Red Glow of Lebensraum (4)
The bridge of the battleship Pandora shakes violently. Ku-woong—! Those pointy-eared elf bastards are clearly pulling some "prank" on the ship.
"Kuh... these fuckers have lost their goddamn minds, dying to turn us into stew!"
It doesn't matter why they're attacking us. What matters is that if we don't win, we'll be the ones turned into stew—and after that, humanity on the surface will be pulverized and served up like dessert. The Imperial Navy's duty is to die before letting that happen.
As the energy shield takes a direct hit from the Eldra ship's main guns, the vessel shudders with tremendous vibrations. With only about 64% shield capacity left, losing a third in just 20 minutes since combat began isn't a good sign.
Selene Astraea gripped the armrests of her command chair, enduring the shaking. The forward display showed the Eldra Platinum Fleet's formation spread out before them: 150 silver-white ships closing in a tightening semicircle, while Selene's 52 vessels maintained a wedge formation inside, attempting a breakthrough.
"Damage report?!"
Selene shouted, and her adjutant Corbel checked his datapad before replying. His voice remained astonishingly calm even in this chaos.
"Pandora's energy shield at 62%, outer armor damage at 12%. Eclipse's shield at 54% with minor hull damage confirmed."
"Fleet damage?"
"Three cruisers moderately damaged, five destroyers heavily damaged, two sunk."
"Fucking hell..."
Out of 52 ships, seven were now combat-ineffective, leaving effectively 45. The enemy had lost eight to our fire, down from 150 to 142. 45 against 142. The odds weren't improving—they were worsening.
Those pointy-eared shits... they've thrown out all conscience and switched to dirty tactics. This isn't the elf playbook I knew.
Irritation boiled up. Who would've thought they'd abandon tradition, reinvent themselves, and come at us like this?
"But Pandora herself can still hold!"
"That's music to my ears—!"
Ku-woong—!
Pandora was a dreadnought-class battleship with a special design. Customized for the 5th Fleet's tactics—Selene Astraea's reckless charges—its design philosophy fundamentally differed from standard dreadnoughts. While typical ones theoretically "evaded" enemy fire, Pandora was built on the premise of taking hits that other ships couldn't, absorbing everything while fighting.
Her frontline role demanded soaking up all firepower during charges, so the flagship's durability and shielding were pushed to extremes. Armor three times thicker than standard, shield output double. Speed? Not guaranteed. She was a massive shield, born to take every blow.
Of course, if you dropped the shields and dumped everything into engines, she could outpace most ships. But by then, you were usually fucked anyway.
"Admiral, additional report."
"What is it."
"Unidentified ships approaching from outside the system."
Selene's brow furrowed. Eldra reinforcements? That would be game over. 150 was already overwhelming; more would make breakthrough impossible.
"Ship types?"
"That's..." For the first time, faint confusion crossed Corbel's face. "Their designs are completely different from the Eldra Platinum Fleet. And the IFF codes are bizarre—like they tried mimicking Imperial codes... but botched it. That's the vibe."
"What nonsense—"
Before Selene could finish, another shock hit, shaking the entire ship. This wasn't cannon fire. Gun impacts rumbled dully through the hull; this was sharp, tearing, metal-on-metal screeching.
"How dare they!!!"
It was a ramming attack. Someone had slammed their ship into Pandora's hull. Alarms blared wildly.
"Portside midsection ram contact! One Eldra corvette embedded in the hull!"
An officer screamed the report. The forward display showed several Platinum Fleet corvettes breaking formation, charging straight at Pandora. Not firing guns—using their hulls as weapons. Suicide ramming. She'd been shipslaughtered.
"Starboard side rams too! Three incoming!!"
"Additional rams on the ventral hull! They're charging to strip our shields!"
This was where Pandora's design shone. After taking so many hits and still standing, you'd think they'd realize something was wrong—but no. So they figured, let's ram once and see. Clever, even genius for elves, making Selene feel like she was fighting humans.
