“Hey!”
“What’s up?”
Lieutenants Junior Grade Timothy Doe and Gerald Jenkins greeted each other as they took their stations in Starfleet Headquarters. Both of them wore the yellow and black of Starfleet’s Operations Division, and in their cases, had the responsibility of monitoring portions of Starfleet’s subspace communications network for any issues that might develop. In fact, their whole section shared that responsibility, and over multiple sectors at tat.
Doe yawned even as he got started on his station. “Just a bit short on sleep.” He said. “Damn Imperials…ever since they came through that wormhole of theirs and started causing trouble, no one’s gotten a proper night’s rest.”
“Yeah, I hear that.” Jenkins agreed, also working on his station. “Still, it can’t be helped. From the look and sound of things, it’s war. Though with all the losses we’re taking, plus that huge fleet Ross and Paris are assembling in orbit, it’s going to be nothing like fighting the Dominion or the Borg.”
“No disagreement there.” Doe said with a nod. “It’s like the Romulan Wars all over again.”
“…not really the best description, Tim.” Jenkins said after a moment. “We had our asses kicked in that war. We got lucky at Cheron. If we’d lost there, the Romulans would only have been a single warp jump away from Earth.”
“Point about how that war went at first,” Tim said. “But I disagree with how we only got lucky at Cheron. The Romulans might have kicked our asses up to that point, but we broke their backs in that battle. We got everything back at Cheron”
“Yeah, except we had to give up the right to use cloaks.” Jenkins said.
Doe snorted. “Cloaks are flashy, but overrated.” He said. “You can’t fight with them on, remember?”
“Right, right…” Jenkins conceded. “…I guess it’s not too out there that we’d do better now than we did in the Romulan Wars. We’re still fresh out of the Dominion War, and there was the Borg invasion a few years back. We’ve got plenty of ships, and everyone’s ready and willing to fight.”
“Yeah, but we’re cutting manpower reserves to the bone.” Doe said. “Science and other non-military assignments are gutted, if not effectively-defunct. And I’m not too sure about all those androids that command’s been deploying to supplement our crews with.”
“What’s the problem with them?” Jenkins asked.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Doe said. “I’ve got nothing against synthetics in general, but from what I know…most synthetics ever made until now were all one-of-a-kind models, fine-tuned and precision-built to the highest caliber. That, and given time and opportunity to slowly and steadily develop their sense of selves. You could say, they were people in their own way, and not really machines.”
“But…?” Jenkins prompted.
“The new series of androids are all mass-production models.” Doe answered. “Designed for general-purpose use that’s good at everything if not the best or worst at anything. Simple programming with limited if no ability to develop a sense of self beyond optimum performance in their assigned role. In short, they’re machines, built en masse to help operate our ships and fight our battles.”
“And that worries you?” Jenkins asked.
“It doesn’t worry you?” Doe asked back.
“Well, no.” Jenkins said with a shrug. “I mean…they’re not really synthetics, the way proper androids are. More like…I don’t know, simulated people or whatnot from holodecks. Besides, it’s not like we’re making them simply because we can, but because we need them to fight against an enemy of everything the Federation and Starfleet stand for. An enemy that’s coming and willing to tear down everything we’ve built.”
“…point.” Doe conceded. “But I still don’t like it.”
“…well, everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, so I’ll respect yours.” Jenkins said with a nod. “Anyway, moving on…what’s your plan for when the fighting stops?”
“Well, you already know I was hoping to get a long-term stint on a deep space posting.” Doe pointed out. “Get a few papers done on the effects of minimal gravimetric effects on the spatial plane and how it can be applied to affect warp and subspace mechanics. Not too sure how feasible it’s going to be now, though. We’ll be stretched thin once the fighting ends, I don’t imagine any long-term, deep space exploration and research missions getting launched until we build back up. Wouldn’t want the Romulans or the Dominion getting any ideas then, would we?”
“Or the Cardassians deciding to make another run at Bajor and Deep Space Nine.” Jenkins concurred. “Shit man, that sucks.”
