6 - Blackout 
Polyphemus Base
Polyphemus, Union State Provisional Military Government
Asterian Union State
June 11, 0121 R.C.
The convoy proceeded down the stretch of road, approaching the military facility. Not a full day earlier, it had been the brutal climax of fighting on this landmass—its surrender marking the end of hostilities across the broader colony.
The rest of the command party had joined the admiral aboard the BTR-24K, accompanying him in his tour of the colony. Of the three landmasses on Polyphemus-1—and the additional three on Polyphemus-2—this was of most importance to him, as Polyphemus Base would be a relevant garrison if they were to fortify this place. Furthermore, the sheer amount of forces defending the colony had earned the merited suspicion of the admiral. There was more to this base than intel let on, he was sure.
They had toured through the colony, making brief stops here and there. The culture of the locals was of immediate curiosity to the admiral, starkly different from any other Coalition colony the Union State had thus far occupied. Needless antagonism was out of the question—not when they needed to hold this place in the chaotic interim.
Overhead, night had set in, save for the single solar array that’d been damaged during the fight. A beam of stray sunlight trailed in, painting an utterly unnatural scene within the colony.
“The colony’s power output is suffering due to the damage,” noted Lin. “If we are to stay here, it’ll need to be repaired.”
“Indeed,” concurred the admiral. “Our relationship with the locals will need to be one of symbiosis—they need their nightly rest, and we need this colony at full operating capacity to manufacture our supplies.”
“Magnetic diskettes containing all essential production templates will be uploaded to Polyphemus’ central computer,” Lin continued. “The industrial facilities at the fore side should be capable of producing anything from a Piirainen rifle to a Bogatyr in no time.”
“We weren’t exactly loaded with a long voyage in mind…” Gil thought aloud. “Resupplying our vessels should be an immediate priority.”
“We’ll deal with all of this in time—first, I need to know what this place has for us at all.”
The fortified gates of Polyphemus Base welcomed them in, the convoy passing rubble and twisted scrap. The fallen form of a lone Bogatyr warranted a frown from Al-Qadi—a single pilot was a terrible loss, especially in the situation they were in. Regardless of their apparent apathy towards the Coalition, the locals utterly abhorred violence—they’d be of no help in any manpower shortfalls. Perhaps they could provide manual labor? The admiral left nothing out of the question.
“This was the 1st fencer company’s work, yes?” Al-Qadi questioned.
“That’s right, sir,” Lin affirmed. “They lost two fencers in this battle. Of those casualties, one pilot perished.”
“We’ll need those production diskettes uploaded post-haste.”
Gradually, the convoy slowed, coming to a halt at the base’s far edge. The facility was built into the aft-end dome of the cylindrical colony, connecting to its industrial facilities and, most importantly, its control center.
As they stopped, the doors flew open, Al-Qadi stepping out to immediate hails and salutes from the Space Infantry.
“At ease.”
2nd-rank Kapitan Davit Bakradze, commander of the 125th Space Infantry Regiment, made his presence known, approaching the commander.
“Sir—we’ve found something that may be of interest to you, per the provisions of the Contingency Protocol.”
“That being?”
Bakradze gestured to the structures ahead of them. “Polyphemus Base contained a research facility… likely the reason for the colony’s elevated security.”
The admiral frowned. “Oprichnik intel said nothing about a research facility.”
“The boys found some kind of incomplete fencer inside. We’ve detained the staff for the time being.”
Lin gave the admiral a brief, skeptical glance. “Hopefully this explains why the Coalition would fight so viciously over this backwater…”
“All that, over a fencer?” Gil questioned, raising an eyebrow.
Al-Qadi kept an open mind. “Let’s see it, then.”
Bakradze nodded. “Very well, sir.”
Broken glass welcomed the command party on the way in, a testament both to the rush in which Space Infantry had scrambled to secure the facility, and to the broader fighting, as a few handfuls of stray impacts had left their mark on the walls. Shards crunched beneath their boots as they walked through the halls, passing workshops filled with computers and incomplete military equipment.
“I suppose it’s convenient for the Coalition,” Gil thought aloud, “hide a high-tech blacksite in a backwater colony full of people stuck in the Middle Ages.”
“Just ahead is the main hangar,” said Bakradze. “The personnel were rounded up for questioning.”
The automatic door ahead of the Space Infantry commander slid open, revealing a large chamber. Mounted in place was a Dragoon variant none had seen before, its surface a glimmering yellow akin to gold.
