29. The Making of the Ram Horn (5)
"Get out!!! Get the hell out!!!!!"
Like an apartment chairman chasing out intruders, Aurora and Lilian were half-forced onto the orbital track. Despite their brilliant battlefield records on the surface, Emperor Leo Astraea—ever the caring little brother—had decided the Eldra's fury might put their lives at risk. So he "graciously" ordered them into a safe, legal retreat to orbit. Of course, in Xeno slang, this was straight-up exile, and since it came straight from an imperial decree, the two had no choice but to comply.
"Both of you, up. Right now. Don't set one foot off this orbit until I say so. Absolutely not!"
"Little bro, we were just gonna bring back the enemy commander's head—"
"That's the problem!! I was in the middle of a peace speech, and you drag that onto live broadcast? You think the pointy-ears are gonna understand?!"
"Aww, our little bro's sleep-deprived and cranky—"
"It's not about being cranky!! You've screwed the diplomacy!! Get up!! Right now!!!"
"Hold on, little bro. Let's talk this out like civilized—"
"From this moment, I, Eldra Dickhead, have decided—in true Xeno fashion as a non-civilized being—to stop understanding you barbaric human dickheads. So fuck off. And stay off."
And just like that, Aurora and Lilian were loaded onto a shuttle and shipped up to orbit, assigned to a corner of the bridge on the Dreadnought-class battleship Bellerophon from the 3rd Fleet. "Assigned" was a polite way of putting it—it was more like exile, but relocated all the same.
"...Boo hoo."
Betrayed by her little-bro-turned-Xeno-diehard, Aurora peered down at Forge's surface through the bridge's observation window, her face genuinely crestfallen.
"Well! At least we roasted 'em good."
She turned to Lilian, trying to console her.
"If Dad had seen that, he'd have chuckled, 'Hoho, just like my young self!' and praised us!"
Aurora clenched her fist with a sigh.
"Damn, such a shame."
Lilian chimed in cautiously from the side.
"I think we might've slipped up somewhere. The results were great and we got praised for them, sure..."
She was right. The decapitation op had been a smashing success. They'd lopped off the Eldra ground forces' commander and deputy, thrown their chain of command into chaos, and bought time for friendly forces. Objectively, a triumph.
Sun Tzu's Art of War called it this: "If the sovereign is ignorant of the army's conditions and interferes with its operations, he will breed doubts among the troops." That's the mission-type command structure in a nutshell.
But the emperor didn't get it. Why? 'Cause he was still young, swimming in female hormones or whatever, making his heart all soft. Deep down, he wanted to wrap up both big sisters and protect them forever.
Of course, the real reason they'd been booted was parading the decapitation results—severed heads on a gold platter—right in front of the emperor during his live peace speech, prompting him to mutter, "Hmm... shoulda brought 'em alive after all?" But to these two space marine-brained characters(?), it was just a minor diehard-Xeno hiccup. Dead Xenos were good Xenos, after all.
Aurora put on a serious pondering face.
"Hmmmmm... I just don't get it."
Lilian tilted her head.
"Alive, you mean?"
"Yeah, like... if we'd taken prisoners, we could've interrogated them or something. So maybe that's why lil' bro got mad—'cause we only brought heads."
"Ah... could be a practical reason like that."
Their "reflection" wasn't heading anywhere productive, but no one on the bridge was around to point it out. The moderates had gone naturally extinct during the Great War anyway—only hardliners left.
Then the bridge doors slid open. In strode Martin Schwab, commander of the Bellerophon and leader of the 3rd Fleet's 7th Battle Squadron. A clean-cut man in his early fifties, decked out in a crisp navy uniform.
"Ladies, please prepare yourselves."
Aurora whipped her head around.
"Prepare?"
"Yes. Oh, no—not to go anywhere, I mean. We've detected an Eldra fleet inbound. Just thought you'd want to brace for potential shocks."
Fire lit in Aurora's eyes. The regret from moments ago vanished, her battle mode kicking in instantly.
"What's our job?"
Schwab smiled as he replied.
"Haha, probably nothing."
The fire died.
