//------------------------------// // Act II, Chapter 4: Scorched Earth // Story: Of Starships and Golden Armors // by Devona //------------------------------// A drowning man will clutch at straws Dimension 000-000-001a "Oh-One" Sazana, Ckarflox system, Defense Line Epsilon; more precise location [UNKNOWN] Capital Universal Time (CUT) - June 17th, 6193; 1743 hours Local Operational Time - 1314 hours; day cycle 213/601 58th day of the Defense of Sazana 6th day of the counteroffensive Three days after deployment Smoke. Flashes. Shock. "Two-One, Two-One, your trajectory's too flawed. Please apply..." Shakes. Shakes omnipresent. Sparks. "Negative, I don't seem to... Ahh! I can't..." "We're under fire! Repeat, we're under heavy fire! This is..." Headache like never before. Tech going haywire. All moves suppressed in a blink of an eye. "Two-Four, try to- link-" "Ahh! I... I can't see! I can't SEE! Ahh...!" "Ahh! Ahh... I... I... why... why I... Command... Command... Fleet Com- Ahh!" A twang. What was that? Faceplate suddenly cracking. Ah, the restraints. The restraints are off. "Two-One, talk to me! I need a sitrep, NOW!" Entire service flashing before own eyes. A sudden perspective of an ultimate end. "Admiral, we've got reports of additional contacts all across the perimeter!" "God, we've underestimated! Oh, how have we..." "They're everywhere!" Another twang. Eyes opened, if just for a second. A second to see a restrain break off. Fall. Then lift, as systems fail - artificial gravity. Pain. PAIN. A zink. Power's back. The metal falls, eyes open again. Blood sipping from the forehead. Blackout. Sunlight sharply forced its way into Jasvant's eyes, forcing him to turn his head away. Only then did he notice he was, in fact, still wallowing on the drop pod's floor, right arm sticking out through its shattered wall. Jasvant attempted to raise up, just to be held back by nothing else than his own body. His legs felt like wool. Every muscle did. Grasping at some protruding sections of the drop pod, Jasvant forced himself back up. An unlikely drop of blood shimmered in the corner of his eye. For a few seconds, it danced on the top edge of his completely shattered faceplate, before dropping onto Jasvant's lips, allowing him to feel its taste. It wasn't blood, not at all. Much too sour. It was a remedy. Icucine. "Warning: prospects critical! Immediate Youn Pills intake required!" Jasvant inhaled deeply, over and over again. The air was clear, there was no smoke, and yet it was getting hard to breathe. Mind felt like jelly. Any complex thought was a challenge now. Despite that though, Jasvant's instincts soon kicked in and evaluated the situation for him, even if only in a very vague way. He either takes the pills or he dies. End of story. Jasvant had no idea how everything looked outside the pod, what was the situation, if he had a realistic chance of getting the medicines. But if he didn't, that'd just mean death, so nothing different than what was already in store for him. The only, smallest variant that invloved survival was getting out. However hard that may be. "One-Two! Aye, One-Two! Do you read?" "Reception confirmed, One-Four, matching frequency. Yeah, it's him, lucky bastard." Even as Jasvant finally understood these voices were coming from his, now destroyed, headgear, he didn't stop crawling, cutting his exposed hands on one piece of debris after another, pushing aside the syringes which for some reason failed to retract. He needed to get out. He needed to. Another minute, and a wave of relief suddenly traveled through the soldier's miserable body. He finally pieced the childish puzzle together - it was his team's frequency. They were here. He may live. He may yet fight on, after all, and realistically at that. Despite this, Jasvant was already basically leaning against the pod's front wall. One hand-slip, and his entire body pummeled through the barrier, breaking through it as it went, and soon twitched at the sudden contact with Sazana's burnt, ornage-yellow ground. Without anything at all to block it, light assaulting Jasvant's eyes quintupled, but luckily it was not going to last. Suddenly, as something shimmered in front of him, Jasvant felt his body sharply pulled to the side, his left shoulder scrubbing the scorched earth. How long it lasted, he couldn't tell. For him, it was mere seconds before the mysterious figure released its grasp, but truly, it could've been any amount of time. Everything in front of Jasvant shimmered, the scenes unfolding nothing but a collection of unrelated segments. Then blackouts, blank spaces, when there was nothing at all, at least from the perspective of time, because what he experienced back then, he knew not. Jasvant flinched at the cold sandstone's touch as the figure put his uncooperating body back down. The soldier would've sighed with relief if he could, mostly because he was finally freed of the headache