Nova Wars

Amateurs talk tactics. Experts talk logistics. - General Robert H. Barrow, the 18th Commandant of the Hamburger Kingdom Crayon Eater Corps, Age of Paranoia

Amateurs talk tactics. Experts talk logistics. Masters integrate both into strategy. - General Takilikakik, Solarian Iron Dominion, Year 34 of The Bagging

...They said we were in crisis and we believed them. There weren't enough podlings and without podlings there is no future. Not everyone had a mate, not everyone had brood carriers. We found a simple solution to a simple problem. Every Telkan would Do Their Duty. They didn't have to be happy.

We were met with another crisis, there weren't enough brood carriers. Without brood carriers there are no podlings, and without podlings there is no future. Another simple solution for a simple problem. They didn't have to be mated to carry podlings. They didn't need to raise them. There were Telkani and Telkana to Do That Duty. They didn't need to be happy.

The crisis was averted and another reared its head. Crime, violence, unrest, a breakdown of Telkan values. Simple problems with ever more simple solutions. Malcontents were shunned, hotbeds of trouble were stunted, where there was smoke, we applied fire. They wouldn't be happy but the Telkan people would endure.

We stand where we are today because of a desire to see the Telkan people survive. We got what we wanted but not what we needed.

We should have made sure they were happy. - u/Dra5iel, Telkan Philosopher, Spur-Wide Mar-gite War Era

Admiral Rippentear stood in the elevator, shaking his head slightly. He had an impressive pedigree for a Space Force Staff Officer. Nearly three centuries in uniform. He was openly proud of the fact that he had started as a Fire Control Crew Member on small destroyers, that he had been enlisted at the beginning of his career. He was proud of his slow movement through the ranks, through the schools, proud of his combat commands and his logistical commands with equal measure.

He considered himself a professional warrior. Trained in everything from board actions to damage control to leadership and ship piloting.

Which meant he had no illusions about the man he was going to see.

The elevator door opened to reveal a command center that buzzed with the low tones of quiet discussions. Over there military intelligence analysts consulted with Naval, Space Force, Marine, and Army intelligence, as well as Defense Intelligence. Right there the Creation Engine Oversight officers consulted with the commanders of logistics units all the way down to the Company level. Right there Games & Theory stood shoulder to shoulder with Operational Planning Division to watch the performance of equipment new and old.

Standing off to the side, a large salted pretzel smeared with mustard in one hand and a narcobrew in the other, was an officer the majority of enemy forces would ignore.

No, enemy forces would concentrate on Admiral Sarah Fistenhammer, who looked like she had stepped off of a recruiting poster. If casting had sent her to an action film as the military commander of entire stellar regions the director would send her back with a nasty note about typecasting.

But Rippentear knew she was one of the Offensive Actions Board.

The true heart and brain of the Solarian Iron Dominion military forces was busy washing down a bite of his pretzel with thick rich narcobrew. He was short, slightly portly, with a weak chin, watery eyes, and a scraggly mustache. His top lay forgotten on a console, the award rack significant to anyone who could read the medal stack and thought that combat awards were all that mattered.

It lacked a single combat or valor award.

Not even a basic Combat Action Award.

With the nametag Takilikakik on it.

Rippentear moved over next to the General, who smiled, nodded, and took another bite of the sea salt seasoned chewy soft pretzel.

"Dominion Command wants us to shake loose a task force to assist the Ornislarp Noocracy," Rippentear stated.

The General nodded and washed down the bite of pretzel with a long pull off of the beer bottle. "I expected as much," he said once his mouth was empty. "I have prepared eight different options for you and the War Council to look over."

"Thank you," General Rippentear said. His implant pinged that he had a fairly large file waiting in his inbox from General Takilikakik.

"Mil-Int estimates a high probability that whoever is attacking the Ornislarp Noocracy is using weaponry they have reverse engineered or salvaged from Extinction Event wreckage and ruines," Takilikakik said. He took another bite of his pretzel and motioned at where the Defense Intelligence analysts were leaning in to look at combat footage provided by the Ornislarp was being analyzed by people instead of computer algorithms. Two digital sentiences glittered as they slowly moved around the holotank, looking at the data from different angles.

Rippentear waited a moment for Takilikakik to finish chewing.

