The Tefeull Mining Field, 05G.

Known as the Tefeull Mining Field by the humans, this place goes by several names. The gold filled void, the rocks of power, the generator belt. It is an asteroid field containing the largest known deposit of helium-3 in the known galaxy, and it is heavily disputed.


Possible Rewards:All Civilizations, unless they discover another deposit elsewhere, use this asteroid field as their main supply for Helium-3.

Nations Involved: All unless otherwise specified.

United Systems Mining Sector
Asteroid Zulu Foxtrot 3918, Codename 'Big Spud'
Zulu Foxtrot Base
Owner: Planetary Resources Corporation

"Listen, I'm telling you, they are on to something. In the past three days, they have advanced way, way past their sector. They are getting too close for comfort."

In contrast to the foreman, however, the facility supervisor seemed unconcerned. It was not unusual for the Zelenyians to push past their sectors, and in response the United Systems pushed back, claiming more and more asteroids at the expense of the other nations. Sometimes, things turned bad, and the facility had been equipped with two full squadrons of Cobra aerospace control fighters to defend it against any flash attacks by the Zeleniyans (or most commonly, pirates).

"Just relax Jane, will you? This happens like, every month. You know how it will go down, they will venture a bit too close, we'll send the fighters on a close fly-by, they'll get pissed off, we'll end up screaming about it over the comms and then go back to doing what we do best: mining helium."

The office was cramped, much like everything else aboard the base, but that didn't prevent the foreman, Jane Ladlow, from looking outside the porthole window. The scene outside was the same as every day: dozens of low-gravity cargo trucks ferrying rock around to be processed. There were hundreds of Nasari workers too, dressed with specially designed pressure suits so they could survive in the vacuum, supervised by a handful of exoskeleton-clad private security contractors. They dug the stone out with excavators, loaded it onto the trucks and then moved on to the next helium hotspot. The constant digging had created a massive crater in the middle of the asteroid, and a cargo elevator had been set up to move the trucks from the bottom level to the top.

And then there was the Combat Air Patrol: a handful of fighters made a low pass over the outpost, their aviation lights pulsating at a steady pace, reminding both any prospective pirates that the facility would not tolerate any attacks and the Nasari workers that revolting was of no use. Their suits were, after all, remotely controlled by the base AI, and it could shut off their life support in an instant.

"Well, my people are getting worried. Some of the miners refused to go out without armed guards today, they are demanding that measures be taken to keep the Zeleniyans away. You and I both know that if they ever decided to take this sector, they could be in and out before we could even get the word out to the fleet." It was worse, actually: many workers had demanded that they be armed themselves, and some had even managed to convince the security chief to grant them access to the small arms locker when they were on duty so they could carry rifles with them while they worked.

"And what do you want me to do? Call in the fleet? The Saratoga is guarding Europa, and the Hastings is on rapid reaction duties because we have half a dozen outposts to defend and just one available fleet. The Admiral promised me he would send a group as soon as the Enterprise group is complete, but we will have to wait at least two months for that." Then again, they had been promised a cruiser six months before, and instead the funds went towards making more fighters. Promises weren't reliable in the corporate world.

"At least request a few more missile batteries, you can do that. A nuke or two would make my people a lot more comfortable. It's not like we have a shortage." That was a pipe-dream, sure: there was no way the Navy was going to entrust a mining corporation with nukes, especially that close to Zeleniyan territory. That was just begging to cause an international incident.

"Alright, I'll consider it." answered the supervisor, writing a note on the screen of his PDA. "I'll contact fleet command at the next scheduled data burst, maybe they'll be able to spare something. You just focus on keeping productivity high, alright? We are already struggling with fuel supply issues back at home, the last thing we need is Naval Command breathing down our necks to fuel their helium addiction."

"Alright... I'll get back to work." And with that, the foreman left, leaving the supervisor alone in his tiny office. They really were going to have to do something about the Zeleniyans.

Socialist Republic of Zeleniy Mining Sector 05G, "The Worker's Glory."
Burdyi-Class Carrier "Leonid Ridokov", Socialist Repulic of Zeleniyan service.

The battlegroup of one carrier, one patrol frigate, and one Kravenkov cruiser continued pushing the boundaries of their border, with the Stoilensky-GOTSK government owned mining company in tow, claiming more asteroids along the way. The battle group halts about 100000 kilometers from the border of CFP/USC mining sectors. In the bridge of the carrier group, a NAV officer calls out to the captain,"Komrade Kapitan, we've reached our border, bringing the battle group to a halt. The mining group is still safely within reach of fighter patrols." The captain nods, as a communications officer reports,"Komrade Kapitan, there is some kind of garbled message coming through, from the outskirts of the belt. I decrypted it but it still sounds like shit, sir."

The captain walks up behind him, seizing his headphones. The junior officer plays the recording of the transmission, and the captain's eyebrows furrow together, his eyes screwing up to the top of his head. He remarks quietly,"Chto blehyt?!" He tosses the headphones off and walks back up to his seat,"Send the stand-by squadron and first platoon to investigate. Deploy beacons here to let the other nations know where our new border lies. Redeploy the Hoodlums and the Houndeyes, get the Houndeyes back into a patrol pattern searching for anyone who's trying to sneak into our sector, and have Houndeye squadron split and go into CFP and USC sectors, I want to know what they're talking about. No escorts for the Houndeyes, either." A resounding "aye aye" from several officers and cosmonauts sounded around the bridge.

