THOMASPENHORN11: As much as I like your review-manship (lol), I'd very much prefer you to make your review all in one single review as opposed to splitting it across several, thanks, if you can, although presumably if you're using text-to-speech on your phone (apparently), that may be rather difficult. On the off chance that you can, however, thanks.
CrazedBureaucrat64: No, the Mako's turret works, it's not the problem, the problem lies in the hull and the wierd layout that makes a rear exit complete and utterly impossible (and as we all know, side/front exits are dumb and not to be made), as well as the exposed suspension that would make this thing completely immobile within the first few shots to breach it's kinetic barrier. The turret on the other hand would be a very good turret design for a wheeled tank destroyer (like, say, a 105mm armed Stryker), but for an IFV, it's not ideal. It lacks armoring to protect the gun inside (and if armor is not a concern, it also means that extra addons cannot be added easily, like, say, ERA, extra shield generators, or APS). The turret design seemingly lacks elevation gear (might be wrong), but it's low design also makes it hard to depress the gun and thus limits it's viability on hull-down situations. Now, if the Mako's suspension was better protected, it would make for a perfect mobile gun system (see the Stryker 105mm version), but it's lack of a troop compartment means that it'll be a bad choice for an IFV.
Related to that, if a fleetgirl is deployed with her rig active, well, first of all, she's gonna light up on sensors with the signature of a ship (which is bad or good depending on the scenario), but also since the armanents of a spatial warship are well within the amount of energy needed to replicate a dinosaur-killing asteroid impact, I just left it out for the times where they'd use them in space combat due to the ludicrous amounts of friendly fire that may ensure. There are exceptions, however, but so far, I haven't properly fleshed out the exact details yet.
Also, imagine the looks on the batarians lmao
Units of measurement from Citadel POVs will be indicated in Citadel Standard Meters, but they'll be roughly equivalent to our own for the sake of reading. Just a heads-up. Same applies for time or angle measurements.
Only God may know what will happen if things were to spiral out of control.
Deep space, Lyrae Asteria cluster, 03.14.5717 0314HRS Galactic Standard Time
Condor-class cruiser PFS Vanker
Superior Captain Desolas Arterius mumured something indecipherable as the 535-meter cruiser dropped out of FTL, his ship closely followed by seven more cruisers and sixteen Kraxus-class frigates, all two dozen ships halting the power supply to their mass effect drive cores and redirecting them towards their sublight engines to push them forwards through the interstellar void. They all did a fifty-degree turn shortly afterwards, gliding gracefully amongst the stars as expected of any turian vessel, engines glowing light blue as they pushed the ships forwards towards the sector of space they were headed to.
Normally, there would be no need to deploy such a large amount of ships to what amounted to yet another worthless section of the krogan DMZ ever since the last krogans living there were evicted following their surrender; most of the time individual cruisers would patrol the system one at a time. But after PFS Vallum and an entire frigate squandron failing to return after her usual patrol and two more cruisers sent to investigate going dark as well, Admiral Macen Arterius had assembled a sizeable task force in order to obtain at least a lead on what had truly happened, as well as the fate of the three cruisers. Such a mission was a trivial affair at best, most of the time, but after STG's reports of a possible slaver prescence in the area came to light, it was agreed upon that they should best err on the side of caution. It wasn't really impossible, but after the disappearance of several cruiser patrols sent to the area to investigate, even the dumbest turian captain could still ad two and two together, himself included.
PFS Vanker's sensor operator spoke up as the readouts on his console came through, his talons working the controls to calibrate it to be better readable and adjusting the system for better results. "Sensor sweep complete, no ships present in-system other than our own. Minor debris field present, readouts suggest it's parent ships were destroyed very recently, but unable to evaluate further. Field is scattered all over the vicinity of Relay 314, redouts suggest several skirmishes over the past few days. Further details unknown. Also, large mass effect signature present, hold on..."
"Is something wrong?" Desolas asked, leaning over the operator's shoulder to see the readouts for himself...needless to say, he didn't expect it. At all.
"The relay," said the operator in a shaking voice, "It's active."
Qinghai Underground District, Qinghai, Shanxi, 26th July 2257 0700HRS local time
The door to Lieutenant General John Williams's office opened and closed with a clack as Fubuki unceremoniously plopped herself into a chair at random and let her arms go limp. She let out a deep sigh of exhaustion for a second before running a hand through her messy, unkempt hair. "You called, sir?"
"Yeah, pretty much. Sorry to disturb your rest...hope it was okay."
"I only had a passing memory of what sleep is," Fubuki responded dryly. "I'll let it side however if you have a good reason, to, howver..."
Williams pressed his thumb against his forehead for a split second before starting. "I'll try to paraphrase this as much as possible, but here are the basics: the alien fuckers parked their fleet in a high elliptical orbit, about half to a full light-second away at the highest and lowest intercept points. Thing is, their biggest ship, in the center of their fleet—a cruiser-sized vessel by the looks of it—is apparently their flagship, judging by the communications transmissions we managed to intercept. A prowler's coming to pick you up in three hours or so, so get you and your fireteam over to catch that bus up by the time it arrives, okay? Your objective's going to be getting at as many high-ranking officers as you can onboard that vessel as possible before you all bail out. Kidnapping on a ship, basically."
