2 - A Flash in the Sea of Stars 
Union State heavy cruiser Admiral Khasanov (Pr.11753.13)
Approaching Polyphemus, L4 Development Administration
Coalition of Congressional Nations
June 10, 0121 R.C.
By the time Asya set foot in the port-side hangar of the Admiral Khasanov, the vast space within was already crawling with deck crews. Already the chamber had been depressurized in anticipation of the coming sortie, the scene before her one of ordered chaos. Like ants in a meticulously organized colony, launch crews scurried about, their gestures and motions synchronized to an unspoken rhythm. Each individual, a cog in the intricate machinery of the Kosmoflot, played their part with unwavering commitment.
Lined against the hangar walls were their mobile fencers, all varying patterns of the MR-03 Bogatyr. Little had changed in their design since their inception in the Colony War, save for the fact they no longer required intrusive cybernetic implants to operate. This machine had changed the course of warfare with its introduction, heralding a new age of hulking mechanical warriors that could fight on land, sea and space alike. Even as more sophisticated fencers entered service, the Bogatyr remained the most commonplace unit among the Union State’s mobile fencer forces. Standing at just under 14 meters, they were the smallest of the mobile fencers, making up in speed and agility where armor was lacking.
Asya steadied herself as she weaved through the airless space, coming to a halt before her MR-03U1 Bogatyr obr. 0119. A newer model, it boasted slightly superior maneuverability to its predecessors, with deployable RCS thrusters granting its motions a graceful fluidity—especially in space combat. The downside, however, was that these improvements also sacrificed stability. A shot at the right angle would surely mean the death of her, but then again, such was true for any mobile fencer. Deck crews had just finished loading 20-round 125mm magazines onto magnetic hardpoints situated across the fencer’s torso, giving her the greenlight to board.
The MR-03 Bogatyr, the face of Union State fencer forces.
The hatch leading inside was situated just to the right of the Bogatyr’s head. Unlocking it, she climbed inside. A ladder, running parallel to the machine’s spine, ran straight down to the cockpit and reactor compartments. An antechamber bathed in red light preceded the descent, serving as an airlock. Asya paused, allowing the outside hatch above her to seal. Gradually, air was pumped into the chamber, the light illuminating the space turning a bright green as the second hatch unlocked. Resuming her descent, she made for the cockpit.
Welcomed by the spherical space within, she initiated the start-up procedure as she strapped herself into the full motion harness at the space’s center. Her movements would be one with the machine’s, the harness itself supported by a mechanical arm that would move, angle and jolt in synchronization with the fencer’s own movements. Next came the combat stimulant injectors, their entry points positioned in accordance to key veins. The cocktail, specifically designed for use by fencer pilots, drastically altered their perception and reaction speed to extents bordering on superhuman.
Loud whirs and hums resonated through the space as the Bogatyr’s KTRBM-4 compact fusactor came to life. The spherical chamber lit up in a blissful blue as the screens spanning the walls came to life. The operating system took a solid thirty seconds to finish boot-up, Asya confronted with a prompt once it had.
COMMENCE BRAIN-COMPUTER INTERFACE SYNC?
Y/N
She selected the Y on the screen by looking directly at it, sensors receiving data from her own helmet. Asya braced for the coming synchronization, wincing as her vision was overcome with a white flash and a persistent, resonant ring through her skull. Her spacesuit’s helmet possessed a wireless brain-computer interface system, with a number of pads positioned upon her scalp sending and receiving information at unthinkable speeds. Information in its rawest form, all at once—it was an inexplicable sensation, expanding her perception far beyond the limiting confines of the human form. As soon as the process had concluded, she could perceive through the various optical units, sensors and other assorted systems of her Bogatyr, using them as though it were her very own eyes and ears.
Dark liveries gleamed under the overhead lights, the fencer pilots awaiting their turn in the spotlight. The sleek forms of their fighting machines were poised for spaceflight, with the first of their number already launching. Assisting them were electromagnetic catapults, sending them surging forth into the stellar abyss. Anticipation loomed over each of those present, the fight ahead practically waiting for them.