From the hangars of the carrier ship, six large, four engine craft with radar domes, accompanied by 2 ZMiG interceptors each, slowly make their way into a search pattern around the sector, searching for stealth craft or foreign fleets creeping up on them. Also from the carrier, six more electronic warfare geared craft fly out, twin engine V2-D Hoodlums. Three each fly off into CFP and USC territory, armed with 4 airborne integrated jamming pods each. They were intent on sneaking in, establishing a stealthy holding pattern around the sector and listening in on enemy comms.

Finally, three marine dropships, escorted by 6 ZMiG-75 fighters, makes their way to the origin of the encrypted messages on the edge of the asteroid belt.

(( Just waiting on Alien to reply. Or should I continue without? ))

((Been down with a virus or something, I'll try to get a post out tomorrow! Thanks for the patience!))

United Systems Mining Sector
Asteroid Zulu Foxtrot 3918, Codename 'Big Spud'
Hangar Bay 01
Operator: US Air Force 188th Aerospace Defense Wing 'Wranglers'

"Alright, alright, just a few more steps... Aaand... Alright, we are good, munitions secure! Good job people! Take five on my authority!"

Satisfied with his men's work, Chief Master Sergeant Martin Loyd patted his gloved hands several times before using the neon-orange sleeve of his utility uniform to swipe the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead. True, the Tefeull Field bases were some of the best funded Air Force outposts in the galaxy, but that still didn't mean that the troops were even remotely entitled to comfortable temperatures. Mostly because cooling down a hangar bay that was filled with people, nuclear reactors and hydrogen engines wasn't exactly an efficient use of the base's electrical output, already strained by the order to restrict helium usage to 'mission critical' operations. The deck crew had even resorted to using the water pumps as makeshift showers when on duty to relieve themselves of the scorching heat. Still, the job paid well and had great promotion prospects, so requests to leave the detachment were few and far between.

The team had just finished unloading a new shipment of heat-seaking missiles, the most primitive for of fire-and-forget munition, and they were all glad to take a small break from their work. The next Combat Air Patrol wasn't due to launch for almost half an hour, and nobody was going to volunteer to do extra work... Like cleaning the fourty-odd Cobra fighters stored in the hangar deck. The dust and debris from the asteroid field had turned the shining pieces of gray and black into disgusting masses of dirt, just waiting to be taken out of their misery by a lone micrometeorite that happened to pierce the armor at a critical point. The deckhands dispersed, heading towards their makeshift shower to get some relief from being trapped in fire-retardant suits all day, or towards the small lounge room the engineers had sloppily assembled at the edge of the hangar. The sounds of laughter and conversation filled the deck for a mere moment...

...and then everyone was pulled from their precious R&R time by the urgent buzzing of the klaxon, its high-pitched tone burning a figurative hole into the ears of the deck crew and pretty much everyone aboard the base. They all stopped what they were doing in confusion, but it didn't take long for the announcer to make it clear that they were in trouble.


"Action stations? What the hell are we scrambling for?"

The Chief had the very same question in his mind, but they knew they had no time: a scramble order was a scramble order, and it wouldn't be long before a whole bunch of angry, hot-headed trigger-happy pilots burst into the hangar bay and demanded to be launched into space. And that required getting the fighters ready, but that would have to come after launching the Alert 5 fighters, the group of four Cobras and the single Raptor that were always kept at high alert with their pilots in the hangar for when the station needed to launch an emergency intercept force.

"Go, go, get these fighters in the tubes! Come on, we don't have all day!" he screamed over the sound of the klaxon and the noise pollution of the busy hangar bay, directing a team of engineers manning the forklift-like 'fighter ferries', the machines that dragged and pushed the fighters around to get them into the maintenance area or into the launch tubes. The pilots of said fighters had already climbed in the cockpits and were sealing their spacesuits, securing the helmets with an airtight seal around the neck as they also checked their oxygen supplies and started up the fighters' computer systems. A few moments later, the blast doors at the back of the launch tubes sealed and the fighters were released into the custody of the catapult operators... Which meant the deck gang had to get to preparing the rest of the fighters for action.

---

Cobra 181
Pilot: First Lieutenant Jonas LaMarc, Callsign "Trident"
Mission: Combat Air Patrol

1st Lieutenant Jonas LaMarc did not particularly enjoy flying around in the asteroid field; it wasn't that he had a problem with the particular field, it was that there was a lot of debris to avoid, the dust messed with his visuals, and the RADAR display displayed so many contacts that it was hard to tell what was what. Several attempts by the computer technicians to filter out the asteroids had resulted in greatly reduced sensor sensitivity, so that 'upgrade' had been reversed. But he still had to appreciate the beauty of the scenery: the asteroids looked like little dots from afar, and the way the light scattered in the dust was a sight many paid to see in tourist expeditions to the USC sector of the field. Because if there was one thing the Coalition did well, it was exploit every single damn thing for monetary gain.