Fubuki furrowed her brow for a moment as her sleep-deprived mind began to take in far more information that it could handle or want to accept. "I see only one problem with that," she began, stifling a yawn as she did so. "We've only a fireteam of five at best, and we're all going to do a boarding and kidnapping operation on a ship that's the size of a cruiser. Given how cruisers would typically be staffed by at least a thousand, or perhaps even more depending on their size and class, this is essentially putting a battalion against a fireteam and telling the fireteam to pull what essentially amounts to Steiner's Counterattack on a ship. We don't have the plot armor to do that, sir."
Williams nodded. "Onboard the prowler is another nine fireteams of N7s to bolster your numbers for the upcoming operation, alongside fresh weapons and ammuntion. They should suffice."
"So it's a platoon. Much better." Fubuki sighed, resisting the urge to just drop off to sleep right then and there, superiors be dammed. "But please do give me a favor, Lieutenant General."
"Sure. Go ahead."
"When this operation is over, please, for the love of God, please do give me and the fireteam a full day of down-time...fuck...haven't slept in nearly a week..." Fubuki yawned again as Williams nodded once more. "Thanks...you're a goddamn life-saver...see you later..." With that, Fubuki got up from her seat and dragged herself out of Williams' office, leaving the general alone in his thoughts as he gazed at the holotank projecting the alien fleet orbiting right above their heads.
The kinetic barriers of the Condor-class cruiser PFS Vallum, of the Navy of the Hierarchy of Palaven's Third Patrol Fleet, under the command of Superior Captain Desolas Arterius, flared once more as another mass accelerator shot impacted it, the piece of metal shot to relativistic speeds shattering against the kinetic barriers with more than enough force to make the 535-meter cruiser shudder slightly as it's own spinal mass accelerator fired, nailing an enemy cruiser at random and punching through the kinetic barriers that were already weakened from multiple impacts (as well as being civilian grade versus military grade, and thus inferior), and slammed against the armor, penetrating halfway through before sputtering out from overheating. The turian crew of the Vallum cheered at the successful hit before returning back to work, as the battle between the detachment and the batarian/slaver fleet raged on.
Desolas Arterius himself was not feeling like cheering; he knew that despite scoring a hit on an enemy ship, they were losing. Badly. He watched as the holographic display showing the status of the fleet shuddered and flickered as several frigates vanished from existence, while a number of cruisers and destroyers either lost power or simply got pounded to bits as shots overwhelmed their kinetic barriers and hammered into their armor, tearing massive holes into them and venting entire compartments of air into space, killing whoever was still alive aboard said compartments. Ships on both sides limped around in space, their engines either heavily damaged or completely destroyed, and Desolas knew that it was only a matter of time until he lost power or got destroyed by the enemy.
The main viewport of the Vallum's bridge shook as another mass accelerator shot impacted against the cruiser, showering the inside of the bridge with sparks as Desolas gritted his teeth. "Goddamn slavers...how in the Spirits' name did they manage to find us here, of all places?!" He snarled in anger as he slammed a fist against the armrest of his command chair, which creaked ever-so-slightly upon impact. Desolas glanced over at the holographic display once more and noted that his detachment was reduced to merely a handful of ships, and cursed as he saw a frigate vanish from existence as its kinetic barriers failed to stop a torpedo from exploding against its hull, ripping the entire bow section off from the main body of the frigate itself, and leaving the remaining part to explode violently a few seconds later. In the meantime, another of his fellow cruisers ate a shot from an enemy cruiser that thudded against it's armor now that it's kinetic barriers were gone also, the oblique angle of impact allowing some of the impact force to be transferred to the armor, but still tearing yet another hole into the armor plating nonetheless. It's guardian arrays shot down another torpedo that was fired at it via a burst of red laser beams aimed with specialized focusing lenses, allowing the cruiser to live for yet another minute as it limped around in space, trying it's best to avoid taking any further hits and keep shooting back at the slavers who dared to attack it and its fellows. Desolas snarled in frustration once more as he realized that his detachment was doomed, unless reinforcements arrived soon. Which they most likely won't, unless a miracle happened and the engineers were able to get the cooldown for the mass effect drive cores to get them to jump to FTL twice as fast as they were already doing, but the simple matter of engineering meant that it was already impossible from the start.
Desolas turned his head as yet another hit rocked the Vallum once more, making him almost lose his balance as he grabbed onto his command chair, and causing a few of the engineers to yelp as they struggled to keep the mass effect drives online. "Spirits damn it all! How long until the mass effect drive cooldown period finishes?!" He shouted angrily at the engineering officers as they typed furiously into their consoles, each keystroke bringing them closer to the end of the cooldown period for the mass effect drive cores.
