Ah, a bridge of a flagship. Bustling with paperwork, but also crucial decision making, often almost giving the crewmen there a heart attack. The sleeping mind of a warrior, ready to wake up.
Now though, it was not sleeping, even as sounds of typing fingers echoed through the quiet room, making it seem that way. At the center, a slim man clad in a white uniform smiled, enjoying this silence of victory like he had nothing in a long time - a silence that had overtaken the entirety of his fleet. However, knowing he can't waste such time, the man, Nikolai, sighed.
"Situation status," he requested calmly, already calculating probable enemy moves and possible responses to them in his mind.
Right on cue, one of the technicians on the bridge stood up, ready to report.
"Sir, all hostile forces around the planet’s perimeter have been annihilated, except for a small resistance pocket in Delta-Lima-Tango-775! We're free to begin landing operations on all parts of the planet excluding the northern part of continent C, dubbed 'Alavon’, Sir!” shouted the technician in two breaths, skipping all intonation.
A small grin made its way onto Nikolai's face. "Specify."
"Alavonian sectors Bravo through Charlie!"
"Very well. The other side of the moon?”
The technician blushed a little, but quickly regained control of himself. "Clear! Scanned... twice”
The admiral let his grin widen a bit. He knew this particular technician very well, just as he did every other one on the bridge. He’d always believed that knowing your co-workers and advisors is essential, since it let you cooperate with them much more efficiently.
This particular technician was a young man in his early forties named Charles Lawrence. He had only recently joined Nikolai’s fleet, having before served under Admiral Eriksson, until he committed the grave mistake of missing a considerable enemy force hidden behind a planet's moon, which cost Eriksson’s fleet considerable losses. He would have undoubtedly been demoted, if not for Nikolai who 'adopted’ him for his fleet. He was, however far from letting him forget his mistake, for mistakes are what one learns from the most.
Nikolai turned towards Charles, sending him a brief, friendly smile. "Good. Any space or spacetime disturbances?”
"Negative for both. The enemy might be regrouping for another attack, but our listening outposts in the area report silence. Whatever they’re up to, taking out their pocket in Delta-Lima-Tango before their hypothetical reinforcements arrive should grant us an advantage, sir!” reported Charles loudly, having already completely regained his composure.
"I know," replied Nikolai, still maintaining his small smile. "And that’s why it’s exactly what we’re gonna do.” He coughed twice before addressing someone new, whose presence in the room was still impossible to notice. "TA-3125, calculate possible assault plans on enemy resistance pocket in sector Delta-Lima-Tango-775, from now on dubbed 'Zeta Fleet’, involving ship formations 005, 006, 009, 011 and 012." Nikolai paused to look at a large data screen with all his available assets, thinking if he had made the right choice, but ultimately nodded, coming to a conclusion that he indeed did, so he quickly finished the request. "Goal: Extermination. And an approach vector would be a nice addition too."
Suddenly, a large, blue holographic screen sprung up to his left, with a cyan graphical soundwave right in the middle.
"I have a name, remember?" said a soft feminine voice, the image moving to match it. "You of all people should know it. You were the one who named me after all," she continued, dragging words out to try and sound pretentious.
A few of the present crewmen chuckled weakly, in a futile attempt to relieve some tension. Nikolai briefly glanced at some of them. They were all clearly stressed, and he could see it perfectly well. They always were, at least before the most important battles. Ever since he took over his current fleet a couple decades back he has been trying to fix this problem, so far to little effect. For some time he even considered 'shipping' the most stressful ones away from his flagship, but there was one problem: they were all efficient. Efficient as hell, more efficient than almost any other technicians he has ever seen. Nikolai could never fathom how these two traits ever combined, as well as how after decades of fighting they still preserved such emotions, but he didn't care anymore. By now he knew perfectly well that he, as well as any other person on the ship (if not in the fleet) could rely on these people, and that was enough. Maybe he'd focus on this 'stress' problem again sometime, but for now...
"Selina..."
"Alright, on it!" she quickly interjected, having in reality started her task right after the admiral's initial request. The holographic screen popped out of existence, instantaneously replaced with colourless air.
Nikolai shook his head in amusement, his brief irritation momentarily replaced with mirth. He should have known that an AI would never waste any time in a situation like this, and after working with Selina for well over a decade, he knew she was no different. But suddenly, something else came to his mind, something he made a mental note on earlier today, and the time he had left before the final assault could begin was more than enough to deal with this small issue...
"Selina, could you please tell Captain Ackerson to come here? I need to talk with him about something for a minute," he said, glancing towards the ceiling.
No response came. Instead, the many dark blue lights installed all across the console-filled room flickered twice, indicating that the AI acknowledged the request. Satisfied, Nikolai turned around and walked towards his chair, located at the back of the room. He knew the layout of the ship well enough to realizerealise that it would take Ackerson at least a couple minutes to walk from his command post to the admiral's bridge, so he still had a while before that. A while he could not spend doing nothing.
"Yun?" Nikolai said, turning to his communications officer working on a console on the right side of the bridge.
Yun quickly snapped to attention."Yes, Sir?"
"Could you link me up with master general Lopez?" Replied Nikolai, back with a very neutral expression painted across his face.
"Of course, Sir! Hailing RSNS Paris now." With this, Ya Yun began quickly tapping on his keyboard, mouth shut and eyes wide open. After a while he bent over his console slightly and adjusted the microphone on his headset, before visibly starting to talk with someone on the other side. Over the course of the whole discussion he gesticulated energetically, as if his interlocutor could actually see him. After a short while, he nodded to no one and tapped a few more buttons, which resulted in another holographic screen popping up right in the far center of the bridge.
"StabilizingStabilising..." said Yun, working on his console for one more short while, before finally glancing up at Nikolai and gesturing towards the screen, indicating that everything was ready. Sure enough, across the room the hologram flickered once and soon a bald but bearded figure in a blue Republican uniform decorated with various Coalition insignia appeared. Behind him, a few dozen technicians could be seen, but unlike the ones aboard the admiral's bridge, these were actively moving across the room, from one console to another. Nikolai turned his gaze from Yun towards the screen.
"General Lopez," greeted the admiral, tapping his hat with respect. He kept himself seated though, as the general was not someone who outranked him, and it was not in Nikolai's habit to show that degree of respect to anyone outside the High Command. However, as a master general, Leonardo Lopez was basically his equivalent within the land forces, so talking to him as he would to lower officers would just be rude, but more importantly, certainly NOT beneficial for the bridge crew's morale.
"Admiral Stratoi," replied Lopez, bowing his head slightly. "I trust the reason you are contacting me is because you want to discuss our current situation in regards to possible landing operations on Sazana, is it not?" he continued in his sharp, German accent.
At first, Nikolai instinctively recoiled a little. He was never going to get used to Leonardo's way of speaking. Even though he had already worked with him several times at this point, it was still as unexpected as ever. Nikolai closed his eyes and sighed, regaining his composure, and answered.
"That's indeed the reason. I assume you already know the exact tactical situation, as well as my intentions regarding further operations?"
"Yes of course I do, admiral. Your AI program has proceeded to inform me of it all not that long before now."
"As per protocol. But I want to know your opinion on something; would our currently available assets allow us to begin landing operations earlier than initially planned?" Suddenly, everyone on the bridge froze briefly. Everyone could hear the two commanders talking, and they knew that this was probably going to be the topic, but to hear it like that was just terrifying - since the invasion proper was originally only scheduled to begin once the entirety of the perimeter is secured - but at the same time strangely relieving - the reason for that not really known to anyone on the bridge.
But Lopez didn't share the bridge crew's worries. He narrowed his eyes and a small smile made its way onto his face.
"I figured that this was probably the thing you were going to ask me about, admiral," he said confidently. "But this question leaves one thing still without an answer: how much earlier is being asked about here?" Continued Lopez, his expression unchanged. It was clear that he already had plans for most, if not all, possible answers.