He had been about to order his copilot, the 'rookie' that went by the callsign of 'Four-Eyes', to make another low pass over the Nasari worker herd before moving to another sector in the USC zone when his headset beeped intensively, moments before a priority message came through the encrypted channel.

"Trident, Operations. Unidentified electronic signature detected in grid Osprey two niner. Definitely alien in origin, and it's got everyone else spooked. We aren't taking any chances. Switch munitions to active heat seeking high explosive, stand by for attack vector. Alert fighters have been scrambled and will be on station in thirty seconds, the rest will be up within the next three minutes. Hold tight, we've sent a distress call to Europa."

And they weren't bluffing either: in their haste to send a transmission through without charging the quantum transmitter, they had sent a weakly encrypted message over the tachyon relay to the Europa system. "Mayday, mayday, this is Tefeull detachment to Command, unidentified extraterrestrial transmission within asteroid field, helium source potentially threatened, dispatch assistance."

Alliance Mining Facility 'Alpha'; Kal Sector
Asteroid 'Talla'Zouna'; Svu'Kavsi Command Centre


"Oh Goddess, Oh Goddess," cried the now panicked voice of the Alpha's Tracking Officer; a young female who had just begun her shift at the Alliance's mining facility. Her small, three-digit hands danced across her spherical holo-console; her silvery eyes alight with fear behind the visor of her required-environmental helmet, as they were in the midst of a Threat Elevation and all non-combat personnel were required to wear, if not an entire enviro-suit, a helmet to protect them from fumes and violent electrical or thermal discharges. Alarms had begun to fill the now-staffed Svu'Kavsi Command Center, with Alliance Naval personnel of all sorts staffing multiple stations, although most of these alarms were coming right from the Tracking Officer's position.

Although the conundrum was expected, it did not help matters any better to have soldiers panicking. With that thought in mind, the dreaded C-01 was upon the younger officers position in seconds; the sharp, terrifying Svu'Kavsi Commander hanging over the shoulder of the sitting woman. With C-01's pale white, red-eye'd helmet leaning right up beside the enviro-helmet of the inexperienced officer, she hissed in a manner most terrifying to the young woman...

"...Give. Me. A. Status. Update."

The younger officer gulped; her sharp teeth chattering within her mouth as she honked aloud,"Y-Yes Ma'am. I'm receiving a multitude of combat contacts, and my feed is showing they are not of similar design... Possibly two opposing factions."

C-01's fear-inducing voice hisses again,"Yes, the two human factions. Are they aware of our situation?"

"Y-Yes Ma'am. Both sides have launched drop ship and interception craft, and appear to have weapon systems active."

"Very well," was C-01's only reply before she pushed away from the still terrified, yet somewhat more calm Tracking Officer. Direct contact with a Svu'Kavsi Officer was always a numbing experience, or that is at least what the stories said of them.

Moving away from the young woman, C-01 marches quickly back up to her position overlooking the crew of the Command Centre; her helmet's read eyes gazing down calmly at the Kals below herself. Without a moment to spare, she snaps one of her gloved hands in the direction of the Combat Officer and, as she uses her free hand to type a few commands into her personal console beside her command chair, she barks loudly.

"Combat Officer! I require a sit-rep of all window locks and Legion deployment forces in our station, as well as the location of all mining teams!"

A stark reply from another female officer was heard; no fear in this one's voice,"Aye Ma'am. All windows have been locked with kinetic barriers. Airlocks and checkpoints are secured, and Legion details have secured all points possible. Mining teams have returned from their caverns, and the last few teams are making their way to bombardment safe-zones!"

"Good," was C-01's reply as she slams the last command into her holo-console. In reply, the kinetic barriers that are used to protect the bridge's windows suddenly retract over them; a thick wall of various metals having magnetically locked over them to defend against damage, and to prevent a loss of atmosphere. With that, the defenses were set and, hopefully, their First-Contact message would prevent the aliens from assaulting them. They were safe from bombardment, she knew, but could they defend from a boarding maneuver until the Fleet arrived? They were a good thirty minutes out, she knew, so if the First-Contact message didn't work...

Regardless, though, they had to try. Even the slaves lives down in the safe-zones mattered somewhat, and they couldn't risk losing this facility.

"Communications Officer!"

"Yes Ma'am!"

"Release First-Contact Message, Scenario Zero-Five-Niner-Seven."

---

---

Suddenly, a image message is sent from one of the location of the first encrypted message in the belt; around the same time the USC activates it's combat forces, and both human factions begin their move to assault. It is eerily familiar to the humans that inhabit the belt, for it is the Arecibo Message; a communication image from Earth released by Humanity on the Earth-Date November 16th, 1974, to alien life. Most interestingly, a similar image is released beside it; using the same code used by humankind...

Except edited for a different species altogether.

Information is within' the message; corresponding with the basic shape of the DNA sequence, as well as the shape of the alien, their height, and basic elements of which many cannot be recognized. It is clear the aliens understand the message, although some parts, such as the location of their homeworld in relation to their sun, is kept blank.