"Another ten minutes!" One of the engineering officers shouted back as Desolas nodded, turning his attention to the holographic display once more and seeing yet another cruiser disappear from existence, torn apart by multiple torpedoes and mass accelerator shots slamming against it's armor. Only a handful of ships remained from the detachment, and Desolas knew that he and his surviving ships wouldn't last that long. He was tempted to order a general evacuation of the ships of his detachment, but was aware that the slavers would shoot down every escape pod launched from the crippled vessels. As such, he steeled himself and gripped onto his command chair tightly, ready to go down with his ship rather than become a slave to the batarians and die slowly and painfully as a result.
A frigate reported yet another kinetic barrier failure as shots punched through it's defensive countermeasures and began to hammer away at it's armor, tearing massive chunks of said armor off and exposing compartments to vacuum, the frigate's sturdy build buckling under the weight of dozens of shots impacting it as mass accelerator shots punched through armor and ripped entire swathes of ship to the void of space, venting entire compartments of air and crew members into the void, killing them instantly due to lack of oxygen. Within ten seconds, the frigate exploded violently, showering the slavers fleet with debris as Desolas watched another icon wink out of existence from the holographic display. He swore loudly as he watched the remaining ships of his detachment begin to die one by one, each one vanishing from existence as shots slammed against it's armor, reducing it to nothingness within a matter of minutes. Another frigate fell prey to half a dozen inferior—but still effective nonetheless—slaver frigates firing on it with the full force of their guns, kinetic barriers already weakened from previous bombardments failing under the assault and leaving the armor open to attack, said armor thus being very rapidly breached and ripped open by dozens of more shots, venting atmosphere into the open and igniting fires fueled by escaping air as they did so. The coup de grâce fell as a single torpedo slipped in through the previously hot-lit and brutally effective guardian point-defense laser arrays and went straight into the center of the ship, the focusing lenses and firing nodes nearly completely destroyed in multiple bombardments and others that were intact having the power lines leading to them destroyed or otherwise similarly trashed. The frigate shuddered as an explosion made itself known within the very depths of the vessel and emerging through breaches and cracks in the hull, the frigate itself breaking into two halves as the engines flickered, spluttered, and died, marking the vessel as completely and utterly wrecked, for good. The two halves drifted apart as Desolas watched the icon representing said frigate vanish from the holographic display, leaving just a handful of ships left.
He didn't have much longer to watch the carnage unfold before him as a shot impacted against the Vallum's kinetic barriers, the protective energy field flickering and sputtering as it failed to hold back the shot entirely, letting some of the mass accelerator shot slam against the armor with the same speed as said shot had been fired at. The Vallum's main battery then fired once again, a single shot weighing just short of two hundred standard tons sent to eight-tenths and a half of the speed of light towards it's target, a length-500 cruiser within the enemy ranks that his entire cruiser detachment—which was by now only six cruisers as opposed to the original eight with all six having varying degrees of battle damage—alongside five other bluish streaks of mass accelerator shots that all impacted against the vastly inferior enemy cruiser with happy abandon, sending pieces of said cruiser flying into space as Desolas watched the icons representing the enemy cruiser vanish from the holographic display as he grinned ever-so-slightly, despite the fact that he knew that his victory was going to be a Pyrrhic one at best. His grin faded as yet another shot slammed against the Vallum's kinetic barriers, this time succeeding in overwhelming them and allowing the rest of the mass accelerator shot to slam against the armor, the superior strength of military grade versus civilian grade armor holding up for about two seconds before the sheer amount of force exerted on them marking a gaping hole in the Vallum's broadside and triggered a series of alarms all over the cruiser's bridge. Desolas swore loudly as he felt the Vallum shake violently as he ordered the helmsman to try and maneuver the cruiser out of the line of fire, watching as said helmsman did so, narrowly avoiding a second shot that was fired at it and instead slamming against the kinetic barriers of another cruiser, which shuddered under the impact but otherwise survived unharmed. Desolas breathed a sigh of relief as he noted that the mass effect cooldown period for the Vallum was nearly finished, with only a little less than two minutes left before said drive cores could jump to faster-than-light velocities and haul their asses outta the place, hopefully before the slavers caught up with them and shot them down.
His hopes were dashed as yet another shot slammed against the Vallum's kinetic barriers once more, said shot overpowering them once more and allowing the mass accelerator shot to slam against the armor, where it proceeded to punch through said armor and rip open compartments to vacuum as Desolas watched in horror as yet another icon representing one of the few surviving ships of his detachment vanished from existence. He swore loudly as he yelled at the engineering officers to hurry up and finish the cooldown period, knowing full well that if even a single more ship disappeared from existence, he and what was left of his detachment were screwed big time, especially since he doubted that he could pull off another lucky shot on another slaver ship and reduce said ship to nothingness. He watched as yet another icon representing one of the remaining ships of his detachment—a cruiser named the PFS Oculi, which had taken relatively minor damage compared to the other surviving ships—vanish from existence as he swore loudly once again, the cruiser falling victim to dozens of shots as the enemy cruisers began to focus their fire on it, dozens upon dozens of shots overwhelming the kinetic barriers before ripping the armor almost to shreds, leaving the cruiser a mangled wreck of ship to mark the grave of the sailors and officers who had once served and crewed it. Desolas gritted his teeth as he prayed silently to the Spirits of Palaven to help the Vallum get outta the shitfest that it found itself in, hoping against hope that the remaining ships of his detachment would survive and allow themselves to escape from the slaver fleet's clutches.
