Relevant Notes Will Be At The End Of The Chapter
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Mobile Suit/Mass Effect
Episode 11
Stars Falling in Space - Part 2
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Ambassador Sparatus sighed.
Months of diplomatic effort had turned out for nothing. Reports from his personal insiders, as well as Admiral Arterius' staff office had finally reached him concerning the launch of the expedition. He'd worked hard to deescalate the situation, to bridge the gulf formed between the Turian Nation and the rest of the Citadel Coalition... but alas, Lacinius was too stubborn.
Eventually, persuasion made way for disruption. Convincing his Old Breed colleagues hadn't worked, so Councilor Cassandor made the decision to pivot from negotiating with Lacinius, to actively getting in the way, to deprive the expedition of the resources it needed to launch. It worked for a while... but as with all conflicts, eventually the opponent adapted, found ways around the problem.
Matriarch Dillinaga and her cadre of Asari military industrialists began personally financing the expedition out of their collective pockets. When that proved to be insufficient, Lacinius approached the Salarian Esheel faction, who agreed to provide much of the expedition's logistical and backline support. This support, in addition to mercenary companies like Aurek Concern and Eclipse filling in the gaps put the Old Breed's plans back on track.
But while Lacinius' move to court the Dillinaga and Esheel factions sidestepped Council efforts to strangle the expedition before it could start, this ended bringing the enmity of the Asari Republics and the Salarian Union. The Matriarch Conclave did not take too kindly to their own members -powerful and influential ones at that- throwing their lot with the Old Breed. The T'soni faction lead the charge, putting into motion for a wide range of economic sanctions against Dillinaga and her cadre. Unfortunately -if the reports that Sparatus was reading proved correct- then the sanctions weren't quite as successful as hoped. The fact remains that Dillinaga's faction were the dominant players in the Asari Military Industrial Complex, and many lesser republics feared getting into their bad side. Few had a strong native defense industry like the Republic of Armali under the T'soni faction did. Storm clouds loomed over the Asari Republics. Their conflict will not be solved through force of arms, but through political maneuvering and schemes that could rival the Salarian's web of intrigue.
Speaking of which, Sparatus looked to reports from the Salarian Union, graciously provided to him by Councilor Toraph. The situation there was deteriorating just as quickly, though for a different reason. The Esheels were the top players in the world of Salarian politics, not unlike how Cipritine historically was a major political heavyweight in Palavine history. While the Esheel's power slowly decreased over time, their influence still has the ability move mountains and split the seas. It was only through a coalition led by the Linron faction that a non-Esheel Councilor could be sent to the Citadel. With so many factions preying on the Esheel's downfall, it didn't take much for the Linrons to coordinate an effective opposition campaign.
All while this was happening, the Council itself hadn't remained idle. Besides denying Lacinius the chance to recall Turian units from C-Sec duty, a diplomatic mission to go beyond Relay 314 was also organized... but this went nowhere. The envoys -on board a single Asari frigate- were intercepted by Turian ships which blockaded the path to 314. Sparatus still remembered the headaches he got during that whole ordeal, with Irissa hounding him to get the blockade opened... headaches that returned when a second attempt was launched a few months afterwards. The second mission was much bolder, with several Asari, Salarian, and C-Sec ships escorting the diplomatic mission. Unfortunately by this point, Lacinius started calling upon galactic laws and clauses within the Citadel Charter, claiming the blockaded star system as part of Turian space. It was all legal too, which meant the Envoys had to turn around once more.
It was a frustrating ordeal, Sparatus could only imagine how smug the Old Breed must've felt after pulling that off. That single move had -for the most part- stopped most of the Council's deescalation efforts dead on its tracks. Without access to 314 itself, there wasn't much the diplomats could do.
So now, with few choices left, Sparatus and his colleagues turn to... desperate measures.
Councilor Tevos and Cassandor were out on a tour of their respective people, working to convince the colonies to support the Council, or at the very least to remain neutral. Councilor Toraph -on the other hand- had just returned to the Citadel from a different excursion.
A notification popped up on Sparatus' work terminal. A brief glance confirmed that it was from the Salarian Councilor himself, who was ready to deliver... well, something. The Salarian hadn't exactly been forthcoming about his plans, but he had a reputation of being relatively honest and straight forward - a true rarity among the upper echelons of Salarian society.
The Turian ambassador packed his usual working itinerary and immediately set out for the private meeting room deep below the Presidium's tower. Instead of taking the elevator up towards the public Council chambers, Sparatus swiped his ID card on the lift, then pressed a combination of buttons on the control panel. This brought the elevator down towards the bunker below the base of the tower. Once he reached the lower levels, Sparatus made his way towards the private meeting chambers at a brisk pace. Timeliness was drilled into every Turian during basic training, after all, and Sparatus was nothing if not timely.
As usual, he was the first ambassador to arrive in the room. The only other person there was Councilor Toraph, who had called for the meeting in the first place.
"Good evening, Councilor." Sparatus greeted as he took a seat in the meeting table.