The message has but one more attachment to it; a message that is made up of a series of single-tone beeps that continue in a specific pattern, repeating every minute or so. To the keen observer, it can be deciphered as Morse Code, as apparently these aliens have managed to discover it's usage from ancient human transmissions.

The message, simple as it is, is daunting.

From the bridge of the Leonid Rikidov, a communications officer calls out to the Captain,"Komrade Kapitan, Goritz-3 is tracking several contacts, IFF is USC. They're moving in a trajectory to the asteroid where that signal was coming from.. wait.." He pauses, pressing his headphones against his head,"Got something else, sir, COMM is decoding something.. the asteroid is transmitting in.. morse code?" The bridge waits with baited breathe, as the comms officer reads off,"We come.. in peace. Do not.. harm." He takes off his headphones and looks up to the Captain, who seems a bit taken aback. His eyes dart from the look of the comms officer to a bulkhead, thinking deeply. He speaks suddenly,"Contact the Bureau of First Contact, pull off the investigation party."

The comms officer replied,"Aye-aye, Kapitan, decoding an encrypted message from the xenos as well." The Captain walks back to his seat, pointing at the screen before the bridge,"Display everything further up there. And initiate Protocol Komrade Zeleniy."

The Zeleniyan Battlegroup replies, sending its own encrypted file of the Zeleniyan's composite information on their appearance and background.

>: THE REPUBLIC EXTENDS ITS REGARDS, MAY OUR PEOPLE UNITE THROUGH PEACE AND LOVE.

_____________________________

From the inside of the USC mining boundaries, two V2-D hoodlums sit idle, the lead pilot speaking over comms,"Copy Command, Protocol Komrade Zeleniy. Asteroids locked."

The two pilot's gunners target the several asteroids that are being mined, and their fuselages open. 4 missiles, 2 each, launch at the 4 biggest mining asteroids in the USC's collection. They travel extremely slow for a rocket projectile, and seem to be very large tubes with hatches on them.

United Systems Mining Sector
Asteroid Zulu Foxtrot 3918, Codename 'Big Spud'
United Systems Air Force Base ZF-3918

"Condition one has been set, all stations report ready for combat! Alert fighters are away, reserves will launch in thirty seconds!"

Colonel Cassandra Riddick was, to put it lightly, having a very bad day. First the Zeleniyans had started pushing the border again, and as far as the brass was concerned, she couldn't do anything about it without causing an international incident and risking a war. She had tried everything, from sending stealth transport craft to 'sabotage' the advance by conveniently spreading debris in the asteroid field, or by harassing the Zeleniyan fleet in subtle ways such as venting rocket fuel in their direction and igniting it, harmlessly, with the afterburners of the fighters, but none of it had worked. And then things had gone from bad to worse, because an alien signal had been detected from within the asteroid field and she had to assume it to be hostile. The people at the civilian section of the base had already transmitted a distress call to Europa, but no response had been received yet. The tachyon comms were silent, the quantum receiver had nothing.

The RADAR screen was buzzing with activity again, its pseudo three-dimensional display refreshing every five seconds; it was difficult to balance situational awareness with keeping the actual location of the base in the rock hidden. They were already having a hard time masking the military-grade RADAR as civilian survey equipment, and she wasn't even sure if the Zeleniyans were buying it, but she wasn't about to give the base's position away without a fight. So she waited, watching the two co-centered circles rotate around the display as the system scanned every arc for new contacts. And suddenly, her belief that she was the victim of terrible timing was confirmed. The display turned red and flashed frantically, and the tactical systems officer barked out, both surprised and terrified.

"Contacts! Four new contacts bearing one one zero mark zero seven three! They look like missiles!"

No, they were too large, too slow to be simple missiles. In fact, aiming a conventional missile at an asteroid was like trying to kill a tank with a fly swat, it just didn't /work/. Which meant that it was either nuclear or unconventional, and either case was bad. She was about to order the fighters to break away from their advance towards the alien signal to intercept when another officer barked, but this time, his voice sounded more like that of relief.

"Alert one, alert one, emergency action message!" he yelled, and the Colonel didn't even wait to snatch the paper print out from the slot on the console. Her lips contorted into a weak smile, the first in a while, as she realized just how seriously Space Command was taking the situation. It wasn't a message from Command either; it was on the tachyon transmission, unconventional for broadcasting critical Emergency Action Messages, and the sender header was enough to confirm her suspicions. 'USS Hastings, CVN-88'. The message was even more uplifting: 'Distress call received, Carrier Strike Group 2 redirecting from patrol, jump prep underway. ETA 5m.'

Still, the feeling of relief didn't last long as the Landing Signals Officer yelled for orders again: he had the fighters on the comms, but judging from their position, it would take just too damn long for them to intercept the unidentified torpedoes before they hit. Plus, there was the message from the aliens, which she had brushed aside without a single look as soon as the missiles were launched. No, there was another group that could intercept.

"Keep the fighters on intercept course, deploy the reserves to defend the base. I want these missiles shot down right fucking now!" she barked out, and the other officers eagerly obeyed. The reserves were just being launched from the tubes, perfect timing to redirect.