“Michman Malenko, you’re up after me,” Attila reminded her over the comm, already positioning his fencer upon the catapult, guided by deck crews. “Run a pre-flight check—make sure all servos are in operational order, and fetch yourself a weapon.”
“Got it, sir!”
Right hand, left hand—she quickly checked for flaws, observing as the machine’s opening and closing hand motions corresponded perfectly to her own. Next came the arms, simple flexing motions testing the range of their mobility. The knees and ankles of the machine followed, with Asya leaving the head for last.
“Everything’s in order,” she noted. A rack beside the Bogatyr was stashed with 2A43 assault cannons chambered in 125mm. She took one, fetching one of the magnetically-locked magazines from her fighting machine’s torso, loading it in and readying her weapon as she approached the catapult.
Attila had just got done launching ahead of her—now it was her turn. Stepping forward, she locked the bipedal combat machine’s legs into the catapult’s mechanism, bracing herself for takeoff. Already, her engines were emanating a low rumble, warming up for the use they’d see in the battle to come.
“Be ready, Lvov—you’re up after me.” She looked back to Irakly’s fencer, reminding him of his imminent duty.
“Y-yes, miss!”
“You’re clear to launch, Michman!” The comms officer gave Asya the greenlight, followed by a thumbs-up from the deck crews below.
“Michman Anastasia Igorevna Malenko, commencing sortie!”
The Admiral Khasanov in motion.
Her machine was propelled forward along the electromagnetic catapult, being sent down the hangar thoroughfare before finally being ejected from the Admiral Khasanov. The absence of friction and atmosphere gave the Bogatyr a massive head start, accelerating through the cosmic abyss with incredible speed. The inertia of the launch alone allowed for thruster use to be kept to a conservative minimum, prioritizing it entirely for combat maneuvers. With the mothership behind her, she quickly caught up to her superior, entering formation by his side. Irakly was not far behind, catching up to the two with his own fencer shortly thereafter.
On her map’s display, she could see the rest of the company assuming ‘V’ formation, each maintaining a distance of approximately one-hundred kilometers between them. Already the first brief flashes illuminated the void, c-beams cast into the abyss as the opening shots of the engagement were fired. The battlespace quickly became an overwhelming orchestra of kinetics and missiles exchanged over immense distances in the blackness of the stellar night.
In the far distance, the enemy mechs approached. Unassisted, a human operator would have no way of gazing so far into the distance—yet with the brain-computer interface, a pilot such as Asya could visually track the enemy’s approach, both through her fencer’s optical units and its radar systems. Still, with ammunition a concern, it remained ideal to close the distance to below one-thousand kilometers, lest they gamble with accuracy.
Quickly, the company’s formation dispersed, each platoon assuming separate responsibilities as targets were designated, data exchanged between the mobile fencers and their pilots.
“All platoons, you have new orders.” Jiancheng relayed data to the rest of the company, making everyone aware of their instructions. Where the other companies of the 874th Fencer Battalion had been tasked with meeting the enemy fencers head-on, theirs was to find the path of least resistance through the platoons of Coalition fencers, after which they were to engage and help overwhelm the Coalition vessels, which were by now already slinging kinetics across the void.
“On me!”
With his orders received, Attila was quick to comply, veering with a hard upward trajectory as he moved in to engage. He preceded his straightforward attack with the release of dozens of decoys that overwhelmed the battlespace with false-positives and junk data. The battle ahead was to be one of skill and wit, not guided projectiles. It quickly earned the enemy’s attention—trails of CIWS fire from enemy fencers cutting through the decoys one by one. The MF-01 Titan was a common sight in battlefields where the Coalition was present, filling a similar mass-production role to the Bogatyr. Larger and boasting superior armor, the only advantages Bogatyrs held over their counterparts lay in their maneuverability and pilot experience. Even after the introduction of the lighter, more sophisticated MF-02 Titan Mk. II, the MF-01 remained a persistent feature in the battlefields of the Solar War.
