@POOHEAD189 It's been a while :D
Sigma
Member
- Last Seen: 1 hr ago
- Old Guild Username: Sigma
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 2552 (0.64 / day)
- VMs: 3
-
Username history
- Sigma 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Lunamaria Hawke,
Snowdrops,
MrSkimobile,
Hos,
Ozymandias,
LimeTime966,
BigPapaBelial,
LadyAmber,
Chronic,
Liotrent
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Discord Link:
discord.gg/4PtVcncQJf
Welcome to the Age of Broken Shackles! A Very Soft Sci-fi setting ripe for all sorts of possibilities. Filled with all sorts of political intrigue and thrills, space adventures, and all sorts of military shenanigans! One of main features of this setting is I’m going to be very loose on tech, stuff that has previously be limited, go for it! Dyson Spheres? Sure! Your own means of FTL travel? Have a whack at it, and whatever others.
However, regarding wonderous military technology and tactics, they for sure are allowed….buuuut! They will not guarantee you a perfect defense or offense. In the past millennium in-universe, everything you can think of has been possibility tried, won battles, and now has been successfully studied and countered. No one is invincible, and in the present, tactics and tech that have worked in the past still is effective, but the chances of failure are equally high. You will miss, your defenses will be breached, and so on and so forth.
Basically, as with previous rp’s, the tech and tactics effectiveness is dependent on an agreement between players. Remember foremost, this is a collaborative narrative story, for the fun of telling a story, not a game to win. Also to note is that the rp will be move in a relaxed pace, to better accommodate players with busy schedule.
Starmap
Each dot represents a star system, and the big one is Tar Yrra.
Nation Sheet
Nation Name/Flag (The usual, provide a name of your nation(long version, short version, or both, you decide) and an option to post your nation’s flag.)
Map Location: (Post your claim on the starmap.)
Government Type: (State government type and provide a small bit of info on how things work, doesn’t need to be super detailed, just paint me a good enough picture)
Demographics: (The people of your nation, human, xeno or both. It could be as simple as a percentage list with pics, a small paragraph or whatever you feel is best)
Military: (The fun part! What’s defending your nation in these uncertain times? You can provide as much or as little detail as you like. Can’t also forget, showing tons of pictures of what their soldiers, vehicles and ships look like :P)
History: (Speaks for itself. It can as brief or detailed as you wish.)
discord.gg/4PtVcncQJf
Age of Broken Shackles
A long time ago, the galaxy was once under the iron grip of the Yrrani, who were said to be god-like in nature, their power beyond any known species in the galaxy. They ruled for untold centuries, acting both as benevolent rulers, and terrible tyrants. They gifted many worlds wonderous technologies, uplifted species of their choosing, all the while they razed entire systems to any who would dare defy their rule and wiped entire species from the face of all of creation. They were both loved and feared, revered and reviled by trillions, it was known as the mythical age of Pax Yrranus.
However, nothing lasts forever, near the peak of their reign, a darkness fell over their empire that begun with the death of the Ascendant Emperor, a tragedy orchestrated by a usurper of the emperor’s own kin. The galaxy was soon plunged into a cataclysmic war that would span a hundred years and, in its end, the Yrrani were but a shadow of their former selves and had simply vanished from the face of the universe. The galaxy, long under Yrrani dominion was at last free. Five hundred years have passed since the Great Fall, the younger civilizations have long since prospered upon the ashes of the old age, allowed to control their own destiny and set out to carve their own path in the stars, the tools and technology of their old masters now theirs for the taking.
And it would begin on Tar Yrra, the home and throneworld of the Yrrani, thought to had long been lost since the Great Fall, was found once again fifty years from the present day, and had been the source of a series of conflicts collectively known as the Reclamation Wars. The main objective being to claim the bounties that lie within, as Tar Yrra would prove to be the greatest vault of lost technology to ever been found.
It having the power great enough to tip the scales in favor to whomever possessed it or doom the galaxy to another dark age. The Fourth Reclamation War would conclude with the Armistice of Jarila, giving a brief pause to the violence for the time being. However, the fight for Tar Yrra is far from over, and all the forces of the galaxy plot and scheme their next moves in the open and behind the scenes. Preparing for the grand battle to come.
A long time ago, the galaxy was once under the iron grip of the Yrrani, who were said to be god-like in nature, their power beyond any known species in the galaxy. They ruled for untold centuries, acting both as benevolent rulers, and terrible tyrants. They gifted many worlds wonderous technologies, uplifted species of their choosing, all the while they razed entire systems to any who would dare defy their rule and wiped entire species from the face of all of creation. They were both loved and feared, revered and reviled by trillions, it was known as the mythical age of Pax Yrranus.
However, nothing lasts forever, near the peak of their reign, a darkness fell over their empire that begun with the death of the Ascendant Emperor, a tragedy orchestrated by a usurper of the emperor’s own kin. The galaxy was soon plunged into a cataclysmic war that would span a hundred years and, in its end, the Yrrani were but a shadow of their former selves and had simply vanished from the face of the universe. The galaxy, long under Yrrani dominion was at last free. Five hundred years have passed since the Great Fall, the younger civilizations have long since prospered upon the ashes of the old age, allowed to control their own destiny and set out to carve their own path in the stars, the tools and technology of their old masters now theirs for the taking.
And it would begin on Tar Yrra, the home and throneworld of the Yrrani, thought to had long been lost since the Great Fall, was found once again fifty years from the present day, and had been the source of a series of conflicts collectively known as the Reclamation Wars. The main objective being to claim the bounties that lie within, as Tar Yrra would prove to be the greatest vault of lost technology to ever been found.
It having the power great enough to tip the scales in favor to whomever possessed it or doom the galaxy to another dark age. The Fourth Reclamation War would conclude with the Armistice of Jarila, giving a brief pause to the violence for the time being. However, the fight for Tar Yrra is far from over, and all the forces of the galaxy plot and scheme their next moves in the open and behind the scenes. Preparing for the grand battle to come.
Welcome to the Age of Broken Shackles! A Very Soft Sci-fi setting ripe for all sorts of possibilities. Filled with all sorts of political intrigue and thrills, space adventures, and all sorts of military shenanigans! One of main features of this setting is I’m going to be very loose on tech, stuff that has previously be limited, go for it! Dyson Spheres? Sure! Your own means of FTL travel? Have a whack at it, and whatever others.
However, regarding wonderous military technology and tactics, they for sure are allowed….buuuut! They will not guarantee you a perfect defense or offense. In the past millennium in-universe, everything you can think of has been possibility tried, won battles, and now has been successfully studied and countered. No one is invincible, and in the present, tactics and tech that have worked in the past still is effective, but the chances of failure are equally high. You will miss, your defenses will be breached, and so on and so forth.
Basically, as with previous rp’s, the tech and tactics effectiveness is dependent on an agreement between players. Remember foremost, this is a collaborative narrative story, for the fun of telling a story, not a game to win. Also to note is that the rp will be move in a relaxed pace, to better accommodate players with busy schedule.
Starmap
Each dot represents a star system, and the big one is Tar Yrra.
Nation Sheet
Nation Name/Flag (The usual, provide a name of your nation(long version, short version, or both, you decide) and an option to post your nation’s flag.)
Map Location: (Post your claim on the starmap.)
Government Type: (State government type and provide a small bit of info on how things work, doesn’t need to be super detailed, just paint me a good enough picture)
Demographics: (The people of your nation, human, xeno or both. It could be as simple as a percentage list with pics, a small paragraph or whatever you feel is best)
Military: (The fun part! What’s defending your nation in these uncertain times? You can provide as much or as little detail as you like. Can’t also forget, showing tons of pictures of what their soldiers, vehicles and ships look like :P)
History: (Speaks for itself. It can as brief or detailed as you wish.)
Woo! Looking forward to it!