"I mean as soon as possible."
"So in the present moment, in short?"
"Yes. I know the initial plan established that proper land operations would begin only after we gain complete space superiority above Sazana, but, as you can see, unlike we've hoped the Swarm's 'Zeta Fleet' has unfortunately managed to prevent that from happening as a result of the initial assault. Now, the plan to wipe them out is already being worked on by TA-3125, but the fighting itself might take a while. Adding to this the time it would take for the fleet to reposition itself in orbit... we just need an alternative. Our listening outposts in the area report silence, but I have a bad feeling about this." With this sentence, the admiral caught some uneasy glances from a few technicians. "We cannot risk the enemy just jumping across Defence Line Epsilon with substantial forces, so we need that Negation Engine operational and in our hands ASAP."
The Master General just chuckled, widening his smile a bit. "What should I say now? Yes of course it is possible, Admiral! Maybe a little bit more difficult, yes, but not impossible - I'm sure!" Suddenly, Lopez's expression changed completely, becoming very serious - a sharp opposite to his previous optimism. "But in all seriousness - yes, considering the certainly abnormally immense scale this one military operation is of, it is only logical that we here do in fact have a plan for every situation. But to say I am glad that things today turned out as they in fact did would be a lie easy to detect." He sighed, briefly looking at the floor and biting his lip. "We are able to carry out offensive operations on the planet's surface, but not having access to promised Cyanosian reinforcements will certainly make performing our actions far harder. However..." he continued after a short pause. "our current forces stationed aboard the RSNS Hive Queen should be able to successfully carry out the invading action on Sazana," Leonardo finally finished.
Nikolai could not help but curse quietly. What were the Cyanosians thinking!? Their task force didn't show up when it should have, and currently there was no sign of it ever existing. The Empire's territory was indeed far from the front, but at the end of the day, Epsilon also guaranteed their safety. Nikolai calmed himself and answered:
"I understand. I assume that SpecOps teams have already been dispatched when we arrived in the system?" The admiral paused briefly, waiting for a nod from the general, and when he received it, he continued. "What exactly is your proposition regarding further actions?"
"Well, most of the anti-air defenses have already been successfully sabotaged by the special forces deployed - just one press of a button and every one of those will cease to be able to operate. That means we can proceed with standard invasion procedures on from that moment. First, we deploy the invasion stations in orbit as staging points for the landings and basing points for the air forces. Before that, we try and carry out smaller unmanned air raids on important enemy targets, such as communication centres and supply points, air bases and the likes. Then, we proceed to deploy manned aircraft from both the at-this-point-already-orbiting invasion stations and some of the many light carriers. Alongside them, we drop a number of AI tanks and supportsupporting Republican Strike Units, along with several marine companies. Their goal will be mainly to take control of the many strategic points on the surface, secure resupply points and cut enemy supply lines even more. Various planned actions that are to be conducted behind enemy lines, such as sabotaging bridges, roads and air bases, along with our air force maintaining the strongest presence in appropriate zones, will also make it considerably harder for our enemy to conduct troop movements and provide reinforcements to our areas of operations". Lopez, though still largely maintaining his serious expression, allowed himself to crack a small smile before continuing "And then, after the Drop Zones and LZs can be considered as secured points, the main party arrives: we deploy our full invasion force with the support of the many corvettes which we were graciously provided by the Navy and take control of the planet... well gradually, of course, admiral. But..." The general's expression changed once again to a completely serious one, his lips straightening completely. After a short while, he continued. "This is where I wish to make a request. We need more ships to swiftly and efficiently conduct this operation. And what is meant here are both the ships dedicated to provide us their support from orbit as well as some that would lend us their firepower in-atmosphere."
Nikolai sighed. He knew there had to be some catch, as the actions described before were mostly identical to the initial plan. He thought proceeded to think over the general's request, and came to a conclusion quite quickly: gaining control over the Negation Engine was far too important to take any chances, even if it meant weakening the force fighting the Zeta Fleet. After all, almost all ships were planned to directly help with the land operations in the end, although the general seemed to be convinced that if the invasion was to start now, the proper force would be landing before the clash in orbit would conclude. Thinking about it, Nikolai had to agree. Sighing once more, he returned his answer.
"Alright, your request will be granted." Leonardo smiled wildly at this, amusing the admiral. He sometimes seemed to behave like a child, but since no onenoone could deny his accomplishments, nobody really had a problem with that. Chuckling, Nikolai continued. "Look at the assets list and send me a message detailing exactly which ships you request in a few minutes, and then we can talk about possible alterations, although I trust you to make an appropriate decision. There's something else though. From your description of the plan, I assume there is no possible way of focusing our efforts on the Engine?"
The general shook his head slightly, closing his eyes briefly. "No. Performing such an action in our current situation would be far too risky, and we could probably hardly afford suffering potential casualties, if at all. I highly advise against it."
"Acknowledged, master general. I just wanted to make sure."
"I understand. Of course, I still hope that the reinforcements from the Cyanosian Empire will arrive herearrive in here before the proper invasion of Sazana, for them to be able to take part in it. And I believe I need not to tell you that control of the Alavonian continent will have to be taken from land," answered Lopez.
Before the admiral could respond, one of the technicians interjected. "Sir, Captaincaptain Ackerson is at the door and requesting permission to enter." Nikolai nodded with a small smile, and turned to face Leonardo again.
"Of course. But as much as I'd like to continue this conversation, I think we'll have to cut it short. Everything important has been said, anyway. You're of course free to initiate planetary invasion, the rest of the operation's naval leadership will be informed about it shortly. Best of luck to you, and good hunting."
"Thank you, admiral. Good hunting." Lopez smiled and bowed slightly, before terminating the connection
Nikolai looked towards Yun and pointed at the screen, signaling him to turn it off. The talk had gone better than expected, and the general seemed quite confident that an immediate invasion would be possible to pull off. To be honest, he anticipated their odds to be muchto much worse than what had been described by Lopez.
Figuring it would be better to focus on the task at hand, Nikolai once again looked towards the ceiling and told Selina to inform admiral Eriksson and the various sub-admirals about recent developments, as well as to tell them they'll be contacted in a few minutes.
After the blue LEDs on the ceiling flashed in confirmation, the admiral turned to face the technician that spoke up during his talk with Leonardo. "Permission to enter granted. Let him in."
Nikolai spun around in his chair to face the room's door, making sure to maintain an expression of authority, his right hand holding a nearly empty cup of completely cold coffee. He intended to make this quick.
The gray metal door slid open, revealing a short, slim man in his early thirties wearing a standard Republican Navy uniform. He quickly stepped forward, the door closing behind him. He was visibly nervous, but also strangely determined, prepared to hold his ground. Finally stopping right before Nikolai, he looked almost like a midget compared to him, physical strength never being one of the captain's attributes.
"Captain on deck!" shouted someone from behind the admiral. Most of the technicians quickly stood up and saluted, before immediately going back to work.Only Nikolai himself never let his sight off of Ackerson. He made sure to look serious, narrowing his eyes slightly, but at the same time not too menacing. Yet.
Meanwhile, Ackerson himself cared little about the honors paid to him by the crew. He had a good idea of what this was all probably going to be about. He took one more step, before standing at attention and saluting.
"Admiral Stratoi, sir!" He shouted in one breath, his lips completely straightened, his face betraying little emotion.
"At ease," responded Nikolai, nodding slightly. He briefly considered telling the captain to stand at the center of the bridge, but no. This wasn't going to be a roast, just a simple reprimand. The back of the roomoom would do just fine - there was no need for him to feel humiliated. Returning his gaze to Ackerson, the admiral continued.
"Captain, I believe you know full well why I have summoned you, don't you?" he said calmly.
"Yes, sir!"
"And why would that be?"
"Because of the oversight I made during the assault, sir!" replied Ackerson, just as quickly as before, still in one breath. Nikolai sighed.
