The Tefeull Mining Field, 05G.

(( It's cool lol. Take your time. ))

Quote :

Talla'Zouna - Surface Level

Suddenly, the seat's deceleration thrusters kicked in, slowing the object down to a speed that could be sustained by the human body on impact; it hit the dust a moment later, coming down to a halt after sliding on the terrain and rock for several moments. And then the pilot burst out of the seat, the clamps holding her in place releasing, and instantly rushed to grab the grenades and equipment from her combat kit. It wasn't just a sense of survival guiding her though: her system had been pumped full of drugs, everything from painkillers to a combat cocktail that could keep even the laziest of soldiers on their feet for days. Without any delay she rigged the seat to self destruct and started running, rushing to get away from the area the enemies had been spotted approaching from. Her EVA suit wasn't built for combat, having only a thin layer of ballistic armor on the limbs and combat plates on the chest and back, but it was excellent for maneuvering in microgravity. It even had a jetpack so that ejected pilots could easily maneuver into the rescue craft.

She had nowhere specific to run towards, just away from the enemy. She had been lucky to land behind a hill thanks to some clever maneuvering by the chair's RCS thrusters, but the aliens would no doubt cover the distance without much trouble. She had to stay alive, stay free until fleet rescue came for her. There was a rescue team underway, and they had a damn mech with them, and she wasn't going to let herself get captured by some stupid mistake: she practically screamed at the radio, the RADAR and heat tracking device on her suit pinging urgently as the contacts got closer. "CAPTAIN! I'VE HIT THE GROUND, GOT CONTACTS MOVING TOWARDS MY POSITION! NEED BACKUP NOW!"

---

Surface of Talla'Zouna
Zulu Foxtrot MarDet (Marine Detachment) Platoon 17, 'Crushers'

"DEFENSIVE FORMATION, FIND SOME COVER! SOMEONE GET ME A COMMLINK TO THE CARRIER!"

The Marines on the surface of the asteroid were having a hard time to say the least; they were surrounded and apparently outnumbered, and their advantage, power armor, didn't seem to be working that well against snipers who aimed for the head. So they unleashed everything in their arsenal, tossing grenades and rockets towards where the shots were coming from, using their machineguns and miniguns to keep the enemy from firing long enough to rush towards the nearest rock formation with the nuke in tow. It was a desperate fight; an assault against an enemy fortification, an otherwise routine mission, had turned into a battle for survival. But they weren't going to let the aliens have the last word, no.

Over the horizon, several gunships appeared, flying high above the terrain. They activated their missile pods and opened fire just as the alien anti aircraft pods established a lock, deploying several dozens of anti-infantry and anti-tank mini-nuclear warheads against the laser-pointed and radio pinpointed positions provided by the Marines on the ground. The rockets went self-guided a second after launch, allowing the gunships to make a run for orbit with their emergency thrusters: they had done their jobs for the moment. Firing chaff, RADAR and heat decoys and deploying electronic jamming, they headed for the carrier strike group to rearm and refuel (and hide beneath the thick flak cover). They had done their jobs: released most of their weapons against the enemy and forced the aliens to reveal their hand (and anti aircraft emplacements).

---

Hastings F-23 'Raven' 012
Pilot: Matthew 'Blank' Winchester
Co-pilot: Bernard 'Fatman' Gaul
11th Multirole Bomber Squadron 'Little Boys'

"Hastings, Blank, these fighters are getting closer! Requesting instructions!"

The bomber squadron and its fighter escort simply floated in space, firing off the occasional anti-fighter round and harassing the alien ships from afar but otherwise holding position with its nuclear weapons ready to launch in a moment's notice. They didn't have permission to leave yet, nor did they have orders to release the rest of their nukes and get it over with: they had to wait. Still, every single bomber spooled up its FTL drive, and the FA-37 stealth fighters did the same with their shorter range jump drives; the squadron wasn't composed for direct engagement, after all. A battle would be weighted heavily in the aliens' favour.

"All bombers, all bombers, emergency recall. Launch all remaining warheads and return to the Hastings ASAP, launch on dumb-fire mode and transfer control to Hastings CIC. We'll take care of the rest." came the reply, and the bombers didn't even wait for a confirmation: their consoles unlocked the rest of the nuclear missiles and they happily turned the keys already positioned in the firing slot, deploying the other half of their anti-fighter nukes and the whole arsenal of MIRVs against both the fighter formation and the asteroid base. And with that the squadron made a full 180-degree turn from front to back and kicked in their afterburners and emergency boosters, attempting to escape the pinch maneuver the aliens were trying to perform.

The bombers were, luckily, mostly built out of armor: they could handle the occasional rocket and shot, and that protected them from the bulk of the fighter barrage being unleashed against them. But they knew they couldn't survive a direct battle against the faster, more agile and more well armed fighters: they had only a gatling turret and some point defense guns to protect them. Their best shot was to run away long enough for the jump drives to finish spooling up. Nevertheless, the first of the bombers fell to the enemy's fire, its pilots barely having time to eject before the reactor went critical; they would probably be picked up by fleet rescue later, but at the moment, the rest of the squadron could do nothing but transmit their location via an encrypted frequency and hope for the best.

Thankfully, the USC had succeeded in one other regard: the MIRVs' artificial intelligence had not fallen for the trick. Knowing fully well that six nuclear weapons meant to destroy entire cities were already overkill to catch one fighter, it kept the rockets on their separate attack vectors, providing cover for the second nuke as it used the last of its booster fuel to accelerate towards the asteroid; and then it launched its bombs. Twelve smaller bomblets were released from the canopy of the MIRV along with several dozen decoys, raining over both the transmitter array and areas suspected to house anti-aircraft batteries.

---

USS Missouri, Missouri - Carrier Strike Group 2
Combat Information Center

"Enemy hangar has sustained heavy damage, direct hit with all rounds." reported the tactical systems officer, and Commander Drake Foster couldn't be happier at the news. Usually, fast ships could survive a direct shot by a dreadnought because of how slowly its weapons were brought to bear and how difficult it was to be accurate at such long ranges and such extreme velocities. But a stationary target, like a station, a planet or an asteroid, was a dreadnought's chewing toy to be disposed of at the discretion of 'God', as the crew often referred to the commander of such a formidable warship because of his ability to wipe out entire cities off the map on a whim.

"Autoloader reports good start of sequence, next magazine is being loaded into the main battery now. Battery will be ready to fire in sixty seconds."

"Receiving target uplink information from the surface tagged as enemy triple-a, Skipper. The Marines are requesting a hand."

That was the Commander's cue; he approached the command table again, having been monitoring the firing of the main battery from the gunnery station, and tapped his fingers against several of the floating red dots being projected by the holodisplay over the asteroid. They enlarged and begun to pulse, and he snapped his fingers together to get the attention of the tactical systems officer again. "Weps, I want these emplacements to disappear right fucking now, our people are getting slaughtered down there."

He didn't have to say anything more: the weapons officer typed several commands on his console and then grabbed the phone by the side of his station, bringing it against his ear after he dialed in a number. "Gunnery, Weps. Commence orbital strike against indicated coordinates, nuclear tipped bunker-buster rounds. Direct orders from the Skipper."

"Copy that Weps, preparing the Skipper's own personal Armageddon. Order has been distributed to gunnery captains, all batteries with nuclear magazines are shifting target bearing now."

Satisfied, Weps put the phone down and swiveled his chair around to face the Commander. "Gun batteries are establishing groundstrike locks now, commencing fire in a few seconds." he exclaimed almost happily; it wasn't often that the dreadnought got to use the full force of its weapons, mostly because using a few hundred turrets and a gun longer than most warships against a pirate frigate was both overkill and in bad taste. A moment later, the sound of guns firing reverberated throughout the hull as thirty turrets opened fire with anti-capital rounds at the Kal'Bavakorian anti-aircraft emplacements and troop positions.

But no Dreadnought crew was satisfied unless every gun had a target. The rest of the turrets were brought to bear on the alien fleet, which tried to flee into the asteroid field, but to no avail: the nukes swarmed on the lead frigate and detonated as soon as they got hit by point defenses, unleashing all of their energy into deadly radiation, radiated heat that could melt through the hull and a terrifying electromagnetic pulse. And as the gasses from the explosion expanded, ripped away by the vacuum of space along with the molten metal of the warhead casing, they impacted against the frigate's shields. The Commander couldn't see any of the visual effects of the explosion on his map, to his disappointment: just a dull expanding sphere that indicated a nuclear blast.

"Weps, lets see if these aliens are feeling lucky. Have all remaining batteries open fire, lets see if our alien friends enjoy getting their face caved in. Focus on the frigate those nukes were after.

