TCS Concord’s Claw; Combat Information Center
The Hyperion System, Downing Quadrant, Vega Sector
MAR 19 2795/2795.078; 0545 Hours (CST)

But a single speck in a vast array of Confed, Kilrathi, Andorran, and Firekkan fleets and convoys massed beyond the Border Worlds-Kilrathi border, the Concord’s Claw rested quietly in space, its engines glowing with dull reserve against the black backdrop of space.

The CIC section of the Claw’s bridge was wrought with anticipation. Even the commanding officer, Captain Juliana Kincaid, a Space Navy veteran with over twenty years of service in her cap, waited anxiously on her command chair, unsure if the news they had received minutes ago carried any weight. They all were.

It was to no great fanfare that Commodore Blair returned from Kincaid’s office, hands behind his back. If he was trying to force himself to look calm, he was surely doing a good job of it. "As you probably know, that was Space Marshal Rico, CO of the First Fleet, Sol System." An all-too grim silence ensued as he cleared his throat. He adjusted his pose a little before going on, "The subspace transmission received at 0500 has been confirmed."

After another silence, whispers and shrill voices filled the bridge.

"Sweet Jesus..."

"Earth is..."

"My family... my..."

"This... this can’t be happening..."

"I was there just a month ago... I..."

"I never thought... not Earth... not in a million..."

"The Terran Confederation—to say nothing of humanity itself—has suffered a grave loss. Don’t think I don’t feel it, too—I was born there." Blair steeled himself further, visibly setting his broad jaw. "There can be no doubt anymore. The Steltek represent the single greatest threat the galaxy has ever known, and they will destroy us..." he hesitated to speak the words he knew he had to, the words no man or woman in the room could possibly argue, "... if we don’t destroy them."

Captain Kincaid caught his eye. "The mission will proceed as planned?"

"Give the assembled task forces the go-ahead." There was purpose and strength in Blair’s words, a purpose and strength he hadn’t felt in himself for longer than he cared to remember. "Make the S-Fold to Gamma Onisis, the Canés Venatici Galaxy, immediately."

The Planetship; Navigational Command
The Sol System, Terra Quadrant, Sol Sector
0625 Hours (CST)

"Magistrate Eolin has notified me of your deeds." The Infrared projection of Prime Leader Stravakis, beamed over slipstream direct from the Palisade on Hiveworld, looked down at Choohan with radiant approval. "Your accomplishment will not be forgotten."

"Yes, Prime Leader," Choohan responded, tipping his head in respect and gratitude to the exalted one’s compliment. "It seemed fitting that the Magistry’s flagship do the deed itself. The Heathens and their kin now flail about aimlessly with the loss of their motherworld. They have nothing. What is left of their numbers will be feel the cleansing fire of Magistrate Eolin’s Maraudership clusters."

"It brings me satisfaction to hear this, Supreme Overseer." Stravakis paused. "But be careful. Do not believe a race so easily defeated."

Choohan felt a tinge of annoyance at the notion. "But their morale... surely with the loss of their motherworld it will be sufficiently devastated. More than devastated."

"True," Stravakis ceded, as His transmitted image wavered, only seconds away from vanishing. "Or it may motivate them to greater ends. A warning."

There was wisdom behind the Prime Leader’s words. The Steltek had once survived the forfeit of their motherworld in the space that the Heathens had eventually made their home, Choohan knew. The Steltek had endured, and now retribution was on the horizon.

Left to ponder the words further, Choohan went back to his place of duty. The eve of the Steltek purification and retaking of the Heathen galaxy was upon the Magistry, and the time for action was now.

The Heathens have nothing, he told himself again, and now they are beaten.

TCS Phlegethon; Bridge
The Canés Venatici Galaxy
The Gamma Onisis System, Sector Alpha Tango Theta
0606 Hours (CST)

Back in familiar territory. Back where their adventure began.

Fleet Admiral Tierson couldn’t help but feel a shiver as the queasiness of their S-Fold journey subsided. It was a new system this time, yes, but the alien galaxy he found himself in had been graced by mankind’s presence on only one other occasion. He had been there that first time.

