The Great Crusade

Introduction

A haggard, aged voiced barked out over the din, Corporal, set course heading one-four-niner all ahead flank! The colossal ship began to list as it came out. Unsecured equipment fell off consoles all across the bridge, littering the ashen deck. Ignoring the heaving and trembling of the vessel, the admiral had sent the fleet back into the fray. The hour was late and the battle about to be decided.

Off the battleships bow rested in wait the last resistance a sea of green and olive drab ships before the wonder of all wonders. The fight at last had been brought to the Enemys home world, a sparkling amethyst gem in the vast emptiness of space. The planet was a single mass of urbanization and perfected architecture, but the Great Northern Fleet had come to destroy, not marvel.

As the super carriers Leningrad and Vladivostok loosed their first volleys of railguns into the line of motherships, launching scores of Bogatyr strike fighters as they advanced, the battered, old flagship charged on into the fray. The scarlet and cerulean hued beams of the Terran fleet crossed and overlapped the emerald of the DomKavash. Fighters on both sides began to burst into flames, while flickers of capitol ship shields sparked as lightning and the snaking contrails fired from the Coalition missile boats began to weave between the formations. Fighter met fighter, patched and scarred freighters met gunboats, and entire House fleets threw themselves at the underpowered Nomad swarms to keep them off the bombers backs.

The admiral, descendant of the legendary Caspar Orillion, was an old, battle-hardened officer. Standing on the very ship that had saved humanity once before, the Osiris was about to be relieved of service at last. Nobody onboard doubted for a moment that this was the last drive, but likewise none believed that theyd live to see the end of the day. Wielding his totalitarian authority over the fleet, Orillion's armada had just jumped in mere moments before. Though many of the ships were familiar, there were several goliaths of alien engineering that had never before been seen. The admiral did not worry though, the Order had come up against new ships before nothing could stop them, not even now.

For awhile the sailing was good. Nomad fighters perished by the mighty ship's guns. The proud battleship plowed through the lines and broke up the Dom'Kavash's formations, opening up a hole for the rest of the fleet to exploit. As the minutes passed, the fight was going steeply in favor of the agressors. The Dom'Kavash were putting up a tough fight, but were dying by the hundreds nevertheless. The admiral smiled as nomad strike carriers were blown assunder, Krakens were broken, and gunboats were crushed with single shots. While the crew remained solemn at their battlestations, the wing commaders shouted in glee over the comm. channels echoing a constanst message of success.

Just as things were beginning to look bright though, a flak burst caught the aged ships prow. A massive explosion ripped through the decks, sending men careening from their stations. Dozens of alarms began to blare and the hull began to decompress While damage control teams raced to save the ship the crew managed to catch a glint of light from through the reinforced windows. Not 10 klicks away was a mass of metal and organism that could not be conjured up by even the most terrible nightmare. From it sprang a thousand golden spheres of light and in a blink of an eye the ship was gone. The Orisis was torn apart and disintegrated, her captain not having time enough to even flinch Dust and glowing, molten scraps twirled about in space. Battered Kamovs and Templars raced into the void to begin torpedo runs; one of the escorts radioed in the loss. For all the thousands of ships coming into the fight, no individual mattered. Most wouldnt even learn of the loss until after their fates had been sealed

To begin this epic, one must begin at the proper place. That place was DK-occupied Menton thirty-five years earlier, when the leader of a Sirius-based faction unlocked the nav-com encryption on the DomKavash Hypergate there. Returning to nearby Sovetskaya without incident, he was able to arm the masses with a knowledge that would turn the tides. Before long the Order, having rallied the combined forces of the militaries, police forces, and criminal factions of Sirius and Altair, took the fight back to the Enemy. United and prosperous from newly-discovered systems (and others wrested from Nomad control), humanity amassed a mighty fleet that, while inferior to the DomKavashs in nearly aspect, was overseen by brilliant tacticians. Using guile and ingenuity the war began to turn in the favor of the long-oppressed. To get a true grasp upon how the universe was won, you have to understand and appreciate the pioneers who championed this time: the fighting men and women of the Crossfire cluster.