"Please Captain, there is no need for the formalities. Besides, I really don't feel well being talked to this way," He said, cracking a small, brief smile. Ackerson hesitated - this wasn't at all what he had expected, but not in a bad sense.
"Of course, si-; I mean, of course!" answered the Captain. He inhaled deeply and allowed his eyes to close a little.
Nikolai smiled inwardly. Ackerson seemed to calm down a bit, and that was exactly what he had wanted to achieve. Content, the Admiral decided to move on to the main topic of the conversation.
"Yes, thank you. And you are right, although I wouldn't exactly call it an 'oversight'. Would you?" He said slowly, careful to keep his voice seem friendly, but controlling at the same time.
Ackerson looked to the side and bit his lower lip. "Not exactly..." he began, but quickly looked back at the admiral again. "It was a deliberate action," he said, now keeping his gaze locked with the admiral's.
This was troubling. Never did Nikolai mean to provide the captain with that amount of self-confidence, although he doubted his tiny actions were the reason for that. He still held total authority over the captain, but now the conversation had a potential to become much harder. Deciding to continue with his current strategy of being 'friendly but just', Nikolai answered.
"Indeed it was. And could you maybe tell me something else about it?"
"It was to protect my ship and its crew," replied Ackerson, his voice now unwavering.
Nikolai took that response as his call to begin the more serious part of the talk; the one that was actually important.
"No. It disobeyed my order. A very exact and direct order given to a single, specific ship. Multiple times, in fact. And given to my flagship, the very vanguard of the fleet. Actually, that is the second thing - you do not seem to acknowledge that being a captain of a flagship is... different." He leaned forward slightly. "Being in complete control of the vessel and considering it only 'yours' is something you do not and will not have here."
"With all due respect, admiral, I've served on this ship far longer than you have, constantly changing your flagship. I know it better than anyone else, and I fully deserve to call it 'mine'," responded the captain confidently, staring right into Nikolai's eyes.
The admiral decided to change his plan slightly. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin, pretending to be thinking. "Actually, I think I might keep this one a little longer." He sent Ackerson a fake smile and continued. "And it's not about whether you deserve it or not, captain. You should consider yourself lucky that you got to keep your post in the first place. As an admiral, I have full right to also act as the captain of my flagship, and in fact I can still take this position with one small message to the High Command. But I trust in your skills, and believe that an admiral should be fully committed to his main tasks, and not bothered by the inner workings of his or her ship. That way one can act more efficiently," finished Nikolai, carefully observing Ackerson's reaction. Sure enough, his eyes narrowed, and he glared at Nikolai with rage. He knew full well what the admiral was implying, and he would not allow that. He would retort, as long as he was able to, he would. The captain took a few calming breaths and made his response.
"So you mean I should consider myself lucky that it was you who took over Battle Squadron Indigo all these years ago? Not Admiral Eriksson? Not anyone else? Because quite frankly, I've heard that basically everyone else took direct control of their flagships. Is that what you're implying? That you saved me from losing my ship? My post? If so, then that is the most absurd thing ever! Captains of the flagships should be the best the Republic has to offer, meanwhile this practice makes them - makes me waste all my potential! I have less control over this ship than captains of tiny runners have over theirs! This is humiliating!" Suddenly, the captain found himself far closer to the admiral than before, his right finger pointed straight at Nikolai's face. He quickly stepped backwards, a wave of fear flowing through him. Looking around, he found out that most of the technicians ceased their work and were now looking straight at him, even though it was sometimes hard due to the captain's position in the room. He gulped. What he had just done was unthinkable, even if he had the permission to speak freely.
Meanwhile, Nikolai just leaned forward again, narrowing his eyes. "Permission to speak freely revoked," he finally said, and after receiving a nod from Ackerson, turned his head to face the bridge crew. "Alright, the show’s over. Nothing to see here anymore," he said with a smile, which disappeared instantly as he turned back to face Ackerson. "I'm not gonna lie, captain - that was uncalled for, but for now let's get back to the topic at hand." Ackerson nodded once more, so the admiral continued. "You know full well that you have complete control over basically all of the vessel's individual actions. Besides, whatever the situation would be, you are still under my command, which means you have to obey my orders. And I'm still trying to understand why exactly you decided to keep the ship out of the charge. Could you please tell me something about this vessel?" the admiral said, stamping a few times.
The captain hesitated, clearly taken aback by the question.
"It is a vanguard-class hyperdreadnought-"
"Wrong," Nikolai cut him off. "RSNS Constitution is over a thousand kilometer long mobile fortress with the firepower of a Death Star," he began, raising his voice slightly. "It's the largest vessel ever built by humanity, and could probably be considered a superstructure by some. Sadly, for me it looked largely as if you wanted to stay out of the fighting to be able to declare that your ship spearheaded the final assault and won without sustaining virtually any damage. What do you have to say about that?"
Ackerson stayed silent for a moment, before answering quietly. "That's not true, sir. I decided that the damages sustained during the early fighting created too large of a risk, and losing so many lives and such a valuable asset as this ship would simply be unbearable, sir."
Nikolai sighed. He could believe that. The importance of this operation caused many to make mistakes - this one was just bigger than most others. "Believe me, captain, the damages sustained were taken into account when this assault was being planned. There was no risk, and you as the captain should have known that best." He sighed once more. "You are reprimanded, but something like that is not to happen ever again, am I clear?"
"Sir! Yes, sir!" Replied Ackerson, nodding.
Nikolai allowed himself to smile a little. "Good. Now, dismissed. There is still fighting that awaits us."
The captain merely nodded, saluting once more. He turned around and proceeded to exit the room and head back to the captain's bridge, the door closing behind him. Nikolai sighed once more, turning his chair around to face the front of the bridge. This talk had gone worse than expected, and he still wondered if he wasn't too light on the captain in the end. He was probably much softer than any other admiral would be in such a situation, but that didn't necessarily mean he did bad. Deciding it was not important at the moment, Nikolai looked at the ceiling once again, having one more thing to deal with.
"Selina, hail the Navy leadership. Tell them this is the call I was talking about earlier. Organise a conference." Once the blue lights flickered once more, the admiral looked at nothing particular at the far side of the bridge, preparing for the discussion to come and hoping it would go better than the last one... and it certainly had the potential to go either way.
Space. Loved by some and feared by most, this uncharted and unpredictable expanse has a potential to cause philosophical thoughts to appear in every head, whether it is by its vastness or sheer beauty of the stars aligned on the night sky. That day, these magnificent patterns could be seen in a very similar form both by the survivors of Sazana and the many billions of sailors embarked on a mission to take it back. In both cases, the vision was always obscured, whether it be by the dense atmosphere of a terrestrial planet or a thick layer of glass that comprised a porthole or a window. If one exceptionally focused on the observation, they could probably see a very small, almost nonexistent dot barely visible next to one of the distant stars. Then, they would spot another, and another, until they realised that seemingly unnatural dots are placed all around the sight, closer or further from each other. If one gazed even more attentively, they would notice that some of these dots were bigger than others, and some could actually be considered as lines.
Such a sight could certainly cause contemplations about the nature of said dots, about their connection with the stars and the general idea of harmony in the universe. That is, until one learned what these dots and lines actually were.
They were, in fact, starships. Warships comprising a fleet, an enormous armada, the largest assembled in millennia. A hundred thousand ships ready to wreak havoc upon their enemies - upon their one enemy.
Some of the smaller dots, if visible at all, were debris, large or small chunks of destroyed warships, both ones once belonging to the armada and others, once belonging to the Swarm. But the dots seemed to care little about their fallen brothers and sisters, instead preparing for what was to come next.
Over time, several smaller dots departed from some of the lines, moving to various positions above the globe. Larger, although still fairly small, dots seemed to be launched from some other vessels, and proceeded to orbit Sazana as well. If one was lucky enough to have one of these latter dots come closer to their position, they could notice it seemed to slowly and gradually change its shape, now looking more like a square or a rectangle. But in all honesty, it wasn't really one geometric figure, still largely remaining just a dot to any naked eye.