The incomplete prototype machine lacked any limbs to speak of, the head, shoulders and torso being held in place by a number of large mechanical supports. Arrays of computers of varying purpose were arrayed all across the vast space, all seemingly in the service of the incomplete Dragoon.
Armed troops of the Space Infantry stood watch over a gathering of captured scientists, who cowered under their watchful eye. On the admiral’s approach, one of them stood up, almost immediately being restrained by the grabbing hands of the infantry, rifle barrels pressed against her chest as she resisted.
“Gah—! Unhand me this instant, you brutes!” Her protests came not in any foreign tongue, but in Zalesian. “Y-You over there! You’re the commander of these forces, aren’t you?”
“This traitorous whore—” The sight of one of their own on the enemy side left Lin incensed, her firing hand instinctively reaching for her holster.
Al-Qadi raised a hand, gesturing for the commissar to halt. “Wait—let’s hear her out.”
The infantrymen released their grip. The woman staggered as they let her go, hands to her knees as she struggled to catch her breath. “I-I know it looks bad… but I can explain!”
“It’d better be worth our time,” said Gil. “You should know well enough what happens to defectors.”
The woman’s hands trembled as she struggled to adjust her glasses. “Gh.. I’m NOT a traitor! P-please, just let me speak!” The eccentric scientist seemed close to an anxious outburst, nervously tripping over her words while she rocked back and forth.
Al-Qadi intervened, gesturing to his subordinates to stop as he drew closer to the woman. “Please—I will not allow this needless torment. What is your name?”
“M-my name is Revekka Ivanovna Beletskaya, University of Yaoguang… Doktor Beletskaya, had the Coalition’s invasion not callously interrupted my studies.” As if answering an unspoken question, she elaborated, “I, uh, specialize in aerospace engineering… but I would consider myself a polymath—”
The eccentric scientist.
“What are we looking at here, exactly?” Al-Qadi gestured to the incomplete Dragoon.
“That…” Revekka trailed off, either out of hesitation or a desire to create dramatic effect, “…is my magnum opus, my shining knight of gold! It’s a testbed for novel metamaterials capable of vastly diminishing a fencer’s thermal and infrared signature—it’s proven itself quite capable at deterring beam weapons, too.”
“Does it have a name?”
“It’s a modified YF-03A Dragoon,” she continued, enraptured by the opportunity of being able to describe her prized work. “I-it doesn’t doesn’t have a name yet… I wanted to call it the Dragoon Citrinitas, after the term alchemists attributed to yellowness—the third stage of the master work.”
She rambled on, and Al-Qadi’s patience ran thin. “… The Coalition didn’t respond to my requests, so officially speaking it lacks a name, but it is my brainchild—”
“Get to the point,” said the admiral.
“Ah.. um…” Revekka stammered awkwardly, running her hands through her fluffy, somewhat disheveled hair. “The Coalition took note of my talents after I was captured. They put me to work on this Dragoon, gave me all the resources I needed… uh… the metamaterial outer layer atop the Halcyonite armor was all my work… If you’re rescuing me, I’d at least like to file patents once I get back—”
“Do you think this is some kind of game?!” Lin spat.
“N-no, but—”
“We’re in a bit of a situation, return journeys are out of the question,” Al-Qadi clarified, gesturing for both of them to exercise restraint. “If you’re loyal to the Union State, prove it.”
“I-I can complete this Dragoon for you,” offered Revekka. “I just need the necessary materials—we were waiting on a delivery of the necessary parts to complete the fencer. They don’t exactly install these on the colony’s production templates, too high-tech…”
The commissar did not hesitate in showing her distaste for the admiral’s generosity. “You’re going to give this traitor a chance?!”
The accusation elicited a brief outburst from the savant. “I’M NOT—”
“Defector or not, I think she’ll be of use to us.” Gil chimed in.
“Per the provisions of the Contingency Protocol, a Union State commander may utilize all resources necessary in the name of victory,” Al-Qadi said. “Let’s give her a chance to prove herself.”
The three officers exchanged glances. One mindset had clearly prevailed.
“Alright,” Lin conceded with an annoyed sigh. “We’ll spare her for now. But if I see any evidence of sabotage in her work, I won’t hesitate to enact punishment accordingly.”
Al-Qadi smirked. “We’re in agreement, then,” turning his attention back to the scientist before him, he spoke. “You’ll get what you need to continue your work. It’s not exactly Dragoon parts, but it’ll have to suffice.”