Been thinking on what sort of faction the Gaia Reclamation Initiative would be, and one potential outcome is a sort of AI project by either a private organization or one of the power blocs of the late 21st century. The AI made with the purpose of helping and direction restoration efforts of the world if things truly got dire. There are some blanks in between, but at some point, the AI would go full Skynet/Ultron on its creators, seeing machines as better stewards of the Earth. It probably be based in Antarctica.
That's the first draft so far, may change at some point of course, may even turn into something completely different XD.
That's the first draft so far, may change at some point of course, may even turn into something completely different XD.
So, what you guys plan on making? I'm still sorta undecided, ideas juggling in my head, although a name has popped up that sounds promising (and potentially sinister depending on things) "Gaia Preservation(Or Reclamation) Initiative".
Count me in as well!
Collab between @Sigma and @Enigmatik
The Galactic War may have ended, but to the Azulvistans stationed in Americana the fight still continued. The easy guise of protecting against New Terran aggression had gone, but that had only ever really been an excuse for the Republican Navy.
In truth though, it had been less of a war and more of the galaxy's most sluggish slapfight. Mass naval engagements had been a rarity, isolated almost exclusively to the earliest days of Azulvistan involvement. Instead, the two sides had taken to displays of force - here a massive GRA fleet would swing past Columbia, just outside of naval bombardment range, there a Yulzan fleet would fire off a barrage towards the Gateway, the void of space lit up with the pinpricks of interception fire. An uncomfortable status quo perhaps, but one that was unappealing to the Senate back home.
Maintaining vessels on combat duty required money. Paying navymen to flex the Gran Republic's muscles required money. The frankly irresponsible amount of lend-lease equipment that had been provided to Americana required vast sums of money. Results were starting to be demanded, and so a new dimension had been agreed upon.
Insertion onto Columbia.
Several maximum-security vessels had made their way across from Azulvista for exactly this purpose. Inside, isolated from their crewmen, spending almost all their time locked in a routine of non-stop training was the weapon that Azulvista had yet to unleash.
"This is Commandante Joaquim Rafel y Cavaller, Brigade Xenocide, reporting units ready for immediate action."
"Roger Commandante. This is Contralmirante Alvera de Arredondo of Strikefleet Lepanto. We're ready to begin your insertion - awaiting final confirmation from Almirante Catalina's flagship."
"Understood Contralmirante. May the saints guide you."
"And to you Commandante."
An hour later and Strikefleet Lepanto pulled away from the main Gateway fleet and begun to press forward, angled unmistakeably towards Columbia.
The Yulzan Ascendancy was sent into a panic as word spread of a foreign fleet punching its way past No Man’s Land, although in truth it was a small strikefleet, the mere fact a force of any size was able to cross the border was enough for concern. The stand-off long held maintained between the Yulzan, the FRA and its allies over Mojave had now in a moment’s notice, had been broken. In the chaos of the fighting, a small enough force from Azulvista had suddenly found itself in Columbian Orbit, prompting a rapid response.
Columbia, High Orbit
Throneship
High Ascendant Council
The High Ascendants all starred deeply into the holoprojection dead center of the room, a replication of Columbia, surrounded by dozens of green dots stretching all over the planet’s orbit, and a small cluster of red dots representing the Azulvistan invaders. “Impressive, it’s been long since the humans were bold enough to push past our lines” High Ascendant Nrac’shul spoke. “However, we must not underestimate them. We must swiftly deal with them and proceed with the final plan.” The others present nodding in agreement. Another stood up, High Ascendant Zalos. “I will begin immediate mobilizing of a fleet nearest to the enemy. Show them their little incursion will not be tolerated.”
The first fleet to heed the Guard-Master’s call to arms was the 14th Home Defense group, it was the closet fleet near the approximate entry point of the strikefleet, ready to either counter them and for its Admiral to redeem himself. Within the CIC of the fleet’s flagship, the Blissful Wrath, Admiral Hawthorn stared intently at the holomap, waiting for the moment for the enemy to arrive. His blunder during the Throneship incident had damaged his standing with many, he was lucky enough to keep his command despite his failure to capture or kill the would-be assassins of a High Ascendant. Now, however, this may be his chance to atone for his failure.
Alvera watched the tactical overlay intently. The response fleet had arrived... And about when anticipated, which was good. Their intel hadn't been too compromised by this... Naval trench warfare. "Wing 1 through 3. Move to engage. Wings 4 through 10,
Stiletto formation."
She paused for a moment to take a deep breath. "Remember, our only objective is to get the package into high orbit. Once it's out, we extract immediately." Acknowledgements streamed across the airwave. They had one last trick up their sleeves for this crucial moment...
"Gibraltar, this is Lepanto. Requesting superheavy strike."
"Copy Lepanto. Firing patterns established. Keep your course."
From across No Mans Land, capacitors thrummed to maximum capacity. War Galleons made minute adjustments in positioning, all waiting for the single word order.
"Fire."
Even with their phonemenal speed, aiming railguns at this range was more speculation than true gunnery, but nonetheless their bolts hurtled forward. Alvera crossed herself and issued her final command before battle was joined.
"Gracias Gibraltar. Lepanto initiating combat silence. Over and out."
Red alerts sounded off through every vessel in the fleet as the Azulvistan ships were on fast approach, the battle had already begun. “All ships, move in and engage the enemy! Encircle them and prevent them from an-“ The Admiral’s words were cut short as a shock wave was felt through the ship. “Sir! We just lost the Sacred Judgment!”
“How in the hell did they manage that?!?” He exclaimed in confusion.
“Enemy projectile from unknown range it looks.” The officer replied. “They have us marked.” It now seemed the stakes for the Admiral had just gotten much higher. The Azulvistan ships present seem to be not only acting as a possible vanguard to a wider invasion, but they also seem to be acting as spotters for another set of vessels far from Columbia, and as long as those ships remain, the rest of the fleet is at risk of being sniped into stardust. “Break into loose formations and engage the enemy!”
The 14th defensive fleet, in fear of further long-range strikes, scattered as they attempted to encircle the Azulvistan fleet, unleashing a volley of railgun fire, followed by waves of smaller strike craft acting as screens for the main fleet.
A few muted celebrations went up on the bridge of [Shipname] as the Yulzan spread out in response to their supporting fire. This was what they had planned for: with their foes spread out, the tightly-arranged knot of Azulvistan vessels could press forward much more aggressively. Surging ahead, the first three wings of the strikefleet closed to an uncomfortably close engagement range and began loosing swarms of missiles and a withering barrage of projectile fire.
They just needed a little more time and a little more pressure. Columbia had gone from a distant marble to a good portion of the horizon... Only a bit further and they could deploy their package and start extracting, and every second they saved during this assault was less time for the jaws of the Yulzan defence to snap shut around them.
The battle had quickly turned savage as barrages of missile and projectile fire filled the space in between the two foes, fighters and bombers shredded to scrap when they dared make strike runs against the tight clusters. The Blissful Wrath stayed at the forefront, unleashing volleys of missile, projectiles, and the occasional plasma bolt from special retrofitted Yulzan-based weaponry, a rare retrofit reserved for a select group of Janissary warships, usually those commanded by higher-ranked officers.
While the warship stood strong, many of her smaller brethren would fall to the unyielding barrage from the Azulvistan warships. “Hold the line! Do not relent! And press on with the attack!” Hawthorn ordered with a renewed sense of zeal, he would not let his career end with another blunder.
"This is Wing 1, we're taking heavy casualties here. Lepanto lead, advise?"
"Maintain your course Wing 1. We can't back out now. Wings 4 and 5, move to support Wing 1, Wing 10, now or never, move to deploy the package."
"Copy that, moving out." Alvera grimaced. The tactical display blinked as two more Azulvistan vessels were destroyed - one vanishing entirely from view, the other turning from a single large pip into a shotgun spread of detritus. They're dying, and it's on your head.
