The Black

“Admiral, the last two Shuttles are launching. They will be returning in the next hour.” Captain Gleeson handed Folmuri the pad as he settled into the captain’s chair next to the Delmar Admiral.

“Very good, the Picket?” Folmuri responded, flicking through the data on the Stricken world. The Planet’s Ecology had been dealt a mortal blow, and in his way the legends of the Vorath proved to be accurate. The weapon used on the surface had been two-fold. Firstly, it had started a chain reaction to strip the planet of its natural defenses against its own star. This reaction obliterated the Ozone layers that had built up over millennia, allowing the lifegiving turned deadly radiation to begin murdering the flora and fauna below. Over the next 200 years or so, the planet’s life-sustaining foliage, and the creatures that lived among that foliage would die a gruesome blistering death of excruciating radiation poisoning. The second effect was more immediate. The “Glassing Beam” had cracked the crust, ripping into the core of the planet in the short period it had been in use. The results were violent, as the Core revolted against this intrusion by destabilizing the tectonic plates across the whole planet. Massive Seismic events, often followed by the violent creation of Volcanic Fissures were obliterating the infrastructure and taking lives at a rapid pace.

The last two shuttles burned for orbit, not because there was no one left on the planet, but because it had become to violently toxic to find any more. Less than a 6th of the planet’s population had escaped under the protection of the now beleaguered fleet under Admiral Tagarin. Folmuri’s blood boiled as the numbers proved that he had barely been able to save an extra 12th of the population. His search and rescue crews were forced to abandon their efforts or risk being entombed upon the world itself. “The Picket reports a large Subspace signature on long range. It’s on an intercept course for high orbit. ETA: 40 minutes.”

Folmuri growled profanity under his breath, “Withdraw the pickets, make sure the UGN knows we are doing so. Signal the fleet, we make for the far side of the planet. Get me Admiral Tagarin.”

Moments later the Lycan Flag officer flickered into view, “Admiral Tagarin, our time has run out. I need you to get your ships to the beacon jump points. The enemy will be upon us before the hour is up.”

“Admiral Folmuri, we see it. We will stand until the rest of the civilians have escaped.” The Lycan growled.

“There will be no more civilians. My search and rescue has been forced from the planet. Void rest those still down there, but we cannot save them. I need you in close escort with everyone that needs a jump beacon.” Folmuri stated calmly.

“That would include you as well Admiral. Subspace jumps without one is a death sentence.” Tagarin pointed out, “I won’t have you sacrifice yourself alone.” He finished, a fine edge of steel rang in his words.

“Admiral, with respect, We will not be sacrificing ourselves. Legion neither uses Subspace, nor requires Jump beacons. If I am to make my plan work, I need you as close to your departure point as possible. I mean to create the cushion you need to escape, then jump from orbit. When I jump, you die if you aren’t gone yet.” Folmuri’s tone was firm, “Tagarin, Jumping one or two systems is not going to be enough. You will have to make for the down-spin sectors, and you will have to protect that convoy from Pirates and Syndicate raids the entire way. It is the only way.”

Tagarin visibly bristled for a moment, and Folmuri’s opinion of the man only grew as the Lycan struggled with running from this fight. Finally, his shoulders straightened, “I understand. Void go with you. Tagarin out.”

The image disappeared and Folmuri sank into his chair, “That was closer than I care to admit. Status on our Picket?”

“15 minutes till they return. Admiral, What’s your play.” Gleeson’s tone was not one of fear, but he clearly knew what kind of fight this was going to be.

“I… you’re not going to like it… I’m not going to like it… We finish what the Vorath started, on our terms.. Status on the atmosphere down there?” He asked as Gleeson’s eyes widened, before the Human captain sank down into his chair as the implication settled in.

“60 percent sulfur dioxide at this point Admiral, Most of the Oxygen has been burned away by the Volcanic activity. Temperature above 400 Kelvin and climbing..”

“God rest their souls.” Whispered Gleeson next to him as Folmuri pulled up a tactical map.

“They are already gone, Signal Simo I need her to target these coordinates.” Folmuri sent the data to Coms. “Captain Gleeson, I’m authorizing Manhattan. Launch at station keeping, we will have little time.”

