One Step to the Great War (2)
Having decided that politics could wait until it circled back around, I turned my gaze to TR-7742-III, better known as Forge.
From orbit, Forge looked honestly like hell itself. The display on the Aegis's bridge showed the entire planet laid out before us—a military factory world more than three times Earth's size. It had always had a hazy atmosphere, but now it was beyond hazy; the planet itself was belching smoke. Factory fires in the industrial zones, flames from orbital bombardments, and the barrage of ground combat had sent all that smoke and dust billowing up into the upper atmosphere, shrouding the whole world in a crimson-black fog.
And surrounding that planet, a battle raged.
By the time I arrived, the fleet engagement was nearly over. No matter how much they bragged about their "invincible fleet," sheer numbers were sheer numbers. Push back with our own numbers, and they couldn't win. Plus, whatever my big sister Selene had done despite being outnumbered had already thinned their ranks considerably.
The remnants of the 3rd and 5th Fleets, combined with the vanguard of my Imperial Guard Fleet, made for about three full fleets' worth of Imperial forces surrounding and pounding the Eldra platinum fleet's survivors. It'd be weirder if they won at this point. Unless Yi Sun-sin had suddenly reincarnated as their commander, there was no way.
Silver-white Eldra ships were bursting into flames one by one, drifting as wreckage, or flashing surrender signals and going dead in the water. "One-sided" was an understatement; it was a slaughter.
Selene's 52 ships had put up a hell of a fight, chewing through a good chunk of the platinum fleet's strength. Then three fleets' worth of reinforcements showed up. The result was inevitable. What started as 150 Eldra ships was down to under 30, and even those were fleeing or surrendering.
"Orbital combat is entering cleanup phase, Your Majesty," reported Alexandria Kreuz, my adjutant.
"Sister's ship?"
"Pandora's position in orbit unconfirmed. No Pandora-class debris among the orbital wreckage."
"Then?"
"Two possibilities. It withdrew during combat, or..."
"Or it's resisting on the surface."
"Yes."
I stared at the display. My eldest sister was as battle-hungry as the second one. She'd ram with a cry of "Ship slaughter!" before ever pulling back. So right now, she was probably screaming "Planet slaughter!" while ramming the planet itself, butchering the xenos inside and holding a defensive line.
Infrared sensors showed heat sources dotting Forge's surface everywhere. One over 50km long? Had to be her.
"Looks like Pandora crashed."
"Agreed. Multiple small heat sources clustered around it suggest survivors active on the ground."
"Yeah, figures. Hmm..."
Selene was still alive. Probably. Crashing a battleship into a planet on purpose, then immediately "playing" with the xenos? I suddenly wanted to rescue her right now, park her ass on an administrative throne, feed her whatever she wanted safely, and make her live unhappily forever in eternal bliss.
No matter how I sliced it, war didn't suit her.
"Ground situation?"
"Chaotic melee. Eldra ground forces estimated at 1.9 million—optimistic, even. Reinforcements pouring in fast, somehow. Holding out this long is borderline miraculous."
"That's a lot..."
"Imperials seem to be holding lines separately: Pandora survivors and worker militias. Governor's compound is the key hotspot."
To clear this, we'd need a massive ground op. Orbital strikes wouldn't cut it. Friendlies and hostiles too intermingled—blind bombardment would kill our own. We needed ground pounders to excise the cancer cell by cell. The very best.
"Need some fixers," I muttered.
Giants riders who behead enemy HQs, breach fortresses, turn impossible into possible. That breakthrough power.
"Checking fixer deployment status—"
Hiss!
The bridge doors slid open. A voice rang out from beyond.
"That's why your big sis is here, Your Imperial Majesty!"
Aurora Astraea stood there.
"...Little sis?!"
My second sister. Colonel of the Imperial Army's 7th Giant Regiment. Nicknamed "Napoleon." Minor historical inaccuracy with the gender, but whatever. Twenty-five, short black hair, sharp eyes, old incision scar on her left temple. Asymmetric coat draped over combat armor, slipping off one shoulder; waist holstered with a service pistol and—god knows why—three combat knives.