It would be worth it. It had to be worth it. The Yyasum weren't going to leave of their own accord - it was only through blood and steel that they would see this system made free.
"This is Wing 10. We're only a click away from instertion altitude."
"All units, move to support Wing 10. This is it."
The Blissful Wrath begun to tremble as her shields weakened, projectiles and missiles penetrating her defenses, blowing chunks of her hull clean off. Within her CIC, Admiral Hawthorn lost his stand and fell to the floor, his staff erupting into an cacophony of noise. “Shields down to seventeen percent and weakening!” One voice screamed.
“We just lost the Truth and Judgment!!”
“Hull breach in central deck!”
The Admiral forced himself up, his expression now soured with rage. “Press on with the attack! Maintain current position at all cost!”
Alvera watched with bated breath as the tiny blips that were Wing 10 pressed closer and closer to the planet. Eight hundred meters. Six hundred... Five hundred meters... A vessel that had been standing against them spun wildly out of control and Wing 4 siezed the momentum to drive even further forward.
"WING 10! WE'RE IN POSITION! DEPLOYING THE PACKAGE!"
To cover the insertion, Wing 10 had to do more than just deploy the drop torpedos. As the carracks unleashed the package, their companion caravels also launched a massive swarm of missiles - some deliberately made as duds, so they would go wide and hopefully throw the scent off those aimed towards the planet.
"All wings, retreat now! Package has been delivered, it's all down to them. They go with the saints."
Within moments, as the swarm of missiles were shot down from a hail of bullets from point-defense guns, and the “dust” settled so to speak, the attacking Azulvistan warships had swiftly pulled back from the engagement, much to the confusion of the defending Janissaries. Admiral Hawthorn watched perplexed as the enemy signals on the map slowly flickered away as they left Columbia’s orbit. There were questions…however, that was for another time.
For now, it seemed Hawthorn’s career may have just been saved for the time being. Fending off a hostile incursion in Columbia’s orbit would look good in the eyes of the High Ascendants. “Enemy has completely withdrawn.” One of the officers announced. “Orders, sir?”
Still dumbfounded at his supposed “victory”, Hawthorn slumped onto his command chair. “….Regroup at the Defense Station Echo, we need to make repairs, and I need to make a report…”
The Galactic War may have ended, but to the Azulvistans stationed in Americana the fight still continued. The easy guise of protecting against New Terran aggression had gone, but that had only ever really been an excuse for the Republican Navy.
In truth though, it had been less of a war and more of the galaxy's most sluggish slapfight. Mass naval engagements had been a rarity, isolated almost exclusively to the earliest days of Azulvistan involvement. Instead, the two sides had taken to displays of force - here a massive GRA fleet would swing past Columbia, just outside of naval bombardment range, there a Yulzan fleet would fire off a barrage towards the Gateway, the void of space lit up with the pinpricks of interception fire. An uncomfortable status quo perhaps, but one that was unappealing to the Senate back home.
Maintaining vessels on combat duty required money. Paying navymen to flex the Gran Republic's muscles required money. The frankly irresponsible amount of lend-lease equipment that had been provided to Americana required vast sums of money. Results were starting to be demanded, and so a new dimension had been agreed upon.
Insertion onto Columbia.
Several maximum-security vessels had made their way across from Azulvista for exactly this purpose. Inside, isolated from their crewmen, spending almost all their time locked in a routine of non-stop training was the weapon that Azulvista had yet to unleash.
"This is Commandante Joaquim Rafel y Cavaller, Brigade Xenocide, reporting units ready for immediate action."
"Roger Commandante. This is Contralmirante Alvera de Arredondo of Strikefleet Lepanto. We're ready to begin your insertion - awaiting final confirmation from Almirante Catalina's flagship."
"Understood Contralmirante. May the saints guide you."
"And to you Commandante."
An hour later and Strikefleet Lepanto pulled away from the main Gateway fleet and begun to press forward, angled unmistakeably towards Columbia.
The Yulzan Ascendancy was sent into a panic as word spread of a foreign fleet punching its way past No Man’s Land, although in truth it was a small strikefleet, the mere fact a force of any size was able to cross the border was enough for concern. The stand-off long held maintained between the Yulzan, the FRA and its allies over Mojave had now in a moment’s notice, had been broken. In the chaos of the fighting, a small enough force from Azulvista had suddenly found itself in Columbian Orbit, prompting a rapid response.
Columbia, High Orbit
Throneship
High Ascendant Council
The High Ascendants all starred deeply into the holoprojection dead center of the room, a replication of Columbia, surrounded by dozens of green dots stretching all over the planet’s orbit, and a small cluster of red dots representing the Azulvistan invaders. “Impressive, it’s been long since the humans were bold enough to push past our lines” High Ascendant Nrac’shul spoke. “However, we must not underestimate them. We must swiftly deal with them and proceed with the final plan.” The others present nodding in agreement. Another stood up, High Ascendant Zalos. “I will begin immediate mobilizing of a fleet nearest to the enemy. Show them their little incursion will not be tolerated.”
The first fleet to heed the Guard-Master’s call to arms was the 14th Home Defense group, it was the closet fleet near the approximate entry point of the strikefleet, ready to either counter them and for its Admiral to redeem himself. Within the CIC of the fleet’s flagship, the Blissful Wrath, Admiral Hawthorn stared intently at the holomap, waiting for the moment for the enemy to arrive. His blunder during the Throneship incident had damaged his standing with many, he was lucky enough to keep his command despite his failure to capture or kill the would-be assassins of a High Ascendant. Now, however, this may be his chance to atone for his failure.
Alvera watched the tactical overlay intently. The response fleet had arrived... And about when anticipated, which was good. Their intel hadn't been too compromised by this... Naval trench warfare. "Wing 1 through 3. Move to engage. Wings 4 through 10,
Stiletto formation."
She paused for a moment to take a deep breath. "Remember, our only objective is to get the package into high orbit. Once it's out, we extract immediately." Acknowledgements streamed across the airwave. They had one last trick up their sleeves for this crucial moment...
"Gibraltar, this is Lepanto. Requesting superheavy strike."
"Copy Lepanto. Firing patterns established. Keep your course."
From across No Mans Land, capacitors thrummed to maximum capacity. War Galleons made minute adjustments in positioning, all waiting for the single word order.
"Fire."
Even with their phonemenal speed, aiming railguns at this range was more speculation than true gunnery, but nonetheless their bolts hurtled forward. Alvera crossed herself and issued her final command before battle was joined.
"Gracias Gibraltar. Lepanto initiating combat silence. Over and out."
Red alerts sounded off through every vessel in the fleet as the Azulvistan ships were on fast approach, the battle had already begun. “All ships, move in and engage the enemy! Encircle them and prevent them from an-“ The Admiral’s words were cut short as a shock wave was felt through the ship. “Sir! We just lost the Sacred Judgment!”
“How in the hell did they manage that?!?” He exclaimed in confusion.
“Enemy projectile from unknown range it looks.” The officer replied. “They have us marked.” It now seemed the stakes for the Admiral had just gotten much higher. The Azulvistan ships present seem to be not only acting as a possible vanguard to a wider invasion, but they also seem to be acting as spotters for another set of vessels far from Columbia, and as long as those ships remain, the rest of the fleet is at risk of being sniped into stardust. “Break into loose formations and engage the enemy!”
The 14th defensive fleet, in fear of further long-range strikes, scattered as they attempted to encircle the Azulvistan fleet, unleashing a volley of railgun fire, followed by waves of smaller strike craft acting as screens for the main fleet.
A few muted celebrations went up on the bridge of [Shipname] as the Yulzan spread out in response to their supporting fire. This was what they had planned for: with their foes spread out, the tightly-arranged knot of Azulvistan vessels could press forward much more aggressively. Surging ahead, the first three wings of the strikefleet closed to an uncomfortably close engagement range and began loosing swarms of missiles and a withering barrage of projectile fire.