With engines alight and weapons primed, Asya trailed behind her superior’s fencer, her motions keeping up with his. Under the influence of the combat stims, the scene before her played out akin to a lethal waltz, each playing their part in a greater performance. Shots were exchanged over the cosmic vastness, the explosion of one of the Titans casting a cloud of macro- and microdebris that all three pilots hastily moved to avoid. Even with the halcyonite metamaterial armor fielded by mobile fencers, fast-moving debris posed a persistent threat to the vulnerable joints of the combat mecha.
Around them, the battle was unfolding. Explosions bloomed in the stellar night, painting the darkness as fencers fought and struggled to outmaneuver one another. Attila’s bold attack had earned him the attention of his adversaries, two Titans breaking formation to engage.
“Cover me!” he called, gracefully weaving through the void.
“Got it, sir!”
“Copy!”
Reacting in turn, Asya and Irakly matched their adversaries’ movements. As she closed the distance, she did her best to keep up with her opponent, carefully angling her assault cannon in an attempt to predict the Titan’s maneuvers.
A three-round burst pierced the back-mounted thrusters of the Titan, quickly igniting the fuel reserves within. A momentary flame-pulse surged from the doomed machine, ejecting molten scrap from the now-motionless fencer.
Anticipating a flurry of micro-debris being cast in her direction, she hastily veered aside, just as the warning klaxons began to sound. Quickly gathering her bearings, she pushed ahead to keep up with her squadmates.
“They’re tailing me now!” For his trouble, Irakly had inadvertently served to distract the enemy from Attila, with two Titans now tailing him. His maneuvers were only narrowly managing to spare him from a premature death in space, already a few dents visible upon his fencer’s armored hull.
“Hang in there, Lvov.” Attila’s intervention came in the form of a 125mm sabot piercing one of the enemy fencers, penetrating its lightly-armored topside. Jets of air erupted from the Titan’s depressurized hull as it was sent into an aimless spin, the pilot within having likely fallen victim to the piercing cascade of shrapnel.
With remarkable speed, she expeditiously bridged the gap to the remaining Titan. “I’ve got you!” she announced, bringing the fighting machine into her crosshairs. Noticing her approach, the fencer executed a swift reversal, throwing Asya into a serpentine zigzag to evade the ensuing fusillade of sabots.
A startled yelp escaped her as she aggressively maneuvered, attempting to avoid the barrage. Her heart pounded with every passing second that she defied death, ever-aware of just how easily one could falter in space combat.
Though the Titan seemed poised to harass, a spray of rounds from Irakly’s Bogatyr served to give Asya the momentary distraction she needed. Swiftly reclaiming her composure, she responded with an impassioned onslaught of projectiles. Sending rounds careening into the arms of the Coalition mech, Asya quickly followed with a spray from her Bogatyr’s head-mounted 25mm autocannons. The ballistic deluge cut into the Titan’s upper body, shattering its shoulder-mounted CIWS units and decapitating the war machine. Left to drift idly in space, it activated a noncombatant IFF signal to indicate it had been disabled.
“T-thanks Miss!” Asya could hear the nervous excitement in her squadmate’s voice as he offered his gratitude. Neither dwelled on it for long, as the fight still raged on.
The three pilots pushed forward as the broader battle leaned in the Union State’s favor. To anyone, the hyper-accelerated chaos of omnidirectional space combat might have been overwhelming, but the stims brought with them an unmatched clarity that made weaving through the mad frenzy of space combat feel almost natural.
“Their fencer platoons are broken,” Jiancheng announced over the comm. “Regroup and advance!”
Heeding the company commander’s order, the three platoons converged upon one another, before setting off in the direction of the enemy ships defending Polyphemus. At the forefront of the enemy ships, headed in their general direction, was a single cruiser escorted by two destroyers.
“What’s the plan, sir?” Asya questioned over comm, tailing a few kilometers short of her superior.
Attila’s analysis was primed by split-second decision making built on the data of the surrounding battlespace. Everything, from their allies’ movements to the predicted trajectories of the approaching ships, was accounted for.
