quentatan

[quentatan]

Executive Office of the Emperor

Foremost in the constitutional duties of the Imperial Crown, from its very declaration, is the projection of power for the sake of the security of the Solar System. The Executive Office of the Emperor therefore oversees four principal departments providing military and intelligence services to the Martian government. These exist alongside the Army of the Republic and the Departments of the Solar Fleet Force belonging to the various Martian worlds and spacial divisions, which are responsible for primary defense and security operations. The four military and intelligence departments under the EOE are the Imperial Expeditionary Infantry, Imperial Fleet Authority, Imperial Guards Agency, and Imperial Office of Intelligence.

Imperial Expeditionary Infantry

The IXI is a fairly straightforward military force organized after the United Commonwealth Marine Corps, alongside which it often deploys. Contrary to its name, the IXI do field units of armored vehicles and artillery for support, but also possess “assault” infantry units. Such heavy infantry have often been compared to “walking tanks”, utilizing immense power armor to obviate the need for the lightly-armored infantry transports employed by most conventional armies. The cost of such equipment is high, but justified by the professional and prestigious nature of the IXI. Every individual is a sworn Imperial Knight, which comes with certain privilege in Martian society, but also great responsibility while serving. The Imperial Knights are full-time elite troopers who always forward-deploy and have spearheaded interstellar military campaigns since the very first such operation was undertaken in the early 22nd century.

In addition to the medium infantry line regiments, the IXI also fields a number of specialized infantry. This includes engineer and reconnaissance troopers. Their power armor is built for flexibility and stealth; these troopers often move fast and quiet, but hit no less hard because of it. The reconnaissance battalions of the IXI are considered a cut above even their elite brethren. These units regularly provide extra muscle for operations conducted by the IOI’s Special Infantry units.

Imperial Fleet Authority

The IFA is primarily known for overseeing the Imperial Martian Fleet, but additionally administers various Rapid Assault and Interdiction Detachments. Imperial Raiders are considered, along with IOI’s Blackfish, Mars’s premier special operations forces. Alongside the Raiders, IFA administers the covert corvettes of Project Mustelid, which provide transport and support for Martian SOF during clandestine or deep operations.

Within the IMF, the vast majority of the fleet consists of battle-carriers and cruisers or modular frigates. The much larger SFF consists of more patrol- or defense-oriented vessels, while the IMF is focused around two fundamental capabilities: defeating any possible opponent and transporting the IXI. Following the conclusion of the Coalition Wars, strategic focus began to shift toward the latter. To that end, fleet composition tended toward corvettes and frigates, deemphasizing large guns for the sake of more flexible munitions and specialization of smaller ships. Where before a single carrier or cruiser might have served a limited surface engagement, the trend is to use a mix of gun, carrier, and support frigates.

Imperial Office of Intelligence

The IOI is decidedly the most complex department of the Imperial Administration. The majority of its operations are highly classified under its Strategic Intelligence Division (STINT) but IOI is best-known for its Special Infantry Division, the famous Blackfish. All operational assets are distinguished administratively as Personnel Operational Detachments, regardless of size.

The Blackfish are divided into two further operational offices: Operational Reconnaissance and Assault (ORCA) and Personnel Intervention and Law-enforcement Operation (PILOT). The ORCA are mixed-capability units, working with STINT PODs where their military expertise is useful, but just as often deploying with Knights or Raiders. Most ORCA PODs are assigned to particular Expeditionary Divisions, but do not necessarily work exclusively with their host unit.

PILOT PODs are rather different in nature, existing in a narrow gap of capabilities between the IGA and Fleet Security. They are special operations capable units who protect government and military officials as well as provide law enforcement services within direct Imperial jurisdictions. They also sometimes deploy alongside ORCA, but like that unit, the majority of their activities are highly classified “black operations” sometimes speculated to be outside the law.

STINT operations of note include Project: BOTTLENOSE, Operation Pygmy and the somewhat famous Operation Monitor. During Monitor, PODs from across IOI have conducted surveillance of a variety of worlds known as dissident hotspots. The depth and breadth of even the earliest incarnations of Monitor remain top secret, and speculation exists that activities under its umbrella on certain rebellious worlds during the late 23rd century actually triggered the Coalition Wars. More recently, rumors have spread of IOI black ops during the ongoing Fringe Wars outright destroying revolutionary groups in order to bring their colonies into the Interstellar Union.

Imperial Guards Agency

The IGA is, somewhat ironically, the most secretive part of the Imperial Administration. The existence of detachments assigned to various members of the Imperial House, powerful Lords, and prominent flag officers is public knowledge. Exactly who is under their protection or the composition of such units is as classified as anything in IOI. Plenty of normal Martians have seen Guardsmen, but every detail of their identities and work are classified as state secrets.

The existence of an additional unit called the Imperial Guard Interdictors is somewhat common knowledge, but completely lacking in solid evidence. The IGI are supposedly elite troopers recruited from Knights, Raiders, and Blackfish by the former ORCA Sergeant known only as Casanova upon his recruitment to IGA by then-Lord Admiral Viktr Young. The only part of the story known for fact is that a former IOI operative known as Casanova served as a prominent officer in the Guard under Viktr I.

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The Living Pantheon

First used in a magazine cover piece on central figures of the Allied High Command, the so-called “living pantheon of the cult of Victory” consists almost solely of prominent Martian officers. The cult of Victory is in reference to the strong cohesion of this group around the central figure of Viktr Young. The enduring legacy of the pantheon would be, as it happened, not their exploits in war but in the political evolution which followed.

James IV Fareer, Duke of the Moons, is the eldest of the initial pantheon for his crucial role as Lord Steward in the development of the forces which served as the instrument of his cousins and successors.

Viktr Young, Duke of Olympus, as Fleet Admiral and the only flag officer to serve through the entirety of the war, was the principle figure in Allied strategy. After the war, succeeding as Duke of the Moons and eventually Emperor, he continues to be a major driving force in the evolution of the Interstellar Union.

Alan II Young, Jovian Viceroy, served as the Lord Captain of the Ten early in the war, is made first Duke of Galilea, and as the principle representative of these major worlds in the greater Martian Empire, participates heavily in the postwar political evolution with his older cousin. Like Viktr, this age makes it difficult for him to actively engage in the formation of the Union, but is cited as one of its chief architects.

Alan III Young, Duke of Galilea, as Lord of the Ten, succeeds his father as a key figure in the Allied leadership, being particularly influential in the Conclusive Campaigns. During the early years of the Fringe Wars he continues as the chief commander of Imperial forces, but largely eschews political life in favor of a quieter administrative career as a duke and viceroy.

Robert IV Young, as commanding general of the First Imperial Knights and later Lord Steward, serves with distinction alongside his brother and cousins before emerging in his role as Steward as an instrumental advisor to Emperor Viktr and his heir Alastar. In this latter role he is often given as the chief lieutenant of the “living pantheon.”

Gaius Fillius Hellas, Duke of Hellas, is an admiral in the Solar Fleet Force, and important in overall Allied leadership as the informal protege of Chief of Staff Admiral Sir Edward Fitzhenry. His wife is the sister of the Prince of Poseidon, a cadet Farer, and his cousin is the Duke of Cerberus, so while his notoriety drops off during peacetime he remains an influential member of the House of Lords.

Franz Wyzowscky is one of only two commoners given in all versions of the pantheon, being an anointed Free Imperial Knight, principle lieutenant to and successor of Fleet Admiral Lord Young. Upon his eventual retirement from service, his old friend asks him to serve as Minister of the Fleets and he later serves as a Senator during the reign of Alastar. He is often given with Viktr and Robert as a chief triumvir of the pantheon, for his enduring contributions to Martian government.

Clarence Clement, Count of Callisto, as a fleet commander only slightly junior to Franz, but being far more vocal and charismatic, is one of the most popular military figures during the war. He is known for his aggressive leadership of the Third Imperial Fleet, vitriolic personality, and close relationship with the Abyssal Knight. Following Massifax, he continues to serve for many years, becoming known to history for his effective leadership during the Fringe Wars; his aggressive manner of interaction precluding him from a broader political career.