"MASSIVE RADIOLOGICAL SIGNATURES!" Sensors yelled out as another shot struck the Vallum in the armor, causing the ship to lurch sideways slightly and rattling the crew slightly as the enemy cruiser ate a shot from the Vallum's main battery in return, the fact that they had taken a beating didn't mean that they were helpless, either. "Detecting large gravitational and heat signatures! Fifty degrees lateral to port by sixteen degrees ventral!" Sensors continued as Desolas frowned, wondering just what exactly was going on as he checked the holographic display and noted that another icon representing one of the remaining ships of his detachment—the cruiser PFS Volens—was no longer there. He swore loudly once again as he asked the sensors officer just what exactly was going on, his curiosity piqued as the officer replied that he didn't know what was going on.
"Disruptions in the slaver fleet!" Tactical called out as the fire coming from the batarian fleet seemed to weaken slightly in volume, and sure enough, several ships were already breaking off to face the source of the radiation and gravitational disturbances, their ranks already turning into a mess of what once was an orderly battle-line moments prior. "They're turning around to face the source of the radiation—Sensors! What's going on here!?"
"Detecting the presence of three cruiser class contacts and two large cruiser class contacts!" Sensors shouted back over the din as more data filtered through onto his console. "Two large cruiser class contacts, length seven-zero-zero, three frigate class contacts, length five-five zero. The slavers are turning to face them, which means—weapons fire detected! They're opening fire!" Sensors yelled once more as Desolas watched in confusion as the slavers opened fire on something that wasn't the ships of his detachment, which he thought was odd considering that they were in the middle of a fight and weren't running away either. But...
"Unknowns opening fire on the slavers!" Tactical reported as another icon popped up on his console. "Direct hit, significant damage! Unknowns maintaining formation and rate of fire!" He yelled as Desolas blinked, wondering just what in the Spirits' names was happening right now, as the slavers began to break formation to engage these newcomers.
"Whoever you guys are, thanks." Desolas muttered quietly to himself as he watched the battle unfold, seeing that the slavers were getting torn to bits by the combined firepower of the newcomers, their kinetic barriers struggling to absorb the firepower thrown at them and said barriers often failing to do so, allowing shots to slam against their armor with impunity and thus ripping said armor to shreds and venting entire compartments of air into space, causing explosions to happen deep within the ships as Desolas watched the slavers break formation to try and deal with these newcomers, which allowed the survivors of his detachment—of which the Vallum was included—to limp away from the battlefield, using the chaos unfolding around them as cover for their escape. A slaver cruiser opened fire on one of the large cruisers with it's spinal mass accelerator as said cruiser engaged a slaver frigate with it's broadside cannons, shots zinging across the void of space in an instant and slamming against the kinetic barriers of the frigate with dozens of shots impacting within seconds of each other, causing the barriers to rapidly buckle and fail for the shots to hit against armor, the frigate's inferior construction even when compared to older turian models meant that the frigate quickly became a scrapper's next paycheck as shots gutted it out from the inside and left it a mess of what once was a slaving frigate, with the sides peppered in ripped, gaping holes and debris fields to mark it's demise while two broken halves of the wreck began to drift lazily into the distance.
"New arrivals launching torpedoes, multiple launches focusing on slaver escorting vessels, targeted vessels taking evasive action..." Sensors called out as the readouts on the console began to filter through, the mood significantly lighter now that they were not at certain death's door, even though the cooldown period on the mass effect drive cores were still nearing completion and there was still a chance that a random shot could still send them all off into vaccumn. "...wait, holy Spirits of Palaven, how many torpedoes? Unknowns have massively miniaturized torpedo systems, hundreds are being launched at fast speeds!"