"Good evening to you as well, Ambassador." The Salarian Councilor returned the greeting. He was in an unusually chipper mood. A rarity considering his usually reserved nature.
"I take it whatever... endeavor you've plotted has paid off?"
"Very much so." Toraph answered with a a ghost of a smirk gracing his face. "I knew my agents would be successful, but they've gone above and beyond my expectations."
Sparatus raised his brow in slight amusement. Whatever it is that the Councilor's agents did, it was probably quite the feat.
"Well, then I'm looking forward to hearing about their success." The Ambassador responded.
"Indeed." Toraph concurred, mirth evident in his voice. "I believe you will."
-000-
We returned to the Risima at the best possible moment. Squadron 13 was closing in on the enemy's first wave and would've began engaging if we hadn't returned. Bullow turned the warship squadron away to retrieve us, delaying the attack. A minute later, and we would've been stuck out there in the middle while the ships traded fire.
Despite the serious damage my Gunstrike took, it was in good enough condition to land and to walk on its own to my designated MS scaffold. The same went for Blue 3, though he took far less of a beating than I did, so that was to be expected.
What still kept me worried was how my other wingman was doing. It's almost half an hour since I last heard from him. Every passing second not knowing how he was, was pure torture. I had to check on him, and I had to check on him now.
As soon as my machine was safely secured onto the scaffold, I unhitched my normal suit from the cockpit seat and opened the hatch. I kicked myself out of the cockpit, catching on the hatch and then redirecting myself towards Blue 2's damaged machine.
By some strange twist of fate, it actually sustained less damage overall than mine did. I knew the frontal chestplate had been breached, but the thrusters, head unit, even limbs were in relatively good shape. Battered, sure, but nowhere near as badly as mine.
I arrived just in time to see the flight technicians open up Blue 2's cockpit hatch. I saw a glimpse of shattered screens from where I stood. It was a typical sight when the cockpit armor was breached and shrapnel broke through the panoramic cockpit. The technician that went in through the open hatch obscured my view of the rest of the suit's insides, but I still saw it.
Glimpses of crimson, splattered on the cockpit floor. An arm hanging on the seat's armrest at an odd, uncomfortable position, slick and glistening in red. I didn't need to see the rest of him... couldn't see the rest of him.
Not like this.
I turned away and kicked off towards the pilot ready room without another word. Hot tears welled up behind my eyes, as did a constriction around my heart. I couldn't let them see me like this.
It was just like that skirmish over Yunnan all over again. I thought I was better that. I thought I wouldn't fail my teammates again.
Obviously not.
The moment the prep room's doors closed behind me, I couldn't hold back anymore. I ripped my helmet off and threw it violently into my locker. It was dumb and childish, but I just had to do it.
"Not again..." I croaked out as tears finally broke through.
Memories of an engagement over the gas giant Yunnan flashed before my eyes. It was supposed to be a routine mission, a simple raid on a Golden Beacon supply cache. Even if it turned out there were more enemies in the area than anticipated, it shouldn't have been anything beyond our capabilities... instead what happened was I lost my cool, got ahead of myself. I should've waited for backup, shouldn't have taken on the Hroeger on my own... but I acted like an idiot, and someone else paid the price for it.
It shouldn't have happened again. I swore it. I swore I wouldn't ever let anyone else pay for my own mistakes... for my own weakness...
The sound of the door sliding open and closing again ripped me out of my thoughts. Quickly, I wiped the tears forming in my eyes before turning to see who had come in.
It was Verns, and there was a clear look of worry on his face.
"Irena, you alright?" He asked.
"I'm fine." I lied straight through my teeth. "Did Derrick say anything about my unit?"
Verns gave me a skeptical look. It was clear he didn't believe my words, especially with how quickly I tried to change the subject. He seemed to want to push the subject, but for whatever reason decided not to.
"If you say so." He said, backing off from the subject. "Anyways, Derrick says your machine's out action, for the time being at least. Your cooling system's shot entirely and since he's busy helping Barcus with Red Team, it'll take a while until he can have yours up and running again."
"Damnit, so what am I supposed to do now?" I hissed out my frustrations. I saw Verns flinch slightly and immediately felt bad for lashing out at him.
"Honestly, you should be resting." He answered me, voice gentle but stern. "You've pushed yourself farther than you needed to. Nobody's going to accuse you of not pulling your weight."
"How the hell am I supposed to rest while we're in the middle of all this?" I responded. "You can't just expect me to sit on my ass after all of that! How can you say I've done enough when Ensign Lyle died because of-"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence." Verns suddenly cut me off in an uncharacteristically harsh tone. A frown had formed on his features and I noticed a simmering anger barely held back to his usually reserved self. "Ensign Lyle died because of the enemy, not you. We were outnumbered, against a kind of enemy that we're not familiar with. Don't be so arrogant to think that you could've turned the tide of battle on your own, Irena."
A tense silence filled the room afterwards as I stewed on his words. It was harsh and I didn't like hearing it... but begrudgingly I had to accept he was right.
