s fire control.

“You look like a new man,” the ever present Tennyson spoke, the slight whirr of tiny cameras dotting him head to toe drowned out by the ship’s noises. Guadiana was just finishing a reverse burn, slowing her speed back down after she’d roared out ahead of the fleet.

Alone.

If those 24 mystery ships were transports, sitting still, thanks to the manuver she’d have a 30 minute window to engage them with her main battery. A warship might be crippled by a direct hit from Guadiana’s huge battery. A transport? The blast would lance through the vessel entirely. If it’s hull wasn’t shattered by the blast, it’d be crippled, too damaged to jump back into hyperspace.

It was a madcap plan--Admiral Scott herself had called it that--but time and physics had made it the only plan if they intended on not just stopping 1st Starflock, but crippling the Otaga’s ability to fight as well.

If this works, the whole war is over in a half hour. If it doesn’t, he remembered his words, His Majesty has lost one destroyer.

As Costa looked around his tiny bridge at the men and women of his command, he fought inside the human that wanted to save lives, beating it down with the cold calculation of command. It was a gamble. A small loss in the eyes of the Admiralty and the fleet, but a huge reward for the Empire as a whole.

Guadiana’s surge and then reverse burn put her ahead and to the left of the fleet at near .3c. If the Keerim wanted to stop Matteo’s ship from reaching engagement range of the presumed transports, they’d have to slow their fleet and angle toward him. Admiral Scott had reasoned if they did, t.his would increase Reserve Fleet’s engagement envelope to near 10 minutes--more than enough to pound 1st Starflock into ruin

However, by Matteo’s calculations, Guadiana would be exposed alone to long range missile fire for 5 minutes--enough time for the Keerim to launch at least one salvo everything they had at the lone imperial ship.

There was no way anyone else in the Reserve Fleet could help during that 5 minute window.

If they survive those 5 long minutes, the rest of Reserve Fleet would come into missile and torpedo range, and Guadiana would be the least of 1st Starflock’s worries. Perhaps their last worry.

5 minutes, that’s all we need…

Most of the commandeered civilian hulls were not armored like their military counterparts, and also did not have the redundant framing or heavy internal reinforcement of a proper military hull. Against such a ship, if it was stuck motionless, Guadiana’s huge laser cannon would cut through it’s hull as if it was paper.​

To buy Guadiana the 5 minutes she needed, Admiral Scott would launch her starfighters. Their range was short -- they had no place for food, water or anything a spacer would need on extended work away from the mothership. She would have to hold them till the last minute, then launch them at extreme range, and have them use all but their emergency reserve fuel to accelerate up to Guadiana, and shoot down the incoming Keerim missiles.

The wait was taking it’s toll, and more than once Matteo kicked himself for suggesting the idea. He’d never seen the little wasps in combat. Hell, he’d never seen them appear on Guadiana’s sensor array. Yes, he’d read Admiral Kruger’s report of how they helped shoot down missiles from the main enemy starbase above Keerim itself, but that was a fixed station, not warships already coming in at a fraction of light speed, using their velocity to hurl their missiles forward even faster.

“Matteo, next time you have an idea, keep your mouth shut,” he told himself yet again.

“What?” the ever present, ever annoying Tennyson asked.

“Thinking aloud,” Matteo admitted, drumming his fingers on the arm of his command chair. “Range till engagement with the main enemy body?”

“2 minutes and counting, sir!” his sensor officer called.

“If we survive,” Tennyson said quietly, “any words for the viewers who may see this?”

Matteo blinked. He’d never been one for speeches--something his crew appreciated. His mind was focused on the problem at hand, not what grand words would be played in the viewscreen of some cattle ranch on Hagios Basilieos!

“I doubt I can say frack who you want, take a shot of whiskey for me?” he heard himself saying.

“I..um…” Tennyson blinked.

“I’ve got nothing, James…”

“Target separation!” Gruber called from his console. “Missiles inbound!”

“Right on time,” Matteo said, relieved to be free of an orator's burden. As he watched, the holotank filled with the angry red dots of incoming missiles. Guadiana’s tactical computer dutifully began tagging each one--as if her small point defenses could potentially take down the incoming swarm.

“I count… 96 birds inbound,” Gruber said, tenseness plain in his voice.

“Acknowledged, tactical,” Matteo said, keeping his own voice calm. “Time to impact?”