He could remember very clearly every detail of the original mission. It had been a straight forward mission, one to reconnoiter the system they were in now from its adjacent system, Delta Agnes. This time, the mission was different.

This time, the mission was war.

"Arrival of the Armada?" Tierson inquired of any officer who had the answer.

"Confirmed, sir. They’re all behind us."

"The Kilrathi?"

"On their way."

"Good." Tierson’s attention was now focused on the viewports. An entire assembly of Steltek Marauders could be seen looming around the dark sphere of a somewhat distant confirmed Steltek world. The large planet blocking the system’s red giant sun, it presently appeared as only a black globe. "Give me a count on those Stelteks."

"Thirty-nine Marauders, sir. All stationed around that planet."

So that was it. That was the battle they were up against. Thirty nine planet-sized Steltek destroyers against every ship the Milky Way could possibly spare. It seemed almost a fair fight, were it not for the fact that any one of those Marauders could take out any capital ship in their assembly with one shot.

"Us or them," Tierson told himself, "Us or them."

The war had already unified the galaxy, quelled the petty troubles between Confed and the Kilrathi, the New Andorran Republic, and the Firekkan Commonwealth. If they were to be destroyed on this day, the peoples of Tierson’s galaxy would die as one.

The Phlegethon’s fighter squadrons already dispatched to deal with the oncoming swarms of Steltek Drones, all turret and capship defenses manned and ready, he folded his arms on his chest. With a note of wonder in his voice, he murmured, "Thy Kingdom Come..."

F-709B Jackal 101
0620 Hours (CST)

"For Earth!" Lt. Colonel Jared "Devilbane" Davidsen shouted into his headset. Banking hard to the left, he took off after the nearest wing of Steltek Drones. Advanced Fusion Cannons on rapid fire, he hammered away at the fore sections of three Drones’ hulls. Releasing an ImRec at nearly point blank, he was already diving beneath the wing, only being tagged by one of the Drones’ stray plasma charges.

Responding with a tight barrel roll, he accelerated to full speed, giving a measured burst of his afterburners for maximum velocity. He then threw his craft hard to port, turning all the way around and hitting the afterburners again. Driving straight at the five Drones that he had earned the attention of, he roared at full speed. Waiting until he was coming up on striking distance, Jared pulled off a notch to the side, killing afterburners. In a perfect execution of a famed Shelton Slide, he unleashed Full Guns and all salvos on stand-by from his missile hardpoints. None of the targets were locked, but his proximity allowed him to roughly compensate for the Drones’ speed and heading.

"ONCE AGAIN THE HEATHENS PROFANE OUR HOMELAND," came the familiar high-pitched, sickly voice of a Steltek commander in his headset. They all sounded the same. "THE END OF YOUR MOTHERWORLD MARKS THE BEGINNING OF YOUR VINDICATION AND THE PURIFICATION OF OUR FORMER GALAXY FOR THE REOCCUPATION THAT WILL FOLLOW. SURRENDER YOUR SHIPS AND WE MAY RECONSIDER PEACEFUL EXILE FOR YOU AND YOUR PEOPLES."

"Yeah, fuck you, too."

Three of the Drones were struck hard as Jared slid by, hitting the other two and colliding with one another. An exploding conflagration painted his hull an unsightly combination of green, yellow, and orange. He smiled, relishing this moment of victory against an enemy.

Pulling away, he caught a glimpse of the distant Concord’s Claw, moving along on its mission on a vector that took it away from the main Confed/Kilrathi conglomeration of ships, a Kilrathi dreadnought at its side as it passed to starboard of the massive Phlegethon.

Jared knew their mission. Even as he found himself facing four new Drones, he wished them well.

TCS Concord’s Claw; Bridge
In low orbit over planet J-22
0635 Hours (CST)

Skittering over the lower atmosphere of the Steltek planet named only as J-22, the Concord’s Claw trembled and shook violently as the planet’s G-forces tried to snare her.