"The most noticable, according to combat and tactical analysis sections, is that the weapons being used match the basic profiles of some of our heavier weapons, they are not used in the same interlocking method that our own forces use them," Takilikakik said. He shrugged. "I'm not a combat man, but I trust the analysis of those who are."

"I'll look it over," Rippentear promised.

Takilikakik took another bite and chewed slowly, nodding.

"How is the rearming and reinforcing going?" Rippentear asked.

Takilikakik swallowed, took another drink off of his narcobrew, and started moving toward the reclamator. Rippentear followed.

"We have nearly 32.5% of the cryo-troops thawed out. We're unthawing the older ones first so they can be trained on modern equipment," General Takilikakik said. "Ship reactivation is at 64.81%, with the lighter ones being activated first."

"Creation Engine and Complex War Systems status?" Rippentear asked.

"Creation Engine ignition is at 125%, we're into the reserve and backup units now. The Complex War Systems are at roughly 74.91% in aggregate. The Pacific Rim Class Jaegers are only at 28.44% activation, but those are some of the most complex," Takilikakik said. He dropped the bottle in the reclamation grinder.

Rippentear nodded.

"How is the political front going?" Takilikakik asked.

Rippentear shook his head. "Badly."

"How so?" Takilikakik asked.

"Half of the Younger Races want us to surrender Afterlife to them and rejoin the Confederacy on their terms. The older races are all siding with us," Rippentear said. He sighed. "Forty-thousand years and nobody has their shit together."

"Entropy sips at even closed systems," Takilikakik said. He moved over to the mass extractions and storage section, looking over the raw numbers for a moment, then moved away. "As for Afterlife, they do know we don't have full control over it, right?"

Rippentear shrugged. "I don't think they fully believe us."

Takilikakik shook his head. "We haven't had any significant control over the system since the Glassing. They have to understand that TerraSol being bagged disrupted the control system just as much as the Atrekna's temporal warfare protocols did."

"They are convinced we're just holding back their deceased population to be petty," Rippentear said. "Not the Elder Races. They get it. The Tukna'rn, they feel that in the absence of their own doctrine they will abide by our doctrine. The Hamaroosan are talking a big game, but backchannel they just want to be able to interview a few and ensure that they are being properly treated. Tnvaru has been silent on the issue in meetings even though their gestalt and public want access."

"And the Lanaktallan?" Takilikakik asked.

Rippentear snorted. "You know the Lanky. They're still debating on if the Lanaktallan who have been on Terra for the last fifty years should be considered modern Lankies or Ancient Lankies from the Second Precursor War."

Takilikakik shook his head. "That will take them a few centuries to figure out," he chuckled. "Now that we're not fighting them, I actually like them."

"Tale as old as time," Rippentear admitted.

Rippentear looked over the hologram of the Galactic Arm Spur, reaching out to tap the Solarian Iron Dominion marker. It expanded into a box, showing force and readiness levels.

"Any chance I can convince you to slice off a super-colossus task force for me, Imak?" he asked.

General Takilikakik chuckled. "Actually," he said, pausing. Admiral Rippentear looked hopeful. "I've done just that. Of course, you aren't going to like it."

"Anything other than standing here watching Sol burn," Rippentear said.

"19th Combat and Logistical Support Task Force. It's part of the options I gave you," General Takilikakik said. "It's actually my recommended option."

"So why won't I like it?" Rippentear asked.

"The Confederacy doesn't want us to run off and help the Ornislarp unilaterally. They want to 'help' us, like we forgot how to fight after fifty years," General Takilikakik said.

"Technology has advanced," Rippentear said, repeating the standard line that everyone had been instructed to repeat or remember.

General Takilikakik snorted. "Yeah. It's regressed in many ways, but it doesn't matter," he looked at the ceiling. "Like Trucker always said: Guns may fire twice as fast and twice as far as they did during The Glassing, but the average private is as drunk and stupid as ever."

That got some chuckled from the analysts and workers around them.

"The Confederacy thinks it will let them know just how far behind them we are," General Takilikakik said. "In reality, it will let us fully gauge them. Weapon capability, drive speed, compensator strength, armor capability, logistical capability, and fighting strength."

Admiral Rippentear nodded. "So we go in with limiters and governors."