“Ah, um…” Revekka seemed to ponder the thought for a moment. “While I’ve never properly dealt with Union State fencers, I’ve worked with enough captured parts. I developed something of an emulator to integrate Asterian systems if need be… The Dragoon should be able to work with Bogatyr parts, but I’d like to take a look at one personally first…”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve heard lots of stories about the mortality rates on those things. Stories you’d never hear in the Union State—” She hesitated in speaking further, noting Lin’s cold glare. “Erm… I’m merely suggesting I could perhaps develop improvements to preexisting armaments. I-if you allow it.”
Al-Qadi raised a brow. “You think yourself more proficient than the engineers at Astmash?”
“N-no— well, the University of Yaoguang measured my IQ to be above two-hundred—” She stopped herself, fidgeting anxiously. “I… merely wish to see if the imperialist rumors of our mobile fencers being bipedal coffins is half as true as they’ve claimed.”
The admiral hesitated, mulling over the matter. “There’s a destroyed Bogatyr within the facility premises. I’ll allow you to take a look at it until we load our production templates into the colony’s central computer.”
At the offer, her eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and glee. “O-of course!”
“We’re going to be here awhile,” Al-Qadi continued. “So our first priority will be the reconstruction of Polyphemus Base. Due to your apparent importance in the Dragoon Project, I’ll leave Kapitan Lin Qingru to oversee your performance.”
The joyous spark quickly faded from the savant scientist. Lin stared daggers at Revekka, warranting a nervous fidgeting twirl of her hair. “O-oh…”
Al-Qadi turned to the Admiral Khasanov’s commissar. “Make sure she doesn’t stray too far from the base, yes?”
A devious smile crept its way upon Lin’s features. “Of course, sir.”
Polyphemus Base
Polyphemus, Union State Provisional Military Government
Asterian Union State
June 12, 0121 R.C.
Asya was done fixing the portrait of Vozhd Loginov to the new office’s wall. With its eyes now watching over the whole room, she stepped from behind her seated superior. Her sluggish steps had intended towards the out-of-place “kitchen compartment,” yet the presence of a familiar painting she had yet to notice stopped the Michman in her tracks. She knew the drawing was a fine work of art in its completion, yet the reminder of Irakly, even with his face under haphazard cover by a piece of cloth, was still too fresh and too much.
“It’s beautiful, sir.”
She told Attila—without a look in his eyes, before making haste towards the blini batter she had left on the counter.
“Malenko,” the man called. “If you’re uneasy… you can take your leave beforehand.”
She donned the apron she left there back on, her words slow to come, “I’ll… be fine.”
Attila didn’t say anything more. Knowing him, she could imagine his nod, as if to assume he had done his best to inspect his subordinate’s wellbeing.
In the meantime, she busied herself with his coffee—one to be had before his breakfast. Unlike onboard, making coffee in 1g is much more familiar. Yet unlike onboard, Polyphemus Base as a whole was an unfamiliar environment. There, too, was that lack of something else… or rather, someone. All that talk about 1g, only for him to not be able to relish in it.
She shook her head, in part to rid those tears forming on her scowl, while also doing away with drowsiness from the previous night’s sleep—or lack thereof. Her mind toyed with the thought of having a coffee for herself. Attila’s drink being done snapped her out of it. Her eyes turned to the machine: there was only enough coffee for another serving, but that was a worry for later.
“Your coffee, sir.” She brought the mug, an average 1g drinking vessel, to her superior.
“Thank you.” The genuine politeness was uncharacteristic of Attila. The follow-up as he downed half the mug, however, wasn’t: “Please bring my smokes later, if you’d be so kind.”
Ever the lounger… And yet fetching things for him was the only way to get her mind off Irakly for the moment.
Knock knock knock.
Three light taps on the door startled Asya. They had orders regarding a new member for the platoon, she just wasn’t expecting said person to come so early.
“I-I’ll get it,” Asya announced, the apron still on her. She opened the door to reveal a girl of middling stature, with complexion a pale shade of olive, eyes brown donning glasses, hair long and dark with straight frontal fringe and small sidelocks. In her hands were most certainly her military ID, and the Prostasist Party’s handbook.
“E-excuse me,” the girl asked in a light eastern accent, as she puffed her chest up and straightened her pose, “would this be where I could find… the leader of the 1st Company’s 2nd Platoon?”
“Yes,” Asya said, deliberate and slow in her speech and nodding.