Of course, they'd overlooked that the 5th Fleet wasn't like regular forces. Built for brawls from the ground up, every ship was a tank. Especially this one, designed to eat every attack.
Selene gritted her teeth. Then a grin bared them.
"Who gave you permission?! Who the fuck gave you permission to copy our tactics?!"
They'd learned from the last Great War, it seemed—not wasting time, evolving tactics to corner the 5th Fleet, even resorting to rams. Not getting fired up by this? A sailor couldn't call themselves one.
Selene rose from her chair, bellowing.
"Men!!! Who here gets an 11/10 for slaughtering those limp-dick elf ships?!"
Bridge officers, comms operators, tac officers reading shields, navigators staggering up—all roared back in unison.
"US!!!"
The 5th Fleet. The galaxy's most radical force. "Mission-oriented command" meant "shoot first, report later"—a collective of madmen with proactive physics. In this dreamed-of melee, morale wasn't breaking; it was igniting.
Enemy ramming? They started it.
Selene bellowed in her signature mix of mania and certainty, to everyone.
"The most effective counter to shipslaughter? Slaughter their ships right back!"
She launched into a fervent speech.
"When shipslaughter clashes, the more refined one wins! Matchups and tankiness play in, sure!"
Selene jabbed at the forward display. An Eldra battleship commanded from the rear—likely the Platinum Fleet flagship.
"Target: that limp-dick elf battleship!"
The order dropped. From the bridge, through comms channels, across the fleet—a single roar erupted.
"""SHIP SLAUGHTER! SHIP SLAUGHTER! SHIP SLAUGHTER!!"""
As Pandora's engines roared to max output, Eldra corvettes clinging to the shields peeled off from inertia. Some even dragged along. Pandora advancing with minis clinging like barnacles was grotesque objectively, dignified subjectively, and pure beauty to the 5th Fleet.
Forget tactical finesse—raw mass and velocity physics evoked "holy war." Kids who'd heard parents' war tales after they returned laughing now chased their own legends, uniting in shipslaughter.
The Eldra Platinum Fleet had no choice but to react. Corvettes swarmed back; cruisers unleashed guns. Shields vanished; armor took direct hits, plates peeled, inner walls exposed, compartments breached.
But Pandora didn't stop. She was born to take it all.
And she didn't sink. She hadn't taken everything yet.
"Almost there, men!!!"
"""SHIP SLAUGHTER! SHIP SLAUGHTER! SHIP SLAUGHTER!!"""
To paint the golden throne with elf blood demanded equivalent exchange—our blood for theirs. Sacrifices? Plenty. But wars end without them? Win, and repay tenfold.
Distance to the Eldra flagship shrank rapidly. It tried evading late, panicking—but battleships lacked agility. Pandora lacked it too, but straight-line charges needed none. Fire trucks don't stop at red lights.
Kung—!
Collision. Pandora's reinforced prow—quadruple armor redesigned for ramming—speared the Eldra battleship's port midsection. Silver-white hull tore hideously; organic curves snapped straight, guts spilling to vacuum.
Then chain explosions.
Puuuung—!
Pandora pierced through like a knife halving fruit. Cheers exploded on the bridge.
"""ALL HAIL HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY!!!"""
This was "Make Empire Great Again"—reaffirming superiority through overwhelming power. What a rush.
Selene smirked. Eldra tech was superior, but raw durability? Pandora unbeatable. She was born to take hits.
But there was a cost. Pandora's status plummeted.
"Fuck..."
Ramming recoil wrecked the prow armor; critical fissures in internals. Engines at 60%. Half port weapons offline. Bridge AI screamed, "We're all gonna die!!!"—un-5th-Fleet-like elf behavior. Life support warnings; nav systems redlined.
"Admiral!"
The navigator yelled.
"Orbit unsustainable! Engine drop and hull damage—we've grazed TR-7742-III's gravity well! Decaying from current orbit, entering descent trajectory!"
"Shit..."
Corbel brought ground reports.
"Ground combat update. Eldra Platinum Fleet dropped massive ground forces alongside orbital. ~200 dropships landed; estimated 50,000+ troops. More incoming."