“10 minutes, sir. Maenad reports all starfighters away and inbound. ETA is approximately 10 minutes.”

“Cutting it close, aren’t we Captain?” Tennyson’s voice rose in alarm, and the speed of his pacing matched.

“Yes, sometimes in a fight you have to do that,” Matteo said louder than he normally would, so the rest of the crew would hear. “We’ll be fine, Mr. Tennyson. Our shields will hold.”

Or we’ll end up spread across space as atomic star material, Matteo added in his own mind.

“I can’t get a read on the starfighters, Captain,” Gruber called. At Matteo’s look, he nodded at the unspoken command. “I’ll keep trying. Our sensors are so old we… I’ll keep trying.”

For the next nine minutes, the bridge of the Guadiana was silent, save the hum of the starship and the whirr of her computers. Officers and crew ran through last minute checks of the ship’s shields, engines, and the massive main laser turret. Matteo quietly double checked their work from his chair console. Keeping busy kept you focused. Keeping busy kept the fear away.

“T minus two minutes to impact,” Gruber finally broke the din of quiet.

Matteo keyed up his ship’s comm. “Attention all hands! Strap yourselves in, it’s going to be a bumpy ride!” He then spun his chair back around to his tactical offer. “Any sign of the starfighters?” Matteo asked tersely.

“None sir,” Gruber shook his head. “If they’re flying by the standard specs, they should be here in 2 minutes, 32 seconds.”

“Let’s hope their specs are off,” Matteo forced a grin on his face. “Shields status?”

All ships that travelled approaching a fraction of light speed were equipped with particle shielding, designed to deflect microscopic particles out of the ship’s path to prevent damage. Military grade ships for most known species spent valuable ship space and resources to up these shields until they could deflect a kinetic round, or shift aside the blast of a missile. Against a barrage of heavy fire, however, Imperial shields would not hold…​

“Front shields are operating at maximum military capacity!” his engineer called back.

“T minus one minute…second salvo from the Keerim inbound… 96 more birds inbound...”

Matteo keyed the mic on his chair.

“All hands, brace for impact!” Matteo called as the angry red swarm closed in. He winced -- Guadiana had only a pair of light laser turrets aside from her heavy beam, and these would be completely useless against...

“What the hell?!” someone cried, and Matteo opened his eyes to see that angry red mass of missiles break apart in the holotank before his eyes.

“External cameras!” Matteo called. What in the hell happened to those missiles?

His main viewscreen flickered, and automated cameras snapped into focus as a single Viper spun backwards, his lasers blazing away. In the distance behind them, a missile warhead erupted in atomic fury, blazing white against the blackness of space.

They fracking did it… For a moment, Matteo, like Tennyson and his crew, watched in awe as those little wasps danced and spun on their axes spitting laser fire at any missile within range. A second Keerim salvo disappeared in atomic fires far from his hull, and that moment of awe came to an end. Matteo yanked himself back to the next step ahead.

“Tactical, first transport target!” he roared.

“Aye sir, beam locked on target!” Gruber, thinking at the same pace as Matteo, called back. “Firing solution ready!”

“Fire when ready, Mister Gruber!”

Matteo felt again the distinct hum of Guadiana pumping all her spare energy forward, lights dimmed, and the ship shuddered slightly as 300 terawatts of raw light energy surged through space.

“Laser cycling!”

“Very well, tactical! Time to next firing?”

“Next firing in 38 seconds and counting, sir! Solution ready on the next target!”

“When the laser finishes its cycle, weapons free, Mister Gruber!” Matteo leaned back. As Guadiana’s massive battery spat out another 300 terawatt blast, a storm of starfighters swept onto 1st Starflock, followed by the steel mass of the Reserve Fleet. Cameras rolled, and silently watched as the blackness of space erupted into the lightning and thunder of war.

Statistics would later show Admiral Scott’s forces had skillfully opened the engagement window to nearly 11 minutes. Reserve Fleet only needed half of that time.

The end of the first part of the Battle of Antak Rahm. The fleet later destroyed 15 Otaga transports before they were able to crash jump into hyperspace. In the course of an evening, the Imperial Navy, for 4 corvettes, destroyed the Keerim navy once and for all, and crippled their allies ability to invade any planet for years to come…


==========*==========​

 

[stnylan]

Hooray! That is the Rome we all know and love. Though it sounds far from a sure thing, the result be glorious.