“How many warheads, admiral.” Gleeson asked carefully, even as he typed the codes releasing his considerable Nuclear ordinance stores for launch and maneuvering into position.

“All of them, Captain.” Folmuri stated softly.

____________________________________________________________________________________

A shower of sparks heralded the arriving volley as the impacts threw Centarus to the deck floor as 50 of the 200 tons of semi-luminal strapnel impacted his ship directly. His shields held, but only just. He watched as two cruisers directly in front of his flag ship pealed like ripe fruit, slowing the incoming carnage enough for him and his ship to survive. He dragged himself back to his seat, only barely aware of the piece of railing embedded in his shoulder. Eight ships… eight ships were all that remained of his ambushing fleet. The trap was not sprung, but he had no choice. He sent the order, praying to the void itself that his gambit would stem the tide of death being aimed at him.

Moments later, twenty Vorath Frigates, fifty Cruisers, and a Fighter Carrier dropped into the system five hundred thousand Kilometers from the oncoming convoy’s Port side, they did not wait for orders to fire.

_______________________________________________________________

“Contacts! 240 mark 004! Void take us, Its another fleet!!!” Came the Call from the Delmar ensign at Sensors.

“Rebalance Deflectors!! Bill, get us between the civies and that fleet!” Clint bellowed.

“On it! Scramble scramble scramble, come about 334 by 350. All ahead Flank!” Wild Bill began almost before Clint finished. In the next 2 minutes every single one of Galvestons bombers launched, Joining her already orbiting Fighters, as Galveston swung into position to strengthen the englobing “Shield wall”

“Admiral! Iowa reports engaging with her aft battery, requesting permission for broadside engagement” came a call from Coms

“Granted! Iowa and Hathcock, engage the flank. Signal Wisconsin and Furlong, quote, “Make a hole”!” Clint growled. The fleet in front of him was in shambles, but he was still forced to split his firepower to face this new threat. The sensor returns increased exponentially as the enemy launched its own fighters. The cloud of new smaller vessels began to act like chaff, distorting firing solutions as they weaved in and among the bigger Vorath ships on their way to engage the Convoy. Images flickered as warbled for several moments before the larger ships appeared more clearly against the backdrop of fighters.

Clint’s eyes narrowed as a shadow ripped over the top of Galveston and settled into the middle of the bomber formations. USN Kidd had slipped out of her position, leaving Obannon and Fletcher to keep the locks at the fore. Kidd’s Jolly Roger, no longer flown but painted onto her flanks, flashed in and out of vision in the flickering of weapons fire. Moments later hundreds of streaks arced out as the bombers loosed their antiship missiles. Sixty missiles were fired in the span of thirty seconds, twenty-five were intercepted by point defenses. Seven cruisers drifted from the enemy formation, belching flaming wreckage and atmosphere. Four more lost their shields, quickly taking on concentrated fire from Clints capital ships under the direction of Kidd.

“Admiral, Kidd reports Target’s painted.” Captain Harrison mentioned, shaking his head in dark amusement. The destroyer, diminutive by comparison to almost every capital ship on this field of battle, proceeded to both paint targets for Galveston and Iowa, but was actively engaging fighters and bombers with both main battery and point defenses at close range. Her captain, Victor Young, threw his command about as if she was just another one of the fighters, but the target locks never wavered. The Flanking fleet began to lose ships, but their fire began to penetrate. Clint Grimaced as plasma fire began to punch through the shield wall in the weaker areas between ships. It could not be helped; He was stretching this tactic to within an inch of its life. Shield walls were only at their best in close formation, stretching one over a convoy measuring a hundred Kilometers long was only going to work for so long.

This new enemy fleet burned hard, closing the distance as the survivors of the fleet in front of them began to fall in with their comrades. Fletcher and Obannon shifted without needing orders. Wisconsin flipped completely around and burned for the rear of the convoy, bellowing her hatred over the top of Galveston as she raced to fill the gap. A civilian shuttle burst, followed by the hull breach of a larger pleasure liner turned refugee barge before Wisconsin could get into position to strengthen the defensive bubble being projected.