The girl held both things she carried tighter. “May I come in?”
“Yes, please.”
Asya widened the entrance for her, as she took a light bow before stepping in, and saluting the man seated at the desk. “Michman Yen-Minh Vu, former 2nd Fencer Company, sir.”
“So you’re who they’re sending us?” Attila questioned with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes sir. Please forgive my tardiness, as I was having trouble navigating through… the damaged buildings and engineers. M-my ID, sir.” Yen-Minh set her booklet-sized document on the table, while holding onto the much girthier party handbook.
The man chuckled and took a sip from the mug. “It’s fine, Malenko, I’ll take it from here,” he told Asya, who nodded and trailed back to the kitchen. His hand then reached for the ID, and opened it, only to find what he looked at illegible.
The new arrival.
“… I can’t tell what language this is supposed to be.” Attila’s lips curled up in confusion.
“Sir, the Zalesian translation is one page over!” Asya said over her shoulders, noting in the meanwhile the new girl’s confusion at her making blinis in the kitchen.
“How do I not know this? I really am terrible with paperwork…” Attila shook his head as he flipped the page. “Ah, yes. Michman… Yen-Minh Vu. How should I address you?”
“My family name would be fine.” As if to preempt something that happened to her often, she added, “That would be Vu, sir.”
“Alright.” He put the ID down, and looked Yen-Minh square in the eye. “What else can you tell me about yourself, Michman Vu?”
The brief silence caused Asya, by then nearly done with the blinis, to glance back once again at the bespectacled girl, whose face had gone red. Some apparent thinking later, she began.
“I am deeply honored and grateful to have been reassigned to the platoon and company. It is not that I do not mourn the loss of most of my comrades in the 2nd company. Rather, I wholeheartedly believe their sacrifices were not in vain, as the Party, the other survivors and I would never forget, and forever hail them as Heroes. They have contributed their blood and bones for the defense of our Asterian Union State, and the liberation of nations and humanity. In that capacity, they, as well as I, have been and will always be part of the vanguard to protect and advance the cause of our Union…”
Despite his best effort, Attila couldn’t help but slouch just a bit in his chair, his eyes trying their best to stay open. Asya, having prepared a tray with blinis, coffee and cigarettes as his breakfast, could only look on as the girl opposite him delivered that zealous speech, herself reminded through it of both the reason for her service… and the heroism of Irakly. She turned away and picked up another package of coffee to distract herself, with the intent to have something in advance for another pot of coffee…
But it was well past the expiry date.
Something awful clicked inside the mind of Asya, as her mind was flooded with the imagery of her staring in helplessness as the first-aid foam failed to coagulate around Irakly’s wounds. It was, with no exaggeration, only yesterday that she had to watch his dying smile in her hands; and all that was coming back.
She stabilized herself by the counter and blinked profusely, her entire frame trembling from the memory. Every breath was difficult all of a sudden. She was out of there, or so she reminded herself. She tried to control those tremors, but it was no use. Attila still wanted that breakfast, and it wasn’t as though she could shirk that duty… Nay, that chore. So she grabbed that tray, and told herself to push all that away from her mind.
“… I hope to serve loyally and faithfully, sir. Please assign me my first orders.”
“Fetch me another coffee.”
Something resembling immense shock invaded Yen-Minh’s expression. At that moment, Asya trailed back in slow steps with the tray in hand, her apron still yet to be removed. A speechless Yen-Minh could only contract into her book and give her the way, as she walked beside their superior while tripping over her sheepish words.
“H-here’s y-your breakfast and coffee sir…” For inexplicable reasons, she muttered “… I-I made it myself…” before she could regain some composure and finish, “… I brought your smokes too…”
She left the tray on the desk, just as Yen-Minh frantically opened her handbook and flipped the pages in utter bewilderment, before stopping on one, raising the cover with its Prostasist Star towards Attila and pronouncing:
“This behavior is unpartylike!”
The accusation did nothing to stop the platoon leader, who instead turned to Asya with a “thank you” before dragging the tray in front of himself, and casually biting one of the blinis. A part of Asya was sorry for this girl, who had to have prepared that eulogy for her comrades, only to be met with this dismissive superior… but all she could do was to look at her. She herself had not stopped shaking at the thought of Irakly’s passing either.
“S-sir,” Yen-Minh tried to gather her courage and speak up again, as she closed the book and hugged it close to her chest.
