Northern Frontier - Nakka

  USD : [COMSEC - REDACTED]

  When a person thinks of the Albion Hegemony, specific things come to mind.

  Powerful worlds like Vickers, Albion, or Jamestown with billions of citizens, each an artery in the beating heart of the superpower’s industrial might. Enormous super-dreadnoughts, the likes of which hadn’t been built since the Collapse. The space elevators, molecular printers, and mega-stations were just a few of the installations that the Albion Hegemony oversaw and safeguarded until contact was reestablished with the Domain of Man.

  That particular purpose, to preserve and protect these holdings until the Domain returned, was the singular constant that had kept the Albion Hegemony alive in its darkest hour. Because everyone knew that once the Emergency Council called it quits, the largest stabilizing force in the sector would disintegrate overnight.

  It was this same fundamental principle that allowed the Albion Hegemony to grasp victory from the jaws of defeat two times in its tense history.

  At least, that’s what most people thought.

  —

  “Commodore on deck.” Overhead speakers reported automatically as Commodore Keegan Barker entered the flag bridge of the HNS 3033.

  He walked up to the plot table, surveying the busy chamber. Officers and ratings occupied nearly every console, working on their tasks in silence except for the intermittent reports and orders between superiors and subordinates.

  Barker looked at the plot table, centered around his squadron. To the aft of HNS 3033, the world of Nakka silently buzzed with activity. As the home of the 6th Fleet for the last half-century, Nakka's population and infrastructure were heavily dependent on the large amount of subsidies granted by the navy by now.

  Some would say these subsidies were beyond the norm for a navy anchorage, but COMSEC tended to handle such chatter swiftly.

  “Are we on track with our timetable?” Keegan asked.

  “We are, Commodore. We have twelve hours until we arrive at the jump point." His tactical officer reported.

  "Oh, and a few picoseconds more to get to HX-933.” The officer added in a bad attempt at a joke.

  The young commodore grunted in acknowledgment, his intense gaze bolted to the plot. It was hardly his first time going hunting, but it was the deepest he’d ever gone into the Darkness.

  Thankfully, the admiralty had chosen to reinforce his squadron with a cruiser and two heavy frigates, alongside additional logistics ships. All in all, his group consisted of a heavy and regular cruiser, four heavy frigates, and three logistics ships. Nine vessels, totaling several hundred kilotons of steel and thousands of souls, all bound to him and his orders upon the pain of death.

  “Excellent. Let’s hope we return promptly; I’d hate to miss the Union Day celebrations.”

  —

  During the height of the Domain, most of the Persean Sector had been explored and largely colonized. The legendary gates allowed the centralized government to support and keep a close eye on even the furthest colonies of the frontier.

  And where no gates had been established, the Domain ensured anchorages and secure ports were present. Some were deep colonies, which ran their small system-defense navies and maintained enormous logistics hubs that supplied their local subsector. Others were run by the Domain Navy itself, as massive military bases and commissary shops that supported the forefront of explorers seeking the next paradise world scientific goldmine that would enshrine them as part of a growing sector’s aristocracy.

  After the Collapse, the price of maintaining these forward bases was far too great for the nation-states trying to pick up the pieces in the core worlds of the Persean Sector. At first, migration was slow. Historical records show that many hoped the core worlds would find a solution in time and continue the massive subsidies that had kept the expansion rate fast and steady.

  Then the first Persean War came about, and the core worlds turned their focus inwards. The massive logistical infrastructure was all but abandoned, and enormous space stations were stripped of their valuables in a mad dash to evacuate from the crumbling frontier. So fast, chaotic and oft-violent was the evacuation, that records were regularly lost.

  After all, who had time for record-keeping when the core worlds had to deal with millions of refugees, dwindling resources, social unrest, and the new and horrifying prospect of fighting for their very survival?

  Whatever the massive orbital at HX-933 had been, it had been deserted by humans long ago.

  Thermal imaging reported the structure's temperature close to ambient levels. The side facing the blue supergiant at the system’s center was incredibly hot, while the rest was close to absolute zero. To the average treasure hunter, this artificial carcass had been picked clean and left to collect space dust.

  Thankfully, Keegan was no treasure hunter, and neither were his officers.