They just needed a little more time and a little more pressure. Columbia had gone from a distant marble to a good portion of the horizon... Only a bit further and they could deploy their package and start extracting, and every second they saved during this assault was less time for the jaws of the Yulzan defence to snap shut around them.
The battle had quickly turned savage as barrages of missile and projectile fire filled the space in between the two foes, fighters and bombers shredded to scrap when they dared make strike runs against the tight clusters. The Blissful Wrath stayed at the forefront, unleashing volleys of missile, projectiles, and the occasional plasma bolt from special retrofitted Yulzan-based weaponry, a rare retrofit reserved for a select group of Janissary warships, usually those commanded by higher-ranked officers.
While the warship stood strong, many of her smaller brethren would fall to the unyielding barrage from the Azulvistan warships. “Hold the line! Do not relent! And press on with the attack!” Hawthorn ordered with a renewed sense of zeal, he would not let his career end with another blunder.
"This is Wing 1, we're taking heavy casualties here. Lepanto lead, advise?"
"Maintain your course Wing 1. We can't back out now. Wings 4 and 5, move to support Wing 1, Wing 10, now or never, move to deploy the package."
"Copy that, moving out." Alvera grimaced. The tactical display blinked as two more Azulvistan vessels were destroyed - one vanishing entirely from view, the other turning from a single large pip into a shotgun spread of detritus. They're dying, and it's on your head.
It would be worth it. It had to be worth it. The Yyasum weren't going to leave of their own accord - it was only through blood and steel that they would see this system made free.
"This is Wing 10. We're only a click away from instertion altitude."
"All units, move to support Wing 10. This is it."
The Blissful Wrath begun to tremble as her shields weakened, projectiles and missiles penetrating her defenses, blowing chunks of her hull clean off. Within her CIC, Admiral Hawthorn lost his stand and fell to the floor, his staff erupting into an cacophony of noise. “Shields down to seventeen percent and weakening!” One voice screamed.
“We just lost the Truth and Judgment!!”
“Hull breach in central deck!”
The Admiral forced himself up, his expression now soured with rage. “Press on with the attack! Maintain current position at all cost!”
Alvera watched with bated breath as the tiny blips that were Wing 10 pressed closer and closer to the planet. Eight hundred meters. Six hundred... Five hundred meters... A vessel that had been standing against them spun wildly out of control and Wing 4 siezed the momentum to drive even further forward.
"WING 10! WE'RE IN POSITION! DEPLOYING THE PACKAGE!"
To cover the insertion, Wing 10 had to do more than just deploy the drop torpedos. As the carracks unleashed the package, their companion caravels also launched a massive swarm of missiles - some deliberately made as duds, so they would go wide and hopefully throw the scent off those aimed towards the planet.
"All wings, retreat now! Package has been delivered, it's all down to them. They go with the saints."
Within moments, as the swarm of missiles were shot down from a hail of bullets from point-defense guns, and the “dust” settled so to speak, the attacking Azulvistan warships had swiftly pulled back from the engagement, much to the confusion of the defending Janissaries. Admiral Hawthorn watched perplexed as the enemy signals on the map slowly flickered away as they left Columbia’s orbit. There were questions…however, that was for another time.
For now, it seemed Hawthorn’s career may have just been saved for the time being. Fending off a hostile incursion in Columbia’s orbit would look good in the eyes of the High Ascendants. “Enemy has completely withdrawn.” One of the officers announced. “Orders, sir?”
Still dumbfounded at his supposed “victory”, Hawthorn slumped onto his command chair. “….Regroup at the Defense Station Echo, we need to make repairs, and I need to make a report…”
Collab between @WrongEndoftheRainbow and @Sigma
Americana System
First contact with another lost colony under the banner of the UNFC, and the rather unfortunate series of events that followed their initial arrival had provided the people of the FRA with yet another ally in their continued struggle against the Yulzan. For all their supposed might, the Yulzan were soon finding themselves cornered by the free children of humanity. After some weeks of diplomatic talks, logistics planning, and the UNFC getting acquainted with the wider galactic community, a supply lane of sorts was charted between the Mojave Gate in No Man’s Land, crossing all the way past the FRA border. Although the pathway was agreed to be the “safest” out of other planned routes, it was by far free of enemy activity. With that, a small flotilla was hastily assembled to act as escorts for the UNFC’s freighters, their only mission was to protect them and their precious cargo at all cost, under the command of Captain Hernandez of the Dawn’s Early Light.
FSS Dawn’s Early Light
Command Bridge
Hours had passed since the arrival of the first batch of UNFC freighters, Hernandez observing a real time holoprojection of the convoy as they traverse through deep space, making their way into friendly territory. Six FRA vessels and ten now recognized as UNFC. With the revelation that Hernandez and his crew were the first to make contact with the UNFC, High Command found it appropriate that he would be tasked with such an assignment as a symbolic gesture. “Not the most glamorous assignment.” Hernandez commented to any who would listen. “But it sure as hell beats frontline duty any other day.” He twirled around his chair, snapping back to the holoprojection dead center in the room, turning to his second in command. “Any word from our recon squadrons?” Hernandez asked.
His X.O., a young Dathu woman by the name of Udalia, shook her head, as he browsed through a small comm-pad. “Reports are clean so far, captain.” She replied. “Shall I recall them?” Hernandez shook his head. “Nah, have them make one last sweep before returning. I don’t trust the peace and quiet at all to be frank.”
Udalia nodded back. “Aye, aye, captain.” She said as she pressed down the comm-pad, relaying the Captain’s orders to the fly boys. There were ten freighters in all; large, bulky craft made no more agile for the addition of armored plating, spot-welded across vulnerable sections. On each, machine gun nests had been jury-rigged to the hulls, though none carried heavy armament. It was slapdash, vessels pressed into wartime duty by a culture who had not had open war in hundreds of years.
Within, there lay primarily armor. An overstatement, each freighter contained heaping tons of civilian-grade hevsteel plates, pulled from wherever there was excess or where refineries were outputting more than expected. Only a few freighters, positioned in the middle of the pack, contained any export-grade military-spec hevsteel. It had been a close vote, but the brutality of the Yulzan's attack on a peaceful diplomatic convoy had angered the public and the government alike.
The Yulzan and the United Nations were officially at war. As such, emergency powers long neglected activated and, slowly but surely, the economy began to move to a wartime footing. Men were mobilized, factories were seized and their production swapped to war goods. Even rationing was placed on the table: every day, a new restriction on foodstuffs that could be better saved for a soldier or sailor's stomach.
Even with war, the UNFC navy was anemic and the army was virtually nonexistant. It had to be bootstrapped from first principles, and whole new equipment both designed and prototyped. Civilian vessels pressed into convoys with what could be spared was ultimately all the UNFC could offer to their new brothers-in-arms to relieve pressure.
Elsewhere within a reasonable distance from the convoy was a squadron of starhawks, one of the aforementioned reconnaissance squadrons that swept through the surrounding space, acting as the eyes and ears of the convoy. Within the lead fighter, the Squadron leader had received the order to make one last run. “Echo leader to all wings.” A voice in a gruff tone announced. “I got good news and bad news. Bad news is we gotta make another sweep.” With the dreaded words spoken, followed a series of moans and sighs. “Good new though, this will be the last one as we head back to base.” That got the squadron wide awake as some cheers could be heard over comms. “We’ll make for sector 119 and we’ll be back in our bunks.”