Being forced to separate from “Shield wall” during her maneuver; Wisconsin paid for her quick response. She was holed 3 times in her forward starboard quarter from concentrated Laser turret fire, disabling 3 turrets before she could get into position. Furlong swung her head ‘round from where she was in the formation, bringing her massive gun to bare as she drank in the targeting data from all three Destroyers now frolicking among the carnage of fighter-on-fighter combat, releasing chaff, and saturating the battlefield with EM radiation designed to disrupt sensors and Fire control systems. Iowa lost 4 of her Shield Generators and a third of her fusion cores had to be shut down as she took the extra strain from Wisconsin’s repositioning. She was puking Collant from her Port overpressure release vent as she fought to rebalance her defenses. Her ablative armor bubbled and flaked as it ate shield attenuated laser fire and plasma blast and She was repeatedly marked and scarred before her shields stabilized with help from Hathcock.

The enemy formation broke up, and Clints eyes widened as he realized what they were doing. The enemy fleet spread itself out, creating large gaps between each ship. Whoever was the commander on the field for the Vorath had survived the first engagement and had learned his lesson. He spread his ships in a broad arc from the port beam of the convoy to almost around behind the column of ships. Wisconsin and Galveston were forced to shift position again as they moved to prevent the rear of the convoy from being eviscerated. The gaps between Clint’s ships grew, weakening the shield wall again. Laser fire and Plasma rounds began to penetrate once again, raking the shields of the civilian ships as the beacon neared. Clint swore as three hundred civilian craft burst into flames or drifted from the formation. The civi’s barely had shield, Manhattan was not an option. His Nuclear ordinance would murder hundreds of thousands of innocents in the blasts. Clint noted the return of some of Galvestons fighters and bomber. There were many missing, and Fletcher was actively rear-guarding their retreat.

“Captain, fighters reporting Winchester. Requesting rearm and refuel” The Com’s station reported to Harrison.

“Granted! Fletcher can’t hold out for lo…” Harrison was interrupted by a blinding flash as no less than 30 enemy fighters suicided themselves against Fletchers deflectors, 7 of them penetrated, tearing into Fletchers starboard side, rupturing her hull in a long gouge that puked bodies and debris.

A second flash of light harolded the wrath of Furlong as she fired an Ithica round directly over the top of the stricken Fletcher, cutting a highway of destruction through the onslaught of fighters and taking out a frigate in the process.

“Incoming message from Fletcher sir! ‘It’s been an honor, you have 2 minutes’” Clint did not see the paled crewman. He was watching the beacon.

“Admiral, Civilian craft are ready to jump.” Harrison’s voice was strained. Discipline forced calm as he watched USN Fletcher struggle against a losing damage control battle.

“Jump them.” Clint Growled before turning to Wild Bill. “Are there any survivors from Fletcher.”

“No pods Admiral, she didn’t launch any.” Harrison’s voice grated at the admission. “45 seconds left Clint.”

Clint only nodded, fighting back his rage as he watched Fletcher be engulfed by the leading edge of the enemy fleet.

“Convoy away!” Called the Sensor station as the last surviving civilian ship jumped for safety.

“Captain, we jump in 20 seconds. Manhattan authorized three tubes. Target….. Fletcher…” Clint grated as he hung his head, “God go with them... Fi...” A massive explosion ripped through the ships nearest the stricken destroyer as Her Captain recognized the attempt at capture. The multiple Fusion Core detonations created a globe-shaped ball of burning amber and yellow edged in blue. Five Vorath ships and half of their remaining fighters were simply engulfed, erased from the universe in Fletchers last act of Defiance.

“Secure Manhattan,” Clint sank heavily into his chair, “All Ships, Jump.”

________________________________________________________________________________

“Admiral, they have arrived.” Captain Gleeson stated stoically.

A three hundred ship fleet had erupted from subspace directly into high orbit on the far side of the planet. They were rapidly burning towards his small fleet, desperate to come to grips with the foe’s that had bested their fellows.

“Shuttles?” Folmuri asked quickly.

“still in route, but they are clear enough to jump.” Gleeson responded.

“Jump them, send Valles and Gales with them for pickup.” Folmuri nodded as the two destroyers and the shuttles flashed into slipspace. The shuttles weren’t quick, and their emergency slip drives would have to be completely overhauled after this jump; but they were safe. “Signal Simo, Fire.” Folmuri ordered.

