Tember City, New Cyrene, July 23, 2193
Siege of New Cyrene, Day 43
"McAllen, I assume you want to talk about the Landships?" Kahoku asked for confirmation.
"So you've already received the analysis results then?"
"Yes, and it's quite... concerning, to say the least."
McAllen blew a little bit of air through his nose, but refrained from scoffing.
"Landships are right." The Marine General said, taking off his cap and running his hand through his hair. "That thing's a warship on wheels. My tanks aren't going to be punching through that armor... You've read through the specs, right?"
"I have..." Kahoku responded grimly "Hull belt plating equivalent to 880mm of composite armor, secondary autocannon batteries able to put the hurt on our tanks, and that main gun will crack any fortress we have. We have our jobs cut out for us."
"It's going to take a whole lot more firepower to take those things out than we originally thought." McAllen said, trying to formulate a plan of attack. "An entire artillery battery focusing down on just one of them might not even be enough."
"We could always opt for an orbital bombardment with a Frigate, or have a Corvette flyby for a gun run..."
"That's all well and good, but I need solutions that don't always rely on fire support that won't always be around." The General shook his head. "If the plan to deal with the landships rely on one or two crucial and irreplaceable units... well, it's going to be a mess when those units aren't around."
"You're right, it's not like those landships are going to just sit around and do nothing."
"Sit around... Sit around and do nothing... That's it!"
Kahoku's holographic display raised an eyebrow.
"I don't follow."
"It's a devilishly simple plan, and yet if it works, those landships won't be quite the problem we think it will be."
"McAllen, you've left me out of the loop."
"Right, my bad." The General composed himself. "My plan is... we don't kill those Landships, we cripple them instead. Blowing off their tracks or keeping them immobilized in general is a lot more achievable than entirely destroying one. Not only that, crippling one..."
"Would tie down resources needed to repair those Landships." Kahoku caught on, his eyes widening as he finally understood. "Why didn't we think of this sooner?"
"Beats me, but what matters is that we did think of it now." The General said. "We'll have to pull out all the stops to stop these things. AT mines, artillery, airstrikes, anti-vehicle traps, whatever it takes to get those things immobilized and off the playing field."
"You can bank on assistance from the Navy as well, General." Kahoku offered. "I'll brief our Corvette teams and ground attack squadrons of the situation, I'm sure they'll want in on thìs too."
"That won't be necessary, Admiral." McAllen shook his head. "I'm sure those resources are better suited holding the line in orbit."
"Not necessarily." Kahoku replied. "Drescher's fleet is already in position and ready to go. They'll be with us in a short while."
"So Operation Jawbreaker is happening soon?"
"Not soon... Now."
-000-
"Jawbreaker"
Earlier... SSV Jerusalem Flight Deck, 12 Light Hours away from New Cyrene.
The flight deck was bustling with activity as the Alliance Carrier Jerusalem and it's sister ship Libertalia, prepared for the most important and ambitious step of Operation Jawbreaker.
If what they do today fails, then everything they've been doing leading up to this point will have been for nothing.
Markov sat in the cockpit of his fighter as he ran through the final flight checks.
To his relief, he was quickly assigned to a combat deployment after having been ordered to handle the alien refugees for a while. It felt good for him to be back in the field, and for the aliens to be someone else's problem.
The issue is that the temporary squadron he was a part of, the 444th, ended up becoming a very permanent squadron... that and he would be operating out of a Carrier, as opposed to the hangar bay of a cruiser.
Can't win it all, he supposed.
After giving the yaw controls a swing, he looked over to one of the mechanics on the deck and gave a thumbs up. One of said mechanics nodded in return as she checked off Markov's plane from the list.
The captain then checked on the notes he wrote down on his jumpsuit's thigh section.
Even after all the development and and advances in technology, most pilots still choose to write down notes on paper.
Going through the objectives, Markov noted of what he would expect to be doing in the upcoming battle.
The main objectives of the battle is to cripple the enemy fleet and prevent their ground forces from withdrawing easily. That task would be given to the heavy bombers going on the strike. Fighter craft are assigned to screen and protect the bombers first, and attacking targets of opportunity second.
Not exactly the most pivotal or glorious role in battle, but it's something that has to be done regardless.