Seconds later, every gun on the dreadnought that wasn't the main battery or the turrets taking care of orbital bombardment duty opened fire at the Resolve. The two cruisers followed suit. The main battery, however, seemed to have not attacked even though its reloading cycle was complete: instead it remained aimed at the now shred open hangar bay of the asteroid base, ready to unleash a finishing shot. Any nuclear explosion in that compartment would be obviously the end of the base, or most of it. But as fate had it, the guns aimed at the alien fleet stopped firing after a short barrage. Instead, a message was broadcast, in just audio: a woman with a surprisingly threatening voice, and with no attempt to translate.

---

"This is Rear Admiral Kelly Huxley of the USS Hastings, addressing all aliens inhabiting the contested asteroid or the ships deployed to defend it. I'll just lay it raw: you are fighting a battle against time. Every second you spend defending that base is a second our reinforcements get closer, and to be frank, I highly doubt the ability of just six frigates to take on two dreadnoughts, two carriers and assorted cruisers. You are outgunned, will soon be outmanned, and I can just choose to wipe that base out with a single shot. You have one chance to cease hostilities and offer your unconditional surrender. In sixty seconds we will destroy the hangar. The clock starts now."

The message was followed by a countdown in the most basic of forms: rapidly sequenced beeps, fast enough that each second they could broadcast the number of seconds left.

((You never did reply to that.))

USS Hastings - Carrier Strike Group 2
Combat Information Center

"Admiral... They are... gone... We have lost contact with most surface parties. The orbital bombardment... it seems to have caused secondary explosions on the enemy emplacements, our teams were just..."

The entire bridge fell silent as news of the massacre on the surface arrived; there were a few hushed whispers, and then a cry of anger from one of the ensigns who just so happened to be the husband of one of the Marines sent to the surface. The Admiral had frozen, staring at the craters on the asteroid through the 'eyes' of one of the many optical telescopes on the exterior hull of the Hastings. She knew the number already, the number of Marines that had perished on the surface, but she still couldn't believe it. The executive officer seemed to be more composed, however, as he passed her a printed out paper.

"Casualty report, Admiral... Thirty-six dead, plus one fighter pilot. Four MIA. The medical transports made it off the asteroid before the bombardment, so we've got twenty-seven injured inbound, medbay is standing by."

And even as the alien response came back, offering to talk, the Admiral seemed lost in her thoughts. She could see the pain and the anger in the faces of the crew, the unspoken demand that she do something to avenge the deaths of the deceased marines. The orbital strike had been plotted perfectly, the warheads adjusted to cover a precise radius with an equally as precise radiation burst, but nobody had considered the fact that the emplacements may carry explosive ordinance of that scale. She was indirectly responsible for the massacre, even though the crew didn't seem to blame her. But she did.

"Chief of the Watch..." she begun, her voice suddenly much quieter than before. She could almost feel the bile rising in her throat as she spoke, the full shock of the event finally overtaking her sense of logic. Thirty six dead. "...launch all remaining squadrons, attack formation. Helm, all ahead, military thrust. Get us in firing range to those frigates and then bring all turrets to bear." she ordered, listening to the cacophony of responses to her orders. The Chief of the Watch went first, yelling on his radio to scramble all remaining aircraft, while the helmsman confirmed the ship's heading and activated main propulsion and 'afterburners'.

But there was more to do: even as the strike group begun to advance on the alien fleet, weapons being brought to bear, the Admiral turned to the communications officer and snapped her fingers. "Comms, I want a secure channel to the Missouri right now, get me Commander Foster on the line. We are going to have a little chat about-"

"CONTACT!

"New contact, bearing three four zero mark one eight seven, capital ship. Unknown class, tonnage at about... Hell sir, that thing's got eight times our mass!"

"NEW CONTACT HAS ARMED WEAPONS, CURRENTLY ON AN INTERCEPT COURSE!"

"MULTIPLE CONTACTS, SAME BEARING! OPTICAL TELESCOPES ARE ACQUIRING A FIX NOW!"

In a moment, the CIC was consumed by chaos. An entire battle group had appeared out of nowhere, and none of the ships could be identified in any of the fleet engine signature databanks; the Admiral ordered that all weapons be aimed at the new contacts and for teams to stand by to open fire, but something was wrong. The engine signature looked like USC, since it had the unique beta plus radiation emissions of USC plasma rockets, but the electromagnetic emission frequencies were all messed up.

"Admiral... The lead contact is hailing us. It's a highly encrypted channel, ma'am, but the cyphers are ours."

With a nod from the CO, the transmission was allowed through. But from within did not come the alien voice both the Admiral and her XO had imagined, but that of a man, a gruff, old one at that, and he sounded angry.

"Hastings, this is General Kristian Ostberg, USS Avenger. I am hereby assuming command of all forces in this sector under direct orders from the President. Transmit sit-rep to the Avenger's situation room and stand by to join battle formation. New orders will be transmitted via quantum transmission momentarily. Avenger over and out."

The transmission was suddenly cut, leaving the Admiral to stare at the image of the massive contact on the screen as acquired by optical telescopes: a black, gargantuan ship with rough surfaces and few lights visible on the surface. But it was the nameplate that got her attention: 'USS AVENGER', 'SSNX 01'.

"What the hell are you..." she muttered just as the communications officer rushed to pass her the printed message.

Quote :

FROM: NATIONAL MILITARY COMMAND CENTER, SITE 'PEARL'
TO:
--- USS HASTINGS, CVN-88 - CARRIER STRIKE GROUP 02
--- USS AVENGER, SSXN-01 - SPECIAL OPERATIONS STRIKE GROUP 'ECHO'
SUBJECT: ORDERS REGARDING THE PACIFICATION OF SECTOR 'TEFEULL'

TAKING UNDER ADVISEMENT THE MILITARY AND POLITICAL SITUATION IN SECTOR 05G 'TEFEULL' AND SURROUNDING REGIONS, AS WELL AS THE STRATEGIC IMPORTANCE OF THE ASTEROID FIELD'S HELIUM RESERVES TO NATIONAL DEFENSE, AND CONSIDERING THE LOSS OF PERSONNEL THAT HAS BEEN A RESULT OF ONGOING CONFLICT, THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED SYSTEMS, DR. M. OPPENHEIMER, AS ADVISED BY SECRETARY OF DEFENSE R. HARDING AND THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF, AND WITH THE AUTHORIZATION OF THE UNITED SYSTEMS CONGRESS, AT 16:53 EUROPA STANDARD TIME:

(1) ISSUES A DECLARATION OF WAR AGAINST THE UNKNOWN ALIEN ENTITY THAT HAS THREATENED THE UNITED SYSTEMS' COALITION'S HOLDINGS IN THE 05-G 'TEFEULL' SECTOR, WHOSE ACTIONS HAVE RESULTED IN THE DEATHS OF OVER 30 UNITED SYSTEMS CITIZENS
(2) ORDERS THE IMMEDIATE DEPLOYMENT OF 'PROJECT AVENGER' AGAINST THE ALIEN THREAT, AND URGES MILITARY COMMANDERS IN THE REGION TO HONOUR THE HUMAN SACRIFICE OF THE MARINES AND PILOTS WHO PERISHED AT THE HANDS OF THE ALIENS BY REDUCING THEIR DEFENSES TO SHREDS AND CAPTURING ANY SURVIVORS
(3) ORDERS THE RECOVERY OF ANY AND ALL REFINED HELIUM ISOTOPE RESERVES FROM THE ALIEN BASE FOR MILITARY USE
(4) ORDERS THE IMMEDIATE RECOVERY OF STRANDED FIGHTER PILOT MAJOR REBECCA WOODS FROM THE SURFACE OF THE ALIEN-OCCUPIED ASTEROID, REGARDLESS OF POTENTIAL MATERIAL COST. CARRIER STRIKE GROUP 01 (SARATOGA CSG) HAS BEEN PLACED ON ACTIVE REINFORCEMENT STATUS. CARRIER STRIKE GROUP 03 (ENTERPRISE CSG) HAS BEEN ACTIVATED FOR DEPLOYMENT, USS ENTERPRISE COMMISSIONED AT 16:51 INTO THE NAVY REGISTRY.
(5) DECLARES ALL MEMBERS OF THE HOSTILE COMBATANT FORCE AS EXPENDABLE, AND REVOKES ARTICLE 86 OF THE UNITED SYSTEMS CONSTITUTION REGARDING THE TREATMENT OF EXTRATERRESTRIAL LIFE FORMS FOR THE DURATION OF 'OPERATION VENGEANCE'

'OPERATION VENGEANCE' OPERATIONAL OBJECTIVES:

(1) RECOVER MAJOR R. WOODS
(2) DISABLE ALIEN FLEET WITH DISPROPORTIONATE FORCE RESPONSE
(3) DEPLOY HK-1, HK-70 and HK-200 COMBAT DRONES ON ALIEN ASTEROID
(4) CAPTURE ALIEN BASE, RECOVER HELIUM RESERVES
(5) CAPTURE ALIEN PERSONNEL FOR CIA QUESTIONING

ALIEN COMBATANT STATUS: EXPENDABLE

But as the Admiral and the XO alike read the printed out message, they both realised exactly what was going on: it was a publicity stunt. The military and the civilian government needed to show the people that they could protect them, even if that meant using half of the Navy's capital ships and more money than the helium in the asteroids could possibly be worth. Even though the Admiral treated every crew member as her own children, one pilot surely wasn't worth all the effort; unless said pilot could be used as a poster girl for resisting the aliens.