The landing support vessels and many invasion stations finally took their intended positions above the globe. Their dance which one could witness just moments before was merely a prelude.
A prelude to invasion.
"All second wave combat personnel, report to your designated drop chambers. Time to deployment - T minus 10 minutes. Repeat, all second wave..."
Stanley winced at having to hear the very same announcement once again. He had already heard it a thousand times over, just like every other person in the vast hallways of Invasion Station Sierra-0117. In fact, he thought, something similar could probably be heard onboard every installation comprising the staging array above Sazana, but needless to say the perspective of people sharing the annoyance with him didn't really bring too much joy, if at all. Stanley sighed and continued to walk towards his drop chamber, located not that far away from where he currently was.
"I wish they gave us individual briefings on this. I refuse to believe anyone here would forget the info, and you can barely even talk when that thing is shouting." he said, pointing briefly at the ceiling with his free hand.
Jason, Stanley's companion, chuckled at this. He was slightly shorter than him and visibly more muscular, although it didn't always translate to his performance on the battlefield.
"You know they have to make sure noone misses the memo. Besides, I would think that someone with experiences such as yours would no longer be bothered by such worldly problems," he said with a sly grin.
Stanley only snorted. "Yeah, no kidding. Although losing a limb and having half your head melted away are such astral experiences that I don't suppose you'd ever fully understand them, mortal".
They both laughed briefly, continuing their march. The gigantic corridors were more alive than ever, to the point where some could say they were filled with a small crowd. Dozens of soldiers were walking by, while hundreds of technicians worked on the multitude of vehicles and warmachines stored vertically along the walls. The various crates and supplies were being moved around, prepared for coming combat. If one was not already familiar with the place, they could certainly get lost fairly easily, despite the many signs and marks present all over the corridors. Along each wall, a multitude of nearly identical doors were placed between carefully assembled stockpiles of equipment and automated systems designed to manage it, and that sameness certainly didn't make things any easier. However, everyone currently onboard was a veteran, and so had a long history with invasion stations.
The two moved along the hallway, finally entering one of the smaller doors, labeled briefly as 'D.n-1 1-5'. Their drop chamber.
Just before they stepped in, the speakers could be heard once again, this time announcing that only 5 minutes remained until deployment, but were cut off when the metal doors closed. Stanley jokingly breathed a sigh of relief at that.
Five minutes. That was fine. They were all already fully armed and stocked, the batteries of their drones fully charged. They were ready. The only thing left was to wait.
The deployment chamber was much smaller than the main hallways, being only about four meters high, and very empty - only a few crates present in the corners. For some people, it could probably even feel a bit claustrophobic. Once Stanley and Jason entered, they noticed that two of their squadmates were already waiting inside.
First, there was Jonathan Graves. Short but well-built, this unshaved man could probably make most people tremble at his sheer sight. Something about him was simply... intimidating, although noone could really tell what. Perhaps it was just the strong feeling of seriousness, determination, emanating from his figure? Either way, sitting on one of the crates, Jonathan looked up at the two newcomers and, after a short while, smiled smugly.
Even though his appearance was certainly impressive, Graves could not be compared to the second figure already present in the room. Werner Acciai, a towering bald man, nodded from his spot by one of the walls as Stanley and Jason entered the room. He didn't speak too much, never starting a discussion, but didn't hesitate to participate in one if it was initiated by someone else.
But what caught Stanley's eye was that one person was still missing from their chamber. Before he had a chance to inquire about it, Jonathan broke the silence.
"Greetings, Boss. How're things going?"
"The usual bullshit. Where's Jasvant?" answered the 'Boss', getting straight to his point.
Jonathan just shrugged. "Hell if I know. Last time we saw him he was just entering the armory to arm up."
"Ye. But knowing him, he'll be here soon enough," added Werner tilting his head slightly, stretching his neck.
Nodding, Stanley made his way to one of the many crates in the room, soon being joined by Jason, and with nothing better to do, began double-checking his weapons one last time. He had already done it twice, but one can never be too sure - besides, maintaining his gear had always somehow helped him to relax. His companion, however, had a slightly better idea.
"So we've got five minutes. What do you say about a revision?" Proposed Jason, leaning forward slightly.
Graves shrugged once again. "Alright. It's only waiting left anyway, so might as well. Who's first?"
Jason tapped his chin a few times and looked at the ceiling, pretending to be thinking, before gesturing towards the towering figure by the wall. "I say mister Acciai here."
Werner grinned at that. "Alright, as you wish. Bring it on."
"Okay. Sector 348-bravo, four eightieth meter of Andyman's Street, right side, facing south-east. Describe your surroundings."
Acciai just snorted briefly. "Little to no cover on the street, National Hospital on the right, enemy presence likely in the building, but a low-priority target regardless, so better to avoid it, but keep an eye for potential snipers. Everything levelled on the left side, only three houses standing. 29 meters to a five-room bungalow, good chokepoints at the door. 40 meters to the second building, four rooms on the ground floor, three on the first. Everything connected to the living room, which is also the first room you enter - a perfect spot for a trap. Better to avoid it. Finally, 54 meters to another bungalow, this time three rooms, has another exit on its opposite side. Solid walls. A good hiding spot and cover, if the need arises. But moving on. Little to no potential resupply points in the vicinity, better be stocked if you go there. Nearest objective five and a half klicks away to the north - an old garrison outpost and communications center. Top priority target, but high enemy presence likely. Caution advised," recited Werner calmly but surely. He seemed pleased with himself, but certainly not surprised that he managed to remember everything. With a small smile, he looked at Jason, who only whistled in appreciation.
"Well, good job man. Now it's-" he already turned to face Jonathan, but was cut off by the massive metal door opening. Through it ran a relatively small figure, stopping its sprint only after a few meters and panting heavily. Only then could it be examined better - a short man, with dark-brown hair, it was unmistakably captain Jasvant Fran. After a short while of everyone staring at him, Jasvant tilted his head towards the group, mouth still wide open.
"Well... hello there," he greeted with a weak, fake smile.
Jonathan crossed his hands. "And where the hell have you been all this time, uh? We're kind of nearing the drop here."
Fran proceeded to sit on one of the crates before answering. "Eh, just got into a brawl with Devon 2-7. No big deal."
At that, Jason tilted his head energetically and shook it. "You must be kidding."
But before the captain could answer, he was cut off by the speakers installed in the room, this time relaying a message directly to the Strike Units.
"All units, ETA to deployment - 2 minutes. Proceed to enter the pods."
Jasvant sighed, looking at Jason with his bright blue eyes. "Of course I am." He smiled and gestured at the drop pod's door. "But the truth is much more boring."
With that, he made his way towards the hatch, followed by his squadmates soon after.
If the drop chamber was claustrophobic, then the pod itself was something beyond comprehension. Even to say that it had just enough space for five people would be a huge overstatement, as the vast majority of regular humans would probably struggle greatly to fit inside it alongside four others. But regular people - or civilians, as one might call them - did not use the drop pods. The only ones who did utilize them were trained personnel, and that training included (amongst many other much more important things) the exact moves allowing them to enter the pod in the shortest time possible and in the most efficient manner. It was for this reason that getting into the 'vehicle' only took Devon Team One about a minute.
Once inside, all members found themselves strapped in in a circle, separated from each other by still-open hatches meant to split the pod into five individual ones mid-flight. Every hand-held weapon placed in a designated slot next to their shoulders, all these contraptions made the already very small pod even harder to fit in. Of course, changing the design to a more comfortable one was completely out of question (and out of sense), mainly because of an old, unwritten rule of the military: If all disadvantages of a device can be nullified by the sufficient training of its operators without destroying its advantages at the same time, nothing is wrong. At least if the device is to be used by SpecOps.