caused by the overwhelming light, but by now his previously heavy breathing was already dying off. The world glistened with heavenly lights. Nothing looked material anymore. Nothing was clear. Meawhile, although Jasvant could notice it no longer, the voices from before once again broke the local, sham silence. "One-Four, you're clear. Immediate: watch north-west, I've got no visual on the area - line of sight obstructed. Over." "Copy that, One-Five," a relieved sigh resonated through the enclosed area, as part of the distant wall suddenly spawned a few black dots. These dots grew in a blink of an eye, a millisecond if one wills, causing much of the background to change colour, revealing a big, muscular figure kneeling in front of Jasvant. "Aye, son. How could you make it?" it addressed the soldier with a depolarized visor. Even through his dying breath, when everything else was no more, Jasvant cast a weak smile at that sight. This face he could recognized anywhere, even on a literal Hell's doorstep as it seemed. Devon-1-4. Werner Acciai. Despite fully opened eyes, darkness reigned in Jasvant's sight as the orange-white cuboids were shoved down his throat. The soldier vagualy felt his left arm slide down from one of the sandstone bricks lying around, indicating he had lost feeling - as well as all control. This was... was... it... right...? "Adaptation too slow. Injecting adrenaline," whispered Werner, pulling out a small cylinder from the container on his back. "Copy that One-Four; and good luck, big guy." Nothing. Two seconds. Nothing. Three seconds. Nothing. Five seconds. Suddenly, a quadrillion sensations assaulted Jasvant's brain, as the world around appeared once again. His lungs, previously as though crushed and restrained, were now freed, allowing the soldier to breath to the fullest extent - which he took full advantage of. Jelly-like mind momentarily replaced back with tissue, Jasvant immediately started analyzing his surroundings, as per protocol, at this point engraved into his head so heavily it was nothing less than his second nature. That is, he would have done so, was it not for a deep chuckle resonating through this small building - a sound both clear and covert at the same time. "One-Four, the hell's going on? The panting from our lost colleague?" inquired another voice, unmistakably Jonathan's, both from its sound and half-serious undertone. "Affirmative, One-Five," Werner answered, though this time Jasvant noticed no sound reached him from beyond his damaged speakers, indicating a switch to internal. "Condition seems good, ye. Hold position, we'll regroup and rendezvoux at your place, over." Werner stood back up, polarizing his visor, and offered Jasvant a hand. Taking it, the soldier noticed just how badly his armor had been damaged; whole sections were missing, likely broken off and scattered somewhere in or near his pod. "Copy that One-Four, I'm holding. And One-Two? Welcome to the living. Out," Jonathan chuckled, before terminating the connection. Back on his feet, Jasvant instinctively reached to polarize his visor, but quickly realised it'll be in vain as his hand reached the former spot of the now-missing faceplate. However, noticing it, Werner immediately reached back, picking something up from the earth-covered ground, and handed the object to Jasvant. "Take this," he insisted. "A replacement. Marine, the only I could find, but better than nothing. Will have to get used to a reduced HUD." Jasvant grasped the grey-green helmet, briefly looking it over. It truly was a Marine headgear, and the most typical one one could find; head's top and back covered with permament, non-retractable plastics, then a removable faceplate adorned with several displays. On the sides, a yellow-blue-black Republican flag stuck out, right next to a nametag, in this case reading '108-33.24-11.71 H. Donovan'. Jasvant spun the helmet in his hands and, after shrinking his current one with one quick motion, put it on. "Well," he sighed. "I've surely seen some much worse caps." "Keep that attitude up. Means you are really back," Werner chuckled deeply, patting Jasvant on the shoulder. "Adjust the combat clock. Sync it up with mine." "What? Why? This one's working." "Incorrectly," informed Werner, reaching for some other item. This time when he turned back he was grasping a big, weirdly prolonged, black machine gun. "Take this. Again, ye, it's Marine, but your AR's not in your pod." "Eh, I can manage," Jasvant replied, checking the weapon over. "But how's the clock incorrect? The sa-" "The satellites?" interrupted Werner. "They ain't here." A grave silence took over, drowning even the distant screeches and crunches, and muffled fire-like sounds. "Acknowledged," Jasvant eventually responded. "Clock synced, connection with Devon network established. Also, I might need a sitrep. Short version." Instead though, it was Jonathan's voice which was the