TFNS Archer, Briefing Room, Langaran Orbit
First off I would like to thank Draconicflare, Drake the Archr, Utah Jak and Lightning Count for their assistance. And now on to the story.
Also for those wondering why updates are so slow, I'm a full time College Student taking 18 units and am working 25 plus hours a week. While I do like writing, school and work come first. Rise of the Imperium is still in in the works. Inferno has been put on hold until I flesh out this story a bit more.
Briefing Room, TFNS Archer, Langaran Orbit
"Sir, we're all here," reported Somerville.
"All right then," said Admiral Mackenzie who was addressing the Command Crew via a secure interstellar connection from Earth. A flat screen mounted on the bulkhead broadcasted his image to the crew, allowing them to interact not only via audio but visually as well.
"For the last half of a year, B Company, 5th Special Operations Group has been deployed to planet P2Y-328 also known to the locals as Pythia which by our calculations is about twenty minutes away from your current position via Hyperspace."
"Before the Ori took over, Pythia was a human emerging industrial civilization, having just learned the importance of steel and the assembly line comparable to England in the early Nineteenth Century with a similar social and political structure as well. Now that the Ori own the planet, they've been using the planet to fuel their war machine and are one of the primary sources of body armor for their foot soldiers in the Milky Way.
"During their time there, B Company has conducted guerilla warfare as well as recruited and trained a resistance movement against the Ori occupiers. We've funneled a large amount of weapons and explosives to keep pressure on the local Ori garrison. They've been pretty successful and have been able to tie down a large amount of Ori warriors that could be used on the front lines and have been able to damage their factories.
"However it seems that their luck has run out. Major Rabin, the Head of B Company, reported that one of the local resistance fighters has sold them out and revealed the location of one of their main bases of operations. The Ori have sent an entire Legion, their equivalent to one of our Brigades and have encircled the area. The combined strength of the forces operating out the base Operational Detachment Alpha-1123, one of the five ODAs that make up of B Company and the remaining Resistance fighters is about Company level, making them outnumbered fifty-to-one. However luckily for them, their base is in a rugged and closed off area and the Ori can only send around one Battalion in at a time to engage them. They also possess a sizeable number of Stinger anti-aircraft missiles so the Ori can't bring in air support without risking their assets. I'm sending you the coordinates of their base and all information we have about Pythia as we speak."
"How long can they hold out?" asked Somerville, he wanted to know how long the Commando Team thought they could hold so he could plan accordingly.
"They've been engaged with the Ori for the last half an hour and estimate that they can hold out for another hour before they run out of ammunition."
"Sir, what kind of defenses does Pythia have?" questioned Drossier.
"Intelligence reports state that the Ori have at least fifteen to twenty short range fighter squadrons with a number of planetary based anti-Starship cannons."
"And what of their Capitol warships?"
"They have a small number of frigates and corvettes but no ships of the line that we know of in the area at this moment. According to the data acquired by our B Company, the Ori have one Squadron of Frigates and two Squadrons of Corvettes."
That's a relief, Somerville thought. The Archer if need be could easily take on any Ori Frigate that happened to come across. Although chances were, the Ori might have one of their monstrous Battlecruisers in system and Somerville had no delusions about how that might turn out.
"What about proximity to any of their major Fleet Bases?"
"The nearest Ori Fleet base is about an hour to an hour and a half depending on what type of hyperdrives that they're using."
So if we left right now, we'll have about ten minute window at the very least before any reinforcements arrive, Somerville noted to himself. While ten minutes wasn't much, when extracting personnel from a hostile area, every second counted.
"That's all we know at the moment. Good luck Captain."
"Thank you sir," Somerville replied before the connection terminated. He turned to the rest of the Command Crew. "Gentlemen, it appears that we're going to have to come up with a plan and execute it on an extremely short time table. If you have any suggestions I'm more than welcome to hear them."
Drossier was first to speak, "Captain, given the time sensitive nature of our mission; I believe that to be successful, we are going to have to pull this off quickly."
Engelmann agreed, "We don't have the time or the ability to drop out of hyperspace at the edge of the system and slowly sneak in. First off, the local enemy garrison is probably on high alert. And second, even if we were able to sneak in by the time, we were in range to transport them out they would be either dead or captured."
"I was thinking along the same lines myself," admitted Somerville. He turned to Morales. "How close can you get us to the planet?"
"Straight out of hyperspace?" asked the Navigator.
"Yes Lieutenant."
"I can probably get us thirty seconds away from the atmosphere at the very closest."
Hyperspace jumps and reversions were usually done as far away from populated areas such as planets and space stations as possible for two reasons.
First, the closer a ship was to a large object such as a planet or a moon the more energy was required to open a hyperspace window as the gravity generated by those large objects tended to make the process a lot harder. The mass of the ship also affected the amount of power needed as well, as the higher the mass the more power was needed. A lot of ships, especially civilian ships and especially those used by less advanced civilizations had to enter hyperspace a very long distance away from any planets in the local solar system as their Hyperdrives were not as durable or capable as those used by their Military and more advanced counterparts.
Second, spacefaring nations and races had learned that opening a hyperspace window near space based structures not to even mention the in atmosphere was not a smart thing to do. The act of forcing open a gateway to another dimension in which Faster-than-Light travel was capable was not a calm and tranquil thing to do. Rule of thumb stated that for a ship to enter hyperspace without destroying or wrecking any structures it needed to be around thirty thousand times the diameter of the hyperspace window that it opened away from any of the said structures. To open a hyperspace window in atmosphere however, was beyond insane. To do so would wreck the planet uninhabitable for any life. Not even the Ori or the Wraith would do such as thing as even though there were billions of Stars out there, there were only so many planets that one could inhabit without reworking the planet's ecosystem, something that while easy took a God-awful amount of time to do properly and successfully.
"How much power will it take?"
"About 70 of the reactor's power," stated Molotov. "You will not be able to fire any shots from the energy weapons for a minute or two until sufficient power is diverted to the Energy Weapons."
"Damn," he remarked. Standard operating procedure when engaged in combat stated that power was to be siphoned on a 30-40-20-10 ratio. Thirty percent for the ship's shields, forty percent for energy weapons, twenty percent for propulsion and the final ten for life support and other miscellaneous needs. With 70 percent of the ship's power devoted to the hyperdrive, he would be not only be unable to use his primary armaments, but in addition would not have his shields at full power, thus leaving him vulnerable to enemy fire.