Sadly, as if one cue, those words and actions would set events in motion, making this mission more eventful than they wished for. Within an hour, Echo Squadron had arrived at their destination, the fighters scattering in pairs as they began their last sweep, many praying that nothing would be found. Some time passes, as the mission neared its end. “Get nothing so far….wait.” One of the pilots said. “Ssshit, I’ve got something on the radar….. can’t make a read, we’ll invest-“ Within moments the pilot fell silent, a pair of flashs of light seen in a short distance from the various cockpits. “Fuuuck…” One of the pilots cursed. “We got Jannies incoming!”
“Fall back to the convoy! We’ll make our stand there!”
Alarms sounded on the freighters, machine guns sprung to life as crewmen manned battlestations. They swivelled to and fro as the gunners got their bearings. The pilots began to spread out, to give each freighter room to maneuver, as unwieldy as each vessel was. One of the vessels tightbeamed a message to the Dawn's Early Light, the signalman a hardened star-sailor, "Dawn's Early Light," he started, his voice tense, "this is the UNFCCFV Old Elizabeth, none of the freighter craft are equipped with military sensors. We will be firing by eye. You need to keep us clear, acknowledge."
“Copy that Old Elizabeth.” Hernandez sent a reply. “We’ll be your eyes in this fight.” He turned back to his X.O. “What are we dealing with here?” Udalia tapped the pad a few times before the holoprojection morphed a rough image of the inbound enemy ships. “From what little images were captured by Echo Squadron, we’re dealing what seems to be a standard wolfpack, eight corvettes and…” Udalia was silent for a moment, a new larger shape taking form in the holo image. “Uh oh..”
“What do you mean by “uh oh?” that’s a little concerning…” That certainly got the captain’s attention. Udalia pressed down the pad a few more times, making a more clearly image, knowing feel well what they’re dealing with, the captain letting out an audible sigh of frustration. “Of all of the days, of all the missions…”. The mystery ninth ship leading the Janissary wolfpack was what the FRA has classified as a “Reaper”-class Battlecruiser, a vessel under the banner of the Throne Guard, a warship of Yulzan design and make. “Issue a red alert throughout the fleet, this is gonna be one hell of a fight.” Hernandez ordered.
Without hesitation, sent a message back to the Old Elizabeth. warning them of the threat ahead. “A Janissary wolfpack is inbound, in addition to a Yulzan Battlecruiser. We’ll provide as much cover as possible as we continue our trip, but prepare for the worst.”
The signalman responded, "Recieved, Dawn's Early Light. What are the specs on the battlecruiser? Can we outrun it? These freighters can not survive the attention of a warship." Meanwhile, the pilots of the freighters moved further back, to place the escort between them and the wolfpack. There was a pause, then, a crackling across the open band, "This is the UNFCSCV Herald of the Morning on station. Message for UNFCCFV Old Elizabeth and Dawn's Early Light: We are enroute to provide fire support. We are transiting from the gate, we will need at least an hour to arrive."
The tightbeam on the Old Elizabeth walked to somewhere far in the distance, and silently, they acknowledged the message. Then, the tightbeam walked back to the Dawn's Early Light, and the signalman's voice returned, "The Herald of the Morning reports it has been refitted with Hev torpedos. If we can avoid engaging the battlecruiser, they instruct they could eliminate it and even the odds, acknowledge."
“Good, we have a chance then.” Hernandez replied. “And yes, we’ll be able to outrun for a while, the only problem is its armament.” He paused as he sent specs of the Reaper to the Old Elizabeth. “It’s armed with an array of various direct energy weapons that will cleave a hull in half if you stay in its sight long enough. The other problem is the wolfpack and the Reaper’s support ships, they will try to either sink us or slow us down long enough for the Reaper to catch up. We’ll hold out long enough for the Herald to help take out the Reaper.”
As the freighters moved into position, the Flotilla moved as well, forming a wall of sorts, as friendly and hostile blips soon materialized on radars and maps alike. The remains of Echo squadron were being perused by the wolfpack, in addition of wings of fighters and bombers that were on fast approach. “Shit! They’re already here! All ships, fire!” In an instant, the Dawn’s Early Light, along with the rest of the flotilla, let out a volley of missiles, torpedoes, and railgun rounds, the darkness of space illuminated by countless flashes of light.
The sailors of the freighters were hardened by a life in Eperu; to their credit, not a one panicked. They maintained their burn, a pondering arc away from the Reaper though not enough to cut them off from their own escort. The guns lay silent, machine guns near impossible to spot festooned tight against the hull. To fire so soon would give up their emplacements for no gain, and so they held their fire.
The Dawn’s Early Light fighter payload launched in its entirety, joining what remained of Echo squadron as they turned back to face the enemy head on, the opposing strike craft clashing as a large dog fight took place, all the while the corvettes unleashed their heavy ordnance, from both sides torpedoes launching in zooming across the battle space, both sides scoring a hit as several of the Janissary corvettes went limp, reduced to scrap, the same happening to a pair of FRA frigates, the downed ships left behind as the two groups pressed forward through No Man’s Land, all the while exchange fire.
The freighters, unwilling to keep moving without their escort, turned to the downed frigates. Once the remainder of the escort was safely engaged a distance from the frigates, the civilian ships moved forward to begin searching for survivors, and, when and where they could, provide damage control and repairs. Still, with nobody targeting them, their guns remained silent.
Everything descended into chaos as the battle went on, the two wounded fleets continuing to exchange fire, battering one another as they moved. In addition to this and their lost ships, the freighter’s broke formation to aid the crews of the downed frigates. “Dawn’s to Old Elizabeth. “Captain hastily sent his message. “It’s a hard decision....but we can’t afford to slow down, the Reaper will catch up soon.”
The signalman was silent for a while, before, a slight tinge of despair in the hardened sailor's voice, he returned to the radio as the freighters pulled away once more, "Old Elizabeth acknowledges. We can't move forward alone; we'll need you to peel off some escorts. We get caught out in the open and get surprised again, and we all go down. Convey our blessings and thanks to whoever remains in the rearguard."
Although they could only hear rather than see, the Captain couldn’t help but nod to the Signalman’s words. “They knew the risks, and when this is over, we will come back for them. No soldier, marine, or sailor will ever be abandoned.” With those words, was a renewed sense of duty, and a fire to see this through. He focused his attention on his crew. “Keep the enemy distracted long enough for the convoy to move back in formation.”
The freighters fired their engines, full burn. They pulled away with astonishing speed, away from the battle. In their wake, a trail of exotic particulate, their engines far less efficient than their military counterparts. At first, they began to outrun the escorts peeled off to protect them, but their engines slowly began to wane down, counter-thrusters firing to slow them down to an acceleration rate more manageable by the Columbian vessels.
The Dawn’s and her fighter payload trailed behind, illuminating the darkness of space as she came under fire from several hunter corvettes, all the while, the small strike craft engaged in dogfights in proximity of the cruiser. A corvette was soon in sight of one of the Dawn’s batteries, making a clean shot that split the vessel in two, dimming into a pair of lifeless hulks. The fight, however, was far from over as she was battered by the remaining craft, select wings of bombers making runs against the cruiser. The bridge trembling with every direct hit made.
Captain Hernandez was tossed from his chair from the last hit, recovering and regaining his composure before sweat started creeping down his cheeks. The holomap had detected and registered a new hostile vessel within range, the Reaper was closing in. “Full speed! We have to catch up with the convoy!”
The convoy lingered ahead, their counter-thrusters still firing. They did not intend to continue without escort. Their guns remained silent, as they turned to wide, circling arcs; the central freighters, the most valuable cargo, using the rest as shields. A tightbeam from Old Elizabeth walked to the Dawn's receiver, and the signalman's voice came once more, "Old Elizabeth to Dawn's Early Light, support is thirty minutes out. Relay orders, repeat, relay orders. We are prepared to hold out for support, or, should the path be clear, we are prepared to make a run for safe space."