Behind her, similar figures. Twenty fixers in combat armor, eyes screaming elite. Only Aurora stepped onto the bridge, but I sensed more waiting in the corridor.
"...Huh."
Aurora sis. Out of contact for over two weeks. Here. Why? How? When?
"S-Sis?"
"Long time no see, lil' bro."
Aurora strode in. Two guards moved to intercept, but Kreuz waved them off. She was still a princess. Couldn't block her. Shouldn't.
"How the hell are you here...?"
"Long story. Short version: I was on a fixer op somewhere in the Tertius Arm. Heard about the rebellion. Came running."
"Just like that?"
"Gotta come when my lil' bro calls, right? Big sis duty."
I'd never called her. But details like that didn't matter to her.
"Fair enough... What about your mission?"
I asked cautiously. She'd ditched it, right?
Aurora shrugged nonchalantly. "The general who gave it handed his off to his subordinates and bailed too. I followed suit."
"Ah..."
Dogs take after their masters.
But remember: the scariest thing in the galaxy isn't someone with nothing to lose—it's a lunatic colonel who ditched a general's promotion.
Thinking of her war crimes, she should've been court-martialed, stripped of rank, and toasting private life by now...
—What?! Private?! Ha-ha!! Then I'll get shoved to the front lines more! Demote me to private and ship me out NOW!!
Oh god, she's nuts.
Stacked anecdotes like that, and everyone half-gave up on her. Her boss? In my memory, a madman popular with grunts for dumping officer rations on them, but loathed by officers.
Birds of a feather. Balanced ledger of merits and atrocities.
Anyway, she'd dragged her fixers along after dumping her mission. Chain of command crumbling from the top? Loyalty overriding orders? Probably both.
Aurora turned, beckoned. Soldiers peeked from the corridor.
"Lemme introduce: Caesar Brigade."
Aurora's command. The Imperial Army's cra—er, most elite unit. Three regiments: Lacedaemon, Spartan, Athenian.
Lacedaemon: Aurora's original fixer unit. All certified fixers, elite of elites, her most trusted vets.
Spartan: Next-gen, trained by Lacedaemon instructors. Young, rabid psychos.
Athenian: Mobility and smart tactics. Others "smash straight through"; these "flank and smash." Pluggers.
Together: Caesar Brigade, led by starless Colonel Aurora Astraea (general in spirit).
Brigade commanders were usually brigadiers, but she was competent! (Not nepotism from royal blood, nope.)
Thanks to that "backup," her record was littered with "autonomous judgment under mission-based command." Translation: "Ignored orders, did my thing." Results were good, so... fine?
Ambiguous for court-martial or promotion. Anyway, eternal colonel shows with Caesar Brigade.
"Sis."
"Yeah?"
"Go handle the surface yourself."
We needed fixers; galaxy's best was right here. Direct request: fastest, best.
Aurora crossed her arms. Rare verbosity from the taciturn one.
"Ha... But this is army-group scale, right?"
True. Millions of Eldra ground troops; turn billions of pop into worker militias instantly, and army-group is a joke. Add incoming Imperials? Massive clusterfuck.
"Technically, yeah?"
Her eyes sparkled. She had words.
Hm? Oh!
I got it. Genie emperor grants wishes? Estimate's in; pay up.
"Ah, genie emperor time. One wish granted."
Stars for the army-group op? Starless brigade CO? Bad optics. At least major general; ideally full general. Imperial decree: temp promotion easy. I could make her temp legion commander even.
Aurora replied, "Rebellion, right?"
Her eyes locked on mine. Not blank; expectant, excited.
"R-Right?"
I backpedaled a bit.
"Let's go."
"Huh? Go where?"
"What, first you've heard? Ground, obviously!!!"
"???"
Oh right. Forgot to set rules. She meant that flaming hellhole below.
"What?!"
I yelped. I wanted out of paperwork, not to die. Life goal: "die comfy," not "glorious battlefield martyrdom." War-free life kept nightmares away and workload down.
"Sis, I'll command from orbit—"
"Lil' bro."
Aurora gripped my shoulder with power-armor gauntlet, smiling.