"I know that I am the most Junior Officer present and am only the Logistics Officer, but let me get this straight. We are going to drop out of hyperspace with our shields at a minimum, unable to fire our energy weapons right in front of the Ori defenses and somehow transport the Commandos and surviving resistance fighters into our hull and somehow escape unscathed?" asked Lieutenant Chandra skeptically.
"Do you have any other ideas?" snapped Engelmann.
"Not at the moment, but I would rather not have us blown to bits in a mission that would get us all killed without any reasonable chance of rescuing those Commandos. I seriously doubt that the destruction of our ship will allow them the extraction that we need," retorted Chandra.
Somerville swiftly intervened. "Gentlemen, enough. Remember we are all on the same side here. I know that we have not been given this task with the best conditions but if we do not come up with a plan within the next couple of minutes, those Commandoes are going to be dead or even worse, captured then tortured for information and finally executed," he said, steering his Officers back on track.
"Captain, I believe that the points that everyone has made are all valid and we should not discard them, " stated Fujimaki. "I think I have an idea that would allow us to complete the mission. However it is going to require a very precise amount of timing."
"Do tell Commander," Somerville said, eager to hear what his XO was suggesting.
P2Y-328 aka "Pythia", Unknown Location
"Come on you miserable filth," bellowed Senior Centurion Trelar at the men under his Command. "Get out and fight."
Ancient-damned cowards he thought darkly to himself as he saw half the men in his Cohort cower at enemy fire. His Cohort outnumbered the combined forces of the apostate Tau'ri and the local Noble-supporting heretics eight to one and yet they still took cover. Trelar knew that if his men ever gathered whatever courage they had they could mount a charge and kill those heretics in one fell swoop. However Trelar knew that even if they did have that courage, they would probably never do so as he was sure as half of his men were secretly traitors and at the very least sympathetic to the heretics cause.
Before the Ori had arrived to take up their rightful place as the rulers of this planet, Pythia had been controlled by a small amount of aristocrats who lived lives of luxury while the rest of the people suffered. Trelar had been one of them, laboring in one of the factories until the foreman had caught him skimming off of the top. After all, since the pansies that had owned the factories had paid him so little it was only fair for him to take what he was truly worth.
When the blessed Ori had come to add Pythia to the many worlds under the Banner of Origin, he was among the first to see the light and had been one of the leaders in the blessed uprising that deprived the accursed nobles of their power personally leading a mob that sacked the Government Buildings and the homes of the rich and powerful. The Ori seeing his devotion and faith to Origin had rewarded him for his actions, granting him the rank of Senior Centurion in the Blessed Armies of Origin. To make things better, the Prior in charge of the liberation had allowed him to keep the goods that he had liberated from the unbelievers and had been given the pretty young daughter of one the now deceased nobles to serve as his concubine, the first of many.
However despite his relatively high status in the newly Origin-centered society of Pythia, it was not enough for him. He thirsted for more power and prestige, never contented. But today was his lucky day. The Lord High Marshal in charge of the Armies of Pythia had informed that whichever Cohort Commander was responsible for the death of the apostate Tau'ri and their heretical followers on this planet would be elevated to the rank of Legate his own Legion under his Command.
The Ori had been truly benevolent. The 'Elite' First Cohort of the Twenty-Seventh Legion of the Armies of Pythia had failed in their duty to slay the foe and it was up to Trelar's Second Cohort to do the job. He had no intentions of failing the task and allowing the Commanders of the other eight remaining Cohorts to get the opportunity. Trelar's faith had been solid and he would not allow it to waver in a time such as this.
He did not care how many of his men died as long as they slew the Tau'ri and guaranteed his promotion. The majority of his men were worthless rabble, not even fit to wear the blessed armor of the Holy Warriors of the Ori. In fact they would be better dead than alive as rather than leeching off supplies and food required for 'real' warriors like himself, they would become Martyrs, a status that was generous for the slime that they were.
He swore once more. It seemed as if his last execution of one of his men had not properly motivated them. Perhaps he should execute one more as it seemed that they did not get the point. After all, given the right incentive even scum would do what was necessary to ensure their survival?
He relented. He would be generous this time and would encourage his men by encouragement via his gallant words. After all one had to use positive reinforcement once in a while? If that didn't work, he could always turn back to his old methods.
"At the-"
He never got to finish that sentence as at that very same moment, three armor-piercing 6.5mm x 39mm rounds penetrated his helmet and entered his skull, killing him instantly.
Senior Centurion Trelar would never become a Legate. His newly acquired property and wealth that he had worked so hard to achieve was quickly given to his successor, who like him would only hold on to it for a short while. He like Trelar would be slain, although this time by the order of a Marshal, whose orders he had failed to complete.
Another one bites the dust thought Captain Jonathan O'Neill II, Terran Federal Special Operations Force and the Commander of ODA-1123, B Company of the 5th Special Operations Group as he fired the last rounds of his magazine from his FN SCAR at yet another Ori Warrior.
O'Neill swore underneath his breath as he took cover in his current position to reload his Masada with a fresh magazine. No matter how many of those fuckers he killed, it seemed as if twenty more seemed to take their place and while this collection of prefabricated huts and shacks that masqueraded as a base did have a large supply of ammo, he doubted that there was enough to kill all of the Ori bastards on this planet.
The day had gone quickly gone to hell in a hand basket and it wasn't even ten o'clock local time yet.
O'Neill, his platoon and the local resistance fighters had woken up early this morning to find out that Larthan, a senior member of the resistance had sold them out. O'Neill didn't know what the Ori had offered him in exchange for his cooperation and he didn't care. While O'Neill was able to locate and destroy the transmitter that gave away their location to the local Ori forces, it was too late. A UAV had confirmed that a large number of Ori warriors were bound for their position and would arrive shortly.
With no time to evacuate the area, the location of their 'base' was in a remote area that had only one way in, O'Neill and the local resistance fighters had opted to stand their ground and hope that Earth would send someone to extract them from the planet. However O'Neill and the rest of ODA-1123 knew that the odds of Earth sending help in time were slim. Earth was three hours away even via hyperspace at top speed.
They'd done a pretty good job at killing as many of the enemy as possible. Ever since the firefight had started, for every resistance fighter or Commando that they had lost, they had avenged their comrades' death with the deaths of ten Ori warriors. Despite this however, the Ori would eventually win. What they didn't have in quality they made up for in quantity and vastly outnumbered ODA-1123 and their allies to the point that defeat was inevitable.