next to traverse the comms. "One-Two, One-Four, be advised, four tangos heading your way, south-east, Napoleon's monument. Scratch that, five tangos, detecting explosives. Can draw their fire, but I need you to flank them, I'm all exposed here, over," the soldier spat out. "Copy that, One-Five, aye, continue. We are on our way," Werner grasped his All-purpose Rifle, exaggeratedly removing the clip. "The short version?" he turned to Jasvant, who had just done the same with his newly-obtained gun. "The short version is, everything has gone to shit. We know little. Out of sector, from building patterns this is likely 878 Hotel, though we know not. No link to Command or any Coalition callsign. Devon-One-Prime and One-Three are MIA to us, so you're technically in charge. Allied forces seem scattered," Werner jogged to one of the building's windows, motioning at Jasvant to follow, before once again merging with the surroundings with his armor's Intelligent Patterns. "Four buildings east, three-story structure. One-Five is on the rooftop, has a visual on our position, but is exposed. Road right, then first left by that bungalow, we'll be a straight line from Napoleon's monument. We ambush them there. We get in position and One-Five takes a shot, then we take the rest out before they return fire." "Copy that," replied Jasvant. "Inquire, didn't you say I'm in charge?" he replied smirking. Werner rolled his eyes. "Affirmative, transfering powers. Hope you are satisfied." "As hell. Now move out. Watch your back, stay close to the walls. Any entries inside on the street?" Jasvant asked, his tone now a sharp contrast to the playful voice from just a few seconds ago. "Negative. Everything collapsed on our side up to the intersection." "Roger that, use the slabs on the street as potential cover. Execute." Not a second later Werner, still merged with the surroundings, rushed through the empty doorway next to his position, turning left to check the direction opposite their destination. "Clear." Jasvant, who had previosuly been watching Werner's back through the open window, went through it, causing dust clouds to lift from the earth-covered floor. He immediately crouched, choosing to stay low to compensate for his new helmet's lack of the Intelligent Patterns fuction. Watching both directions, the pair rapidly moved down the street along the low, flat-roofed, sandstone houses - or, more accurately, their ruins - before sticking to a wall right by the target intersection. "In position, One-Five," informed Jasvant, for the first time truly speaking through the comms today. "Roger that, One-Two, took you long enough. Be advised, tangos heading your way, about fifteen meters. Permission to engage?" "Granted. We're back at work, people." "Roger that," Jonathan sighed. "Stand by." A second went by. Another. And another. The almost nonexistent wind whistled in Jasvant's ears, as milliseconds came and went. Another second. And another. And ano- A loud bang echoed through the street, followed by a high-pitched screech from just around the corner. For Jasvant and Werner, this was all they needed. The soldiers got out from behind the wall, exposing themselves to the Swarm infantry, but also immediately unleashing a hailstorm of trajectory-supported machine gun fire upon their enemies' vulnerable bodies. Armor did nothing, as remains of yellow-brown flesh and greenish organs splattered over the street. Two of the hostiles were dead before they hit the ground. The others, though, not so much. Conveniently positioned further away from Jasvant and Werner, the remaining Swarm soldiers managed to overcome their panic and dived behind cover on opposite sides of the street lane, dodging Jonathan's sniper shots in the process. The continued fire from the troopers only managed to injure one of them, the rigged bullet creating a large, flooding hole in its body, before trajectory support could help no more. Both were alive and combat effective. The humans did not have to see each other's face to know a perfect understanding of the situation beemed from their eyes. Playing for time for now, they mirrored their enemies' actions, Werner going back behind the wall they came from under suppresive fire provided by Jasvant, who himself soon found shelter behind a huge concrete slab covering much of the central road. As the three fallen Swarm bodies began to, as usual, decompose into nothing but green-brownish liquid, the human troopers made their move, understanding each other without words. Peaking out slightly, Jasvant activated one of his remaining frag grenades, turning its Seeking option off, and threw it behind enemy positions, in a way they'd be caught just outside its blast radius. With Jonathan's sniper support, they'd have no option but to stick to their current covers. Not waiting for the explosion to ring, Jasvant began circling the concrete slab in order to flank the two