“It can’t be helped, right?” Doe said with a smile and a shrug. “I might as well make the best of it. Who knows? I might find an opportunity, somehow, somewhere.”
Jenkins laughed. “That’s the spirit.” He said, and Doe grinned.
“What about you, though?” he asked. “What’s your plans for after the war? Still planning to stick it out here on Earth?”
“Well, you know me.” Jenkins said with a shrug. “Family first. I can’t really bear to be away from Anna and little Mikey for too long. Maybe when Mikey’s older, I might see what opportunities are available.”
“That,” Doe knowingly said. “Or a chance to move to one of the more-developed colonies turns up. Right?”
“Like I said,” Jenkins said with a grin. “You know me.”
“That I do.” Doe said, before the two of them shared a laugh. It was laughter cut short as flashing alerts began popping up all over their screens, accompanied by insistent alarms, causing the two men to focus sharply on their stations.
But they weren’t the only ones. In their whole section, alarms could be heard from every station, the duty officer rushing from one station to another to confirm the situation before heading over to his own station. Even as he frantically busied himself, sirens began to sound and lights began to flash against headquarters.
“This…this can’t be happening.” Doe whispered. “The subspace communications network across the whole of Federation space is being cut. But…how…?”
“…the Empire, how else?” Jenkins breathed before sharing an apprehensive glance with his friend. “They’re coming.”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Report!” Admiral Owen Paris barked as he strode into the situation room in Starfleet Headquarters.
“The subspace communications network has been cut at numerous locations across the whole of Federation space.” Lieutenant Reginald Barclay immediately said. Tapping controls at a console, he brought up a map of Federation space, then marked out the network in white, before marking severed sections in red. “The computers are rerouting through undamaged portions of the network, but it’s already having a detrimental effect on our ability to communicate with the rest of the Federation. Or indeed, letting the rest of the Federation communicate with us and each other.”
“More than that,” Admiral William Ross added, adjusting the image to add time values to the damage being inflicted on the network. “Based on these values, it’s clear that this is a sustained effort to knock out our interstellar communications.”
“…they seem to be focusing on unmanned relays in deep space,” Paris mused after a long moment studying the map. “And leaving manned relay stations near or inside star systems alone.”
“Makes sense,” Ross said with a nod. “Manned relay stations have defensive abilities, unlike the unmanned relays. That could delay them, long enough for local defensive forces or our own forces to respond. Putting myself in the enemy’s shoes…I imagine these attacks on our subspace communications network are being conducted by small, fast-moving groups of light warships. Not really able to stand up to the reinforced squadrons and flotillas we’re now sending to the field.”
Paris nodded in agreement. “In any case,” he said. “Even if they ignore the manned relay stations, most of the network is composed of unmanned relays anyway. Destroy enough of them like what they’re doing, and the network will be compromised regardless.”
“Like slicing a cake up and taking away every other portion.” Barclay remarked, before flushing and looking down at this station from the unimpressed gazes of the admirals.
“I’ve already dispatched the Fast Response Force to start deploying emergency relays as quickly as possible.” Ross said, and not even flinching when Paris gave him a concerned look. “I know, it’s not really ideal, given our previous plans for the Fast Response Force. But we can’t lose the ability to communicate with the rest of the Federation, or our allies, for that matter.”
Paris sighed and nodded. “Agreed…on both counts.” He said, before narrowing his eyes with mixed frustration and anger. He, Ross, and the rest of the staff officers stared at the map in silent contemplation for several long moments, while around them other officers worked furiously at their stations.
Then, Paris sighed again. “It really drives the facts home, doesn’t it?” he asked no one in particular. “The sheer scale of what we’re facing. It’s not just the numbers, though that helps, as it gives the Empire more ships and men to use against us.”
“A civilization tens of thousands of years old,” Ross said softly. “With technology to match such a vast expanse of time, and led by Humans of all species…but where did they go wrong?”
A pensive silence hung over the gathering. “We can figure that out later.” Paris eventually said. “Even with our enemy’s numbers, plus their superior understanding and application of quantum slipstream technology, an operation of this scale can only be ancillary to an even bigger operation. One that’s either to launch shortly, or is launching even as we speak.”