"Multiple enemy frigates engaging inbound torpedoes with their guardian arrays!" Tactical shouted across the room as the slaver ranks began to decend even further into chaos. "Multiple vessels destroyed with several others loosing their kinetic barriers! Newcomer forces' torpedoes are too fast for them, they overwhelmed their guardian arrays." Tactical reported as Desolas watched the slavers begin to suffer even more losses, as torpedoes began to slam against armor without the slavers' guardian arrays being able to stop said torpedoes, ripping chunks of armor off from their targets and thus damaging them severely in the process. Multiple frigates began to die as shots slammed against them without their kinetic barriers to protect them, the inferior quality of said barriers versus turian military grade ones meaning that they easily buckled and failed after absorbing a few mass accelerator shots, and thus allowing more shots to slam against the armor and tear massive holes into it, venting entire compartments of air and personnel into space and causing explosions to happen deep within said frigates as Desolas watched the slavers struggle to fend off the newcomers. Several frigates were already falling prey to the torpedoes the newcomers launched as shots tore apart armor and hull alike with raw explosive power, leaving half a dozen inferior enemy frigates already naught but wrecks spiralling and floating in the void of space to become paychecks for scavengers. One cruiser fired upon the leading large cruiser that just popped into existence out of nowhere just as torpedoes tore apart it's armor, only for the Vallum's main battery to get to it, the single shot that the spinal mass accelerator fired impacted clean through the downed kinetic barriers and straight through the gaping holes the torpedoes ripped into the armor, causing the ship to shudder slightly as even more hull and armor plating buckled under the stresses and the shot ripped out of the other side, most of it's kinetic energy not even transferred to the ship since there was too little hull to penetrate, resulting in an over-penetration. Said cruiser began to vent even more air and personnel into space as it's engines flickered and spluttered before dying, leaving it dead in space as Desolas watched another icon representing an enemy ship vanish from existence.
"Weapons fire detected! Slaver cruiser directly ahead, headed straight for us! Multiple shots!" Sensors shouted yet again and brought the bridge crew of the Vallum back into reality. "Kinetic barriers failing, armor holding up! Multiple direct hits!" Sensors continued as Desolas watched as the Vallum shuddered yet again as shots slammed against it's armor, the superior quality of military grade versus civilian grade armor helping to dampen the impacts as the shots slammed against it, the sound of metal getting scraped against other metal filling the bridge as the slavers opened up on the Vallum, whose kinetic barriers were still offline due to needing some time to recharge themselves. The helmsman threw the ship into a series of evasive manuevers the best he could with the damaged state that the cruiser was in, dodging another shot sent from an enemy cruiser and a second round from a frigate, both shots missing by a few hundred meters, a hair's width away in comparison to the sheer ranges in which they were fighting at, just as the Vallum returned fire with it's spinal mass accelerator, sending a single shot weighing just short of two hundred standard tons to eight-tenths and a half of the speed of light towards the frigate and striking true, ripping the bow section off from the main body of said frigate and thus causing the rear sections to explode violently mere seconds later, the explosion lighting up the void of space and illuminating the area around it with a bright glow for a few moments before fading away, leaving behind a drifting hulk with massive amounts of hull and armor missing from the front portion, alongside venting fuel and dead bodies from the slavers who were manning the ship. Depsite that, there was still a third shot to contend with, and Desolas gritted his teeth as the shot slammed against the Vallum's armor, ripping yet another chunk of said armor off from the hull and venting yet more compartments of air into space, the crew of the bridge feeling the ship shudder underneath their feet once again as they hoped that the cooldown period would end soon, or else they were all gonna die.
"Movement within the unknown formations!" Sensors announced as the cruiser shuddered from yet even another impact. "They are making a 27.812-degree turn to left relative to their position, triangulating distance...they're headed for us, Superior Captain! ETA five seconds!"
Desolas had barely enough time to even comprehend the turn of events before the newcomer's vessels all turned on a dime and raced for his fleet, or to be more exact, the space in between his fleet and the slavers'. They all pivoted themselves on axes on dimes as if it was something they were doing on a regular basis, changing pitch, roll, and yaw to almost dance between poorly aimed shots as they closed the distance to the point of intercept and left the well-aimed shots that hit to be absorbed by their barriers, or equivalents. He thought they were showing off at first, but as they closed the distance even further, turning on the roll axis to project the largest profile to the enemy possible, it was clear as to what they were doing to him. Three shots from a cruiser, ones that would have clearly ripped the Vallum to pieces for good if they managed to find their marks and impact, instead impacted onto the barriers of one of the large cruisers, ripples spreading across said barriers as the shots dissipated into nothingness as the newcomers sailed past Desolas' detachment, their kinetic barriers flaring brightly as shots slammed against them, but nevertheless they kept on going forward towards the slavers as Desolas watched yet another icon representing an enemy ship vanish from existence.
The newcomers then launched another salvo of torpedoes as Desolas watched said torpedoes race off into space and slam against a pair of frigates, ripping the armor to shreds and thus causing explosions to happen deep within the frigates as the ships broke apart violently, debris fields littering the space around the wrecks as Desolas watched the newcomers sail even closer to the slavers, who responded with a barrage of torpedoes of their own, said barrage launched towards the newcomers, but said barrage was cut short as the newcomers unleashed their equivalents to guardian arrays, a hailstorm of projectiles from whatever type of rapid-fire mass accelerator they had raining shots downrange at the torpedoes, destroying most of them before said torpedoes got close enough to cause serious damage. The newcomers then began to lay into the slavers with everything they had, with Desolas watching as yet another icon representing an enemy ship vanished from existence, courtesy of the newcomers this time round, as he let out a breath that he didn't even realized he was holding for the past few minutes.