"Reserve fighters, reserve fighters, emergency redirect, priority one threat, B-R one-one-zero mark zero seven three. Intercept and destroy missiles ASAP. Weapons hot. Fuel restrictions rescinded, engage afterburners at own discretion."

But there was one more thing to take care of. Taking fighters to attack an asteroid was foolish, for even if they destroyed several sections of the presumed alien base, they would be unable to blast through the crust without nuclear weapons which they did not have. No, another approach was in order, an approach she hated to take but that she had no choice /but/ to take. The short Colonel grabbed the phone from the console, dialed in a code and placed it against her cheek. "Barracks, CO. I want a Marine strike team on a Slingshot in two minutes. Scratch that, make that three strike teams. Oh, and..." ...and then she glanced at the alien message, staring at the decoded words from Morse. She calmed down just a tiny bit, until she remembered what the first message from the Alarei had been. Every child in the USC was taught that message from their very first day in history class, a reminder to never trust an alien: 'We come in peace.' She scoffed; of course they were coming in peace. They were coming in peace until they got their helium, and then it was all free game. No, she wasn't going to make the same mistake as her ancestors, the mistake that made humanity lose Earth. Hell, for all she knew, those missiles were alien in origin and thus an act of war.

"...break out the heavy ordinance. Miniguns, grenade launchers, everything we've got."

"Merde - It's true!" 'Flatfoot' exclaimed happily, his commander had other ideas,

"Pivert, report to the Comms stations immediately and issue the following statement: 'Previous estimates have proven truthful, asteroid indeed harbors alien life, Zeleniyans first to make contact amongst rapid military maneuvering by regional powers.' after that return here immediately."

The man, Pivert, was their primary communications officer and as usual he took the order silently and rushed out of the room. Moments later an encoded signal departed the outpost and would be received in due time at an Imperial Guard station in 08M. When Pivert returned he was bearing a message for the Commander who read over it warily, "They're serious?" he was only answered with a cold stare, letting out a sigh he motioned to the man, "Begin."

Moments later the outpost began broadcasting its own signal in morse code:

>: GREETING RETURNED. NEGOTIATIONS POSSIBLE.

The only compiled information sent was a single coordinate, unknown to the average foreigner but to a citizen of the Empire it stood out implicitly, it was none other than the Imperial Palace itself.

Silence, a beat. The 1st Aeonic Fleet has just exited slip space. The fleet is composed of a carrier, four assault frigates, and three utility ships.

Unified and Collective Federation of Prefectures Mining Sector
CCC, "Böhme" Aeonic Carrier
1st Aeonic Fleet

"Exiting slip space and establishing communications with the mining barge. Ops says the Deathbreathers are encroaching on the sector."

"Yeah, I know. Get the fighters out there and have then do something fancy, patrol or something."

"Rodger, Skipper."

The loudspeakers in the hanger bay come to life, the yellow light begins to strobe. "Attention on deck, attention on deck! 1-3, you are authorized for immediate Combat Air Patrol. You will be briefed ROE in-flight."

The pilots ran from their break rooms and locker rooms to their assigned crafts. They were prepped and ready to go, a total of 24 Eurofighter XVs were launched and began their patrol around the claimed CFP mining sector. The fighters was equipped with various ship to ship rockets and an 80mm cannon.

"1-3, you are authorized to fire upon any Deathbreathing vessels make their way into the AO, there are no warning shots, shoot to kill. Skipper, out."

The fighters sent out a binary acknowledgement and began their patrol of the mining sector.

Unified and Collective Federation of Prefectures Mining Sector
EW/SIGINT Deck, "Böhme" Aeonic Carrier
1st Aeonic Fleet

"Sir, encryption is sound, but recent intelligence indicates that the Zeleniyans have been using various SIGINT crafts in order track craft via their own signals, we also believe they have the capability to bypass encryption and do... lack of a better word, fucky things with the communications."

The EW officer nodded, "Very well, fire up the signal jammers, tell the miners they will have to deal with some botched commo lines for a little while, but as I recall our networks should be fine."

The enlisted man at the console nodded, with the flicks of a few switches and the turning of some knobs, the signal jammer was being broadcasted into the air in hopes of jamming any out going and incoming transmission from threat forces.

United Systems Mining Sector
Asteroid Zulu Foxtrot 3918, Codename 'Big Spud'
United Systems Air Force Base ZF-3918


"FUCKING SHUT IT OFF!" screamed the Colonel, but the officers were already hard at work trying to isolate the signal: they were trying to jam all frequencies it was being broadcast on, but the station wasn't exactly built for the purpose of signals intelligence. It was at its best an airport, and the only specialized equipment it had to deal with jamming was the EC-180 it had been assigned, which had conveniently ran off to do its own thing somewhere, and they couldn't risk sending a communication to it because it would possibly compromise its position. The Colonel banged her hand against the console for emphasis, but the Zeleniyan anthem continued to flood the speakers of CIC, baffling the officers.

Finally, one brave Technical Sergeant decided to break the news to the raging commanding officer, swiveling his chair around to face her. "Colonel, we can't jam them, the missiles are transmitting with more signal strength than our jammers can output. We need the fighters to shoot at least a few of them down before we can even have a chance at cutting the signal." he stated, fiddling with his thumbs; the Colonel was by no means a 'reserved' person when it came to voicing her displeasure with a job badly done. She was already mad over not being allowed to actually attack the alien outpost until the Hastings arrived, because her superiors back at Europa thought bringing in a strike group would force the aliens to surrender.