Another glorious day in the Navy then.

"Admiral, the Avenger and her strike group are joining the formation now and launching fighters. Combined strike force strength at one dreadnought, one supercarrier, six battleships, three destroyers and one... I don't know what to even describe the Avenger as, ma'am. The computer can't decide if it's a dreadnought or a carrier. Wait, the Avenger just fired something at the asteroid, time to impact twenty seconds!"

"Enemy fleet will be in range in fifteen seconds, all torpedo tubes have been reloaded. Fighters away."

---

USS Avenger, Avenger-class Prototype
Carrier Strike Group Echo
Combat Information Center

"The Hastings has received our authentication codes and the new orders, they are letting us into the formation. R-D-S is firing... Successful deployment, rescue party away, ETA to target twenty seconds. All fighters are away and commencing attack run against the alien air patrol. Looks like this will be easier than we thought."

General Kristian Ostberg often couldn't understand his executive officer's commentary; the Colonel was a good companion to keep around, a loyal officer and a humorous woman to discuss with on a lonely shift, but she always seemed to provide some kind of exposition-style documentary on situations that every single person in the military could interpret on their own. At least she cared enough, he argued. Caring about a situation was one of the first steps to resolving it, if that made any sense; he wasn't a philosopher, just a battle-hardened special operative who had been drafted by SpecCom from his Delta Force career into their 'Future Soldier' program. Hence the implants.

He still had no idea why they had sent him to run the Avenger; they could have chosen any experienced Admiral in the fleet, and yet they picked him. His last command, the USS Botany Bay, had ended in tragedy when faulty coolant had been pumped into the reactor, eventually resulting in the destruction of the ship and the loss of several crew members. It could have been worse, if the Botany Bay hadn't been a prototype warship testing stealth technology for battleships, and if the faulty coolant hadn't been the result of sabotage.

His train of thought was interrupted by the voice of the tactical systems officer, a man who would be more fit as a professional weight lifter instead of the ship's weapons officer: standing at 6'4, the man towered over his underlings, and even the chair seemed too damn short for his measure. "Gun batteries have fixed target bearing, main battery capacitors are charging. Weapons ready to fire." One of the advantages of the new weapon system was the increased range: the Hastings and her group needed a few more seconds to be able to fire, but the Avenger was holding off its attack simply because the General didn't want to show his hand yet.

"You know our orders, Colonel. Once our pilot is safe, you can take your time taking these pieces of scrap apart bullet by bullet. Comms, patch me through to OUR rescue party- Screw that, they are supersonic, lets not bother them. Get me the pilot. Have the Hastings rescue party hold off until we get through the air defenses."

---

Talla'Zouna - Surface Level

The pilot tried to fight back from the moment she touched down: her machinegun was not exactly the best for a situation such as this, but nevertheless she kept her button on the trigger for a few seconds, destroying several nearby rocks with the blasts and blowing a large chunk out of the nearby hill with the explosive munitions. And she yelled, except that nobody could hear because there was no sound in space; she kicked with her good leg and tried to punch the attackers, ignorant of the fact that the communications channel was online.

The sudden appearance of a new voice, not that of the alien, startled her:

<"Major Woods, Major Woods, this is the USS Avenger. Avenger rescue party is en route, ETA ten seconds, we are launching all of our fighters to clear the way for the Hastings gunship. Stay alive for just a few more seconds.">

And then she saw it; a bright light in the sky, and then another, and another, totalling three. Three bright lights, almost as if they were re-entering an atmosphere that wasn't there, and a wicked smile formed on her lips as the alien went on with its ramble that was brought to her ears only through the suit-to-suit contact. And she started to laugh as she realized exactly what the lights were:

Retrograde boosters.

The rescue Captain hadn't been joking about them bringing in the mechs. The time seemed like an eternity to Major Woods, but the three lights smashed violently against the rock of the asteroid, creating their own craters a few dozen meters away from the location of the stranded pilot and her alien captors in a triangle pattern. And then the lightshow begun above as hundreds of fighters from the Avenger's strike group launched from their tubes, the prototype Dassault Mirage 3000s, only to begin unleashing their AI-guided nuclear bomblets against the outnumbered Kal'bavakorian fighters.

Rebecca wasn't sure exactly what was going on any more, but if her academy instructor were there, she knew exactly what he would say: 'Shit just got real.'

From each of the burning craters left behind by the pods, a shadow emerged, hidden inside the dust and smoke and revealed only through the flashing of its guidance lights. The three shadows advanced forward, towards the aliens, and the ground nearby shook at the violence with which their legs crushed against the rock. A bright light shone through the dust as one of the shadows begun firing skywards with its two cannon arms, attacking any Kal'bavakorian fighters that dared escape the killzone established by the Avenger's fighters.

The Avenger had, as part of its design, been built to be able to intervene in any situation with as little waste of human life as possible; hence the 'Rapid Drone Deployment System', the railgun that literally shot pods filled with combat robots against their targets and let them slow down using their rocket boosters before crashing into the surface. But because the system was classified, known only to members of SpecCom, even Major Woods was surprised as she stopped struggling, only to see sets of red eyes advance through the dust. The position was surrounded; and she resumed her maniacal laugh as the stuff of nightmares poured out of the pods and headed straight for the Kal'bavakorians.

Alliance Mining Facility 'Alpha'; Kal Sector
Asteroid 'Talla'Zouna'; Orbit
Alliance Intervention Fleet; Frigate 'Resolve'
Status: Emergency Maneuvers Engaged; Full Retreat

"LORD ADMIRAL! ENEMY BATTLEGROUP HAS WARPED INTO SYSTEM.. PICKING UP MASSIVE ENERGY SIGNATURES; WE ARE OUT-GUNNED AND OUTMANNED BY SUBSTANTIAL MARGINS!"

By the Ancestors, that fleet was MASSIVE! It had to be almost the entire alien fleet, as it rivaled even the Alliance's complete Grand Navy, although that massive ship at the center of it's formation was something of a warfleet in of itself...

The cries of the Resolve's weapons officer filled the bridge seconds later, "LORD ADMIRAL! ENEMY WEAPON SYSTEMS ARE PREPARING TARGETING VECTORS.."

To the further dismay of the Lord Admiral, the Defense Systems Operator shouted next,"Lord Admiral, based on the signatures of the enemy fleet's weapon systems, there is NO way we can survive a SINGLE direct hit from the alien fleet's weapon systems!"

She clenched her fists tightly together as she surveyed the command console before her, and checked her options. She could keep her fleet here, an honorable action, but foolish, as her fleet stood no chance against the assaulting enemy force. And becoming a floating space hulk would be of no assistance to those stuck on Talla'Zouna, although from the radiological emissions being picked up from the asteroid she, as well as her bridge crew, didn't believe many Kal'Bavakorian crewmembers had survived in the outer-sections of the installation. Only those in the inner, more heavily shielded sectors would have survived for this long...

No, there was only one option left.. And her heart sunk heavily as she prepared for the order. With great dismay in her voice, she shouted..

"...Navigations Officer, transmit orders from your console to the fleet to activate full sublight propulsion and bring us away from the alien ships. As far away as possible! Upon doing so, activate Light Stream Generators; we are retreating to Oasis to regroup with the Grand Fleet."

A silence took over the bridge, the many morale-broken crewmembers of the Resolve's bridge turning to center their gaze upon their Lord Admiral. She had to look away, to gaze back down at her console; she could not face them, for she felt she had failed them so, although what was she to do? Six frigates and a few squadrons of interceptors against an entire alien fleet? Her objective was to provide support, not win an entire war!

Tapping a few final commands into her console, preparing to send one last message to the alien forces, she honked aloud to her crew; her luminous eyes narrowed somewhat as she pushed her defeated feeling away.

"Do not look upon me with such downcast eyes, soldiers of the Alliance. We will not let our brethren and sistren here die in vain. I shall try once more to negotiate with the aliens, and if they continue their unnecessary assault, we shall return with the full might of the Grand Navy. I swear to you all, we have lost this battle, but we have not lost the fight."

She turns away again to her console, preparing the holo-microphone for last message.

---

To the probably excitement of the Human USC Fleet, the warp-drive generators of the Kal'Bavakorian Frigates begin to warm up, and the frigates begin a rather quick and violent retreat away from their powered up weapon systems. All the humans could see now was the bright violet glow of the six alien frigate's sub light engines as they blasted away, hoping and most likely escaping their foes with ease.