"You can't expect to carry the weight of the war on your own." He continued, voice and expression softening. "You're one of the best pilots out there, but... you're still just one pilot."
He placed a hand on my shoulder before unexpectedly pulling me into a hug. It was warm... comforting. Soon enough I found myself returning the embrace.
"I know you feel like you need to do more." He said, voice low in an attempt to reassure me. "But nobody else pushes as hard as you do, Irena. You've already given it your all. Any more... and..."
Verns didn't finish his sentence but I understood full well what he was trying to say.
I don't know how long we stood like that. It felt like a while, though I couldn't be sure. Eventually the comfortable silence we found ourselves in was rudely interrupted by the ship's PA system.
"Lieutenant Hedder, we're done working on your machine!" A voice spoke through the speakers. It was probably Barcus, Risima's other senior flight technician.
Verns sighed before reluctantly letting go. I couldn't blame him for not wanting to part. I sure didn't want to either... but he had a job to do. We had a job to do.
"Right then, it looks like you better get going." I told him. "Your team needs you."
"...yeah, I guess they do." He said.
The both of us exited the prep room, but while Verns turned to head back to the hangars, I turned the opposite way towards the Risima's CIC. I might've been grounded for the foreseeable future, but that doesn't mean I can't contribute to the battle somehow.
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"That's the last of our MoWS units finally back, sir!" The flanging voice of a Turian Junior Officer spoke.
The CIC of the Turian Navy Cruiser Ignaeus was a cacophony of activity, and the Commander of the initial attack wave could only barely hear the junior officer make the announcement.
"About time!" Commodore Cordo Haliat nodded, taloned fingers rapidly tapping on the command podium's railing. "I want a tally of the surviving units! Have them reorganized into new formations as soon as possible!"
The initial clashes of the expedition were... less successful than High Command anticipated, but Cordo in turn had anticipated that himself. Primarch Lacinius and his Old Breed supporters were far too optimistic in their expectations. As talented as the engineers working on the Arma Gigas project were, this was still a completely new field. The enemy were far more experienced in the use of MoWS. It was a good thing then, that he'd explicitly banned the SNLF from deploying their own units in the space battle, because for every kill Coalition MoWS units claimed, the enemy racked up a tally of 3 or 4 more. Funneling more pilots into the meatgrinder wouldn't have solved anything, as this was as much an issue of institutional knowledge as it was technological. As such, the hideous lopsided results were the only realistic outcome. Begrudgingly, Haliat had to admit he hadn't launched his MoWS teams with the best plan in mind... but then again he didn't think any officer in the Turian Navy could've done much better.
That's what they get for rushing out a new weapons system before it had matured, he grimmly mused in his head.
Still, the Commodore hadn't failed to achieve his objectives... yet. The Explorator Fleet just had to secure a big enough footing so that reinforcements can start getting funneled in. Achieving that will only require him to chase back the defenders and hold the line.
And so, his ships advanced at steady pace. Based on data collected during the 314 Incident, Coalition warships had the range advantage - though it was a slim advantage that couldn't be used to its fullest, considering that Coalition firing ranges were limited to the accuracy of the ship's targeting system and long ranged sensors. With all the radiation interference the 314 Aliens liked to use, Haliat was going to have to move his ships into ranges that even the most audacious officers in the Turian Navy would find questionable.
Eventually, as expected, the Explorator Fleet's vanguard force finally had the enemy in their sights.
"Open fire!" Haliat simply ordered.
Volleys of high explosive and kinetic penetrator rounds were hurled downrange by massive mass driver cannons. The enemy, which was formed into multiple different battle lines, had barely a few seconds to react before the shots rained upon them. Brief flashes could be seen in the distance -explosions caused by rounds that hit their intended targets- quickly followed by reports from gunnery officers confirming what Haliat had seen. The veteran flag officer let a small smile form on his face, though he quickly wiped it away when he saw glimpses of pink flashes coming from where their shots had landed.
This was Cordo Haliat's first encounter with beam weaponry.
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"Enemy targets visually confirmed hit! Severity currently unknown!" I heard an ensign report as I entered the Risima's command room.
"Maintain staggered fire!" Bullow then ordered. "Keep firing each cannon in sequential order!"
With the enemy's mobile suits now out of the picture, we've got a good shot at reaching the enemy line without much interference. Now, it was time for ship captains like Bullow to take center stage.
Slowly, I floated myself towards her command seat. The acting captain hadn't noticed my presence until I grabbed onto the backrest of her chair and appeared to her right. A quick salute and greeting later from me was quickly followed by stern words from Bullow.
"Kreusgluck, you should be resting." She stated, turning away from facing me so that she could focus on the arm mounted monitor on her right.
"You don't seriously expect me to sit on my ass and fiddle with my fingers while we're in the middle of a battle, do you?"
"I expect you to take a break after going through the thickest parts of the fight not half an hour earlier." Bullow responded, staying firm.
"Lieutenant Hedder and the other teams are still out there." I countered. "How the hell am i supposed to get any rest if I'm too busy worrying about them? After what happened to my own team, I can't just sit back when I can help make sure it doesn't happen to the others!"