Most of the enemy fighter craft were drones of some kind, operated remotely from a 'hive ship' of sorts. Central Intelligence figured that taking out the hive ships would take those drones out of comission. Additionally, tactical analysis of how the aliens used their fighters suggests that they view it more as a defensive tool, as opposed to an offensive tool like the Alliance does. As such, he's marking those hive ships as targets of opportunity for his squadron.
Alarms rang throughout the flight deck. It was go time.
Unecessary crew members began vacating the flight deck as the planes started moving to launch position. Markov took position at the head of the 444th Squadron, right behind the bombers he was escorting. He activated the radio and gave one last reminder to his squadron.
"Remember to input the coordinates correctly." He said. "Errors in the decimals could mean hundreds of kilometers of deviance."
"Affirmative, Captain." Natalya, responded.
Markov held back a sigh... to think that his own sister would end up being his second-in-command. These were interesting times indeed.
The squadron captain watched as the last bomber in the squadron he was escorting took off. After a moment, the tower gave him clearance to take off.
"This is Captain Sergei Markov, to all 444th squadron elements, form up behind me! We're taking the fight to the alien bastards, so let's not screw this up!"
Markov's F/A-91 'Vampyr' fighter took off vertically from the Jerusalem's flight deck and very carefully flew out of the carrier itself. The rest of the 444th followed suit.
He led them into a holding pattern orbiting the Jerusalem. The sheer number of Alliance fighter and strike craft taking part in this operation was immense. The numbers were surprising when he saw them during briefing, but seeing them with his own eyes was something else. Hundreds upon hundreds of fighters and bombers from carriers and assault ships alike were all on standby, waiting for Operation Jawbreaker to commence in earnest.
The 444th stayed in their holding pattern for a while longer until they received the signal.
On a fleet-wide broadcast, Admiral Drescher spoke.
"To all strike craft and escort fighters: You have the green light... Commence Operation Jawbreaker!"
With the order officially given, the various squadrons finally left their holding pattern and began heading out. One by one, the squadrons lined up then spooled up the Mass Effect drives on their voidcraft. Markov closed his eyes and quietly listened to the hum of the become louder and louder before a chime notified him his fighter was ready. After that, his eyes shot open as he brought his left hand over the throttle stick and hovered his thumb on the big blue button on its side.
"444th squadron! Initiate light speed transit!"
As he said that, the captain pressed the button and launched his fighters at ludicrous speeds. The space around him warped itself into a sea of mesmerizing light as his fighter shot away from the fleet and towards the enemy fleet they were tasked to destroy.
It was all or nothing now.
-000-
Now...
Hive Ship UCV Shadow of Ma'Kesh, in orbit over New Cyrene.
Drone Overseer Touran sat quietly as he monitored his terminal. He had been put in charge of Swarms 2 and 3, which were at that time assigned to perimeter patrol. Getting bogged down in an orbital siege isn't ideal, but him being on the seat of a Hive Ship is a far better fate than having to slog it through the mud in LZ Barakh... or Hossin, as captured Human intel suggested it was called.
He put the drone swarms through the usual motions again as he watched the sensor readings at an almost leisurely pace. The Humans didn't bother attacking their positions in orbit. Intercepting attack groups or the occasional harrasment, sure. Outright assaults on strongpoints though? That just didn't happen. Touran could affod to relax a bit.
The Salarian leaned back on to his seat and reclined just a little bit. He took a bottle of water and drank from it. As he chugged down the liquid, he nearly spat it back out when a sudden ping appeared on one of the drone's sensors. Touran quickly put his bottle down and set his seat back to upright. Looking back at the screen, he sent a verification request to the drone's VI to ensure its sensors were picking things up properly. It quicky responded with a system diagnostic report which showed that the drone was running fine. The Drone Overseer sent in another drone to verify and got the same results...
Something was out there... and it wasn't alone. Touran watched as more and more pings started showing up on the drone's sensors. At first it was just another, then a few more, followed by a dozen, and even then the numbers didn't stop growing. It came to the point that his drone swarm wasn't the only one detecting the massive amounts of pings on its sensors. With them coming from multiple angles and their distance closing very rapidly, Touran finally spoke out and reported the situation at hand.
"We're under attack!"
-000-
Major MacGilligan gripped the control stick of his bomber tightly. He and his squadron were among the first waves going in on the attack.