Hadrianus Titus, Duke of Tartarus, being the commanding general of the Seventh Imperial Knights, is close to the three Youngs, but especially to the brother of his wife. Commonly known as “The Abyssal Knight” for his darker demeanor, Hadrian and Clement serve together throughout the Conclusive Campaigns. After the war, his career is similar to his brother’s, although his lack of public political activity is the product of disinterest rather than a penchant for threats and expletives.

Radburn Icharus is the only individual consistently included in the pantheon to not be a Martian. A native of Venus, he is also the only one who initially pursued a career outside of the military, having traveled the colonies as a musician. Meeting fellow Cytherean Albert Coszic when the latter participated in the evacuation of New Folsom, it was only then that he enlisted. Quickly ascending the ranks alongside his new friend, “Mad Rad” gained a reputation for daring. This reputation fully solidified when his task group conducted the only known instance of a Stanton Star maneuver in atmosphere, a coordinated encircling assault concluding in a simultaneous jump. He remains close to Clement and Tartarus after the death of Coszic over Massifax, eventually moving to Mars and developing his own military think tank.

Other individuals are sometimes given as members of the “living pantheon” and these various names also appear alongside those of great leaders, such as Coszic, who did not survive the war. The most common names not universally included are Emperor Alan Michael II who served as Fleet Admiral; Albert Remus who was the first commander of what would become the First Special Infantry Battalion; Marcus Porcius Cato, known as Silver, who served as an ORCA leader and later wrote important papers on military theory alongside Icharus; Brian the Bonobo who was the longest-serving member of IOI Whitewolf, a personal friend to Viktr Young, and perhaps the most famous blackfish in history; and the legendary Fitzhenry whose storied career was rivaled only by Young and championed assault destroyer task groups like that famously led by Icharus.

As time passed, and the members of the pantheon were no longer living, their legacy endured. In the centuries that followed, they simply became key figures in a larger pantheon of great Solar leaders. The memory of their exploits propelled them beyond the conceptual confines of mortality and they became, in all but name, gods of a new mythology.

[quentatan]

And Hell Followed

We are not body. We are not mind. We are not soul. We are many. We are one. For peace. For prosperity. We are the Ten.

“Dirt, two mikes.” The warning cut through the silence. Some people were praying, some were running sight diagnostics. Most of them were stretching; winning wars is limber work.

The Gargoyle gunners were working hard. Even through the ship’s filters, there was a hint of ozone, and the heavy coilguns were rocking every few seconds. The troop bay was filled with a vibration that was one part gyrodrives, one part repeaters laying down the hate.

“Dirt in thirty.”

Captain Remus was at the ramp, rifle in hand. Everyone pinged green.

“Para Mars,” he commed. In his ears a hundred voices replied.

“Para Sol.”

“Victory or death.”

The ramps dropped, revealing a relatively calm suburban street. Omega poured out, clearing the nearest houses. Maradon hardly seemed like a warzone.

Orcus, this is Santa Claus. Ten seconds. Ho ho ho. Over.

“Christmas is coming. Ten seconds.”

It was a beautiful house. Maybe it qualified as a mansion? Either way there were shells thumping out of it every few seconds. So they were clearing out artillery in the suburbs the old-fashioned way with ground pounders. Well... It didn’t seem fair to call a pulsebeam “old-fashioned”, but scopes were picking up way too many MGs to be fun. So Albert Remus did what any sane man would do. He called in gunships to destroy the pretty mansion.

The seconds counted down and... now it was rubble. Missiles. It was like getting coal under the tree.

“Three bravo, get the brass a BDA, would you?”

“We’re on it, sir.”

Orcus, this is Rampart. Relay Whitewolf. Over.

Rampart, this is Orcus actual. Send relay. over.

Nice house for a FOB. Grid romeo victory alpha tango five six six three zero four seven three two zero. How copy? Over.

Solid copy. Relay violet. Over.

Relay violet. Out.

“Three bravo how’s that piece of paper?”

“Five letters, sir.”

“Alright gents, we’re dusting off, five mikes. PLs on me.”

This house was not particularly beautiful. It did have lots of concrete and was technically not a house. It wasn’t clear what it had been, but it had a large walled yard and some gantries. Whitewolf was hanging out with a few locals when they arrived. It was admittedly odd, but they had stacked bags of concrete for the gantries.

The civilians, it turned out, were a bunch of cops and firefighters. Apparently the Dominion wasn’t too popular in the area of New Vladisgrad.

“Coalition troops, mostly Dominion regulars, hold the city west of MSR Zebra. North of ASR Gazelle are some Earth boys, but main lines are primarily further north at Rittersburg. Rampart has seven divisions pushing west up there. Down here, not much going on. There are some militia south and west of the city, mostly supporting the coalies. Most of the militia from the eastern and northern suburbs are working with these fine ladies and gentlemen of the Asprenova County Sheriff and Fire Departments. We’re here to slowly drive the ‘equatorial scum’ out of their fine city. They will in turn either convince their crosstown cousins to join us or kill them.”

“So... hit and run, some counterinsurgency, until Dominion lines around the capital collapse?”

“Bingo, Al.”

“What are we calling our fancy new abandoned factory?”

“Figured I’d leave it to you. I already got to name the highways.”

“I like Gondolin.”

“You fucking nerd.”

“Shit yeah.”

Three months and nothing had moved. Far to their north, three Commonwealth divisions were stalled in Marsgorod City. To their north, a hundred thousand Ardans were slowly advancing through the Trotsky archipelago. On the far side of the planet, the Carolans were slugging it out in the industrial cities of Novyarkhankhgelsk. The last Dominion orbital stations had fallen last month, but they’d withdrawn their last ships to atmosphere. They still had corvettes running supplies, and loyalists had turned their cities into fortresses. Short of burning civilians out, there wasn’t a way of effectively grounding the Maradonians or silencing their SAMs.

So here we are. At the far end of a thousand miles of Solar troops and some local militia. Sniping across a highway until somebody else moves.

Seven months, we’re still here but things are finally moving. Ardans cleared the Troskies, so three of their divisions are crossing the pole and the other two are coming south.

“Rampart wants to turn their flanks. The Carolans are going to make a concentrated push and try to simply shatter resistance in Novy. The capital metro is too thick though, so the other two Ardan divisions are hitting the north coast. Fourth and Seventh IXIDs are joining the fray as well, coming down over the Transverse Sea, respectively Novy and Koberezh. At the same time, our brothers in the First are shifting to our immediate northern flank.

“Our Apsrenovan friends will be on the southern flank. Our task is to punch a hole through enemy lines west of MSR Zebra. First Expeditioners, reinforced by additional Asprenovan militia, will advance through the northern suburbs to sweep everything to our north. We expect Dominion units to begin withdrawing west and north after that. Hope is, we chase them all the way to Rittersburg where we link up with Fourteenth Ten and cut off militia and guerilla units on the peninsula. From there, we detach to rejoin the Asprenovans and clear out those cut off units while the regulars do the dirty up north. You should have maps on HUD. Any questions?”

“Whitewolf?”

“The ORCA will be infiltrating ahead of time, make sure we don’t run into any surprises and provide a little distraction. Checking your maps, gridzone RVAT 564 475, there’s an apartment building and a small metro station. Belief is enemy have been stockpiling missiles in the station and have an access tunnel to the apartments. Whitewolf are going to blow the station somehow just as we’re crossing the MSR. Santa Claus takes care of the bad guys.”

So we’re a few hours into Operation Reacharound and shit’s further south than we are. Whitewolf blew the metro station and a shitload of ordnance in it, and we’re all safely on the west side of New Vladisgrad. The Fourth Imperial Division made landfall in Novy easy enough and met up with the Carolans, so even though the equatorial skies are still contested, major industrial capacity is cut off.

The probems are to our north. We connected with 1/1 and pushed Coalition regulars out of the city, but lasers out of Rittersburg hit our gunships pretty hard. So their southern flank is anchored at Rittersburg. The problem with that is the failure of Seventh IXID, who are strung out in West Koberezh but held there. Ardan Third Corps is similarly situated along the North Coast.

What it looks like is that instead of shifting weapons to Novy, the Coalies were shifting personnel back here. The only upsides are that the Fourth Imperials are joining Seventh, and the Asprenova Peninsula is cut off. Rittersburg is strongly defended, but we have it surrounded on three sides.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the news out of Eastern Marsgorod.”