“Your orders, sir?” Barclay asked after making a dry swallow.
“Sound the alarm across the network, or what’s left of it.” Paris ordered. “Cases Red, Crimson, Ruby, Scarlet, and Garnet are imminent.”
“And Case Emerald, sir?” Barclay asked.
“Let’s hold off on that for now.” Paris said. “Even at their closest, the Empire is nearly a full sector away, and Vulcan still stands. I doubt they’d risk anything that could cause Case Emerald to go into effect.”
“Yes, sir.” Barclay said, already tapping away at his console.
“Will,” Paris began, turning to the younger admiral. “I want you to take the Cerberus, and head out on the field to assume direct command of the Fast Response Force. Stay in contact as best you can, but otherwise…you know what to do.”
“Yes, sir.” Ross said with a nod, before extending a hand to Paris, who took and shook it firmly. “Good luck, sir.”
“Likewise.” Paris said with a nod, and with a nod of his own, Russ left the situation room. Now the lone flag officer in the room, Paris stared flintily at the map.
“…your orders, sir?” Barclay hesitantly asked after a few moments.
“…the enemy will most likely strike at Orion, as we expect them to.” Paris said after another moment. “But given the scale of the enemy’s operation here, plus what we know of their numbers and FTL capabilities, they also have the option of striking more than one critical target at the same time.”
“…Vulcan and Andoria…in addition to Orion…” Barclay breathed.
“I don’t think they’ll attack three critical targets at the same time.” Paris disagreed. “From what intelligence has been able to get from what few prisoners we have, the enemy commander, Admiral Targaryen, prefers to concentrate her forces as much as possible, to maximize the effect of her overwhelming numbers. But, from what we can see here and now, she also recognizes the value of controlling the initiative. She will not want to excessively limit her offensive options, as doing so risks giving us the time to take the initiative from her.”
Barclay looked on in silence, and then Paris looked at him. “She will attack Orion, in order to secure breathing space around the Orion Wormhole.” He said. “At the same time, she will attack Andoria, and secure her left flank before making a move on Vulcan, which will be the jumping-off point for an attack on Earth.”
“…I’ll alert our forces in the Andorian and Orion Sectors then.” Barclay said after a moment of near-panic.
“Make it so, lieutenant.” Paris said, while looking back at the map, and crossing his arms over his chest.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I stared at the chronometer on the tactical display, watching it countdown to zero and the beginning of our operation. The fleet had come out of hyperspace in deep space within the Terran Sector, taking advantage of the sheer vastness of the interstellar void to hide the fleet’s presence so close to the Federation capital, assembled in the shadows to strike at the enemy’s heart.
“Much like the First Air Fleet had hidden in stormy weather amidst the vastness of the Pacific, in the lead-up to the Pearl Harbor attack.” I thought to myself. “Or should I compare ourselves to Lord Nelson’s fleet, hidden in plain sight in the North Sea, striking and sinking the Danish Fleet at harbor to deny it to France and Napoleon Bonaparte?”
Internally smiling a bittersweet smile at the thought, I continued to let my eyes lingers on the High Galactic numerals ticking down. “Earth…” I thought to myself, thinking of our destination, where we would fight the first truly large-scale engagement of this campaign. “…my home in a past life…Humanity’s home in this time and space…”
As the time ticked down to the last ten seconds, I gave a sigh. “…homecomings are supposed to be sweet and heartwarming affairs…” I thought. “…but this homecoming here and now…I’d say it’s bittersweet, but it’s actually more bitter than sweet.”
The chronometer counted down to zero, and both my adjutant and chief of staff turned towards me. I nodded at them both. “Signal the fleet.” I ordered. “The word is yellow.”
Miles Xen, Captain of the Courageous, turned to the bridge. “The word is given,” he said. “Yellow.”
The signal was sent to all ships in the fleet, over a thousand-strong, with a powerful core of over three hundred Star Destroyers. Mostly old Venator Class Star Destroyers, dating back to the recently-ended Clone Wars, but that was a small price to pay to get as many Star Destroyers as I could get.