“Judging by the other units’ trajectories, we’ll be heading up the Z axis to get a better shot. Primary target will be the engines of the largest vessel ahead.”
Despite the distance, their small size relative to the Coalition vessels played to their advantage, as kinetics fired in their direction narrowly whizzed past. Decoys transformed the battlespace into a chaotic pandemonium, missiles fired from the ships’ VLS cells exploding against false targets and casting clusters of micro-debris. Two fencers in one of the other companies were torn to pieces, though Asya didn’t have time to dwell on it for long.
“Open fire!” Attila instructed.
The cruiser at the forefront of the approaching formation was the biggest, perhaps the most pertinent, target they could engage in this fight. Sabots pierced VLS cells, flame-pulses surging outwards in split-seconds amidst chain reactions of detonating munitions. Retaliating CIWS fire fixated not on where fencers were, but where they would be based on their inertia. Somewhere in the abyss, another Bogatyr was cut down, briefly lighting the darkness with the flame-pulse of its fuel reserves igniting. Asya could feel her pulse, already accelerated by the stream of combat stims in her system, accelerate with the rising tension.
From above, her platoon focused fire on the stern of the vessel, which was bathed in the orange glow of its singular, large nuclear thermal rocket engine. Shots whizzed past, some pelting the armored surface of the engine’s housing while others struck the undeployed radiator panels—gradually the rounds landed closer and closer to the stern, until one struck the nozzle. The ensuing blast left the ship in a continuous drift on auxiliary power, subjecting it to the whims of incoming fire from the rest of the incoming fencers.
It hadn’t exactly ended in spectacle, but with the most formidable vessel in the formation effectively left adrift, the main threat to the fencer company had been greatly diminished. With the Union State’s own formation gradually approaching, the stragglers became fast pickings for missiles and c-beams fired across the void. Their integrated CIWS systems, already driven to their limit by the encroaching Bogatyr platoons, found themselves with a mere handful of seconds to halt the onslaught of rapid-moving missiles. The brevity was unforgiving: only a few were cut down before explosions dotted the ship’s hull, casting clouds of glowing-hot debris into the stellar blackness.
Under the barrage, the cruiser’s faltering hull finally gave way. A split-second flash and the ship split in two, subjecting the doomed crew within to a violent depressurization. The other two vessels of the formation had been subjected to similar fates, their lifeless forms littering the void among fragmented debris and twisted scrap.
“Woah…” Irakly’s inaugural encounter with proper battle left him awe-struck, taking a moment to bask in the sight.
“That’s the power of the Kosmoflot for you,” Asya chimed in.
“Don’t decelerate your fencers just yet,” Attila, ever mindful of their situation, cautioned the young pilots against slackening. “The battle has just begun.”
Union State heavy cruiser Admiral Khasanov (Pr.11753.13)
Approaching Polyphemus, L4 Development Administration
Coalition of Congressional Nations
The CIC of the Admiral Khasanov was illuminated by the red glow of cathode ray tube monitors, faithfully transmitting vital battlespace intelligence directly to those within. At the heart of the room, a glass polygon captured and refracted light, conjuring a captivating holographic illusion that rendered a three-dimensional approximation of the dynamic battlespace.
Vitse-admiral Yahya al-Qadi, head of the 36th Battle Flotilla, observed carefully, studying the unfolding situation. At 39, he was among the younger officers in the Space Forces’ admiralty, though he made up for it more than adequately with his extensive service record, with combat experience dating back to the Colony War. A diligent and fairly modest leader, his presence demanded little of the ship’s amenities, save for an ascetic meditation chamber in line with his adherence to the Nasik prophet’s teachings. Though not exceedingly zealous in his belief, he followed most tenets without fault, preferring tea in place of the alcohol most of his contemporaries indulged. Furthermore, he abstained from the stimulants many in the Kosmoflot used to stay awake through the restless, grueling hours.
