Nova Wars

Captain Thriktree watched as more and more of the big black robots -no, cyborgs- exited the drop pods and quickly moved to take position. He noticed that one man out of five was staying beside the drop pod, flipping down a thick reentry shield panel and putting their hand on an induction pad. He looked around and saw Major Squarehead was pointing at various groups of Hamaroosan Marines. Each time they pointed, Dominion Marines would run over to the Hamaroosans, kneeling down and the sparkle of their battlescreens would thicken up.

A cyborg moved up next to Captain Thriktree and knelt down.

"You are being provided assistance," the cyborg said. It held up a disc marked with the vertical line topped by a dot with three curved lines above it, the universal symbol for wireless communications. "Please do not resist," the cyborg said, then slapped the disc on Thriktree's shoulder.

There were several clinks.

"Get a buddy! Double up if you can," Major Squarehead's voice suddenly came across Thriktree's suit loud and clear. His HUD read "AUX CHANNEL 7" being used.

The cyborg moved to the communications expert and held up another disc. "You are being provided assistance. Please do not resist," it said.

"I want those drop pods reconfigured. Get on it!" Squarehead's voice was steady and didn't change tone or inflection, but Thriktree could feel the urgency in it. "Walkers and crawlers, nothing over six-fifty kiloton a second, we got civilians nearby!"

Thriktree blinked rapidly, letting that sink in.

Another cyborg moved up and Thriktree noted the wrench/lugnut combo on the upper part of the neck vambrace. The cyborg had a heavy pack and knelt down next to Thriktree. It held out its hand and passed its palm over Thriktree's weapon and armor.

"I was told you were slushed out. Where's your nanoforge?" the cyborg asked over Local Aux-3.

Thriktree slapped the nanoforge at his waist. A flat square pack with red lights blinking across the top.

The cyborg ran a palm over it, scanning it.

"What's it provide for you?" the Dominion Marine asked. "Not sure what this does."

"Provides armor repair nanites and armor repair components as well as power for my armor's strength assist," Thriktree said.

There was silence for a moment. "All right, give me a few seconds," there was another pause. "6673, can you do anything?"

The starship fired again and Thriktree saw the beam strike a skyraker, blowing a hole clear threw it.

The mushroom cloud was partially by the skyline of the skyrakers of the megalopolis.

"No, I don't think he wants to eject from the armor and put on a real suit of armor," the Dominion troop said. "How is that helpful? No, you can't just spray him with wonderseal, tape a sawed off hellbore to his head, and send him in."

It took a second for Thriktree to realize that the Dominion Marine wasn't talking to him.

"That's not helpful either. We don't tell allies to 'hold this nuke' and then heaty-yeety them at the enemy," the Marine said, giving a big sigh at the end. "OK, whip up an armor repair pack, forward it to the rest of you greenie meanies."

The Dominion Marine looked at him. "OK, I'm getting something fabbed up. My greenie was insulted by something your suit VI said."

"Greenie?" Thriktree asked.

"My green mantid engineering buddy. Part of third platoon 'Green Meanies'," the Dominion Marine said.

Another blast.

"EVERYONE GRAB A BUDDY! BLOW A HOLE AND GET IN IT!" the Major's voice came over Command-Aux-3.

"Shit," the Marine talking to Thriktree said. He turned and tossed a grenade, turning away slightly. There was a flash, that was repeated all over the berm, and small debris showered down. "Get in."

The Dominion cyborg jumped into the hole and crouched down.

Thriktree followed and realized that he had to stand on his tiptoes to see over the edge.

*CLOSE AIR SUPPORT*

*ARTY SUPPORT*

*DANGER CLOSE*

appeared on his HUD.

"GET IN TIGHT WITH THE DOMINION GUYS!" Captain Thriktree yelled over his commo channel, which was still full of clicks and pops.

The Dominion cyborg reached out, grabbed Thriktree's commo specialist, and dragged him into the hole. Thriktree could see one of those discs on the back of the commo pack and another one on the commo specialist's shoulder.