"Don't act like I don't know you're gathering strength while looking like a coward to others. Not to your sis."
Wha—miracle misread? Sis ate the idiot fruit?
"I'm not that dumb. Got it?"
"Nah, you don't get it at all."
"It's fine. As your blood sis, I know how tough emperor gig is. No way I don't."
"???"
Her eyes pierced me, convinced she'd seen my "true heart." That dogshit philosophy pitying me? Gross. No busting the delusion, though. Her definition stood.
"Sis, just take temp division command—"
Her face lit up as I compromised.
"Ooh! So give me stars, you join ground ops, we smash xeno skulls together? Got it!"
She didn't misunderstand; she just refused to.
"No, sis, that's not—"
Too late. She'd turned, yelling to her troops.
"Protect the Emperor!"
Caesar fixers snapped to diamond escort formation. I was trapped in the center.
"Wait, hold on—"
"Departing, Your Majesty."
Kidnapped.
*****
Inside the dropship. This massive Imperial Army assault transport, "Condor-class," was descending from orbit.
Cargo bay: me, Kreuz, Aurora, ~40 Caesar vanguard.
Floor: six circular hatches, one Giant per.
Out the viewport: orbital barrage. 3rd Fleet and Guard ships unleashing merciless energy bolts on Eldra positions. Each could vaporize a city block. Dozens, hundreds raining down, grinding big-eared xenos to dust.
Spectacular. Majestic. Refreshing, hate to admit. Odd feeling rising in my chest—paperwork never evoked this. Liberation? Adrenaline? Battle high? Instinctual thrill at flames over files?
Whatever, heart pounding faster. And it didn't suck.
Comms buzzed. Kreuz answered.
"Your Majesty, ground transmission. Admiral Selene's ID code."
Selene sis.
"Patch it."
Static-laced voice filled the bay. Tired, but alive.
"...Leo, you there?"
"Here! Sis okay?!"
"Alive. Rammed Pandora into the planet, built forward base on surface. Holding. Eldra ground forces still thick, but orbit's done—orbit support and we clean up. But their numbers feel off. Planet crawling with xenos; ~1.5 mil here. Heads up."
"Got it. Heading ground now—"
"Wait, you personally? Command from orbit!"
"...Complications."
Complications = kidnapped by second sis (their term: volunteered). Not important now.
"Anyway, governor's compound priority. Worker National Salvation Committee or whatever holding, but losing ground. Help them first."
Sis seemed stable, asking aid elsewhere.
"Roger."
"Thanks. We'll hold."
Comms cut amid static. I pondered.
Damn... wanna save everyone at once.
Sky full of fleets prepping for unknown follow-ups. Minimal for bombardment. Xeno attack reason unknown, but no guarantee no more. Tricky.
Intel would figure it. They ate enough budget.
"Our pretty just tailing the Emperor?"
Aurora eyed Kreuz.
Kreuz's eye twitched faintly.
"Heard? Straight to that gutted ground."
Kreuz squared shoulders. "As you know, I'm adjut—"
"Yeah, yeah."
Aurora waved her off, turned to me. "Didn't wanna say our bro's a virgin spinster at his age—"
"Fuck off! Quit bullshitting and hit dirt!"
I snapped. "We're here!"
"Pfft-ha. Touchy..."
"Keep it up, no promotions!"
"Ooh? I could drop right under you if I wanted."
"I'd block it."
"Brat... feisty."
Why smile like that? I'm single from no free time, not inability. Crowned not even a month—when to date? Papers are my girl; stamps my kisses. Romance is luxury.
Aurora chuckled. "Fine~ Going ahead as His Majesty wishes?"
She stepped on a hatch. It irised open; she dropped into the Giant's cockpit. Hatch shut. Others followed suit across bays.
Mechanical precision; all dropped in triple-transform to surface.
7m fire-wrapped mech giants slicing atmosphere, Lacedaemon/Spartan/Athenian from other ships trailing.
I stayed aboard. With Kreuz, six guards.
"...We descend slow."
Scared shitless.
Be careful. Big tough ship or unlucky steel coffin.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Kreuz ordered pilot. Safe LZ descent.
Boom!