Still, showing the professionalism required of an officer, she decided to vent her frustrations elsewhere. Hell, she didn't even bother using a proxy: she snatched the phone from the console, ordered for communications to connect her to the senior reserve fighter pilot and did her best to keep her voice from sounding too much like a death threat. For there was no thing more annoying to a hardline USC loyalist than the Zeleniyan anthem, especially when it was forced down their throats. "Fruitcake, Zulu Foxtrot Actual. Shoot down those transmitters right about now!"

---

Cobra 119
Pilot: Captain Irene 'Fruitcake' Chatterley
188th Aerospace Defense Wing, Group 2 (Reserves), 'Red Devils' Squadron

"Fruitcake, Zulu Foxtrot Actual. Shoot down those transmitters right about now!"

Captain Chatterley almost cringed at the excessively and unnecessarily hostile tone in the Colonel's voice, but she completely understood where she was coming from: the transmission between the fighters and the base was secure, encrypted and on a channel the Zeleniyans hadn't cracked yet, but the background sound from the Colonel's transmission was annoying as it was. If there was one thing the Zeleniyans didn't hesitate to do, it was try and shove their ideology and anthems down the throats of the United Systems' citizens; it had become somewhat of a running joke in the pilot corps, threatening rookies that they would be sent to a 'Zeleniyan Re-education Camp' if they fucked up their landings.

"Actual, Fruitcake. Wilco, range to target two kilometers... Locking wings to attack mode... Commencing attack run, weapons hot!" she replied as the wings of the aircraft locked in their attack configuration, retracting into the hull to minimize the profile of the aircraft to both RADAR and enemy fire. The heads-up display similarly changed, retracting all information that wouldn't be of use in a combat scenario to the edge of the screen while the relevant stats were enlarged and placed in prominent positions. The several rockets were highlighted on the screen, and locks were established on the nearest ones.

And then, with a pull of the trigger, the fighter literally stopped accelerating as the massive recoil of its main GAU-118/A 'Shredder' 40mm rotary autocannon applied enough force to partially cancel out the rocket engines before they compensated. With a fire-rate of almost six thousand rounds per minute, the gun fired a 1:1 ratio of armor-piercing and high-explosive flak shells, the later of which exploded all around the rocket while the armor-piercing shots 'shredded' its internals and destroyed it. And then the next followed as the fighter made a sharp turn, firing again, as the other planes behind it similarly picked their targets and begun to attack.

---

Huey 011, Boarding Configuration
Marine Medium Gunship Squadron 332, 'Ferryboats'
Pilot: First Lieutenant James 'Flattop' Winklings
ECO: Second Lieutenant Margaret 'Thatch' Rodriguez

"...aaand... We are secure."

The gunship put down in one of the deepest craters of 'Talla'Zouna', as the Kal'Bavakorians called it, or 'O/Z 0029' going by its United Systems designation. Its approach had been relatively uneventful, but that was mostly because it and its fellow transports had several dozen fighters escorting them into the engagement zone. Setting down wasn't that hard, but watching out for enemy triple-A batteries made the process slower than usual; still, the landing gear was secure, and the gunship had set down near a cave entrance that analysts believed would lead them directly to the outer hull of the alien base's hangar. The Marines were going to go for a two-stage insertion: half of the transports had landed right next to the hangar bay doors and were deploying troops with mag-boots, just waiting for one of the fighters to finally get authorization to blow a hole on the blastdoor. The others were going to sneak in, hopefully catching the defenders by surprise and forcing a surrender.

But they still had no approval to proceed. Some of the Marines had presumed they were just waiting for the carrier to get there and blast its own way into the hangar with a bunker-buster torpedo, or worse, others believed that Command was trying to find a way to diplomatically claim the helium-rich asteroid (and get their hands on the alien technology) before blasting their way in while spouting diplomatic nonsense about not going through the months of paperwork to claim a spot in the mining field. Still, they were all in agreement that an engagement would probably break out eventually, and their gear told that very same story. Power armor, battle rifles, miniguns, rocket launchers, all the goodies needed to assault a fortress and get away with it. They even had a kinetic penetrator 'mininuke' in case they had to destroy a blast door, plus extra ammo for it.

So they played the waiting game, standing idly in the gunship while several Slingshots slowly circled above using their VTOL engines.

Tefeull Mining Field; Red Sun Imperium Mining sector
Asteroid XE-414; Red Sun Imperium Command Center


"Sir, I activated the distress beacon before the communications went down from the jammers."


Local activity had heightened and with the arrival of a large fleet, and the subsequent attempt on jamming communications, Captain Rorchester wasn't going to take any chances. Athena had sent out a distress beacon to the nearest fleet, the 1st Imperium Fleet. Consisting of a battleship, two destroyers, and several frigates, the 1st always stuck nearby the Tefeull Mining Field. Suited for a more all-purpose role, the 1st held a large garrison of marines and fighters while still boasting a decent amount of firepower. The Intelligence officer returned to the command room, which had lit up with activity in the past hour. This time Stone wasn't wearing his black officer's uniform, but a modified lighter suit of blacked out armor. A SM-110 was strapped to his shoulder and he was escorted by two of his fellow officers toting the same armor and weapon.