Clement sneered. “Fucking barbaric.”

“Well, it brings our casualties into the hundreds of thousands, but it gives us one advantage.”

“Alan, how the hell is there an upside to those cunts dropping a city on our men?” Hadrian pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Two words: better scopes.”

Some of the gathered officers whispered to each other. Most of them were still staring at the live images out of the city. Clouds of dust where there had been skyscrapers and several Allied divisions. Coszic looked up at the young general. “I like it.”

“They started this. We need to finish it.”

The whispers quieted. Alan Young was right in more ways than one. This ward had dragged on for longer even than some of them had served. Thousands of cities had burned and millions were dead. Back home, images of the Midworlds alight with pulsebeams and lasers were causing horror. Replacements were told stories of “fire like a flood”, and planets turned to ash. It wasn’t all that hyperbolic. Still, nothing they’d seen compared to Maradon. It had been rather sedate when it began, but Dominion forces had rapidly solidified their lines and bogged down several dozen Allied divisions on the continent of Komelsk.

Viktr broke the silence. He was the only one who had served through the whole bloody affair. His cousin Michael had fallen in the first wave of attacks and scarcely a week later he and Olympia had been over this very planet, probing its defensive and crippling half a dozen cruisers in the process. He’d been over New Folsom when they got Solars out. When Regus Secundus fell, it was his fleet in orbit. It was by his command that the attacks on Maradon had been methodical, cautious. He’d seen more bloodshed than his entire staff combined.

“My cousin is young and he is rash. Burn them until the survivors surrender.”

“My lord,” Clement and Wyzowscky bowed. Coszic just smiled. The man had a disturbing amount of enthusiasm for overwhelming force.

The officers began to shuffle out. Clement and Coszic were discussing details with Alan while Viktr stood quiet.

“Tell them first. Tell them that hell is coming.”

Casanova, Cane and Abel were sitting in the troop bay of a Gargoyle as it flew into Marsgorod. The city was covered in ash, block-sized chunks seemingly plucked from it. Transports and gunships buzzed around them. There were still weapons discharging here and there, but most of the Dominion troops in the city were gathered at sports stadiums and airports to formally surrender.

“Fuck man...”

“Talk about laying down the hate.”

Marlin sidled up but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. They were all thinking the same thing.

And I beheld a pale horse, its rider was named Death, and Hell followed behind him. Revelation 6:8a

[quentatan]

Special Infantry Division

The Operational Reconnaissance and Assault Service is established in the 2140s as part of the First Maradon War effort. Serving as a tactical paramilitary unit of the growing Imperial Office of Intelligence, recruits are drawn from the various armed services of the Imperial Republic to carry out special operations deemed unsuitable for independent agents. During the first interwar period, the Personnel Operational Detachments are primarily used in opposition to colonial insurgent groups, working as counterinsurgency cells deep in enemy territory.

However, with the outbreak of the Second Maradon War, these units are quickly withdrawn to avoid their being cut off completely. They are instead attached to expeditionary forces on campaign, providing deep reconnaissance and special operations capabilities to the Imperial Expeditionary Infantry. Although this is the shortest of the great Interstellar Wars, it is during these two decades that the operational relationship between ORCA and the IXI is cemented; sometime during these decades the nicknames of “blackfish” and “tensmen” are first attested, although the precise evolution of their use is debated. Post-war, the attachment of PODs to specific divisions is retained for training and logistical purposes. ORCA units continue to deploy as IOI assets, but related IXI units are increasingly deployed alongside them to colonial hotspots.

By the end of the 23rd century, with colonial revolutions ejecting Solar influence and coalescing into a massive Coalition, IOI deployments are increased while the federal forces are stood up and the IFA services mass. When a devastating series of assassinations and terror attacks are linked to the government of the newly-proclaimed Democratic Republic of Maradon and the Dominion of Massifax, blackfish are quickly recalled to their parent divisions and deployments begun. During the ensuing decades of war, Imperial Expeditioners rack up dozens of successful campaigns throughout Coalition space.

Mistakes and losses during the Midworld Campaigns of the 2320s encourage HQIFA to provide more flexible combat assets to field commanders. In 2331, ORCA are joined by newly-created Rapid Assault and Interdiction Detachments, company-size elements of more traditionally equipped infantry, recruited directly from the tensmen to provide operational support to the blackfish.

Initially instituted with the structure of a typical infantry company, following the somewhat disastrous Maradon Campaign of 2333, it is decided that paired detachments should function more cohesively. Each detachment is reorganized into highly mobile Special Infantry Battalion, organic to an infantry division and commanded by a lieutenant colonel. Each POD is directly subordinated to the appropriate battalion.

As part of this reorganization, the RAID moniker is redefined to refer to one of nine elements of 16 to 24 troopers, three commanded by captains and the other six by lieutenants. The captains are promoted from the former platoon commanders and assigned larger detachments. These commanders are joined by an additional lieutenant, usually less experienced, who may take command of one of the squads. These captains are additionally distinguished so that, when needed, two each of the other detachments may clearly defer to their command. In this way, the detachments generally operate independently as reinforced squad-sized elements directly commanded by the battalion commander, but can easily revert to a more traditional platoon-like structure.

In addition to the ten operational detachments, each battalion features a distinct headquarters company, consisting of one platoon each of infantry, engineers, and weapons. This company is directly commanded by the executive officer, generally a major, and has a much smaller staff of officers than a typical infantry battalion. The headquarters infantry platoon are traditionally organized and assigned to protect the command staff in combat zones; the engineer and weapons platoons are typically divided with each team attached to one of the RAIDs.

After these reforms, each Special Infantry Battalion provides a number of capabilities to its parent division. Their primary role as an organic unit built around the POD generally falls to a single assault group at a time, freeing the other six detachments for the division commander. A variable combination of detachments may be assigned as divisional, regimental, or battalion assets for assault or response. Their most common use during the Massifax campaign, though, is in a fluid role; the battalion as a whole spearheading an offensive operation, then detaching elements to support the regimental combat teams during the ensuing counterinsurgency.

The increased numbers of Special Infantry after the reforms additionally provide for a pragmatic means of moving exceptional individuals into specialized units to both reward and leverage their competence. While ORCA continue to recruit from other sources, the SIB provides an additional means of filtering suitable recruits without removing them from combat.

After the capitulation of the Coalition itself, regular army forces from Four Systems and allied worlds are generally withdrawn and their troop levels reduced. However, a number of worlds remain devastated and reconstruction operations begin with much of the IXI deployed to oversee the reformation of localized security forces. Some Coalition partners also refuse to capitulate, but without major resources are largely limited to guerrilla tactics. It is during ongoing counterinsurgency operations fighting these rebels that the Special Infantry Battalions continue to build their reputation as elite troops.

[quentatan]

After Armageddon

At the age of 70 during the Massifax Campaign of 2335, Admiral Viktr Young is one of the few flag officers already serving at the outbreak nearly four decades prior. By this time, his counterpart in the Imperial Expeditionary Infantry, still going by Rampart, is his young cousin Alan, whose father Robert succeeded the Jovian Viceroyalty as Alan II in 2327. Alan’s own son Harald is an officer serving with the occupation force on Maradon.

In fact, most of those serving at outbreak have long since retired or passed away. Many of those who see action in the conclusive campaigns of the 2330s are the children of veterans. Alan Young, for example, was 7 when his father first went off to war. Of the entire officer corps of the Solar Federation, only four flag officers already possessed stars in 2297: Viktr Young, Duke of Olympus and Marshal of Martisia; Solar Fleet Force Chief of Staff Admiral Sir Edward Fitzhenry; General James IV Fareer, Retired, Duke of the Moons and Lord Steward; and General Robert ‘Alan II’ Young, Retired, Duke of Galilea. The bulk of Federation forces have been fighting the Coalition for their entire careers.

Many of the Admiral Lord Young’s staff are thus young people, promoted quickly for their virtues to fill higher command as the fleets swelled. Famous names like Vice Admirals Clarence Clement and Franz Wyzowscky were post captains 38 years prior. Two generations have come of age into this war. To those young people who serve, peace is a history lesson or a recollection from the youth of their elders. In the home systems, however, things have gone on much the same as ever. War is as abstract to these billions as peace is to their peers deployed to the outsystems. Thus, the quelling of an age-old interstellar conflict has only given rise to greater cultural divides at home...

