“Honored chancellors, with the recent losses to the Alliance aggressors I suggest that we deploy the ‘show of force’ protocol, and rip the heart of the problem straight out before the damage can spread further.
We all know from where the problem originates, and I suggest that we deploy all available armadas straight into the enemy homeland.
My fellow Chancellors, what I suggest is this; Let us destroy the Human worlds of Sol.”
The war room is silent as the gallatian finishes speaking.
Yragi feels a twisting feeling in his bowels. This was madness.
Sure, they would likely just overrun the enemy, destroying them completely, but Sol was deep inside the rim!
There was no way to send supplies, or even pull troops out should they need to.
And if they deploy all armadas, who would defend against retaliation?
Yragi voices these concerns, but he is steamrolled by the Gallatian who ensures a swift and decisive victory in Sol will end the human threat – for good.
“Sir.
We have incoming.”
The sheer volume of contacts that the sensor was picking up were beyond anything previously seen, and Rear admiral Yin Ziyan feels his heart fly up into his throat.
“Sound the alarm! We have a red alert! Omega class!”
The entire station sprang into action, and within seconds the message was out: There were enemies at their gates.
Powell was refueling when all the alarms seemed to go off simultaneously.
The entire cockpit seemed to flash with the enormous red warning symbol, and the beeping was unbearable.
Powell spilled his coffee all over himself. Thank god for heat-insulated EVA suits, he thinks for a moment before throwing aside the cup.
“AI! What is that alarm?!”
Sir, that alarm means Sol is about to come under attack. Red alert omega class has been issued: They’re coming at us with massive numbers. All available units have been recalled.
“Well, no use dicking around! Let’s go, goddammit!”
He severs the fuel connection. Half tank will have to do.
He was just happy the FTL drives were powered by a super-efficient antimatter generator.
All around him the other ships of the combined taskforce did the same as he, and soon the refueling station was empty, save the automated stations.
Francis Drake was awoken from his nap by the beeping of the Golden Hynd’s communications display, though when he looks at the screen it doesn’t look like a personal communication, bounty or mission.
“Dammit, I thought I ordered all non-mission vital Sol communications disabled. AI, remove this… thing.”
I’m sorry sir, but I cannot do as you ask. I’m programmed to let this communication through in my basic functions. Displaying now.
“No, AI, I told you to-“
He is stopped dead in his tracks.
Earth was under attack.
“Wake up the crew. It’s time to go home.”
Though Francis Drake wasn’t an official agent of the Alliance, he couldn’t sit on the sidelines and watch his home burn again.
Angron stood upon the bridge of his tomb-ship as he watched the defenders prepare for the onslaught.
Sol was hardly undefended, but if the reports were correct that wouldn’t matter much.
He looked around as the ships in defense of Sol gathered around his ship.
He could see the SAS Jim, the first Sterling-class battleship was on his left, while the SAS Leonardo, a hulking Superiority-class dreadnaught, was on his right flank.
There were four battleships, one superiority, fourty cruisers, four tomb-ships and the grand necropolis. Two hundred frigates and three hundred fighters and bombers.
They were supported by three space stations, armed to the teeth with disruptors, antimatter and railguns, plus a dozen missile platforms.
They had been ready for almost anything, but not this.
The enemy had more cruisers than they had frigates.
So many more.
And their capial ships were tenfold the Alliance’s number.
But Angron didn’t waver.
The Demiossians would fight tooth and nail next to their allies.
Sol was their home, their first home for countless years.
There was nothing in this world or the next that could take that from them.
Sir, the civilians have been safely transferred to Earth. Do you want me to activate the planetary shields?
“Yes.”
As space was torn asunder by the mass of subspace portals that were opening, Earth and Mars were enveloped in barriers of blue energy.
It would take several battleships hours to break through those shields, of that Angron was sure.
They would have to go through him first.
“Engage all systems! Release the drones!
This is where we make our stand!
This is where they die!”
Huh. Did Angron actually pull off an unpracticed speech?
Well, it had been rather short, admittedly, but Angron still felt a little proud.
But there was no time for that. The battle was upon them.
Grand admiral Huggin was looking out over the defending fleet.
It wasn’t large, but he still felt awed by it.
He could see the second largest vessel he had ever seen, and then the third largest just next to it.