However they did have a contingency plan. Upon their insertion to Pythia, ODA-1123 had brought with them, one small low yield tactical warhead. If help didn't arrive in the next hour or so, they'd detonate the nuke, killing as many of the Ori bastards as possible and ensuring that they and their allies would not be taken alive.
Although he was only the biological age of twenty-two and had only been 'alive' for the last six, O'Neill was not afraid of dying. He'd seen and experienced enough, much more than any other twenty-two year old would ever endure. As a clone of General Jonathan "Jack" O'Neill himself, he possessed the memories of the older O'Neill up until the point in which Loki had abducted the 'real' Jack and his subsequent 'birth'. Memories which were so clear in his mind, that he had thought that he had experienced them himself and even to this day had trouble separating the memories that had been implanted into him and those that he had experienced himself. While he like almost any being wished to live another day, if it required his death to win the war, he'd do it in a heartbeat. Besides, he would rather die doing what he loved best, operating in the field. He'd rather be here than in Washington, like the 'other' Jack was, dealing with the Politicians and managing the Armed Forces. After all, unlike Politicians at least the Ori were honest about their intentions.
With his rifle now fully loaded, rose up from his the small boulder that shielded him from enemy fire, taking great care to expose as little of his frame as possible to take another shot.
O'Neill spotted an Ori warrior about fifty meters away from him, way too close for his comfort and took aim through his Aimpoint CompM4 red dot sight mounted on top of his rifle. A tenth of a second later, he fired three round burst dropping yet another Ori Warrior.
At least those new 6.5 Grendel rounds are working like the manufacturers said they would. He thought thanking whoever the hell was responsible for ensuring that at least one thing went right today.
Back in late 2006, Earth's Special Operations Forces had found that the 5.56mm x 45mm fired by the Terran Military's standard issue Heckler and Koch HK416 Assault Rifle were nearly combat ineffective against Ori Warriors.
5.56mm x 45mm also known as 5.56 NATO had been developed during the Cold War by the Western powers to engage the Soviet-led Eastern Bloc. It was light, small, accurate at long distances and rather easy to carry compared to the older and heavier 7.62mm x 51mm round. However most importantly, rather than being designed to kill the enemy, 5.56 NATO was it intended to wound the enemy. The Western powers had reasoned that against a 'normal' enemy, it was better to wound them rather than to kill them. For every enemy soldier that was wounded, it took four of his or her comrades to get him or her to safety removing them from the Battlefield and unable to engage friendly forces. Thus it was much more combat effective to wound the enemy rather than to kill them.
However while was this was good against a rational enemy. It didn't work that well against suicidal religious maniacs who didn't care if they lived or died. The 5.56 round did not have the stopping power to ensure that when the enemy got hit, they would not get up and resume fighting.
Many Special Forces Operators, especially those of Russian, Eastern Bloc and Chinese background did not like the fact that they had to expend half of a magazine to kill an armored Ori warrior. Much to the embarrassment of the Ministry of Defense, many Special Operations Teams began to ditch the newly developed HK416 in favor of older weapons like the FN FAL, the M14 and the AK-47 that fired heavier rounds with greater stopping power.
What was needed was a round that kept the beneficial characteristics of the 5.56 NATO round, especially its accuracy and its lightweight but with the stopping power of larger rounds such as 7.62 NATO or 7.62mm x 39mm Soviet. As a result, the Terran Military had opted to replace the 5.56 NATO round with the 6.5mm x 39mm Grendel round. 6.5 Grendel was the middle ground between 5.56 NATO and 7.62 NATO, keeping the best attributes of both rounds. It was accurate and although heavier than 5.56 was lighter than 7.62 rounds but carried much more kinetic energy. Although it meant that Terran soldiers could only carry 25 rounds per magazine as opposed to 30, it was deemed acceptable as 25 6.5 Grendel rounds were much better than 30 5.56 rounds.
Heckler and Koch had listened to the complaints by Earth's Special Operations personnel and had responded to their complaints by informing the Chief of Staff of the Special Operations Force that the newest version of the HK416, the HK416A1 would use the newly instated 6.5 Grendel round instead of the older 5.56. However the problem was that Heckler and Koch had also planned on adding other improvements into the design of the A1 variant making A1 not available for another six months at the very least. While this was fine for the other four Branches of the Military, as other than a small number of advisors deployed abroad, the majority of their personnel was still stationed on Earth and was still in training. The Special Operations Force however was a different story. The majority of its personnel were deployed across the Galaxy buying as much time for Earth to build up its conventional forces as possible and needed a weapon that could fire 6.5 Grendel immediately.
Fabrique de Nationale de Herstal, one of Heckler and Koch's competitors had smelled blood in the water and pounced on the opportunity and offered to manufacture a modified version of the FN SCAR that was capable of firing the new 6.5 Grendel round. The FN SCAR had been intended for use by the former United States for its Special Operations Units and upon the formation of the Terran Federal Republic had been shelved in favor of the HK416. The Special Operations Force had readily accepted the offer, and by the time the HK416A1 began to roll off the assembly lines, the FN SCAR was already in widespread use by the Special Operations Force.
"Captain," said a young man in his early to mid twenties positioned five meters to O'Neill's right, who was armed with an RPK-74 Light Machine Gun. "When is this help of yours going to arrive? I doubt we can hold on much longer,"
"I don't know Rejik," O'Neill replied to the unofficial leader of the local cell of Pythian resistance fighters.
"Well if we cannot escape, I guess taking down as many of the bastards as possible will have to do," he responded with a toothy grin.
"I guess so," O'Neill replied. Even after having extensive experience with combat some first hand and others inherited via memory, its effects on people still amazed him. Rejik had changed drastically over the last six months, transforming himself from the angst filled, vengeful firstborn son of a slain member of Pythian Nobility to the battle-hardened charismatic resistance fighter and leader that he was today.
O'Neill's senses tingled, his instinct urging him to duck. Years of combat experience as well as genetic tinkering by Loki, the renegade Asgard scientist that had cloned him had honed his senses nearly to the point of pre-cognition. Quickly O'Neill ducked behind the small boulder once more.
Not more than a second later, a large energy blast whizzed by over his head and impacted ten meters behind him, destroying a large cluster of trees. If he hadn't ducked, he would have been dead.
O'Neill quickly poked his head up above the boulder, taking great care only to reveal a small part of his head, trying to find the source of that energy blast.
He swore once more once his head was behind the boulder. The Ori were starting to get smart and had begun to erect heavy weapons platforms about eight hundred meters from his position. To make things worse, O'Neil knew that they were out of his weapons range, leaving him unable to deal with the emplacements.