IOI Whitewolf is the communications alias for Personnel Operational Detachment 11 of the Operational Reconnaissance and Assault Service, colloquially the “blackfish”, administratively a unit of Imperial Intelligence field agents, but deployed with the First Imperial Expeditionary Infantry Division as the force reconnaissance component of the First Expeditionary Force.

Major General Marcus Porcius Cato, “Silverback”: 2307-2354, Silver served during his final decade and a half as the Chief of the ORCA Service, his name known throughout the Orion Arm for his political writings

Master Chief Petty Officer Brian Panister: 2279-2340, Brian is the only Whitewolf and one of very few people in general to serve through the entire war, he is created Earl of the Olympus Rupes upon retirement, at 61 he was one of the oldest bonobos in recorded history, “Brian the Bonobo” has since become one of the greatest figures in blackfish mythology

Chief Petty Officer Jonas Albert Wright, “Narwhal”: born 2293 Chief Petty Officer Alli Hildursdottir Wright, “Beluga”: born 2291, Narwhal and Beluga married in 2332, retired from service in 2336, living as full-time parents in Galilea

Corporal Cane Tertius Fillius: born 2312, Cane left the service after the war, becoming active in his homeland of Cerberus as a political advocate and succeeding as Duke in 2348

Sergeant Roger Fillius, “Abel”: born 2313, Abel completed a second tour with reconstruction forces, returning to school in 2339 to study law, Abel eventually moved to Venus, being elected 37th Chancellor of Cytherea in 2372

Corporal Sergeant “Casanova”: born 2313, Cas accepted an invitation to the Imperial Guard in 2337, rising to become Lord Lieutenant to Prince Viktr, upon whose accession in 2355 Casanova is created Count of Tharsis

Corporal Joseph Wallace Brown, “Ringo”: born 2313 Lance Corporal Albia Secunda Johnson, “Paul”: born 2314 Lance Corporal Frieda Paullus, “John”: born 2314 Private First Class Martin Alan Dietz, “George”: born 2315, the “Beatles” members of Whitewolf joined and left the service together in 2332 and 2336 respectively, returning to the Tharsis region where the finally started a band

Sergeant Ian Ringwald, "Marlin”: born 2316, Ringwald is the youngest of the Third War Whitewolves, he retired after completion of a second contract in 2341, becoming a detective with the Olympia Police Department, he and Casanova reconnect as interagency colleagues and remain friends throughout their lives

In 2331, the Rapid Assault and Interdiction Division is formed to provide eponymous detachments for infantry divisions. These RAIDs are intended to provide expeditionary commanders with a dedicated force of elite, special operations capable infantry in support of ORCA and divisional assets. The first of these, RAID Omega, is assigned to 1st IXID and POD11. In 2333, a set of reforms are implemented, restructuring RAID into a Special Infantry Division. Special Infantry Battalions, built around the original detachments but restructured and reinforced, increase operational flexibility for commanders. Throughout this process, the new First Special Infantry Battalion retains the majority of its personnel and its designation as IOI Orcus.

Lieutenant Colonel Albert Amulius Remus: born 2303, then-Captain Remus was the inaugural commanding officer of Detachment Omega at the formation of the RAI Division, following the 2333 reforms he heads the First Special Infantry Battalion still attached to 1st IXID, and provides crucial leadership during the Massifax Campaign, following peace he remains an expeditioner, eventually being created Earl of Remus and retiring as Commandant of the Corps

[quentatan]

Welcome to Whitewolf

“Marcus... Porcius... Cato. Like the famous Romans?”

“After my great-grandfather. He was a big fan of the Elder. Agreed on the conservation of old ways and all that shit.”

“I take it you aren’t so keen?”

“Not much for politics. I serve the Imperial Republic, not run it. Anyway, corporal, welcome to the pod. You know how it works?”

“Yeah. Served with enough blackfish while I was with the Ten.”

“Know what you’d like to be called? And if you say some stupid shit like Fenrir I will rip out your spine.”

Ian Ringwald laughed, but they reached a hatch and Silver was staring at him. “I’m not fucking joking, pinky. We already have a Casa-fucking-nova, arrogant prick of a chimp.”

“Sorry, sir, that’s also the callsign of First Assault. I guess their CO’s buddies with the boys in Eleventh Transport.”

“Huginn and fucking Muninn. So?”

“Marlin, sir.”

Sil tapped the hatch open and gestured for Marlin to go first.

“The boys.”

There we ten of them sitting around the wardroom. The lieutenant introduced them each in turn.

“This is the asshole I mention, Casanova. Next to him is Ringo.”

“Like the Beatle.”

“Yeah he’s a prick too. Next up are Cane and Abel because they’re atheists or something and think it’s funny.”

“We’re all very clever, you see, new guy.”

“First bonobo is Brian.”

“Well, except him.”

“Next up are Paul and John.”

“Them too.”

“Chimp next to them in George.”

“Wait, are you four seriously all just the Beatles?”

“Fuck yeah we are. Went to high school together. Have a band.” They all broke out laughing when Rin finished.

“They don’t actually have a band. You’ll also notice that Paul and John are female. Anywho, baldy number three is Narwhal. And his girlfriend is Beluga.”

“Okay only Cane and I are clever.”

“Gents, our FNG here is Marlin.”

“Like the Disney character?”

Cane smacked his brother, “No you provincial twat, like the predatory fish. Right?”

“Yeah, you see, they do this thing with their elongated snouts while they hunt. They flick their prey to stun them. It’s awesome. Actually, narwhals do something similar. Did you know... Yeah I’m a nerd.”

“All good bro,” Abel’s brow got higher and he giggled. “Major reefers.”

Casanova held out his hand. “Good to have you, Corporal Ringwald.”

[quentatan]

Whitewolf Whitewolf, this is Orcus. Come dance with us boys. Over.

We only do the Waltz. Over.

Classy motherfuckers. Over.

When I’m not doing this. Over and out.

Silverback was a, well, silverback gorilla. His forefathers had been big and scary for ten million years. That wasn’t why he scared the shit out of Cane. Humans were still apex predators after all. What scared the shit out of everyone about Sil was his weapon of choice.

The Railgun M2329, Plasmoid-Multibeam was a crew-served weapon. It weighed about a hundred kilos and usually sat in an APC turret. Silver had his on an exomount and fired it by hand. Pulling the thing up and winking was his version of pounding his chest, except the poor fucker on the wrong end didn’t get the message.

“Ringo, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Vantage point.”

“Get off.”

“Stop monkeying around,” Abel cracked as Ringo jumped for a nearby ledge.

“Sniper, second floor left.”

Sil lifted his cannon, “Copy that.”

There wasn’t a second floor left now. Off to their far right, somebody noticed that Omega wasn’t there only problem. A few rounds kicked up dust to Cane’s front.

“Momma’s little tangos finally figured out what a flank is!”

“I’m so proud.” Ringo snickered, putting a hole through some ballistic shields on a balcony. Sil sounded bored, though.

“Cane, Abel, clear left. Cas up top with Ringo. Rest of you jokers on me.”

Abel was already on the stairs Silver’s first round had left standing, peering down. He looked up in his HUD at Cane and winked. “Fire in the hole.”

A few seconds later the suite below was gone too. “Clear bottom.”

“Hold on.” Abel was fucking around with something on his belt. He held up a grenade and smiled. “Back stairwell.”

“Got it.”

Abel was going to blow away the front of the remaining suites and flush everyone out the rear... where they’d meet Cane.

Sil and the rest of the team were moving a bit aways now, bounding between ruined cars and adjacent buildings while Cas and Rin continued to snipe seemingly at random. Sporadic fire came back at them, but by the regular explosions from the main entrance area, Omega was slaughtering them.

Cane was staring at a young man now. The kid’s friends were all dead and he was blubbering like an idiot.

“Shut the fuck up.” He kept crying about his mother. Cane just punched him. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

He triggered comms, “We’ve got one disabled, my current. A prisoner or something.”

“Hahaha, since when do you take prisoners?”

“Some dumbfuck kid. It’d be like killing a crippled puppy.”

“Going soft bro.”

“Shut the fuck up and get up here, pinkies.”