"Captain, there's someone called 7712 asking to work on my pack," the commo specialist said.

"Give them authorization," Thriktree said, guessing it was another green meanie.

Right as he finished speaking strikers whipped across the battlefield, just on the other side of the berm. They were so fast they were blurred to Thriktree and their jetstream turbulence sent the carbonized looking enemy flying into the air, shedding parts, as the concentric vapor ringed path went by.

Then the entire thing exploded in flame. White flame with a blue core and a clear flame edge.

*ARTY FIVE SEC*

*DANGER CLOSE*

Thriktree wondered what the hell the artillery was supposed to hit, because everything on the other side of the berm, and the opposite side of the burn was currently on fire.

"What the hell was that?" Thriktree asked.

"Spooky particle FOOF enhanced plasma-napalm," the Dominion troop next to him said. "Sticks to kids."

"And everything else, apparently," Thriktrees commo specialist said.

"That's why we love it," the Dominion troop said.

Thriktree expected the typical hammering of HE or maybe HIT rounds out into the fire.

Instead it was purple and blue and gold flashes, a loud series of THRUM impacts, and the ground heaved. The walls of the makeshift foxhole jiggled like jello for a second as the impacts turned the ground itself into a semi-solid. Burning dirt started raining down, hitting the battlescreens and leaving nothing but fire that hissed and crackled.

To Thriktree it looked, crazily enough, like the energy of the battlescreen was on fire for almost a full second.

"THIRD PLATOON! ADVANCE! GET IN THERE, SALAMANDERS!" Major Squarehead bellowed out over the Command Aux-5 channel.

Thriktree saw heavy, bulky cyborgs vault out of the makeshift foxholes and advance straight into fire, which seemed to have regained strength after the artillery barrage.

"Sir, we're being flanked on both sides," Lieutenant Hooloort warned Thriktree.

"Major, we're being flanked on both sides," Thriktree passed on, staring as the heavy cyborgs vanished into the flame.

"Good, they can't get away. Where's your heavy weapons? Any Special Tasks elements?" the Major asked.

"Our Special Tasks and Heavy Weapons Platoon got pinned down twelve klicks east," Thriktree said. "They're pulled back into a building but under heavy attack."

"Toss me the grid," the Major said.

Thriktree was feeling more comfortable and passed the grid to the Dominion officer.

He looked over in time to see the drop pods suddenly shift. The sides became heavy shield-like legs, the middle, with the main thrusters on it, rotated to face the berm, and it dropped down.

"Gunpods, get ready," the Major said. "Thriktree, we're gonna screen you."

The engineer suddenly slapped discs on Thriktree and the commo specialist's shoulders, then chest and back, then waist on each side, then thighs.

*synching* appeared on his HUD.

"Shield emitters. Not as good as we'd like, but it'll help. Graviton centrifuge generator," the engineer said. "Won't drain your armor's power supply."

Thriktree nodded.

The Engineer slapped something on the side of his aux-power pack, which was still reading it was overheated. It blinked several times, then reported that it has 1,755% power left.

"That should help," the Engineer said, slapping a disc on the commo tech's nanopack.

"Roos, keep your heads down!" the Major suddenly yelled.

"That's you two," the Engineer said, putting his hands on top of Thriktree and the commo tech's heads and pushing them a little further into the hole.

*ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC*

scrolled by on his HUD.

Everything vanished in a roar. Thriktree felt like he'd have been thrown against the foxhole's wall or maybe even clear out of it if it wasn't for the steadying hand of the engineer. Before he could follow the thought further the concussion went back the other way as ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC appeared on his HUD again.

"HELLSTOMPERS! OUT OF YOUR HOLES! ADVANCE INTO THE ENEMY BY FIRE ELEMENTS!" the Major's voice yelled.

Thriktree saw the engineer vault out of the foxhole.

"Captain, we're advancing into the enemy. What's your orders to your Company?" the Dominion Major suddenly asked. "You have enemy on three sides. The Salamanders are ripping up the starship, the Helldroppers are already dropping in on your pinned down Special Tasks platoon."