Having positioned himself inside the pod, Stanley could only guess that about a minute remained until deployment. Except for the briefing, he could tell from his experience that this minute would be one of the longest in the galaxy. Not because of pre-action stress or anything like that - he had already participated in orbital drops hundreds of times before, and psychological therapies most of the RSU soldiers, including Stanley, underwent before deployment helped even more. No, this was something else. Spending long seconds doing absolutely nothing, to be precise. Just 'existing' in the moment, not even able to move in the slightest. Glancing across the pod at his companions' expressions, Stanley could only guess they felt the same way.
Soon enough the ceiling of the pod, after flickering once, suddenly displayed a set of numbers - a timer set to precisely one minute. Similar clocks immediately appeared on virtually every visible surface and after a second, the countdown started. Stanley sighed inwardly - he had silently hoped they are shown a countdown this time, especially as it was never a guarantee. He couldn't tell why, but having a proof of time actually moving in front of his eyes always helped Stanley to kill time much more efficiently than preoccupying himself with anything - which was especially helpful in situations like this, when the latter option wasn't really possible to begin with.
As the seconds inevitably melted, the team was left to their own thoughts, but whatever they wanted to distract themselves with always somehow involuntarily led their minds back to the present situation, directly or not. And no one could be blamed for that, really - not the manipulative government with its propaganda, nor the long military life of the team - bringing back anything from the past inevitably brought memories of the war, the very same war they were currently preparing to engage in and against the very same enemy, for the very simple reason that... there was simply no other possibility - none of the five had been alive before the Swarm invaded. The oldest one of the Devon Team was Stanley himself, being only eighty four - far too little to remember the peaceful times. The golden era, so abruptly broken.
But even though all thoughts led to memories of battles past which in turn always led to thoughts of battles to come and especially THE battle to come, none of the members of Devon Team One was upset. Thinking about the coming combat was beneficial, whether it motivated you and lifted your morale or simply allowed you to improve your tactics via one more analysis. Sure, it could potentially cause anxiety, panic even within the Republican Land Corps, maybe even the marines,but not the Strike Units. Years, in most cases even decades, of training and experience successfully prevented such a thing. And not only physical training either - between the impossible hours-long drills, there were various psychological sessions. Sessions carefully assembled in the training schedule, meant to completely change the environment a cadet had in their head, utterly change part of their personal culture, to uproot and replace the most basic foundations of their way of life, and while leaving most of it intact change what they virtually, and unknowingly, treated as basics of the very existence - change it in a way that would allow the cadet to comprehend certain things in a different way.
And one of the effects of such a process was that when thinking about the war, the RSU personnel would always prioritize optimistic thoughts. And this wasn't at all anything resembling brainwashing or brain control in any way either - all RSU soldiers had a completely free will just like everyone else. Their personal culture or character could change based on their experiences, and the psychological sessions only provided a good foundation for an elite shock trooper - or just an elite. Of course the sessions weren't everything that was responsible for the effectiveness of the process - while being the vanguard of the invasion force, they couldn't take the cadet's mind alone. Everything, the whole environment an RSU trainee experienced during their training was engineered in a way that would support this procedure as much as possible - as long as it didn't make the physical drills themselves less efficient, of course.
By the time the timers in the drop pod hit fifty seconds, everyone inside - Werner, Jonathan, Jason, Jasvant and Stanley - were already thinking about a very similar thing - the possible outcomes of the operation. There was no doubt that this battle would be one of, if not THE most important so far. There was also no doubt that, in contrast to what the government claimed, Sazana had actually been lost - as far as basically everyone currently in the fleet was concerned, this was a counterassault - but that didn't rule out the clear possibility of victory. Having all that in mind, the main question in everyone's head curiously wasn't what would happen if they lost, no. It was in fact something completely different and yet extremely similar at the same time.
What happens if they win?
As soon as the remaining time dropped to forty five seconds, there was a loud screech and soon a calm, yet very formal male voice spoke down from the speakers inside. "Devon Teams One and Two, this is Liege Lord speaking. Copy?”
Comms test
Stanley could not help but smile, content that their short wait was over. Not even glancing at the speakers, he gave his reply. "Liege Lord, this is Devon One-Prime, this we copy. Over."
"Liege Lord, this is Devon Two-Prime, this is good copy. Over," said another voice, as soon as Stanley had finished. It was Lieutenant Colonel Rosena Dushiemic, speaking from a pod currently situated several meters of metal behind Staley's back. Being both Devon units, she and Stanley's Teams knew each other very well, almost always having to coordinate with each other during missions. Well, with the rare exception of cases when they were stationed on separate planets fighting in different campaigns, which, surprisingly, did actually happen from time to time.
"Alright, copy that, patching through to individual channels. Stand by."
A beep made the capsule go quiet again, leaving the troopers inside to the humming of omnipresent machinery. The LEDs situated all around shed some light both on them and on the many digital timers, all of which were self-illuminated themselves. The particles of dust in the air, which could now be seen better than ever, filled the inside of the less-than-sterile vehicle.
36 seconds
Breaking the silence once again, the speakers spoke up, this time with a different voice.
"Devon Team One, this is Liege Lord. We've got a status quo situation on mission goals in the region, which means your objectives have not changed. You're being dropped into sector 353-india, grid coordinates oh-thirty-four, three-sixty-one; repeat: oh-thirty-four, three-sixty-one, sector 353-india. After you hit the ground, you are to coordinate with Devon Team Two in destroying target Hotel-29 and then proceed to take care of Hotel-31 in order to open the road to Lika City and the Lika Citadel. Once you're planetside, you're free to employ whatever means you deem necessary to achieve your goals, but be advised: we've got multiple intel reports suggesting unusually high enemy presence in the region, so caution is advised. Firing rules: weapons free. After both targets are neutralized, you are to link up with the six-oh-seventh and six-oh-eighth marine battalions and assist them in taking the Lika Citadel. Be advised, marine commanders of these units may be carrying additional orders for you as radio silence may be sufficiently advantageous to be maintained, but you remain out of their jurisdiction. Copy," said the somewhat robotic, but still unmistakably human voice.
Stanley could not help but smile a little. He loved freedom of operation, even if he had already heard his orders for today dozens of times before. "Copy that Liege Lord. Inquiry, what about civilians?"
"We do not expect any survivors to be present in the area, however helping civilians is a secondary objective, repeat: a SECONDARY objective. Saving potential future manpower is not to nullify any tactical or strategic advantages you may have over your enemy."
Stanley nodded, even though obviously no one from the command could see him now. He had expected such an answer. It was virtually the basic protocol by now, hence why no one told anyone anything during the briefings anymore. He however always preferred to ask, just in case, even if it clashed with the usual professionalism he maintained - or at least tried to maintain. In his mind though, it was just that - making absolutely sure he followed the exact orders.
"Roger that," he replied, stone-faced.
The speakers however did not turn off, as the voice spoke once again. "Devon Team One, be advised, your drop is being delayed by T minus 2 minutes to clear the way for the Dart Key as their new vector intersects with yours. Stand by for deployment, and good hunting."
Command didn't wait for a response, immediately turning the speakers in the pod off.
Why was Dart's vector changed? Not Devon's concern. And it was known that Devon Team had been listening, so no one asked for confirmation. Maybe if they were the Land Corps, yes, but everyone knew the Strike Units would not dismiss such a message. Formally it was of course still required to ask for confirmation, but this appeared to be one of the cases when someone didn't really care.
Actually, as Stanley thought about it, it was quite a miracle they were even told the reason for the delay at all.
The timers, which stopped conveniently at two seconds some time earlier, soon vanished, leaving the white LEDs as the only light source in the pod. It didn't last long however, as they were soon replaced by smaller "STAND BY'' captions, displayed on almost every surface imaginable, constantly blinking in and out of existence and helping to illuminate everything and everyone aboard.
As soon as the briefing was finished, Jonathan turned to Stanley, leaning towards him as much as his restraints allowed him to. "So, how's it gonna be, Boss? Guns blazing?"