With the Clone Wars’ end, ship construction had scaled down, focusing less on quantity and more on quality. This was evident in the new Imperial Class Star Destroyer. For all that members of the Imperial Senate – such as Mon Mothma of Chandrila – bitterly criticized the large numbers of ships ordered over the next several years by the Navy Ministry, a look at the bigger picture would actually show less Imperials had been ordered compared to the number of Venators ordered at the height of the Clone Wars. And that would still be the case even if that order for ships was renewed after the current order had been completed. It only seemed otherwise because the Imperial was bigger, faster, and more heavily-armed compared to the Venator, and thus more expensive.
In fact, Sector and Oversector Fleets nowadays were actually shrinking, for all the howling of the pacifists in the Imperial Senate, seeing only the obvious as older classes were replaced by new ones. Unsurprising, in hindsight: with the Confederacy of Independent Systems crushed, and the Imperial Navy returning to peacetime roles, there was no need for the several thousands of ships that made up Sector and Oversector Fleets during the Clone Wars, when forces of up to a thousand Star Destroyers were a common sight.
That, and the Emperor probably didn’t want his moffs and grand moffs getting too big for their boots with the encouragement of having huge fleets at their disposal.
Still, Venator Class ships were no joke, for all that other Imperial commanders were hurrying to phase them out and replace them with newer Victory-II and Imperial Class Star Destroyers. For one thing, they had superior point-defense capabilities to any other class of Star Destroyer in service, and carried more fighters and light craft.
Which I thought rather strange, and not for the first time either. Especially when you think about the fact that Imperial fighter doctrine was essentially just to swarm the enemy with overwhelming, huge numbers of fast, agile, but lightweight and unshielded (if still well-armed) TIE Fighters.
And yet the Victory series and the new Imperials had smaller carrying capability compared to the old Venators. How very strange…
…no matter. Other Imperial commanders might be rushing to send Venators to be placed on reserve lists, mothballed, or outright scrapped, but I needed plenty of ships, and between my experience in logistics at the Admiralty, support from the Emperor and surprisingly, Grand Moff Tarkin as well, I managed to get extended leases on service lives for plenty of Venators as part of my expeditionary force.
Not that I was under any illusions that this state of affairs would continue indefinitely. I needed to get results, and fast, or my ‘sponsors’ would start getting impatient at the cost of my health. And once the campaign was over, I doubted the Emperor would allow me or anyone else to keep such a huge force together.
That said, (real) results should start coming soon.
And the campaign was far from over. In fact, it was only really starting to begin right now.
Looking out through the bridge windows, I watched Vice Admiral Tyron-Hu Tye’s Fifth Battlegroup breaking formation, advancing ahead of the fleet. Minutes later, the ships of the battlegroup seemed to accelerate impossibly fast for an instant…
…and then they were gone, jumping into hyperspace for the few minutes-long trip to the Sol System, the vanguard of Operation Yellow flinging itself as a spearhead driving deep into the Federation’s heart.
“May the winds flow fast and true, as your wings carry you high, flying through Valyrian skies.” I softly said in High Valyrian, and drawing the attention of my staff officers.
“Ma’am?” Vice Admiral Torrhen Yaggos, my Chief of Staff, asked.
“It’s an old benediction,” I said. “Going back to before the Valyrian Freehold joined the Galactic Republic between three…four thousand years ago. The old priests used it speak it while sending off our ships to sail the stars, to fight against each other, the Hutts, and others encroaching on our space. Those priests are all but gone now though…but even now, some of us still remember, and speak the words when we head out into space, or to war.”
I paused, and gave a short chuckle. My staff officers stayed silent, all of us staring at the tactical display. Minutes ticked by, and then new data began coming in through subspace, of the Fifth Battlegroup emerging from hyperspace three planetary diameters from Earth. Other data included information about the enemy fleet present, the planet’s orbital defenses and facilities, and the battlegroup’s disposition.
“And so it begins.” I murmured, narrowing my eyes as the bridge hummed to greater activity.