"Why?"
"His Majesty emphasized—no creating situations where Little Sis or the Governor get hurt."
Aurora's jaw dropped. "Don't get hurt"? Telling a Troubleshooter that was like telling a fish not to swim. Troubleshooters were hell-divers who plunged into infernos! Demons belonged in hell, not heaven.
"My mission is to exterminate the pointy-ears—and keep you two safe in the process. That includes the Troubleshooter Brigade and Human Brotherhood who came up with you."
Behind the commander's smile—at galaxy's top Troubleshooter and fanatical governor as VIPs—lurked the agony of "His Majesty's orders leave me no choice."
"Any guarantee we win?"
Aurora's question got a confident nod from Schwab.
"We've advanced endlessly since the Great War ended. Sure, those war crime-loving bastards might try EMPs, but we came prepared with top-tier EMP shielding. No worries there."
Technological superiority—par for the course. The Imperial Navy hadn't wasted those decades post-Great War. EMP defenses, next-gen energy shields, advanced turret systems—all built on wartime lessons.
"Quite the confidence."
Lilian noted.
"Not confidence, Governor—skill."
Schwab kept smiling, pointing to the forward display.
"You'll see the might of the Human Empire soon enough!"
"Mmm...!"
And Lilian was genuinely hyped.
Then the Eldra fleet arrived.
"That's a lot..."
"Sure is...!"
Warp-out flashes lit the system outskirts, space tearing open like rips in fabric. Silver-white ships poured through the gaps.
Schwab read the sensor data.
"Enemy fleet confirmed! 40 battleships, 80 cruisers, ~150 small craft—total around 270. Hmm... right in expected range."
He grinned.
"Now those bastards become another star lighting up this galaxy!"
The bridge crew roared in response.
Imperial fleet strength: ~400 ships. Numerical and tech edge—how could they lose?
Then sensors pinged a second warp wave.
"Wha—what? Uh..."
Space tore again behind the first wave, more ships spilling out. Total now: 650.
Schwab's smile twitched.
"W-Well within projections!"
He insisted it was expected, but his face betrayed him.
"The Human Empire won't lose to some numerical horde, right?"
400 vs. 650. Tech edge meant one Imperial ship equaled two Eldra per doctrine. Double up and done.
—Or so they thought. Then a third warp pinged—not one spot, but multiple, chaining across the outer system.
Sensors overloaded. The comms officer screamed a report.
Additional enemy fleet inbound!!! Over 2,300 ships!!
The bridge went dead silent.
400 vs. 2,300. A brutal 1-to-6 mismatch.
"Whoa..."
Aurora sighed at the view. Amid the galactic dark, silver-white ships gleamed like stars—thousands of them. Impossible not to sigh.
"Eldra bastards must be shitting bricks, whatever sparked this."
Aurora clicked her tongue.
"Badges say they scraped every Eldra warlord fleet except the Human Brotherhood."
Spot on. Sensors showed a mishmash: Platinum Fleet (those Forge losers' reinforcements), Golden Fleet, Obsidian Fleet, Silver Moon Fleet—every Eldra warlord's markings jumbled together.
The warlords had united. Every Eldra faction bar the Human Brotherhood had miraculously coalesced.
Schwab's confident grin froze, but as a soldier, he couldn't show fear.
"Th-This... it's a lot, but we can't back down!!!"
He bellowed with forced gusto.
"We won't lose! Why?! 'Cause we're the galaxy's superior warriors!!"
The crew stifled their terror with cheers. He commanded:
"All fleet!!! Battle stations!!"
* * *
Quick sidebar: how'd things spiral this bad?
First off, humanity is a powerhouse warrior race. Not self-praise—objective fact, acknowledged by nearly every galactic species.
Roots trace to pre-space Earth history: humans gassed each other in chambers, lopped off heads, slaughtered over religion, race, ideology. Peak Xeno-diehard shit. This madness lasted till Earth unified—and only stopped 'cause external enemies appeared. Historians agree: no foes, they'd have kept killing kin.
Put that aggression into space, conquering the galaxy? Other races terrified. If they do that to their own, imagine outsiders.