"Mass effect cooldown period completed!" Engineering shouted from across the bridge as Desolas immediately barked out orders to head back home, which the helmsman complied with as the Vallum lurched forwards, heading for FTL velocities as Desolas watched the surviving ships of his detachment follow suit, the slavers unable to give chase due to the newcomers keeping them busy and thus allowing the survivors to slip away unchallenged. Desolas breathed a sigh of relief as he thanked the newcomers, whoever they were, for saving his and his fellow crew members' hides from the slavers, as he watched the newcomers continue to press forward as his detachment retreated, noting that the newcomers were actually winning the battle against the slavers. It was then that Desolas noticed something; the newcomers' torpedo systems, and wondered just who in the Spirits' names managed to miniaturize said systems to the extent that hundreds of torpedoes could be launched at fast speeds, and thus decided to file a report about said event. Perhaps someone on the Citadel might know who these newcomers were.
Deep space, Theta Lyrae system, July 27th 2257 1010HRS Coordinated Universal Time
Winter-class insertion prowler SSV Normandy
"Mornin', Miss Blizzard, did you sleep well?"
"I did, perhaps for the first time in nearly half a week," Fubuki replied as she walked out of her bunk room in her rumpled-up sailor uniform, her eyes showing all the bells and whistles of someone who had just woken up, and her attire was in no better condition, either. Her hair was still an absolute mess as expected, she hadn't the opportunity to even run a comb through it at the very least, and even if she did, she wouldn't have the energy left to care about it, either. At least this time, she could have a proper night's sleep in a bunk instead of quarter-hour naps wherever she could find space and time to lie down.
USS Fletcher simply shrugged at her East Asian counterpart before using her left hand to adjust her eyeglasses, turning around to walk alongside the Japanese destroyer as the latter rubbed her eyes with her hand, not even bothering to do anything about her rumpled-up outfit and hair. The two casually proceeded down the hallway, Fubuki eventually stumbling across a drinks machine located at some random corner of the place and got herself tin can of heated coffee, flipping the top open with a click and clumsily sipping away at it's bitter contents for a while to let wakefulness creep in. She got herself back up to speed up soon enough, running a hand through her hair as if her fingers were a comb, but her rumpled outfit was still very much rumpled, and there wasn't anything much she could do about it. The blastproof doors of the CIC opened up soon enough, and she entered, Fletcher following suit, the blastproof doors closing behind her as she did so. Running a hand through her light purplish hair as she entered, she was immediately greeted by a semi-circular row of consoles around a central, tactical console, displaying a bluish hologram of the enemy flagship that they were after. Of course, she didn't need a genius to tell her what type of ship would they be against during this operation—she knew it well enough.
USS Cleveland merely sent a nod of recognition across the CIC at the sight of the two newcomers before returning her eyes back to scrutiniously studying the maps of the light cruiser-sized vessel's interior, her bi-colored red-and-orange irises tracing each and every possible route from the ship's command center towards any other place that can be used as an exit. Shigure stood beside her with a plastic bottle full of lemon tea as per her habit, while Shepard sipped some Earl Gray from a thermos. A total of fifty fleetgirls—half a company, in retrospect—were present, and if their location within the CIC of an insertion prowler didn't give away the purpose of their mission, the hologram of the enemy 'dreadnought' most certainly did...welp, it was a 'dreadought' by batarian and Citadel classification standards, apparently, if their intel wasn't misleading, but it qualified by Alliance standards as a mere cruiser. A light cruiser, even.
"...so anything other than just busting open a hangar and just whoop-de-doo waltzing our way all the way to the, umn, 'bridge'?" Fubuki asked after a pause as she scanned the hologram in front of her.
"That pretty much sums things up, really," Cleveland answered as she finally looked up from all the data she was looking at and running hundreds of simulations within her onboard computers and calculating the best route the platoon could take. She was commanding officer of the platoon for this operation, after all. It was her job, moe or less.
"That's the default plan," Shepard said, twisting shut the lid on her thermos. "When the fleet arrives, we use the chaos to dive in and sneak into their so-called 'dreadnought' and do some butt-whacking and kidnapping before bailing the fuck outta there before we catch too many bogies on our asses. It's their flagship, after all."
"That's if they didn't knock up the exposed bridge on that thing."
"To be fair," Shigure mused, taking another sip out of her bottle, "With the sheer ranges of spatial warfare and the fairly ridiculous electronic warfare capabilities everyone has to bring to bear nowdays, nobody would be able to hit the bridge at all in the first place, it'll be nearly impossible to aim a shot that good. Our ships also have bridges for navigation, fine maneuvering control, docking, or landing, as well as being an analog backup for the sensors in case they go down. The bridge of the alien 'dreadnought' takes up, by volume, if my calculations aren't off, less than a thousandth of it's total volume, judging by that alone, there is absolutely nothing that can hit the bridge under normal circumstances, unless extraordinarily unlucky or close. Unless we wanna take it out ourselves, that is."