 

[BootOnFace]

Nice update. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time.

 

[Qorten]

Hooray! A great victory, superbly narrated!

 

[JodelDiplom]

Spacegasm!!

 

[Nikolai]

One could, as always with your battle scenes, feel the tension in the room General.

 

[Stuyvesant]

Very atmospheric and tense, until the final release when the Keerim navy was obliterated in a lopsided engagement.

Excellent stuff, although naming your Tactical Officer Hans Gruber was a bit distracting. I kept waiting for him to say "Schieß dem Fenster".

 

[General_BT]

Stuyvesant - I actually did not think about that until you mentioned it. Now I've got to find a way to work in a John McClane somewhere!

Nikolai - That's what I was going for!

JodelDiplom - And this is how the errant mass driver event in Stellaris gets started lol!

Qorten - Indeed, but as we have seen (and shall see) there are big time fractures developing in this 'Ever Victorious' state. Too much victory can sometimes be a bad thing, and lead to people thinking they are invincible...

BootonFace - Excellent, that was the atmosphere I was hoping for.

stnylan - Well, I tried to think about how real physics space combat would work, and it would leave a lot into doubt until you actually could 'see' what your opponent was doing. In this case, there was a lot of confusion because the Romans couldn't quite 'see' what the second group of ships were doing. Being from the 'ever victorious' empire, they of course charged in, and this time it worked in their favor... this time...



I apologize for the long delay in replies--work and real life intervened to suck up a bunch of time. Next update ended up being longer than expected, so I'm likely going to split it in two. The first part should be up later this week. Thank you for your patience!

 

[General_BT]

May 5th, 2261



Crown Prince Boris Komnenos closed his eyes, taking in the sounds and noise of military bands and music. He’d always loved the spit and shine of military spectacle, the spacers at attention, the bands, the dress uniforms gleaming in the light. He hadn’t slept well the night before -- and that was despite the long, debauched party the night before. When he collapsed onto a bed at 4 AM local, he should have fallen into a deep dreamless sleep.

They’d come again.

He never saw ‘them,’ but he knew they were, well, they. They hung at the edge of his dreams, whispering without words, thinking without thoughts. It was like there was always a great cloud hovering in his unconscious, a cloud that made him uneasy, even afraid. Eduardo always said it was probably the drugs, but no, Boris had felt these...things… even when sober. Drinking used to help. Then it didn’t. Drugs used to help after that, but even after last nights very long festivities, only some of which Boris could remember, he could still see those black tendrils...

Prince Boris had been troubled by dark dreams of jet tendrils circling about him. He’d told no one what he’d been seeing, save one…​

He looked to his left, to his paramour and confidante, Eduardo Ramirez.

Ramirez had once been a classmate of Boris when the prince went through the motions of attending the Imperial Fleet Academy, as was expected of a Komnenos. Ramirez then transferred to the Mobile Infantry, and during the Keerim War had risen rapidly to Major. Now, officially he served as the Prince’s chief bodyguard, though everyone knew what was really going on.

Eduard Ramirez had been a hero of the Keerim War. During the storming of Antak Rahm, he was the sole survivor of his squad which took an important Keerim command post.​

“Still thinking about your dream?” Ramirez asked, watching the spectacle.

“I...yes,” Boris replied.

“Watch the ships, they’re about to pass in review,” Ramirez pointed. “It’ll get your mind off of the dreams, far better than anything you...downed...last night.”

Boris nodded. Since he was a 10, attending his first military parade in a pint-sized uniform, Boris had fallen in love with the military. He’d begged, begged his father to let him join the Imperial Navy, but ‘the needs of state,’ had drowned that dream. So other than the occasional slipping away on his personal shuttle for a surprise visit to K’Karaal or the Reserve Fleet (oh, that tongue lashing from his father had been worth it though!), he was forced to watch parades, or holovids of the war.

So now he stood aboard Gaia One, the great spacedock and shipyard orbiting humanity’s home, watching the last of a series of grand spectacles to celebrate the Empire’s first victory against another interstellar power. All around him twittered the high and mighty of the Imperial Navy--captains and commanders from the Admiralty Staff, representatives from the people and the megacorps.