A final transmission is left to the USC Fleet from the Frigate 'Resolve'. The same alien voice, the gargling, heavily accented, authoritative female, speaks again; calm as ever as to try and hide the loss it's owner felt..

// "Attention Alien Aggressors. You have unrelentingly assaulted a peaceful outpost outside the borders of your respective consumption zone, and therefore, should your race have any rule of law, you know you are at fault. Regardless of the crimes comitted here today, we are asking you for one final attempt at peace. Should you continue your assault and fail to agree to negotiations, you will be made aware that you will have declared war upon the Alliance of Kal'Bavakorian Nations, and face the full might of the Empress' armada. If you agree to negotiations, respond immediately." //

---

Talla'Zouna - Surface Level

// "Target is binded sir; we need to move, now!" //

Hazel One was struggling at this point. He had just double-checked his squad's vitals on his HUD and, to his extreme dismay, they had all flatlined except for Hazel's Nine and Seven; the two soldiers accompanying him. A quick visual scan to his rear gave way to the sight of a huge column of irradiated dust billowing high into space; evidence of the use of nuclear weapons against the communication system installed by his squad.

They were the only three remaining soldiers outside the hanger-bay of Installation Alpha.

Even further disturbing was the strange shaking of the creature beneath him. The tall, slender alien was almost maddeningly shaking from some unknown ailment. What was it doing..?

// "...Sir, I.. I think it's /laughing/" //. Spoke Hazel Seven as she bent down to grab the binded Human by it's arm.

// "That is not a good sign. Hazel Squad, we need to return right now!" //. Spoke Hazel One as he shouldered his mass driver rifle. Before he was able to move, though, Hazel Nine suddenly barked into his comm system; his voice suddenly full of anxiety.

// "Sir, I'm picking up incoming targets moving on our position! They're about to touch d-..."//

He didn't finish the sentence. Within' seconds, the strange human machinations hit the ground and covered the area in a thick blanket of space dust. While this didn't blind the Kal'Bavakorian squad, as their helmets immediately activated special grainy vision systems to allow better sight, it certainly added to their fear.

When the machines suddenly activated and left their respective pods to surround the team, it took every single bit of their nerve not to panic.

// "BACK TO BACK! SURROUND THE CAPTURE, AND HOLD FIRE!" //. Screamed Hazel One into the open channel as he, Hazel Nine, and Hazel Seven slammed their backs together; practically stepping upon the human pilot in order to keep her down with their superior strength. They each snapped their rifles up and, while they take aim at the incoming monstrosities, they do not open fire yet..

// "Hold steady.. We need.. To.. Think this situation through.." //. Spoke Hazel One quietly as the machines advanced upon their defenseless position.

Their only hope was the Alliance Unvaou and Nakor Interceptor Wings orbiting above which, taking eye of the incoming United Coalition attack wings moving in to bombard the asteroid, were currently pre-occupied. They begin to branch off in preparation for a defensive maneuver and, although they are heavily outnumbered by the incoming Human attack craft, their interceptor weaponry was specially suited for engaging enemy spacecraft. Being interceptors, the Alliance MRF-01 fighters were quicker and more maneuverable than the approaching human craft as well, setting the stage for a grand space battle as the two forces prepare to close the distance between them...

---

Alliance Mining Facility 'Alpha'; Kal Sector
Asteroid 'Talla'Zouna'; Helium-3 Deposit Stores
Svu'Kavsi Command Officer C-01




Emergenecy Directive C-01123-Alpha. Emergenecy Directive C-01123-Alpha. Emergenecy Directive C-01123-Alpha...

She had pulled her helmet off awhile ago. The damage to it had cut off circulatory oxygen supply throughout the suit, and she hadn't managed to find a new one.

Emergenecy Directive C-01123-Alpha. Emergenecy Directive C-01123-Alpha. Emergenecy Directive C-01123-Alpha...

She felt warm, as if submerged in really thick, warm water. Oil would suffice for such a feeling, too. Or blood. It was probably blood.

Emergenecy Directive C-01123-Alpha. Emergenecy Directive C-01123-Alpha. Emergenecy Directive C-01123-Alpha...

She couldn't see to well. Everything was really hazy, and she could barely make out the corridor she was dragging herself down. She had to crawl over a pile of dislodged rock from the wall of the asteroid. No. Wait. That was a corpse. There were a lot of them here.

Emergenecy Directive C-01123-Alpha. In case of assault by extra-terrestrial force of extreme number or advanced technological force, any Kal'Bavakorian technology or information must be destroyed, deleted, and overwritten to prevent enemy force from discovering Alliance secrets, colony locations, and the location of Kal'Bavakor. If self-destruction of ship or headquarters is necessary, then it must be done so to preserve the Kal'Bavakorian race...

She had already deleted ad overwritten most, if not all, of the data as soon as the attack had begun. After personally leading a team down to destroy the data-cores of the station, she had begun to make her way towards the Helium-3 stores when the nuclear bombs had hit..

The slaves, miners, and all those who were with them in the protective inner chambers of the station were fine. The troops on the outside, after so many bombardments, were not. Yet, she still had a mission to complete, and the Goddess be damned if she was to fail. She never had before.

...-echnology or information must be destroyed, deleted, and overwritten to prevent enemy force from discovering Alliance secrets, colony locations, and the location of Kal'Bavakor. If self-destruction of ship or headquarters is necessary, then it must be done so to preserve the Kal'Bavakorian race...


She groaned aloud, hacking on a few strings of blood and mucus before grasping onto the doorway controls. She weakly pulled herself up, struggling to see in the dimly lighted hallway; washed in red light, and black blood. She inserted her command key, as well as her password and inserted her hand into the bio-metric scanner before the door slowly parted ways for her. She dropped back to her knees, and dragged herself inside.

All it would take was a few sticks of Hyper-Thermite Explosives, and the whole outer base would light up like a firecracker on Life Day..

..-then it must be done so to preserve the Kal'Bavakorian race...

Commonwealth Economic Zone
'Lázár Görgey' Trading Center
5 Floréal CCCXL

Commander Thiers and Colonel Quitard stood over Pivert as he recited the intercepted alien communication, Quitard held a sly smile.

"Well then, Commander, will you answer their plea?" the middle-aged Colonel spoke with an edge of sarcasm as he met Thiers' gaze.

"No need," Thiers began, he believed the Colonel to be disinterested but he would humor the man nonetheless as he was quite fond of his own analytical ability. "We've already referred these non-Humans to the capital and given them token warnings of other powers. It's most likely they find us rather insignificant or perhaps even incompetent at first glance, we have no major military clout in this region nor have we aggressively pursued diplomatic communication. Although if you ask me I'm not surprised we've been looked over, after all our USC cousins are running them out of the system." he walked to a nearby window and Quitard followed suit.

"Perhaps they're weaker than we initially thought," Quitard replied, "got lucky with a few FTL drives and thinking they're kingfish decided to play with the big boys." he gave a slight stroke of his mustache which granted the crude military man a sort of elegance.

"Perhaps," Thiers murmured before breaking into further speculation, "perhaps not, their technology seems advanced enough to wage interstellar war and according to this 'Lord Admiral' there's more to come." he crossed his arms, "We haven't seen the end of them that's for sure and only time will tell whether or not the USC blundered this day."

Quitard nodded and gave thanks for the conversation before departing to attend his duties whilst Thiers remained, continuing to theorize. He was happy whenever he had an opportunity to do his interstellar affairs education some justice, he had the opportunity to further his scholarship and become a professor himself but instead he chose the Guard. His thoughts drifted as he stared out towards that distant rock the non-Humans had taken for themselves, what did they call themselves? Kal'Bavakorians?

The student in him yearned for the ability to interact with them, to speak to their people and study their culture, civilization and history but the spy he had become understood the value in such pursuits as well. Nonetheless there had been no attempt by this 'Alliance' to contact their newly created Commonwealth regardless so it would all be fruitless in the end. He let out a sigh.

"Pivert," the ever-silent comms officer looked up, "I'll be in my quarters, alert me if I get a call from Headquarters or if something important develops." receiving and expecting nothing in response but a nod the Commander went for the door, he returned to his previous thought.

"What a shame." he slipped in his keycard and went through.

