The Druckenwell Planetary Defence Grid
Planet Surface, Shipyard, Low Orbit
Allied to the Confederacy of Independent Systems
Hostile towards all Protectorate forces and allies
[Three Hours Before Protectorate Attack]
It was a fool's notion to think that a planet such as Druckenwell would fall simply because of seemingly inventive tactics. While the display on the Protectorate's front was grandiose, distracting, and overall simply everything it was intended to be, the rear assault had its holes, whether the Lord Protector knew so or not was not of the local military's concern. They had their duty, they did their duty. The first alarm was from movement detected by long-range scanners. The alert flashed under the propped-up boots of a particularly lax monitor, but he jumped at the sudden blaring klaxon. His drink fell to the floor and smashed, while the scanners showed several divisions of unfriendly ships positioning themselves throughout different sections of the system. Activation of a second scanner indicated the activation of hyperdrive cores, and approximate jump vectors. The man's jaw dropped, and he did the first thing he could think of.
"CAPTAIN BRIGGS!" the man's voice cried out across all planetary communication systems, making a certain Cadet wince from the scream injected straight into his helm. The private that had been put in charge of monitoring the scanners was flying through the streets, now nearly deserted from the mass exodus of civilians from the danger zones. The shuttles, tram systems, and every other transport method they utilised had done the job of moving the potential casualties into safer places either on or off-world. His breath came ragged by the time he reached the building where Captain Leonard Briggs, current commander of the regular planetary defence force, was housed.
"Wake, wha' in the blue blazed d'you think yer doing out of yer POST!?" the Captain screamed as soon as the private stepped into the building. One for dress-right-dress and following orders, Briggs was more than displeased that the younger soldier broke ranks, as it were.
"Sir," Private Jon Wake said between gasps for air, "R-report from... scanners... Protectorate movement... hyperspace jumps... on-screen..." he pointed to a monitor, where the alert was blinking as a small red dot. A design flaw for a mass alert to be such a small beacon, but once it was pointed out the reasoning sunk in to Briggs' mind.
"Righ'." the senior officer said gruffly, then headed over to the terminal and tapped a button to open the alert. The bright red border around the screen illuminated his grizzled, unkempt-yet-uniform features in red light while the readouts showed the path of the Protectorate fleet. His jaw clenched, and between gritted teeth he growled.
"Woll I'l b'damned," he muttered, then swept around to face the private, "Wake. Ge' thi' report ta sum'on with enuf striped on 'deir arms ta make it count." he said. His anger went from a loud, military roar to a growling, seething boil. The kind of quiet anger that let everyone in earshot know he was upon the brink of animalistic rage. The game had changed. His choice of wording was careful.
Stripes. Not fancy glowing swords or stars on a shoulder. This would stay within the Planetary Defence, and he would let the Confederate military proper deal with its own shock and awe, propaganda, and other such dramatics. His job was to the world, and right now the Protectorate threatened the world. Simple as that.
[Two Hours Before Protectorate Attack]
In the span of sixty minutes, a lot can change. The shuttles were mostly gone, as well as most of the civilians, but that was not the Commander's problem. His problem was with the miniature fleet that was, if Briggs was correct, moving for a rear assault on Druckenwell.
"Y'see, 'dey're tryin'a catch the C.I.S. folk unawares," he explained, with military calm and precision even with his blood boiling at deceptive tactics from a man preaching justice and standing on a rickety old cot and calling it the moral high ground, "So what we've got'ta do, is prepare for tha'. Turn as many o' our guns to th'far side as we can, and when those bastards show 'deir faces, we show 'em a lightshow dey'll ne'er forget." he grinned at that last part, the desire to watch some hostile ships blaze into inferno setting the fire in his soul alight.
"Move out." he ordered, and the arrayed militia before him snapped to, saluted, and bolted off to their assigned duties. Briggs turned and stared at a command terminal to watch their efforts in real-time. Almost immediately, some local guns were swiveled around to face the open pocket. On the far side of the planet, the defence grid came alive with the messages relayed via global communications network. It was fast, faster than many other systems, and when utilised properly the result could bring tears to a war-hardened man's eye. Could have, but didn't.
Planetary shielding was activated on the far side. The power draw from the currently enforced side of Druckenwell was significant, however the fleet was focused on that side. They had the military power there, and were capable of holding off the Protectorate fleet while the Planetary Defence did their job. He watched on, and the gun emplacements sparked to life in a slow wave. Anti-air, anti-drop pod, and anti-dropship emplacements were the first to activate -- mostly because the long-range emplacements took time to boot up. Briggs was clear to his men. They weren't to do this when they saw the whites of the durasteel hulls. They were to do it
now. To be
ready. To
hold the line until the Confederate military caught wind of the sneak attack. It would be soon enough.
[Ten Minutes Before Protectorate Attack]
Waiting. Briggs and his men had been waiting for the past thirty minutes. Everything was armed, everything ready. What little they could muster, they'd added to their defence. Though, 'little' was a heavy understatement. Through some string pulling, the Captain managed a small army of war droids, a portion of sentient soldiers, and every man he could spare from the ground defence was manning an anti-vehicle emplacement.
"Motion from the scanners, sir." a tech specialist called from behind Briggs, who was pouring over the monitor as though it were scripture.
"On screen."
The amassed force was impressive, he had to admit, but he'd seen worse in his days. The force kept growing as he heard Ayden Cater's voice come over all channels. He vomited in his mouth a little at the propaganda assailing his auditory senses, but swallowed it back down to maintain decorum. As the final note was struck, the fleet was completely amassed and humming with anticipation. Briggs grinned.
"Charge cannons." he ordered across
his comm lines, and the long-range ion and anti-starship cannons began to charge their massive loads. In response to that, the shorter-range guns began to rev up, preparing to fire on a split-second of notice. Then the Lord Protector gave his order. And the Commander gave his.
"Druckenwell Planetary Defence forces," he said, playing up their title in a manner of unusual bravado, "Y'may show 'em who's boss at will." he growled into the microphone. Scanners showed the last transport carrying civilians make the jump to lightspeed. As many civilians as they could move were safe, and that was around eighty percent of them. Then the fireworks started.
The moment the first of the Herald-Class ships entered range, the cannons fired. Ion were first, targeting marks to remove shielding and lay them bare for assault, which came in a volley that gave little-to-no time for reaction. The assault was lethal at the least, and devastating at best. The dropships were met with even less welcome, the guns turning on those next to disintegrate hull and obliterate any drop pods launched to the planet to try and gain an upper-hand at the ground warfare.
Leaning up from the console, Briggs smiled. Even if the damage wasn't as devastating as he pictured, the response time of his soldiers was impressive, and the carnage to the Protectorate ships would be clear by the floating bits of slag that would accompany the shipyard in orbit.
* * *
Rhoujen's senses flared and he threw his helmet on as fast as he could. The hiss of the air seal fell on deaf ears as his macrobinocular display took to the sky and zoomed in. He saw them coming, the ships that fell like omens of doom, then was stunned by the volley of laserfire that the planet's defence systems responded with. He could already hear the sounds of war from that section of the world, what few soldiers got to ground contending with whatever troop had been rerouted to that area. He took a deep breath.
"I guess this is it, then." he muttered to himself, then set off at a walk to meet the guests.
[member="Ayden Cater"] // [member="Salem Norongachi"]