At this time humanity was still primitive and divided. Though many ancient organizations still played major roles, it was primarily the power-brokers in the CF region who undertook the necessary parts. There were four sides to things as many saw it. First there were the corporate elite, or the combined influences of the Independent Operators Consortium and the Union Aerospace Corporation. These factions were industrious and capitalizing, but also brought wealth and technologies to the masses. Undermining these groups were the swashbuckling marauders. Groups like the Lost Prophets, Fallen, and the Most Wanted struggled to make a living off of their richer, legit counterparts through murder, smuggling, and taxation. Reigning in these shadier factions were the guardians of freedom and justice. Composing this role were the Blood Guard, Crossfire Police Department, and the Dragon Corps. The fourth, less influential division was those not fighting other men and women, but the alien menaces. Though few exclusively championed this objective, many freelancers and other factions members chose to do so as a secondary goal.

The story begins after the discovery of the Hyperspace tunnel, and will end at humanitys finest hour. Heroes are forged, legends fade away, and death and expansionism are the only constants in a universe turned upside-down. Keep checking in to see the chapters stack up, and try to spot the twists in fate and fortune before they occur. That which follows is a saga, the last great epic of humanity. This is the Great Crusade.

Lol, I'll change it. I'm going to add to this on occasion, this really isn't a story, just an introduction. When I've got 200 pages of it here I'll can it a story

Chapter One: The Company of Eight

As the scientists picked and brushed away at the archaeological dig site, the four pilots were sprawled over whatever furniture they could find in the miserable little outpost. It was mid-afternoon already and the call still hadnt come in from Command. Without a briefing none of them could fly, and if none of them flew they were going to gain some ground.

Cathedral Outpost had been constructed long before back during the Nomad Wars. Possessed individuals from the Liberty Navy and Planetform had flown a convoy deep into their masters space to establish a colony on the planet of Paradise. Here the men and women had toiled to do something. When the Order rediscovered the base some eight weeks ago it was entirely deserted. There was a dig and alien artifacts sorted, dated, and cataloged by the previous team. Though some hidden danger must still exist, the agenda of the faction dictated that it immediately be taken and held. So, while the three diggers continue the last teams work, the super keeps an eye on things and make sure that the pilots sent to defend the base dont wander off too much.

As the hours passed and the sun arced by overhead, the pilots one by one nodded off. It wasnt until around the time that the archeologists had finished their days work that the tell-tale beeping of the long range comm. Network began. The super immediately patched the signal through and was greeted by a monotone, robotic voice. The android specified fleet movements and orders for intercepts, and then signed out unceremoniously. After the call had ended a sheet of paper was printed from a nearby console. He picked up and examined before returning to the dome to awake the pilots.

Look alive gentlemen, weve got our work cut out for us here, he grumbled. The soldiers gave the man their undivided attention and began to pass around the printed sheet showing waypoints and supposed objectives. Nomad Strike Carrier, designated Bravo 1, will be arriving in the system at 20:18 hours. You know the drill: shadow her until detected, and then give em hell. The cameras on the ships have been repaired and Ill expect you to use them, he continued, Since we will undoubtedly fail, your secondary objective is in E2. Tangos 1 through 8 are on patrol and lets see to it that they dont go home. After youve taken the battleship out with your torpedoes, rtb. On your way home you may encounter fighter wing November from the Strike Carrier. Dont leave any stragglers people, the last thing we want is for them to know were here. Are we clear? Nods of acknowledgement were all around. Good, he muttered, now get to it.

The launch pad began to teem with activity. As androids scurried about completing their pre-flight duties, the pilots suited up and climbed into their ships. The fighter of choice here (as it was the only one) was the Horus, which was essentially an Anubis on steroids. The ivory-colored hulks were of similar design and sported the same lines of weapons. Standard equipment on the Horus included a video-reconnaissance pod, two Sunlayer torpedo mounts, a Firestalker missile launcher (in the place of the original cruise disruptor), and four Project Gryphon Cannons. Order-built shield generators and thrusters gave the vessels above-average specs, and kept repair costs down.