Bullow kept a stern eye on me for a while, quietly assessing my words. I caught her grip on the command seat tighten for a split second, before she loosened up once more. After that, she relented.
"Tch, fine." She clicked her tongue at me. Though she projected a stern appearance, I got the impression that she sympathized with my position... not that she seemed to want to admit it. At any rate, she was back to barking out orders. "Ensign Keegan, focus your efforts on the port-side. Lieutenant Kreusgluck will take over starboard-side anti-air direction."
I took my seat on the right side of the room and took over a currently unoccupied terminal. After entering my credentials and putting in the right settings, I now had command of half of Risima's anti-air suite, its operators, as well as the ship's long range sensors.
It appears that I took over at an opportune time. Most of the enemy's MS units have since returned to their carriers, though a handful of their formations remained for what appeared to be combat air patrol. On the other hand, enemy strike fighters remained at large, continuously testing our anti-air defenses, looking for a weakpoint to exploit. Right now, there currenty was a lull in fighter craft attacks, so I took the time to look at our current tactical situation.
The enemy's vanguard force was already engaged with several CSF warship squadrons -including our own- who were utilizing hit and run tactics. For the moment, the aliens were still making headway, but at grievous losses for every click they advanced. Even though they've scored a few confirmed ship kills of their own, CSF ships were still hitting well above their weight class. A second wave of alien ships were poised to sortie from near the relay, undoubtedly preparing for a follow up attack once the vanguard inevitably out of steam. To counter this, Commodore Autumn's squadron was also prepared to sortie.
The engagement dragged on. Squadron 108, which had so far only been making light probing attacks, finally decided to make their big push. I watched as the dark green blips closed in on the enemy vanguard's flanks. The enemy -represented by red blips- had failed to respond in time. The result was that the alien vanguard took a harsh beating from 108's hyperbeam cannons, leaving them even more vulnerable to the following torpedo attack launched by the destroyer squadron. A full spread of torpedoes from each Curran in Squadron 108, each capped with a powerful anti-ship warhead and armor piercing tip. They were cold launched, flung into the cold void of space not using volatile rocket fuel, but using a magnetic catapult. Without the energy emission typical of a guided missile's rocket engine, the torpedo in theory could silently float towards the enemy. Once the torpedoes had floated for a pre-programmed amount of time, hypergolic fuels in the torpedo would finally ignite, allowing it to rapidly accelerate. It was hoped that by this time, the torpedo would be far too close to either be evaded or shot down in time.
As such, the torpedo attack had come off as something of a surprise for the enemy. The vanguard had taken a much looser formation to make it harder for our broadside barrages to hit them. However, this also meant that their overlapping point defense screen was stretched thin. The alien cruisers and battleships scrambled to tighten their formation once they detected the torpedoes. Lasers burned through the void as the enemy's point defense turrets fired away at the wall of firepower barelling towards them. At the end, they managed to shoot down most, though not all, of the 108's torpedoes. The few remaining were mostly evaded though a handful struck true. These successful hits were devastating, either crippling or outright foundering the few of ships it hit.
Despite the limited damage caused by the torpedoes themselves, the torpedo attack was very much considered a success... for the sole reason that it forced the enemy force to bunch up and limit their maneuvering options.
"Main batteries, focus fire at the center of their formation!" Bullow then bellowed out. "Burn them away!"
We seized the opportunity while we could. Squadron 13 opened fire with everything we had, firing away with hyperbeam cannons, missiles, and even our own torpedo spreads once we got close enough. All the while, I kept a close eye on the Risima's starboard anti-air screen, directing the gunners to fight off enemy strike fighters and the handful of alien mobile suits still in the field.
"Lead your shots more!" I advised the gunners under my command. "The alien fighters are much faster than any mobile suit we've fought!"
Beam flak and vulcan guns colored the void with streaks of pink. Squadron 13's anti-air fire saturated the enemy's attack vectors, forcing them to redirect or abandon their attack runs entirely. As I focused on directing our defenses, Bullow in turn directed the squadron ever closer to the enemy formation. We sailed at steady pace, only slowing down to alter course or evade attacks.
"Helm, raise our bow by 23 degrees!" The acting Captain ordered. "Bring us over the enemy formation, then flatten our angle and roll us 90 degrees to the portside!"
"Aye ma'am!"
Risima and the trailing Currans began to 'gain altitude', slowly but surely moving above the enemy vanguard. Before long, Squadron 13 had moved well above the enemy's firing arc. That was when we began our rotation, presenting our broadsides below. The enemy saw what we were planning, but their ships couldn't respond to our move, forcing them to rely on the mobile suits and strike fighters they had in play.
"Strike fighters incoming!" I called out to my gunners. "Bearing 79 degrees, high! Beam vulcans, restrict their attack vector! Beam flak, focus on the lead fighters and work yourselves to the rear of the formation!"