Hernandaz was swift to reply. “We stand a better chance booking it to safe space, signalmen.” He replied to the message. “Proceed to the coordinates as charted, we’ll try to catch up to the convey, and even if we don’t, still push through till you reach to safety.” He turned his attention back to the bridge staff. “Maintain our current speed, fight off any of the bastards that get close, and if, God Willing, the Reaper shows up, we’ll stall it enough for the others to make it to friendly space.”
The radio was quiet for a while. When the signalman's voice returned, there was just a hint of despair in his tone, "Old Elizabeth acknowledges. We will relay to the rest of the freighters," the signalman paused a moment, and then, quietly added, "godspeed and good luck; give them hell."
The convoy killed their counter-thrusters, and once more their primary rockets came fully online. They flared blindingly as the freighters moved to max acceleration, rocketing away towards the coordinates. They were fast, far faster than any of the vessels on either side. Behind them, that same trail of exotic particulate, slowly fizzling away in vacuum.
Captain Hernandaz fell to his chair, feeling all a flurry of emotions at once. He couldn’t afford the tears, however, as the lives of well over a thousand sailors and marines laid on his hands. But all those lives would follow him to the jaws of dearth if willing. He scanned the room once more, the bridge staff looking to him for their next course of action, push through as planned? Make a sudden turn for the Reaper? Something in between? “Orders, sir?” His X.O. asked, her expression with a mix of uncertainty and fear. The captain clasped his hands as he jolted up from his chair.
“First order of business, mop up the remaining enemy fighters, and recall our own.” He paused as he stepped towards the center of the room, looking to the holomap, the Reaper drawing closer. “I sure as hell ain’t leaving anyone else behind. Once all pilots are accounted for, we book it, we have no chance of regrouping with the convoy, so we do our damn best to hold out, stall the bastard if it shows up, you got me?”
“Aye, aye, captain!” They reply in unison. The captain smirked. “Good, if we die, we die in a blaze of glory!”
The Dawn’s Early Light proceed as usual, guns blazing through the void as once by one, the Janissary fighter craft were made into stardust. The Dawn’s surviving pilots regrouped and and were recalled as the engines burst with life, the battlecruiser jolting onwards. The Reaper, however, was quickly catch up, her own captain becoming Impatient and eager for an easy slaughter.
A tightbeam from a far distance focused on the Dawn's Early Light, and a distant voice crackled. A familiar one, a signalman who had been on the Herald of the Morning when first contact had been made. His voice was gruff, and he said, "Herald of the Morning to Dawn's Early Light, report ten minutes out, repeat, ten minutes. Break," he swapped to a different topic, "maintain enemy attention. We will make a high-v pass. Three torpedo spread. Acknowledge."
Before the message had arrived, the trip had been rather emotionally exhausting for many, this voyage most likely would’ve been or will be, the last for many onboard. However, once the message from the Herald broke though, there was hope for survival. The captain was quick to respond, barely containing the excitement in his voice. “Copy that! We’ll keep them busy long enough for us to make a pincer move on them, over and out.” He turned to his X.O. “Change of plans, we’re charging straight at the reaper. Help’s coming and with our combined firepower, we can take down that monster.” With those words, some the bridge staff were fearful, but others cheered on, as they may be among those that sunk a Yulzan warship.
The Dawn’s Early Light made a starboard turn, charging head on to confront the Reaper. A few tense minutes pass before the dreaded moment finally came, the Reaper was within visual range, and immediately began to fire. The Yulzan ship exploding in an array of red plasma streams and bolts as the Dawn’s shields were under constant stress from the attack. “Evasive maneuvers!” Hernandaz cried out. “Keep our distance! Fire all batteries!” The Dawn’s engaged in a hit and run maneuver as both she and the Reaper exchanged shots, the Reaper’s own shields illuminating from every hit from the Dawn’s own payload, slowly wearing it down, however, her own shields were dwindling in a frighting pace. The bridge trembled from another shot from the Reaper. “Shields down to 20%, sir! We can’t take another shot like that!”
“Hold! We’ll make it through! I Promise!”
In the far distance, a ship travelling far too quickly to engage. It streaked across the sensors like a shooting star in the night, the flare of its engines at full-blast as it accelerated faster and faster. It was the Herald of the Morning, not bothering to decelerate, just streaking faster and faster towards the fight. It would only get two or three seconds to engage, it couldn't possibly be enough to do any meaningful damage.
As it rocketed above the Reaper, three torpedos released, one after the other. They hurtled, at great speed, towards the battlecruiser, as their mother vessel streaked off the sensors on the other side. One torpedo missed entirely, hurtling off into the dark. The second landed home, but wedged in the armor, undetonated. They were experimental, never before tested. It was entirely likely they might all fail, leave the Reaper to destroy the convoy.
And then the third hit, and the Reaper was replaced by a blinding flash. The Dawn's shields dropped as a vast pressure wave knocked their ship into a spin. A purple, fiery sphere expanded from the impact point. Then, a second blinding flash as the undetonated torpedo blew. The spin got worse, and the armor was peeled from the escorts. When the twin spheres of destruction cleared, all that remained of the Reaper was dust.
Once the fight was over, Dawn's drifted along the void, the explosion alone leaving the ship in worse condition then its fight with the Reaper, but it remained functional enough. Life slowly flickered back into the vessel, the once darkened bridge was now dimly lit as the crew awoken from their deadly ride. Blood dripping from the captain’s forehead as he came to. “Fuck that hurts…” He mumbled. “Any… sign of the Reaper?”
One of the bridge staff moaned as he stood up, having a good look of the flicking holo-display “Holy shit.” He cursed. “It’s… gone.”
“Holy shit, they did it.” Hernandez mumbled once more, in awe of what the Herald managed to do. “That’s one hell of a weapons demo.”
“…What now?” The X.O. asked.
“What else? Engines are still somewhat functional, we maintain course back home. May take a while, but we're alive, and that’s all that matters.”
Americana System
First contact with another lost colony under the banner of the UNFC, and the rather unfortunate series of events that followed their initial arrival had provided the people of the FRA with yet another ally in their continued struggle against the Yulzan. For all their supposed might, the Yulzan were soon finding themselves cornered by the free children of humanity. After some weeks of diplomatic talks, logistics planning, and the UNFC getting acquainted with the wider galactic community, a supply lane of sorts was charted between the Mojave Gate in No Man’s Land, crossing all the way past the FRA border. Although the pathway was agreed to be the “safest” out of other planned routes, it was by far free of enemy activity. With that, a small flotilla was hastily assembled to act as escorts for the UNFC’s freighters, their only mission was to protect them and their precious cargo at all cost, under the command of Captain Hernandez of the Dawn’s Early Light.
FSS Dawn’s Early Light
Command Bridge
Hours had passed since the arrival of the first batch of UNFC freighters, Hernandez observing a real time holoprojection of the convoy as they traverse through deep space, making their way into friendly territory. Six FRA vessels and ten now recognized as UNFC. With the revelation that Hernandez and his crew were the first to make contact with the UNFC, High Command found it appropriate that he would be tasked with such an assignment as a symbolic gesture. “Not the most glamorous assignment.” Hernandez commented to any who would listen. “But it sure as hell beats frontline duty any other day.” He twirled around his chair, snapping back to the holoprojection dead center in the room, turning to his second in command. “Any word from our recon squadrons?” Hernandez asked.
His X.O., a young Dathu woman by the name of Udalia, shook her head, as he browsed through a small comm-pad. “Reports are clean so far, captain.” She replied. “Shall I recall them?” Hernandez shook his head. “Nah, have them make one last sweep before returning. I don’t trust the peace and quiet at all to be frank.”
Udalia nodded back. “Aye, aye, captain.” She said as she pressed down the comm-pad, relaying the Captain’s orders to the fly boys. There were ten freighters in all; large, bulky craft made no more agile for the addition of armored plating, spot-welded across vulnerable sections. On each, machine gun nests had been jury-rigged to the hulls, though none carried heavy armament. It was slapdash, vessels pressed into wartime duty by a culture who had not had open war in hundreds of years.