hostiles while Werner engaged them up front. But as soon as dust lifted off the air, signaling the grenade had went off, a bright light flashed in the trooper's eye, covering a large portion of a neighbouring, relatively high two-story building. Jasvant and Werner exchanged looks at lightning speed, reaching a common conclusion - enemy snipers on the rooftops. The plan has changed, and there was no time to waste. Jasvant crouched down, marking hostile positions on his HUD, before throwing a smoke grenade right in front of himself - this time though, he set the explosive to thermal cloaking, making it release a condensed cloud of high-temperature gas, essentially causing any thermal vision to malfunction. As the smoke rised, Jasvant shouted through the comms. "One-Five, be advised: enemy snipers, nine o'clock! Recommend avoiding eye contact until suppresive fire arrives." "Roger," was all Jonathan gave as a reply, followed by a deep sigh. As the smoke rised to ceiling-level, Jasvant lifted the black machine gun up to his eyes, and guided by his earlier markings, carefully aligned the weapon with the marksman's last position. All doubt faded, he pressed the trigger, and a hail of explosive projectiles zoomed through the thick smoke, bringing terror to the Swarm soldiers. The bullets, accelerating and turning mid-air, broke out from the greyish cloud without warning, like lions hunting their prey, without any indication, as the terrified snipers could only tremble at the terrible onslaught of pure death manifested, coming unannounced from all around. None of the bullets made their mark, but they didn't need to. Hitting the dozen centimeter high sandstone railing behind which the tangos lied, the shots put them under more than enough confusion and pressure for Jonathan to, in a flash, reassemble his own post in the snipers' direction. As their building was lower, without the initial element of surprise they might as well already welcome their cold graves. Two precise shots, and both Swarm soldiers were no more, soon turned into the same toxic liquid as all their fallen kin. Meanwhile, realising a coordinated action was no longer possible, Werner took care of the two remaining regulars by himself. After roaring loudly to draw their fire, he dashed at enemy positions as fast as he could, soon jumping over the cover and facing the first, now understably petrified, hostile face to face. With one click of a button, a palm-sized bayonet emerged from Werner's All-purpose Rifle, and without second thoughts, the human soldier sunk the blade in the alien's lower chin, piercing its entire head upright. To confirm the kill, Werner fired an additional three-bullet series, as he quickly removed the blade and sunk it in the corpse's body instead. The human turned the massive enemy around, utilizing its flesh as his shield, and slowly marched at the second alien's position, whose desperate fire either drowned in its former kin's corpse or got shrug off by Werner's armor - or, more accurately, it's nano-generated microshields. When he was already only about three meters away, the trooper threw the body at the hostile soldier with all the strength he could muster, providing it with additional propulsion from a quick series from his AR, and made the last enemy falter under its weight. This was all Werner had needed - with one quick aim, he fired a few shots right at the alien's head, and just like that, all Swarm forces in the area were no more. "Clear," Jasvant's tired-sounding voice soon resonated through the comms. "Clear," repeated Werner after peaking inside some of the ruins. "It appears that the pills work faster than I've known," he added after a while, addressing Jasvant, as the two humans lowered their weapons. "Yeah, well, that's pretty much what Youn designed them for. Plus, I'm just that much more awesome," the trooper replied, smirking. "Hey, One-Five, mind explaining how you didn't spot them?" Jasvant continued more loosely as he made his way towards the three-story hotel they were suppose to regroup in. "There were no snipers, One-Two, I'm good enough to check. I don't know what in the hell that bullshit was, or how they got there." Jasvant sighed. "Alright, stay put then. And get down a level, we don't want to be exposed." The trooper was forced to make a bigger step as he passed over a piece of debris blocking access to the front door. "Copy that." "So, let me get this straight, we're cut off from the fleet? Like, completely?" "Aye," replied Werner once again, his words both loud and drawn out; he was getting tired with his companion's continued denial. "And from everyone else too?" "Comms only work at a very limited range, otherwise we'd have called you earlier, One-T-; sorry, One-Actual," chimmed in Jonathan, turning from his scouting position by the hotel's window. "Be a grown-up and think, why the hell would we joke right now?" Jasvant tried to