However just because he couldn't deal with them didn't mean that the heavy weapons platforms were invulnerable. He keyed the radio headset mounted underneath his combat helmet. "Dmitri, take out that heavy weapons platform eight hundred and twenty meters and fifteen degrees Northwest of your position," he ordered speaking through the mike.
"Da, Comrade Captain," said Sergeant First Class Dmitri Pskov, the Platoon's sniper.
Seconds later a series of sharp crack like noises were audible despite the tremendous amount of noise generated by the firefight. After all it was pretty hard not to notice a .50 caliber round going off.
"Targets down Comrade Captain. Do you need anything else?"
"No Dmitri. Just keep up the good work like usual," O'Neill radioed back before peering up again. He could see that he heavy weapons platform was now a smoking cinder, and the warriors who were manning it were most certainly dead. After all it was kind of hard to be alive and well when you didn't have a head. The Russian was an artist with a sniper rifle and had killed at least thirty Ori warriors with his Accuracy International AS50 .50 Caliber Sniper Rifle in this firefight alone.
A loud boom informed him that a group of unlucky Ori warriors had set off one of the tripwire rigged Claymore mines that ODA-1123 and the Partisans had set up around the base. O'Neill figured that there was probably nothing left of them now, those things had 700 .125 inch steel balls in that would cause a God-awful amount of shrapnel when detonated. O'Neill mentally shrugged, the more Ori Warriors that died via claymore was the less he would have to deal with later on.
"Sir," interrupted a new voice on his headset, belonging to Chief Warrant Officer 3 Li Hong, the Second-in-Command of ODA-1123, "we are running low on ammunition. I don't think we can hold them for another twenty minutes."
"All right then," O'Neill replied. "Chaucer, arm the warhead. Set the timer for fifteen minutes."
"Yes Captain," replied Staff Sergeant Mathew Chaucer, the Platoon's Demolitions expert. Unlike the rest of the Platoon or the Partisans who were engaged with the enemy, Chaucer was inside the most secure part of the base and was in charge of guarding the nuclear warhead that the Platoon had brought along. If things went to hell, he would be the one to arm it and ensure its detonation. "Warhead armed, detonation in ten minutes and counting," he said a moment later.
"Well we only have ten minutes to live, let's make the most of it," O'Neill ordered before resuming the fight with his FN SCAR.
CIC, TFNS Archer, Pythian System
"Sir, we are due to drop out of hyperspace in the next forty-five seconds," reported Gonzales.
"Thank you Lieutenant," Somerville replied. For once in his life, he was glad that he was wearing a vacuum suit. While it was not only uncomfortable but hard to move around in as well, it did have one benefit. The suit while not as large or bulky as the space suits used by the pre-War National Space Agencies, did cover up his entire body, hiding the fact that he was drenched with sweat.
He keyed the button on his console that would allow everyone to hear across the ship, via the ship's communications network. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, remembering that the crew a very small number of female sailors, "while we have only been together for a short time, I am pleased to say that I am honored to serve with every single one of you. You all are everything that a Captain can ask for. May providence be with us and fate be kind to us."
He scratched his head, running his hands through his brown hair. While the entire crew was suited up, none of them had opted to put on their helmets on as not only was it ever more uncomfortable as it was the size of a motorcycle helmet, designed to fit snugly to the user's head, but it would start to drain their suit's limited supply of air.
He took a deep breath, knowing that this very well be the very last breath of 'fresh' air that he would take. The ventilation system on the Archer was much better than the ones on the Nuclear Attack Submarines that he had served on, although nothing could compare to the fresh air one could breathe when stationed dirt side.
He grabbed his helmet that was sitting on the deck in front of his seat and put it on. He could hear the faint hiss informing him that the helmet was sealed to the suit and that if the ship's hull was breached or life support failed, he would still be able to operate.
His Heads Up Display mounted on the visor of his helmet activated, seconds later showing his vital signs and the amount of air still left in the suit. A low beep informed him that his helmet had been synchronized with the ship's internal communications system, allowing him to communicate with everyone despite the fact that his mouth was covered up by his helmet, not allowing the noises generated his larynx to be heard by anyone not connected to the ship's internal network.
"Ten seconds until reversion."
Somerville fastened and secured the restraints on his Command Chair, ensuring that in extreme turbulence, he wouldn't fall out of his seat.
"Reverting to hyperspace."
"Sir," reported Engelmann. "Sensors detect fifteen, one-five contacts, all of them assumed to be hostile According to our database, they're Ori Frigates."
"Designate contacts as Sierra-One to Sierra-Fifteen from their distance to our current position," he ordered. "What is their range?"
"The ETA for the closest Frigate will reach to our current position is around five minutes. Given their trajectories, I suspect that while they do know that we are here but they do not know our current position."
Somerville nodded. With the Archer's ECM set to maximum, he doubted that the Ori could know exactly where he was. If they could, then the massive amount of funds that the Terran and Asgard Governments had spent developing the Block II variant would have been wasted. If that were to happen, Somerville had no doubt that he and his ship would have a hard time getting out of there alive.
"And the ground-based guns?" While the Planetary Defense Centers were fixed in place, and were not mobile, he was sure that they would ruin his day just as well if not more than the Ori Frigates in system.
"Well the intelligence given to us my EXPEDCOM has proven to be correct. I'm reading five Planetary Defense Centers, two in the Northern Hemisphere, one on each Continent, and the rest on the sole large continent on the Southern Hemisphere. However that's all I can get at the moment, the Ori have employed a lot of interference in the area, so I can't get an accurate sweep. However I do believe that like the Frigates they do not have a lock on us. However given the magnitude sensors on the PDCs, I estimate they will have a lock on us in the next five minutes."
Fuck, he swore mentally. If the Ori PDCs got at lock on him, he wouldn't know until right after they fired on him. Given the distance between him and the PDCs as well as the fact that all energy weapons traveled at the speed of light, it meant that he would have little or no time to react. He'd have to rely on the Archer's ECM for the entire time, for as good as the shields were, getting hit with the main gun of a Planetary Defense Center would guarantee the Archer's destruction.
He sighed. "Are the port and aft tubes ready?"
"Yes sir, ready and loaded."
"Fire tubes six through nine at five second intervals at my command."
"Aye sir."
Somerville did his best to keep his breathing at a steady pace. Even though he had seen combat before, namely serving aboard the old HMS Conqueror when she sank the General Belgrano during the Falklands War more than two decades ago and a couple of fire fights with enemy Jaffa under the service of Anubis alongside before the disclosure of the Stargate and the formation of the Republic, he had never done anything his audacious in his life.