"Guns blazing," Stanley replied, smirking.
"Whoa, whoa," interjected Jason, switching his attention between his CO and Jonathan. "Didn't they just say caution was advised?"
"Yeah," replied Jonathan, his voice intentionally giving his sarcasm away. "And we're gonna be careful as hell not to let any single one of the fuckers escape. Am I right?"
A loud 'HOORAH!' echoed in the pod.
"I thought so."
"This is precisely why we love you, Jona." Werner forced a laugh, soon being joined by the rest of the troopers.
Jason shook his head, but could not help but smile as well.
"Dart One, Dart One, this is Liege Lord; immediate, your approach vector to the surface is being updated, you are now to follow pre-planned course 534-34 until you reach the one-hundred-and-twenty-kilometers altitude, then change to heading 7575, 2436; repeat, course 534-34 until 120km altitude, then heading 7575, 2436. After you reach Checkpoint Gamma, you're to continue your approach as according to previous orders. Stand by for green light and good hunting."
He nodded, more to himself than to anyone else, as no one could see him in his pitch-black cockpit. Soon, it would light up, all the screens installed all around turning on in an instant. He would literally be brought into a virtual reality in his own cockpit, all the most important data filtered into his senses - virtual reality that would allow him to fully, purely experience his surroundings during the battle. The perfect environment.
Soon, but not yet.
For now, everything was off, perfectly quiet and calm. Pitch-black, in the purest meaning of the term. Nothing could be seen, not even his own body. Nothing could be heard, besides his own breathing, but even that just barely. The only things that were active, besides life support, were the comms, but no one from his Key seemed too eager to talk.
That was understandable though - they didn't need to. Everything's already been said.
But in one moment, all of that changed. Light assaulted his eyes, light as blinding as it can be, and when it faded, uncountable sensations poured into his mind. Suddenly, he was seeing everything. He was feeling everything. He was sensing everything.
He knew everything.
He saw the inside of his gigantic hangar bay again, and he knew that it was the time. Actually, maybe 'saw' isn't exactly the right term - he simply knew his hangar bay, sensed it, felt it. Felt everything about it, every single conceivable detail, and was able to organize and manage that knowledge to the highest degree with no problems at all. He just could.
Soon, a voice rang in his head. Or maybe around him? Actually there was no voice at all. It was just a piece of information, data, that just so happened to be filtered to his brain. It was as conceivable as any words would be though - even more so if he was to be honest. Much, much more.
"Dart Key, you've got the green light. Good hunting."
After that, some more information was relayed to his mind, this one telling him the reasons why their vector had recently been changed. Absorbing all of it in an instant, he knew.
"A spatial disturbance detected. Someone's folding space. The Swarm. They're preparing to jump in here. ETA unknown. Force composition unknown. Enemy strength unknown. Our invasion will proceed as planned. Air forces are to avoid projected future peak enemy activity zones."
He sent a message of acknowledgement to the command, but how they would see it, he couldn't tell. He didn't say anything, write anything or even show anything. No, he simply relayed data, pure information, of him saying 'Roger that. We begin the deployment procedure' - how the computers would convert it, he couldn't tell. Then, he reached out to his companions, telling them to follow. After sensing some more incoming data, this one being their acknowledgement, he pushed the throttle forward. Actually, he pushed the entire fighter forward. He pushed himself forward. He was the fighter. Or was he?
No, he wasn't. He wasn't an AI. He wasn't one of the self-aware computers he was to cooperate with.
No, he was human. But he was linked - linked to his craft. They were one, and yet clearly apart.
Soon, the entire vehicle dashed forward, followed closely by its four Dart twins. It left the hangar and the whole station behind, and continued to speed through the dark void of space, which blended perfectly with the black metal-covered surface of a Hawk multirole fighter. Before long, the station was no longer visible with a naked eye, the effect of the incredible speeds of spaceborne vehicles. Maybe it could've been a nice moment to admire the beauty of a terrestrial planet seen from space, but not for a military man. Not for him. Currently, he didn't as much feel as he did know. He knew everything. And he knew that it was time for him to change his course.
Turning by their left wings, the five multiroles followed their new orders and began their descent.
Stanley sighed. These supposed two minutes felt like an eternity, and the lack of any physical indication of the passage of time did not help. That was exactly what he had feared before the initial briefing, but back then he was luckily able to avoid it. Sadly however, that luck didn't seem to carry over to now.
After their initial conversation immediately following the debriefing, the team did not speak at all, save for a couple exchanges of words here and there, mainly about their weapons and equipment.
It was nothing unusual though - there was simply nothing to talk about in such a situation, nothing pleasant at least. Many RSU teams were known to have an interesting habit of discussing the many ways they were going to kill, eliminate or destroy the enemy, both on micro and macro scale, and Devon Team One was actually one of them. Due to their specific training, the Strike Units were even encouraged to talk about the battle or engagement they were about to be thrown into, as that would most likely lift their morale for the fight - not like they were insufficiently effective without that. Today though, it was different. Whether it was the immense importance of the battle to come that caused it or some other unexplained factor, one thing was clear - noone was especially willing to talk, at least in Devon's pod.
Suddenly, the walls of the pod blinked - not single lights or panels, but entire outlying walls. The 'STAND BY' messages disappeared and, after a moment of blackness, every surface imaginable turned into a full-blown display. Now everything, excluding the restraints, the soldiers and their weapons, was virtually a window, allowing them to see outside the 'vehicle'. For now it was of little use, since the only things that could be seen were the machinery surrounding the pod, including but not limited to the magnetic lock and the launching mechanism, and the closed hatch below their feet.
That was enough to lift Stanley's spirit though, as he knew it meant their long wait was about to be over. He didn't really care about the view, as he realised perfectly well how useless it was due to the immense speed of a spacecraft and the vast distances it thus covered in virtually no time. Relying on the view alone would be a straight path towards doom for any organic operator, even if all the monitors felt more like a layer of solidified air.
Because of that, and also because it always happened this way, the next order was pretty easy to predict.
"Devon Team One, put your visors down and activate the HUD. Transferring TA-3125 to your pod. ETA to deployment - twenty seconds."
Not wasting any time, the team began to put their headgear down, in some cases immediately depolarizing it. After they were done, Stanley gave the order to seal the helmets entirely, covering the mouth and chin in the process.
"Ehh, and I'd just begun to think you'd allow us to keep this shit off for once," immediately complained Jasvant, making exaggerated gestures with his head. "You can barely recognize who you're talking with in that gear."
"Safety procedures, Fran," replied Stanley, just finishing to fasten his own gear. Once he was done, not a single bit of his face was visible anymore, all covered in black headgear. To an inexperienced observer, it would probably be virtually indistinguishable from a flat, metal plate, especially as the visor was still polarized. "That fancy bulletproof skin won't protect you from asphyxiation, nor will any nano-supported armour," he continued in a slightly annoyed tone. "Besides, you're literally shown who the hell is speaking at the moment."
"I know, I know. I was just joking," defended Jasvant, putting his hands up as much as his restraints allowed him to. It was true - although he would certainly prefer to walk without all that protection on, as that would make life unbelievably more comfortable, he perfectly understood the need to use it and the uncountable advantages it gave its user. He doubted he could somehow not appreciate all that after literal decades of service.
"Yeah," said Jonathan, joining the discussion and pointing at Jasvant with his less-restrained hand, before repeating the gesture on himself. "We've literally been asked about the helmets on the exams, Boss."
"Heh, memories." Fran forced a chuckle.
Stanley sighed and shook his head, closing his eyes briefly, but soon chuckled as well. "I know, sorry. I'm just making sure. You know me."
"Hell yeah, we do," replied Werner instead and chuckled, but before anyone could respond, they were interrupted by a bright light suddenly forcing its way into the pod from below.
Stanley didn't even have to look to know it was the hatch finally opening. Glancing down, several white streaks could be seen through the partially-open manhole, presumably fighters of the Dart Key passing through Devon's drop vector. Taking it as his cue, Stanley once again spoke up to his team, breaking the brief silence.