"What's your suggestion?" Captain Thriktree asked. To be honest, he had no idea of the capabilities of the Dominion troops beyond the MI briefing that had stated that Dominion tech was likely to be forty thousand years out of date and so obsolete as to be worthless.

"Have your Roos get in close to a battle buddy, stay behind their battlescreens. We'll send a platoon east and west, have one platoon stick here at the berm, close with and destroy the enemy, then bolster the northern line, cut off their attempts at flanking. The Salamanders are on board the starship. They've already disabled their hellgates, so reinforcements have ceased being an enemy option."

"What about my wounded?" Captain Thriktree asked.

"Medics are already working. Got a medevac coming in hot," the Major said. "Thirty-two-ninety-three Evac hospital is already setting up, we'll get your men there as soon as we can dust-off."

Captain Thriktree breathed a sigh of relief.

"All right, let's do it," he said.

0-0-0-0-0

Admiral Sharnat stepped into the briefing room. The air had the slight ozone tang that she'd come to associate with Treana'ad pheromone countering. Her entire staff was there, including her Chief of Staff, who still had the plastic pauldron on her shoulder. She sat down and tapped the table with the fingers of her gripping hands.

"All right, let's start," she said.

In turn, the officers gave the status of what remained of the fleet. It was quiet, it was subdued.

It was ugly.

Shipwise, she had taken 64% destroyed in action. The remaining were damaged.

Personnelwise, she had taken 73% killed in action and 19% wounded in action.

The reality of space combat was when a ship blew up, it usually took everyone with it. Weapons that penetrated shields and armor killed crewmembers instantly.

Her Chief of Fleet Grip ended the litany of destroyed in action or disabled in action and looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"That's what it was at the end of the battle, two hours after the Dominion armada arrived," she said. She looked around. "I will now present the numbers as they stood the hour before this meeting began."

She tapped the table.

"Heavy cruiser and lighter vessel strength is at 100%. Capital ship strength is at 85% and expected to be at one hundred percent within twenty-four hours," she said softly. "Crew recovery is at 83% and rising, with over half of the recovered crew out of... uh... 'euphoric treatment' and the rest expected to return to duty within the next seventy-two hours."

She looked up.

"Over 83% of the killed in action have been recovered by Dominion Resuscitation Services," she swallowed. "The remaining 17% are estimated enter euphoria recovery in the next sixty hours. Dominion Resuscitation Services estimate less than 3% will fail recovery for various reasons."

She swallowed thickly.

"This is..." she looked up. "This is... unprecedented and my office is unsure how to proceed. These Hamaroosan were killed in action, yet the Dominion has 'recovered' them. My office has interviewed nearly a hundred in the last eighty hours and they are, without a doubt, the same Hamaroosan who were aboard the ships as well as the ground combat forces."

Sharnat nodded slowly.

"I'm unsure of whether or not they should be returned to duty," the Chief of Fleet Grip said.

Sharnat closed her eyes, thinking for a moment.

She needed the manpower. She needed the ships.

Her fleet had suffered the worst near defeat in history, as far as she could remember from her history classes.

But now, less than a hundred hours later, and the Dominion was returning everyone and everything.

She made a decision.

"Return them to duty," she said.

The Chief of Fleet Grip nodded.

The meeting kept going.

Then came the Chief of Ground Grip.

"With the destruction of orbital support, our ground forces were pinned down by enemy forces. We suffered nearly forty-percent killed in action and an additional eighteen percent wounded in action," the Chief of Ground Grip closed her eyes for a moment.

"Dominion Recovery Services have returned all but an estimated two point one percent as of an hour ago," she said. She shuddered. "Interviews and examination of battlefield telemetry verifies that not only were these Hamaroosan Marines killed, they were returned to battle within hours. Some of the Marines were killed a second or third time and returned to battle."

"What's our ground troop force levels?" Admiral Sharnat asked.

