Lay Your Heart Down
A small piece within "A Sea of Stars"
Preamble for Chapter I
The Arlesheim Starzone remains a hotly contested zone between the Free Planets Alliance and the Galactic Empire, due to its proximity to the Imperial Controlled Iserlohn Fortress which maintains the main passageway between Imperial and Alliance Space. These conditions make it an ideal staging ground for the Empire for incursions into Alliance Space. Thus, this sight is target to many of the Free Planets Star Fleet operations - thus the stage is set for yet another waste of human life of the canvas of the universe.
Part I
Vice-Admiral Lucan Heaverly, of the Alliance 7th Fleet is leading his force totalling nearly 19'000 thousand combat vessels, not including Spartinian Assault Craft, to engage an Imperial Staging Force at Arlesheim. "Commodore, provide me with round the clock assessments of our situation, with our recent losses in attempts against Iserlohn Fortress have left the Star Fleet in chaos," the admiral was a stern man by nature, he had been a member of the Alliance Star Fleet since he was a young teenager and has steadily rose through the ranks to this day. Many see him as a father within the fleet; himself being one of the older officers within the navy. "Are all Spartinian Flights on standby?", he asks to his second-in-command, Commodore Herod Ashley. He replies "Yes sir, we've divided the timetable into four sections, we'll be prepared." A smile emerges on Heaverly's face, "Excellent, however assign Rear-Admiral Chen to bring his squadron to protect the carriers; they'll be a prime target if we don't provide adequate protection." The computer screens around the bridge display various statistical analysis of the both the Arlesheim Starzone and the combat readiness of the fleet. However, Heaverly still eyed them cynically, be it to assess accuracy or to learn the vessel. The flagship was a new and proud vessel within the Star Fleet, the "Leontius" an Ajax-Class Command Battleship was a fearsome ship; possessing enhanced forward firepower over similar alliance ships - a vital asset going against some of the Empire's finest.
"This incessant waiting will be the death of me" the slow and precise pattering of boots across the command platform echoed through a relatively silent night crew bridge. Life presented by the subtle flashing of consoles from below. Across a large screen towards the fore section of the bridge, indication to arrival time was displayed. "Six hours? Let us hope that the Imperial Fleet hasn't moved by then" his eyes glance round the room as he turns to Ashley, followed by a small whisper. "Didn't we receive reports that an Imperial High Admiral is leading them?" Ashley only nods, generally the tension on the ship didn't need hotshot offers trying to gun for Imperial High Admirals. "I'm going to get some rest. Wake me in three hours, you can then take a few. We are gonna need it" Heaverly turns on his heel, pressing off the floor with a grunt as he heads to the elevator to the bowels of the ship. Commodore Ashley stands looking over the bridge; his brow twitching slightly "This is going to be a long evening."
Throughout the rest of the ship, you'd find it hard to tell it apart from a starport in some cases; pilots dash around flying practice sorties and patrols and throughout the ship in mess halls and bunks the casual playing of cards and drinking of alcohol was a source of enjoyment for many members of the crew. Some others sort to entertain themselves on monitors, watching broadcasts from Heinessen; capital of the Free Planets Alliance. In hanger bay 3 stood Squadron Commander Lauren von Adeldorf, Commander of the 23rd Squadron, "I want my Spartinian reconfigured! Those damn grease monkeys fucked with the fuel injectors; I am getting clear wastage." She barked. Many had learned not to mess with her; she was renowned as a hard case. "Do I have to fucking do everything round here?! As it seems the engineering staff don't know a twat from a manifold" Many don't know why she is the way she is, many think she just hates people - a sociopath to the core some would say - however the real story is much more straightforward than that. She was the daughter of an exiled Imperial Noble who came to the Empire following the purge of his house, thus she has always met stiff resistance in the military because of her background; on more case than one being questioned for treason and espionage. All these cases were drawn up by Alliance fanatics who thought all Imperials were evil and disgusting people.
Heaverly arrives at his quarters. It is bare, unmodified from the moment it was first furnished. Something about the air in the room felt off to the admiral, possibly due to the newness of the ship. A sharp sigh emanates from his mouth, quickly followed by a stretch as he collapses onto his bed; his beret falling off onto the pillow. "Damned Empire, this bloody war is gonna claim me.. I can feel it." He dims the light and attempts to get some rest as the 7th Fleet begins to ready up for the coming battle. An icy tension begins to break as the final call for the end of alcohol and other leisure activities sounds throughout the ship on the intercom. A dank and depressing silence follows, only for a few moments and supported by the hum of the main engines.
"Alcohol is humanity's friend. Can I abandon a friend? Humans were drinking alcohol five thousand years ago, and they're still drinking it now." - Yang Wenli
Part II - Current WIP
Meanwhile in the Arlesheim Starzone, the Imperial Fleet was massing under the command of High Admiral Maximilian von Donnersmarck; an aged member of the Imperial Gentry and a firm believer in the better bloodof the noble families of the Empire. The vast bridge of his vessel wasn't a far cry away from a throne room - designed for pomp and circumstance in the so called elegant field of warfare. "To victory," Maximilian raises his glass of wine, red liquid sloshing from side to side, many officers around him do the same. "today we are mounting the largest operation within the last decade and we will not let these rebel dogs survive for much longer." A slight smirk appears across his face as he slowly descends from the raised platform on which his command chair sits on. "For those brave men that are about to die, let us have a drink and hope their soul reaches Valhalla. Let us also drink to the Goldenbaum Dynasty! May they reign forever more." Imperial society is often decided long before a person is born, no matter their skills - if they have the right blood they are everything and everyone. However certain elements within the Empire were beginning to spring out against these hardline, yet common views.
The Donnersmarck Fleet comprised of 26'000 combat vessels and is spread across the entire starzone among various supply depots; many of the ships on patrol were on skeleton crews as the men prepared for their long campaign. Women were also disallowed from serving in the Imperial Military except in certain roles like secretaries and thus though this may be thousands of years in the future, fell back into the patriarchal society that dominated the long since abandoned homeworld. Several intelligence officers are sat monitoring the sentry probes when information regarding the approaching Alliance 7th Fleet. "Contact fleet command, we have incoming rebels," he shouts over to the communications officer - the information enters the stream of communications around the fleet; the increased traffic shown on the communication satellite images, a spiralling web of comm signals developed a pattern of beauty and concern based on the context of the matter.
Towards the centre of the starzone were the forces of Admiral Leopold Markith, the former commander of the area's fleet, has his portion on the fleet on standby. "Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. These men know me and this High Admiral thinks he can easily take over!? That arrogant arsehole!" Intense thrashing follows as Admiral Markith tosses a few items around his room in a subdued rage at this offense on his honour. "Now I have to talk orders from someone who considers me little more than the dirt he walks on. Am I some bulkhead now?! I am an officer of the Imperial Navy! How dare he speak to me the way he does." Markith is an an intelligent man, but born a commoner means that he is subject to many disadvantages; especially among a noble dominated military. He rests, peering out into space from the viewport of his quarters, "Soon the Alliance will arrive. Then we will see who the men respect more!" His fist slams to the table as he rests back into his lounge chair. Incoherent muttering soon follows as he debates what he is to do in the coming storm.
Part III - Current WIP