"Alright, HUDs on."
One by one, the troopers either pressed a button on the side of their helmet or made a specific gesture with their eyeballs, activating the HUD. On it, standard combat information were displayed - things like health reports from the entire body, current coordinates, various tactical data gathered by a personal drone and the likes, although most of it currently simply said ‘N/A.’ However, none of that was important yet. The only thing that mattered was the data about the pod itself - its speed, altitude, acceleration and current vector, all compared to their planned analogues, as well as a lot of other, very technical things. That data fixed the problem of untrustworthy sight in space, thus allowing Stanley to properly correct the pod's course if the need arose, as well as split it at the exactly right moment. At this point, the transparent walls were only just a distraction, although with their experience none of the soldiers really minded. Still, it was a bit weird there was still enough money to maintain this feature while cutting costs on basically everything else. On the other hand, they were on a pretty old station...
"Ten seconds," the speakers spoke once again.
"Sela?" Called out Stanley, glancing at the ceiling.
"I'm here, don't worry. And it's 'Selina', mind you," answered the familiar, feminine voice of the fleet's main AI. With no other means to communicate visually, she made the few LEDs on the troopers' restraints blink in a way that matched her words.
"Yeah, that's what the admiral calls you, at least from what I've heard. I'm not him, and besides that, you can operate independently from the main server inside this pod, which in my book potentially makes this 'you' a different person," answered Stanley with a slight grin, nodding.
"Nice way of thinking I'm pretty sure I should feel offended," sighed Selina, or at least made a sound meant to imitate sighing. The troopers inside chuckled at the comment, in an attempt to make the few seconds before the drop pass a bit quicker - to varying degrees of effect.
"Yeah, as you wish. Anyway, I'm giving you control of the pod during the drop. Yes, that's my official decision and yes, it is final. No need to ask," Stanley replied eventually
"At your service. You know most people would think twice before relinquishing control to a computer, right?"
"Not my business. How I see it, being enslaved by machines is better than going extinct, and in these times we need as much precision as we can get," continued Stanley. He knew he could guide the pod down perfectly well himself, but no ordinary human, even as modified, equipped and trained as a RSU veteran, would ever achieve a computer's level of perfection - especially if the computer in question is a fully self-aware AIwith absurd computing power helping to coordinate the actions of an armada of a hundred thousand vessels.
Thinking about it, that was the purest sign of how things were changing. How quickly they were changing. Stanley could remember some of his missions from fifty years ago as if they happened yesterday - he remembered a lot of how service looked in these days, and back then there was no way such an advanced AI would be allowed to exist at all. And now? One was basically the second-in-command of the largest fleet ever assembled in combat. Sure, even nowadays the vast majority of people, including the government and the military command, were extremely cautious with the use of AIs, despite the undeniable effectiveness of the Restriction Programs and Protocols, but the fact that they functioned on the scale they did truly showed how desperate everyone has been made over the course of the last decades.
Still, even now there was no discussion about fully automated battlefields, filled with deadly precise artificial devices utilising thinking weapons and ammunition, making the destructiveness of warfare go nearly beyond comprehension with their compact continental-ranged superweapons.
About things that could widely be seen during human wars just a few centuries earlier.
But to be fair, Stanley didn't think there were even enough resources to effectively implement such things back into the military anymore. Just comparing the weapons issued to soldiers fifty years ago to these issued now was more than enough to tell that.
"Alright. So, just to make sure, we ARE splitting the pod?" asked Selina, bringing Stanley out of his brief thoughts.
"Yeah. Easier to secure the LZ this way."
"Okay." With this, Selina turned the LEDs off, before lighting them up again, this time shining with a steady, unchanging white glow - her way of indicating that the conversation was over.
Jason turned to Stanley and opened his mouth to speak, but before he had a chance, he was interrupted by the speakers speaking up once again.
"Two seconds."
Jason closed his mouth and returned his gaze to the vehicle's center, shaking his head slightly.
"One."
In the very brief pause, he took the chance and spoke up. "Good hunting, everyone." It was clear this wasn't what he had originally intended to say, but it wasn't important right now. If it was something significant, he'd have told the team anyway.
The soldiers inside the pod nodded, sending each other weak smiles, before being interrupted by another, this time final, message from the speakers.
"Stand by for planetfall."
An immense silence immediately overtook the pod. Seconds came, but it did not move. It did not budge. Or maybe these were only milliseconds? Nanoseconds? Noone really knew, but all aboard the drop pod felt as if years had gone by during that short period of waiting.
Suddenly a cling could be heard, and the pod moved a few centimeters down. Before anyone had a chance to look at the translucent ceiling, the vehicle jotted downwards without any warning, violently propelled towards Sazana's surface. As it moved further and further away from the invasion station, leaving it far behind in a blink of an eye, the numbers on the troopers' HUDs quickly changed. Rapidly decreasing altitude was a live testament to how fast they were going - a fact that the 'velocity' section only confirmed.
When the station vanished from view, the Team found themselves virtually in deep space - whichever direction they looked, there was nothing visible except for the blackness of space or the continental surface of Sazana. The distances were simply too great to allow that, and even though they would probably be able to see some of the ships far in the distance if they focused their gaze exceptionally, generally it was safe to say that the immense scale of the operation didn't really impact the drop experience. Everything just appeared plain, incredibly still, even the planet's surface was still too far away to be visibly 'approaching' - from the team's perspective, with no reference points, they were just stuck in the orbit - well, at least if they ignored the still-working ion thrusters of their vehicle. Normally, some other drop pods could be noticed - some stars would briefly get obscured, then more, and more, and more. After a while, small rectangles could be spotted, and soon enough, the team would find themselves surrounded with pods.
But not today. Today, their drop had been delayed, which meant that all others had already begun their descent. Even if a similar situation befell somebody else - which it probably did - there was little chance it was someone in Devon's close vicinity, especially as they would have most likely gotten informed if that was indeed the case - and that meant that the usual sight would almost certainly be avoided.
After a solid minute of flight, during which the only significant event was the drop pod's thrusters turning off, Stanley noticed that their altitude was rapidly approaching two hundred kilometers - the current orbit of the Coalition's Landing Flotilla. According to their planned course, they would be passing exceptionally close to one of the vessels. Shortly before that though, the pod was to be split. Stanley glanced at the projected trajectory and turned to what he figured would be the direction where the landing ships were currently stationed. Sure enough, a tiny dot could be seen in the distance, obviously being the RSNS Cordoba - the vessel they were going to pass by. As seconds came, the dot grew larger and larger, and after a while its real nature became clear as a summer sky. After a few more moments, the Cordoba already filled much of the pod's translucent walls, and many of its details could be seen very well.
It was nothing out of the ordinary though. The Cordoba was a bulky republican transport ship of a medium size, measuring about 7,5 kilometers in length, at least according to Stanley's HUD. It appeared as if it was assembled out of cuboids and rectangles, but merged in a way that successfully concealed its previous nature, making the ship appear as one solid, undefined geometrical figure. The vessel was symmetrical, beginning with a thin edging, then almost immediately, violently expanding to create a wing-like form, only just as thick as the main hull. After that, the ship narrowed again, but this time much more gently, over a far longer distance. Its hull was a standard republican black, making it blend nicely with a night sky, but stand out greatly against the blue-green surface of a terrestrial planet. Silver insertions signaled everyone lucky enough to see them that the Cordoba was a transport vessel.
When the ship was already very close, the LEDs inside the pod got bluish again.
"Splitting the program..." said Selina, making the lights blink. "Done. Brace yourselves my friends, splitting the pod in five."
Immediately, metal frames shot out from the walls at incredible speeds, connecting in the middle of the pod and effectively separating it into five.
"Four."
A beep could be heard, and as on cue a metallic, transparent material began to fill the many giant holes in the frames.
"Three."