Simo had positioned herself over the spinning planet where the original glassing beam had impacted. She unleased two of her solid rounds straight into the impact point, blowing clean through the crust of the planet.

Folmuri took a deep breath, Killing a planet was not on his bucket list, but he was too far from home to risk a prolonged fight with a numerically superior force. “Activate Manhatten, All ships. Jump”

Sixteen fusion warheads howled down into the atmosphere straight into the cavity created in the shattered shell of the Planet. Admiral Targarin watched through his long-range sensors as the last of his convoy departed... The faint flashes of the strange Delmar fleet jumping where they orbited was a surprise, to say the least… He was about to order the last of his fleet’s rear guard to jump when the armada of Vorath vengeance made its way from behind the planet. Alarms blared as his flag ship was targeted only for the alarms to fall silence as the Vorath ships scattered, each burning hard directly away from the planet.

Targarin looked on in morbid curiosity as they fled, some back into subspace. Some simply burned hard for the outskirts of the system. His confusion approached total just as the planet itself shattered like a Porcelain orb filled with explosives. The Lycan admiral could only sit heavily as the realization hit him… Not only did the small fleet that saved him have the ability to end a world, but the Delmar Admiral leading them had chosen to use the stricken world itself as a weapon. A third of the Vorath fleet did not survive the initial blast, and half still took critical damage from the planet-sized bomb’s shrapnel cloud.

“Admiral, we are ready.” Came the awed voice of Tagarin’s flag captain.

“Uh… Jump when ready...” The Admiral mumbled, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene before him as his flagship slipped into subspace.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Ambassador Gwen Groaned heavily as she leaned back on the human-style couch inside Ami’s Office/living quarters. “This is not going to get better soon…” It had been a week since she had received her latest reports from Her Expeditionary fleets, and the wave of refugee reports was beginning to get to her.

Ami swung her long neck around and gently rested it on Gwen’s shoulder in a sort of gentle hug. “The Unity rotted from within. You humans can do so much, but it's never enough for you is it.”

“It’s… hard. We still do not think in a galactic scale… Entire worlds of lost murdered souls is not something we are accustomed to. What about your home-world? Have they responded to our requests to fortify it?” Gwen asked tentatively. She knew Ami was in agreement, but Her species were Pacifists by nature. It was a long grueling uphill battle to convince the Saurian home-world to accept direct military aid. Unfortunately for them, their adopted planet was in a key commerce highway that was going to undoubtedly be hit when the Vorath eventually made it this far. “We are also not accustomed to waging wars of this scale and timespan… It's going to take 17 years for the Incursion to reach us… and we are the only ones who can respond quickly in it. With the Unity in fragments…”

“Countless will perish, before the monster reaches our gates… only to be fought by our children, and theirs…” Ami finished. “I will ask them again, What of Sol. Have they committed?”

“After a fashion. My people are weary, of war. We almost exterminated ourselves with one very recently. We have agreed to Aid, training, and support; but many still believe this is your war to fight. They feel the distance between your Unity and Sol protects them. I pray they come to their senses before they are proven wrong. Eventually, the Vorath will learn of Sol, and then…”

“More Humans will die proving them wrong…” Ami sighed, finishing her close friend’s sentence. She returned to her data pads as the two of them sipped from steaming mugs of black coffee. The Saurian government was moving slowly, as was its want. In truth, Ami did not expect an answer inside the decade; and she was inwardly amused at her Human friend's endearingly aggressive impatience. The fact that the Human/Delmar Alliance’s Offer was not dismissed out of hand was possibly the single biggest sign that Ami’s government was taking the recent events seriously. She would draft a clean copy of the renewed request in the morning. It was late, and both of them could use the…

“Jesus…” Came a silent whisper of an almost prayerlike expression from the white-haired Scott on the couch. Ami quickly swung back over to her friend. It was Folmuri’s report, as well as an urgent marked file from Clint.

“Gwen?” Ami asked as her friend flicked up the data to open it as a hologram between them… Folmuri’s and Clint’s files had extensive composite sensor and visual components...

The two could only sit in shocked silence as the files automatically queued up and began playback.