Casanova and Ringo were on a rooftop now, trying to keep enemy troops pinned. It was tricky. Too much fire and their prey might retreat; too little and they might come rushing out and get killed. Rampart wanted prisoners though, and this was as close to a command center as was left in this bumfuck city.

Whitewolf this is Orcus six, be advised. We spotted a couple dozen making a break through the courtyard in your direction. How copy? Over.

Orcus six this is Whitewolf actual. Solid copy. Thanks for the heads up. Over and out.

Casanova had bounded to the other side while Cane and Abel moved around to a secondary exit on the north face. He was staring down a walkway at a small door from the third floor of the main building now. Ringo was keeping an eye on a little open area nearby. Below, everybody else were spreading out on the second floor. Omega elements had pretty much surrounded the building. The only way out for the twenty or so left inside was southwest, right through Whitewolf. The door creeped open. Bingo.

“Somebody’s coming through up here.”

“Copy that, everyone make your way up.”

“On your mark, Cas,” Rin whispered as the door slid open fully.

“Let’s wait and see.”

A man looked out. When he wasn’t shot, he ran towards Casanova with his head low. It didn’t save him. At the same time, some in the main building exploded. Silver laughed loud over the comms.

Then again, maybe not over comms. A dozen men rushed through the door, the first few firing towards Casanova, a few others back at something in the hallway. They looked ready to shit themselves, and the hysterical gorilla laughter echoing over all the gunfire explained why.

Ringo took one down, but Casanova was feeling wily. Why should Silverback have all the damn fun? He charged forward, roaring. Rounds pinged off his armor and he emptied his magazine before slinging his rifle and going on all fours. There were only three left now, running full tilt at Cas as Whitewolf stopped firing to avoid hitting him. Sil was still laughing and now everyone else was too.

He slammed into the first man and felt his sternum shatter. Before they’d even dropped to the ground, he pulled hard on the poor bastard’s head with both hands, leap-frogging over him. The next guy’s eyes went wide and the one at the rear just froze. Casanova landed hard on wide-eye with all fours and caved his head in, helmet, skull, and all. He turned on the first man who was desperately trying to crawl away and put a foot on his back.

“You’re Colonel Jans... yeah I don’t know how to pronounce your last name,” The man groaned, it had to hurt. “You’re a prisoner now.”

“Please, I surrender too! Please!” He’d forgotten about the third guy. Cas turned around, but apparently the man had forgotten about him too. Sil was standing over the guy with a huge grin.

“You’re our prisoner too, son.”

“Don’t forget about the poor fuck with the nasty concussion somewhere in this mess.”

“Omega got some live ones too. Nice catch with the colonel here.”

“Yeah... sorry about your skeleton, buddy.” The man just groaned again.

Orcus, this is Whitewolf. We need a medic up here. Over.

Yeah... Ringo patched me through. Jesus fucking Christ. Over.

You should see why they were running so fast. Lol.

Dispatching eight with an extra medic. Over.

Copy, seeya soon. Over and out.

Casanova just smiled and cleaned his gauntlets. He loved his job.

[quentatan]

Whitewolf Whitewolf, this is Orcus. Over.

Send traffic Orcus. Over.

We’re embarked with Lancelot three. Four klicks out. How do you want us? Over.

We see you. Hot and fast, Orcus. How copy? Over.

Solid copy. Hold onto your nutsacks. Over and out.

Whitewolf Seven peaked around the corner again with his rifle. They were in a hardened posture now, so they knew Omega were inbound. That was fine, being prepared wouldn’t help the coalies.

“Calm down Cas, they’re not going anywhere.”

“Yeah yeah...”

“What, you nervous?”

“Fuck no.”

“It’s Pingpong, isn’t it? Orange juice, extra pulp, that one.”

“Something like that.”

“Come on stop brooding.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“Sil’s right. You’re all brood.”

“Oh shut the fuck up, pinkie.”

“Come have a smoke with us mate, calm the nerves.”

“Will you two fuck off if I take a toke?”

“Angry bloke needs the toke.”

“Silver, you’re the one with the anger issues.”

“He’s a point, sir.”

“I stop violent psychopaths from committing war crimes. For a living. I’m supposed to be angry.”

“Got you there, Abel.”

“Got me? Casanova. That fucking gorilla just called us violent psychopaths.”

“And..?”

“It’s offensive!”

“You’re paid to be a violent psychopath.”

“Sir, I’ve seen you punch a coalie’s head off, without your fucking armor on.”

“No, see, he only stops us from committing war crimes. As an officer, breaking interplanetary law is his job.”

“Exactly. What the chimp said.”

“Goddamn straight.”

Casanova liked who he was. A hairy little ape with power armor and heavy weapons. His job suited him.

“Ay. Have that puff if you’re going to, Cas. Lancelot is a klick out, pinging violet. Show time, boys.”

Abel passed him the joint and began checking his rifle.

This was going to be fun.

Silver pulled up his Lightningrod and winked.

This was going to be very fun.

“I’ll try to save some for you all,” Cane laughed as he sidled up. Ringo snorted behind him.

“Big words. Little man.”

Seven laughed back. He liked who he was with, too.

“You’re all too tall. Easy targets.”

A few hundred meters away something exploded. Omega had arrived.

Whitewolf Whitewolf, this is Orcus. Come dance with us boys. Over.

[quentatan]

Mad Rad Part 2

The thing about Albert Coszic was that he was a people person. He liked people. He believed in people. He was aboard the Van Der Gipt when it went down. Rear Admiral Albert Coszic was the highest-ranking casualty of the Massifax campaign. It’s almost funny that such an avowed humanist should die like that. He was fifty-six.

He never had any children, always joked that his pilots were his kids. When we met on New Folsom, he was the supply officer for the 724th Transportation Squadron. He stayed with transport; when he died he was the Atmospheric Operations Chief for the entire Expeditionary Fleet, overseeing the embarked craft of five hundred capital ships. He still knew the name of every single officer under his command, or at least that’s how it seemed. We’d be taking a meal while he was aboard the Daedalus and he’d exchange pleasantries with all the gunship crews. I don’t even know the names of all of the gunners, but he did.

His flagship was Rougette, one of the Principes with us. Things only have the two main guns, but a hell of a lot of plasma turrets. I remember this one time over Neujohannesburg. Weird planet in Kepler-something system, I can never remember the numbered systems right. A lot of the locals just called the place Neuhannes and the surface is mostly island chains. They were running an island-hopping campaign, taking it easy while various ships rotated to nearby systems, keeping up loose blockades. My task group rotates back to whichever system after pounding the hell out of some Coalition outpost. Most of the support frigates are parked here with Rougette and a few other assault carriers.

Albert occasionally goes out with one of the carriers to observe some surface assault or another. Usually he’s here though. They’re using Neuhannes as a sort of training ground. Coalition holdouts aren’t causing a lot of trouble but grow their own food. So they have to be rooted out, but it’s no real rush. Fresh crews get real enemies in isolated, defensible positions. Well one of these island clusters has more guns on it than expected. It’s not that serious when a ship goes down and the rest of its squadron decides to sit tight.

Not that serious if you’re a healthily cynical person at any rate. I’m on Rougette’s mess deck with Albert when this happens. He’s immediately got his glasses on, asking which pilot it was, listing off names of course. Turns out it’s a shitty day to be whoever shot that gunship down. Half an hour later I’m on the bridge and we’re a few klicks over the islands in question. There are shells and missiles coming at us with a frequency that stinks of terror. What else do you do when a 750m carrier shows up to sling plasma at you?

Crazy bastard glassed several square kilometers of jungle over a transport crew who didn’t even die...

After the first nuclear strikes over Massifax, we had an emergency command meeting. There were a couple dozen of us in a wardroom aboard Satelles. Admiral Lord Young is at the head of the table, Vice Admiral Clement, Vice Admiral Wyzowscky, General Lord Young, all of the ranking flag officers. Everyone is silent for a second before Viktr Young starts things off.

“Well gents,” he says. “We all know how Vice Admiral Coszic would respond to such an attack.”

We all laughed, it was true. There wouldn’t be anything left of Massifax. The other Lord Young spoke as the chuckles trailed off.

“We’re already withdrawing all ground forces. For now the transports are answering to the appropriate brigadiers to preclude communication delays.”