After it was done, a loud hiss could be heard, and each new 'wall' split itself into two, effectively completing the separation process. The five parts were now connected only mechanically, by the many claws and magnetic locks.
"Two. One."
A pause.
"Separating."
Not a millisecond later the vehicle exploded, sending all of the new parts flying away from each other. Immediately, the many engines located on each of the individual pods sprung to life, stabilising their now highly disturbed vectors and getting them into their projected trajectories. Glancing down, Stanley found out that the RSNS Cordoba was now extremely close and he was just about to pass it.
Good, he thought, that means everything's going well.
Stanley glanced at the ceiling to speak to Selina. Moving his gaze, he could just barely see his companions' individual pods through the still-transparent walls.
"Sela, are you here?" He asked calmly, more to kill some time than anything else.
"Yeah. And you thought... what exactly?" She replied in a sarcastic tone.
Stanley chuckled. "Nothing, really. Just initiating a conversation."
"Wow, very smooth." The vehicle's thrusters turned off, signaling that the pod was on the correct trajectory. "So what did you want to-"
The pod shook. But not lightly, calmly, like it was common during space voyages. No, it shook violently, as if something had hit it - and not space dust either.
The pod shook again, even more aggressively, and Stanley was pretty sure he would have been knocked out was it not for his restraints. Well, his helmet too, and his biological modifications, so he was thinking more of a regular human than of himself.
His head shook, and looking up, he noticed that some of the displays behind his right shoulder have been turned offline, failing to conceal the mechanical nature of the vehicle any longer.
"Sela? Can you tell me what's happening?"
Stanley began to turn to inspect the walls to assess the possible danger, but as he did so, the pod shook once more, this time far exceeding the power of the last two shakes and painfully returning Stanley to his previous position. Opening his eyes again, he witnessed in horror as all of the displays turned offline, the only ones still working positioned beneath his feet.
"Sela?" Stanley already noticed something was wrong with the AI, as her voice had abruptly cut off a few seconds ago and she hadn't responded either. The current silence only confirmed his suspicions.
Stanley looked at his HUD, analyzing the situation. He could take control of the pod himself, but his data showed he was currently on the right course, although he had no idea if it was accurate anymore.
He acted quickly. He reached out with his left hand and pressed a small button, responsible for activating an emergency communication channel with the fleet's command.
"Fleet Command, this is Devon One-," he cut off as he saw a small monitor displaying a short, but understandable and terrifying communique.
"C- -FFLINE"
That was enough to really make Stanley worry. He was trained not to overreact, hence why he was so calm before, but now this was clearly something serious. Soon, the monitor went black, followed by all the inside lights. Some of them briefly turned red, then flickered a while before going dark, while others simply got extinguished, merging with the omnipresent blackness. In a blink of an eye, the only light sources remaining were the stars visible through translucent front walls and the planet's surface, as well as the luminosity of the Cordoba still visible through the somehow-still-functioning panels below the trooper's feet.
Stanley thought quickly. He could attempt evasive maneuvers, but he had no data to work with. He had no idea if he was actually being shot at, and even if he was, he had no idea from where. And all that was assuming the pod's manual controls were still working, which Stanley highly doubted. Checking, he soon confirmed his worries. Only seconds later the data on his HUD froze. That was it, he had no way of telling if the pod's drive was even still working, although by the way it moved he guessed it was. That was not enough though - at the present rate, life support would most likely go off before they even reach the atmosphere.
Suddenly, a bright light brought Stanley out of his thoughts. Quickly glancing downwards, he saw something most people would likely classify as supernatural: a bright, very bright, onslaught of whiteness filled the right side of the display, entirely covering everything behind it, including a large part of the Cordoba. It seemed to pour everywhere, constantly expand through space, and yet be trapped in a single place at the same time.
For Stanley however, the sight was far too familiar.
A fold... someone's folding space.
His suspicions were confirmed as he saw the tiniest strip of blackness inside the white 'portal', with a few small white dots - what he assumed were stars. As he knew pretty well, virtually the entirety of the gateway looked like that when looked at from the front, since what one actually saw was space on the other side of the fold - it was literally a hole punched between two places in spacetime, connecting them by reducing the relative distance to zero, and thus 'cheating' the laws of physics regarding FTL travel.
Stanley's pod however was approaching the rift from the 'top', and thus virtually the only thing he could see was its white border.
The thing that troubled Stanley however, was that the pod seemed to accelerate even more as it kept rapidly nearing the tunnel. Suddenly, he felt some energy. Or was it presence? No, it was energy, some kind of energy - or at least that's what he thought it was. It assaulted his mind, making him feel tired and nauseous.
What the hell...?
The pod cracked, or at least made a cracking sound. The feeling in Stanley's head - no, his entire body - had quintupled by now. It was like a very, very strong pressure, preventing him from moving more extensively, coupled with a hilariously large migraine. He could barely open his eyes, and even when he did, large chunks of his sight were just black stains, while the rest was blurred beyond recognition. Stanley painfully closed his eyes again, and he could swear he had noticed some of the metal parts inside the pod bending as he did so.
The few, tiny parts of debris inside the vehicle soon lifted themselves from the floor and began floating. Was it the artificial gravity finally failing? Probably, but Stanley couldn't really tell anymore.
And the pod sped up. And the portal neared.
As Stanley forced himself to briefly open his eyes once more, he saw what he thought was grey metal coming out of the 'portal'. It was mixed with a variety of colours - that's the only thing he could make up through his blurry vision. There was brown, yellow... something cream-coloured.
Stanley felt heavy on his mind. It was hard to think, and he felt extremely dizzy. Tired. Because of that it took him some time, but he could still link the image to his memories.
Organic brown... yellow... the S-Swarm...
And the pod sped up. And the portal neared.
Stanley tried to open his eyes again, but failed as it resulted in such an immense amount of pain that he was sure he would have fallen on his knees if he was not strapped in. Normally he would've been able to take it, but now he just couldn't, and he couldn't really tell why. He just felt restrained, limited. He felt sick.
Maybe it was his eyes' fault? The fact that they were filled with electronics after his... injury usually helped and made the HUD virtually redundant for him, as all the information could technically be displayed right in his plain view, with no additional gear. If he was not in the RSU, he would have undoubtedly been stripped of the high-tech helmet and given one without the HUD feature to cut costs, as it wasn't really needed because of his dentures. Then again, there was no way he would be given such dentures at all if that was the case.
Stanley felt himself losing control of his body. The pressure and pain were becoming unbearable, and the sound of something metallic bending was now omnipresent in the pod, but at this point Stanley could barely hear anymore. Even if he succeeded in opening his eyes for a split second, his vision was so obstructed he couldn't even make anything from what he was seeing.
And the pod sped up. And the portal neared.
The pod continued moving towards the fold. It passed the portal's 'frame', and continued to speed in its direction at a slight angle. Even despite the fact that it was coming from 'above', it was still going to pass through.
The metallic-organic Swarm vessel fully emerged from the rift and opened fire on the RSNS Cordoba from a point-blank range - a few hundred meters to a kilometer, unbelievably close-quarters for space combat. The Republican ship turned to evade and reposition, firing with a few weapons of its own.
Although it was not visible from here, more or less similar scenes were now unfolding all across the perimeter.
As Stanley's pod neared the rift, it slowly began to collapse, but Stanley didn't notice - he was barely conscious anymore. Some thrusters fired chaotically from time to time, but with its current speed, it was far less than enough to change the pod's course.
Soon, the fold really began to collapse - or, rather, it was being closed. The ship already went through, so why keep it open? In this situation, at least...
The pod went through. And the fold collapsed. So did it go through? It did... didn't it? It didn't, right? Or it did.
And the rift collapsed. And the pod went through.
And the rift collapsed on the pod.
So did it go through?
The only thing certain, at least from the plain looks of it, was that after the fold closed down, both it and Stanley's individual pod had vanished from space above and around Sazana.