This shattered dream you cannot justify

We're gonna scream until we're satisfied

What are we running for?

We've got the right to be angry

What are we running for?

When there's nowhere we can run to anymore

Pat Benatar - “Invincible”

There are several ways a battle can end. A combatant may realize they are losing and flee for safety. One side may annihilate another, or force its surrender. They could order a cease-fire, though that usually occurs after a battle. Or, like two exhausted boxers at the end of twelve brutal rounds, the adversaries might stagger back to their corners to lick their wounds while awaiting the judge’s decision.

The Battle of Zaaronq didn’t so much end as fall apart, the ragged remnants of both fleets coalescing on opposite sides of the expanding debris field, as all involved struggled to catch their breath...and marvel at the fact they were still alive.

On the Bellerophon, Admiral Fujimoto was toiling to regroup her shattered forces, wondering if the Triumvirate fleet had a third assault still in them. Even her own ship had suffered during the skirmish, though she’d tried to keep the carriers out of harm’s way, enemy missiles had still found their way in. Smoke hung heavy on the bridge as she turned to face her officers.

“Tactical...status report,” she ordered.

“The fleet got hit hard, Admiral,” her officer replied. “We lost the carriers Perseus and Heracles, along with 75% of the Comets. The HK’s fared better...60% destroyed outright.” His bone-weary expression matched her own. “Ma’am, we must stand down. Preliminary reports show over half of the enemy fleet annihilated, with the rest suffering varying degrees of damage. It’s unlikely they’ll be able to engage us again without significant repairs.”

“We can’t stand down,” Hélène answered, her mind and body wracked with fatigue. “The ground forces are inbound as we speak, and we have to keep them covered until they’re planetside.”

Her officer closed his eyes and nodded in resignation. “Understood, Ma’am. I’m just not sure how much fight our pilots have left.”

“Enough for one more round, I hope,” she whispered. “After that...I doubt it will matter.”

Dhyaksh Jiyazh Ghuuyaz had fought his way to the top, securing his position by being the strongest, the smartest, the most dangerous in battle. His position as supreme commander of the fleet was absolute, and while there was a method by which that rank could be challenged, all such contests were in abeyance until they completed the Great Crusade. Facing one trial after another was a distraction they could not afford, not while the promise to their forebears was being honored at last.

So there was no procedure to choose a successor, even a temporary one, without starting the whole process all over again.

The Khonhim fleet was in pandemonium with the loss of Oathkeeper. Many pods had been recovered and brought on board, but none contained the Dhyaksh. The battle had damaged most of the great ships, and communications were spotty...which meant at the crucial moment, no one was in command of the fleet.

The transports ferrying the ground troops arrived in the Zaaronq system to find the remnants of two shattered fleets, eyeing each other warily but making no move to advance on their opponent. The Triumvirate forces moved to cover the massive vessels as they began disgorging their shuttles, each of them racing down to the relative safety of the planet’s surface to unload their passengers. It was the most vulnerable stage of the operation by far...but because their commander was incommunicado at that crucial moment no Khonhim ships moved in to intercept.

It was a lapse that would cost them dearly.

Nassat clung to a handy stanchion as the shuttle screamed through the atmosphere, diving like a bat out of hell to avoid ground fire. It was only his second planetary assault, but in the fledgling Triumvirate Army that made him the grizzled veteran...instead of the rank neophyte, he would have been in any traditional military. He was all too aware of his shortcomings, but before the war began, there wasn’t a single veteran anywhere, not even on Earth itself. They had adapted more quickly than the other races, for war was still very much in their nature, but even the humans were having a hard time relearning old habits. Nassat would have loved nothing more than to hand his company over to someone with more training and experience, but the sad fact was there was no one else.

Do what you gotta do, he heard Lin whisper in his head, and as he watched the surface racing to meet them he grasped the wisdom of those words. The humans were masters of adaptability, and that same strength colored their martial traditions. There were tried and true tactics and strategies to draw on, the distilled knowledge of an entire species history of war, but every law of combat seemed to spawn a hundred exceptions. Every battle, every skirmish, every campaign was different, and no matter how he wished for a simple rulebook to follow it was just him, struggling to do the best he could. He could plan and project all he wanted, but the moment they met the enemy in combat those same plans would go straight out the window.

Which meant if he could not adapt...his soldiers would pay the price.