While the engines began to warm up, the four pilots secured their helmets and began to switch on secondary programs, life-support, and test charge flow in the offensive equipment. Once the checklists were completed, the fighters engines began to roar deafeningly. While each took off dust was kicked up into a swirling cloud. As the robots fled for cover the ships went on their way.

Soaring up, into the cerulean sky, the four fighters gained altitude. The pilots gazed out their bulbous, cockpit canopies to bid farewell the little island. Always on Paradise the sun was shinning and breeze is cool and lovely. If there wasnt a war on Orbital Spa and Cruise would have pounced on this locale so fast that theyd be coming back to a completed resort after the mission. Each of the four knew that it was certainly better to be flying combat missions from a warm, tropical place than at one of the other outposts, like the frigid Toledo. So, having something to look forward to, they disembarked.

Leaving the fading sunset behind on the surface, the fighters emerged one by one from the hastily slapped together docking ring in high orbit. Forming up on the leader, they charged up the energy necessary for cruise. Then there were no more thoughts of what the next day would bring. No more whats for dinner? and lets play snooker when we get back. With a serious mindset and undivided attention theyd survive. Anything less would be intolerable failure.

As the minutes came and went their eyes remained glued to their instruments. Though their deep space scanners werent exactly top-of-the-line, they would do the job. Once the jumphole was sighted they immediately turned off their sensors and switched to the video pods mounted on the tail-perched turret. Stealth meant relying on the visual rather than the analyzed in these instances. Though the nebula did a lot to tamper with readings, any passing ship could easily identify the radars origins and home in on them.

With streaming, telescopic video in their left-hand monitors, each man brought up the equipment screen on the right. To cut down on power usage they toggled off their guns, missile targeting scanners, and even their cruise drives. If it wasnt necessary it was now off. A short wait from there revealed that which was planned. While the four fighters sat in wait the jump began to glow and swirl. As the light danced faster and faster the pilots hands reached for their joysticks.

There was a blinding flash and there it was thousands of meters long and bristling with turrets, the carrier materialized before them. Though the fighters were ordered to shadow the titanic ship, each out of reflex prepared to engage it. Generally there would be a three-second delay while the ships weapons charged and then all hell would break loose. Much to the pilots surprise though, this did not occur. After a few moments of just sitting there, the capitol ships engines began to softly glow. Pivoting slowly, the carrier set its course in the opposite direction of the base and continued its journey.

Adrenaline pumping, the four matched the targets speed and maintained radio silence. While the wing commander kept the formation on course, the first escort began to examine the carriers hull with its camera.

It was about then that the fighters began to spew forth from the ship. Coming out in trios, Nomad Interceptors launched until their number was twenty four. The drones, completely oblivious to the threat, swept by the Horuses as if they didnt even exist. Once they were out of visual range, all eyes were back on the carrier. What the hell? the pilot on the far left demanded, just as confused as the others. Maintain radio silence! the commander barked, You want to get us all killed?! Negative Epsilon lead, the next pilot over radioed in, Contacts hull displays signs of heavy radiation damage. There is no sensor sweep or even electromagnetic detection underway. Likely crippled and returning to dock for repairs. You mean the damn things deaf? the wing leader asked. There was a short delay while the 4th pilot inspected the hull, Yes sir, this is verified.

This made it a whole new ball game. As all of the fighters weapons and equipment came back online, the wing commander radioed in back to base with an update on the situation. Suddenly there was a thundering clap as a pair of brilliant, crimson blasts shot out parallel to the carriers hull. Immediately, drowning out the swearing of the pilot whose finger slipped, a rumbling like none of them had heard before began to muster within the ship before them. Suddenly the engines loosed back a pair of jets of blue flame and the carrier lurched forward.