“Yes, Michman Vu, I truly understand this is a sensitive time for all of us,” Attila interrupted, “but here in the jungle, we do things the way we do to “protect the Union” as you said, not the Party.” In between his composed speech, he poured coffee into his mug and finished swallowing the rest of the blini. “My condolences to the fallen. Still, I would like you to fight on like you said you would, instead of giving the same lectures you get at the Prosomol.”
The girl with the glasses held her handbook in a tighter grip, yet loosened it from her chest. Her countenance had gone red, her eyes unable to bear looking straight at her new superior breaking his fast. In her puzzlesome embarrassment, she led her look towards the Loginov portrait behind the platoon commander; then to the other person in the room, who frowned at her while in tremors; and at last, to a painting in the room’s corner, depicting the likeness of three people with their faces covered under a cloth—it wasn’t hard to discern that two of those were the people before her. As understanding dawned, there was dampness under her eyes as they retreated to the floor.
“I… understand,” her voice cracked ever so slightly, “I sincerely apologize, sir.”
By then, the breakneck eater that was Attila had already cleaned the tray of any sign of blinis, as well as half of the coffee. Perhaps pity had gotten to the man, as he wielded an amount of energy out of character for him and uttered:
“Well, let’s not make it hard on you. Welcome to the—”
The three people of the 2nd platoon were then thrown out of balance by an explosion outside their building.
The alarms kicked off almost immediately, though the damages of the previous day had left them a dissonant, migraine-inducing chorus. Thunderous cacophonies of gunfire filled the air outside, making it blatantly obvious what was transpiring.
All three pilots fell back upon their instincts, Attila vaulting over his desk as he led the charge.
“I-I thought the Coalition forces surrendered!” Asya eked out words between ragged breaths as they made their mad dash through the corridors of the barracks.
Attila could offer no reassuring explanation. “Perhaps they’ve called reinforcements!”
“P-procedure dictates—” Yen-Minh began.
“I KNOW, damn it!” Attila snapped. “If we want any chance at fighting back, we’re going to need to suit up!”
Their lockers were belowground, as were the fencer pens—a common defensive measure against premature annihilation.
Down one of the halls, Asya could see Michman Grigory Kalontarov of the 3rd platoon stumble out of his room in a confused daze. Rustam and Lilia were ahead of him, making a beeline for their fencers as they ran ahead of the 2nd platoon. With his own Bogatyr effectively disabled, Grigory was left without any means of sortie.
“W-what do I do?!” His confused question, uttered to nobody in particular, was answered by a bright orange flash that engulfed the hall in question. Asya felt the wind knocked out of her as the blast in the adjacent aisle rocked the building, toppling the five pilots to the ground.
Asya’s ears rang in the aftermath, yet still she knew what had to be done. Staggering back to her feet, she’d hardly been able to process the young man’s vaporization before she felt a larger hand grab hers, dragging her forward.
Attila mouthed something to her, inaudible over the persistent ringing. Still, she understood enough to keep moving—lest they become like Grigory.
Through the smoky haze, the three pushed on, bolting past their stunned compatriots from the 3rd as they navigated the barracks. The sight of stairs leading down brought relief to Asya—she’d have sighed, were she not verging upon hyperventilation.
Asya descended the flight of stairs as though her life depended on it—for which it did. Only when she had reached the base of the stairs did she finally stop, hands to her knees as she struggled to catch her breath. The pilots of the 1st had beat them to the lockers, already slipping into their own suits with stoic resolve. Jiancheng and Oralbeg were also present, counting the pilots as they arrived.
“Where’s the third?” questioned the commissar. Asya realized in the moment that her hearing was beginning to faintly return to her.
“Last we checked—” Attila turned around, startled as Lilia and Rustam passed him by—his hearing wasn’t all too great at the moment, either.
“Michman Kalontarov’s gone!” Lilia exclaimed, preempting any questions from the company’s leadership.
Jiancheng furrowed his brow. “Suit up!”
None objected to the instruction. Each of the fencer pilots hurriedly climbed into their pilot suits, motivated by the urgency of the situation.
“You gonna carry that thing into battle?” Attila questioned, looking over to Yen-Minh as she nervously crammed her Party handbook into an empty mag-pouch.
“M-My faith in the Party has served me well thus far!” Yen-Minh answered shakily.
Once all had donned their hi-vis orange, their run to the fencers was practically a blur. Asya repeated the same process she’d repeated time and time before, becoming one with her Bogatyr and pulling a 2A43 off the weapons rack. She fetched what magazines she could, loading one in and magnetically locking the rest in place against her machine’s ammunition racks.