  “Sir, we’ve found the anomaly.” His tactical officer reported while manipulating the plot to zoom into the enormous orbital.

  It was near the structure's twilight zone, a thin, roughly circular band of space where the temperature was somewhat normal, that his squadron’s sensors had spotted several zones where the station was emitting heat originating from within.

  “Just as the HEGINT report said.” Keegan nodded approvingly, turning to his tactical officer. “Prepare a saturation bombardment fireplan. We’ll slag their infrastructure, and flush out their ships. They’ve got nowhere to hide.”

  “Aye sir.”

  …

  Hours had passed since the missiles had been launched. Their trajectory and drive shielding, combined with the derelict station’s lack of maneuvering, allowed them to remain hidden for their initial burn before they shut off their engines and cruised on a ballistic course.

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  Had it been any other enemy, like pirates or the Republic, they would’ve launched ships and missiles the moment the task force arrived in-system. However, Keegan’s task force did not approach the station directly, and instead headed for another jump point while lazily scanning the system for enemies; tricking the tins into thinking they were hidden.

  Only when the missiles lit up their drives for the final sprint did the station react.

  What was previously a barren surface burst into a hive of activity. Kinetic and laser batteries activated, and counter-missiles began leaving their cells by the dozens. Hidden hatches opened and concealed covers exploded off their hinges, exposing radars dishes, and gravidar arrays that screamed into the void.

  “Quite a weak cell.” His XO said, stroking his beard. “All the better, really, but the spooks really overestimated the damn cogs in their report.”

  “Detecting ship launches.” The tactical officer reported, as console operators in the background called out new targets and signatures. “They’re angry now.” She chuckled.

  All along the twilight zone, dozens of hidden hangar doors opened. From these hangar bays emerged strange, mismatched ships taken straight out of a shipwright’s deepest fever dreams. There was no point in identifying classes; the hidden foe had none. Yet it was prudent to analyze the hulls, to see where they might’ve originated from.

  The answer to Keegan’s unsaid question soon revealed itself; the clanker ships had no knack for stealth, unlike their hidden bases and shipyards.

  “Civilian hulls; looks like they have Concordiat origins.” The astrogation officer hummed, rubbing her smooth chin. “We’ll probably never know; damn corporate types never release those casualties to the public.”

  “Still, can’t blame them for bad designs.” Keegan said, pulling up the profile of the closest match to what appeared to be the swarm’s ‘flagship’.

  Lion-class cruisers were true warhorses, emphasizing the Concordiat’s love for railguns and laser batteries over costly missile batteries. They were also featured prominently in the notorious ‘Gray List’, a collection of all ship classes that could have, by sale or theft, ended up in pirate or terrorist hands. No surprise there; the Concordiat was infamous for selling to anyone and everyone so long as they paid up and didn’t fuck with the relevant Megacorp’s merchant marine.

  “We shouldn’t let them get too close.” His XO noted. “Those ships might’ve been sent halfway to the salvage yards, but they still have a lot of their armament…and the clankers aren’t ones to shy away from adding extra on top. The missiles we ought to be able to deal with, but if those railguns are loaded with the self-propelled rounds we’re in for a load of pain.”

  Keegan nodded in agreement. “Have the squadron turn perpendicular to their intercept course, and launch their missiles. Send two salvos, commander.”

  They would have to watch that distance. Those ships might’ve been derelict, but their inertial compensators didn’t need to account for squishy meat bags. They were quick to accelerate and heavily armed scrap heaps. Essentially glass cannons by nature, running on precise calculations and inhumanely fast response times.

  “Aye sir, we’ll serve these bugs a hot—”

  “Radar return, bearing one-eight-zero!” A console operator shouted, leaning into his screen. “I’ve got ten bandits burning hard for intercept… their acceleration is at three hundred Gs!”

  “What are these things?!” Keegan asked, completely shocked by their acceleration. Even the fastest known clanker ships didn’t reach two-fifty, and they got slower and slower as they put on more mass.

  “Textbook ambush…” The tactical officer muttered. “The HEGINT scout ship must’ve rang the alarm bell by accident, they were waiting in the asteroid belt.”

  “How did we not spot them?” The commodore demanded, turning to the astrogation officer. The woman was rapidly turning white, looking through the raw sensor data with uncanny speed.