Dammit! the commander shouted, Dont let her get away! While they scrambled to get to cruise, the carrier accelerated and disappeared into the inky depths of the cloud. Racing after it in pursuit, the three took turns shouting at the fourth. Fortunately though, the carriers engines had been crippled as well and it was only cruising at the standard 418. As the seconds ticked by the fighters began to creep up on the carrier.

Just as they were about to catch her though, the formation burst out of the far side of the nebula. Immediately they were hailed by a stream of purple beams as a wing of fighters attacked from above. Twisting and turning in evasive action, the pilots evaded the threats cruise disruptors and continued their pursuit of the carrier (which was hardly three klicks ahead of them).

Surveying their surroundings, the pilots became nervous. Eh, captain, one of them mentioned, Were in the southern rim, you know that right? Yeah, he replied, and well go as far into it as we need to. This is suicide, the first escort blurted out, looking through a rear-viewing camera, Weve got a whole wing on our heels and were charging into uncharted space! There was no response though. Up ahead the carrier was beginning to make course adjustments, and after a moment they saw it

You see that? the captain asked. The others radioed in with affirmatives. Radioing in to Cathedral again, he spoke to the super, This is Epsilon lead. We have an unknown contact heading from your position one seven four at a range of 100 klicks. Over? There was a moments pause. This is Cathedral, the super replied, contact is in the Southern Rim. Long range telemetry shows an energy spike in your vicinity. Be advised. Roger Cathedral, any chance of it being a wreck? More silence. Negative, signatures suggest an unknown power source. Its either a station or your stumbling into a trap, over.

Looking out ahead, they found themselves facing a low-density asteroid field. Off to its side was the target, a rocky, slate-gray spire standing all alone. Wisps of nebula gasses were all around, but the contact could be clearly seen Hey, one of the pilots asked, whered Bravo one go? The pilots looked around and then checked their scanners. Oh my God! the captain bellowed, New contacts! Where? the pilot to his left demanded, I dont see them

Suddenly the Horus exploded in a fiery ball of scrap and brimstone. As an entire squadron of Nomad Fighters swung by overhead, there was a low buzzing in the air. The remaining fighters swing around and then there was an electric sizzling. Three carriers came out of cloak right before their eyes and loosed a volley of lasers into the formation before any of the pilots could engage. The other two escorts were blown away in the first salvo, leaving the Captain. The ace rolled and yawed out of the path of the next volley and peppered the lead carrier with his Gryphons, lighting up its deflective shield. Pulling off from the run as he came under heavy fire, the pilot loosed a Firestalker. It snaked its way over to a nearby fighter and exploded in a pulse of blinding, white light. As the crippled target careened into the carrier and exploded, the Horuss engines charged for cruise and fled.

Dropping countermeasures the captain weaved between the enraged wings of fighters and ducked under a few newly-arrived gunboats. Dropping mines, he managed to take a few more of his pursuers. Nevertheless, his streaming video showed behind him an entire battle group in pursuit. As the carriers long-range guns sluggishly passed by him, he raced into the cloud of asteroids. As the carriers peeled off to avoid becoming trapped the fighters stayed right on him, slowly gaining.

In a last-ditch effort, he swung hard to the right and made a break for the station. As the cosmos came alive with shots coming from nearly every direction, his ship flitted over the contacts hull. Cracks and claps of thunder heralded the shots intended for him instead hitting the station. Geysers of steam and bits of rock shot up behind his as evidence. He could not survive this. In just a few seconds his shields had been taken down and his countermeasure dispenser blown away. Coming around hard he armed his torpedoes his left wing erupted in flames and was torn away while chunks of armor melted off the ships frame. The fighter spun about for a moment out of control, but then came back under the guiding hand of her pilot. Reduced to a smoking lance of super alloy, there was only one thing left for it to do

The image of the station raced towards him as watched the relay of the streaming video. He and the scientists flinched as the static and grey of the station disappeared into a snowing cut in feed. They all stood there for the longest time, solemn and grave. One by one they looked away, not saying a word. Captain Deva and his wing were never heard from again. No remains or evidence of the brief fighting would ever be discovered The supervisor sighed in grief and switched off the console.

(chapter will be continued on next post)