"You should suit up yourself Captain Rorchester, we don't know if they could be coming for us or not."

The Captain laughed. He had a light suit of armor he could put on, but he would prefer not to leave the command bridge at a time like this. Besides, the captain already had his KP-31 holstered on his waist, and if he needed it there were a few ST-45s in the command bridge. Stone was right though, with all this bustling activity, Rorchester wasn't entirely sure what was going on, let alone if their station was safe. Regardless, the entire security force had been put on stand-by and they were in the process of locking the station down. Mechs and droids were activated and put on defensive positions, pilots were on patrol nearby the station, and even the command center's windows had been blocked out by blast doors. The Captain looked over towards the O.M.I agents.

"The fleet should be here soon, I don't think they are after us though...."

The rockets are torn apart, 15 of them exploding almost immediately. But one single rocket slips through, jetting past the squadron and approaching a fairly large mining asteroid. Thrusters on it's nose deploy, pushing it up as it slows its descent, some landing struts jutting out as it lands precariously on the asteroid.

Almost immediately, its metal hull peels back to reveal around 30 or so Kalishnikov 2360s, all re-purposed for the vacuum of space. The music has died down and is only broadcasted in a close range around the rock. A hologram is displayed around the rocket, spinning around the nose cone. It displays, in a red hue (go figure), a Nasari hand gripping a rifle, sliding in the magazine, and racking it. Then it shows a man in a suit with an evil grin and a large cigar in his teeth with crosshairs over his head. The hologram ends with the two headed Zeleniyan falcon soaring over many Nasari hands raising Kalishnikovs into the air, and then repeats itself.


______________________________________

Leonid Rikidov, Burdyi Class Carrier.
Command and Control/Bridge.

"KSSSHTT--Goritz fi--...--ZZT--coming in sector--...--ZZZHTT--are--ing--ay--oh--eh."

The communications cosmonaut grips his headset and speaks loudly, rather irritated,"Goritz five.. Goritz five? Say again your last, you're breaking up.. Goritz five.." The cosmonaut looks up to his comms officer,"Komrade Kommandant, Goritz five just reported in but were unreadable. They must be behind some mammoth kind of asteroid, because I couldn't get a word of what they were saying, sir."

The communications officer squinted at him,"No, they'd be able to relay their message from another Hoodlum. They must have fucked with their comms, try them again!" The cosmonaut swiftly replied,"Aye-aye, Komrade Kommandant." When another cosmonaut speaks up,"Komrade Kommandant, The V2 squadron isn't clear when they check in either, I think we're being scrambled!" The commander swore, and muttered under his breathe,"Too much hubris pushing this far.." He then raised his voice,"Komrade Kapitan, we've lost contact with all SIGINT and early warning craft! We're being jammed!"

The Captain's eyes perked up,"Bleyht! Well-- try to pull them back! Use a more powerful signal!" The communications officer immediately speaks up to advise his CO,"Sir, we'd basically be broadcasting our orders to them!" Annoyed, the Captain slaps a MiG figure off the hangar bay table,"Then figure it out! In an hour I want comms with our men, broadcasted or not!" The commander nods,"Aye aye, Komrade Kapitan."

Alliance Mining Facility 'Alpha'; Kal Sector
Asteroid 'Talla'Zouna'; Svu'Kavsi Command Centre


'..-crease the communications signal!"

"Ma'am, increasing power to comm systems, but we're not breaking throught!"

"Attempt full power! We must break throught; the fleet will be arriving soon!"Shouted C-01 from her command chair as she stared down at her bridge-crew below; her helmet face blank as ever. Beneath her armored and calm exterior, though, she felt her pulse increase slightly at this news. If the communication systems were down, there would be no way to contact the fleet when the arrived in..

She paused for a moment to gaze down at her personal console, and she hissed a curse beneath her breath.

The fleet would arrive in ten minutes. There had to be something they could do; they could not botch this operation at this point. C-01 paused for a moment at this thought and, snapping her gaze down towards her Combat Officer, whom was hard at work communicating with the multiple Legionnaire teams spread around the station, suddenly had an idea. A daring one, mind her, but one that might work. With a loud bellow, C-01 pushes herself up a bit from her chair to lean over the edge of the command balcony and shouts,"Combat Officer!"

The officer, in turn, quickly snaps his helmeted head upwards from his intensive work; his luminous eyes staring right into the harsh red view ports of C-01's unsettling helmet,"Aye, Ma'am!"

C-01 wasted no time,"Can you dispatch a team to install a Signal Intensifier on the asteroid's outer surface; preferably closest to the fleet's lightstream exit space?"

The Combat Officer winced visibly,"Ma'am; the Tracking Officer reported a hostile landing force on the asteroid crust. I could send a small team, but their.. Survival... Is in question."