He had been entrusted with the 36th following the advent of the Solar War, part of the broader L4 Fleet. Still, there were those who distrusted the meteoric upstart’s rise, and thus he’d only been tasked with minor skirmishes up to this point. That he was facing such a force in Polyphemus was the consequence of the war’s intensification. Even after their ceasefire with the Pan-Esmarian Commonwealth, the war with the Coalition still demanded the utmost of the superstate’s forces, straining an already difficult logistical situation. The 45th’s transfer to Plateia’s second sister planet, Vasati, elevated al-Qadi’s responsibilities, though he remained stoic in the face of such high expectations.
The command staff of the Admiral Khasanov. Left to right: Yahya al-Qadi, Giora Gil, Lin Qingru.
The Union State heavy cruiser Admiral Khasanov had been an ideal choice of flagship for al-Qadi. Part of the Project 11753 Muravyev subclass of Neustrashimy-class cruisers, the vessel’s aging hull was older than al-Qadi by a few years. Despite the designation of ‘heavy cruiser’, the Neustrashimy and its derivatives were, by the definition of most other foreign entities, more akin to battlecruisers. Its refits, however, were fairly recent—the installation of three large fencer hangars allowed the ship to transport and deploy a battalion’s worth of Bogatyrs, an adaptation to the evolving battlefield. Of the thirteen vessels in the flotilla, the Admiral Khasanov was one of three capable of fielding fencers.
“Kampilan-class cruiser CFASFC Anouwre has experienced critical hull failure,” noted 1st-rank Kapitan Giora Gil. Subordinate to al-Qadi, he was responsible for the day-to-day operations of the Admiral Khasanov. “Lancey-class destroyers CFASFC Pinnacle and CFASFC Grey Ghost have likewise been rendered non-factors.”
Given the prevalent automation of most systems, the enlisted crew primarily devoted themselves to the realms of maintenance and logistics, while a select cadre of officers shouldered the responsibilities within the confines of the CIC. All told, the ship boasted a complement of a mere 175 personnel—a modestly sized crew in relation to the grandeur of the vessel, spanning an impressive length of 279 meters from stern to bow.
Gil exhibited exceptional administrative prowess, deftly overseeing the affairs of both the crew and the affiliated pilots with thorough care. Through his meticulous vigilance, he was able to maintain the vessel in a remarkably pristine state, defying the constraints of its venerable age.
Beyond his official obligations, he assumed a more relaxed demeanor, indulging in a leisurely disposition that occasionally veered towards an unpartylike lavishness. His penchant for extravagance manifested in reserving fine wines exclusively for those rare instances when the ship docked at port, where he’d often take to celebrating their brief respites. Such rest was surely not far from them now, as most expected little resistance would follow their seizure of the pair of cylinder colonies.
“The remaining six vessels are maintaining formation close to Polyphemus spaceport. We’ll need to be conservative in our approach, lest we damage the colony.” Shadowing Gil was 2nd-rank Kapita Lin Qingru, eyes narrowed as she studied the display of the battlespace.
“Our missiles should suffice in minimizing collateral damage to the colony,” Gil countered, pointing to the map. ‘Close’ described the proximity of the Coalition vessels to the colony only in relative terms—the nature of warfare in space meant the ships were, in actuality, quite far apart. “At most, the colony will need to deal with a few breaches—nothing its autonomous drone swarms won’t be able to repair.”
“Correct,” Al-Qadi concurred, his attention fixed on the map of the stellar battlefield.
Central to the formation of remaining Coalition vessels were the battleships CFASFC Stone Beach and CFASFC Forderess, both Kamiyama-class battleships. Each fielded four potent 9mm railguns, which made the matter of advancing further tenuous. The closer they got, the more accurate kinetics became—a field the Coalition’s space vessels specialized in.
With his attention on the battlespace, the admiral accessed the comms. “All ships, prepare the next barrage. Load VLS cells and lock on targets.”
One by one, the ships of the flotilla heeded the admiral’s orders, while Gil worked to ensure the instruction was followed aboard the Admiral Khasanov. Power fluctuated and spiked as weapons systems primed themselves to fire.
“All vessels are ready, Admiral,” Gil affirmed.
“Very well,” Attention set on the battle before him, Al-Qadi furrowed his brow. “All ships, fire!”