Hello to all readers! I hope the day/night finds you well and that you're having a grand time. This is the next chapter of Farside Interference, I apologize for the wait, writer's block is a pain, but it is done. So grab a snack, kick back, relax, and enjoy!
The trip from the region the machine dropped them in went by in a blur for the crew. Diligently, they worked away at their stations and like a well oiled machine, they glided ever closer to the icy terra of Blizzaris.
Navigator Grey poured over her glowing console and only turned away briefly to correct the pilot before returning to her previous work, doing so for the entire trip. During their journey to the terra, Lark had settled next to the draconic officer and watched as the youth of the Empire worked with a dedication that she had seen few match and even fewer surpass, and she could not help but wonder about her. It took a sometime before Ensign Grey began to open up to Lark, as expected for people who were uncomfortable to actually speak to a leader of a nation, their nation, and not be intimidated by the power they held. It was a little humorous seeing a young woman, who was taller and able to tear a human apart on a whim, avert their eyes from the young ruler and try to retain a respectful tone and posture towards her. It was just as awkward for Lark, whom had only spoken to others for either official purposes or as a few passing words to those she came across. Having spent most of her life within a large palace or among military leaders, she had almost no experience in having a casual conversation. Her time with the Storm Hawks made it less of an issue, but the point was moot as it was a onetime occurrence.
While conversing with Lola, Lark managed to gleam a small insight into the life of the common people and began to greater understand the weight that came with her decisions and the consequences they had for everyone else. As a young adult, Lola had spent most of her years in a village that was under constant threat from slavers and pirates, suffering from attacks almost daily and losing friends and loved ones to the brigands, with the danger increasing when Lark and her troops started to push into the lawless areas. The Hoard had stepped up their raids to capture innocents to press into service and force them to fight an enemy that was meant to be their saviors, leading to more than a few deaths for these conscripts. Lola had lost her older brother to Imperial forces when they pushed into the region of the warlord that governed her village and once again Lark found herself questioning her decisions in the conflict, wondering if she could have avoided the unnecessary fatalities and still achieve victory. "The past forever haunts us" the woman had told her, "The only question is whether or not we allow it to drive us to fear and give up or to do better in the future." Those words had given Lark some sense of comfort, but it did not last long.
When they approached the clouds separating us from Blizzaris, Lark heard something she wished she had not, "Admiral, multiple ships detected over the terra!"
Captain Moreau's day had just gone from terrible to abysmal in a span of mere minutes. Before, they were only concerned about the eight destroyers blockading the Blizzarian people and laying siege to their homes, but an entirely new group of ships was coming from behind and were like nothing he had ever seen; curving, sleek hulls, monstrous cannons, and powerful looking engines. It was an intimidating sight, but what really caught his attention was the insignia painted upon the ships. He had his people tear through the different sigils but only found vague matches with different parts all being of Cyclonian origin; The white shield was part of the seal for the Empire's military forces, before they changed it to the raven, which was also present, and the red background was a classic for Imperial flags and could even be found to this day representing select units. This was a dilemma for the officer, as he had Cyclonians in front of him and possible a new, special unit approaching from behind. His options were limited to fight or run, with the either meaning that the defenders of Blizzaris failing in their struggle and the enemy gaining a foothold in their territory, meaning the eventual fall of the Free Atmos. They needed a miracle, and they needed one now.
"Captain, the ships astern have cut their engines!"
The crew of the warship could hardly believe their eyes as they stared into the small fleet of warships over the icy land of Blizzaris and their frustration was becoming more tangible with each passing second. They had lost the original location to build a base, and now Cyclonia lay siege against the only other land that suited their needs, but it Lark had earned one thing in her years as a ruler, nothing every goes according to plan. She now had Ravess and Snipe huddled around the Tactical Display Table towards the rear of the bridge and had been discussing among themselves what they should do; they could A) Leave the area and hope to find another possible site or B) Help Blizzaris and defeat the Cyclonian forces. Option A was not a choice as they had been lucky with Ensign Grey's suggestion, and had even been luckier before with Lark's knowledge of their previous choice for base building, but it was doubtful that they would even find another prospect for some time, pushing their plans even further back, which left the second option. The only problem was that they had limited resources at the moment and could ill afford the loss of even a single soldier, so if they wanted to succeed, then the three leaders would have to account for everything, lest the mission cost them dearly.
Cyclonia had eight destroyers blockading the terra and had a small troop contingent that held the southern half of the main village, leaving the rest for the Blizzarians and depriving them of the food stores within the southern edge. Scouts from the fleet had counted a company of 300 Cyclonians to the south and the Absolute Zeros Sky Knight Squadron to the north with 400 defenders, half of them wounded to some extent and all of them low on supplies. The first priority was to take out the opposing fleet, which Ravess intended to do with a three pronged attack; the Fast Attack Ships would split into two wolf-packs of four and circle around to the sides, while the War Cruisers attacked from the center. The armor and weapons of the Cruisers would ensure their survival and they would be dealing the most damage in the assault. The Attack Ships would hit the survivors when the main group had their attention. After the air battle, the ground combat would begin. They would deploy the three companies of soldiers aboard the War Cruisers and attack in conjunction with the local militia, once they contacted them. All that remained was to prepare and then pray for a swift victory.