My orders were carried out quickly. The beam vulcan gunners opened fire around the strike fighters, forcing them into a specific flight path or risk getting torn into pieces. Whether they knew it or not, the alien pilots had been forced right into the sights of the flak gunners under my command. With their escape paths covered by a stream of beam bolts, shooting down the fighters essentially was like shooting fish in a barrel.
While I defended the Risima's starboard, the gunners manning the main batteries were having a field day firing upon the alien warships from above. Salvo after salvo, Squadron 13 burned away the enemy formation as we moved laterally across from left to right. By the time we finished our pass, I counted at least nine enemy ships destroyed by Risima's guns.
We 'righted' ourselves shortly after, before 'descending' to a level position with the enemy. The combined might of the various CSF squadrons proved enough to halt the enemy vanguard's advance... but with the fighting having slowed to a standstill, the battle turned into a brutal attrition match. Even though we could hold the enemy for now, our disadvantage in numbers meant a single loss we suffered set us back more than a single enemy loss did for them.
It was long into the bloody stalemate that Admiral Hauberk and Commodore Autumn made the next move.
"Orders coming in from Admiral Hauberk!" Kessler relayed to us. "We're to hold the enemy at bay until Commodore Autumn and her squadrons can reinforce us for a counterattack!"
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To call the Explorator Fleet's fighting retreat 'orderly' would be stretching the definition of the word. While Haliat did successfully manage to hold his forces together, it was only barely. The entry of a new alien warship -the largest they've encountered so far- tipped the balance of power against the Coalition forces.
That new ship of theirs was barely a heavy cruiser by Citadel tonnage standards, but it had so much more firepower than what a Coalition cruiser could bring to bear. A single energy cannon from the two heavy cruisers was enough to destroy a cruiser in one shot, and a single heavy cruiser had six of those cannons, in addition to various smaller cannons. The immense pressure those two warships put the Coalition forces through was terrifying, Haliat himself understood why so many of his subordinates had lost their composure in the face of such firepower.
The design of a Coalition warship certainly didn't give the Commodore any advantages. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The reliance on spinal mounted weapons meant that Coalition ships had to face towards the enemy in order to utilize most of their firepower. Basically put, this made a fighting retreat difficult to pull off. Turian Navy doctrine dictates that during a fighting retreat, warships would have to separate into three or four groups: the weakest, most damaged, or otherwise most vulnerable ships would withdraw first, while a rotating squadron of ships would cover their weakened allies and take turns holding position while the other retreated.
However that was for an ideal scenario, which this battle was anything but. Cordo Haliat found himself in a situation that naval doctrine never really covered.
Explorator's command squadron -under Haliat's personal command- was in a fighting retreat in the most literal sense. Their reverse thrusters were firing at full power, fronts facing the enemy relentlessly hounding them. It was a desperate bid to hold them off while the rest of the fleet regrouped near the relay.
With the slight advantage in speed and range, the Coalition rearguard managed to evade the worst of the enemy's fire while being able to more effectively utilize their own firepower. As Haliat's squadron fought their rearguard action, the enemy slowly but surely began to shed ships. Attrition was already a problem for them, but now it was exacerbated even more. One by one, enemy ships would either withdraw due to damages, or were foundered. The deadly torrent of incoming energy fire slowly decreased in volume, turning from a wave of certain death to something slightly less bone rattling. Each time a 314 ship was neutralized, the drop in firepower was noticeable, and this was what Haliat was hoping to bank on.
Eventually, the Commodore ran out space to retreat. With less than a few hundred clicks between his forces and the Mass Relay, he had reached the end of his rope.
"All forces, rally into defensive formation!" Haliat ordered, desperately trying to wrangle his battered forces into something approaching a coherent unit. "We just need to hold them off a little longer!"
Pride filled the Commodore when he saw most of the ships of the Explorator Fleet heed his call. Even in a situation as desperate as this, the stalwart Turian still was willing to face the odds. A handful did disobey Haliat's orders, opting to either stay close to their wounded allies, or to make a break for the Mass Relay. That last bit got a small sneer out of the Commodore but he decided to put it off. He had far more pressing matters to attend to right now than a handful of cowards.
"Frigates, focus on suppressing the enemy! Let the cruisers handle destroying the enemy ships!" Haliat dolled out orders. With how difficult and stressful the situation had become, he had to keep things short and simple. The Commodore feared the potential disaster if he put too much pressure on his subordinates when their morale was so close to breaking.
The battle continued with the aliens pressing against Explorator from all sides. Even though the Coalition forces still maintained a slim numerical superiority, the enemy's firepower was simply too much to handle. Left, right, and center, barriers that could not block the incoming barrage of beam attacks would simply break. Frigates and cruisers alike are destroyed, burning holes left smoldering in their hulls. Haliat began tightening his defenses, slowly pulling his forces back to keep the formation from fraying.
"Maintain fire! Do not let them close in!" The Commodore barked out his orders.