Hyperspace transitions were not peaceful events by a long shot and often caused massive interference with sensors, although with Asgard and Ori sensors the effects were not as bad, although they were still present. Commander Fujimaki's plan called for the Archer to take advantage of this to the fullest. Shortly after the Archer would exit hyperspace, it would launch four sensor decoys, each programmed to masquerade as a BC-304 Block I via the Archer's port and starboard tubes before activating its cloaking device. It was hoped that the Ori would focus all of their attention on those decoys, not knowing that they were in fact a distraction and would allow the Archer and her crew to slip by unnoticed and extract the Commandos and their supporters from Pythia without the Ori knowing until it was too late.
Somerville decided that it was now or never. "Mark," he said quietly as if he was afraid that the Ori could hear him.
"Aye sir. Tube six has been launched," reported Drossier. "Tube seven has been launched," he said five seconds later. "Tube eight has been launched…Tube nine has been launched," he concluded.
The design of the sensor decoys was similar to the Mk VIII missile, and had the same propulsion system and general design. However while the Mk VIII had a naquahdah-enhanced nuclear warhead, the decoy traded this for a large transponder that broadcast its position and 'identity' to all of known space.
"Activate cloak," he ordered, now that the decoys were launched.
"Cloak activating," Engelmann said, working on his console, "Cloak is now active."
Fujimaki watched from his console located at Somerville's left. "It seems as if the enemy has taken the bait."
"Sir, we've lost contact with one of the decoys it appears that it was destroyed."
"How and where?" asked Somerville, wondering whether the PDCs or the Ori Frigates were responsible.
"Telemetry suggests that the killing shot came from one of the PDCs based in the Southern Continent. Based on sensor readings, I would guess that our shields might be able to take two maybe three if we had all power devoted to shields before collapsing."
Somerville bit back a grimace. The Commandos and their indigenous supporters were located on the Southern Continent and while the PDCs were unable to fire on objects in the atmosphere, the cannon could not retract that low, it was more than capable of hitting the Archer when it was making its escape.
"What's their rate of fire?"
"Given the intelligence that we have, I'm going to guess from one shot per every forty-five seconds to two minutes."
Somerville frowned. If Engelmann's calculations were correct it meant that if the Ori coordinated their fire, something that they would most certainly do, the PDCs would be able to fire one shot at ship per fifteen seconds in the worst case scenario and every forty in the best. This however did not count the Ori Frigates in orbit waiting to kill him and his crew; nor did it take into account the possibility that the intelligence Earth had gathered was faulty and that the PDCs were able to fire at a much faster rate.
"Thank you Lieutenant," Somerville replied, not liking the answer. "Lieutenant Ross," he addressed the Officer in charge of the Helm, "take us in for orbital reentry."
Somerville had hoped to get out of hyperspace, beam the Commandos and their supporters out and escape into hyperspace, without anyone knowing until it was too late. However according to EXPEDCOM, the Ori had transporter jammers in their inventory in mass numbers, preventing him from doing this. With this option out of the question, it meant that in order to transport them out, he and his crew had to get into his transporters drastically shortened range via entering Pythia's atmosphere that was by far more risky and perilous.
Pythia
O'Neill grunted as he took aim with his sidearm, an FN Five-Seven firing another 5.7mm x 28mm round downrange into the head of an Ori Warrior that was too close for comfort.
His FN SCAR lay on the ground, discarded and unused. He had run out of ammo, having used up the last of his stash of 6.5mm x 39 mm rounds two minutes ago and right now it was as useless as a rubber crutch.
He frowned. With the loss of his SCAR, his engagement envelope had shortened from 600 meters to half that. While this was still superior to that of the staff weapons used by the Ori, which cut out at about 100 meters if they were lucky, O'Neill liked to have as much distance between him and the Ori as possible. To make things worse, his pistol although having a lot better stopping power than other commonly used Pistol Rounds such as 9mm NATO or .45 ACP, was still inferior to the 6.5mm rounds used by his SCAR.
O'Neill ducked once more, frowning. In a firefight, especially in an open field pistols were vastly inferior to rifles or carbines. In order to kill an enemy Ori Warrior, he had to empty five to seven rounds into the bastard's torso, nearly half of the ammunition in his magazine. And while he didn't mind taking down those insane religious maniacs, after all someone had to do it, he was rather low on ammunition at the moment.
A large boom interrupted his thoughts. Apparently some Ori Warriors were unfortunate enough, well lucky for him and his allies to set off one of the many tripwire-rigged claymore mines that they had set up for this very scenario. Hopefully the Ori who set off the mine were unlucky enough to be clustered up when it blew. Each claymore mine held 700 small steel balls, each an eight of an inch in diameter, which would travel 1,200 meters per second towards the enemy when the mine blew, making it perfect against large groups of enemy soldiers. If one was hit, odds were that there wasn't going to be much left of them.
"Captain!" yelled Rejik over the din of firefight. Firefights were nothing if not loud. "They've breached the first perimeter."
O'Neill checked his watch, and swore. They still had five minutes to go and at this rate, the Ori would be able to breach the base's entire defenses and would be able to get to Chaucer and the bomb before it detonated. While the warhead was tamper proof and was programmed to explode prematurely if messed with, O'Neill didn't want to take any chances.
He conducted a quick mental check of his assets. He still had his pistol, with ten rounds remaining as well as two more magazines, each carrying twenty rounds. He also had a knife, equipped with a blade sharp enough to cut through Ori Armor in a single jab, a gift from the Asgard. Although if he did have to use it, it meant that he was really screwed. Thankfully, all of his protective gear, his helmet, protective glasses, and his assault vest were all intact. While he didn't have everything that he wanted, he concluded that it could always be worse.
He keyed his headset. "All units fall back to the final perimeter," he ordered.
Rejik opened his mouth to protest but O'Neill cut him off. "We'll do no good if we're cut off and overextended. We'll be better off if we consolidate ourselves and regroup. Besides we'll have a steady supply of ammunition."
Rejik nodded. Like O'Neill his RPK-74 was out of ammunition.
"I'll cover you. On my command," he ordered. While O'Neill had his pistol, Rejik had only his RPK and was literally naked, defenseless against the Ori.
"Rodger that."
O'Neill quickly swapped out his magazine for a fresh one. "Go," he ordered as he rose up once more and began firing. Rather than taking the time to aim at a specific enemy O'Neill fired in the general direction in hopes of keeping their heads down and allowing Rejik to retreat to a safe distance.