They warriors of the Empire spent the next two hours preparing for the coming battle, tending to their arms, armor, and religious needs before they piled onto the transports and waited for the order to attack. Most were not worried, believing that they held the technological advantage and they had surprise on their side as well as numbers, so victory was assured in their minds, but the officers felt differently. They would be attacking an entrenched enemy who had both time and resources to build their defenses and ready themselves against what they had planned, meaning that the entire operation could go sideways in an instant if they became overconfident. They could only pray and see what happens. The time seemed to drag by for the soon-to-be liberators, and as the hour drew nearer, the Imperial regulars had begun to shake with anticipation at the nearing storm they would unleash., that when it arrived, the adrenaline rushed through their veins and training and experience took hold as they readied for the strike craft to launch.
One could hear the drone of battle through the radios and hear the thumping of crystal blasts as they hit the ship's hull, a symphony of destruction and death. The sounds suddenly died down and an announcement came over the overhead, "All Infantry prepare to drop."
The harnesses around the soldiers slammed down and held them fast to their seats, only releasing when they would reach their destination. The transports hummed with power as they lifted off of the hangar floor and dove out the exit under the ship, diving for the landscape below. If one were to describe the sight of the shuttles leaving the ships, they would say it looked like silver birds with smooth, metal hulls, sweptback wings, and a large troop bay held beneath them had left from the behemoths and were flocking to the awaiting battlegrounds below. The shuttles, or as they were officially called the Silver Hawk Transport Shuttles, brought down their landing skids and slid across the surface with what remained of their speed, turning so their rears faced the enemy, protecting the pilots.
The doors split down the center and slid out, allowing the troops sprinng from their silver craft and leap at their opponents, weaponized crystal energy tearing though their armor and flesh with relative ease while their own survived several hits and only had moderate damage, a testament to the engineering of the New Empire. Cyclonia had always been known for their heavy firepower and the size of their forces, but their armor was only better on their large warships, infantry and skimmers were still subpar in comparison to the Imperials. There were some changes to the standard talon uniform as their armor now encased their thighs, shins, forearms, and they had a larger breastplate, which gave them far better protection than in the past, and the way the Cyclonian infantry fought spoke of the improved training that they had gone through thus making them almost equal to Lark's own soldiers, but she had one thing the old Empire did not, she had Snipe leading the attack.
Anyone who had fought beside the Captain before would say that he was brutish, incompetent, and straightforward in his tactics, but those after only said the opposite. During his time as a Farside Captain, the hulking officer had learned that such thinking only got more of his own killed and not enough of the opposition, changing his entire thought process on war and how he could improve his leading. It was at the Battle of the Merchant Line, a string of moderately sized, but important trading hubs along the Imperial/Federation border that brought in fresh supplies and material that were vital to the war effort, and losing them would mean that what they had fought to create would have crumbled before them. After three months of fighting, his unit was undermanned, outgunned, low on supplies, and even lower on morale when Snipe, then a Senior Sergeant, had to assume command after their last officer was rendered unconscious by a previous firefight. It had become his job to not only rouse his soldiers into action, but also hold the Line at all costs, and his speech had since been recorded and later inscribed on the statue of himself and several fallen soldiers in a memorial to their deeds, placed in the very square they made their final stand in. For three days they fought, scrounging weapons and ammunition from the dead, theirs and the enemies, and continuing to fight until the 3rd Air Fleet arrived and relieved them. 2,300 soldiers walked into the deathtrap that was the Merchant Line, and only 137 returned home. After that, he was promoted to the rank of Lower Lieutenant, and given command of a new platoon, fresh from training and they would later go on to become one of the most decorated units within the New Empire and leading the final assault on the last Hoard base that ended the Liberation War.
Two years later, and he was back into the fight; A new war, a new enemy, but the same story. War did not change, no matter where one went or when they lived, it never changed and it never would.
When his shuttle had left the flagship, the air was still littered with the falling debris of destroyed ship hulls that were sinking beneath the cloud layers. While the air battle had been swift and in their favor, the fleet still lost a number of skimmer pilots and the Cruisers could be seen with scorch marks along their hulls, some very close to the bridge of his own home-away-from-home. Looking at their destination, he could already see the invaders in a full retreat and the local militia starting to relax a little at the sight, but tensing up when they heard the roar of the engines. A group of familiar Sky Knights traipsed down the main road and stop before his craft had even touched down. He and his platoon disembarked, the last one thanking her as he left, and joining the rear as the gleaming hull lifted once more into the sky.
The hardened warrior cast his glance around the homes and people defending them, taking in their battered, thin forms and making a note to get the supplies passed out as soon as possible, before returning his attention to the Sky Knights charged with protecting the terra and marched forward, walking once more into the gaze and light of history.
That's a wrap. I hope you all enjoyed it and will continue to read further! The battle in the air will be accounted for next chapter. Good morning/day/night!