Fubuki stared at the hologram for a while before chiming in. "Setting aside that discussion for later...what are the backups? What if something goes wrong?"
"Best case scenario, we bust openn the closest airlock or hangar we can find and call for a Kodiak to come pick us up, worst case scenario we just blow the whole ship to pieces from the inside out and stick our hostages into an escape pod."
"...so it's either a snatch-and-catch or blow-and-tow, then? Seems legit."
"Yeah, that's pretty much the whole size of it," Cleveland said, pausing to put a thermos-cup of espresso to her lips and downed it all in one go. "Snatch 'n catch or blow 'n tow, depending on the way you want to phrase it. That's pretty much the whole size of things. It's ten-fifteen now by Universal Time, Coordinated, and the fleet's arriving by twelve-twenty. Operation starts at twelve-thirty, two hours and a quarter from now, so let's get our asses into gear by then, 'k? We're Special Forces, and we ain't be slacking on duty, eh?"
Deep space, Lyrae Asteria cluster, 26th July 2257, 1210HRS Coordinated Universal Time
Kongō-class battleship SSV Kirishima
Within the expanses of deep space, hidden well away from prying eyes by the very fabric of space getting bent, twisted, and even folded upon itself, a single warship; 2,212 meters in length, hurtled on through her own temporal slip-tunnel at a steady thirty 'slipknots', a measurement unit of FTL speed equivalent to thirty light years a day that had origins capable of being traced as far back as the first days of FTL-capable space travel. Her antimatter torches glowed a brilliant blue as they pushed the ship forwards, at a limit imposed not by the actual capabilities of the ship herself, but rather, at the slower speeds which her escorts could travel at. Her hull's sides bristled in twin 50cm autocoil emplacements, 57mm Oerlikon point-defense guns, and Rapier missile pods, further complimented by dozens of launch silos for Stoski cruise missiles, each equipped with a seven-round MIRV payload containing HAVOC tactical nuclear weapons per missile for engaging massed hostile forces at the commanding officer's discretion, each capital-grade nuclear weapon capable of engulfing vast expanses of space in thirty thousand gigatons of raw nuclear inferno or replicate a major asteroid impact with relative ease. The emblem of the Systems Alliance was emblazoned on the side, alongside the flag of the Rising Sun, the symbol of the nation that had built and launched her, the crimson circle on a pure white background standing out in contrast to the battleship-gray SmartSteel plating of the ship. Two large, protuding spars extended from the battleship's forward superstructure, each of them housing a single 360cm magneto-plasma accelerator cannon within it to form the ship's primary armanet. Each gun could fire a shell weighing 5,700 tons at up to .895 of c, a single shot of which could take the shields off an Abyssal cruiser and the next, destroy it utterly. And her secondary armanents weren't something to be scoffed at, either. Two hundred Rapier missile pods were scattered across the battleship's broadsides in clusters of four, fifty-two Oerlikon 57mm point-defense weapon systems were scattered throughout the superstructure and broadsides, and some eighty rapid-fire 50cm autocoil turrets, each capable of a rate of fire dense enough to completely wreck anything not covered by armor of even an Abyssal heavy cruiser, or even shred a frigate to bits outright.
As expected, the combat directing center of such a vessel would be of a size sufficient to properly command and coordinate any large-scale fleet battle, rows upon rows of consoles and crew stations lined out neatly in rows staggered atop each other giving it the appearance of a typical Mission Control center seen in any film about human spaceflight in the 21st ceuntry. The large screen directly in front of them, as large as nearly the entire front wall of the riim, was currently displaying a live map of the current war situation of Shanxi as well as statistics on total friendly casualties and estimated enemy casualties. Attached was also a full map of the Theta Lyrae system, showing the current amount of ships within the enemy fleet as well as their live positions, all of them updating in realtime in no part thanks to Shanxi's early warning array systems and a prowler in system with her own powerful sensor suite. 1,600 warships were headed straight towards Shanxi as fast as they can without breaking fomation, amongst them three more battleships like the Kirishima, four Sōryū-class light carriers, alongside their respective battle-groups and escorts.
"Final checks for arrival are complete," Rear Admiral Katraine Drescher spoke into the microphone of her headset, her distinct Canadian accent transmitting through the CDC's intercommunications system. Despite the fact that they were all in the same room, radio protocol was observed at all times, due to the sheer amount of flag officers and staff within the place, trying to communicate verbally would only result in disaster. Of course, some opted to communicate via neural uplink, but that was a discussion for later. "Timekeeper."
"Go, Command."
"Estimated time to arrival?"
"Twelve-twenty Coordinated Universal Time, nine minutes, thirty-three seconds...mark."
"Copy that. Comms, put me on fleetwide. One-way broadcast, direct burst transmission."
"Roger, Admiral," the communications director complied. "You're on fleet-wide, Admiral. One-way broadcast, direct burst transmission."
Katraine simply nodded in acknowledgement.