Xenos learned one lesson from their histories: gang-ups rule.
Great War: Eldra, Krogan, minor races allied against the Empire. Miracle Xeno Coalition, single agenda—"Kill humanity." Blood enemies shook hands.
Of course, Emperor Kaius VII no-sold the gangbang and wrecked them—a minor diehard-Xeno oopsie—but gang-ups were solid tactics.
The coalition shattered, races scattered. But this time? Different.
Gang-up key two: power. Past alliance had numbers but weak individuals, no unified command—rabble.
Now? Eldra alone. Warlord-era fractured fleets unified.
How? Two reasons.
One: Human Brotherhood. "Fellow Eldra mutilating ears, posing human, killing Eldra for humans." Outrage unified them. Traitors/public enemy—exterminate the Brotherhood bound the warlords.
Two: that damn gold platter. Leo's peace speech interrupted by live-feed severed Eldra commander head? Hardliners and moderates in the Eldra union concluded: "These human psychos ain't negotiating."
Rational: if forgiving, no space-IS-style live-decap broadcast.
All warlords assembled Avengers-style. White Fleet core, integrated warlord navies—total 2,300 ships barreling at Forge.
Bellerophon bridge. One hour into combat.
Things weren't peachy, contra Schwab's bravado. 400 vs. 2,300? Tech edge couldn't bridge that.
Doctrine's "one Imperial = two Eldra" assumed equal footing. 6-to-1? No such thing.
Empire fleet buckling. At the rout's heart: one ship.
"Whoa... that fucker's tough."
Aurora stared out.
"Their flagship... shells bouncing off? Nah, imagination?"
Not imagination. Eldra Combined Fleet center: massive ship, pure white, 70km Leviathan-rival. Pride of Eldra Navy, White Fleet flagship—tanking everything raw.
Imperial main guns focused it, but shells vaporized on shields pre-impact.
"That's... a phase barrier?!"
Schwab checked sensors.
"Eldra's latest defense... those bastards had the budget? No way... shifts attack energy to another dimension. Can't penetrate with our tech!"
They'd dismissed pointy-ears as inferior shell-crab-lovers. Forgot: survivors grind R&D too.
Can't kill it? Can't shift battle.
But impossible.
Aurora smirked.
"Heh... things twisting up, huh?"
Lilian pointed to another screen.
"Those dropships heading planetside. Shouldn't we stop 'em?"
Dozens of Eldra landers exploiting orbital chaos, breaching atmosphere. Reinforcements punching through to surface.
'Selene-sis is gonna have a rough time...'
Aurora unwittingly fretted over her sister.
'She'll hold. Girl's got the chops.'
Schwab's face had long crumbled to despair. Confidence stripped, raw desperation bare.
"Guh... a-any way out?"
Question aimed at Aurora.
She uncrossed arms, blank face blooming into a toothy grin.
"Ram time?"
"No way... we're short ships as-is. And not 5th Fleet. Our hulls ain't that hopeless."
"Sigh... one option left then."
She stroked her chin, eyeing the behemoth outside, nodding.
"Alright. Get me a fast shuttle, some guns, and my Troubleshooter kids—ASAP."
Schwab's eyes bulged.
"No way...?"
"I'll steal that battleship...!"
"...Sh-ship murder?! With a shuttle?!"
Like Pandora crashing a planet, Aurora'd ram the enemy ship. Shells fail? Use non-shells. Slam shuttle aboard, Troubleshooters storm bridge? Shields block external only—inside's naked.
Aurora leaned to Lilian.
"Looks like two heads on a platter was too stingy for our emperor, Governor."
Lilian's eyes sparkled.
"Imagine his joy at a whole ship as dowry?"
Her grin matched Aurora's.
"Hell yeah!!! Let's roll!!!"
Schwab panicked, sweating bullets amid their frenzy.
'N-No, must protect! Can't defy imperial order!'
"Uh...? W-We ain't 5th Fleet—"
"Gazua!!! Martyr ram!"
"Martyr ram! Martyr raaaam!!!"
No reasoning with them.