Both sides continued to rain fire upon the other while simultaneously trying to avoid damage. With their superior maneuverability, Coalition warships managed weaved left to right, up and down to avoid incoming fire. Their formation had enough spacing that they couldn't be taken out with a single barrage, but tight enough that nearby ships could cover each other with their anti-air defenses. This went on for minutes, then minutes turned to hours, as both sides refused to back down. The 314 Aliens were determined to eject the Coalition Expedition from their home, while the Expeditionary Forces were determined to survive.
Eventually, the stalemate was broken. Having identified a weak link in the Coalition's forces, the two heavy cruisers pressed their advantage. The hideous amount of firepower the two brought forth could not be understated, and with backup from trailing frigates, they managed to split the Explorator Fleet into two. The alien ships then began to coil around the smaller of the two formations, strangling it with a wall armored hulls and firepower.
Haliat could only watch as the smaller group was slowly annihilated. Try as he might to break the encirclement, but he simply didn't have enough firepower to punch through. The formation he still had command of fired ceaselessly at the enemy, but all they did was destroy a handful of ships... nowhere near enough to rescue their comrades.
The comms officer tried to remain stoic as he reported the casualty reports, but only a fool could believe he wasn't devastated in the inside.
"Frigate Magni Gracchis has stopped reporting, all hands assumed lost." The comms officer reported with an even and professional tone, though a keen listener could pick up a slight waver in his voice. "Captain of the Cena Malchorian has ordered all hands to abandon ship and is requesting lifepods to be picked up. Cruiser Valorus has taken critical damage to its eezo core... it's foundered."
With over half of his fleet destroyed or rendered no longer capable of combat operations, Haliat's hope for a turnaround evaporated. His throat dried, his fringes quivered ever so slightly. Haliat watched, eyes transfixed on the holographic display as the coiling formation finished off the last stragglers.
"Sir, our orders?" One of the bridge crew called out, only to fall on deaf ears.
The 314 Aliens restructured their formation, forming a new battle line that was undoubtedly preparing to take what remains of Explorator head on.
Commodore Haliat remained frozen still on his command podium, having seemingly fallen into a catatonic state. Panic very nearly gripped the crew before the Ignaeus' captain walked up to the flag officer and jostling him.
"Sir!" The captain yelled out, gripping the Commodore's shoulders and shaking him awake. "What are our orders!"
While yanked out of his stupor, Haliat himself was still at a loss of what to do.
Turian Naval Doctrine covered a lot of things. It covered combat against numerically superior foes, against technologically superior foes, against enemies who had a tech overmatch... but nobody in Fort Zere ever considered a battle where the enemy played by completely different rules. The Commodore racked his brain and training for something... anything he could do to try and survive... but he could only come up with one thing.
"All remaining forces, gather around the Ignaeus... we're going to make a break for the relay!" Haliat announced. "We'll have to take the long way around the enemy formation, but with our speed advantage we can make it!"
A very rough diamond formation was formed around the Ignaeus. The Turians ran their thrusters at max speed, doing their best to get around the incoming enemy formation. Immediately though, some of the more damaged ships began falling behind. It pained him to do so, but Haliat made the order not to slow down. They had to keep going, couldn't stop going. There were more lives at stake than those few who couldn't keep up.
The enemy did eventually catch on and tried to intercept their course, but Coalition ships were simply far quicker and more agile than their own. Energy barrages came next, with limited effect.
It was the home stretch now. Just a few thousand more clicks to go and they'll be away from this blasted place... but then, a single report changed everything.
"Commodore Haliat, Sir!" One of the bridge officers reported. "Relay activity detected!
-000-
The arrival of enemy reinforcements was not unexpected. We'd known they'd call on them eventually...
What we didn't expect, was the kind of reinforcements that was coming.
"W-what... what is that thing!" I could hear Rosen yell out over the comms.
All at once the situation had turned itself around. Caught completely flat footed by the arrival of enemy reinforcements, we were forced on the defensive as a veritable horde of enemy warships arrived from the other side of the mass relay. Cruisers and battleships poured in by the dozens, then by the scores.
But while their numbers were certainly cause for concern, it was the one ship that really got everyone worried.
"H-how did they build that thing?!" Was the only thing the usually wisecracking Kessler could remark.
As for myself, I was too dumbfounded to say anything, awestruck by the sight that lie before me. I couldn't believe the numbers that my screen displayed.
"One... kilometer..." The words fell out of my mouth.
At the center of the alien formation was a ship unlike anything any of us have ever seen. A titanic warship, larger than anything the Congressional Forces have. The firepower one of these... Dreadnoughts, for lack of better terms... could bring about must be terrifying.
So when a second one exited relay transit, I just knew we were in deep, deep trouble.
An invisible wave of panic seemed to have washed over the Congressional Forces, as enemy forces finally finished trickling in. At the start of the battle, they had us outnumbered on a three-to-one ratio. Now, with their reinforcements, the enemy outnumbered our battered force almost six-to-one. Even the most stalwart commanders were going to sweat at the prospect of fighting such overwhelming odds.
"Ma'am, we have orders from Commodore Autumn!" Kessler then reported. "All forces are to rally at Point Charlie! A squadron lead by Milo and Akuo will act as a rearguard to cover our retreat!"