A single click informed him that his magazine had run dry and O'Neill quickly ducked behind the small boulder once more. He turned around and saw that Rejik had been lucky and had been able to fall back eighty or so meters before wisely choosing to take cover once more.
However O'Neill was in a bind. By the looks of it, Rejik had left his RPK behind when he withdrew, after all it would be only dead weight when he ran and even if the Pythian did have it, he couldn't lay down covering fire for him as he withdrew. There's no use crying about split milk, he told himself as he prepared himself for the short sprint that would be either the cause of his death or allow him to live a few minutes longer.
Taking a deep breath, he shifted his weight and just started to run.
However at that very second, O'Neill, the surviving members of ODA-1123 and the remaining resistance fighters all disappeared in a flash of light.
CIC, TFNS Archer
"Sir, extraction complete," reported Engelmann.
"Excellent Lieutenant," complemented Somerville, satisfied with the results.
"Enemy fighters vectoring towards our position sensor's are detecting two squadrons worth, twenty-five total. ETA two minutes."
Somerville nodded. The use of transporters, especially behind enemy lines was not something to be taken lightly. Given the precise nature of transporting something from one exact location to another and amount of energy used to transport something meant that anyone with a halfway decent sensor network could not only figure out what was going on, but determine the exact location of the ship that was. Given that the Ori had a very good sensor network, it meant that they not only knew that the four had been set up but had a very good idea about the precise location of the Archer. "Ignore them," he ordered. Choosing to engage the fighters was both foolhardy and stupid as the longer the Archer stayed in the atmosphere, the odds of its escape into friendly territory lowered dramatically. "Lieutenant Ross, get us into orbit as soon as possible."
"Aye aye, Captain."
Brig, TFNS Archer
"Ouch," O'Neill rubbed his tailbone as he sat down on the cool metal deck of what appeared to be a ship. While he was used to transporters, being transported without any warning at all was disorienting for even the most experienced and it didn't really help that he had been running, causing him to fall straight on his ass when he had rematerialized wherever he was right now.
He took a look around to assess his situation and found that he was not alone. Alongside him were the surviving members of ODA-1123 and the Pythian Resistance cell that they had been working with. To his relief, he saw that the remaining members of ODA-1123 Chaucer, Li and Pskov along with Rejik had all survived.
He continued to look around him. Apparently they were confined in some sort of enclosed room with a heavily enforced hatch that sealed them off from the rest of the ship. If O'Neill had to guess, it was probably the ship's Brig, or whatever his rescuers/captors called it.
O'Neill was puzzled that he or anyone else had not had any interaction whatsoever with the ship's crew. This was good and bad. At least there hadn't been anyone to disarm him or his men, preparing them for interrogation and possibly torture. But at the same time, he didn't know what was going on or what would go on leaving him in the dark to what was going on.
He decided to take charge of the situation. "I want everyone to check themselves and each other for wounds and any other injuries."
Following his own orders, O'Neill patted himself down. More often than not, many people he included were so full of adrenaline that they didn't even know that they were wounded until the fight was over. From his own experience he knew that the adrenaline was just staring to fade away and fatigue was just about to set in on everyone.
He gave a sigh of relief. While his fatigues and combat gear were a bit warm, even a near miss one could still feel the heat generated by energy weapons, other than a few superficial cuts and bruises, he was perfectly fine. Unlike Terran weapons, which fired small projectiles into the body, you could easily tell if an Ori Staff Weapon had hit you as you were either dead or were missing a limb.
"Sir," said Li, "We have a dozen moderate to heavily wounded partisans. While their condition is stable, if they do not get Medical attention soon they will die."
"Damn," he swore, while each surviving member of ODA-1123 was proficient in First Aid, ODA-1123's assigned Medic, Staff Sergeant James Gates had died two months ago during a raid on one of the major factories in ODA-1123's Area of Operations, leaving them without a dedicated Medic and right now that was what O'Neill needed desperately at the moment.
"Captain, I do believe that we do have some Semtex on us. We could try to blow the door," Rejik offered.
"I would advise against that course of action," said a new voice, with a prominent feminine sounding Irish Brogue via the speaker.
O'Neill's eyebrows rose, his senses alert and heightened. While he did not know every single member of the Pythian resistance, he did know that none of them due to the Pythian language being similar to that spoken in Ancient Greece, producing pseudo-Mediterranean accents or any member of his team spoke in such a manner. "Who are you?"
"Lieutenant and Doctor Claire Keating, Terran Federal Navy at your service. You and your companions are currently aboard the TFNS Archer, the Brig to be exact. Can I have your name?"
O'Neill's brow furrowed in thought. Like the rest of ODA-1123 and B Company, he hadn't been on Earth for over half a year. While he did know that Earth was beginning to build up a real Space Navy, being in the Special Operations Force, he didn't know and didn't need to know the specifics or the timetable to the Naval component of Earth's Military build up, meaning that he didn't know if she was legit or not.
On the one hand, he did know that as of six months ago the only ship active in the Terran Navy was the Daedalus. Earth particularly the Special Operations Force was relying on the Asgard for insertion and extraction to and from enemy territory until the Terran Navy procured and produced appropriate ships. In fact B Company had been inserted to Pythia via an Asgard Beliskner particularly modified for that purpose. Adding to his suspicions was the fact that there was no way a Terran vessel could have responded that fast to his distress call within that time period as Earth was too far away from Pythia at maximum speed.
Yet on the other hand, a part of him told him to trust her. He hadn't been on Earth for the last half of a year and logically speaking things would have changed as he did know that when he had left Earth, a small number of ships were nearing completion and this one, he didn't want to call it the Archer until he knew that it was legit, could be one of them. Besides an Irish Brogue was pretty hard to fake.
"Captain Jonathan O'Neill, Terran Federal Special Operations Force," he replied, choosing not to reveal the name of his unit. "Can you show yourself?" he asked. Right now, the people on the other side of the door held all of the cards. If they chose to do that, it would help to establish their legitimacy in O'Neill's eyes.
There was a slight pause, short enough that it wasn't obvious but long enough for O'Neill to notice before responding, "I'm going to open the hatch in fifteen one-five seconds. Tell your men not to open fire. He guessed that she was either asking for approval by a superior or deciding for herself whether or not to pursue that course of action.
"Do as she says," he ordered his men and the partisans. If she was legit and hopefully she was, if a firefight were to occur due to an itchy trigger finger, things would become very nasty, very quickly. He didn't even want to think about the consequences.