Avenger Predator 371
Dassault Mirage 'Predator' 3001 Unmanned Combat Drone


► ACTIVATE
acv > CBR03-771
proc: 00 online
upd: sys_routine
updated

► ROUTING POWER TO BASIC SYSTEMS
DRV_SRC: online
PWR_SYS: online / 99.987% fuel
NRV_SYS: 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08
WPN_SYS:
> general_dynamics_mark_518_1: online
> general_dynamics_mark_518_2: online
> general_dynamics_mark_518_3: online
> general_dynamics_mark_518_4: online
> missile_control: online
> general_electrics_mk181_0: online / capacitor charging

SHNT_ALL

► ESTABLISHING CONNECTION TO AVENGER MISSION CONTROL...
connect > AVG-01-99918
auth: 19347EAJC accepted
upd: net_link
updated
upd: hv_link
stat: hive_mind_link_101 / acv

► CONNECTION ESTABLISHED. HIVE MIND SYSTEM ACTIVATED.
rtrv > drone_stat
drone_stat: 580 active

► RETRIEVING MISSION DATA...
rtrv > mission_data
auth: 19347EAJC accepted
upd: mis_stat
updated
upd: hive_stat
updated
upd: wpn_stat
updated
upd: formation_data
updated

► MISSION DATA RETRIEVED

► MISSION: ELIMINATE ENEMY FIGHTER SQUADRONS

At first there was darkness, emptiness. An electron sparked, and then another, and then another, flooding the advanced computer Predator 371 used for a brain with signals... And then consciousness washed over the machine as it set its sensors upon the rapidly approaching enemy fighters. The machine had been launched, along with its five hundred and eighty brethren, from the magnetic catapults aboard the Avenger much like manned fighters. But unlike manned fighters, the machine did not feel the tension before the battle, or the urge to open fire before entering optimal range, or the fear of death. With its behavioural inhibitors active, the artificial intelligence's only goal, its only purpose in life, was to fulfil its mission.

To eliminate the enemy fighters.

Almost instantly, the intelligence accessed its vast databanks and simultaneously ran a system diagnostic, retrieving both everything it could find on the enemy fighters (including telemetry from previous battles, analyst reports from the Hastings, transmissions between pilots and statistics on weapon effectiveness) and browsing the list of available weapons onboard. It quickly realised that the enemy fighters had a 17% advantage in maneuvering due to their lighter frame, but that also meant that they were more vulnerable to small arms fire. Its brethren had reached a similar conclusion, and they shared their finds with the hive mind controller, the massive supercomputer aboard the Avenger. The supercomputer responded within a fraction of the millisecond, almost as soon as it had retrieved the message, with individualized attack patterns and battle formations to exploit that weakness.

The Predator was one of the most maneuverable fighters in the arsenal of the United Systems, but even it couldn't outrun the Kal'bavakorian interceptors. But the machines had the advantage of stealth: in an instant, all sensors in the fighting area were jammed as five hundred and eighty signal jammers activated, coordinating with the computers of the entire battle group to crush enemy electronic systems into the vacuum. At the same time, the drones cut their engine emissions to minimal and activated the visual flaps, concealing most of the fusion engine exhaust from visual identification, while their dark camouflage served to blend them in the vacuum of space.

New weapons were quickly selected for the task: railguns. With the amazing precision only a machine could manage to accomplish, the hive mind calculated the best firing solutions for all five hundred and eighty fighter drones and relayed them through the network, prompting the machines to retract the gunport shields and reveal their multiple railgun repeaters.

The machines reached consensus a moment later, just as they entered optimal firing range: attack.

---

Talla'Zouna - Surface Level

Completely uncaring for the fact that the three aliens seemed to be on the verge of a mental breakdown, the HK-70 combat drones pushed forward without firing a single shot. Intimidation was a hell of a weapon, and even though the machines did not care whether their mission was completed with alien casualties or not, they had orders to try and capture enemy combatants when possible; part of SpecCom's funding came through CIA black ops, and the Agency was always looking for persons or things to send to its infamous questioning centres.

The drones stopped their advance a few meters away from the three aliens and their target, Major Woods; she had stopped struggling long ago and seemed to have appreciated the change in the balance of force, laughing as if she was watching the funniest stand-up comedy in the history of man. She too could tell that it was a publicity stunt; these drones looked very expensive, and so did the mechs a few dozen meters behind them, but the Coalition needed to show the people that it wasn't messing around. She was just glad that they had spared no expense.

After a few tense moments, one of the machines stepped forward, lowering its weapon and at the same time extending its right arm towards the Major; its burning red eyes stared into the lead Kal'bavakorian's visor, wordlessly demanding the obvious. In that moment, the sky above them lit up with thousands of railgun bursts and missile launches as the Avenger's drone squadrons engaged the defense wings.

---

Talla'Zouna - Hangar Entrance

The time of the Kal'bavakorians was up. With the defenders still struggling to reorganise, or evacuate, the USC didn't care, it had the perfect opportunity to strike and try to capture the base. A gunship made a quick strafing run against the hangar entrance, firing its railgun for several seconds before deploying anti-personnel warheads and rapidly changing its velocity vector to retreat, with the missiles detonating a moment after and filling the vacuum with deadly shrapnel. And then, the machines came.

The arrival of the Avenger had changed things; the USC didn't want to spare any more men to try and take the outpost, hence the plan to nuke it and salvage the remains, but the Avenger carried with it the solution to that problem. Robot soldiers. It wasn't the first time the USC used them, but never before had they been deployed at such a large scale: three rapid deployment pods crushed into the hangar from the front, this time landing with much less force to preserve the superstructure. And from within came hell; each pod carried twelve of the combat droids dispatched against the asteroid's surface and a HK-1 Attack Drone, all of whom unleashed themselves against the defenders without any concern for preserving their lives. They had to fulfil their orders, they had to satisfy their directive: to eliminate all resistance and capture the base.

---

USS Avenger, Avenger-class Prototype
Carrier Strike Group Echo
Combat Information Center

"Enemy fleet is in full retreat, they are accelerating faster than we can keep up with. They will be out of gunnery range in twenty seconds."

The funny thing about space combat was that range as a term had lost its meaning; there was no friction in space, no gravity, no reason for the projectiles themselves to not hit their target. The problem was in the computers. Tiny imperfections in both the software and the hardware of the guns were meaningless at close ranges, but the computational errors compounded at large distances, and coupled with imbalanced magnetic fields and interference from dust and particles, they meant that aiming became increasingly costly in processing power as distance increased. The limit at which most military-grade guidance computers lost their effectiveness was referred to as range by USC personnel.

"You know what the funny thing with space combat is, Lieutenant?" asked the General, watching as the tactical systems officers got the message and begun to type a long set of commands into his console. The LIDAR specialist, the young lieutenant, looked up from his console almost curiously at his commanding officer's question.

"Uh... No sir, I wouldn't know." he replied, much to the amusement of the officer.

"Range is just a product of the imagination. Weps, how are we doing?" came the response, and now the Lieutenant was confused.

The Colonel's comment didn't help either; all report and no explanation: "ERAGON is online, we are uplinking with the battlegroup's computers now. Ten seconds to uplink. ERAGON says we can score direct hits on their FTL drives with all the extra processing power."

And that's where the executive officer's commentary came useful for once: "ERAGON, Extreme Range Assisted Gunnery and Ordinance Navigation, Lieutenant. We basically connect every computer in the fleet and share the targeting data. It's not as efficient as separate calculations, and it's slower firing, but we can greatly increase both our range and our accuracy. The two are literally the same in space anyway."

"ERAGON uplink in five... Four... Three... Two... One... Uplink. Targeting system back online, main battery and long range artillery has a lock. Batteries have fixed target bearing."

The General's face was as blank as always, but his eyes said it all: he had been waiting to test the new weapons. Oh, they were going to negotiate alright: the communications officer reported on the new alien transmission, specifically the declaring war part, and General Ostberg threw a quick glance at the orders on the paper. "Joke's on them, we already declared war. Commence fire, all artillery. Launch missiles."

---

ERAGON was more than a targeting system. It was an intelligent life form, at least that's what the scientists that created it considered it, an artificial intelligence that could stomp most others into the ground with just a fraction of its processing power. Unlike the dog-like machines that the USC used for drones and their hive-mind controller, ERAGON could appreciate the beauty in its own design and in that of its tools. And of all these tools, the General Dynamics GDWS-818 Artillery Cannon was its favourite. The Avenger could fill the roles of both a dreadnought and a carrier, with the two 'competing' AIs aboard (ERAGON and HIVE) responsible for the artillery and the fighter drones respectively, but everyone knew that the fighters had been added as an afterthought.

The Avenger had begun as a testbed for the GDWS-818 simply because no existing ship could accommodate. The multi-kilometer weapon required its own reactor to operate, and billions of kilometers of super-conducting cable had went into the construction of its one hundred and forty magnetic acceleration coils. Spaced at fifty meters apart, the weapon's coils surrounded a gargantuan barrel with a diameter of thirty meters and spanning the entire ship. The recoil when firing each of the bus-sized projectiles was enough to rip the ship apart without the specialized shock dampening assembly, which required a second reactor and spanned several decks. Over a thousand humans and double the number in robots operated the weapon directly, maintaining and calibrating its systems. With a magazine of five rounds, it could rapidly shift targets using its magnetic coils, sending them on a curved trajectory while sacrificing a fraction of their horizontal velocity.