It was a fine plan on paper... but looking at the battlefield map in front of told me that it wasn't going to work. The CSF squadrons had been split apart into much smaller groups. Particularly, Squadron 13's path to the Bullhead Line was blocked by a large contingent of enemy ships. With the Loanie having taken serious damage and the Gleiswick's engines operating at reduced capacity, it was going to be a damn near impossible task.
A quick glance at Bullow told me she saw the problem as well. Her hands held the command seat's armrests with a white knuckled grip and she stared holes at the holographic display of the battlefield ahead of her. I could only imagine what was going through her head, the countless plans and strategies she was running in her head. As the seconds passed by, I saw her face had slowly grown more and more frustrated. Her features twisted and twisted until she froze for a moment. A thought must've clicked in there as her face turned from exasperated to determined in a blink of an eye.
Bullow seemed to have focused on an old asteroid field that bordered the current open field used for battle. She must be charting a course for the squadron to escape. It was a smart idea, to shake off pursuers by running through that zone, but it would take us far away from Point Charlie. There must be more to her plan.
"Kessler, open a line to Commodore Autumn!"
Bullow ordered.
The Warrant Officer complied, fingers moving quickly to hail the Milo. Seconds ticked by with the hail going unanswered. As the time passsed, Bullow directed Squadron 13 to steam slowly towards the asteroid field. It appears she wasn't quite going to be asking for permission, and that the call was simply formality.
Eventually, the hail was picked up. A holographic image of Commodore Autumn filled the space in front of the acting Captain's seat. Autumn's single amber eye stared expectantly at Bullow, while the other lay hidden behind an eyepatch and obscured by her short jet black hair.
"Bullow, now is not a good time." She stated pointedly.
"Commodore, Squadron 13's path to Point Charlie is blocked by overwhelming enemy force. There's no guarantee we could fight our way through." Bullow explained, her voice somehow calm and even toned despite being heavily stressed only a few minutes earlier. "In order to preserve our combat strength, I'm taking Squadron 13 through the Yingze Asteroid Field to shake of pursuit, then we're headed straight for the Bullhead Line."
As I suspected, Bullow made no request for permission. She had already made up her mind and was dead set on doing it.
Commodore Autumn's single eye narrowed as she heard Bullow's words. A glance at said person showed that she was starting to grip on her armrests again, though amazingly her face remained stoic. The Commodore seemed to glance away from the call to look at something on her side. She seemed to study something intently, furrowing her brows, then sighing.
"You have my blessing." Autumn finally said. "Make sure you take 108 with you. They're pinned not far from your position."
With those curt words, the call was cut off from Milo's end. Bullow melted into her seat once Autumn's image disappeared, taking off her officer's hat and running a hand through her blue locks.
"I... didn't think it'd go that well." She admitted. After recovering her wits, she sat herself up straight and issued further orders. "Right... we'll redirect course to 108's position, then resume course to Yingze Field."
In all the chaos of the current battle, it was a miracle that an enemy squadron didn't try to engage us while we made our way to Squadron 108. It seemed that the enemy was focusing their efforts on the bulk of our forces which were already well on their way to Point Charlie. Just like Kessler said earlier, Commodore Autumn's personal squadron stood in between the enemy force and all the retreating CSF ships. The firepower that Milo and Akuo leveled against the enemy was something else. Between those two ships were twelve turreted hyper-mega particle cannons. I watched on my screen's video feed as one of those cannons cleaved an enemy battleship in half, down through the middle. A follow up shot then melted a cruiser's 'wing' off with a near miss. Those two alone slowed the tide of enemy warships, giving the others more time to escape.
It was a true testament to the power of a Nikos Class Battlecruiser.
Still, the enemy did not relent. Soon they were close enough that the secondary battery on the Nikos Battlecruisers -hyperbeam cannons like the ones used by Chariots and Currans- began to open fire. With sheer numbers alone, the aliens managed to start forcing Milo and Akuo to cede ground.
On our own end, we were -surprisingly enough- doing somewhat better. Only a token force had engaged the three remaining Currans of Squadron 108, so with coordinated effort it was easy enough to deal with them. A quick hail to the 108's lead ship, the Mas Amedda, we were able to catch the enemy squadron in a pincer attack. Hyperbeam cannons blazed into the dark void, scoring hit after hit. When the enemy got lucky, the beam shots would bounce off their barriers, dispersing into less dangerous streams. However, with two broadsides coming in from separate directions, it didn't take long for our gunners to break their barriers. The alien formation quickly melted away under withering fire.
"Transmit our course to the Mas Amedda, tell them to fall in line behind us." The acting captain ordered once the last enemy ship in our immediate vicinity had been destroyed.
She didn't bother waiting for a reply from the Amedda, having immediately ordered the helmsman to bring Risima back on course towards Yingze Field. It came off as a bit callous at first glance, but given the situation we found ourselves in I could understand the urgency. If the ships of 108 felt slighted by this... well, they didn't say anything. Instead, they followed behind us, just as Bullow told them to.