Over the course of the Batarian war, Alliance analysts devised a plan to enable strike craft to take on enemy capital ships. Council warships generally operated with 3 layers of defense: point defense, shields, then armor.
Point defense turrets can be overwhelmed by sheer numbers and shields only reacted to projectiles moving at certain speeds. With that in mind, the navy decided that the best way to take out an enemy ship is to simply chuck as many missiles at them as possibly. The first wave of bombers will launch a veritable hailstorm of smaller "birdshot" type missiles. These would never really deal that much damage to an enemy ship, though with the sheer amount being thrown at them it may just cause the armor to break. No, these smaller missiles are simply there to screen the larger anti-ship missiles coming in on the second wave very shortly after. Though smaller in numbers, the firepower carried by one of them could critically damage a cruiser if hit in the right spot. With the point defense turrets busy firing at the birdshot missiles, the more powerful anti-ship missiles would slip through and hit the ship. These missiles are deployable by both strike craft and missiles cruisers alike, ensuring that both carrier and non-carrier task forces can hold their own reasonably.
MacGilligan counted down inside his head as his bomber got closer and closer to the firing point. He saw in his peripheral vision that his escort fighters had peeled off to engage the enemy's drone fighters. He then felt his craft start shaking slightly as his own turret gunners began firing away in defense.
"30 seconds!" He yelled out into the radio.
MacGilligan flipped off the safety switch on the cockpit weapons panel.
"Mills, you have control!"
His copilot nodded and confirmed.
"I have control!"
After hearing that, MacGilligan flipped a few more switches on the weapons console and changed the settings on his control stick from flight to weapons control. The screen in front of him and the HUD in his helmet also swapped displays along with it. He began picking out targets and gathering a firing solution as the bomber closed the distance with the enemy. He saw the 'locked on' notification show up on his helmet, and a loud beeping noise came in shortly. MacGilligan quickly pulled the trigger and launched his payload of Buckshot Missile pods, which was followed by Mills pulling on his flight stick hard to turn away from the enemy ship.
As his bomber pulled up hard, MacGilligan saw the second wave of bombers launch their payload of anti-ship missiles. The first wave leader flew inverted and watch as the Asari cruiser he was targeting let off a torrent of GARDIAN laser fire, intercepting many of the birdshot missiles. The plan worked. The anti-ship missiles slipped through the shields and point defense barrage, punching through the armor before detonating spectacularly.
"Scratch one cruiser!" Mills yelled out into the radio for the the squadron to hear.
"Alright, let's peel off and head back to the fleet for resupply. We've got no time to waste folks, let's get going!"
-000-
Meanwhile... Krogan Dreadnought FSV Maw Hammer.
"That's another 13 warships foundered!"
"More strike craft have dropped out of FTL transit... they're going after Captain T'mareh's battle group!"
"Order Hive Ship Star of Aeghor to intercept!" Fleetmaster Karath barked out.
"They're being tied down by enemy squadrons, they can't spare any drone swarms to assist!"
"Then get Captain Gareon's battlegroup to redirect their course and supp..."
"Too late! The Hand of Athame took a critical hit to its eezo core... it's foundering!"
"The Magister of Ukharrit has ceased transmitting IFF signal... Battlemaster Jakkar is not responding to hails!"
"We have reports that a missile has penetrated Velaph's Valor's arming deck... secondary detonations are ripping apart the Hive Ship's hull!"
"Vaul give us strength... the Human Dreadnoughts are starting to move from their defensive positions... Fleetmaster, their entire fleet is advancing!"
Karath, in his frustration, squeezed on his command throne's arm rests a bit too hard and bent them. Still holding on to the armrests with a vice grip, he gave his next order.
"Order all battlegroups to disperse Distrupter Chaff and rally on the Maw Hammer's position. We'll then circle back around and take the Human Dreadnoughts with the combined might of our entire fleet!" Now hurry!"
The various comm officers scrambled to relay the orders to the various battlegroups in orbit over New Cyrene.
On the holographic display in front of Katrth's command throne, he watched as blindspots began appearing where the battlegroups used to be, a sign that Disrupter chaff was interfering with long range sensors. Not unlike smokescreens for maritime navies, Disrupter Chaff blinded both sides from seeing through, which was why it was mostly used in absolute emergencies.