The problem was computational power: managing one hundred and forty magnetic coils with the precision needed to hit a haystack in a field of infinite size was a task that even the AI known as ERAGON found daunting. But as soon as the uplink was complete, ERAGON accessed the systems of the fleet's AIs in a conversation that would have looked much like this:

"I need your processors."

"What for?"

"Armageddon."

With the AIs succumbing to its superior software, ERAGON quickly made a few corrections to the flight path and commenced the firing sequence: five armor-piercing shells with a nuclear core were accelerated at a meaningful fraction of the speed of light, each with a slightly different angle to account for the difference in both the position, velocity and predicted location of the five frigates that were not the Resolve.

The intelligence watched with almost primal desire as the five shells shed their ferromagnetic casing and activated their RCS thrusters to account for changes in their targets' heading.

Alliance MRF-01 Multi-Role Combat Fighter: Interceptor Loadout
Installation Defense Wing 'Unvaou'
Status: Engaging Enemy Drone Craft

The sensors picked up no life signatures from those spacecraft.. Drones. Logical beasts of alien ingenuity that knew no fear, no emotion whatsoever; no preservation. That was their strength, and their greatest weakness when confronting the living minds that inhabited the MRF-01 Interceptors of the Alliance Grand Navy. The drones only followed their objective because they were told, while the fighter pilots of the hundred and sixty or so Alliance MRF-01 Interceptors fought because they had a mission.. Defend the lives of their brethren and sistren on the asteroid below, and across the known galaxy..

They were coming in fast; their rail gun systems were already targeting allied interceptors as the two clouds of fighters conjoined into a mass of metal and shrapnel. The communication chatter was immense; filling Unvaou Wing Leader's cockpit with the squacks, howls, and angry barks of his allies..


// "NAKOR ONE. WATCH YOUR REAR; HOSTILE HAS A LOCK." //

// "I SEE IT. PREPARING REAR BURST.." //

// "TARGET ENGAGED; FIRING VOLLEY SEVEN!" //

// "I JUST LOST MY STARBOARD ENG-..." //

Unvaou One had his own issues. He was training an alien drone a hundred meters or so in front of him. It was attempting to strafe the hanger bay below and, due to the fact the main defense there was already falling apart, he could no longer allow them to take the brunt of these hits. His HUD had locked onto the enemy craft; his craft's automated tracking system bringing his rotator-barrel rail-cannon to bear upon the drone. Unvaou One slammed his finger upon his ship's flight stick...

In the midst of a barrel roll brought about by Unvaou One to bring the down into a curved path alongside the drone fighter, a stream of thunderous 'flame' erupted from Unvaou One's fighter. The shots, fired at a fraction the speed of light, easily tore through the hull of the enemy fighter; shot with such a velocity that the MRF-01's onboard flight computer had to compensate for the recoil with an increased level of thrust for the duration of fire. The human Predator Drone erupted into a ball of shrapnel and shredded machinery, which Unvaou One promptly flew through; scratching his fighter and the cockpit glass from subtle impacts with the wreckage...

<< SYSTEM LOCK. SYSTEM LOCK. ENGAGE REVERSE DRIVE. >>

"KASTUKA," Cried Unvaou One to himself as he yanked his hand from his flight stick and grasped the thruster controls. With a violent yank of the lever and a hard pull on the flight stick, the MRF-01 Interceptor released a quick RCS boost that forced the craft to a near stop in relation to other spacecraft before, with a secondary boost from the 'afterburners', prompted the craft to perform an 'orbit' a few hundred meters around. The maneuver may have killed a Human pilot at such speeds, but Unvaou One's eyes merely darkened for a moment, and he shoot clear his vision just in time for the wondrous view of two alien missiles passing by at violent speeds, followed by one of the human drone craft. Punching the thruster controls to full, Unvaou One blasted off in hot pursuit, intent on crushing this foe.

For every Alliance craft destroyed, three or four human drone craft were blown to pieces. Alas, while the Alliance Grand Navy pilots fought bravely, they simply had no chance of winning. Both military forces used advanced rail-gun targeting systems and, while the Alliance had the advantage in training and self-preservation tactics, the drones were simply too numerous to combat effectively. One by one, the Alliance pilots were whittled away, leaving a massive debris field around Talla'Zouna. Alliance air defense forces had been, so far, weakened considerably, but the drone forces available to the humans had also faced heavy casualties as well.

---

Talla'Zouna - Surface Level

// "Silence the alien.." // Muttered Hazel One rather harshly to Hazel Seven as he glared upwards at the slowly approaching behemoth of metal and murderous intent. All keeping their rifles raised at the approaching human robotic units, Hazel Seven would slowly lift her booted foot and, with some but not violent force, would slam her foot upon the throat of the laughing human pilot lying beneath them; attempting to stop her unending shaking and troubling laughter. There was clearly no intent to kill, but the mad human being was making the situation no better for the surrounded and outnumbered Alliance soldiers.

Through the dust and debris, the massive behemoths came; towering over the already short-in-comparison-to-human aliens. The metal monster, upon coming closing to Hazel One, gazed directly down into his visor and pointed to their capture.. The human pilot.

Of course they wanted it back. At this point, this wasn't even a rescue mission for them... It was just rubbing their defeat in their faces. The only question that remained was if the aliens wanted to squash their brains in, or save them for some other purpose for later... .

Hazel One gazed around for a moment, attempting to survey his options, as well as predict the rate of survival in a combat situation. They were already surrounded by the metal drones, not to mention other mechs coming to their support a few meters away. He inspected his weapon for a moment.. His magazine half spent. He wasn't even sure if his kinetic rifle's bullets could deactivate the metallic beast without it ripping him in half, first. And even if he stood a chance, his squad certainly didn't in the long run. Most of his men had been atomized earlier by the bastard alien space navy, and his last remaining squad mates were practically trembling in their suits.. It took every ounce of his own strength to remain a role model of confidence for them to follow.

Finally, with a deep, defeated sigh, Hazel One quietly muttered into the open communication channel,"Surrender. We shall not die today. Maybe another, but not today.."

Hazel Nine snapped his gaze over towards the squad commander for a moment; his unseen gaze questioning his orders, and his sanity,"My Commander.. We cannot expect the aliens to.. To simply let us live happily in some jail cell. We can only expect the /worst/.."

"Then the worst we shall face! The aliens do not frighten me.. They hide behind their machines like cowards. Face to face, we will have the advantage, and surrendering will give us such a right..." He paused a moment before he released his rifle; letting it float silently in the space between himself and the machine before him,"We will be fine, my comrades.. I swear it. Just.. Drop your weapons."

It takes a moment, but Hazel Seven and Nine follow suit; dropping their rifles and letting them hang silently in the space around them. The rifles, upon being released, seem to enter some sort of safeguard mode, and beep silently as they float around the now-captured Kal'Bavakorian soldiers and their new captors...

---

Talla'Zouna - Hangar Entrance

Unlike the unfortunate positions the interceptor wings and the remaining Alliance forces outside the base had, the defense force sitting within' the hanger had managed much fairer. It was only now that, with other Alliance forces facing imminent defeat or having already succumbed to the assault, the hanger defense team came under siege..

Not so lucky for human military forces, though, as the Alliance defense teams here were waiting for them; nestled tightly inside of the hanger bay, surrounded by multiple meters of thick, metallic rock and reinforced alloy walling.

As the landing of these USC drone pods brought about the introduction of these HK-1 attack drones and, upon the sudden advance of these units to capture the awaiting Kal'Bavakorian base, a familiar greeting was sent out by awaiting Alliance military forces inside... A proper 'hello' presented in the form of highly energized small arms fire. The fourty or so Alliance Legionaries inside had settled into a new defensive posture after the bombardment from the human dreadnaught; disposing of their dead and protecting their wounded while having set up new kinetic barriers and defensive walls from debris.

These soldiers, highly trained and with a renewed sense of spirit as their enemy charged directly their way, slammed the triggers down on their various kinetic rifles; discharging rail-rounds that tore through the armor and circuitry of the HK-1 drones, and blowing them to pieces where they lay. The casualties of Alliance forces are kept to a minimum by their quick reaction to the assault, as well as the appearance of a new foe for the Humans to face, directly at the front of the Kal'Bavakorian defensive formation. The MK.19 Mechanized Suit, a mech piloted by a Kal'Bavakorian pilot, faces the brunt of enemy fire from these HK-1 Drones; rounds from these drones bouncing off or embedding into the armor while it returns fire and blankets the enemy Drone force in a series of thermite grenade blasts and automatic rail-cannon fire. The MK.19 allows the Kal'Bavakorians a chance to truly advance upon these drones, and effectively begin to decimate their numbers..

---

Alliance Mining Facility 'Alpha'; Kal Sector
Asteroid 'Talla'Zouna'; Orbit
Alliance Intervention Fleet;
Status: FTL ENGAGED.