The shuttle slammed into the dirt with a heavy thump, as Nassat shouted to his troops. “On your feet! Lock and load! And may the Creator protect us all!” The ramp dropped to the ground as the Saurotaurs of Bravo Company surged forward, charging into the face of the enemy...who began picking them off with deadly precision.

“Dhyaksh...no one is responding!” his tactical officer wailed in frustration. Jiyazh swore an ancient curse as he grabbed his weapon and waved the others forward. “Then we must go to them!” he shouted, even as he watched the stream of enemy shuttles dashing down to the surface. All that he and the others had worked so hard for now teetered on the brink of the abyss, and if he did not regain control of the situation soon then any hope for the Great Crusade would be lost forever.

Several of the lifepods had landed near one another, and he had roughly a platoon’s worth of fighters at his side. It would be enough to get him to one of their assault craft, or so he hoped. Returning to the fleet would be a journey fraught with danger, but there was no other choice. They would win here, or they would die here.

They started running towards the last known position of the assault craft, which lay in roughly the same direction as the enemy position. He could not allow them a foothold here, for once they dug in and reinforced expelling them from the planet became a thousand times more difficult. He still did not know how much of his fleet had survived, but based on what they had witnessed from the planet it did not look good at all. Jiyazh could only hope the enemy had suffered just as badly…but he did not know. That lack of certainty disturbed him, and while he hoped someone had stepped into his shoes to command the fleet, in the depths of his soul he feared he knew the truth. The Khonhim were a race of tradition above all else...and usurping his authority even with the best of intentions was a step that none would take.

Not even to save the fleet.

“Faster!” he shouted...as he watched everything they had worked so hard for fall apart.

Admiral Fujimoto stared at her display in disbelief. The Khonhim fleet was just sitting there, doing nothing! They weren’t even trying to prevent the Triumvirate forces from landing on the surface, and that made no sense at all.

Unless... the flagship’s destruction had taken their commander with it. But even if that were the case, then someone should have stepped up and assumed command. If she were to fall, her Executive officer would take over with nary a hiccup, and carry on. Any military force that didn’t have a clearly delineated chain of command risked total disruption at the worst moment, and as good as the Khonhim were they had to realize that. Even if several of the senior officers had died during the battle, they’d had more than enough time to sort out who was left, and go on from there.

A rogue memory tugged at her, as she struggled to make sense of the enemy’s inaction. Hadn’t there been an ancient empire that had collapsed at the death of its leader, because according to custom all the warlords across the land were recalled to choose his successor? Had it been the Huns? The Mongols? She shook her head, trying to remember the details, but came up empty-handed. It made little sense that a space-faring race would have such a primitive form of government, but then there were still many things about the Khonhim they didn’t understand.

It didn’t matter. If that was what was happening here, or at least some rough analog, then the Khonhim fleet was ripe for the plucking. She could finish this and end the damn war once and for all.

Except her fleet had been badly mauled, and even an enemy with no cohesive leadership would still defend itself if attacked. If she made the attempt and failed, that was it. There would be no Navy, and even the ragged remnants of the Khonhim fleet would be enough to ravage the rest of the Triumvirate while they struggled to rebuild.

Again.

"God damn it!” she snarled, slamming her fist onto her console, loud enough to startle the others on the bridge. The enemy was right there for the taking...and she couldn’t risk the few ships she still had left.

Unless they tried to escape. Then she’d go after them with everything she had...and to hell with the consequences.

Nassat slammed into the dirt as a burst from the enemy killed the Saurotaur beside him. A few centimeters to the left, and he would be the one staring lifelessly at the sky. He shoved that image aside as he returned fire...the heat of battle was not the time to be contemplating such existential thoughts. Shuttles were still coming in, bringing reinforcements, but the Khonhim were well dug in and fighting back with everything they had. They didn’t dare risk a frontal assault, as doing so would decimate his company.

No...they had to attempt their flank instead. It appeared as if there was a small gap in the enemy line, perhaps just wide enough to break through, though part of him balked at the opportunity. One of Sergeant Lin’s pithy aphorisms said that when the enemy gives you an opening, it is almost always an ambush…except for the fact he had no choice. He could risk the gap...or Bravo company could die right here.

“First platoon, forward!” he shouted, moving with the lead element, “Second and Third, covering fire!” He rose to his feet and charged ahead, firing as he went, as he sent a prayer up to the skies...only not to the Creator.

Forgive me, Raichret...but I cannot ask them to risk their lives, without sharing their fate.

He hoped she would understand...and feared she would not.