True to her word, the door began to open, albeit slowly, in order to keep any one inside the Brig from being startled and revealed a woman who he assumed to be Lieutenant Keating.
Like him and the rest of the men under his command, she was wearing a Woodland Terran Camouflage Pattern Battle Dress Uniform, which was standard issue for the Terran Military and was based upon the MARPAT pattern developed by the US Marine Corps. However unlike O'Neill's that was almost worn out after months of constant use in the field and had several holes in it, hers was nearly brand new and come to think about it probably was.
On top of the BDU was a matching Ballistic Vest, designed to protect the wearer from both shrapnel and enemy fire, similar to the one that he wore. However unlike him, she did not have any tactical webbing or any additional gear and necessities that were used everyday combat operations mounted on her vest.
Her head remained bare, unlike his, which at the moment was covered by a helmet and a radio headset underneath, her scarlet locks dropping down to the nape of her neck.
Behind her he could see six additional personnel who were similarly attired, taking up positions behind her. Although they were wearing helmets and were armed with M4 Carbines, O'Neill guessed that they were pre-war leftovers from the US Military now pressed into the service of the Terran Federal Republic as line units and those deployed aboard were first to be equipped with new equipment, everyone else had to make do with what they had. While he did notice that their weapons were not pointed at him or his men, they were pointed towards the ground, or the deck, to be correct in Naval parlance; they could easily bring their weapons to bear in seconds if need be. He guessed that they were part of the ship's Visit, Board, Search, and Seizure Team, VBSS for short, which was composed of regular Ship's Personnel who were given additional training to board other vessels, and to defend their own from boarders and were most commonly utilized when Marines were not available.
"Are you satisfied now Major?" she asked.
Naval Protocol demanded that on board a warship, the title Captain was to be reserved for only the Commanding Officer of that said vessel, no matter what that said Officer's 'real' rank was. Any other personnel aboard with the rank of Captain, were to be addressed as either 'Commodore' or 'Major' depending on whether or not that said person was a member of the Navy for the former or any other branch of the armed services for the latter.
"Almost. One question where are you from?"
"Cork," she replied, if O'Neill didn't know if she was from Ireland, especially with her accent, he was either one of two things, either dumb, which was unlikely, as he was an Officer in Special Operations Unit or an impostor.
"Ah. I take it you're from Ireland," he asked, stating the obvious, "the land of crap booze and lightweights who can't hold their liquor."
"Crap booze?" she asked, as if he were insane, her heritage becoming more apparent as her accent thickened. "That's a riot, coming from a Yank with the watered down piss you dare to call beer. As for calling me a lightweight"
"All right, stand down, she's legit," O'Neill quickly told his men, interrupting her rant.
"My apologies for riling you up," he told her, but I had to ensure that you were telling the truth."
Keating gave him a nasty glare before she and the rest of the VBSS team and the uninjured personnel under O'Neill's command began to move the seriously wounded to the Medical Facilities on board the Archer.
CIC
"Sir we're about to reenter orbit," reported the Helmsman.
"Good," Somerville said, calmly. He had ordered the crew to disengage the Archer's cloaking device; the Ori knew that they were inside the Pythian atmosphere and keeping it on would only be a waste of power. He hoped that the ship's ECM set at maximum would be able to prevent their PDCs from getting a lock.
"Sir," said Engelmann urgently, "the Ori have figured out our general escape vector and are reassigning their assets accordingly."
"Shit," he swore. He had hoped that the enemy would not be able detect him until he was far enough away from the planet's gravitational field to make a hyperspace jump. However it seemed as if he would have to fight his way out, something that he not only did not want to do but would test the capabilities of the Block II to its limits.
"Ten seconds until reaching orbit," said Ross, updating the Captain.
"Get ready to fire the aft, starboard and port tubes at my command."
"Five…four…three…two…one. We're now in orbit."
"Fire decoys," he ordered, wanting those countermeasures deployed as soon as possible.
"Decoys away," reported Drossier.
Engelmann interrupted quickly, almost cutting the Frenchman off. "We have seven I repeat seven Ori Frigates approaching our position. ETA forty-five seconds."
"Have you acquired a firing solution?"
"No sir."
"How long."
"Any second sir."
"Captain," reported one of the enlisted technicians from his console before Engelmann could do so himself. "I have a firing solution on the lead vessel."
"Fire tubes one and four at the target."
"Aye sir," said Drossier, launching two Mark VIII missiles at the Ori Frigate. "Missiles away."
"Sir I have a firing solution on the two vessels nearest to the lead Frigate, our database has catalogued them as Sierra Seven and Sierra Twelve."
"Target destroyed."
Somerville grinned. It seemed as if the Archer had made its first kill, hopefully the first of many. While expending two missiles on a single Frigate was a bit much, a single one could probably do the job, Intelligence wasn't sure about how they would hold up to a Mark VIII. "Fire tubes two and five at Sierra Seven and Sierra Twelve respectively."
"Missiles away."
Seconds later, the vessel shook violently, rocking the entire crew. Somerville was glad that he has strapped in otherwise, he would have been launched headfirst straight into one of the bulkheads, an experience that would be fatal at the worst and would cause a severe concussion at the very least.
"Report," he ordered, glad that he was using his suit's oxygen supply. Several of the consoles had crashed and smoke was beginning to spew out of them. While the air scrubbers would be able to deal with it eventually, right now it wasn't a good idea to breath the air.
"Shields are down to fifteen percent. Apparently, three of the PDCs were able to get a lock on us and hit us simultaneously. Damage control teams are on their way as we speak."
"Shit," he swore. While the shields could easily take the hits, one with an appropriate time spaced in between each hit, being hit almost simultaneously increased the damage incurred by the ship almost exponentially. He and his ship needed to get out of here fast.
"How long until we can jump to hyperspace?" he asked Gonzalez.
"Ninety seconds sir."
He swore under his breath. Ninety seconds, while comparatively short, was almost an eternity right now. He wouldn't be surprised if they could last for another thirty.
He keyed the button on his console, connecting him with Commander Molotov in the Reactor Control Room. "Commander, I want all power diverted from energy weapons to our sublight and hyper drives."
"Sir?" asked the Engineer, wanting confirmation.
"You heard me."
"Aye sir," he responded, "diverting power."
"Captain, with all due respect," Fujimaki interrupted, "we are going to be almost completely unarmed against those ships."