Clement followed, “Of course we’re all already providing immediate suppression, but there is disagreement among the staff.”

“Hence the gathering of you ladies and gentlemen. With seven hundred thousand dead, I know what you will say, cousin. Do any of the rest of you raise objection to the course Coszic would take?” the Admiral looked about the room. Nobody objected.

We were all like Albert, in a way. We were Cythereans, Martians, Terrans, Ardans, Dragons, Carolans, colonials, but we were all family. We were tired of it all too. A year ago we’d been at Maradon, then we’d hopped our way all the way out here, stamping out pockets of resistance like Neuhannes as we came. Then we’d gotten here and it was worse than our worst nightmares. So we spent the next day pounding the surface of Massifax into dust. When it came time for the assault on Allwell, Young was kind enough to hand me the task. They took our sisters and our brothers. We took supreme revenge.

[quentatan]

God of War

Muninn, this is Warspite. Report india oscar india whiskey whiskey. Reference risky business. Please confirm. Over.

Warspite, this is Muninn. Confirm. Report IOI Whitewolf. Reference risky business. Over.

Whitewolf, this is Muninn lead. Welcome to Odin’s on-call assfuck service. How copy? Over.

Solid copy, Muninn. We’ve got an ass for you boys. Over.

Reference risky business. Send it. Over.

Fire for effect. Remote. Report oscar romeo charlie alpha tango one one dash alpha. Reference risky business. Over.

Fire for effect. Remote. ORCA one one actual. Out.

Five rounds, AB quick. Over.

Five rounds, AB quick. Hold. Shot. Out.

Splash. End of mission. Good effect. Over.

All signs, Muninn six. Eyes on, three victors. ID sloggers. Please confirm.

Six this is three. Confirm. Eyes on, three sloggers.

Whitewolf, this is six. They’re at your three. Hunker down boys. Engaging.

Muninn six, this is Whitewolf. Confirm hit. Two disabled. No eyes on the third. Over.

This is three. Confirm hit. Third one vaped.

All hands, all hands. Crimson crimson crimson. Surface launch. Seven zero zero tangos. All batteries hot.

“Sir, confirming crimson fleetwide. Must have been everything they had left.”

“Captain, comm, Daedalus.”

“Patch it.”

All victors. Contingency. Stanton Star. Sync. Thirty seconds. Reference Mad Rad Sierra Foxtrot Foxtrot Romeo Alpha Sierra Seven Three Five Nine. Ping immediate.

“Validated, sir. Pinging green.”

“Captain we have sync.”

The ship lurched forward. Daedalus and Sulla grew large on the edges of the forward screen as the alarms flashed blue.

All hands, all hands. Indigo indigo indigo. Jump. Five, four, three, two.

The screen went black, but an instant later it was speckled with stars.

“Captain, sync complete. Confirming heading. Three two six rad, five seven rad, seven three klicks, reference polar local.”

“Very good, Lieutenant Wojcik. Stabilize orbit. Lieutenant Zheng, Mad Rad on the big screen please.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The grinning visage of Rear Admiral Icharus appeared in the place of all the stars.

“Captain Cameron, good to see you, Roger.”

“Right fucking mad, Radburn.”

“You know it, man. Just got off with Victory.”

“How is the good Admiral?”

“Bit miffed. Spilled coffee on his o-deck. Thinks we went a bit overboard leveling the Allwells.”

He laughed. Young must have been up with his flag crew watching the final assault. “What do you mean leveling the Allwells?”

“Get a visual from Olympia, I’ve got to go anyway. Victory wants us aboard sometime after BDAs. Details to follow. Don’t party too hard, Venereal. Icharus out.”

The screen switched over to a video of the planet from a low orbit. Zheng must have already got a feed from whoever was on duty at Olympia. The five destroyers of TG Labyrinth were visible, parked in a loose ring around Preston Peak, trading fire with the Allwell Redoubt. A Long Rifle round from the Sulla sent a ridge crumbling onto a complex of bunkers as the status mark went red. A few seconds passed and the task group began converging in unison, each of them on course slightly off the center of their formation. They all blurred along their courses and out the other side for an instant as the mountains sort of jerked up.

The mountains kept going, spiraling together before it all went white. Another few seconds and it was all smoke and dust. A debris cloud covering the screen. Zheng sped it up until the debris began to clear out. When it did, Roger Cameron wasn’t sure he was looking at the same geographic location. The status mark showed the same grid zone designator though. The feed was live now. There was still dust everywhere, but it was clear they weren’t looking at mountains. It looked like badlands until somebody zoomed the feed out. It became clear they were looking at a crater a thousand miles wide.

A few people laughed, a few people cried, most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita. Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and, to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, "Now, I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." I suppose we all thought that, one way or another. J. Robert Oppenheimer

[quentatan]

Mad Rad Part 1

I’m a Rear Admiral in the Solar Fleet Force. My name’s Radburn Icharus, but everyone calls me “Mad Rad”. You might have heard of me. First flag officer to attempt the Stanton Star maneuver. Imploded an entire mountain range when we did it. I don’t want to talk about Massifax though. It was a clusterfuck and plenty of other people have said all there is worth saying about it.

I want to talk about family.

Most people grow up loving their parents. It’s natural. It’s normal. Right? I didn’t. I abhor my parents. They always made everything about them but they couldn’t even do that together. So they were always fighting like narcissistic children. So I grew up not wanting to trust anyone. Why would I? I was an only child and every conversation I ever had with my mother or father was like a shitty therapy session where neither party was the therapist.

So yeah, not a big fan of people in general. I got my nickname in high school, actually. Back then it was mad as in angry. Back then it was angry as in anarchist. I was going to be a musician, make angsty songs about the folly of society and government. It never worked out though, and somehow I ended up on New Folsom. Yeah, that New Folsom. So I’m 25, I have a halfway decent education in history. I’m a Cytherean citizen trying to make music on a distant colony. I’m there when the Coalition is declared. I’m there when the Coalition attacks. I’m there when the Coalition wins.

Thirty thousand Solar citizens got out last minute. Strike Force Olympia shows up escorting a few passenger ships. I’m getting used to the idea of being a Coalition citizen or prisoner or whatever happens. But the Martians show up. They’re outnumbered, but they blow a hole through the blockade. I remember I was at a cafe, watching some gunships patrol while Maradonian troops landed. I played music there once a week and served coffee and sandwiches most of the rest of the time. It was a nice place. My boss was a good lady.

So I’m sipping espresso when the gunships I’m watching are struck by little pricks of light and they explode. I’ve never seen anything like it. Suddenly screens everywhere are lighting up, speakers are blaring. It’s some Martian telling us that anyone who wants to leave should get to the Rage City Spaceport within the next hour. The skies are lighting up with fighters. They’re doing this weird sort of dance, back and forth, different groups trying to best each other. There’s some huge ship I sort of recognize as a battlecruiser high up in the atmosphere, spewing fighters and fire.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Not the death or the destruction. The fact that they came for us. There couldn’t have been more than a few thousand Federation citizens here. The New Folsom authorities had already basically surrendered. It wasn’t like we were being slaughtered, but they weren’t letting us leave either.

I remember asking the loadmaster on the transport I boarded. Why were they risking their lives to come get a bunch of civilians. It was clear on the news they couldn’t retake the planet. A dozen Martian ships against thrice that many, and they were taking losses already. He told me it was because we deserved a choice, so they came to give it to us. We talked on the flight up. Turns out he was a Cytherean too, serving with the Solar Fleet Force, attached to the Imperials.

His name was Albert Coszic and he was a hero. I enlisted six hours later and served with Albert for twenty-five years. I’d always heard that old adage. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. It always resonated with me, I guess. But I never really understood it before I met Albert.

[quentatan]

Peace or Death

You ever seen what a Kentucky Long Rifle does to a ship hull? I don’t mean the American Revolutionary-era weapon and I don’t mean a titanium freighter. I mean three metric tons of tungsten carbide and steel. I mean a foot of graphene. 

You’d think the graphene wins, right? I mean, it’s the strongest stuff we’ve ever made. You’d be wrong. See, that’s three megagrams of metal going a few kilometers a second. So around 10 million kilograms-meters per second of momentum. For anyone keeping score, that’s about 17 gigajoules of kinetic energy. Several million times as much muzzle energy as a typical rifle.