A loud barking laugh broke his reverie, and he turned to glare at his cousin. Boris had always found cousin Matteo rather rude and crude, but he could not argue with the Admiralty’s logic -- Matteos plan had netted the Otaga transports and 1st Starflock. Yes, the war had dragged on another six months while Scott and Kruger’s fleets combined and jointly assaulted the Keerim home world, but after their battlestations were destroyed, and the glorious imperial navy began to rain fire on their cities, the Keerim surrendered very quickly.

All of it made possible by the desperate plan of now Rear Admiral Matteo Costa, and his lone destroyer swatting Otaga transports from space at an unheard of 100 megaklicks.

For the blood that’d been shed and the resources expended, the Empire’s terms were light. Against the wishes of many of the more hot-blooded members of the great corporations and families of the Empire, Emperor Hul had pressed for only the goal of the war at the outset - Antak Rahm. He understood the Empire was strained, and needed time to recover.​

“He sounds like a braying donkey,” Boris hissed as his cousin barked a laugh at some functionary’s bad joke. In truth, the distraction was working, and he was relieved to be spitting venom quietly at someone instead of thinking of those...things.

“A very deadly donkey,” his companion sighed. Boris fought the urge to roll his eyes, but he knew Eduardo Ramirez was right. He was usually right. Aside from his good looks, it was the biggest reason why Boris kept his first paramour around.

“Was last night…” Eduard started to whisper, before Boris shushed him.

“It...helped. Hush, the band,” he gestured.

A full orchestra had started the imperial anthem, and Boris’ mind drifted away from nightmares to him leading a sea of soldiers onwards, bands playing as they marched into a sea of laser and artillery fire. That music, though… they locked their bayonets, and they charged those Keerim positions…

...that quiet thing, in the corner of his mind...something huge, something dark...he needed distraction...distraction...

As the orchestra went on, and the imperial anthem reached its crescendo, Boris shook the unease out of his mind and swelled with pride. Three abreast, close enough he could almost touch them, the great warships of the new Ever Victorious Fleet sedately swept by. Boris knew or cared little for the number of tug droids required to gently push those great ships by dangerously close to one another, he only saw the spectacle.

None of the ships in the parade had seen combat -- they were all new builds, designed and constructed with the lessons of the war in mind. They mounted better weapons, better armor, shields that could have shrugged Keerim missile barrage. The one that caught Boris’ eyes trailed the cavalcade of power--larger, bright white paint gleaming in the stark black of space. HIMS Strategos was the lead ship of a new class of imperial cruisers, and, as of today, flagship of the Ever Victorious Fleet.

The Strategos class represented the first of a new generation of warships built with the lessons of the Keerim conflict in mind. With a hangar bay for VIpers, , and armed with both powerful torpedoes as well as new lasers that focused light in the UV spectrum, they were ton for ton nearly twice the power of the previous Nike class​

As the ‘Great White Hope,’ swept past the windows of his viewing platform, Boris’ eyes caught the belle of this ball. To say that Vice Admiral Loretta Scott was now considered a ‘Hero of the Empire’ was an understatement. For her victory at Antak Rahm, the largest engagement fought by the Empire to date, and by far the most decisive, her awards had been too numerous to count. Legally, she was now Countess Loretta Scott of Antak Rahm, as well as a recipient of the Komnenos Cross, Military Cross, and Order of Merit with Oak Leaves. Above all of that, she had the Crown Prince’s attention.

Unlike most of the people on the viewing platform, Prince Boris thought Admiral Loretta Scott was an interesting person, but he did not find her interesting for the same reasons as the bevy of young men keenly vying for her attentions in vain. Boris had never boxed in his life, but he found a high ranking official who willingly sparred with her subordinates, even low spacers, interesting. She was funny, far more entertaining that the dour High Admiral Sabine Kruger. Boris had not been on the Admiralty council very long, but it’s why he’d pushed Scott to receive command of the Ever Victorious Fleet, while her old force, now renamed Task Force A, was sent coreward under High Admiral Kruger to clear the pirate infestations of the new Scott arm of the galaxy.

Admiral Kruger, with a command of older ships, was dispatched to the new army of the galaxy available to the Empire to both back up imperial survey and scouting vessels, as well as root out any miscreants who had used the chaos of the Keerim war to flee imperial justice.​

Stupid woman, Boris glowered, his mind going back to that day.