C-01 simply stares down the officer in reply for a moment or so, before replying in a somewhat softer tone; uncharacteristic of her usual commanding self. Her words were of a comforting, if unsure, nature,"...These aliens stand no match for our grand military, Combat Officer. They shall be fine."

They both knew this squad was most likely being condemned to death.. But what choice was there? They were in an insanely precarious position here, and only strong wits and sacrifice could bring them through this one. They couldn't even try and communicate with the humans with the signal jammed.. There was no alternative. So, with merely a moment of pause, the Combat Officer resigns these unnamed soldiers fate.

"Aye Ma'am. I shall send Hazel Squad to perform the operation... Their launchers should prove as a weapon of choice, should these aliens arrive in force."

---

---

Alliance Mining Facility 'Alpha'; Kal Sector
Asteroid 'Talla'Zouna'; Hanger-Lock '0931'


Her breath was heavy inside of her helmet; the breath from her mouth spelling steam across her visor. She didn't pay any attention as her three-digit hands danced along the strange, smooth cube she had in her hands. With each step backwards, away from the kinetic barrier across the hangers entrance, she would slam a single cube onto the floor before her; twisting it into place, and it would reply to the action with a quiet 'beep'. She and her fifteen fellow comrades from Untra Squad all did this exact action every two steps or so; placing the cubes onto the floor and twisting until the magnetic locks on these strange items would activate.. Placed so that they appeared to be a part of the floors architecture.

They were really mines. Infantry Plasma Mines, or IPMs as they were known to the Alliance ordiance handbooks. Or, as the funky ordinance commander of Untra Squad called them, 'Hugresh Poppers' due to his service in the Great World War a decade before; old bastard.

The soldier had fished into her satchel for the last IPM and had just barely slid it into place before, over her helmet's communication channel, she and her squad were given the order for a quick fallback to the defensive line. She quickly rose, breathing hard through her nose now, before turning and beginning a quick sprint back towards the rest of the defensive team. Her gloved hands were clenched, her sharp teeth were grinding together, and her HUD had a few flashing symbols on it; trying to tell her about some pressure difference in her right bicep's pressure module.. Something she'd have to get checked out after this engagement.

She was sure she'd make it out.

She and her team rushed back to the line, unholstering their 'THAR' Kinetic Rifles before slamming themselves against their respective barriers. Tables, containers, kinetic barriers; whatever was available. The rifle she clasped in her hands was the pinnacle of Alliance infantry weaponry, sporting a high-powered fission powered rail system that fired 9x19 millimeter rounds at speeds the normal Kal'Bavakorian mind could not even process.

By all the Gods of Bavakor, she was going to make it out of here. She had to.

She tightly settled the scope of the rifle against her visor; her luminous eyes snapping up to view the ammunition counter on her HUD's upper right corner.. Twenty out of twenty rounds. Perfect. She could hear the sound of grunts and metal scraping against metal behind her; the familiar noise of two Anti-Armor turrets being set up by Eminca Squad. Another soldier in Eminca was settling into the stations only MK. 19 Suit, whom had just begun testing the neuron communication between his brain and the suits neural link systems. It was silent all around.

She was going to make it. How couldn't she? They were just...

Aliens.

The Captain angrily stood over his COMMs team, hands folded behind his back,"If we can't pull them back, then we have our whole early warning and electronic warfare unit at risk! Their lives are at stake, Kommandant!" The Kommandant merely replied with an,"Aye, sir." And continued to point to his enlisted cosmonauts and direct them on what to do. He then looks up to the Captain after a cosmonaut reports something to him,"Komrade Kapitan, the origin of that message is coming from the jammers, it's not USC." The Captain's lower lip curled upward, and he turned towards FIRE CONTROL,"Arm the anti-radiation missiles." The CO of the FIRE CONTROL team began to flip some switches and coordinate with his men. Outside, the an internal missile pod retracts from the top of the carrier, turning towards the direction of the fleet.

The COMMs officer, seeing as if he was the only sane one here, started to step outside his boundaries again,"Komrade Kapitan, that would be an act of war! We would need an official decision from the Politburo to do such a--" The Captain cut him off, growling through his teeth,"The Politburo can't hear us. I can't get in touch with Kuteznagrad, and half of my battle group's mission essential craft are flying deaf. You said it yourself, Kommandant, broadcasting the message would be suicide."

The Kommandant returned the glare of the Captain, bitterly backing down,"Aye, sir." The COMMs officer turned to getting the signal working, while the FIRE CONTROL department was working on their flight trajectory paths through the asteroid field. The longest ten minutes of any cosmonaut's life passed on the bridge. The FIRE CONTROL CO calls out that he's ready to fire, the Captain taking no time to take his keycard over to authorize the firing of the missiles. Just then, the Kommandant of the COMMs department steps up,"SIR!" The Captain turns around, keycard in hand. "We've got through. It's weak, but we've got through. Keeping all the Tula-4's in the air so they can bounce the message to all the squadrons, and they'll be the last out." The Captain narrowed his eyes at the COMMs officer, unbuttoning his breast pocket and putting the key card back in, he spoke to the FIRE CONTROL officer,"Disarm the missiles."

The various EW and Early warning craft, with their fighter craft escorts, pull back to a 20KM radius of the battlegroup.