Not that the graphene doesn’t put up a good fight. It’s a hell of a lot of pressure it can withstand, but stopping that much metal going that fast in what amounts to an instant... well the titanium freighter briefly vaporizes. With a warship, the inane stuff vaporizes, the superstructure stays pretty though. Well, besides that neat hole the slug leaves.

Those aren’t even the coolest kills though. Pulsebeams are the fucking shit.

The way there’s this innocuous little tube one second. And the next there’s this superheated plasmoid zipping out around the speed of light. Whatever it’s aiming at is already superheating too from all the photons and positrons and electrons being thrown at it, but a few more seconds and it’s exploding. There’s this compressed little toroid of gods know what - it’s classified - slamming into the point at the center of the superheated whatever. Just as it does, there’s no more energy being pumped into it by the laser, so the electrical current in the thing just stops, so does its magnetic field.

And it dissipates explosively, but it’s still got all this forward momentum. So the entire surface it’s just struck goes in with it. Goes out too. Goes pretty much every direction. If there’s any air around all sorts of crazy shit goes down with that too. Induced currents and magnetic fields if there’s metal. Lightning arcs, and shockwaves.

I heard that’s why the coalies use so many bots to do their menial stuff. Organics caught on the business end of a contained laser round just get destroyed. The electrical arcs fry the nervous system, so everything hurts like hell and you convulse for the instant before it’s all burned away, literally vaporized. Supposedly, if your mouth is open, superheated air rushes into your lungs as you die, but as it passes your lips your teeth explode... they just pop like fucking corn or something.

Shit, I’m getting distracted. Look, my point is this: war is fucking terrible.

So you’re asking yourself, because you really don’t get it. Why is Viktr fucking Young saying this shit when he’s just won the greatest war in history? Oh, and why does he curse so fucking much? Look, I was 32 when this shit kicked off, born after the last war. But I remember when the Coalition hit Ramos and when New Folsom fell. I remember when a million rebels landed on Regus Secundus and didn’t leave until we sent back their ashes.

I remember when we set siege to Maradon. When twenty years later we finally landed on her. How they wouldn’t give up and set about dropping skyscrapers on us. But it wasn’t long until we were the ones leveling cities. A hundred million lives ended because they preferred to die fighting than live in peace.

You’ve probably heard about Massifax too. And we thought we knew what horror was. What a fucking joke. Half a million people left while six billion settled in for another Maradon. So we went in hard and fast. Three million Solars on the surface within half an hour, a dozen fleet cruisers providing direct fire support. Fucking shit up. That’s what you’d call it.

But then it’s early October, progress briefing with some brass on the surface. We’re sitting down to nice dinner with some Expeditioners when the horizon lights up like it just decided it’s no longer dusk. So that’s when we stopped taking prisoners and pulled all seven million troops off the surface. But they wouldn’t give up.

A few days later, a little after midnight local. I’m hanging out on Olympia’s observation deck with a few of my officers, while five destroyers turn the Allwell Mountains into rubble fifty miles below us. Squadrons of pickets zipping around, taking out random missiles being thrown up. Task groups are criss-crossing in high orbit, surveying the rubble below.

Things are comparatively calm. Commander Stanton and Captain Illsonne chat over a fresh pot of coffee. It’s almost peaceful. Peaceful until the lights go red and everything goes loud. I barely even hear Stanton drop her mug, she’s standing under a claxon when the alarm sounds.

All hands, all hands. Crimson crimson crimson. Surface launch. Seven zero zero tangos. All batteries hot.

Everyone knows what to do as the calls spread. Fighters are accelerating, getting back to vacuum. I slip my glasses on and the lenses flare. A thousand different pulsebeams are firing. Long hidden silos melt and the missile they just threw up burst like bubbles. On my left, Abernathy curses, something about retarded cunts and fucking babies. I just stare. In my eye, numbers and words flashing. Most of the fleet is pinging green, but a few picket groups aren’t pinging at all.

Then the Hastati below do the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Rear Admiral Icharus got a commendation for it, actually. All five hulls adjust course ever so slightly and begin accelerating toward each other. Stanton mutters a curse, she’s chief helm and figures it out a moment before the rest of us do. They miraculously fail to collide crossing over Preston Peak

There’s still fire coming up at them, but they aren’t returning. Engineer Ritter whispers something to Abernathy. Illsonne asks out loud if Radburn Icharus is  insane. My glasses are telling me what that crazy fuck is up to, so I tell everyone. Except Stanton already figured it out. It was her idea, back when she was writing her doctoral thesis. They hit lightspeed all at once, flitting back into high orbit in an instant. It’s the quickest atmospheric bangout ever.

Real quick, if you don’t know how translight works. Well, I leave the details to helm officers and engineers, but it has something to do with spacetime curvature. Everything gets crunched together, like digging a tunnel to get through a mountain, except your destination is across a continent so you squeezed the whole thing together to form the mountains in the first place. So you can’t have any matter too close by, unless you’re okay with that matter suddenly being different matter or it’s got its own spacetime bubble.

Back to my story, the entire mountain range just kind of implodes. It’s sucked in by the gravitational force one might expect from a black hole, only for an instant. You can probably imagine how it worked out. Just when I’m losing my goddamn mind, I realize my glasses are flashing some notification. We shot down a lot of missiles, and some got caught up in whatever the fuck just happened to those mountains. The rest detonated.

That’s why some of the pickets weren’t pinging back. A few frigates are reporting damage. Most of the fleet is adjusting after several hundred shockwaves. Below us all a planet just killed itself.

So that’s my point. We didn’t want to fight, but they made us. They refused terms, they refused surrender. They wouldn’t leave or lay down their arms, and now they’re all dead. We wouldn’t leave or lay down our arms either, but we also didn’t start this war. We ended it. We gave them a choice: peace or death. They chose the path of tragedy.

Hug your loved ones. Eat your favorite food. Watch your favorite shows. Sleep soundly. Speak your mind and defend your convictions. Choose peace.

[quentatan]

In the End

Geosynchronous orbit, Massifax, Reindeer System, 31 July 2335

It was finally the end. A hundred rebel worlds returned to the fold. Thirteen million dead. One final holdout. I don’t know how I feel. We’re fifty-thousand kilometers over Massifax. We’ve broadcast the final warning to its people. Tomorrow we begin... five million of us and six billion of them. Those who wished to leave have left, all five hundred thousand of them. They’re somewhere else now, safe and sound. We’re here, though.

An entire world refusing to surrender, it’s something I can barely fathom. I was on Maradon when it fell. They’d refused to surrender too, but then we’d burned a thousand cities to the ground. A hundred million people died there and we vowed never to let it happen again. But now there are sixty times as many. They know what happened a year ago and they know their friends are safe but they still won’t leave.

It’s not like I’m worried for us. I’m worried for them. They’re just one world, and we’re a dozen. We’re parked in high orbit with two-hundred twelve vessels of war. Eleven Imperators, fifty-three Praetors, seventy-two Principes, sixteen Hastati, twenty-three Velites, seven Gottkaiser, eighteen Reichskrieger, thirteen Groszschutze. We could burn the planet from here and be home for autumn, but we won’t.

5AM local, 1 August 2335

We’re half an hour into the assault and we’ve already knocked down fifteen-thousand fighters. Seven cities are burning and an estimated sixty-thousand dead. Two-million of us aren’t even on the surface yet.

I’m looking at a grocery store. Five minutes ago it was occupied by a few dozen local guerrillas. Corporal Glasser is bleeding a little and we had to sit put for a few seconds. The store is half gone. We were picking targets when that Gargoyle squadron I hear overhead dropped a few plasma rounds in it. Second squad went in with the medics to help anyone left while the rest of us keep an eye out. So far they haven’t found anyone.

7PM local, 7 October 2335

We’ve been here for a couple months and estimated enemy casualties are up to two hundred million, a million of us. Three million more troops just arrived from Sol, including the balance of the Imperials. Three hundred cities are just gone. An hour ago they weren’t, but apparently Massifaxians are batshit crazy. We were about to take those cities and then they detonated nukes. At least five of the Velites and a Gottkaiser are down. We were staging for the final assault on Preston city center, but a hundred thousand or so Dragons already in what used to be Preston are dead now.