His first day serving on the Admiralty Board was the day Admiral Kruger returned to Gaia to formally announce that the Keerim were seeking a truce. Scout ships were already in the newly accessible galactic arm, and, reports had filtered in of several unintelligent alien blobs that lived in the region, as well as several planets whose inhabitants still roamed their surface only one step above feral beasts. Two large surviving groups of the Crown’s earlier purge of piracy had fled there as well. He’d wanted to make a splash, to make his mark early so he could begin stepping out of his father’s tired and uninspired shadow.

So he’d proposed conquering the planets of this obviously servile alien races, much as the Empire had conquered the Tendra Zuhn and Sidamatus during his grandmother’s reign. It would give the Empire a foothold, and servile labor to help human colonists rightfully stake their claim in the region. To Boris, it made perfect sense. He’d thought there may be pushback on cost, but no more.

He’d never expected the commanding officer of his father’s navy to launch into a tirade against his plan on how no sentient being should be servile.

Kruger’s public outburst galvanized a slow but growing movement that wanted more rights for non-humans within Imperial space. It was also an embarrassment to the Crown Prince, but because of her position and combat record, she could not be cashiered. Instead, she found herself exiled to what was expected to be a quiet frontier posting. Nonetheless, more members of the public are calling for the Emperor to formally extend rights to Tendra Zuhn and Sidimatus, especially those that crewed freighters and other supply ships into the warzone for their human overlords.​

From that day forward, Kruger’s time on Gaia was sealed. The utter nerve of that woman meant she could not be trusted, and the idiocy of her argument! Humans had conquered every alien race they’d encountered. By genetic design and divine grace, humanity was destined to rule the galaxy! And any prattling nitwit who thought otherwise needed to be sent as far from the organs of power as possible!

Officially the move had been an easy sell. It made sense that the highest ranking and, on paper, most qualified imperial officer would be in charge of sweeping this new arc of the galaxy free of pirates who had fled imperial might in the decades long before. In reality, it meant he could press his ideas without the High Admiral publicly blocking him. Eduardo had gone as far as to suggest an accident should befall Kruger, but Boris was not nearly so sure. For now, she was gone, and…

“Royal Highness!” a familiar drawl called from across the viewing platform. Boris turned, and his eyes narrowed as he saw his father’s Prime Minister crossover towards them.

“Perhaps, considering last night, we should be…” Eduardo started to whisper, but Boris ignored what he was saying. All thoughts of the dreams, the lack of sleep, were gone. Boris only saw this man, this man he loathed, strolling up towards him. He purposefully waited until d’Agostino was within clear earshot.

“Look Eduardo. It’s Tommasso d’Agostino, my father’s pen pusher,” he pointed. To Boris’ chagrin, d’Agostino’s smile never faded even the slightest.

“Highness!” Prime Minister grabbed Boris’ hand and shook it far too hard. “A great day! Great day, isn’t it!”

“D’Agostino, are you about to nag me?” Boris grumbled at the Prime Minister’s nonchalance at his insult.

“If by ‘nagging,’ you mean discussing Your Highness’ expense accounts, then yes, my duty compels me to ‘nag,’ as you say. The Goliad Club, the night before our Victory Day celebrations?”

Boris rolled his eyes.

“A three hundred and seventy thousand credit tab? Really, Highness, were you drinking champagne coated with emerald dust?” That smile suddenly disappeared. “Highness, I don’t care what whores you hire, and who you spend your nights with, but on the tab of His Majesty’s Government, when we’ve asked our people to surrender so much for this victory?”

“I did no such thing,” Boris cast a leftward glance over at Eduardo. His paramour cleared his throat, but said nothing. Maybe he’ll go away, Boris hoped, turning back to the array of ships outside the duraglass windows.

“Then last Tuesday, at the NeoAlhambra in Toledo? Last weekend, at Mercer’s Gentleman’s Club? One million credits within a week?” He sighed with the same sigh that Boris’ tutors gave when he’d exasperated them. “Who is your supplier?”

“My what?” Boris heard his voice squeak.

“A kindly soul came and told me he found a syringe in your apartments last week.”

Boris spun around, intentionally trying to tower over the little man. “You keep your spies and pen pushers out of my apartments!” he hissed.

“I said,” ‘d’Agostino whispered in that damn drawl of his, “it was a kindly soul that did it. They came to me before going to the press. Tell me, Highness, what is this Empire founded on?”

“D’Agostino, you are testing me,” Boris warned.