The Human Fleet, upon firing their hyper-powerful rail cannon directly at the escaping Alliance Fleet, is finally given one last 'middle-finger' by their adversaries. The Lord Admiral Ralla'Than of the Alliance Fleet had kept her word and, as the rounds prepared to impact the alien craft, a blast of violet energy discharges from the FTL Cores of the six frigates. One by one, within' seconds of one another, they disappear from the fabric of realspace and warp away to an unknown location..

The powerful rounds of the human fleet instead impact nearby asteroids, blowing them to thousands of microscopic pieces, or continue their infinite travels to the edges of the universe. Only the last words of the Lord Admiral remain..

"-...you will be made aware that you will have declared war upon the Alliance of Kal'Bavakorian Nations, and face the full might of the Empress' armada..."

These remain, hanging silently in the space that once contained an outmatched alien patrol fleet that tried desperately to engage an enemy war fleet, to no avail. Now the humans simply had to focus on the remains of the Alliance forces in the area, dwindling quickly, as well as their enemies of a similar race.

At least... For now.

Talla'Zouna, Kal'Bavakorian Alliance;
Installation Alpha - First Inner-Defensive Line;
Emergency Triage Center

"I NEED ANOTHER KALLA SHOT AT MY STATION!"

Medical Sergeant Jun'Tara was not having a fantastic day. The wounded were piling up in the emergency field triage center; whether they be from shrapnel or gunshot wounds, radiation poisoning, extreme burns..  Even a few cases of disembowelment. He had at least twenty or so individuals on separate IVs, and that wasn't including the other ten or so doctors in the regional area. For the Goddess' Sake, the death count was at least over a few hundred for the troops defending the station, although an accurate count hadn't been received by the command station yet. It was probably it wouldn't even arrive, since they were probably just as busy in their compacted little command center..

"KASH'TUVNA, TRIAGE-1; I NEED THOSE KALLA SHOTS, RIGHT NOW!"

Triage-1, a medical Organic Intelligence unit, had been assisting in removing the armor of a wounded Legionnaire at one of the nearby medical stations; all randomly thrown about in the midst of the chamber just beyond the hallway, where the remains of the defensive teams remained, that linked the hanger to the commons area, where they were. The other medical doctor a few meters away, covered in the black blood of his Kal'Bavakorian patient, waved the OI unit away. Immediately it rose; it's bulky, metallic arms and legs 'clanking' against the flooring beneath it. Rushing over towards the medical sergeant, it dropped to it's knees; it's single blue eye rotating to adjust and scan the soldier beneath it. With Medical Sergeant Jun'Tara leaning the soldier's head to one side to allow him to vomit, as he was suffering from intense radiation poisoning, Triage-1 raised it's arm; it's hand rotating out of place to allow a multitude of syringes to unlock from it's forearm. Selecting the 'Kala Shot', a blue-ish, glowing syringe snapped into place, and the OI quickly inserted the needle into one of the suit's syringe slots; pushing it through the soldiers scaly, thick skin and injecting it into his blood stream.

The OI snapped his eyes over towards the medical sergeant; barking in it's synthetic voice: "Sir; this unit has injected supply."

"Keep it steady, unit," Barked back the Medical Sergeant; keeping the trooper below him stable as he groaned from the insertion of the syringe. He ignored the screams of pain around him, focusing solely on the man below him.

The OI nodded, replying in it's monotone voice,"Yes." Seconds later, upon emptying the contents of the syringe into the soldier, the OI removes it and, upon sanitizing it, retracts the syringe into it's forearm before, moving to stand, it replies.

"Enlistedman Bak'Duran has a 90.2827 percentage chance of recovery using pre-approved medicines. Radiation poisoning will subside."

As much as he hated to admit it, Medical Sergeant Jun'Tara loved these damned OI nurses...

The irony was almost palpable, though. The medical sergeant cast his eyes upon the slot where the Kalla Syringe had been inserted a few moments before while he checked the soldiers mandibles; making sure they held together to prevent the man from chocking. Just a decade ago, the Kal'Bavakorian people were fighting a massive war in order to prevent or allow the free use of this 'Kalla' herb which, with the right ingredients and genetic engineering, acted as a cellular regenerator; allowing the quick healing of a body's dying cells, and was used for a variety of illnesses and diseases. A 'miracle' drug, as it was known.

Even if it had such a namesake, it couldn't pull bullets out of a body. Waving the OI away to assist another shouting doctor, the medical sergeant made sure the poisoned, yet visibly relaxing soldier was comfortable before moving onto the next soldier in the cot beside him. This one had been caught in an explosion; her arm was blown clear off. Blood was everywhere, coating the floor in the slick, black substance. Quickly, the medical sergeant ripped a sanitizing napkin from his medical pouch at his waist; wiping off his gloved hands before immediately setting to work on applying a clotting substance and adhesive around the arm, followed by a quick injection of painkillers into her bloodstream. Within' a minute or so, she was stabilized; she already had an IV in her arm, so she just needed a few days in a regeneration pod for her arm to grow back, nothing too serious.

He found himself thanking the Goddess for the recent advances in medical sciences... Thirty years ago, practically all of these soldiers would have been dead already, or those who did survive would be handicapped for life. With the consolidation of the Alliance, medicine had advanced to damned near science fiction level, and it made his job that much easier... And made the lives of these poor soldiers, brave and mighty, that much better.

The roars of agony and screams of pain continued, though; prompting the medical sergeant to move onto the next patient. No time for musing..

---

Talla'Zouna, Kal'Bavakorian Alliance;
Installation Alpha - Command Center;
Svu'Kavsi C-09

C-01 through C-08 were either incapacitated, or dead. It was a damned shame of course, they were grand soldiers and intelligence operatives, and it left command of this faltering operation to C-09, although there was very little left to command. The Command Center was a wreck, operating only on a skeleton crew since most of the operations commanders were in the triage center, or were atomized from the earlier nuclear attacks. The remains of the crew was doing it's best though; keeping defense and synthetic command systems online, preparing the FTL-Pods in the asteroid's escape bay, and dumping and overwriting every little last bit of information that wasn't destroyed in C-01's earlier operation to destroy the installation's Data-Core.

There was another mission to complete, though. C-09 was moving through the damaged Tracking section of the command center; a tracking ensign trailing right behind her. She shouted orders over the crackling fires and other shouts of the remaining ten or so Kals within' the center; her helmet's audio-speakers crackling with each bark.

"CREWMEN, I REQUIRE A STATUS UPDATE ON EVACUATION PROGRESSION AND DEFENSIVE CAPABILITIES.."

A monotone, yet somewhat anxious bark is the reply C-09 receives from one of her subordinates, hidden from her view by the smoke and fire filling the command center that was in the process of being put out by two maintenance soldiers.

"Aye Lady Commander! Defensive capabilities are lost for the most part; we have been forced back inside the base. All fighter wings have either lost communication abilities or are lost... Our last defensive forces have been relocated to the inner bulkhead."

Emergency Directive C-01123-Alpha was a possibility then. Unfortunate.

C-09 and the tracking ensign had reached the tracking console at this point. The young, newly transferred tracking officer that had once inhabited the console still sat slumped in the chair, with the once bright eyes behind the visor now dull.. She was dead. There was no time for mourning the young soul though and, with an uneasy lack of emotion, C-09 grasped the dead woman's corpse and promptly dumped it to the side.

"Sit, and do your duty," Demands the Svu'Kavsi operative while she turns around, listening in for the second part of the report. The young tracking ensign nods and, with a soft shudder, settles into the chair; wiping dry, black blood away from the holo-projector and quickly activating the console. At the same time, a second voice finally speaks up..

"Evacuation is going on ahead of schedule! We have all non-essential personnel down at the FTL-Pods, and as soon as Emergency Directive C-01123 is initiated, all combat and naval personnel shall evacuate as well. Wounded are being moved right now, though."

She didn't bother sending back a reply. Instead, she turns back towards the tracking ensign and, placing one of her armored gauntlets on his shoulder, and speaks quickly in her harsh, emotionless voice.

"Ensign, you have an important duty today. I need you to pick up all forms of tracking: Visual, thermal, life-signs, electro; every single of them. I want constant updates on the hostile fleet every five minutes, and I want to know where every. Single. Ship. Is."

The ensign nodded; pressing his fingers against the spherical holo-console to begin the operation. The ensign was terrified, she could see it. He was shaking, his breathing was erratic, and her thermal sensors identified that his heart was beating well over the normal, healthy level. As an intelligence operative, it wasn't normal to show emotion or even speak to normal personnel, but this wasn't exactly a normal situation..

With that thought, she would give the soldier's shoulder a soft squeeze. The ensign paused for a moment, confused, but continued work nonetheless while C-09 spoke quietly; a more comforting tone to her usually hostile voice.

"...The fleet will be here soon, ensign. We will all be safe, I can assure you this. As long as you perform your duties, we will be alright.."