"Is the Kn’ath still with us?" Commodore Blair asked, speaking of Prince Serrikoth’s own flagship dreadnought.

"Sure is," Captain Kincaid replied, looking up from a readout. "And they’re ready to drop when we are."

"Distance to terminus?"

"T-minus three minutes, twenty seconds."

Blair grunted. "No word from Ricaud?"

"None, sir."

With little else to do at the moment, Blair afforded himself a minute to walk over and observe a tactical station console. Rendered and displayed in full Tri-D, the terrain of the world they were passing over was viewable. Made up of mostly jungle, rainforest, rivers, and mountains, it seemed little different than Old Africa.

It made Blair almost feel sorry for what they had to do next.

Almost.

"Coming up on the terminus, sir. T-minus forty seconds."

The terminus marked the coordinates Special Ops had determined to be the point on the planet with the most concentration of Steltek populace and technologically developed, if what the Steltek bore could be considered technology at all. Aside from the alloy of the planetbound Steltek ships themselves, the Phlegethon scans Confed studied over the year had revealed that there was no trace of metallic compounds whatsoever on J-22.

"T-minus five seconds, sir." The officer gulped. "We’re already in safe striking distance."

"Then release the warheads," Blair ordered. "Give Serrikoth his green light."

Thirty seconds passed, each one seeming an eternity in itself. Then the blinding flash of light, reduced in brightness only so much by the filters in the viewports, signaled the impact of the Claw’s and Kn’ath’s warheads.

As Blair ordered the escape vector of the Concord’s Claw set, Planet J-22 burned brightly in a white hot thermonuclear haze, the Strontium 90, Cesium 137, and anti-matter doing their work on the surface below. Dozens of miles upon scorched miles were reduced to ash and cinder, an unearthly, all-encompassing mushroom cloud sprouting from the heart of the destruction.

Kincaid found Blair by a bulkhead, bracing himself against a guard rail as he stared at nothing. She walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "We did it, Chris."

"Yeah, we did." Blair nodded. "We just sent billions of Steltek to their deaths. Billions of Steltek that, in all likelihood, had nothing to do with the war."

"What do you think they did to Earth?"

"I know. I know." Memories of Kilrah came to mind, memories he was far from proud of. "But now... we’re just like them, aren’t we?"

"No, we’re not. We did what had to be done and you know it."

Blair shook his head, then rubbed his eyes. "You’re right. Let’s just... end this."

"We’re going to, Chris. Just give it time."

TCS Phlegethon; Bridge
In low orbit over planet J-5
0729 Hours (CST)

The men and women in the crewpits had given a whoop and a cheer upon hearing the news of the successful sortie on J-22 by the Concord’s Claw. Readings had indicated almost a quarter of the planet had been completely obliterated, with another ten percent or so left unlivable—at least by human standards—by the resulting fallout and radioactivity.

Under the cover of nearly half the entire Confed-Kilrathi assembly, the Phlegethon was about to single-handedly attempt a second such offensive on a second Steltek planet.

J-5 was not as large as J-22, but Confed studies indicated it bore a higher concentration of Steltek habitats. It was also more fiercely guarded. The Phlegethon had already narrowly avoided two of the orbiting Marauders’ ship killer blasts, though that was only upon their entry approach. Now they wouldn’t risk shooting at the Phlegethon, as their ship killer blasts could miss and strike their cities on the planet below, which would only serve in doing Tierson’s job for him. The Marauders instead chose to hound the Phlegethon with endless waves of their Drones, which even now Davidsen and his wings were vigilantly fighting off.

Tierson didn’t want to hear the latest reports of the main battle. At last report, thirty-two Confed carriers had been lost, with an additional twenty-five among the allied fleets. A single Marauder had yet to be put down. The report was after but minutes of fighting in earnest.

"Terminus in striking distance in T-minus thirty seconds."

"Very well. Make the preparations."

"Yessir."

As the final seconds ticked down, Tierson stood. Firm resolution on his face, he spoke the order he had been yearning to give, "Warheads... release."

If Tierson had anything to say about it, humanity’s darkest day would fast become its greatest victory.