It was all going swimmingly. All the ships in both Squadron 13 and 108 had taken varying degrees of damages, but we've weathered the storm and were on the home stretch... but of course, things had to take a turn for the worst.
The Gleiswick -having taken engine damage and running on reduced speed- saw its condition deteriorate. First it started lagging behind, then it fell out of formation altogether. Worse still, another squadron of enemy warships were closing in fast.
"Slow down the squadron!" Bullow ordered. "We have to cover the Gleiswick until we can shake the enemy off at Ying-"
"Incoming hail from the Gleiswick!" Kessler unceremoniously interjected.
The call was patched through, revealing the captain of the Hugo Gleiswick. The man was injured, with bandages covering his forehead and blood smears on his face. Behind him the bridge seemed to be in a state of disrepair, with a few lights flickering on and off.
"Captain Eilling, are you alright? What's the status of your ship?" Bullow hurriedly asked.
Despite his injuries, the Captain replied with a smile.
"Thank you for your concern, Captain Bullow, but I'm afraid the Gleiswick is at the end of it's road." He said. Before the Acting Captain could say anything else, Eilling continued. "Our reactor took damage in the earlier engagement. We've been pushing it beyond capacity since our engines took damage during the counterattack. If we try to keep up with the rest of the formation now, we're likely to lose it entirely."
"We can't just leave you out here to die! Just hold on a little longer. We can fight off the next enemy attack and then the Gleiswick can get emergency field repairs at Yingze Field."
"I'm sorry, Captain, but we both know that's not an option." Eilling countered, shaking his head. "Commodore Autumn isn't going to hold them back forever and the escape window shrinks with every passing second. You have to leave us."
That was like a gut punch to Bullow, as I saw her spirit seemingly drain from her body. The acting captain became limp as the pressure mounted, the stoic and professional appearance she was desperately trying to hold up was melting away.
As if to emphasize Captain Eilling's point, a large explosion lit up the void. It came from the direction of Point Charlie, where the bulk of the fighting was. Seconds after the flash dissipated, reports hit the Risima's comm arrays.
"That's... that can't be..." I muttered as I read what I saw. "Milo's IFF signal has cut off... that explosion... i-it can't be!"
"Go now, Captain Bullow." Eilling reiterated. "Save yourselves, so that you can save others later. Terra Firma!"
With a salute, the Gleiswick's captain cut the call. The limping destroyer altered course, peeling away from the formation entirely... they were now heading straight for the enemy squadron that was attempting to intercept us.
"Damnit all... All ships, ahead at flank speed!" Bullow finally ordered. "Don't let their sacrifice be in vain!"
As the joint formation quickly left Gleiswick behind, I watched from my monitor as the crippled ship charged at the enemy with everything it had left. Missile tubes fired and hyperbeam turrets blazed away at the enemy's general direction, not so much caring if the shots will hit, so long as it catches the enemy's attention.
The intercepting aliens were caught off guard by the Gleiswick's sudden charge. They seemed to panic at the daring Destroyer's last stand and scattered to go around the wounded ship. It was in the middle of a disheveled enemy that the Gleiswick committed it's last hurrah.
A blinding flash engulfed the lone Destroyer and the enemy cruisers surrounding it. One moment, Gleiswick and the aliens were on scope, in the next they were gone. Captain Eilling had ordered the ship to overload its Minovsky Reactor into unsafe levels, turning it into a crude -but highly potent- bomb. In their final act of defiance, Gleiswick and it's crew had sacrificed itself to buy more time for us.
Our wounded force escaped the battlefield shortly after. I don't know if Captain Eilling knew it, but that reactor explosion didn't just destroy nearby alien ships. The condensed Minovsky Particles were scattered all throughout the area at a much denser rate than we'd usually disperse them at. Even our comm arrays were starting to struggle to cut through the interference at closer ranges. Any hope of contacting the rest of the fleet was up in smoke now.
It was a terrifying feeling, not knowing how the rest of the battle was going. Intrusive thoughts entered my mind, imagining worst case scenarios and how it would affect us.
We were alone. A half dozen damaged warships isolated from the rest of our fleet, unsure of what to do next.
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A/N: Aaaand that's the initial space battle over. Took a lot longer to finish this than I expected to, due to a combination of writer's block and irl stuff cutting my free time. Hoping to get back to a biweekly schedule but that's still not certain.
Next chapter, I'm actually rather excited to write. It's an idea for a battle that I've been trying to work into a story for a while, and I honestly haven't seen anyone else trying something similar. I even did a lot of research to make sure I'm getting the physics of it right.
Also, the next episode brings the 2nd arc to a close. After that I've got another CODEX chapter before we start the 3rd story arc. The CODEX will mostly deal with the Citadel races and also entries for the CSF, Turian, and Golden Beacon warships in play.
Wow this might actually be the longest chapter I've written so far. Next chapter shouldn't/probably won't be as long.
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THIS WORK IS CROSSPOSTED IN FFNET AND AO3