The third largest was a work of art, each millimeter he could see covered in the finest of carvings, and it was abuzz with energies beyond the comprehension of even the most brilliant Gallatian scientist.
He instantly knew what it was.
The legendary prize that every spacefarer had grown up hearing legends about since the dawn of the space age. It was the great pearl of the galaxy.
The grand necropolis of the undying.
Whoever could claim that ship’s bloodline would live in endless wealth until the universe collapsed.
He could feel his mouth water,
But now was not the time for such thoughts.
The battle was about to begin.
Leonardo fired the first shot.
The massive tungsten round flew through space, straight into enemy lines, killing a swathe of craft.
But for each one to fall, two more took its’ place.
To Angron, it looked as if a great cloud had gathered in space, as the enemy ships glistened and shifted among themselves, he was reminded of fish.
And out of the fish, sharks sprung forth. The massive battleships easily matching the size of their Alliance counterparts.
Space was turned into an inferno, and before long, chaos was the only state that was known.
Hundreds of plasma-bolts and railgun slugs slid off the Waegynn, but none could breach her shields. Each of the tomb-ships was a piece of art, created by the greatest engineers and artists of the Demiossian people, many of whom were long since lost.
The Waegynn was shredding every enemy craft foolish enough to stray too close, but Angron could see Alliance frigates and cruisers dying around him.
As he watches, the Jim takes a blow that makes its’ shields flare up. He can see as the paint of its’ name is eradicated as the hull becomes dented.
“Focus fire on the enemy capital ships! Destroy them all!”
The sea of alerts, targeting warnings and yelling from around him threatens to drown out his voice, but his words ring true.
There was soon an artificial asteroid field orbiting earth, as both Alliance and Senate crafts were turning to slag.
The view that Powell met when the task force arrived in Sol made his stomach turn.
The sheer number of the hostiles was staggering, to say the least.
But he could see that the defenders were holding the line around Earth.
He felt pride at their valor, but he mourned the lost souls of this war.
He could see the necropolis spark with some sort of energy, just as a massive purple beam explodes from the ship’s hull, tearing through the enemy armada.
He sees hundreds of smaller ships die, together with one of the capital ships.
Yet the number of enemies seem completely unchanged.
As he watched, he could see similar flickers of energy surrounding the capital ships of the defenders.
He has never seen anything like it.
Then he runs out of time to study the battlefield – the taskforce joins the fray.
Angron watches as the Phasebeam tears through the enemy fleet, and he makes a quick prayer to the Emperor, thanking him for his help.
There were truly nothing held back in this battle.
He watched the SAS Jim take several more direct hits, which proves too much for the shields.
The ships’ nose becomes pushed back into the ship, and all its’ lights instantly go black.
Angron stares for a moment.
He felt old wounds tear open, and if he had tearducts, he would have cried.
It was as if the Senate had robbed him of his friend all over again.
He looks back upon the stars, and his calm was replaced with a cold, unrelenting hate.
Angron wouldn’t be satisfied until the invaders were all eradicated.
He watched as the collected navy of Sol engaged the foe from the flank even before all ships had exited subspace.
Angron smiled.
Most cruisers were dead, and the few brave frigates that remained were scattered among the debris, fighting their own desperate battles against impossible odds.
But they had held out long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
And as he watches, more ships arrive from the enemy’s other flank.
These aren’t the ships of the alliance navy, but Angron recognizes a number of them.
It’s the ships of pirates, deserters, criminals, smugglers, mercenaries and bounty hunters.
And there isn’t a few of them, no. Every piece of scum that could connect itself to the alliance in one way or another was here.
Thousands of sleek and predatory crafts.
Enemies, putting aside their greed and rivalries to come to Sol in its’ time of need.
Then Angron watches as several enormous ships drop out of subspace, super-miners, who alone were intended to strip mine uninhabited systems.
Angron felt a chill.
Civilians on the battlefield!
“Open communication to the super-miners! Now!”
He is nearly instantly greeted by the bearded face of a human clad in a miner’s overalls.
“Retreat immediately! Your ships will be destroyed by hostile fire!” Angron yells, and he can see the human’s eyes glistens dangerously, and he grins.
“Not likely, comrade! We’re here to fight! Let them taste mining-laser fire!”