"To the soldiers and sailors under my command: Today, we embark on what will most certainly become one of the most pivotal moments in history. Today, we sail forth to engage the unknown aggressor that have decided to make our system their hunting ground. Today, we sail forth to fight, to bleed, and to die, so that those behind us may stand a chance. We do not know who these attackers are, nor why they have chosen Shanxi of all places to strike, but we shall show them the might and resolve of humanity, just as how we showed the Abyssals the consequences of threatening us. From this point onwards we are soldiers and sailors of the Systems Alliance, and we will show these bastards that we are not to be trifled with, a'right? We're exiting FTL in less that ten minutes, and I want everyone to be ready by then! Let's give those fuckers a Halloween horror story they'll never forget!"
Codex entry — Humans — Alliance Naval Arm order of battle
The Systems Alliance Naval Arm (SANA) is the naval branch of the Systems Alliance military and is responsible for the protection of the interests of humanity in space and ensuring its security against foreign threats. Being the primary spatial warfare branch of the Alliance, SANA oversees all matters regarding naval affairs and spaceborne operations, whether it be dealing with Abyssal incursions or patrolling the borders of Alliance space. It maintains control of all Alliance naval assets as well as providing logistical support to its subordinate branches, namely the Marine Corps.
The order of battle of the Alliance is as follows:
Wing: Consists of three ships, this is the smallest unit to be deployed in a battle. It mostly comes together into larger formations, oftentimes, squandrons. The ship designated as the flagship of the wing leads it, and the CO of said vessel commands the wing.
Flight: Composed out of four ships, this is the most common formation for capital ships, and is otherwise structured similar to flights. They rarely deploy alone, however, save for dreadnought flights on hunter-killer missions behind enemy lines. They are the base core component of strike groups.
Wolfpack: Composed out of five ships, this is the most common formation for frigates, as well as corvettes in certain situations. It is usually deployed as a lone pack or paired up with another wolfpack to hunt Abyssal raiders and capital ships. In a fleet battle, wolfpacks detach from the primary fleet and instead use in-system jumps to maneuver around to flank enemy forces and engage them in surprise hit-and-run torpedo attacks, often to devastating effect. They often do this coupled with dreadnought flights and/or heavy cruiser formations for maximum effect, alongside carrier-based aircraft. They are commanded by Commanders.
Squandrons: Composed out of nine ships, they form the backbone for most if not all fleets and battlegroups, consisting out of cruisers and/or heavy cruisers. They are generally used for screening, flanking, and general support roles, though they are sometimes used to lead wolfpacks into battle. Squandrons are commanded by Captains.
*Heavy cruiser squandron: Composed out of nine heavy cruisers, they form the core of a carrier strike group, escorting the carriers into battle and providing secondary fire support. In surface strike groups, they form the vanguard of fleets. One is attached per strike group.
**Main battle squandron: composed out of six destroyers and three light cruisers, they form the main firepower and numbers of a typical strike group, fulfilling a myriad of roles simutaneously.
Strike group: Composed out of one capital ship, one heavy cruiser squandron, ten main battle squandrons, and ten wolfpacks, they form the basic building block of the Alliance fleet organization system. Carrier strike groups are differentiated from their non-carrier counterparts due to the presence of carriers forming the group's primary firepower as opposed to battleships in a battle-line. Strike groups are commanded by Commodores.
Task force: Task forces are mixed 'flying column' operational units often cobbled together from whatever units that are available for maximum flexibility in combat, as opposed to traditional units. Their commanders vary from time to time, however, as they are rarely formed unless as a seperate detachment for a larger fleet, often as a scouting force or a vanguard. They are often commanded by Commodores, although they are the norm, not the rule.
Battle Group: Four strike groups combine to form a battle-group, and they are the largest single unit to be deployed in a single location, often engaging hostiles across entire systems. Battlegroups are commanded by Rear Admirals and are named as opposed to numbered, often for the flagship of the fleet.
Fleet: Composed of 160,000 warships in wartime and 40,000 ships in peacetime, fleets are attached to entire system clusters for their defense and deployment purposes. Fleet COs are Fleet Admirals and answer directly to the Chief of Naval Operations, often having the ability to deploy entire battlegroups at once if required. Fleets are numbered, e.g. 7th Fleet, but are often named for their cluster of operations as well, i.e. 8th Fleet, Lyrae Asteria Defense Fleet.
Naval Group: There is no set amount of units to be assigned to a Marine/Army Group, as they are the primary unit scattered across entire galactic fronts. They are named at the discretion of their commanding officer, and are commanded by Fleet Admirals or higher. The Alliance has only assembled a Naval Group twice in it's entire history—during the Second Abyssal war, and during the batarian conflict. In the case of the former, it is referred to as the Abyssal Naval Group Command, while in the case of the latter, it is referred to as the Combined Fleet of the Systems Alliance.
*the equivalent formation within the Kaiserliche Marine is Galaktische Schlachtflotte.
A/N:
In case you're wondering where did the five Alliance ships come from, check Prologue: First Contact, especially the last bits of dialogue before the Shigure went through Relay 314.