reply, but he couldn't find words. He simply couldn't. For a few seconds, his half-open mouth vented the dry air, before the soldier eventually dropped down, sitting by the wall opposite Werner. "Holy shit..." he whispered, lifting a hand up to his forehead. "How long has it been? Since you two recovered?" "Two days Earth time, easy," responded Jonathan, this time not bothering to turn around from his binoculars. "Slightly longer for mister Acciai here. No idea how long from deployment, but I guess not that long as we both survived without that shit in our veins." "Aye, that is right," continued Werner. "Combat clocks went haywire, so we synced them up to at least be able to coordinate." "Good idea," said Jasvant, putting the Marine helmet back on. "Okay, we gotta move on, the fuckers saw us, and that means their neuronodes already did the work," he stood up, reloading his newly-acquired gun. "That, or we get swarmed. Heh..." "Not really," Jonathan suddenly replied, as Wermer calmly turned his head his way. "These snipers?" he motioned at the rooftop they had previosuly occupied. "They would have relied my position to those on the ground. Maybe it was a hoax, but then they would just act surprised. And let me tell you, these guys didn't seem to know anything. Know where I was," he lifted the binoculars and turned around once again. "Something's happening, and it hit them as well." Werner just shook his head in agreement. "Oh, I guess, yeah," replied Jasvant, scratching his neck. "We should still move out. Better not to take chances. If this's really 878 Hotel, then all objectives are out of question, we're halfway across the continent. And if, as you said, you encountered no allies on the way..." "Everyone's scattered, my good friend," this time it was Werner who chimmed in. "We've heard two-or-so muffled transmissions. Not much understood, but noone can organise. At this point, we're just scattered groups of resistance fighters." "Then we should find a bigger one. If it's all about preservation of force now, all goals lost, then just the three of us might be too little to survive long enough." "That I can agree on," stated Jonathan matter-of-factly. "Then get to processing these walls, printing some ammo, and then we can move. ET, let's say, five minutes." "I'm stocked, thanks," replied Jonathan, as Werner got up from his spot and proceeded to quickly but surely replenish his supplies. Sighing, the sniper once again turned around to face Jasvant. "Man, what would I give for a personal drone right now. Too bad everything's broken." He already began to return to his previous position, before Jasvant, frozen with mouth half open, spoke up. "Oh, I have one!" he exclaimed. Both his companions looked at Jasvant in bewilderment, frozen in place. "You what?" "My drone's working," repeated Jasvant, reaching to the container on his back. Sure enough, what he pulled out was, albeit noticeably scratched, a functional personal drone - or at least it looked like so. Even despite Jasvant's armor being horribly torn up in some places, this little machine had apparently managed to, somehow, stay intact. Intact enough. Werner and Jona stared and Jasvant petrified, unable to process how something like that could've happened. Happiness at a new advantage clashed with sheer anger that a veteran like Jasvant could not inform them about something so crucial. After a few seconds, a booming laughter rapidly increasing in volume resonated through the empty room. "It looks like those pills didn't work just as well as I had imagined, after all," Werner simply stated between the laughs. "So we take down this vessel, and the force will retreat?" "Affirmative," the holographic screen shimmered as the graphical soundwave moved to match Selina's words. "That should be this battlegroup's main coordination centre. As their presence is still pretty new, we have no reasons to believe their behaviour will be different." "And how long before we can establish a stable rift? Send ships through?" "According to estimations," a series of graphs and calculations quickly replaced a big chunk of Selina's empty, blue screen. "Twenty hours. Earliest." Nikolai sighed, briefly closing his eyes. Holding position there might be problematic, but better this than nothing. The last chance. The last, best hope... "Alright," he eventually said, walking up to a console at the front of the bridge. "Yun! Establish a link with designated battlegroups. I want everyone on the line." The technician nodded and, biting his lip, turned back to his messy post. For the next couple seconds his fingers danced on the keyboard like crazy, before he eventually showed Nikolai a thumbs up. Sure enough, right in front of the admiral a wide, blue holographic screen had come to life, illuminating the huge room like it rarely was. On it, as second after second passed, rectangles of varying shades and sizes appeared, each