Short Story 2

Author's Note: I posted another short story a while back. This is the second one. It's obviously heavily influenced by 40K and is actually the first chapter of a novella I was writing in 2005 but gave up on. Enjoy!
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Age of Strife
Part 1 – Koskov’s Last Stand

To: Vice-Chancellor See’hroc, Mars High Court
From: Lord General Militant Milan Thaddeus Gryphonne, United Earth Space Fleet
Origin: United Earth Space Fleet Acheron-Class Supercruiser Devine Retribution
Target: Nergal-Class battlecruiser Red Horizon, Royal Mars Navy
...Timestamp... ...July 13. 9731... ...21:03:27...
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Vice-Chancellor,
Just what is it you are trying to accomplish? Rebelling against the Union? Ludicrous! Not since the quickly-halted Scandinavian insurrection of 3720 has a group seceded from our great collective, and that was swiftly crushed. If you continue your barbaric machinations against us, the UESF will not hesitate to cease all food exports to the arid rock you call home. Lay down your arms and return your fleet to standby or suffer the godlike fury of my battleships. This little “incident” will get you nowhere. See’hroc, this is your last chance to stand down.

Lord General Gryphonne
Lord General Militant Milan Gryphonne






To: General Militant Milan Thaddeus Gryphonne, United Earth Space Fleet
From: Vice-Chancellor See’hroc, Mars High Court
Origin: Nergal-Class battlecruiser Red Horizon, Royal Mars Navy
Target: United Earth Space Fleet Acheron-Class Supercruiser Devine Retribution
...Timestamp... ...July 13. 9731... ...21:42:58...
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Lord General: It is you that must stand down. To take food from our beleaguered Homeworld is an insult that cannot be forgiven. You Earthers, who have already taxed us beyond our limits, are committing a crime against humanity that can only be answered in full war. Nearly seven millennia past you created us, and we were allies. Now you, the creators, will be stripped of your world by our Grand Fleets. The strife you are bringing upon your own heads will make you pray for Hell to take your wretched lives. The fleets of Anroth Sector are on the way to support us. Do not underestimate the children you have seeded the galaxy with. They are greater than even your mighty fleets.

See’hroc



* * *

Commander Viktor Koskov was a large man and ran his Rogue-Class destroyer Gangut II with an iron fist. In reality it was a titanium-neodymium servo fist, he mused, and ever since the boarding action that took his right arm in 9630 he displayed it with pride. If he could lose an arm for the Union and stay conscious long enough to kill twelve men, his crew could damn well do what was necessary.
“Engineer Tributz, cycle the drives!” He boomed in baritone Russian, “we’re going to Mars. And hurry! I didn’t invite you onto my payroll to watch you sit on your ass!”
Deep in the bowels of the 150-metre Gangut II the Johanson-Kuumar drive rumbled to life in preparation for the four-minute trans light voyage to Earth’s new nuisance. After the twenty-minute charging cycle, a large red rune appeared on the tactical holo-projector. Koscov’s polished finger set the jump in motion. Klaxons throughout the vessel wailed and the halls were bathed in red emergency lighting. Koscov returned to his command throne and strapped himself in. A series of creaks and pops issued from the hull as the taxing warp translation pulled the ship in all directions at once. A loud bang resounded through the hull and Gangut II was on her way.

* * *

Fleet Admiral Fahriq Kahn of the Royal Battleship Blu Moon was ready for war. The Anroth Sector navy was thirty-six hours away and he sat at the head of one of the largest ships within a million miles of Deimos. Earth would pay for its treachery.
“Ensign, repeat the scans. The infidels are coming and I want to be ready.”
“Affirmative.... Scans reveal nothing. Wait... damn!”
“Ensign?”
“A full UESF fleet has left earth. ETA six minutes... Sir, it’s Gryphonne.”
“Send word to the Horizon. Fire control, prepare the main batteries. I want the ion lances up in five.”
The Blu Moon exploded into life. Static electricity crackled across the hull as massive weapons powered up and solar sails unfurled. Inside the leviathan battle-ready klaxons sounded. The Blu Moon was ready, and nothing would stop her.
Throughout the Royal Navy enormous vessels crackled into life. Gunships readied their weapons; assault carriers disgorged their fighter-bomber clouds. In the bridge of the Red Horizon Vice-Chancellor See’hroc smiled. The thought of planetary genocide always brought a grin to his sharp features.