"50k?!"
"Forge's armed worker militias—Workers' Patriotic Defense Committee—holding at the Governor's Palace. But Eldra ground fire's overwhelming them. Erisa Karan sent 'We'll hold,' then comms cut."
Selene's eyes narrowed. 22-year-old welder-turned-revolutionary leading 8 billion in revolt. Badass, sure. Problem: elves dead serious about human stew.
Her workers weren't soldiers—just civilians with seized rifles. No match for Eldra regulars. Unilateral massacre.
That sank in.
"Admiral!!"
Tac officer yelled.
"Eldra ground forces massed planetside! Dense around Governor's Palace, 5km radius—"
"Then orbital bombard as we drop!!"
Selene's order. Bombard while descending—scythe the enemy below entering atmosphere.
Navigator screamed.
"B-but we'll crash into the planet!!"
True. At 60% engines, gravity-pulled descent. Bombard and you'd never climb out—straight crash.
But Selene grinned.
"Perfect."
She bellowed.
"Crash faster!!"
Tac officers and crew grinned back—like they'd waited for it.
"""PLANET SLAUGHTER! PLANET SLAUGHTER! PLANET SLAUGHTER!!"""
The cry filled the bridge. Then every soldier, every deck, every channel echoed it.
"""PLANET SLAUGHTER! PLANET SLAUGHTER! PLANET SLAUGHTER!!!"""
Remaining 60% engines went not to braking—but acceleration. Not fleeing the planet, but charging to slaughter the xenos on it. Reverse charges were elf shit. 5th Fleet did defense or attack only. Retreat? Jesus took it on the cross two millennia ago.
Atmosphere entry accelerated; hull glowed red from friction. Ventral batteries fired—orbital barrage on Eldra ground clusters around the palace. Lightning from heaven.
Ground elves looking up saw a massive fireball punching atmosphere, hurtling mad.
Finally, Selene bellowed from the bridge.
"Arm up!!! We are the ground forces now!"
Pandora crashing; survivors planetside. Ground war it was. Her millions armed: rifles, combat armor, shield gens. Armories opened; quartermasters distributed like maniacs. Brace positions; shipwide broadcast.
"All hands brace for impact! Sealing all bulkheads! Repeat: All hands brace!"
Selene stood, not seated. One hand on armrest, other jabbing display for final order.
"Ram target: Eldra ground base center!! Scythe the dirt with Pandora's prow! Show 'em what a 50km warship can do!!!"
Ku-woong—!
The 50km battleship hit surface, erupting in massive blasts and flashes. Prow struck first, shock rippling through. Glancing angle plowed the base to ash instantly.
As all fell to the shock, one stood: Selene Astraea. Armrest gripped, one knee bent—but standing.
First act: extend hand to fallen Corbel.
"Up!"
Corbel grabbed, rose. Lump on forehead, nose bleeding—but clear-headed.
"Damn. My adjutant's this fragile?!"
Selene seized his shoulder, yelling.
"To purge that limp-dick spirit, we prank the Eldra right back!"
To the whole bridge—fallen officers, pinned comms, dazed navigator at shattered display.
"All knights, RISE!!!"
They did. Selene led out first, foot to soil first.
Forge air rushed in, thick with metallic tang invading nose and mouth.
At the vast furrow's edge from her skid, she surveyed, ordered.
"Build outpost around our ship. Pandora wreckage as stronghold. Deploy all forces fast, fortify lines! This is our base."
Corbel relayed. Armed crew poured from exits; millions of sailors became ground troops. The scale's rush thrilled her senseless.
"Surviving Fixers to second, third, fourth lines."
Giant pilots obeyed.
"Armor and arty to positions per plan!"
Armor: onboard vehicles, supply APCs. Arty: detach surface-to-ground missile pods. Instant fortress.
"...Gonna have to hold long."
Selene thought of palace defenders, pitying. Orbital battle raged on. Ramming bagged dozens—gain—but more foes up there.