Within, there lay primarily armor. An overstatement, each freighter contained heaping tons of civilian-grade hevsteel plates, pulled from wherever there was excess or where refineries were outputting more than expected. Only a few freighters, positioned in the middle of the pack, contained any export-grade military-spec hevsteel. It had been a close vote, but the brutality of the Yulzan's attack on a peaceful diplomatic convoy had angered the public and the government alike.
The Yulzan and the United Nations were officially at war. As such, emergency powers long neglected activated and, slowly but surely, the economy began to move to a wartime footing. Men were mobilized, factories were seized and their production swapped to war goods. Even rationing was placed on the table: every day, a new restriction on foodstuffs that could be better saved for a soldier or sailor's stomach.
Even with war, the UNFC navy was anemic and the army was virtually nonexistant. It had to be bootstrapped from first principles, and whole new equipment both designed and prototyped. Civilian vessels pressed into convoys with what could be spared was ultimately all the UNFC could offer to their new brothers-in-arms to relieve pressure.
Elsewhere within a reasonable distance from the convoy was a squadron of starhawks, one of the aforementioned reconnaissance squadrons that swept through the surrounding space, acting as the eyes and ears of the convoy. Within the lead fighter, the Squadron leader had received the order to make one last run. “Echo leader to all wings.” A voice in a gruff tone announced. “I got good news and bad news. Bad news is we gotta make another sweep.” With the dreaded words spoken, followed a series of moans and sighs. “Good new though, this will be the last one as we head back to base.” That got the squadron wide awake as some cheers could be heard over comms. “We’ll make for sector 119 and we’ll be back in our bunks.”
Sadly, as if one cue, those words and actions would set events in motion, making this mission more eventful than they wished for. Within an hour, Echo Squadron had arrived at their destination, the fighters scattering in pairs as they began their last sweep, many praying that nothing would be found. Some time passes, as the mission neared its end. “Get nothing so far….wait.” One of the pilots said. “Ssshit, I’ve got something on the radar….. can’t make a read, we’ll invest-“ Within moments the pilot fell silent, a pair of flashs of light seen in a short distance from the various cockpits. “Fuuuck…” One of the pilots cursed. “We got Jannies incoming!”
“Fall back to the convoy! We’ll make our stand there!”
Alarms sounded on the freighters, machine guns sprung to life as crewmen manned battlestations. They swivelled to and fro as the gunners got their bearings. The pilots began to spread out, to give each freighter room to maneuver, as unwieldy as each vessel was. One of the vessels tightbeamed a message to the Dawn's Early Light, the signalman a hardened star-sailor, "Dawn's Early Light," he started, his voice tense, "this is the UNFCCFV Old Elizabeth, none of the freighter craft are equipped with military sensors. We will be firing by eye. You need to keep us clear, acknowledge."
“Copy that Old Elizabeth.” Hernandez sent a reply. “We’ll be your eyes in this fight.” He turned back to his X.O. “What are we dealing with here?” Udalia tapped the pad a few times before the holoprojection morphed a rough image of the inbound enemy ships. “From what little images were captured by Echo Squadron, we’re dealing what seems to be a standard wolfpack, eight corvettes and…” Udalia was silent for a moment, a new larger shape taking form in the holo image. “Uh oh..”
“What do you mean by “uh oh?” that’s a little concerning…” That certainly got the captain’s attention. Udalia pressed down the pad a few more times, making a more clearly image, knowing feel well what they’re dealing with, the captain letting out an audible sigh of frustration. “Of all of the days, of all the missions…”. The mystery ninth ship leading the Janissary wolfpack was what the FRA has classified as a “Reaper”-class Battlecruiser, a vessel under the banner of the Throne Guard, a warship of Yulzan design and make. “Issue a red alert throughout the fleet, this is gonna be one hell of a fight.” Hernandez ordered.
Without hesitation, sent a message back to the Old Elizabeth. warning them of the threat ahead. “A Janissary wolfpack is inbound, in addition to a Yulzan Battlecruiser. We’ll provide as much cover as possible as we continue our trip, but prepare for the worst.”
The signalman responded, "Recieved, Dawn's Early Light. What are the specs on the battlecruiser? Can we outrun it? These freighters can not survive the attention of a warship." Meanwhile, the pilots of the freighters moved further back, to place the escort between them and the wolfpack. There was a pause, then, a crackling across the open band, "This is the UNFCSCV Herald of the Morning on station. Message for UNFCCFV Old Elizabeth and Dawn's Early Light: We are enroute to provide fire support. We are transiting from the gate, we will need at least an hour to arrive."
The tightbeam on the Old Elizabeth walked to somewhere far in the distance, and silently, they acknowledged the message. Then, the tightbeam walked back to the Dawn's Early Light, and the signalman's voice returned, "The Herald of the Morning reports it has been refitted with Hev torpedos. If we can avoid engaging the battlecruiser, they instruct they could eliminate it and even the odds, acknowledge."
“Good, we have a chance then.” Hernandez replied. “And yes, we’ll be able to outrun for a while, the only problem is its armament.” He paused as he sent specs of the Reaper to the Old Elizabeth. “It’s armed with an array of various direct energy weapons that will cleave a hull in half if you stay in its sight long enough. The other problem is the wolfpack and the Reaper’s support ships, they will try to either sink us or slow us down long enough for the Reaper to catch up. We’ll hold out long enough for the Herald to help take out the Reaper.”
As the freighters moved into position, the Flotilla moved as well, forming a wall of sorts, as friendly and hostile blips soon materialized on radars and maps alike. The remains of Echo squadron were being perused by the wolfpack, in addition of wings of fighters and bombers that were on fast approach. “Shit! They’re already here! All ships, fire!” In an instant, the Dawn’s Early Light, along with the rest of the flotilla, let out a volley of missiles, torpedoes, and railgun rounds, the darkness of space illuminated by countless flashes of light.
The sailors of the freighters were hardened by a life in Eperu; to their credit, not a one panicked. They maintained their burn, a pondering arc away from the Reaper though not enough to cut them off from their own escort. The guns lay silent, machine guns near impossible to spot festooned tight against the hull. To fire so soon would give up their emplacements for no gain, and so they held their fire.
The Dawn’s Early Light fighter payload launched in its entirety, joining what remained of Echo squadron as they turned back to face the enemy head on, the opposing strike craft clashing as a large dog fight took place, all the while the corvettes unleashed their heavy ordnance, from both sides torpedoes launching in zooming across the battle space, both sides scoring a hit as several of the Janissary corvettes went limp, reduced to scrap, the same happening to a pair of FRA frigates, the downed ships left behind as the two groups pressed forward through No Man’s Land, all the while exchange fire.
The freighters, unwilling to keep moving without their escort, turned to the downed frigates. Once the remainder of the escort was safely engaged a distance from the frigates, the civilian ships moved forward to begin searching for survivors, and, when and where they could, provide damage control and repairs. Still, with nobody targeting them, their guns remained silent.
Everything descended into chaos as the battle went on, the two wounded fleets continuing to exchange fire, battering one another as they moved. In addition to this and their lost ships, the freighter’s broke formation to aid the crews of the downed frigates. “Dawn’s to Old Elizabeth. “Captain hastily sent his message. “It’s a hard decision....but we can’t afford to slow down, the Reaper will catch up soon.”
The signalman was silent for a while, before, a slight tinge of despair in the hardened sailor's voice, he returned to the radio as the freighters pulled away once more, "Old Elizabeth acknowledges. We can't move forward alone; we'll need you to peel off some escorts. We get caught out in the open and get surprised again, and we all go down. Convey our blessings and thanks to whoever remains in the rearguard."