"Commander, our objective is to get out of here, not to take on those ships. Our loss of energy weapons is a risk that we will have to take." However his XO's concern was valid. While missiles and rail guns were excellent for long range and combat respectively, energy weapons were a ship's primary armament. Take those out of the equation and 60 to 70 of the ship's offensive capability was out of the window. He turned to his Navigator once more. "And now?"
"I can probably get us to hyperspace immediately, however there is the issue of those enemy vessels in front of us."
Somerville nodded. While the Archer could open up a hyperspace window it was probably not a good idea. Going to hyperspace right now, while it would probably destroy the enemy vessels due to its close proximity to the unstable window, causing the wreckage of the said ships to get thrown all over the place at a very fast velocity and at all directions possible, or due to some random act of chance would cause them to catch the Archer's wake following it into hyperspace.
"Lieutenant Ross," he addressed his helmsman.
"Yes sir."
"I want you to fly this ship through the enemy formation as if you were strapped into the cockpit of a fighter at full speed."
"Gladly sir," the Lieutenant replied with calm anticipation. While Ross was sitting in front of him, Somerville could almost see the shit-eating grin forming on his face.
Lieutenant James Ross had been a pilot for the US Navy, flying the F/A-18 Hornet until a freak accident during a training flight had caused him to loose the lower part of his right leg, which had ended his status as a pilot. However despite this, he still retained the confident almost to the point of cockiness attitude found in nearly every pilot, regardless of nationality.
Even with the internal compensators on; he could still the ship begin to accelerate as more and more power was diverted to the ship's sublight drive.
"Sir, we're going to be in range of their energy weapons."
"All hands brace for impact," he ordered. "Commander Drossier, if they get within the range of our railguns engage them at once." He turned his attention back to his helmsman, "Lieutenant Ross, remember that our first and only objective is to break past the enemy formation, to not to defeat them."
"Aye sir."
The Archer rocked slightly once more. "Shields down to twelve percent."
"Come on," Somerville breathed.
"Engaging the enemy with railguns."
The ship shook again.
"Lieutenant Gonzalez, what are we able to make the jump."
"Twenty more seconds sir."
"Sir, we destroyed Sierra Five, one of their corvettes."
"Shields down to eight percent."
"Fifteen more seconds."
"Sir, we have two enemy behind us. Permission to engage via our aft torpedoes."
"Denied." Somerville replied. There was simply not enough time for the Archer to launch any more torpedoes before its hyperdrive engaged.
"Ten seconds."
"Shields down to four percent."
"Engaging hyperdrive," said the Navigator. "We are now in hyperspace," said the Lieutenant.
Somerville let out of a sigh of relief. He was safe and sound, for now of course.
Authors Notes
Sean Mulligan When I meant by service jobs, I meant so called white-collar jobs such as lawyers, business owners, etc. The Ori attack on Earth wiped out a lot of Earth's economy and a lot of small business went under because of it. The big Corporations are barely breaking even at the moment. Like I said before the only industry that is doing well is the Defense Industry and the Terran Government is relying on it to keep its economy afloat at the moment. If you're used to sitting on your rear all day operating over a desk, chances are you're not going to be well suited for a manufacturing job that requires a lot of physical labor. The fact that you have to start a square one or the fact that you're competing against younger, healthier kids for the same job doesn't help that much either.
Jay Nine Yes the Terran Military has been completely integrated and while the Ministry of Defense and the Armed Forces prefer to raise new formations, as the last thing that the Government wants is to factionalize the Armed Forces; some exceptions have been made to units with a long and distinguished history such as the US 101st Airborne, the Black Watch, etc.
Serilla My intention isn't to cause flooding or to raise sea levels to a significant level. What I am trying to do is to hamper the Northern Hemisphere. The Northern Hemisphere is where almost all of the world's developed nations are located and the majority of its industrial and technological base. If the Northern Hemisphere was somehow drastically affected it would hurt Earth more than if the Southern Hemisphere was some how affected.
Structure of the Terran Armed Forces
The Organization of the Terran Armed Forces is similar to that used by the real life US Military. The Terran Military is split into two different elements the Individual Branches of the Armed Services and the Unified Combatant Commands which encompass a certain theater or function. The Individual Branches are responsible for the administration of the personnel under their control while the Unified Combatant Commands have day-to-day operational control over the very same personnel. For example NAVHOME or long way Terran Naval Forces Home reports to the Navy for Administrative and Bureaucratic purposes, it is under the operational control of HOMECOM.
The Joint Chiefs of Staff is the highest body in the Terran Military and is composed of the Heads of each of the Individual Services and is headed by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who is the Military's Highest Ranking Officer and sole Military Advisor to the President. The Joint Chiefs, the Chairman in particular are responsible for overall strategic planning and readiness of the Armed Services.
Individual Services
Army: The Terran Army is the ground component of the Military and the largest. With a diverse array of units ranging from light infantry that specialize in fighting in varying extreme environments such as Deserts, or Mountain Ranges to its heavy Armored Divisions it is capable of engaging the Ori in multiple environments.
Navy: The Navy is the mobile component of the Armed Forces and is responsible for controlling the Space lanes and the transportation of ground troops from planet to planet.
Marine Corps: The Marine Corps is the assault and rapid reaction component of the Military. Marines consider themselves to be elite apart from the Army and as such have a different doctrine. Marines are responsible for establishing beachheads in planetary invasions and garrisoning Navy and Space Force Warships and Facilities, respectively. Unlike their brethren in the Army the Marines are capable of being deployed quickly to any combat zone although they do not have as much heavy equipment.
Space Force: The Space Force is in control the Fixed Orbital Defenses as well as the Fighters and bombers of the Terran Military. The Space Force and the Navy have a very close working relationship as well as an intense Interservice rivalry. In defensive actions the Navy warships and Space Force Orbital Fortresses will coordinate their actions to deter any invaders. In addition, Space Force Pilots fly off of Navy Carriers. It is not uncommon for Officers, especially pilots to transfer from one branch to another.
Special Operations Force: The Special Operations force is responsible for all Asymmetric and Irregular Operations. Rather than having each of the Armed Services have their own Special Operations capability, in order to reduce overlap and increase efficiency it was decided to create a new service to oversee all Special Operations.
Unified Combatant Commands
Every member of the Terran Military is assigned to one of these Commands.
Home Command (HOMECOM): Responsible for the defense of the Sol System.
Expeditionary Command (EXPEDCOM): Responsible for all units and personnel deployed outside of the Solar System.
Pegasus Command (PEGCOM): Responsible for all operations inside the Pegasus Galaxy.
Training Command (TRANCOM): Responsible for training of all new recruits in the Terran Military.