  “It doesn’t make sense! N-Nobody had this kind of stealth.” She stuttered “These are ships, not drones! Gravidar puts their mass above thirty kilotons.”

  Only Concordiat Reaper drones were as stealthy, but those devils were less than a thousand tons, and half of that was for their heatsinks!

  “Doesn’t matter.” Keegan raised his voice, compartmentalizing his panic and fear in an imaginary vault deep inside his mind, lock to be opened later. The mental exercise didn’t help much, but every bit counted when so many depended on him.

  “We will fight them. And we’ll send all these scrapheaps tumbling back into the void.”

  …

  “Scratch four.” The tactical officer muttered, looking at the KIA signature of the last ships among the derelict flotilla. “All derelicts accounted for, sir.”

  Keegan smiled, a small part of the weight on his shoulders fading. “Good work, let’s—”

  The chamber shuddered violently, distant groans sounding from beyond. They’d been hit somehow.

  “Damage report!” He demanded.

  The comms officer’s reply took only seconds to form but it still felt like an eternity. “Damage Control reports several hits along the port side. Shields are down, and it went right through the armor belt.” He reported, his lips trembling. Then his expression froze entirely. “Sir…Ship 1098 is gone! Susp-Sus…” The man took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Suspected reactor meltdown, it’s dust.”

  Keegan’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at the absurd report. How was that even possible? The heavy frigate hadn’t been hit once in the entire engagement!

  “What caused this?” He ordered, hoping for a favorable answer.

  “Our sensors caught it…for a moment. Only a nanosecond really...” A morbid chuckle escaped the astrogation officer’s lips, her eyes cold. “It was going very fast. Nearly relativistic velocities, sir.”

  “What in the void…” Keegan muttered. “Are we sure it wasn’t a laser? Some kind of sensor malfunction?”

  “That’s simply not possible, sir.” The tactical officer cut in. “At this range, you would need insane levels of power. No technology allows for beam collimation at these distances, not well enough to crack through an escort’s defenses in a nanosecond. We’d have seen it….oh, dash it all.” The man gestured to the plot.

  Keegan turned to look, seeing the signatures of more missiles shooting out of the mystery ships’ launchers. This was their eighth salvo; they had to be close to running out of things to shoot at them…right?

  “Launch our counter-missiles.”

  “Sir…this is our last volley.” The tactical officer said, looking at him with resignation. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  Within seconds, counter-missiles shot out from rail launchers among the remaining ships. Just over half of a full volley, the last counter-missiles in the entire squadron. Or what was left of it at least.

  They had been reduced to his heavy cruiser and a pair of frigates and logistics ships by this point. The rest had succumbed to the focused missile and the near-relativistic weapons fire of their opponents, and his squadron was now outnumbered and outgunned nearly three times over. The flagship he was in, a Peacekeeper-class heavy cruiser, had lost its shields and much of its armor, along with swaths of point defenses and missile cells. The rest of his squadron didn’t look any better.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if this was what the admiralty hid from him and all those outside the deep-strike squadrons. After all, how could an enemy be so strong if their forces were only salvaged and captured human hulls, derelicts from exploration, and colony fleets that had ventured too far?

  He concluded this must be what the admiralty was so worried about. He could imagine that if the rank-and-file realized what twisted horrors they were being thrown against, they would start deserting en-masse.

  “Splash fifteen bandits.” His tactical officer muttered, snapping Keegan out of the vicious mental spiral.

  Seven missiles had made it through their anti-missile net. Laser batteries all over the battered squadron had opened up the moment friendly fire had left the equation, but the missiles weren’t going down. He watched the plot as they dodged and weaved faster than they could hit them.

  Only three went down by the time the kinetic batteries opened up; massive rotary railguns spewing torrents of tungsten into the void.

  Yet to Commodore Keegan Barker's horror, their last line of defense proved pointless against the superior foe.

  “Shit, they’re going to—”

  The warship was cleaved in twain, a torrent of particles passing through the depleted shields and cracked armor like a hot knife through butter. The lance cracked the main reactor's containment, spawning a small star inside the cruiser.

  All that remained of the venerable flagship after that brief moment of cosmic violence was hot gas and dust.

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  Thanks to MrHappyTurtle for helping fix the grammar and prose in this chapter.