Atmosphere entry; viewport glowed red. Surface nearing: ruined factories. No intact buildings; trenches between, synth (Terminator) and human/xeno corpses mingled, barricades, Giant wrecks.
...This why orbit's better.
Regret hit, but too late. Dropping, committed.
Thud!
"?!"
Impact shook us; panels flickered on-off, some dead.
"Gah?!"
Kreuz stumbled; I instinctively braced her back.
"Y-You okay?"
She noticed my arm, eyes wide, then flushed.
"F-Fine, Your Majesty... Th-thank you."
She coughed, straightened; I withdrew. Brief fluster.
Shook again; I yelled at pilot. "Pilot! What the hell?!"
He turned, face ashen.
"Xenos hit us with EMP! They broke the Great War Accords!!"
EMP. Electromagnetic pulse. Fries electronics. Post-galactic war "Wartime Banned Weapons Accord" explicitly forbade atmospheric use.
Empire built 'em secretly, never used. Would've swept fleets otherwise.
Petty Eldra: losing, so cheat.
Condor had dual circuits for "just in case," but they'd specialized—nav/comms dead.
Kreuz steadied, furious. Honor-bound guardsman; real rage at violation.
"Bastards did it?!"
"Hit dirt fast! More EMP airborne fries engines!"
True. Pilot checked. "Your Majesty! Empty trench ahead post-skirmish! Emergency LZ there!"
Display: 2km from governorate, no-man's-land between our trenches/Eldra lines. Firefight paused; second sis rampaging nearby.
Risky, but best option. I tensed, calmed, eyed pilot. Sweat-drenched, gasping strain.
Shit. Don't crack on me!
Land first, pass out later. Boost morale.
"No chit-chat. In this bird, you're emperor."
His eyes bulged. One sec later: fear gone.
"YES, SIR!!!"
Roar; hands clamped stick. God-pilot mode: no trace of prior fumbling.
"Raaah!!! Emperor's watching!! Clear the way!!"
Radio bitching about shit flying?...
"Shut it!! Emperor's in this bird!!!"
"Wha?! Blasphemy—"
"Emperor approved!! Yoo Hyuk's piloting recognized by His Majesty himself! My era's here...!"
Machines dancing Cossack despite him; nosed flat no-man's-land.
How?!
Surface rushed up. Implausibly stable emergency landing. Pilot skill: chef's kiss. Relief sigh.
Sa-survived.
Relief swapped instantly.
Rear ramp: open.
Wh-when?!
EMP unlocked it.
Opened mid-descent; I'd wandered near—excitement blanked memory.
"...Huh."
Battlefield beyond: horrific. Smoke-choked red sky; no-man's-land strewn with trenches, barricades, debris, scattered meat chunks.
Gonna puke.
But nah. Just stood on ramp slope. One step: out.
Wanna retreat. Body locked rigid; left hand gripped overhead bar.
21yo emperor: combat armor, gold-embroidered imperial jacket, frozen at open ramp, one hand high, battlefield smoke/flames backdrop.
Hiss!
Full stop. Relief. "Phew... really safe n—"
Released bar. Before weirdness ahead.
"God incarnate...!"
Trembling, reverent voice from ramp base. Woman knelt below. Bandaged face (torn, bloody), greatsword in right (bloodied), pistol left.
Staring up. Eyes: rapture. Human beholding god.
"God incarnate...!"
Voice cracking. I met gaze; brain spawned triple question marks.
??? What. Why 'god'? Just froze at ramp.
Wait. Angle's weird.
Looked down at kneeling woman. Curious my reflection in her eyes.
What'd I look like? Combat armor, gold jacket, atop open ramp, arm raised high, silhouetted in warfire/smoke.
"...Ah."
Not planned. No time explain.
Her rear: dozens/hundreds militia cresting trenches, bayonets fixed, advancing on ship.
They knelt one by one.
"Emperor...!"
"He's here...!"
"He descends!!!"
"Long live the Emperor!!"
Hundreds kneeling mid-battlefield toward me.
Click!
Adjutant snapping pic behind? Whatever. I just stood, baffled.
...Fuck. What is this?
Goddamn, seriously what?