Although they could only hear rather than see, the Captain couldn’t help but nod to the Signalman’s words. “They knew the risks, and when this is over, we will come back for them. No soldier, marine, or sailor will ever be abandoned.” With those words, was a renewed sense of duty, and a fire to see this through. He focused his attention on his crew. “Keep the enemy distracted long enough for the convoy to move back in formation.”
The freighters fired their engines, full burn. They pulled away with astonishing speed, away from the battle. In their wake, a trail of exotic particulate, their engines far less efficient than their military counterparts. At first, they began to outrun the escorts peeled off to protect them, but their engines slowly began to wane down, counter-thrusters firing to slow them down to an acceleration rate more manageable by the Columbian vessels.
The Dawn’s and her fighter payload trailed behind, illuminating the darkness of space as she came under fire from several hunter corvettes, all the while, the small strike craft engaged in dogfights in proximity of the cruiser. A corvette was soon in sight of one of the Dawn’s batteries, making a clean shot that split the vessel in two, dimming into a pair of lifeless hulks. The fight, however, was far from over as she was battered by the remaining craft, select wings of bombers making runs against the cruiser. The bridge trembling with every direct hit made.
Captain Hernandez was tossed from his chair from the last hit, recovering and regaining his composure before sweat started creeping down his cheeks. The holomap had detected and registered a new hostile vessel within range, the Reaper was closing in. “Full speed! We have to catch up with the convoy!”
The convoy lingered ahead, their counter-thrusters still firing. They did not intend to continue without escort. Their guns remained silent, as they turned to wide, circling arcs; the central freighters, the most valuable cargo, using the rest as shields. A tightbeam from Old Elizabeth walked to the Dawn's receiver, and the signalman's voice came once more, "Old Elizabeth to Dawn's Early Light, support is thirty minutes out. Relay orders, repeat, relay orders. We are prepared to hold out for support, or, should the path be clear, we are prepared to make a run for safe space."
Hernandaz was swift to reply. “We stand a better chance booking it to safe space, signalmen.” He replied to the message. “Proceed to the coordinates as charted, we’ll try to catch up to the convey, and even if we don’t, still push through till you reach to safety.” He turned his attention back to the bridge staff. “Maintain our current speed, fight off any of the bastards that get close, and if, God Willing, the Reaper shows up, we’ll stall it enough for the others to make it to friendly space.”
The radio was quiet for a while. When the signalman's voice returned, there was just a hint of despair in his tone, "Old Elizabeth acknowledges. We will relay to the rest of the freighters," the signalman paused a moment, and then, quietly added, "godspeed and good luck; give them hell."
The convoy killed their counter-thrusters, and once more their primary rockets came fully online. They flared blindingly as the freighters moved to max acceleration, rocketing away towards the coordinates. They were fast, far faster than any of the vessels on either side. Behind them, that same trail of exotic particulate, slowly fizzling away in vacuum.
Captain Hernandaz fell to his chair, feeling all a flurry of emotions at once. He couldn’t afford the tears, however, as the lives of well over a thousand sailors and marines laid on his hands. But all those lives would follow him to the jaws of dearth if willing. He scanned the room once more, the bridge staff looking to him for their next course of action, push through as planned? Make a sudden turn for the Reaper? Something in between? “Orders, sir?” His X.O. asked, her expression with a mix of uncertainty and fear. The captain clasped his hands as he jolted up from his chair.
“First order of business, mop up the remaining enemy fighters, and recall our own.” He paused as he stepped towards the center of the room, looking to the holomap, the Reaper drawing closer. “I sure as hell ain’t leaving anyone else behind. Once all pilots are accounted for, we book it, we have no chance of regrouping with the convoy, so we do our damn best to hold out, stall the bastard if it shows up, you got me?”
“Aye, aye, captain!” They reply in unison. The captain smirked. “Good, if we die, we die in a blaze of glory!”
The Dawn’s Early Light proceed as usual, guns blazing through the void as once by one, the Janissary fighter craft were made into stardust. The Dawn’s surviving pilots regrouped and and were recalled as the engines burst with life, the battlecruiser jolting onwards. The Reaper, however, was quickly catch up, her own captain becoming Impatient and eager for an easy slaughter.
A tightbeam from a far distance focused on the Dawn's Early Light, and a distant voice crackled. A familiar one, a signalman who had been on the Herald of the Morning when first contact had been made. His voice was gruff, and he said, "Herald of the Morning to Dawn's Early Light, report ten minutes out, repeat, ten minutes. Break," he swapped to a different topic, "maintain enemy attention. We will make a high-v pass. Three torpedo spread. Acknowledge."
Before the message had arrived, the trip had been rather emotionally exhausting for many, this voyage most likely would’ve been or will be, the last for many onboard. However, once the message from the Herald broke though, there was hope for survival. The captain was quick to respond, barely containing the excitement in his voice. “Copy that! We’ll keep them busy long enough for us to make a pincer move on them, over and out.” He turned to his X.O. “Change of plans, we’re charging straight at the reaper. Help’s coming and with our combined firepower, we can take down that monster.” With those words, some the bridge staff were fearful, but others cheered on, as they may be among those that sunk a Yulzan warship.
The Dawn’s Early Light made a starboard turn, charging head on to confront the Reaper. A few tense minutes pass before the dreaded moment finally came, the Reaper was within visual range, and immediately began to fire. The Yulzan ship exploding in an array of red plasma streams and bolts as the Dawn’s shields were under constant stress from the attack. “Evasive maneuvers!” Hernandaz cried out. “Keep our distance! Fire all batteries!” The Dawn’s engaged in a hit and run maneuver as both she and the Reaper exchanged shots, the Reaper’s own shields illuminating from every hit from the Dawn’s own payload, slowly wearing it down, however, her own shields were dwindling in a frighting pace. The bridge trembled from another shot from the Reaper. “Shields down to 20%, sir! We can’t take another shot like that!”
“Hold! We’ll make it through! I Promise!”
In the far distance, a ship travelling far too quickly to engage. It streaked across the sensors like a shooting star in the night, the flare of its engines at full-blast as it accelerated faster and faster. It was the Herald of the Morning, not bothering to decelerate, just streaking faster and faster towards the fight. It would only get two or three seconds to engage, it couldn't possibly be enough to do any meaningful damage.
As it rocketed above the Reaper, three torpedos released, one after the other. They hurtled, at great speed, towards the battlecruiser, as their mother vessel streaked off the sensors on the other side. One torpedo missed entirely, hurtling off into the dark. The second landed home, but wedged in the armor, undetonated. They were experimental, never before tested. It was entirely likely they might all fail, leave the Reaper to destroy the convoy.
And then the third hit, and the Reaper was replaced by a blinding flash. The Dawn's shields dropped as a vast pressure wave knocked their ship into a spin. A purple, fiery sphere expanded from the impact point. Then, a second blinding flash as the undetonated torpedo blew. The spin got worse, and the armor was peeled from the escorts. When the twin spheres of destruction cleared, all that remained of the Reaper was dust.
Once the fight was over, Dawn's drifted along the void, the explosion alone leaving the ship in worse condition then its fight with the Reaper, but it remained functional enough. Life slowly flickered back into the vessel, the once darkened bridge was now dimly lit as the crew awoken from their deadly ride. Blood dripping from the captain’s forehead as he came to. “Fuck that hurts…” He mumbled. “Any… sign of the Reaper?”
One of the bridge staff moaned as he stood up, having a good look of the flicking holo-display “Holy shit.” He cursed. “It’s… gone.”
“Holy shit, they did it.” Hernandez mumbled once more, in awe of what the Herald managed to do. “That’s one hell of a weapons demo.”
“…What now?” The X.O. asked.
“What else? Engines are still somewhat functional, we maintain course back home. May take a while, but we're alive, and that’s all that matters.”
© 2007-2024