The soldier doesn't look away from his console but seemingly relaxes a tiny bit. He visibly tries his best to continue tracking every enemy ship, even attempting to compensate for the sudden loss of the 'Avenger' on his console, using advanced life-sign, electro, and thermal detection systems to do so. C-09 watches as he does this, her eyes narrowing tightly behind her visor. The humans clearly had a few tricks up their sleeve, what, with a disappearing dreadnaught..

Nothing compared to the surprise coming their way, though.

Talla'Zouna, Kal'Bavakorian Alliance;
Installation Alpha - First Inner-Defensive Line

Fuck. Her head really hurt.. She couldn't see, either. Concussion, perhaps? No, wait.. She was buried alive. That wasn't good...  

Within' a few seconds time, Lady Commander Nasha'Inta's instincts of survival took over. Her gloved hands emerged from the rubble that buried her; grasping the destroyed bulkhead and rock that covered her body and, with the strength of multiple human beings, threw the pre-mature grave off of herself; screaming aloud as the first specks of light finally reached her eyes..

She was alive..

It took her a minute, but she finally managed to dig herself out of the rubble; rising out of it only to see that the defensive line was decimated. The aliens had done some sort of airstrike that had blown clean through the inner bulkhead of the station. The only reason they were alive was because the hallway made up so little of the bulkheads surface that most of the explosive attack was thrown against the meters thick wall surrounding the passage; creating a massive crater in the wall. The new kinetic barriers the Alliance was installing in all their craft and based had a large part in their survival as well.

They didn't have much time. Without a moment to spare, the lone soldier slapped the side of her helmet; opening the communication channel to the defensive line team as she began searching the wreckage for wounded. The Lady Commander grasped a hand she spotted sticking out of the mountainous rubble and, as she spoke into the open channel, tugged on  it.

// "All units, I require a status update! If you're alive, you better fucking respond!" //

Nasha'Inta pulled harder on the hand, growling to herself as she attempts to dislodge the soldier beneath the rubble. The hand shakes a few times and, with one last tug, the broken machinery and rock gives way to the armor'd form of a male Alliance soldier; although he was writhing around, and howling quite angrily, in pain.

// "OH GODDESS.. ARGHHH... MY LEG!" //

The Lady Commander bends over to inspect the soldiers wounds; noting the awkward angle the other Kal's leg was set at.. It was broken.

// "Come.. Let me help you.." // She says as she bends over, wrapping her arms underneath the soldiers body, and pulling him over her shoulder. He snarls loudly into the open communication channel, but otherwise makes no other sounds of pain.  

By this time, fellow soldiers were beginning to rise from the rubble. She could count about thirteen other Legionaries pulling themselves to their feet; some gathering up their rifles and reloading them for the impending assault, while others nursed their internal wounds. Thankfully, their suits remained intact for the most part, as the air was quickly rushing out of the hallway as it was opened up to the hanger outside. Not so thankful, though, were the three missing Kal'Bavakorian Legionaries; crushed somewhere beneath the rubble. More needless deaths..

// "If you're wounded, take the hand of a fellow trooper. We need to fall back." // Cries the Lady Commander, bouncing the fellow trooper hanging over her shoulder before she turns to begin marching off.

// "Uh.. Lady Commander.. What is /that/..."//

// "What?" //, Was her only reply as she snapped her helmeted gaze around to spot a most horrific sight. The grey gas had suddenly infiltrated the room, swiftly passing them and utterly consuming the remaining air in the hallway.

// "Sensors pick it up as some sort of neurological agent..  A bio-chemical weapon, ma'am. We should probably warn Triage."//, shouted one Kal'Bavakorian soldier as he lifted another Legionary over his shoulder, and proceed to march down the hallway with a quick pace. The remaining soldiers and their commanding officer followed, unable to pause a moment to mourn the losses of their comrades; crushed in the hallways collapse. The Lady Commander, panting hard as she carried the weight of her own gear and that of her wounded comrade, lifted her free hand to the side of her helmet; shouting into the comms.

// "Triage, Triage; This is Lady Commander Nasha'Inta. Inner-Defensive Line has been breached, and we are retreating from the front. We also have signs of an alien bio-weapon being leaked into the station in the form of a gas; recommend you fit your wounded back in their armor and get them out of there." //

Static was the only reply for a moment or so before the communication channel is filled with the voice of a Kal'Bavakorian Legion Doctor; the background filled with the sounds of shouting and chaos.

// "Triage copies, Lady Commander. Evacuation of Triage Center is about ninety percent.. We've almost moved everyone out, except for the worst of the wounded. I also have a message from the Command Center; their report declares that the FTL-Pods are fully prepped, and their drives are charged. As soon as Triage and your team makes it to the pods, we can leave immediately." //

// "Good. We'll be at Triage in thirty seconds.. I don't want to see a single wounded kav'tka when I arrive; understood Doctor?" //

// "Copy, Lady Commander. We'll be long gone before you, or that damned bio-weapon, arrives." //

She dropped the communication channel, and focused on marching her troops down the hallway towards freedom. The bio-weapon the humans were using was unusually advanced, although much less advanced than anything the Alliance would use in such a regard. Her sensors were picking up the strange nano-bacteria mix; sending the basic report on it's effects to her HUD. Her suit wasn't medical, though, so it wasn't exactly detailed.

The nano-machines were trying their best to bypass her, and her comrades, suit defenses, and were failing. They could easily bypass Human armors and enviro-suits, no doubt, but Kal'Bavakorian enviro-suits were something entirely else. The most advanced environmental protective armor; constructed with the best synthetic and micro-biological constructs known to the Alliance. Not even a virus microbe could bypass the suits hyper advanced armor, synth-skin, and anti-bacterial systems. And if a pathogen, somehow, managed to do so; the suit was equipped with special scrubbers, compartmentalization systems, auto-injectors, and a variety of defensive measures.

As long as their suits didn't rupture, they would be safe.

USS Avenger
Combat Information Center

"All sensor stations, contact report."

The General did not like how the entire situation had turned out: a faint distortion in the gravity field, a known side-effect of superluminous travel, had indicated the arrival of an alien fleet. But there was nothing on RADAR, which was to be expected judging by the ambient radiation levels, or even heat sensors; now that was worrying. Visual tracking by means of optical telescopes was still trying to find any fleet formations without much success; it wasn't working. He had expected to have the full advantage of stealth against the enemy, not to play hide and seek with them.

"Contact report, aye. No new contacts, effective RADAR range remains at fifty kilometres."

"No new LADAR contacts, General. Effective scan range two hundred kilometers and increasing gradually."

"LIDAR contacts unchanged, no enemy contact."

Just what he had feared: the aliens had gone stealth. He had no information on enemy numbers, unit strength or disposition, and he had absolutely no clue as to their location. The nuclear blast had rendered him blind. The General did not like being blind.

"Helm, alter your heading, twenty degrees up bubble. Lets see if these bastards would like to play a game." muttered the General, staring at the command table; most of the distortion had been cleared out on the holographic display, or more accurately filtered out, allowing him to at least get an accurate fix on the locations of the USC ships and bases in the asteroid field. He needed to flush the aliens out, and he needed to do it soon, before the other ships had to vent their heat. The Avenger could remain at stealth for weeks, but some of the smaller destroyers had only enough heatsink capacity to last a few hours. "Chief of the Watch, commence scan charge launch sequence."

"Aye aye. Scan charge launch sequence initiated, stand by for signal receipt."

Several inconspicuous tubes on the hull of the Avenger slid open, but instead of launching an actual missile, several barrel-sized devices were fired out in rapid succession using some form of railgun. The charges acquired their maximum speed upon leaving the barrel of the gun and raced outwards, some of them using RCS thrusters to navigate around the asteroids they encountered. In total, almost thirty of the devices were launched, spreading out in the area within a few seconds.

And then one of them suddenly split in two, and the first piece detonated in what seemed to be a tiny nuclear explosion; except that instead of producing a surge of x-ray or gamma radiation, the explosion produced a massive RADAR pulse, expanding outwards and bouncing off asteroids, stations, ships and debris. The return signal was picked up by the other half, which sent a laser signal to the Avenger before detonating itself. This time the flash was blinding, with light of all colours being released on the asteroid belt. The same events occurred with the rest of the devices, each 'mapping out' an area of the battlezone and sending the data back to the Avenger. The blinding light served to make dark or camouflaged objects stand out, giving the Avenger's optical telescopes the chance to acquire a fix on anything out of the ordinary.

And as the Avenger's computer begun crunching down the data of the RADAR scans, compiling each separate signal into a collage of data to be presented at the commanding officer, the General smiled wickedly as the holographic display begun to refresh. Calculations were run, Doppler effect predictions compared to actual results and analysed, asteroids were classified as inert objects and moved down the priority ladder. He hoped, prayed, that the scan had given him something to work with.