So we’re pulling out. Soft posture in atmosphere has been prohibited and transports getting us have to get into low orbit now. Every Accipeter in the fleet is out patrolling, I heard they’re knocking down a ballistic missile a minute.

12AM local, 8 October 2335

Everyone’s back in orbit now. I heard three cities we hadn’t hit yet were gone by 7:30. Half of the fleet is in atmosphere now, every ship without troops embarked, burning everything they see. We’re on the Rougette and her guns haven’t been quiet since we embarked.

Christ. That almost hurts to think about. Two slugs the size of a car impacting at more than two kilometers a second every thirty, and that’s just this ship. There are still more than a hundred fifty in orbit. This entire fleet couldn’t withstand for five minutes the punishment it’s dishing out, and they’ve kept it up for four hours.

3AM local, 9 October 2335

Massifax is gone. The Allwell Redoubt was all that was left at midnight. Five Hastati surrounded it thirty klicks out, grounding the entire mountain into dust with their guns. Apparently they still had control over most of the planet’s silos, though, because they tried to launch five hundred nukes in their final minutes. All they managed to do was wreck their world for a few centuries. A Hastatus is EMP-hardened and they didn’t stick around anyway. They hit Mach 5 in two minutes, non-intersecting courses right over Allwell, so I’m told. Then they jumped.

They actually went translight into high orbits in atmosphere. I didn’t know that was even possible. But I saw the footage. We all did, watching the final bombardment in the mess. We also saw what was left after. What used to be a mountain command complex three miles deep, surrounded by an entire range and a thousand railgun batteries... you ever seen a nuclear explosion? Did you even know that granite and titanium could explode? I didn’t know that was even possible either. But we all saw it.

The entire range vaporized. Every missile they launched detonated too. A few pickets who failed to get high enough had to ditch when their systems fried, but mostly the last hurrah of Massifax just plunged the world into a nuclear winter. Half of its oceans are even gone.

I’m just glad it’s finally the end. Finally the fucking end.

[quentatan]

Three Minutes; Three Thousand Dead

Rorschach, this is Nickelsack. You’ve got a fly on your ass. Break right, sync 3. How copy?

Solid copy, Five. Fuck his six-legged ass you sick fuck.

Going in. No lube.

“My lord, we’ve got two late arrivals. Look like Pythons. Displacement, five three rad, two two rad, five two zero six klicks. Confirm, pinging red. Sir?”

“Miss Stanton, bring us around. Abernathy, guns?”

“All green, my lord.”

“Sir, heading, five three rad, two two rad.”

“Thank you Commander Stanton. Mister Abernathy, fire when ready.”

“Two and four, one round each. Sounding crimson.”

All hands, all hands. Crimson. Guns. Five. Four. Three. Two.

The ship shuddered as two truck-sized slugs zipped out into vacuum at a hundred kilometers a second.

“Heading adjust. One and three, one round each. Sounding crimson.”

The alarm sounded and two more slugs sped off into vacuum. Less than a minute later...

“My lord, splash. Good effect. Hold. Splash. Good effect. Can’t imagine they’re having any sort of day.”

“Thank you, Mister Abernathy. Miss Stanton, bring us back around. Herr Illsonne, the C’est Moi on BDA, if you would.”

“Aye, lord.”

Olympia, this is C’est Moi. Over.

Send traffic. Over.

Good kills, Olympia. We’ve got a few lifecraft, searching hulks. BDA green. Over and out.

[quentatan]

Ardan Armada

Arda, being the first of the colonies, has seen a particular sort of warfare. As the closest to the Solar System, Centauri was at first especially vulnerable to attack by rebels. In later conflicts, however, this proximity compounded its wealth and by the late 23rd century, Arda boasts the most powerful fleet fielded by a single world.

At the core of this force: the Gottkaiser-class fast battleship. The so-called god-emperors, measuring 950m, like the famed Solar Imperator, packs only a single centerline gun. However, at nearly a full kilometer of linear induction coils across five decks, including power equipment, the Gottkaiser can loose three rounds within a minute, each of which has a mass of two metric tons and enough kinetic energy to literally vaporize a Runner-type corvette. Complementing this immense gun are a dozen torpedo batteries and thirty-two double-turret point defense CLR batteries.

The Gottkaiser is expensive, though, and the bulk of the fleet consists of its sister classes. The Reichskrieger escort carrier is shorter, trading the centerline gun for a pair of turreted coilguns and accommodation for two wings of picket ships or an expeditionary force consisting of a transport wing and a ground division, roughly comparable to the Princeps. 

The older Groszschutz-class cruiser carrier, on the other hand, has a less powerful gun and fewer defensive turrets, but thrice the torpedo batteries and hangar space for a single picket wing. Offering Ardan commanders capabilities similar to their Solar counterparts.

Altogether, the mighty world of Arda fields a homogeneous but powerful fleet, less flexible than those of the Solar Federation, but more than capable of holding its own. When the fleets of the Four Systems Alliance lay final siege to Massifax, three dozen Ardan ships are present. Their overall force contributions throughout the war are second only to the home system, their battle records only to the Imperial Martians.

[quentatan]

Triarius-class command destroyer

A development of the Hastatus in the midst of the Floodfire Wars, the Solar Fleet Force commissioned a new class of heavy warships for command use in colonial systems lacking strong orbital weapons platforms. MSY responded by inserting additional hull sections to create a kilometer-long destroyer with even more immense power systems. The Triarius is thus a very long Hastatus with a higher rate of fire for its centerline guns, improved ammunition capacity, more pulsebeams, improved communications suites, and a complement of infantry with suitable transports. In practice, this class combines the advantages of the Veles patrol frigate with the sheer size of an Imperator and the destructive capabilities of its smaller sibling.

An expeditionary element of SFF vessels consisting of frigates and destroyers, commanded from a Triarius can quickly establish a formidable network of distributed defenses in orbit of a world otherwise lacking. Such a force, often trading Veles-embarked gunships and troops for additional munitions and pickets, is comparable to the permanent defenses of many of the smaller colonial worlds. Triarii are a rare sight in the Solar System, but present in nearly every inhabited system by the final subjugation of Massifax, coming to serve as the primary command platform of permanently forward-deployed forces augmenting permanent stations in a variety of roles.

[quentatan]

Hastatus-class assault destroyer

As part of the same fleet overhaul program initiated with the development of the Veles-class to replace Hammer and Hatchet-classes, D3 instituted the development of replacements for the Anvil-class destroyers and Num-class cruisers. What emerged were far less innovative in concept than the Veles but larger and more powerful by far than anything before them.

First to reach operational status, before the frigates even, were the Hastati. A class of powerful new assault destroyers derived from the Anvil, the Hastatus-class is essentially an extensive overhaul within its predecessor’s superstructure.

Definitively, the Hastatus takes advantage of technological advances to pack a pair of heavy centerline guns rather than one. Like the Veles it carries three torpedo batteries and utilizes a modular compartment layout as well. It’s long, slim profile allows the destroyer to use primary coilguns with significantly larger slugs and higher energies than any but the heaviest of its cousins. With more space dedicated to power systems, it also has the highest concentration of point defense cannons.

Like the Anvil before it, the Hastatus has hangar space for personnel transports and not much more, but configurations for large mine deployment racks or torpedo storage. All told, a fully equipped destroyer can sustain maximum rate of fire with torpedoes for a month or deploy sufficient Blunderbuss minesats to effectively blockade a planet the size of Earth. Its dual centerline guns impart triple-metric-ton-class slugs with enough energy to level a medium city at a rate of one a minute each. The dozens of CLR batteries covering every lateral surface enable a broadside in any direction of pulsebeams to melt away the armor of any foe it might feasibly encounter.

Its volume of fire is comparable to the much smaller frigates alongside which it deploys, but the sustained energy density deployable in a single barrage from a Hastatus-class assault destroyer rivals that of even the Imperator-class heavy battlecruiser, nearly twice as massive. Simply put, the few classes of spacefaring vessel capable of surviving its main guns will be systematically disintegrated by its secondary batteries. These ships operate in conjunction with orbital defensive stations or Common Pattern Cruisers. Lacking, as it does, any vessels capable of forming orbital pickets, the assault destroyer is effectively a heavy weapons platform mounted with gyroscopic and translight drives.