It took a while for the invasion fleet to rally around the Maw Hammer, but eventually all remaining Council forces were accounted for. It would seem that not even the Humans were brazen enough to chase the enemy blindly. With their naval power consolidated together, the strike craft have also ceased their incessant attacks. An uneasy lull in the fighting settled in as Karath contemplated his position.
"Last reports are in, Fleetmaster."
"How bad is it?"
"Not good, sir." The head comm officer said. "We're down to 72% of our original fighting strength. A lot of our ships are damaged, a handful of them might not make it past the day's end."
"Rrrh... Down to 72% in under an hour. We need to put a swift end to the human fleet before this gets even worse."
"Even if we destroy their fleet, their strike craft will remain a threat. The reports I've analyzed all lead to the conclusion that the strike craft are coming from a staging point outside of the star system."
"Well out of our reach, but very much within theirs. Even if we take on their main fleet and win, we might just be weakened enough to be finished off by the strike craft."
"Fleetmaster, much as I hate to suggest this, but given our current predicament, it may be wise to consider a strategic withdrawal as a valid course of action."
"Retreat..." Karath said to himself.
Retreat.
Such a short word, but it would undoubtedly bring long lasting shame to both Karath, and clan Gatatog.
He grit his teeth. Once again, out of touch politicians have played with the lives of good soldiers for their own gain. Karath really should have just glassed the planet and called it a day, Council restrictions be damned.
"Damn this expedition." The Fleetmaster said in a low growl. "Consolidate all naval forces in Sector 223, give the recall order for all Council forces planetside. Leave everything that they can't carry. I want all our forces off world in 6 hours. We're not going to make the same mistake the Turians did and leave an entire army stranded on a hostile world."
The communication officer gave a quick bow and was about to head off to work, but he spoke to the Fleetmaster one more time before he did.
"For what it's worth, I believe you made the right decision, sir."
"Protecting the lives of my men is always the proper choice." Karath said. "Dishonor and politics be damned."
Karath kept gripping his command throne before slackening a bit. His anger and began to focus, and was starting to think more clearly. White hot rage had slowly turned into frigid hate. A desire for revenge had slowly crawled up from his gut before pushing him to make a decision.
"Sound a call to our ships in the backline, have them take up bombardment positions." Karath said, a low growl suppressed by his new found focus. "Order tug-ships to throw all the wrecks they can get their hands on into the planet's gravity well. The Humans can have whatever burning husk is left of their world."
-000-
Meanwhile...
Agora Starport, Tember City Outskirts.
Senior Engineer Park spun the auto-wrench a few more times before closing the engine hatch of the Salamis type civillian air transport he was working on. The Salamis is a relic by this point. It was an old transport capable of atmospheric, and limited zero gravity flight. They first rolled off the assembly lines when the Brothers War was merely dark clouds in the far horizon. The primitive eezo drives meant that it wasn't going to be operating in deep space, but as a civilian transport in atmosphere, it worked fine. The sheer number of Salamis class transports pumped out by both sides of the war meant that there was still large numbers of them still being used, especially in the outer colonies.
Park grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off his brow. Numerous and convenient as they may be, working old transports were always more of a chore than he'd like. Eezo technology was not sophisticated like it was today, and that often meant that a more complicated system had to be applied. Nowadays, Alliance made eezo engines were good enough that vehicles like the newer Mantis gunships and the Kodiak transports could rely more heavily on the eezo flight system than conventional propulsion.
It had been 2 hours since Park had started work on that last Salamis. He figured he could use a break. Tember City was always moderately cold this time of year. He was told that on Earth, it would be sweltering hot in July, but he wouldn't know... he's never been to the homeworld.
Park opened the door and let the cold July air of New Cyrene cool him down. He took a deep breath and smelled the ocean air. Good and refreshing. God bless whoever thought it was a good idea to build Agora Port directly by the coast.
He watched the skies closely. The star in the center of the High Seas system bathed the planet in a yellowish-orange light. Even though Park had lived in New Cyrene for his entire life, the planet's beauty never failed to mesmerize him.
Park leaned on the rails on the edge of the Starport. He could hear the gentle waves crashing on the concrete platform he was standing on. So calm, so peaceful. It was hard for the Senior Engineer to believe that a massive space battle was raging on high in orbit. Tember City had been a relative safe haven. Besides a handful of minor air raids, the city mostly got off unscathed. The alien army came close from the north, but the military managed to stop their advance. That was still so far away though. Agora Starport was at the far southern edge of the city. Wartime measures and protocols aside, life in Tember City had been pretty normal, even with Alliance soldiers on every last corner. The last month had been hard, but he was sure that the battle on New Cyrene would be over soon, and the aliens would be sent packing home.