“Faith in the Komnenoi,” the Prime Minister went on as if the Crown Prince had said nothing. “Faith that one family, whom God, Allah, Fate, or genes have appointed, will guide humanity into the future. Do you know what the average Roman makes?”

“I…”

“Forty thousand credits in a year,” the Prime Minister went on, his voice becoming iron. “And that’s with a slew of trillionaires and one quadrillionaire skewing the numbers. I won’t bother you with the slums they live in, or the wretched food they eat, but I will bother you with this. I will not let one boy’s stupidity ruin generations of work.”

The new Komnenid Empire was built on an alliance of massive megacorporations, former warlords, and anyone else that had seized power after The Fire. The Empire’s rapid expansion had meant that trillions of credits had funneled into the hands of a tiny elite, while the great masses, especially in the colonies being plundered for material resources, were cold and isolated in the deep of space.​

“You sir? How…” Boris caught his indignation as a timely cough from Eduardo reminded him he was in public. Frack, I can’t slug this monster! “You cannot speak to me that way! I am no man’s boy!” Boris hissed.

“Is it just heroin, or that Tendra Zuhn slime that the Mascerati smuggle onto Gaia?” Before Boris could roar and snap his anger, d’Agostino’s smile returned, smug and sly like usual. “You need to face the music. Look, over there, some newsies.”

Without so much as requesting permission, d’Agostino spun himself and the prince around, and Boris found himself face to face with a half dozen reporters, festooned with cameras to capture every angle of the crowd. Even as d’Agostino put on a practiced smile, Boris realized he was a second too late.

“Highness, can you tell us why you aren’t smiling today?”

“I...um… while we celebrate, let’s not forget those who gave their lives for this victory,” Boris fell back on one of the age old ‘outs’ his father had taught him, but further words failed him. An awkward silence hung, while Boris looked over the crowd, desperately trying to think.

“Is that why you are red eyed, or is it true you were at the Goliad Club last night?”

Shit.

“His Highness was at the Goliad Club last night,” the Prime Minister smoothly interjected, “along with Major Ramirez, and several other heroes of the invasion of K’Karaal. He was hosting a private celebration of victory for some of our valiant young soldiers and spacers. Things went late into the night,” d’Agostino chuckled, “but one can hardly blame a young soldier who’s been away from home for so long in taking some...liberties… at a club. Isn’t that right, Major?”

“Uh… that is correct, Prime Minister.”

“Good. Now, there will be a formal press conference at 1500 hours, where I’m sure His Highness will be willing to answer your questions, but for now, I ask you let him contemplate the losses we’ve taken to reach this great day.”

Boris watched as, chastened, the damn rabble of newsies crawled away from him, before a hand clapped hard onto his shoulder. To anyone watching, it looked only as if the Prime Minister was consoling a grieving prince. No observer could feel how tightly d’Agostino’s fingers were digging into Boris’ tunic.

“I saved your ass today, boy,” steel seeped through d’Agostino’s smile, “but you need to grow up, fast, or next time I may just let you hang. 'Petty Prince Wastes Millions.' Think on how that byline would play with the public... let alone your father.”

The Prime Minister’s grip turned into a friendly pat, and the little man started to walk away, before stopping mid stride, almost as if he’d forgotten something.

“Oh, I do need to mention, I’ve heard some certain rumblings that individuals asked for our money being sent to the poor of the Tendra Zuhn be pulled for, I believe it was, ‘supporting our kind?’”

Boris swallowed. Yes, he’d said that. Was d’Agostino looking for some twisted confession?

“Drop those human superiority ideas, Highness, or you’ll get us all killed.”

Boris said nothing - he wouldn’t give give the little Italian runt the satisfaction. D’Agostino’s smile merely became larger.

“Highness, I hear the army needs combat veterans to train soldiers on K’Karaal. As I mentioned, Major Ramirez is highly qualified. It’s a five year stint, if I remember right?”

As the Prime Minister of the Empire smiled pleasantly, then walked away, Boris wished he could burn a hole in that little man’s skull. Him, and people like him, were holding humanity back. Him, and people like him, were holding Boris back.

Boris felt a friendly hand touch his shoulder, and turned back to Eduardo. His paramour smiled, and said one word.

“Soon.”

=====*=====​

Late is better than never! Hmmm... so Boris is seeing things...