* * *
Another loud bang signaled the return to realspace. Gangut II readied her batteries and powered up the plasma sub-light drives. All around her the majesty of Gryphonne’s armada gleamed. Off in the distance was the great ruddy hulk of the Devine Retribution. The gold dome of her command bridge sparkled and Koskov’s barrel-like chest swelled with pride. He keyed the comm-link and summoned his squadron.
“Form on me. Go Delta II.” Almost as soon as the words left his mouth two Scimitar-Class gun frigates - the Hinter and the Vostok - and two Gunray-Class torpedo frigates - the Brigand and the Death Jester - formed on the Gangut II. The “Flying V” formation put each ship in a position to spearhead an assault and use every gun available. Always after glory, Koskov went straight for the biggest ship in sight. A small hologram of the target floated above the tactical display. Etched on the side, in tiny red letters, was “Blu Moon.” Capital Squadron Karamazov, led from the front by the Gangut II, shuttled menacingly toward the Blu Moon. Koskov winced as bright blobs of plasma flashed across his shields. Eight micro-nuclear torpedoes roared from the Gunrays and exploded across the Blu Moon’s hull. The form-fitting sleeve of energy absorbed the monstrous blasts, but fell under the pounding. This was Koskov’s chance. “Prepare for boarding! Fire the rail cannon! We’re commandeering this bitch of a starship and sending her to hell!” Again the klaxons wailed and Koskov’s laughter boomed across the bridge. This was war! The comm-link crackled to life and a mixture of screams and static blasted into the bridge. To port the Vostok rippled and melted. The profanely powerful reactor vaporized the Vostok and killed Koskov’s old friend Lieutenant Kierv. With a startling cry of pure fury, Koskov stormed from the bridge as the first slugs penetrated the Blu Moon’s mighty hull. He would suit up and kill every bastard in the traitor ship. Koskov ran to his personal quarters and carefully donned the suit of ancient servo-armor first worn by his grandfather two centuries past. With a soft hiss, he disengaged the locks on a locker under his bed. Within it lay one of the most valued heirlooms and weapons of the Koskov family: a five-thousand year old sword, sheathed in a crackling energy field that cut through flesh and armor like they were soft clay. Also in the locker was an equally unique pistol. Its rose petal barbs reduced flesh to a red cloud and formed lethal shrapnel on contact with a hard surface. He would win this day. Inside the boarding tube, Koskov whipped his men into a killing frenzy. His crimson servo armor turned the already imposing man into a frightful giant and the long bayonet on his combat shotgun let the troops know that he meant business. Their anger only increased when they heard of the battle raging outside. The Hinter and Brigand were crippled and pitifully retreating and the Death Jester was fighting for its life. Even the mighty Gangut II had suffered engine damage and was therefore grappled with the Blu Moon until death took them both. The boarding tube entered the prodigious hole in the battleship’s side and welded the entry hole shut. As soon as the locks engaged, a horde of fifty enraged soldiers and their captain stormed into the guts of the enemy. The hallway ahead was dark and smoke-filled. The men progressed violently toward the bridge while a small squad of expert scouts and engineers crept toward the enginarium. This ship would be conquered and retrofitted for the future victors. Koskov led the remaining forty men strait to the heart of the enemy battleship’s command deck.
* * *
Kahn looked at the holographic display in front of him. Borders. Damn. This problem was easy enough to fix. He reached for the defensive grid activator rune and heard a dull bang. The internal supercomputer had been damaged in the assault and instead of activating the grid backfired and shut down shield grids two and four. It seemed he would have to deal with this the hard way. A simple command had Royal Guard troops storming the breach.
* * *
Koskov exploded into a large gallery near the hull breach and ran directly into a squad of ornamental guards. “To hell with these sissies,” he thought. He called his men. “Let us show these animals that it takes chutzpah to run a starship!” Koskov met the guards head on, scything with his ancient sword. A man screamed as the ancient blade eviscerated him. A quick stomp to his head ended his pain. Another man was sliced cleanly in two, left shoulder to right hip. Blood exploded across Koskov’s armor. A shot with the pistol left one man in a mist of his own torso and the rest of the squad running. In the time it took his platoon to catch up Koskov had holstered the dripping heirlooms and grabbed his shotgun from the back holster. The nearest enemy tried to flee and was impaled on Koskov’s bayonet. The man looked down to see seventeen inches of polished steel protruding from his belly. A blast from the shotgun sent the man’s corpse to the floor and sprayed his guts across the walls. In less than thirty seconds Koskov had reduced five elite warriors to meaty piles on the floor. This was the life! Koskov ran gleefully toward the bridge, killing all the way. When he finally arrived on the bridge he was drenched in gore and bleeding from numerous wounds. Thirty of his men had died in the carnage of the assault and the remaining ten were ready for anything. They ran headlong to the top level and prepared to fly the hulk of the Blu Moon home.
* * *
Kahn turned around with a start. Running toward him was an avatar of death, coated in gore and followed by ten blood-soaked marines. This was it. He pulled the antique chainsword from its sheath and activated the engine. The razor teeth spun and roared as the baroque weapon reached combat speed. Earthers would die this day. Kahn raised his gilded pistol and exploded the skull of the nearest marine as shotgun blasts slew his Royal Guard. As the last of his hand-picked guards fell wetly to the floor, Fleet Admiral Fahriq Kahn ran toward the enemy. He swung the ornate chainsword into a man, tearing his guts out and spraying them across the floor. If they dared attack him, they would suffer to no end. A shotgun blast peppered his personal shield and he turned to face the annoyance. A marine had fired on him. Two shots from the pistol stripped away first his arm, then his head. What was left fell away onto the lower levels. He raised the pistol and looked around. His bridge staff had killed the other marines. All that was left was the bastard Koskov.
* * *
Commander Viktor Koskov ran toward the enemy captain. His sword flashed across the man’s shield, each hammer blow depleting the personal shield a little bit more. Then the man struck out with his sword. Koskov was not fast enough. The ornate chainsword entered his belly and exploded out of his back. Impaled by the still-spinning blade, Koskov fell messily in two. In the enginarium the team of specialists reviewed the combat data. Koskov was dead, their beloved Gangut II was a hulk of molten slag, and only they remained. Engineer-Sergeant Tributz walked to the main engine computer and hit a large green rune labeled “execute command.” Thirty seconds later the Blu Moon was consumed by a cloud of white-hot plasma as its reactors went critical. The ship’s vast dying explosion was so powerful that every ship within ten kilometers was vaporized along with her. The battle of Phobos was a ruin but elsewhere in Mars orbit battle still raged...