He looked up to the sky, towards where the sun was setting. The clouds were getting thick, perhaps a sign that snow might fall later tonight. He watched as the blazing ball of light slowly get obscured by the white blanket separating the ground from the sky. It was a natural process, and yet one that Park couldn't help but love.
Suddenly, without warning, holes were blasted through the clouds. It was a Biblical image, as if a deity had split the sky wide open with a sword of fire. Park saw streaks of fire shoot comet through the split in the sky and rocket all the way towards Tember City. It was fast, so fast that the Senior Engineer could hardly keep up. Before he could completely crane his neck to follow the fiery trail, bright flashes from his peripheral vision blinded him. Right after, he felt the ground beneath him shudder and quake, throwing him off balance. He grabbed on to the railing and held on as tight as he could, even as massive gusts of wind threatened to throw him over the edge and into the water.
Park held on with a white knuckle grip, held on as though his life depended on it. He closed his eyes and prayed for it all to be over, to God to save him from the certain death that would surely consume him if he so much as loosened his hold on the railing. He didn't know how long he was holding on like that, but when he did realize that the catastrophe was over, he peeked out and saw a massive shadow looming ahead of him. The coastal waves, previously shimmering and glittering in the light of the setting sun, was no dark, dead, seemingly lifeless. The Senior Engineer slowly gathered about his wits and picked himself up from the position he was cowering in. Once he felt that his knees were steady enough, Park slowly turned around to see what could have possibly cause the catastrophe.
What he saw, he could not have anticipated.
The city's skyline, once a shining symbol of New Cyrene's growth over the course of its colonization, is gone. Skyscrapers and towers which used to jut from the ground, crumbled as though they were made of cardboard. Plumes of smoke rose from burning infernos, bathing the horizon with an ominous orange glow.
Tember City, was gone.
-000-
Archive Update:
The Unified Krogan Federation: The Krogan nation states that form up the Unified Krogan Federation we know to day can trace their history all the way back to the ancient Krogan clans of Tuchanka. After being uplifted by the Salarians and Asari, Krogan culture underwent major restructuring, seeing them turn from bands of disparate clans, into a true modern nation. Tuchanka operates as a representative democracy, more akin to the Alliance's own Federal system, as opposed to the Asari's direct democracy. Each Krogan municipality has its own council, which will elect a representative who will then speak on behalf of said municipality in provincial council. Provincial councils will then elect a provincial representative to speak on Clan level discussions. Finally, each Clan will also assign representatives to speak on the Federal council, who gets to choose who gets to become the Krogan Councilor in the Citadel.
Krogan politics itself is a strange blend of meritocratic, tribal, as well as the usual cutthroat politics that seems to be universal among many races. Due to much of their pre-uplift culture carrying over, military service is often the most prestigious qualifier for a Krogan who is entering politics. Politicians who cannot get the job done are often viewed as weaklings who are trying to get through life the easy way. In more recent years, most likely due to Asari influence, there has been a push to destigmatize non-military service as a valid qualifier for entering Krogan politics. This movement saw major pushback from many older Krogans, but have received not an insignificant amount of support from the younger generations of Krogans. However, with the breakout of the Great Galactic War, the Old Guard generation has managed to maintain the status quo.
A/N:
Hey guys, sorry it took a while to write this one down. Been super hectic recently, especially since I'm nearing my final assignment. Fingers crossed I'll manage to pass through properly.
So, this marks the end of the New Cyrene story arc and I'll be picking up a handful of different loose threads that I've left dangling in the next arc. I don't think I can afford to have these story arcs go on for too long, otherwise I'll never get this story done. There's a lot of ideas I want to explore in this universe, but I'll have to save them for some other time. There comes a point as a writer when you have to sacrifice seeing through your vision realized so that you can actually finish the damned job, and I believe that it's high time I started making some sacrifices.
Also, a late Merry Christmas and early Happy New Years from me to all of you guys. Thanks for sticking around for this long. I doubt I'll be able to update in time for the story's anniversary on January 25, so this will have to do.
Again, thanks for reading. Good Luck, and God Bless you all.