General Takilikakik nodded. "The reasoning of 'field adjustments' and 'field modernization' will cover raising the limitations on the war fighting material. If you're in trouble, don't hold back, slam the pedal to full flank speed and damn the public sodomy."

Admiral Rippentear smiled widely.

"The Confederacy is sending enough ships to triple the size of whichever task force is assigned to the Ornislarp front. When it comes to metal weight though," General Takilikakik shook his head. "We will still outmass and outweigh them by a factor of sixteen."

Admiral Rippentear lifted up his datapad, crossloaded the file, and went through quickly. General Takilikakik went over to look over various stations, examine various status reports. The General got another pretzel, chewing on it as he wandered around it, encouraging subordinates, solving problems when he could, bringing experts into the loop to check results.

While it was going on, Admiral Rippentear examined the options. Finally, he tapped the recommended profile and saved the file, uploading it to the server.

General Takilikakik heard the ping and checked it. He nodded it and looked at Admiral Rippentear.

"Good luck, Admiral," General Takilikakik said. He turned away to look over the new tesseract mass tank tests.

Admiral Rippentear turned and left the command center for the entire Solarian Iron Dominion.

In the elevator he smiled.

It'd be good to get back in the action.

Back in the command center, General Takilikakik, Commanding Director of Solarian Iron Dominion Military Forces looked over force levels.

0-0-0-0-0

Corporal Vak.tel was a Telkan Marine with nearly fifty-two years in Active Duty. He had been deployed twice to help put down riots on Telkan-1, he had even fought against the alien Chorethrun four times, once in a ship boarding action.

Now he was on some emergency assignment that had diverted them from the military action against the Mar-gite and/or against whoever was building the Hellspace Wall.

True, everyone had heard that mind-shattering roar when Terra had emerged from The Bag a little over a month ago, but he honestly didn't see why they had to redirect Task Force Smokey Viper and Task Force Green Podling to TerraSol.

Now, three weeks after being diverted, both task forces were sitting almost a light year out from TerraSol, just hanging around in the middle of nothing, surrounded by the last little wisps of the Sol Oort Cloud and starlight and dark and jack and shit.

Which bugged the hell out of Corporal Vak.tel, he had been looking forward to some old ground and pound in the Telkan Marine Corps tradition. The Telkan Marine Corps had a reputation to uphold, and Vak.tel sure as hell felt like they weren't going to be upholding any martial traditions just sitting out in the middle of nothing.

Now something even weirder was going on, but whatever it was, the brass wasn't telling him. He had heard rumors of a ship rendezvousing with the troop carrier or the troop carrier being detached from Task Force Smokey Viper.

He was he sitting down with the rest of his platoon, gossiping, checking out what rumor control had to say, when everyone went silent. He looked up and saw the Old Man, Field Colonel Shrekna, heading straight for his table.

"Shit," Cipdek muttered, shoveling the last of his food into his mouth.

A glance told Nak.tel that the Light Colonel and the Captains were at the far end of the table.

The Old Man stopped next to the Light Colonel, tapping the table. He sat down and there was tight discussion.

After a few minutes, all eight of the Telkani got up and left the dining hall.

That got chuckles, and more questions. Everyone was sure that something had just gone down. The Old Man, in charge of the entire Regiment, wouldn't normally come down to the mess hall unless something serious was up.

They had hit desserts before the pinging went off on everyone's datalinks.

Vak.tel checked his link and managed to keep from groaning out loud.

He was being re-assigned to a different troopship.

"Anyone ever heard of the ship called The Warsteel Fist of Hated Fates?" he asked.

The others shook their heads. Everyone else in Kilo Company, 17th Rifle Battalion, 3rd Infantry Brigade, 6th Infantry Regiment, 7th Telkan Marine Division, had been assigned to the same ship. Any attempts at getting any information from the database came back as 'no data found' even when Gunny Heltok tried his military intelligence contacts.

Muttering to himself, Vak.tel went back to his berth and started packing his shit.

Yeah, this is going to be fun, he thought to himself. Probably another assignment just sitting around with our thumbs up our asses instead of facing off against the enemy.

He barely got packed before the muster time and hustled to the troop bay to board the transport.

Whole spur is at war and they pulled the best fighters in the Confederacy for some dumb shit, he thought.