adorned with a different label, each with a different figure, with different uniforms, insignia and flags. As they appeared, the figures nodded their heads, clapped their fins, lifted their tails; mechanically, yes, but as admiralty taught, also with sheer respect. It was a picture of pure beauty; humans, aliens, species uplifted - no matter. All together, for a final, desperate effort. When the holographic screen was, at once, filled, Nikolai cleared his throat. "Admirals. Commanders," he nodded once again, instigating a formal welcome. "Report your status." And so, one after the other, the figures declared. Despite different tones and volumes, brought about by nature itself, every voiced shared traits, if not all, then the most notable. All dire, desperate, but also firm and unwavering, each knowing what was to come, each ready to lead their people into a charge that may very well be the last, but will bring about eventual victory - of that, they will make sure, despite not unequivocal prospects. "Battle Squadron Crimson, standing by." "Battle Squadron Khaki, standing by." "Chirr Expeditionary Force, Second Collection, standing by." "Fleet of Monarchy's Realm, standing by." "Fleet of Sarak Conquest, standing by." "Uimdar Contingent, Levy Host Adombek, standing by." "Uimdar Contingent, Levy Host Embata, standing by." For the next two minutes, alien admirals and captains, be it from the mighties empire or the smallest, most irrelevant species-state squished between superpowers, stated their readiness. Stated as one, as allies, as kin, past conflicts, through all the shared blood, all but forgotten, even more so than in the past centuries of Coalition history. Be it the Humans and the Sarlaans, the Oblarr and the Federation - all conflicts were now gone. Gone unlike ever before, not even in the past three hundred years of close, genuine cooperation. Each admiral stood ready, each standing by, each prepared, prepared for the attack. Attack to secure the site. All or nothing. As the final words subsided, bringing about grave silence once again, Nikolai cleared his throat. "Battle Squadron Indigo, standing by," he finished the concert, stating for himself. Nikolai waited a while, looking over his bridge crew and taking possibly final optimistic glances at the room he knew so well. Eventually, he grunted, looking at the large screen once again, eyes glimming with both worry and immense hope. "Captains, Commanders... my fellow admirals. I need not to tell you how crucial an undertaking this is, you know that all too well already... I'm not here to issue orders, for you have them as well, nor am I here to give a speech - for that's not what we need... what we do need, our goal, the only today, is simple - victory. Our needs vary not from the ones we often have. This battle, the Defense of Sazana, will be the one that decides it all," Nikolai paused briefly to take a breath. Although he didn't notice, the entire bridge was now more quiet than ever before, even rustling stacks of paper seemingly keen on hearing what the admiral has to say. "Admirals... so many of us remember Hezel, remember its valiant defense. So many of us fought on, got reinforcements and supplies, operated on this besieged planet, caught oh-so-far behind the lines. I know for a fact that the elder of you were there even in the beginning, cutting supply lines, ambushing enemy forces, doing everything you could to prevent this symbolic world from falling into enemy hands. I was not alive back then, and a long time would pass until that, but it was thanks to your efforts - our efforts - that Hezel prevailed, and only on our, the Coalition's, terms could it be abandoned," Nikolai sighed, making another pause. He didn't think about what he was saying anymore - only words, words dictated by tongue itself, sewing sentences without the admiral. "The battle now, the very one you see outside your portholes, will be a battle unlike that. This is a battle different both in its stakes and its very nature. If we lose today, if we can't regain the Negation Engine in this weak spot, Defense Line Epsilon will be no more, and with it, the Republic of Sol, all others following suite. If we lose today, there will be no more chances to strike back. But right now, we're not here to talk about the battle at large," Nikolai paused once again, instinctively scanning every admiral's expression before he continued. "Three thousand years ago, my ancestors - our ancestors - waged a battle unseen before in the annals of history. For fifty five years, enormous armadas clashed without respite, never waning under the oh-so-well-known number of a hundred and twenty thousand vessels engaged in combat. The Grey Struggle had earned its name, bringing about victory in the War of Arms for the ultimate winner and determining the shape of the galaxy as we know it, as well as setting the record of the largest space engagement