“Ready!” She announced over the comm.
“Ready!” Yen-Minh chimed in.
Attila delayed no further. “Go!”
The elevators sent their fighting machines up to meet their attackers, the trio joined by their counterparts in the 1st and 3rd.
Glimpsing the surface, they were met by the sight of Polyphemus Base aflame once more. Yet they were not confronted by the Titans they had accustomed themselves to fighting since the War’s start. Rather, the trio were confronted with six short, monocular fighting machines, distracted by their engagement with ground forces—a pang of confusion struck her for a moment, before Attila voiced what’d run through her mind.
“Enemy Vegter IIs!”
Attila’s ensuing barrage had practically been fired from point blank. The hail of sabots connected with the machine’s side, immediately setting it ablaze and sending the rest skirting behind buildings for cover at breakneck speed. The Vegter was far more agile in its maneuverability than the lumbering Titan, though that came at the cost of less armor—a double-edged sword.
“T-the Compact is attacking us?!” Yen-Minh eked out a confused cry.
“We’ll worry about that later—get to cover!” Attila ordered.
“We outnumber them two to one!” Jiancheng exclaimed. “Force them out of Polyphemus Base!”
As the ill-prepared defenders rose to the occasion, the surviving Vegters found themselves forced to confront unfavorable numbers.
Suppressive fire upon the Vegters from the 1st platoon was enough to embolden the embattled company, to which Jiancheng ordered the 2nd to capitalize upon the opportunity. “They’re overwhelmed—jump their positions!”
“Got it,” Attila affirmed. “Malenko, Vu, you heard the man.”
“Yes sir!”
Designating their destinations with the lingering blips of enemy fencers in mind, the three readied themselves. With a sharp jolt, Asya felt her machine rise from its position, propelled by its thrusters. When the Vegters came into view, she opened fire—landing two topside kills that startled the enemy unit into more frantic maneuvers. Attila and Yen-Minh joined her attack on the way down, picking off an additional Vegter that cast a storm of molten debris with its abrupt and fiery death.
The trio crashed into the concrete feet-first, quickly finding cover among the ruined structures around them. Asya could feel the stims pumping already. She was in her element, now more than ever.
“Two attackers remain!” Yen-Minh announced, having taken count of their kills during the jump.
“Move up!” Jiancheng ordered. “Second platoon, suppress their positions!”
Now it was their turn to cover the company’s advance. Asya, Attila and Yen-Minh rained upon the outgunned Vegters a storm of depleted uranium sabots. As one of the fencers peered from cover to retaliate, a well-placed burst of rounds decapitated it, sending the fighting machine cowering once more.
“I damaged one!” Yen-Minh exclaimed.
The 1st and 3rd platoon advanced, and the ensuing cacophony of rounds spoke for itself. From cover, Asya could see one of the Vegters collapse lifelessly to the ground. That left one…
There was a bright flash behind the row of buildings ahead—then, suddenly, Lilia’s machine rocketed through the structures, kicking up clouds of dust and ash as her Bogatyr ground to a halt.
“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” she screamed. Her machine’s left shoulder still glowed red hot, though for a moment none were certain why—then the headless Vegter charged after her, the beamblade in its hand emitting a beam of hot, glowing energy.
Asya fired—well-placed bursts targeting the machine’s center mass as it boosted towards Lilia. The flicker in its hilt dissipated as the sabots pierced its side, and the machine was claimed by the ensuing firestorm as its fusactor was destroyed. The flaming wreck of the Vegter crashed just short of the Michman’s position, ramming another row of barracks in the process.
“Vegter down!” she announced.
“I-I owe you one!” Lilia mustered between exasperated gasps.
“We’ve pushed them out of Polyphemus Base!” Jiancheng exclaimed. “Now we merely need to drive them out of the colony!”
Attila’s attention was elsewhere in that moment, though—his Bogatyr looked skyward towards the cylinder’s outer structure. Two holes punched through the glass still glowed red-hot, drone swarms converging upon the breach as the colony’s automated systems desperately worked to stem the loss of atmosphere. Outside, explosions filled the stellar void—the fleet was in the middle of battle.
“So that’s how they got in,” he said, moreso to himself than anyone else. “Didn’t even bother with conventional boarding.”
“The logistics of such an invasion strategy would be far from optimal…” Yen-Minh noted.
“Invasion?” replied the platoon commander. “This is a decapitating strike.”