"Over ninety-six percent now," the Chief of Ground Grip stated.

Sharnat nodded. "Continue, please."

The issue of rearming and replacing expendable items had reared its head and then been sidestepped by Dominion Main Sustainment Brigade assitence.

Even vehicles and aerospace fighters had been returned.

"A check of molecular circuitry numbers show that somehow the Dominion forces just replicated the same six vehicles of each class. More than a few vehicles, by serial number, are a combination of six different vehicles," she shuddered. "All produced, tested, and repaired if necessary by the Dominion support units."

Sharnat just nodded, keeping her "The admiral is interested but not too interested" face on.

Inside she was screaming.

"How does our morale look?" Sharnat asked.

"Good," the Chief of Ground Grip said.

Sharnat nodded. "Continue."

From there it went to the fact that ground force commanders wanted to train with the Dominion troops for 'better combined forces integration and cohesion' although the Chief of Ground Grip believed it had more to do with Dominion combat support was jumps and swings better than Hamaroosan.

Sharnat just jotted down notes and made non-commital noises.

Then came the Chief of Intelligence Grip.

She stood up and was silent for a long moment.

"What just happened is a result of the two largest failures of Hamaroosan and Confederate Intelligence since the Mar-gite Resurgence," she said, lifting her chin. "The enemy's capabilities were wildly under-estimated."

She went through it. Number. Weapon and shield capability. Ship types and number. Group troop types. The fact that the enemy had ground and aerospace vehicles.

Then she paused and took a drink of water.

"Naval Intelligence, both Hamaroosan and Confederate, had determined that the Solarian Iron Dominion was too far behind in war fighting technology and tactics to be effective against a modern opponent," she said. She shook her head.

The ghosts of billions of Lanaktallan and Mantid howled with laughter.

"We, and the Confederacy, are so laughably outclassed the Dominion might as well be doing magic," she said.

"Pure warsteel production ceased thousands of years ago. Warsteel Mark-9 is an alloy that contains less than 5% warsteel," the Chief of Intelligence Grip stated. She tapped the table, bringing up small holograms of vehicles, spaceships, power armor, cyborgs.

"Dominion armor appears to be a variant of Warsteel Mark-One. Almost pure warsteel," she stated. She opened a window above the table and showed Dominion cyborgs wreathed in white fire marching steadily through an inferno. "This burns at over three thousand degrees Kelvin absolute. They are completely unaffected by it."

Another window of tanks, tread driven tanks instead of modern antigrav hover tanks, driving forward. There was a flash.

"That was a twelve megaton blast at less than eight hundred meters in front of the lead tank," the Chief of Intelligence Grip said.

The picture changed. Heavy cannon fire was coming out of the debris cloud. After a moment it showed the same tanks, their paint markings slightly scuffed, roaring out of the debris cloud.

"It barely scuffed their paint. Those tanks weigh over a thousand metric short tons," she said.

The Chief of Intelligence Grip heaved a breath. "I have instructed my staff to discard all data from Naval Intelligence, both Confederate and Hamaroosan, and use only the data from this battle to completely rebuild out models."

Sharnat nodded.

The Chief of Intelligence Grip sat down.

Eventually, the meeting ended.

Sharnat sat at the table, even after she waved out her Chief of Staff.

She dimmed the lights.

The hologram windows popped up over the table.

Hamaroosan sailors who had been killed sitting in "Euphoric Recovery", tanks rolling through atomic and nuclear detonations. Aerospace fighters turning into the atomic blast and streaking out the other side. Burning warborg advancing into the enemy.

She paused the videos.

One one, a Solarian Dominion Army Medic was looking up into the camera, the faceplate fashioned to look like a human skull with burning red eyes. There was a crouched Solarian Marine next to the medic, a canine whose armor was white and covered with black spots, who was staring at the Hamaroosan on the ground in front of them.

Are you there, Digital Omnimessiah? she asked silently. Are you real too?

The skull-faced helmet of a Dominion Assault Marine gave her no answers.