for millennia to come. Today, a battle of such importance, such greatness, such magnitude, was beaten by the Swarm in one blink of an eye. On their own, they now field more vessels than that ancient combined total, and as our outposts report throughout the galaxy, no forces had been redeployed from other regions. Not any we could detect," Nikolai let out a long, deep sigh. "Defense Line Epsilon will fall, and we all with it. This strike, this attack we're now readying for, has but one goal - to secure optimal fold coordinated for a portal to a yet uncharted dimension and hold them sufficiently long for us to get ships to the other side and, hopefully, establish another tunnel from there. A tunnel to somewhere else - Earth, perhaps, or Saathar, or Raztar, no matter. To gain access there, to ally a species adept in psionics, and once and for all turn the tide of this war. You all know well enough what we need to do, what this is all about, but I need you to understand one thing, to look at everything from a clear, simple perspective - we succeed, we win, we lose, we go extinct. That's it. No side thoughts, no addendums at all. That sentence, and then silence. This isn't about the Defense of Sazana anymore, but about this one strike - the strike we are now, as participants, all here to initiate. We fail, and it's over, we take that Swarm ship out, and we might still have a chance. That's all what matters now, and that's precisely what I want you to know," Nikolai sighed one last time, before speaking up again. "As Supreme Commander of Coalition Armada in the Ckarflox System, as well as Supreme Commander of Operation: Fiery Remorse, I hereby announce the beginning of this offensive. You are all now to take pre-planned positions across the perimeter and await further orders. Good luck, and good hunting." A wave of 'Good hunting!' echoed through the room, before, just as earlier, one after another the silhouettes turned off, and soon the whole screen was no more. With a tired face, Nikolai fell into the admiral's chair. His Battle Squadron was already in position. He had about five to ten minutes before the attack could begin. Five minutes of coordinating defensive fire. Five minutes of tedious managing, just as always. Five minutes of everyday life, before a task monumental in its significance. "Nice speech!" exclaimed suddenly Selina, her holographic screen popping up to Nikolai's right. The admiral chuckled briefly. "But thank you. Although I doubt that statement's truthfulness." Before Selina could say anything, Ya Yun spoke up, addressing Nikolai. "Sir! Captain Ackerson sends a message. He reports his protest regarding the Constitution's participation in the charge!" Nikolai shook his head, sighing. He was getting tired of this. A command conflict - what this was now escalating into - was bad enough, worse even when actively forced by one of the parties. "Tell him I acknowledge his protest. Sidenote, advise the captain to read the assault plan once again, until he realizes this ship is to serve as a stationary dock and meintenance bay, as well as a fighter hangar. No participation in the charge proper. We're not messing up gravity right now," he said, a tinge of anger in his voice, even though he tried to remain as professional as possible. Yun showed a thumbs up, and once again quietly got to relaying the message, while Nikolai, now left with Selina, simply shook his head anew. The upcoming hours did not promise to be easy. The dots and lines danced among the stars, in numbers unfathomable. They danced, obstructing stars themselves in their majesty, getting nearer, and then once again closer to their many kin - although, truth be told, all remained mostly in one place for any naked eye. Sometimes, a line brighter than sun itself would, for a split second, connect two dots, or two lines maybe, glimmering amazingly with its laser dignity. Among all the apparent, although false, chaos, if one focused their gazed exceptionally, they could notice a group of dots seemingly moving slightly in the same direction, in a fashion so orderly it almost belonged here not. After a while they would spot another such group, and then another, and another, and if, by chance, the person gazing was bright enough, and looking from a perfect angle - lack of reference points in space be cursed - they might just be able to spot that all these dots, all these lines, all these spaceships were heading to the same area, even though its various, very different parts - which, in turn, one could know not. The naval contingents set to take part in this desperate offensive slowly took their places. Among all the metal, all the destruction, all the lives and all the stories, here lied the sanctuary, ordered and fashioned as nothing else for any layman observer. Among all the planets and systems, in this moment, here laid the center of the galaxy - as well as its best, final hope.